Iron Claw's body suddenly hunched forward, letting out a stifled groan of extreme pain. His back instantly ripped open, and hot blood gushed out like a torrent, staining his ragged clothes and the ground beneath him!
"Iron Claw! No—!" Several cries, choked with sobs and disbelief, erupted from the crowd.
Some instinctively rushed forward a step, only to be frozen in place by fear; others clutched the arms of those beside them, their nails almost digging into the flesh, their eyes filled with struggle.
The old fear of Chaos's violence collided fiercely in everyone's chests with the fresh blood spilled to protect their home.
Excruciating pain, like a searing hot iron, pierced through his entire body. His vision was instantly shrouded in black mist, but Iron Claw gritted his teeth, blood seeping from his lower lip, and a low, wounded beast-like roar rumbled in his throat!
Not only did he not let go, but using the immense inertia of his fall, he pressed the restrained heretic down firmly and securely onto the cold, hard ground with his entire blood-soaked body and his remaining left hand!
It was as if he himself was the final floodgate!
His face, covered in blood and sweat, suddenly lifted, twisted and deformed by the intense pain and extreme anxiety. Using the last bit of air in his lungs, he let out a heart-wrenching, almost inhuman roar towards Figgsin's squad: "B-7!! B-7 pipe junction! They've hidden promethium! They're going to burn our home!!"
That hoarse, broken roar, like sandpaper rubbing, was like a huge stone dropping into a stagnant, viscous pool!
Instantly, countless gazes—frightened, bewildered, hesitant, even angry—focused simultaneously on that pool of blood!
They focused on Iron Claw's posture, pressing the heretic down with his body, protecting with his life the dilapidated shantytown behind him, which they called "home"!
The woman holding her child forgot to scream; the child in her arms cried loudly in fright, but she was oblivious, only staring fixedly at Iron Claw's blood-stained back.
The old man, covering his mouth, still had fear in his cloudy eyes, but something harder was coalescing. He suddenly spat a mouthful of bloody saliva towards the knife-wielding heretic.
Iron Claw's roar of "our home" was like a spark suddenly struck in the darkness.
This faint light, in countless hearts long frozen by the fear and numbness of old Chaos, almost extinguished, crackled clearly, faintly, yet incredibly truly.
This flicker caused some retreating footsteps to freeze in place, and some dodging gazes to stare directly at the knife-wielding killer.
—
"B-7 junction! Target: Heretic arsonists! Purge!" Figgsin's voice was decisive, like a drawn sword.
Deep within the dark, damp pipes, the pungent smell of promethium was almost suffocating.
Several twisted figures were frantically trying to push heavy metal canisters marked with danger signs towards a pre-set detonation point.
Fear and madness intertwined in their eyes.
The leader, clad in a tattered, blood-stained red robe, had a blasphemous eight-pointed star symbol painted on his face and uttered hoarse, unintelligible curses.
They were like cornered beasts, making a desperate last stand.
"For the Emperor! Purge the Heretics!" The Sisters of Battle descended like divine soldiers. The searchlights on their Power Armor shoulders instantly pierced the darkness of the pipes, exposing the blasphemers in the shadows!
The roar of Chainsword was like a death sentence. The Sisters moved smoothly and swiftly, easily dispatching the two outermost, unsuspecting heretics. Filthy blood and shredded flesh splattered onto the rusted pipe walls.
The roar of Bolters followed immediately, precisely eliminating exposed targets.
Almost simultaneously, the Marshal Squad also poured in from a pipe junction on the other side!
They wore black armor and wielded Lasguns and shotguns, their eyes sharp and vigilant beneath their tactical helmets.
"Flank lockdown! Suppressive fire!" The Marshal Squad leader barked orders.
The deafening roar of shotguns instantly joined the fray, a dense barrage covering any cover or escape routes the heretics might use!
The narrow pipes were instantly filled with gunfire and the shriek of Chainsword, becoming a graveyard for the blasphemers.
Figgsin was like a silver incarnation of judgment; her twin guns were the merciless extension of her will.
The Rose Bolter fired crisp, deadly bursts, and the head of a heretic attempting to light a fuse in the distance exploded in response; "fiona" steadily spat destructive flames, and she dodged flying debris with a sidestep, pulverizing enemies behind cover along with the pipe structures they hid in!
"Stop them! For the True God's Flames!" The red-robed leader let out a hysterical roar.
The remaining heretics erupted in a final frenzy of despair, putting up a stubborn resistance using piled debris and pipe corners.
Bolts, laser beams, and shotgun pellets shrieked and crisscrossed in the confined space, weaving a deadly net of fire.
Stray bullets grazed the trails left by the Sisters' high-speed movements, sparking against the pipe walls.
Amidst this fierce exchange of fire, a Marshal Squad member was shot in the shoulder by a heretic hiding in the shadows, letting out a muffled groan as he was dragged back behind cover by a comrade. Another Marshal immediately took his place, and the dense steel pellets spat from his shotgun firmly sealed off that firing port.
However, this brief, localized suppression and chaos seemed to be some kind of signal—
A teeth-grinding shriek, as if metal was twisting and breaking, suddenly tore through the roar of gunfire, erupting from the deepest shadows of the pipes!
A previously inconspicuous, ragged figure, curled up there, suddenly stood up!
His robe billowed without wind, his withered hands stretched twistedly into the air, his cloudy eyeballs rolled completely white, and thick black blood oozed from his mouth and nose—an illegal Psyker!
He had been waiting for this moment of chaos!
An invisible, powerful wave of malevolent and chaotic psychic energy, like a heavy blow, struck fiercely at the Marshal Squad, taking advantage of the moment their formation was slightly unstable due to casualties and replacements!
"Ugh!" Several Marshals, directly hit, clutched their helmets in pain, blood seeping between their fingers, staggering and crashing into the pipe walls. Some even collapsed directly to the ground! The tight line was instantly torn open!
At the same time, several heavy, discarded metal plates were suddenly snatched by an invisible force and, with a whooshing sound, slammed violently towards the Sisters of Battle on the other side, who were attempting to outflank under the cover of the Marshals' fire!
The heretics seized the opportunity to fire madly, their firepower suddenly increasing.
Facing this sudden double assault, the Sisters' reactions were swift and efficient.
They continued to move amidst the dense hail of bullets, precisely sidestepping the whistling heavy objects or raising their arm guards to directly block them.
The dual interference of psychic and physical attacks forced them to slow the pace of their Chainsword' advance, but their offensive did not stop.
"Witchcraft Heretic! Purge!" Figgsin's voice was icy, instantly locking onto the source of the threat.
While using "fiona" to suppress the heretics' firing points, her figure moved like lightning, rapidly changing positions within the confined pipe space, attempting to find a sniping angle with the Rose Bolter.
But the Psyker cunningly hid behind promethium canisters, continuously releasing disruptive psychic shrieks and flying metal fragments.
Just in this brief confusion and suppression, unexpected reinforcements appeared!
"Sister! Over here! There's a shortcut!" A hoarse but urgent voice came from a narrower maintenance pipe opening on the side!
It was Old Cripple, followed by several Mutants residents holding crude tools or even picking up weapons dropped by heretics!
Though fear still lingered in their eyes, there was more anger at their home almost being destroyed and a hint of resolve!
Old Cripple pointed to a rusted pipe, half-hidden by debris, barely wide enough for one person: "Go... go through here! You can get behind him!"
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