Day 183, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Hive Orion
Lower Hive
A ganger was standing guard in his designated patrol area as usual. But suddenly, he spotted three heavily armored men walking among the civilian crowd. Judging by their appearance, their armor was far too advanced to belong to any gang member—it was even superior to the standard issue of the local PDF forces. He had no intention of letting these strangers pass without authorization.
"Halt! Identify yourselves!" he shouted, leveling the barrel of his autogun at the three approaching figures. The surrounding civilians who witnessed this immediately scattered in terror, desperately trying to clear the area.
Before the ganger could even react, one of the House Guards raised his hot-shot lasgun, took aim, and pulled the trigger in a split second. A ruby-red beam of concentrated energy struck the ganger squarely in the head.
The laser beam effortlessly melted through the flimsy helmet in an instant before causing his brain matter and everything else inside his skull to violently explode outward, as the water particles within his cells instantaneously flash-boiled into vapor.
The headless corpse of the ganger collapsed to the ground. The local hab-workers who witnessed the execution immediately bolted for the safety of their homes or fled as far away from the area as possible, terrified of becoming the next lifeless corpse. They knew a bloody clash was bound to happen.
Omega and his subordinate House Guards stepped over the corpse, heading straight for the location of Entrance B52 via Main Thoroughfare 6, where several gang members were actively patrolling or keeping watch. But this posed absolutely no problem for Omega. Given the wargear and weaponry he had brought, he had not come to assassinate the target via stealth.
However, if necessary, he and his elite House Guards were more than capable of taking on overwhelmingly superior numbers in close-quarters combat.
And now, the assault had begun. The remaining three House Guard squads, each consisting of three operatives, launched simultaneous breaches from various entrances around the base. Their primary objective was to maximize the chances of locating and eliminating the target, while simultaneously wiping out a large number of enemy combatants at once—even at the risk of being swarmed by sheer numbers.
Omega issued a crisp hand signal. The House Guard equipped with a suppression shield and a hellpistol took point, advancing steadily. Omega followed closely behind, while the third operative, armed with a hot-shot lasgun, brought up the rear, following slowly to cover their backs.
The gang had clearly noticed the disturbance. Several armed thugs immediately moved in to investigate the area. Omega and his men marched directly toward them, not even attempting to seek cover.
"Only three of 'em? Today's gonna be your worst day," one of the many gangers spat irritably, glaring at the three figures approaching them. The others laughed, sharing the sentiment. They were accustomed to massive gang wars on a regular basis, where a single clash could result in dozens to hundreds of casualties... But this time, they were facing only three enemies. It was an extremely small number and completely laughable for them to march into their territory with such a pathetic force.
Pew! Pew! Pew!
Omega didn't wait for them to ready their weapons; he ordered an immediate attack. The sharp reports of the hellpistol and hot-shot lasguns echoed down the street. The punishing laser beams struck their marks with lethal precision. Several gangers dropped dead before they even knew what hit them.
Omega raised his heavily customized hot-shot lasgun, aiming at a crude iron plate being used as cover by one of the gangers. He pulled the trigger without hesitation, completely unconcerned about how thick the metal plate might be. His modified weapon possessed significantly higher destructive power than standard patterns. It could easily punch through thin metal plates or walls to incinerate targets hiding behind them.
In a matter of moments, they had completely wiped out every gang member in the vicinity.
The trio immediately pressed on. Their objective was the base's entrance, designated as Door B52, which was heavily fortified by a group of better-armed gangers supported by heavy weapons.
Upon arriving in front of Entrance B52, Omega ordered one of his subordinates to neutralize the heavy stubber nest located near the gate. The designated House Guard hefted a shoulder-fired 90mm recoilless rifle, quickly loading a shell into the breach.
Omega grabbed a smoke grenade from his tactical belt and hurled it across the street to create a diversion. As the grenade detonated, it billowed a thick, impenetrable cloud of grey smoke that covered a twenty-meter radius, completely obscuring their position from the sentries stationed there.
Seeing the smoke grenade, the gangers immediately went on high alert. Panic set in for some, and they began blindly spraying autogun fire into the smokescreen, hoping to hit something. Omega and his subordinates, however, simply held their ground behind cover, waiting patiently to emerge only when the gunfire died down.
Although a thick blanket of smoke covered their position, it was no hindrance to Omega and his men at all. Omega's visor and the optical systems built into the House Guard armor were equipped with thermal-imaging functions that could see right through the obscurement.
BANG!!! BOOM!
The deafening roar of the shoulder-fired recoilless rifle shattered the air, immediately followed by an explosion as the armor-piercing round struck the heavy stubber nest, violently tearing the emplacement's metal plating to shreds. Simultaneously, Omega and the other House Guard swiftly and effortlessly picked off the gangers caught out of cover.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
But the firefight was far from one-sided. The surviving gangers from the initial volley desperately returned fire, even without knowing their enemies' exact locations. The shield-bearing House Guard advanced with unbreakable discipline, using his hellpistol to gun down any ganger foolish enough to pop out of cover.
Omega glanced left and right, drew another smoke grenade from his belt, and tossed it directly into the center of the enemy formation.
Confusion and terror skyrocketed as their visibility dwindled to nothing. Many started shouting for each other. Some tried desperately to escape the smokescreen, while others began violently choking on the fumes.
BANG!!! BOOM! Clank!
The recoilless rifle roared once more, followed by the clatter of heavy metal hitting the deck as the House Guard discarded the empty launcher and brought up his hot-shot lasgun to provide supporting fire.
The firefight within the smoke clearly favored Omega and his elite squad, while the enemy was essentially blind and outgunned. In mere moments, the entire gang guarding Door B52 was systematically eliminated. The assault team suffered absolutely no casualties, expending nothing more than ammunition.
The only thing standing in their way now was a massive, thick metal blast door capable of withstanding heavy improvised explosives. Omega analyzed it meticulously; a door of this magnitude definitely had to be opened from the inside. The gangers must have sealed it the moment he appeared. Furthermore, their only weapon capable of severely damaging it—the recoilless rifle—was completely out of ammo.
Omega took a deep breath before centering his focus. The sharp scent of ozone and the palpable aura of Warp energy in the air began to thicken. The insidious whispers and seductive voices of daemons grew louder with it. Omega clenched his jaw tightly before unleashing his psychic might to force open the massive blast door before him.
The colossal metal door groaned, attempting to resist the unseen force, but ultimately yielded, sections of it twisting and buckling under the immense pressure.
Embrace the power.
I can grant you your dreams.
You didn't want it to be this way.
I can make you strong.
Just say yes.
Omega faltered for a fraction of a second, a wave of hesitation creeping into his mind. But he ruthlessly suppressed it. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over him, nearly sending him to his knees, but he managed to steady himself.
The moment the door gave way, the two House Guards immediately opened fire on everything lying in wait behind it. After neutralizing the gangers waiting in ambush, Omega's subordinates glanced back at their commander, hesitating on whether they should step in to assist him. But Omega forced himself to stand tall, ordering his men forward.
"Don't just stand there! Keep moving!"
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"Ugh... can't I just get five more minutes?" Eric groaned sleepily, shifting uncomfortably on the hard deck. His precious, short-lived slumber had been rudely interrupted by a distant noise.
But as the sound grew louder and distinctly identifiable as an explosion, Eric bolted upright instantly. He scanned his surroundings with wide-eyed paranoia as his heart rate spiked. His body automatically entered a state of full alertness, driven by pure survival instinct.
Listening closely, Eric realized the sounds were indeed explosions. Explosions from heavy ordnance—things like artillery or heavy grenade launchers.
Eric hesitated, torn between proceeding with his mission or waiting for a better opportunity. Judging by the sounds, a massive gang war might have just erupted outside, which would exponentially increase the risks of his operation.
But looking at it from another angle... if a large-scale turf war was breaking out, the resulting chaos would be absolute. He might actually have a higher chance of completing his mission by using the distraction to stealthily navigate the area, despite the heightened danger. After a moment of hesitation, Eric pressed his lips together tightly and made a firm decision. This was the perfect window to infiltrate their base.
He quickly strapped on his armor and helmet, slung his bag over his shoulder, and climbed the ladder up into their stronghold. Pulling himself over the final rung, he found himself inside a vast armory and supply vault. Racks were lined with an impressive arsenal—everything from autoguns and lasguns all the way up to heavy autocannons.
Eric immediately dropped his crude submachine gun onto the floor upon seeing the rows of pristine lasguns. He grabbed one lasgun, a tactical sling, and several power packs. This time, he wouldn't have to rely on a low-quality, unreliable weapon. Finally, he made sure not to forget a close-combat weapon, securing a vicious assault chainsword.
In his personal opinion, the lasgun was his absolute favorite among all the weapons he had ever wielded. Its light weight, unbreakable reliability, pinpoint accuracy, high ammunition capacity, and sheer lethality against human or near-human enemies made it his idealized, perfect weapon.
"Oh... looks like the Emperor is smiling upon me today," Eric blurted out as he spotted numerous munitions crates stacked in a corner. Inside were dozens of frag and krak grenades.
Wasting no time, he immediately took five of each.
Once geared up, Eric inspected the armory's main door. He found it could be unlocked from the inside, but he didn't open it right away. He knew that if he stepped out and someone spotted him, his cover would be blown instantly. Thus, he chose to wait until he heard someone pass by, or until he was absolutely certain the corridor was clear before making his move.
Looking at the heavy rust and grime caked onto the door's hinges, it wasn't hard to guess that it would make a loud, screeching noise the moment he pushed it open.
And it seemed fate was on his side.
Shortly after, the blare of alarm klaxons echoed through the compound, followed by the thundering sound of many running footsteps passing by the door.
Eric decided to seize this opportunity to quickly unlock and shove the heavy door open. Outside, he found a typical, narrow Lower Hive corridor; the walls and floor were a lifeless, industrial grey plasteel. The hallway was currently deserted, bathed in the pulsating red glare of emergency lumen-strips and filled with the wailing sirens.
He hurriedly pulled the door shut behind him and slipped seamlessly back into his disguise as an Iron Fang ganger. He broke into a frantic jog down the corridor to blend in with the general state of panic. But suddenly, he crossed paths with someone he thought was dead.
A woman sprinted past him in a rush. She had dirty blonde hair, pale skin, and wore a grimy red robe over a stained white apron. Her right eye, the lower half of her face, and one of her arms were all heavily augmented with crude, Adeptus Mechanicus-style cybernetics.
Magda? Eric thought in shock as he watched her dart past. Back when the riots had started and the lower levels were overrun by xenos and mutants, he had rushed to her shop to convince her to flee the Lower Hive with him. When he arrived and found the shop abandoned, he had assumed the worst—that she was dead. But here she was.
Eric almost called out her name, but he stopped himself, giving his head a slight shake. This was no time to get distracted or lose focus on the mission at hand. He continued his brisk jog down the labyrinthine corridors, having absolutely no idea which way led where.
Even though he had meticulously studied the base's blueprints beforehand, navigating it in person was a completely different story. Every single corridor looked identical—drab, grey, and utterly devoid of life, distinguishable only by the occasional splash of gang graffiti or a unique pattern of rust. The only location he knew for absolute certain was the hidden armory he had just left.
Along the way, he crossed paths with five gangers desperately lugging a heavy lascannon toward the front lines, as if rushing to eliminate a massive armored target as quickly as possible.
Seeing this made Eric feel incredibly uneasy. What kind of enemy were these street thugs fighting that required such devastating anti-armor firepower? Perhaps the gang war that caused the explosions was far more severe than he had anticipated.
Seizing a moment of privacy, Eric ducked into an alcove where he figured no one would easily spot him in this chaotic rush. He pulled out his notebook and opened the schematics, trying to pinpoint the Iron Fang boss's quarters, or at least the locations where the boss spent most of his time... assuming the intel in the notebook was actually reliable.
Suddenly, Eric heard the unmistakable, thudding footsteps of something incredibly heavy marching past his alcove. The sound was like someone encased in thick iron armor... almost like a Space Marine, but not quite.
Eric cautiously peeked out and saw a hulking man lumbering down the hall. He was fully clad in scavenged, grey Power Armor topped with a full-face, horned helmet, and wielding a massive power axe. The warrior moved with a brutal, aggressive posture, clearly exerting a massive amount of effort with each step—unlike a true Space Marine, who moved with terrifying fluidity despite wearing far bulkier ceramite. The armored giant was marching in the exact same direction the panicked gangers had fled.
Eric weighed his options for a moment. He was absolutely not going to mess with a guy in Power Armor. With the exception of his krak grenades, nothing in his current arsenal could even scratch that plating. Besides, this behemoth wasn't his target. His mission was to assassinate the leader of the Iron Fang gang.
But suddenly, a terrifying realization struck him. The lumbering warrior wore a horned helmet, vaguely resembling ancient Terran Viking imagery, and wielded a massive axe. This matched perfectly with the physical description of the Iron Fang boss he had extracted from that unfortunate hostage earlier.
His primary target had just walked right past him!
And right now, Eric was carrying five krak grenades—dedicated anti-armor munitions fully capable of dealing with heavily armored enemies. Eric refused to let this long-awaited opportunity slip through his fingers. He knew that even with explosives capable of taking down the target, killing a man in Power Armor wouldn't be easy. He had to wait for the perfect opening. Finally, Eric made the decision to quietly stalk the warlord, waiting for the perfect moment to execute his assassination and complete his mission.
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Ash Wastes, approximately 100 kilometers south of Hive Kathion
a deadly wasteland where no one would expect to find any form of life a massive horde of Ork Boyz was industriously gathering scrap metal under the brutal orders of their Warboss, laying the groundwork for a massive Waaagh!
Warboss Grukusta, the current supreme Ork commander on this world, had recognized several glaring issues when the early skirmishes against the humans began. The humans had better equipment, superior tactics, and highly organized logistics. He wanted to wage a war—a great, world-ending Waaagh! Therefore, he figured his army needed to adopt tactics somewhat similar to the humans first. Utilizing ambushes would allow them to fight the humans without getting gunned down from a distance by their tiny shootas before even seeing the enemy.
Warboss Grukusta had chosen this desolate region as his new base and staging ground for the Waaagh! because its sheer distance from human settlements granted them ample time to prepare. Furthermore, the wastes were littered with massive amounts of buried resources essential for Mekboyz to construct Battlewagons, Shootas, Warbuggies, and other brutal engines of war used in the Waaagh!
And now, his grand scheme was inching closer to fruition by the day. It was only a matter of time before the great Waaagh! truly began.
"Oi!!! Maknik! Are ya seriously wastin' all our resources and time buildin' dis tin can?!" Warboss Grukusta bellowed at a Mekboy, who was proudly staring at a Gargant being bolted together from scrap metal piece by piece. Currently, it wasn't even half-finished. To Grukusta, having a stompy avatar of Gork and Mork join the Waaagh! wasn't a bad thing. But he feared that if the humans brought heavy weapons and destroyed it easily, or simply swarmed the machine, all those wasted resources wouldn't be worth it. That scrap would be better spent building other war machines that were far more practical and tactically useful.
"Don't interrupt, Boss! Just ya wait! The drill on dis beauty's gonna pierce da zoggin' heavens! Dem pointy human cities won't leave a single trace! 'Cuz it is da will of Gork and Mork!" Maknik replied dismissively, completely unbothered.