The center of the slum was worlds apart from the filthy, crude hovels on the periphery; it bore little difference from the high-end residences of the Mid-Hive. In terms of defense, the living conditions here were arguably even better.
The thick steel walls were said to be relics of a past war, and a massive ammunition vault supposedly lay beneath the ground. For an Underhive gang, such a headquarters was effectively a military fortress.
The sentries patrolling the outer perimeter were already on high alert, their weapons loaded. Dozens of ordinary residents who had come seeking shelter had already been gunned down without mercy.
"Over there!"
A dark shadow blurred past. The guards on the wall opened fire instinctively.
But the shadow was faster than anyone expected. He scaled the wall, surging upward at an almost supernatural angle and speed. Sharp blades sliced through flesh, and within seconds, several men had their souls returned to the Golden Throne.
Returned to the Golden Throne?
Yuki felt a strange sensation. As he killed these men, he felt as though he were devouring something. This "nourishment" was slowly causing his psychic power to swell.
He brushed the thought aside for now. Looking at the steady stream of enemies, Yuki was prepared to kill four digits' worth of people today. He hoped the high-ranking leadership of the Ray Gang was among them.
...
"What happened? Just one person?"
The boss of the Ray Gang couldn't believe his subordinate's report. "You're telling me a single person smashed through all our defenses?"
"Ye... yes!"
No one would believe such words. The Ray Gang had a history spanning over two hundred years; through ruthless methods and the leadership of successive bosses, they had carved out a legacy in the Underhive. The core district, untouched by enemies for over seventy years, had been breached just like that? How could the boss believe it?
The Ray Gang's elites were already in position: three hundred heavily armed assault troops, their gear purchased at a high price from Astra Militarum stockpiles. Aside from the fact that the men under the armor were Underhivers, they were effectively an Astra Militarum unit. This was the foundation of the gang's confidence.
In any large organization, there are core members and "line-fillers." If the opponent were a highly skilled Death Cult Assassin, the slaughter of outer members would be normal.
"Is that guy not using any ranged weapons?"
"They're actually ordering us to stop a monster like that."
The "elites" commanded to block Yuki were nowhere near as confident as their superiors imagined.
"Survivors say he can break a bolter with his bare hands."
"I heard he can rip a man's head straight off."
"Is that actually possible? I tried it several times last time and didn't succeed. Emperor above, I want that kind of strength too."
"Shut up."
The internal lifts brought them to the front line. Amusingly, the "front line" shifted along with the movement of a single person: Yuki. When they stepped out of the lift, the floor outside was already slick with blood.
"The enemy is already inside? Why wasn't there a report!"
"Watch carefully! We need to report this immediately!"
"Fall back!"
Yuki appeared. His silhouette moved like a wraith in the eyes of these men, who had only undergone minor augmentations. Hand-to-hand combat would seem like an inferior tactic in any other sci-fi setting, but in Warhammer, it was the coolest, strongest, and most effective way to fight. Only cowards used ranged weapons; real men fought in melee.
Yuki crushed the skull of the lead thug with his bare hands, helmet and all. A hail of bolts from Astra Militarum-pattern weapons poured toward him. He couldn't tank them all directly, so he hoisted a corpse to act as a shield.
Mortal flesh couldn't hold out for long, but Yuki only needed two seconds. Two seconds were enough for him to utilize his psychic powers.
The thugs' fragile minds were incapable of resisting a psychic assault. Their brains had already lost much of their function due to years of slaughter and drug use. Yuki easily forced a man's arm to spasm; his weapon sprayed bullets into his comrades, instantly shattering the cohesion of the already disorganized group.
Seeing the disaster, the two men at the back of the squad immediately fled back into the lift and hit the switch. This move completely broke the small unit. The survivors scrambled to escape, several of them jamming themselves into the narrow elevator.
Yuki grabbed a man who had been heavily wounded by gunfire and jammed him into the elevator doors. The doors slammed shut, and the trapped man—along with Yuki's palm—was turned into a mangled mess of gore.
"Damn!"
Yuki retreated several meters, looking at his hand where flesh, blood, and bone were mashed together. The pain was searing. He had instinctively treated the lift like an elevator from his previous world. He had been in the Warhammer world for nearly half a year, yet he still often thought in his old ways.
"I hope this isn't too deep."
He pried the doors open and jumped down, groping through the dark shaft for an exit until he managed to crawl out. Immediately, over a hundred guns opened fire simultaneously, pinning him down. The space below was even larger than he had imagined; if he dared to show his head, he would be turned into a sieve instantly.
The situation was looking grim. At that moment, Yuki's nose began to bleed. He wiped the blood away in surprise as Yuno's voice echoed in his mind.
"Sweetie, are you finished over there yet?"
"Yuno, where did you learn that? It's incredibly greasy."
"Would you prefer I use my Hive Tyrant persona?"
"What is it? I'm a bit busy here."
"You're about to be even busier. I see about a dozen Death Cult Assassins heading in. You'd better hope those gang members can take a few of them down for you."
Yuno delivered a piece of truly terrible news. Yuki had never faced those "mad dogs" in womanly form before. Based on the lore he knew, assassins from these civilian religious organizations were comparable to a "lite" or "budget" version of Officio Assassinorum agents. If he truly ran into them, it would be a major headache.
"Why are Death Cult Assassins suddenly appearing here?"
"I don't know. Maybe it's some kind of ritual? Do you need my help?"
Yuki frowned. He didn't want to become the kind of person who could only rely on others. Since his parents passed away early, he had survived by his own hands; his pride wouldn't allow it!
"Let me try."
Yuno didn't speak again. In that instant, Yuki felt as if his brain had been struck by a heavy blow. A switch was flipped, and he saw blue-purple threads floating in the air.
It was psychic energy.
His body began to convulse, and his blood started to boil. Yuno's voice drifted in, cold and ethereal: "You aren't strong enough yet, my love. If your willpower can withstand this wave of strengthening, then you will be."
Her voice suddenly became incredibly tender. "If you can't bear it... then let me take over."
Such a sweet voice, yet so dangerous. Yuki's left eye began to melt. He reached out and released the uncontrollable psychic energy surging within him.
A wave of psychic force erupted outward. Invisible power churned with sparks from the Warp. In an instant, hundreds of enemies were pulverized, their souls harvested by Yuki in a single heartbeat.
But it wasn't enough. A few hundred souls were still insufficient for Yuki to stabilize this much power.
He had to find more!