Chapter 146: The Purgation of Sector D-114
"Oi! The Sergeant's gone full slaughter-mode," Ash whispered to Egghead, gripping his baton behind the sandbags. "Are we just supposed to stand here and watch the show?"
Egghead let out a dry snort. "Did the Sergeant order a general advance? No. So why are you so eager to work, Ash? You getting a double-salary this cycle?"
Ash considered this and stayed put. In the PDF, "unsolicited initiative" usually just led to a longer shift.
Egghead watched Kian Voss through a narrow observation slit, his eyes widening. "Besides... I don't think he needs the help."
Kian had completely surrendered to the rhythm of the melee. He wove through the crowd like a shark in a blood-tank, his steel-cored baton whistling through the air.
With his Strength at 30—three times that of a peak baseline human—the heavy rubber club wasn't a non-lethal tool; it was a kinetic hammer. A glancing blow shattered ribs; a direct hit turned heads into red shrapnel. Kian knew these people were already the "Unclean," the low-tier pawns of a Warp-God. He didn't offer mercy.
CRUNCH.
He swung the baton into the neck of a charging cultist, snapping the vertebrae like dry sticks. The man dropped without a sound.
WHAM.
He delivered a horizontal elbow to another man's face, the impact driving the cartilage of the nose directly into the brain-pan.
The crowd's mental "Garden Filter" was starting to fray. Seeing Kian operate with such systematic, mechanical cruelty was a psychic shock. Several dozen dregs stumbled back, their eyes clearing as the Nurgle-fog lifted. They saw the blood, they saw the "Saintly" sergeant, and they chose the side of survival, fleeing into the side-pipes.
But the core fanatics—the ones whose souls were already starting to rot—only grew more aggressive.
"The child is resisting the embrace!" a bloated elder shrieked, raising a jagged lead pipe. "Hold him! Let the rot find his marrow!!"
Kian was swarmed. Five, then ten men threw themselves at him, trying to use their collective mass to pin his arms.
Kian delivered a brutal kick to the lead man's groin, effectively "deleting" his lineage. Then, he performed a "Lightning-Five" baton combo, his arm a blur as the club bounced from skull to skull in a staccato of wet cracks.
He had dropped over twenty men in two minutes, but the physical drain was real. He felt the lethargy of the Warp-rot trying to seep into his joints. He quickly reached into his belt, cracked an Adrenal-Caffeine Stim, and downed it.
As he tilted the bottle back, a cultist managed to tackle his waist, dragging him to the floor. Four others immediately piled on, trying to crush Kian under their weight.
Behind the sandbags, the twenty soldiers of the Voss Guard could no longer remain indifferent.
"THRONE'S BLOOD!" Egghead roared, vaulting the barrier. "The Boss is being swamped! MOVE OUT!"
They weren't just soldiers; they were employees. And if the man who provided the booze and the Grox-meat died, their "Golden Era" ended with him.
Twenty PDF regulars charged into the street, swinging their reinforced batons with murderous intent. They weren't "System-boosted" like Kian, but they were trained soldiers. They went for the head.
WHACK. WHACK. THUD.
The intervention was decisive. With twenty fresh triggers (or rather, clubs) in the fight, the hundred-plus cultists were quickly overwhelmed.
Egghead and Ash reached Kian's position, pummelling the men on top of him until they were nothing but bone-shards. They hauled Kian to his feet.
Kian shook off the grime, a wild, bloody laugh echoing through his vox-grille. He clapped the two Corporals on the shoulders.
"THRONE! I thought you lot were going to let me turn into mulch! Good show! Listen up, you beauties!"
Kian's voice boomed across the intersection. "Slaughter every one of these 'Bountiful' bastards! If they don't run, they die! Once the street is clear, everyone in this squad gets a 10,000-scrip 'Battle-Bonus' directly from my stash!!"
The PDF was never paid in full. But for a full payout, a PDF regular would charge a Greater Daemon with a spoon.
At the mention of the 10,000-scrip bounty, the twenty soldiers' eyes turned a fanatical shade of red. They became a localized storm of violence. The "Sump-Audit" accelerated. Cultists were driven back with such ferocity that bones were shattered and bodies were pulped. Within minutes, the survivors had scattered into the dark, leaving sixty corpses behind.
Kian didn't let them celebrate. He ordered the men to line up.
"Masks off. Chin up."
He pulled out a tin of Sanctified Purgation Salve and began methodically smearing the holy ointment onto each man's forehead. Warp-corruption was a virus; close-quarters combat with the "Blessed" was a high-risk exposure. The Salve sizzled as it touched their skin, purging the "Nurgle-residue" from their systems.
As he was finishing the last man, the vox-casters throughout the sector shrieked to life. It was a general broadcast from Regimental Command.
"AUTHORIZATION GRANTED! TARGETS CLASSIFIED AS HOSTILE! ALL PDF UNITS ARE ORDERED TO ENGAGE WITH LETHAL FORCE! OPEN FIRE!!"
The silence of the Hive was instantly shattered. From every street and every rooftop, the rhythmic crack-crack-crack of autoguns and the bass-heavy thud of heavy stubbers erupted. It was a planetary war, localized within the walls of a city.
Kian cursed. "Great. Now they tell us to shoot. After I've already done the manual labor!"
"Sergeant!" Egghead shouted, pointing down the main artery.
Kian turned. A massive column of armored vehicles was rumbling out of the G-Sector staging grounds. Dozens of Chimeras and thousands of infantry were marching toward the Hive's core.
A heavy Imperial Jeep skidded to a halt in front of Kian's sandbags. An officer in a Spire-Guard uniform—a Captain with a silver sash—stepped out, holding a command-slate.
"Sergeant! By order of the Departmento Munitorum, your squad is hereby requisitioned! Fold into the 1st Battalion's vanguard!"
The Captain looked up toward the glittering heights of the Hive.
"We're moving to the Upper Spire. The heretics have breached the inner sanctums!"
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