Chapter 149: The Shadow in the Spire
Kian Voss listened to the fading thunder of the macro-cannons and the growing, wet laughter from the streets. He turned to his twenty men, his voice low and commanding.
"Audit the shelves. Find every sealed container of water and every tin of high-grade rations you can carry. Once we leave this shop, do not touch the local taps. Do not eat anything that hasn't been vacuum-sealed. The air is already tainted; don't give the rot an easier way into your guts."
The soldiers, snapping out of their "Spire-shock," began frantically stuffing their packs with luxury snacks and bottled mineral water.
They waited. The sounds of battle grew sparse, the staccato rhythm of autoguns replaced by the dissonant, gurgling giggles of the Pox-horde. It was clear the 9th Regiment's vanguard was being liquidated.
In the 41st Millennium, Poxwalkers weren't like the mindless zombies of ancient cinema. Their bodies were reinforced by the Warp, making them terrifyingly resilient to standard Las-fire. It took a sustained volley to stop one, and even then, they possessed a low, predatory intelligence. They could operate machinery, use basic tools, and—worst of all—they carried the Plaguefather's Bloom.
As the rot takes root, the environment begins to change. A soldier ran up to Kian, his face pale with a new kind of terror.
"Boss! The sanitary-unit in the back... there are maggots crawling out of the basin! I've never seen grubs that big!"
Kian followed him to the staff restroom. He peered inside and felt a surge of nausea. Swarming from the plasteel toilet were maggots the size of a man's thumb. They were a sickly, translucent yellow, pulsing with an inner green light.
"Seal the door," Kian commanded, backing away. "Nobody goes near the plumbing. If you need to relieve yourself, find a corner and use a ration-bag. This isn't just a riot anymore; it's an active Contagion Event."
In Nurgle's "Garden," maggots were the first stage. Soon they would form cocoons and hatch into Plague-Flies—airborne vectors that would make a rebreather useless.
Kian checked his chrono. Four hours had passed. The artificial sunlight of the Spire began to dim, transitioning into the "Night Cycle." In a rational world, the PDF would keep the lights on to assist their snipers, but the fact that the sector was falling into darkness meant the heretics had seized the local power-grid.
Kian adjusted his tactical mask. "It's time. We move now. We need a local guide—someone who knows the service shafts to the Mid-Hive. Stay close, triggers hot. If it twitches in the dark, you don't ask for ID. You put a bullet in it."
The squad stepped out into the shadowed street. The once-beautiful boulevard was now a charnel house. Marble statues were draped in human-skin banners; luxury ground-cars were overturned, leaking promethium and blood.
Kian saw the wreckage of a Chimera. The armored hull was scorched and silent, looking like a hollowed-out skull in the moonlight.
"Throne," Ash whispered, his voice a ghost of a sound. "A full elite regiment... thousands of sun-guns... and they were wiped out in an afternoon?"
"They didn't have the Ointment," Kian muttered.
The 9th Regiment had entered the zone with standard gear and standard minds. Without spiritual protection, the mental pollution of Nurgle's laughter would have caused them to turn on each other within the first hour. Kian's boys were only sane because of the Sanctified Purgation Salve smeared on their visors.
"Halt," Kian signaled.
He checked his Mental Clarity (30). His enhanced senses picked up a rhythmic thrumming ahead.
"Egghead, where are we?"
"Luxury Hab-Block 7-G, Boss. Middle-tier Spire housing."
Kian looked at the building. It was a ten-story spire of reinforced concrete and glass. Surrounding the entrance was a group of nearly a hundred Poxwalkers. They were swaying in a bizarre, rhythmic dance, their voices joined in a wet, bubbling chorus.
"Join us... join the family..." the monsters shrieked at the upper windows. "The Grandfather loves you! No more debt! No more hunger! Just open the door and receive the Gift!"
The sight made Kian's skin crawl. If they were surrounding the hab-block, it meant there were survivors inside.
"Target-rich environment," Kian whispered, racking the bolt on his autogun. "Everyone, forming a firing line! We clear the lobby! If there's a Spire-rat inside who knows the maintenance tunnels, he's our ticket home!"
Kian didn't wait for a reply. He raised his rifle and opened fire.
DA-DA-DA!
His Ballistics Proficiency (161) made the weapon a surgical tool. At a hundred meters, he wasn't just hitting targets; he was popping skulls. Each burst from his rifle resulted in a spray of grey-green brain matter as a Poxwalker hit the dirt.
The Voss Guard followed his lead. Twenty autoguns erupted in the darkness, a wall of lead slamming into the "Blessed" horde.
The Poxwalkers turned, their vacant smiles widening. "Oh look! More brothers! Come, let us embrace you!"
They charged, ignoring the bullets tearing through their distended bellies. But Kian's squad was "Sanctified." They didn't feel the fear-debuff. They stayed in their blocks, firing disciplined volleys until the hundred mutants were reduced to a pile of twitching meat.
The silence that followed was heavy. Kian pulled out a high-lumen tactical light and aimed it at the hab-block's upper windows.
"SURVIVORS! WE ARE THE 109TH PDF! THE PERIMETER IS SECURE BUT WE ARE LEAVING!
"YOU HAVE TEN SECONDS TO REACH THE STREET! IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, GET DOWN HERE NOW! TEN! NINE!"
The threat worked. A window on the fourth floor was thrown open. A middle-aged man in expensive silk pajamas poked his head out, his face a mask of grease and panic. He saw the piles of dead monsters and the twenty armored soldiers in the street.
The man hesitated for three seconds, looking at the dark alleyways.
"FIVE! FOUR!" Kian roared.
The man didn't wait any longer. He let out a terrified yelp, vanished from the window, and a moment later, the heavy front doors of the hab-block burst open. He bolted into the street, running toward Kian as if the Warp itself were at his heels.
The survivor from the luxury hab-block saw Kian and his men turning to leave. He let out a panicked cry, bolted down the stairs, and sprinted toward them.
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