Chapter 150: Auditing the Nobility
Kian Voss led his squad on a frantic retreat. The sound of their previous firefight had acted like a dinner bell for the Pox-horde.
From the lightless corridors of the Spire, wet, bubbly laughter and the heavy, rhythmic thud of thousands of misshapen feet echoed. The street was becoming a hunting ground.
The survivor from the hab-block—the man in the black suit—ran with the desperation of the damned. He didn't look back; he simply sprinted, his expensive boots skidding on the marble, eventually catching up to the rear of the Voss Guard.
Kian wove through a labyrinth of side-alleys and maintenance catwalks. He discovered that his Mental Clarity of 40 gave him a new "Perk": he could sense the "Aggro." He felt the oily, cold pressure of Warp-malice before his team actually encountered it.
Using this sixth sense, he successfully bypassed several major intersections where the zombies were congregating, eventually ducking into a derelict dining establishment. The interior was a wreck of shattered crystal and fine porcelain, completely deserted.
Kian signaled his men to find cover. "Hide. No lights. No vox. If you breathe too loud, I'll gag you myself."
The soldiers huddled in the shadows of the kitchen. Kian walked over to the survivor, who was leaning against a counter, gasping for air.
"Listen up, Spire-rat," Kian whispered, his tactical mask making his voice a metallic rasp. "I don't care about your name. I don't care about your lineage. Don't waste my time with high-born 'etiquette.' I only care about one thing: how do we get off this floor without using the Grand Lift?"
Kian scrutinized the man. He wore a crisp black formal suit and high-grade leather boots—the uniform of a high-tier House Steward. There were no visible pustules or boils on his skin yet, but in Nurgle's garden, you were never truly "clean" until the Emperor's light touched you.
The steward took a moment to steady his nerves. He realized Kian was a man of the Sump, but he also realized Kian was his only chance of survival.
"There is a way," the steward panted. "A private express conduit. A 'Small Lift' that connects the Spire-estates directly to the Mid-Hive distribution hubs. It's built for the rapid transit of goods... and for discreet escapes."
The soldiers' eyes lit up. A back-door.
Kian's brow furrowed. "What's the catch?"
"The lift is a private asset," the man explained. "It belongs to my Master. To cycle the airlocks and ignite the engine, it requires a verified iris-scan or a High-House Electronic Key-Slate. Without her authorization, the machine is just a tomb of stone."
"And where is this Master of yours?" Kian asked. "Is she still among the living?"
If the steward said she was in one of the central "Spire-Tips," Kian was out. The tips—the villas of the true elite—were the primary targets of the Pox-horde. Taking twenty men into the heart of a zombie siege to rescue one noble was a suicide raid with zero ROI.
"She is a Virtuoso," the steward said quickly. "The Lady Crimson. She owns the Vermin-Red Theater three blocks from here. She lives in her private chambers above the stage. When the 'Laughing Ones' appeared, the theater was closed for the afternoon rehearsal. She is likely trapped inside."
Kian paused. The Vermin-Red Theater? He remembered Lady Crimson from the Alchem-Hound dossier—she was the patron of the "Red Lady" wine business.
A theater in the middle of a war zone, Kian calculated. But if it was the afternoon, there shouldn't be a crowd.
"A theater is a big space," Kian mused. "Lot of doors to guard."
"Please, Lord Sergeant!" the steward begged. "The theater only opens after the 20:00 bell. During the day-cycle, there is no one there but the stage-hands and the Lady herself. It is the safest building in this sector!"
Kian turned to his twenty soldiers. "What do you say, boys? We go for the 'Side Quest'? We find the Lady, we get the key, and we 'Flash' out of here before the Inquisitors decide to level the floor."
The PDF regulars exchanged glances, then nodded in unison.
"You're the Master of the Taps, Boss," Egghead said, gripping his rifle. "We follow the lead. We're already 'deserters' in the eyes of the Spire; might as well go all the way."
Kian reached into his pouch and pulled out a tin of Sanctified Purgation Salve. He twisted the lid off—it took three tries due to the high-pressure seal—and scooped out a dollop of the shimmering gel.
Ignoring the steward's flinching, Kian smeared the ointment across the man's forehead.
[TRUE SANCTITY APPLIED]
The steward let out a long, shuddering sigh of ecstasy as the "Soul-Wash" effect cleared the latent Warp-contamination from his spirit. He felt clean for the first time in his life.
After the "buff" settled, the steward's gaze changed. He looked at Kian not as a scavenger, but as a priest-warrior of the Throne. He saw the "Supply Case" Kian wore on his back—a custom-built tactical rig stuffed with Mega-Strength needles, Adrenal Bolsters, Regen-injectors, and flasks of Holy spirits.
Kian Voss looked like a walking armory of miracles.
"Lead the way," Kian commanded, racking his autogun. "Let's go find your Lady. I hope she's still breathing, for all our sakes."
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