Istark II, the Underhive of Los Santos.
The name itself sounded like a sick joke.
Legend had it that back during the Age of Strife, Los Santos was the crown jewel of this colony world—a bustling metropolis dripping with neon lights, cheap thrills, and unimaginable wealth.
Now? Those words meant nothing but darkness, rot, and a never-ending spiral of despair.
Deep inside the subterranean pipe network, the foul air was so thick you could practically swim in it.
Every hundred feet or so, a blown-out lumen globe clung to the ceiling. The only real light came from the eerie, flickering glow of industrial runoff burning through cracks in the walls.
Slater fought back a wave of nausea that threatened to blow his mind right out of his skull.
He was trudging through a layer of slick, gelatinous grime and sewage that had probably been festering there for centuries. Every step he took let out a wet, squelching slap.
As for what was actually in that sludge...
"Fuck me," he muttered.
His right hand gripped a standard steel battleaxe he'd grabbed off the system store, its edge still slick with the black, reeking blood of mutated rats.
Without missing a beat, Slater swung the axe, cleaving right through another mutant rat that lunged from the shadows. The thing was the size of a stray dog, covered in oozing, tumor-like growths, its jagged fangs glowing a sickly yellowish-green in the dark.
Its bisected corpse splashed into the sewage, kicking up a few muddy ripples. Slater didn't even give it a second glance. He just kept walking.
He had been slogging through this godforsaken pipe system for over an hour.
In that time, he'd butchered at least thirty-seven of those mutant rats, two twisted humanoid freaks, and a whole nest of scaly things he didn't even want to name.
As for why he wasn't using a gun?
Are you kidding me?
Firing a weapon down here was a guaranteed way to blow himself to kingdom come right alongside his enemies. The Underhive's plumbing had been trapping industrial gas and methane for centuries. A single bolt round would turn the entire tunnel into a high-speed express train straight to the Emperor's golden toilet.
He had zero interest in turning into a fireworks display inside a literal cesspool, even if he could respawn.
It was just too fucking gross.
Three whole hours.
Slater had been walking through these pitch-black pipes for three hours, enduring a suffocating stench with every single step.
The smell was a mind-boggling cocktail of horrors. The sharp tang of acidic chemical runoff, the reek of human waste, the rotting meat of mutant carcasses, and some other bizarre odors that literally short-circuited his brain the second they hit his nose.
When he finally spotted the faint sliver of light marking the pipe's exit, Slater practically scrambled over himself to get there.
Clang!
He kicked the rusted iron grate wide open.
Dragging himself out of the pipe, his first move was to rip off his hazard helmet. He doubled over, hands braced on his knees, and dry-heaved at the ground for a solid three minutes.
"Blergh—!"
"Fuck this trash game..."
"Hrk!"
"Why the hell does this place... hrk!"
"Why'd they have to make it so damn realistic?! Are they begging to get review-bombed?!"
"They could've just half-assed the graphics, but no, they almost choked me to death with the smell."
Five minutes later, Slater finally managed to stand up straight.
He took a deep breath of the Underhive's smoggy air—which was still a hundred times better than what was in those pipes—and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
He took a look around.
The area was an absolute wasteland. Collapsed rockcrete structures leaned haphazardly against each other, with rusted rebar jutting out from the fractures like the exposed ribs of some massive beast. Black mold crawled up the walls, and the ground was littered with trash that had probably been sitting there since before he was born.
Looking up, he could barely make out the colossal silhouette of the Hive City looming overhead.
It pierced the gloom of the sky, dotted with countless flickering lights that looked like a dense cluster of monstrous eyes.
This was the absolute bottom of the barrel.
The snobs living it up in the Spire and the Upper Hive would never even realize that miles beneath their feet, people were scurrying around surviving like rats.
Slater took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
He tapped into his psychic powers, channeling the energy he'd unlocked using the Imperial Coins he'd been hoarding. He was already at the Official tier.
Sure, it was nowhere near Alpha-level, but down here? It was more than enough.
An invisible pulse of telepathic awareness rippled outward from him, sweeping through the ruins, phasing through the dilapidated buildings, and piercing the massive mountains of garbage.
It didn't take long to find his mark.
About a mile and a half out, there was a settlement. Little over five hundred people. Men, women, kids, old folks. They were holed up in a shantytown cobbled together inside an abandoned manufactorum.
The psychic signals bouncing off them were a mixed bag—some faint, some a little stronger. But they were all just regular meatbags. No Astartes, no psykers, not even a hint of heavy cybernetic augments.
A slow, wicked grin crept across Slater's face.
Five hundred souls.
He wondered if wiping out five hundred people would be enough to instantly promote him to a Khorne Berzerker.
A straight-up slaughter?
He chuckled.
Bring it on.
He pulled up his inventory and equipped the gear he'd bought a while back.
[Ferro-Steel Armor (Basic Model)]
Category: Protective Gear. Features: Forged from a simple metal composite, this armor can deflect small-caliber ballistics, standard las-fire, and melee strikes. It boasts a moderate weight class, meaning it won't completely tank your base mobility. Price: 8,000 Imperial Coins. Note: It's slightly better than standard Solar Auxilia issue gear—and we mean very slightly.
[Chainaxe (Compact)]
Category: Melee Weapon. Features: Built on a stripped-down chainsword schematic, this axe features an internal micro-motor that drives the serrated teeth at high speeds, easily tearing through standard plating and flesh alike. Its one-handed design makes it perfect for swinging around in tight spaces. Price: 33,500 Imperial Coins. Note: Slices through people like butter, but don't try hacking at an Astartes with it unless you want a shattered blade.
Slater strapped on the silver-gray armor, the metal plating catching what little light there was in the darkness.
Thick steel plates locked into place over his chest and limbs. It was no suit of Astartes power armor, but for a mere mortal, this was top-shelf gear.
He tightened his grip on the chainaxe, resting his thumb lightly over the ignition switch.
But he didn't press it. The teeth remained still.
It wasn't time yet.
--
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