Date: 4.988.M41
Hive Kathion,
Upper Hive
Eric woke up with a throbbing pain in his temples, a lingering reminder of the alcohol from the night before. He groaned in frustration, grumbling internally about the messiness of the room he had collapsed in.
No, actually, my room is still tidy. It's just me who hasn't even changed my clothes yet. Terrible. Eric thought as he looked around. The room remained the same, but he felt disgusting, reeking strongly of booze. He definitely needed a shower.
He slowly pushed himself up with his arms, sitting on the edge of the rumpled bed. His bare feet touched the cold floor. The sticky sensation of dried tears on his cheeks made him uncomfortable, but strangely, it also sharpened his mind. Eric took a deep breath before whispering to himself in the silence.
"Come on... crying won't help much," he whispered, his voice steadier than it had been the previous night.
He remembered everything clearly. The truth had been revealed. The friendship between him and Vann was a sham. He hadn't been saved as a friend; he had been saved as a pawn. And now... he had to work for Vann as a spy and an assassin.
It sucks.
"This world has always been garbage, whether in the Lower Hive or up here on these high spires... If you are weak, you die, or you get trampled until there's no humanity left."
He clenched his fists, looking down at his slender hands, recalling Vann's words. Those words fueled his anger and frustration. Use his body to approach targets? He could do it, but he would never trade his body for a target. He would never trade his dignity for a mission. He would rather kill the target that dared to touch him and gather the intel that way, or just kill himself.
"I won't let anyone do whatever they want to me easily again." His eyes shone with newfound determination. "So there's a contract? Fine. If you want me to be a spy, I'll do it..."
Eric began to look at the world with a slightly more optimistic lens. At least he had a job, a place to stay, and survival skills honed from the fierce battlefields of a year ago.
"From now on... anyone who thinks they can joke around with me or sees me as just a pawn will learn that I am the last thing they should mess with."
He stood up firmly, quickly deciding to shower and clean his room to perfection before facing the outside world wearing the mask of 'Erica,' the shy accountant. But beneath the mask, he would be prepared for anything. He would be stronger, more stable. He would be a new person.
When work ended, Eric headed back to his accommodation as usual. Today, he tried to blend into the crowd perfectly, unlike other days where he actively avoided busy areas.
Although on the outside he appeared to be a normal female accountant, internally, he was on high alert. The mere sound of strange footsteps made him paranoid enough to glance back frequently.
Well... at least today was normal... work was fine, nothing happened. And I got paid! Eric thought, adjusting his coat with one hand.
The salary eased some of the anxiety from yesterday. The pay for an accountant was surprisingly good. Combined with what he had stolen previously, he could survive the whole month eating good food without impacting his finances too much.
However, as he walked into a less crowded area, his thoughts drifted. What if I have to fight in close quarters unarmed? Or against melee weapons? What if I have to fight multiple opponents at once?
The determination he had mustered in the morning began to shake with sudden fear. To be honest, his close-quarters combat skills were terrible. He had no form—just kicking, punching, and elbowing. He was slow, predictable, and physically weak. He had just been lucky in the past. If something like that happened again without luck... he couldn't imagine what would happen if he were captured. He wouldn't be able to overpower anyone, and he didn't want to imagine what would be done to a woman with a beautiful, fragile appearance like his current one.
Just imagining it amplified his fear and anxiety tenfold.
Eric sighed secretly, scolding himself for overthinking. being meticulous is good, but being paranoid is not.
Easier said than done, he thought, pressing his lips together tightly.
He hadn't seen Vann today, which was a blessing. Otherwise, he would have been much more distracted, filled with anger, hatred, and fear all at once.
He was walking past an alleyway where there were few people nearby when suddenly, his world was violently jerked.
"Ah!"
Eric only managed to let out a single sound before his body was pulled by an immense, invisible force into the narrow, dark alley. It wasn't a hand grabbing him; he saw nothing and no one near him.
He crashed onto the steel floor, which was covered in dust and filth. Pain shot from his hip throughout his body. His gray coat was now stained with dirt and oil.
"Ugh... What the hell!?" Eric cried out in shock, looking around frantically. Being pulled into an alley by nothingness was definitely not normal.
Then, he spotted someone standing by a large ventilation unit.
A man in the private military uniform of House Korvax stood motionless. His uniform was quite different from the standard soldiers Eric had seen back when he was in the PDF. Usually, they wore full body armor similar to the Arbites, but House Korvax's private troops wore sleeker armor with a copper hue.
This man, however, wore only shin guards, pauldrons, bracers, and a chest plate. The rest of his attire resembled a standard PDF uniform but in a dull off-white color.
He wore a green beret bearing the House Korvax sigil. His face was clean-shaven but scarred, his skin as pale as Eric's. Most notably, one of his eyes was covered by a bandage, while the exposed eye glowed with an unnatural purple light. But what unsettled Eric the most was the atmosphere around him.
It was cold, oppressive, and reeked of death. The gaze directed at him was ruthless, cold, and far more terrifying than Vann's.
Eric could clearly smell ozone and feel a vibration in the air around the man. He looked like the "magic users" (Eric didn't know the term Psyker) he had seen in the Lower Hive, but this man felt exponentially more powerful.
Why do I have to run into something like this again?! Eric screamed internally in despair. The man's gaze was so terrifying that Eric felt a mix of fear, surprise, and confusion. He knew that one wrong move could be fatal.
He felt like a chick in the grasp of a reaper.
Finally, he decided. He had to run. He couldn't win against this.
Eric gathered all his courage, pushed himself up, and bolted, intending to sprint out of the alley.
But the moment he lunged forward, Omega's hand snatched Eric's wrist with lightning speed. The force nearly knocked him over, jerking him back.
"Let me go!!" Eric shouted, trying to shake the hand off, but he couldn't fight Omega's strength. The people passing by outside didn't seem to hear or notice anything.
Desperate, Eric swung his free hand, aiming a punch at Omega's face. It was easily parried, throwing Eric off balance. Omega didn't seem in a rush to counterattack. Eric followed up with a punch to Omega's stomach, but the man didn't even flinch. He didn't move. His gaze looked at Eric like a master watching a clumsy amateur.
Despairing, Eric kicked full force at Omega's groin. Even if the head is armored, that spot has to hurt everyone!
But Omega swatted the kick away effortlessly, causing Eric to stumble.
In that split second, Omega released Eric's wrist, shifted slightly, and delivered a single, rapid strike that Eric couldn't even track.
Omega's heavy fist slammed squarely into Eric's stomach.
"Gah!"
The impact stopped his breath. His body was knocked backward, crashing onto the floor in a heap.
Eric was too winded to speak, consumed by pain. His vision blurred, tears welling up in his eyes. His hands clutched his stomach uselessly.
Why do I always get punched right there? Eric thought bitterly as he curled up on the ground. In a past fight, a mutant had punched him in the face and stomach until he was nearly finished, but he had managed to find an opening then—kicking its leg and smashing its face with a chainsword handle. But this man... he couldn't win.
Omega stood there, his single purple eye staring down. He saw a beautiful woman in office wear lying on the steel floor, clutching her stomach in agony. Omega had noticed her since noon. Externally, she looked completely normal, perhaps a bit shy. But he was certain she was the rogue latent psyker he had been tracking. However, he couldn't confirm if she was a threat that needed elimination without getting closer to assess her.
And he had found his opening.
Despite the brief scuffle, he wasn't concerned. Her combat skills were abysmal. No instincts, no speed, no strength. He had delivered one punch to the gut to keep her still long enough to assess her signature.
Observing her now, she didn't seem like much of a psyker. She hadn't unlocked her abilities. If she had, his attack would have triggered something—a telekinetic shield, a reflexive blast—but there was nothing.
He concluded she was just a latent psyker who hadn't awakened. Even if she did, her power level seemed negligible. Not a major threat.
At most, she could kill one person at a time, he estimated. Maybe I should warn her. He knew how psykers were treated: loathed, ostracized, labeled as mutants, witches, and monsters. Even those tithed to the Black Ships to be sent to Terra to serve the Golden Throne were feared and reviled.
"Watch yourself... don't let that ability of yours awaken," Omega said, his voice cold and flat, yet it sounded more like a warning—or even advice—than a threat. Though his menacing aura remained. "You don't want to be treated like the other psykers, do you? Good luck. And don't let anyone know what you are."
Eric, breathless and mind hazy from pain, frowned in confusion. The fear of death was replaced by bewilderment.
What? Ability awaken? What does that mean? Eric thought dizzily, trying to pull air into his lungs. Using magic? Crazy... this guy is insane!
Omega then stepped over Eric's curled body without a second glance, walked out of the alley, and vanished into the crowd, leaving Eric alone with the pain and the awkward silence.
Eric, still clutching his stomach, turned his head to look. He gaped at the empty alley entrance.
Wait... that's it? Dragged me in, punched my guts out, warned me about some nonsense, and just walked away? Eric screamed internally, furious and frustrated. What is wrong with this world? Am I cursed?
He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth against the pain, and clumsily pushed himself up, using the wall for support. The pain was subsiding into a dull ache, but he couldn't help but think, Did he think I was a punching bag? That was full force!
Once steady, he hurriedly dusted off his coat and trousers, paranoid that the man might return.
"Terrible..."
"Yesterday, I fell into debt and was betrayed by a friend. Today, I try to start fresh and get beaten up by a soldier babbling about magic. Damn it!"
Eric walked out of the alley, mixing anger, fear, and self-pity. He forced himself to walk normally, hiding his limp and the grimace on his face to avoid unwanted attention. He desperately wanted to sit down or take a painkiller, but he endured.
At least I got paid today, he consoled himself. Consider it compensation for the trauma.
He decided to stop at a cake shop. Something sweet would help. He bought a compact box—small, but enough for one.
Eric hummed a tune as he walked the rest of the way, trying to distract himself. Whatever happened, happened. Worry about the cake. Will it be delicious? It had been so long since he'd had cake. He was surprised the future even had it.
"Finally here," Eric said with relief as he unlocked his door.
He entered, locked the bolt, and carefully placed the cake box on the table.
He turned to the coat rack, slowly taking off his gray coat to hang it up before washing the oil stain later.
But as he raised his arms to remove the coat, he froze.
Click.
The sound of metal mechanism. The touch of cold, hard steel against the back of his neck.
Eric's fear spiked to the limit. His breath hitched. Under the pressure of the gun barrel, he slowly raised both hands, trying to keep his composure. The intruder ordered him to turn around.
Eric slowly turned.
The first thing he saw was the barrel of a pistol, twenty centimeters from his face. And when he saw the holder... his heart nearly stopped.
"Raul...!?"
Eric's voice was a whisper of disbelief.
The man holding the gun was Raul, the arms dealer from the Lower Hive, Zone Z. The coward who had caused him to be molested by that blue-armored Space Marine. The coward who abandoned him and Castra in the dark. The man Eric remembered shooting with a plasma pistol to end his suffering from the zombie plague. The man whose pockets Eric had looted.
Impossible. What is this? Am I hallucinating? Am I going crazy?
Eric's eyes widened, focusing on the deep scar at the corner of the mouth. The blue eyes. The pale skin. It was perfect. Too perfect to be a lookalike.
His hands shook. Was this a ghost? A nightmare?
"Impossible... You... You died!?" Eric blurted out. His courage crumbled into confusion and terror.
"Why are you making that face, Erica? You look like you've seen a ghost," Raul asked with an amused tone that clashed with the tension, laughing softly.
"Sorry, I forgot. You and normal humans probably don't know about Perpetuals." Raul tilted his head, his blue eyes dancing with amusement as he watched Eric process the word.
Immortal...? Meaning someone who can't die and revives from death? Eric's mind raced. This future world is getting crazier by the minute. Aliens, Vampires, an Emperor who acts like Jesus, Mad Max rejects, Cyberpunk priests... and now Immortals?
What's next? Elves? Orcs? Hobbits? Half-beasts? Maybe dragons? Who knows? In an era of space travel and star-spanning empires, maybe there really are dragons.
"Do you know how long my resurrection takes? ...It's not like some immortals who just sit crippled on a Golden Throne. And the money you took from my corpse took even longer to earn than the time I spent coming back to life. So, give my money back. Now." Raul spoke with a tone that carried a heavy seriousness.
Eric, still feeling the dull ache in his stomach and staring down the barrel of a gun, decided to reveal the hiding spot immediately. He didn't want to die, and besides, it wasn't his money to begin with. Resisting now wouldn't be very smart.
"The money is in the corner of the room, behind that cabinet," Eric said with a trembling voice, pointing to a specific cabinet.
Raul walked slowly toward the cabinet, his hand keeping the pistol trained on Eric the entire time. He searched with practiced dexterity before retrieving three stacks of currency. He counted them quickly. What Raul picked up weren't coins or banknotes, but stacks of Cash Cheques, bundled together. Each one was valued at approximately 1 million "Kel."
(Note: "Kel" is the currency used for exchange on Planet Opell III. The financial laws of this planet dictate that a single cash cheque can substitute for cash up to a maximum value of only 1 million.)
"Hmm... seems like some are missing," Raul murmured in a displeased tone.
Eric felt a chill run down his spine. In the past, when he couldn't find a job and hadn't received his salary yet, he had used that money for food, furniture, and decorations for this room.
Raul didn't wait. He approached Eric and searched his body thoroughly, completely indifferent to how humiliated and unsafe Eric felt.
With a search that took less than twenty seconds, Raul pulled out Eric's wallet and took the majority of his salary. Eric watched his money vanish before his eyes, leaving him with only a few coins and two banknotes.
"Thanks for not resisting... You know, you look different. You used to be hot-tempered with a heavy punch, but now you seem so calm. It's good... Even though the amount isn't complete, I won't ask for more. It would probably be useless anyway."
Raul spoke while tucking the money into his pocket with one hand, the other still aiming the gun at Eric. Eric understood Raul's words well; the money he had spent was far more than his current salary. Yet, he felt strangely lucky that Raul didn't demand the rest. At least in this misfortune, there was a sliver of luck.
That was until Raul accidentally glanced at the cake on the table.
"Oh... I'll take this cake as a fee for my wasted time," he said, shamelessly grabbing the cake box before exiting the room rapidly, leaving Eric alone with a wallet that felt heartbreakingly light.
Eric stood there for a moment before regaining his composure and sighing heavily. He wearily took off his coat, hung it on the rack, and slowly changed out of his work clothes into a comfortable casual outfit.
He looked at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes reflected sadness, confusion, and utter exhaustion. He gritted his teeth slightly, reviewing the events of the day.
What a crazy day, he complained internally, feeling a surge of self-pity.
"Yesterday, the truth was revealed, I became indebted for my life, and I was treated like a tool. Today, I tried to start fresh and be better, only to get beaten up by some random soldier who babbled about magic and psychic powers I don't understand. And if that wasn't enough, a dead man came back to life to collect a debt, took most of my salary, and stole my cake right in front of my face! Damn it!"
Eric cursed aloud, clenching his fists. Today he had intended to gather his courage and become a stronger person, so why did he have to encounter all of this?
His remaining funds were only about 10% of the total. Two banknotes and some coins. By his calculations, it was enough to survive until next month, certainly, but he would have to rely on the bland liquid food from the auto-vendors. He knew it had complete nutrients and was definitely better than Corpse-Starch, but he didn't want to eat it. Now that he had started living a normal life and tasted real food, he had no desire to go back to eating either of those things.
He walked wearily to the bed and collapsed onto it, completely drained. He draped his right arm over his forehead to block the dim light in the room, while his left hand rested gently on his stomach, right where the ache from the punch still lingered.
He lay there staring at the blank ceiling. The silence and emptiness began to make him feel paranoid and lonely, and a little sad. But he still tried to force himself to calm down.
"Alright, Eric. Maybe today was just a bad dream... But even if it's real, you have to survive until next month. No matter what crazy things happen next."
_______________________________________________
Hive Kathion Zone
Hive Spire
The atmosphere inside the private office atop the Hive Spire of House Korvax was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the soft whirring of the Cogitator. The evening sun shone through the giant bulletproof glass, casting light onto a massive pile of documents cluttered across the dark wooden desk.
Valen Korvax slowly lifted his head from the stack of reports he had fallen asleep on. A faint red mark appeared on one of his cheeks. He rubbed his eyes and covered his mouth to yawn, still slightly groggy. His usually perfectly styled dark hair fell messily over his forehead. His current appearance contrasted sharply with his image as a ruthless dictator.
He stretched to relieve his stiffness before walking to the corner of the room. An elderly butler, waiting knowingly, immediately served him a cold towel and a small snack.
"Thanks..." Valen replied briefly, taking the cold towel to wipe his face and refresh himself.
At that moment, his eyes caught the blinking warning light on his personal Dataslate. It was a secret code known only to him and a few close confidants... A message from Omega.
Valen picked it up to read. The message was concise:
"Target area purge mission complete. Risk eliminated 100%."
The corner of Valen's mouth lifted slightly in satisfaction. He typed a short reply:
"Well done. Thank you."
He put down the communication device and his expression returned to its usual solemnity. He turned to the Head of Intelligence, who was standing quietly in the corner.
"What is the situation with House Thalric?" Valen's voice shifted, becoming cold and decisive. "Do they realize yet that their backyard is rotting so badly the stench is drifting into my district? And more importantly, do they know that the area has been trespassed by my troops?"
The Head of Intelligence bowed before reporting with a voice tinged with concern.
"My Lord... House Thalric has made no movements. Spies report that Lord Thalric and his executive board are still hosting a Sanguinala festival celebration for the second consecutive day in their private palace. They... er... do not even seem to have received reports regarding the heretical cult outbreak in the Lower Hive they govern."
"Utterly ridiculous..." Valen muttered in a low voice, his eyes revealing his irritation.
He already disliked the Thalrics, knowing they were competitors. But his disdain had grown after the war. Instead of repairing their production capabilities or using the budget for something useful, Thalric had poured funds into building statues and shrines to himself. This left the citizens in his Lower Hive zones neglected, driving them to despair and eventually into the arms of heresy.
He walked to the large window, looking down at the view outside, which was merely a sea of white clouds hiding the true terrain below.
Planet Opell III was a Hive World with a harsh and extremely toxic environment. Outside the Hives, winds were strong enough to blow a human away with ease, the air was corrosive and poisonous, and mutant beasts roamed the wastes. On this planet, the only habitable areas were inside the Hive Cities.
"Imagine that. I sent my own people to purge everything in that zone—not sparing even the innocent—because their ruler doesn't care about his own territory. And now Thalric is drunk on wine and dancing?"
Valen laughed in his throat, but it was a laugh void of humor. It was a reality too pathetic to be funny.
"It's a joke. I told myself nothing could be worse regarding Thalric... perhaps I should stop caring about that man. ...And how are the laborers in the Lower Hive responding to the holiday I granted?" Valen asked the spy again.
One year after the war, he needed production efficiency to return to previous levels, even if the production capacity was lower due to the damage from fighting the Genestealers. These workers had to work up to 20 hours a day to maintain output. Naturally, this caused resistance and rebellion, but with his private military stationed in the Lower Hive to eliminate anyone showing signs of dissent, the situation had become stable.
He didn't want to do this forever. His actions were born of necessity. He wanted to return the workers to a 12-hour shift, but it was currently impossible. He thought that reducing working hours after the Sanguinala festival would surely boost morale. The one-hour reduction he gave today was the greatest gift and mercy he could offer them for Sanguinala.
"They are quite happy, my Lord," the spy reported.
Valen nodded. Even if, deep down, the people weren't that satisfied—merely less tired—and likely still harbored resentment, it didn't matter much. With the thorough oversight of his troops, even the smallest spark of resistance could be extinguished immediately.
Suddenly, a man walked in.
Vann, dressed in the full dress uniform of a PDF General, entered. His right arm was bare, revealing an expensive augmetic limb. His face was slightly cleaner-shaven than Valen's. Valen was a little surprised his younger brother hadn't bought a bionic eye yet, but it didn't matter. What he wanted to know was why his brother had come to find him all the way up in the Hive Spire.
"Hello... what brings you to see me here, brother?" Valen greeted. Deep down, he suspected his brother might be here to make additional demands. He knew his brother was quite cunning and not to be underestimated. Although Vann had agreed to side with him politically, the General hadn't yet stated what he wanted in return. Valen, having risen to lead House Korvax, had learned a simple truth: nothing is free.
"Hello to you too, brother... It's been a long time. Fifteen years since I lived here, before struggling in the Lower Hive. It looks the same. Including Lady Violet," Vann said in a relaxed voice, looking around.
Valen didn't wait; he cut straight to the point to save time. He needed to eat and then get back to his paperwork. Judging by his brother's expression, Vann intended to drag this conversation out.
"Cut to the chase, brother... What do you have to say? I don't have that much free time," Valen said, his voice hardening as he looked at his brother with a serious gaze.
Vann simply smiled before looking away.
"This place is as beautiful as ever, but it looks a bit plain. Did you remove some decorations? ...I'll be quick then. What is the current political situation, brother? I'm quite curious about the content of the latest Planetary Governor election meeting." Vann asked with a tone of curiosity.
Valen frowned internally. Just that information? Although it was classified, he could tell his brother. As a General, knowing what was coming would be beneficial. Knowing who the opposing commanders were would allow for better defensive and offensive strategies.
"Let's go to the secure room, brother... I'll tell you there. This place isn't suitable. ...Honestly, there isn't much of interest. Everything is as boring as always. Everyone is just looking to grab power and wants to become the new Planetary Governor... I'll tell you which noble is siding with whom," Valen said quietly, gesturing for Vann to follow him into a separate room.
"Thanks, brother," Vann replied, his smile widening just a fraction.
__________________________________________
Author's Note:
Perpetuals differ in their abilities. Some possess immense psychic powers and strength, like the Emperor, Malcador, and Erda. Others may simply be long-lived, with physical strength no different from a normal human, and can be killed by conventional weapons, only to revive later. Some are ordinary people who only realize their nature after being killed. Just like normal humans, they have diverse personalities and habits.