Chapter 6: Relics of the Faithful
Kian understood now why the tunnels were crawling with armed gangers. The Underhive was a pressure cooker of billions of souls, and with the Planetary Governor's attention fixed on the surface war, the power vacuum in the "Gut" was being filled by the syndicates. Territory was everything.
He accepted Nephal's contract. In the logic of the System, the more tasks he performed for a Contact, the higher his Reputation grew, unlocking access to military-grade supplies and rare materials.
"Ten rifles," Kian said, nodding. "I'll scour the northern surface. Keep your credits ready."
Nephal's thin lips curled into that signature, hollow smile. "May the God-Emperor watch over your tally, my 'kind' customer."
Kian left the Fertilizer Syndicate's territory and headed for the "Insertion Point." As he walked deep into the rusted transit tunnels, his vision flickered with a familiar green countdown.
[DEPLOYING OPERATIVE]
Location: North War Zone - Sector 496b
Estimated Arrival: 10... 9... 8...
The world blurred. A sharp, metallic hum filled his ears, and then—snap—the stagnant, recycled air of the Hive was gone. He was standing in the middle of a vast, wind-swept grain field, thirty kilometers from the Hive's outer walls.
This was the System's greatest "cheat": Instant Deployment. It bypassed hours of trekking through mutant-infested sewers and guarded checkpoints. Returning was just as efficient—once he reached an extraction point, he could vanish back to his Sanctum in seconds, regardless of how much loot he was carrying.
Kian checked his surroundings. He had spawned near a ruined farmstead. Most of the structures had been leveled by artillery, leaving only two skeletal, three-story concrete dormitories standing against the night sky.
Under the light of the planet's twin moons, the world was bathed in a ghostly silver glow. Kian stayed low, his combat knife drawn, and crept toward the first building. He listened for the tell-tale sounds of breathing or the clatter of gear.
Silence.
He vaulted through a shattered window and began his sweep. This had been a dormitory for the agri-serfs. Sixteen rooms per floor. He ransacked the cupboards and beds, but found nothing. The rebels and the PDF had already picked this place clean of food and supplies.
However, in the furthest corner of the third floor, hidden beneath a rotting mattress, his hand brushed against something cold and solid. He pulled it out. It was a wooden statuette of the God-Emperor, roughly the size of a canteen.
"Throne! A High-Value Relic!"
Kian checked the System's overlay. The item was glowing with a distinct Gold Aura.
[Item: Hand-Carved Effigy of the God-Emperor]
Value: Priceless (Relic-class)
Description: A crude wooden carving made by a faithful peasant. Despite the amateur craftsmanship, the carver's devotion was absolute. The wood hums with a faint Sanctified Resonance.
System Note: Essential component for the Sanctum Shrine.
Utility: Allows the Sanctum to produce Sanctified Oils and Holy Water. These can purge Chaos corruption, bolster morale, and add "Holy" damage to melee weapons.
Kian grinned, carefully tucking the relic into his backpack. "Finally, a real drop."
He moved to the second dormitory, but it was a "Dead Zone"—not so much as a scrap of cloth remained. Just as he was preparing to leave, a violent roar shattered the night to the North.
THOOM. THOOM. THOOM.
The horizon lit up with the staccato flashes of heavy fire. Kian dropped to his belly, crawling behind a pile of masonry. He focused his ears on the symphony of war.
The crack-crack of standard autoguns was dominant, but it was punctuated by the rhythmic, bass-heavy thuds of a 40mm Autocannon.
PDF infantry backed by armored support, Kian calculated. A night raid.
The sound of a Chimera Armored Transport's engine grew louder, its autocannon chewing through rebel positions. The battle lasted twenty minutes. The screams of the dying drifted across the plains, followed by the sound of engines moving Northwest toward a distant grain station.
The PDF was pursuing the broken rebels. They were chasing the "Big Kills" and leaving the "Trash" behind.
"This is it," Kian hissed. "The Scavenger's Window."
He sprinted toward the freshly-made battlefield. He knew the PDF would eventually circle back to secure the trench, but for now, they were too busy harvesting heretic souls.
He reached the trench. The smell of ozone, burnt promethium, and fresh blood was overwhelming. The PDF had hit them hard. Rebels lay in pieces, their makeshift "flak" armor shredded by 40mm shells.
Kian went into a looting frenzy.
One autogun.
Two autoguns.
Three... five... seven.
He didn't stop until he looked like a walking gun-rack. He stripped twelve magazines from the dead and stuffed them into his pack.
[WEIGHT WARNING: 53kg]
Movement Speed Penalty: 30%
He had seven guns here, plus the three "Black Guns" back in his stash. That was the ten rifles Nephal wanted.
"Don't get greedy, Kian," he whispered to himself, feeling the familiar pull of the Hoarder-rat mindset. "Take the win and extract."
He turned away from the carnage and began the slow, heavy trudge toward the Great Ventilator. He had a mission to turn in, and a God-Emperor statuette that needed a place of honor.