Leon Drake stood his ground.
He didn’t retreat.
Across his vision, Ada’s streams of green data raced by.
[Trajectory prediction complete.] [Physical margin of error: 3 centimeters.] [No lethal threat detected.] The massive dark-purple limb remained embedded in the ground directly in front of his boots.
Another few centimeters…
And it would have skewered his foot straight through the floor.
Leon glanced down.
His heartbeat had definitely quickened for a moment.
But it never showed on his face.
Boom!
Marine Three opened fire.
Supersonic Gauss rounds slammed into the creature’s joint.
The bony limb exploded apart.
Green ichor splattered across the tunnel walls.
A Firebat strode forward, lowering both flamethrowers.
Streams of superheated plasma gel poured directly into the fissure.
A shrill scream echoed from deep underground.
The enormous limb convulsed violently twice…
Then fell completely still.
The SCV’s tracks began turning.
Its extraction arm extended into the crack without hesitation.
The high-frequency separator roared to life.
[Vespene Gas +15] [Vespene Gas +22] The numbers climbed rapidly.
Finally stopping at…
890.
Leon looked at the resource display, his mood improving considerably.
The thing had nearly skewered him.
Still…
Considering the profit…
It had practically delivered itself.
Helena stood three meters away, staring at the shattered limb.
She hadn’t even managed to react.
That had been the alien’s final counterattack.
Fast.
Precise.
Lethal.
Yet Leon hadn’t taken a single panicked step.
To Helena…
That wasn’t ordinary composure.
It was battlefield awareness bordering on prophecy.
Naturally…
She credited it to the Emperor’s blessing.
Leon switched to the construction interface.
Factory Cost: 150 Minerals, 100 Vespene Gas Unlocks: Hellion, Goliath, Siege Tank The Vespene requirement was already met.
He still needed another fifty Minerals.
They had to reach the abandoned Arbites warehouse as quickly as possible.
Warping in heavy mechanized units required a much larger supply of refined metal.
“Move out.” The formation adjusted once again and advanced deeper into the darkness.
The sewage ahead grew deeper.
The stench of industrial chemicals saturated the underground passages.
Deep beneath District Four…
Inside an abandoned mining complex…
Hundreds of mutant brutes clung to the rock walls, ravenously chewing on mineral slag.
More than a dozen ragged Genestealer Cult followers stumbled into the cavern.
They collapsed onto the ground.
Their robes were soaked with muddy water, charred ash, and the burnt flesh of their comrades.
Within the shadows…
A towering Primus nearly three meters tall slowly emerged.
Its four muscular arms hung naturally at its sides.
Its thick purple carapace was covered with countless old battle scars.
“Our Prophet has returned to the embrace of the Four-Armed Emperor…” One cultist pressed his forehead against the stone floor, trembling.
“But those iron monsters rejected His sacred blessing.” “Our gifts…” “Were erased by the dead silence surrounding them.” The Primus remained silent.
It strode forward and seized the cultist by the skull.
The Genestealer psychic network connected instantly.
Memories flooded violently into its mind.
Crimson armored giants unleashing flames that could never be extinguished.
White armored soldiers bathing mortally wounded allies in healing blue light.
But what disturbed it most…
Was the feedback from the Hive Mind.
The Great Devourer had attempted to analyze the genetic structure of those armored humans.
Instead…
It struck an icy barrier.
Norn Suppressant.
A biological lock welded directly into the genetic chain itself.
The Great Devourer’s greatest strength…
Evolution through consumption…
Simply failed.
They could not be infected.
They could not be analyzed.
Their corpses yielded nothing.
The Primus tightened its claws.
Crack.
The cultist’s skull shattered.
His headless body collapsed to the ground.
Nearby mutants immediately swarmed over the corpse and devoured it.
An ordinary flesh uprising was meaningless against those unknown warriors.
Pure physical firepower was required.
The Primus released a low, rumbling hiss.
From the depths of the mines…
More than a dozen heavily corrupted Imperial industrial laser cutters were slowly pushed forward by mutant laborers.
If flesh and psychic power were insufficient…
Then overwhelming heat…
And crushing force…
Would have to suffice.
Inside the sewage tunnels…
Leon’s tactical display suddenly flashed crimson.
Ada’s voice echoed calmly.
[Warning.] [Multiple encrypted Imperial communication frequencies approaching.] [Communication protocol decrypted.] [Identification: Karas Planetary Enforcer Patrol Company.] Leon raised one hand.
The entire formation halted instantly.
“Location.” [Distance: 1.5 kilometers.] [Estimated contact in four minutes.] [Enemy composition: Three modified Taurus Armored Personnel Carriers.
Sixty armed personnel.] [Equipment: Heavy Stubbers.
Combat Shotguns.
Shock Mauls.] Leon rapidly considered every option.
Set up defensive positions and wipe out the patrol?
Three armored carriers alone would provide a considerable amount of Minerals.
But the price would be enormous.
The Karas Planetary Defense Force would immediately declare a full-scale rebellion alert.
Without orbital superiority or a spaceport…
Starting a war against an entire planet’s military was suicide.
Avoid them?
Equally unrealistic.
The SCV and Firebats were impossible to hide.
Without Ravens…
There was no cloaking the entire force.
Leon turned toward Helena.
“You know these Enforcers?” Helena snorted as she thumbed back the hammer of her Bolt Pistol.
“They’re nothing but tax collectors wearing the Emperor’s uniform.” “They don’t answer to the Arbites.” “They report directly to the Governor’s Palace.” She glanced into the darkness ahead.
“The explosions and energy readings from earlier were impossible to hide.” “The Underhive monitoring stations definitely picked them up.” “They’re not here to restore order.” “They’re here to steal whatever’s left…” “And pin the blame on someone else.” Leon studied her.
“Can you keep them under control?” Helena straightened proudly.
“As long as they still recognize Imperial Law.” She paused.
“…Or still fear being turned into servitors.” Leon’s plan was made.
Ready-made manpower.
Ready-made transportation.
With Helena acting as an official Arbites Arbitrator…
His StarCraft technology could temporarily wear the mask of Imperial authority.
Five minutes later…
The group emerged from the drainage tunnels into a vast underground transit hall.
Fifty meters ahead stood the rust-covered steel gates of an abandoned Arbites warehouse.
Suddenly…
Blinding searchlights ignited from the elevated access ramp on the left.
Brilliant beams sliced through the Underhive haze.
Three towering Taurus armored carriers thundered into the chamber.
Their massive tires crashed through standing water, sending black waves two meters into the air.
The vehicles skidded into a semi-encirclement formation.
Heavy Stubber turrets rotated immediately.
Their barrels locked onto the tunnel entrance.
The side doors burst open.
Sixty Enforcers wearing gray-black body armor poured from the transports.
Combat shotguns.
Shock mauls.
Disciplined movements.
Using the vehicles as cover, they established firing positions with practiced efficiency.
The atmosphere inside the chamber instantly grew tense.
Captain Rufus stepped out from the lead carrier.
Half his face had been replaced by crude mechanical implants.
His cybernetic eye whirred as it focused on the force ahead.
Two crimson armored Firebats.
Four Marines clad in dark-blue powered armor.
One massive yellow engineering vehicle.
And…
Standing calmly at the center…
A man wearing deep-blue combat armor.
None of their armor carried the jagged scrap decorations favored by Underhive gangs.
Nor did it resemble the worn equipment of the Imperial Guard.
Stranger still…
There were no skulls.
No devotional scripture.
No sacred Imperial icons.
Only sleek alloy plating.
Precision hydraulic systems.
And the crushing industrial presence of machines built solely for war.
Rufus swallowed hard.
Since when did the Underhive have a force like this?
He grabbed the powerful loudspeaker mounted beside the vehicle.
“In the name of the Governor of Karas and Holy Terra!” “Unknown armed personnel ahead!” “You stand in violation of the Imperial Code!” “Calm your machine spirits!” “Lay down your weapons!” “Kneel and submit to lawful inspection!” “Those who refuse…” “Shall receive the Emperor’s mercy as heretics!” The ammunition belt feeding the Heavy Stubber rattled loudly.
Leon gave no order to fire.
The Marines remained motionless.
Their C-14 Gauss Rifles rose in perfect unison.
Helena stepped forward.
She walked directly into the blinding searchlights…
Stopping between both forces.
With a single smooth motion…
She raised a badge forged from solid titanium steel high above her head.
The Aquila.
The Scales of Judgment.
The unmistakable insignia of a Senior Arbites Arbitrator.
“I am Helena.” “Senior Arbitrator of the Holy Adeptus Arbites.” Her voice echoed throughout the entire chamber.
“Rufus.” “Open that clouded mechanical eye of yours and look carefully.” “The one standing behind me…” “Is a special envoy of the Holy Inquisition.” “Your ignorance is an insult to Imperial Law.” She took another step forward.
Alien blood still stained her black combat uniform.
Yet she looked more like an Imperial Arbitrator than ever before.
“Do you wish to have both yourself and every one of your men stripped of your minds…” “And rebuilt into Underhive sanitation servitors?” “Lay down your weapons.” “Repent before the Emperor’s blade.” The loudspeaker slipped from Rufus’ hand.
It splashed into the filthy water below.
Leon casually pushed aside the broad shoulder plate of the Firebat standing before him.
His cold gaze settled upon the armored convoy.
Four crimson laser sights extended beneath the Marines’ rifles.
Every one of them…
Locked directly onto Rufus’ forehead.
His cybernetic eye twitched.
At that moment…
He finally realized something.
Tonight…
He hadn’t arrived to collect easy spoils.
He had driven straight into something capable of crushing his entire patrol into scrap metal.