Mong looked dumbfounded at the rooftop across from the Mortuary Guild. On top of it, a dozen blazing lights flared to life.
Ear-piercing explosions followed as focused beams of light lanced chaotically into the Mortuary Guild building, producing small-scale detonations wherever they struck.
Lasguns—an ordinary weapon of the Imperium, usually standard issue for Astra Militarum soldiers.
But what was "ordinary" was relative. A single guardsman on a planet like Asford was already the cream of the crop. To see lasguns appear here, in the abandoned depths of Hive District Eight, could only mean—
"It's that bastard, Rein. Rusu."
Mong scrambled to hide in a blind spot that the lasguns couldn't reach, shouting angrily: "What the hell is wrong with this lunatic? Why is he shooting at us too? Is he insane?!"
Markit stole a quick glance out the window and caught sight of a blurry figure on the distant rooftop.
"He's not here to help us."
Markit quickly came to a judgment: "If I'm right, what he's looking for is also inside the Mortuary Guild."
"Anyone who sees the state of the Guild now would know something's wrong," he added.
"And what he's after might be something that isn't easily destroyed or…"
Markit's gaze fell on the human-sized plasteel safe embedded in the wall.
Mong's eye twitched. "So that bastard's just planning to burn this whole place to ash with lasguns and then dig the safe out of the ruins?"
"That's right. He probably doesn't even know we're inside."
Markit nodded slightly.
Or… he knew, and simply didn't care.
Markit left that part unsaid.
At that moment, the pale woman who had already lost half a leg staggered back to her feet, balancing on one leg as she lunged at Mong with her triangular blade.
That blade came at him with a vicious swiftness—as if it wasn't being driven by thought or reason at all, but by pure, mindless destruction.
Mong barely raised his rusted crimson dagger to block her strike, blood dripping from his slit wrist and pooling on the ground.
"Filth in my blood, flies arise…"
"Ichors wriggle, maggots feed…"
"Lord of Rot, I offer this feast…"
A harsh, guttural chant poured from Mong's lips.
The pool of blood at his feet bubbled, then dozens of dark-red bloodflies crawled out and swarmed toward the woman's face.
"YAAAAAAGH!!!"
She shrieked as the flies chewed at her rotting flesh. Mong leaned against the wall, gasping for breath as the entire building trembled faintly. Outside, the focused beams of light flashed like a starfield he'd never seen before. Every few seconds, a dozen beams would hammer the Guild building, each strike igniting yet another minor blast.
This decrepit structure, already eaten through by moss and fungi, was falling apart under the relentless bombardment.
"Is he crazy?! We're inside here!" Mong roared out the window.
His only reply was another round of las-fire tearing through the Guild, even burning the Mortuary Guild Director's luxurious desk to ashes.
"Shit," Mong cursed.
"Dodge!" Markit shouted.
Scree—!
The triangular blade scraped past Mong's shoulder, nearly skewering him.
Still reeling, Mong stared at the pale woman. The bloodflies that had been gnawing at her flesh dropped dead to the ground as though infected by some disease.
Her face, now even more hideous, had lost all its skin and was nothing but a mass of festering flesh.
"Jump through the window!" Markit spat a glob of digestive acid at her, burning holes through her robes and flesh as white smoke rose. Without looking back, he vaulted out the window.
Mong hurried after him.
On the rooftop across the way, Zhou Yun stood with his comical hat atop his head, twelve lasguns floating around him under his psychic control.
He watched as the two horned mutants leapt clumsily from the third-story window of the Guild, crashing to the ground below.
A woman in a pale gown, her face half-eaten, missing a lower leg, and wielding a corrupted triangular blade, chased after them with a feral roar.
"The stench of corruption here is heavy," the winged figure of light at Zhou Yun's shoulder murmured.
"The Warp has completely rotted her mind and soul. She's little more than a beast now."
"See? My caution was justified," Zhou Yun chuckled.
He preferred to carry plenty of firepower and reduce the Guild to rubble from a safe distance, rather than risk himself like some fool.
After all, it was Horus himself who, long ago, insisted on personally entering the derelict ship on Davin to execute the traitorous governor—and got corrupted by Chaos for his trouble. Even though three Titan engines of the Mechanicum stood behind him, ready to reduce the entire ship to molten slag.
"That was about honor. Horus would never back down," the winged figure sighed.
"Governor Tambor had been chosen by Horus himself to rule that world," it continued. "His betrayal demanded Horus' personal retribution."
Zhou Yun shook his head.
"Honor. Pride. Brotherhood."
He adjusted the lasguns floating at his side, smiling faintly.
"So many tragedies in this galaxy begin with those three words."
With that, the searing beams of light screamed forth.
Mong scrambled to his feet, staring at the feral, bestial woman who now stood between him and Markit. She grinned madly, clutching her corrupted blade.
For a moment, Mong's breath caught in his chest, and he began to consider using that stronger, more dangerous spell.
Screeeee—!
Twelve scorching beams tore through the air just past Mong's face, hammering into the pale woman's body.
A series of explosions ripped through her as her limbs, torso, and half her skull were blown away.
She howled one last time before collapsing, hissing out a hoarse final breath.
A few seconds later, another twelve beams cut into her, and another few seconds after that—until nothing remained but ashes.
Mong, wide-eyed, turned to look behind him.
There he saw a figure standing just outside the Mortuary Guild's ruined doorway, two or three meters away, wearing that ridiculous hat.
Zhou Yun grinned and raised a hand in greeting.
"Yo! If it isn't Mong and Markit, the brothers themselves. What a coincidence—fancy meeting you two here!"
(End of Chapter)
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