"Grab the rest of the metal for me, Rok."
"Yes, boss!"
I wince slightly at Rok's booming voice. He's one of the seven Ogryn who arrived not long ago. Like all Ogryn, they aren't very smart but are fiercely loyal to anyone who treats them well. It didn't take them long to start calling me "boss," simply because I treat them properly.
Three meals a day and at least one nap every three days.
That is the secret to making Ogryn loyal.
They're a blessing in disguise. Sure, each one eats enough rations for three men, but they're incredibly strong and perfect for heavy labor. With their help—and our newly made transports—we've been able to haul massive amounts of scrap from the abandoned hangar and factory.
They're also phenomenal fighters. Clumsy, yes, but they hit like freight trains. And the longer they fight, the more refined their movements become. It's like a weaker, dumber version of Ork Psychology. Just like Orks, they grow stronger the more they fight. Unfortunately, unlike Orks, their intelligence doesn't scale. They don't become Ork Primes or something along that line.
They stay dumb as rocks.
If not for me drinking the |Elixir of Life| and using the |Boosted Gear|, I doubt I could handle them in sparring sessions. My arms still ache from blocking one of their punches. There's also the fact that my body constantly absorbs curses in this world, becoming stronger after devouring enough of them.
Sadly, the boosts are minor—but curses are everywhere, and my |Curse Devouring Physique| keeps eating them. It's just a shame that repeated curses give diminishing returns instead of the full boost each time.
Speaking of the Boosted Gear, I've been training with it over the past few days. I was even able to unlock Balance Breaker. According to Ddraig, I'm lucky that the Boosted Gear I possess isn't the same one Big G forged to imprison him.
It's easier to use, though it drains stamina a bit faster. Balance Breaker is easier to unlock, and controlling Juggernaut Drive is more manageable.
'I would not recommend using Juggernaut Drive, partner.'
'Why not, Ddraig?'
'Because you would need to shout your chant into the Warp. If we were in my world, you'd shout through the Weave of the World—but there is no Weave here. Only Something Else, and it makes purgatory look like a daycare. Use Juggernaut Drive only if your life depends on it. I do not know who will hear the chant—or what they will do when they do.'
I wince. Yeah… that's fair. I can imagine exactly what would happen if certain entities heard me proclaim myself a dragon of domination. The twin Ork Gods would probably send the biggest WAAAGH in existence straight at me—and an Ork WAAAGH always comes with billions of Orks. The biggest WAAAGH? That can reach in the trillion.
Chaos… yeah, let's not think about what they'd do. I'd like to keep my sanity.
I snap out of my thoughts when another shipment of scrap arrives at the base. With our new transports, I've ordered expeditions to gather every piece of scrap metal they can find and buy any weapons they can buy.
Fortunately, the abandoned factory holds millions of tons of scrap metal. We are slowly stripping them down and using them for my tinker abilities and upgrading the base.
As for weapons, we're lucky that the cog-boy in the deep underhive is willing to sell. Sadly, he only deals in mass-produced items—Revolvers, Autopistols, Autoguns, Combat Shotguns, Heavy Stubbers, and Ripper Guns. For melee weapons, he only had Shock Mauls—and only ten of them.
We bought everything he had. We funded the purchase by selling a large amount of water on the black market, which drew the attention of a cartel. That forced us to lie low for a while. Our last trade run to the cog-boy was ambushed. Luckily, I'd already upgraded the vehicles; they survived the barrage. I deployed three teams—twenty-five members each—armed to the teeth, and they managed to break away without heavy losses. Only five people died, and the rest were heavily injured, but they were able to reach me so that I could heal them.
With the stockpile of weapons and ammunition, we can arm everyone in Sanctuary and still have reserves. For melee weapons, we're fortunate to have a self-taught blacksmith among the refugees. She's already setting up a workshop to forge armor and close-combat gear.
She even managed to craft makeshift riot shields and armor for the Ogryn. They're basically walking tanks now.
"Boss!"
I snap out of my thoughts and see Rok staring at me.
"What is it, Rok?"
"Where do I put these?"
"Ah. Just stack them in that corner, Rok. When you're done, head to the cafeteria for some chow."
"Yes! Chow~ chow~ chow~!"
I chuckle as Rok jogs toward the scrap pile, singing some sort of food song. I stretch and prepare to enter my workshop—but before I can step inside the tunnel, something foul washes over the area.
A massive spike of familiar corruption appears in the distance. I turn and frown. I recognize this curse. It's tied to Nurgle—and whatever's coming, it's powerful. Should I investigate them or let them be? Before I can come to a conclusion, my vision is engulfed by white light.
"KAEL."
I blink, and suddenly I'm standing in that familiar empty void again. ROB stands in front of me, wearing a grim expression.
"Rob? What's happening? Am I dead?"
"NO. YOU ARE NOT DEAD. BUT YOU WILL BE SOON IF YOU DO NOT ACT. A BEAST OF NURGLE HAS BEEN UNLEASHED IN TERTIUM HIVE. IT WILL WREAK HAVOC AND CORRUPT THE ENTIRE CITY IF NOT STOPPED. LUCKY FOR YOU, IT IS HEADING TOWARD SANCTUARY."
"And how is that lucky? By the sound of it, it's not the same as in the game. It must be a lore-accurate Beast of Nurgle."
"IT IS LUCKY BECAUSE IT WILL ENTER THE BUBBLE OF SANCTUARY I CREATED EACH TIME YOU CLEANSED THE AREA OF CULTISTS. INSIDE THE BUBBLE, I CAN ALTER THE RULES SLIGHTLY. WHEN THE BEAST DIES, NURGLE'S INFLUENCE WILL NOT LINGER."
"That's… actually good. But you said 'they.' There's more than one, isn't there?"
"YES. THERE ARE THREE."
"So you want me to prepare Sanctuary? I can intercept them outside."
"NO. DO NOT LET THEM REACH THE SURFACE AT FULL POWER. MEET THEM IN THE TUNNELS. AID THE INQUISITOR'S AGENTS, PDF, AND IMPERIAL GUARDS, AND WEAKEN THE BEASTS BEFORE THEY REACH YOUR BASE. THAT WILL INCREASE YOUR SURVIVAL CHANCES TO SEVENTY-TWO PERCENT."
"Not a hundred, huh? Well, seventy-two is better than zero. Thank you for the warning, Rob. I hate gacha, but it turns out you've been giving me good luck."
"IT IS YOUR OWN LUCK, KAEL. THERE IS A REASON I CHOSE YOU OVER COUNTLESS OTHERS."
I blink and find myself back in the base. Rita rushes toward me with a worried expression.
"My lord? Are you alright?"
"Rita. Gather everyone. There are daemonic manifestations in the tunnels, and we need to kill them before they reach us. Put Sanctuary on high alert and arm the civilians. We're going to war."
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|3rd POV|
"Help!"
"I don't want to die!"
"Help me!"
"Ah… you're not so bad, Grandfather…"
"Heretic!"
*BAM*
"Retreat!"
"No! We must hold the ground! Anyone who runs away shall die!"
Chaos reigns in the Recycling Factory. A hulking abomination—like a slug made of rot and disease—crawls across the battlefield. Bullets, lasfire, and even plasma do nothing to stop it.
A vile green miasma pours from its bloated body. Anyone who inhales it collapses, convulses, and rises moments later as a zombie or poxwalker. This monstrosity is a Beast of Nurgle—the cult's summoned engine of destruction. Without even attacking, it causes havoc on the battlefield.
Behind it, chanting cultists shout praises to the Grandfather while firing into the PDF and Imperial Guard.
They have Plague Ogryn and Pox Hounds as well, making an already hopeless battle even more desperate.
One of the cult priests raises her hands high—Nurgle's grimoire in her left hand, a force staff in her right.
"Behold, servants of a dying corpse-god! Your shells crack, your lasguns bark, yet still you fear the truth before you. Look upon us and despair! For we are the blessed rot your false Emperor cannot cure!"
Groaners and poxwalkers shamble forward, ignoring the hail of gunfire. A Plague Ogryn barrels through the lines, swinging its massive mace. Pox Hounds howl as they leap into the Guardsmen and PDF, tearing bodies apart.
"Do you smell it? The sweetness of release… the perfume of Grandfather Nurgle's love? Every breath draws His gift deeper into your lungs."
The miasma spreads. The sickly green gas turns even greener as Nurgle's blessing gets more powerful the more humans it consumes. More Guardsmen fall, rise, and join the ranks of the dead.
"We do not break. We do not falter. We do not die. With every wound, we bloom! With every death, we multiply!"
The Imperial Guard switches to melee combat while the PDF provides covering fire. But each enemy needs several lethal blows to finally stay down. Some survive decapitation and being cut in half for a moment to bring down more humans with them before falling down.
"Grandfather Nurgle awaits you with open arms. Lay down your arms and know peace… or stand and be swept into His harvest!"
Her words carry the warp's corruption. Each of her word carry the ruinous power of the warp that affects the minds of the weak-willed humans. Some of the PDF troopers begin laughing, their eyes glowing a greenish hue.
"For the Grandfather!"
They turn their guns on their allies. The battle descends into total chaos.
Matters worsen as the Beast of Nurgle reaches the frontline and begins "hugging" every human it can grab—pulverizing them into red paste. Each human who dies by its hug releases green liquid that the beast sprays around the area. Every human touched by the liquid starts to scream in pain as the liquid eats through their flesh and slowly turns them into green goo.
Captain Taro grits his teeth. Once again, he and his squad are in a near-death situation—only this time, they face daemons and mutated Ogryn instead of infected humans.
"Hold the ground! Hold the ground!"
He fires his hellgun and cuts down anything close with his power sword—a reward from a noble for his past "performance." Sparks crackle along the blade as he cleaves a Pox Hound, then shoots a cultist charging him.
"Sir! We're overwhelmed! We need to retreat!"
"No! Do you see who's behind us?!"
He gestures behind the line.
"We have a Commissar. We cannot run."
"But—she's dead!"
He turns—and sees the Commissar lying on the ground, a massive hole through her skull.
His eyes widen. He faces two choices, both of which can end in his demise. Stay, and fight; the enemy will kill them. Retreat, and High Command will have him executed for cowardice.
He grits his teeth and roars, firing again.
"We hold for fifteen more minutes! If no reinforcements arrive and High Command stays silent, we fall back!"
"Yes, sir!"
Time ticks by. The situation deteriorates. No reinforcements. No orders. Taro prepares to call the retreat—
But then the stone wall to their right splits open.
An army of drones surges out, blasting cultists and heretics with coordinated, inhuman precision.
Everyone freezes in shock. They look at the drone army in shock, fear, and some hope.
"What is that?!"
"Reinforcements?!"
"Mechanicus?!"
Only Taro and his old squad remain calm. They stare in dawning hope. Taro grins and roars.
"Reinforcements are here! Hold the line! Kill the heretics!"
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