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The dog-masked figures lunged at the Lamenters Space Marine from all directions, hiding short knives and pistols under their clothing.
Although this Space Marine had not completed the gene-seed ritual, and his strength was inferior compared to Ignis, he was more than capable of dealing with these cultists. With a swing of his power sword, blood sprayed everywhere, bodies were cleaved in two, and entrails spilled out.
The gory scene stunned everyone present. The stench of blood quickly filled the room, and the crowd erupted into screams, scattering in all directions.
The chaos in the auditorium soon drew the attention of the other dog-masked attendants waiting outside, and although they were numerous, they could not push through the fleeing mass of people.
Mr. Owl watched the chaos with furious anger, but more than anger, he now worried about how to escape the blast radius of the homemade bomb strapped to him.
Before the countdown reached zero, all he could do was flatten himself against the floor, minimizing the surface area exposed to the potential blast. When the electronic alarm's music played, the explosion never came.
It seemed to be a damned dud. Owl noticed the yellow-armored giant who had suddenly charged in glance at the bomb, frowning with a face full of rage.
He didn't know why, but this bought Owl and the stunned Rooster a moment. The guy wearing a chicken mask clutched his sedative brick and jumped down under the stage, attempting to flee. But a gunshot rang out from the audience. A steel ball erupted from a hideously improvised shotgun, striking him with pinpoint accuracy.
The sedative brick in his hands detonated, and the enormous force slammed him into the stage's footboard, while the massive steel ball crushed his entire chest cavity. Yet, the man didn't die instantly. His last motion was to reach out with a trembling hand, attempting to scoop up the scattered pink crystals and shove them into his mouth. But the massive blood loss and utterly destroyed heart and lungs were insufficient to support the action, and his hand dropped limply.
Owl's gaze locked onto the shooter—it was the Lucenti family's bodyguard he had been watching closely. Before he could figure out what this Gorilla Thiren intended, the burly man charged across the stage. While loading a second shell into his improvised shotgun, he also drew a short knife from his clothing.
A short knife, of course, for a giant like him.
Ignis knew the Owl-masked man couldn't escape; he had already instructed Jane Doe before charging out. She drew her own short knife and melted into the shadows, ready for a sneak attack. His goal remained to help the unidentified Lamenters Space Marine first.
The dog-masked attendants were numerous, but against this Space Marine, they were utterly powerless. Ignis noticed the traces of modification on these men; among the cleaved bodies, in addition to normal organs, were tubes and wires. Unfortunately, such modifications were meaningless against a Space Marine who had faced far crueler trials.
"Cousin! I'm here to help you!"
He shouted, pulling the trigger. Another 30mm steel ball erupted, obliterating a cultist attempting to leap at the Lamenters Space Marine from behind, sending him flying, his gut ripped open.
The yell caught the yellow-armored Space Marine off guard. In his sight, a man in a black suit, wearing a strange dragon-head mask, was shouting to assist him—calling him cousin.
He froze for a moment, and a cultist seized the opportunity to strike, his curved blade grazing the Space Marine's neck. Reacting swiftly, he blocked with his left arm's power armor and then pierced the wretched human through with a single sword strike, pulling up forcefully with his right hand to cleave him in half.
A spray of filthy blood splashed, and he angled his body slightly to avoid staining his face.
His gaze swept to the giant. He towered far above him. Though he himself stood at 2.1 meters, relatively short within his battle company, the giant seemed nearly three meters tall, forcing him to tilt his head to look up.
Dividing some attention to observe the giant while fending off the continuous rush of attackers left him slightly disheveled.
If the Lamenters Space Marine's swordsmanship was elegant and refined, taught by a Saint of the Blood Angels, Ignis's style was brutally direct. His physique and strength crushed his opponents; those dog-faced attendants were pitifully weak in his eyes. A single swing of his short knife could fell a swath, and the barrel of his shotgun could easily smash a skull into a torso.
No finesse, just raw, extreme power—or rather, these fools didn't even require Ignis to use finesse.
Soon, the dog-masked men blocking the path between two attackers were swept aside. Against two Space Marines, these cultists could barely resist for more than half a minute—already a remarkable feat.
"Who are you?" the Lamenters Space Marine asked, looking at the giant who had helped him, yet kept his power sword ready.
"Don't worry, I'm one of you." Ignis noticed too much debris on his own face and used his short knife to pry off everything between the mask and his skin.
A dark, smoldering face, eyes like glowing embers, and a tall, muscular frame. The Lamenters Space Marine's body trembled involuntarily, his power sword shaking in his grip.
"A Salamander?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes." Ignis nodded. He turned away; the fleeing man had left, but more dog-masked attendants rushed in. Their weapons were clearly upgraded, now including automatic firearms and Falcon-type ether rifles used by the Defense Force. A few were more deeply modified, their muscles grotesquely swollen, carrying rotary machine guns with huge ammo tanks on their backs.
"We'll talk after we deal with the enemy," Ignis said. Without his power armor, bullets wouldn't kill him instantly, but they would still hurt.
The black and yellow armored Space Marine charged at the enemy, like a storm tearing through. The rotary machine gun spewed fire, tracer rounds leaving blazing red lines, yet the over-modified thugs couldn't keep up, only able to chase shadows.
The two giants moved with tremendous size but feline agility, dodging left and right, bullets flying in dense streams yet missing entirely.
Owl stood on the stage, watching the two giants slaughter his modified troops. His prized creations—perfect warriors cobbled together from the finest materials—couldn't last half a second against them. They fell like wheat flattened by a storm.
Not good. I need to escape before those two catch me.
He felt a spark of relief; the bomb on the ground continued to tick annoyingly but hadn't exploded. This had to be a blessing from frequent offerings to the God of Pleasure.
The stage floor had a hidden door, designed for his height—meaning those towering figures couldn't fit, if he could just reach it.
He scrambled to the door to press the switch, but from the shadows of the spotlight, a figure shot forward, no slower than the two giants.
"Sorry, you're not leaving yet." Jane Doe slipped past the man, blood dripping from her short knife.
"Jennifer! Are you insane?" Owl roared in fury. "I don't care about the giants, but why does a second-in-command of a minor smuggling group dare to provoke me? If you want those things, take them! No one's stopping you!"
Looking at his bleeding wounds on the left hand and chest, Owl was horrified. He had long relied on drugs to dull pain, leaving him with surprisingly low tolerance.
Perhaps I'm insane, coming here…
Jane Doe tossed her short knife into the air, extending her slender tail to catch it. She leaned forward, her strong legs and left hand bracing against the floor, the knife spinning at the tip of her tail.
Her form blurred suddenly, a shadow streaking across the spotlight straight toward Owl.
Two more screams rang out. A robed figure clutched his neck with a right hand missing two fingers; blood gushed between the gaps.
Pain—excruciating, indescribable pain—overwhelmed Owl's mind. All thought ceased, replaced only by sensation. He knelt, retching, blood pouring across the stage and into the floor cracks.
"Alright, stop moving. Press the wound on your neck, or you'll bleed out soon," Jane Doe said, searching for something to bind his feet.
Finding nothing suitable, she frowned and cut a strip from her stocking to use as rope.
As she moved to bind him, Owl crawled toward the sedative brick across the floor, dragging a trail of blood.
"You're not touching that." Jane Doe tossed a short knife at him while her form blurred again.
Already missing a palm and pinned to the stage wood, the intensified pain made him emit a higher-pitched scream, blood from his neck spraying worse.
Still, he reached with his left hand for the brick. A pack of pink crystals had broken during the yellow-armored man's earlier throw. He grabbed some to shove into his mouth, but an elastic cloth gag covered him. Jane Doe pulled him over and kicked his left hand, breaking his fingers.
The extreme pain triggered his brain's protection mechanism, and he passed out.
"Fast, huh." Jane Doe looked up as Ignis approached, and the masked man picked up the dud bomb and turned off the timer.
"Aren't you faster?" Jane Doe asked, trying to use her stocking to compress his neck wound.
"No need. He's dead," Ignis replied, kicking Owl.
"Not keeping him alive to get information?" Jane Doe asked, puzzled.
"His soul has long been offered to the Chaos God. If he tried to speak, the curse embedded in his soul would activate. He'd give you a spectacular show—usually a gory explosion of flesh, or mutate into something strange." Ignis turned to the Lamenters Space Marine. "Do you have anything that can neutralize these sedatives?"
The blond, blue-eyed warrior shook the homemade bomb in his hands. "This one was cheap, don't know why it failed. But I have a backup method."
He pulled a combustion grenade from his belt. Ignis had seen this before; it was used by the Defense Force. He had considered buying one but it was far too small for his hand.
"Better to use it from a distance later. We don't want our own people getting hit first." Ignis noticed two silver studs on the Lamenters Space Marine's forehead. "Let's get somewhere safe before catching up. Cousin."
"Of course," the Lamenters Space Marine said, showing extraordinary fondness for Salamander.
"How do we get out of the Hollow?" Jane Doe asked, patting Salamander's stomach.
"Don't worry. I've got a way." The Lamenters Space Marine, showing only half his face, was still strikingly handsome. A true son of Saint Gilles.
"Cecilia, we need to leave," he called toward the audience.
With a sigh, a young girl emerged from the stage corner. "You didn't even notice I moved?"
Ignis recognized her immediately—the girl wearing the canary mask. She still held the mask in her hand. Young, around the age of Emile and Vesmir, wearing a simple hoodie and skirt, she looked like any ordinary girl.
"Sorry, I didn't notice," the Lamenters Space Marine said, apologetic as a father would to a child's question.
"More importantly, Cecilia, we need to leave. Did you figure out the exit route?" He waved the dud bomb at her.
"I know, I know," the girl replied impatiently. "I don't have my grandfather's tech, but I calculated the exit path. Sure ain't wasting the money I spend buying Phaethon's Carrot data."
You've probably been scammed; they likely wouldn't sell that data.
"Oh, right." The Lamenters Space Marine suddenly realized he hadn't introduced himself to Salamander. Pointing to his chest: "Cerakos."
"Ignis," Salamander extended his hand.
"Never expected to meet a battle brother here. Where's your power armor? And why are you so huge? Even bigger than other Salamanders I've seen." Cerakos removed his mask, revealing a strong, angelic face; even the macho stars of New Eridu paled in comparison.
"Wearing that would make me too conspicuous. How did you get past all those guards to appear suddenly?" Salamander sighed.
"A trivial psychic trick." He smiled, charmingly.
"Cerakos-grandfather!" Cecilia emphasized grandfather. "Aren't we leaving?"
"Alright. Let's leave, then catch up somewhere safe." Cerakos turned to his young guide. "Your lead, young lady."
She tapped her phone a few times, a route map appearing. "At least in the Proxy business, I'm not worse than my grandfather."
"See? Problem solved," Ignis raised an eyebrow at Jane Doe.
"Luck of meeting an acquaintance," said the Thiren woman, arms crossed.
The group left the stage. Cerakos pulled the pin and tossed the combustion grenade. The internal ether fuel expanded under heat, breaking the casing, flames licking upward, igniting the scattered sedatives.
Owl screamed in agony, burned by the fire, blood nearly drained, letting out a horrifying wail.
"Sounds miserable," Cecilia covered her ears.
"If you knew what those sedatives were made of, you'd think he was merciful," Ignis said, fire sparking in his eyes. Rage burned.
The wails decreased to moans. As smoke approached, Ignis quickly raised a psychic shield to protect his own. This is Slaanesh's sedative—any inhalation could have unpredictable effects.
"Let's move…" Ignis turned to leave.
"Wait, something's howling!" Cerakos tensed, gripping his power sword.
Salamander also sensed it—a strange aroma from the flames, unnatural. The holy shield should have blocked it, but it flickered.
"A Slaanesh demon?" he whispered. "It really has appeared?"
"What?" Cerakos's forehead broke into a cold sweat. He clearly knew the truth about these Imperial foes.
From the burning flames, a massive shadow rose.
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