"You see, this is the danger," the winged figure in the white light said faintly.
Good news: The black-robed men in front of him believe in the Emperor, even more sincerely than Alexander does.
Bad news: The Emperor they believe in has four arms.
They are Tyranid sympathizers, the genestealers, a Genestealer Cult, the vanguard of the Hive Fleet.
Pure-strain Genestealers from the Tyranid Fleet infiltrate the Hive Cities, using their corrupted Tyranid genes to infect and control the Imperial populace, proliferating an entire lineage.
They lie dormant in the darkness of the Hive Cities for generations, even forming their own social structures and religious beliefs, until the Day of Ascension they ceaselessly chant about the arrival.
When the Hive Fleet descends upon the orbit, they will pour out from the shadows, stirring the whole planet into chaos to facilitate the Great Devourer's consumption of the entire world.
These 'genestealers' often rally around strange religious beliefs, such as an Emperor with four arms, a Sanguinius with six eyes, or a Guilliman with twelve legs.
"Their level of heresy is about the same as yours," the winged figure in the white light sighed.
"Shut up, bird-man! My loyalty to the Emperor is witnessed by Luna and Terra! On God!"
Alexander cautiously glanced at the genestealer cultists gathered for their praying meeting, deciding there was really no need to disturb their sincere devotion.
He carefully shuffled his steps, trying to sneak away quietly.
Tot, like most inhabitants of Ashford Prime, was a worker in the Hive City, producing military supplies for the Imperium through high-intensity physical labor in exchange for the rations necessary to sustain life.
On a planet illuminated by a toxic star, with countless mutants hiding underground and in the darkness, and burdened by high Imperial taxes, life for its citizens was rarely pleasant.
Endless labor, ever-present death, threats lurking in the dark, exploitation by gangs, and scarcity of supplies, in the face of all this, only faith could protect one's spirit from collapsing.
Tot was a devout believer in the Emperor, worshiping the great and merciful Emperor, and, through the blessing of the Patriarch, was able to tangibly feel the Emperor's presence.
That Emperor with four mighty arms, who embraced all humanity among the stars.
It often heard the Emperor's whispering in its ears, and it responded to the Emperor's guidance with fervent prayer, praying for the Emperor's embrace to descend upon the scarlet badlands of Ashford.
Today, it led several newly initiated members through a passage known only to the cult, arriving at this secret, ruined district. It was there to preach the benevolence and nobility of the Four-Armed Emperor, encouraging them to pray alongside it—praying for the Four-Armed Emperor to embrace this planet soon.
"The God-Emperor was born with four arms, so that He might embrace the vast and boundless Galaxy, embracing every one of His subjects."
"The Emperor's embrace will surely come, and when it does, it will be the great Day of Ascension, freeing us from this bitter sea of suffering. We shall ascend to stand by the Emperor's Throne, to be with the Divine."
Tot preached with fervent enthusiasm, spreading its arms and revealing its slender, mutated fingers with clear knuckles. That was the evidence of the Emperor's grace upon it, one of the signs of which it was most proud.
"Father Bishop," a newcomer timidly raised a hand among the rubble.
Tot ignored him. A sincere prayer to the Four-Armed Emperor should not be interrupted.
"Praise the Four-Armed God-Emperor, praise His generosity and benevolence! He will lead us out of the bitter sea, forsake the stars, and lead us directly to the Divine Realm."
"Father Bishop, look behind you," another newcomer said, slightly panicked.
Tot frowned.
"Do not interrupt me!" it said, slightly angered.
"No, Father Bishop, seriously, look behind you!"
Watching the newcomers in front of him frantically pointing behind him.
Behind? What could be behind him? Wasn't there just a large Promethium canister behind him?
Tot turned its head with a look of confusion.
It saw only a man dressed in the common attire of a Hive City worker, taking stealthy steps, trying to slip away unnoticed. Tot was stunned. Where was the large iron canister that had been behind him? Where did such a huge canister go?
And who was this man? How did he get into this ruined district?
Tot's eyes met the man's. The atmosphere became awkward.
The man cracked an embarrassed smile, spread his hands, and adopted a helpless posture.
"Good morning! Nice weather we're having, amirite?"
"..."
Tot signaled with its fingers behind its back. Two cultists quietly reached into their black robes and pulled out the auto-pistols clipped to their waists.
"Who are you?" Tot asked in a deep voice.
"Actually, I am also a devout believer in the Emperor. It's just that the Emperor I believe in has six legs."
Hearing the man's words, Tot paused for a moment.
An Emperor with six legs? What kind of heresy is this?!
The Emperor clearly has two legs and four arms! Six legs is distinctly the appearance of an xenos!
HERESY!
Before Tot could react, it saw the man extend his ten fingers and point them at him.
"Bling Bang! Bang! Bang!!
Born!"
The man made three "Bang" sounds with his mouth, and jets of pressurized air shot out from the fingers he extended toward Tot.
Tot felt a shockwave explode on its chest, a sound like thunder rang out, and the thin chitinous carapace covering its breast cracked loudly.
It consequently fell toward the ground, crashing heavily among the rubble.
The several cultists behind it were also knocked flying; their auto-pistols dropped, and they slumped over, unconscious.
"A Psyker? One of the Ark Gang?" Tot clutched its chest, enduring the pain as it scrambled back up.
It had received the grace of the Four-Armed God-Emperor, possessing more mutations and a tougher physique.
Tot reached out and ripped off the black robe shattered by the shockwave, revealing its purplish, gelatinous skin. A pair of malformed arms, which had been curled near its ribs, extended. Four arms aimed at the man before it.
"Die!!!"
It roared, pouncing at the man like an oversized Hormagaunt.
The man suddenly lifted his garment and reached his hand into a small white pocket on his abdomen.
Then, Tot saw the man pull an enormous, seven-to-eight-meter-tall Promethium canister out of that palm-sized pocket.
So the canister was here—Tot, mid-air, was struck by sudden realization.
And then it watched as the colossal, ceramite-forged container smashed down upon its head.
CRUNCH
Alexander reached out and stuffed the Promethium canister back into his pocket.
The body, mutated by Tyranid genes, ultimately could not withstand the crushing force of ceramite; the hybrid cultist was flattened into a bug-pancake.
"Damn it, Rag that mutant son-of-a-bitch! He sold me the location of this cursed place?"
Alexander couldn't help but curse the gang member who had sold him the location of this ruined district, effectively setting him up.
This ruined district had probably been a Genestealer activity hub for a long time.
"They have clearly infiltrated Ashford for a long time, friend."
The winged figure in the white light reappeared:
"The shadow of the Hive Mind has already coiled around this planet, and their tendrils are waiting to lick up every drop of biomass on it."