Milky Way Galaxy · Ember Star Ring, a dark-yellow solid planet orbiting a red giant.
It once had a beautiful name: Resource Planet No. 016-701 · Norgal. Now, no one paid it any attention.
Just like the "Ember" in the name of the star ring it belonged to, the only path left for the lives trapped here was to await death. In the end, they were nothing more than a handful of embers clinging to life after being burned.
The orbital space around the resource planet was piled high with the wreckage of machinery.
No matter how glorious a technological creation had once been, once scrapped, it was nothing more than cold space junk. It even blocked the lifeforms within the resource planet from saving themselves.
Gray-green acidic clouds obscured the sky, while thick smog with extremely low visibility blanketed the entire world indiscriminately.
Only the rumbling noise of the large factories made this world seem alive rather than transformed into an iron tomb.
Occupying an entire continent and stretching from one end of the horizon to the other, the cluster metropolis known as Hive City symbolized prosperity, wealth, and beauty. It was a place where billions of humans could multiply and thrive. After enduring centuries of wind and rain, however, most of its districts had now been submerged beneath industrial waste and pollutants.
The magnates of the "Spire District" displayed their madness to the fullest in despair, losing themselves in a life of wine and luxury while freely singing praises to the idea of "giving civilization time."
Drink while there is wine today; worry about tomorrow when tomorrow comes.
The "nobles" of the "Upper Hive District" did everything they could to squeeze the "commoners" of the "Lower Hive," as though that was the only way they could feel alive.
The nobles' utterly outrageous brutality was enough to make even the infamous Tyrants of history bow their heads in admiration.
The "Lower Hive" was filled with religious sects. From the moment they were born, the fates of its residents had already been decided.
They worked seven days a week, all year round, living numb and hopeless lives. The residents of the "Lower Hive" could only place their hopes in faith.
At the very bottom of Hive City was a chaotic place known as the "Underhive District."
Here, the people were "simple and honest." Here, "talent emerged in abundance." Here, people were "warm and hospitable."
There was no order here whatsoever. The law of the jungle prevailed, and the strong were truth itself.
Everyone in the "Underhive District" was both hunter and prey. Death and blood covered their entire lives.
"Underhive District," a narrow, cramped alley.
Dark green "streams" of foul-smelling liquid seeped from the sewers along the alley's edge.
Several lifeless bodies lay in the dark green "stream." The highly corrosive liquid had eaten the corpses into a pockmarked mess.
In the darkness where daylight never appeared, muffled, heavily suppressed breaths rang out one after another.
Greedy gazes like those of hyenas starved for weeks locked tightly onto the "fresh meat" lying in the "stream."
"Clang, clang, crash—"
A small stone flew out of the darkness. It rolled across the uneven ground, becoming the fuse that ignited this "fight for survival."
Unable to endure their hunger any longer, the emaciated "hyenas" erupted with astonishing speed. Gripping all kinds of tools, they charged toward the two corpses in the "stream."
The desperate survivors wore savage expressions. Some came alone, while others moved in groups of three or five. After the larger alliance of survivors divided up the "spoils," they glared viciously at the empty-handed wretches around them.
Blades flashed coldly as they were swung through the darkness. Most eye-catching of all was a discarded Chainsword that someone had picked from a garbage heap.
"Get lost!"
"If you don't, I'll butcher you too and turn you into starch!"
A "little giant" standing around two meters and twenty centimeters tall, with an exceptionally muscular build, brandished the motionless Chainsword.
The blade tore through the air with a piercing shriek. It looked tremendously intimidating.
"Bang—"
A finger pulled the trigger, and a round flew from the muzzle.
The flash that lit up the dim surroundings was dazzling. The scavenging hyenas hurriedly dodged.
Unfortunately, they were neither the legendary Astartes Monks nor Psionicists taken away to burn the Star Beacon, much less the godlike and demonic Gene-sires.
Thus, the result was already predetermined.
Within seven steps, the gun was faster and more accurate!
The "little giant," who posed the greatest threat and held the Chainsword, bloomed into a blood flower at the head.
His savage, heavily jowled face was still filled with deep disbelief even as he died.
Then he crashed heavily onto the filthy, foul-smelling ground, becoming another member of the "bait."
"Thud, thud, thud—"
A black-clad man in neat clothes, utterly different from the other malnourished hyenas, slowly emerged from the darkness with a Large-caliber Hand Cannon in hand.
"Not him either."
The black-clad man glanced disappointedly at the little giant's still-warm body, then sneered coldly at the other hyenas around him. "Why aren't you running? Or do you scum want to taste the bullets too?"
The starving "hyenas" glinted with murderous intent, but the "taste" of the hand cannon made them realize that they should rein in their claws and fangs.
A thin man from the "little giant's" gang removed the Prison Boss's knuckle joints, swiftly snatched the Chainsword that could practically be called a "divine weapon," then knelt on the ground and bowed respectfully. "Honored Black Gun, what brings you here in person? Could there be an 'anomaly' lately?"
No one who had survived until now was a fool. The gangs of the "Underhive District" usually took responsibility for maintaining basic order in an area.
The gangs that controlled the supply channels of the "Lower Hive" could exchange extremely scarce survival supplies with scavengers for highly profitable "garbage."
The gangs regarded the scavengers within their territory as "crops" and "chives," so they rarely killed their own assets.
"Pretty clever. A Psionicist may have appeared in this area recently."
The gang's black-clad man nodded approvingly. When he mentioned "Psionic Power," his tone became extraordinarily complicated, laced with envy, disgust, fear, hatred, and other emotions.
"What? Psionic Power?!"
The hyenas, already accustomed to life and death, lost their composure upon hearing the words "Psionicist."
In this universe, the Extraordinary System of Psionic Power was extremely uncontrollable.
Unprofessionally trained and unregulated Psionicists were all potential sources of danger.
The hunters, normally hostile to one another, consciously formed a circle and warily stared into the darkness that seemed capable of swallowing everything.
"Don't be nervous. Could a mere 'Low-level Psyker' reduced to scavenging really be more powerful than a gun?"
The gang's black-clad man scoffed. His tone was frivolous, but his movements did not relax in the slightest.
"Emotion Amplification: Greed!"
"Emotion Amplification: Slaughter!"
"Crack, crack, crack—"
The grating sound of colliding bones rang out. A "person" whose gait defied human anatomy, and whose face bore half of a shoddy white Demon Mask, spread his arms wide and swaggered slowly toward them.
The newcomer's bloodless lips stretched into a grin. A shrill noise like chalk dragged across a blackboard rang out.
"What an honor. I never expected to be targeted by Black Gun."
An eerie mental field stirred the nerves of everyone present. Their vigilant minds, interfered with by Psionic Power, became extreme without a sound.
"Psychic attachment, puppeteering... This is a monster from the Mind System!"
The black-gang man, who possessed relatively decent knowledge, struggled to resist the erosion that pierced directly into his mind. His mood instantly plummeted to rock bottom.