Closing In on the Cult

In this world, there were many things whose full impact could only be understood by witnessing them firsthand.

Alvin had never thought much of himself, nor did he have any lofty or noble ideals.

As for using his status as a "transmigrator" to save the Imperium of Man from its rotten state—that sort of "heroic" feat had never even crossed his mind.

Who was he?

Just an Underhive scavenger!

A nobody, as lowly as dust. How could he possibly save the Imperium?

Even the Primarch Robert Guilliman couldn't do it. What right did an Underhive scavenger like him have to change that shitty "Imperium"?

From beginning to end, Alvin's thoughts had been simple: to live well, with dignity, like a human being!

But the scene before him struck him deeply!

Hundreds of bloodied heads stared sightlessly, their pale, dull eyes still holding a longing for life and the agony they'd suffered before dying. Many of them belonged to children who hadn't yet come of age.

"But what... can I do?"

Alvin bit down hard on his lip, unaware that he was bleeding, and clenched his fists instinctively.

His nails dug into his skin. The pain jolted him out of his daze. He stared blankly at the hill of piled skulls, a bitter expression on his face.

"I'm sorry. I can't avenge you."

Forcing himself not to look at the hollow eyes of the skulls, he lowered his head and murmured as if to himself, "The only thing I can do for you is make sure the law enforcers in the Mid- and Upper Hives know about this."

The "Khorne cult" entrenched in the Underhive was of unknown size, and it had Psykers. It was far beyond anything he could handle.

He was weak—far too weak to stand against a cult, let alone its Psykers.

So the only way Alvin could think of to deal with the "Khorne cult" was to inform the Nest City enforcers, the Planetary Defense Force, and the upper-class nobles and governor.

They had to crush the Khorne cult by force before things spiraled out of control!

There was no time to waste.

Alvin bit his lip hard. He had less and less time.

Judging by the Khorne cult's "sacrifice" ritual, it was likely already quite large, and might even be establishing a connection with the Warp.

Once the sacrifice was complete and Khorne, the Blood God, bestowed his blessing, this would no longer be something the Planetary Defense Force could handle.

Of course, among the Chaos Gods, Khorne was known for his savagery and love of battle, but he didn't like slaughtering the weak.

The slaughter of scavengers and offering of their skulls in this sacrifice probably wouldn't draw Khorne's attention, though it couldn't be ruled out entirely.

This sacrifice had failed, but who could guarantee the next one would?

"I have to get this information out as soon as possible." Alvin clenched his fists, his mind filled with the anxiety and urgency brought on by the passing time.

He looked up at the steel pipes overhead, his eyes gradually hardening. "The Underhive can't stop the cult, and the Iron Hammer Gang may already have been brainwashed. I have to find a way into the Mid-hive. It's the only way to stop the cult from spreading!"

After one last, lingering look at the hill of skulls, Alvin painfully tore his gaze away and whispered, "I'm sorry. I can't help you, and I don't dare to."

He could bury the skulls, but he didn't dare.

The risk was too great!

If the cultists returned and found the sacrificial skulls gone, they'd quickly realize their plans had been exposed.

Never underestimate a cult's ability to track people down, especially when it had Psykers. No matter how careful Alvin was or how well he covered his tracks, his identity could still be exposed.

If that happened, the cult would hunt him down with everything it had. He wouldn't stand a chance.

Like a fugitive fleeing in disgrace, Alvin could feel their gazes on his back the whole way—scorching and searing!

He kept silent all the way back to the "doghouse." After carefully covering his tracks, he took a few gold bars, hid them inside his clothes, changed his appearance, and quietly headed straight for the Black Market.

He wore a crude mask and a loose, tattered robe to conceal his features and avoid attracting unnecessary trouble.

The Khorne cult's sudden mass sacrifice had completely disrupted Alvin's plans.

Originally, he'd intended to use the usual methods: bribe the Nest City enforcers to buy a Mid-hive resident permit, then enter the Mid-hive openly.

But now, that plan was out the window!

Even if everything went as quickly as possible, getting a Mid-hive resident permit would take at least half a month.

And given the Imperium's abysmal administrative efficiency, it could easily take a year or more.

But the cult wasn't going to give Alvin that long, so he had to find another way and resort to "illegal" means.

Just as many people in his previous life crossed the US-Mexico border illegally, there were people in the Underhive's Black Market who could help you "sneak" into the Mid-hive.

The first option—buying a resident permit—was the safer one. It took a long time, but nothing was likely to go wrong.

But the second option... Everyone knew how the US treated illegal immigrants. The enforcers would only use even more brutal methods against the "illegals" who slipped into the Mid-hive, the dregs of the lower levels.

But Alvin knew that time was what he lacked most, so he had no choice but to risk "sneaking" into the Mid-hive!

He went to an alley at the far end of the Black Market and knocked on an iron door. Deliberately lowering his voice, he rasped, "I need a way in."

A moment later, the Iron Door opened a crack, and a bald head poked out, looking him up and down. "What kind of way?"

It was a sort of "code." Alvin responded smoothly, "The Happy Road."

The bald man recognized the code and opened the Iron Door, stepping aside to let him in. "Second floor. You know the rules, right?"

"I do."

Alvin handed over the old-fashioned Laser gun tucked inside his clothes.

Then the bald man searched him carefully. Once he'd confirmed Alvin had no weapons, he lifted his chin slightly and gestured for him to go upstairs.

The old wooden boards creaked underfoot as Alvin climbed to the second floor. They were so worn they looked polished. At a glance, he spotted a man with his legs propped up on a table, one of them a Prosthetic limb. He was smoking a rolled cigarette.

Him?

Alvin was a little surprised. He recognized the man at once—it was the one who'd bought his Gas Mask before.

After all, a distinctive metal Prosthetic limb like that was a rare sight in the Underhive.

The man held his rolled cigarette between the fingers of his metal Prosthetic limb and casually blew out a smoke ring. "I remember you. You're the kid who sold me that Gas Mask last time."

Beneath his mask, Alvin's pupils shrank. Shock showed on his face.

He'd disguised himself last time, and he'd done the same this time. How had the other man recognized him?

Could it be...? Considering one possibility, he immediately grew more alert. His surging psychic power gathered around him, taut as a drawn bowstring!

If the other man made a single suspicious move, Alvin could crush him into a pulp in an instant!

"Heh, no need to be so tense, kid."

The man seemed to notice Alvin's nervousness. Grinning, he reached up and brushed aside his noodle-like hair.

The other half of his face, hidden beneath the hair, came into view. A metal Cybernetic eye was embedded in his left socket, glowing crimson.

"See this? My Cybernetic eye." He pointed to the crimson eye and studied Alvin with interest. "You look young, so I'll teach you another lesson: never think you can fool everyone just by changing your clothes and wearing a mask. Even without this eye, I'd still have recognized you."

Seeing that the man didn't seem hostile, Alvin gradually relaxed, though he kept his psychic power gathered around himself. "Thanks. I'll remember that."

The incident was a stark reminder not to underestimate the scum who prowled the Underhive!

"I need to sneak into the Mid-hive. Can you arrange it?"

Alvin took a deep breath and stopped pretending. He got straight to the point.

"Do you know who I am?"

The man crossed one leg over the other, a smile lifting the corner of his mouth. He pointed to himself. "I'm Jackal Tark. As long as you can pay the price, I can get you in."

I'm thinking of changing the title—the current one doesn't seem to attract many readers. Any suggestions? I'd love to hear them!