Infection

The transport ship Bloody Worm.

A squad of Ultramarines was fighting to break out.

As they hurried around a corner in a corridor.

An Ultramarine with shattered armor and covered in blood leaned weakly against the bulkhead, then slowly slid down to the floor.

His comrade grabbed his hand and shouted frantically into the comms channel:

"Apothecary, calling Apothecary, a man is down here!"

However, the comms channel remained filled with nothing but static noise.

"No..." The Ultramarine lying on the ground grabbed his teammate, speaking in a weak tone: "It's too late, sir. The teleportation was interrupted. You all need to go, it's too late."

His squad leader holstered his meltagun back onto his belt and reached out with both hands to pull his comrade up.

"No..." His teammate shook off his hand: "Leave me behind, you must go. Go and rendezvous with Lord Vlahos. I... I still have this."

As he spoke, he pulled a round krak grenade from his belt and gripped it in his palm.

His squad leader looked at him deeply, gritted his teeth, and gave a sharp nod: "Understood."

Then he stood up and led the squad down the corridor.

After the squad members had left, the Ultramarine lying on the ground pulled off his helmet and tossed it aside, revealing a face covered in blood and grime.

His eyelids drooped as he breathed weakly.

He switched the krak grenade to his left hand, quietly hid his left hand behind his waist, and drew a Bolt Pistol from the side of his leg armor with his right hand, aiming it at the corridor entrance.

A while passed, but the expected enemy did not arrive.

Instead, a sneaky, middle-aged man with a bushy reddish-brown beard crawled out from a pipe on the side.

The injured Ultramarine's Bolter was instantly aimed at him.

"Whoa, whoa... no, careful, careful, sir, don't shoot."

The bearded man, who looked like a scholar, hurriedly raised one hand while clutching a long, gray metal canister tightly in the other, looking quite comical.

"Who are you?" With the muzzle still pointed at the middle-aged man, the Ultramarine asked coldly.

"I am a civilian who was imprisoned on this ship by those demons. I am a civilian, honorable sir, and I am here to save you."

Belinsky hunched over, keeping one hand raised as he slowly approached the injured Ultramarine, speaking with extreme caution.

As he spoke, he carefully looked up to observe the Ultramarine's expression.

"Save me?" The Ultramarine frowned, gestured with his muzzle toward the metal canister in Belinsky's arms, and asked:

"What is that?"

"Oh, oh... this, you're asking about this, right? This is a unique concoction of mine; this is the thing that will save you," Belinsky stammered.

On a transport ship belonging to traitor Space Marines, a civilian appears, holding a strange canister and claiming he wants to save him?

The Ultramarine lying on the ground felt this was truly too bizarre—bizarre enough to be an insult to his intelligence.

He raised his muzzle slightly and said coldly:

"Go away, get back. I don't need you to save me."

Although the whole situation reeked of something strange, the Ultramarine still did not fire directly at the civilian.

Seeing that his clumsy acting could not fool the injured Ultramarine, Belinsky gritted his teeth, stepped forward quickly, and said:

"Sir, you must let me..."

"Bang!"

The Bolt Pistol fired.

Belinsky's body was instantly blown in half.

"Ahhh..." Belinsky, now only an upper torso, screamed in agony.

The moment he was hit, the metal canister in his hand dropped, landing right in front of the Ultramarine.

A drop of thick, black liquid from the canister's opening splashed onto the Ultramarine's cracked, blood-soaked chest armor.

Ignoring the half-man who was slowly gasping his last breath, the Ultramarine looked down curiously at the black liquid.

Then, he watched as the thick, black liquid seemed to possess a life of its own, suddenly vanishing into his wound.

No!

By the time the Ultramarine realized this, it was already too late.

His eyes rolled back, his body shuddered twice, and he slumped backward, unconscious.

His left hand, which had just been raised while holding the krak grenade, also slowly fell.

His gauntlet loosened, and the spherical grenade rolled out.

It did not detonate.

From the pipe, a short, hunched woman wrapped entirely in cloth stepped out cautiously.

She arrived before the corpse of the scholar with the auburn beard and reached out to slowly close the man's wide-open eyes.

"Rest in peace, Belinsky." A strange voice, accompanied by a hissing sound, whispered low.

Next, she walked over to the unconscious Ultramarine, gently stroked the Ultramarine's body, and spoke to herself in a tender tone:

"Come out now, my children."

The chest of the unconscious Ultramarine began to bulge in a grotesque manner; this raised lump rose and fell slightly, as if it were breathing.

Seeing this scene, the hunchbacked woman became even more delighted. She smiled, stroked the lump gently, pressed her mouth against it, and whispered:

"What a bountiful hunting ground this is, my children. Everyone here, they are all your food—I mean... everyone."