Death for Glory

Commorragh, the Dark City.

A gloomy rain fell from the sky. Though it was daytime, the entire city lay shrouded in darkness.

Bandis glanced at the shabby shack where he and his old comrades lived.

There was a gaping hole in the roof, yet not a single drop of rain fell through it.

Only then did Bandis realize his mind was failing again. It never rained in Commorragh; the rain he saw was an illusion.

But the darkness was all too real.

There was a star above Commorragh, a star stolen by the xenos, but the light it gave off was not something the mixed-race slum where they lived could enjoy.

"The medicine's wearing off," Bandis muttered as he rose, took the communicator from the locker and hung it around his neck, then walked out of the shack.

"Where are you going?"

Someone suddenly called out to Bandis, who had already stepped outside. He turned and saw his old commander dragging himself over with his arms, asking him the question.

The old commander's condition made it clear that the medicine provided by the Blood Reavers was losing its effect.

He could no longer stand as he had yesterday, when he had first taken the injection.

"I'm going to find something for you old bastards to eat." Bandis turned away and kept walking.

In this place that resembled a slum, an Archon from a Conspiracy Cabal would occasionally arrive with some people and lay out food that every race found irresistibly delicious.

The way to obtain food was simple—one hundred people formed a group, and everyone in that group fought the other starving people seeking food.

The sole survivor could take away an entire crate of food, but that delicious food would rot quickly. There was nowhere to store it