The barrage finally ended. The cultists could no longer sustain that level of fire. They could only watch as the dust clouds kicked up by the storm of bullets slowly dispersed, revealing that flea who still had not died.
Number 0's coat had been torn apart, exposing the ceramite lining within and the protective suit beneath it.
He clenched both hands into tight fists, raised them to forehead height, then slowly opened his palms.
A mass of bullets fell from his hands, striking the ground with a pleasing, crisp clatter. His black, abrasion-resistant, corrosion-proof gloves looked badly damaged.
The heat and kinetic force of the bullets had scraped against the gloves, leaving scorching marks across them.
Number 0 flexed his hands and found that the heated bullets had made his gloves somewhat sticky. Then he charged forward again.
The cultist whose form was hidden beneath a robe of human skin loudly berated the others, ordering them to keep firing. Their task was not complete. They were not allowed to stop just like that.
Production had to be maintained! The factory furnaces needed those minerals! If they failed, their souls would truly be marked by the master! He did not want such an end!
"You useless trash! Fire! Keep firing! Who gave you permission to stop?!"
"Master... we can't. We've been drained dry... There isn't even a drop left."
One shriveled cultist who had stopped firing was too weak to support the mechanical structures inside his body. He knelt on the ground as the heavy machinery began falling free from its wrapping of flesh and bone.
"Trash! Trash!"
The enraged overseer suddenly swelled. His human-skin robe floated up from his body as though alive, swallowing the weakened cultists into him like dough wrapping meat filling.
"Imperial dogs! Witness true power! My