Don't Catch Me, Aaah?!

Barbarus, night, in a medium-sized village.

Hades held a crossbow, his back against an earthen wall. He aimed steadily at the doorway, his entire body taut and motionless.

Soft, rustling laughter came from outside. Nails seemed to scrape across the wooden door, while yellow-green poison gas seeped endlessly through the cracks.

Hades stared at the door.

An unnaturally long, pallid finger slipped in through the topmost crack, coated in blackish-purple slime.

It slowly slid downward toward the latch. The instant the slime touched the iron bolt, rust spread across the metal. A nearly new latch became completely rusted in an instant.

Hades judged the timing and raised his crossbow. He had only one chance.

The soft laughter rose again, brushing past Hades's ear.

The finger flicked downward. The latch was sliced cleanly apart as if it were tofu, falling to the ground with a dull thud and ending its working life.

A huge, grotesque face pressed against the top of the doorway and peered inside. A pale eye that took up half its face watched the room curiously, searching for its toy.

In that flash of an instant, the moment the alien poked its head inside, Hades pulled the trigger. The bolt tore through the air straight toward that ridiculously huge eye!

At the same time, without hesitation, Hades grabbed his dagger. Crossbow in one hand, dagger in the other, he charged for the door. These aliens known as Pale Laughers had bodies like long-legged spiders. Even if it blocked the entrance, Hades could still crawl beneath its legs and escape!

Hades had already planned it out. Once outside, he would run for the cornfields. These aliens were not the lords' slave-catching squads, merely creatures that wandered the poison mist in packs. They were not very intelligent, and they attacked villages only to feed.

Ordinary Pale Laughers would not stray from their pack, and they moved slowly. That meant that as long as Hades escaped their sight and their hunting range, he had a chance to survive!

That grotesque smiling face seemed not to have noticed Hades's resistance. The bolt plunged straight into the monster's pupil.

"Sss hahahahahahaha aaaaaah!!!"

Dark red blood sprayed from its eye. Jammed in the doorway, the monster's legs flailed and twitched wildly! The immense pain only made the smile on its face more bizarre!

Hades ran beneath the monster's legs, using his dagger to block the wildly thrashing limbs, but his left arm still took a brutal hit! Blood spattered!

As he fled the house, Hades saw another four or five Pale Laughers wandering through the village. They held mangled corpses high over their heads. He recognized Heidira, who used to play with him. Her guts were splashed across a Pale Laugher's face, while her limbs still struggled—

Hades bit through his lower lip, blood trickling out. Rage and unwillingness seized him at once, and his mind raced—

—The gap was too great. He could only run.

Without the slightest hesitation, adrenaline heightened his senses to the limit. He ran desperately toward the white cornfields outside the village, his heart pounding as the wind tore past his ears.

That Pale Laugher chased close behind him, its insect-like pointed feet digging into the soft earth with harsh scraping sounds.

Hades could feel its fury as the monster screamed behind him.

—Almost there!

Hades leaped into the towering cornfield. Corn leaves lashed painfully against his face, but he ran for his life without looking back. Poison mist churned around him—he was running toward denser poison gas, but he had no choice!

When you were weak, there was nothing you could do except run!

Hades did not know how long he had run. He just kept running, running, running. The sounds behind him gradually faded, the hoarse roars left far behind. Slowly, only the wind and the crackling of corn leaves remained beside his ears.

—That monster had gone back—

These pack creatures would not travel too far alone. Even on Barbarus's food chain, they were only middle-to-lower-tier predators.

He had gambled correctly.

When Hades reached the edge of the cornfield at the outskirts of the village, he stopped running.

The adrenaline wore off, and pain tore through Hades's chest. He did not know whether it was from his pounding heart or from inhaling too much poison gas—or both.

His legs trembled. Blood dripped from his left arm, and under the effects of the poison gas, the wound was already beginning to show signs of festering.

Hades first looked around, making sure there were no monsters nearby.

He tried to tear his clothes to bandage himself. On Barbarus, bleeding was extremely dangerous. It made you easier for predators to find, and it also gave poison gas a way to kill you through the wound.

That was why Hades had decided to bandage himself first before finding somewhere to spend the night. Wandering around while bleeding was not a good choice.

He tried several times, only to discover that his hands had nearly frozen stiff—they remained rigidly clenched around his dagger and crossbow.

He had no choice but to wait a little longer, struggling to regain control over his hands. At last, feeling returned to them. He used his dagger to cut off a strip from the hem of his long undershirt and crudely bandaged his left arm.

No herbs. Damn it, he had forgotten to bring them.

Finally, he shook his left arm. Blood stained the torn sleeve. There was still a smell of blood, but the bleeding had stopped.

There was no way to clean the wound or wash away the blood scent. Any water available directly on Barbarus was contaminated; drinkable water had to be filtered beforehand.

Hades realized he had still been too careless. He could have brought a water flask and herbs, but the sudden attack had interrupted him, leaving him with only his weapons and gas mask.

He had been careless.

That meant the time ahead would be difficult as well.

Hades gritted his teeth. There was not a single part of his body that did not hurt. The little watery porridge he had eaten for dinner was nowhere near enough for the exertion he had just endured. His limbs felt weak, and his mind was hazy.

In other words, if even a poisonous toad attacked him right now, he would be finished.

He reloaded the crossbow and tucked it against his chest. Holding his knife, he staggered through the cornfield. He knew there was a newly dug grave pit nearby, along with the cart carrying the dead bodies. He could find some cover there.

But in truth, Barbarus never showed mercy to the weak.

Noisy sounds rose from the distance. Hades hurriedly burrowed deeper into the cornfield, half-crawling as he clamped a hand tightly over his wound to keep the scent of blood from escaping.

As time passed, Hades could clearly make out those sounds.

Footsteps, wails, the distinctive roar of steam vehicles, and the clattering of tank treads.

Fuck!!! Fuck, fuck, fuck!!!

It was a fucking high-ranking Alien Lord's slave-catching squad!!!

Was Hades really going to die here today??!!

The puppets subjected to the lords' Witchcraft had little reason left, but they could easily distinguish the smell of blood in the poison mist. Hades did not expect to avoid being discovered.

In an instant, a huge net soaked in poisonous fluid dropped precisely over Hades's head.

Hades did not struggle. He could not break free from something like that on his own. He could only make the desperate choice of staying still for now and conserving his strength.

He was dragged out of the cornfield and roughly shoved into the overcrowded cargo compartment of a truck.

Numbly, he looked around. Men, women, the old, and the young—everyone was crying in despair.

There was no chance of victory. Not even the slightest chance. The difference in strength was too immense in this world filled with absolute malice.

This was the world of Warhammer. Weakness had always been the original sin.

He could save no one. He could not even save himself.

Despair and exhaustion gripped Hades at once, and he passed out.

Today, Hades was crying like a Gretchin that had gotten its toes stepped on.

Uh, a little suffering, a little suffering. A little torment was good for the mood. The protagonist would have to remain weak for a few more chapters, after all. He was still young, and this was a grimdark world.

The author would do their best to balance getting bullied with being unstoppable.

Later on, after becoming a Death Guard Astartes, the male lead would have his moments of unstoppable power.