As the infantry advanced, the battle below descended into brutal urban warfare. The Leman Russ Punisher shifted into a fire-support role, methodically clearing fortified strongpoints with sustained heavy bolter fire.
“Company Commander, can you tell me where that Genestealer is?” the tank driver asked Mua’dib over the radio, his voice distorted by the rumble of the engine.
“Can’t find it—leave that to frontline combat personnel,” Mua’dib replied, even as he sliced a lunging Genestealer in two when it erupted from a side pipe. “Ever since the nuclear blast, those high-ranking Genestealers have developed something like PTSD. They hide deeper than ever. We can only estimate their presence by the density of Xenos activity in an area.”
A third voice suddenly joined the channel, relaxed and faintly amused.
“Sounds like you need my help?”
At almost the same moment, the roar of a turbofan tore through the air above them.
Mua’dib instinctively looked up.
A Valkyrie assault transport broke through the industrial smog over the Mid-Hive, hovering directly above their position.
“You came at the perfect time!” Mua’dib shouted into the comms. “Help us keep watch from above—don’t let that Genestealer slip away!”
“I’ll do what I can,” the Valkyrie pilot replied. “But the Mid-Hive is a maze. It could vanish through any tunnel system.”
“Just do your best.”
“Haha, as long as you don’t mind me taking a bit of your XP.”
With basic air–ground coordination established, the leaderless Genestealers were rapidly pushed into retreat.
From above, the Valkyrie provided wide-area reconnaissance, marking hidden clusters and fortified positions. On the ground, the Punisher responded with surgical bursts of heavy bolter fire. Infantry from the Helldiver Company advanced smoothly through the ruins like a red-hot blade through softened steel.
“I’ve got visual on something that might be the target,” the Valkyrie reported as the ground forces pressed forward. “Punisher, nine o’clock—about fifteen kilometers out.”
“Give me a precise fix,” the tank commander replied, confidence in his voice. “The Helldiver Company’s firing tables are on hand. As long as your coordinates are solid, we’ll hit it.”
“Hold on, calculating movement…” the pilot said, focus sharpening. “Grid M-33 sector, coordinates 945–721. Predicted lead: 0.5.”
The gunner was already waiting.
Without hesitation, the Punisher’s twin heavy bolter mounts roared.
A dozen rounds screamed into the air, trailing smoke in a shallow arc, vanishing into the distant darkness.
A few seconds later, the Valkyrie’s voice came through again.
“Hit confirmed. Clean split.”
“Hahahaha! That’s what I’m talking about!” the tank commander laughed. “Give me another dozen rounds—turn that pureblood into paste!”
“Wait—hold fire! Hold fire!” Mua’dib quickly interrupted, stopping the follow-up barrage.
Far from the main battlefield, in an abandoned pipe junction tens of kilometers away, the Purestrain Genestealer dragged itself forward through broken metal and blood-soaked ground.
Its upper body was a ruined Xenos form; its lower half was reduced to a grotesque mass of shredded tissue. Yet it still crawled, leaving a long trail of blood behind it.
“Just… a little further…” it rasped. “As long as I reach that place…”
Ahead, a narrow opening glimmered faintly.
A vent shaft. Tight. Concealing. Safe.
If it could squeeze inside, those Astra Militarum war machines would never follow.
Freedom was close.
It was only a few meters away when shadows fell over it.
Several tall figures blocked the dim light from above.
The Genestealer froze.
It slowly looked up.
Reflected in its compound eyes were several silhouettes.
And then—
“Heh heh heh…”
“Heh heh heh heh…”
“Jie jie jie jie jie…”
A chorus of eerie laughter echoed through the tunnel.
“Stop that. Stop laughing!” a tired voice cut in.
The squad leader stepped forward, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Shinnosuke, Patrick Star—tie it up. Tom, stop the bleeding, we’re not decorating the floor. Tigger and Handsome Hugh—perimeter watch. Bugs Bunny, report to the captain. Capture complete.”
Watching his team work with mechanical efficiency, the squad leader muttered under his breath:
“Who the hell taught them to name themselves like this? I feel like I’m commanding a crossover event every time I log in…”
“Report!” Bugs Bunny said, trotting over and handing him the radio. “Company Command's on the line.”
The squad leader cleared his throat.
“This is Baldy Qiang speaking.”
“You caught it?” Mua’dib asked.
“Yes. It’s secured.”
“Good. Bring it back. It’s key to locating the remaining Purestrains.”
“Captain,” the squad leader asked, “what are you planning? Interrogation? What can you even get out of a Genestealer?”
“You’ll see soon enough,” Mua’dib replied, a faint smile in his voice. “Command, out.”
The squad leader frowned as he looked at the Genestealer, now tied like a dumpling.
“So mysterious…”
Half an hour later, at the center of the First Company’s temporary camp, the captured Genestealer was suspended from a metal winch several meters above the ground.
Over a hundred players formed a wide circle. High-powered floodlights turned night into artificial daylight.
At the center stood a player holding an ordinary-looking black leather whip.
He raised it.
And brought it down.
CRACK.
“REPENT! DO YOU UNDERSTAND? REPENT!”
The once-proud Purestrain Genestealer screamed as if its soul were being torn apart.
“I repent! I repent! I no longer believe in the Void Lord! I don’t believe anymore! Stop! PLEASE STOP—HO HO HO HO—!”
Name: Dark Angel’s Interrogation WhipType: WeaponQuality: EpicAttack Power: WeakAttributes: None
Effect 1 — No Secrets: The more witnesses present, the more effective the interrogation.
Effect 2 — Make Him Repent: No sentient being can resist the urge to confess under its lashes.
Effect 3 — Infinite Inner Ring: Each additional observer amplifies pain that strikes directly at the soul.
Remarks: A weapon with history. Though forged in the 41st Millennium, its presence suggests ten thousand years of accumulated “character.” Curious about its origin? You are?…Asmodai. Make him repent.