Ignis dreamed—a terrible nightmare.
Upon a brass throne sat the Blood God, unleashing his hounds to hunt him down.
The Changer of Ways shook loose its black feathers, transforming them into countless illusions to ensnare his mind.
The Plaguefather laughed thunderously, waving his hand as a storm of flies and filth swept across the void.
He ran with all his might, breaking through phantasms, evading the hounds, fleeing from the stench of decay.
But suddenly the ground beneath him gave way, and he fell onto a plush, rose-violet velvet bed.
Just as he tried to rise, he felt something pressing down on his lower body. Looking closer, he saw a serpentine figure slithering up his legs—the Keeper of Secrets.
Ignis felt his heart nearly stop. He tried to fight back with his fists, but his strength was pitifully small—utterly useless against a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh. The serpent body coiled around him, layer upon layer, tightening with crushing force until his vision darkened. The monster's forked tongue dragged across his face, its voice—neither male nor female—whispering honeyed, deceitful promises.
He could feel his soul being drawn from his body, yet the human will to survive is tenacious. In this situation, there's only one who can save me... The Emperor above, Slaanesh below, please, old man, help me!
A golden light burst forth. From the void strode a giant clad in radiant power armor, long hair flowing like molten gold. His steps were slow but unwavering. The Daemon tried to flee but found itself paralyzed, forced to watch as the giant raised his hand and reduced it to ashes.
Ignis exhaled in relief. Before he could utter thanks, the golden warrior lifted his right hand. Though distance remained between them, Ignis still felt as though he'd been smacked across the face by an invisible force.
"Damn it!" Ignis shouted, jerking upright from the bed.
He was finally free of the nightmare. The Salamander's body was drenched in sweat—though his engineered glands didn't secrete true perspiration, only a cleansing fluid.
His cheek still tingled faintly with phantom pain. Touching it revealed nothing unusual.
Space Marines maintained a tenuous link to the Warp, but for an outsider like him, the nature of that connection remained uncertain. Still, that dream had felt too real. And in the grim reality of the 41st Millennium, dreams were often prophecies.
So… the Four Chaos Gods have finally set their sights on me? But the Emperor—He saved me?
He recalled the end of the dream. The golden giant had spoken something—but he hadn't heard it.
His head still throbbed. With a groan, he reached for his phone on the nightstand and saw a message from Nicole.
Anby and the Boss had gone to help the residents of Canvas Street collect evidence for a lawsuit against Vision Corporation. Billy and Nekomata had headed into a Hollow to help Pegasos Logistics recover lost cargo.
She'd asked him—the "giant"—to watch the place and mentioned that an undersized Public Security officer had come by early in the morning, reminding him to protect the Cunning Hares' secrets.
An undersized officer… Qingyi?
Ignis massaged his temples. After Public Security's backup arrived last night, Zhu Yuan had expressed gratitude for his help—but also irritation over his unauthorized intervention.
After all, dealing with the Mountain Lion Gang should've been the Public Security's job. His involvement made them look incompetent, especially since he was supposed to be under their supervision and protection. Being helped by the person you're assigned to protect… that didn't sound good on any report.
He put down the phone, stretched, and climbed out of bed. His gaze drifted toward the garage—now converted into a forge—and there, beside the anvil, stood a familiar figure in green.
"When did you get here?" Ignis asked.
"I was already here when I swapped shifts with my colleague this morning," Qingyi replied, turning to face him. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"
"Finding a stranger in my room after waking up—yeah, a little." Ignis watched her wander curiously around the workshop, inspecting the tools of the forge.
"I came to deliver some good news," she said, without looking back. "After last night's operation, we lost quite a few officers. Your surveillance and protection have been officially lifted."
"That's definitely good news," Ignis agreed. He paused, then asked, "Were your losses that bad?"
"To be honest, I've never seen gang members that stubborn before," Qingyi replied, tapping her fingers against a steel plate with a rhythmic clang. "They refused to surrender—fought like madmen. Even when I pushed the voltage to near-lethal levels, I couldn't subdue them. We had no choice but to put them down. Many of ours were injured… quite a few hospitalized. We simply don't have the manpower to keep you under watch."
That's Khorne's taint for you. Capturing such people alive was impossible. But Razor—he was strange. The man fled after barely a single exchange. Did the Blood God fail to take full control of him?
"Did any of your officers show signs of going berserk?" Ignis asked. "Maybe the Mountain Lions' madness was caused by some kind of ether-borne infection."
"We considered that," Qingyi said, turning toward him. "The wounded are quarantined separately. So far, no abnormalities. No sign of contagion through combat. It seems the madness' influence is very limited here… good news—for the civilians, at least."
"What about Razor?" Ignis asked, referring to the attack's mastermind.
Qingyi took out a canteen from her belt, poured steaming water into her mouth, and gulped it down.
That water had to be at least seventy or eighty degrees. Is she not afraid of being scalded?
"No trace," Qingyi said, wiping her lips. "He jumped into a nearby Companion Hollow and vanished. But after this loss, his gang won't be stirring up trouble anytime soon."
"You've delivered your message," Ignis said. "When are you heading out?"
"I'll stay until my shift ends, of course." Qingyi smiled. "After the chaos last night, we lost plenty of manpower and resources—and the ringleader slipped away. Zhu Yuan's neck-deep in the mission report right now. I volunteered to take the last watch."
"So, you're just here to slack off?" Ignis muttered. "You're supposed to be the senior officer, and you're pushing all the work onto your junior?"
"She won't mind," Qingyi replied casually. "But you—why do you keep staring at me? Something on your mind?"
"Officer Qingyi… you're not human, are you? A cyborg?"
In Ignis's Fire-Sight, her thermal profile didn't match any human. And her thigh bore visible seams resembling mechanical joints.
"You noticed?" she said calmly. "I'm an Intelligent Construct. You can think of me as a more advanced, more intelligent Bangboo."
Perfect, Ignis thought grimly. That's an Abominable Intelligence—and one that looks disturbingly human.
If Ignis had just been smacked by the Emperor in his dream, then Razor's situation was far worse.
His body burned as though aflame, agony consuming him. Bones shattered under mutating muscle, only to knit together again. The torment nearly tore his mind apart. He tried to end it—driving a knife into his heart—but the rapidly regenerating flesh sealed the wound instantly, snapping the blade in half.
Now that broken shard wandered within his body, each movement stabbing him with unbearable pain.
The Mountain Lion Gang had lost nearly ninety percent of its strength; half their members scattered after last night's battle. The rest… Razor had slaughtered himself—or been forced to.
When he returned to the Lion's Den within the Hollow, his bodyguards demanded he surrender the axe. They claimed his retreat had dishonored Khorne and that only the bravest deserved to wield the Blood God's gift.
They challenged him—questioned his right to lead, demanded his resignation as the gang's head.
Already wracked with agony, Razor had no patience for their nonsense. Giving up power was unthinkable.
What began as impeachment became a challenge… then a brawl… then a massacre. Wielding Khorne's sacred weapon, Razor tore through his foes with terrifying speed. The war axe roared as it split flesh and shattered bone, drenching him in blood.
Perhaps the slaughter had momentarily appeased the Blood God, for his pain subsided. Razor thought he had been forgiven—but when he called out to his god, no answer came.
He understood then: Khorne had not forgiven him. His retreat had earned divine contempt. The torment was punishment. His followers' mutiny had been engineered by the god Himself.
Only after slaughtering every last dissenter—standing amid a floor carpeted with blood and limbs—did Razor finally regain a sliver of sanity.
He realized that during the carnage, his body had changed—taller, bulkier, his muscles swollen like cords of iron. His skin had turned the same color as blood, and from beneath it, fragments of bone had hardened into jagged scales.
His legs were no longer human—they had become reverse-jointed hooves. He even felt the twitch of a tail behind him.
I'm becoming a beast… The thought did not fill him with fear, but with exhilaration. Power coursed through his flesh. He knew that next time, he would defeat the Salamander—claim his skull and earn Khorne's favor once more.
But first, he would rebuild the Mountain Lion Gang. Luckily, the fences who handled their black-market deals had avoided the purge, leaving him with ample funds.
With enough money, he could gather new followers, select loyal guards, and restore his power base.
Power and status would not abandon him. And if anyone dared defy him—he'd simply take their head.
Razor smiled to himself. But Khorne was not done with him yet.
The searing agony returned, and he writhed in the pool of blood, squealing and thrashing like a pig wallowing in filth.