The Mountain Lion Gang members howled as they charged forward, brandishing machetes, hand axes, and whatever else could spill plenty of blood.
Jane Doe spun the small knife on her right index finger while crossing her left arm over her chest, watching Ignis with an amused smirk. That ratwoman's constant confidence made Ignis deeply annoyed.
To the Salamander, these howling thugs were hardly worth his time. Someone leveled a homemade shotgun and fired. Ignis sidestepped, the steel pellets whizzing past him, then swung his hammer in a backhand arc. The first fool to get close had his skull crushed instantly.
Red and white matter splattered outward. Normally, such a death would terrify lesser criminals—but the Mountain Lion Gang didn't even flinch. They kept charging.
"Kill him or tie him up!" someone shouted. "If the boss finds out we ran, we're better off dead here!"
The crazed bandits hacked at Ignis with their weapons, but their speed was pathetically slow to a Space Marine.
Ignis stepped back half a pace to evade a frontal swing, then brought his hammer around in a wide sweep. The first row of attackers was sent flying. With the overwhelming strength of an Adeptus Astartes behind a finely forged warhammer, death on impact was almost merciful. Those who survived had ribs shattered and lungs punctured, drowning in their own blood.
The giant moved with an agility that belied his size—like a black tempest raging across the battlefield. Wherever he struck, gangsters flew, bones snapping and blood splattering across the ground. Their crude firearms couldn't even scratch the Salamander. In fact, some misfired, hitting their own men. One thug's back was torn apart—he wouldn't live long.
Qingyi had warned that the Mountain Lion Gang was recruiting heavily. Kruger mentioned their increased Hollow activity. Now, nearly a hundred men stood before Ignis. Even after he'd slaughtered a fifth of them, the rest showed no sign of breaking. This wasn't a normal street gang.
"Don't be afraid! If you want to join the honor guard, today's your best chance," Jane Doe's voice rang out, low and steady. "If we fail, Boss Razor won't spare us anyway."
The terrified thugs swallowed hard. They all knew what that monstrous leader did to failures—the roar of his strange axe, and the tower of skulls it had built at the outer bases, were enough to keep them obedient.
A few particularly strong gangsters rushed forward, their fists encased in iron gauntlets fitted with hydraulic rods and sparking spikes. Ignis recognized them at once—modified stun-glove tech.
Their attacks were fast and coordinated enough to make the Salamander take one step back, but that was all. The Space Marine kicked one man square in the chest, sending him flying backward, blood spraying from his mouth before his body went limp. The rest lunged forward, their electrified fists aimed for Ignis's head—but the Astartes was faster. His hammer cut through the air, leaving a dark afterimage. The men were hurled away like broken dolls.
A burst of gunfire followed—seven or eight homemade shotguns blasted a storm of pellets at Ignis. The Salamander raised an arm to shield his face. Pellets struck his chest, puncturing the skin but failing to breach the black carapace beneath. The impact shredded his clothes and drew a bit of blood, but the damage was minimal. The real casualties were behind him—the shop "We Have It All" was left riddled with holes, its merchandise ruined.
Ignis had no intention of letting this continue. He stormed forward in two long strides, closing the gap before the shooters could reload. A dull thud, several screams—his warhammer came away dripping red and white.
Jane Doe frowned. Those shells were ether-charged explosives—far deadlier than standard police firearms—yet they'd barely drawn blood from his chest.
Ignis snatched up one of the crude shotguns. Its structure was nothing more than two thick steel pipes with a battery ignition system. The caliber was massive—a 4-gauge, almost rivaling that of a bolter's standard .75 caliber.
Feeling its weight, he sensed a live round inside and flipped the switch toward Jane Doe.
These were no mutants, no blessed zealots—just fragile mortals. The ether-propelled pellets burst forth like a storm, tearing through flesh and bone. The gang fell like saplings before a hurricane.
Jane, however, was sharp. The moment she saw Ignis's gaze lock onto her, she dropped low, the blast shredding the air above her.
Then she launched herself forward, her long, toned legs propelling her like a bullet.
Unlike the others, this woman was fast—so fast even the Salamander had to take her seriously.
She gripped twin daggers between her fingers, targeting Ignis's arm joints with each strike. Ignis didn't bother retreating. He met her head-on. The blades sliced across his wrist—sharp enough to pierce his black skin and draw blood. He swung his hammer downward, but Jane twisted her waist and slipped aside.
He noticed two deep grooves etched into the ground where she'd slid. Retractable blades on her boots. She moved like an ice skater, gliding faster than he could advance.
Seeing the giant bleed, the Mountain Lion Gang regained their courage. They roared and charged again—only to be smashed aside by Ignis's fists and hammer.
The chaos drew attention. Other gangs, seeing the Lions losing, quickly surrounded them. But Jane had brought plenty of muscle, and the others stationed here weren't full combat squads. The two sides reached a tense standoff.
Ignis grew irritated. Jane was cunning. Each time he engaged her subordinates, she struck from his blind spots—daggers flashing, boot-blades darting in like serpents. Her skating-like agility made countering her extremely difficult. His arms, thighs, and abdomen were lined with shallow cuts, though none serious thanks to the Astartes' coagulative organs.
Every time Ignis tried to counter, Jane twisted her hips, gliding past his hammer swings. The infuriating ratwoman even twirled and leaped away gracefully—like performing figure skating routines just to mock him.
I swear as the Son of Vulkan, I'll tear that smug rat's head off her shoulders.
Jane, for her part, was terrified. Every near miss from the giant's hammer left her heart pounding. But as a rising star among Razor's outer ranks, she couldn't afford to show weakness. So, she flaunted her movements, feigning composure, even as panic gnawed at her core.
One by one, her people were crushed like insects. The collateral damage grew as bodies slammed into stalls, smashing goods. The Mountain Lions depended on these black-market merchants—they couldn't afford to ruin them all.
Finally, Jane ordered her men to retreat, leaving her to face Ignis alone. She was slippery, yes, but wounding the Astartes was another matter. His Larraman's Organ had already sealed most of the bleeding.
Ignis raised his elbow to block her kick to the head. She spun, her other leg sweeping toward his throat—boot-blade snapping out with a metallic click.
A direct hit would mean serious bleeding. Ignis stepped back quickly. Jane landed, both hands on the ground, and lunged again—blades from her shoes aiming for his eyes and throat.
He twisted aside, the knives grazing his skin. Reaching out to grab her, he found she'd already anticipated it—her daggers flashed toward his fingers.
He knew the blades were forged from a hard ether-alloy. His fingers wouldn't withstand the cut. He withdrew.
"You're quite the man," she said with a sly grin, stabilizing herself with a flourish. "No wonder the boss can't stop thinking about you." She turned her face toward Kruger. "Guess you're lucky today. I hope next time, luck's still with you."
Ignis didn't care for her chatter—he wanted her alive to tell him where Razor was. He took a step forward—but she pulled a smoke grenade from her belt and tossed it.
Smoke billowed out, and Ignis switched to Fire-Sight—only to realize it was an infrared disruptor. Heat signatures blurred into static. Suddenly, he felt something slip into his bag. When he reached for it, his fingers brushed a single strand of her hair.
"We're getting out! Now!" he heard Jane's voice through the smoke, followed by gunfire and screams.
When the haze cleared, the Mountain Lion Gang was gone—only corpses remained. Ignis regretted his heavy hand. No one left alive to question.
He checked his pack and found a small note.
[Don't get in the way.]
The handwriting was elegant—clearly Jane's. When did she even write this?