Chapter 41: Warhammer: What Do You Mean You Conquered the Bug Race? Chapter 41 Human Heart

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

Dark purple spirit shrieks surged outward like a world-ending tsunami, centered on Lena.

It did not roar like an explosion, but carried the silent, deathly pressure from the depths of the Warp.

Wherever it passed, all tangible things crumbled in silence.

The Bug Race's chitinous carapaces cracked inch by inch, and their green bodily fluids instantly boiled into steam.

The Space Marine's ceramite power armor twisted like paper, with muffled sounds of shattering bones and dissolving organs coming from within.

Sparks burst from the Servitor's metallic body, and its servo system was completely scrapped under the psionic shock.

This was a destructive storm that spared neither friend nor foe; Lena's exposed brain-like organ continued to pulse, pushing the power of the spirit shriek to its limit.

Even the organic dome at the top of the Nest began to peel and collapse.

Simultaneously, Fifth District, Necromunda Hive.

A madness worthy of being recorded in the Bottom Hive's annals was unfolding.

Outside a spare warehouse in the Fifth District, the Legal Affairs Department guards who usually patrolled ceaselessly had long since vanished.

Replaced by dense crowds of people.

They lined up along the warehouse's metal wall, spreading from the ground all the way to the ventilation pipe interface.

Surrounding this Medusa's Son Outpost so tightly that not even water could leak through.

According to the rank divisions of the Empire Hive, the Fifth District belonged to the Middle Hive, inhabited by low-ranking nobles, bureaucrats, and technical personnel.

The air here had undergone preliminary filtration; although the metal walls still had rust stains, there was no obvious corrosion, completely different from the filth and decay of the lower levels.

But the "people" gathered here at this moment were utterly out of place with this area.

From the perspective of the K Empire, they might still be classified as human.

Possessing roughly human silhouettes, able to use tools, and understanding cooperation.

But if judged by the standards of the K Terra Era, these creatures had long since departed from the category of "human."

Extreme scarcity of resources, the Bottom Hive's never-ending acidic rain and mist, continuous erosion by industrial waste, and genetic mutations caused by long-term malnutrition.

Made them deformed products under the cruel laws of the Hive.

Some had keratinous hard shells growing on their arms, like ugly crab claws.

Or their eyes fused into a single murky pupil, able to see in the dark.

Others had hunched spines, with dense tumors growing at the back of their necks, pulsing slightly with their breathing.

They wore tattered linen clothes, and their exposed skin was covered with scars, ulcers, and mutated tissue.

Their bodies emitted a mixed smell of stench, sweat, and rotting flesh, forming a stark contrast with the "cleanliness" of the Fifth District.

Inside the warehouse, Medusa's Son's temporary outpost was dead silent.

Three transport ships were parked at the center of the outpost, their engines long cooled, their hulls bearing Medusa's Son's emblem.

The guard force within the outpost was weak to the point of almost nonexistence.

Besides Machine Cult Sage Sailes, there were only two Machine Cult Tech-Adepts, and several basic Servitors responsible for transport and vigilance.

Most of the Inquisition Army had gone with Cassius to the Abyss Incubation Pool.

The remaining force could only handle routine harassment and had absolutely no possibility of resisting a large-scale siege.

Sailes stood before the monitoring screen, his red mechanical prosthetic eye staring fixedly at the surging crowd in the image.

The hem of his gown was embroidered with Omnissiah's Gear Seal, and his left hand had long been modified into a precise mechanical hand.

At this moment it was unconsciously opening and closing, its metal joints emitting slight "click" sounds.

The thermal imaging screen showed that the number of these Bottom-level Populace far exceeded estimates, with preliminary statistics already breaking four digits.

And stray figures continued to surge out from the alleys of the Fifth District, constantly flowing into the encirclement.

"Sage, high-energy reactions detected; at least one hundred targets are carrying thermal bombs."

"Several hundred others possess homemade explosives."

A Tech-Adept stepped forward; the right half of his face was covered by a mechanical panel, and his voice came through a voice synthesizer, ice cold without a shred of emotion.

"How could Bottom Hive slaves break through the inter-district blockade?"

"The Fifth District's checkpoints and Legal Affairs Department sentry posts had no warning signals; this is illogical."

In the Machine Cult Tech-Adept's cognition, the Empire's Bottom-level Populace and Servitors had no essential difference; both were "inefficient tools" with flesh or metal as their medium.

The Hive's class barriers were like steel domes; Bottom-level Populace wanting to enter middle-level areas needed to pass through multiple layers of approval and security checks.

The difficulty was no less than having an ordinary person assassinate a Space Marine.

Let alone such a huge group actually being able to silently bypass all defensive lines and surround Medusa's Son's outpost so tightly that not even water could leak through.

Sailes did not answer immediately; his mechanical prosthetic eye flashed rapidly as he retrieved surveillance recordings from outside the outpost.

In the footage, those mutated Bottom-level Populace stood silently, without roaring or commotion.

Only pairs of murky yet determined eyes stared fixedly at the several transport ships.

Most of the thermal bombs in their hands were inferior products from the Black Market, their shells covered in rust stains, fuses exposed, and they would self-destruct with the slightest carelessness.

The homemade explosives were cobbled together from discarded fuel tanks and chemical agents, inferior trinkets common in street brawls.

"Human Heart..."

Sailes suddenly spoke, his voice hoarse, carrying a trace of rare regret.

This word emerged from his mechanically altered throat, sounding especially strange.

In his memory database, those dust-covered ancient books from the K Era flashed through his mind.

An era without genetic mutation, without Chaos Erosion, when humans could still freely breathe fresh air.

The ancient books repeatedly mentioned "human heart," calling it the most powerful and most uncontrollable force.

"Human heart?" The Tech-Adept froze.

The indicator lights on the mechanical panel flashed several times, clearly unable to understand this abstract concept.

"How do human bodily organs relate to our current situation?"

"We should immediately activate the Defense Protocol, activate the Transport Ship engines to break out, or request support from the Governor's Mansion."

Sailes slowly shook his head, knowing they had already lost.

The Tech-Adept was about to say something more when the monitoring screen suddenly flickered violently.

In the image, the Bottom Hive Citizens in the front row moved.

They did not charge, but advanced slowly like a tide, each step heavy and resolute.

"Boom!"

The first explosion sounded from beneath the wall on the East side of the Warehouse.

A citizen whose arm had mutated into a Crab Claw rushed to the Transport Ship and detonated the Thermal Bomb in his hand without hesitation.

The violent explosion tore his body into fragments, and searing metal fragments splashed onto the Transport Ship's hull, leaving deep craters.

Immediately, the second and third explosions sounded in succession, spreading like a Domino Effect.

The Bottom Hive Citizens came one after another; they had no fear, no retreat, as if they had long since cast life and death aside.

To them, death was not an end, but the fiercest Resistance against this cruel World.

The Servitor's Laser Gun fired madly, red Light beams slicing through the Darkness and knocking down the citizens charging at the front.

But the human tide was endless; as one batch fell, more immediately filled in.

The Outpost's Defensive Fortifications kept collapsing in the explosions, metal fragments and mangled flesh piling up like mountains, while Smoke and Burnt Smell filled the air.

In just half an hour, three Transport Ships were turned into twisted scrap metal in the continuous explosions.

The Ceramic Steel armor on the hull was melted through by Thermal Bombs, the Engines completely wrecked, leaving only wreckage belching Black Smoke.

At this time, hundreds of Bottom Hive Citizens remained in the Encirclement, most still clutching undetonated Explosives in their hands.

The surviving citizens did not flee, nor continue attacking the Outpost, but instead simultaneously gripped the Explosives in their hands tightly.

They exchanged glances, with not a trace of Hesitate in their clouded eyes.

Afterwards, explosions sounded one after another once more.

This time, there was no Target, no attack, only the Ice Cold Determination to leave no evidence behind.