Day 38, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Eric opened his eyes to a new morning that was no brighter than the day before. A heavy sensation pressed down on his entire body—not just from exhaustion, but from the thick layer of toxic yellow dust that had blown in and settled over him throughout the night, almost burying him like a piece of the surrounding trash.
Outside, the wind howled, whipping up sand and dust until the landscape was nothing but a murky blur. Eric sighed deeply, fogging up the lenses of his gas mask. He frowned in frustration; he couldn't take the mask off to wipe the condensation from the lenses and had to wait for it to clear on its own, which severely hampered his visibility. He pushed himself up, struggling to sit against the wall of scrap metal.
As Eric looked at his clothes and felt the grit in his hair, he couldn't help but feel annoyed at his filthy state. He raised a hand to brush the dust from his white hair, which was tied back in a messy, practical ponytail. Then he slapped the dust off his gray coat, which had turned a dull, dingy brown. As he lifted the coat, he realized that some of the dust had even penetrated to the white shirt underneath.
"Damn it... this is disgusting," he muttered softly to himself as he tried to tidy up.
At the same time, he worried about the dust touching the skin beneath his clothes. He shuddered to think about the irritation and risk involved. His ears and hands were already exposed to the toxic air, and now other parts of his body were coming into contact with this filth. It was annoying, but more importantly, it was dangerous. The skin exposed to the air and dust was already starting to itch and burn.
To make matters worse, he felt strange today... his body felt heavier than usual. His limbs lacked their usual strength. It was a deep, internal fatigue, as if rationing his food and water was finally taking its toll, weakening him from the inside out.
And worst of all, these symptoms might be a sign that the toxins in the dust and air were beginning to affect his system.
"Don't be pessimistic, Eric... it might not be that bad," he muttered to himself, shaking his head, though the concern gnawed at him. It was entirely possible that toxins from the soil or air were seeping through his skin.
But complaining wouldn't help. He knew that dwelling on it would only stress him out, and stress would only make the situation worse. He needed to stay positive and keep his spirits up... Hive Kathion was getting closer. In just a short while—maybe two days—he would be back to a normal life.
Well, there was a chance he wouldn't live a "normal" life and might have to start working for Vann.
But at least he would be back inside the Hive City.
He took a deep breath to gather his strength, hugged the bolt-action rifle to his chest, and prepared to face the dust storm once more. He left his shelter and continued his journey cautiously.
The further he walked, the stronger the wind became. It was now almost a small sandstorm. Coarse sand and debris pelted his gas mask and coat constantly. Eric had to lean forward, fighting against the wind.
It got worse. His body felt hot, yet he was shivering with cold. He felt feverish and exhausted, making every step feel like his legs were weighted with lead.
"Damn it... how strong is this wind gonna get? I'm gonna get blown away," he grumbled, shivering slightly from the chills. He pulled his dusty gray coat tighter. He was certain that if he took one wrong step, the wind would knock him flat on his face.
Despite his weakened physical state, his survival skills had improved remarkably. Eric learned to move with the rhythm of the wind and use the shadows of ruins and trash piles. He avoided the gaze of distant Orks more effectively now. Paranoia and stress had sharpened his reflexes and senses to a razor's edge.
But then, Eric saw something ahead that made him stop dead in his tracks to figure out a plan.
The path forward was a narrow pass formed by two massive piles of trash, the only route cutting through. It was the safest and fastest way to Hive Kathion. The problem was... a massive Ork was standing right in the middle of it.
The beast was about 2.5 meters tall and seemed to be dozing off or spacing out, standing right in the bottleneck. There was no way to simply sneak past it easily. Sneaking by a sleeping Ork had a slim chance of success, but the risk of waking it up was too high.
Eric retreated slightly to find cover and assess the situation. He considered other options, like taking a detour. A detour would avoid the fight...
"A detour? Too risky. There could be a whole pack of them out there. The gun... no, too loud. It might attract others nearby and bring a horde down on me. So that just leaves..."
There was only one option left. And it was the most reckless one for him right now, given that his body was in no condition for close-quarters combat.
Eric's hand moved to the hilt of the short sword at his waist. The rough texture of the handle gave him a tiny bit of confidence—at least he wasn't using a small kitchen knife against a 2.5-meter monster. But he still wasn't confident. He knew his weakness: melee combat wasn't his forte. Even though he had fought in a bloody war a year ago, he wasn't a career soldier. He was just a conscript who had pulled off a few heroic feats and gotten promoted to Lieutenant. But at his core, he was just an ordinary former office worker, now in a sick female body...
"Don't chicken out now... Eric, you can do this. You *have* to do this," he told himself. Fear was useless right now. Eric took a deep breath through his gas mask and slowly crept out of his cover.
Fortunately, the environment favored a stealth approach. The visibility was too poor for him to be seen from a distance, and the howling wind completely masked the sound of his footsteps. He had a massive advantage. Unfortunately, that meant he had to get within arm's reach of the enemy.
His heart pounded so hard he could almost hear his own pulse. He moved toward the Ork's broad back as silently as a shadow. Fear, hesitation, and doubt were pushed aside, replaced by the will to survive and the desire to kill.
Luckily, the beast was still asleep. Eric looked for a vital weak point, a spot uncovered by armor—the exposed neck and face.
In that second, he swung the short sword with all the speed he could muster, aiming directly for the sleeping Ork's neck.
*SHHK! ... THUD!*
The crudely made sword sliced through the flesh easily, inflicting a fatal wound that nearly decapitated the Ork.
The body stood still for a moment before the massive, scrap-armored hulk crashed to the ground. It twitched two or three times, then lay still.
Eric stood frozen over the lifeless corpse. His eyes were wide behind the mask. The hand gripping the sword trembled uncontrollably—not from the cold, but from the rush of excitement and adrenaline surging through his body, making his hair stand on end. The chills and fatigue vanished instantly under the chemical rush.
*That was close,* his heart raced faster, beating so hard he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. A terrifying thought shot down his spine as his brain processed the "what ifs." If he had missed... if the blade hadn't cut deep enough... if the greenskin had turned around in time... his fragile body would have been crushed in its hands.
"That was close... Damn it, that was really close," Eric murmured, his voice shaking. A dry smile appeared beneath the gas mask. It was the smile of someone who had walked the thin line between life and death—a mix of extreme relief and horror.
He wanted to scream to release the tension, but he slapped himself to regain focus. The Ork corpse lay there, blood pooling and seeping into the dry, toxic sand. The smell of blood might attract something. Its friends might come to check on it.
Eric shook off the excitement and refocused on survival. His legs, previously weak from fever, now felt normal—or even stronger—thanks to the adrenaline. He quickly stepped away from the scene, moving as fast and lightly as possible, trying to blend into the environment while staying alert.
Once he cleared the narrow pass, Eric was hit by the full force of the wind again, nearly knocking him off balance. He struggled to keep his weakened body moving through the sandstorm that blinded him completely.
He stopped to rest behind a large rock. leaning against it. He cracked the small port on his gas mask and inserted the straw with practiced speed. He took just a few sips of water to soothe his dry throat before quickly removing the straw and sealing the port to prevent the toxic air from entering his mask.
"I want to drink more, dammit," he mumbled, sighing deeply. He wanted to drink until his thirst was quenched, but he couldn't. He had to save water to survive.
He had to remind himself constantly throughout the journey to ration his water.
"This sucks..." Eric complained as he felt the pain in his feet returning. It had been better this morning, but now... Suddenly, a thought struck him.
_Dammit!! I haven't taken off my boots in three days!! And I've had blisters since the first day! Are my feet going to get inflamed and infected?!_ Eric thought with panic. The situation was already bad enough with hunger and fever; he didn't want to add an infection to the list. He had no medicine. If his feet got infected, he wouldn't survive.
While he was spiraling into worry, a high-pitched whistling sound, distinct from the wind, pierced the air. Eric startled and looked up in the direction of the noise.
Through the swirling dust of the storm, he saw a massive object plummeting at high speed. It was engulfed in flames, trailing smoke like a meteor crashing to earth. Its trajectory seemed to be heading directly for the path ahead—the same direction he needed to go.
BOOOOM!!!
A massive impact followed a heartbeat later. The ground beneath Eric's feet shook violently.
Fighting the wind, Eric was nearly thrown face-first into the sand. The shockwave hit his gas mask, leaving him dazed for a moment. He had to plant one hand on the ground and hug his rifle tight with the other. His heart pounded with shock.
Regaining his senses, Eric struggled to stand up, staring intently in the direction where the object had fallen, even though he couldn't see anything through the storm.
_What was that? A plane? A spaceship? Or just debris from orbit?_Eric wondered. It could be anything—aircraft, spacecraft, orbital debris, a meteorite, or even a long-range weapon like a rocket or missile?.
Most importantly, the direction and point of impact were directly in his path. He hesitated, debating whether to continue in that direction. The fallen object could be a new threat, and a crash that loud would undoubtedly attract Orks, mutants, and other beasts to investigate.
However, while it posed a potential threat, it also offered a chance for survival. If it was an aircraft, there might be supplies or medicine left inside, which could extend his life for a while longer. Eric deliberated for a long time before finally deciding on his next move.
He chose to keep moving forward, hoping to scavenge supplies or find something useful at the crash site.
After walking about 2 kilometers through the toxic dust storm, exhaustion clawing at him, the distance felt eternal. Luckily, his adrenaline hadn't worn off yet; otherwise, his legs would be too sore to function.
And that was without even counting the fever.
Finally, he came across the trail of the fallen object. It had plowed a deep furrow, about a meter deep, dragging through the sand. Following the crash trail, he eventually saw what it was.
It was the wreckage of a massive aircraft unlike anything he had ever seen. It was about 30–35 meters long. Its shape was a strange contradiction: wings mounted at the rear, with four massive jet engines attached to them. Its silhouette looked futuristic in design, yet simultaneously brutal and crude, covered in heavy rivets and a bulky structure like a flying fortress. It was classic Imperium of Man design—something he had seen on everything from simple toasters to battle tanks, and apparently, spaceships too.
The hull was jet black with a faint green sheen, reflecting the dim light. It was mangled, broken in two. Thick grey smoke billowed from the heavily damaged engine room. The sound of electricity crackling from damaged wires and circuits cut through the howling wind.
Eric walked carefully around the wreckage, unsure if it was safe to approach. It could explode at any moment, or leak toxic substances and present other dangers.
Suddenly, his eyes snagged on an emblem painted on a section that looked like a door.
It was a winged sword.
It felt incredibly familiar... like the symbol on the armor of a Deathwatch Space Marine he had glimpsed a year ago during the mutant uprising in Hive Kathion. Except this symbol was a red winged sword on a white background, rather than a white winged sword on a green background.
But finding wreckage or an aircraft bearing a Space Marine symbol out here raised a burning question:
How did it get here? And how did this ship crash?
Analyzing the visible damage, he could see the cross-section and thickness of the hull. There was only one way to describe this massive aircraft:
It was basically a flying tank.
The hull armor was easily over 76mm thick, maybe much more in some places. And considering the advanced materials likely used, it was probably even tougher than it looked. Who knew what it could withstand?
Wait... Eric, you shouldn't be wasting time like this, he scolded himself.
The crash would definitely attract Orks, mutants, and beasts. He had to search the wreckage for useful items and get out of there as fast as possible.
He approached the wreckage cautiously. Eric tried to suppress his rising stress. He glanced at the scrap bolt-action rifle in his hand and sighed softly.
A single-shot rifle... If something jumps out while I'm searching or reloading, I'm going to die a pathetic death, he thought, moving with care. Although his body ached with fever and exhaustion, he gritted his teeth and pushed through.
He entered the rear section of the broken fuselage. Eric felt immediate relief as he escaped the battering wind outside. He scanned the interior; there wasn't much of interest besides the unique interior design and scattered metal debris. Suddenly, he spotted a box wedged between a collapsed wall panel and some debris. There was a small fire burning nearby, meaning he couldn't just reach for it. He would have to crawl into the gap to retrieve it.
Maybe it's a supply crate, Eric thought optimistically. Or if not food, maybe medicine.
Eric didn't hesitate. He crouched low and crawled into the smoky gap. The sharp smell of ozone and burning oil stung his nose.
His shaking hand grabbed the box, pulling it free from the debris pinning it down, and he crawled backward out of the hole.
Eric smiled faintly when he saw the box wasn't sealed or locked with any complex mechanism. He just had to pull a pin to unlock it. He did so immediately, hoping for something—anything—that would help him live a little longer or make survival easier. Food, medicine, a weapon... anything but useless junk.
He really didn't want it to be useless junk.
"Please let me get lucky this time..." he muttered, praying for something useful.
Click! The lid popped open.
But what was inside made him freeze. It was a single pouch of rations, enough to fill him up for a short time. But something was wrong. It smelled old and slightly rancid. Squinting at the label on the crumbling packaging, he realized the cruelest joke of all.
"Expired... 100 years ago? ...You have got to be kidding me!!!!"
Eric swore loudly. He had gone through all that trouble to find food in a crashed ship, only to find rations that expired a century ago. Who keeps century-old expired food on a ship like this? Even though he was starving, there was no way he was putting that in his mouth.
Eating 100-year-old expired food would likely result in more than just diarrhea or food poisoning.
Crunch!
Suddenly, the sound of something stepping on scrap metal came from outside the wreckage. Eric flinched, his hand instinctively tightening on his rifle. He shouldered the scrap weapon and walked out of the fuselage, turning sharply toward the sound without hesitation. Even though he couldn't see a clear target through the thick dust, he was certain something was there.
He pulled the trigger immediately.
BANG!
The gunshot roared over the wind. The recoil shook his slender shoulder. Eric quickly worked the bolt, ejecting the spent casing. His trembling hand reached into his coat pocket, grabbed a brass cartridge, loaded it into the chamber, and pushed the bolt forward, readying the weapon again.
He slowly walked through the sandstorm to check his handiwork... About 15 meters from the wreckage, he found a massive green Ork lying on its back in the sand, dead from a gunshot wound to the neck.
"That was close." Eric sighed in relief, wiping away the sweat beading on his forehead. It was just as he thought—the crash had attracted Orks. Luckily, this one had stepped on some scrap metal, alerting him, and he had managed to hit it despite the poor visibility.
Otherwise, he would have been lunch. But the relief lasted only a few seconds.
"WAAAGHHHH!!!"
A horrifying chorus of roars carried on the wind from the direction he had just come. And it sounded like there wasn't just one... judging by the noise, there could be dozens. Their war cries were getting closer, like a pack of wild beasts hunting prey.
Eric turned pale beneath his mask. He looked back into the empty sandstorm and swore softly in despair.
"Damn it... I hate the future. I hate this planet."
And he only had 18 rounds left.
Eric hurriedly backed toward the wreckage, keeping his rifle raised and ready. The tension was suffocating; one mistake meant death. His eyes strained to see through the whipping sand. Several large, dark silhouettes were sprinting toward him. Fear gripped him, but he knew panic meant death.
BANG!
The scrap rifle roared again. The recoil bit into his sore shoulder. Eric gritted his teeth against the pain and fear. The bullet struck the lead Ork in the shoulder, causing it to stumble and pause, but it didn't fall.
"You zoggin' git! I'm gonna krump ya!!! Yer little dakka won't stop me!!!" the Ork shouted, enraged, charging forward with incredible speed, closing the distance to just 5 meters.
"Damn it... why aren't you dead!" Eric cursed, his voice shaking.
His panic-stricken hands yanked the bolt back. Clink! The brass casing hit the sand. Because it was a crude, single-shot weapon, he had to fumble in his coat pocket for the next round, his fingers stiff with tension, moving faster than any normal human should be able to.
Faster, Eric... Faster! Don't shake now! he screamed internally. The Ork was only 5 meters away. One second of delay meant death. He also had to be careful not to let sand get into the chamber, or the gun would jam, sealing his fate.
He shoved the round in and slammed the bolt home. Click!
A giant axe swung down right where he had been standing. Eric scrambled backward and dodged clumsily to the left. Sand flew into the air. Seizing the moment, he raised the rifle again as fast as his body allowed. He pulled the trigger, sending the second bullet out at point-blank range. It punched straight through the Ork's eye. The beast collapsed, but the heavy footsteps of the others were still thundering closer.
Eric frantically reloaded and retreated into the rear section of the wreckage. He hoped the bottleneck would make them easier to handle.
At the same time, he cursed himself for being stupid enough not to run away in the first place. ...But running probably wouldn't have helped if they were intent on tracking him. Fighting them off seemed like the only viable option.
"Left with... 16 rounds?" His brain frantically calculated the remaining ammo as he aimed at the entrance, waiting for the Orks to come into view so he could take them out with precise, single shots.
He knew the terrible visibility was a double-edged sword. It hid him, but it also blinded him to where the enemy might appear. Eric panted heavily, his breath echoing in the mask. Sweat soaked his clothes, making them cling to his skin. He backed up until he hit the cold metal wall of the rear fuselage.
This should cover my back... he thought with a sliver of hope.
Suddenly, another Ork marched into the fuselage fearlessly, roaring like a maniac. Eric aimed at its face and eyes, pulling the trigger instantly.
"Waaagghhhh!!!!"
BANG!!!
It fell silent as the bullet pierced its cheek. Eric reloaded with desperate speed. More Orks rushed in. Eric aimed, fired, and reloaded as fast as humanly possible, picking off the Orks pouring into the wreckage.
In a short time, about 10 Ork corpses littered the floor.
The situation was dire. Eric was down to 5 rounds. And suddenly, the Orks stopped charging in. Eric, sensing something was wrong, gripped his rifle tighter. He didn't know much about Ork behavior, but their sudden hesitation was deeply unsettling.
His knuckles turned white as he clutched the weapon.
Then, he heard voices coming from the side of the wreckage. Definitely Orks.
Outside the wrecked Stormbird:
"How do we krump dat humie, Boss? All da Boyz dat went in got blasted by dat humie's dakka. Dey all gone to Gork an' Mork now," a Boy asked the Warboss uncertainly, seeing that everyone who entered the wreckage had been slaughtered.
"I got an idea!!! Gimme dat stikkbomb. We don't gotta go in dere to find da humie. We're gonna use kunnin' taktics to flush 'im out!"
Warboss Biggus, a massive Ork standing about 2.5 meters tall, had come up with a brilliant plan. Though not as large as some Warbosses, here, Biggus was the biggest, strongest, and smartest.
"Good idea, Boss!" The Boy handed the stikkbomb to Warboss Biggus.
Biggus took the grenade and didn't wait. He found a gap that looked like he could throw through, stepping into the same path the dead Boyz had taken, and hurled the stikkbomb inside with all his might.
Eric, aiming intently at the entrance, widened his eyes in horror as a grenade with a wooden handle and a soup-can head flew into the wreckage. In a split second, his hands went numb, and his heart dropped to his stomach. There was no time to grab it and throw it back. And he had no idea what the fuse time on an Ork grenade was.
"Oh sh*t!!!" Eric screamed, sprinting as fast as he had ever run in his life to get out of the wreckage.
But it wasn't fast enough.
The stikkbomb exploded violently inside the fuselage. The blast wave launched Eric's body through the air, even though he was several meters away from the detonation. He was thrown clear of the wreckage.
"Ugh!" Eric cried out as he slammed into the hard, sandy ground, rolling several times before crashing into a blunt piece of scrap.
"Argh!!!" He cried out in pain as his stomach hit something hard. Luckily, he hadn't been hit by shrapnel, but he felt like he had sustained severe internal bruising.
The combined pain made it almost impossible to stand. And... where was his gun? His short sword? Eric tried to look for his weapon, but he froze when he noticed something.
A massive Ork, larger than the others, was walking toward him with a triumphant grin, revealing rows of jagged, terrifying teeth. In its hands, it raised a colossal axe made from old saw blades high above its head, ready to deliver the finishing blow.
"Finally stopped runnin' an' usin' dat dakka, eh humie?!! Now ya got no dakka, an' ya can't cheat no more! DIE!!!" Warboss Biggus shouted with sadistic glee before attacking his prey.
As the giant axe descended, Eric felt a deathly chill colder than the storm around him. He hyperventilated, his gas mask barely keeping up. Fever, pain, and despair made his eyes tremble.
Is this the end?... Am I going to die a stupid death in a place like this?
He clenched his fists. He couldn't even stand up. Dodging was pointless. No matter what he did, his end was death. Eric closed his eyes, bracing for the inevitable.
CLANG!!
The sound of metal clashing rang out, deafeningly loud. But it wasn't the sound of an axe cleaving his flesh. Eric opened his eyes in shock, and the sight before him made his breath hitch.
Amidst the curtain of sand, a hulking figure in black power armor with a green sheen, standing nearly 3 meters tall, had interposed itself between him and the Ork. Eric recognized it immediately: a Space Marine.
The power armor, thick as a walking fortress, blocked out the light. Though the armor was battered and wires sparked from where the left arm should have been, the Marine was using his right hand to catch the haft of the Ork's axe. The blade was mere centimeters from Eric.
"Wot da zog are you?!!!" Warboss Biggus shouted in surprise, which quickly turned into excitement. Nothing in this wasteland was as strong as him, and now he had finally found a worthy opponent.
"You are not worthy to know my name, xenos filth," the mysterious Space Marine said coldly.
He yanked the axe from Warboss Biggus's grip, spun around, and with a single fluid motion, used the Ork's own weapon to decapitate him.