The sewage river emitted the stench of sulfur and fermented corpses.
Cyril lay on his back on a greasy pile of trash, his lungs wheezing like a broken bellows.
In the distance, the purple fire was still burning, dyeing half the Underhive sky a sickly, bruised color.
The shockwave from the explosion had leveled the shacks of three nearby blocks. The rats that had been hiding in the gutters were now scurrying past his feet in swarms, squeaking as they fled for their lives.
"Alive... still alive."
Lil Mouse knelt in the mud, his hands fumbling over his brother's body. After confirming that the thin chest was still rising and falling, he seemed to lose his bones and went limp. His dirty face was streaked with tears.
Looking at the terrifying hole in the back of his brother's head, he laughed and cried at the same time, his mouth stretched to his ears as he made a strange sound like a strangled duck.
Cyril did not have the strength to pay him any mind.
He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a cigarette pack softened by sewage. After shaking it for a while, a soggy cigarette fell out. The lighter flickered several times before sparks finally appeared, sizzling as they dried the tobacco, allowing him to barely draw in a breath of murky smoke that tasted of tar.
Cough, cough.
The violent coughing jarred his bruised ribs, making him grimace in pain.
In the bottom right corner of his retina, red pop-up windows were frantically scrolling.
[Regional destruction event detected.]
[Source determination: Host-guided.]
[Calculating emotional feedback...]
[Fear (Iron Crow Gang remnants): +50 points.]
[Despair (Rust Sage): +20 points.]
[Adoration (Lil Mouse): +10 points.]
[Current deception value balance: 100 points.]
One hundred points.
Cyril stared at the golden number. Finally, he did not have to be stingy anymore.
That gamble just now had paid off. Not only had he broken even, he had also doubled his investment.
This feeling of dancing with his head on the line was more thrilling than performing a hundred Disappearing Acts on stage.
This was the curtain call a Magician deserved.
Rumble—!!
The dull roar of engines drowned out the sound of collapsing ruins in the distance. Several piercing headlights tore through the darkness, making Cyril squint.
A dozen modified heavy motorcycles charged over the trash and rubble, braking hard and drifting, splashing black mud.
Before the vehicles even came to a halt, a group of thugs in leather jackets, armed with Bolters and Chainswords, jumped down. Leading them was Scar, carrying a heavy power hammer, the flesh on his face tense with nervousness.
But he did not dare move.
No one dared to move.
These Black Hand Gang thugs, who usually acted like they owned the Lower Hive, were now staring blankly at the burning ruins.
The Ascension Sanctuary, the Iron Crow Gang's stronghold that once struck terror into the entire district, was now nothing but a massive crater emitting purple smoke.
That kind of destructive power was not something gang warfare could produce. That was war. That was annihilation.
The door of an armored off-road vehicle at the rear opened.
Morozha stepped out.
The boss of the Black Hand Gang wore an elegant trench coat and leaned on a gold-inlaid cane. But his expression was far from composed. He looked at the large pit in the distance still spewing purple tongues of fire, his facial muscles twitching twice, the interrogation he had prepared getting stuck in his throat.
He turned his head, his gaze falling on Cyril lying in the trash heap.
The man was covered in mud, looking like a dead dog just fished out of a gutter, yet he held a cigarette between his fingers, staring back with the look of someone watching a play.
Morozha felt a chill run up his spine.
He stepped forward, the sound of his leather shoes treading in the mud exceptionally heavy.
"What happened, Mr. Cyril?"
Morozha stood before Cyril, looking down from above, his voice low like muffled thunder before a storm. "I sent you to find clues, not to blow half the Iron Crow Gang sky-high."
Cyril blew a smoke ring and did not get up.
"I found them."
He pointed to the smoking crater, his tone as casual as if he were talking about what he had for dinner. "The clues are in that pit. Dark Mechanicum, Slaanesh crystals, and a bunch of lunatics who wanted to turn themselves into monsters. To save you the trouble, I went ahead and cleaned up this pile of trash for you."
"Cleaned up?"
Morozha's knuckles turned white as he gripped his cane.
He suddenly bent down, his face close to Cyril's, spit nearly flying onto the other's face. "Do you know what you're saying? That was the Iron Crow Gang. That was Crow's territory. With the Adeptus Mechanicus behind them, if you do this, what will the big shots in the Upper Nest think? Do you want all of us to be buried with you?"
He was afraid.
Cyril could hear it. This fear was not because he feared the Inquisition, but because of the uncontrollable variable in front of him. Morozha was used to controlling everything, but now this blade he thought he could wield at will had suddenly turned into a time bomb.
Cyril smiled.
He propped himself up, sat upright, and flicked the cigarette butt into the dirty water at his feet with a hiss.
"Oh? Is that so?"
Cyril looked up, his black eyes appearing bottomless against the backlight of the car lamps. "Morozha, get the situation straight. If I hadn't blown that place up, once the thing in that crystal hatched, you would have already turned into a lump of flesh that only knows how to drool and bite people."
He pointed to Lil Mouse lying on the ground nearby.
"Don't believe me? Ask him. What did he see in there?"
Morozha glanced sideways at Lil Mouse. The thin youth shuddered and instinctively hugged his brother tighter. The fear etched into his bones could not be faked.
"And another thing."
Cyril stood up and brushed the mud from his trousers. Although he was a mess, the moment he stood straight, that inexplicable sense of arrogance returned.
He leaned into Morozha's ear and said in a voice only the two of them could hear, "Don't take yourself too seriously. The lords of the Upper Nest will only thank me. I wiped their asses for them and eliminated a potential Warp contamination source. As for you..."
Cyril took a step back, his gaze sweeping over the thugs who held guns but did not dare come forward.
"In the current Lower Hive, who else can speak besides the Black Hand Gang? The Iron Crow Gang's strength is severely depleted, One-Eyed Jack is dead, and the support from the Adeptus Mechanicus behind them has been cut off. Do I need to teach you whose name this territory will carry from now on?"
Morozha was stunned.
Massive profit and massive risk fought fiercely in his mind.
The Iron Crow Gang was indeed finished. Their long-time rival had vanished into thin air overnight. This territory, those resources, and those ownerless businesses... But as he looked at Cyril, the chill in his heart could not be suppressed.
This person was too insane.
And that nonchalant attitude was not something an Underhive undertaker should have. It was the composure of someone who had seen grander scenes and held bigger cards.
It might even be... contempt.
"You're a lunatic," Morozha stared into Cyril's eyes and squeezed the words through his teeth.
"Thanks for the compliment." Cyril grinned, revealing white teeth stained with blood. "In this damn universe, the weak don't deserve to survive. Only lunatics can climb up."
At this moment, Scar, who had been standing by, could not help but shrink back half a step.
He looked at his grim-faced boss, then at the indifferent Undertaker, and a ridiculous thought suddenly popped into his head. Perhaps from now on, the Underhive really was going to change.
Before, he followed Morozha to earn a living, but now, looking at Cyril, he actually felt that following this lunatic might smash his rice bowl and replace it with a golden one.
Morozha took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the turbulent waves in his heart.
Now was not the time for a fallout.
Since the Iron Crow Gang was gone, this piece of fat had to be eaten. As for this dangerous bomb, there would be plenty of opportunities to dismantle it later.
"Get in the car."
Morozha turned, his trench coat sweeping out in a stiff arc. "Come back and explain everything clearly. If you dare lie to me by a single word, I'll make you regret not dying in that pit."
Cyril shrugged and did not move.
"My friends have to come along." He pointed to the Lil Mouse brothers on the ground. "Also, I want to ride in your car."
Morozha paused, gave him a cold look, and finally pulled open the car door and sat inside.
"Bring him up."
Scar immediately waved his hand, signaling his subordinates to lift Lil Mouse and his brother onto a truck.
Cyril slowly walked to the armored off-road vehicle, pulled open the door, and plopped onto the leather seat, unceremoniously smearing mud all over the expensive interior.
"Drive, please."
Cyril leaned against the backrest and closed his eyes.
In his mind, that 100-point deception value was shining brightly.
He had the ticket for the next performance.