Chapter 2: His will, my Sword
Dummy guide to Hive Worlds, p.4
Mutants are the most pathetic and most repelling monsters in dark corners of the Hive worlds. Upon many worlds, the basis of the holy human form has been ravaged by pollution and alien environments. Mutants with lower levels of deviance are barely tolerated in the Imperium, often treated as second-class citizens, and are forced to work in extreme environments like slaves.
Worse than those children born deformed by pollution or radiation, are those who have been destroyed and rebuilt by Warp. They are creatures that have been abandoned and cursed, their bodies reshaped by madness and terror, and their souls forever marked by the Dark Gods. Some of them came into the world as normal human beings, but Chaos eroded their souls and bodies, changing them into monsters, and some are born as monsters.
Whatever caused their fall, they are doomed to be abandoned and hated, and the Imperium would kill them at once. Even if they still have any sort of intelligence, it would also be completely warped. Alone and hunted, most of them fall to Chaos, changing the mutants into murderous beasts. In turn, Chaos "blessings" will exacerbate their mutations, and those who survive will become truly malefic and fear-inspiring abominations.
Ships of all shapes and sizes bustled about the battle-scarred spaceport. Amidst the commotion, ruins of the great tower lay in macabre silence and chunks still floated in orbit. This is Londinium's spaceport, a shadow of the trade hub it once was.
As an important Imperial lynchpin in the sector, Londinium has been reconsolidated and reorganized as fast as possible, even though Imperial forces had driven the Chaos invaders off planet only months prior. The crowds of workers in the harbor are living proof of the shipping industry's rapid recovery - necessary to prepare for and defend against some weaker warbands that might attempt an immediate attack on the scarred planet.
Three people, in the pale grey robes of the Administratum's Tithe assessors were brushing through the harbor. Hoods covered their faces, and only the sharpest eyes could see that there is a woman among them in the dim light. They passed through the crowd briskly, apparently on urgent business.
Workers nearby either got out their way or ignored their presence completely. Tithe officials aren't known for wielding great power, but they are by far the most annoying bureaucrats. And many years of experience, passed down by word of mouth, admonished the workers not to trouble men who belong to a department that is present all over the Imperium, even if they are the but insignificant menials, the lowliest of any Adepta.
Contrary to the trio's expectations, none hindered their way as they left the port. The strange bubble of calm surrounded them as they descended along the spire towards the underhive. But as soon as they had arrived the underhive, things began to change.
"My lord."
The man in the middle whispered to the man in front of him in a low, unctuous voice, "Do you think our dresses keep us unremarkable?"
"Omini, I am in no mood for your games. Ask what you will, before you try talking to my bolter." The tallest man in the front replied.
He prostrated and lowered his voice deliberately, but the annoying tone stays unchanged.
"Yes, yes, my lord," Omini continued, apparently not bothered at all, "But m'lord, because you've been following those suspicious soldiers, you may have missed something else important."
While the conversation took place, the three had entered a hidden alley, and the stained-yellow walls of boned ferrocrete in front made it clear to them that this was a dead end.
"You always hide your true identity using simple ways ... but for some eyes that watch in the dark, three Tithe agents with hidden identities are rather obvious targets that need to be watched carefully, yes'?'
As soon as he stopped, a dozen men in cloaks appeared at the alley mouth, and some have metal glimmers showing beneath their costume.
" ... Omini, maybe you are right, but letting them try something funny is my favorite way to solve problems. Alice, when did they begin to follow us?"
The Inquisitor turned to his shortest servant, still covered with a cloak.
"Since we entered the lower hive." The former arbitrator deftly loaded her shotgun and unclasped a power maul from her waist.
"Interesting ... let me guess, you are the Dark Remnants? No, no, of course not. This is too stupid, crude, inefficient, and ... "
The Inquisitor glanced at the ringleader, taking note of a face mostly covered with distorted tentacles and a claw where his right hand used to be.
"And they don't have such disgusting mutations, right? Chaos scum? HERETICS?!"
This pronouncement ignited the tension in the alley. In an instant, both sides were blistering with weapons, and a dozen mutants charged straight towards the Inquisitor. One of them is much bigger than his accomplices.
The Inquisitor snorted in derision.
"Alice, Omini, stand by. I am going to ... take a stroll."
Antares twisted his head, threw off his hood, and drew his relic power sword from his waist.
Remembering combat with the Orks on Armageddon, their boundless waves of vile bile emerging from underground positions, Antares even feels lucky. Of course, old man Yarrick wouldn't even sneeze at the situation. In fact, he might even enjoy it.
"During my stay on Armageddon, the Orks got on my nerves. Now, ENTERTAIN ME YOU HERETIC MUTANTS!"
The sight of a frothing, twisted horde of mutants charging is truly horrific.
That is, for commoners.
But Antares is the Eye of the Emperor. He is the Hand of the Regent. He is an Inquisitor of the holy Inquisition, always ready to enforce the Emperor's will.
He is certainly not a commoner.
Antares activated the force field on the master-crafted power sword as soon as he unsheathed it. Silver blue lightning danced across the surface, a hint of great power enough to cut ordinary power weapons in half. Exorcism runes etched in it also issued a faint light.
Though the weapon is powerful, its wielder is even more so.
Antares jumped to the side with near-Astartes agility just as a mutant fired his rifle. The round hammered against a wall and sent dust showering across the alley. Twisting back on track, Antares charged the disgusting horde head on, and brought his sword in a downward arc of azure, iridescent death.