Now hiding in one of St. Fu's very cities, what is the Sorority gonna do now?
Chapter Five: Slumming It
The city of Fusmouth, capital of the Liberation province, was unlike the Hive Cities found on other worlds, being relatively spacious with a manageable population, and, most unusually, was laid out in a long, jagged line, with several "prongs" at various intervals. From a bird's-eye view, it really did look like a stitched-shut mouth, for it was, after all, where St. Fu was "Silenced" in the past.
But like any city, it did have its "bad part," that being a neighborhood so crime-ridden it was nicknamed "Phlegethon," not only because it was a common scene of gang warfare and homicides, but also because it was a favorite target of arsonists. The Sorority of Violence managed to hole themselves up in this slum once they arrived under the cover of extremely-early-morning darkness, hiding in the dilapidated remains of what once seemed to be a hotel.
Throughout the next few days since then, Sisters who had no scars on their faces, making them less noticeable, were sent out to steal food and clothes to better blend in, and also watch the PDF complex just outside town for movement, once they were aware of its location.
Whenever Knives was not assigned any of those missions, she loved simply exploring the expansive metropolis, taking in the sort of sights she rarely ever saw in her life as a wanderer. As a precaution Knives always wore a stolen hooded coat and shades to hide her wolfish eyes.
One evening, as she was roaming around a popular place for students of the nearby institution of higher learning to hang out, a young man with dyed metallic blue hair called out to her.
"Hey you! In the hood!"
Knives sighed at having her anonymity compromised, but hopefully this guy was mistaking her for someone else. Turning to face him, the boy's face briefly became one of puzzlement as he said,
"Oh, never seen you before. You new here?"
"Uh, yeah. Just moved in," Knives answered, careful not to show her sharpened teeth and mentally kicking herself for making such a cringe-worthy lie.
"What classes are you taking?"
"Oh, I… uh…"
"You're not in any, are you?" the punkish fellow developed a smug expression.
"So I'm not. Why do you care?"
"That's how gutter kittens in denial talk." His evil smile widened, "gutter kitten" being regional slang for an innocent girl forced into prostitution by desperation.
"Excuse me?" Knives growled. Even though she didn't fully understand what he said, she knew it was some kind of insult.
"You heard me, slut." The student's voice suddenly got frighteningly low, the shift in tone catching Knives off-guard, yet she quickly drew a hidden dagger.
"Fuck right off, pal," she hissed, though this only made him say,
"Ooh, a feisty one. This'll be good," as he roughly grabbed her chin.
It was in that moment Knives looked down the sleeve of his right arm as it held her face, managing to pick out what looked like a tattoo there. Studying it as fast as she could, her eyes widened as she realized what shape it made. Holy shit, she thought, quickly using her other hand to hold the guy's wrist and ram her blade into the back of his elbow, breaking free from his grip and racing away as fast as she could.
The young man screamed in pain as she bolted, Knives swearing there was a strange tone of excitement to it, shoving her way past confused passerby.
Sprinting back to the hideout, she pushed a tall man in a longcoat.
"What the fuck, man?" he snapped at her, but she ignored him.
Once she returned, Knives took a moment to catch her breath before pushing the hotel's rusted doors.
"Y'all are not gonna believe this," she said to her Sisters lounging around the lobby.
"Somehow I don't think we will." Bloodmaw snarked.
"Even if I told you that I found a follower of our Arch-Enemy?" Knives shot back, using the Sorority's euphemism for the hated Slaanesh.
"You're full of shit." The older brunette remained skeptical, several others agreeing with her.
"I wouldn't lie about something like this, Bloodmaw."
"I ain't necessarily calling you a liar, just an idiot if you think so."
"He had the mark tattooed on his fucking arm you bitch! Blood and thunder, why do you have a chainsword stuck up your ass all the time?!"
"I'll stick one up yours if you so desire, dipshit."
"Will both of you halfwits shut the fuck up?!" Mistress Massacre strode down the grand staircase, angered by the increasingly-loud argument, "What's going on?"
"The knife-loving doofus here thinks the Arch-Enemy's mongrels are in this shithole." Bloodmaw answered the Mistress first, who looked over to the younger brunette and asked,
"Do you really think so, Knives?"
"I know so, Mistress. I was walking around when this guy with blue hair started talking to me about something to do with… what's the word… school, and I'm like, 'I'm not in it,' and he says, 'that's how gutter kittens in denial talk.' It was some kinda insult, so I draw on him but he just is all like, 'ooh, you're feisty,' and grabs my chin. Then I look down his shirt sleeve and see the mark tattooed on his shoulder, so I stabbed him in the elbow and ran off."
"That's quite a story, Knives." Massacre seemed to accept her testimony, and said, "If Slaaneshi really are in this city, I'll take Carnage out tomorrow morning and look for this 'guy' of yours, and if you're right, we can probably have a little fun killing 'em while we're here. Thanks for the info, Knives."
"No problem, Mistress."
The dirty blonde then went back up to the room she claimed as hers, not noticing Knives look at Bloodmaw with a smug, victorious grin.
Inquisitor Backett had received no new information leading to this Khornate cult's whereabouts, even after he had arrived in Fusmouth the day before. Nothing in the vox broadcasts of Platoon 4D from the day they were attacked and Garrison 68's logs prior to their own demise gave no indication of unusual activity, so from what he could at least deduce from that was this cult had only recently appeared on this planet. That's somewhat good, he thought to himself, maybe we can intercept them before they strike again. Of course, given his past experience with followers of the Blood God, that time was running out. Tomorrow he was going to have a look at Garrison 68, assuming the cultists had already left, for any clues on where they were going. It was important he did, but at the same time, Graic felt like he should just hunt for them blind and be done with it.
Straightening himself from the leaning position against a wall in the PDF complex, he finished the lho stick he had been smoking and put it out under his boot, figuring he could at least take a look around Fusmouth and mitigate a bit of stress.
Walking through town, through what he assumed to be its slums, considering himself lucky he was armed, Backett suddenly felt someone push him aside, seeing a skinny figure in a hood sprint away as he regained his footing.
"What the fuck, man?" he barked, but predictably, the person said nothing. Quickly checking to see if they managed to steal anything, and sighing slightly to see they didn't, the Inquisitor continued on his way.
You'll notice the description of Phlegethon as both violent and a target of arson. This is a reference to both Greek mythology and Dante's Inferno. In the original myths, Phlegethon is said to be a river of fire flowing through the underworld, while in Inferno, the river is one of boiling blood, where murderers are submerged.
So what lies in wait for Massacre and Carnage?