Hidden Objective Completed: Sabotage/Destroy the Manufactorum!
Reward/s:
2 Uncommon Gacha Token
2000 Kg Biomass
Biomass Reserves Threshold Reached! 10,000 Kgs
You can no longer absorb Biomass until your reserves are reduced or your reserves are upgraded!
So, there was a limit to how much I can devour at once. That made sense, I suppose. There had to be a limit to everything and that also meant that my Warp and Tech Shaping could only store up to 10,000 units' worth of raw material to work with, which also made sense. I didn't know how to upgrade that limit, however, which was annoying. But I didn't have to do that just yet. Ten thousand kilograms of biomass was... well... it was huge – more than enough biomass for me to reconstitute my body again and again, without having to worry too much.
Moving on, I also received two Uncommon Gatcha Tokens, which were always welcome; the stuff I've gotten from these things had been... interesting. And probably heretical, but I'd be a terrible servant of the Emperor if I failed to utilize every resource I had to destroy the enemies of the Imperium. At this point, if I was branded a Heretic, I probably wouldn't protest. The powers I possessed were nothing short of witchcraft and sorcery, and yet I used them all the same. And I will continue to use them until the Emperor saw fit to grant me his mercy.
Until then, I was going to kill as many of the Imperium's enemies as I can – be they Daemons, Heretics, or Traitor Astartes.
Anyway, with that in mind, I crushed both of the Uncommon Gacha Tokens at once, eager to see what I'd get out of them.
Uncommon Item/s Received! X2
Skill Card [Normal Punch (Saitama)] – Simply toss the card into the air and the skill will automatically activate with the user as the center point.
Genetic Template (Hanma Gene) – A unique bloodline from ancient Terra, a mutation that has spawned the most powerful martial artists and warriors, the most powerful of whom was known only as the Ogre. Those who carry this genetic trait are able to grow more powerful with each defeat, even eventually exceeding the Gene-Forged Mutants of the Imperium.
And, as with any item, I understood immediately how they worked and how to use them. Though, I did not receive any immediate understanding of what their effects actually did; the [Normal Punch] card, for instance, was something of a mystery. It, quite literally, just said Normal Punch, which wasn't something I'd expect from a skill card. But, I'd take it, since it didn't seem daemonic in nature, just strange and likely useless. A normal punch from a normal human, as I understood it, wouldn't do much against anything – not even much against other normal humans, honestly. I'd been punched before and it didn't kill me.
I shrugged. After all, just because it was marked as uncommon didn't mean it was all that useful; by their very nature, Gacha tokens were unreliable – offering objects of power or... a cup. At least, that's how I understood it; the knowledge I carried was instinctual.
That was how I understood that the Genetic Template was... exceptionally useful.
I couldn't use it just yet. My [Self-Shaping] level was too low for that. But, eventually, I knew I'd be able to splice and mix and match the physical attributes and genes of everyone and everything and anything I devoured, which included this very odd Genetic Template from ancient Terra. A cursory glance told me everything I needed to know. It was as the description stated, a genetic mutation that allows for immense and almost infinite physical growth. I don't think it was useful on me, specifically, since the conditions required for said physical growth were bypassed by my ability to reshape and reconstitute myself however I wished; meaning, I'd get nothing out of it.
But that didn't mean others wouldn't. After all, I knew somehow, through pure instinct alone, that Self-Shaping would eventually evolve to reach a level that would allow me to apply it on other people. Such a genetic mutation would serve my fellow Guardsmen on a level beyond any augmentation or training.
I could almost picture it – the strength and durability of an Ogryn, with the speed, dexterity, skill, and knowledge of a Cadian Stormtrooper.
Such a potent mix would given even Traitor Astartes some pause. The mere thought of it gave me goosebumps. An entire legion of such powerful specimens of ascended humans would make even Orks route.
But that wouldn't be possible for a while; my Self-Shaping had a lot of levels it needed to reach before it got to that point.
With the facility now rendered inert, I decided it was time to move forward and, once again, make my way towards the Hive City of Kuresh. Hopefully, the guardsmen still stood strong, unbroken and unbowed, the hammer of the Imperium. More than hope, however, was faith. I had faith in the Imperium, in my fellow guardsmen of the Astra Militarum, and – most importantly – I had faith that the God Emperor was watching over us to ensure our victory.
I walked out of the ruined manufactorum. The exterior was deserted. All the Traitor Astartes were dead and devoured and so were the cultists. I'd absorbed everything there was to absorb, including their armored vehicles, which provided me with both Raw Materials and Schematics. Though, for now, I could only restore things to a previous condition, instead of building things from scratch as I knew I'd eventually be capable of. I then spent a few minutes idly looking around, searching for things I might've missed.
I found quite a lot of things, actually, such as ration packs and other bits and bobs that I really did not have much use for. So, I took nothing and soon made my way out of there, having accomplished what I set out to do. The only thing left to do now was rendezvous with high command and see what more I could offer. As things stood, I had no orders; the only mission I had would be those I assigned myself, which was the eradication of the enemy through any means available. So, if I encountered convoys or baggage trains, then I was going to either destroy or sabotage them. The same went for any manufactorae I'd find that were corrupted by the Ruinous Powers.
Again, I steered clear of roads and other, more obvious pathways as I made my way closer and closer to Kuresh.
Ruins and corpses greeted me wherever I went, ruins of former bases, command posts, and armored vehicles, and the corpses of both friend and foe, piled atop each other, their bodies already partially decayed and rotting. I passed by mountains and mountains of cadavers, many of whom belonged to my brothers and sisters in the guard, men and women who gave their lives to slow down the enemy's advance. They lost. The dead that belonged to the guard outnumbered the enemy; for every one hundred guardsman that lay dead, a single Traitor Astartes could be found, their power armors rent asunder by sustained Lasgun fire or torn apart by millions of stubber rounds.
They were by the God Emperor's embrace now. Perhaps, soon, I would join them, but not yet.
My trek continued for days. Praxtor was a massive world, but much of it was desolate wastelands unfit for human habitation. And, the whole time, I kept myself reasonably small, hiding behind the myriad of ruins. I walked until I reached the desolate remains of what was almost certainly Point 51, which was the forward base where the ships that carried me and my brothers made landfall from the transport ship, In His Glory. I glanced around. Many of the structures and buildings were still there, only they were scorched and entire sections of them had been reduced to piles of smoking rubble. I walked into the HQ, passing by more and more corpses. The Cogitators within were all destroyed – a deliberate act, I quickly noted. The data held within could no longer be viewed or processed, and it was also likely that it'd been stolen by the enemy. So, now, I had to assume that whoever destroyed the Cogitators were now aware of troop movements, drop sites, and baggage trains. Everything I knew was likely already compromised.
Hopefully, High Command would quickly adapt and forge new plans. But, my experience with them told me otherwise. They'd be easily decimated unless they all pulled back and pooled all resources in the Hive Cities.
But, then again, I was just a guardsman; tactical acumen was not one of my stronger virtues. I followed orders and I was good at it. I needed nothing more.
I flipped over a few fallen cabinets and dividers, cogitators and tables, searching for anything of value. Tech-Shaping did not see the broken tech as actual tech, which was a strange limitation, but I figured there had to be one somewhere; so, I couldn't absorb everything around me and turn them into Raw Material. It was unfortunate, but not something I'd cry about any time soon. I could fix them, however, but I also didn't actually know how to use a Cogitator, not without a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus at my side to guide me. I knew the basics, but nothing more than that.
I found plenty of discarded documents as I rummaged through the rubble, but none of them were substantial. Most simply spoke of troop deployments and the division of rations and other mundane things. Nothing told me about the situation within Praxtor itself, which was another unfortunate thing that I could do very little about.
Sighing, I shook my head and decided to move on. There was nothing here of value. My best bet was to regroup with High Command and figure things out from there. It'd be great if I received actual orders to follow.
Shaking my head, I walked out of the HQ.
There was nothing else here for me to uncover, nothing that might grant me answers.
As my feet met the dirt of the exterior, I froze. A tall, lithe, and inhumanly graceful figure approached me.
My eyes narrowed. And, before the figure fully came into view, I had already manifested the body of an Astartes, alongside a suit of Power Armor. I made alterations to the Astartes Physique, wherever and however I could with [Self-Shaping] level 3. I also willed forth a Power Sword in both hands; admittedly, I had no idea how to actually use even a single sword, but the basics stayed the same – stick 'em with the pointy end and they'd die.
"There you are, creature," A Daemon, the same one I'd fought a few days ago, came into view. Most of its wounds were gone, but the scars that marred its hideous form told me it hadn't escaped unscathed. I scowled. Just what did it take to kill this thing? "You cannot hide from me, no matter what form you take; I know the scent of your abominable soul. You will pay for the humiliation, creature! I shall make instruments of art and music from your bones and your screams shall echo across my palace!"
I did not bother speaking to the creature as I'd done the last time. Instead, I charged right towards it. My senses, now enhanced by the physiology of an Astartes, were sharpened enough that I saw the foul Daemon as it made its move. It lurched and surged forward at dizzying speeds, blurring as it moved. However, the body of an Astartes was beyond that of any mortal man. Somehow, I was able to raise both Power Swords in time to deflect the Daemon's own screeching blade, which it held with one hand, while it carried a spiked whip on the other.
I attempted to push aside the blade, but it was far stronger than I was, even with both the Power Armor and the Astartes physique bolstering my physical stats. The servos and joints of the armor strained and groaned. Eventually, I decided on setting both blades aside and placed them in my Inventory. The Daemon's black eyes widened slightly as the two Power Swords I'd held disappeared.
Still, it pressed its newfound advantage and brought the screeching blade low. It sliced through my Power Armor as if it wasn't there at all. And then it sliced through my skin, my muscles, bones, and organs, out the other side. When I took a step forward, the entire left half of my torso sloped off and fell to the ground, splattering blood all over the place. The sudden loss of mass cost me my balance. And I too fell down. I glanced at the open wound on my side and frowned.
My guts were all over the place.
The Daemon, however, was not amused. It roared in frustration and sent a powerful kick my way. Its hoofed foot crushed the Power Armor's breast plate and sent the rest of my torso hurling back... without my legs and hips. As I landed, I immediately reformed my body and armor, taking up nearly four hundred kilograms of Biomass and nearly half of all the Raw Materials I currently possessed – the latter half was strange, since Astartes Power Armor really wasn't that large and I could've sworn I absorbed armored vehicles a while back. However, my attempt at reconstituting the Power Armor was less than successful; the parts that were recreated were deformed or outright misshapen. It was still armor, but it was not the Power Armor I'd worn earlier.
And I realized right then and there what my mistake was. I tried to 'fix' it, which was impossible at my current level of [Tech-Shaping]. I could only restore things to a previous state, which usually meant taking something broken and restoring it to when it wasn't broken. However, because very little of the Power Armor remained on me – the rest of it was on the ground in two places – that meant there was no base to work with, creating a mutation of metal that only ended up looking like armor because I'd imagined it in my head.
Breathing in, I reabsorbed the Power Armor I had on and decided it was a better idea to fight in the nude as also sent the Black Carapace into my Inventory for safe keeping; I had a limited number of the stuff and I did not want to run out because an angry Daemon kept slicing them apart.
But, I also needed a way to slow down the Daemon.
It stood there, but I knew it wouldn't stay idle for long.
"So, even a cursed weapon, made to kill immortals, has no effect on your healing," It said. And I had to raise a brow. "Just what are you?!"
What in the Emperor's name was a Cursed Weapon?
When the daemon sliced me, it certainly didn't feel any different from all the other times I'd been cut down or otherwise dismembered. The screeching blade looked special, but that was it. I was either immune to its effects or it didn't do anything at all.
Whatever. I didn't care. The daemon's weapon was having performance issues and that definitely was not my problem.
Before, I had no method of permanently putting this foul creature down for good. Now, however, with [Warp-Shaping], I could just devour the daemon's essence, killing it for good. Probably. I actually had no idea what would happen if I tried that. A part of me screamed at the mere idea of eating daemon; the very thought of it was heretical. However, the more rational side of me argued that my System automatically purified whatever daemonic essence I absorbed, which meant whatever I took into myself wouldn't be tainted by the Ruinous Forces.
It was in that moment that I remembered the fact that I had several armored vehicles in my Inventory – each of them too ruined to be absorbed into Raw Materials. But I kept them anyway, just in case I'd need something heavy.
How do I slow down the daemon long enough for me to absorb it?
Roaring, I charged towards the foul creature. I didn't bother with a grenade or a bomb this time; I didn't need to and exploding myself again and again seemed like a good way to waste good, usable biomass. The daemon sneered and screamed in anger and frustration as it cracked its spiked whip and sent it my way. That was good, I thought, as the whip flayed open my arm and wrapped itself around the appendage as though it was a living thing. And, knowing the mutative properties of the Ruinous Forces, it probably was alive in some fashion.
The daemon pulled me and I did not resist. This was exactly what I wanted, after all. "Get over here!"
As I lurched towards the daemon, I grinned and willed forth five ruined tanks right above us. The broken vehicles then fell atop us and pinned both the foul creature and I to the ground. Nearly every bone in my body was crushed upon impact, tearing my muscles and rupturing my organs. My head remained unharmed, thankfully, including a small portion of my upper torso and a single arm. My other arm was minced and crushed so thoroughly that it would've been more accurate to categorize it as a liquid.
Pain was a distant thing, I thought, for a brief moment. I knew it was there. I felt it. And I knew that I should've been screaming in torment right then and there, even with my pseudo immortality. But my mind simply chose not to react. A product of [Gamer's Mind], I figured.
The daemon itself roared as hundreds of tons of solid metal fell atop it.
"What trickery is this?!" It gasped, clearly struggling with the weight. "What sorcery have you employed, creature?!"
It was a testament to its strength that it wasn't crushed as I was. Instead, it was able to hold up the ruined tanks, even if it did so on its knees. However, I now had my hand on its foot.
And I only needed the barest skin contact.
My grin widened. "Game over."
The daemon screamed.