The Emperor’s Angel of Death

On the way from the church to the inn, Hayes made a decision after thinking for a long time. He whispered something to Kang, who was surprised at first, but then nodded firmly. Afterwards, the four separated at the entrance of the junkyard. Hayes and his wife took Mrs. Lass back to the inn, while Kang returned to his own neighborhood—at least on the surface.

While their wives were taking care of Mrs. Lass and getting her to sleep, Hayes went out under the pretext of buying something and came to the place he had agreed to meet Kang.

"Those guys have been found, but you come with me first."

Kang led Hayes through the dim streets for a few turns, and then came to a dilapidated brick and mud house, and pushed open the decaying door.

Before even entering, Hayes could hear singing, the monotonous drone of servitors singing the Adeptus Astartes' most common "Battle Hymn of the Golden Throne."

Passing through the corridor, through a dirty door frame with no door, Hayes saw the main hall. Fourteen ragged veterans were sitting on the dirty floor, their heads facing a rusty Imperial Aquila hanging on the wall. Under the double-headed eagle, there was a line written in yellow chalk on the floor—Soldiers' Home.

Each veteran had a weapon placed at his feet. Some of them had lost arms, or feet, or eyes and ears.

Few were whole.

For a moment, Hayes's heart ached. For some reason, this scene reminded him of when he had just joined the service a few years ago, before he had been on the battlefield, before he had experienced the horror.

And the sound was coming from Kang's player.

"He's here, everyone's here."

When Kang came in, they turned their heads one by one, looking at Hayes.

"I'm Hayes, from the 310th Regiment."

Hayes introduced himself first, and then a bearded, one-eyed man introduced himself with a smile.

"Ha, I'm Maz, from the 181st Regiment, truck driver."

"I'm from the 201st Regiment."

"I'm from the 311th Regiment."

Everyone introduced themselves, and then Kang looked at Hayes and said:

"I told everyone about that, and everyone is willing to help. Those bastards usually stay in the repair shop they robbed at this time."

Hayes nodded, and then said to everyone:

"Thank you all."

In the dimly lit repair shop, many metal facilities and debris were piled together haphazardly. A flag made of red cloth hung on the metal beams, with a burning skull in the middle. Under the flag, a dozen modified motorcycles and off-road vehicles formed a circle. They were equipped with countless flashing colored high-power neon lights, forming severe light pollution around them. Dozens of young men and women danced in this colorful glare, while some hid in the shadows kissing and engaging in shameful acts, or huddled in the dirty sofa, snorting some powder into their noses. A pile of contraband drugs and drug paraphernalia were scattered on the ground.

"Quiet! Quiet!"

Suddenly, a man with a painted face, full of lip studs, and a weird trident hairstyle raised his arm, one hand still holding a microphone. Then he turned around and pointed his arm at an arrogant man sitting in the back seat of a painted modified off-road vehicle, with two scantily clad young women on each side. He was wearing a wild leather jacket, exposing his chest.

This person had tanned skin, strong muscles, a thick gold chain around his neck, his head tilted, his hair tied behind his head, and a look of arrogance on his face.

He was the leader of the Ghost Fire Gang, and his father was a well-known sheriff in the surrounding area. Having grown up without any worries about food and clothing, he organized a group of equally idle young people out of boredom and formed a gang that enjoyed racing. He also used his father's connections and reputation to snatch this repair shop and establish a car team.

But what they did was more than just racing. They would also rob passing pedestrians outside the town, and when they were bored, they would enjoy hitting and running people over.

If nothing unexpected happened, when he was "tired of playing," he would inherit his father's career and become a sheriff feared by everyone, enforcing the authority of the Empire in the underhive on behalf of the Department of Justice, while consolidating their family's authority in the local area.

If, nothing unexpected happened...

"Today! Is the Crow Boss's 27th birthday! Let's sing a 'So High High' song for the Crow Boss! 'So' to all the troubles—"

Just as these people were howling like ghosts and wolves, something suddenly snapped, followed by a man's painful scream. Then a burly figure fell from the ceiling, crashing heavily to the ground, head first, and instantly went silent.

"Situation!"

The Crow roared, drawing a laspistol from his waist with a smooth speed that only well-trained soldiers could achieve. This person was the one he had arranged to be on the roof as a lookout, indicating that someone must have come for revenge.

The crowd suddenly panicked, and scantily clad men and women ran around. One of them had just picked up a shotgun when a bullet exploded on his forehead, and the splashing blood splattered on the wall.

Death made the crowd even more chaotic.

Screams, roars, and the sound of heavy objects falling to the ground rang out in a chorus.

And accompanied by smoke bombs being thrown, even the line of sight became blurred.

In the shadows on the edges, figures leaped up, running and shooting accurately.

In an instant, a dozen people fell.

They had never encountered such a swift, powerful, and brutal attack. The courage of these young people quickly drained away as fast as their blood.

"Don't panic! Don't panic! Get your guns out! You pigs!"

The Crow roared as he hid behind cover, firing his laspistol at the moving shadows.

His gang had forty or so people, as long as they organized—

"Boss!"

The little brother who had just been singing had just bent over and ran to his side, but before he could say two words, a bullet blew a hole in his face, splattering blood all over the Crow's face, and then he fell into a pile of crumpled debris.

The Crow was instantly stunned. Although he was usually arrogant and had killed many people, facing death at such close range still chilled him from head to toe.

In an instant, something in his brain snapped, and his former arrogance and courage disappeared rapidly.

So he ran towards the side door, now he just wanted to escape, the farther the better!

But he had only taken a few steps when he was tripped by something. Just as he was about to fall, he felt a knee slam into his groin.

He gagged, trying to get away, but the other person's hands were too tight. Then they kneed him in the face, smashing his nose.

"Ah!!!"

After being hit a few times, the attacker released him. The Crow staggered back, dazed from the beating, blood streaming from his mouth.

"You bastard!"

Before he could make any more moves, the other person suddenly threw a right punch, hitting him in the cheek. In the chaos, he raised his pistol and fired two shots but missed. The other person reached out and stuck his fingers into his reddened throat, pinching his trachea. As he bent over gasping for air, they grabbed his greasy hair and slammed his head hard against a metal pillar.