A month had passed since Dr. Dew, Leonardo da Vinci, Paracelsus, Celeste Starfire Cassidy, and their crew descended to the surface of the desolate hive world. The initial shock of seeing the massive hive city—visible from orbit and surrounded by nothing but desert and dead air—had faded into a dull, oppressive unease. Despite the absence of detectable radiation, the planet looked like a corpse. No forests, no oceans, no signs of natural life. Whatever had once existed here had been stripped away long ago, either through relentless industrial abuse or something worse.
Each day they spent sneaking through the decaying infrastructure of the hive city revealed new layers of suffering. The people here were thin, sickly, hunched by malnutrition and disease. Whispers of "tithes" floated through the smog-choked streets, but no one dared explain what they meant. The team—hidden beneath active camouflage, their E.P.P. backpacks shielding them from the environmental pathogens—split up and gathered information by eavesdropping in alleyways, marketplaces, and overcrowded drinking holes. The city was ruled by a governor waging war against a mysterious group of cultists. These cultists were blamed for the outbreaks of strange, debilitating diseases. And as pressure mounted, the governor increased the tithes—whatever they were—pushing the population closer to collapse.
More disturbing were the infected. Many of them began acting strangely. They prayed incessantly, mumbling in a language that wasn't their own, and changed in their sleep—whispering secrets to shadows, carving symbols into walls and skin. It was clear that the unknown energy—still unreadable but steadily growing—was tied to this outbreak. The symptoms weren't just biological. They were spiritual. Something was warping their very essence.
But it wasn't all death and decay. In the depths of the hive's ancient sewer systems, the team found an unexpected pocket of hope: mutated humans, yes—but not the mindless kind. These were sentient, evolved, and organized. The Scalies had thick, reptilian skin and cold-blooded physiology adapted to damp conditions. The Nightsiders were nocturnal humanoids with elongated limbs and eyes adapted to pitch black. And the Beastmen, while bestial in form, displayed tactical intelligence and deep community bonds. They were survivors of systemic discrimination, hiding from surface society for generations.
After helping them escape a collapsing tunnel blocked by toxic floodwater, Dr. Dew made contact. He revealed their tech, their Matter Manipulators, and the full presence of the ship in orbit. Celeste and her crew demonstrated their gear. The 25 Conduits, with powers ranging from smoke to concrete to plant manipulation, showed what they could do. The underground societies were stunned—then inspired. With the promise of safe transport via teleportation and a home where they wouldn't be hunted, many agreed to join them.
In the following days, they extracted 38 evolved human beings, 27 baseline humans who would have otherwise died from illness or starvation, and 53 genetically mutated individuals suffering from complex chronic exposure but still capable of recovery. All were brought back to the city on Pangea through pre-established teleport pads.
Then, the energy spike hit.
The scanners lit up with distortion and red flags. Tesla was first to respond. "Identical to the signature from our last encounter," he muttered. "But this time… stronger. And larger."
On the screen, a tear in the fabric of reality opened above the hive city.
A rift.
Through it poured a green tide—at first formless, like fog or gas. But then they saw what rode the mist. Creatures. Hulking, rotten monsters with bloated torsos covered in pustules and maggot-infested boils. Their flesh sloughed from bone, but they moved with inhuman resilience. Some dragged rusted, slime-covered weapons behind them. Others laughed—horrid, wet sounds—cackling with joy at the ruin they wrought.
They had faces. Or rather, they used to. Now, they were little more than decaying masks of agony and joy twisted together. Some still bore the tatters of clothing. Some bore the remains of once-human features: beards, necklaces, bones adorned like trophies. But they were long past mortal. They were something else entirely.
Dr. Dew stared at the screen. "They're overtaking the city."
Leonardo's voice came in tight. "They're… multiplying. Spreading like mold across wet stone."
"Some kind of daemonic infection," Paracelsus whispered. "Warp-borne plague? No… it's worse. It's intelligent."
Then one of the monitors blared a sharp warning.
"Object approaching from atmosphere. Mass estimated at 1.6 tons. Speed increasing. Vector... heading straight for us."
Through the rear viewports, they saw it.
A flying monstrosity.
It had wings—rotted, leather-like things buzzing with flies. Its face was split in half by a jagged maw, leaking black bile. Parts of its torso were ruptured, spilling writhing maggots that devoured each other mid-air. It was coming for them.
Tesla didn't hesitate. "Hyperdrive. Now."
The command was clear. Celeste slammed her hand on the emergency launch panel.
The engines roared.
The stars around them bent into sharp streaks of light. The world vanished in a scream of burning green as the Nurgle demon's hand just barely missed the hull. The ship was gone—into hyperspace—seconds before impact.
Only silence remained.
When they emerged in a new system, millions of kilometers from the destroyed hive world, no one spoke.
Celeste sat with her arms crossed, head down. Tesla leaned forward, eyes closed. Leonardo was already working through calculations, her hands trembling slightly. Paracelsus stared into nothing.
Dr. Dew watched them all.
"We can't go back there," he said quietly. "Not yet. Maybe not ever."
And everyone knew he was right.
They had seen the full horror of what was coming. They had watched civilization be devoured in minutes. They had witnessed the madness that plagued the stars—without name, without mercy, without end.
And it had seen them too.
End of Chapter Thirty-One