Warhammer 40k : John The Inquisitor

"Dead," she said bluntly. "This is the lower hive. What did you expect?"

John nodded, his expression thoughtful. "And the survivor?"

"Pious Society," she replied. "They're with them now. If you're looking for that one, you'll need to deal with the Society."

Before John could respond, the bar's atmosphere shifted. A group of young men in the Society's distinctive garb rushed in, whispering urgently to their comrades. One by one, the members of the Pious Society rose and filed out, their faces set in grim determination.

John drained his glass, setting it down with a satisfied sigh. "Looks like my opportunity just walked in."

The bartender smirked, crossing her arms. "Good luck, John. And next time? Bring something worth my time."

John grinned, tipping an imaginary hat. "Don't worry. We'll meet again." He waved a casual hand and strolled toward the bar's exit. The muffled hum of the world outside greeted him, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing underground.

In the belly of the Low Nest, chaos erupted in the abandoned factory. The fiery flashes of gunfire and the scorching crimson beams of laser weapons painted the air, a cacophony of light and death. Bullets screamed through the darkness, colliding with their luminous counterparts. These weapons, born from the primal instinct for destruction etched into humanity's DNA, sang their deadly symphony deep beneath the earth.

Two rival gangs clashed in an orgy of violence. The Hammer Gang's brute force raged against the Pious Society's desperate defiance. The tools of war, originally forged to defend humanity from existential threats, now served as instruments of mutual annihilation. It was a familiar tale. Since the dawn of time, humanity had turned its ingenuity inward, using its creations to battle one another rather than unite against shared adversaries.

John leaned against a battered steel support pillar, its surface riddled with gaping bullet holes. Around him, the air buzzed with the near-constant hail of projectiles and searing beams of light, but he remained unnervingly calm. The floor was littered with bodies, some scorched and smoldering from laser fire, others torn apart by the savage impact of physical ammunition. Yet, for John, it was just another day.

In the main hall below, the Hammer Gang roared like feral beasts, manning a colossal wood-cutting machine gun. They unleashed its devastating fury at the opposite side of the hall, where the remnants of the Pious Society clung to life. The factory floor was a maze of rusting lathes and shattered machinery, providing scant cover for the desperate.

The gang's firepower was overwhelming. A fragile robot, still awaiting its armor plating, crumbled under the relentless barrage. The Pious Society's members scrambled for safety, but many didn't make it far, their bodies riddled with bullets or seared by lasers before they could reach cover.

John observed the carnage with a raised eyebrow, his face a mask of quiet amusement. "Looks like I might have kickstarted an underground war," he muttered, rubbing his chin. His sharp eyes scanned the battlefield, seeking an opening. By some divine providence—or sheer coincidence—he soon found one.

The Pious Society was faltering under the relentless assault. One unfortunate soul lay behind a shattered piece of machinery, clutching a bloodied arm. Nearby, another member tried to mount a rescue but was pinned down by gunfire, his courage outweighed by the futility of the situation.

John's gaze settled on a peculiar tattoo on the fallen man's arm—a coiled snake intertwined with a golden olive branch. He crouched and pulled a sleek, gadget-like device from his belt. The Mechanicum's emblem glimmered on its surface. "You guys just can't help but brand everything, huh? Thanks, Father David," John quipped, activating the device. A blue beam scanned the tattoo, and moments later, an identical mark appeared on his own arm. He smirked, then dropped the gadget to the ground and blew it apart with a precise shot from his bolter. "Sorry, old friend. It's nothing personal."

John's attention shifted to a barely breathing man slumped against an iron door. The gang member blinked weakly, his eyes clouded with confusion. "You one of us? From Martin's crew? Don't think I've seen you before."

"Just joined up," John replied with a grin. "Didn't expect such a warm welcome on my first day."

The man groaned, blood trickling from his lips. "Damn fools... Martin's dead. The whole gang's gone. It's just you and me now. You've gotta warn the others."

John chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Correction, buddy. There's just me now."

Before the man could react, John raised his gun and ended him with a single shot. With a quick sweep of his surroundings, John grabbed a discarded laser gun and slung it over his shoulder. Without hesitation, he vaulted over the corridor's railing, landing nimbly on a thick metal pipe. The bolter in his hands roared to life, sending explosive rounds screaming toward their targets. The first gang member's head vanished in a gruesome burst of red mist.

John moved like a predator among prey. He leapt down into the Hammer Gang's stronghold, his speed and precision unmatched. The gang turned toward him, weapons raised, but they were no match for the Inquisitor's deadly grace. John's bolter tore through them like paper, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Amid the chaos, John's movements were almost theatrical. He spun, dodged, and weaved, his shots landing with lethal accuracy. One gang member armed with a shotgun barely had time to aim before John's bolter turned his face to pulp. Grabbing the falling shotgun mid-air, John fired again, sending another man sprawling.

Bullets and lasers screamed past him, but John was too fast. He rolled, ducked, and emerged unscathed, his every motion fluid and deliberate. A well-placed shot sent another Hammer flying from his bunker.

From the safety of his cover, a surviving member of the Pious Society dared to peek. He saw John, a blur of motion and carnage, leaping over barricades and dismantling the Hammer Gang with an almost supernatural efficiency.

At the other end of the hall, the gang's machine gunner cursed loudly, swinging the massive gun toward John. The first volley erupted, shredding a nearby truck into scrap. John darted for cover, narrowly avoiding the spray of destruction. The gunner kept firing, chewing through steel and concrete in a futile attempt to hit his elusive target.

The rockets screamed through the air, erupting with a deafening roar that obliterated the entire firing position in a blinding flash. John tossed aside the empty rocket launcher, leaping from the Hammers' stronghold and sprinting back. Laser fire erupted behind him as the young Pietists held their ground, their weapons spitting crimson fury.

John took down several enemies as he moved, his shots precise and deadly. The chaos thickened as furious shouts and curses rang out. A group of burly Hammer Gang members hauled a heavy laser cannon from the dismantled Chimera, positioning it on a makeshift podium. One of the strongmen immediately climbed into the control seat, activating the weapon. The monstrous machine roared to life, sending a searing beam of energy through a line of Pietists, obliterating them in an instant.

The bunker they had sought refuge in was reduced to little more than a paper-thin shield. The surviving young members glanced nervously at the glowing cannon and shouted, "Hurry up, man! Do something!"