Step. Step…
The murky puddles on the floor of the shadowy pipe tunnel squelched underfoot as Roy moved carefully, his Pebble Hat secured tightly and Hot-Line Gun at the ready. He stepped deeper and deeper into the dark maze, swallowed by shadows, heading straight for the source of corruption and decay.
Suddenly, a shadow flitted past—everyone froze. A pitch-black creature with four arms hung upside down from the ceiling, crawling silently like it was on patrol.
"Don't worry. They won't notice us," Doraemon whispered. "But how on earth did so many of them gather here so quietly?"
"We usually… bring the victims in ourselves," Roy explained. "Sometimes they're friends or lovers of cult members, sometimes coworkers. Other times, they're simply people tricked or abducted. After receiving the 'Kiss of the Angel,' both they and their offspring become part of us."
"Kiss of the Angel?"
"Maybe… some kind of corruption," Roy replied vaguely. He wasn't entirely sure himself. Coming to terms with not being human was hard enough—understanding those even more blasphemous than himself was something else entirely.
Yet, if one observed closely, the appearance of these "angels" followed a pattern.
And by that logic… if he ever had offspring… No, better not.
Just imagining giving birth to something like that made his skin crawl. For a brief moment, he even had the impulse to castrate himself on the spot.
As the group continued moving forward, a hulking beast crouched atop a heap of twisted pipes appeared in view.
"Ready yourselves. When I count to one, we attack together," Doraemon said, aiming his Hot-Line Gun directly at the massive Genestealer Patriarch. "Three, two, one!"
Dozens of blasts tore through the silence, the combined barrage kicking up a violent cloud of smoke and dust. The deafening explosion echoed endlessly through the web of tunnels, leaving behind a chorus of ringing in everyone's ears.
Doraemon clutched his ears, grimacing, then slowly peeked up. "Did it work?"
It had to work. No carbon-based lifeform could possibly survive that much concentrated firepower.
Thinking that, he pulled a spyglass from his pocket—the Bypass Spyglass. With it, one could see through sand, smoke, or even walls with ease.
But the moment he looked into the dust cloud, his gaze locked with a pair of eyes inside—eyes that radiated malice no human could ever possess.
Doraemon's entire body went rigid. It's still alive?!
The creature bore visible injuries—a shot had barely grazed it—but now a shimmering barrier surrounded it, blocking the smoke and attacks entirely. Frost began to spread across the floor beneath its feet as the monstrous being reared back and let out an earth-shaking roar, the shockwave blowing away the lingering dust in an instant.
"What the heck? Is that psychic power?!" Doraemon ducked and clung tightly to his Pebble Hat. Even then, his round body nearly got hurled across the tunnel.
"It's psyker energy!" Roy yelled, gripping his own Pebble Hat as he shouted, "Don't stop! Keep firing!"
But just then, the Patriarch vanished.
A massive shadow descended from above—crunch—a poor soul whose Pebble Hat had been blown off was crushed into paste without even a chance to scream.
There was no time to mourn. Everyone spun their weapons around and pulled the trigger. Volleys of firepower poured into the Genestealer nest, but the monstrous Patriarch moved with unnatural agility, dodging with ease and letting the rounds tear into the cavern walls instead.
Then came another roar. With it, psychic phantoms materialized—small Genestealer-like creatures conjured by its will. These mental constructs pounced indiscriminately toward the source of the attack, their claws slashing wildly. Several unlucky resistance fighters took hits—even with Pebble Hats still on.
That seemed to jog the Patriarch's memory.
It roared and lunged like a living avalanche, charging toward the direction the attacks came from. It didn't matter if it couldn't see the enemy—as long as it moved fast enough, it could always catch the scent of fresh blood.
"Stop firing! Don't shoot!" Roy bellowed, lowering his weapon. The monstrous creature had just completed another charge, and beneath its feet were the mangled remains of those it had trampled unknowingly. The Patriarch paused, noticing the squelch beneath it. It scanned the area, seemingly waiting for another round of gunfire to give away enemy positions.
Meanwhile, more Genestealers—both purestrain and hybrids—began to converge at every exit under the Patriarch's silent command. Twisted mutants and Hive-bred horrors, each more grotesque than the last, blocked the group's retreat.
"What now?" someone asked, their voice barely a whisper. "If we fire, it'll know we're here. But if we focus our attacks, maybe…"
"Or we could aim up. The Hot-Line Gun should be strong enough to break through the hive floor and alert people above."
At this, Roy chuckled softly. As always, he quoted the Emperor's teachings with calm resolve:
"Where doubt falters, the Emperor shields."
Then, under the knowing eyes of his comrades, he took off his Pebble Hat, donned a pair of Power Gloves, and stepped forward to face the Patriarch.
"Roy?" came a surprised voice from one of the Genestealer circle—specifically from a robed figure holding a staff carved with the four-armed god's visage. But the Patriarch didn't wait. With a howl, it charged alongside its summoned familiars.
The Power Gloves roared to life. Roy smashed aside the oncoming familiars with a single punch and caught the Patriarch's massive claw in his other hand. The floor cracked beneath him. Behind him, the rest of the Genestealers surged forward, emboldened now that the enemy was visible again.
But Roy stood firm. He trusted his companions completely.
Back to back in the heart of the battle, the resistance fighters unleashed their fury on the approaching monsters.
"Confused, aren't you, xeno filth?" Roy snarled. He grabbed the Patriarch's arm, and his Power Glove-clad fist smashed down, spiderweb cracks spreading across the creature's carapace. Then—a screech. One of the familiars had pierced his back with a claw. Two arms weren't enough to fend them all off.
But it didn't matter.
Even if he couldn't take the Patriarch down himself, he would crush as many of its minions as he could. He grabbed the familiar clinging to his body and flung it aside. The Power Gloves worked better than expected—better even than the Patriarch's strength.
Still, the swarm kept coming. Over and over they climbed up his body, rending flesh from bone.
Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was the clarity before death. But Roy didn't feel much pain. In fact, in some strange way, it almost felt… peaceful.
Perhaps this was how the Emperor intended for a hybrid like him to die.
Panting heavily, resolved to meet death, he suddenly caught something in his peripheral vision.
Doraemon.
He was rummaging through his pocket, then pulled out a strange cube-shaped device.
"Sonic Oscillation Terror Machine !" Doraemon shouted, fiddling with the settings. "And this—this is the sound of Gian's singing!"