Taras paused in the doorway of the dimly lit storage room, his oversized hand gripping the door frame as he took in the scene. Rats. Dozens of them. No,
scores of them. They moved in a chittering tide, darting through piles of scavenged crates, gnawed bags, and spoiled provisions. Their beady eyes glinted in the faint light filtering through a single, grimy bulb hanging overhead.
The rancid stench of the rat-infested space hit him like a physical blow. He wrinkled his nose but otherwise ignored it, his focus locking on the grotesque swarm before him. These weren't the kind of rats he'd been familiar with back home.
Each one was nearly two feet long from snout to tail, with matted fur, gleaming yellow teeth, and claws that scrabbled menacingly against the concrete floor. Their eyes glinted with an unnatural intelligence or perhaps just pure malice and their low, guttural squeals echoed in the cramped room.
"Rats of unusual size," Taras muttered under his breath, gripping his Ripper Gun tighter. "What fresh God-forsaken hell is this?"
Instinctively, he reached for one of the firebombs he'd purchased earlier, its weight familiar in his massive hands. The plan seemed straightforward enough: throw a bomb, let the flames do the work, and watch the problem resolve itself.
But then he hesitated.
Firebombs in a supply room.
The realization hit him like an obvious two by four Cluebat slamming into the side of his head and giving its wisdom through brain percussion. Sure, the rats would be eradicated and they would be reduced to ash in seconds (while warming the depths of his inner pyromantic heart) but so would the entire inventory. Food, tools, fabrics, whatever spare parts there were available - everything the settlement relied on to survive.
It was damned reckless and it was catastrophically stupid. And thank God he stopped and took time to think it through his knee jerk reaction of "kill it with fire!"
His aborted action was akin to calling down an napalm strike on an enemy platoon in the village only to annihilate 90 percent of the village in the process and burn down innocent villagers as the final cost.
Yeah, he was not going to do that to Jeri and his folk here.
Taras sighed and put the firebomb back into his inventory. His size and brute strength didn't leave much room for subtlety, but subtlety, it seemed, was exactly what this situation required. He reached instead for his Ripper Gun, the weapon's weight reassuring in his hands. Its brutal design was well-suited for close-quarters combat, but against a swarm of small, fast-moving targets, even its massive rounds would be overkill.
He needed something more precise.
"System," he muttered under his breath, his voice low enough to avoid alerting the rats. "Any suggestions for dealing with this without turning the place into a crater?"
[Recommendation: Utilize physical strength and environment to minimize resource damage. Alternative weapons, such as blunt objects or improvised tools, may be more effective. Consider using bait to lure targets into a confined area for easier elimination.]
"Bait, huh?" Taras scanned the room, his keen eyes picking out a half-gnawed sack of bulbous root tubers that might be the equivalent of local potatoes near the back.
He carefully stepped inside, his boots crunching on scattered debris.
Too bad his attempt at stealth was doomed from the start, as there were too many of them and too many with sharper senses had detected something anomalous and his plan did not survive enemy contact.
The rats froze as one, sensing his presence at last. A heartbeat passed, and then they surged forward like a tide of fur and teeth, their movements swift and coordinated. Taras fired a short, controlled burst from his Ripper Gun, the weapon's deafening roar filling the room. The spray of heavy rounds tore through the first wave of rodents, shredding their bodies in a mess of blood and bone.
But there were too many.
The second wave of rats barreled over their fallen brethren, leaping for Taras with gnashing teeth and clawing paws. He swung his massive fist, the blow connecting with a sickening crunch that sent one rat flying across the room to splatter against the far wall.
Another latched onto his armored thigh, its teeth scraping uselessly against the carapace. Taras stomped down hard, his reinforced boot crushing the creature with a wet squelch.
"Come on, then!" he bellowed, his voice echoing with a mixture of fury and grim determination.
The swarm seemed to redouble its efforts, emboldened by their numbers. Taras fired again, his Ripper Gun mowing down a swath of the horde, and the weapon's bulk made it an improvised club alongside its vicious bayonet in the close quarters. Another rat darted past his line of fire, clawing at his arm, and he responded by grabbing it mid-leap and slamming it into the ground with bone-shattering force.
They began to swarm him in earnest now, climbing up his legs and flanks. One particularly bold rat sank its teeth into the exposed joint of his armor, causing pain but not puncturing through the armoured weave clothing. Taras roared in pain and fury, dropping his weapon momentarily to grab the offending creature and tear it away. He threw it with such force that it ricocheted off the ceiling before landing in a lifeless heap.
If they wanted close-quarters combat, he'd fucking oblige them.
Taras shifted his tactics, kicking and punching with his massive strength. Each stomp reduced a rat to a bloody smear, and his punches sent their bodies flying like ragdolls. One enterprising rat scrambled onto his back, but Taras simply threw himself backward, his bulk slamming into the floor and crushing the creature beneath him.
The massive Ogryn's fall creating a shockwave that rattled the shelves and stunned the swarm of rats.
He then rolled like a pin, trusting in his bulk and the momentum to crush or fracture the rats surrounding him until he could reach his gun and go up to his feet.
There were some pops and cracks as some were crushed under his weight, and he judged it he was able to reach his Ripper Gun.
Rolling to his feet, he grabbed the Ripper Gun once more, the weapon swinging up as he sighted a cluster of the larger rats attempting to flank him. He fired a sustained burst, the heavy rounds ripping through the group with brutal efficiency. The remaining rats hesitated, their squeals turning to panicked chatter as they reconsidered their odds against the armored giant.
"Not so brave now, are you?" Taras growled, his voice low and menacing.
He pressed the attack, advancing on the retreating swarm. His boots thundered against the floor as he stomped out the last few stragglers, his Ripper Gun roaring one final time to take out the largest rat of the lot—a monstrous creature nearly the size of a small dog. It reared up, baring its teeth in a last-ditch display of defiance, but Taras silenced it with a single, well-aimed shot.
The room fell quiet, save for his heavy breathing and the faint drip of blood pooling on the floor. Taras surveyed the carnage, his armor spattered with gore but otherwise intact. He rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension that had built during the fight, and muttered under his breath.
"Well, that's one way to start the day."
As he retrieved his Ripper Gun's spent magazine and began reloading, he couldn't help but wonder who or what the everloving fuck had let these monstrous rats evolve in the first place.
As much as he would call it complete, there was no notification of a "mission complete" from the system, and that meant that there was still more to this. Perhaps he needed to find and remove the spawn point of these rats, and a boss battle would commence.
Either he was going to burn down a rat's nest or kill the broodmother.
Taras shook his head at the absurdity of the thought. Rats of unusual size were bad enough, but a massive, grotesque queen rat or a fucking large nest of them? Yeah, he'd played enough video games to know where this was going.
He leaned his Ripper Gun against his side and ran a hand over the blood-spattered surface of his carapace armor. No major damage, just a few scratches and bite marks where his suit had held up against the rats' determined assault. His exposed joints had taken some abuse, and his arms were covered in a patchwork of minor cuts and bruises.
Nothing he couldn't handle.
"Right," he muttered, pulling out a medical kit from his inventory. "Patch up first, then find the damn nest."
The kit was comprehensive, though clearly designed for combat zones and very informative through its color coded . He slapped on a disinfectant patch for the worst of the bites and wrapped his forearm with a pressure bandage. The sting was sharp but brief, a welcome reminder that he was still in one piece.
"Now, where are you little bastards coming from?"
Taras scanned the storage room with a sharper focus, looking for anything unusual. He cursed the low light and his lack of proper gear. His vision, while better than a human's in dim conditions, still left much to be desired.
"System," he growled under his breath, "a flashlight or night vision goggles wouldn't go amiss right now."
Predictably, there was no response.
The system had been frustratingly unhelpful when it came to mission details or much information. While it had provided him with useful tools and rewards, it didn't exactly hold his hand.
Quite the believer in open-ended choices then, eh?
With a resigned sigh, he began methodically searching the room. His boots crunched against broken wood and rat remains as he poked through crates and overturned debris. Near the far wall, his patience paid off. He spotted a dark, gaping hole near the base of a collapsed shelving unit, a trail of blood and fur leading straight into it.
"Well, there's your spawn point," Taras said, his tone laced with grim satisfaction.
The hole was wide enough to suggest something much larger than a normal rat could pass through it. He knelt cautiously, peering into the darkness. The faint stench of rot and decay wafted out, strong enough to make him wrinkle his nose even after all he'd endured.
"Alright," he muttered, standing up and rolling his shoulders. "Time to suit up and go rat-hunting."
He checked his Ripper Gun, ensuring it was fully loaded by changing his current box magazine with a fresh one, and pulled out one of the purchased firebombs still waiting in the inventory. It wasn't the most precise tool, but it was better than nothing if things got hairy.
Taras hesitated for a moment, debating whether to crawl into the hole or lure whatever was inside out. His size made sneaking impossible, and if there really was a broodmother down there, it wouldn't come to him willingly.
"Guess I'm going in," he said, tightening the straps on his armor.
With a grunt, he moved the shelving unit aside to clear more room, crouched low, and began to squeeze himself into the tunnel. His Ripper Gun hung ready in his hands, and he carried the firebomb on his belt for easy access.
The narrow tunnel scraped against his armor as he advanced, the oppressive darkness swallowing him whole. The stench grew stronger, nearly overwhelming, and the faint sound of skittering claws echoed up the passageway. Taras gritted his teeth, the tension building in his chest.
"Alright, queenie," he growled under his breath. "Let's see what you've got."
The narrow, oppressive tunnel seemed to stretch endlessly, the darkness pressing against Taras like a living thing. Taras's new Ogryn form, so powerful and resilient in combat, was now rebelling against him. The primal instincts of his hulking frame screamed at him to back out, to turn and flee from the cramped space and the looming threat ahead. His heart raced, his breathing quickened, and he felt his muscles tensing against his will.
Dark areas and cramped spaces really did not fucking agree with him.
But Taras was no ordinary Ogryn. Beneath the muscle-bound exterior was the mind of a human who was stubborn, determined, and justifiably pissed off.
"Shut the fuck up," he snarled, more to himself than anything else. "We're doing this."
Harnessing his mounting anger, he forced himself forward, inch by inch, until the tunnel widened abruptly, spilling him into a cavernous chamber. The sight that greeted him made his skin crawl.
The nest was a grotesque monument to filth and carnage. A pulsating, gelatinous mass of refuse and bone formed a makeshift throne at its center.
And there it was - twenty feet of grotesque fury, a bloated monstrosity of muscle, fur, and hate.
The broodmother.
Its hulking frame was the size of a medium-haul truck, its coarse fur slick with some foul secretion that glistened in the dim light. Multiple eyes, glinting with predatory intelligence, locked onto Taras the moment he entered. The broodmother let out a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the chamber, followed by the scuttling of her lesser spawn gathering around her, emboldened by their queen's presence.
For a moment, Taras just stood there, taking it all in. Then, with a deep breath, he muttered, "Fuck this."
He reached into a state of Zen Rage as he had to deal with claustrophobia and his childhood fear of rats. If he so imagined it, heavy metal music was starting to play in the background for the slaughter to come.
There was no time for clever plans or calculated moves. Taras raised his Ripper Gun and unleashed hell.
The first volley tore into the nearest spawn, reducing a half-dozen of the oversized rats to little more than splattered chunks. Their shrieks filled the air, but Taras didn't stop, sweeping the barrel of his gun across the wave of oncoming bodies.
The broodmother roared, an ear-splitting sound of rage and command. More rats poured from unseen holes, swarming toward Taras like a living tide.
"Come on, then!" Taras bellowed, stomping forward. One massive boot came down on an unfortunate rat, crushing it into a mess of blood and bone. Another rat leaped at his arm, only to be swatted away with a thunderous backhand that sent it flying into the cavern wall.
A particularly bold rat latched onto his leg, its teeth gnashing against his armor. Snarling, Taras grabbed it by the tail and swung it like a club into another rat, the impact splattering them both.
The broodmother wasn't content to watch. With a guttural hiss, she surged forward, her massive bulk crashing through the smaller rats in her way. Taras turned his attention to her, his eyes narrowing.
"Alright, queenie," he muttered, swapping out his magazine for a fresh one. "Time to dance."
He materialised one of his firebombs and hurled it straight to the bitch
The Ripper Gun barked again, the slug rounds igniting as they struck the broodmother's hide while she burned in sticky flames. She howled in fury, the flame merrily digging deep at her matted fur, but her momentum didn't stop.
Taras braced himself, waiting for the last possible second before sidestepping her charge. Her massive frame slammed into the cavern wall, shaking the ground and dislodging debris. Taras didn't hesitate. He pulled another firebomb from his belt, yanked the pin, and hurled it onto her back.
The resulting explosion was deafening, fully engulfing the broodmother in a fiery inferno. She screamed, thrashing wildly as the flames consumed her. The lesser rats, seemingly disoriented without her guidance, scattered in all directions.
But Taras wasn't done. With a feral roar of his own, he waded into the remaining swarm, stomping, punching, and tearing through them with unrelenting fury. Blood and ichor splattered his armor as he crushed the last of them beneath his boots.
When it was over, the cavern was eerily silent. Taras stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, his armor slick with blood and soot. The broodmother lay still, her charred body a smoldering heap.
[Bounty: Rats of Unusual Size complete! Check rewards in the system store. Area is now valid for looting.]
[Rewards: 1x Militarum-grade (Ogryn) Tactical Flashlight, 2x flashlight battery boxes, 1x Ripper Gun ammo box, 1x week's set of Militarum-grade Ogryn clothing and underwear, 1x Militarum-grade Ogryn hygienic kit, 1x Militarum-grade medical kit and 3x Delicious MRE (Ogryn version), and 500 throne gelts; claim them from the store as soon as possible.]
"Mission complete, you bastards," Taras muttered, wiping his face with a grimy hand. The system was just able to award him a tactical flashlight when the need was already gone, but that's fine.
The clothes, underwear and hygienic kit were more important here. They were worth his entire bulk of gold in terms of cleanliness and godliness in this godforsaken place
Now onto the matter of his large kill.
Taras wiped the sweat from his brow and stared down at the massive, charred skull of the broodmother. The head was grotesque, a twisted amalgamation of oversized teeth, burned fur, and smoldering flesh. It was big enough to serve as undeniable proof of his handiwork, and it would certainly put any arguments about the source of the rat infestation to rest.
He sighed, bracing himself for the next steps. "Alright, queenie. You're coming with me." Gripping the scorched skull by one of its bony protrusions, he used the cleaver to slice through the shoulder and hefted it onto his shoulder. Its weight was noticeable, but nothing his Ogryn strength couldn't handle.
So he dismissed the head into the system inventory while mentally claiming his Low Reward Set.
The cavern still stank of death and burnt flesh as Taras swept the area with his new flashlight. A reward from the system after clearing the nest, the device was surprisingly sturdy and emitted a brilliant white beam that cut through the darkness like a blade. With its light, Taras could properly inspect the area for any remaining threats or holes the rats had been entering.
It didn't take long to locate the offending holes. The walls of the chamber were riddled with them, jagged tunnels carved by the rats over what must have been years of infestation. One by one, Taras marked them out, placing his remaining firebombs strategically within their entrances. Once satisfied, he stepped back and triggered the detonators.
The resulting blasts echoed deafeningly in the cavern, sending waves of dust and debris flying. When the air cleared, the tunnels were no longer viable, their mouths collapsed into impassable rubble.
"That ought to keep the little bastards from coming back." Taras muttered.
As he began a final sweep of the chamber, something unusual caught his eye which was a faint glint in the refuse. Intrigued, he approached the spot and carefully cleared away the debris. What emerged was unexpected: an amulet bearing the double-headed aquila, its polished surface dulled by grime but unmistakable in design.
The sight of it sent a shiver down his spine. The aquila was the mark of the God-Emperor, a symbol of divine authority and protection. But this amulet had been lying in a profane place, surrounded by filth and the remains of the broodmother's victims.
Taras held it up to the flashlight, inspecting it closely. It was heavy, clearly made of a durable metal, and etched with intricate patterns that radiated an air of solemnity. In another life, he might have been tempted to wear it immediately, to finally carry the Emperor's blessing into his next battle.
But this was Warhammer 40K, and Taras wasn't about to take chances.
"Space magic exists." he muttered to himself, shaking his head. "And so do daemons. Nope, not putting this thing on."
The amulet's holy nature might have been compromised by its time in the broodmother's lair, and the last thing Taras wanted was to unwittingly attract the wrong kind of attention. He needed someone who knew how to deal with such relics properly. Maybe a priest or cleric who could purify and reconsecrate it.
If he could find one such holy man here in the underhive.
With that thought in mind, he opened his system inventory and carefully stowed the amulet away.
That done, he turned back to the cramped tunnel he'd crawled through earlier. Taras groaned at the thought of squeezing through it again, but there was no other way back to the surface. He took a deep breath, and muttered, "Let's get this over with."
The journey back was every bit as unpleasant as he'd expected. The oppressive darkness, the stench, and the confined space all seemed to conspire against him but this time, armed with his flashlight and the grim satisfaction of having completed his mission, he pushed through with grim determination.
When he finally emerged from the tunnel, after heroically resisting the lizard brain urge to go berserk and lash out in such a suffocating space, he found himself back at the storage room field with the rat corpses.
Doing one last final check, he materialised the broodmother's skull and headed for the entrance to see Jeri and an anxious crowd and waiting for his return.
"What the... Emperor preserve us," Jeri whispered, staring wide-eyed at the massive skull. The crowd was of similar mind looking at the large mutated head.
"Yeah," Taras said, setting the head down with a loud thud. "It's done. I've got proof, and you've got some tunnels to collapse."
Jeri nodded mutely, his gaze fixed on the gruesome trophy. Taras gave the storage area one last glance, ensuring no detail had been overlooked, before turning toward the settlement with his prize in tow.
This may be his last time here, but he was satisfied in completing three quite beneficial tasks for this settlement.
Today, he would clean up, decompress, and rest.
Tomorrow, Tinker Town awaits.
To be continued…
Author's Note: Thus ends the first arc of the story and we go to Tinker Town.
Also, I have a Ko-Fi site for donations: https://ko-fi.com/bryanfran
Here's my Paypal too: https://www.paypal.com/paypalme/BryanFran42?locale.x=en_US
