The gang members who were eager to answer looked confused, except for one man, his face covered in gray-black grime, who raised both of his bionic arms high.
"Boss, I know this one. There's a foundry in the lower hive. It used to be directly managed by the tech-priests who served Mars."
"There's a deadly kind of organic barbed wire around the facility. It's unbelievably tough—you can't even cut it with a knife. Even if you throw a grenade next to it, it regenerates after the explosion."
"The spikes it grows can pierce armor and leave wounds deep enough to expose bone. It even secretes a corrosive fluid that can reduce a trapped person to a skeleton in minutes."
He gripped his spoon and bowl nervously. "Boss, that's everything I know."
"Your information is useful," Nareth nodded. "You get two scoops of soup. Start serving yourself."
The soot-faced man hurried to the large pot, scooped two spoonfuls, and tightly gripped his yellow-green aluminum bowl. Just as he was about to step aside to enjoy his meal, the boss spoke again.
"You seem to know that factory well. Can you tell me more?"
"Boss, my name's Rolslov. I used to work in that weapons foundry, Factory D-46, as a shift leader in one of the smelting teams."
"Before the Tech-Priests abandoned the factory and moved to the upper hive, life was hard but manageable."
"But after the 'Vulture' from the Carrion Gang took control, he lived up to his name—squeezing every drop out of everyone…"
After getting the details from Rolslov, Nareth decided to take over the weapons foundry.
........
Lower Hive – Factory D-46, brightly lit.
"Vulture" lounged back in his chair, sneering at the pleading foreman before him.
"'Vulture,' sir, those are just kids. If they keep working like this, they'll die."
"I'll work three extra hours a day. I'm way faster than them."
"Is that so? Then make it four extra hours a day," Vulture sneered. "As for them, they'll keep working."
Vulture didn't notice that on one of the surveillance screens, a figure darted into view.
A two-meter-wide rubber tire slammed into the barbed wire bristling with spikes.
Nareth slipped through the hollowed-out tire, and with a flick of his right hand, a silver-gray shard sliced cleanly between two spikes.
"Someone's here!"
Two patrolling Carrion Gang members armed with lasguns heard the noise and ran over.
Nareth returned the shard to his belt. Wearing protective gloves, he grabbed both ends of the wire mesh. The acidic secretion instantly corroded a hole in the gloves.
Sensing the hole in his palm, the Primarch bent his hand slightly to angle the grip, positioning the hole in an empty space in his palm.
He dashed forward and flung the barbed wire at the two approaching men.
The barbs stabbed deep into their hands. A scream of pain tore from their throats as the acid reduced their flesh to mere bone in seconds.
Nareth picked up a dropped lasgun and scavenged twelve power packs from the corpses.
He fired a shot into the air—a signal to his men—then charged toward the control room.
Vulture watched the monitors as his useless subordinates were slaughtered by a boy.
"Worthless! All of you—worthless!"
He sprang up and grabbed his chainsword. With a roar of the engine, the sound of "kill, kill, kill" echoed in his ears again.
Vulture strode out of the control room, leaped over the railing, and slashed at the boy.
His eyes glowed blood-red—it was just like that day, when he killed his gang's leader and seven guards. The bloodlust filled his vision.
Afterward, he found himself stronger, taller.
He didn't know why, only that killing made him more powerful.
Just as Nareth shot another gang member, he sensed danger above.
He rolled backward and fired, hitting Vulture square in the chest.
A fist-sized hole burst in Vulture's torso, but he felt no pain. The voice in his mind urged him forward.
Nareth remained calm. He squeezed the trigger repeatedly. Lasbeam pierced Vulture's eyes, heart, hands, and ankles, blooming blood-red flowers.
Blossoms of blood erupted as his corpse crashed onto the walkway, staining the still-vibrating chainsword.
Nareth slung the lasgun over his back and picked up the chainsword. He sensed something different about this weapon.
Rolslov, now appointed as lieutenant, arrived just in time to witness Nareth gunning down Vulture. The sight shook him to the core.
The Carrion Gang wasn't a major force in the lower hive, but Vulture was infamous for his brutality and strength, and he was killed before even getting close.
'The boss is so young, and he's already this strong. He's going to be a big shot in the hive one day. Following him is the right move!'
Rolslov turned and shouted to his men:
"What are you standing around for? Want to suck soup from the sewers? Move it! Secure the workers, capture the Carrion Gang survivors, anyone who resists, kill them all!"
Two hours later, Nareth sat in the control room. The foundry was operational again. Including the workers, he now had 513 subordinates.
He had changed into clean worker clothes, the lasgun and chainsword slung across his back—both taller than he was.
The kitchen staff brought him rock-hard black bread and borscht made from a few scraps of vegetables—the best food the foundry could offer.
Nareth ate ten slices of bread without discomfort. His superhuman body handled it easily. Only after downing a large bowl of soup did he feel full.
He looked toward the door just as someone knocked.
"Come in."
"Boss, the foundry is back to normal operations."
Rolsliev entered, frowning slightly but beginning with the good news.
"Boss, Factory D-46 falls under the jurisdiction of the Hantman West Dome, governed by Arbitrator Dimitrov. He's summoned you."
Nareth knew the lower hive was made of domes, structures built by the first settlers.
As the hive city grew, the domes were gradually abandoned.
To upper-hivers, the lower-hive dwellers were barely more valuable than giant rats. These people lived clustered in dome-complexes, tunnels, and ruins, forming a labyrinthine underground hive.
"Arbitrator?"
Nareth thought of the "Arbitrator" from the "Lawyer" adjacent Pathway Sequence 9, but the term used in Vostroya clearly wasn't the same.
Upon asking, Nareth learned that the so-called "Arbitrators" were enforcers appointed by the planetary governors of each world, tasked with overseeing the various dome districts.
In the underhive, Arbiters ruled their domains independently, settling disputes and enforcing their own laws.
The foundry's escapees had reported to Dimitrov about Nareth's defeat of the Carrion Gang and seizure of the factory.
"Boss, Vulture had a terrible reputation. I think Dimitrov is just curious about you, especially since you're so young."
"And knowing how Arbitrators operate, he'll probably give you a warning. I've heard he loves using his big dog to scare people."
"A chemical hound?"
Nareth's interest was piqued.
"You know about that vicious dog, too, Boss?"