John leaned casually against a nearby exhaust pipe, his posture disarming. “Well, Karel, your mentor’s passion certainly draws a crowd. I’m John. John Constantine.”

Karel nodded hesitantly, his fingers nervously tracing the book’s worn edge. “It’s an honor, sir.”

John glanced at the chanting crowd, his smirk deepening. “I noticed your church on the upper levels. Saint-Caen Cathedral, right? An impressive structure. I saw it on my way here. Of course, the one in the mid-hive doesn’t quite measure up.”

Karel’s face lit up with pride. “Saint-Caen is magnificent. Every time I enter its halls and see tens of thousands praying together, it stirs my soul.”

John chuckled. “I can see why. The middle hive’s version lacks that grandeur. But down here? It’s... bleak.”

The apprentice nodded solemnly. “This is as far as our missions reach. Beyond this point, it’s too dangerous, and the people... they reject the faith.”

“Dangerous? Or are you just wary of spreading the light of truth?” John teased, though his tone invited sincerity.

Karel hesitated, lowering his gaze. “It’s not reluctance, sir. We’re willing to work for the Emperor’s glory. But the lower hive... it’s another world. They follow... different beliefs.”

John’s curiosity piqued. “Different beliefs? Do tell.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. The Archbishop forbids us from discussing or investigating the Lower Hive’s sects. They’re labeled heretical, and contact is prohibited,” Karel explained, closing the book with a heavy thud.

“So, the church stays away,” John mused, rubbing his chin. “And the Arbites? The PDF? They haven’t purged these heretics?”

Karel’s brow furrowed. “I’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete. Even in the Governor’s Palace, discussion of the Lower Hive’s beliefs is off-limits.”

John stood upright, reaching into his pocket. He flicked a gold coin toward Karel, who caught it with wide eyes. “Sir, I can’t accept this. Greed is—”

“‘Real wealth should serve a noble cause,’” John interrupted with a sly grin. “A quote from the Emperor Himself. Or so I’m told.”

Karel glanced at the bolt pistol partially concealed under John’s coat, realization dawning. His eyes widened, but before he could speak, John raised a finger to his lips.

The inquisitor’s voice dropped to a whisper. “A favor, Karel. Keep my visit—and our conversation—to yourself. Not a word to the elder priests. For the Emperor’s sake.”

Karel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously, but he nodded. “For the Emperor, sir. You have my word.”

“Good lad,” John said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now, go do what needs doing.”

John leaned against the control servitor, its head encased in a metal hood bristling with tubes and wires. Limbless and bolted to the electronic control platform, the servitor was a solitary, soulless figure. At least it still functioned well enough to operate this decrepit orbital elevator, ferrying John down to the lower nest. The elevator, an ancient construct barely holding together, had gone unmaintained for as long as anyone could remember.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

In the dim elevator shaft, descending ever deeper into the subterranean depths, John listened to the rhythmic clicks of the machinery and the strange, occasional echoes that seemed to whisper from the darkness. Most people would have been terrified in his position. But John wasn’t most people. Normal Imperial citizens avoided the Lower Nest like the plague, and for good reason. But John? He’d been here before. This wasn’t his first plunge into the abyss.

He’d discovered this ramshackle elevator himself, tucked away in some forgotten corner, entirely unattended. As expected, there hadn’t been a single Arbites officer in sight. John had borrowed it with the casual confidence of someone who knew they’d find no opposition.

The elevator groaned and juddered as it descended, a rickety beast plunging toward what felt like the gaping maw of the Eye of Terror itself. Eventually, it screeched to a halt. Red warning lights pulsed ominously around the rusted gates, which lifted with agonizing slowness. A shrill siren cut through the gloom, its echo fading into the void beyond.

John patted the servitor on its shoulder. “Thanks, buddy,” he said with a smirk. The servitor, of course, didn’t respond. The Mechanicus programming in its mind had no room for pleasantries.

Stepping out, John surveyed his surroundings. The underground world stretched out before him, a grim expanse of colossal storage tanks, looming metal domes, and rusting machinery. Everything looked ancient, abandoned. “The Lower Nest,” he muttered to himself. “The Imperium’s favorite dumping ground for chaos and sin.”

This was where the mutants, heretics, cultists, and gang scum thrived. A place utterly forsaken by law and order. Even the Arbites rarely ventured down here. When the Imperium needed something done in the Lower Nest, they hired mercenaries. No one wanted to dirty their hands in this pit.

The space was dimly lit by far-off, flickering lights that barely pierced the oppressive darkness. It felt like walking through a tomb, a corpse of a world left to rot. John’s silver-patterned boots clanged against the metal bridge as he moved forward. Peering down, he saw the ground far below, shrouded in shadow. “Quite the drop,” he remarked, shaking his head.

Movement at the edge of his vision drew his attention. Candlelight flickered at the far end of the bridge. Curious, John made his way toward it, discovering a small shrine. It was a crude thing, its craftsmanship leaving much to be desired. The figure depicted in the sculpture—a human seated on a throne—was vaguely familiar. “The Emperor?” John mused, crouching to examine it more closely. “No, this isn’t Him.”

As he reached out to touch the statue, the sound of footsteps echoed through the corridor. John rose, turning to see several figures emerge from the shadows. The dim candlelight revealed them as a gang of Lower Nest denizens, each armed with weapons of varying make and quality. Their leader stepped forward, pointing a mechanical finger at John.

“Outsider,” the man barked. “Show respect and pray to the Lord of Redemption.”

John tilted his head, feigning confusion. “The Lord of Redemption? Who’s that?”

The leader’s pale face twisted with a mix of anger and disbelief. “You dare ask? This is the Emperor Himself! Pray, or face His judgment!”

The other gang members tightened their grip on their weapons, forming a semicircle around John. Each bore a snake tattoo on their arm—a symbol he recognized from his time topside. They were the same gang he’d seen at the starport. John smiled, his hand subtly moving to the trigger of his bolt gun. “What happens if I say no?”

The leader sneered, pressing the barrel of his gun against John’s chest. “Then we’ll punish you in His name!”

Instead of fear, John’s expression turned amused. “Can I ask a question first?”

The leader narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “What question?”

“You’re part of the Pious Society, right?” John asked, glancing at the others. “Not the only gang here, I assume? Places like this always have a crowd of rivals.”

The leader, caught off guard, hesitated. “Y-yes. Heretics everywhere, like you! But we’ll bring them the truth! Salvation from the stars!”

John’s smile turned sharper. “Sounds like gang wars must be pretty common. Lots of… unfortunate accidents, wouldn’t you say?”

The leader frowned. “What are you getting at?”