Interrogation
This story, part of the community effort on the Emperor's Nightmare chapter, shows just how effective the brothers can be when dealing with enemies of the Imperium.
- Floki of the Space Wolves licked his teeth in frustration at the situation in front of him. This whole damned mission had been one complication after another, with his Deathwatch team originally sent to root out a xenos smuggling ring, which had now led to the discovery of a Slaaneshi cult that were apparently working together. He now had a single survivor of the small cell he and his fellow Marines had tracked down, but the cultist refused to talk. He was tempted to just rip out the traitor’s throat, and let his Omophagea do the work, but the thought of debasing his body with Chaos… it was an unappealing thought. But the Deathwatch needed information.
- “Something wrong Marine?” The cultist sniggered.
- “If I want to see your tongue, I would rip it out. Be silent,” Floki snarled before entering a reverie. He needed something. Anything to pry out knowledge.
- He was jerked out of his thoughts when another voice spoke.
- “Hail Brother.”
- Brother Iskander of the Emperor’s Nightmare and Brother Das’shan of the Salamanders had returned from their sweep. Not wanting to give away any information, Floki put on his helmet before voxing his problems. Iskander immediately acted and moved towards the cultist.
- “Heretic, I am told you have information my Brothers and I require. Will you divulge it or not?”
- The traitor let out another cackle before spitting onto the chestplate of Iskander. Showing no signs of wounded pride, Iskander merely raised his hands, and took off his helm before leaning in closely.
- The heretic flinched despite himself, unnerved by the features of the Astartes. A face made too pale from months of sunless light, added with the gene legacy of mighty Corax had resulted in a figure who might have been mistaken as a ghost. Through bloodshot eyes, the endless stare of the marine intimidated the cultist, eventually forcing him to avert his gaze. At the small victory, Iskander spoke again.
- “Heretic,” he started, his voice now quieter but no less dangerous with out the magnifying effects of the vox-grill, “I know you. I see you and I will have what I want.”
- ”You can try,” the heretic hissed.
- Iskander was silent for a few minutes, though he continued to gaze at the cultist without pause before choosing his words. “There is a flawed teaching your false god tries to teach you. That pain is pleasure, and vice-versa. I tell you now that is wrong. The weak flee before it, the strong endure it, and only the foolish desire it. Now then, what are you?”
- Iskander then lowered one of his gauntlets to caress a bony arm. “Soft, untouched by manual labor. A noble perhaps. Yes, the indent of a ring on four fingers, their size and placement tells me you belong to one of the High Ten, the leading families of this world. Your face, the lack of lines speak of a stress-free life, but more importantly that you are young, with no rejuva treatment. Your youth also implies you are new to your false worship. You are but a lackey are you not? You desire to reach the inner workings of your cult. Is that not right, second son of House Goran?”
- “H-how did you-”
- “Peace heretic. Now then, tell me, with your immaturity confirmed, is this pleasure?”
- With that, two ceramite clad fingers crushed the bones of a thumb, ignoring the flailing this incurred. Iskander waited a few seconds before continuing his work, “Is this what your ‘Prince’ offered you?”
- “S-stop, please! For the love of the Emperor!”
- “Hmm, so not strong, and not a fool. Weak then. Ah, and do not speak of Him you have forsaken,” Iskander said, punctuating his last statement with another broken finger.
- “And be sure of this heretic, I have many more bones to break, and much time to spend. What do you have?”
- “Names! Locations!” the heretic blubbered, “just show mercy, please!”
- “Mercy? I suppose that is not outside the realm of possibility. If you speak the truth.”
- “It is, I swear,” the heretic promised before telling all he knew. After he finished speaking, Iskander lifted his massive hands to the heretic’s face.
- “To stain my blade with your blood and to waste a Bolt round into your body would be an insult to the Machine Spirits of my weapons,” he mused, “so I will simply crush you.”
- “You said… you said you would show mercy,” the heretic protested weakly.
- “I lied,” Iskander chided before looking amused, “or perhaps I did not lie. I send you now to the Emperor where he will judge your miserable existence. Instead of leaving you here to die slow of hunger, I give you a quick death. A nobler death can never be had for one so weak as you.”
- “You call this mercy!” the heretic shrieked.
- “For the enemies of man, there is none greater,” Iskander assured. The last thing the heretic saw were the unblinking red eyes of an Angel of Death.