“I must admit, sir, having them here may not be the best of ideas,” I warned Caliman, gesturing with my walking stick to the Red Hunters that flanked us. I was only barely on my feet at that point, and had not yet taken an augmetic eye; I was, instead, trying out an eyepatch and seeing how I liked it. After a pair of weeks, I was getting used to it, but worried about the tactical implications of only possessing half my vision.
“Do you have a better contingency?” Caliman growled, arms crossed. I do not think he was annoyed by my objection, but was most definitely on edge from the guests approaching our war room, where we resided.
I shrugged. “We exist,” I offered, gesturing to myself and Bliss, who stood to my side opposite my stick.
“And you killed naked puppets, Blackgar, not the real thing. Real Astartes are another matter entirely, and their choice of attire is not so easily penetrated,” Caliman seethed.
“True though both assertions are, I was however under the impression that these Wolves often did not don helmets, that they may instead bare fangs,” I suggested.
“Perhaps we may be so lucky, then, to have you with us,” Caliman grumbled.
I shrugged. “You asked me here, and now that I’m present I’m glad you did. I don’t think you possess a great strength for politics, Lord Caliman.”
“In that regard, I fear you may be correct. Do you wish to lead conversations, then?”
“‘Wish to’ and ‘believe I should’ are very different things, sir,” I frowned. Caliman nodded in agreement.
“No one will get to you while I’m here, Callant,” Bliss reassured me.
“Great, another one in your harem,” Caliman muttered to me.
“He’s married and I have a boyfriend!” Bliss hissed in return. I stayed silent, happy to let other Inquisitors stick it to Caliman, and also because I heard marching.
As the high-pressure, mechanized footfalls drew closer, I observed, “At least I don’t hear screaming and shooting. Yet.”
“Day’s still young,” Caliman growled. “Blackgar, if your dry wit gets me killed today, I will be most displeased in the afterlife.”
“As opposed to your jolly nature in life?” I grunted, getting a grin from Bliss. Caliman simmered in place, but did not reply. Good enough. “Should we survive, Bliss, you’ll have to tell me how and where an Astartes looks at you. I’m curious.” She nodded.
“I’ll bet the neck,” Caliman suggested.
It was then that our guests arrived. Three titans of iron-grey power armor, adorned in ceremonial regalia and great pelts of beasts unimaginable, stepped into the room. As I suggested, each of the three were without helmets, revealing their barbarous, fur-covered heads, and, upon seeing us and our backdrop of Red Hunters, their snarling fangs. Where the skulls of these Astartes may not have had fur, they instead had ample augmetics, heavy cybernetic designs that suggested these were no simple Astartes, if there even was such a thing to begin with. I did not know the Space Wolves very well, but I knew of the existence of their Wulfen, and did not believe these three were so savage, though that may have only worsened our chances with them.
“Welcome, Astartes, to our fleet. I am Lord Inquisitor Caliman, joined by Inquisitors Callant Blackgar and Seraina Al-Amar, each of us from the Ordo Hereticus, as well as Sergeant Santinus Astal, Red Hunters 3rd Company, 2nd Tactical Squad,” Caliman greeted our guests. “To whom do we speak?”
The apparent leader of the trio, only identifiable to me as such due to their nearer proximity to us, spoke up, still snarling at us and clearly not happy with his audience. “I am Ingvald Cloudseeker, of the 1st Grey Hunter Pack of Egil Iron Wolf’s Ironwolves,” he answered, immediately demonstrating his Company’s—no, his Legion’s—rejection of the Codex Astartes. “I am joined by Grey Hunters Freyor Draugrpelt and Skard Moonfist, also of Egil Iron Wolf’s Great Company, also of the 1st Pack. We answer to your summons of our own curiosity—what brings you to this world, and why have you ravaged it so?”
“Why are you interested?” I asked in return, taking a step forward.
“I’ll not answer the arrogant men of pain and misery until I know why they are here,” Ingvald replied, stepping up to me likewise and looking down on me. I was not intimidated, amazingly; was it Bliss’s presence that helped me keep my cool, or had I simply lost the nerve to be intimidated after the events on the surface? To this day, I do not know.
“We are here to do as we do best: kill traitors. Why are you here?” Freyor and Skard managed a laugh from behind their Packmate, and Skard snarled something in response. “Something funny?”
“I believe they find your response quite humorous, yes. What you do best, little man, appears to be losing limbs, or if not that, then murdering innocents, as is the nature of your ordos,” Ingvald replied, himself snorting a laugh.
“And what are you the best at? Drinking?” I suggested. Ingvald sneered for a moment, but was held back by another break in the composure of his allies, each of whom managed another laugh. Ingvald turned to scowl at them, and then to me. “Alright, let’s address the kraken in the room, hm?” I offered, aware that they hunted such things on Fenris. “I am not Ghesmei Kysnaros, and the Months of Shame are long past.”
“You are not Kysnaros, you are correct. He was taller. Though while you appear to have lost an arm, he has deservedly lost his head,” Ingvald replied. “We do not call them the Months of Shame. That is the phrase those of our psychic brethren under your dreaded heel use. You may not be Kysnaros, the fool, but your ordos are as they have always sought: a society unchanging. We do not imagine that behind the deceit of your words lies a man any greater than the vermin Great Wolf Grimnar beheaded.”
“If that were true, why would you ask questions of us to begin with?” Bliss suggested. “If all we’ll do is lie to you, why seek our truths?”
“Because, young lady, your lies speak volumes enough,” Freyor answered. Ingvald and Skard nodded in assent. “What traitors lay upon that world down there, then?”
“The undying kind,” I answered with a shrug. “And if you believe that to be a lie, you are welcome to see for yourself. Should you find a way to kill them for good, you’d be doing us and the Imperium of Man a favor.”
“That is less appealing when it benefits you,” Ingvald growled. “I will not have my brothers risk their lives in your fight, especially not while your fleet hangs overhead, ready to pick them apart. You fight and lose your own battles.”
“Oh, we’ve already won that one,” I shrugged again. “Without you. All that remains upon that world are undying freaks in ruins of ash, scrambling to figure out how to get off their dreadful planet and infest the Sector once more. So, that in mind, what brings you here?”
Ingvald seethed toward me for a bit longer, and then admitted, “We have a prisoner that guided us here.”
“Oh?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Oh what, runt?”
“What sort of prisoner? And why did what they say interest you?”
Ingvald made a low growling sound, and then backed away from me, joining his brothers near to the entrance—or exit—of the room. “A Heretek of the Dark Mechanicum in service to the baleful Iron Warriors. He is mostly mad, as one may expect.”
“Why do we answer them, Brother?” Freyor asked of Ingvald.
Ingvald turned to his Brother and frowned. “When those long Months began, centuries ago, on account of the fool Kysnaros, Great Grimnar fought by not fighting. It was always ever the dreaded Inquisition that pulled the trigger on others, until the time came to defend Fenris from their malice,” Ingvald answered before turning back to us. “This Heretek spoke of allies on this world. We came to end them, as you appear to have. We have little more use for this prisoner. Do you want them?”
“Are you offering?” Caliman asked.
“I am offering to spare us the Bolt, that we may use it in glorious battle rather than in executing vermin,” Ingvald growled.
“We will unburden you of your prisoner, that we may interrogate them further,” Caliman suggested.
“How generous,” Ingvald answered. “We will send them by shuttle. You will refuel and return the shuttle.”
“You don’t tell—” Caliman objected.
“Deal,” I agreed.
Ingvald snorted and pointed a claw toward me. “Perhaps you are not Kysnaros, then. Explains why your head is still on your shoulders. Tell me, have you had encounters with the Iron Warriors before? You showed particular interest.”
“Another Heretek, some decades ago. We know not what their intentions are, but they are interested in this Sector,” I answered.
“I can tell you their intentions: they intend to siege this Sector, and kill any Imperial forces in their way. They are looking for something here and will not relent until they find it,” Ingvald replied.
“And you know all of this but were not going to tell us?” Bliss objected.
“We would have warned Battlefleet Ixaniad. But no, not you,” Ingvald admitted with a grin. “Not the Inquisition. You shouldn’t need to rely on Wolves for such insight.”
“And where will you be when they siege Ixaniad, then?” Caliman seethed.
“Not here. Jaegetri, just outside your Sector. It is there that our mutual foe resides. We will kill their command while their warships kill you,” Ingvald chuckled. “If you want more, ask the Heretek. Assuming he’s still sane enough to get any real intel out of. We have places to be, battles to fight, monsters to hunt.”
“Well, it’s been real pleasant getting to know you,” I lied.
Ingvald snorted again. “Likewise. Should you survive your impending slaughter, don’t get in our way on Jaegetri. We won’t have time for your kind of folly there, either.” Without further word—save for impatient snarls—and with no honorable courtesy, the trio of Wolves departed, leaving us with our own silent Red Hunters.
“Neck,” Bliss muttered.
“Thought so,” Caliman sighed. “You lot, let’s go see to the acquisition of a new prisoner,” he ordered to the Red Hunters, and led them from the room.
“And also chest,” Bliss added when Caliman was gone, grinning. I smiled as well. “May I walk you to your quarters?”
“Yes please, thanks, Bliss,” I agreed, taking her hand again and letting her help me out.
***
“Antonax Reth-07, was it? We have procured you from those damnable Wolves. We represent the Inquisition—or, rather, your Inquisition,” Bliss explained to our newfound Heretek, sitting across from the fidgeting, twitchy individual who was more scrap heap than man. The interrogations the Wolves had conducted on Antonax had taken a number on the Heretek, which did not bother me any, other than that it may make the extraction of further information more difficult.
Bliss was joined by Zha Trantos and Ramiel Kanius, the Arbites Regulator I had picked up from Skardak Tertium. For the time being, Kanius was looking the part of muscle, ever a man clad in ceramite, standing with his arms crossed behind my two Inquisitorial Agents. I, meanwhile, watched the interrogation from behind a one-way mirror, joined by Caliman and Massino Varnus. We could not chance our presence being identifiable by the enemy, but the likelihood the Heretek knew Zha or Bliss was low. Kanius objected, at first, to posing as our traitor-Inquisitor ilk, but went along with the idea when Lord Caliman approved. I could not fault the Arbites of that; I would have expected the same objection from Hans Okustin, were he still with me, and was surprised that Caliman had agreed with my approach in the first place.
“Lies, oh lovingly hateful lies!—the sun sets under bloodied seas—where did Vaktez go?” Antonax replied in a pool of gibberish. Bliss and Zha looked to each other.
+Continue as you would, for now,+ I messaged them both.
“Antonax, if you’re in there, we need to speak with you on your operations with our organization. Who was your point of contact with us? The Wolves have created turmoil for more than merely you and we need to get to the bottom of it,” Zha insisted.
“Oh, dear Omnissiah, I am sorry—sorry? Why would I be sorry?” Antonax answered, perhaps talking to himself. “Sorrow is for the flesh. Oh, they did massacre the flesh.”
“Who did? The Wolves?”
“No, Lunacius, on Vaktez. Where did Vaktez go?” Antonax half-replied, perhaps giving us our first direct answer to a question, even if it appeared irrelevant. “The God-Emperor did not see Vaktez when it fell. Will He see it when They return?”
“Antonax, this is very important. Who was your contact with our cell?” Bliss pressed.
“My, what fine flesh you have. What great fangs they had. Is the tunnel finished?”
+Tell him it was damaged.+
“The tunnel was damaged. We need to know who your contact was with our organization, Antonax,” Bliss repeated.
“The egotist. Gerhart,” Antonax answered. Progress, at last.
“Gerhart Heirene was your contact? And you were working on the tunnel with Heirene?” Zha suggested.
“The tunnel was of their making, with cursory—compulsory!—input from this unit—that’s me! Operational regulations returning. Self consciousness reasserting. Damage to critical infrastructure: substantive. 38% of mental faculties withstanding.”
+Brace yourselves, should 38% prove enough to see through our ruse.+
“Self-query: what triggered recovery of internal monologue? Hypothesis: presence of allied operatives eased physiological tensor barriers. Yes, Gerhart Heirene was my contact, but it is an inaccuracy to suggest I worked with that egotist,” Antonax explained.
+Never mind.+
“So Heirene was your contact with our organization, but you worked with someone else. Who?” Zha asked.
“Your boss.”
“Name?”
“Test identified. Comprehension: Understandable given the presence of Wolves. Answer: No name. That is not how they do things,” Antonax half-answered.
Disappointing though that response was, Bliss went with it. “Correct. And what was your project with the boss?”
“I was Magos for the construction of the Arctoros 5 fortress, from its functionality to its defenses,” Antonax replied. “Those I represent are very interested in both projects, and in providing suitable geneseed if your organization wishes to expend resources in attempting the Astartes operation again.”
“Noted. The offer is appreciated, but not at this time,” Bliss answered. “Now, who is your CO within your own organization?”
“Captain Valeran Mortoc, who answers to Warsmith Madrydon Drados, Commander of the Shatter Corps,” Antonax reported, unwittingly providing us with two names we would soon come to know all too well. “You mentioned the tunnel was damaged. How severely?”
“Inoperably, but not irreparably,” she lied.
“Suboptimal, but a relief all the same,” Antonax admitted.
“Antonax, we won’t mince words. We believe you gave information to the Wolves of our location, which resulted in this catastrophe. We are willing to look past that in the interests of preserving our relationship with your organization, but we need to know exactly what you told to whom. We need a grasp on what operations may be compromised,” Zha explained.
“Uniquely rational. Ironic, for not only is your flesh superior in form to Gerhart’s, but the function appears to be as well. You would be remarkable subjects for upgrades, if you wished,” Antonax offered. Bliss cleared her throat in a grunt, and Kanius stepped forward once, flexing his presence more obviously. “Fair. Yes, I can share such details. Forgive me further if the recollection is spotty. Reduced efficacy of mental faculties may have damaged memory subsectors.”
“Give us what you can, Antonax,” Bliss nodded.
+Excellent.+
With their interrogation now turned into a font of information extraction, I turned to Caliman, on my left. “Arctoros 5,” I muttered.
“Indeed. Seems you have new marching orders, if we’re to believe that’s where their cell leader is,” Caliman agreed.
“And you?” I asked.
“The Exterminatus is already in motion, but will take time. I must remain here to see it through, and we cannot waste time in following up on that intel. If Amnes Minoris contacts their boss before we can get there, the complications may be innumerable,” Caliman explained.
“Agreed,” I nodded. I then turned around to face Varnus, who had previously been on my right. “And you have two options, dear Techsorcist. Ensure the coherent destruction of this world, or accompany me to the next for investigation and dissection.”
“A choice of company between you, Inquisitor Blackgar, and the dim prospects of another is not much of a choice,” Varnus replied.
“Throne help you both,” Caliman growled.