Chapter 32: A Shock from the Inquisition

"I am not satisfied with this answer."

The power of the Ordo Xenos psyker twisted every cell of the Drukhari Sybarite’s body. Simultaneously, countless thick, serpent-like nerves erupted from his flesh, burrowing into his previously breached skull.

It was a torture few living things could endure; the neural signals, which shredded every cell in his body, flowed along the proliferating nerves directly into his brain. Accompanied by a forced, agonizing clarity of mind, the victim’s soul was left to savor this agony, amplified a thousand times over.

"Your strategic deployment, your objectives, and who drove you to come here?"

The Inquisitor’s eyes gleamed. At the very moment the victim's body was on the verge of total collapse, she skillfully stabilized the threshold before demanding an answer.

"Ah... hngh—"

The wail of agony lasted only a moment before shifting into a low, guttural grunt, one that seemed to carry a strange, perverse sense of release.

"Little monkey, the pain I have endured is far greater than this. Ah—these torments, your methods are far inferior to those of the Haemonculi, though they are still somewhat novel. By the standards of your monkey world, I can barely give you a passing grade. Hmph..."

The Sybarite tilted his head. His neck, grotesquely swollen from the forced growth of neural clusters, ruptured. The indescribable pain caused the alien, whose face was already a ruin, to let out another groan of pleasure.

The Sisters of the Order of the Silver Rose, who had just entered the room, could not help but show looks of disgust, slightly raising the muzzles of their pyre-blasters.

"..."

Faced with an alien that seemed completely impervious to pain, the young Inquisitor fell into a dilemma, then simply increased her psychic output.

"Ah—that’s it. Let me feel the pain. Ah—I think I finally understand those coward necromancers. To think that pain without blood could be so intoxicating..."

Even though his entire body was screaming in exhaustion, the Sybarite’s soul seemed utterly indifferent, still finding the breath to taunt his torturer.

"..."

The Inquisitor remained silent, pushing the threshold even higher, causing the Sybarite’s body to bloat further. Tissue fluid spilled from the ruptured skin, running down his armor—which was decorated with ornate skulls—before spraying out in torrents as the proliferating flesh was pierced by the armor’s sharp edges.

*Squelch.*

The heap of flesh, no longer recognizable as a humanoid form, began to convulse violently.

The Inquisitor withdrew her psychic influence.

"I... I have something to say. Come closer... I have something to say."

He whispered, his physical weakness no longer able to support his wild roars. The Inquisitor exchanged a cautious glance with the Marshal and stepped forward.

"The previous questions. Answer me!"

She commanded coldly. But the moment the question left her lips, her senses, which were constantly monitoring the physiological changes of the captive, sent a warning signal, prompting her to dodge rapidly.

She tilted her head, and a shard of bone, honed into a razor-sharp blade, shot out from the Sybarite’s throat, grazing a few strands of her hair.

"I will come for you, little monkey."

The twisted, bloated body squirmed, crushing the golden hair that had fallen to the floor. The Sybarite’s eyes remained locked on the Inquisitor, as if to carve her face into his soul.

*Splat!*

At that instant, a blade thrust out from behind him, piercing his skull.

In the eyes of the Inquisitor, those eyes that had held nothing but contempt finally filled with the color of despair she had been seeking.

"Wait!"

"?"

Arthur looked with confusion at the Inquisitor, who had ceased her spell. His blade remained steady within the alien’s skull.

Yet, the moment the psychic support vanished, the proliferated structure of the body collapsed. The fragmented gore piled into a small mound, only to be shoveled away by a servitor that had been waiting nearby.

"Another xenos exhausted its utility."

Glancing at the sword-brother who had struck the blow, the Inquisitor wore a look of frustration. She could not comprehend why, even after pushing these aliens' nerves to the limit, they still refused to speak, finding pleasure in the torment, only feeling true fear at the moment of death.

"This is the last one."

Beside her, the Black Templars Marshal, who had been staring at the alien the entire time, reminded her coldly. The candles atop his pauldrons cast a warm, steady light, and the three gold studs on his forehead shimmered.

In truth, inside the sealed iron crate behind them, another Drukhari was imprisoned, his five senses completely severed. But everyone knew that this method of interrogation would not yield results quickly.

"Do you think the Drukhari we kill can be resurrected?"

Arthur turned his head, looking at the three companions who were equally stunned. They had arrived at the Ark Mechanicus with the Carcharodons, led by Tyberos.

Archmagos Cawl had designated this plaza as their meeting point, but before he arrived, the group—having just stepped off their shuttle—had witnessed an interrogation of a Drukhari, characteristic of the 41st Millennium.

And the Drukhari, true to the race that had birthed the Dark Prince Slaanesh, were indeed insane to the highest degree.

They exchanged glances; the tone of this world was unexpectedly grotesque.

The stereotypes had only deepened.

"Refer to the daemons that can manifest clones but get cut down by us anyway."

Ramesses was the first to recover.

"The part we kill ceases to exist, and the part that never encountered us carries no memory of that death."

"Mm."

Arthur nodded, flicking the tissue fluid off his blade.

"Was that a show of force?"

Karna felt a bit overwhelmed.

"That would be a bit childish."

Romulus looked around, catching the symbol of the Kabal of the Flayed Skull on a shard of armor.

*Heh, so it’s a wealthy Kabal. No wonder even a Sybarite is so unafraid of death.*

"My apologies."

The Inquisitor acknowledged the group, her expression shifting. As she bowed, the Inquisition seal hung low; Romulus could clearly see the reddish-brown stains on her collar.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Inquisitor Aglaia Hesychiod, of the Ordo Origin."

She gestured toward the iron crate behind her.

"As you can see, I am assisting the lords of the Black Templars in the interrogation of the xenos. Unfortunately, I am not specialized in the lore of this particular breed, and I have been unable to extract useful leads."

Arthur stood with his arms crossed, holding his sword, and retreated to the back of the formation with a cold, detached air.

"Then our timing is most fortuitous."

Romulus immediately stepped forward to smooth the situation.

"I trust our arrival will assist you in resolving this predicament. I am Romulus, Sergeant of the Deathwatch kill team."

"Thank you for your generous assistance."

Aglaia let out a sigh of relief.

As expected, the Deathwatch was easier to deal with; at the very least, they treated her, an Inquisitor, with the proper respect.