Warhammer 40k: I Refuse to Be a Slaanesh Marine Chapter 4 4: The Pecking Order

"I have so, my Lord. The overseers' whips are laced with venom, so we brew our own salves in secret. I... I do not know if it will work on your kind, however."

Enkidu glanced at Seventeen and Three. Seventeen's condition was manageable; the skin was torn, but the blood was still a healthy crimson and already beginning to scab. Three was in a far worse state. His wounds were swollen and bruised a deep, angry purple. His breathing was shallow, and a cloying, sickly-sweet scent wafted from his skin.

A neural whip, Slaaneshi-grade. The slave's homade grease likely wouldn't do much against warp-tainted toxins, but they had no other options.

"Bring it here."

"At once, my Lord."

Paul vanished and returned a mont later clutching a small bundle of stained cloth. Inside was an aluminum tin filled with a grey-green paste, a pungent mash of unknown flora and fauna.

Without hesitation, Enkidu scooped out a glob and sared it over Three's back.

The effect was instantaneous.

The mont the salve touched the skin, the dark purple bruising receded visibly. Enkidu could feel the violent tremors in the muscles beneath his fingers beginning to subside. Three let out a long, shuddering breath and slumped onto the bunk, finally at peace.

Enkidu raised an eyebrow, looking back at Paul, who seed just as stunned by the efficacy of his own dicine.

"I'll rember this, Paul. Now, get back to your duties."

"Yes, my Lord!" Paul scurried away into the dark.

Enkidu repeated the process with Seventeen. The result was identical.

"Feeling better?"

"It's... it's gone?" Sebastian stared down at his arm as if witnessing a miracle. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Don't call that. I'm just a man. And according to Astartes tradition, we are Battle-Brothers." He snapped the lid onto the tin and set it on the bedside fra. "I'm Enkidu. And you?"

"Sebastian. I was a clerk before... before this." He lowered his arm, his expression dazed. "An Astartes? An Angel of the Emperor? I've really beco an Angel?"

"Not the kind you're thinking of," Enkidu said grimly. "You'd better prepare yourself. This isn't a fortress-monastery of the Throne. I don't know how long you'll last here, but whatever happens, do not beco like the things you saw in the corridor. If you do, your soul will never find its way back to the Golden Throne. And another thing—never speak the Emperor's na aloud here."

"That is impossible."

Sebastian gasped, his face twisting into a mask of agony.

"It is sacrilege! I have never heard of a place where the Emperor's light is forbidden! Even in the deepest, darkest mines, we offer prayers!" Truen stood up abruptly, a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes. "If I hadn't seen you wake up from the sa glass box as us, I'd swear you were in league with those heretic tin cans."

"Don't you dare compare to them!"

A surge of irritation flared in Enkidu's chest. He was trying to save their lives, and they were already looking at him like an apostate.

"If you're so eager to test your faith, go find one of those 'Angels' and praise the Emperor to his face. If you make it back alive, I'll personally make you our leader."

"Actually, I think we need a leader right now. Soone to keep things in order."

Truen cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing like small explosions in the cramped room.

Enkidu felt his stomach tighten. From the hive-sumps to the Astartes chapters, the law of "Trial by Combat" was universal. He had spent his life as a white-collar worker; he never expected to be the protagonist of a gladiatorial pit.

Bellator let out a low whistle. Sebastian, still recovering, dragged Three back toward the wall. The other recruits pushed the iron beds aside, clearing a small circle in the center of the room.

The two n stood opposite each other, eyes locked.

Truen didn't waste ti with words. He lunged. The explosive power of an Astartes was laid bare in that instant—a speed no baseline human could ever achieve.

Enkidu only saw a fist growing larger in his vision. Instinctively, he crossed his forearms in a guard.

BAM.

The impact felt like being hit by a freight train. A sharp, stinging pain shot through his forearms, and he was sent sliding back three paces.

Before he could regain his balance, Truen followed up with a knee aid straight for his gut. Enkidu gritted his teeth and pivoted his hips, the knee grazing his ribs as he dodged. He slid past Truen's side and delivered a whip-kick to the man's lower back.

Truen reacted as if he had eyes in the back of his head, rolling forward and escaping the strike by a hair's breadth.

"Not bad. Again."

Truen licked his lips and sprang back up. This ti he didn't rush. He began to circle, prowling like a predator. Enkidu shook out the numbness in his arms, his secondary lung expanding to flood his blood with oxygen.

Two seconds later, Truen struck again.

The man had clearly spent his life brawling in the mines. Every strike was heavy, designed to maim or kill. Enkidu fell back, drawing Truen out while carefully observing his patterns.

Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over his nerves. The world seed to slow down. Truen's heavy haymaker, which had seed so fast before, now appeared riddled with openings.

Too clumsy. No follow-through.

The thought surfaced unbidden. His body moved faster than his conscious mind—no desperate parry this ti. He simply leaned to the side, sliding past Truen's guard like a fish in water. He struck with a knife-hand, a precise, elegant blow delivered straight to the carotid sinus in Truen's neck.

Truen's eyes bulged. He let out a short, choked gasp and collapsed like a felled tree.

Silence descended.

Enkidu stared at his hand in a daze. I really took down a guy that big? The move had been too perfect, too disciplined for a re civilian.

This... is the power of the Astartes.

"Anyone else have a problem with what I said?"

Enkidu suppressed his own shock and swept his gaze across the room. Bellator, who had been cheering earlier, was now silent, his eyes wide with newfound respect.

"No... no problem, Boss," Vitaly stamred from the corner. "I'm Vitaly. I used to herd Grox for the overseers."

"Gah... that was a hell of a hit!" Truen groaned, clutching his neck as he sat up. He spat on the floor, the saliva sizzling as it hit the tal. "But the way you moved at the start... you don't fight like a brawler. You move like so high-born noble from the Spire."

"I was never a noble," Enkidu lied smoothly. "My howorld was a Shrine World. The archives there... they teach you things. Knowledge is power."

Holy Terra in the 3rd Millennium... technically a Shrine World, right?

"A preacher's son?"

The recruits' expressions shifted to reverence. Simultaneously, they made the sign of the Aquila across their chests.

"I'm not—forget it. Call what you want. But rember: stay sharp. Heretics have defiled this ship. They sacrifice to the dark things in the void. Anything related to the Emperor will drive them into a killing frenzy."

Knowing the logic of Imperial fanatics, Enkidu gave up on explaining and instead herded them toward the bunks.

"Until you can defend yourselves, keep your faith in your hearts, not on your sleeves. If the silence is too much, recite the Lectitio Divinitatus in your head. Now, sleep. We need our strength to serve Him tomorrow."