"Sebastian was taken by Telax."
Truen sat down heavily beside Enkidu, his tray piled high with glistening, oily chunks of at. After their initial "trial by combat," a strange, rough camaraderie had ford between the two.
"There was nothing we could do. He broke during the drills."
Enkidu let out a weary, frustrated sigh. To him—a forr office worker—the training they had just endured was nothing short of a waking nightmare.
High gravity, deafening white noise, direct neural shocks, and hidden blades that lunged from the walls had nearly claid his life a dozen tis. He had survived on pure, stubborn survival instinct.
At tis, he felt as if his soul was drifting out of his body, hovering above the training deck. From that height, the arena looked like a giant's toy box, and they were the high-tech action figures trapped inside. Telax was the spoiled toddler, screaming with delight as he shook the box until the parts rattled...
But the mont his focus wavered for even a fraction of a second, his soul was snapped back into his flesh. The tide of exhaustion, pain, and disorientation would hit him all over again. He moved with stiff, chanical precision to dodge shards of flying iron, every muscle in his new body screaming in protest.
The other initiates were struggling just as hard. Many ca from the dregs of hive-bottoms and were accustod to lethal environnts, but Sebastian, who had spent his life as a clerk, couldn't take it. He had collapsed into a ss of snot and tears before the agony-inducing equipnt made him scream.
And that, of course, had thoroughly entertained Telax.
By the end of the session, Enkidu couldn't even rember walking out of the arena. It felt as if he had simply blinked and been teleported to the ss hall line.
A starving Truen had grabbed a mountain of at without hesitation. Enkidu stared at the grey, unidentifiable lumps and decided he wasn't that brave yet.
In this universe, the Corpse-Guilds turned the dead into "Corpse Starch." Who knew whose muscles were sitting on that tray?
He opted for the more clinical-looking amino-porridge and triglyceride gel. These rations were piled high and untouched; apparently, no one on this ship had much of an appetite for "standard" food.
He added hot water, stirred the grey sludge, and took a bite.
It tasted exactly like wet cent.
Enkidu sighed, set down his spoon after a few mouthfuls, and turned his attention back to Truen.
"...I just hope he's lucky enough to co back from Telax's quarters in one piece," Truen said, chewing a hunk of at with a blank expression. "I've seen his type before. Back in the mines, they'd throw criminals down to work off their debts—mostly hive-scum, but occasionally they'd toss in a soft one like him who didn't know which end of a pick was which."
"And you? Why were you in the mines?"
"Because I was born there. My father was one of those criminals. My mother moved in with him just to secure a ration card. I spent ten years swinging a pick before those damned slavers hit us."
Truen turned, giving Enkidu a complicated look.
"I'm not like you, Preacher. You've got that 'high-born' air about you."
"Trust , there is nothing high-born about . I have no noble blood to boast of. I'm just another victim of bad luck. I've always believed that true nobility is found in the heart, not the veins."
Enkidu swallowed another tasteless gulp of porridge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wobbling silhouette enter the ss hall.
It was Sebastian.
The man looked horrific. His eyes were vacant, his gait unsteady. He didn't acknowledge the calls of the other recruits. Strangely, there were no visible marks of physical torture on him.
Truen nudged Enkidu with an elbow.
"Go on, Preacher. Ti for a sermon."
"I am not a priest, thank you. But since you asked so nicely..."
Enkidu rolled his eyes and stood up, walking toward Sebastian. Despite the grim setting, his basic human conscience wouldn't let him watch a comrade be toyed with until they snapped.
Sebastian sat in a far corner of the hall, huddled into a ball. Faint, rhythmic sobs escaped him. The other initiates had cleared a wide berth around him, terrified that whatever "interest" Telax had in the clerk might rub off on them.
That kind of predatory appetite was common among hive-spire nobility; it was an epidemic among heretics who had turned from the Emperor.
Enkidu crossed the empty space and placed a gentle hand on the clerk's shoulder.
"Are you hurt? If you are, I still have so of Paul's salve left."
Sebastian's shoulder lurched. He looked up, a single eye filled with raw, unadulterated terror peeking through his arms.
"N-no," Sebastian stamred, his voice thin and reedy. "He didn't touch . He just... he took to see his... his collection."
Enkidu's grip tightened on the man's shoulder. He could only imagine what a Slaaneshi "collection" looked like. His expression darkened for a mont before he forced it back into a mask of calm.
"I won't ask you what you saw. You shouldn't have to rember it. For now, eat. We likely have more training this afternoon. If you don't have the strength to move, Telax will notice you again."
"Maybe I want to be finished today," Sebastian whispered, burying his face back into his elbows. "At least if I'm dead, there's no more Telax."
"There might be things much worse than death waiting in the void," Enkidu replied softly.
"What do you an?"
Sebastian looked up, startled. He didn't truly want to know, but the "Preacher's" words sparked a morbid curiosity.
"Nothing. It's better that you don't know. So truths are a disaster just to witness." Enkidu patted his shoulder, his gaze drifting toward the rusted ceiling. "But if you are strong enough to pass these trials—if you survive long enough to even strike back at Telax—I might consider telling you."
He leaned in closer.
"Treat everything you are suffering now as a test of fate. If you choose to die, you prove you're a coward. If you grit your teeth and endure, you prove your worth. If you are truly afraid of Telax, then stop being afraid. Start hating him. Hate can be a shield against fear."
Hate and sacrifice—the twin pillars of the Master of Mankind's reign. To hate the heretic was to honor the Throne. Sotis, faith was the only thing that could manufacture a miracle.
"Hate..."
Sebastian repeated the word. A tiny spark of life returned to his dull eyes. Enkidu gave him an encouraging nod.
"Get so food while there's still ti. If you fall behind this afternoon, I'll do what I can to pull you through."
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