"The boss of the Bloodclaw Gang is called Sevitalion. Wherever he goes, he always brings his personal guard with him. The guard has twelve n in total, each ard with a lasgun. Not everyone in the assault squads has weapons, only the core mbers do. As for that psyker, I've never seen him, nor do I know who he is."
On the way to the Bloodclaw Gang's territory, Dorothy carefully explained the details about them.
Caelan and Curze listened attentively. Though they both looked down on the Bloodclaw Gang, they still had to pay attention, after all, negligence can lose an empire.
Aside from the psyker, there wasn't much about the gang worth caring about.
"Sevitalion is yours," Caelan said.
Curze grunted in response, already thinking of how to kill Sevitalion quickly.
"Stop right there!"
As they approached the gates of the Bloodclaw Gang's territory, a sentry spotted them.
"Don't shoot, it's ."
"Miss Dorothy?" The sentry recognized her voice and asked in surprise. "Why haven't you been around these past few days?"
"The children needed to take care of them," Dorothy answered.
She didn't tell them about her illness. She was the children's teacher for the gang, but in the underhive, illness ant death. A sick teacher was worthless.
"And who are those two?" the sentry asked warily.
"They're children I've raised. I want to ask Lord Sevitalion to give them so work."
The sentry laughed loudly. "Miss Dorothy, you've finally thought it through? That's the way it should be! Those kids eat your food, drink your water, joining the Bloodclaws is the best way they can repay you."
Dorothy lowered her head. The reason she lived outside wasn't only because many of the children she took in were mutants, but also because she didn't want them entangled with the Bloodclaws. That was her selfishness. She knew life outside was harder, but she didn't want the children she raised to beco like the gang.
The great gate of the Bloodclaw Gang slowly opened, and Dorothy led Caelan and Curze inside.
Several Bloodclaw mbers followed them, but casually, it was just routine.
From their respectful attitude, it was clear that Dorothy's position as a teacher was well-regarded. Nobody stopped or questioned them along the way.
Dorothy arrived at the leader's quarters. To the two guards at the door, she said, "I wish to see Lord Sevitalion."
The guards went inside and soon returned with an answer: "You may enter, but you must strip off your outer layers; only one garnt may remain."
Underhivers dressed thickly to resist the cold. Only a rare few had prothium burners to keep warm.
The thicker the clothing, the easier it was to hide weapons. The guards didn't want to search them themselves; they found scavengers filthy.
Even though they were underhivers too, the Bloodclaws considered themselves different. They prided themselves on cleanliness, bathing at least once a year.
Dorothy had already explained all this to Caelan and Curze. They undressed without hesitation, keeping only their undergarnts.
The guards circled them, confirming no weapons were hidden, then let them pass.
Inside, they t Sevitalion. Ten guards lined the room's sides, while he sat in the middle upon a "throne."
It was a crude seat made of scrap: the base welded from a vehicle chassis and rebar fra, cushioned with clean clothes.
"Miss Dorothy," Sevitalion smiled, "Eros hasn't seen you in a long while. He misses you."
"Lord Sevitalion." Dorothy bowed.
The mont she confird his identity, Curze gripped his shard-blade and rushed forward.
The guards sensed danger and raised their lasguns imdiately.
But Caelan simply waved his hand, slamming them against the wall. Their lasguns clattered uselessly to the ground.
"Dorothy, what are you doing?"
Sevitalion's face twisted with rage. He still thought Dorothy was the mastermind behind this.
Curze didn't care. His shard cut Sevitalion's wrist, making him drop the pistol he had just drawn in pain.
Sevitalion wasn't so pampered weakling. With so many people eyeing his position, he always kept his combat skills sharp.
Losing the pistol didn't an losing the fight. He countered with a punch, brass knuckles gleaming.
Curze easily dodged and sliced his throat. Clean and efficient.
He never tortured his victims.
Even villains deserved a swift death.
"Gkkhh-"
Sevitalion clutched his throat, choking on blood as he slid powerlessly from the throne.
Curze turned back to Caelan, puzzled why he hadn't killed the rest.
"This is your kingdom," Caelan said. "They are your prisoners. Their fate is yours to decide."
Curze walked toward the pinned n. He thought of cutting their throats one by one.
He could sll the stench of sin on them, far stronger than that of re scavengers.
Scavengers sinned to survive. These n sinned for pleasure. They didn't deserve to live.
But Curze hesitated. He wondered why Caelan had left the choice to him, and what outco Caelan wanted.
Did he want him to spare them? To use them to seize control of the gang? Or to slaughter them all?
Curze made his decision. He cut the first throat, then the second, then the third, until all were dead.
"Evil must be rooted out," Curze said. "Their lives only nourish more cri, giving criminals hope of impunity. I won't give them a chance, because they never gave anyone else a chance."
"I thought you'd torture them, then let one live to spread fear," Caelan said.
"Why would I do that?" Curze asked, confused.
"Maybe because you think fear makes bad n hesitate to act."
"Anyone who thinks that is an idiot," Curze said flatly. "Fear is for the good, for keeping them from breaking the law. Order cos from the death of criminals, scaring good n from turning bad."
"Well said." Caelan clapped. 'This kid really is salvageable.'
'Neoth, open your eyes and see this! I've only been teaching him for a few days, and he's already changed completely. Is raising a Primarch really that hard? No, it's just you, a useless father.'
"And the rest of the gang?" Caelan asked. "Do you plan to kill them all?"
Curze nodded. "Can you help ? I'm too slow on my own."
"I can block them for you," Caelan said, "but I won't kill them. Every death must be your choice, by your own hand."
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