"We have come for you."
Fer spoke to the obese noble. His lenses glowed blood-red; a minor technical modification could yield enormous benefits.
The latter screamed something in a language the Eighth Legion did not yet understand and opened fire. Bullets raced down from the platform like a terrifying downpour of shrieking rain.
But the autogun's firepower was utterly laughable against Mk II Power Armour. His death throes seemed exceptionally ridiculous. Yet neither of the two present laughed.
They merely remained silent. Nothing more. A heart-chilling fury began to spread through that silence.
"Aresta," Fer asked slowly.
"Yes." A young voice sounded over the comm channel, carrying immense, irrepressible rage.
He charged out, and two minutes later threw the fat, ugly beast at his captain's feet. Yet that was not enough to vent his hatred. The young warrior raised his foot and angrily crushed the noble's right leg.
A crisp crack merged with the dull grinding sound, becoming a dreadful noise that was almost unbearable to hear.
"Enough, Aresta," Fer said quietly. "There is no point in torturing him."
"Pain can make him understand certain things," Aresta said in a muffled voice. "At the very least, it can make him understand that children should live freely, rather than become things in his basement."
He cut himself off angrily and raised his foot again.
"What could pain possibly make someone like him understand?"
Fer sternly raised his right hand. "Torture is only an acceptable option during interrogation, Aresta. Do not use him to vent your anger. He is not worthy of it."
A few seconds later, the young warrior silently nodded.
He wore Mk III Power Armour, which greatly helped young and rash Astartes like him survive the complicated, ever-changing chaos of war.
That said, Fer did not actually consider recklessness