I
Aeren woke from a restless sleep and dark dreams he couldn't remember. For a moment he just lay there in the gloom, not knowing who or where he was, shrouded in dull tranquility. Then the memories hit him like a truck: The doom that had befallen hive Macharius, corpses piling in the streets, killed by something unseen, something in the air.
And mostly, like a grisly keystone to all the horrors, the monstrous Astartes, who, for some reason, had attacked the local Guard, butchering survivors left and right without a second thought. The one he had fought, or tried to fight. The giant warrior had seen right through the traps he had laid, had darted around his mines with a grace belying his ridiculous bulk and a speed that should've been impossible for something so big.
Aeren had fired at him, but his lasgun proved no match for the assailant's armor. Then the warrior had been upon him and, closing one of his massive gauntlets around the barrel, had crushed his weapon in a single, mockingly slow motion. The same fist had then shot forward, grabbing Aeren by the head and lifting him up. Stupefied, and seeing his final moments upon him, he had fumbled for the knife at his side, and had stabbed the arm that held him. Again, his attack had proven ineffective, all his rage and fear availing him not. Oblivion had taken him after that.
And now he was here, Emperor knew where, left alive for some doubtlessly hideous reason. Adrenaline flooded through him then, and he jolted upright, looking around. He found himself in a cell built of gray metal, bare except for the rivets holding everything together and a small grate on the floor in one corner. Dim light came from his left, were an array of thick metal bars formed the entrance to his predicament, and beyond it, the outline of a massive figure.
Aeren stood up, and, heart hammering in his chest, moved slowly towards the bars. When he got close, his breath caught in his throat. On the other side he saw the ugliest man he had ever seen. He was a giant; even hunched down on his little bench, he was taller than Aeren by more than a head. He was clad in a plain leather tunic that left his forearms and lower legs uncovered.
His skin, that seemed to consist solely of gray and red scar tissue, stretched over bulging muscles. Worst of all was the face. Gaunt it was, skin clinging loosely to the bald, brutish skull. It was dominated by a huge nose, that had been broken untold times and had grown back together at odd, zigzaggy angles. The jaw was dented on the left side, and the right corner of the mouth drooped down limply as if in some sort of paralysis.
As with the rest of the body, scars covered every square centimeter, and most prominent of all, a massive one in the rough shape of an eight pointed star, carved with little skill and even less care. It centered high on the left side of the forehead, and the southernmost beam reached down almost to the eye. The eyes themselves, watching Aeren from under heavy lids, were almost invisible. Set deep under the massive brow, they were gray, and no light or life was in them. It looked old, this face, terribly terribly old. The giant's features betrayed no emotion, unless the lopsided mouth was a to be a sign of disdain. Aeren was torn between fascination and revulsion.
After a moment, the giant spoke. "What do you see, boy?" His voice sounded like two stone plates grinding on each other, a voice telling of hardship and ruin. Aeren didn't answer. He was overwhelmed by the man's presence, and frankly, frozen stiff under his indifferent lifeless gaze. After a while, the giant spoke again. "What... do you see, boy?" Aeren swallowed. "Muscles and scars." The ugly man showed no reaction. After a moment, he shifted on his seat.
"And what do you think I am?" The boy tried to collect his racing thoughts, and then, in a corner of his mind filled with zeal and holy anger, he found his answer. "A traitor." And, after another moment: "A heretic. A mutant. A murderer." He took a deep breath. "A bastard. An Emperor-damned whoreson to deserves death, or rather, to be tortured until he begs for forgiveness and then be killed in the most painful way possible." He was breathing heavily now, and tears were streaming down his face. He was sure he'd die then and there, but in this moment, he didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.
But the giant only sat there, quiet as a stone. It seemed like minutes before he answered. "A traitor I am, in more than one way. A heretic I have been called before, but it is just a different word with the same meaning. A mutant I am not, and if you care at all about keeping your life, you will not call me such again. A murderer I am, but that goes for every warrior, including your comrades in the guard. In fact, you tried very hard to become one yourself, did you not?"
Before Aeren could answer, the man continued. "As for the rest: You feel the need to express your anger. Do it, but do it quickly. My patience is not without limits." A few seconds passed. "What is your name?" Aeren didn't answer and made a defiant face instead. The ugly man pushed a tray with food through the bars. "Eat something and rest. And when I return we will talk." With that, the giant stood up and walked away, leaving Aeren to his misery.