Iron Butchers’ Terminator Champion Armaguerra
Back from the fighting pits Armaguerra sat heavily in the surgeon’s chair without saying a word. In his right hand dangled the head of a World Eater: the Iron Warrior’s hand clutched the cables of the butcher’s nails still attached to his opponent’s head, while others had been completely torn off, taking shreds of flesh, bone and brains with them.
Sasira immediately set to work on a large wound near the left clavicle: the other wounds were relatively minor and Astartes biology would soon heal them.
“Do you know why I love killing World Eaters?”
Sasira shuddered; it was very rare to be asked by a Chaos Marine, and just as risky.
“Why my lord?” whispered Sasira.
“To remind them of how their much-loved butcher’s nail is the only reason they ever chose to walk the red path: to quell pain by killing, rather than for the pleasure of it. They never freely chose to follow the Blood God.”
Armaguerra lowered his gaze to the slave girl.
“Is that not so?”
Sasira’s blood froze.
Answering such a question was like playing heads or tails with death: contradicting Armaguerra meant instant death, but speaking ill of the World Eaters could be a death sentence if it got out. Many other human slaves in the room looked upon her privileged position with envy and would use anything she could say against her with their Chaos masters.
“I know nothing about war, my Lord. To me, you all look like almighty warriors.”
“Indeed you do not know” Armaguerra sneered at her “or you pretend not to.”
Armaguerra rised from the chair without a warning, knocking away the girl that was still mending his wound. She landed heavily on the floor, hitting her head badly enough to leave a bad bump, but not badly enough to make her bleed. Opening her eyes, she saw the Iron Warrior leaving the room.
