Blood Gorgons - By Henry Zou Page 0,54

are very chemically resilient,’ Sindul retorted.

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He was right, and Barsabbas knew this too. The dark eldar, despite their frail appearance, had a certain tolerance for toxins and chemicals, a tolerance built up through a dark culture of substance abuse. By his calculations, Barsabbas would need to quadruple the human dose.

Without warning, Barsabbas wrenched his captive up by the head, exposing his neck, and drilled the needle deep into the carotid artery. He injected a fractional dose, a mere droplet.

‘This is an ion channel blocker. It is not meant for non‐Astartes. It will stop your brain from receiving nerve signals. Can you feel numbness running down your spinal column? It will only be temporary but it signifies the early stages of nerve damage,’ Barsabbas said.

Sindul screamed. He began to thrash, his legs windmilling for purchase as Barsabbas restrained him with a knee on his back.

‘I could inject you with more. A triple dose and you may begin losing finger dexterity.

I’m afraid that would be permanent.’ Barsabbas placed the cold steel of the pneumatic needle against Sindul’s neck. ‘I ask you again – what are you doing here?’

His face pressed into the soupy clay and dung, the dark eldar finally relented. ‘Collecting slaves. Nothing more,’ Sindul spat.

Barsabbas detected the slightest tremor of panic in his voice, but also defiance. The dark eldar were a notoriously proud race and dignity meant more to them than death.

‘There’s so much more,’ Barsabbas said, injecting him again. ‘You are in league with the Death Guard.’

Sindul writhed in numb agony. Although the dose of anaesthetic was considerably less than a Space Marine’s standard amount for field application, it was enough to cause him significant nerve trauma. Already Sindul’s left arm had begun to twitch involuntarily.

‘They allowed us here. They let us take the slaves.’

‘Your reward was to plunder the land? Our land? What right have the Death Guard to reward you with property that was not theirs? These slaves are our slaves,’ Barsabbas barked, withdrawing the needle.

‘Mercy.Mercy. Do not inject me any more,’ Sindul whimpered.

Barsabbas ignored him, his attention already drifting away from the pathetic thing writhing in his grasp. The notion that the capricious dark eldar raiders would ally with the Sons of Nurgle was monumental. It did not bode well for the Blood Gorgons. He would need answers. Almost carelessly, Barsabbas began to pump anaesthetic into his captive.

The dark eldar’s pupils dilated with chemical shock.

‘We are mercenaries, no more! We want nothing of the fight between you and your brethren.’

‘Why are you here?’ Barsabbas roared, suddenly forceful. The needle snapped. He unsheathed a new one.

Sindul shook his head. ‘I can’t…’

‘If I overdose you, it will cause permanent muscular paralysis. You will not feel anything. You will not move anything. You will become a slab of meat. Imprisoned within your own body until you wither away.’

At this, Sindul began to howl, like an animal caged before slaughter.

That was no mere threat for a dark eldar. They were a long‐lived race, and that could mean thousands of years, trapped within his own unresponsive body, unable to move or feel. During the Chirurgeon’s initial experiments a slave subject had been induced into a 78

paralytic coma for twenty‐two years, unable to even open his eyes. The slave had gone mad, of course. But several thousand years of physical and visual deprivation…

A dark eldar could suffer no worse fate than that.

‘We were paid by a person called Muhr.’

‘Muhr? What does Muhr know of the Plague Marines?’

‘I don’t know. But they are allies, in league. They paid for the head of Gammadin, they needed a neutral third party to dispose of your Champion. That was us.’

Barsabbas considered injecting the entire tenfold dose into the creature then and there.

‘ You killed Gammadin? How could you kill Gammadin?’ Barsabbas asked accusingly. He kicked the dark eldar dismissively, as if disgusted by his lie.

‘Not I! Not I! The kabal disposed of him. I know nothing of that! I am only here to claim the kabal’s reward. Slavery rights on Bassiq.’

‘The right to harvest slaves from our territory? You slew Gammadin for that?’ Barsabbas was possessed by sudden fury. He punched the needle into the dark eldar’s wrist. Sindul would never again feel anything in his right hand. No pain, nor cold, nor heat or any sensation.

‘That is my luchin hand! I will never ply my craft again!’ shrieked the captive.

‘And I will take your other hand for good measure,’ Barsabbas stated calmly.

As his captive began to hyperventilate, almost choking in discomfort, Barsabbas sat down