"This is called the Second Action. The final purely verbal stage in any questioning," said the Interrogator, gently, as though explaining some sad fact to a small child, "This is your last chance to spare yourself considerable suffering."

Second action or no, His Excellency the Arch-Deacon looked a bit worse for the wear. A badly broken nose bleeding freely into a mouth bristling with shattered teeth. The left side of his face little more than a continuous, mottled bruise. White ecclesial robes torn and soaked in blood. He had not surrendered to the Holy Ordos easily. His entire guard, most of them fanatics of the Militia Frateris, had to be cut down before his Rectory-Palace was stormed.

"Where was the Engine found?" asked the Interrogator, a grave, slender shadow of a man, eyes hidden between round spectacles, features gaunt and pockmarked.

"I Believe in the God-Emperor, who Ascended the Golden Throne, to Guide and Protect Humanity, and gave His Divine Mandate to the High Lords of Holy Terra, so that they may rule until His return and in His Name," recited His Excellency the Arch-Deacon, choking on his own blood, "I Believe in the Imperial Creed, and all the Imperial Laws, and I swear upon the Golden Throne itself to Abide by them-"

"You can stop praying," said the Interrogator, pulling a small, dark metal disc from his jacket. He looked over to where his master was sitting quietly, a vast, hulking figure covered in ceramite and purity seals. The Inquisitor gave his pupil the slightest nod.

"I Believe in the Might and Righteousness of the Imperium; in the bravery of its defenders and the loyalty of its citizens," babbled the Arch-Deacon as the Interrogator clicked the button in the center of the Exruciatior and small wires like living tentacles unfurled from its rim, snaking through the air- tentatively at first, then with more assurance- towards their prey. His Excellency screamed and thrashed against his restraints as the wires slid under his fingernails and into his ears and the corners of his eyes, but he did not stop praying.

"I B-b-b-elieve in the Community of Humanity- AAAAHHHHHHHHH- a-all united in obedience to the God-Emperor, Him on Terra, who watches over us as we toil."

"This is the Third Action," said the Interrogator, "What the Ordos considers light physical torture. Where was the Engine located? The missionaries came to you. You had them killed, deleted the data logs. We know this- it is useless to hide anything from us. Tell us where they found it."

"His is the Name of Order and Justice, His is the Reign of Glory!" screamed the Arch-Deacon as the excrutiator's tendrils twitched and burrowed like hungry worms, "His is the Reign of Glory!"

"Where did they find it?" demanded the Interrogator, "We know the depth of your heresy. We will-"

"His is the Reign of Glory!"

"-get what we want from you, we have the time. It is only a question of how much pain you endure."

"Glory," gasped the Arch-Deacon, ""Glory. His...I...a hunger unceasing at the center of the world OBEDIENCE TO the endless depths of the warp EMPEROR hold endless secrets for the bold and depraved HIS IS THE power REIGN is the only GLORY truth THRONE the corpse god will be eaten by the million mouths of the Father, teeth scraping against bone forever and ever-"

Behind the Interrogator, the Inquisitor stood, frowning, head cocked to one side, "Something is wrong.”

His voice boomed in the small, dark chamber. Servos whirred in the joints of his armor as he approached the raving prisoner.

"No," said the Interrogator quietly, a faint smile passing over his lips as he clicked the dial on the excruciator up several levels.

The Arch-Deacon jerked violently and screamed, vomiting black ichor down the front of his robes. He was no longer babbling, only choking. Or was that laughter?

Then something other than noise was coming out of his mouth. Pale fingers, segmented like insect legs, but long, longer than a human hand. One set gripped his lower lip, another curled over his upper lip. There was a grotesque pop as the Arch-Deacon's jaw ripped apart and the thing inhabiting him crawled out, impossibly large and fast.

The Interrogator stepped aside, dropping the excruciator and drawing a bolter. The Inquisitor had time to draw his sword, but no time to swing it before the Thing tore his arm from his shoulder easily, gurgling and chittering with pleasure as it did so. The Inquisitor screamed. The Interrogator fired.

The daemon crumpled rather quickly, after a few shots, collapsing into a hideous mass of legs and eyes and teeth. It buzzed and whined and whimpered and shook. It stank horribly. Ichor pooled around it.

The Arch-Deacon was dead, his ravaged corpse faintly smoking in the half-light. The Inquisitor moaned, dragging himself away from the daemon. He was pale, he was dying.

"How did you..." he gasped at the Interrogator, who smiled at his master indulgently, stooping to pick up one of the spent shell casings at his feet. On it were etched eye-aching runes and bizarre sigils.

Signs of Binding. Sigils of Command.

"Liar, heretic!" said the Inquisitor, grimacing in pain and in anger "You knew! You knew the daemon was within."

"I did not expect it to kill you," said the Interrogator, his chilly tone tinged with the mildest regret, "You forbade me the radical path- but look now at who lives, and who is dying. We do what we must for humanity, my lord."

The Interrogator stepped over his Master, dodging easily the latter's weak attempt to strike him, and approached the wounded monstrosity trying to right itself.

"Where is the Engine?!" demanded the Interrogator, clicking the hammer back on his bolter.

The thing lurched at the human, who shot it twice more. It buzzed pathetically as it staggered and fell at his feet, pale flesh quivering in pain.

"N...Nox...Sec-sector," burbled the corpse of the Arch-Deacon, mutilated mouth stumbling over the words.

"Thank you," said the Interrogator. He picked up his master's sword and plunged it into the daemon, which shrieked as it collapsed into ashes and dust.

The Interrogator turned back to his master and smiled, faintly sad. He knelt next to the dying Inquisitor, and held his remaining hand in his own. When it was over, he took his master's signet ring and rosette and left the interrogation chamber, black cloak billowing out behind him.