Geol'ik stood straighter as the heavy doors slid open and the tiny human passed through them. The tall Geol' felt his four arms tighten their hold on his heavy plasma-caster and was glad his unease was hidden behind the visor of his heavy power armour. Both were relics from the Blighted Wars and had been part of his family during all the centuries since then, sliding from patriarch to patriarch until they were now his. He whispered a silent prayer to his ancestors who were watching over him, before glancing at his own clan leader, who towered over the newcomer. Geol'ian stood at sixteen feet, exceptionally tall for a Geol' given that they averaged at twelve. His four red, thick arms, bulging with muscles that were each far thicker than the human's waist, were crossed and a loud huff escaped from between his fangs as the small being approached him. If Geol'ian looked annoyed, then the human was definitely pissed off. A cause for concern.

The soft clicking of boots echoed through the large room, an expensive and well maintained dark cape trailing behind the human. A sabre adorned his waist and Geol'ik's practised eyes could tell that it had seen use. On the other side of the man's hips hung a small pistol. He could not tell the make, which further heightened his unease. He was supposed to be a bodyguard. He did not like surprises and this human was known to be full of them. That very human also happened to be the patriarch of this gathering of Lawbreakers, as the self stylised civilised nations deemed to call them. Pirates was another term. Criminals as well. Their names were many, but they were all of those things and neither. There were hundreds of paths of life that led people to end up as a Lawbreaker. More often than not it was a simple desire for adventure, a reluctance to fit in with society. Others were genuine criminals, people who fled persecution and found a safe haven in the gangs that littered the fringe and desolate regions of space. There were many Geol's here as well. The warlike people did not fit in well with the rest of the galaxy and many of their men and women flocked to the dangerous life of a Lawbreaker or a mercenary. A Geol' with no achievements to his or her name would never be able to claim a mate,. Not that Geol'ik had an issue with that. Not with the gifts his ancestors had bestowed upon him. His armour and weapon were a glowing recommendation and he could have easily claimed any mate he wished. Even Geol'ian, revered Clan Leader of the Givrain, the Roaring Vengeance, was wary of his smaller clan-cousin. The difference in size could be all too quickly overcome with a short burst of a plasma-caster. Still, Geol'ian led and Geol'ik had obeyed. Had.

The human came to a short halt in front of the gigantic form of Geol'ian. The hulking Geol' had to lean forward to watch the human, who somehow managed to retain a dignified look while looking up. The two could not contrast more. Geol'ian was bare chested, his rolling muscles shifting with the tiniest move. His red mane fell down to his midriff, another sign of confidence in his innate strength, for the long mane was an easy target for an enemy. His fangs were bared for a short moment as the man could not hide his annoyance at the human forcing him in such an unpleasant position to maintain eye contact.

The human, on the other hand, stood barely above five and a half feet, but was dressed immaculately. A dark blue uniform lacking any and all creases, adorned with black threads that lined around the many pockets, was the only concession to the vanity that many other Lawbreaker patriarchs adorned themselves with. He also carried himself with a confidence that unnerved Geol'ik. The human was surrounded by six Geol', aside Geol'ian himself. Each of them was outfitted with the best their families could provide. It wasn't just a point of familial pride. The better the outfit, the greater their chances in success in whatever task they were assigned, which in turn led to increasing their chances of claiming a good mate. Despite the impressive rate their race reproduced at, mates were still a rarity. Men and women would not let themselves be claimed unless the other had proven themselves worthy. In short, the small, lightly armed human had absolutely no reason to carry himself with so much certainty, as if the surrounding giants were of no consequence to him.

'Witch Lord,' rumbled Geol'ian. 'Many greetings to you and your accomplishments. I am ever glad to welcome the patriarch,' intoned the hulking man, respecting the necessary decorum even if he chafed under the invisible chains.

The young Witch Lord looked up at Geol'ian but remained quiet. He deliberately chose to be impolite by walking away, showing his back to the giant as he looked to each of the six bodyguards in turn. Geol'ik imagined the Witch Lord's gaze to rest slightly longer on him than with the others and shivered.

'Are you really?' whispered the human, so quietly that his onboard sensors struggled to pick it up. He didn't sound angry, just disappointed and weary.

'Do you doubt the sincerity of my greetings?' roared the leader. Rightfully so. The Witch Lord's refusal to respond with the appropriate greeting could be taken as a grievous insult.

The Witch Lord gave a small smile and Geol'ik felt electricity run through his scalp at the sight of it. There was no fear in it that flat face. No hesitation in the answer, even if he was facing a man who would likely eat him if he kept this up. 'I do not doubt the sincerity that you offer me.' He turned slowly, dramatically and despite himself Geol'ian took a step back, the grip on his weapon tightening further. 'Tell me,' he asked, his voice barely audible over the rustling of the leather outfit of Geol'ian. The tall Geol' always wore that outfit for audiences. Few beings in the galaxy could boast about having hunted a giant Rork-dragon and living to tell the tale. It had secured him several good mates, even if the resulting piece of cloth was impractical, incredibly itchy and you couldn't move in it without half the base knowing. It made understanding the human difficult. 'What is the one thing I will not tolerate? Not amongst my kin. Not amongst my clans. Not amongst my gangs.'

'YOU DARE ACCUSE ME OFF—'

It was a mistake and Geol'ian realised it a moment too late. He had all but admitted his guilt by those words. He took another step back and the Witch Lord looked up at the giant, two eyes meeting three. A calm, tired gaze meeting an uncertain one. 'Have I not been good to you, Geol'ian?' asked the human, his voice more sad than angry. 'I let you rampage. I gave you worthy targets. I even helped you find mates that were worthy of you. I gave you weapons. A purpose. I looked the other way when you crossed the line. Drugs. Slavery. You were a good attack dog and as such I let you run wild when I had no direct need of you.' The human blinked slowly and shook his head with a loud sigh. 'Did you forget who I am? Were the lessons of the Rivali not memorable enough after they ignored my call? Was what I did to the Llemu not a clear warning how well I tolerate liars? What about the Vas'i? The Black Riders? How many more examples must I make before you realise that I am not just another Lawbreaker?'

'You're a human!' he spat. 'Weak! Tiny! Fragile!' He growled the last word and took a step forward, intending to crush the smaller foe, knowing that the Witch Lord knew of what he had done. Geol'ik watched the scene in front of him unfold, knowing why the Witch Lord had come. Geol'ian had disobeyed a direct order and had attacked a colony that had dutifully paid their protection money. It had been a cowardly attack and Geol'ian had slaughtered an entire village before withdrawing. To hide his tracks he had thrown a meteor on the village, wiping away all traces of the abattoir he had created. Geol'ik enjoyed a good slaughter, like most of his kind, but not against civilians. The lesson of the Rivali fresh in mind, he had reported it to an agent of the Witch Lord. Now, as his massive leader was advancing on the small human, he was afraid. For the human didn't retreat or cower, but simply threw his head back and laughed, causing Geol'ian to pause mid-step.

'You threaten me? I am the Witch Lord!' He laughed again, even louder now, as if the entire notion that a seventeen feet tall giant made of pure muscle could possibly threaten him was utterly ridiculous. He stopped abruptly. 'Don't be foolish Geol'ian. You broke my one rule. Did you really think I would not find out? That the families of those you slaughtered would not demand vengeance? They weren't a rogue group, you ungrateful mongrel. They paid their dues. They were under my protection. You ridiculed that. Worse. You ridiculed me. If you had an ounce of common sense you'd be on the ground grovelling for your life.' He turned around and walked towards the door. 'In a way some might say the fault is mine. I shouldn't have given an attack dog a command. You're useful, Geol'ian, but no more than that. Giving you command of a clan was a mistake. I thought you were worth it. I thought that my rules were simple enough. Clearly not. Clearly I did not make enough of an example of the last person who thought they could get away with breaking my rules.' He stopped and when he looked back at the hulking giant Geol'ik understood why he was titled the Witch Lord. There was nothing human left in that visage. It was that of a demon. He used one of his arms to make the sign of the forefathers, beseeching their protection and praying they'd ward off the evil that had entered in their home.

'Geo'vri. Geo'saras. Geo'limin. Geo'fri.' He pronounced each word with care, getting the subtle growling undercurrent perfectly right, which was hard to do for any outside their race. Every word struck Geol'ian like a blow and with good reason. 'Geo'riki. Geo'list. Geol'iv. Geol'ri.' The Witch Lord advanced on the Clan Leader who was shaking his head, trying to deny the words he was hearing and the implications they carried. The bodyguards looked at one another and were shocked to see everyone else slowly backing away from the tiny human in front of them and the bottomless cruelty and authority he held himself with.

'What did you do?' the hulking Geol' whispered.

The Witch Lord's lips drew back in a smile that was devoid of kindness. 'You will see. I made sure to film every ounce of their suffering. Given how much of a connoisseur you are in the finer arts of torture, I'm sure you'll appreciate the work of art I made of them. I had my best men take care of them. Geo'saras took the longest to die. It took her seven hours before she stopped screaming your name. Only half an hour before she stopped screaming for you, though, and started cursing your name instead. I made sure she knew why this happened to her. Did you know what her last words were before we cut out her tongue? Ni vala Geol'ian, ni otro des pala rimur at. Mi cas ni ro rimur et.'

Geol'ik's eyes went wide. I curse you, Geol'ian. I invoke your ancestors to look at you in shame and deny you. When you die my spirit will deny you. Geol'ian had not just forfeited his mortal life, but his immortal one as well. It was the ultimate insult to their race. A condemnation of the highest level.

'You monster!' the Clan Leader roared.

'I am the Witch Lord!' the human roared back. 'You opposed me knowing what I am! You slaughtered people who were under my protection! Were your usual excesses not enough? You had fame! Glory! Violence! Slaughter! Wealth! You betrayed me! Did you honestly think I would suffer you to live? I will make an example out of you! You think I'm done with you just because I murdered your wives and children? I will redefine your definition of suffering!' The human advanced on Geol'ian until something finally snapped in the massive Geol' and he advanced on the Witch Lord, frothing at the mouth as he voiced incomprehensible promises of rage and vengeance. Two shots rang out through the large hallway and the Clan Leader's kneecaps exploded in a shower of blood and bone. The leader fell to the ground and looked up in fear, only then seeing the dozen men materialise, enforcing silence on the entire room as the Geol' slowly processed the appearance of the heavily armed newcomers.

'Shadows!' hissed one of the other bodyguards, recognising the pitch black armour. The personal bodyguards of the Witch Lord. Assassins, spies, torturers. Demons. He began raising his weapon before another gunshot tore through the air and the arid smoke of something similar to gunpowder clogged Geol'ik's nose. With a sickening sound the high calibre bullet smashed into the middle eye of the giant. The large bale-pike slowly fell out down as the four hands spasmed a final time. It seemed to take an eternity before his colleague's body began to drop. Before it even had begun to sag, another four shots rang through the air and another four bodyguards went down, headless, leaving only him and Geol'ian alive amidst an army of Shadows and their master.

They mag-locked their long rifles to their backs before moving forward and Geol'ik shivered as the alien race slid past the Witch Lord. Even without their stealth suits hiding them they were difficult to spot. Not one of them looked at him and he was glad for it. He was not sure his twin hearts could handle gazing into the abyss that their hoods hid. He cringed outwardly and cursed his own cowardliness as he turned away from whatever it was they were doing to his superior. He knew that those screams would haunt him. Geol'ian screamed for mercy, for help. He cursed the Witch Lord, his Shadows, everyone. When his eyes finally fell on Geol'ik he cursed him as well, begging him to shoot the Witch Lord at first, then himself as the cruel human started carving out his middle eye with his sabre. His face contorted in revulsion once he recognised the runes he were slicing in the tender flesh and he felt bile rise up from his stomach. He fumbled with his helmet but was too slow and as he fell on his knees he retched out the contents of his stomach into the sealed environment. In a way he considered himself luckier for it. It meant he didn't have the functioning facilities left to pay attention to whatever horrors the Witch Lord was inflicting on his former Clan Leader. He struggled to unclasp the seals on his helmet and pull it off, bile running out of it as he gasped for fresh air, wiping his mouth clean before a new wave arrived.

It took a good while before he realised that the screaming had stopped and that silence had returned to the room. He shook his head, blinking the tears that had been streaming freely across his face away and looked up. Straight into the cold face of the Witch Lord.

The human was young, he realised. Far younger than any man wielding such power had any right to be. He was no expert in human biology but even so the man could not be much out of his prime, if at all. The deep, dark eyes that took him in were curious, but without compassion. Orange blood and other bodily fluids dirtied his once immaculate uniform as the infamous patriarch stared past Geol'ik's eyes and straight into his soul. He feared the human would suck it straight out and devour it whole.

'Do you regret it?' the human whispered. Geol'ik understood what he meant even before the Witch Lord elaborated. 'Do you regret betraying your Clan Leader? That you submitted him to such fate? What about the others? Your colleagues? Geol'ian's mates?' The voice was as cold as the liquid ice that ran freely on his home planet during the murderous winters. There was no compassion there. No mercy. No forgiveness. The human was just like the winter. There were rules to respect, for the alternative was a slow and cruel death.

The tiny human gave him a smile and Geol'ik felt his hearts skip several beats in pure fright. 'You do,' he stated. It wasn't a question and those eyes glimmered with a sick, twisted form of amusement. 'Not because you feel it was unjust, but because you had to witness it.' A frozen laugh echoed through the room as the Witch Lord turned around and gestured to the banners covered in blood. 'The mighty clan Givrain. How many thousands of your kin swear allegiance to its once proud banner, even as it was defiled by a leader not fit to bear the name? How many ancestors were repulsed by the shameful actions of Geol'ian as he broke the sacred oaths of allegiance? Do you know how many vessels hid their colours over the past year as he kept making a mockery of my rules? I do not need ask, do I? You already know. It is why you told me. You, and several others.'

Geol'ik blinked at that, his paired eyes doing so slightly faster than his central one. 'There were others who told you?' he asked in consternation. He had not thought others would dare face the dishonour of betraying their chief.

The cold laugh rang out again. 'Do you know why it is that I never interfered before now? As he destroyed everything your kin and creed stood for? As he laid waste to the sacred commandments of the Geol' and as he shamed his ancestors and dressed himself in the atrocities he committed?' The Witch Lord let the question sink in and Geol'ik could only mutely shake his head in denial. 'Because it was not my place to interfere. I stood by the sides, waiting, hoping that one of you would challenge him. That you would throw him out before he went too far. I kept hearing of it all. Dozens upon dozens of your clan spoke of it. I have eyes and ears everywhere, Geol'ik. Seventeen hours after he attacked the village I knew of it. Your message reached me a week and a half later. So very, very late.' Geol'ik's liver folded in on itself at those words.

The Witch Lord strode towards him again and the Geol' became aware that the body of Geol'ian had somehow disappeared along with the Shadows. He did not make the mistake of assuming that the human was alone, however. If the Shadows did not want to be seen...

'I do not hold it against you,' the human told him, which did not reassure him in the slightest. 'On the contrary. You are the only one in a clan of thousands who had the courage to tell me directly. You didn't whisper of it in secret to likeminded colleagues, you did not gossip about it while imbibing yourself in your clan's spirits. You sent a message to the Witch Lord himself.' The human flashed him a toothy grin. 'Well done, Clan Leader Geol'ik.

The human held out his hand and slowly opened it, revealing a small insignia. Twinned swords adorning a skull, with black flames of death burning in the eye sockets. The mark of a lieutenant to the Witch Lord. An insignia that inspired fear and instilled absolute loyalty in the ranks. It was an issue entirely separate from being promoted to Clan Leader. It was proof that the Witch Lord himself trusted you. Geol'ian, for all his power and might, had never commanded it. The Geol' looked at it, unable to take it. Another smile broke through on the Witch Lord's face, this one not entirely frozen, a shimmer of warmth returning to it.

'Go on, Geol'ik. Take it. It is yours.'

He knew it was a bad idea to keep the man waiting, but he still made no motion to take it. He couldn't. He bowed down, pressing his forehead down against the cold floor. 'I am not worthy,' he whispered.

The Witch Lord arched an eyebrow. 'That would mean my judgement is wrong. Are you saying that I made a mistake, Geol'ik?'

The tall Geol' jumped up, backpedalling so quickly that he lost his balance. 'My Lord! I didn't mean— I didn't—'

A broad, warm smile appeared on the human's face, terrifying the Geol' even further. 'I do not judge wrong, Geol'ik. You are worthy of this. I know a lot about you. Of your mates. Of your children. Your accomplishments, past and present. Your aspirations. Your morals. Your ancestors. You deserve this.' The Witch Lord walked over to him and grasped his hand before putting the insignia in it. His eyes were gentler now, the ice in them gone. 'Wear it with pride. You are now one of my lieutenants. Know this. I am not without mercy or compassion. Give me your unswerving loyalty and never cease to serve me with all of your heart and mind and you need never fear me. Ni ri matlo, ni ri mago. Yen. In spirit and heart we are kin.'

The Witch Lord turned around abruptly and left the room, leaving behind a stunned Geol'ik. As the doors slid open he paused and looked over his shoulder. The Geol' shivered as he saw that the darkness he had witnessed earlier was back in them. 'I will send you Geol'ian's corpse when I am done with him. You can treat it as you please,' he said, a cold fury in his voice. 'Do not expect it soon.'

In the midst of a throne room covered in bright orange blood and the headless corpses of the other five bodyguards, Geol'ik, Clan Leader of Givrain and lieutenant to the Witch Lord, fell to the ground and cried.