The blue light of the containment chamber was extinguished, replaced by the harsh, white illumination of a corridor. Captain Arken stood in the doorway, his massive Terminator armor filling the frame. "The Interrogator requires your presence, asset. Move."
Rimuru rose gracefully to his feet, unfazed by the cold command. "After you," he said with a polite nod.
He was escorted through the martial, gothic corridors of the Watch Station to a section he had not yet seen. The air here was colder, tinged with the metallic scent of sterilization chemicals and the faint, underlying musk of captive alien beasts. They stopped before a massive, reinforced blast door, a skull-and-gear symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus adorning its center.
"The Interrogator awaits your performance in the observation gallery," Arken grunted, gesturing for Rimuru to enter a small, armored elevator platform. "Do not disappoint him."
The platform descended into darkness, the sounds of the fortress fading away to be replaced by a low, powerful hum. When the light returned, Rimuru found himself in a vast, circular arena. The floor was a mosaic of dark, metallic tiles, and the walls were sheer, unblemished adamantium that curved upwards for a hundred meters. High above, he could see a shielded observation gallery, a dark sliver of glass where he knew his inquisitors were watching. The entire chamber felt like a laboratory designed by butchers.
<
So it's a stage, Rimuru thought. How tedious.
From the gallery, Interrogator Kael watched the small, silver-haired figure on the arena floor. Beside him, Captain Arken stood with his arms crossed, his armored form rigid. At Kael's invitation, Librarian Corvus was also present, his expression grim.
"The asset appears calm," Kael observed, his voice smooth. "Let us introduce a catalyst. Test subject Alpha: a small horde of Orkus Ferox. We will measure his response to a chaotic, physical swarm threat."
"Orks," Arken grumbled. "A blunt instrument. But their savagery is an excellent test of a warrior's mettle."
Corvus remained silent, his gaze fixed on Rimuru. He had seen the being's power. He knew this was not a test for Rimuru, but a lesson for the Inquisition.
On the arena floor, a klaxon blared. A section of the far wall split apart, grinding open to reveal a dark, caged tunnel. A guttural, earth-shaking roar echoed out, a single, monosyllabic word of pure war.
"WAAAGH!"
A tide of green muscle and rusted iron flooded into the arena. There were a dozen of them, hulking, ape-like creatures with brutal, tusked faces. They were Orks, each one clad in crude armor and brandishing a weapon that was part axe, part chainsaw. Their leader, a Nob easily twice Rimuru's size, roared, pointing a massive, claw-like power weapon in his direction.
"Look at dat, boyz!" the Nob bellowed, his voice a gravelly avalanche. "A tiny, shiny git! I'm gonna stomp 'im flat and wear 'is 'ead on me pointy stick!"
The Orks joined their leader in a chorus of brutal, guttural laughter. They saw a lone, unarmored morsel, an easy kill before a proper scrap could be found.
Rimuru sighed, a sound of mild exasperation. He looked up toward the observation gallery, then back at the roaring Greenskins. He decided to try, just once.
"Greetings," he called out, his voice easily carrying across the arena. "I am Rimuru Tempest. I have no quarrel with you. Must we really fight? It seems like a great deal of unnecessary effort for all involved."
The Ork Nob stopped laughing. He stared at Rimuru for a long, silent moment, then turned to his Boyz. "Did da little git just say 'e don't wanna fight?"
A new, even louder wave of derisive laughter erupted. For an Ork, refusing a fight was the most pathetic, contemptible, and hilarious concept imaginable.
"ENUFF MUCKIN' ABOUT!" the Nob roared, his patience gone. "GET 'IM! WAAAGH!"
With a unified cry, the dozen Orks charged, a thundering avalanche of muscle and metal intent on pulping the small figure in their path.
In the gallery, Kael leaned forward, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Observe. The moment of truth. How does his philosophy of 'peace' fare against the absolute reality of violence?"
Rimuru watched the charge, his expression unchanging. He didn't move to evade. He didn't summon a weapon. He simply took a calm, quiet breath. As the Ork Nob raised its massive choppa to bring it down in a killing blow, Rimuru exhaled.
It was not a fire, nor a blast of force. It was a gentle, shimmering mist that billowed from his lips, spreading outwards in a silent, instantaneous wave. It was a specialized version of his Paralyzing Breath.
The effect was immediate and total.
The Ork Nob froze, its choppa held high, the war-cry locked in its throat. The Ork Boy behind him, mid-lunge, stopped dead, one foot still in the air. The entire horde was flash-frozen in their charge, perfect statues of brutal aggression. Their crude engines sputtered and died. Only their beady red eyes still moved, darting about in utter, uncomprehending panic.
The charge was over before it had crossed a third of the arena floor. Silence reigned once more.
Rimuru walked calmly toward the frozen horde. He weaved between the paralyzed Orks, inspecting their crude wargear with mild interest. He stopped in front of the Nob, reached up, and flicked a finger against the massive, petrified jaw. It made a dull thunk.
He then turned his gaze upwards, directly at the observation gallery, and gave a small, polite wave.
"There," he called out, his voice echoing in the stunned silence. "They have been neutralized without injury. The test is over, yes? Frankly, this is getting rather boring."
In the gallery, Corvus let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Captain Arken stared, his cybernetic eye whirring as it tried to process the sensor data that was screaming across his display. Energy reading: negligible. Bio-agent: unclassifiable. Life-signs: stable but unresponsive. Conclusion: Impossible.
Interrogator Kael, however, was not frustrated. He was utterly, terrifyingly captivated. A single, silent exhalation had neutralized a dozen enraged Greenskins. Not killed, not wounded. Subdued. It was a display of control so absolute it bordered on the divine. The data logs would be priceless.
A thin, cold smile touched Kael's lips. "Remarkable," he whispered. "His classification is not merely difficult. It is entirely new."
His voice came over the arena's speakers, cold and clinical. "Test subject Alpha has been successfully neutralized. Commencing Test Subject Beta."
The klaxon blared again. On the opposite side of the arena, a second, even larger gate began to grind open, the sound of immense claws scraping against adamantium echoing from the darkness within. A low, guttural, chittering screech filled the air, a sound of pure, alien malice and predatory hunger.
"Let us see," Kael's voice echoed, "how he fares against a creature that knows nothing of philosophy, and everything of the desire to kill."