[ The rage he feels in the moment is a tempest that would nourish any of his kin easily. He can almost feel it boil through his veins (or perhaps that’s just the lingering, sickening feeling of Heinrix’s sorcery), and the fire in the Drukhari’s eyes leaves no room to mistake it, even if there’s a grin on his face. His considerable pride is wounded, and the murderous look only grows at the command.

There are several scenarios that flash into his creative mind all at once. Whether it’s utilizing every name that he’d forcibly squeezed out that burned, maimed mon-keigh or debasing himself by begging Tervantias for that collar he’d fitted on Heinrix… He’d make a fountain of agony out of the Interrogator. Even something as cold and tempered as him could shatter. It only took more skillful, individually designed tools.

…Eventually.

For now, though. He stands from the altar stiffly, though whether it’s from his aching body or his rage isn’t clear. He might not be completely sure himself. He’s forced his face into a calmer expression, but that rage is still bubbling underneath. He has to get closer to Heinrix to get to the door, naturally, but he just looms over Heinrix as close as he’ll allow. ]

You dare order me? You are filling up that ledger faster than it can be paid. How many of these ignorant mon-keigh will I need to string up for you, hm? I’m sure I could find you a nice cage to watch from.