Two figures in the dark. One tall. Relaxed, in the dangerously confident way of one about to smash a skull with his boot. 

Torches weren't used here. Only bioluminescent microbial sprawl marked the walls. It cast no shadows, and relegated the face into a silhouette recognisable only by its familiarity. It was dangerous darkness. It was suspicion given form and fizzed into the atmosphere.

"Finally remembered us, did ye?" said the tall figure. "Did ye no' think that things might've done changed 'fore comin' back tae us?" The tall figure clicked his tongue and shook his head slowly. "O [I]nae,[/i] lassie."

The smaller figure said nothing but was not silent. They could hear her breathe.

"Queer that, don'chu think? So much dwarves gettin' bleeded an' giving birth tae wee bats an' lynxes. But no' a finger wass laid on our bodies. So everything's still the same for us, nae?" The tall figure spat. Another shadow moved in the background, stood, became a dwarf; and at her example more followed.

The smaller figure breathed even, a sleek robe trapped between ragged furs and muscle.

"Way we see it, we're no' so diff'rent," said the tall one, softer now. "Ye lord over us, you and yer [i]Emperor,[/i] but yer still one of us. Blood of our blood. But ye think ye can leash yer brothers like a mangy bitch. Ain't that just the queerest thing."

He stepped forward, his height and hatred towering, and he did not stop. The robed figure clenched her jaw and felt fear.

And she raised a rune-marked hand that shone with power, illuminating the curved horns that crowned her skull.

The Shamed Ones recoiled in agony from the light, their own branded sigils resonating with hers. With burning hand she grabbed the tall figure by his wrist and his mouth flew open, throat rattling in pain. She threw him down and pulled the knife from her belt.

The marks she made burned them both with radiant heat, but she did not falter and she was not disturbed. Even before she was finished the Shamed One's body had begun to swell and crack, his spasms quavering and involuntary, his groans vanishing. She struggled to wrest his engorged body into position. After a while, though, there was more than enough free skin to carve up.

Once complete, she left the still-growing figure on the ground, a leash around its neck. It did not struggle. It never would again.

The psyker made her way back down the corridor, where a demon was waiting, exactly where she'd last left it.

"'Tis done."

**"Adequate. Findings?"

The psyker shrugged. "He's growing fast. I can take 'im tae the mills soon, if I find a good yoke. Bastard's got more muscle'n a coo by now, 'e'll be big's a beast by mornin'."

**"Compliance?"

A grimace for the strange god, but she was used to as much. The Emaciator had been straightforward with the ruling caste. "Yes, yes, blinks when I tell 'im n'all that."

**"Sufficient," said Heartworm. "The procedure is applicable to all dwarves. Inform Lazarus of its practical applications." It turned, and tapped its way down the corridor.

"...Do ye always jabber like that?" called the psyker abruptly to its back.

**"Sometimes."