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The human was terrified.
Kasati couldn't fault him.
Being taken in the night, the fight between Kasati and Anrek... feeling terrified was an appropriate reaction.
The human shifted, trying to cover his upper body. Kasati pretended not to see. They had destroyed the shirt in their worry over a possible hidden injury. In their recklessness, they had caused further distress to the human and now they couldn't even procure a replacement for the rent fabric. Well, Kasati couldn't. He did not think Anrek would have even made the attempt.
The human tried his best to fix the damage, but without any tools suited to needlework wouldn't succeed either.
Kasati checked the air with the systems of his armour. The temperature wasn't dangerously cold, but staying without something covering one's upper body wouldn't be comfortable for a human.
A shriek drew Kasati out of his musings. Anrek had sneaked up on the human, and now held him by his thin upper arm. "What are you doing now!?", Kasati snarled at his brother. The human was crying again. Anrek grinned like the cat that got the (less metaphorical than Kasati would have liked in this case) caged bird. "Look at that.", the exile said.
The human tried in vain to cover something on his arm, cringing away from Anrek. Anrek did not seem to realise the attempt at resistance. He grinned at the dark mark now revealed.
"I thought it was a tattoo, at first.", he said, "But no... It is so much better!"
"I am sorry, I am sorry, I-", the human said, feverishly.
Kasati had enough, "Stop it, Anrek! You are scaring him!" He protested.
"Oh", said Anrek, grinning, "How noble! So quick to even defend one's romantic rival!"
"Wha-", Kasati said, and in the next moment caught the baseline Anrek pushed in his direction. There, in crass contrast to skin that had not seen the sun for years, upon the shock-pale upper arm that had pink marks where Anrek had held it too firmly, was the Raven's seal.
There was a dirty bandage wrapped around the arm next to the elbow, and Kasati made a mental note to get some clean cloth as soon as possible. It wouldn't do for any wounds to become infected.
"I am sorry, I am sorry, please don't, I didn't do-", the human shook more than struggled.
Kasati sighed. "My brother has some questionable humour.", he said, "Don't worry about it."
Anrek cackled in the distance, "Questionable humour? Some random ship-rat has the soul mark of the guy you famously pined so hard for you went to the damn corpse-worshippers! A fucking baseline outplayed you by plain existing! That is not questionable! That is absolutly hilarious!"
Thank you for your input, it is completely unwanted.
Now the human tried to get away from Kasati, going so far as to desperately trying to push himself off with his hands. Kasati caught and held his wrists. The rough edges of his plate couldn't be good for the scarred tissue. The human pressed his eyes closed, held nearly face to face with Kasati now. In spite of all, he was still trying to tug his wrists out of Kasati's hands. "I did not, I am sorry, I did not, I don't know them, they don't care for me, I have never meet..." he stammered.
Anrek laughed, "Not much of a rival, I see."
Kasati growled, "Shut up." Blessedly, Anrek did. "I will take him, and you will keep your good-for-nothing ass away! He has done nothing to cause this, and if he has his mark, he does not deserve the needling of a bastard like you." The human had stopped struggling, staring at Kasati with wide eyes. Some snot was running down his nose.
Anrek studied them again, and his mood shifted. "Hm... I did not expect this reaction, though maybe I should have.", he admitted freely, "Well, if you feel like you have to do it, you can have him."
Kasati felt the fight drain out of his body. "Good." "But keep in mind: that human won't make it more likely that he will ever return." Kasati returned his brother's gaze unmoved, "Then I'll look after him as long as he lives, still."
When Six had been born, his parents had been proud. They had given him a good name, a name that spoke of service in the Emperor's light. Hopes for his future had been high. Then he had done well in scola. They had told him to stay away from the gangs, from the boys that beat each other. He had listened to his parents. When he was allowed to take the test of suitability for higher education, his parents had spend months' worth of money to get him blessed by a real priest up close, so that he would succeed. He did.
The next years of his life consisted of relentless studies. He nearly made it into the mechanicum, but was discarded as a candidate in the pre-last round of assessment.
That was a blow, but he had known his chances were slim. He was one of so many young humans. He might have been the smartest boy at his scola, but there were multiple planets worth of people like him or smarter than him out there. So he kept going. He studied and prayed and finally earned his engineer's degree. The administratum placed him on a ship, and he was sad about that, for he would never see his parents again, but he was ready to do his duty to the Emperor.
He had done what had been expected of him. His parents were good imperials and he was a good son. And so, into the void he went. He had thought he was born for service. He had not known he was born for terror. But he had been, he understood, staring at the winged skull of the monster that had killed Bernhard, his boss and mentor. Or he had believed to have understood. Up until the moment the master that had pulled him out of the pile had touched him, and he had felt something snap into place.
Six had never seen the mark that symbolized his own person. That was the way things were if you had never met your soulmates. You did not know them. And you also did not know a part of yourself. Six hoped that whomever was represented by the raven on his skin, so similar to the blessed symbol of the Raven Guard, would stay safe. When before, he would have wished for nothing more than to meet them, he now hoped their identity would forever stay a mystery. Whether they were serf or astartes or none of these, this horrible creature Six was bound to, would take joy in defiling them.
In his time upon the Grasp of Night Six had seen the agonized husks of those who had failed to hide their connection to the Imperium's Angels. He had heard whispers of pieces of skin sewn to the armor of their torturers to taunt their enemies. Woe to those who were captured with their soulmates.
Six would rather be taken apart, than serve as bait. He also knew that by resisting, he would only increase his own suffering. Sooner, rather than later, he would be broken, he would comply.
When the Night Lord stared at him, Six regretted what he had learned. He could have stayed in blissful denial, never confirming that Nostraman skull above his elbow belonged to as terrible a person as it looked. But no. He had learned of the skull when he had been taken. And now he knew that it wasn't the mark of a fellow mortal trapped in darkness. It was a mark of ownership. A brand from one of the monsters that had forced them into this living nightmare. Six felt tired. Why? He would think, staring into nothingness, why? Maybe a soulbond does not reflect the needs of both individuals. No human could ever thrive, bound to a son of the Night Haunter.
Six would hold on. Try to stay alive. At least there was hope that his new master might be less inclined to kill him. He wouldn't be so foolish as to hope for sympathy, but the number of soulmates a person has is limited.
Maybe his Master would be less inclined to kill him, knowing another slave would be very unlikely to have the same bond to him
So Six forced himself to keep pulling air into his lungs and release it. He would later think about what it meant that the Emperor had seen fit to bind him to a monster.
He needed a priest. Someone to tell him where he failed, why he was dammed. He tried not to think about the burned bodies of heretics.
But he thought... some part of him thought he would be able to push this aside.
And then, his Master touched him again.
A careful touch, not made to break.
"No! Don't cry! I won't hurt you, I have your mark. How could I hurt you?" His Master pulled away the bodyglove. There, under his clavicle, was a dark mark. It took Six some time to identify the shapes in the low light. A moon... three gears... the gothik number 6.
Six stared, numb.
It was not his name, he knew. It was not his name, but it was the only one he can remember without drowning on air. It was the name he would react to, as well as to "you", "human", "mortal", "slave", "dog", "rat" and thousand of other painful epithets.
It was the name his Master, the soulmate that would never love him, knows him under. A name, that was written before he was born, that would always, always have bound him to these monsters.
His slavename would be the one that identified his soul. He was never, ever meant for freedom. This was how it would have always happened. And some part of him wanted to crawl closer. Wanted to throw himself into the monster's arms and ask it to be gentle.
Six now knew he would never get any chance to run. And the evergrowing voices in him wispered that everything has proven that he was meant to be this way - that whatever pains this Master would put him trough were always fated for him.
Six himself might have been so tainted now, maybe even from birth on - that he wouldn't even try to run if there was any chance.
"Thank you for giving me a chance to explain." his master said, softly.
And Six felt bubbles im his belly, a terrified joy. Oh, if it took so little... he had no chance at all.