Interrogation is an art form, and the Space Marines are its most devoted practitioners.
When the Emperor forged the original Legions using the Primarchs as genetic templates, He laid the foundation for distinct martial cultures. The Ultramarines—often referred to by some as the "Blue Sons"—inherited the peerless administrative and strategic genius of Roboute Guilliman. The Space Wolves possessed the savage, lupine instincts of Russ.
But when it came to the Dark Angels, the First Legion, their genetic legacy included a talent far darker: the art of the Interrogator. It was a skill every battle-brother of the Lion's line seemed born with—a clinical, obsessive ability to extract truth from the unwilling.
Loki, the Prince of Lies, was finding that no lie was tough enough to withstand a Dark Angel's fist.
Under the "care" of Olsen and the Chapter's Apothecary, Loki had undergone a dramatic transformation. The arrogant, silver-tongued prince of Asgard was gone. In his place was a docile, trembling creature. He had never experienced the cruel efficiency of a Space Marine interrogation—a process that was far more than mere physical beatings.
The Dark Angel Apothecary had utilized a cocktail of specialized chemicals from the Imperium's grim pharmacy. Some drugs amplified sensory input until the brush of a sleeve felt like a flaying knife; others distorted the perception of time, making a minute of agony feel like a decade. Combined with psychic-induced illusions, Loki had spent what felt like lifetimes being sacrificed on dark altars or consumed by chimerical horrors.
His mind had finally shattered.
When Emrys entered the cell, Loki—his face a bruised, unrecognizable mass of purple swelling—tried to force a fawning smile. He used his trembling cheek muscles to mimic a look of devotion, terrified that even a second's delay would bring Olsen's iron gauntlet back into contact with his jaw.
"Respected Emrys... is there... is there anything else you wish to know?" Loki stammered, his voice a pathetic rasp.
Emrys's eye twitched as he looked at the "God of Mischief." He glanced at Olsen, who stood behind him like a silent sentinel of death. By the Throne, he thought, the Dark Angels truly are terrifyingly thorough.
Emrys tapped the table, organizing his thoughts. "Let us start with the basics, Loki. What is the plan?"
"To seize the Tesseract," Loki blurted out, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to speak. "Using the Space Stone to open a portal... to summon the Chitauri legions. The objective is the total occupation of Midgard."
Emrys already knew about the Chitauri, but he needed the confession on record for the Avengers. "And why are the Frost Giants involved? Why has Laufey brought the Casket of Ancient Winters to Earth? What has happened to Odin, the All-Father?"
Loki hesitated for less than half a second.
CRACK.
Olsen's fist, moving like a piston, smashed into Loki's mouth. Two white teeth spun through the air, clattering across the stone floor. Loki's mouth filled with blood, but he didn't scream. Instead, he lunged forward, hands raised in a pleading gesture.
"Don't! Don't hit me again! I'll tell you everything!"
Olsen snorted, the sound echoing through his helmet as he settled back into his "Door God" stance. His gaze remained locked on Loki's throat, promising a funeral if the Prince hesitated again.
"After Thor was exiled, I found the Casket in the vaults... I discovered my true nature," Loki whimpered, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "The shock of the revelation... it drove Father into the Odinsleep prematurely."
"And then? Get to the point," Emrys interrupted coldly.
"Yes! Yes... after he fell, I went to Jotunheim. I spoke with Laufey." Loki took a shuddering breath. "Laufey agreed to stay his hand against Asgard, but he demanded a new realm for his people. He chose Earth. He claimed that even when Odin wakes, he will always favor Thor. He said I was nothing but a tool, a whetstone meant to sharpen the 'true' heir."
Loki's fists clenched, a flicker of his old resentment surfacing through the fear. "I wanted to prove him wrong. I wanted to prove to Odin that I am the only one fit for a crown. I agreed to help Laufey smuggle the Casket to Midgard."
"And the Chitauri?" Emrys pressed.
"Laufey said they were provided by... by a 'Great Power' in the deep void," Loki whispered, shrinking back. "I swear, I do not know his name! Laufey was terrified of him. He wouldn't speak it, even to me."
Thanos, Emrys thought. It seemed the Mad Titan had simply swapped his primary agent for a desperate Frost Giant king.
"And your reward?"
"Laufey promised that once Earth was a wasteland of ice, he would use his armies to consolidate my rule over Asgard," Loki said, sounding genuinely convinced of the lie. "He told me that with his support, I would be the King of the Nine Realms, whether Odin willed it or not."
Emrys rubbed his forehead, feeling a surge of genuine pity for Odin.
The All-Father had conquered the realms with blood and cunning, yet his legacy was this: a biological son who was a headstrong brawler and an adopted son who was a delusional pawn. Emrys now suspected that Odin wasn't in a magical slumber—he had likely fainted from the sheer incompetence of his heirs.
"You truly are a fool, Loki," Emrys said, standing up. "You've traded your world for a promise from a butcher."