"No," he protests, almost choking on the word. He thinks the voice might be worse like this; insidious, almost alluring. Better the sharp crack of its rage than this.

"No matter what that etyc shabuire Krell said-" He spits the name, like it's a curse unto itself, almost too vile to even pass his lips- "I"m not a kriffing traitor. I'm not." And so he doesn't belong to the god of traitors and liars. He might have been left here, given as an offering, but he refuses to accept that he belongs here. You can't betray something or someone you owe no loyalty to, and he has never betrayed his brothers.