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This Story is purely fictional, an in no way shape or form associated with or endorsed by Games Workshop.

The factions mentioned, the locations and some of the characters are copyrighted by Games Workshop and are used without permission.

As FanFiction this story fall under fair use.

It is the 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries, the Emperor has sat motionless on the Golden Throne of Terra. By the will of the gods he is the lord of mankind and by the might of his inexhaustible armies the ruler over millions of worlds. He is a decaying corpse, infused with misunderstood forces from the Dark Ages of technology. He is the decaying ruler of the empire for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, that he may never truly die.

Yet even in his immortal sleep, the Emperor continues his watch forever. Mighty war fleets traverse the demon-haunted miasma of the Warp, the only link between distant stars, their path illuminated by the Astronomican, the psionic manifestation of the Emperor's will. Vast armies go to battle on countless worlds in his name. The most powerful among them are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines - bioengineered super warriors. At their side are thousands upon thousands of soldiers of the Imperial Army, countless planetary defense forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition, and the tech priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Yet their deeds are barely enough to keep the ever-present threat of xenos, heretics, mutants and worse at bay.

To live in that time means to be one among many billions. It means living under an unimaginably cruel and bloody regime. This is the history of that time. Forget the power of technology and science, for much has been forgotten, never to be learned again. Forget the promise of progress and enlightenment, for in the dark future there is only war. There is no peace between the stars, only eternal struggle and the laughter of bloodthirsty gods.

It was quiet in the great hall. Only the crackling of the fires in the bowls on the walls could be heard. He stood at the large desk, one could rather call it a table, even if noone never ate at it. The desk was old. It had stood in this hall for many hundreds of years and had already seen one or two masters come and go. This one had been the master of these halls for a little more than 300 years. A tall man. His skin was pale, his eyes ice-blue and his hair snow-white, and yet he was bursting with energy.

But the last few years had not been easy, and the reports that piled up on his desk did not bode well. He read another one, processed the information in it and put it on the pile.

His thoughtful hum was punctuated by the scratchy sound of his fingers on his chin. He turned and went to one of the large viewing windows. The world outside the halls was inhospitable, cold, and barren. High mountain passes stretched around the monastery fortress, their peaks covered with meters of snow all year round. Due to its remote location, the fortress was considered practically impregnable. An attack from the ground was de facto impossible. The terrain was too impassable and the glaciers, whose crevasses were invisibly hidden under the snow, too dangerous. Only the few locals who lived here knew about the secret paths into the valleys. An attack from the air was unthinkable. The shields of the fortress were so strong that the whole planet would break apart rather than this fortress.

*A safe haven…*

His predecessor had always said that. The entire Order was based here. The few outposts that were distributed on the planet were usually not occupied by the Astartes. Also the defense platforms in orbit were usually not entered by them. These were the domains of the subordinates. Inspections were conducted every few years. The crews rotated and their faith tested. But there had been no problems in 10,000 years. The people of Fenris were loyal… and that was a gross understatement.

Everyone knew what was in store for them if they were even remotely accused of being disloyal. At the same time, everyone knew what they would face if they falsely accused a son of Fenris of being disloyal.

This made this world such a wonderful place to recruit new aspirants for the Order. This, and the fact of what survived this planet, was not killed by anything so quickly.

In fact, compared to other Orders, they had a rather low rate of rejects among candidates and their Astartes fell less often in battle.

The system had worked flawlessly for 10,000 years. And even today there was still no doubt about the loyalty of the inhabitants of this planet.

He was glad about this circumstance. Not all worlds were so lucky.

He thought back at the desk again and the reports that piled up there.

In their surveillance area, several worlds had come under fire at once. A cult seemed to be spreading and the green menace was also once again on the advance.

Several companies were already in action.

The reverberations of blows at his gates snapped him out of his thoughts and he turned away from the window.

"Enter!"

His voice was firm and loud despite his age. Its rough quality hid its euphony. Had he not joined the Order, he might have become a good singer.

The gates were opened and a servant entered. As soon as he entered the hall, he sank reverently to his knees and looked down at the floor. The master looked at him for a moment. Took in all the information.

The uniform indicated a servant of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica. The heart rate indicated his haste. The pheromones indicated great stress.

*A new bad report…*

"Rise."

Slowly and with lowered eyes, the servant rose. In his hands he held another message.

"Yarl Erik. The choir sents me. There is a communique."

He handed the message forward as Erik approached him with loud echoing footsteps. He was almost a meter taller than the servant, and yet he wasn't even wearing his power armor.

Once again he looked at the man, who clearly evinced respect but did not seem to be afraid. Another excellent son of Fenris. Surprisingly gentle, he took the message.

"Give my thanks to the choir."

His voice was softer now that he was standing directly in front of him. The servant bowed deeply and turned to leave, while Erik read the message. He had not yet made it back to the gates when he heard Erik's voice again.

"When did this come in?"

The servant stopped as if rooted to the spot and turned. Bowing, he replied.

"Astropath Eskiel assigned me to inform you directly after the reception. I came to you by direct route, Yarl. Fifteen minutes, maximum, my Yarl."

Eriks ice-blue eyes gleemed darkly.

"Lead me to the choir. At once."

The servant bowed lower, turned on his heel and ran. The servant's quick running stride was just enough to stay ahead of Erik's sweeping steps. Of course, Erik did not need the servant's instructions to get to the choir. No one knew the fortress better than he did. No chamber, no secret passage, no niche was unknown to him. The plans had been drilled into his memory since he was a child. He would find his way blindly through the fortress. But it was a sign of respect for his subordinate that he allowed himself to be guided by him, at least in appearance. This would be remembered by his superior and cast a good light on him and his family.

With these small favors one kept the loyalty of the servants.

The way was long, the chambers of the astropaths were located in the highest peaks of the fortress. Erik's companion did not let on that he could not keep up with the superior physique of the Yarl. Only in the final elevator was his heavy breathing audible. Erik looked benevolently down at the servant.

"What is your name?"

His voice sounded soft and his breathing went quiet and deep.

"… Olaf… my Yarl…"

The servant tried his best to be in no way inferior to the Yarl, even if it was absolutely impossible, but it was the goal of every servant, of every inhabitant of Fenris, to always be in the best physical condition. The rigorous training regime that basically everyone on the planet submitted to in order to survive at all ensured that there was no one who couldn't at least keep up.

"You make your family proud Olaf."

Erik placed a heavy hand on the servant's shoulder and could feel how he seemed to grow under his hand. When the elevator reached its destination and the doors slid open, a corridor lined with statues lay before them. At the end of it was a large protal at the sides of which two Astartes in power armor stood guard. They stood motionless at the portal all day, the only sign of life being the constant subliminal hum of their armor. Now that they saw Erik, they straightened to their full height and their weapons were presented in front of their chests. The short-term swell of the hum as the armor's engines called for more power and the crunch of boots on the stone floor sounded eerie in the silence of the corridor.

"My Yarl."

Sounded in unison from both Astartes, their voices distorted by the vox units of their helmets.

Erik exited the elevator after the servant and immediately recognized who was in those armors. To most of the servants, the Astartes looked the same once they were hidden in their armor. Only the artificers, the personal servants of each Astartes who dealt with the Astartes' armor and weapons every day, knew the small details and idiosyncrasies of the equipment of their assigned Astartes. But Erik knew each and every one of his brethren. The hum of each armor was different. Power armor was sometimes several thousand years old, repaired and mended countless times. Each had its own marks, scars, but also adornments that their owners had earned over a long life of service to the Order.

These were Brother Mardok and Brother Signus, both veterans from the third grand company.

Brother Mardok had returned from the Deathwatch only five years ago. An honor in any other Order, here among his peers, one was not quite so sure.

Erik recognized the "trip", as Brother Mardok had called it, by the altered breastplate.

Brother Signus, had returned after a long mission against the Tyranids and was here to get used to the new cybernetics after one of those bugs had gnawed off his leg. The scars on his armor were clearly visible.

"Brothers, at ease."

Again, both moved in absolute syncron to return to the relaxed guard posture.

In armor, both towered over their chapter-master by two heads again, and Olaf looked like a dwarf next to them. Every time he walked past them, and their eyes followed his movements, it ran ice-cold down his spine. Despite their size, despite their heavy armor, they would be faster, more agile and deadlier than he could ever be. He had watched Astartes train for combat. It had been quite literally breathtaking.

Erik and Olaf strode past the guards, Erik placing a hand on each's shoulder armor. A gesture of respect among brothers. A servant, if he could even reach the oversized shoulder armor, would probably pay for this gesture with his life.

The portal was opened and behind it stretched an opaque jumble of corridors and chambers. Everywhere, operators ran around carrying messages, data sheets and other items. When they caught sight of Erik, they fell to their knees and turned their gazes to the floor.

Erik let them. This show of respect was important. Not directly to Erik, but to the relationship between the demigods who were the Astartes of the Order and the ordinary people who were the servants. He nodded.

"Rise. The choir does not like to wait."

There was a certain good nature in his voice.

"Take me to your master."

Olaf didn't take much prompting and struck out in a direction. In the chambers of the choir, Olaf no longer had to run. There was so much "traffic" here that more than a quick walk was not possible. They reached a richly decorated large door, in front of which two servants stood guard. They were clad in the robes of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica and carried the ornate halberds that were customary in their position. It was more symbolic than they could have fought with those in the cramped quarters. But traditions had to be served. As Erik approached them, they took their stance. They would not bow, but they would pay their respects, that was the custom.

"The master awaits you, Yarl Erik."

The guard's voice sounded respectful and calm.

"It is an honor."

Erik nodded slightly, there would be no more recognition than that. Even if the Adeptus Astra Telepathica was one of the most important institutions of the Empire, his Order would rather die than put these mutants on the same level with themselves.

But this was also the custom and was to be accepted, albeit reluctantly.

"Your services are no longer needed. Go back to your work and give my regards to your superior. I am very pleased with your performance."

Olaf seemed almost bursting with pride as he bowed deeply.

"My Yarl."

And then he was gone. As Erik turned toward the door, it was opened. The chamber beyond was spacious and furnished with tasteful furniture. The possessed no windows, the walls were shielded from all possible outside influences, and in the center of the room was a strange-looking throne on which sat what was, in the broadest sense, a man.

This man, an astropath, or more precisely the master of this choir of astropaths, was a haggard, shriveled, corpse-pale creature. He had not left these premises since he had taken this position over 150 years ago. He had never seen the skies above Fenris. Never gazed upon the harsh beauty of this planet, and never breathed the piercingly cold air that made up this planets atmosphere. All this abhuman had ever done was sit on his throne and listen to the whispers of astropathic communications and filter the news.

As Erik entered, the astropath turned to him.

"Aaaah the Yarl is here. Welcome."

Erik nodded as the door closed behind him.

"Reverend."

The smile on the astropath's lips seemed bizarre, furrowing his face and making the old man's skin look even more like it was meant for someone who must have been at least twice his size.

"What's this message about?"

The astropath didn't have to look at the message, he knew what it was about.

"A Gladius class frigate is requesting permission to dock at the oribal platform."

Erik took a deep breath.

"Old friend, I can read. We're not expecting any ships, not until next spring."

The astropath's smile disappeared.

"It's the Russ' Suspicion."

Erik's eyes widened for a moment.

"Magnus's ship?"

"Yes."

Erik paced around the throne, his hand on his chin.

"They weren't supposed to be back yet. The deployment was supposed to be for almost five years. Even if the warp is quiet, the trip to Caprianus four will take over a year."

The astropath followed Erik with his gaze.

"They broke out of the warp two hours ago and are on approach. A few other messages have come in, all of them… concerning."

Erik turned.

"Which ones?"

The astropath pointed to a stack beside his throne. Where the scriptservitor continued to write diligently.

"The mission does not seem to have gone to the satisfaction of the Order. The pack is shattered and the survivors seem to be…"

The astropath faltered and Erik's eyes gleemed darkly. He knew what mission the Russ' Suspicion had been. The arch enemy had tried to gain a foothold in their sector. Cults had been discovered on several planets. Where planetary forces could not deal with the matter, the Order was called upon to help. Caprianus four, had been one of those planets.

"What…?"

His voice was icy, demanding.

"… corrupted."

Erik could understand why the astropath had hesitated. It was impossible for Astartes of the Order to be corrupted. This had never happened before. His Order adorned itself with the fact that they were considered unquestionably loyal.

"This is impossible."

There was no mistaking the disbelief in Erik's voice.

"They will dock. The Astartes are coming right down here. I want Brother Ignatius to look at this 'corruption'. And have Brother Ishmael join them, too."

Erik turned to go.

"May your will be done."

The astropath was used to the fractious nature of the Astartes of the Order and the lack of certain etiquette. It bothered him, but he also knew that it made little sense to argue with a son of Fenris and even less with a son of Russ.

Erik stormed out of the halls of the choir. He had already passed the Astartes at the entrance before they could take their stance. His voice was strained and the anger and rage were palpable as he bellowed into his vox unit.

"I want three packs on landing platform five. I want the Wolf Priests there too, all of them not busy with urgent matters. Full weapons."

The two Astartes looked at each other, but would never question an order from their yarl, much less abandon their post.

Erik did not wait for the elevator, but ran toward the stairs that led down to the landing platforms.

Landing platform five was at an altitude of almost 10 kilometers. The thin air on the platform required breathing equipment and the temperatures up here rarely reached above minus 40 degrees Centigrade. The winds here were so strong that normal people were only allowed on the platform at all with safety ropes. Under normal circumstances, the shields were extended and the platform was at least protected from the winds, but when a landing was imminent, the shields had to be lowered to allow the vehicles to land.

Few pilots outside the order even dared to land on one of these platforms. Most "guests" were directed to the lower platforms, which offered an easier approach and a denser atmosphere and were thus easier to navigate for inexperienced pilots.

Erik had not chosen this high platform for nothing. It was easier to defend. For one thing, the anti-aircraft batteries were not far away, and for another, the special circumstances of this platform would nip an ambush in the bud.

When Erik reached the landing platform he was already awaited by two squads under arms and Ignatius.

"My Yarl."

The greeting, unison from all present thundered across the platform. Even over the howling wind it had been well heard.

Twenty battle brothers, heavily armed and in power armor, presented their bolters. The platform shook under the heavy footsteps. Ignatius stood silently beside Erik and only nodded.

The wolf priest was over 200 years older than Erik. He had truly seen everything there was to see in this galaxy. He had fought every enemy, seen every form of heresy, and seen all the abominations of the warp.

No one else would recognize corruption sooner than he would. Ignatius was considered an absolute hardliner. He had brought the emperor's peace to more heretics than anyone else here.

"Brother Ignatius, there is a joyless service ahead."

Ignatius nodded silently. His hand rested on an power axe locked at his hip.

"If the brothers are indeed corrupted, I will grant them the peace they deserve."

Ignatius' voice sounded strangely distorted through the vox grid of his helmet. The mask that adorned his helmet was modeled after one of the Fenrisian wolves and further amplified his voice into a deep but piercing growl.

"Brother, I will hope that our brethren have not fallen to chaos. I understand that we must not tolerate corruption in any form, but we should first find out how they were corrupted."

"Erik, you are still young. I've seen the corruption. There's no going back on that. And if Caprianus Four has fallen, we will have to purge it. No mercy to the traitors!"

Ignatius placed a heavy hand armored in ceramite and adamantium on Erik's shoulder.

The responsibility on his shoulder weighed heavily, but in some situations the wolf priest's hand weighed even heavier.

"You are right, old friend."

His face was grim. His improved physique enabled him to survive the conditions here, but it still wasn't easy. The oxygen shortage demanded everything from his three lungs. The cold threatened to freeze his limbs. The winds tugged at his robe, luring him into the depths.

Behind him, the elevator opened to reveal the third squad. The Yarl's elite guard.

Five veterans in heavy, tactical dreadnought armor. Armed with assault shields and thunder hammers. As they left the cabin, they bowed the knee to their master. No small feat in that armor.

"My Yarl."

The voices of the five was a rumble reminiscent of an approaching apocalypse. Erik nodded and gestured for them to rise.

"My brothers."

The Terminators' ponderous footsteps thudded past Erik as they took position at the edge of the platform. Their armor was massive, even compared to their brothers in power armor. While their brethren embodied power and speed, the elite guard's armor screamed with brutality. They would still stand and fight when the battle was already lost.

"Where is Ishmael?"

There was definitely anger and impatience in his question as Erik turned to Ignatius.

"He's working on his serum. You know that makes him unresponsive."

Erik took a deep breath and swallowed his anger. The bitter aftertaste of disappointment remained.

"How many times does he have to fail before he finally accepts it. He'll never be able to eradicate the Wulfen. By Russ, one more time and I will personally drag him to the tip of the Fang and teach him some manners there."

Ignatuis' expression under the helmet was inscrutable but even through the distortion of the vox grid Erik could hear his amusement.

"I'd love to see that...him wiping the floor with your ass. You know you're no match for him."

Erik took another deep breath. Ignatius was right. Ishmael was a gifted duelist. Never had a blade touched his skin. Even the best of them, the oldest and most battle-hardened warriors were littered with scars, old and new. All except Ishmael. And it wasn't that he avoided conflict and strife, he caused it. Where Ishmael was, there was trouble. Ishmael had a way of wearing others down. Eventually he would get to his master.

The only reason Erik was Yarl and not Ishmael was that everyone knew Ishmael would have led the Order into a never-ending crusade from which there would be no return.

"Thunderhawk inbound."

Erik was jolted out of his thoughts by the loudspeaker announcement. His brothers were inbound. There were originally 30 brothers sent to finish off the cult. If the squad was crushed, how many were left?

Erik looked up into the steel-blue firmament and searched for the landing craft. He knew the Auspex would lock on to the vehicle long before he could see it.

Behind them, the anti-aircraft guns moved into position and the roar of the large servo motors filled the platform for a moment. Orienting himself to the gun barrels of the batteries, he finally found a dark patch far up in the atmosphere that was rapidly growing in size.

It took a few more seconds for the spot to take shape and the color to change from an unidentifiable gray to the bright blue-gray of the Order.

It was one of theirs. Clearly. As the pilot transitioned into final approach and the guns moved back to their initial positions, Erik could also make out the heraldry on the wings of the hulking bird.

*Yes, this is one of Magnus' Thunderhawks.*

Without the need for a command, the troops moved into position to be able to open fire immediately in case of an attack.

"Attention... Attention... Clear the landing pad…"

Boomed from the loudspeakers. Another 20 meters separated the Thunderbird from the platform.

*If they were planning an ambush, now would be the time...*

But it did not come so far, since the pilot set down the Thunderhawk unerringly and amazingly gently on the landing platform.

As the engines shut down Erik could see the pilot put on the breathing apparatus and move away from the cockpit.

"Brothers, no one fires without orders."

Not that it was necessary, Erik was aware of his brothers' discipline.

It took a moment before the hatches unlocked with the tug of escaping compressed air.

Standing on the ramp was the pilot, alone. When he caught sight of Erik, he immediately sank to his knees.

"My Yarl."

Sounded from the vox unit in Erik's ear.

"Rise."

The pilot slowly rose.

"Do I have permission to speak?"

The question was justified; for one thing, in the absence of the great wolf, he was facing his supreme commander. And his bodyguard under arms.

Erik nodded.

"Speak. Report to me."

The pilot released the ramp.

"I am escorting the survivors and two corpses of the third squad of Blood Wolves under Magnus Bloodfang. After they cleared the cult on Caprianus Four and returned victorious... there were... complications."

Erik took a step forward, but stopped when Ignatius still did not remove his hand from his shoulder.

"What complications?"

Ignatius' voice was soft. It was less distorted over the vox, but it had lost none of its sharpness. The pilot looked to the ground.

"The members of the squad have fallen prey to ... a ... corruption."

Ignatius stepped forward, past Erik. His hand closed around the handle of his axe.

"These are serious accusations. Where are the brothers now, why don't they come out and turn themselves in?"

The pilot raised his hands defensively.

"They can't...we had to put them in stasis. Brother Corius of the Third Squad ordered this... before... before he received the Emperor's peace."

Ignatius stopped, his hand still closed around the axe.

"In stasis? Why?"

The pilot stepped aside and bowed deeply in humility.

"See for yourself."

Ignatius stepped past the pilot into the Thunderhawk, followed closely by Erik. Outside, the unlocking of 20 bolters could be heard, and the characteristic whine of energy hammers as they were activated.

Inside the Thunderhawk, all was silent. The entire hold was filled with the 10 stasis pods the pilot had carried. No other crew was on board.

What could be seen through the viewing windows of the capsules was both frightening and repulsive.

"What is that?"

Erik looked over at Ignatius in disbelief. Inside the containers were clearly the members of the third squad... at least their armor... what was inside them, though....

Ignatius shook his head.

"In all my years... I never thought a son of Fenris would ever..."

He reached for his axe, but Erik placed his hand on the wolf priest's forearm.

"We need to know what exactly happened first. Take them to the apothecarium. There we will find out what happened. Have the pilot come with you."

Ignatius hesitated. He knew Erik was no match for him without his power armor, but he was the Yarl. Insubordination, even if it was not always seen quite so strictly in the order, to the Yarl and a direct order that would be tantamount to suicide.

"As you wish, Yarl."

The mismuth in his voice was unmistakable. Erik could understand him, but he also needed to know what exactly had happened, which was the only way to prevent something like this from happening in the future.

Erik left the Thunderhawk. His instructions had already been relayed on the vox network. The brothers on the platform had lowered their weapons and were waiting for further instructions.

"Brothers, return to quarters. The Guard is assembling in the apothecarium. My artificer to my quarters, I need my armor."

With these words, Erik exited the platform, leaving Ignatius with his guard and a handful of servitors.

When Erik arrived at his chamber, his artificer was already waiting for him there. His chamber was barren. Like all the ones of all the other brothers. He simply saw no point in decorating his chamber grandly. He hardly spent any time here. Only for his short rests and when he put on or took off his equipment.

"My Yarl."

His artificer knelt before the reliquary in which his equipment was stowed.

"Rise."

Erik was upset, downright frantic. His attendant rose and opened the reliquary.

"My Yarl. What armor is needed?"

"The Mark 7."

Erik stripped off his robes and stood before his artificer completely naked. The latter was used to the sight. It didn't matter. Erik didn't know such a thing as shame. It was one of those useless feelings he had discarded after becoming a near demigod.

The artificer took the skin-tight suit from the reliquary, inspected it, spoke the incantations and blessings necessary to use it. Erik silently spoke along with each word. He knew them by heart. He had already spoken them many thousands of times. After the blessing, he came closer and Erik got into the suit offered to him. The ports all over his body connected to the corresponding ports in the suit and after his artificer closed the suit in the back, he turned back to the reliquary. He opened a cage and one by one removed the heavy shoes of the power armor. Again, he blessed the equipment and spoke the incantations. A lengthy process, but absolutely necessary to ensure the smooth operation of the armor. When presented with the shoes, Erik stepped into them and the fasteners connected to the connectors on his suit.

Next came the lower leg braces. The half-shells were bulky and heavy. The artificial muscle fibers inside were dead weight until the power unit in the back module was mounted. It took a while for the artificer to make all the connections. Normally, in the field, the armor would be put on by a team of at least ten people. Usually, servitors and iron priests would be present to speed up the process. In this case, he was almost fine with one artificer putting on his armor alone, even if it took longer. This gave him some time to think.

When his artificer came over with the load lifter to put on the torso exoskeleton, Erik helped him position it correctly. Normally, a brother would not do this himself, but it was fair to help his servant. If he was the only one responsible for this, then he should at least help him to complete the "impossible" things. Once the connections to the legs were made Erik could barely move. The armor was locked as long as the back module was not installed.

The back module housed the power source for the armor. A small plasma reactor provided enough energy to run the armor at full load for about 4 weeks. It also housed the life support systems, as well as the emergency medical systems. It was a bulky, heavy armor element that needed to be installed now, should the artificer be able to put on the rest of the armor. The incantations and blessings here were much more extensive than with the armor elements so far. When these were also completed and the module was hanging on the load lifter, he came over to Erik. The marriage of the armor with its energy module was a difficult procedure and would determine whether or not Erik would make it to the lab that day.

It succeeded without further incident. As Erik activated the armor with a thought pulse, the characteristic hum of the servo armor filled his chamber. Finally, he could move again. He knelt down to give his artificer the opportunity to put the remaining modules on him.

First came the breastplate, which together with the back module formed the core of the armor. When this was installed came the shoulders and arms. Then came the gloves and shoulder armor. Finally, the collar and helmet. Erik briefly considered foregoing the helmet, but decided against it because he didn't know if whatever had afflicted the brothers of the third squad might not be contagious.

With a hiss, he sealed the seals of the helmet and ran a complete diagnostic on his armor. It took only a moment, but all the runes were green. No flaws.

"My weapons."

His voice sounded strangely alien through the vox grid of his helmet. His artificer stepped aside, giving way to another reliquary. Erik opened it with a thought command and surveyed the assortment of his arsenal.

"My Yarl all weapons have been cleaned and anointed according to the rents. The machine spirits are well disposed to you and thirst for blood."

Erik nodded and reached for a combat knife, the length of which was more like a sword to a mere mortal. He then reached for a plasma pistol and an ornately decorated energy axe.

He locked everything to his armor and turned to leave.

"Don't wait for me. It will take longer."

His artificer bowed deeply.

"My Yarl."

With heavy strides, Erik left his chamber. The blue-gray armor hummed angrily with each step. He had chosen an armor that was not too ornate. The few talismans that adorned it were already more than 100 years old. They had still brought him luck. On the way through the corridor to the large elevator, many servants greeted him. Each of them reverently fell to his knees. He paid no attention to them. The two brothers standing guard at the elevator took posture as he approached them.

"My Yarl."

He nodded.

"Brothers."

He repeated the gesture as to the guards in front of the chorus of astropaths, touching their shoulder armor.

"It's going to be a dark day."

"By Russ."

Erik nodded.

"By Russ."

He entered the elevator and descended to the labs. The two guards resumed their relaxed postures.

The apothecarium was a large vault deep in the bowels of the fortress. It stretched for miles under the mountain. It had been carved into the granite to stand the test of time itself. Despite the depth under the mountain and the proximity to the shield and plasma generators, it was always unnaturally cold here. This was probably due to the fact that only in the catacombs were there more ghosts than here. The many chambers and laboratories were equipped with the latest technology, but still seemed archaic. The wolf priests and shamans of the order had the walls, ceilings and floors covered with runes. Old talismans and equipment from a time when the order did not yet exist hung everywhere. The servants who worked here were tattooed with runes. The entire vault was bustling with activity. Not only because the ten brothers in stasis had just arrived and were being prepared to be awakened from stasis in the apothecarium's quarantine unit, but because there was always plenty to do here. New recruits were initiated and received their implants. Injured were patched up, fallen brothers had their gene seeds taken out, and then they were prepared for burial.

The apothecarium was never quiet.

When Erik left the elevator, it was already expected. Two female servants were kneeling in front of the elevator. As was customary down here, they wore only a kind of apron, but were otherwise naked, their pale skin tattooed all over with runes. The runes on their shaven heads identified them as personal servants of Ishmael.

"My Yarl."

Their whispered voices rang out in unison.

Erik placed his hands gently on their heads before giving them permission to rise. This was a gesture of recognition. The apothecarium's servants were respected. And recognition by the Yarl brought social advancement and honor to their families, and it strengthened the position of the one to whom they were assigned.

As much as Erik might quarrel with Ishmael and his habits, Ishmael was an outstanding wolf priest.

"Rise."

Both servants rose simultaneously and elegantly. Their breath left clouds of condensation in the air. But this was also the only thing that indicated the coldness in the corridors. Another sign of the harshness of their people. A son, or in this case a daughter, of Fenris would never let on that it was too cold.

"Our masters are already waiting for you. Everything is prepared."

Erik nodded.

"Take me to them."

The two women turned around and headed toward the apothecarium. The corridors were not brightly lit. Only a few lumen spheres had been placed on the high ceiling to light the way. Not that it bothered Erik. For one thing, he knew the corridors, and for another, his helmet's auspex regulated the brightness so that he could see perfectly where he was going. The two women in front of him, however, were literally groping in the dark. But their every step was sure. Erik looked around the hallway. It was carved into the bare rock 10,000 years ago. The walls had never been smoothed. The floor had been touched by millions and millions of feet over the millennia and was perfectly smooth. The granite beneath his feet was dark red. So much blood had flowed on this floor that even the granite had taken on the colors.

In front of the apothecarium stood four guards. The two usual brothers in power armor and two elite guardsmen in Terminator armor. All four greeted Erik at the same time.

"My Yarl."

"My brothers."

Erik replied and repeated the ritual of paying respect to these guards as well.

The silence of the corridors was abruptly interrupted when the gates to the apothecarium opened.

The bright white light in the apothecarium was accompanied by the cries of the wounded, the sounds of the machines and the shouts of the servants, who in their strange dialect told each other which appliance and medicine they needed for which patient.

On the tables lay servants, locals, initiates but also brothers and fallen.

Erik trudged behind the two women. In the harsh light, he could see the thick calluses that had formed under the servants' feet, as they were always barefoot.

He couldn't help but feel a deep appreciation, not everyone would be able to endure this indefinitely. In the apothecarium itself, the servants did not drop to their knees to greet Erik. A deep bow was appropriate, however, and they cleared the way for him and his companions. So much respect had to be, even if it was an unspoken law that the servants here had "more important" things to do than to fall on their knees before the Yarl. However, if a servant proved to be disrespectful, he would meet a quick, though not painless, death down here as well. The rules were clear and had been drilled into every Fenrisian since childhood.

They crossed the apothecarium until they reached the quarantine section. Once again, two elite guards stood guard in front of the locks. This was not normally the case. But the "inmates" who currently populated this ward were not among the usual patients of the Wolf Priests either.

"My Yarl."

Their voices thundered through the apothecarium as they sank to their knees.

"Rise my brothers."

Erik touched the shoulder armor of his bodyguard and they rose back to their guard positions.

The airlocks were opened. A kind of mist billowed from the airlock room. Disinfectant, as his helmetauspex confirmed to him. Erik followed the women into the airlock. For a moment he wondered why they were not wearing protective clothing, then he realized. Their faith in the runes was so strong that they would not wear protective clothing. And if they were corrupted... well, there were always replacements for servants.

As the airlocks closed with a hydraulic hiss, a servitor in the corner of the airlock chamber came to life.

"Disinfection...commencing..."

The servitor's choppy, mechanical voice echoed in the small, sterile room as he lifted a hose with a spray attachment. Erik did not feel the ice-cold liquid as he was sprayed from head to toe. The fact that the two servants stood motionless as they were drenched only added to his respect for them. The sensors on his armor showed the liquid to be around 4°C.

"Disinfection... completed..."

Gave the Servitor to understand and went back to his alcove. The olfactory sensors of his armor filtered the smell, but Erik still perceived the pungent odor of the disinfectant. He was glad to be in his armor. A short time later, the inner airlock opened to reveal the quarantine unit.

Against one wall, 6 terminators of his elite guard stood and went down on their knees as Erik exited the airlock.

"My Yarl."

Thundered through the hall.

"Rise my brothers."

Erik gestured for his brothers to rise and turned to face the rest. Ignatius and Ishmael were present, both in light but sealed armor. This would allow them to move more freely, which was beneficial during medical procedures, without compromising security too much. There were still some of the servants around. Erik noticed that they were all women. They all wore the runes of Ishmael.

*Brother Ishmeal is, as always, an enigma*.

He shook his head slowly before walking over to the two wolf priests who were examining the stasis pods. Without turning away, Ishmael greeted his brother.

"My Yarl. It is fascinating and bizarre, but why do you take me away from my experiments and research for this?"

He gestured over the capsules. Before Erik could answer, he added.

"The laws are clear. Kill the heretic, burn the xeno, and purge the traitors. Or are you telling me that these are neither?"

Erik's deep sigh sounded like a growl through the voxgrid.

"Brother Ishmael, we must first understand how this could happen so we can prevent it from happening again."

Ishmael turned, the datasheet in his hand continually listing new data and beeping every so often.

"We have received the data from the medical team of the Russ' Suspicion. They began to mutate spontaneously. Brother Crenadus died because his armor could not be removed fast enough. He suffocated. Brother Corius gave the order to put his brothers in stasis and then requested the peace of the Emperor to repent for his failure. Peace was granted by Sergant of the Ship's Guard Hrunt Romanus via bolt round to the neck."

Read out Ishmael before wiping across the datasheet.

"According to the data collected, the cult was attempting to summon a ruler of change when our brethren intervened. The cult was completely wiped out and the cult site was completely cleansed. Most likely, our brothers were cursed by a psionic during the attack."

Continued Ishmael, again wiping over the datasheet.

"What is amazing is that the brothers did not mutate into patterns typical of Tzeench. We see no feathers, no beaks. They seem to mutate more into a shape reminiscent of a wolf."

He sounded almost thoughtful. He turned back to the containers. Ignatius took the floor next.

"Everything is ready. We can now awaken the brothers from stasis. I would suggest we start Brother Ivar, he seems to have retained as much of his original form as possible."

At that moment, one of the servants collapsed next to Ishmael and clutched her head. Her body was convulsed and she was foaming at the mouth.

Without hesitation, Ishmael drew his bolt pistol and shot the servant. The mass reactive bullet scattered most of her torso and head in the sterile room. Behind them, the Terminators could be heard lowering their weapons again. It was amazing that Ishmael had drawn faster than one of the elite guards.

"You had to mention him. You had to mention his name."

Anger seethed in Inatius' voice. Of course, servants were replaceable, but even so, good personnel were not always easy to find.

Erik stepped up beside the two and raised his hands placatingly. He surveyed the stasis pods once more before nodding.

"I agree. Now begin."

Ignatius nodded and the servants began the procedure. First, the shells of the stasis capsules were removed. Now that the full extent could be seen, the sight was even more disturbing. Brother Ivar's armor had been removed and lay at his feet in the stasis pod. His body was deformed. His limbs were longer, covered all over with fur, and his hands and feet were adorned with claws. His torso was still mostly human, but even here you could already see the fur growth spreading. His head was contorted in an expression of pain and anger, but still appeared human.

The servants connected hoses and cables to the capsule, incanting the sacred rites so as not to anger the machine spirit. When they finally finished, they stepped back and waited.

"The readings are in the normal range. He's alive."

Ignatius said calmly and pressed some buttons on his narthecium and the stasis field around Brother Ivar began first to flicker and finally to disappear completely with a plop. It lasted another moment until the battle brother continued his stasis-interrupted scream. It sounded like a recording being restarted.

As he screamed, he rolled out of the capsule and hit the hard floor uncontrollably. Clutching his head, he continued to scream for a moment. Ishmael was reaching for his bolt pistol when the brother stopped screaming. His hoarse voice sounded like he was choking out each word.

"Brother... wait... I... must... report..."

Ishmael kept his hand on the bolt pistol while Ignatius coolly checked vital signs.

"His adrenaline is through the roof right now. His heart rate is off the scale. We won't have to kill him, his heart will explode on its own."

Erik stepped forward.

"Brother Ivar, what's happening?"

Ivar bared his teeth; you could watch his fangs grow.

"The Wulfen... it... is... the... Wulfen... by Russ... Aaaaarrgh…"

Erik looked at Ishmael, who shook his head. The Wulfen was a known problem of their gene seed. It caused some of the recruits to lose their minds and become berserkers. Uncontrollable, bloodthirsty maniacs... who lived only for battle and were usually deployed to the front lines to die fighting. But they did not mutate. They were insane, yes. More animal than human, yes. But they remained humans, well demigods, but humans, not beasts.

That which rolled there on the ground and turned into a monster before their eyes, that was no Wulfen!

"Brother Ivar calm yourself. Explain yourself."

Ivar forced himself to his knees as his torso became covered in fur in moments and his face began to elongate. His voice changed, becoming more of a growl and howl.

"... Remorse... Atonement... Failure... Chance... Please..."

He stretched his arms, whose hands were now more like paws, forward and placed them palms up on the granite.

Ishmael drew his bolt pistol but Erik kept his arm down.

"He asks for the opportunity to atone for his sins on the battlefield. Tradition dictates that he be given his chance."

Erik's voice sounded forcedly calm, and his teeth could be heard grinding through the vox grid.

Ishmael braced himself against his brother's hand, but he was no match for the superior strength of the power armor.

"Brother...?!?"

Ignatius looked down at the heavily breathing Ivar, whose breath went in heavy rattling puffs, but who otherwise did not move further. Having taken the form of a wolf, his head had not changed further. Ignatius' finger still rested on the button, of his narthecium, that allowed him to administer a lethal amount of a nerve agent to the battle brother on the ground.

"Brother Ivar. Do you understand me?"

Ignatius asked. Ivar bowed his head, gurgled a little, but produced no intelligible words.

"Nod if you understand me."

Ivar hesitated, but nodded.

"You speak for your brothers, too?"

Ivar hesitated, his gaze wandering briefly behind him, then he nodded again.

"You are aware that corruption by the forces of chaos are grounds for immediate execution?"

Ivar nodded again.

"You ask us to pass over this sacred decree, issued by our father, and renewed by every great wolf so far, so that you and your pack, may experience your atonement in battle, tarnishing the reputation of our order?"

Ivar hesitated. He was trembling. Slowly, he drew back his arms. Erik took his hand from Ishmael's arm, but it did not need to be said that Erik would administer the Emperor's peace. He slowly reached for his axe. But before he could draw it, Ivar raised his head and looked them in the eye. His pale blue eyes, common to all the sons of Fenris, looked straight through the lenses of the helmets of Erik, Ishmael and Ignatius. There was so much sadness, anger, but also understanding and... humanity in them that Erik hesitated.

Ivar lowered his eyes and stretched his neck.

Erik drew his axe and stepped forward. He took a deep breath before raising it. He stood beside the Brother Astartes for a moment, realizing that he was the first Yarl since Russ had left them who would execute one of their own as a traitor, a heretic. He activated the axe and saw Ivar relax completely beneath him. He had acknowledged the sentence without fighting back.

"For Russ."

Erik whispered and struck.

The axe slid almost silently through the air and the blow as it hit the granite and penetrated almost six inches deep echoed thunderously in the quarantine unit. The axe was stuck in the granite just a few millimeters in front of Ivar's head. Some of his hair was on the other side of the blade.

Erik's jaw spasmed as he tried to speak.

"Brother Ivar. Your execution and that of your pack members is adjourned. Provided your brothers, like you, have kept their wits, I will see to it that you get your chance at atonement."

He let go of his axe and straightened up. In his vox he could hear the contradiction of both Ignatius and Ishmael, who, while not openly contradicting him, did so over the closed channel.

"Enough of this. I've made my decision."

Erik's voice sounded loud and his cutting gesture cut off any contradiction.

Ivar was still crouching in front of the axe. His breathing had calmed by now.

"Rise, Ivar. You will atone for your sins on the battlefield, and if Russ wills it, you will ascend to join him in Vallhalla."

Erik said softly. It took a moment before Ivar slowly rose. The sight of him was disturbing. He was over 10 feet tall, even if he didn't quite straighten up. His body was still stocky, muscle-bound as befitted a Astartes of the Order, but it was also stretched. His arms and legs had grown in length, and the altered anatomy of his body made it impossible for him to fully straighten. His body was completely covered by a dense gray fur. He looked like in the old illustrations in the scary stories they told the children so they wouldn't go into the woods at night. Yes, they called these monsters in folklore, the Wulfen. But this was something completely different.

Ivar stood there completely still. His arms hung down beside his body. His eyes followed the servants' movements.

"They're not food."

Raised Ishmael, recognizing Ivar's gaze.

"We need to put him somewhere… until we can throw him into battle."

He added, looking around at the terminators.

"He can't stay here."

Ignatius finally took his finger off the button and looked to Erik.

"The dungeon is empty at the moment. That's where he and the others can… wait."

Erik nodded. Pulling his axe from the stone, he looked up at Ivar.

"Brother Ivar. Step back. Wait back there. We'll awaken the rest of the pack."

While Ivar slowly retreated to the corner of the hall, the eyes of the Terminators followed him. He stopped in the shadows and for a moment only his sparkling eyes were visible.

Ignatius looked at his narthecium.

"The others may not be so… predictable anymore."

Erik locked his axe to his armor and nodded.

"Can we immobilize them until we make their situation clear?"

Ignatius gaze met Ishmeal's. Both answered at the same time.

"Yes." "No."

It took a moment.

"Maybe…"

Ishmael took the floor.

"Their physique has changed, but they still have the implants. We can control them, at least to some degree."

Ignatius shook his head.

"The Hypovegetative Membrane is not meant to sedate an Astartes… misuse can be fatal."

Ishmael shrugged his shoulders.

"They will die… one way… or another… "

He waved the air with his hands. Erik raised his hands.

"I hate to admit it, but Ishmael is right. They will die, one way or another, we will give them a chance to behave peacefully if they wish, otherwise they will experience… peace."

With that, he looked over at Ivar, who just nodded mutely.

"Awaken them."

Erik had retired to his chamber. He wanted a few minutes to think before he returned to the problem with his devolved Astartes. He had removed his helmet and was sitting on his bench. Resting his head on his hand. This was all so complicated. If they had openly shown their corruption it would have been easier. Then they would have simply been traitors. Of course, that would have come as a shock, but then the execution would have been completely without internal contradiction. But now, now they were basically tragic martyrs, fallen heroes, innocent of their condition, which could not be undone.

It didn't help. He took a deep breath, picked up his helmet and stood up. It was time for him to go to the dungeon and explain their task to the Iron Priests. They would send them into battle to die, yes. But that didn't mean they wouldn't give them the tools to do the most damage possible in the process. Erik put on his helmet and sealed it, then left his chamber. His path led him down the way he had taken before, and at the elevator the same guards were waiting for him again.

"My Yarl."

Erik nodded.

"My brothers."

But before he could enter the elevator, one of the guards spoke up.

"My Yarl, is it true?"

Erik took his finger off the call button and took a step back to address both Astartes. He placed a hand on each's shoulder armor.

"Yes, my Brothers, it is true. One of our packs has been cursed in battle by the arch enemy. They cannot be saved."

The Astartes of the Order, a blood wolf, not long risen literally slumped a few inches.

"How, how is that possible?"

Erik straightened the Astartes with both hands.

"Stand firm Brother. The ways of the warp are unfathomable. The lost Brothers will find their atonement in battle and then, Russ willing, ascend to join him in Vallhalla. But we must stand firm, in the face of the enemy and in the face of our weakness, we will not fall."

He slapped the young blood wolf on the shoulder armor, the sound was hollow and echoed in the hallway.

Both Astartes nodded.

"For Russ."

Erik nodded and replied.

"For Russ, for the All-Father."

Then he entered the elevator. The way into the dungeons was long on one side, they were in the deepest parts of the fortress. Even significantly deeper than the generators. In the event of an uprising, they would simply blow up the one access shaft, burying everything down there under granite. Forever. On the other hand, it wasn't far enough, the closer he got to the dungeons, the closer the moment came when Erik had to deal with the problem again. It annoyed him that the news about Corius' pack had made the rounds so quickly, but on the other hand he wasn't surprised. There had never been anything like it before. Never.

And as long as he was in charge, it would never happen again.

With a gentle jerk, the elevator stopped and the doors opened into the darkness of the dungeon level.

There were no lumen spheres hanging down here; there was no light here. They were nearly 10 kilometers below the mountain, which itself was nearly 8 kilometers high. What was once down here rarely ever came to see the light of day again. Erik could feel the shadows. In these depths, the shadows lived their own lives. The ancestors had already worshipped this mountain as the place where the spirits spoke to them. When Russ took over, he had chosen this mountain as the site of this fortress because here he could commune with the spirits of Fenris. Spirits that were not always in a good mood. They were brutal, primal spirits. Nature spirits. It was considered a formidable test of courage for young aspirants to survive one or two nights unarmed in the depths of the fortress. Often enough, horribly mutilated corpses were found when once again an aspirant had not returned from his test of courage.

Now the ghosts roamed around him. He knew they would not attack him. He was a son of Russ, he was legitimate representative of the Wolf King. And even if one of the shadows attacked him... it wouldn't be the first one he had defeated. He almost enjoyed being surrounded by the spirits. It distracted him from his task.

Off he went. The auspex of his helmet allowed him to see even in this darkness. After a short time, he rounded a bend and saw the glow of some lamps in the distance. There were the others. He steeled himself for the next encounter with the Wulfen.

"My Yarl."

Came the greetings of his guard and the three Iron Priests present to him.

"My brothers."

He replied as he stepped out of the shadows. Before him stood all ten Terminators of his guard, three of his Iron Priests, and a handful of Ishmael's servants. Across from them in one of the dungeons crouched the Wulfen. Ivar, who in the meantime had cut the runes of atonement into his torso, stood before the others.

"My Yarl, what shall we do with them?"

Asked one of the Iron Priests while raising his hammer in the direction of the Wulfen.

"You will prepare them for their final battle. They will repent for their failure by falling in battle. But until that time comes, I want them to inflict the maximum possible damage on the enemy."

The Iron Priests were silent for a while. Erik knew they were communicating through a closed channel. It bothered him, but he could not forbid them.

"My Yarl, you want us to equip these... creatures with weapons and armor? Who will guarantee that they will not use them against us?"

When he raised his voice, a clear threat sounded in it.

"No one will guarantee it to you, no one has to. We give our berserkers weapons and send them to the front, trusting that they can tell friend from foe in the heat of battle. Ivar has given us his word. The word of a Brother, a son of Fenris, a son of Russ!"

His hand closed firmly around the hilt of his axe.

"But perhaps having the word of a son of Russ is no longer enough for us!!!"

The Iron Priests raised their hands.

"My Yarl, we meant no disrespect, it's just... the traditions..."

"The traditions will be served."

The Iron Priests went down on their knees and bowed their heads.

"As you wish, my Yarl."

Erik released his axe and touched each of his Iron Priests.

"Rise, my Brothers. Your vehemence in upholding the traditions deserves honor."

Erik looked to the Wulfen, Ivar and the others were also on their knees.

"Rise."

The Iron Priests rose, as did the Wulfen in the cell. One of the priests pulled a scanner from one of his pockets and began scanning Ivar. When he was finished, he gestured for the next to step forward. Meanwhile, Erik took one of the priests aside.

"Their armor has been recovered. They are basically damaged beyond repair. Use what you can. Make them armor. Get them melee weapons. Axes, claws, whatever is possible. We'll put them to work on Furia."

The Iron Priest nodded.

"Orcs..."

Erik affirmed. The horde would be excellent for an atonement. Orcs were always looking for a fight. Hand-to-hand combat was their specialty, so the Wulfen would have their work cut out for them.

"How long will you need."

The Iron Priest looked to his brothers.

"Give us three days. It doesn't have to be for a parade...does it?"

Erik slapped his Iron Priest on the shoulder armor.

"Excelent."

Erik turned to the Wulfen in the dungeon. Ivar stood at the far edge of the dungeon to give the others room for the scans. His eyes kept wandering back and forth. All but the last of the Wulfen had now been scanned. The procedure would soon be completed. Erik could tell by the look on Ivar's face that he was unhappy. Who could blame him. Ivar and his Pack were proud warriors. The best and toughest in the empire. To be treated like this, and eventually die this way. Of course, their honor would be restored, but that was not the way they had been destined. The destiny was centuries of service in the name of the Emperor, in the name of Russ. Ivar was not yet a hundred years old, he was not even one of the Grey Manes. He was still one of the Blood Wolves.

"My Brother, tell me, does it trouble you?"

Erik's voice was low and insistent. Ivar nodded. He tried to speak, but the words would not form. Frustrated, he hit the wall. A bloody stain where his paw had struck the wall remained.

Erik nodded silently.

"I would let you into the chambers, but I don't think even you yourself know if that would be a good idea."

Ivar shook his head. His paw had already stopped bleeding again. So the Astartes' physique was still there, only the form had changed.

"I will send for mead and meat. You shall not starve in the days before the battle."

Ivar nodded.

"Is there anything else you need?"

Ivar shook his head. Erik nodded. Behind them, the Iron Priests finished packing up.

"My Yarl, we have what we need. We will begin work at once. For Russ."

Erik nodded and slapped his Iron Priest on the shoulder armor again.

"For Russ. Work quickly."

The Iron Priests nodded and left. Erik turned to his guard and Ishmael's servants.

"My brothers. You may leave. The Wulfen are safely housed here. And you... Ishmael must be expecting your report. Go with them."

His honor guard awoke to a flurry of activity. The heavy Terminator armor, nearly indestructible walking siege engines, turned toward the exit.

"As you wish, my Yarl."

The reply came in unison from all ten guardians, and the pounding footsteps made the ground tremble as they marched past Erik. The servants stopped.

"You may go, too."

Erik repeated himself.

"Master Ishmael has ordered that we stay here and document all changes and behaviors of the Wulfen, my Yarl. We are aware that this is not without danger down here, but Master Ishmael's instructions were clear."

One of the five servants had turned to Erik and bowed deeply, allowing deep glimpses behind her leather apron. Erik had noticed it before. All of Ishmael's servants were female, all of them naked. He must have somehow genetically altered them to be able to survive so long in these conditions at all. Erik had been very young when he had joined the Order as an aspirant, like all the other Astartes. He had never noticed it either, since his sex drive, like that of his Brothers, had been almost completely extinguished by daily conditioning, but all of Ishmael's servants were in exceptionally good physical condition. All were, ordinary mortals would call it, pretty. Erik grinned under his helmet. Ishmael was a closed book, but he didn't mind being surrounded by "pretty" things. As a Wolf Priest, he was more or less busy all day with blood, death, mutilation and the like.

"All right. I will have some lumen spheres come to you and you shall have food as well. Do you need anything else?"

The servant kept her gaze fixed on the ground.

"No, my yarl. We will be fine."

She turned back to her studies. Erik, on the other hand, turned to Ivar, who looked over at the servant with more than casual interest.

"This is not food."

Erik imitated Ishmael's voice, and Ivar's gaze jumped back to him. He could see the apologetic look in Ivar's eyes and the posture of his ears revealed that he felt caught.

"My Brother. For your salvation and mine, don't give me any trouble here."

Ivar shook his head, trying to suppress his salivation by swallowing.

"The instincts are getting stronger."

It wasn't a question, it was a simple observation. Erik had spent enough time with Fenris wolves to know their behaviors. Ivar nodded. Now that his body was that of an animal, his mind would slowly follow.

"I trust in your wits. Stand firm Brother."

Ivar nodded and reached an arm through the bars to him. Erik grabbed the arm just above the wrist and Ivar did the same to him. In a handshake between warriors, more than a simple greeting was shared. It was a promise. Erik nodded. Ivar did the same to him.

Erik took his combat knife from his hip and handed it to Ivar's paw.

"If it becomes necessary, grant them and yourself the peace."

Ivar nodded.

"Watch out for the humans. You know what dwells down here, and we know these bars wouldn't stop you anyway."

Ivar put a paw to the grate, looked over at the humans, and then back at Erik. There was something inscrutable in his gaze, but he nodded.

Erik took a deep breath and turned to go.

When Erik left, it became very quiet. Ivar and his Pack retreated into the back corners of the dungeon for a while. They could not really communicate. They communicated with hand signals which they would normally use in battle. A Pack fought together from the beginning. They had been accepted together as aspirants, they had survived the initiation together, and after that they had always fought together. They understood each other even without words. The mood was clouded. Some of the survivors were angry about the fact that they were not to blame for this misery and now had to suffer and die for it. Ivar could understand them. He too was angry, but he also knew that Erik had gone far beyond the bounds of the law to at least give them the opportunity to restore their honor. Ivar also realized that only he and another Astartes, Brannan, were still in their right minds. The others were drifting further and further to the wild side. They were able to control themselves, but their mood gradually became more and more aggressive and they began to hear voices in the shadows. Voices that whispered to them to surrender to their instincts, to become one again with Fenris and the wilderness. They knew about the blade Ivar had received from Erik and the mission he had agreed to. Ivar had no secrets from his Pack, and they agreed.

After a while, they heard footsteps in the corridor leading from the elevator. Some servants came, accompanied by several guardsmen of the Planetary Defense Forces. They brought the promised supplies.

When the people saw the Wulfen, they almost panicked. It didn't help that one of them approached the rusty iron bars of their cell growling. Some of the guardsmen raised their weapons. However, it was doubtful whether simple automatic rifles would have been enough to kill any of them. Ivar rose and stepped behind his brother and nonchalantly just dragged him away to the back and threw him against the far wall. The thud that accompanied the impact was punctuated by a growl that sounded more annoyed than pained.

Ivar didn't care for it at all. He imitated a placating gesture with his paws and remained in his not quite erect posture. His eyes glowed slightly in the semi-darkness. He seemed menacing, dark, inscrutable, although he probably didn't mean to be. His stature and posture, coupled with his appearance, so reminiscent of the monsters from children's stories, simply made him look and feel intimidating. He waited until the guardsmen calmed down and lowered their weapons. Ivar nodded and slowly he extended a clawed paw through the grate, pointing at the mead and meat.

The servants carrying the jugs of mead approached Ivar very hesitantly. With a distance as far as possible from the Wulfen, they handed him the first jug. Ivar took it carefully and pulled it to him in the dungeon. Behind him, one of the Wulfen stood up and took the jug. Without taking his eyes off the servants, Ivar put his paw through the bars again. The second jug was handed to him. This time already with less restraint. Something in his eyes seemed to attract them. Ivar passed this jug as well.

Meanwhile, the other servants passed the supplies to the other servants Ishmael had assigned.

"Aren't you afraid, with these... Monsters?"

One of the carriers asked as he placed his bag next to one of the women. He stared at the poorly covered bodies of the women crouching there. One of them nodded at him in gratitude, but focused directly back on the Wulfen, who were already feasting on the mead.

"No, why should we? They're probably more civilized than some of the other men here."

The spike had hit home, and the porter withdrew, embarrassed. One of the guardsmen, meanwhile, fixed some lumenspheres on the walls and then resumed his guard posture, gazing into the darkness. Had something moved?

Ivar took the fourth and last mead jug, stroking the servant's hand and making a low growling sound. The touch triggered something in him. An eagerness seemed to awaken deep within him. Carefully, he pulled the jug from the woman's hands and passed it back to his brothers. The woman stroked the spot he had touched with her other hand. She, too, had noticed. She looked deeply into his eyes before turning and taking one of the hams from the carrying board the carriers held behind them. She stepped closer to the dungeon.

"Careful Inka."

Warned one of the other carriers. But Inka was spellbound by the huge creature, which was separated from her only by a thousand-year-old grate. Ivar slowly lowered his head as he carefully pushed his paws through the grate. Incredibly gently, he clasped the servant's hands and waited to see what would happen. The woman looked up at him and very slowly she pulled one of her hands out from under his. Carefully she lifted her hand and stretched it to his head. But before she could reach him, one of the guardsmen grabbed her hand.

"Don't. They are animals. It's too dangerous."

Ivar carefully pulled the ham into the dungeon. It did not escape his notice that Ishmael's servants seemed very excited. He also passed the ham. When he turned back around, the guardsman was standing in front of him holding the ham.

"I know you understand me. I know what you are. I know what you want."

There was undisguised hatred in his voice. Ivar straightened up as far as the dungeon and his body would allow. His lips quivered as he looked down at the human. The guardsman did not retreat. He too was a son of Fenris. Fear was not one of his characteristics. Ivar looked at the human for a moment before nodding and slowly sliding his paws through the bars. The guardsman handed him the ham and Ivar took it. When he tried to pull it towards him, the guardsman didn't let go. Ivar took a deep breath, the rattle of his breaths seemed eerily loud in the strained silence of the dungeon. Ivar tilted his head slightly and closed his eyes, it seemed like he was listening to something, or someone, then let go of the ham. When he opened his eyes again, he pointed to the dark corridor that led to the elevator. Smiling to himself, the guardsman nodded towards him and looked into the darkness.

From which two pairs of red glowing eyes looked at him. The guardsman dropped the ham and fumbled for his rifle, the women panicked and the other guardsmen and porters also tried to point their weapons at the enemy.

Everything happened at the same time so incredibly fast, and yet it seemed to Ivar as if it was happening in slow motion. When the ham touched the ground, a black figure jumped out of the darkness. Its shape was unfathomable, it seemed to simply absorb the light. The first guardsman was simply swept off his feet and the figure tore into him without even waiting for a reaction from the others. As the second figure stepped out of the shadows, the door of the dungeon was already flying through the hallway. It pierced the figure as if it were made of smoke. Ivar stepped out of the cell, holding Erik's combat knife in his paw, and lunged at the second figure without hesitation. Unlike the door, the combat knife did not penetrate the body of the shadowy figure, whose eyes flashed briefly.

The guardsmen opened fire on the first figure and the noise of automatic weapons filled the hallway. The screams of the shadowy figures were not so much heard as felt. The figure backed away from the guardsman's body and turned to the others, who took it under fire. The simply paced slowly through the hail of bullets. The only thing that could be recognized about it were the eyes. Just as it was about to make another leap, two more Wulfen crashed into the figure, forcing it down. While the guardsmen continued to retreat, trying to fire at their targets without hitting the Wulfen, the women gathered around one of the lumen spheres. Ishmael's servants were beside themselves and could not keep up with the documentation.

Ivar became entangled with the figure and stabbed it with the combat knife. He used no finesse in this fight, he simply slaughtered. It did not take long. Everything was over in an instant. The shadowy figures simply disappeared. Ivar straightened up. He was covered with a black liquid that slowly disappeared. He was bleeding from some superficial wounds that looked very much like bullet holes. His Brothers looked similar as they stood up. The guardsmen frantically reloaded their rifles as Ivar slowly approached them, the combat knife in his dagger grip, while his blood dripped lazily from the other paw. His Brothers just stood there. They were not even breathing heavily. One of them wiped the last remnants of the black mass from the corners of his mouth.

One of the guardsmen raised his rifle, but Ivar simply ignored him. He turned his head to the side and a loud crunch was heard before he walked past the guardsmen with a relieved look on his face. In front of the women he crouched down and waited.

"What are you doing…"

That's as far as the guardsman got when one of the Wulfen approached him from behind and placed a heavy paw on his shoulder. The other guardsmen were raising their weapons when the remaining Wulfen entered the hallway through the door of the dungeon.

Seven against three, not a chance, not in a thousand years.

"… Shit…"

Attempted another guardsman only to be silenced by a finger point from another Wulfen.

Ivar squatted in front of the servant who had come very close to him earlier. Slowly he reached out his paw to her and stopped just short of touching her cheek. His blood was no longer dripping, but his paw was still smeared with blood. He was about to pull it back when the woman grabbed it and pressed it against her cheek. Ivar closed his eyes and after a brief moment of tension, all the weight seemed to fall from him.

When he opened his eyes again, the other women were standing around the two of them with their mouths agape, while the woman whose cheek he was caressing sat there with her eyes closed, seeming to enjoy the moment. After a moment that felt like an eternity to Ivar, he rose again and carefully withdrew his paw. It left a paw-shaped imprint on the servant's cheek. His brothers had already taken the remaining hams and returned to the dungeon. Ivar followed after them. The guardsmen were beside themselves. With rage, with envy, with resentment… The servants of Ishmael were beside themselves. With joy, with curiosity, with envy… The women were also beside themselves. With fear, with envy, with anger… Only the Wulfen were calm, at least outwardly. They cowered in the dungeon and feasted on ham and mead. The two who had defeated the shadow beast were bragging about their heroic deed.

Ivar stood at the door to the dungeon and looked over at the people. The guardsmen were the first to regain their composure. While one of them secured each side of the corridor, the last one tried to calm the women. The porters were the next to calm down. From the excited chatter it was clear that they were extremely agitated and wanted to get out of the dungeon as quickly as possible, that someone had to look at Inca's cheek, not that she also mutated and that the men were really absolutely useless. The only ones who seemed even more agitated with time were Ishmael's servants. They literally flipped over each other while trying to put what had just happened into words and document it for Ishmael, and they were on the one hand extremely interested in the cheek of the female porter and wanted to try it out for themselves.

When the guardsman finally calmed the women down, he came to the conclusion that it was better to leave now. For one thing, they had to report back, and for another, Inka urgently needed to see one of the Wolf Priests. Preferably before another shadow beast showed up. As the troop started to move, Ivar looked after them. When they finally left, his eyes fell on the remaining servants.

A dark smile painted itself on his face.

He looked around again at his Brothers, who continued to feast with relish. Slowly and slightly crouched, he left the dungeon. The women did not notice him at first, they were so busy documenting what had happened that they only noticed him when he crouched in front of them. The initial shock of his presence was quickly overcome as he did not move. He just sat there and watched the 5 servants doing what they were doing.

They were terribly excited and whispered among themselves. Ivar tilted his head slightly and was about to extend his paw when his eyes fell on the dried blood that caked his paw. Absentmindedly, he licked it off. It tasted familiar, of iron, of copper, and of life. The women watched him with fascination, and this time it was actually one of them who reached out to him first. Ivar paused and looked at the young woman standing in front of him, reaching her hand toward him at the level of his "face." He put down his own paw, his nose sniffing.

Inside him, his mind, which tried to hold him back, and his instincts, his urge, which demanded to finally get the upper hand, fought. He longed to touch her, to taste her, to... He leaned on his paws and slowly pushed his head forward until his muzzle touched the woman's hand.

His fur was surprisingly soft, even if it didn't look like it. It felt warm and supple. His breath brushing against her forearm was burning hot in the surrounding cold. He had his eyes closed and was obviously enjoying the touch. When he did not move any further, the young woman gathered all her courage and took a step towards the Wulfen. Her second hand rose hesitantly and tremblingly to his head and touched his muzzle on the other side. He let it pass without showing any emotion. Her colleagues were beside themselves and their fingers flew over the data sheets to document everything. She, however, did not let herself get distracted and began to carefully examine the creature's head. She stroked his muzzle and cheeks, slowly and gently, then slid her hands up to his head and felt the muscles move under her fingers as his ears moved to continue monitoring the environment.

"He's so soft…"

Escaped her with a giggle. When Ivar continued not to move, she grew bolder. She felt his ears and ran her hands through the thick fur of his neck. She seemed to have found a spot, as Ivar tilted his head and put more weight on her left hand. She smiled subconsciously as she began to scritch the Wulfen behind his right ear.

"… much like one of the wolves…"

She said dreamily. Ivar growled softly, it was less a sound of warning than a grunt of relaxation. She let her hands slide down his neck, feeling the strong strands of muscle under his fur. She drew her hands forward to his chest. The runes cut into his chest were already clearly healing. There would be scars left behind, but they wouldn't be noticeable at all through the thick fur. She could feel the muscular play of his breathing and the small movements that held him in place. She ran her fingers over his enormous pectorals, losing herself in the little swirls of fur that appeared here and there. The Wulfen's breathing slowly deepened the longer she explored his body.

Just as she was about to examine one of the arms, Ivar very slowly straightened up and shifted his weight to his hind legs. Very slowly, he raised his paw and placed it infinitely gently on her cheek. He just left it there while the young woman placed her hands on his. His paw was soft and its touch so incredibly tender, something you would never think a monster who had killed a shadow beast in the most brutal way less than a quarter of an hour ago could do. She did the same and closed her eyes, resting her head in his paw. Ivar gently stroked her cheek with his thumb and lowered his head. Imperceptibly, he pulled her toward him. She was not aware of her movement towards the wulfen. Only when he put his second paw on her other cheek and she opened her eyes, she noticed that his head was only a few centimeters away from hers. For a brief moment she wanted to back away, but when she looked into his eyes she relaxed again. Ivar closed his eyes and tilted his head forward, and in an ancient gesture of her people, he touched her forehead with his. This gesture has always been used on Fenris to express great affection. Due to the harsh conditions that prevailed on the surface, this expression of mutual love had come to prevail over kissing. Too many Fenrisians were already frozen to each other's lips.

"… By Russ look at that…"

Squeaked one of the other women, literally pounding away at her data sheet. The other women just watched open-mouthed as the Wulfen rubbed his forehead against her colleague's two or three more times before pulling his head back and opening his eyes again.

The young woman was completely overwhelmed and blinked several times while trying to organize her thoughts.

The Astartes were not known to show their affection so intensively, and with a normal mortal not at all. With them it was usually more martial expressions. Punches on the shoulder, grabbing each other's forearms, and if it was particularly intense, maybe a friendly hug was due. She had never seen one of the Astartes use this gesture. She took a deep breath and let go of the Wulfen's paws. She traced the creature's arms up to its body and then pulled it toward her. Ivar gave in to her embrace without any resistance. She pressed herself tightly against his body and pulled him towards her, clawing at his fur with her small hands and not letting go. He, for his part, put his huge, long arms around her petite stature.

She almost disappeared in his embrace. He gently laid his head on hers and his hands stroked her back. Her skin was cold, and under his warm paws he could feel her muscles trembling. Whether this was from excitement or cold he couldn't quite interpret, but as his paw slid over her pelvis onto her bottom, this trembling he could very well interpret. Ivar's mouth watered. His urges and desires were gaining the upper hand more and more. He would have to give in to them before the desire became too great and he might do something else that he would not be able to atone for. His claws were incredibly sharp and as he carefully dragged them up the young woman's back, they left fine red lines. She trembled and goose bumps formed all over her body. As he did so, he tore the leather straps that held the servant's apron together behind her back. As the leather fell to the floor, the woman noticed something very hot and moist pressing against her belly.

No, no it could not be.

While she gently freed herself from the embrace and backed away a bit, her eyes wandered downward. Her eyes widened when she saw the huge phallus sticking out at her.

Then, as the hot saliva dripped onto her neck, she almost jumped back.

Ivar stood in the hallway, his breath coming in long, deep gasps, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. Strands of saliva hung from it. His manhood was not yet fully erect, but she secretly hoped he would not grow significantly larger.

"… By Russ, what is he up to…?"

Asked one of the women, crouching behind her brave colleague and continuing to try to grasp everything that was going on in front of them.

It was obvious what was going on in Ivar's head. As he slowly took a step towards her, the young woman only now really realized that her apron was under Ivar's paws and she was now fully exposed in front of him. She tried to cover herself with her hands and thought about how she could escape from this situation. She was fully aware that resistance was completely futile. He was bigger, faster, stronger and probably free of any scruples a normal mortal might have in such a situation.

A noise made her turn her gaze away from Ivar. Behind the bars of the dungeon stood his Pack. Their condition was equal to his and they also slowly came out of the cage to take position behind him.

Now the other women were getting nervous, too. One Wulfen and one of her colleagues, this calculation was simple and obvious. An honest and honorable sacrifice for science. And for sure, when Ivar would have been done with her, his hunger would have been satisfied. Would it not? Not?

But 8 Wulfen and one woman, that calculation didn't add up. 8 Wulfen and five women, that calculation was… at least not impossible. They swallowed as they stood up and held their data sheets protectively in front of them. They would gladly, even without hesitation, give way to their brave colleague. As they backed further away, however, they realized that they had maneuvered themselves into a dead end against the wall of the hallway.

"… What now…?"

Asked one of the women, panic and fear swimming in her voice. However, as the Wulfen made no move to pounce on her uncontrollably, the young woman, who had already shown courage so far, took heart.

"… We won't be able to escape this situation… and if we fight back, it will only get worse…"

She put down her hands and took a step toward Ivar. Ivar towered over her petite figure by more than a meter and a half. His chest rose and fell hypnotically and his manhood seemed to pulse in time. As she stood before him and looked up at him, he placed his paw on her cheek again and caressed it tenderly. A soft whimper left his throat as he swallowed his saliva. She nodded and squatted in front of him until his member was about eye level with her. His lips twisted into a cruel version of a smile. Hesitantly, with trembling hands, she grasped his manhood. It was firm, hot and wet, and it pulsed in her hands. Ivar closed his eyes and his breathing quickened slightly. She, at first, began to gently and slowly stroke it along his shaft. His scent was wild and primal, spicy and musky. She resisted the urge to kiss it immediately. She hoped perhaps to be able to content him with it, if she was to serve him only in such a way. That hope was abruptly dashed, however, when his Pack positioned themselves around her. From one moment to the next, she was confronted with 8 Wulfen, all vying more or less intensely for her attention.

When Ivar noticed this, he first opened his eyes and a moment later his mouth.

What followed would probably be the mother's telling off of a lifetime, followed by a series of blows and bites that put his Pack in their places.

Ivar's fur stood on end and his eyes, which until then had seemed completely calm, blazed.

His attitude made it unmistakably clear even without words:

"This prey is mine, find your own!"

His Pack cowered at the grate of the dungeon as Ivar turned again to the young woman, who was grateful, but also unsure whether she should continue with what she had begun. Ivar was able to change his state of mind from one moment to the next. As soon as he stood in front of the young woman again, his whole posture was completely calm again. He stood in front of her and waited, she looked up at him and recognized the desire in his eyes. She would not get away that easily. She licked her lips and concentrated on the task that lay before her, or rather stood before her.

This time she hesitated less, she was sure he would defend her should his Pack try to interfere again. She grabbed his member, tighter this time, and began to stroke and massage the shaft with her hands. Ivar began to pant slightly and laid his head back on his neck. Saliva dripped from his tongue. His hard manhood and smell overrode any restraint in the young woman. Before she could even stop herself, she had kissed his tip. It tasted salty, tangy and it was so incredibly hot. She was no longer able to hold back any further and so she took the tip of his member into her mouth and began to suck on it. The feeling was incredible. It was so wrong, and yet so right at the same time. She felt Ivar's paw rest gently on her head, preventing her from releasing his manhood again. Her hand slid from his shaft to his balls, gently feeling their movement as her other hand continued to massage his shaft.

She felt the gentle pressure Ivar applied to her head and allowed him to slide deeper into her mouth. Slowly but not without emphasis, he forced her head to move along his shaft. The young woman knew she could not resist, his strength exceeded hers by lengths, and so she took over the movement and continued it herself. With each pull out, she sucked harder and as she slid in, she let her tongue play on the underside of his member. She could tell by his twitching that he seemed to really like this. She gripped his manhood tighter so that it couldn't move and intensified her efforts. At the same time, she gripped his testicles a little tighter.

She was rewarded with a mixture of growls, whimpers and heavy panting. Her head quickly slid along the length of his shaft, as far as she could manage. He was just clearly too big for her to even remotely try to take him all the way in.

When she realized that the muscles in his legs were beginning to quiver, she forced her head back against the pressure of his paw to get his member out of her mouth. For a moment she was amazed that he allowed it. She moved her jaw through briefly as she massaged his member with her hand.

"No, no not so fast…"

She said softly. She slid a little closer and began to lick the entirety of his shaft. Ivar clenched his paws and bared his teeth. The young woman understood what she was doing, she knew she was playing a dangerous game. Teasing him could have unforeseen consequences, but she was sure that he wanted it that way, otherwise he would not have let her.

She played with her tongue around the tip of his member, only to place a kiss on it every now and then and continue to knead the base of his manhood. Ivar was on the verge, tensing up to hold the sensation a little longer. At that moment, she took his member into her mouth again and sucked on it incredibly intensely. This drove Ivar over the edge and he literally exploded in her mouth.

He filled her mouth within an instant. His ejaculation was so sudden and so violent that she choked on it very intensely. She pulled his member out of her mouth and coughed as he spread his seed all over her. It was an amazing amount.

It took her a moment to regain her composure and choke the rest of his seed out of her windpipe. Ivar stood in front of her breathing heavily. As he looked down at her, his eyes reflected satisfaction, curiosity and desire. This had been his first time. Never before had he felt this sensation. It had been glorious. His desire was only fueled by this novelty.

With a sideways glance, he could see his Pack who, of course, had not missed this development. He bared his teeth slightly. He wasn't done with his prey yet. His Pack oriented themselves to the rest of the women, who looked back and forth between their colleague, Ivar, and his Pack in a mixture of fascination and panic.

It was more than obvious what would happen next.

It was not until two days later that it became known what Ivar and his Pack had done to Ishmael's servants in the dungeon. When another supply party descended into the depths of the fortress, they had found them.

United in unholy union, the servants had given intercourse to the Wulfen. The details with which the porter had described the events in the dungeon to Erik had been more than just disturbing. Not only had there been sexual intercourse between the degenerate Astartes and the women, they seemed to have enjoyed it. Ishmael had immediately had the women brought to his laboratory and would now do Emperor knows what kind of things with them.

Erik had descended into the dungeons in a rage. He was on the verge of simply killing Ivar. Who knows what they could have conjured up down there. It was bad enough that he had let the 8 live, drawing the disapproval of an entire Grand Company, now they had desecrated parts of the fortress in their degeneration.

The flamer in his hands weighed reassuringly heavy and would remove any defilement of "his" fortress. As he rounded the final bend, Ivar and his pack were nowhere to be seen. Erik's eyes widened.

"… They won't…"

He said more to himself than he wanted to address anyone with it. He quickened his pace considerably. When he finally arrived at the dungeon, Ivar and his Pack were sitting in the dungeon. They seemed relaxed and looked up at him completely calm.

"What the…? Do you guys have any idea what kind of mess you've gotten me into?"

Screamed Erik, as Ivar slowly stood up.

"Do you even know what Ishmael is going to do to these women?"

Erik lit the pilot flame of his flamer. Ivar slowly approached him.

"I should burn you right along with them, that would be a simple and quick solution. For the moment, a completely satisfactory solution."

Erik was beside himself, his voice breaking over. Despite not wearing a helmet to amplify his voice, the volume hurt their ears. Ivar's ears laid back as he came to a stop in front of Erik. He pulled out the combat knife and handed it to Erik. The latter looked at the blade with a mixture of anger and disgust. It was now defiled. It would probably have to be destroyed.

"Don't you know what the consequences of this debauchery could be? What would have happened if you had summoned any demons. Slaneesh is just waiting for such an opportunity."

He threw his arms up.

"Aaaarrghhh…"

His scream echoed for a while as he turned back to Ivar. Who stood unmoving in front of him, the combat knife still in his paw.

"Get out of there… All of you… Now…"

He pointed to a spot a little further up the corridor toward the elevator. Ivar and his Pack followed his order without hesitation. They stood against the wall and waited for the inevitable. Erik unlocked the flamer and pulled the trigger.

Ivar and his Pack watched silently as Erik flooded their cell and the hallway with flames. The flamer's fire was so hot that the grate almost instantly melted into cinders and the granite began to glow. Only when the entire tank of the weapon was emptied did Erik release the trigger. The stench of the Prometheum filled the hallway and the temperature was unbearable. Silently, Erik turned to the Wulfen. His eyes reflected his anger.

With a force that would probably have broken all the bones of a normal mortal, he rammed the launcher into the pit of Ivar's stomach. The Wulfen collapsed like a wet towel. However, writhing on the ground, no sound came from his lips, he would take the punishment with humility and kept his gaze on the ground.

"You guys are outrageously lucky. The Iron Priests are finished with your weapons and armor. Otherwise you would have been in this cell. But I do not want the work of the honorable Iron Priests wasted. Besides, I have given you my word that you may atone for your sins. Pray to Russ to acknowledge your penance on the battlefield."

Erik turned to go and shouldered the flamethrower.

"Pick him up. You ship out in four hours. The Guard will be coming for you soon."

As he walked away toward the elevator, darkness greeted the Wulfen.

The Thunderhawk was already fueled and ready to go. The Gladius-class frigate, the Russ's Suspicion had been refueled and ammunitioned for the flight to the Furia system. In addition to the Wulfen, a contingent of Blood Wolves, a few vehicles, and some of Ishmael's servants would make the trip.

Erik stood on the platform in armor and barked orders to the staff. He was still boiling inside. The whole operation was a disaster.

When the cargo elevator at the far end of the platform opened to reveal his elite guard, he was relieved. Soon this problem would no longer be on his planet. In battle, this issue would quickly be resolved. His guard exited the elevator with the typical lumbering steps of the Terminators, forming a cordon on either side of the elevator. Then his eyes fell on the Wulfen. They had looked brutal before, without armor and without weapons, now they were nightmares on two legs. The Iron Priests had done a great job.

Ivar was the first to leave the elevator. He wore unaugmented armor of ceramite and adamantium. It was sharp-edged and crude, but it covered the main weak points. Erik recognized parts of Ivars old power armor in it. In terms of armament, the Iron Priests had opted for two chain axes. Suitable for an uncontrollable beast that wanted to inflict as much damage as possible before it died.

Several tubes had been connected to Ivar's neck. Erik recognized injectors in them. They led to containers on his back. His Pack were similarly equipped. Either with energy claws or axes.

Ivar went down on his knees in front of Erik and bowed his head, his Pack behind him did the same. Erik recognized the containers on their backs. Frenzon, Adrenox, 'Slaught and Psychon… combat drugs. Once they threw themselves into battle, they would be unstoppable killing machines that knew neither pain nor fear. Probably, even if they survived the fight, they would die from the effects of this cocktail. Erik nodded grimly.

"Rise."

Ivar and his Pack slowly rose. Erik cleared a path to the Thunderhawk.

"Your death awaits you. Die upright, atone for your sins, and Russ may be merciful to you."

Ivar nodded mutely.

"There are plenty of greenskins on Furia. Good hunting."

Added Erik, pointing to the landing ship.

Ivar bared his teeth, it was a very bizarre variant of a smile. Something that sounded remotely like a laugh escaped from his throat. He gripped the axes tighter and trudged to the landing craft, followed by his Pack. As they entered the Thunderhawk, the ramp closed behind them and the pilot started the engines. When the Thunderhawk slowly lifted off the platform Erik felt a great relief, as if a weight weighing tons was lifted from him. Erik opened a channel in his vox.

"Let the Russ' Suspicion know, the cargo is on its way. Good hunting."

"As you wish, my Yarl."

Erik nodded silently and looked around.

"Clean everything thoroughly, I want the Wolf Priests here. All corruption must be eliminated. I want all personnel who had had contact with the Wulfen debriefed and checked for corruption. I don't want anyone else here to fall prey to the forces of chaos."

In the Thunderhawk, there was a tense silence. After the transporter had left the atmosphere and all the noises in the vacuum of space had fallen silent, nothing more could be heard. Ivar and his Pack sat in the cargo hold and waited for the moment when the cargo lock opened and they arrived back at the Russ' Suspicion.

"ETA 10 minutes."

Came the robotic announcement from the loudspeaker on the wall. Enough time to just "lose" them on the transport. But Ivar trusted the word of his Yarl. Why, after he had taken on so much now, should he have them killed now, in this dishonorable way?

Ivar examined his chain axes. Martial tools of death. Normally the Order did not use these weapons, they preferred energy weapons. But he could understand that they did not entrust these venerable weapons to him and his Pack. Chain axes, however, would do just fine. They would plow through the ranks of enemies like glowing knives through butter.

Greenskins. Orcs. Wonderful opponents for a penance. They would throw themselves against Ivar with everything they had, and Ivar would face them with the Emperor's wrath.

*For Russ, for the Allfather.*

He thought. What a shame not to be able to yell the venerable battle cry when they charged into battle. A guttural howl would have to suffice.

He looked at the two runes on the handles of the axes. One would start the axe's engine, the other the injection pumps on his back. The Iron Priest had told him that the cocktail of combat drugs would ensure that even shot to pieces, he and his Pack would still be fighting.

"Enough Frenzon to turn a Crox into a Primarch."

Had been his words.

"ETA 1 minute, prepare to dock."

The announcement snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked to the red light that was beginning to glow next to the cargo bay door. Slowly, he and his Pack stood up. Even though their minds had clearly moved away from being Astartes of the Order and toward being vile beasts in the last 72 hours, they still knew that some discipline was the order of the day.

So Ivar's Pack positioned themselves behind him in two rows and waited patiently. The loud banging of the docking aids clinging to the hull of the Thunderhawk and the subsequent audible sounds of the servo motors told them that they had docked at the Russ' Suspicion. Now the landing craft was pulled into the frigate's hangar and as soon as the atmosphere there was restored, the airlocks would open and allow the Wulfen access to their transport ship. It took a short while and the pilot said through that first the escort had to come into the hangar.

When the ramp finally lowered with a loud hiss, the hangar was bustling with activity. Fleet personnel were everywhere, carting ammunition and spare parts around. Officers worked through lists and servitors carried heavy loads back and forth between the individual Thunderhawks.

At the foot of the ramp stood two Astartes of their Order in full armor and under arms. Without saying a word, they indicated with a toss of their heads that Ivar and his brothers should follow them. The servants of the fleet were not quite so eager to throw themselves on the ground in front of each Astartes of the Order, but they cleared the way without hesitation, even if they were busy with something important. One Servitor wasn't quick enough and was cleared out of the way with a careless blow with the butt of a bolter. The wreck that had once been a human before being lobotomized and having its limbs replaced with grappling arms now lay in an overturned pile of ammunition crates, giving only its last twitches as its robotic voice frantically shouted down damage reports.

"Ha ha ha... did you see that one...?"

Came the distorted voice from the helmet of one of the Astartes. Ivar closed his eyes. Corius would have flayed him for weeks in the training cages for such behavior. Of course, the subordinates were not on the same level as the Order as such, and the servitors were even less than that. Some were of the rock-solid conviction that servitors were basically not even living beings. But still. Such behavior caused delays in the schedule, and maybe in those boxes were the ammunition for the company's bolters, and if now some duds would result from this "accident", it could cost lives. Lives of Astartes of their Order. He heard a slight laugh behind him and before he had even thought about it, his elbow had already found itself in the pit of one of his Packmembers' stomachs.

His brother slumped and before any of the others could help him back to his feet, Ivar's look made them stop as if rooted to the spot.

*He can stand up on his own, he knows what that was for...*

His Pack only nodded as Ivar turned back to the Astartes. They walked briskly out of the hangar. In the cramped corridors of the frigate, one realized once again that these ships were not built for the Astartes, but for the "normal" people. The Order normally used attack cruisers. These ships were much more spacious and built for crews that consisted to a much greater extent of Astartes. Here, on the other hand, it was necessary for the human crew to stay out of the way of the Astartes, otherwise they would never get past each other.

"Your quarters are in cargo hold 3. Ishmael's servants are already waiting for you there. Erik has sent three artificers here, they will take care of your weapons. The training cages on level 4 are reserved for you. You will want to familiarize yourselves with your weapons and armor."

Gave one of the two Astartes to understand. Despite the distorted voice, one could hear something like compassion in his tone.

"The flight will only take about two weeks. We'll be leaving within the hour."

He added as they reached a large gate that read "Cargo-Hold 3."

"The captain does not want any incidents with the crew. This cargo hold is directly connected to the vacuum. One push of a button…"

The Astartes performed the familiar cutthroat gesture.

Ivar nodded, and looking over his shoulder, he could see his Pack nodding.

The gate was opened, revealing a spacious storage room. Several containers were open and labeled. The artificers had their own, as did Ishmael's servants. And then on the other side were four more containers, these were probably for them then. Ivar bowed his head and walked through the gate. The height of the ceiling allowed him to stand upright. His Pack also entered the camp one by one. Behind them, the gate was closed and locked. Ivar grinned. They did not trust them. This was not surprising.

One of the artificers approached them. He stopped a few meters in front of Ivar and bowed deeply.

"My lords, I am Hendrik, my colleagues and I have been assigned to take care of your weapons and armor. If you will please follow me, I would like to show you your quarters."

His voice seemed warm, but the tremolo in it showed Ivar that he was afraid. Ivar nodded slowly and followed Hendrik to the four containers on the other side of the storeroom.

"We had little time to prepare anything, but your kind are used to little comfort, aren't you?"

Babbled Hendrik on, it seemed to put him at ease. He showed them the chambers they would occupy for the next 2 weeks. They were sparse, even by Order standards. A sleeping quarters made of three crates pushed together, over which some pelts had been laid. A water dispenser and a small lumensphere, that was all there was in any of the small compartments. It would do. They had had worse. Ivar nodded.

"We can take your weapons and armor from you in a moment. Besides, Brother Ishmael's escorts will certainly want to do some more research. So if you will please follow me once more?"

Hendrik spoke quickly but cleanly, the tremolo in his voice almost completely gone. They crossed the storeroom once more and arrived at the containers of the artificers and Ishmael's servants. They were other women, not the ones from the dungeon, kneeling there by them. Ivar could not place the smells; he had not yet encountered these women. He growled softly and gestured for them to rise.

"Oh, that's right. The Yarl had informed me that you have lost the ability to speak. We will find a solution. Most certainly. Yes… Yes…"

Hendrik nodded his head eagerly as the women rose. They were as scantily clad, or not clad at all, as their comrades on the planet.

He could already hear a slight panting from one of his Packmembers behind him. Ivar tilted his head and looked over his shoulder. His eyes flashed and his Packmember seemed to almost swallow his tongue. When Ivar turned back to the artificer, he handed him his axes and then turned to face his Pack.

By means of sign language, he made it unmistakably clear to them that he would not tolerate any assaults on Ishmael's staff here and now, even though his body was certainly making an effort to betray him. Ivar fixed two of his Packmembers in particular. He would keep an eye on them.

The artificer handed the heavyweight axes to one of his colleagues and pointed to a large crate in front of their container.

"Please my lord, take a seat, we will relieve you of your armor, there is much work to be done."

Ivar nodded and made his way to the crate. It was quite large, but he could easily sit on it and waited patiently for the servants to peel him out of the armor. It wasn't that he couldn't have done it on his own, but it was a nice gesture to be assisted. It didn't take very long to remove the armor pieces from him, since they were working in threes and his armor was basically just individual elements that had been attached to his body with straps. Perhaps the artificers were even able to make some improvements to it.

When the last leg brace was also removed, Hendrik nodded with satisfaction and gave way.

"My lord, our work is done for the moment. Now you are expected by Ishmael's ladies. When we are ready, we will notify you."

Hendrik bowed and followed his own briefly into the container. Ivar stood up from the crate and looked to Ishmael's servants. He walked slowly to them, while behind him Hendrik picked up the axes of the nearest Wulfen. He was already awaited by one of Ishmael's servants.

"My lord, you must be Brother Ivar."

He nodded and allowed himself to be led into the container where the four women had set up their quarters.

"Master Ishmael has ordered us to do some more research before you will be lost forever."

Ivar nodded again and sat down on the throne that was in the middle of the container. Two other women joined him. Each held a tray of various medical equipment.

Ivar eyed the various injectors and containers. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced over at the woman who had ushered him in. He raised an eyebrow.

"Master Ishmael wants samples of all body fluids again, as well as tissue samples. Furthermore, we have been instructed to verify reactions to various stimuli once again."

She said as she returned to him with a smile. The sway of her hips that accompanied her gait and the subtle hints in her movements did not go unnoticed by Ivar. The monitor next to him did not miss the reaction of his body either, registering an acceleration of his heart rate, a rise in blood pressure and the release of several hormones. Her smile widened and her pale blue eyes sparkled in the semi-darkness of the container. She leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear.

"Sister Brunhild told me you've been quite tender."

Ivar's ears twitched and his heart gave a little jump. As he looked back at her she couldn't quite interpret the look in his eyes. It was something between surprise, curiosity, shame and… desire. She turned to her female colleagues.

"Men are all so simple… even demigods."

This struck deep, but Ivar could not deny the accuracy of her statement. The words, her smell, her permissiveness, that all had not missed its effect. The eyes of her colleagues were fixed on Ivar's nether regions as she stood in front of him again. Ivar attempted a smile, which, however, resembled more of a snarl than he really wanted.

"Sister Ingrid, needle please."

"Yes Sister Freya."

One of the women stepped forward, a blush on her face. She handed the woman in front of him a syringe of some sort, its long needle looking menacingly large. In an extremely exaggerated good-natured tone, Sister Freya turned to Ivar.

"Now this is going to sting for a moment."

Without waiting for approval, the woman pushed the needle into Ivar's arm. The latter didn't even bat an eyelash but just watched, fascinated, as she stirred around in his arm. After a few seconds, she proudly announced.

"There you go."

Accompanied by a trickle of red blood that ran from the end of the syringe. One by one, Sister Freya filled the small containers handed to her by Sister Ingrid. When she was finished, she pulled the needle out of Ivar's arm again. The bleeding stopped almost instantly. She put the syringe back on Ingrid's tray and smiled at Ivar.

"Now we need another saliva sample. That shouldn't be too hard."

Ivar took the container presented to him and lifted it to his muzzle. After "depositing" some of his saliva in it, he handed it back. Freya accepted the container and picked up another.

She held it in front of her chest like a prize and her smile grew even wider. Slowly the blush rose in her face. She licked her lips.

"The next sample will be a little more special…"

She turned the jar in her hands and her eyes traveled down Ivar's body. Ivar relaxed. If Ishmael wanted "that" sample, then his servants should go and get it. This was not his doing, he and his Pack would not be scolded for this. He sat back and presented himself with an inviting gesture of his paws.

Sister Freya had tilted her head down and was looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Ivar tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow.

*Take what you want…*

He would have loved to tell her, but he was not able to. But Freya understood what he wanted to imply. She knelt down in front of him. His manhood had not yet fully awakened, but not too much was missing. Nevertheless, he sported a size not to be underestimated, especially compared to a mere mortal. In a fully erect state, his member would probably serve most men as a forearm. He could see the fascination in Freya's eyes now that his tip was almost at eye level with her. With trembling hands, she reached for his member. It was red, hot, already slightly wet from his arousal, and it pulsed with each of his heartbeats. She could feel it getting harder under her hand. The feeling had something infinitely wild and primal. And its smell was indescribable. The Astartes of the Order always had a rather pungent, sour smell about them, but this one was different. He smelled of mochus, of fresh sweat, and of something else she couldn't quite put her finger on. Carefully, she encircled the shaft with her hand. Even at the tip, she barely managed to get her fingers all the way around it. A low rumbling sound could be heard from Ivar as he closed his eyes and put his head back on his neck. Freya set the container on the floor beside her and turned to her colleagues.

"Document everything, we connect the fluid extraction with experiment 3."

She then focused on Ivar again. She took her second hand to help and began to carefully move her hands up and down along his shaft. The fact that he had already produced enough lubricant helped immensely. Her initially hesitant movements quickly gained confidence as Freya noticed that Ivar continued to relax and was clearly enjoying the ministrations. Ivar's breaths deepened and the rumbling in his throat gained in volume. Her hands began to move more purposefully. Freya tried more pressure and twisting motions as she rubbed his shaft. Each time she reached his tip, she circled it and let her palm polish the tip. She could feel his muscles slowly tense and move under his fur. His paws closed around the armrests of the throne and the material creaked under the pressure of his claws. Freya took one of her hands from his member and carefully reached for his testicles.

"Get ready sisters."

She said, looking at the container at her feet. Sister Ingrid picked up the container and held it ready for the moment when Ivar would distribute his seed. She did not have to wait much longer. Freya's efforts were rewarded as Ivar's body seemed to slowly tense in a wave until he really reared up and finally slumped back down with his orgasm and the spurting of his semen. Meanwhile, Ivar gave a mixture of whimpers and howls, followed by relaxed panting. Ivar opened his eyes and looked into three very horrified faces, one of which was completely covered with a whitish, viscous substance. Sister Ingrid was standing next to Freya and was so shocked that she was unable to fill the container with a sample. The third in the group looked around frantically and seemed to be looking for something. Freya just sat there, still holding Ivar's member in one hand and the other hanging somewhat out of place in the air between Ivar and her face. She had opened her mouth, though this must have happened after the creaming, as there was no semen in it. In her eyes the following expressions were reflected quickly alternating: By the Emperor!… Oh my God-Emperor!… Wow!… Oh no!… Disgusting!… Help!… The sample?… I wonder how this tastes?

Absentmindedly, she caught herself fishing for a thread of ejaculate with her tongue, while her third colleague finally came with some sort of spatula to secure a sample in the container.

Ivar was not sure if he should feel sorry or if it was allowed to laugh in this situation. The expression on Sister Freya's face when she finally got hold of some of his semen, much to the dismay of her colleagues, and noticed that the taste was not quite what she had hoped for, then pushed him into a kind of laughter.

It took a short while for Sister Ingrid to secure a sample with the aid of the spatula and for Freya to be freed from the rest of the ejaculate by means of a cloth. In her face there was something like anger, but in her eyes there was something completely different. She remained motionless just a moment too long, and so Ivar raised his paw to her face. He leaned forward, propped his left elbow on his knee, and placed his right paw on her cheek. His paw was so large that it covered almost the entire left side of Freya's head, and his claws reached far to the back of her head. He was eye to eye with her and she felt his hot breath on her face. In the same gesture he had shared with Brunhild a few days ago, he lowered his head and touched her forehead with his. His warm, soft fur on her forehead calmed her. Ivar radiated an incredible calm and self-assurance. Freya closed her eyes and surrendered to the Wulfen. Not that she was in any position to resist. Ivar ended the touch by slowly moving his head away from hers. She went along with the motion for a moment before she realized his hand was holding her back. His ice blue eyes were piercing as he looked into hers again. After a moment, he looked down at her breasts and then back into her eyes. His lips twitched and a muffled growl escaped his throat. He slowly straightened up and gently pulled Freya to her feet. As he sat upright and she stood, he released her cheek and his claw stroked tenderly down her neck to her shoulders. Once again his eyes wandered to her breasts and he tilted his head. It seemed inviting, lovely.

*Come on, play with me.*

He seemed to say. As he let himself sink back against the back of the throne, Freya's eyes fell on his privates. It was already fully ready for use again. She swallowed and now knew what Ivar wanted. What should she do. They had started it, now it was up to them to finish it. Secretly she hoped that his Pack would be less demanding, there were only four of them and Ivar's brothers were eight, and none of them was smaller than him.

"Sister, that's not in the protocol. It's not right."

Sister Ingrid tried to stop Freya.

"Are you able to stand up to an Astartes of the Order?"

Freya asked as she loosened the straps of her leather apron. When the leather fell, she stood naked before him. Unlike Brunhild, she felt no shame. She was proud of her body. A lot of time and work had gone into her body. She knew that Brother Ishmael had an eye for shapely bodies and being accepted into his retinue brought some bonuses for her and her family. The runes tattooed on her snow-white skin were razor sharp and extremely accurately placed. Every muscle was perfectly trained and every decorative scar was exactly where it belonged. She was perfect in every way. Only the fact that she had had to shave off her red hair had disturbed her, if only briefly. Ivar eye her up and down calmly. He took his time to study her offering. He liked what he saw. She was strong, she showed no fear, at least not anymore. He lowered his head ever so slightly while his flews twisted into a grin. Freya stood slightly wide-legged in front of the Wulfen, who grinned at her with his ears erect. He looked like a devil, a demon who wanted to seduce her to turn to the dark side. His whole posture reflected his absolute superiority. He had a certain charm in his self-assurance and the way he extended his paw to her was almost arrogant. She fell for him completely.

She took his paw and let him lead her. She climbed up to him on the throne. She put her feet next to his legs on the seat and now stood above him. Whereby his eyes were still at about the level of her breasts. He was simply huge. He continued to hold her hand while reaching for her hip with the second. Tenderly but firmly he put his paw around her hip and held it tight. Freya put her hand on his paw and waited what would happen now. Would he simply rape her here and now, wild as a wolf? No.

Ivar had other things in mind. Her breasts in front of his eyes he opened his mouth and started licking her cleavage and sucking on her breasts. His caresses were tender, but there was a wild impetuosity in them. Several times he nibbled on her hard, aroused nipples and sometimes he sucked on them very intensely. It was painful, but it was that kind of pain that only excited you more. Freya moaned and her muscles twitched every time he bit her nipples again. She could feel her arousal running hot down her thighs. She wanted him so badly. It didn't matter if he was an animal, a demon, or an Astartes.

In her world existed for this moment only her body, which burned from the inside out and this phallus, which promised her redemption for her torment.

Had it been the same for Brunhild? She had not been able to speak to her for long before Ishmael had led her and the others away. He had had that mad look he always had when there were new experiments to be done.

She bit her lower lip and looked down where a Wulfen was feasting on her breasts. He released her hand and brought his second paw down to her thigh. His claws dug lightly into her soft skin as he gripped her tighter. His muzzle moved slowly from her breasts down over her belly. She put her free hand on his head and without having any control over it herself she pushed it further down. Her breathing was rapid, always interrupted by short moans or short cries when Ivar touched her in sensitive places. She braced herself for what would happen next, but nothing could have ever prepared her for what happened next.

In one fluid motion, Ivar first ran his tongue over her folds only to penetrate her afterwards.

"Haaaaa… nnnghh… Oh my… it's so long…"

It escaped from her. Her legs threatened to give out, but Ivar held her upright while he drank his fill of her. Her hand buried itself in the fur on his head and her legs trembled. Ivar was merciless. Again and again he licked her lips and again and again he penetrated her. She tasted delicious. Sweet, sour, salty and a hint of stern. He tasted every nook and cranny, every fold and every milimeter of her sex. When he set his sights on her pleasure button it was all over for her. He circled her clitoris and took it between his lips and sucked on it.

Freya had her eyes closed and was curled up over the Wulfen. Her muscles no longer obeyed her and the sounds she made were only partially human. But when the Wulfen bit into her clitoris, it pushed her over the edge. She opened her eyes and reared up against the beast. Pushing through her back, she screamed her orgasm into the container and nearly tore a clump of fur from the head of the Wulfen beneath her. Her muscles twitched and quivered as Ivar continued to hold her down. He drank all the juices she provided and only when her violent twitching subsided did he slowly let go of her.

When he pulled his muzzle out from between her thighs it was dripping wet and he licked his lips with relish. He looked up at her. She was breathing heavily and continued to hold onto his head. His smile was back first, hers followed as she looked past his muzzle to his throbbing member.

Freya swallowed. This would now be a much more difficult task. To relieve the Wulfen by giving him a hand job was one thing, to surrender to him and agree to a cunnilingus was something else, but to corpulate with him was on a whole new level. His size alone would push her to her limits. Ivar allowed no resistance. His paws gripped her pelvis and forced her to her knees. She braced herself on his shoulders as she gave in to his urging. When the tip of his manhood touched her, she once again briefly revolted. Ivar looked into her eyes. She had fear written all over her face. His eyes seemed like deep, calm mountain lakes. Infinitely deep, blue and full of peace. They seemed to say, "Don't be afraid, everything will be fine, trust me…" She continued to brace herself against his paws, but she had no chance, his strength far exceeded hers. He didn't even seem to be straining as he pushed her further down onto his phallus. As his tip penetrated her, her breath caught. The sensation of being stretched and filled in this way was overwhelming. Her eyes widened and she forced herself to keep breathing. It was not so much the pain that threatened to overwhelm her, it was a mixture of pain, excitement, lust and desire. Ivar growled softly while, after a brief moment of pause, he continued to impale her body on himself. Tears came to Freya's eyes and her breathing went in short uncontrolled bursts. She gritted her teeth and tried to relax, but her body resisted this uninvited intrusion. She shook her head and tried lightly slapping Ivar's shoulders, unable to form meaningful words. Ivar paused and tilted his head. The feeling of his member enclosed by her, the pulsing of her muscles around him was glorious, it had to be for her too. Her sister had enjoyed it, after all. At least later… Freya's face was contorted.

"M-my L-lord… please… chance…"

Tears rolled down her face and her voice seemed pressed. She clawed at the fur of his shoulders and pressed against his paws. Ivar waited, but as Freya looked pleadingly at him and continued to struggle against him, he gave a little. He allowed her to stretch her knees a bit and thus lift herself a bit off his phallus. The relief in her eyes was clear. She gasped and swallowed hard. Ivar remained unmoved and continued to hold her captive in his grip.

"… j-just one… one mo-moment… my lord…"

Freya pressed out, frantically trying to relax her muscles and let herself go with his size. She knew that Astartes were not necessarily known for their patience, and Ivar and his Pack could hardly be called more civilized than one of the Astartes of the Order. She was already glad that he had not simply imposed his power and will. She was well aware that he could kill her just by performing the sexual act. Her breathing slowly calmed and she noticed her muscles slowly adjusting. She swallowed again and looked down at herself.

"… My lord… let me be of service to you… let me set the pace…"

Ivar looked to her and his eyes narrowed. Freya became frightened. Had she angered him? Had she undermined his authority? She was about to apologize when Ivar visibly relaxed and closed his eyes. Nodding slowly, he opened his paws, maintaining contact with her hips, but it was more of a supporting than a holding. Opening his eyes, he looked deeply into hers.

*… well slave, then move or I will move you…*

There was a certain good nature in his gaze but she was well aware that she must not strain it. She began to move with trembling knees. Carefully she slid up and down along his member. Slowly she tried to take in more of his length.

It was quite painful, but now that she controlled the movement and could thus determine how far she wanted to take this trial, it slowly began to feel good. She hadn't had a lot of experience before encountering Ivar, and none of it was even remotely comparable to the Wulfen who was about to stake her. She moaned out each time she allowed him to penetrate her deeper. Each time he filled her more. Would she even be able to take him all the way inside her? She tried to breathe in time with her movements, exhaling with each penetration and inhaling with each lift of her hips. An initially slow but steady rhythm developed. Ivar joined in with her. His pleasurable growl grew a little louder with each time he slid into her shallows. Each time her hips lowered onto him he gripped a little tighter and guided her movement down a little further. She leaned forward and rested her head on his shoulder, her moans muffled by his fur. Her hands dug harder into his shoulders as she increased the pace. It was a divine feeling. Her insides pulsed around his member and each time she seemed to pull him deeper inside her. He could feel a pressure in his guts that was slowly but steadily increasing, it was hard not to just let himself go, but to let the little woman take control. When she stood back up she was drenched in sweat, and her breasts were bouncing in time with her movements. When Ivar looked up at her face, the expression on her face was radically different. She had given herself over to pleasure without restraint, and the pain was no longer a pain to her, it had given way to a lust, a lust for more….

"… Deeper my Lord…"

She moaned as she let herself fall deeper onto his shaft. The sensation of advancing so suddenly into her depths caught him completely off guard. Ivar could feel a resistance as he pushed deeper. It was as if he was hitting a wall. They had reached the end of her love tunnel and with each thrust he rammed his member against her cervix. There was a fire burning in her eyes.

"… Yes… yesss… just like that… faster…"

It was not so much a permission, it was not a request, it was an order. Ivar, in his eagerness, was only too happy to comply and helped her efforts with his brute strength. She let go of his shoulders and reached for her breasts. With all her strength she squeezed, pulled and massaged her breasts, literally screaming her pleasure to the room as she continued to ride his lance.

Her colleagues had backed away. They had not expected anything like this. While Sister Ingrid had retreated to the back corner and prayed to the God-Emperor, her other colleague at least tried to document the event as best she could.

Ivar had bared his teeth and his breath came in short gasps accompanied by a grunt. He felt Freya building more and more tension in her muscles and her movements became more and more uncontrolled. When she let go of her breasts and held onto Ivar's head, deep red handprints were visible on them. That would leave marks. She pulled his head towards her and pressed it against her chest.

"… lick me… devour me…"

She screamed while her knees finally gave in to the effort and Ivar had to carry her entire weight. He began to frenetically lick her breasts and it was unspeakably difficult for him not to actually bite into them. He could feel that she was close and so he tried to increase his efforts a bit more. He was about to explode as well.

"… haa… haa… hnnn…"

She writhed above him and he felt it rising inside him. He tensed his muscles, trying to drag it out a little longer. At that moment Freya jerked violently on top of him, her spasms so strong they almost hurt him. Her legs kicked out completely uncontrollably and her fingers clenched around his ears, digging her fingernails into them. At the same time a soundless scream left her lungs and for a moment it seemed as if her heart would stop. Everything around her brightened and her brain shut down. At the same time, Ivar released his tension and came violently inside her. He pulsed several times in her and kept her firmly anchored on his member. He could feel his semen being pressed past him to the outside. It ran burning hot down his member and formed a small puddle between his legs. The feeling spread in waves inside him and a pleasant warmth filled him. Only now did he notice the dead weight on his shoulders. Freya had lost consciousness. But Ivar could clearly hear her heartbeat and he could feel her hot breath on his neck. Carefully, he lifted her off him. The slapping of his manhood as it flopped limply on the throne was accompanied by a wet sound as the excess of his seed dripped out of her. Ivar leaned back and laid the young woman on his chest. Her expression reflected complete relaxation and bliss.

She was completely relaxed, everything around her seemed meaningless. The light that surrounded her was glaringly bright, but still it did not seem to blind her. Was this what was referred to in ancient writings as "Le petit mort", as "the little death"? If so, she was in favor of experiencing it more often. But the feeling did not last long, the light grew dimmer and had the feeling of falling. Just before she regained consciousness, it was as if she could hear a distant voice. It was sweet, engaging, but also demanding.

"Not enough… more…"

But that was all she could hear. When she opened her eyes, she was overcome by an incredible longing. She wanted to experience the feeling again, she needed more. It had to become more intense. She looked around. Her colleague was still standing nearby, typing furiously on her datasheet. She couldn't see Sister Ingrid. What she could see was a huge gray Wulfen looking down at her with a very satisfied expression on his face. His tongue was hanging out of the side of his snout and his breathing was in quiet, deep puffs. She could hear his double heartbeat, which had already completely calmed down. She lifted her arm and placed it on his cheek. She closed her eyes for a moment and with a slight moan she tried to squeeze some more of his semen out of her. When she opened her eyes again and the high slowly subsided, the afterpains began. She had put her body through a lot. Her abdomen felt like someone had been at it with a steam hammer. Ivar looked down at Freya. She had put up a good fight, but she would definitely need a break. When he looked around, his Packmembers were standing in the entrance of the container along with a completely shocked fourth servant. This situation needed explanation. He left Freya in the capable hands of her colleagues and stood up. There was quite a bit of evidence sticking to him and it was also completely clear that denying what had happened was completely impossible. He took a deep breath and then signaled to his Pack.

"She started it… I am innocent…"

It took a moment, but when the penny dropped, his Pack burst out laughing. It was a rough mixture of growling, barking and howling. Ivar rolled his eyes and made a hustling gesture, followed by some signs.

"Get out of here, I have to finish something here."

The grins on his Packmembers' faces were indescribable and one of his Brothers countered:

"Oh I think you've finished them off enough, leave some for us."

Ivar tilted his head. They weren't wrong, he had had his fun. Several times. They hadn't. But that wasn't the point now.

"You'll get your chance if you don't push it, but there's something I need to do here."

His posture changed subtly, but noticeably.

"And… now… out!"

The fun was over. Instantly. His Pack nodded and silently left the container. Ivar turned to the sisters, who were still tending to Freya. She was uninjured, in the broadest sense. She probably wouldn't be walking for the next hour, and definitely wouldn't be carrying out any examinations, but otherwise she was fine physically. Mentally was another matter. She kept talking about a person who was thirsty, or something like that, and she really wanted to see Ivar again. Ivar and his divine appendage. Yes, that one too, but she clearly meant the other one.

Ivar crouched down next to the sisters and looked at the little woman, who began to smile as the Wulfen came into her field of vision.

"My angel…"

She purred and extended a hand to him.

"… Take me again… now…"

Her voice sounded strangely transfigured. Ivar looked to the other nurses.

"She will be fine, her symptoms correspond to those of Sister Brunhild, only stronger. My lord, I do not wish to appear rude, but we would like to refrain from this last activity. We are aware that we must take samples, and we will do our utmost to make this as efficient and satisfying as possible for your Pack, but this…"

Sister Ingrid pointed to Freya….

"… This here we cannot answer for. There are only four of us."

Ivar nodded, he could understand that. He would explain it to his Pack.

Of course, Ivar's Pack wasn't exactly happy about the fact that he had had all the fun, was allowed to break one of the sisters, and now they had to refrain to the scraps he had left over. But they finally accepted it. Nonetheless, at least some of what he'd had was also given to them. But perhaps in the course of the journey one or the other opportunity would arise. When finally all the samples had been collected and all the Wulfen were considered at least fundamentally satisfied, the individual parties went to rest. For the sisters, a lumen sphere burned the longest. Sister Ingrid took care of Sister Freya for a long time, who seemed to be slow to catch herself.

Warp travel was never easy. Venturing into the heart of enemy territory in hopes of sailing through unobserved was a challenge to the dark forces even in the best of cases. But it was the only chance to get from one star system to another in any way. Even the Eldar, with their net ways and portals, traveled through the warp. Albeit in "safer" ways. The Russ' Suspicion was protected from the direct influences of the Warp and the demons within it, thanks to their Geller Field, but the indirect, psionic influences of being in that dimension for an extended period of time, those could never be completely ruled out. The Empire had its own method of keeping these influences to a minimum. Unnecessary personnel were usually put in stasis, needed personnel were constantly bombarded with litanies of purification and propaganda. Furthermore, the clerics were constantly on the way and cleansed the ship with incense and blessed the crew incessantly . So that the unholy influences of the warp could not gain a foothold in the inhabitants of the Russ' Suspicion. This may have seemed a bit excessive to outsiders, but anyone who had ever experienced an incursion by the forces of chaos into a space as cramped as a space cruiser and the unimaginable carnage that resulted was sure that these measures were only just enough, if at all. The warp journey to the Furia system would only take about 2 weeks, provided the currents of the warp were kind to the Russ' Suspicion, but 2 weeks of nightmares and constant whispers into one's subconscious could seem like an eternity.

The Astartes of the Order were unimpressed by these inspirations. On the one hand they slept only little, on the other hand their spirit was strengthened by the decades of the indoctrination in the Order against this kind of the seduction. With the normal mortals, however, it was a different story. Even on these short voyages it was the rule that the crew suffered "casualties". Slaves going mad, lowly crew members committing suicide or attacking their comrades were not uncommon. There were usually never so many that there was a real danger, but it happened and it was every time anew a wake-up call that the journeys through the warp were journeys into the heart of madness. The Eye of Terror did not bear its name without reason.

It was in the second week when it happened. Shortly before they were to break back into real space. The captain of the Russ' Suspicion had announced that the journey had been pleasantly quick, without major incidents, in calm currents, and that he expected to be able to re-enter real space in about 12 hours at the edge of the Furia system. Ivar and his Pack had used the last 10 days intensively to train in the training cages with their weapons. Even without the support of the power armor, their movements were so fast and powerful that after a short time they stopped training with training servitors because they were no longer a challenge. Now they hit each other with training weapons. The servants of Ishmael stood on the ranks and documented the training progress of the Wulfen exactly. They had also watched the other Astartes of the Order train so that they would have a comparison when they observed the training sessions of the Wulfen. The speed, brutality of blows, and sheer relentlessness in combat was comparable in both groups. What was not comparable at all was the style. While the Astartes defended attacks with partially refined parries and with the aid of their armor in order to be able to aim into the opponent's weak points afterwards, Ivar and his Pack fought with a ferocity all their own. They didn't care about their own safety, it was all about taking out the enemy as quickly and brutally as possible. They accepted injury if it meant inflicting a fatal hit on the opponent. This nihilistic view did not surprise the spectators. After all, the point of this atonement was to die in battle. None of the Wulfen would survive the coming battle, and with their death in battle they would restore their honor and, if Russ wished, ascend to Vallhalla to celebrate with him until Judgment Day.

In the ranks were three of the sisters. Sister Ingrid and two of her colleagues, Sister Freya had remained in the camp. Her condition had taken on partly bizarre features during the last days of the journey. Sister Ingrid had already communicated with the frigate's medical staff. They disagreed on what had caused this totally unnatural addiction to constant sexual stimulation, but one did not rule out an influence from the warp. It would subside as soon as they were back in real space, that had been the statement of the head of the apothecarium. It had been difficult to keep Freya from attacking the artificers in her madness, or from repeatedly… for lack of another more appropriate word: mating with the Wulfen… But even without these attempts at sexual gratification, Freya had begun to find ever more bizarre devices for these activities. Sister Ingrid and the others had resorted to tying her up when they were not present to stop her if necessary.

In cargo hold 3, Freya was lying in the sisters' container. She had managed to free herself from the restraints. First she had satisfied herself several times with the help of her fingers. But this had already not been enough days ago to give her the satisfaction she needed now. It helped for a short time to clear her head enough to think about other possibilities. She had finally entered the artificer's container and had looked around for one or more tools. When she finally found what she was looking for, she returned to the sisters' container with her loot. She knelt on one of the mattresses in the sleeping corner of the container and spread the assortment of "borrowed" tools in front of her. Besides some long, thin tools that were probably meant to open fasteners and screws hidden deep inside a workpiece, there were two hammers of various sizes and a spare part for one of the Wulfen's armors in front of her. She wasn't quite sure how she would use the implements, but they all seemed suitable for her purposes in some way. She ran her hand over the handle of the one hammer. It was slightly curved and its diameter was comfortable. One would be able to hold it very well by the head while using the handle… She reached for the tool and lay down. She didn't wait long but drove the handle between her thighs. Just touching her nether regions already caused small flights of fancy, but that wasn't enough. It had to be more. More intense. She rubbed the handle of the hammer over her private parts a few times until it was nice and wet and slippery, then she sought the entrance. In a slow but flowing motion, she inserted the hammer inside herself. It felt wonderful. It was hard, "hammer hard" so to speak, but it was also cold… The cold would soon go away, already she could feel her own heat warming the steel of the handle. Quickly she started to fuck herself with the hammer.

"Haaa… hmmm… yes… faster…"

She was talking to herself, but her voice sounded strangely alien. There was something in it. Like an echo. It sounded demanding. Freya complied with the request. She increased the tempo. Smacking sounds rang out from her center as she continued to thrust the handle of the hammer into herself over and over again. She began to moan. Yes the feeling wasn't bad, it was clearly better than using her fingers. But it wasn't enough. It wouldn't give her "the" satisfaction she needed. It demanded more. She looked at the other tools with tears in her eyes. Without interrupting her efforts, she reached for the second hammer. Its hammer head was much larger and the handle had a larger circumference and the end was grooved for a better grip. She gritted her teeth and pulled the first hammer from her vagina. She dragged her hand over the slippery handle and transferred as much of the lubricant to the new hammer as she could. She was breathing heavily, but her moans sounded more angry than strained. As if it wasn't happening fast enough.

She knelt down and placed the hammer between her knees. The handle protruded a good 40 centimeters into the air. Hectically she positioned herself above the handle and settled down on it. The feeling was clearly more intense and the handle filled her more.

"Hnnn… huuu… yesss… exactly… very good…"

She bared her teeth and sucked in a sharp breath while moving up and down on the handle. This was more like what she needed. She increased the pace and something inside her demanded that she sit lower. The pain she was inflicting on herself only increased her arousal. She bit her lip until she tasted her own blood. Her moans filled the container and soon the storage room.

"Yessss… Yessss… more… I need more…"

While she bounced up and down, she kneaded her breasts. Her fingernails dug into the soft tissue of her breasts and in one place or another blood had already flown. Her eyes fell on the first hammer and a desire grew in her. Her mind bristled but her flesh was weak. She paused for a moment and fished for the hammer. Holding it in her hands, she slowly slid on the shaft of the other while caressing the first. Lovingly she licked its shaft and sucked on its head.

*No… no… God Emperor no…*

But her body no longer obeyed her.

"This is going to be a feast…"

Her voice now no longer sounded like her. The echo that had previously punctuated her own voice now prevailed and the desire within it was strong.

Freya placed the hammer behind the other and shifted her body a little. The end of the handle was now right on her anus. She shook her head and opened her mouth, but instead of her scream, only a voluptuous moan escaped her as she sat down. The feeling of now being penetrated from both sides was overwhelming. Tears streamed down her face and her mind pounded behind her eyes against the golden rods that kept it from gaining control of her body.

"Yes… Yehehehehesss… just like that… don't fight it… hnnn… you wanted it that way…"

The voice almost rolled over as she picked up the pace again and the smacking sound between her thighs joined her moans again. She reached for her breasts again. She gripped so tightly that the tissue that welled up between her fingers turned blue.

"Enjoy the pain… pain is pure… to feel pain, is to live…"

Laughed the voice. Freya's eyes snapped open and she screamed a completely inhuman scream. Her eyes began to glow purple and parts of her tattoos seemed to melt.

"Haaaaaahahahaaa… you didn't think those embarrassing runes would protect you, did you? Not here! Not in my realm!"

Her fingernails grew longer and pierced the skin on her breasts. Red hair began to sprout on her head. And her voice became even shriller.

"She who thirsts has taken over your body… give yourself to her. Do not resist and I will take you to a world of excess where every day, every hour, every moment you will experience bliss and torment like you have never experienced before."

Her tongue lengthened and split at the end. She licked her blood from her breasts and raised both arms to the ceiling, never having stopped the undulating movement of her hips on both hammers.

Ivar and his Pack were on their way back to the storeroom. They would once again hand over their weapons and armor to the artificers and once again find rest before landing in the Furia system. After that, their final battle would begin. It was necessary to find oneself again before this battle and to conclude with everything. But it did not come to that.

When they opened the doors to the hold, they could already hear the unnatural sounds coming from the sisters' container. Before Ivar could react, the sisters were already on their way there. The Wulfen followed them, but at some distance, their weapons already drawn for battle. Ivar and his brothers had fought many enemies before and knew that voice no longer belonged to Sister Freya, it no longer belonged to any human. The cry of horror as the sisters reached the door of the container was only a final confirmation of what the Wulfen already knew.

Without a single command to do so, the brothers fanned out and readied themselves for battle. Ivar gripped his axes tighter and placed his thumbs on the activation rune. The three sisters backed away as a purple glow spread through the container and a clearly non-human voice muttered something about sheep, slaughter, and lust. The eight Wulfen had almost completely surrounded the container when the door of the metal box was literally ripped off its hinges. The sisters crawled backward toward the Wulfen as what had once been Freya exited the container. The Deamonette was significantly larger than Freya had been and her chest was adorned with six breasts. Her head was framed by horns and red hair and her feet were deformed into claws.

She held the door of the container over her head and just flung it aside.

"Oooohh a man… well… more like a cock carrier."

Her voice was shrill but somehow flattering. But she sounded disparaging.

"Say… is it you who made poor little Freya call me?"

She ran both hands lasciviously over her body as she said this.

"You know, if you hadn't given her such a damn good time, I probably wouldn't have come at all."

Her amazingly long tongue ran around one of her breasts before disappearing back into her grimace with a "slurp". Ivar's eyes narrowed. He knew full well that this was only meant to unnerve him into giving himself the nerve of a rash attack. His brothers were ready, as was he.

"Oooh… hmmmm… yaaa… I can still feel her in here…"

The creature grabbed her head.

"… She would never admit it, but she still wants you… how about it?"

She performed an inviting gesture and opened her legs a bit.

Then everything happened very quickly. One of Ivar's brothers shot forward. Of course the demon noticed this and turned to him, at that moment all the other Wulfen also shot forward and attacked. It was one of Ivar's brothers who finally separated Freya's head from her body with a masterful blow.

As her body sank lifelessly to the floor and her head hit the floor of the hold several meters away with a hollow sound, the atmosphere in the room changed noticeably. It seemed as if the light changed and the temperature dropped noticeably. Not that it had been warm in the hold before, but now it was downright icy. Ivar's Pack backed away from the corpse and positioned themselves in a defensive line, the sisters crouched near Ivar, who slowly turned on his own axis to keep an eye on all sides.

Then they heard a downright demonic laugh.

"Mwuahahaaaa… Do you cockroaches really think something like that will stop me…?"

Ivar's head snapped around to look at Freya's severed head, which slowly lifted off the ground and floated in midair. The neck stump glowed purple, the hair stood electrified.

"… I am the emissary of Slaneesh… my master thirsts… and she will feast…"

The engines in Ivar's axes howled as he pressed the activation runes. Baring his teeth, he sprang toward the head. His brothers whirled around and saw Freya's body rise. Dodging his blows with incredible precision, Freya's head laughed in a demonic voice. Freya's body was not so lucky. Ivar's brothers hacked the corpse to pieces and were bathed in unholy blood. Ivar continued to pursue the head, which continued to dodge his blows, laughing histerically.

"… hahahahaa… yes come wolfie… jump… spend yourself… I want to bathe in your despair… I want to purify myself in your wrath and feast on your lust for battle… Ohooo almost hit… but close is also over."

Taunting the Wulfen, the disembodied head hovered ever so slightly out of reach in front of Ivar. Neither of them heard the cargo bay doors open again. The head was about to launch into another tirade when a single shot rang out and the head literally exploded. Even as the individual pieces rained to the ground, a distorted voice was already sounding:

"What's going on?"

It was one of the Astartes of their Order who accompanied the transport. He slowly lowered his bolter while his companion unlocked the flamer and set fire to the remains of Freya's corpse. Ivar paused and slowly turned to face the two Astartes. His Pack were already on their knees. The sisters were close to panic, watching in horror as the remains of their sister danced in the flames.

"Explain yourselves…!"

Thundered the first Astartes and raised his bolter again. The second Astartes pointed his flamer at the sisters. Ivar sank to one knee and signaled the need to speak. It grew colder still in the hold, despite the prometheum fire in which Freya's body burned. The demon's voice returned. This time it sounded from everywhere and nowhere.

"Oooohohohoo… So you think just because you killed the host, my power is broken?"

The tattoos on Sister Ingrid's body began to glow and her muscles tensed. Her sisters looked to Ingrid with widened eyes, but before they could do anything else, the Astartes pulled the trigger of the flamer. All three women were instantly enveloped in flames. Their screams lasted only a short time. The demon's laughter, on the other hand, remained in the air. Ivar bared his teeth, he knew he was powerless for the moment, if he stood up now the Astartes would probably just kill him and his Pack too.

Then the ship's siren sounded and the loudspeaker announced the crossing of the Russ' Suspicion into real space. All at once the demonic presence was gone. In the real space he was powerless. The manifestation of demonic energy in real space required far more than a few perversities and a certain inclination. Now the heat of the flames was also palpable. It was a reminder of what had happened moments ago. The Astartes stepped forward and lowered their weapons.

"Rise ... Brothers."

The voice sounded strangely distorted, as usual through the vox grid of the helmets. But something else resonated. Ivar and his Pack rose. There was sorrow and anger in Ivar's gaze at the four bodies still burning. He knew that the Astartes had done the right thing, but it was still a shame. Especially since they had died for nothing. The demon had gotten away scot-free. Ivar knew they couldn't kill a demon anyway, but they hadn't even been able to banish it. His jaws ground and his teeth gritted.

"Could you explain this to me?"

The Astartes with the bolter let his hand roam over the chaos in the hold.

"How could this happen?"

Ivar shook his head and began to form with his hands the ancient signs with which they could communicate in battle. He tried to explain that Sister Freya had been showing strange symptoms for several days, that the sisters were taking care of it, and that the ship's medics thought it would go away as soon as they left the warp.

The Astartes nodded silently and looked to the Sisters' container.

"Seal it, I know Brother Ishmael will want to examine it, but we will have to isolate it."

The Astartes looked around as if he searched for something.

"Where are the artificers, anyway?"

Ivar looked around and shrugged his shoulders. It took a while for the Astartes to turn back to the Wulfen.

"We will arrive in about 12 hours. The orbit around Furia is contested. The greenskins are not yet defeated. Our troops will be used in boarding raids. Get ready, you will be dropped on the planet by drop pod. The artificers will be brought to you as soon as we find them."

With these words, the Astartes turned and left the hold. Ivar looked to his Pack, all of whom were gazing into the flames. This was not a good sign for the battle ahead. Frustrated, he kicked away a stool that sailed far through the hold before smashing against the container of the Wulfen.

Ivar put his head back and howled his frustration in the cargo hold. It was a long, loud, wailing howl. He had failed again. It was good that the battle was coming. Then, at last, he could pay his debt and put an end to this disgrace. His Pack looked over at him silently. Not that they weren't frustrated too, but they didn't want to let their feelings go so easily. Ivar looked over at them and signaled:

"I need help."

One of his brothers approached him.

"The runes need to be renewed."

His Packmambers nodded. They went to the sisters' container and searched for something with which to cut the sacred runes into the Wulfen's skin. When they found a suitable knife, they let the blade glow in the flames of the burning corpse.

Ivar's brother Brannan began to carve the runes of atonement into the Wulfen's back. It was a painful process. This was deliberate. The pain was part of the atonement and was meant to cleanse the sinner before he could repent for his actions. It took quite a while and Ivar's brother had to reheat the blade several times before he was done. It smelled like burnt fur and burnt skin. The stench mixed with the stench of the promethium and burning corpses. Ivar inhaled it deeply. It would remind him of his failure.

When the bodies slowly extinguished and Ivar with his Pack had almost restored the hold to order, the gate opened and the artificers entered the room. Shock was written all over their faces. They had already learned through the crew what had happened. They had gone to the black market to run some errands.

"My lords."

Began Hendrik as he approached.

"We have little time. I have been able to find a few odds and ends that should strengthen your fighting ability against the enemy."

When Ivar look at him with a stonecold stare, Hendrik looked around the room.

"Yes, I see it that way too. It's a shame, but we don't have time to worry about it. We have things to do."

He explained as he spread out a blanket and presented his loot there.

He had been able to find stronger motors for the chain axes and better chains. The power packs for the energy claws were better too. Those would hold more Energy and release it quicker, giving the Edges more cutting power. Just in the case, the Wulfen would face armored resistance. There were still a few small upgrates for the armor. It would be close, but they would make it before the drop pods were loaded. The Wulfen approached and presented their blood-soaked weapons.

The Furia system was not a really special system. The planets did not hold any special resources or other militarily important factories. But they were located on one of the few stable warp routes in this quadrant. Therefore it was important that they were under the control of the Empire. Furia, the only habitable planet in the system, had fallen victim to the Orks some time ago. A comparatively small Waaaargh, but since the planet's PDF forces were neither well equipped nor numerous, they were overrun almost instantly. The SOS was picked up, but the mills of the Administratum ground slowly as always, and so it took years for the Astra Militarum to even respond, and the planet was already hopelessly lost by the time the Imperial Guard arrived.

The battles for the planet continued for almost a year now and there was still no victory in sight. Since Furia was the only habitable planet in the system, an Exterminatus was refrained from, because the planet should remain habitable. So the greenskins had to be defeated the old-fashioned way.

A cruel, brutal, bloodthirsty and long lasting ground campaign, against an enemy that counted several billions, constantly multiplied and reveled in it the harder the battle was fought. In orbit, a space war was going on at the same time, which was fought just as hard as the war on the ground. The orcs kept building new spaceships, partly from the space debris of the destroyed spaceships. They built them so quickly that the Imperial Fleet was almost unable to keep up with the destruction.

After a year of intense fighting, it was decided to ask for help from the Order to at least get control of the orbit so that they could better support the ground forces from the air.

While the Astartes of the Order would be used primarily in the orbital battles, the Wulfen would provide ground support in the offensive. Ivar and his Pack would be flung into the middle of the battle via drop-pod. Deployment via drop-pod was a specialty of the Astartes. Normal mortals would not even survive this type of drop. It took the physics of the Astartes to survive the high G-forces in the first place.

During the drop assault, the drop pods were loaded with up to eight Astartes in power armor and then dropped from high orbit onto the planet. During the drop, the pods were usually further accelerated by rocket engines, and it was not uncommon for them to fall toward the ground at speeds of Mach 14. This ensured that most air defense guns could not target the pods. Brake missiles were fired only shortly before impact to make the impact survivable, at least in theory. Often several pods were dropped, sometimes even automated weapon platforms that first created a kind of landing zone by being equipped with several synchronized heavy bolters and after the unbraked impact simply unloaded their magazines into everything that was in the vicinity of the pod.

This would not be the case this time. Ivar and his Pack would be launched in a single pod into the middle of the front line and from there they would leave a trail of destruction, distracting the enemy to allow the Imperial Guard to advance. They would lay down their lives in the process, restoring their honor.

As Ivar and his Pack walked through the narrow corridors of the Russ' Suspicion, sirens sounded all around them. The Russ' Suspicion was in combat. The hustle and bustle of the crew moving into battle positions and arming all the strategic nodes of the ship was an all too familiar sight for the Wulfen. They had already been in countless space battles. Not only their crew could send boarding parties. The greenskins were very well able to do so as well. They would not make it easy for the orcs if they dared to set foot on this ship.

The ship was shaken. Impacts of the orcs' crude weapons, too slow to be intercepted by the ship's shields. The sounds of defensive batteries trying to catch incoming projectiles filled the corridors. The high-pitched screech of the Russ' Suspicion’s lances made the lighting flicker. It was a heated battle. The captain did not rely on finesse or sophisticated tactics. Such things did not help with the orcs. Sheer strength and superiority counted here.

Ivar turned off the main corridor and stood in a sparsely lit room. In front of him stood a drop-pod. The blue-gray paint had been mostly scraped off by countless missions, the underside blackened from repeated re-entries into the atmosphere. The crew was just putting the finishing touches on it.

"Drop-pod fueled, target region locked in, coordinates confirmed… Please board, my lords."

Was the brief feedback from the officer at the drop pod control panel. Ivar and his Pack boarded the drop-pod. The harnesses had been modified to accommodate them. The standard harnesses would no longer work, since they were not wearing standard armor. When they were straped down tightly, the sides of the drop-pod closed and the explosive bolts locked. The speaker inside came crackling to life.

"Load secured. Pod ready to drop. Airlocks opening."

The mechanical whir of the drop mechanism could be heard loudly. They could feel the drop pod being lifted into the airlock. Then the drone as the airlock closed over the drop pod. After that, silence fell as the atmosphere in the airlock was pumped down.

"Drop in ten seconds."

Read the sober statement from the loudspeaker. The muffled sounds still transmitted to the drop-pod by the vibrations of the mechanism indicated the opening of the outer airlock. Ivar took a breath and closed his eyes. Even though he, like all the other Astartes of the Order, was downright addicted to the chaos of the battlefield, he didn't like dropping in via drop-pod. Too little control over what was happening, and relying on a servitor's calculations when it came to getting the brothers safely into battle was not always comforting.

At that moment, the retaining clips were released and the drop-pod shot off. Ivars brother Bannan howled his excitement into the drop-pod and the other members of the Pack joined in. Within seconds, the Russ' Suspicion was so far away that it was completely lost in the throng of the space battle. The planet below them, on the contrary, was approaching so fast that it was frightening. As the drop-pod hit Furia's atmosphere, the rocket engines fired, accelerating the pod against the denser atmosphere. The Wulfen were pressed into their harnesses as the pod sped toward the ground. The drop-pod was shaken tremendously. The continuous roar and screech of the rocket engines were gradually joined by other sounds as the atmosphere became dense enough to transmit noise. Whenever a flak shell exploded near the pod, it was jolted and the eight occupants could feel the blast.

"ETA 15 seconds."

Came the announcement from the loudspeaker. Ivar gritted his teeth in about 12 seconds the retrorockets would ignite and they would be subjected to a short term stress of almost 25Gs. It was not uncommon for Astartes to break vertebrae during these landings. Only the power armor kept them operational. Ivar and his Pack, however, did not wear power armor.

"ETA 10 seconds."

At that moment, a violent explosion rocked the drop-pod and one of the side walls was blown off the pod. Ivar caught a brief glimpse outside.

Below them was a battlefield that stretched all the way to the horizon. Explosions flashed everywhere and dense black smoke lay over the entire land. The entire ground appeared as a billowing mass of bodies. These had to be billions and billions of greenskins.

*By Russ… this is impossible…*

Was his thought. Then the retrorockets ignited. The deceleration was so hard and fast that Ivar lost consciousness for a moment. When the drop-pod hit the ground, in the midst of the orcs, it buried a complete mob under itself and the shock wave swept the orcs within a radius of almost 20 meters off their feet. Then the explosive bolts were detonated and the sides of the drop-pod were opened to the sides with explosive force. The sides had not yet touched the ground when Ivar and his Pack already charged onto the battlefield.

Their howls drowned out the sounds of battle in the surrounding area, and for the first split second they met no resistance. The chain axes screeched and tore their way through the completely surprised orcs. When the moment of shock passed, the howls of the Wulfen were joined by the roars of the orcs.

"Waaaaaaargh…"

Was the universal response as the orcs threw themselves at the Wulfen. As was customary for orcs, they threw away their shootaz and grabbed their splitaz, pushing into the melee. Ivar and his Pack hacked and slashed, tore and bit their way through one orc after another. The bloodshed was glorious. The ferrous smell of fresh blood, the stench of adrenaline, and the electrifying feeling of living for nothing but battle and death filled Ivar.

And then he pressed the second button on his axe.

Within three heartbeats, the battlefield seemed to explode. His blood burned in his veins and his vision widened. He saw the smells of his enemies, he felt the air movements caused by their weapons, he heard their murderousness and tasted their lust for blood… Within moments, his metabolism accelerated so rapidly that his body was able to consume the energy normally available to it for several days in a few minutes. His howls shrilled across the front line he and his Pack held and he began driving his axes into his opponents at an incredible speed. The teeth of his chain axes didn't even have time to dig into the flesh of his opponents, he pushed the blades through his opponents just like that and shredded them without mercy. He felt no more pain, no more scruples, no more doubts, no more mercy, no more remorse, no more holding back. The only direction was forward. Forward all the time.

Their landing was less than a minute ago and they had already covered over 100 meters, behind them the bifurcated orcs writhed in mortal agony. Ivar and his brothers didn't care. As long as there were victims to kill in front of them, they did not look back. This did not go unnoticed by the orcs. As much as they loved the fight, simply being slaughtered was not the goal.

"Boss… da… da… thingies dere, they're not really fightin'…"

Complained one of the Boys to his Nob, only to get a fist smack.

"Jus' 'cause dem thingies dere is grumpin' the other boyz, don't mean they're gonna grump us too. Gimme dat stickbomb…"

That was just before the wulfen to Ivar's left was ripped apart in an explosion. Ivar didn't even react, but pressed the rune on the hilt of his axe harder as he cut through another row of orcs. When even the death of two more Wulfen by explosions and the sheer superiority of the greenskins could not stop the advance of the rest, the orcs who were in the immediate vicinity of Ivar and his Pack began a panicked retreat.

"Run… Run… if we run away now we can fight again tomorrow…"

Much to the chagrin of their nobs, this panic also made other mobs in the area uneasy and within no time the front line fell apart.

"Do I’s has to do all by meself…"

Cursed one of the larger nobs, brandishing his splita. Ivar met him halfway and threw at him the remains of an orc that he had just ripped the head from his shoulders.

The orc's war cry mingled with the rabid howl of the Wulfen and was accompanied by the screech of his chain axes. The orc's strength was so immense that he managed to knock one of the axes out of Ivar's claws. Ivar countered and severed the orc's hand at the wrist. There was more anger than pain in the greenskin's scream, and the orc took advantage of the moment until Ivar had raised his axe again and rammed the stump into his stomach.

"Silly git, do ya really thin' dat's gonna stop me?"

Saliva flew after Ivar as he took a step back. Ivar shook his head and grinned. The first opponent that was worthwhile.

*Father… do you see me?*

He charged forward again and swung the axe. The screeching of the teeth on the steel of the splita hurt his ears. The orc, like Ivar, seemed to take great pleasure in the duel. Force-wise, the orc was indeed superior, but Ivar was faster and basically unharmed. Most of the blood that caked his fur was not his. Ivar dodged or parried his opponent's powerful blows. The orc's maniacal laughter and the fact that he was able to hold his own against the Wulfen for "so long" showed the other orcs that the battle was not yet lost, and so they redoubled their efforts. Ivar's Pack continued to make up ground, but held back a bit to prevent Ivar from being surrounded.

To make up for his disadvantage in strength, Ivar grabbed his axe two-handed and slammed into the orc's weapon.

"You is strong… but I is stronga…"

Shouted the orc and took another swing with his stump. This was what Ivar had been waiting for, he timed the blow exactly and in the gap created by the attack he led his counterattack. It was not so much a scream as a laugh that escaped the orc as Ivar split him from groin to shoulder. The two halves of the giant opponent fell to the side and Ivar separated the splita from the orc's hand.

Triumphantly, he lifted the orc's oversized, lopsided axe and roared his victory across the battlefield. When his boys saw the death of their leader and saw that his assassin also wanted to wield his weapon against them, they finally took flight. Ivar gave chase for a moment, but the drugs were already wearing off. He looked at the activation rune on the hilt of his axe and pressed it several times, but nothing happened. He felt upward to his neck and found that the tubing was completely shredded. He bared his teeth; in the meantime his death had been closer than he had thought. His Pack stood on the plateau littered with bodies and limbs and weapons, and Ivar joined them. They looked like him. Covered in blood all over, umpteen minor wounds covered their bodies, parts of their armor damaged or gone altogether. Ivar signaled his problem and earned mocking laughter.

"They're fleeing… should we go after them?"

Asked one of the other Wulfen. Ivar shook his head.

"They'll be back…"

A movement in the corner of his eye caught Ivar's attention. An orc cut at the hip was crawling toward them. Laughing wildly, he pulled himself over the bodies of his fallen cronies. His guts had already spread over several meters of the battlefield. He held a large combat knife in his hand and greed burned in his eyes.

"… When I grump you, then I'm da new boss…"

Chuckled the orc as he came closer. Ivar turned to face him. The stab with the knife was easy to parry, Ivar simply kicked it out of his hand. The orc didn't care much, he grabbed Ivar's leg and pulled himself towards him. The look in Ivar's eyes as he activated his chain axe and decapitated the orc was filled with boredom.

Ivar looked off into the distance where the orcs were regrouping. If you could even say that about orcs. When he saw the flash of light, he and his Pack reacted instinctively and scattered.

Where they had just been standing, several artillery shells hit in quick succession.

*This was amazingly accurate for orcs…*

The Wulfen got up, raised their weapons and howled their disobedience to the Orcs. They would not be killed so easily… Not SO easily!

But before they could advance further, or another attack by the orcs could occur, the entire hill that lay before the Wulfen exploded. The thunderous roar of the engines filled the skies above the battlefield as several Thunderhawks raced over Ivar and his Pack. With guns and missiles they harassed the orc forces while another Thunderhawk landed behind the five Wulfen. It was not one of their own. It was black, and the hated mark of the Inquisition was emblazoned on its fuselage. As the side door of the aircraft opened, a man in a far too large coat with a far too impressive officer's cap exited the Thunderhawk. He was accompanied by two Deathcult assassins, and the laffette-mounted heavy bolters of the thunderhawk held the Wulfen in their sights. The Inquisitor headed straight for them, while behind them his squadron made a massacre of the orcs. Ivar sighed and bent his knee. There was no point in resisting. On Fenris, it was different. The Inquisition was reluctant to set foot on their home planet, but everywhere else, an Inquisitor outmatched them. His Pack reluctantly followed his example.

"What abominations the sons of Fenris have let off the leash this time. I would do better to kill you right here and now before you endanger the morale of the troops."

Clamored the inquisitor as he approached. His companions had their weapons raised.

"Get up… get up… it does not behoove you to show weakness to the enemy."

He shouted, and Ivar was only too happy to comply with his request. He stretched to make himself look a little taller. When the Inquisitor was finally with them, the other Wulfen stood around Ivar as well.

"Why are you here? Shouldn't you and your insane Brothers be in orbit keeping the peace? We can take care of ourselves down here just fine. What have you guys been up to, anyway?"

Ivar looked to his Pack, which shrugged their shoulders. Ivar tried the simple signs, but the Inquisitor just looked at him like he was a Grox and there had just been a flash of lightning.

His companion stepped forward and translated for him.

"My lord. These are Astartes of the Order who repent for their failures. They shall fall in battle."

This seemed to interest the inquisitor greatly.

"These are supposed to be Astartes of the Order? Real Astartes? I mean the Sons of Russ are indeed more animal than man. But THESE are not Astartes."

Ivar rolled his eyes and instinctively held back one of his brothers who had already taken a step forward. He began signaling again.

"While cleansing a chaos cult, we were cursed. We are here to repent, as tradition demands."

Translated the assassin.

"Chaos cult… Oh how apt. Probably the same one active in the background here."

The Inquisitor took out a parchment on which a rune was drawn.

"This one?"

Ivar's gaze darkened. He and his Pack nodded slowly.

"Splendid… splendid… You won't find them here. They are further north. We are on our way there, but…"

The inquisitor pointed vaguely in the direction from which the orcs seemed to be coming.

"… This rabble is blocking our way."

Ivar growled and lowered his head. The Inquisitor, however, seemed very amused.

"We can't bring a whole army north, I'm afraid, but now that we have some… how shall I say… expendable… shock troops here…"

He turned to his Thunderhawk and gestured with his finger to follow him.

"… We will give you the opportunity to jump off directly over their temple… The opportunity to thank directly the idiots who got you into this mess. … Eww it's still alive…"

As he passed, the inquisitor drew his bolt pistol and shot an orc that was still twitching. Ivar and his Pack followed the assassins to the Thunderhawk.

Once inside, the door was locked and the engines howled again.

It was cramped in the Thunderhawk. Unlike the Order's Thunderhawks, this one was crammed with technical equipment. Auspex, communications, tactics, everything… a flying operations center for the Inquisitor. Ivar and his Pack stood in the middle of the hold. They reeked of blood, fire and death. Ivar made a mockery of making the crew of the Thunderhawk more and more uncomfortable. First he licked the blood from his lips with relish, then he ran a claw over the rough blade of the splita and sucked the blood from it afterwards. Also his constant subliminal growling and the other noises while he talked to his Pack. All of this caused one of the operators at one of the Auspexes to very slowly lose his nerve.

"Don't do that."

Her voice was as cold as ice. Ivar looked around and one of the assassins came through the hatch leading to the cockpit. Ivar's smile was diabolical, it was accentuated by his blood-covered teeth and the way his eyes seemed to glow in the semi-darkness. She, on the other hand, did not smile. She showed no emotion at all. Her eyes were hidden behind a visor and her mouth was behind a respirator. But her pheromones indicated that she was very much aroused. Ivar nodded slowly and his smile disappeared.

"We will be there soon. The cult is hiding in an old bunker facility of the Astra Militarum. The bunkers were created to withstand orbital bombardment. So we can't attack from orbit. The enemy's formations are too strong for a small strike force. We have requested shock troops, but it may take months for them to arrive. So you have come just in time. We could not ask your fellow Astartes for help, this is a strictly confidential mission. No one knows the cult is here. Except you and us."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"And after this mission, just us."

Ivar's eyes narrowed. You could hear the leather crunching on the hilt of his weapons. The assassin didn't seem impressed. She leaned against the cabin wall.

"Calm down big guy. You do want to die. And we'll get you the best opportunity to go down in glory. And in the absolutely unlikely event you survive, there are an estimated 3 billion orcs spread around the bunker. Go wild."

Ivar's lips curled but he could control himself. There was no honor in killing a Death Cult assassin just because she thought she was something better, and the Inquisitor, as hated as they were, there would be no honor in that either. But to purge the cult, there was a certain honor, or at least satisfaction behind it.

Ivar signaled.

"How are we going to jump off?"

"We'll fly in at about 300 meters. The squadron will clear a landing zone. You'll have about 5 seconds from an altitude of about 50 meters and a speed of about 100 knots. We can't do less than that."

*This is suicide. With jump modules, anytime. In power armor, difficult. Like this…*

Ivar looked to his brothers. They had the same doubt written all over their faces.

"We need chutes."

"Grav chutes are issued only to members of his most holy Inquisition."

Ivar growled.

"You want us to do your dirty work, which you are not capable of, so hand over the chutes."

"I said…"

At that moment, a hand landed on her shoulder.

"… My lovely adjutant was about to say, of course we'll provide our equipment to the honorable Astartes of the Order. After all, it is in our interest that you do as much damage as possible there. Furthermore, this servo-skull will accompany you and provide us with a vidfeed."

The Inquisitor entered the hold and instructed his crew to get the necessary equipment ready.

"We'll be there in about 10 minutes. We expect heavy resistance. Once you're outside, you're on your own. No one knows where you are, no one can help you. You will die there. That much is certain."

He gestured a little in the air.

"But as they always say. Only in death does duty end."

Ivar was boiling inside. He knew again why the Order hated the Inquisition so much. This self-absorption, this arrogance, this open display of assumed moral superiority. If it wouldn't cause massive problems, if it came out that they had an Inquisitor and his entourage on their conscience, an Inquisitor who was about to help them, at least officially, to eliminate a chaos cult…

*Russ would have made short work of them…*

The crew came back carrying five crates. Grav chutes. The Astra-Militarum's answer to the Astartes' jump modules. Less powerful, but it would be enough to bring the Wulfen safely to the ground, even from higher altitudes and at higher speeds. The only problem. The devices were made for normal people. Not for three and a half meter tall killing machines. They would attach them somehow with straps, it would do. It was a one-time thing, just once it had to work, at least halfway.

The result didn't look very confidence inspiring, but it felt solid.

"ETA 20 seconds."

Was the pilot's announcement.

"Black 1 and Black 2 have enemy contact."

The Auspex came beeping to life, providing the operator with all sorts of information.

"We see hardly any air defense, mostly simple armament. They have moved the heavy equipment to the front. The LZ is clear. It's now or never."

The inquisitor went to the side door. And operated the opening mechanism.

"What do you bastards always say? For the all-father, for Russ? For the emperor! Now get out!"

Ivar and his Pack jumped out of the Thunderhawk before he changed his mind and make it clear to the Inquisitor once and for all that their battle cry was reserved for the Astartes of the Order. The fall lasted only a moment before the grav chutes engaged and the Wulfen hit the ground hard but safe in the middle of the landing zone. Even before the grav chutes shut themselves down, Ivar and his brothers were already in full sprint towards the bunker entrance. Ivar howled out his rage and frustration while slaying the few surviving orcs on the way to the bunker. Nothing would stand in their way. Not this time. The massive gates of the shelter had been blown open. The Inquisitor's squadron had done a great job.

When they reached the entrance, Ivar released the servo skull. He would provide the Inquisitor with images, in return he would provide them with more intel as they continued their advance. There were no orcs around the entrance, nor were there any corpses. This was strange, as orcs usually didn't miss a chance to make more loot, or at least find another fight.

The air reeked of burnt plaststeel and explosives. But there was another smell, one that seemed all too familiar to Ivar. He bared his teeth and ran through the gate. There was an almost eerie silence in the entryway. It was as if the noise outside the bunker no longer existed. Ivar slowed down and finally stopped.

"Slow down brothers, something is wrong here."

His Pack also stopped. Ivar turned to the entrance. Although countless orcs had seen them and parts of the army had also followed them to the entrance, not one orc had followed them into the bunker. They were not even visible at the entrance.

"I don't like this. If even the greenskins don't enter here…"

His Pack nodded. This was strange. Ivar sniffed the air. The air smelled foul sweet, a mixture of incense, blood, and decay. The Wulfen gripped their weapons tighter and ran further into the semi-darkness of the bunker. Ivar wondered, the explosion of the gate must have set off countless alarms, why was no one here to defend the entrance? Why was no one coming to stop them? Were they already expecting them?

After about 500 meters they came to an elevator shaft. The doors were open, but there was no car. Ivar leaned into the shaft and looked down. The shaft was deep and disappeared into the darkness. The elevator cables bumbled freely in the shaft. Someone had deliberately crashed the car. Ivar straightened up, one of his Pack signaling that he had found a stairway.

"The bunker has 200 levels. The first 50 should be quarters, followed by storerooms and an arsenal… further down are engine rooms and engineering. I would suggest you start searching from level 30. They'll be deeply entrenched to make sure nothing can get to them from the outside."

Sounded the voice of the inquisitor in Ivar's ear. The vox beat was doing its job, good. Ivar nodded and signaled to his Pack: Down.

They jumped down each flight of stairs. Up to level 25. Here they found the first traces pointing to the cult. Runes and phrases, painted on the walls with red paint… no with blood. Ivar touched the blood and rubbed his fingers against each other. The blood had not coagulated, strange. Ivar opened the door to the level and looked into the corridor behind the door. Absolute silence greeted him. He sniffed, but only the smell of uninhabited, empty rooms hung in the air. Ivar pulled the door shut again and shook his head. They descended further. It was getting noticeably colder now, and the smell of incense was continuously getting stronger. On level 30 a figure disappeared before their eyes after it had renewed the paintings on the wall. But not that it had run away… It had simply vanished into thin air. The stench of sulfur hung in the air for a moment before it was replaced by the now common smell of incense and blood.

"This is worrisome. They have already begun summoning demons. There is no time for you to lose. I will contact the fleet in orbit. This may be out of your league after all."

The inquisitor sounded agitated, but not panicked. Ivar kicked the door off its hinges, but again nothing could be seen or heard. One of his Pack pointed further down. The Wulfen jumped down a few more levels. The influence of the dark forces was very clear here. Besides the runes and phrases on the walls, the first corpses lay here, dissected in a bestial manner.

"Offerings to the powers…"

Ivar nodded silently and glanced at the door. It was slightly open and a whimper could be heard from the corridor. Ivar signaled his Pack for three to stand guard in the stairwell while he entered the corridor with another Wulfen. The walls were smeared with blood and tissue, and the ceiling and floor were completely decorated with runes and phrase. Light flickered in one of the rooms. Ivar gripped his axe tighter and looked to his brother. The latter nodded and posted himself beside the door. Ivar opened the door slowly with the tip of his axe.

The sight that met him in the room was disturbing to say the least. Sitting on a kind of chair made of organic tissue was a… woman… she was completely flayed. Her skin was hanging on a kind of stand behind the chair. The woman whimpered softly while the chair provided her with whatever was necessary to keep her alive, but not to suppress her pain. At the foot of the chair, a small hunchbacked person in a hooded cloak worked on removing individual muscles from her feet. The person examined each muscle thoroughly before placing them neatly on a tray next to the chair.

When the woman saw Ivar, she opened her eyes, raised her arm in a pleading gesture and tried to scream. She did not succeed. All that escaped her throat was a gurgling sound of pain. But it was enough for the hunchback to turn to him and raise his scalpel. The "grimace" that peeked out from under the hood bore little resemblance to a human being. As the creature limped toward him, Ivar didn't even bother to use his axe. He simply kicked the thing against the wall. The unmistakable sound of splintering bones was his reward, and the lifeless body of his opponent slid down the wall. He then turned to the woman. Standing in front of her, he raised the axe and showed her the weapon. She nodded slowly. With a petrified expression, he raised the axe above the woman's head. The woman closed her eyes and she almost looked like she was relaxing.

As Ivar left the room again, he signaled to his companion.

"Normal mortals are just sick. We're going to need promethium… lots of promethium."

His brother glanced around the room and then shook his head.

"Fire will not suffice for this."

They left the corridor again in the direction of the staircase. Their Pack were already waiting for them.

"What did you see?"

Asked the Inquisitor, whose servo skull had been held by one of the Wulfen. Ivar simply shook his head and pointed down. On the following levels they found more similar chambers. Some of them were still filled with living victims, to whom Ivar granted the peace of the emperor, while in some cases only the skeleton remained. A particularly macabre spectacle was presented on level 47, where basically all that was left of the victim was the skeleton, heart and lungs, and the complete skull. Ivar had torn apart the butcher who had tampered with this victim in the air before granting peace to the still living victim. In his ear he heard one of the Inquisitor's operators throwing up. He almost had to grin.

"Extremely disturbing, indeed."

Was all the Inquisitor had to say about it. Ivar was tempted to take out the vox-beat and throw it away, but the Inquisitor could truly still be of use.

Finally, as they stood outside the door of the first storeroom, the stench of incense was almost numbing and a steady chanting sound emanated from the storeroom. The door openers had been damaged and the gate was open just wide enough to squeeze through. Ivar turned to his Pack. They kneelt down, head bowed down. Ivar touched each and every one of them on the head. As they looked up to him he "spoke" to them.

"The time has come for us to face our father. Die with your heads held high and take as many of those bastards with you as you can. For the All-Father, For Russ!"

His eyes were ablaze with rightous fury. His Pack nodded as the rose from their knees. For once the Inquisitor did remain quiet, even he knew, that in this moment comments were uncalled for. One by one, they pushed through the gate. Inside, there was an eerie atmosphere. Candles were set up everywhere, bathing the scenery in a flickering orange-red light. And the scenery was nightmarish. The room was gigantic and everywhere people were doing unimaginable things with each other. This had nothing to do with sex, nor with torture or any fetish. The scenes, taken from a painting by Hieronymus Bosch, were accompanied by a soundcanvas of screams, moans and sung verses. It had a very surreal effect.

"By the emperor. This is incredible."

The inquisitor's voice almost broke with excitement.

"I know this ritual, you must stop this. They are trying to summon a greater demon. If they succeed, the entire sector is in danger."

Ivar gripped his axes tighter and signaled to his Pack that the slaughter would now begin. As he continued to advance down the center, toward a glow of red light in the distance, his Pack fanned out and began a genocide among the cultists in the room. In absolute silence they ran from group to group and anihilated every single living being with extreme prejudice. It was extremely disturbing to hear the victims of the Wulfen moan of rapture as the Wulfen slaughtered their way through them.

Ivar ran forward as he bumped into a wall of ice cold air.

"Ha ha ha haaa… there you are…"

The voice sounded out of nowhere. Ivar instinctively raised his weapons. He looked around, but could see nothing.

"… I didn't think you would be so stubborn…"

The voice came from the left. Ivar whirled around baring his teeth.

"What are you doing, why did you stop… keep going, keep going forward."

Ivar ripped the vox-beat out of his ear and tossed it away. He closed his eyes and relied on his instincts.

"Ha ha ha haa… you should have listened to the little man in your ear… you won't get me that way…"

The voice was now to his right. He struck to the right and his axe found resistance. When he opened his eyes, one of his Pack was holding his axe inches from his face.

"Do you hear him too?"

Ivar nodded as he looked around.

"He is taunting us. We should move on. Have you cleaned up?"

His Pack looked around, fresh blood tripped from their blades and their armor was soaked.

"Yes, everyone is dead."

Ivar looked ahead. The demon's laughter still in his ears, he trudged ahead.

The air was unnaturally cold and thick. It felt like walking through water. The closer they got, the greater the resistance and the shriller the chanting of the cultists became. They had noticed their presence. How could they not have?

They were now close enough to see what was happening there. In a large circle, the cultists were kneeling and shouting their incantations, while in the center of the circle stood several cultists in hooded capes. All of them carried elaborately crafted daggers, which they held demonstratively in the air. Behind Ivar and the others, the servo-skull screeched something about interrupting the ritual and hurrying. Ivar continued to push forward against the resistance, followed by his Pack. Among the cultists, the ritual seemed to be festering toward its climax as the kneeling cultists drew daggers as well.

Ivar blinked; the demon's voice was suddenly gone.

In one fluid motion, the daggers of the kneeling cultists descended and all of them slouched forward only to topple to the side afterwards. The cultists in the center raised their free hands to their daggers and slashed their arms and their blood sprayed out in a bright red shower.

It was a bizarre sight as these cultists also fell, the resistance in the air in front of Ivar was suddenly gone and he almost fell forward. But the Wulfen were able to quickly compensate and came to a stop just before the first corpses.

"Something is wrong, be careful brothers."

The others nodded. Carefully they approached the circle of corpses. Ivar turned one of them on its back. It was one of those butchers, but he looked different. It could be because he wore a satisfied smile on his lips. Ivar looked away in disgust.

At that moment the corpse grabbed his leg and tried to cut his tendons with the dagger. Ivar tore his leg away and provided the corpse with an axe blow. Now the others rose as well and began to stagger toward the Wulfen, daggers in hand, with a strange monotonous chant on the lips.

"Only in death does ones service end… wasn't that your creed…? My servants serve me even in death… that's what I call devotion."

The voice came from the direction of the center of the circle. Ivar narrowed his eyes as he continued to dissect the undead cultists. Something moved in the pool of blood that formed the center of the circle. A purple glow seemed to form over the liquid. Ivar worked his way closer while his Pack took care of the flanks. When he reached the ring of corpses that had slashed their arms, a figure rose from the blood. Ivar did not wait but leapt forward, roaring. Only to be swept away by a backhand slap.

"You don't seriously think you miserable dogs can defeat me. You already couldn't do it on the Russ' Suspicion."

Ivar crashed into a cluster of cultists who tried to hold him down. They had no chance at all. The Wulfen tore himself free and unceremoniously whirled his chain axe around him. The rain of body parts and blood refreshed the existing blood on his fur.

"I love your stubbornness though… but, really. That's what makes you Astartes special. Normal people are so easy to control."

The figure moved her hand over one of the corpses at her feet and it moved like a puppet.

"It's almost too easy."

Ivar was already sprinting forward to her again, but stopped in mid-motion.

"Ah ah aaaah… not so fast doggie… I'm not done here…"

The figure wiggled her negation with one finger, then raised both arms and the remaining blood from the pool flowed to her, formed around her and seemed to solidify. When it finally crumbled away there stood a clearly female figure, a female figure about 10 feet tall. But so much about the appearance was wrong. She didn't have hair, it looked more like it was tentacles swept back like hair. She had only one hand, whose nails were long like little daggers. The other arm ended in what looked like scissors or claws that snapped shut at irregular intervals. Its legs ended in clawed talons. A long flexible tail that ended in a long sharp spike rounded out the appearance. Otherwise she was naked and of voluptuous build. Her wide hips swayed as she moved, as did her big breasts.

"Hmmmmmwaaa… it feels good to have a real body again. Don't get me wrong, the little one on your ship was quite nice, but she wouldn't have lasted long. Her soul was delicious, by the way."

She licked her purple lips and came closer in slow, lascivious steps. Behind her, the other Wulfen sprang toward her. With a flick of her wrist, they too hung in the air. The demon was now getting dangerously close to Ivar. Her breath had no scent in the true sense. It was more the embodiment of desire and lust that wafted against Ivar's face with every word she spoke.

"Ooooh it really is a shame to kill you just like that. So much I want to do to you…"

She ran her fingernails over the straps that bound the armor to Ivar's body. They simply came undone. Little by little, the armor fell off of him. As he stood bare before her she ran her hand over his chest, feeling his muscles. Her voice sounded excited, lustful, as she gasped her words.

"Just look at these bodies. At the peak of their capabilities. Able to withstand so much pain and torture."

She turned to the other Wulfen and proceeded with their armor in the same way. None of them were able to budge. She transported the other four to Ivar and positioned them in a semicircle around herself.

"And yet… your spirit, strong as it may be, it is so small. So insignificant."

At that moment, the servo skull crashed against the demon's head. Sparking and cursing shrilly, it whirred around the demoness. The latter simply grabbed it with her scissor-like claw, looked at it briefly, and casually crushed it.

"It's rude to interrupt a lady."

With these words, she threw the remains of the skull over her shoulder and turned back to the Wulfen.

"Now, where was I? Ah yes… torture."

She licked her lips and stepped in front of one of the Wulfen, taking the chain axe from his hand.

"Such a crude weapon."

She swung it back and forth a few times.

"But I must say it is very effective. For what we're about to do, however, it's completely unsuitable."

Her voice was a mixture of purring, hissing, and singing… and you didn't hear it so much as you felt it. She raised the axe and it simply melted before the eyes of the Wulfen. Ivar fought against the invisible forces that held him, but he could not get away. The demoness in front of him raised her hand and showed Ivar her dagger-like nails.

"Let me show you what you can use something like this for."

She walked over to the Wulfen next to him and all the Wulfen turned with him.

"Now dear children, take good care…"

Purred the demoness and pushed her claws into the chest of the Wulfen completely without effort. The latter tried to scream, but he couldn't, he tried to fight back, but he couldn't, all he could do was hang there and watch as this demoness stirred inside him. The pain threatened to overwhelm him, but at the same time this torture excited him so much that he couldn't hold on to himself.

"Ohooo, look at that… I hit it right on the nose."

The demoness cheered as she looked down at the Wulfen's erection. She pulled her claws out of the Wulfen's torso and bent down. She ran one of her claws over the Wulfen's member and you could see him squirm inside as she slashed him lengthwise.

"Naughty boys must be punished. No one allowed you to show your arousal."

Rebuked the demoness as she stood up. Meanwhile, the Wulfen's blood dripped on the floor where it began to boil. The demoness placed her claw on the Wulfen's pubic bone and dragged it through to under the Wulfen's chin. For a moment nothing happened, but then the Wulfen's insides burst from the wound and slapped the floor. The strained calm breathing of Ivar's brother was interrupted by a gurgling sound as he tried to speak.

"Oh my little angel, you don't have to say it, I can read your thoughts and they are like balm on my wounds. Yes, hate me, curse me. I feast on your emotions, on your pain and on…"

She reached for his member and the Wulfen's eyes widened.

"…Yeah right…on your lust. So delicious."

Ivar tugged at his bonds. His veins stood out as he braced himself against the unruly force that held him in place. He tried to howl his anger and frustration, but she didn't let him.

"Ohhh take it easy…you'll get your turn too. I'll save you for last."

The demoness turned back to her victim. The Wulfen had bared his teeth, red foam standing in front of his mouth and his breathing was going in raspy puffs.

"Yes I think I could keep this up for quite a while, but your brothers want their fun too. Oh come on. Dying in battle, what kind of battle would that be. Eight of you didn't stand a chance against me when I was weak."

Laughing, she turned to another Wulfen while decapitating the slashed Wulfen with her tail.

This Wulfen jerked its head back and forth, growling and nagging as it tried to escape its bonds. The demoness chuckled.

"You don't think, now that I have one less of you to tie up, that you'd have even the slightest chance of escaping?"

Her voice was filled with overconfidence. She felt she was in full controll all the time. She came very close to him, only a few millimeters separated them, so sure was she of her power over the Wulfen.

"Oooohohooo you are a naughty little dog. And no, I don't think his soul will make it to his father. … And … no … gone it is."

The demoness burst into loud laughter. When she caught herself only a few seconds later, the Wulfen had already been disemboweled. He was not able the do anything other the watch as she casually flicked her tail and his head fell to her hand.

"No my boy, you don't deserve to have these experiences."

The comment fell on deaf ears and she threw his head over her shoulder, much like she had done with the servo skull. She turned to Ivar again.

"Your brothers bore me…"

She came closer and licked her lips again.

"Oh yes… of course "you" will kill me…"

She laughed. It was an incredibly cold, joyless laugh. She grabbed his throat and pulled him towards her.

"How are you going to kill a demon? Oh, of course you can destroy this body, but it wouldn't change anything, I'll get a new one and just reemerge."

Her tongue lengthened and she licked his bloodied cheek.

Ivar snapped at her tongue and actually got it between his teeth. The demoness simply straightened back up. The tongue snapped off and just reformed. The rest of the tongue in Ivar's mouth writhed and twisted in his bite. He bit down again and then spat out the twisting end. His gaze was positively on fire.

"Ohhhohooo yeah… that's exactly what I expected from you. Fight. Show me you are worthy of this body."

She bit her lip and ran her hands over her voluptuous body, accentuating her curves and showing off her assets. Her eyes overflowed with desire. Her whole body oozed lust and deprevation.

"Ooooonnnngh… I can't wait… it's going to be a feast…"

Ivar didn't let up to struggle against the restraints and for a moment it looked like he could do it, but again he had no chance against the incredible power of the demoness.

"Hmmm I think I have to finish this now… I'm dying of desire."

She turned to one of the other two Wulfen. Her smile held a perverse variation of pity before she kissed the mutant Astartes. It was an intimate, deep kiss that the Wulfen resisted to the best of his ability. But after only a few seconds, he hung limply in the air. The demoness straightened up and pulled her tongue out of the Wulfen's throat. It was surprisingly long. With a flick, she pulled it back into her mouth. She swallowed sensually feeling her throat and strocking her hand down between her breasts to her flat belly and further down between her thighs.

"Hmmm so much essence… you are worth every second of my attention."

As she looked to Ivar she closed her eyes and flicked her tongue invitingly. She softly moaned as she pulled her now wet fingers back out.

"And now for you my friend."

She looked over her shoulder at Ivars last remaining brother, whose eyes widened. He gritted his teeth and renewed his efforts to escape from the Warp's grasp.

"Oh you don't want to die like your brother? Fine… I'll kill you differently."

She purred as she closed in on him. She lifted him until his privates were at about head height. Slowly and sensually she encircled his testicles with her hand.

"Hmm yessss… I already know what I'm going to do to you."

The Wulfen's muscles tensed under his skin as he once again gave his all to free himself. His teeth gritted in his effort and he reared back. The demoness just smiled and let her tongue slip out of her mouth again. She wrapped it around his member and guided it to her mouth with her tongue. Ivar threw his head back and forth and howled his rage. Next to him, his brother was devoured and he could do nothing about it. He begged the God-Emperor to give him strength to end this matyrium.

The demoness feasted on his brother, whose face was contorted in a grimace of pain, lust, despair and anger. It was not long before his brother came and spilled his life along with his seed. The demoness took it all in. She was positively glowing with energy when she finally turned to Ivar. She licked her lips with pleasure and pushed a few drops of sperm into her mouth with her finger just to suck on it sensually. When she pulled it out again she looked to Ivar, her grin was diabolical.

"Ohhh your brothers have only fueled my apetite. You will be my main course. And the rest of this measly world my dessert."

She purred as she moved towards him with her hips swaying. Her nether regions glistened in the semi darkness of the room. She stood before him and put her hand on his chest feeling him. She bit her lip for a moment as she thought about something. As she spoke, her voice was filled with glee.

"I think I should give you a chance to speak. I want to hear you scream my name as I rape you. I want to hear you renounce your emperor and pledge allegiance to my master."

She let her hand glide to his throat. Her eyes began to glow purple as she closed her hand around Ivar's neck. The howl that escaped his throat turned increasingly into a scream.

"Aaaaahh better…"

Ivar did not wait for permission to speak. He screamed at her.

"You vile abomination, I banish you to the warp from which you crawled. Never will a son of Russ renounce the Emperor, and never will I swear allegiance to your accursed master. I will disembowel you, then I will patch you up and disembowel you again. I will skin you, then throw it to you and you will eat it before I burn you in holy fire. And if there is anything left, I will burn it again in nuclear fire together with the greenskins on the surface. You will suffer for what you have done. And I will make you suffer so much that even you won't like it anymore. You disgust me. You…"

That's as far as he got, as the words stuck in his throat. The demoness smiled at him and lay a finger on his snout as would a mother do to her child to silence it.

"Now now now… we'll save the pillow talk for later… you little flatterer."

In her voice sounded a sick benevolence and her look was that of one loving another. He felt himself moving against his will. She shifted him to horizontal and came closer. He felt her touch his legs.

"Hrrrrrnnngkk..."

He wanted to keep cursing and screaming but she wouldn't let him. Instead, she moved her hand up along the inside of his lower leg. She felt his muscles tremble under her touch and felt his blood racing through his veins.

"You know… I didn't save you for last for nothing."

She said to herself in a sensual tone as her hand slowly slid up his thigh.

"I've already noticed you in my other temple."

She tenderly grasped his member already feeling its response to her teasings.

"You have a stronger will than the others, but also more heart. You have remained more human than your brothers."

Her voice sounded almost loving as she massaged his manhood.

"It would be a shame to kill you. You would make such a good general for my troops. And such a good companion for… other purposes."

He resisted to the best of his ability but his body gave in to the demoness' temptations. She could feel his reaction to her efforts and shortly after, she could see it.

"I can give you unimaginable power. You could get this any day. All you have to do is, say yes."

She surveyed her handiwork and stepped between his legs. Her hand slid between his thighs and gently massaged his testicles.

"You know I can do this. And you know I will get what I want."

She stated with an absolute certainty. She lowered her head to his member. Her lips enclosed his tip and her tongue played around it. The sensation was overwhelming. Ivar shook his head. And even though his mouth already formed the "Yes", he forced a "No" from his throat.

"Hmm respectable, but how about this?"

Her voice sounded in his head as she increased the suction and slowly slid her lips down his shaft. Ivar closed his eyes and tried to relax. He understood that he couldn't win this fight like that, but he didn't want to begrudge her the victory either. If he managed to relax enough, he might fall into a hypno-coma and be able to escape her.

"Oh are you giving yourself to me after all? Very well…"

She sounded very pleased in his head. She kept sucking him and every time she lifted her head again Ivar thought she would want to remove his intestines through his urethra. He shook his head again.

"No, never will I give in to you or any of yours. Not in a thousand years."

His voice sounded calm and relaxed. She pulled her head back and unwrapped her tongue from his cock. With one last lick she pulled her tongue back into her mouth.

"Hmmm your resistance is too delicious. But you will fall, as thousands have before you."

She licked her lips and sucked on the fingers as she stood up between his legs. As she pulled her fingers from her mouth she lay one on his tip and smiled a quite develish smile.

"Did your Yarl never tell you about the Wolf Brothers? An entire company of the Sons of Fenris fell to chaos. Granted, it was not my master they fell to. Nut nevertheless, they fell."

Purred the demoness as she mounted him. She sat on him, his member between her thighs. He could feel the intense heat emanating from her crotch as she pressed it onto his hips. She rubbed herself against him with pleasure, smearing herself with the blood that was still on him. Then, when she was settled, she lifted her hips and impaled herself on him. Slowly she let herself slide down on him and enjoyed every millimeter of the experience, quite the opposite of Ivar, who continued to resist with all his might.

"What a glorious feeling. Hhhmmmm, but it could be a little bigger."

Sighed the demoness and reached for Ivar's manhood. It briefly glowed purple between her thighs and Ivar could clearly feel her tightening around him. When she started moving again the movement of his member in her abdomen was clearly visible. She began to moan as she slid up and down on his member.

"Yes, yeeesss that's more like it!"

Ivar bared his teeth and spat his hatred at her. The demoness just laughed and pulled his claws towards her and placed them on her breasts.

"Then let's see what you can do Wolfie."

She demanded and began to move her body up and down rhythmically, at the same time forcing the Wulfen to massage her breasts. Ivar's claws dug into the soft tissue and the demoness yelped in a mixture of pain and lust.

"Harder little one, harder. I can feel your body wanting to give in to me. As they say, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak."

She reveled in the feeling of pleasure and pain, moaning with glee. Ivar growled his resentment.

"Never. Never will I yield to a twisted and depraved being like you."

He gripped as hard as he could, crushing the tender tissue of her breasts. Crimson blood overflowed his claws and ran down his arms.

"Yeah, go wild. Show me what you got. It's not like you can damage this body."

The demon was skillful in her movements. Again and again she changed the pattern and used all her skills to bring the Wulfen down. Ivar's body would not play along much longer, soon it would betray him. He could already feel it rising inside him and threatening to overtake him.

"Yes… yes, I can feel it. Let yourself fall, don't fight it. You will fall. There's no way around it. Why do you want to make it so hard for yourself?"

She asked moaning, sticking out her tongue. Once again the demoness increased her efforts, once again she intensified her work. Ivar groaned as he felt his own orgasm coming.

"Father… give me strength…"

And then everything went black.

A voice reached his ear, but he couldn't quite place the direction.

"You have truly fought bravely."

It was powerful, yet gentle. Old and yet young. Caring but also anger sounded in it.

"Father?"

"No… although… no, not quite…"

The black was gradually replaced by a red.

"Who are you… show yourself…"

A figure stood out in the red glow.

"I have been known by many names throughout the ages. You and yours call me Khorne."

Ivar's eyes widened.

"No, no. Calm yourself. I don't want anything from you. On the contrary, you called me. And I answered your call."

The figure came closer. A tall man. Powerfully built. A warrior. His eyes were red. He wore a red robe with the mark of Khorne worked into the fabric. The rever was studded with brass. He wore combat boots, but they seemed strangely elegant. His posture exuded authority.

"I did not summon you. Why would I call you of all people."

The figure circled him with quiet but powerful steps. He held his hands in a scholars cradle and ever so often gestured a little while he spoke.

"Yes… strictly speaking, you did not summon me, but those you summoned will not come. Look here… your father… or rather your genfather, Leman Russ… well he's been gone, for almost 10,000 years… even if he still existed, how would he hear your call? And your Emperor? Well admittedly the little guy has given me a headache or two, but he's been sitting on his throne for 10,000 years now also… he's got his hands full with his Astronomican."

The figure came to stand in front of Ivar. Its hands now clasped behind its back. He tilted his head slightly. Ivar searched for words to contradict the figure, but found none.

"But. I, have heard you. You are an exceptional warrior. Not many would have resisted the temptations of my youngest sibling for so long. But you are falling. In reality, you're about to lose."

Ivar looked to the ground.

"Yes… I failed… again… that's why I need strength… strength so I don't fall."

The figure shook its head. His face one of empathy.

"No. You have not failed. Not yet. But you will fail if I don't help you."

Ivar backed away.

"No. No if I accept your help I will FALL all the same."

The figure nodded in agreement. He gestured a so-so in the air before Ivar before closing his hands to a perfect scholars cradle again.

"Yes. Yes you will fall. This can no longer be prevented. Basically, you already fell in the first temple. I'm just giving you the chance to show this little scumbag one more time for real."

Ivar narrowed his eyes.

"Why would you, of all the dark gods, help me?"

The figure smiled. An old, cruel smile.

"Because that little prick is a pain in my ass. And because I could use another warrior in my army."

Ivar stared closely at the figure.

"If I fall, then my soul will never move to Vallhalla."

Now the figure burst out laughing holding his stomach. It was a real laugh, filled with warmth. And as he calmed down once again his voice was filled with genuine empaty.

"None of you have ever entered Vallhalla. All souls are stranded in the warp. The warp is the amalgam of all souls. Some souls have been here so long that they have ascended to something greater…"

The figure pointed to himself.

"…Others have only been here a short time and are being devoured."

The figure pointed to Ivar.

"But there is no Vallhalla, no Nirvana, no Paradise, no eternal hunting grounds, there is only the Warp. And there is me, offering you to at least die standing and victorious."

Ivar breathed heavily. The figure stood openly before Ivar smiling.

"You know, I'm not just as bad as everyone is telling you. Yes, yes… I am one of the big four. Yes I revel in the bloodletting and skull collecting. It's my spiel. But you also know I'm telling the truth. Why would I lie to you? I have nothing to gain from it. If you don't come to me, you'll go to Slaneesh… the little tormentor. That would be the ultimate loss, the absolute failure. But if you come to me, I will give you the power and the means to avenge yourself and your brothers."

The figure opened his hands and spread them out in front of him. Ivar gritted his teeth. As he looked at him, his eyes glistened dark.

"I will banish the demon, I will avenge my brothers, but I will not lead your armies."

The figure closed his eyes and shrugged.

"My armies are countless. I do not depend on you. But why miss all the fun?"

His posture change significantly as he continued to speak, all of a sudden he was all business and no fun.

"Do we have a pact?"

As he extended his hand to Ivar his eyes glowed red and his smile was that of a devil, fangs and all. His hand was red, full of scars and scales, and so out of keeping with the rest of his appearance. When Ivar grasped it, his claw was in a red brass-studded gauntlet. While he was still wondering about it, the figure changed and took the form of the demoness sitting on him. His hand, together with the gauntlet and the energy claws, was up to his wrist in her chest.

The scream that escaped her throat was beyond human.

"What the… no… no this can't be. Why…?"

She jumped back and landed several feet away from him. She glasped the wound with her hand. As she removed it, it had already stopped bleeding. Immediately, a spear materialized in her hand.

"How dare you make a pact with HIM. Your soul belongs to me!"

As she screamed at him her voice became shriller with each word, so that the last words already hurt in his ears. Ivar felt a power flowing through him that was not his own. The runes in the helmet display were completely foreign to him, and yet he could understand them. His blood burned and his hearts pounded. He activated the energy claws on his gloves and launched into a battle cry:

"Blood for the Blood God… Skulls for the Skull Throne…"

He hesitated for a moment, had he really shouted that? He didn't get to think about it further as the demoness was already leaping towards him and thrusting her spear at him. Ivar nimbly dodged and smashed the shaft of the spear. The front end of the weapon clattered to the ground while the demoness whirled around and struck at Ivar with the other end. He parried with his claws and immediately fell back into an attack stance.

"Is that all you can do? Did you sell your soul to Khorne for this?"

Screeched the demoness, while she kept the same distance with Ivar. Ivar waited for the right moment, when she pounced, he jumped forward as well. He timed her attack, took the hit and rammed both claws into her body. With all his strength and the might the power armor gave him, he tore the demoness apart. Both halves of her body fell to the ground on different sides and before the demon could move, Ivar crushed her spine. Helplessly, her upper body lay before him, blood pouring from her torso and staining the boots of his armor.

"As I said. You can destroy this body, but you can't kill me. I am immortal."

Ivar shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, perhaps, but it will also remain in your memory forever that you failed to seduce me. That it was I who banished you and that your master saw this failure."

Ivar raised his boot and before the demoness could answer, he rammed it into her face with all his might. Her skull burst like an overripe tomato and the floor unterneath cracked.

With her death, the atmosphere in the storeroom changed significantly. Not that it was any less creepy, or that the lights finally worked, but that ominous pressure that seemed to weigh on everything was suddenly gone. Ivar removed the demoness' weapon from his stomach. He would bleed for some time, but his body already responded to the wound. This would not kill him. He trudged over to the bodies of his Pack. He knelt down and picked up the heads of his two brothers and carried them to the bodies. He laid them neatly to their bodies, folded their hands and placed their weapons on their chests. He closed his eyes and sent a push prayer to the Emperor before kneeling down besides them, removing the helmet of his armor and waiting. He knew they would come to see if they were successfull, or to finish the job if not. He would give his report and then… peace.

It was nearly 12 hours before he heard the heavy footsteps of the power armor as they ran down the hallway outside the storage room. It would soon be over now. He closed his eyes and waited a while longer. He could already hear the footsteps coming closer and he heard the familiar distorted voices of the Astartes of the Order. He did not move. Only when he heard the order did he rise.

"Stand up traitor and show me your face."

Ivar slowly spun around. The Astartes' did not move, but he knew what was going on inside them. Two of his brothers raised their bolters. Ivar closed his eyes.

"No, not yet, I need to know what happened."

The inquisitor's voice sounded joyfully excited.

"Where did he get that armor? Where are… ah ok… there they are. And the demoness… alright, I see. Now speak up, what happened?"

Ivar opened his eyes, his anger burning in them, his fists clenched as he turned to the Inquisitor.

"We were too late, we were too few, we would have needed Wolf Priests. I was forced to…"

"He… he can speak again…"

Escaped the inquisitor. Ivar turned to the Astartes.

"Brothers, I am lost. Grant me the peace of the Emperor."

He knelt down and bowed his head. One of the Astartes stepped forward and raised his bolt pistol.

"No… no no no… you can't just shoot him."

"For the All Father."

Said the Astartes and pulled the trigger.

Then silence fell.

Yarl Erik stood at the large window of the hall and stared down at Fenris. The news of the last few days had been mixed. The battle in the Furia system seemed to be coming to an end. The resistance of the orcs seemed to be broken. The Astra Militarum had officially thanked for the help and was sure to manage the rest on its own. However, they were slightly displeased that it had been necessary to completely destroy an important bunker facility in the north of the central continent. However, the Astra Militarum had been promised to be helped with the reconstruction. The Ordo Maleus had thanked the Order in a roundabout way for helping to eradicate a chaos cult. They had expressed great confidence that this would turn out to be a positive thing during the next inspection.

Saddened, Erik looked down at the last message he carried in his hands. It was directly across the channel of the Russ' Suspicion.

"All eight Wulfen killed. 3 in battle against the greenskins, may Russ show them mercy, 4 in battle against the forces of Chaos. Brother Ivar was lost to the arch enemy before his death. He asked for the Emperor's peace."

Erik's expression was petrified.

In all these years… it had to happen under him… of all people…

… Everything around him was red. Ivar stood up. He was in human form again. An axe weighed heavily in his hand. Before him stretched a sea of demons and heretics. His grin widened.

"Blood for the blood god…"

He whispered…

"Skulls for the Skull Throne…"

He shouted as he raised his axe and millions of demons joined in.

A throne of skulls and brass rose in the background.

"Welcome home, my prince."

Concept and Idea by

El Poyo Diabolo

Written by

El Poyo Diabolo

Characters by

El Poyo Diabolo

Edit by

El Poyo Diabolo

Published by

El Poyo Diabolo