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Chapter** two ***: Questions*

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 of 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 as 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 dikret, 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."