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Chapter** three ***: Problems and solutions*

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 guardsmen, 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 that 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 grid 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. 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 seem 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 excited 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 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 drive, 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 any emotion. Her colleagues were beside themselves and their fingers flew over the data sheets to document everything. She, however, was not 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 tickle 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 the 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 toward 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 aisle, 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 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. 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 it. 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 herself 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 flamethrower 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 flamethrower. 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 flamethrower and pulled the trigger.

Ivar and his Pack watched silently as Erik flooded their cell and the hallway with flames. The thrower'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 flamethrower was empty 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.