Interlude 136: Ancient Texts (44k)

"How many more damn books do you need?" the Wild Bear roared. 💝✌ 🐜💎 "We don't have much time to waste here with you!"

His cloak and fur were whipping wildly in the wind, and the brown tattoos on his face were twisted into a blurry pattern by his anger. As the one being reprimanded, Ahzek Ahriman responded with a short syllable, almost like a plea.

The Wild Bear supporting him growled angrily, but still raised its hand to point a direction for its brothers in the wind and snow. Several Space Wolves immediately pounced, roughly grabbing the scrolls piled on the table and bookshelves and stuffing them into bags.

Ahzek Ahriman was breathing weakly, blood dripping from his nose. He was almost unconscious from the torment of the anti-psychic collar around his neck, but he remained conscious.

In Wild Bear's view, this was not a miracle. In his opinion, Ahzek Ahriman now deserved to be called Magnus's son—though a bit foolish, he at least had some integrity.

Just like their father, they were foolish their whole lives, but finally they woke up.

How pathetic.

"Enough?!" he roared again.

In response, Ahzek Ahriman gave a weak nod, and the Space Wolves immediately carried him, the books, and the scrolls away, boarding the speedboat, getting on the shuttle, and leaving the place in one fell swoop.

As the shuttle left the Prospero atmosphere, the ground beneath it trembled violently. For Ahzek Ahriman, this tremor exacerbated his discomfort, especially since he was lying on the ground.

Moreover, the stench here tormented him—the stench of a wild beast's the Nest.

Amid the roar of the machines and the conversations of the Space Wolves, Ahzek Ahriman's senses began to deteriorate. He didn't know what model of anti-psychic collar the Space Wolves had put on him, but it must have been enhanced with torture-related functions.

Thousand Sons's eyes could no longer see clearly. Amidst the tides of pain, he vaguely believed he was in a dark cave, surrounded by Space Wolves, and covered in wounds.

Wait, eyes.

Ahzek Ahriman let out a sudden whimper, and a knife was thrown in front of him at just the right moment. It had a bone handle and bloodstains on its blade.

The Wild Bear strode over, pulled the disabled Ahzek Ahriman up from the ground, and shoved the knife into his hand.

"Help... help me," Thousand Sons said, her voice trembling, weakly waving her broken arm. "Hurry—"

His request was granted, and his two eyeballs were gouged out and carefully placed into an iron can engraved with runes. The moment the lid was closed, a whiff of Phosphex emanated from within.

Blind and disabled Thousand Sons lay on the ground. He had lost his eyes, but his extraordinary physical abilities were still at work. He could sense the wolves' watchful eyes and their vigilance.

Someone reached out and touched his head. The hand reeked of disinfectant, but the movement was as rough as a slave owner inspecting a living commodity. Ahzek Ahriman should have been furious, but he was too weak. 👤💝 💀👹

At this moment, it was the wolf named Wild Bear who reached out to stop this insulting medical examination.

"Be careful," he warned. "This guy may be stupid, but he's still useful. Don't forget what Russ said."

The slave owner grunted and then began to examine his injuries. A few minutes later, two syringes were injected into his body through his neck, and the pain was immediately relieved.

Ahzek Ahriman began to cough violently and relentlessly. Fragments of his internal organs were vomited from his throat, along with large chunks of foul-smelling blood. Warp maggots poured out of his nasal cavity and writhe on the ground.

Wild Bear cursed and swiftly placed a knife against Ahriman's forehead. Ahzek Ahriman screamed as the skin on his forehead began to hiss, and a sudden, intense chill swept over him, instantly knocking him unconscious.

When he woke up again, he found that he had received some treatment. His disabled hands and feet were splinted, which of course made it impossible for him to turn his neck or move his limbs.

In his mind's eye, he was bound to a rough, uneven stone bed. The surroundings were still smelly, but much warmer.

"You've been unconscious for twenty-five hours. That's a good number," someone said.

His voice echoed in the darkness, wild and untamed. Ahzek Ahriman heard him sniffing, his nose twitching incessantly—a few seconds later, Ahzek Ahriman came to a conclusion: he remembered who the voice belonged to.

Of course, the owner of the voice also came to a conclusion.

"Not bad," Leman Russ Russ said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "The stench you used to have faded considerably, Ahzek Ahriman. Now, it's time for you to keep your promise."

Faced with his request, Thousand Sons remained silent for several minutes.

This wasn't because he wanted to go back on his word, but because he needed some time to think about what he had actually promised. Surprisingly, his silence wasn't met with urging, but with patient waiting.

Ahzek Ahriman did not disappoint Leman Russ Russ's patience; he successfully remembered it.

"I--"

He spoke hoarsely, the first syllable escaping his throat, followed by several incessant coughs. A metallic taste rose in his mouth, and he realized his throat hurt as if it had been cut with a knife.

"--I understand, sir. What about the scrolls and books?" Ahzek Ahriman reluctantly finished his sentence. "I can't do anything without them."

"Can't get anything done?" Russ chuckled. "Don't you Thousand Sons claim to possess a vast amount of knowledge? Is that just empty boasting? The knowledge in books should be memorized, Scholar."

"Those books are different," Ahzek Ahriman explained in a low voice. "They are the Primarch's private collection; we have no right to read them."

"So, you haven't read it?"

"Yes."

"So, what makes you think they can tell us what Magnus did in his final moments?"

Russ asked slowly and deliberately, his tone remaining normal, but his voice had taken on a dangerous undertone.

"Or were the genuine emotions you displayed at the time—your hatred, your anger, your willingness to crawl on your knees to get closer to where your father last stood, and your passionate assurances and promises—all fake?"

Ahzek Ahriman paused for several seconds before answering.

"I peeked a few times," he said, his voice filled with shame. "I saw something about black flames in one of the books."

Russ chuckled.

What's the name of that book?

He asked, his voice becoming slightly muffled, as a strong smell of alcohol wafted from the direction he was standing. Once again— Ahzek Ahriman coughed repeatedly, but this time it was from the smell of alcohol.

"This wine is from my personal collection." Russ was clearly amused, and while drinking, he slurred, "Hurry up and say your name, Thousand Sons, or I won't offer you a drink."

"It has no name," Ahzek Ahriman said, coughing. "It's black, with a rusty knife blade stuck in the middle of its spine."

Two minutes later, he received the book.

Someone roughly shoved it into his right hand. Ahzek Ahriman stroked the book's cover and the rusty blade inserted into the spine, which had taken over part of its function, and let out a long sigh of relief.

"I need someone to read it to me," he pleaded in a low voice, very humbly. "I'm blind, please, sir. This book isn't for the blind."

"Your demands are truly endless," Fenris's giant wolf said impatiently. Ahzek Ahriman was blind, but he could still tell from the threatening whisper that Russ was probably baring his teeth.

Thousand Sons gave a wry smile, intending to explain, but the book in her hands was snatched away. The sound of pages being turned quickly rang out and ended just as fast, followed by the sound of an ancient language.

The narrator's voice was serious and wise, so much so that it took Ahzek Ahriman several seconds of astonishment to realize that it was still Leman Russ Russ's voice.

But how did he come to know that ancient script?

Thousand Sons's mind was in complete chaos. It wasn't until some time after the Wolf King began his incantation that he remembered a fact—no matter how savage Leman Russ Russ was in his daily life, he was still a Primarch.

"He never answers any call, any expectation, because He has no need to do such a superfluous thing. Hatred, along with evil, begins to spread in people's hearts, and when the one burdened with hatred raises a blade in his hand out of resentment, the covenant is already complete."

"He is an evil god, a god of hatred and Vengeance, but also a god of justice and Judgment. He is lightning and thunder, the darkest winter and crimson flames, cruel punishment and primal Vengeance."

"Few believers among them, and they typically refuse to communicate with others. They are deeply entangled in killing throughout their lives, for they do not live for themselves. They have made a pact that from then on they can only serve the dead."

"When the law fails to punish criminals or to give them the punishment they deserve, they will emerge, their methods as cruel as those of a born bloodthirsty psychopath."

"The victim's limbs would be severed from the torso by a blade and buried under the threshold, while the head and body would be hung from a beam in the house. Blood would be splattered throughout the house, and a blood-stained blade would usually be left at the scene."

"They were unwelcome; no village or city would welcome them. Their brutal deaths caused panic among the people and drew condemnation from the sheriff, while some vividly described them as a group of vengeful spirits who could only move at night."

"As time passed and eras changed, new cities oppressed the wilderness and savagery, and they vanished without a trace. But they still exist, and will always exist."

Russ looked up and closed the book.

"What book is this?" he asked with interest. "Who wrote it, Ahzek Ahriman?"

"I don't know," Thousand Sons replied hesitantly. "I only know that the Primarch obtained it at an auction."

What auction?

"Antique auction, in the Sol System, actually, on a ship in near-Earth orbit around Terra."

Thousand Sons answered quickly, his distant memories gradually returning. Some images flashed before his eyes, vivid and clear. The pride of traveling with the Primarch at that time rose in his heart, making his nose sting with tears, but he could no longer shed tears.

So he continued his story.

"The Primarch received word. He heard that a Rogue Trader specializing in collecting ancient books would be participating this time, and that his collection consisted of precious books that had survived the Long Night. So he immediately took me there, and this book was one of the ancient books we bought."

Russ glanced down at the book in her hands. The black cover resembled animal hide, ancient and severely worn. The surface was covered in deep, horribly scratched marks.

The Wolf King narrowed its eyes, and its fangs unconsciously protruded from its lips.

These aren't scratches; they're clearly the cruel marks left by knives and axes. Someone once tried to destroy this book, but it has survived to this day.

He then looked at the rusted spine of the book, which was indeed covered in rust, but there was a strange dark red bloodstain on the blade.

The Wolf King pondered for a moment, then opened the book again.

Ahzek Ahriman's voice immediately followed. "My lord, I implore you to search further for information about that flame."

The Fenrisian remained silent, continuing to turn the pages, the wrinkles between his brows deepening. The pages rustled incessantly, making one almost wonder if he was actually reading, or if he was simply turning the pages for amusement.

Ahzek Ahriman was about to ask about the progress when he heard a metallic sound as it hit the ground.

"Grown ups?"

Russ didn't answer, but stared silently at the metal badge that had just fallen from the book to the ground. After a few seconds, he bent down, picked it up, and examined it closely.

The emblem itself is probably made of metal, and it has been severely corroded over time, making it feel very rough to the touch.

Its front features a straight, sharp blade, hanging vertically with lines so clean they're almost eerie, making one almost believe it will sever someone's head in the next second. The back is a skull, with particularly terrifying, deep-set eye sockets.

Russ gripped it tightly, and his hair—or rather, his body hair—stood up slightly.

Without hesitation, the Wolf King looked at the book. As if guided, his eyes immediately fell on a line of text. It shouldn't have been the object of his attention, because it was just a footnote, so small as to be inconspicuous, densely packed.

"My lord?" Ahzek Ahriman called again. "What happened?"

"The blade is one of the vehicles of His power," Russ began reciting the text. "Of all the weapons in the world, the blade is His favorite. His believers usually carry knives—single swords, double swords, or daggers that can be thrown."

"But there is no single way to Vengeance. Enemies can be tortured and killed in many ways. If one harbors hatred and has the courage and rage to seek Vengeance, then any weapon can be used to make a pact with Him."

"Similarly, fire or ice can both be used. The latter two are probably punishments that have continued from the barbaric era to the present day."

Its flames are usually black and red, but only a dark red, and not very noticeable. Frost usually appears alongside pitch-black blizzards, which can transform soil and rivers into glaciers.

"If both appear together, it means that this place is under His attention. If the sky darkens, the sunlight disappears, and there is lightning and thunder, it means that He is extremely angry."

He stopped talking, turned the pages of the book, looked around, and then read out the last three sentences.

"However, if the vengeful one is unarmed, or unable to exact Vengeance on their own, they can turn to Him in another way: not through a contract, but through sacrifice."

"Those who harbor grudges may step onto the altar, any altar will do, He understands. If you have made up your mind, then He will respond only once. The flames of rage will scorch your body, and from then on, you will be annihilated, body and soul. Your hatred is His hatred, your resentment is His resentment."

"The gods will Vengeance you."

Russ closed the book, Ahzek Ahriman remained silent for a long time before suddenly uttering a question so low it was laughable.

"Sir, what does this mean?" he asked, as if he didn't understand. Russ looked at him but didn't answer; she simply turned and left.

"Grown ups!"

"Stop shouting, Ahzek Ahriman," the Fenrisian said calmly. "We're on our way to Terra."

Update complete, totaling a little over 10,000 words. To be continued tomorrow.