Interlude 59: Wolf, Lion, God (II)

To be honest, Russ does enjoy listening to stories, a habit largely stemming from Fenris's tradition—in such a cruel world, history, spirit, and courage can only be passed down orally from generation to generation.

Countless days and nights, the inhabitants of Fenris would sit around a fire or hearth, listening to an elder recount a story he had seen or heard.

Russ was no exception; in fact, one could say he grew up on this as his food.

After he became the only Wolf King recognized by the Space Wolves, he naturally brought this tradition into the legion. Even after his death, he never forgot about it.

Of course, at this point, he could no longer act entirely according to his own wishes—if Lion Aljonson didn't agree, or if he happened to be in a bad mood, the matter would most likely not go smoothly.

As for now...

Russ gripped the Dionysian Spear, sat cross-legged, gently lifted his old brother's withered, lifeless face, and placed the round handle of the divine weapon beneath him.

In front of him, two other people were arguing. The one on the left exuded a menacing aura, his fists clenched, the muscles on his bare arms taut, as if he were about to launch an attack at any moment.

Russ had heard his story and knew that he came from an unfortunate and broken world where the Emperor's Great Crusade never truly came close to success.

While the various legions were still busy reclaiming lost territory across the galaxy and fighting their own battles, a sudden Warp Storm completely isolated them from each other.

The Daemon immediately launched an attack, and Astartes and their Auxilia, who were completely unprepared, suffered heavy casualties in the first wave of attacks.

Since then, humanity has had no hope of unity, and everything it has done can only be described as a desperate attempt to prolong its existence.

Lion El-Jonson was perhaps the most unfortunate of the many unfortunate beings in that galaxy. He was powerful enough and, relying on his knowledge of Daemon, led his legion through the first wave of attacks, but this was not a good thing.

When he finally broke through the encirclement and returned to the Sol System after overcoming countless hardships, the message his father conveyed to him almost drove him mad—his brothers were either dead, injured, or missing, with no word from them.

Needless to say, their respective legions were either corrupted or killed in battle. And his father? Naturally, he fared no better.

He was left with only his head and a torso that could barely be called his upper body, which were placed on a complex instrument, and he would soon die completely.

He seemed to have foreseen his death, remaining unusually calm about it, only saying that he would fight another war under a new identity—a war in which there would be no winners, regardless of the outcome.

Lion was naturally very puzzled by this, but his father had already lost the will to explain further.

Before the conversation was over, darkness enveloped Terra's sky, the sun was swallowed, and endless Daemon surged forth, beginning their battle against the last remaining forces of human resistance.

In this war, the Sigillites, the Mechanicum, the Adeptus Custodes, the First Legion, and remnants of other legions and auxiliary forces all perished, except for Lion, who survived.

He watched as his father's mutilated body was dragged from Throne Room by a Bloodthirster, and then a dark figure soared into the sky from that mutilated body.

Then, the Imperium officially collapsed, and all the remaining colonies were devoid of any civilization. All of humanity became slaves or accomplices to alien races or Chaos.

There was only one exception. This person somehow survived the war that turned half the Sol System into a forbidden zone, and since then, he has wandered alone among the stars, hunting down every Daemon, traitor, and Xenos he sees.

"How wonderful," Russ thought, then turned his gaze to the right. Compared to the unfortunate hunter, this one could easily be described as a "king."

His expression was gloomy, his temples were already gray, and his brows were constantly furrowed. However, it is worth mentioning that, although he was arguing with someone, he still maintained the demeanor befitting his status.

Russ could tell that this wasn't a pretense, but rather his true nature.

Unlike the hunters, the king's world was far more similar to the history Russ himself knew. The Great Crusade was forced to a halt at its end by a rebellion, but the mastermind was not Horus, but Sanguinius —which led to even more terrible consequences.

The angels, forcibly corrupted and fallen, met with Horus, and the two met alone in a quiet room as usual. The Warmaster, unaware of his brother's tragic fate, was killed on the spot, and at the same moment, the Blood Angels launched an attack on their brother.

Of the vast number of the Sons of Horus, only a little over two hundred escaped this meat grinder. However, their misfortune turned into good fortune, and they were fortunate enough to encounter Vulkan and the Salamanders, who happened to be returning to Terra to report for duty, among the stars.

Nocturne was initially unwilling to believe this horrific story, but the plight of the Sons of Horus was real, as was the hatred in their eyes.

So Vulkan decided to hurry back to Terra to report the matter to the Emperor —after all, if what the Sons of Horus said was true, then Sanguinius was probably no longer someone he could rival alone.

Unfortunately, despite the Nocturne Lord's wise decision, he still ran headlong into Sanguinius, who was waiting there long ago, in the Warp.

Forced to fall, the angel wore tattered armor filled with blood and flesh, constantly shedding tears of blood. His first reaction upon seeing people was not to attack, but to weep and beg them to leave quickly.

Vulkan was bewildered by this scene; he didn't understand what had happened to his brother, but Sanguinius quickly revealed the truth to him, in a way that involved devouring his flesh and blood along with that of his offspring.

Under the influence of the power of Chaos, the Ninth Legion achieved a great victory, and their power has now expanded to an unknowable limit. Having captured the warships of the Sons of Horus and the Salamanders Legion, their power is now beyond the resistance of ordinary legions.

Ultimately, these Fallen Ones unleashed a bloodbath that swept across the entire galaxy, reaching Terra within a year.

It was then that the king first saw his fallen brother. Unexpectedly, he did not see a complete monster— Sanguinius was still there, he was just trapped in his fallen body.

The bloodlust that was part of his very being took control of the body. Baal's angel was utterly powerless to stop it; he could only watch helplessly as he killed his brothers, devoured them, and hung their heads as trophies on his armor.

The king saw Horus, Vulkan, Fulgrim and Ferrus. In addition, there were many outstanding warriors from the legions, including even the sons of Sanguinius.

What's even more terrifying is that they weren't dead—or at least not completely dead—and were still suffering agonizing torment.

When the king commands Sanguinius to wield his sword, Horus will tell him of his brother's weaknesses in swordsmanship, Vulkan will roar that he must be careful of the monster's claws and blood, Fulgrim and Ferrus will try to grit their teeth and use their last bit of strength to peel off a piece of the monster's armor, creating a chance for the king to win.

And what about Sanguinius himself? He could only desperately cry out, wanting the king to escape quickly, because he fully understood just how powerful the monster that now controlled his body truly was.

The king did not heed his advice and chose to fight to the death, his only aim being to keep Sanguinius out of the Imperial Palace.

The battle reached its climax when Rogal Dorn arrived just in time with the Imperial Fists, followed by Kolus Corax and a contingent of his Raven Guard.

The three Primarch fought side by side, but they still could not withstand the claws and fangs of the fallen angels. His fighting style had completely turned into that of a beast—and no matter how serious the damage was to him, he could quickly recover by simply dodging, grabbing an unfortunate scapegoat, and swallowing it a few times.

Worse still, he hadn't even used his full strength from beginning to end; Sanguinius' consciousness kept urging them, pleading, wailing, and even cursing, hoping his brothers would leave.

Finally, the Emperor intervened, temporarily banishing Sanguinius and the corrupted Ninth Legion soldiers, but he himself became extremely weak as a result.

According to the Sigillites, this is because of a spell the Emperor attempted to use. He wanted to retrieve the souls of his sons from the four evil gods who had taken their lives, but he failed, and this forced intervention only exacerbated his injuries.

Nevertheless, the Imperium still secured a hard-won victory. They immediately issued orders to recall the Legions and Primarch who were still fighting on the front lines, completely unaware of the situation—but how could Chaos stand idly by?

Perturabo was the first to reply to the order and embark on the return journey, was attacked. Despite being prepared for battle due to intelligence, the Lord of Iron was still seriously injured, and his son Dantioch led the remaining two thousand men back to Terra at the cost of his life.

The second to suffer misfortune was Angron, who, in the Misty Sector, in front of the vigilant Imperial Navy, fought with the angel in the sand pit on his flagship for a full day and night.

The gladiator of Nuceria ultimately met his untimely end, Butcher's Nails, lodged deep in his brain, was completely torn out by the fallen angels in his final moments.

His death and his Dreadnought before it inspired his legion, causing the World Eaters to unleash tremendous fighting power—but this was not a stroke of luck, but the beginning of misfortune, as the Khorne of Chaos took a liking to their wrath.

In an instant, more than half of the World Eaters were instantly corrupted and clashed with the equally inhuman Ninth Legion. Kharn, the assault company commander who barely retained his sanity, retrieved his father's remains and, together with the Imperial Navy that came to his aid, repelled the blood swarm.

The Imperium thought it could finally catch its breath, but it never expected that it would soon hear the news of the death of Konrad Curze Curze, the Primarch of the Eighth Legion, Night Haunter.

According to his company commander, Jago Sevatarion, his Gene-Father seemed to have received some crucial information from the prophecy, and therefore decided to carry out the assassination alone, even expelling all the dissenting Night Lords from the Legion, telling them to "go back to Terra, hear of my death, and then weep bitterly."

The series of blows that resulted in the loss of his brothers plunged the king into deep sorrow and also aroused his anger. It was at this time that the First Legion's forces, which had been stationed near Caliban, finally returned to Terra in small units, and the other legions followed suit.

Ultimately, an immense and overwhelming force gathered around Terra. The main defenders were Rogal Dorn, Roboute Guilliman, and Mortarion, who had inexplicably lost some of his Legion warriors and was now crippled.

Jaghatai Khan, Korius Corax, and Magnus worked together, combining speed and psionic power for reconnaissance. Numerous Word Bearers were stationed throughout the Sol System, ready to provide support at any time.

Lorgar Aurelian himself resided within the Imperial Palace, where it is said he once spoke with the Emperor for three days and three nights. Since then, this devout preacher has never offered any prayers, spending his days busily near the Astronomican.

"And then?" Russ asked. "What about me? What about Alpharius?"

The king turned to look at him with an extremely complicated expression, and replied in a low voice, "While we were busy setting up defenses, you and Alpharius secretly joined forces. He acted as the disguised assassin to draw the enemy's attention, while you, as the main attacker, waited for the right opportunity."

As expected, Russ curled her lip and asked again, "So, I'm dead?"

The king nodded, still looking at him.

"Okay, what about Alpharius?"

"To die with you—" the king sighed deeply. "But your sacrifice yielded great results. At the cost of your lives, you plunged the Dionysian Spear into Sanguinius' chest, allowing his own soul to regain control, albeit only for a short time, but enough for him to commit suicide."

Russ frowned in strong disapproval. "I don't think suicide would serve any purpose."

"Yes," said the king. "His death, ironically, gave the monster hidden within him all its power, and then..."

"And then, you lost," the hunter said gruffly, his fists still clenched. "You were in a hundred times better shape than us, so how could you possibly lose?"

The king turned to look at him and said calmly, "Because behind the enemy stand four gods, while we do not. Because my fallen brothers were dragged back from hell by them in a more blasphemous manner—but I must correct you on one point: we have not lost, the Imperium still stands."

A simple sentence left Russ momentarily stunned. It was as if a blade had struck his face, bullets had grazed his shoulder; the deafening battle cries and the bitter sighs of those dying were all frozen in that short sentence, revealing the true nature of this war.

"Alright—" he said, gathering his thoughts, "I think the story is almost over. Shouldn't you two explain why you were blocking the way?"

Russ stood up, and as he gently drew Dionysian Spear, he stood before his brother once more.

Both the hunter and the king looked at him with extremely complicated expressions. In the end, it was the hunter who spoke first.

"Because of this place." He paused. "Only one Lion Aljonsen could leave, and he's dead. The qualification that was originally given to him is now lost."

"Oh!" Russ exclaimed, suddenly realizing. "So you want to come back to life?"

No one answered, only two pairs of determined eyes.

The Fenrisian burst into laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" the king asked sternly.

"I laugh at you for not seeing the truth. You're all dead. Whatever you had left to do, whatever your wishes or unfulfilled hatreds, you're all dead—that's why that bastard was able to bring you here, isn't it?"

"And, to be honest," Russ said with unusual gentleness, raising his spear and pointing it at them, "You all failed, unlike him."

"How is he?" the hunter asked, pursing his lips.

"Unlike him, who protected what should be protected and saved what should be saved—if only Lion Aljonson can leave here alive, I think no one else deserves it, none of you do."

As soon as he finished speaking, Russ laughed wildly and waved to them with his left hand.