Remember, Hektor.
Every skull you cleave, every drop of blood you spill, every inch of territory you conquer, they belong only to the Emperor and humanity, only to the Imperium and Terra. Besides them, no one is worthy of possessing them.
——————
When Morgana's proudest pawn unhesitatingly claimed the hundredth life he reaped that day, he would recall the teachings and rumors he heard when he first became a Son of Morgana.
Those fragmented words, those enduring admonitions, came from the mouths of different predecessors: some of them are still famous figures today, some can still fight alongside Hektor, while more have long since vanished in the ceaseless fires of the Great Crusade, their very appearances hard to remember.
Ultimately, only a very few can achieve fame and glory among the boundless stars. In each Space Marine Legion, only a handful can spread their prestige throughout the Imperium and among brother forces.
Most, however, engage in silent battles, contributions, sacrifices, and their passage through the Great Crusade is fleeting, with only the scattered memories of former comrades serving as their sole memorial.
Before the grand goal of all humanity established by the Emperor, before the unprecedented Great Crusade, even an Astartes, compared to every ordinary mortal warrior, was not so different. Their achievements were not necessarily illustrious, their experiences not necessarily legendary, and even their words were not always correct.
But even so, Hektor would still remember those words, the unofficial traditions and heritage of the Legion, which originated from them.
He reminisced, he breathed, he slaughtered. Accompanied by the countless roars of the wolves beside him, he surged into the next fortress that needed to be captured. Vaguely, he could see Ajax's towering figure converging with him from another direction, and he could see the Gene-Mother's serene blue pupils calmly observing his every move.
Even the coolness that came with his bloodline, almost innate, could not prevent his heart from trembling like a volcano about to erupt in this moment.
Primarchs.
Gene-Mother.
He chewed on these combinations of letters again and again.
As if gnawing on golden apples fallen into the mortal world.
He chewed, he was invigorated, he fought relentlessly, always one of the foremost warriors. When his greatsword severed the heads of one powerful opponent after another, even the unruly Wolf Lord cast a glance of approval and admiration in his direction.
The permanent Xenos fortress complex, meticulously forged, was built from the most stubborn alien metal and stone. The nearby artillery emplacements and anti-air arrays were as numerous as dense forests in a mountain range.
Just to approach this final blocking tiger, thirty of the bravest Space Wolves fell on the path of the charge, and in the process of contesting the outer strongholds and passages, the death toll reached three digits.
Like a pack of wolves that had been hungry for too long in the cold night, the Sons of Leman Russ frantically charged into the smoke-filled war fortress, clearing room after room with chainswords, boltguns, axe blades,
and even teeth and fists. They cleared all ground structures at the fastest speed and thoroughly blocked every underground passage they could find with collapses and fire, to ensure temporary safety for their rear in the upcoming battle.
No one knew how many Space Wolves died in this disorganized extermination campaign, just as no one knew how many Xenos the Sons of Leman Russ slaughtered in this fortress. In short, less than one Terra Standard Hour later,
the last gunshot slowly faded into the sky above the fortress. The Primarch of the Sixth Legion, with an irresistible slash, cut the last Randan Overlord who dared to challenge him into two lifeless halves. Accompanied by the Fenris Wolf King's howl to the sky, the battle temporarily ended.
The Randan officers had once rehearsed their defenses. They were confident that even the most powerful forces would need dozens of planetary rotation days to breach the innermost fortress complexes guarding the [Fate Engine]. But in fact, with the Primarch leading his best sons to the front, they destroyed anything arrogant enough to stand in their way in just a few hours, be it Randan Legions or fortresses.
But this did not plunge all the Xenos into panic. In the terrifying decade-long stalemate with the Imperium of Man, the Randan armies had experienced the power of the Imperium's Primarchs more than once. They knew the only way to stop these terrifying demons.
That was attack, courage, and endless sacrifice.
And these, they did not lack.
The final path was revealed, and even earlier than that, a nearly inexhaustible Randan army appeared. The moment the Sons of Leman Russ captured this fortress, they had to accept the reality: an assault battle had instantly turned into a defensive battle.
The advantage Morgana had gained for the Space Wolves had been completely eroded in countless bloody battles. The main force of the Xenos had been awakened, and they were exceptionally ferocious.
The Randan Overlords, once rare, were now as numerous as a hungry locust swarm. Countless Randan Psykers, who had been swept into the war along with this world, unleashed their powers in the most desperate manner before the unmentionable [Soul Drinker], hoping to increase the chances of victory, even if only slightly.
The Randan army darkened the sky, perhaps numbering hundreds of thousands. This time, they were no longer driven Xenos slaves and cannon fodder, nor were they the conscripted and encouraged old and weak, but truly elite forces. Every single one was a terrifying warrior who had drunk countless liters of blood, every single one a death warrior capable of facing a Primarch head-on.
Leman Russ did not choose to remain entrenched in the crumbling fortresses. He came to the wide-open plains, where only a few collapsed towers stood. The Wolf King of Fenris raised his axe blade and howled to the sky.
"For the Allfather!"
Thousands of Space Wolves, accompanied by the roar of their Gene-Father, raised their blood-soaked weapons in unison.
""For Russ and the Allfather!!""
The iron-grey wolves roared, trampling over blood and earth, following their Gene-Father, to whom they swore eternal loyalty, and charged into the boundless Xenos legion.
——————
Their land.
Their blood.
Hektor whispered, the faint green light in his palm transforming into a man-devouring whirlwind, reaping hundreds of lives with every breath.
In the continuous battle, he had completely separated from the wildly fighting Space Wolves. The Xenos army surged like a tidal wave, ceaselessly charging the wolf pack's front lines. Even the most resolute defensive line would be crushed by such madness. Only countless scattered combat groups continued the fight tenaciously amidst the ruins.
But fortunately, in such extreme chaos, Hektor still reunited with his battle brothers. The six-man squad regrouped in the midst of the chaos: the serene blue light guided them from beginning to end, leading them to break through the chaotic tide, to find their battle brothers among tens of thousands of troops, allowing them to fight side by side once again before a stronghold reclaimed by the Randan.
"Break it open!"
Witnessing Ajax's heavy boltgun completely damaged, Hektor turned his head and issued a command to the two Psykers: Salieri and Eris. This order was thoroughly executed almost immediately.
Salieri summoned his psychic energy, destroying the thick gates of the stronghold, while Eris's whisper, though slightly slower, instantly pulverized the entire wall of the stronghold into ash, carrying with it the overly exposed Xenos, who also turned to dust with his whisper.
Dangerous individual.
Hektor suddenly remembered that Eris called himself that. It seemed he wasn't boasting.
But before he could think more, the crumbling shack completely collapsed, and countless Randan elites emerged from within.
Hektor weighed his greatsword and, once again, charged at the forefront.
Charge, slaughter, bleed.
These numb activities, which Hektor had performed countless times, were now second nature to him. He charged at the very front, clearing a path for his comrades. In the corner of his eye, he saw the Shadow Champion charging towards another wave of Xenos. He knew he no longer needed to worry about opponents from that direction.
Hektor fought his way forward, pushing deep into the fortress. There, several powerful opponents awaited him, many exuding the aura of Overlords. A brutal battle was about to begin.
Melee, roars, flying blades, boiling blood…
Time passed minute by minute. Opponents fell continuously, yet more Xenos elites surged out from multiple passages. In this room, where even turning around was difficult, Hektor found himself facing over ten opponents he couldn't quickly defeat. The Xenos' blades, like a rainstorm caught in the wind, left dense scars on his armor.
Until he heard a familiar set of footsteps approaching.
"Eris!"
Hektor roared, his power surging with his cry. His greatsword, wielded with savage might, temporarily repelled the few opponents directly in front of him. Just then, the Dangerous Individual also burst into the room.
He took less than a millisecond to assess the situation, then unhesitatingly summoned his psychic energy, tearing several massive stones from a side wall, striking the Xenos at the back, and sealing off the passages from which Xenos were continuously emerging.
Hektor seized the opportunity. He stepped forward and unleashed a slaughter. For a time, countless limbs and blood flew wildly with the eerie green whirlwind.
Before the Xenos struck by the massive stones could rise again, Hektor ended his fight. He didn't give any Xenos another chance to swing their blades.
It wasn't until the last hostile breath abruptly ceased that Morgana's proudest pawn touched the scars on his armor and nodded to Eris, expressing his gratitude.
Just then, he heard a sound of collapse.
That wall, the wall from which Eris had casually torn off stones, clearly could not hold up anymore. Perhaps it was fate, perhaps the previous battles had already shaken it, but before Hektor could think further, the unimportant stone wall crashed down.
Then, on the other side of the stone wall.
There were at least twenty fully armed, powerful Randan elites.
Hektor took a deep breath, then he looked at Eris.
He suddenly understood.
The true meaning of "Dangerous Individual."
——————
Hektor was fighting.
The wolves were fighting.
Everyone was fighting.
But Morgana was advancing.
After a brief contemplation, the Spider Queen lightly snapped her fingers, placing her true body in an underground compartment, ensuring that no conflict could truly threaten her.
Then, she summoned her consciousness to rise into the Sea of Souls. Within a few breaths, she had witnessed the war on the surface from the perspective of the gods.
She saw endless blood flowing, she saw Leman Russ, like an indestructible vortex, furiously crushing countless opponents. She saw the most powerful Randan Overlords, generals, and Psykers planning to join the encirclement of the Fenris Wolf King.
So, she stretched out her hand, drew out their souls, and left a few impromptu storms, throwing them into the Randan tide, reaping tens of thousands of lives.
After casually scattering these pawns, Morgana finally gathered all her attention, letting her will transform into a meteor in the darkest night sky. Without anyone noticing, she swept over the battlefield where hundreds of thousands fought, bypassed all the war machines and defensive measures deployed by the Randan. Before the next moment arrived, [Morgana] was already close to her goal.
And as her will drew closer to those aggregates of suffering, the Spider Queen gradually heard her welcome speech.
——————
"Welcome."
"Welcome, child of the Provoker."
"Welcome to you."
"I have been waiting for you for a long time."
"I waited, waiting for the Emperor who is not an Emperor to ascend the stage, waiting for the Overlord who is not an Overlord to reclaim the throne. These are things I heard in the endless Warp tides. Long ago, a prophecy told me to seek you."
"To find you, Morgana, the most venomous child of the Provoker, a life form that cannot be precisely defined by any words. Whether it be what mortals speak of: loyalty, betrayal, hatred, or any other adjective, none can describe your complexity."
"You and I are the same. We share certain commonalities, a basis for temporarily cooperating."
"Now, we can talk."
🚨 Note: Consider supporting this story on Patreon.com/Flokixy to access 400+ advance chapters and 2 new chapters daily! (Full story bundles also available without a subscription).