"Pah—"
The monarch from the Fenris Icefield, Leman of the Russ family, Primarch of the Astartes Sixth Legion, had just cut off the head of his last opponent.
Looking at this Xenos who dared to brandish a blade at him with courage and madness, Leman Russ spat on the ground, showing his respect.
Leman Russ stood atop the ruins of a fortress whose original shape was utterly indiscernible. Beneath his feet lay countless corpses of Xenos overlords, piled up to his knees. Even his closest Primarch Guard struggled to trudge through the stench-filled mounds of bone.
This was victory, this was slaughter, this was an impossible outcome, another miracle that could only be created by a Primarch leading his Blood Kin.
In the ethereal Galaxy, there would always be fools who questioned the power of these mortal demigods personally created by the Emperor of Mankind. And their reasons for questioning seemed so reasonable:
these powerful deities fallen into the mortal world were, after all, merely flesh and blood. Their arms could not withstand the crushing force of Divine Machines, and their bodies could not block the artillery fire of the Void Engine.
Furthermore, even a few ordinary Armored Vehicles and Fighter Jets, if they could seize the right moment and gather enough strength, could throw these proud Star Kings into disarray, or even into mortal danger.
Just a moment, a surprise attack, a carefully prepared trap, a squad of fearless souls, could leave these so-called "demigods" in utter disarray and peril.
But even so, even if such a situation were truly possible, it could never change one fact: these artificial miracles, born from the Divine Fire stolen by the Emperor and emerged from legends and fantasies, were the most mysterious and dreamlike existences in the Cosmic Stars.
These Primarchs, who were neither invincible nor perfect, and in some sense even had abnormal personalities, could always create all kinds of miracles. No matter how exaggerated or bizarre a story, as long as it happened to them, it gained the most basic logic and possibility.
For example, at this moment, as Leman Russ pulled his Battle Axe from the remnants of the last Xenos overlord and couldn't help but let out a sky-shattering roar, the most incredible victory had fallen upon him: across the boundless, blood-soaked ruins, only the Sons of Fenris stood proudly as victors, and beneath their feet lay the corpses of hundreds of thousands of elite Randan.
Thousands of Space Wolves, who had followed their gene-father in launching this surprise attack, had suffered over half casualties. Even Wolf Lords and countless Terra Veterans had fallen in this insane meat grinder.
Yet, this did not prevent the Astartes from being the winners of this brief but bloody close-quarters battle. In a few Terra Standard Hours, they had decapitated dozens of times more elite Xenos. On every inch of land visible to every Space Wolf, blood flowed freely or slowly congealed, and sightless heads lay everywhere, haphazardly kicked and piled, continuously.
No one knew how the Space Wolves had accomplished all this, nor did anyone know how Leman Russ's Blood Kin had withstood the overwhelming Xenos tide and even turned the tide to victory after a brutal struggle.
Perhaps this was the power of the Primarchs and Astartes; when they unleashed their fury without restraint, destiny always sided with them.
Even in the cold wind, thoroughly steeped in the scent of blood, a distant and furious laughter seemed to echo, as if a hidden God of War cast an approving glance upon this glorious slaughter.
"Come here, you brat."
When Leman Russ rested for a while, his personal guard, Kjarl Grimblood, had brought Hektor to the Primarch's side. The Wolf King of Fenris turned his head, observing this unusually tall Astartes closely for the first time.
Hektor. His most trusted Wolf Lord, Jorin Bloodhowl, had just mentioned this name and praised his strength and bravery without reserve. Considering Jorin's arrogant nature, such praise was indeed rare.
The Wolf King observed the warrior, letting out a soft sigh of admiration.
What a fine lad he was.
Look at those arms, and that exaggerated height. If one were to discuss pure physical talent, the most burly warrior in the Sixth Legion barely reached his shoulder. Perhaps only a handful of Astartes warriors could compare to him.
Although Leman Russ had casually glanced at Hektor while speaking with his Blood Kin earlier, it wasn't until this moment that he truly observed this new star of the Second Legion. In the Primarch's mind, the images of the most powerful warriors flashed, constantly overlapping with this somewhat young Son of Morgan.
Leman Russ thought for a few seconds, then suddenly realized that among the great warriors he imagined, none were from the Space Wolves, his own blood-descended Sons.
The Wolf King tried harder to recall, but he genuinely couldn't think of anyone in his Legion who could rival those most powerful Astartes warriors.
Acudona, Radolon, Abaddon, Sejanus, Astoran, and Alajos... It was said that in the Imperial Fists, a formidable warrior named Sigismund had recently emerged, constantly achieving unimaginable victories and feats, likely to join this grand pantheon.
Even this young brat named Hektor, with his talent, strength, and the calm fury he displayed on the battlefield, would at least be one of them in the future, even if not their foremost.
But even as Leman Russ racked his brain, he simply couldn't recall any of his own children possessing such strength and talent to achieve the same status.
The Wolf King smacked his lips, feeling a sourness between his teeth and tongue.
He beckoned the young brat, who could almost meet his gaze, to come closer, then softly asked, hot breath escaping his blood-stained fangs and rolling out in thick, spectacular mists in the cold air.
"How long has your Primarch been missing?"
This direct question made Hektor quiet down. Leman Russ witnessed his embarrassment and concealment, laughing unreservedly.
"Don't hide it, you brat. Any warrior observed by their Primarch will have a subtle, profound connection with their Primarch, capable of a most basic mutual perception and contact."
"Now, tell me, how long has it been?"
"...Roughly one Terra Standard Hour ago, I stopped feeling my Gene-Mother's presence."
Leman Russ looked at the unreserved worry on Hektor's face and laughed even more heartily, opening his mouth in a low growl, like a wild wolf.
"Alright, stop worrying,"
"She is a Primarch, a Primarch. In this Galaxy, no one can truly harm her, except the Emperor of Mankind and us, her fellow Primarchs."
"Only Primarchs can fight Primarchs."
"Hmm… but maybe not…"
His words trailed off, and Leman Russ fell into a quiet self-doubt. Clearly, he was thinking of another lost brother.
His relationship with the missing one was not close, but not bad either. That Primarch of the Eleventh Legion was, for the most part, not an unlikable figure. Moreover, his fervent loyalty and worship of the Lord of Mankind were almost palpable.
In that regard, only Lorgar could compare to him.
However…
The Wolf King of Fenris recalled what he had seen on Mengel's homeworld, and his expression darkened.
Mengel had crossed a line.
Although the Emperor of Mankind had never explicitly stated His bottom line, all the Primarchs had a basic understanding of what the Lord of Mankind would not tolerate.
And the mistakes Mengel had made, while not directly related to Xenos or hateful AI, were indeed trampling upon the Lord of Mankind's boundaries.
Even if he hadn't died, even if he could return from the lost stars, only the coldest end awaited him.
In his heart, Leman Russ murmured to himself, he had a premonition that perhaps soon, he would have no choice but to wield the Spear of Russ.
Although the day he received it, he was already mentally prepared, and even felt a tragic joy and pride, believing himself to be the Emperor of Mankind's most beloved and trusted figure.
But when he truly felt he was about to do something, only endless sorrow and hatred filled his mind.
Thinking of this, Leman Russ couldn't help but spit again. He looked up, forcing his attention away from irrelevant matters and back to the current war.
"One Terra Standard Hour…"
Watching the constantly gathering forces, the Primarch murmured. Although Morgana hadn't communicated much with him, Leman Russ, relying on the current situation and his superhuman wisdom, naturally knew what his Blood Kin was doing.
"If all goes well, it should be now."
The Wolf King of Fenris whispered.
At the edge of his vision, another thin black line, mixed with endless roars and bloody dust, gradually appeared on the horizon: more Xenos, more fearless armies.
And it was at this moment that the Wolf King of Fenris looked up, letting out a joyful and pure laugh.
He felt it.
He heard it.
The voice from the Sea of Souls, the whisper from his Blood Kin.
——————
[Done.]
——————
The Sea of Destiny roared, it boiled, it dragged everything within sight into its own hell, like a dying dragon.
In the darkest tide of the Warp, a dazzling radiance, brighter than the supernova of a thousand stars, instantly engulfed hundreds of thousands of Xenos armies nearest to it, incinerating their souls and silencing their screams in the next moment.
Leman Russ watched all this, even frowning, for it was only now that he truly grasped the immense and blasphemous power contained within that twisted construct known as the Fate Engine.
Souls, countless souls, billions of constantly wailing souls. All the Wolf Priests knelt on the ground, trembling for the first time in their lives, recoiling from such a terrifying… thing.
"What is that?"
The Primarch gently asked.
As his question landed, distortions and tremors echoed across the burning ruins. The next moment, Morgana appeared behind him; her condition didn't look particularly good.
The Spider Queen had even shrunk back into her smaller mortal body. Destroying the twisted construct had clearly cost her a tremendous amount of energy and will. At this moment, Morgana's mind was overwhelmed by the backlash and destruction caused by the Fate Engine, forcing her to exert every effort to maintain mental balance, with no energy left to even control her limbs.
Morgana casually landed on Hektor's shoulder, letting her child instantly straighten his back. She smiled, a hint of weakness in her expression.
[That is death, Leman Russ.]
[The death of a race, the death of a hope.]
"...Speak plainly."
[I cannot speak plainly. This involves dangerous Psychic Energy knowledge. If you wish, you can note down everything you've seen and felt, and then ask Magnus the Red sometime. He would be happy to answer.]
"…"
"Never mind, I'm not really that eager to know such things."
The Wolf King of Fenris rubbed his rough neck, his gaze fixed on the army that was beginning to mass on the horizon.
"Now, do we retreat?"
Morgana didn't answer immediately. She took several heavy breaths, regulating her chaotic aura.
[Probably not. Although I destroyed the engine's internal system, I didn't completely demolish it. My remaining power isn't enough to shatter its container.]
"Speak simply."
[If we retreat now, the Randan might have a chance to repair it, though that possibility is small.]
"Alright, I understand."
Leman Russ laughed, picking up the Spear of Russ from where it stood. He swung it twice before looking once more at the shattered, twisted construct in the distance.
"The rest, leave it to me."
[Then be careful.]
Morgana's breathing finally stabilized. She first cast her third eye at the void, then spoke urgently.
[You must be careful, swift, and have some… mental preparation.]
The crimson sun was rushing towards them relentlessly, and all the Imperial Warships were futilely trying to stop it, but with little effect.
"What do you mean?"
[Simply put.]
[You must be prepared to lose all your Blood Kin before you. They may have to embrace a battle destined for death.]
Morgana's words made Leman Russ pause, and then he burst into laughter.
A roaring laugh.
The Wolf King raised his battle axe. The shouts for the Allfather and Russ reverberated with his movements, shaking the heavens and the earth. All the Space Wolves roared, charging once more towards an enemy tens of times their number.
Before joining the charge, the Wolf King of Fenris turned back, looking at his Blood Kin, his voice low, as if whispering in a snowstorm.
"Ready to die?"
"Isn't that the most common awakening?"
🚨 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).