Dulan's majestic orbital station was comparable in scale to the ring around Medusa.
The fixed gun batteries mounted on it poured a storm of barrages at the Wolf fleet. With dense flashes, silent explosions filled the void.
Phallian fighter squadrons launched in full force. Gun barrels beneath their fuselages spat torrents of flame.
Shattered, burning metal debris rained down, filling the void with smoke and dust.
Aboard the Hrafnkel, Russ stood before the viewport, watching the Phallians' bulky, massive red prows emerge. The glow from their reactors illuminated the surrounding orbit.
"Destroy them!"
The moment Russ gave the order, eight beams of light shot into his field of vision.
A sudden premonition struck him. The Master of Vox's voice sounded over the comm.
"Lord Russ, auspex detects a fleet arriving."
"Scan results indicate the readings belong to a Shadows of Order fleet."
'The beams came from relic-class ships.' Russ instantly realized the source of the attack.
The Allfather had gifted Nareth ships from the Dark Age of Technology, which had greater range than any other vessels, including Gloriana-class battleships.
Sanchez's 7th Chapter had four of them.
'Nareth. Sanchez. How could they be so fast?'
As Russ pondered, the voice spoke again.
"Lord Russ, we have received a message personally transmitted by the Tyrant of Dulan."
"Play it." Russ strode back to the hololithic strategic table and looked up at the viewscreen. "If he wants to surrender, it's too late. Only destruction awaits him."
Amidst the crackle of static, an image of a coiled dragon mosaic, symbolizing the Phallians, appeared before Russ's eyes.
Below it, on a raised platform, sat a pitch-black throne. A gaunt man wrapped in a scarlet robe spoke mockingly.
"Russ, I know what you call me: Tyrant..."
"To force that label onto me, to justify your invasion."
"Open your eyes. The people of Dulan are willing to fight and die for me. You, on the other hand, are nothing more than..."
His thin lips parted slightly, revealing yellowed teeth.
"...the Emperor's lapdog."
CRASH!
Russ leaped up and punched the viewscreen, shattering it. Shards flew across the bridge.
The Tyrant of Dulan's mockery exploded in his mind. His golden hair flew.
"I will cut off your head with my own hands! I swear it!"
The Wolves' fury burned at their Wolf King being publicly humiliated. Dark grey ships hurled themselves into Dulan's defenses, regardless of cost.
The black ships of Shadows of Order advanced steadily. Their relic-class ships, using their range advantage, delivered occasional fire strikes, showing no sign of stealing the Wolves' prey.
Jorin ordered the attack on the main orbital station. The crew compartments of the grey Stormbirds shook. The Wolves repeatedly chanted the epics passed down through generations on Fenris.
The Wolves' pheromones, heavy with killing intent, filled the cramped space. Unlike before, this rage, far beyond normal pre-battle readiness, exuded a mad, cruel scent.
In Jorin's craft, three Wolves pounded on metal cages, as they often struck sword against shield.
"Now the time for killing has come," Jorin repeated the oath he always recited before battle. "My enemies, the gates of death stand open before..."
Thinking of the Wolf King losing the pelt of Black Mane, he paused. To not affect pre-battle preparations, he continued: "...you."
The hatches opened. Jorin was the first to jump out.
The Wolves' usual battle cries were a meaningless noise condensed from primal emotion, chilling and cowering.
But now, unshackled, the Wolves repeated their hair-raising howls. The enraged grey tide, in their killing-hungry roars, became pure hunters above Fenris.
The Wolves had never been so angry.
The Wolf King was no lapdog.
He was the Wolf King. He was the Lord of Winter and Ruin.
Jorin swung his two-handed axe, tearing through Skarbyn soldiers like a whirlwind. He didn't stop until his armor was caked with strange flesh and the command center was empty.
He shook his arm, calming the restless limb, and looked at Wolf Priest Ulbrandr approaching.
"How is it?"
"Everything is normal," Ulbrandr replied. "The same at Heimligiga."
"This gene-seed was recovered from the fallen. The threaded cross-sections also show no abnormalities."
The Wolf Priest combined the duties of Apothecary and Chaplain for most Legions, holding the highest rank in the Great Company after the Wolf Lord.
"Good," Jorin breathed a sigh of relief. "That was a bloody battle. If they could maintain their sanity under those conditions, then there's no need..."
"But the numbers don't add up," Ulbrandr interrupted his Wolf Lord. "I checked five times, even sent servitors to rescan the station's wreckage twice."
"Unless the threads of fate are toying with us, or I truly made a mistake, then..."
"Wolf Lord, some warriors are missing."
Jorin's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"
"Scans found nothing. The casualty records and the number of destroyed power armor suits don't match either."
"More importantly, you need to see this."
The hololithic image Ulbrandr displayed was shaky.
"This was extracted from the Great Company flagship's surveillance records."
Jorin saw the battle-wreathed orbital station appear in the image. Huge sections exploded and shattered, tumbling towards the planet's surface.
"What am I looking for here?" Jorin stared intently at the image.
"You'll see."
As Ulbrandr spoke, the image suddenly flared with the light of engine exhaust. A piece of metal debris moved differently from the other chaotic fragments.
"One got away." Jorin's voice was cold.
"More than one," Ulbrandr shook his head. "This is just from one fixed camera."
"They could only take bodies," Jorin said with certainty. "No one captures a live Wolf."
Ulbrandr 's lips twisted. "The Dulanians are formidable. It's entirely possible they captured one, or more, after losing the station."
"If these warriors were sane, they would never let themselves be captured alive, suffer such humiliation."
"Then there's only one possibility: if they had completely lost their minds, reduced to..."
A tense silence hung between them. After a long moment, Jorin broke it.
"You can't be sure."
"No, Wolf Lord," Ulbrandr replied.
"You need to tell the Wolf King."
"What am I supposed to tell him?" Jorin roared.
"We don't know what this affliction is. We're not sure these men have it. We can't even confirm they were captured."
"You tell me. How do I tell the Wolf King? Bother him with baseless speculation and conjecture?"
"We're going into battle in hours. Every fighting man is precious. The Wolf King needs us to win, to tear down the Tyrant of Dulan's defenses before those annoying Shadows of Order. And you want me to go to him with this?"
Ulbrandr shook his head. "If the Dulanians took them, there's a reason."
"You cannot allow a weapon that could be used against us to remain in enemy hands."
"I will not give them any weapon," Jorin reached out and shut off the data-slate. The hologram vanished.
"But without tangible evidence, this is nothing but baseless suspicion."
"Send more men to continue the search. Look for their bodies. If nothing is found, continue searching on Dulan."
"I swear, whatever we find, I will fight alongside you, cut through the enemy's hellish world, and bring our brothers back."
The Wolf Priest met his Wolf Lord's gaze. Their eyes locked.
Finally, Ulbrandr said, "Perhaps, in the end, you will have to do just that."
.....
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