Nareth walked to Hannibal's body. He slowly lifted it, as if not wanting to disturb a sleeping figure.
The Faceless let out anguished roars and charged at Russ.
The Wolves let out war cries, swinging their weapons as they charged.
Just as the slaughter was about to erupt again, Shadows of Orders of the Seventh Chapter, riding Catachan wolves, swiftly cut between the yellow-brown and iron-grey lines.
The loudspeaker's voice echoed across the smoke-filled battlefield: "The battle is over."
"Stop!"
The Wolves slowed, but still gripped their weapons, ready to charge.
The Faceless who still retained their reason also stopped, reluctantly.
Over a thousand Faceless, with prominent cheekbones and teeth sharper than wolves', roared and attacked the black-armored warriors.
"Anesthetize!" 1st Company Captain Thibault ordered loudly.
Catachan sting-thorns, soaked in Nucerian anesthetic, shot out.
THWIP, THWIP, THWIP...
Countless sharp thorns pierced power armor, releasing the anesthetic into the Faceless's bodies.
With a series of thuds, Meron and Sasebo, in yellow-brown armor, led the neophytes towards Nareth.
Grief had shattered their training-forged will. They stared blankly at the crystal sarcophagus, their sorrow palpable.
Though the Custodians had conveyed the Emperor's judgment, their gene-father lay within.
They were also uncertain about the future. They had lost their Primarch.
The Wolves' heavy blood scent, the burning Faceless bodies, made them uneasy and angry.
It was only when Lord Nareth turned and walked towards them that they snapped out of their complex thoughts.
The neophytes remembered Leman Russ's challenge to Lord Nareth. Their wet eyes lit up.
Scenes from the Communion Masters' after-dinner stories flashed through their minds:
Under Dulan's night sky, Lord Nareth had defeated Russ in a duel.
Though each Communion Master told a different story, some spoke of Lord Nareth's blue-white blade, his dazzling swordsmanship disarming Russ of the Krakenmaw; others told of Lord Nareth's golden fist, crushing Russ's face, leaving him unconscious for three days...
They walked excitedly towards the revelation of the Emperor's Tarot. Golden light in their eyes dispelled the iron-grey gloom.
"Faceless neophyte Meron greets Lord Nareth!" Meron knelt on one knee, emphasizing "neophyte" to show they had committed no crimes.
"Sasebo Tezuka greets Lord Nareth!"
Nareth's eyes flickered. He remembered that name.
During the Second Founding, Ultramarines Captain Sasebo Tezuka was ordered to found the Mortifactors Chapter.
Following the Emperor's Tarot, he found the dark world of Posul and built the Mortifactors' legion fortress there.
'Indeed, the Mortifactors, with their skull-collecting, corpse-eating culture, are not Guilliman's sons. They are the Faceless he took in.'
'Their culture is completely different from that of other Ultramarines successors. They are also unusually distant from their parent Chapter and other successors.'
He recalled that when the Ultramarines were in crisis and asked the Mortifactors for aid, they had to adhere to their Chapter's culture, and received only a single company as reinforcement.
But when they sensed a death omen, believing in the Emperor and Death, they sent all their companies to the Third War for Armageddon, nearly being annihilated.
'It will take some effort to truly win them over and make them loyal to me.'
His eyes deepened. He made a connection.
'The original Hannibal likely participated in the Rangdan War, massively raising and consuming xenos. He was then discovered, and Russ was ordered to kill him.'
'After the Dark Angels lost approximately 150,000, Guilliman took in the Faceless screened by the Emperor. The Ultramarines reached 166,000 in 899, becoming the largest Legion.'
As he thought, the yellow-brown figures saw the approaching giant. They felt an urge to submit.
The "Majestic" figure, more imposing than the iron-grey giant they hated and despised, seemed to make the very planet beneath him but a stage for a demigod walking the earth. They instinctively knelt.
With a series of thuds, Jorin quickly walked to Russ's side. He saw the Wolf Priest step back. The wound on the Primarch's left side, inflicted by Hannibal, had stopped bleeding.
The Wolf King had killed another Primarch.
Hannibal, who had gained great power by consuming xenos.
Jorin raised his head proudly, turning towards the crystal sarcophagus. He saw the figure with seven red arrows on his shoulder, standing beside a Fenrisian Thunderwolf larger than a Rhino.
A shadow fell across his murky eyes. He fingered Helwinter, letting its cold suppress the surging battle-lust.
All the Wolves' failures began with his defeat by Sanchez.
He had lost the hunt, allowing Sanchez to gain the chainsword at his waist, forged from the fang of the largest Kraken on Fenris, along with the Krakenmaw.
To reclaim it, the Wolves had issued a challenge.
The 6th Legion's former Legion Master, Enoch Rathvin, had lost the Russ Wolf Helm at the Wheel of Fire system, forged by the Allfather's artisans for the Wolf King upon his descent to Fenris.
Now, it sat on Sanchez's face.
Even though it covered his face, just standing there, he was repulsive.
Amlodhi Skarssen Skarssensson, Wolf Lord of the 5th Great Company, had lost the cloak woven from the pelt of Fenris's great wolf Black Mane during the Rangdan War.
The fluttering cloak was so grating.
Russ's ice-blue eyes caught Jorin's bristling beard. He smiled. His ill-fated fate line seemed to fade.
He walked to Jorin and patted his shoulder.
"Old friend, want a fight with Sanchez?"
"Yes, Wolf King," Jorin admitted. "But I'm not certain of victory. Sanchez is stronger than Faceless 1st Company Captain Suarez."
Russ knew Jorin had always been unwilling to accept defeat from losing a hunt on Fenris before becoming a Space Wolf.
On Dulan, Jorin, troubled by the Canis Helix malignant mutation, had not been in the mindset for a challenge.
"Old friend, I will support you."
Jorin's murky eyes lit up, then he hesitated. "Lord Nareth will want higher stakes. I don't want you to pay the price for my loss."
"I will bear it," Russ said loudly. 'Even if you lose, I will win it back.'
He walked towards Nareth. The Allfather had woven his fate line.
An executioner's fate line.
He had also grasped his brothers' fate lines.
Freki and Geri flanked him, watching the gyrinx's gleaming, black onyx eyes uneasily.
John's gaze passed over the two giant wolves. As a "Winner," they were no threat, even though they had torn apart over a dozen Faceless.
Even on his unluckiest day, and their luckiest.
The old wolf behind Russ, however, was a seasoned hunter, a threat.
Nareth had heard Russ and Jorin's conversation. Though they used the Wolves' battle-tongue, he had learned it, and the hearth-tongue, during his visit to Fenris.
'Bringing Sanchez was a wise decision.'
'The seasoned "Provoker," wearing Russ's gear, would stir the combative Wolves.'
'Let's see what trophy I should choose.'
The corners of his mouth flattened. He turned calmly.
"Nareth, Jorin wants to fight your son, Sanchez."
"I stake these." Russ raised the two bolt guns in his left hand.
Nareth glanced at the Spitter and the Biter. They were twin-linked, but unlike future storm bolters, seamlessly integrated.
His gaze shifted to the frost armor on Russ's body.
He recognized the Fenrisian runes etched on it, mostly matching those recorded in the barrows of the First Kings.
He could discern Martian craftsmanship, but something else.
'Elavagar.'
'I recall this armor has threefold blessings. Magnus, unleashing his full psychic power, only cracked it, didn't destroy it.'
'Besides Fenris and Mars, could the other blessing be from the Emperor himself?'
His eyes lit up. He looked at the armor, shattered on the left side, thinking to himself.
'Russ, your armor is broken. You might as well not wear it.'
'Let me help you. I'll take it. You can get a new set.'
'I must say, I'm always thinking of you.'
With this thought, he pointed at Russ's frost armor.
"I want that."
"Good." Russ agreed readily. Whatever the stakes, even if Jorin lost, he would win it back.
"I must first complete the Emperor's task, reviewing the Faceless." On one hand, he wanted to get to the various battlefields quickly, to save as many Faceless as possible from the Wolves. On the other hand, he wanted to win the Faceless's loyalty by letting them witness the duel.
From his memory of the future Mortifactors' distant relationship with the Ultramarines, he knew that simply implanting suggestions would not win the Faceless's loyalty.
Of course, it was also possible that when the Emperor wiped their memories, he had implanted loyalty to him, not Guilliman.
But he knew his own mental powers were significantly inferior to the Emperor's.
If he could let them witness his defeat of Russ, who had killed their gene-father, and then, during the memory wipe, reinforce their gratitude towards him, aided by his beyonders abilities, he could win them over.
Even with their memories erased, deep in their minds, beneath the conscious, there would be residual impressions.
"Good." Russ turned and walked. "Don't keep me waiting."
Nareth walked through the Wolves, towards the halted Faceless. Two Custodians followed.
"I am here by the Emperor's command." His voice echoed across the battlefield, drowning out the Wolves' clamor.
"Faceless, lay down your arms."
"As long as you have committed no crimes, you will be pardoned."
"You will be given new life."
The Faceless stared at his majestic form and the two Custodians beside him. One by one, they dropped their weapons.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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