Lecter, the Florence Gorge.
The cliffs were lined with rows of Astartes.
They came from three Legions. Soon, there would be two.
On the gorge's right stood the iron-grey-armored Space Wolves.
They were the pack that had shattered the 2nd Legion's homeworld.
On the gorge's left, Shadows of Order's Honor Guard and the Seventh Chapter were positioned at either end.
Between the black-armored warriors stood the Faceless, in their yellow-brown armor for the last time. Soon, their memories would also be erased.
They were unarmed. Most were not mutated or had only minor mutations with inconspicuous bestial traits.
Some had their prominent cheekbones softened, flattened, and smoothed with agents mixed by Shadows of Order's "Apothecaries."
Others had their bestial claws and hooves removed, replaced with prosthetics provided by the "Savant."
...
Behind them, the golden-armored Custodians watched their backs.
Thirty-six thousand two hundred seventy-four. That was the maximum number Nareth had secured from the Custodians.
In his view, the over twenty thousand who had fought alongside the Wolves, slaughtered, should also have been spared, sent to battlefields as dangerous as the Rangdan and Hrud campaigns.
Just like the Canis Helix-mutated Wolves and the future Blood Angels suffering the Black Rage, they could be sent to the most dangerous battlefields.
But the Emperor clearly did not agree.
The Custodians, representing the Emperor, had made the Faceless lay down their arms and obey Nareth's orders, but also prevented 'xenos' from continuing to exist, tarnishing the image of His death angels.
Nareth, delving into the minds of the most mutated Faceless, found they had all committed the crime of raising xenos. He had no grounds to object.
In the gorge, Leman Russ and Jorin walked towards Nareth and Sanchez.
His ice-blue eyes were cold as knives. He slapped Jorin's back, producing a dull thud.
"Old friend, they think they've already won. They're using us as propaganda tools."
"Teach them a lesson with your axe."
"Wolf King, I will not disappoint you." Jorin gripped his frost axe. He had abandoned his usual chainaxe, choosing a weapon similar to his Wolf King's.
Both to forget the gloom and glaring blood of Dulan, and to emulate his Wolf King, to inspire himself.
On the right cliff, Amlodhi Skarssen Skarssensson, Wolf Lord of the 5th Great Company, recalled Indra-Sul, the powerful flame sorcery Sanchez had unleashed under the Slaughth's suppression.
A shadow fell across his face. He looked at the talismans on his iron-grey armor, asking the Rune Priest beside him, Ohthere Wyrdmake.
"Will the wolf talismans really block Sanchez's flame sorcery?"
"Wolf Lord," Wyrdmake gripped his staff, his eyes fixed on Sanchez, "all the Rune Priests have blessed Wolf Lord Jorin."
He forced his gaze to Jorin, staring at the All-Seeing Eye on his chest.
The sun disk was thick and bright, said to reflect all sorcery.
"Sorcery will not work on him." He deliberately raised his voice. The storm power of Fenris swelled his simple leather cap, flapping.
The six bristling wolves behind him threw their heads back and howled.
"The Wolf Lord will win!" Wolf Priest Ulbander of the 13th Great Company roared, cheering for his Wolf Lord.
The 13th Great Company roared in unison. They were the Wolf King's most trusted and honored guard.
Each grey-bearded commander had been part of the Wolf King and Jorin's brotherhood before the Allfather's descent to Fenris.
They had weathered countless storms, yet still walked the path of augmentation, paved with death.
If anyone could defeat Sanchez, it was Jorin.
The Wolves clamored, pounding their weapons. The giant wolves howled.
Roars, clashes, howls filled the gorge, the sound waves sweeping towards the opposite side.
Sasebo Tezuka's anger rose. He shouted, "Sanchez will win!"
The Faceless roared in unison, releasing their pent-up emotions.
Shadows of Orders of the Seventh Chapter were taken aback. The Faceless were even more excited than they were.
Seventh Company Captain Polti thought of the recent battle between the two Legions, the blood they had spilled on each other, and was no longer surprised.
The seasoned "Provoker" raised his head and let out a strange howl.
The Shadows of Orders of the Seventh Chapter responded with a similar tearing sound, like a Catachan daemon's blade-claw.
SHH, SHH, SHH...
Countless fierce gazes shifted from the yellow-brown Faceless to the black Shadows of Orders.
The Wolves, provoked, burned with rage. The humiliating memories Sanchez and his Seventh Chapter had left them stung their nerves.
Thousands of Blood Claw neophytes roared in fury, restless, until the seasoned Grey Hunters barked orders.
Nareth glanced at the Wolves. The corners of his mouth curved.
He withdrew his gaze. "Begin!"
Sanchez drew the Kraken's Fang and charged.
His simple drawing of the blade made Jorin's murky eyes turn fierce and crimson.
Rage surged. His frost axe heated under his hot breath.
"Roar!" Jorin let out a wolf-like howl. He bounded from rock to rock in the gorge, leaping.
As his outstretched arms closed, he paused in mid-air, then landed, twisting his broad frame, channeling all the power of his thick shoulders into the axe.
The massive frost axe had a long, slender handle, perfectly balanced.
The haft and blade were etched with intertwining, complex lines and grid-like patterns, gleaming with deadly edge.
Sanchez took a deep breath. He thought of the Wolves' rudeness to the Black Emperor. He put on his "Fury Mask."
He leaped to meet Jorin, the Kraken's Fang roaring, thrusting with the simplest Osbergh-Wajah 1st pattern.
CRASH!
Even from below, fury overpowered the descending Jorin, who had put his full strength into the blow.
The Kraken's Fang, sharing its origin with the Krakenmaw that had shattered icebergs, deflected the frost axe.
Jorin's arms went numb. He was startled.
He relaxed his arms, letting the axe slide, until his hands found the optimal grip, slightly behind the center of the haft. Then he tightened his grip and swung.
The seasoned "Provoker" spun his blade, twisting his body, the chainsword swinging.
CRACK, CRACK, CRACK!
Amidst a series of deafening clashes, Sanchez and Jorin passed each other, falling.
His eyes deepened. He suddenly twisted his blade, thrusting into the axe's shadow.
SCREECH!
With a roar of the chainsword, the All-Seeing Eye shattered. A large gash opened in the iron-grey power armor.
He flipped nimbly, landing calmly. "You lose!"
The Wolves' howls ceased abruptly, as if their necks had been squeezed.
Sanchez had not used sorcery. He had easily defeated Jorin, Wolf Lord of the 13th Great Company.
CRASH!
Jorin slammed to the ground. His frost axe fell. He stared blankly at the gash in his chest.
SLAP!
Russ's hand slapped his shoulder. "Old friend, it's fine. Watch me win it back."
He looked at Nareth. "Jorin lost. I will take off the armor."
"I'll allow you to wear it a while longer."
Nareth walked towards Russ, thinking to himself. 'Since you're about to give me Helwinter, I'll strip you later.'
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
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