Chaos, shaking, unconsciousness, nausea...
This was definitely the worst long-distance teleportation Morgan had ever performed since her birth: and, of course, it was undoubtedly the most difficult.
To transport two Primarchs, including herself, and over a thousand Space Marines, all at once from millions of miles away on an Iron World, and dump them onto the dusty surface of Takus V, no one knew what terrifying difficulties and precision such seemingly light words implied.
Even Morgan herself firmly believed: if she weren't a creation of the Lord of Mankind who stole the Boundless Tinder, if she weren't that exceptional individual with absolute psychic reinforcement and talent,
if she hadn't lavishly squandered her soul reserves beforehand, thus preserving a large part of her original strength, if she hadn't risked greatly to swallow a huge wave of souls from the shattered [Fate Engine] almost recklessly, she would never have been able to achieve this.
At the very least, not perfectly.
A huge psychic rift, like an invisible god wielding its sharp sword, carved an unhealing wound across the iron-gray sky.
Morgan's teleportation gate opened on a desolate, vast, and sufficiently soft sandy ground on Takus V. This was a safe enough place: even when the landing operation reached its most unfavorable stage, Randan's army had not truly attacked here, with only their continuous artillery fire causing damage to some buildings.
Groups of mortal soldiers and servants moved through these damaged buildings, bustling back and forth between logistical storage and temporary medical centers. At this moment, these busy mortals stared wide-eyed as the spacious parade ground, used for troop assembly, was swallowed by a massive surge of ghostly blue light, faintly emitting savage sounds like a hurricane scraping a tsunami.
Before they could feel sufficient shock and vigilance, countless Space Wolves, covered in scars and blood, appeared within the light. Amidst the mortals' exclamations, in just a few breaths, hundreds of Space Marine warriors had been teleported onto the plaza.
They were panting, covered in wounds, almost every one of them bearing shocking injuries. Even more so, the wounds on their faces and limbs were so vast that it made one wonder how they had survived.
But even so, the Sons of Leman Russ had not lost their discipline, composure, and order. The fastest recovering warriors quickly struggled to their feet, refusing any assistance from the mortals. They walked to their companions who could not move quickly yet, moving them to other places: because in the light, more Space Wolves were continuously being teleported over.
Soon, such unity and mutual assistance reached its peak with the appearance of an incredibly massive figure: Leman Russ's teleportation caused the entire teleportation gate to stir up more waves and power.
And when the bleeding, heavily scarred, yet still unyielding Wolf King of Fenris, stood up steadily at the first moment, the cheers of the wolf pack completely engulfed him. All the Space Wolves, with the greatest enthusiasm, crowded around their Gene-Father as much as possible, ensuring he was truly unharmed.
In almost the blink of an eye, the incredibly tall Primarch was completely submerged by all sorts of smelly black, white, gray, brown, and mixed furs.
The pungent smell of sweat and blood made the Primarch somewhat annoyed as he pushed his "cubs" off. He braced himself, standing on the ground, enduring pain and a low mood unimaginable to mortals,
and steadily walked to the very edge of the teleportation gate. Leman Russ loudly issued command after command, and in mere moments, all the Astartes and mortals before him began to busy themselves in an orderly fashion.
Except for a few figures: as if receiving some unknown favor, Hektor's six-man squad this time was still fully alive. Although everyone looked incredibly miserable, the powerful physique of the Astartes was restoring their bodies and strength with unimaginable speed and efficiency. The same thing, naturally, was also happening to the Space Wolves.
Everything was orderly. In just a few dozen seconds, all the Space Wolves had emerged from the teleportation gate and were well-situated. Leman Russ even once again possessed a force capable of entering combat. It was only then that the Wolf King of Fenris gritted his teeth, seemingly relaxed, and slowly sat on a nearby boulder, breathing deeply.
Leman Russ looked at his battle axe, his most beloved weapon and companion, now shattered into pieces. He even fell into a slight melancholy.
Beside him, Kjarl Grimblood, the Wolf King's Primarch Guard, looked at his Gene-Father with unusual concern. He could feel that each of Leman Russ's breaths was difficult, as if an ancient bellows was reluctantly emitting hoarse sounds under the most savage pulling.
Not far from Kjarl Grimblood, another Primarch Guard felt the same: Hektor completely disregarded his own injuries, concentrating intently on the teleportation gate, fearing to miss any detail. Every member of his squad was also like this. Even Kyron, the seasoned Ancient Warrior, was now like the most fidgety new recruit, staring intently at the teleportation gate while breathing uneasily.
They didn't wait long. Almost the moment all the Space Wolves had been sent over, a slender figure appeared in the plaza as the light vanished.
Joy, excitement, happiness...
Emotions that shouldn't have been born after defeat surged with the appearance of the Primarch. The warriors of the Second Legion immediately wanted to rush to their Primarch, but they then saw Morgan's actions: the Spider Queen planted her staff on the ground, made a gesture for silence to her progeny, and then waved her hand, signaling them to rest.
Hektor sat down somewhat reluctantly, but his gaze never left his Gene-Mother. He didn't know why, but he always had a strange feeling that his Primarch seemed to be in a somewhat chaotic state, no longer calm and clear-headed as before.
Outwardly, Morgan seemed much better than everyone else. Her attire was still neat, and not even a single strand of hair was out of place. But only by carefully observing her cyan-blue pupils and patiently sensing her current aura would one discover that this Spider Queen of the Second Legion was in an unimaginable state of chaos and irritability.
Withered, dilapidated, stark, cold...
At this moment, Morgan was like a giant anaconda lurking in a late autumn forest, maintaining an extremely strange state of decay, violence, and bewilderment.
No one could perceive this. In the eyes of the Astartes and mortals, Morgan merely maintained a petite form. With one hand, she dragged her staff, and with the other, Leman Russ's Spear of Dionysus. Without any pause or hesitation, she immediately strode towards the Primarch of the Sixth Legion in the distance.
She advanced in silence, and along the way, all the Space Wolves respectfully made way and saluted her, expressing their deference with equally silent gazes and solemn expressions.
No one could see her abnormality: except for Hektor, and Ezio and Kyron who vaguely sensed something was amiss. But all they could do was remain silent and quietly recuperate.
After all, these were commands from the Primarch.
——————
Morgan walked towards Leman Russ; it was not a long distance.
As she walked, she allowed waves of emotion to surge within her heart.
Failure, she thought.
She had just experienced failure, and in this defeat, she was pierced by a certain bewilderment, which even interfered with her calm thinking.
Morgan abhorred failure, abhorred any actual failure. She could accept feigning a temporary defeat for a greater benefit, and she clearly knew that against the power of that Xenos Emperor, they had no possibility of victory.
But this did not prevent her heart from falling into gloomy weather due to this factual failure, and an additional cruel mental storm raged because her massive investment in this battle had gone to waste.
This storm contained not only anger but also a kind of confusion and perplexity born from incomprehension.
Morgan looked at Leman Russ, watching herself draw closer, looking at her blood kin. She had grown accustomed to this appellation flowing in her heart at some unknown point, and she naturally regarded her [blood kin] as more important than anything else.
This was unlike her.
Morgan could feel strange things within her heart, things she knew but could not understand, seemingly sprouting arrogantly, mockingly taunting the desolate ruins within the Spider Queen's heart.
A tender sprout...
It seemed like nothing.
Yet, it also seemed to represent something unstoppable, marching towards revival.
Something even a Primarch could not stop...
Morgan's gaze darkened.
She remembered her rage, the rage that erupted during the recent battle. When she truly felt her blood kin were in danger, when she saw Leman Russ fall at the feet of the Xenos Emperor, she did feel... anger.
Genuine anger.
It was not a wisp of flame, nor a fiery emblem on a mask, but a surging, boundless fury capable of devouring kingdoms and worlds, which suddenly ignited in her heart.
She acted. She even lost her sanity and composure. She rashly used the souls of the unjustly dead, even risking a backlash, lowering her power reserves below a bottom line she had sworn never to reach.
At that moment, she just did it, even considering it natural. When she saw her blood kin fall, she instinctively did all of this. No internal voice influenced her; it was her own decision.
But the more she thought about it now, the more Morgan felt a sense of disgust and bewilderment.
It truly was... strange...
As she was about to reach Leman Russ, Morgan was still pondering this unprecedented question. The Primarch's inherently superior thinking ability allowed her mind to constantly formulate and analyze her problems at a speed faster than milliseconds. Along this not-so-long path, Morgan had already considered and refuted hundreds of conclusions one by one.
And when this brief journey reached its end, Morgan believed she had found the answer.
Her anger must have stemmed from the dangerous situation. Just as a wild beast becomes agitated when facing an insoluble crisis, when she saw Leman Russ fall, realizing there was no hope of victory, rage instantly overwhelmed fear and calm, gaining the upper hand.
...Yes, it must be so.
——————
Within her heart, Morgan used the most forceful tone to convince herself.
Her anger was for herself, absolutely not for these so-called blood kin.
They weren't that important.
——————
Leman Russ watched his blood kin approach him with the Spear of Dionysus. He forced himself to stand tall, unwilling to show any weakness.
Looking at the Spear of Dionysus that Morgan had set on the ground, the Wolf King did not speak immediately. He just stared at the weapon, and after a long while, he asked Morgan in a low voice.
"You could have saved them. You could have saved more people, not... a weapon."
"You made a cold-blooded choice, Morgan."
[But it was also the correct choice, wasn't it?]
Morgan retorted indifferently.
Leman Russ did not answer. He merely lowered his head, silently acknowledging his blood kin's words.
He stared at the weapon, the most powerful and also most detested divine weapon in his hand, and murmured.
"I hate it, Morgan, I've hated it from the very beginning."
"I tried to throw it away many times, but it always returned to my side, no matter how. It is a collection of things I cannot escape."
"If I could, I would even exchange it for my warriors, even if it was just for one..."
"But I cannot do that."
"I know..."
"..."
He fell silent again for a long time.
"You are right, Morgan."
"You are right."
——————
The two exchanged a few more words about the attack and the Xenos Emperor.
Soon, the conversation ended, and Leman Russ stood up, pushing away Kjarl Grimblood, who had tried to assist him. When the Wolf King of Fenris rose, all eyes were on him.
Loneliness and loss had vanished from his face without a trace. Leman Russ walked to the Astartes and mortals, his god-like face now filled with awe-inspiring majesty and confidence.
He stood tall, straightening his magnificent physique, as if hundreds of broken bones and internal injuries did not exist. With a most hearty voice, he loudly affirmed and encouraged everyone before him, every Astartes and mortal, until an emotion called hope and pride reappeared on their faces, until cheers and shouts completely dispelled the lingering low fog over the plaza.
Until the wolf pack reappeared.
It was then that he turned around, and in the shadows visible only to Morgan and Kjarl Grimblood, he revealed his pain and somberness.
He walked to Morgan's side, and forced a smile as best he could.
"You did very well, my blood kin. You are a truly trustworthy warrior."
"From now on, I suppose we are comrades. You also have a seat in my fortress on Fenris. I welcome you there anytime to enjoy the snowscapes and strong liquor of Fenris; ordinary people cannot enjoy them."
Morgan urged herself to show a fitting, graceful smile.
[Does every one of our blood kin have a place there?]
The Wolf King shook his head.
"Some people don't want this seat. They have too many treasures of their own and look down on mine."
"You are the sixteenth, Morgan. Of our twenty blood kin, besides you, only four are still adrift among the stars: only the Eighth, Twelfth, Nineteenth, and Twentieth Legions. Their Primarchs have yet to be heard from."
At this, Leman Russ smiled, licking his fangs like a true wolf.
"You are the sixteenth... that's a very interesting number. For a long time, it belonged only to the Warmaster Horus, our great Horus."
"He wouldn't like his things being taken, but you two should get along well. Overall, Horus is quite good."
"...Alright, Morgan, my blood kin, I think I've taken up enough of your time. Now, you should go see your progeny, those lucky ones. They were the first to meet their Primarch. Your entire legion will be jealous of them."
Morgan blinked, looking at her progeny. They were watching her expectantly.
Perhaps she should go, but the chaos and irritation in her mind told her it was not the time. She was already tired of making more mistakes, and did not want to mess up in front of her personal possessions, no matter how small the chance.
[They are warriors, Leman Russ, not little ones I need to watch over.]
"Hahahaha..."
The Wolf King laughed.
"No, no, no."
"Sometimes, warriors and children are no different. They need words, they need goals, and they need a figure they can follow unconditionally, allowing them to simply release their nature without thinking about any complex or painful topics, and quietly learn more things in the process."
"These are your responsibilities, Morgan."
[...Responsibilities?]
Morgan frowned, and at that instant, Russ's gaze became somewhat profound. He looked at his blood kin with an inquiring attitude.
"Of course, responsibilities."
"They fight for you, so you naturally need to repay them."
"Let me put it this way, Morgan. In your heart, what do your progeny represent?"
Morgan hesitated for a moment.
She wanted to think, but the excessive thinking and confusion earlier meant her mind had not fully disengaged from the battle. Her gaze wandered, and finally, she unintentionally saw Russ's hand, tightly gripping his shattered battle axe.
In that instant, she felt as if she had found the answer: a most cherished weapon, unwilling to be discarded, that seemed like the correct answer.
[Like your battle axe, Russ.]
The Wolf King blinked, lowering his head to look at his battle axe.
That weapon, the one he had personally forged when he was a happy prince on Fenris, the one that had accompanied him through countless wars and crises, always loyal by his side, his longest-used and most handy weapon, his companion, his comrade, his second soul in a sense.
He felt saddened by its [shattering].
Was his blood kin feeling the same now?
Did she regard her legion as her most important companions and comrades, and feel sad because of its [shattering]?
The Wolf King looked at his blood kin again.
His gaze softened.
Were her progeny so important in Morgan's heart? Even like him, feeling sad because of the [shattering] before her?
Leman Russ laughed.
——————
"I have met all fifteen of our blood kin, Morgan."
"But I can believe, I can even guarantee, that among everyone, you are one of the most benevolent towards your progeny. Even compared to Vulkan and Sanguinius, I believe you won't be far behind in the future."
"You will be a good Primarch. Your legion is lucky to have a Gene-Mother like you."
[...Of course.]
🚨 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).