The Wolf of Remnant.
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Barely one millennium has passed since the Emperor of Mankind's confinement to the Golden Throne of Terra and the great scouring that followed. His Imperium stands fractured from the endless wars waged between his sons. To make matters worse, those of his sons still loyal to him were disappearing, Making the High Lords of Terra the only ones able to lead humanity in these dark times.
One of his loyal sons in particular, Leman Russ, had left with his personal retinue the 13th Great Company in pursuit of his own convictions into the Immaterium. And as always, no matter where the pack went, only destruction was left in it's wake.
The planet was twisted by countless amounts of orbital bombardment that shattered it's continents, set it's oceans ablaze, and covered the sky with a thick layer of smoke, countless civilians perished in the blaze, the smell of their burning carcasses assaulting the nostrils of the company. The populace that resided there was massacred within hours of the wolves landing.
Such atrocities could only be attributed to one man-no a titan, a demigod to all men and only a named few could stand equal, the Lord of Winter and War, Leman Russ. As always, being the first to lead his Legion to battle. But what could drive such a magnificent monster to do such a thing? Was it the need to hear the screams of innocents, the lust for blood, or some self-fulfilling victory? No. The only thing that could force the Wolf King's hand was the cruel and deceptive powers of Chaos.
That night on Fenris forever haunted his memory. For the shattering of glass interrupted his celebration with his sons. Visions of a planet tainted by Chaos, his brother taunting him with forbidden powers, witchery, the power of immortality. It was in that moment Russ abruptly stopped his feast with his Legion and left into the Eye of Terror with his own personal retinue, the 13th Great Company. Promising the rest of his sons that he will be back for their final battle, for the Wolf time.
The planet population had been tainted with an overwhelming amount of sorcery that overloaded Russ's senses upon first arrival, almost as if every native had latent psychic abilities dwelling within them. Something that Russ had never expected, so he took no chances when dealing with the populace.
Met with black beasts that could only be the work of the God Tzeentch, warping and mutating the flesh of the wildlife to serve as his own. The Wolves quickly slaughtered the first wave of daemons with ease. Gunning them down the second they appeared over the horizon. None of them stood a chance against their fury. However, as time went on, the daemons seemingly adapted and got closer and closer. Wave by wave. When it seemed, there'd be no end to their numbers, everything stopped.
The planet was deathly silent almost as if the Company along with Russ had been the only ones on the planet. Within a week they had manage to kill off most of the planets population alongside fighting the daemons. After two months of non-stop fighting, the daemons finally seemed to quell down. Wards and Runes were placed all over the land in effort to preserve the world. Russ was lead to believe that Magnus had been dwelling here, he had yet to sense even a trace of his brother. The false sense of tension had begun to infuriated Russ.
Was he once again being tricked, deceived? Had he learned nothing from the mistakes of his past, his faults and failures during the Heresy? The growing thoughts had left Russ unconfident, believing he had grown and learned from the past only to look back and realize nothing has changed. He still left death of innocents behind him, furthermore, he let the Ruinous Powers fool him again. Nothing changed. He was still the same reckless leader he was back then. The same who allowed himself to lose to the Lion, who pushed his brother away, to be wounded at Yarant, and had the blood of billions on him. When all hope had seemed, lost, and prepared to leave the now wasteland they resided on. A faint chant could be heard
All is… dust.
It begun to pick up, edging closer and louder.
All is…dust. All is…dust. All is…dust. All is dust. All is...dust. All is…dust.
The chants were lifeless, almost as if they were automated, yet they had a familiar human touch to them. Although it was not until the owners of such voices showed themselves that Russ lost his composure.
They were marching slowly, line by line in unison. Bright blue armor, eyes glowing. There movements automated as if they were merely machines, which wasn't surprising for the wolves. These were the Thousand Sons, or whatever was left of them after Prospero.
Having recognized their sworn enemy, the wolves opened fire with a savagery that only they possessed. The bolts went right through the traitors, as if they were merely illusions.
The Thousand Sons did not retaliate, instead they held position just a mile away from the wolves. At that moment a figure rose from the Thousand Sons ranks that Russ immediately recognized and bade his men to hold their fire.
"You're Magnus's Chief Librarian, Ahriman, you were the one who led me here." Russ firmly stated.
The Chief Librarian merely pointed at him.
"Why did you bring me here?" He asked aggravated realizing this was a trap. "Why did you lead me to believe Magnus was here? Shouldn't he be with you?"
The only response Ahriman gave was a slow but chilling chuckle.
"You are still as ignorant as you were on Prospero." He finally responded. "My gene-father and I severed our bonds ages ago. Would you honestly have come if you knew he wasn't here?" He countered.
"I am here now, traitor."
"So, you are." He agreed. "To make things simple for you savages. I am finishing what he started. It will be a test of my new knowledge before I move on to destroy that living-corpse you mindlessly obey."
It was Russ's turn to chuckle. "I'd like to see you try."
It was bluff, Russ knew the powers of chaos far too well and expected nothing less of Magnus's prodigy. What he did on Prospero would only have been a mere fraction compared to now where he was exposed to Chaos. He let out a signifying howl to resume the attack.
Bolter fire lit up from his sons and soon engulfed the battlefield separating them from their enemy. None missed, all shots were lethal and would have killed a mortal man a hundred-times over. Yet, it was fruitless. As if the traitor marines were phantoms dissolving the bullets with their mere presence. Russ immediately assumed this was Ahriman's sorcery and called on his Rune Priests to counter.
A handful of Rune Priests all began chanting in Fenrisian. Chants that would ward off whatever psychic power was protecting them. A bolt of lightning speared towards the heart of the Thousand Sons sure to kill anyone within their vicinity. Surprisingly though, it stopped abruptly. Russ had realized what had happened.
Floating high with his hand grasping at the air, was Ahriman. He had stopped the lightning, in fact, it was almost as if he was holding it in his fist. He then released his grip and set forth the lightning towards the Wolves.
All that could be heard was a deafening boom and the faint screams of those caught within it. The Thousand Sons had not fired a single shot yet had already shattered the cohesion of the wolves.
Rage overcame the Wolf King as he gave the order to charge. Range was obviously not going to affect them, close-combat was something the Wolves of Fenris specialized in. Russ sent another Howl to signify a charge, and like the sound of armored-horses charging down a hill, they all went unyielding. Spear-headed by no other than Russ himself, with his frost blade Mjalnar at the ready.
It was at this moment that the Thousand Sons begun their counter fire. Bolter shots fired, in a seemingly red aura and lit up the Wolves. The shots pierced their armor instantly and left exit wounds. One by one, bodies fell around them. However, for Russ, the shots merely bounced off his armor.
However, Russ was not fazed. To him, this meant that the Thousand Sons knew that their runic swords and axes were something to be cautious of. This gave a weakness that Russ could exploit. All they needed to do was to get up close and avoid their fire.
Russ was the first to collide with the Thousand Sons, slashing at his enemies in a quick flurry. But something was off. Once he had fully ripped through the enemy, the armor just dropped. As if there was no one residing in the armor.
What did Ahriman do to them?
The rest of his mangled company begun to collide, and the sounds of metal overtook the battlefield. The battle gave no clear lee-way of who had the upper hand. The Thousand Sons were dropping the Wolves just as much as their armor, if not more. The Wolves were already battered from their two-month campaign, dealing with a seemingly un-killable enemy overwhelmed them.
Ten-minutes was all it took. The Wolves were now surrounded, Overtaken. Russ was still fighting them head on as if he was in a separate skirmish all together. Then suddenly, Ahriman appeared, and with just the lift of his hand, chaos ensued.
The remaining Wolves begun to change. Shoulders cracking, hair growing, teeth appearing more canine than ever. Howls could be heard. Russ let out a gasp.
The Curse of the Wulfen had been unleashed. A genetic malfunction with the Space Wolves Gene-seed that laid dormant within every astartes. It was one that Russ was never proud of, and always tried hide. It was usually triggered when they were touched by the warp and was the main reason Russ held Psykers in such low contempt.
"You always chastised us for our flesh-change, yet you kept this secret?" Ahriman asked rhetorically. He had witnessed the Wulfen before on Prospero, so he had known about this mutation. "How Ironic, the Great Wolf, the one who called US abominations also suffered from flesh-change. Pathetic."
This enraged an already furious Russ. His eyes had a grey aura emitting from them. As if he too was letting his inner-beast within him out. A loud and shattering howl was let out.
The ground shook, the land around them shattered as if five earth quakes had taken place, sliding, and moving the very continent they were on. The armors surrounding Russ all fell with this mighty howl as if it disrupted whatever sorcery was in them.
There was a clear path to Ahriman who gazed at him with intrigue.
"YOU ARE GOING TO WISH YOU HAD DIED AT PROSPERO!" He yelled. In his berserker rage he begun to charge at Ahriman.
For a final time, Ahriman lifted his hand. A charging Russ was froze in his tracks. No, he was slowed down. As if something was pushing him back.
"I remember the time I was in your presence… it felt like you were actively analyzing me for a weakness." Ahriman said, as he was pushing him with moderate effort.
Russ just yelled in a blinded rage. Trying to resist the push.
"That was when I realized there was more to you than just a mad barbarian king. It is odd. You have potential that almost rivals that of Magnus's. But it's like a dull knife. It's not disciplined, it's unfocused and your stubbornness prevents you from attaining that potential. Were we on Prospero, you could have killed me then and there. But now, I have power that surpasses that of a Primarch."
Ahriman lifted the finger of his other hand, and Russ's armor fell off. His broad and muscular chest exposed. "This armor… it nullifies the powers of the Warp…" The tone of his voice changed. "If the Warp cannot destroy it, then it must leave it." With a flick, it disappeared. Ahriman now fully immobilized Russ.
"You've amused me, pup, I am going to make you experience the same type of pain we did on Prospero." Ahriman begun chanting at Russ. The effects didn't seem to do any physical damage to Russ. Instead it made Russ feel more weighted towards the planet, as if he were connected towards it. "You will get to experience the hell you created." With a snap of his fingers, the overtaking howling stopped.
Russ's auric eyes grew even brightr. "WHAT DID YOU DO!" He yelled as his senses no longer detected any trace of his company on the planet. As if he were channeling his energy, Russ somehow managed to break the grasp of Ahriman's paralysis. As if lightning, he grabbed onto Ahriman's helmet and let out another seismic howl. This one was even stronger than the previous one. Ahriman, frozen took it head on. His eyes fading from his helmet, finally collapsing to the quaking ground. But in an instant, they all vanished like dust in a wind. Russ was left yelling and screaming in suffering as the land around him trembled.
Wait… that is not right. That is not how it had gone.
The hermit awoke in a cold sweat.
He got up from his bedding of pelts, and chugged a mug full of mjod. Well, a pseudo mjod. The ingredients required to brew the infamous ale were not available. Still the hermit made do with what he had. Anything to quell his mind.
He made his dwelling in a cave. A cave that no where neared the comfort of the Aett. But still, the hermit made do with what was given to him. It was blistering cold from his touch, engraving of runes were everywhere to keep him isolated from the darkness in the world.
How long has this nightmare haunted him? Eight? Nine thousand Terran standard years? Maybe around three thousand in Fenrisian years if that even mattered. Where he was stranded, the planet deceitfully mimicked the same orbit as Terra.
Every time he would go to rest. The same battle played throughout. As the years went on, the battle skipped around, it became shorter. Eventually it only skipped to the parts of his defeat not his triumphs. Each time his defeat became shorter, and different. As if every time he fought the battle he became weaker and his actions were insignificant. Sometimes he would shout orders that he would use. At such times he even tried resisting his own words. Sometimes, he wasn't fighting the exile, but his own brothers. But the outcome would always somehow remain the same. No matter how hard he fought, or how badly he was losing, it would result in the
His once blond hair had turned a shaggy snow white. The blood that stained his hair red had long since faded. A messy beard was also outfitted to now compliment his heritage. The body the hermit was given had not changed at all. It was still the same body that only those in myth could only hope to achieve. In these periods of inactivity, he did not need sleep. He barely needed food or water. He was built to last an eternity. His mind would give out long before his body ever would.
A white wolf quickly arose and emerged to his side. The hermit wasn't completely alone. His wolf-kin still gave him company. The company had reminded him of when he was a child. However, the memory had only gave him half the comfort. The wolf's other half had been mortally wounded, left behind in the deepest part of the Aett. Sleeping, in stasis, treated by only the most senior of priests, possibly for eternity. Or until he returned, which still seemed equivalent to an eternity.
The hermit was a rather inactive one. Only in rare occasions would he ever leave his dwelling. When he did it was mainly to refill on his resources. He hunted black beasts like any other native. Felling even the most senior of them with little effort. However, the black beasts had no game. They would disappear in ashes the instant they were slain. Killing actual untainted wild life offered what he needed. The last inklings of his previous life, his weapons Mjalnar and Helwinter have been set aside, unused and unsheathed for millennia. These along with Scornspitter, the bolter made by his brother specifically for him. He saw no use in wasting them on such dishonorable things. They were made for greater purposes other than to hunt tainted beats.
The hermit would spend most of his time in his dwelling. Mostly drinking to qualm his sorrows, his mind. However, he also spent his looking, looking beyond.
Millenia ago, he had carved a marvelous throne. A master-crafted throne that would be second only to the Golden throne itself. It was etched perfectly with runes. When he ever chose to sit in it, he could see everything. Every living soul on the planet, every mass of land, he was truly omniscient. He was not only bound to the planet, he could see thing beyond. Beyond the planet, beyond the solar system, beyond the Eye itself. He sometimes saw his sons, fighting in his name. Mostly, he would see defeats. He even witnessed the revival of one his brothers. But the thing did have it limits. The further it was, the more stained it put on his mind. Also, if he looked deep into the Eye or Warp, his mind would begin to become murky again. He had no known whereabout of his traitorous brothers, they were too illusive hiding in the Eye. When that happened, he would drink until he passed out. When he passed out he would have the same nightmare. He would get up and repeat this process, a never-ending cycle.
However, at certain times, when his mind is at its strongest, the he can convey messages to his sons. This was a rather difficult and challenging process to do that often took weeks of preparation to do. There were often where he would lie sitting, motionless, channeling to make his message come through. The longest he had ever sat in that throne was two months. After that he drank enough mjot that would probably get an entire metropolis drunk and possibly killed.
The hermit rarely interacted with the natives of this world. They used to fear him, sometimes even hunt him as he did them. But that was a legend long forgotten before his oath of isolation. Though every few centuries, sometimes decades depending on how dire a situation. His visitors pertained to one person, and usually it was the same person repeatedly despite the long gaps.
"Russ? Master Russ? Are you awake?" A young voice preached out. Though the voice was different each time. The tone was always the same.
Edit: Alright first chapter is done! Whew that took months of avid reading and watching the show. Tell me what you think, I am trying to make everything as accurate as I can. Criticisms are welcomed, flames are not.
(1/23) Edit: Okay there seems to be a big misunderstanding to readers that I'll address in a later chapter (not the next). First off, the dream sequence Ahriman had isn't suppose to be accurate. Rather it's Russ's guilt and fear taking priority over his dreams. This is rather what Russ imagines what Ahriman is like. I kinda dropped hints at this as to state that Russ's dreams constantly changed. You'll find in later chapters that Russ isn't exactly good at story-telling. He's no Skjald. I'll elaborate this further in later chapters. I apologize for not making this clear enough. But again this is something that'll be delve deeper in. I don't want people to get the wrong idea.
Also, big thanks to my Beta Reader BlackPhantom247!
Also thinking about having a Warhammer/Fenrisian Jargon dictionary open every chapter so people who don't know what things are (Perhaps you only know RWBY or haven't read certain material) are understood.
Finally, don't expect the next chapter to come out until after the current Volume is over. I am writing it, but I do need the major plot points to tie it all in with the story. This takes place post volume 5.