If the Dark Eldar thought they had seen everything the Imperium had to offer in the way of warriors, they were completely wrong. Their kind, though they were overall rare across the stars, had faced the savage Luna Wolves and the berserker World Eaters; they had fought the warriors of fire countless times, as for decades they had made Nocturne a prime target of their raiding parties, until losses became too unbearable for anyone to agree to those missions. They had even faced the wrath of Khan and his sons on numerous occasions; but nothing, nothing at all, would prepare them for what was to come from the Legion that was known as the Space Wolves to some but, to Fenrisians, was usually called simply the Rout.

To see them fight was to see war at its most brutal; the Space Wolves were never unleashed in all their fury unless it was needed, and this world needed it. They were the guard dogs of the Imperium, and many whispered that they should have come with a health warning.

'Do not apply except in case of extreme Armageddon.'

They fought like no other warriors the dark kin had faced before, but the xenos had little desire to face the Fifth either; and as the two Legions, the White Scars and the Space Wolves, made their way towards the bastion, they both killed everything in their path.

The two Primarchs could see the heads of the bastion's former defenders mounted along the wall. It angered Russ greatly that brave warriors, which the Iron Warriors certainly were, had been defaced like this. His brother may have been humourless and solitary, but he was still a warrior of renown and honour, and that was why Russ wanted to be the one to present the leader of this invasion to his brother. To prove to Perturabo once and for all that he was a valued brother. What the Iron Warriors lacked in humour, they more then made up for in siegecraft and bastion-building, and Russ knew well that these were not the Rout's strengths. The Lord of Iron was a strong potential ally, as well as a strong potential threat to the Imperium if his bitterness ever exploded (Russ hoped it never would, of course, but it was his duty to consider the unthinkable).

The Dark Eldar watched from the battlements as the Scars and the Rout cut down their warriors like they were knives through butter. And for every one of them they killed, there were plenty of dead Eldar at their feet.

There was, for instance, a group of Scars protecting a Wolf Apothecary as he extracted the gene-seed not only from two dead Space Wolves, but a White Scar who had fallen with them. The latter would be kept separate and would be given to the White Scars at battle's end so they could create the next generation of Astartes. Brother Sergeant Movar of the Scars glanced over his shoulder.

It did not do to hurry the Apothecary; such delicate work and rituals over the dead were important, and he had no wish to bring bad omens associated with the dead warriors. But he also had no wish to loose the Apothecary to a Dark Eldar shuriken.

He heard one of his men groan and turned for a moment to see Brother Chan fall to his knees, his hand ruined by several shuriken. He took his chainsword and cut that hand off, then got back to his feet. "I have another," he told his Sergeant, and carefully aiming, took out the Eldar that had taken his hand. He smiled in grim satisfaction as the xeno's head exploded in an spray of blood and meat.

Movar nodded once and returned his attention to the Apothecary. "Brother, whilst I acknowledge and respect the necessity of your work, we need to get moving; it would seem the Eldar are targeting you." Apothecary Heldengard turned his bare head to the Sergeant and grinned a little, his fangs glinting. He was a healer, but he was still a son of Fenris, and the Sergeant inclined his head a little. "My apologies, my friend," he smiled.

"None needed, Jaka." Heldengard got to his feet, his bloody work done, and glanced down at the bodies. "But there will be much more to do before this battle is over, and we will be interning many sons of Russ as you will be interning many sons of the Khan."

Movar made a sign of respect over the dead and, with his squad and the Rout's Apothecary, headed into battle once more.

They thought they had seen it all, all the mon-keigh had to throw at them; they saw the humans as savages, fit only for slavery or sacrifice to their dark gods. But the gods of war that now strode the field of battle were another matter entirely. One of them, they had fought before, and Jaghatai Khan was a name that had caused dark eldar armies better-positioned to retreat to do so immediately; they had to admit, though, when they were safe in the heart of Commorragh, that their battles had been breathtaking, speed against speed, righteous wildness against sadistic civilization.

But the other they were not prepared for.

It did not matter what they threw at him, he and his warriors took it all like wild beasts. Grappling with them hand-to-hand had been the worst mistake of all. For the warriors of Fenris cared little who their enemies were, only that their enemies died; and if they were to die themselves, they would die with the honour that death accorded one who fought with the rigours of a death world from the time they were born.

The Rout, commanded by their father, was indeed a sight to be seen and - if the Dark Eldar were honest, which they rarely were - a sight to be feared. The gold-haired giant that led them seemed to emit violence in a way that even they were not ready for. By his side fought two enormous wolves, bigger then any canids they had ever seen before; and when the wolves met them, they lost any chance to find competitors in the future. When he roared his challenge to the Dark Eldar, it was echoed not by hundreds of voices not even a thousand voices, but by twenty thousand voices, Space Wolves and White Scars both. Their savage roars filled the skies as a call to the ancient gods both Legions had left, but neither had forgotten.

In some long-forgotten times, it had been said that some warriors howled at a battle-brother's death, to let the afterlife know that a warrior was coming to the halls. This was a different case entirely. The Space Wolves were letting the enemy know that they were there, and the howl was quickly followed by other, even more violent noises: bolters barked, swords came to life, hammers caved skulls in, and chainswords ripped stomachs apart.

The Rout and the Scars had come to restore the honour of the Iron Warriors, and to reclaim a world for the Imperium; and it did not matter how many of them died to do that.

It would be done no matter what, and so it was.

Russ crushed the face of a Dark Eldar under his boot and stood, surveying the carnage around him. The dead of both Legions would be honoured and, as was Russ's way, he would honour the dead of his brother's Legion with feast and song. He waited for the Khan to join him, and watched as Bjorn came towards them both. Khan stopped by Russ's side.

"My lords, the xeno scum who led the assault on the fortress is inside." Bjorn bowed his head in respect and fealty to both Primarchs.

Khan allowed himself a rare smile; he knew that there was closeness between Leman Russ and Bjorn that marked Bjorn as one of Russ's favoured sons. He appreciated the honour Bjorn did him, as well. It was not often the Wolves gave respect unless they had to, no matter whom they were in the presence of; the exception, as went without saying, was the Emperor.

Russ looked down at the Dark Eldar corpse and cocked his head, like a wolf sizing up its prey; or, Jaghatai mused, like an alpha sizing up the threat to his authority. Russ was as brilliant as any of his brothers, but there was more beast in him than any of them. Even Angron seemed more civilized, though in that case it was far from a good thing. Jaghatai knew some counted him in the same breath as Russ, of course, but those people were mistaken. The White Scars were distant, no more.

The Great Wolf glanced at the Great Khan and stepped back. "Brother." He swept his arm forward. "You have experience dealing with these Xenos scum; so, should we take this someplace more… private?"

Khan nodded. "Take him to the Castellan's office," he told Bjorn. "We will deal with him there."

"Yes, my lord." Bjorn did as the Great Khan ordered.

And Jaghatai, as he slowly walked towards the ruined fortress alongside his brother, wondered at the scope of ruin. Was this the first time in the Great Crusade that Legion members had helped xenos over mankind? And what in the universe could possibly cause them to do this?

Russ was thinking much the same; but quite unlike Jaghatai, he decided he didn't truly want to know.

Looking back, both would agree that on that, Russ had been in the right.