Return of the Rout, Part 4

Hell's Iris would be the end of it. When Blackheart got the boarding tube full of severed heads, it was the final straw. There had also been a holo-recording on it. It was a pict of Leman Russ glaring down at him. There was an aura from the image that felt oppressing to Blackheart. Then it spoke.

"You want me dead, then you're going to have to do it yourself, coward. You want me? COME GET ME! I'll be waiting at Hell's Iris."

Huron Blackheart did not know fear. He had spent his life fighting it. When he had been a Space Marine in the service of the Imperium, he faced down every challenge put before him and had done it with a smile on his face. Then he had turned his back on the Corpse that was the Imperium. He slaughtered his enemies. Made connections with Chaos Marines, such as Abaddon the Despoiler. He was no pathetic mortal. He was Huron Blackheart. He was a Space Marine. And he would be the first Space Marine in 10,000 years to kill a Primarch.

He turned to his slave. "Gather everyone."

"Everyone, My Lord?"

"EVERYONE!"

The Space Wolves and the Flesh Tearers were nothing compared to the Red Corsairs. They were Legion strength and they had slaughtered thousands. Millions. They were greater than all. "I cannot be beaten. Not by a has-been failure like Leman Russ."

When they arrived at Hell's Iris, the Corsairs were waiting. Seth grinned at the sight. So many ships emerging from the Warp. So many different types. Battle Barges, Cruisers of different varieties, from Battle to Grand. They were everywhere and he recognized them. The Aquiline. The Hope's Sunset. The Midnight Solitude. The Nightmare's Dawn. The Wolf of Fenris. And in the center of it all was the Spectre of Ruin. The flagship of Huron Blackheart. He looked up at Russ who wasn't staring at the Spectre. He was staring at the Wolf of Fenris. A ship crewed by traitor Space Wolves as well as other Corsairs. Seth could guess what Russ was about to ask.

"That ship is ours to take back. Send your Death Company to whatever ship in the fleet you want except for two. The Spectre of Ruin belongs to you, your men, mine, and me. The Wolf of Fenris belongs to my men."

Seth nodded in respect. He said nothing else. There was nothing to say. Russ turned to Bulveye and Bjarni. "Send in our deadliest. Send them to the Wolf of Fenris. Kill all on that ship, Traitor and slave alike. Take it back. Whatever the cost. Wipe the stain away." Bulveye and Bjarni nodded simultaneously. They knew exactly who they were sending.

Seth turned to Captain Toivo. "Prepare your men, Captain. We are making for the Spectre of Ruin. Have the Death Company prepared. Contact Zuphias. Have the Company spread across the fleet. As many ships as they can."

Toivo saluted. "Yes, Chapter Master!" He was honored. Seth wanted him alongside him. He turned to Bulveye Greybeard. "I will make you remember my name, Old Wolf."

Bulveye grinned. "Talk is cheap, Boy. Prove it with blood!"

The Death Company launched. Many did not make it, but the ones that did were more than enough for the enemy.

All across the Fleet, Red Corsair ships were struck with boarding tubes filled with monsters. They considered themselves monsters. They reveled in it. They rejoiced in spreading the creed of Chaos Undivided across the Galaxy. Murder, slaughter, plunder. They did it all and loved it. It was in their last moments before the boarding tubes opened that they felt something that had long been suppressed when they had been created. They had no name for it. They had long forgotten the feeling of it. It was an emotion known as fear. And they didn't even know it.

The Death Company were mindless. They had once been proud Sons of Sanguinius with their minds intact. Now they were berserkers without limit. Without conscience. And they killed. They ran out of the tubes, Bolters unleashing death upon their enemies, battle roars crying. On one of the ships, the Aquiline, Appollus, Chaplain of the Death Company cried out in rage as he directed his brothers ahead. Into mindless slaughter. "KILL, BROTHERS! KILL!" There were no pretty words. No speeches. None would be heard. All they needed was direction. The Aquiline's crew was wiped out.

The Wolf of Fenris faced a similar yet different type of foe. The Wulfen unleashed their vengeance upon their traitor kin. Mutated by their gene-seed, the Wulfen still retained their minds a bit more than their Angelic Cousins, but that made them no less savage. They were monsters with minds. At their head, a dreadnought lead them. A Veteran of 10,000 years.

Bjorn the Fell-Handed had not seen the Primarch yet. He had no solid idea why, but he had the glimmer of one. Shame. Leman Russ had left them and it shamed him. He had left Bjorn in charge and that shamed him because he had undoubtedly heard what had become of him. He would survive this. He would survive to ask him why. He would survive. "I will see you, Brother. I swear it." He snapped out of his brief insight. "TO BATTLE, BROTHERS! FOR FENRIS! FOR THE RUSS! FOR THE EMPEROR!" That last cry was meant as an insult to the traitors. To let them know why they were about to die and why the loyalists fought. The Wulfen lost many loyal brothers that day. They would howl their sorrows to the stars. But they would be victorious.

Russ stood on a balcony above the assembled Space Marines. "Wolfspears. Flesh Tearers. Space Wolves of the Great Crusade. This is our day! This is what we've been waiting for! We are the warriors of the Emperor. We are the Sons of Winter and Stars! Let us show Huron Blackheart the price of treachery!"

"FOR THE EMPEROR! FOR RUSS! FOR SETH! FOR THE IMPERIUM!"

Huron Blackheart, on the bridge of the Spectre of Ruin, listened to the cries of agony as many ships of the Red Corsairs were wiped out by the enemy. And hardly any shots had been fired by the two fleets. "Fire. Fire on the Imperium ships! Wipe them out! Don't let anymore dropships get aboard the other vessels in the fleet!"

The crew shouted in affirmation and communicated this to all able vessels across the fleet. The Red Corsairs fleet fired and the Imperium fleet did so in return. Ships died on both sides, yet the flagships remained intact. Blackheart strained his enhanced vision to find the one person that mattered. Where was Russ? He didn't see the dropship making its way across the space between the two sides.

On the dropship, Russ sighed. "No. Not there." He got up and moved to the cockpit. "Take us to Hell's Iris. That is where we will make our stand."

The pilot was startled that the Primarch had spoken to him. "M-My Lord?"

"I want to face Blackheart on stable grounds. Take us to Hell's Iris." He turned to Bjarni. "Have the other two dropships in our wake head for the Spectre of Ruin."

"Won't Blackheart just fight and kill them?"

Russ shook his head. "No. Blackheart is an intelligent warrior. He'll suspect something is off if he sees or detects one dropship going where no one else is headed. I have baited him enough that he wants me dead more than anything. Turn the ship." He said this last order to the pilot who capitulated.

Blackheart got the alert. "Lord Blackheart, three dropships are approaching the Spectre of Ruin. But one seems to have broken away from the group."

"Where is it heading?"

"H-Hell's Iris."

Russ' gambit had paid off. Blackheart guessed correctly who was on that dropship. "I'm coming to get you, Wolf King. I am coming to kill you." He flexed the Tyrant's Claw and unleashed a spurt of flame from it.

As they fought their way through the station, Russ smiled at the rush of battle. It was just like the old days. He was a warrior again. He wasn't an assassin following an order that was unjust. He was killing monsters that had betrayed everything they had sworn to become. A Terminator that looked like it had been part of the Ultramarines charged him. He raised his axe and bisected him. What looked like a Plague Marine fired several rounds from its bolter. Bjarni sniped it down with his.

Seth was elated. The rage was building up inside him and he was unleashing it upon all his enemies. His Primaris brothers were proving themselves as well, roaring in rage as they slaughtered their foes. They were the future of the Chapter. A future he would not be part of. He hated that. Would these new brothers really respect the past traditions of the Chapter? Would the Firstborn even be remembered once these new heroes subsumed the past? When would it be Gabriel Seth's turn to have his progenoid gland extracted? If he was honest with himself, he did feel fear of that. Fear of an unknown future that was yet to be decided. Fear. It controlled mortals at the worst of times. But an Astartes could resist it. He gritted his teeth until blood dripped from his mouth. It would not control him. So be it. These new bloods were to be the future? He would make them EARN that future.

A Chaos Sorcerer charged Bulveye with a ball of energy. He grinned as he side-stepped it, his left pauldron burned away. He hefted his greataxe and hurled it, smiling as it slammed into his chest. The blade protruded from the other side as the sorcerer coughed up blood from its helmet. Chaos filth. Nothing had changed. The Thousand Sons may have started it, but these renegades had perfected its corruption. Perhaps the Librarius had done enough to master it, but the Warp's taint was ever present. It would always corrupt. No matter what.

The Kill Team scoured the station. Blood of Traitors was spilt. And Russ smiled at this. "Justice. We are defenders. We are destroyers. We are wrath."

Then he felt it. The pressing taint of the Warp. He was coming. Huron Blackheart was here. He turned to his followers. "Stay here. I will kill Blackheart myself." He held up his hand to stall protests. "I have to kill him myself. I have to know. I have to know why."

He ignored their protests as he walked away. He kept Mjalnar in its sheath as he held Helwinter over his shoulder. This was it. This what he had been made for. The Emperor's Executioner. He was glad that they were not following him. They could at least follow his orders. "You were made to protect them." Those were the words the Emperor had said in his mind on Terra.

"I was made to kill, Father. I was made to destroy. No more lies."

As he entered the hanger, he saw the Thunderhawk land with a hiss. It looked like an abomination of a machine. Its Machine Spirit tormented and corrupted into a laughing thing of pure malevolence. The presence of the Warp poured out, like a rotting piece of meat. Then the hatch opened and the landing deck extended. He expected more Red Corsairs to emerge. But none came. Only one. The Tyrant of Badab.

In bright red power armor with an Iron Halo on his back, his right arm ending in a Power Claw. In his left hand, he held a power axe. His face was grey, his teeth sharp, his skin ragged with slight augmetics. Huron Blackheart smiled at him. "Hail to thee, King of Wolves. I have come to kill you and add your skin to my throne."

It was like Russ could see the Warp bleeding from Blackheart. He was like a self-inflicted wound that had been allowed to fester for centuries. He gritted his teeth at this and finally asked the question he'd been wanting to ask since his journey to end this traitor began.

"Why?"

Blackheart paused his advance and cocked his head. "What did you say?"

"Why turn your back on the Imperium? What did it do to you to make you want to abandon your oath? What did the Ruinous Powers promise you if you did?! WHAT WAS IT?!"

Blackheart began to smile. It was slow. It was disturbing. It was sickening. The answer he gave chilled Russ' blood with its full implication.

"Not. A damn. Thing. I turned because I wanted to. I turned because I thought and knew that I was better. I turned because I had control and I wanted it or myself. I didn't do it because of mistreatment. I didn't do it because I was tempted. I did it because."

Russ could not believe what he was hearing. "You are a disgrace. You do not deserve to die at the blade of Helwinter." He dropped the axe to the ground and drew Mjalnar. "You will die on your knees and in despair."

Huron pointed his axe at him and pointed his Tyrant's Claw, palm up. Fire burst forth. "I was about to say the same to you. And I will present your head to your brother as a gift."

Leman Russ had no idea which brother he was referring to, but it didn't matter. "Then come to me, Traitor. Come to me and die."

Despite Blackheart being significantly shorter than the Primarch, his presence and ferocity was an even match. Axe and sword clashed, Russ fighting two-handed while Huron fought one-handed. Ancient weaponry met modern as the duelists fought. Russ could see that Blackheart was an exceptional fighter. For every strike he landed, Blackheart would block it or counter it. For every blow Huron dealt, Russ would either block or counter. "He is good," Russ thought. "He's very good.

Then Huron swiped with the Tyrant's Claw. It sliced through the breastplate and into Russ' flesh. It was a scratch, but it was still enough to trigger a reflexive step back. Huron grinned his teeth and showed his palm to him. The flamethrower spewed forth engulfing Russ's head. His beard was singed off, but Russ was able to block the worst of it by slashing Mjalnar through the air, sending a gust of wind to blow the flame back. "Good try."

"It's just getting better," Blackheart sneered. He pressed his attack forward, alternating between the Claw and the axe. Russ was staggered. He hadn't expected an opponent of this caliber. Blackheart was good. He was very good. He was aggressive, driven, and charismatic. He was the opponent Russ had needed that since returning to this Galaxy.

"Your death is inevitable," Russ said through gritted teeth. "I will end you!"

"You say that now, but I have a third weapon, Wolf Lord."

Before Russ could ask what he meant, he felt a pain on the back of his neck, as if an animal was biting him. He strained his eyes to see what it was. Then, in the corner of his eye, he saw it. It looked like a lizard from Terra's far gone past. A... dinosaur. But it emanated Warp energy. It was a Chaos Spawn.

"This is my Hamadrya. It is my familiar. It is part of the source for my strength and power. It is now tearing out your throat."

It was all the chance Huron needed as he charged forward. He flexed the Tyrant's Claw and plunged it into Russ' chest, rending the armor and tearing the Wolf King's chest.

Russ felt pain. Great pain. It was similar to something he felt a long time ago. His world felt like it was narrowing down. He was dying. It reminded him of his battle with Horus long ago. How damaged it had left him and on the verge of death. It was just like that. He heard cries of rage from behind him. They had followed him.

"Bjarni, Bulveye, Toivo, Seth, you disobeyed my order. You followed me." He smiled to himself as he fell. He heard them charge, their weapons raised in rage. He felt himself hit the ground. He saw them clash with Huron. Toivo fell as Huron slashed him. Seth bellowed with rage as his brother fell, Blood Reaver revved to life, striking downwards. Bulveye roared as his greataxe struck Blackheart's side.

"Bulveye... we met again just a short time ago. It was good to see you again, brother. Bjorn... I am sorry I wasn't there. I am sorry you suffered in that suit. I could have been there when Magnus attacked Fenris. I am... sorry, Magnus. I am sorry. I'm sorry... everyone." Russ blacked out.

He awoke in the meadow near the tree. The younger him was sitting underneath it. "Oh, you are back. Given that we're close to the Maelstrom, it makes sense that you would be back." Young Russ stood up and put away the book he was reading. Old Russ stood up as well and faced him.

"Who are you? What are you?" He didn't yell. He just asked the question.

"I am you. I am the you that you left behind when you returned to the Galaxy."

"Why? Why did I leave you behind?"

"Who do you hate more than anything in the Galaxy?"

"What?"

"A simple question. Who do you hate?"

"...Myself. I hate myself."

"Why?"

"Because I can only kill. I can do nothing else. I am not a hero. I am not a savior. I am not a father. I am a wolf."

Young Russ smiled. "I know. I just wanted to hear you say it. I am the part of you that desired to be happy for more things. I have grown here since you left. Since you arrived here 10,000 years ago, we have gained great power. You left it behind."

"How did I get that much power?"

"Call it a blessing. Call it training yourself to be stronger for the end times. Or the Warp. It matters little."

"Why did you choose to stay here? In this place?"

"This place? It is a piece outside and inside of the Realm of Nurgle. It is where she dwells."

"Who?"

"The one we could not take with us."

A tall and slender woman stepped out from behind the tree. She was beautiful. Why did Old Russ think she was beautiful? Who was she?

"Who are you?"

The woman, whose ears were pointed he noticed, smiled as she approached him. She held a bit of his hair between her delicate fingers. "You grew old when you returned. I do think you're still handsome, Leman."

"Who are you?"

"I am Isha. Aeldari Goddess of Life. Your journeys lead you here, to my prison. Lord Nurgle watches us always and that's why... I wasn't able to go with you. When Celestine came to fetch you, you begged her to bring me with you. I cannot, Leman. I cannot leave. But this prison was not meant for you. You chose to remain here. At least... part of you did." She turned and smiled at Young Russ.

"Wait... did we... are we? How?! Why?! Why would I?!"

Young Russ shrugged. "10,000 years. Even in the Warp it is a long time to be alone." He placed his arm around her. "But I figured you would be back for me. For what you left behind."

"But I am dead now."

"You would know. But you are only mostly dead. There is a difference between mostly dead and all dead." He held his hand out to Old Russ. "Take my hand and we will return. We will finish that bastard once and for all."

Russ looked at the hand. It could be a trick of Nurgle. Or Tzeentch. He had no reason to believe this supposed fragment of himself or this Xenos Witch. But there was something in those eyes of his that were so much brighter than his old ones. A part of him that he had left behind long ago. He took the hand. "And you?" He turned to Isha. "What about you?"

"I stay. I meddle with Nurgle's plans and poisons. I give all of life the answers to defeating them. It is why I am here until the end times come." She stroked Old Russ' mane. "It will be alright. Go back. Be what you were meant to be. Be a hero." She kissed him.

Russ felt cold. Not like a corpse, but... like cold was emanating from him. He opened his eyes. He opened his mouth. He roared.

Huron Blackheart held Bulveye by the throat and was about to finish him when he heard the roar. The fighting ceased and they all turned to see Leman Russ standing up, his wounds healed, his hair turning from gray to silver-white. His eyes turning bright ice-blue. An aura of cold energy was pouring from Russ as he pointed a finger at Blackheart. "You are mine. Away from my sons and brothers."

In an instant, Russ was in front of Blackheart, his hand around his throat. He hurled the Tyrant of Badab over his shoulder and into another dropship, leaving an imprint on the metal. He looked down at Bulveye. "Are you alright, Old Wolf?"

Bulveye didn't know what to make of this new Russ. "I... I am fine, boy."

Russ turned to Gabriel Seth who was helping Toivo up with Bjarni's help. "Does he live?"

Seth nodded hesitantly. "He... does. Barely. Are you... are you alright, My Lord?"

"I am. I am whole again. Now I am going to finish what I came here to do." He stalked towards Blackheart, who was getting up. As he walked, they all noticed the patches of ice he left in his wake.

"Huron Blackheart. For crimes against the Imperium and its people, you are condemned to death. Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Blackheart screamed as he charged, the flamer in the Tyrant's Claw blazing forth. The flame never reached Russ. They hissed away as the cold extinguished them. Russ reached the Tyrant and grabbed his claw-hand. He squeezed and all there witnessed a miracle. The Claw froze solid. Russ squeezed and it shattered to pieces. To freeze a Power Claw like that was unheard of.

Blackheart cried out in pain as he sunk to his knees. Russ let go of the hand and clasped his head in both hands. He stared Blackheart dead in the eye. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Blackheart had one key piece to play. "I KNOW ABOUT THE FALLEN!"

Russ paused. "The what?"

"The Fallen Dark Angels! The shame of The Lion's sons! Half of them turned at the end of the Heresy! It is why he was in stasis for so long! I know you hate him, My Lord." He had to kiss up to the Primarch. It was his only hope to live. "I know those in the Chaos Legions who have connections to the Fallen. Work with me and we can bring the Lion down and expose him as the hypocrite and Traitor he is!" He hoped that the hatred between the Primarchs was still strong enough for Russ to spare him long enough to think of another plan. Russ glared.

"You are 10,000 years too late, Traitor. You have said your final words in the hope to stoke treachery and hatred between me and my brother. You have wasted your breath." He squeezed his grip around Huron's head, keeping him on his knees. "I told you that you would die this way. In despair. Goodbye, Huron Blackheart."

In a flash, Huron Blackheart's head was frozen solid, encased in ice. His face a frozen mask of despair. Russ squeezed and the head shattered. The headless corpse toppled to the deck, its neck caked with frostbite. Russ turned to his sons and brothers. He smiled. "It is finished."

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Bjarni and his men knelt. Then Bulveye. Then Toivo and his Primaris knelt. Seth was the last, though he hesitated for a moment. Russ looked turned on his vox. "Patch me through the fleets. Hack into the pict recorders on this station and broadcast them to all ships here. Even the Traitors." He waited for a moment and then spoke. "This is Leman Russ, Primarch of the Space Wolves. Huron Blackheart is dead. I am sending you images as proof. The Red Corsairs are finished. And to you, Traitors, I have one thing to say: Run. Run as fast as you can before the Rout finds you and kills you. I will not say it again. End transmission."

The Primarch and the Space Marines watched as the ships slowly began to cease fire. The Red Corsair ships seemed to hesitate before they began their departure. Soon they were gone. Russ turned to Bulveye who had a question for him.

"What in the name of Morkai's shit is this?!"

Russ laughed. "Just... something I left behind in my travels. I'll tell you about it when we are back on the ship. For now, let's just savor this victory." They all watched for a long time. Russ smiled as he began to remember his time in the Warp and his time in the meadow. There were a lot of good memories there. He would not follow up on Huron's promise. Let the feud die. It was pointless now. He knew what was coming. He had seen traces of it in the Warp. Something was coming for them. Something pure evil. "And the Rout will be here to face it."