Return of the Rout: Epilogue

Fenris was a frozen hellhole that tested its inhabitants. Mortal or Transhuman, you were meant to be a fighter, a warrior that stood against the elements and its animals. You faltered or showed weakness, you died. That was that. Fenris did not breed weakness. It made survivors. It made heroes.

Bulveye and the Wolfspear had been treated to a grand feast upon their return. Russ had declared a grand victory for the Rout. "Our new Primaris brothers will make us as strong as we were in the Grand Crusade! Magnus the Red will face justice for the Battle of the Fang!" Russ threw his head back and howled. The assembled wolves followed their Primarch's example and howled as well.

Bulveye had left halfway through, having had enough merry-making for one lifetime. Back in his quarters, Bulveye searched for his hidden stash of Mjod he'd stored before leaving. He found only a note. "To Brother Bulveye, I apologize for taking your Mjod, but the Pups and I ran out and we needed more. Will get you more later. Lukas."

Bulveye crushed the note in his fist. "I will make you pay for that one day, Jackal Wolf. You will pay!"

He hadn't seen Bjorn since he left. The Fell-Handed had been one of his best warriors during the Great Crusade and the Heresy. He'd impressed the Wolf King so much that he'd named him one of his Wolf Guard. The boy had been a natural warrior, melancholy, but a born killer. Now he was the oldest living Loyalist Space Marine left, next to Buleveye. Trapped within Dreadnought Armor, he was the deadliest killer in the Chapter.

Russ looked up at the Dreadnought, sitting silent in the dark. He didn't know what to say to him. What could he say? Then he heard a rumble from deep within the Dreadnought. It sounded like laughter.

"You're still alive, are you, Wolf King?"

Russ smiled and placed a hand on the Dreadnought casing. "As alive as you are, boy. It's good to see you again."

Armanneus Valthax and Garlon Souleater were the most senior members of the Red Corsairs left after the disaster of Hell's Iris. What was left of the fleet had retreated back to New Badab to regroup. The loss of Huron Blackheart had been an immense blow to the Corsairs and there was talk of members breaking away to form their own bands. Without the uniting claw and charisma of Blackheart, it was clear that the days of the Red Corsairs were numbered. Armanneus was pondering his next move from his Command Throne when a slave on the Auspex spoke up.

"My Lord, multiple ships coming out of Warp!"

Armanneus looked up to see a fleet of ships surrounding New Badab. Ships with the symbols of the Night Lords on their hulls. He growled, clenching his fists. So Curze had come to finish them off after all. He had always felt there had been something wrong when Curze had showed up out of the blue to warn them of Leman Russ' attack. Now it was all but confirmed. The Night Lords had to have arranged this so that they could take their territory. Relations had not always been the best between the two warbands and now it looked as if the Corsairs would be wiped out. Then the Vox Slave spoke.

"We are being hailed, my lord."

"Put it on screen."

The image of Konrad Curze appeared on the pict screen, smiling at them. "Armanneus Valthrax. I see you survived where Huron Blackheart did not."

"What do you want, Curze?" Armanneus didn't care whether or not he offended the Traitor Primarch with his words. He would go down fighting if he had to.

"Night Haunter. I am Night Haunter." Curze glared at the Techmarine. "But... you may call me Curze if you wish. For now. I am here to offer you a chance for revenge. An alliance. Serve me and you will get your revenge on Leman Russ and the Imperium for Huron Blackheart's death.

Armanneus knew that if he agreed, he would be signing away the freedom of the Red Corsairs. He knew that was not what Blackheart had wanted. Blackheart had broken away from the Imperium for independence. For freedom. For power. Curze would take that all away from them. But revenge was something he desired more than maintaining tradition. He wanted to see the Wolf King's head on a platter and to crush it beneath his boots. He removed his helm and stared at Curze.

"Name your terms, Night Haunter."