Tales of the Amber Vipers Chapter 340

Over the horizon and far away, Imperium Nihilus

The ship was nothing impressive, merely another refugee vessel limping from one warzone to the next. Merely two kilometres long, with ailing plasma drives and cavernous holds. No Navigator had inhabited her pilaster for longer than living memory and so her travels were blind jumps and crashing returns to Realspace, as was typical on the dark side of the rift. Her holds were full to bursting with weeping masses of humanity, taken from a dying planet in hopes of finding a harbour that wasn't consumed by ruin. Many ships began the journey but no other remained, destroyed by roving hunters, lost to Daemonic predators or consumed by wild phantasmagoria. So the lonely craft made her solitary journey, little knowing the end was upon her.

From the darkness came a hungry monster. A ten-kilometre long leviathan of the void, travelling faster than a vessel her size had any right to. No shipyard had fashioned this vessel, for her hull was not metal but pitted chitin, pockmarked by asteroid impact and scarred by harsh radiation. Fleshy protrusions lined her flanks and from her stern trailed tendrils that generated propulsion via thrashing gravity waves. Pyro acid blisters and chitin missiles lay hidden in her pores and her maw was a vast slice of open flesh across the bow. Many would have seen such a craft as a herald of the Great Devourer, a Tyranid Hive Ship, but those days were past. Now she served stranger masters.

Across the hide of the ship bulges of Fleshmetal protruded, ragged spikes of unholy corruption boring through the veins and arteries of the Hive Ship. Arcane crystals had been rammed into the nervous system, overriding the psychic impulses of the Hive Mind. Boring shafts of metal had been driven into the spine, fitted with crude airlocks to serve as shuttlebays and launch pads. Gnarled fusions of Fleshmetal worked to project void shields and formed arcane lance arrays, while under her belly hung an immense cannon, glowing with Frostcrystals of unheard size and potency: Fenrir's Bite a weapon that could end worlds. Whatever cause the Hive Ship once served was forgotten, now she was Naglfar, ship of Skoll and home to the Sons of Garm.

The fleeing refugee ship saw the incoming threat too late and lit her drives, trying to flee. She was too slow, far too slow. Naglfar closed at an astonishing pace and her great maw yawned wide. Before the refugees could even reach half-thrust the leviathan was upon them, snatching them up in one bite. Down the gullet she went, hull ensnared in fleshy tendrils that bound her tight. The people within screamed and prayed for deliverance, but none was to be found for the Vlka Fenryka breached the airlocks and stormed the ship. A few mortals fought back, briefly, but the rest surrendered, to be clamped in chains and dragged into the bowels of Naglfar.

Skoll watched his follower's work, not bothering to take part. The younger wolves enjoyed their pillaging but this sprat was not worth his time. Rounding up the weak and snivelling wretches was best left to those with nothing better to do, so he let his packs have their way, uncaring if they thought him cold.

"More meat for the kennels," Jotnyr Fleshsmith chuckled.

"Weak fodder," Skoll growled.

"Most of them, but a few will survive," Jotnyr sniffed.

"Thin of arm, pliable in spirit. Not a one among them has the stamina to become a Son of Garm."

"Few do, but some will last long enough to serve us in battle, the rest will serve in other ways."

Skoll stood upon a spike of Fleshmetal, looking down on a pit where hundreds of refugees were being herded. Once a Nid breeding pool, but emptied and made fit for his purposes. Fleshmetal cables lined the walls, pulsing with cold blue light that gave no heat. Breath steamed in the air as the refugees huddled together for warmth, and in fear of what came next. The Vlka Fenryka loomed over them, grey ceramite casting long shadows.

The Sons of Garm pulled families apart, sorting them by gender. Women and girls were sent into auxiliary capillaries, stifling tears as they were swallowed by the dark. The menfolk and boys were kept behind, clinging to each other and trying to appear brave. Their bravado wilted as Draugyr entered, loping on all fours like a beast. Brave men shrank like mice before his feral maw, pissing themselves as he passed by. The Skinwalker moved as an alpha among beta males, assured of his superiority. He paused by a scrawny youth and lips drew back over long fangs, but he did not pounce, for he had scented ripe genes.

The wolf brothers lining the perimeter bolted forward, snatching the youth up. The menfolk cried in terror but death was not the goal. Ceramite gauntlets clamped the boy's jaw and squeezed gently, forcing the mouth open. A stone cup was brought to his lips and water poured into his throat. A few mouthfuls were all that was required, then the youth was shoved into another tunnel, left to his own devices as uncaring warriors turned to the next man, and the next.

"Good genes, the change will come swiftly," Jotnyr commented from on high.

"If he doesn't get eaten first," Skoll muttered.

"He's young and strong, he can evade the hunters long enough for the Canis Helix to take effect."

"The Vanagandyr may gain another to join their ranks, but the rest of these scum will be taken in the hunt."

"Don't be so sure, evolution has its tricks. Sometimes the Canis Helix produces unexpected twists, and superior forms of life."

Skoll saw the glint of pride in the Fleshsmith's yellow eye. Jotnyr had devised the means of producing the Vanagandyr, cleared the Naglfar's intestines to serve as kennels and overseen the process of conversion. Those unfortunate enough to be taken alive by the Sons of Garm were gifted the Canis Helix and left to roam free. They would stumble through the twilight bowels of the craft, trying to avoid being eaten by packs of Vanagandyr, while genic mysteries went to work. They would not understand what was happening at first, eyes aching and bones creaking as the Wulfen took root in their souls. Madness and hunger would drive out reason as the captured men became feral monsters, growing snouts fangs and claws as their minds became rabid. Those who did not die to twisting body and ravenous hunter would join the Vanagandyr, becoming hunters themselves. Perhaps one in a thousand would master the Wulfen and rise to join the Sons of Garm, the rest were doomed.

"You are pleased with yourself," Skoll growled.

Jotnyr retorted, "The Canis Helix can produce and new and better form of life, a beast superior to humanity."

Skoll sneered, "Jotnyr: the architect of a new breed."

"Do not mock me, my creations will be faster and more cunning than anything mankind has known before. Life able to survive beyond the death of the galaxy."

Skoll spat, "Fool, the galaxy has been devoured by Chaos, all that remains are scraps caught in the teeth. There is no surviving the end of all things."

"You have your dreams, I have mine," Jotnyr growled as he bristled with challenge.

Skoll was in no mood for a ritual duel and shook his head, "I must consult with the Starfarer."

Jotnyr's hackles settled, "Go then, I have work to do with the females."

"What use are they?"

"You'd be surprised," Jotnyr hissed, "The womb can reveal secrets the Canis Helix has yet to show us. And those that are too young or old can always be rendered down into bloodwine for our feasts."

"You are fortunate your potions get us drunk, without Mjod the ranks would have gone rabid."

Skoll left him to it, uncaring for Jotnyr's workings. The Nighthowler strode off leaving the Sons of Garm to their tasks. The interior of Naglfar was a macabre fusion of pitted chitin, pulsing veins and burrowing Fleshmetal. The ship was alive and yet not, its cells shackled to serve his will. Long ago Skoll had hunted such beasts, leading his Great Company to prey upon the Hive Fleets in the darkness between stars. A doomed quest, after leaving Fenris with oaths never to return. The death of the galaxy had seen them trapped, but not destroyed. With cunning and skill, and a fair amount of Malecifarum, Skoll had captured this vessel and made it his own. The living ship served his needs, and removed the need for a crew of mortals, Naglfar growing whatever he needed and repairing itself as required.

Skoll wended his way higher, tracking a course heavy with nerve endings and neural tissue. Soon he arrived at his destination, a stinking cavern wet with mushy grey matter. The central brain of the Hive Ship, bored through and remade. Fleshmetal was everywhere, sinking neural clamps into the brain and turning the ship to his will. All was wet cranial tissue and snaking cable, save for a circle of stone laid in the centre of the cavern.

Skoll approached and saw the Starfarer squatting by a fire made of burning blood, at the centre of the stone circle. His pace slowed, for even by the standards of the Sons of Garm this one was feared. Ceramite armour had twisted and cracked, fractured by Fleshmetal spikes poking from below. His hair was lanky and black, hanging over a face made swollen and puffy. A toothless maw for a mouth, yellow eyes and a hole for a nose. The backpack was gone, replaced by hundreds of Fleshmetal cables that bound him to the brain. Seidr Starfarer, once laughing skald of the Great Company, now mystic-steersman of the Sons of Garm.

"Nighthowler," a fleshy voice whispered.

"Starfarer," Skoll replied levelly.

"The stars sing to me," Seidr crooned as he gazed into the fire, "I love to hear their screaming."

Skoll paused at the edge of the stone circle, boots caked in cranial fluid, "I seek an ending."

"Why not step into my abode and see for yourself?"

"I have no wish to become like you," Skoll growled.

"You have no idea what wonder you deny yourself," Seidr sighed, "I share Naglfar's thoughts. Solar winds brush my skin, gravity shakes my bones, the death howl of the universe echoes in my ears."

Skoll felt the lingering sadness of a friend lost. Seidr had once been his friend and bosom comrade, a source of laughter in their bitter exile. It had been like living in the sagas of his youth. Gifted the strength and courage of gods, with uproarious comrades in arms to fight beside and enemies without end to slay. The soul of Fenris remained in their hearts, despite years of absence and distances unimaginable. Then Skoll had seen the galaxy consumed by an abyss of the Warp and Seidr had become something other than a Son of Russ.

"You know why I come," Skoll growled.

"You seek your next kill," Seidr sniffed, "How mundane."

"Tell me and end this farce," Skoll snarled.

"What gift do you offer in return?"

"I offer you the gift of not chopping your legs off and nailing you to the walls!"

"So coy, you missed your calling as a fishwife," Seidr chuckled sarcastically.

Skoll felt ice in his hearts, just for a second Seidr had sounded like his old friend, but the moment was fleeting. The Starfarer reached into a pouch and pulled out a bag of bones, finger-bones taken from the living and carved with talismans of dead Fenris. The iron wolf, the doom wolf, the blood wolf and more, each carrying a secret meaning and loaded with portents. Seidr muttered a few words over the bones then cupped them in his hands and threw them into the air.

Skoll saw the bones tumble high, then come raining back, falling in a pattern he could not comprehend. They scattered across the stone circle and Skoll waited as the Starfarer examined the mysteries revealed therein. "Your prey has fled."

"The Angel's runts ran away," Skoll sniffed, "They can run but extinction comes for them. Tell me something I don't know."

"An umber serpent haunts your steps, bearing sharp fangs and scales of steel."

Skoll's interest was piqued, "Another force yet exists? Some planet has yet an army worthy of fighting?"

Seidr shook his head, "You shall encounter them amid the stars, but their coming shall only bring you pain. Their truths shall make you howl."

"Pain and I are old friends," Skoll scoffed, "When and where will this happen?"

"The angel, the serpent and the wolf shall come together, it is foretold. But first you must find the Nightshade, he will guide your steps."

Skoll grinned, "The Blood Talons will be there too, even better. I can finish them off once and for all. And then Ragnarok will be that much closer."

Seidr's head turned to look at him and he hissed, "The end of all things approaches, but you seek to hasten it."

Skoll growled, "There is no point in doing otherwise. The galaxy died, Fenris is gone, Logan Grimnar and the rest died fighting. The sagas are sung no more in the halls of the Aett. There is no meaning to anything, save ending it all. To finish the kill, it is the only deed left in existence that has any meaning to it. To end mankind, and so bring about the Wolftime."

Seidr's head bowed as he recited words of legend: "Listen closely for my life's breath is all but spent. There shall come a time far from now when our Chapter itself is dying, even as I now am dying, and our foes shall gather to destroy us. Then my children I shall listen for your call, from whatever realms of death hold me, and I shall come no matter what the laws of life and death forbid. At the end I shall be there. For the Final Battle. For the Wolftime."

Skoll's fists tightened at the last words of the Lord of Winter and War, the promise made to his children by Leman Russ before his disappearance. He had sworn to return at the end, when the night closed in and the fires of life guttered. Skoll knew not what fate befell his gene-sire but Leman Russ never broke an oath, not ever, not once. He would return, but only in the final hour of mankind. Skoll drew back his lips over his fangs and growled, "The Wolftime is nearly upon us, and I will make it so. By my will shall Leman Russ return and when he does I will rip out his hearts and spit in his eye! And with his death the universe will go silent forevermore!"