The Legend of D'seshara shuddered under the impact of the assault pods; suddenly, the once-quiet bridge was awake. Designated areas of the ship were being bombarded with Space Wolf attacks. They had managed to shoot some down, but not nearly enough; Captain Dietriech snarled his fury. It looked, more and more, like the incompetent fools on the bridge were not doing their jobs.

The first few salvos from the Umbergora had taken out the Gellar field. This, in itself, was nothing, as it had already been leaking substance from the Warp into the vessel. He stormed through the engineering level, yelling at the humans to work faster; but already, some were screaming and seeking to tear their eyes out from what they were, apparently, seeing. It was so bad that he had to cut some of them down.

Merciful culls, he thought; but the more blood flowed from the end of his axe, the more he enjoyed it. Only he wanted more: not mere humans, but transhumans like him. His so-called 'savage' cousins of the Space Wolves would make for much more rewarding prey. Joining up with his warriors, he waited as madness whirled around them.

++ Remember, brothers, the Gellar field is down, and that means that there will be madness. Trust your instincts ++ Wolf Lord Anlaf relayed through to his packmates in all the pods ++ this is for Russ and ….++ he paused before he spoke again ++our cousins in the Thousand Sons. ++

His brothers looked at him for a moment, then placed their helms on their heads, just as their pod crashed into the side of the Legend of D'seshara. Sergeant Dragfinn kicked the hatch open and, with his Captain leading the charge, they emerged into the lower decks.

Humans were screaming in terror; some were backing away from things only they could see, waving their arms as if to ward off some evil beast from their worst nightmares. Both out of mercy and out of practicality, the Wolves ended their suffering. They relied on their own senses, ignoring the hairs on the back of their necks as an irritation to be forgotten. They made their way through the vessel, as reports came in from other Wolves that they had encountered World Eaters and battle had been joined.

Then, Dragfinn pulled Anlaf to one side, as a promethium burst came down the corridor and engulfed a fleeing human.

"Blood for the Blood God!" the World Eater roared.

Anlaf scowled deeply, wondering what madness had taken over his cousins, especially as he heard the same shout coming through his inter-squad vox feed.

++ Ignore them, brothers; they are to be punished ++ he snarled. And with a roar to Mother Fenris and Russ, he charged head-on towards the World Eater.

Maybe it was the lighting, the red warning lights, but Anlaf could swear his adversary's armour was the colour of fresh blood with silver trim, not the blue and white it had been. His sword clashed with the World Eater, who he read was called - Klienstan.

He was horrified; this could not be the same Sergeant Klienstan that had fought alongside his men at the battle for Jerunisan Ridge! What a glorious battle that had been, sung by the company skalds for many a night. He could barely believe this was the same warrior, and his hearts ached to see such a barbaric change.

"Yusef," he tried reasoning with his cousin, "it is me, Hadran; put down your flamer, cousin, we can find an end to this without blood being spilt."

Klienstan pulled his helm off, and for a moment appeared to the Space Wolf to be the same oath-brother he had proudly fought alongside.

"You - you have no idea what has gone on, Hadran," Klienstan snarled, spittle and froth coming from his mouth like that of a rabid dog, "there is only blood and it drives me on."

"Yusef, this is madness, you must see that. Astartes do not fight Astartes, not like this!"

Klienstan banged his head against the walls of the corridor they were in. "I am sorry. The – the voices drive me, cousin, and they bay for your blood. And that is what I am going to give them."

Anlaf raised his bolter as his former cousin, his former blood-oathed brother, came towards him, and fired straight and true. The bolter shell split his head apart like a ripe melon, sending brains and matter over the walls and over Anlaf, who stared as the body toppled like a giant building and crashed to the deck. He watched the body for several more seconds, then nodded to himself. If this is what had befallen the World Eaters, even Klienstan himself, then the wyrd that drove this doom was mighty and grim indeed.

++ Chosen sons of Russ, kill them, kill them all ++ he voxed and broke into a run.

Dietriech howled to the Blood God as he took the head of a young Space Wolf, whose name he neither knew nor cared about. He raised the dead Astarte's head above his own and let the blood flow over his face and his hair. It empowered him; and even the buffeting of the Legend by the attacks from their blasted vessel could not stop him from killing their kind.

This was freedom, to no longer be held to brotherhood to those he found wanting; and he found these so-called savage wolves wanting. They had taken some of his brothers down, of that there was no doubt, but he had tested his own strength against the sons of Fenris and found little challenge. They were like a pack of wondering pups without their mighty father. The Wolves were nothing without Russ to wet nurse them; he was, meanwhile, a son of the mightiest gladiator to ever walk the universe. The sons of Angron needed no wet nursing: they were taught to stand on their own two feet and to fight to the death, on their own, from the very beginning.

He felt someone barge into his shoulder and stumbled forward to see Wolf Lord Anlaf, his face covered in blood and a snarl exposing his canines behind it. At last, the pack alpha; he was going to so enjoy this. Taking this skull would see his new god appeased, and the voices would stop to allow him to reach Prospero. He was already lost to the second corruption, and in the grip of the Nails as well; what was one more kill?

He glanced behind him to see the trail of bodies, human and Astartes, Space Wolf and World Eater, alike, leading from this room downwards. The blood was flowing like a river, and already the Space Wolf Apothecaries were carrying out their gory duties.

Dietriech seemed to remember the face of the Astarte before him and stepped back; yes, 'Wolf Lord' Hadran Anlaf, the Snow Wolf, so called for his prowess in the ices and frosty peaks of worlds he had conquered.

"Worthy opponents indeed; come, let us see how the mewling cubs of the Wolf King fare against the Hounds of the Red Angel!"

Anlaf shook his head and holstered his bolter; all around him there came news of the Wolves retreating back. At first he wondered why, then he heard the ship communications. The Legend of D'seshara was grievously wounded, and Dragfinn had ordered the withdrawal.

"Eventually, Space Wolf, you will see the true way of things. You are defending the witches, the very witches that your father loathes!"

"Who gives you the right to hunt them down?" Anlaf snarled, his voice taking on a throaty growl.

"The Emperor, of course," Dietriech laughed, "he told us to bring them in and that is what we will do; all captured humans will go to feed his soul, and the Thousand Sons will fuel the Golden Throne. You, cousin, are on the wrong side."

Anlaf could not believe what he was hearing, The Rout were the chosen enforcers of the Emperor, not the World Eaters. But Dietriech believed what he was saying - had Angron lied to his Legion? He scowled a little and knew that he had to stop this madman; and if it meant his death, then so be it.

++ Dragfinn, return to the Umbergora ++

++ Captain, what about you?! I will not leave you, sir! ++

++ That is an order; I have to stop this maniac. And if I don't, then all we have lost must not be for nothing. Should I not return to the vessel, she is yours until our father makes his decision. ++

Dragfinn was silent for several moments; then, his voice respectful as ever, replied ++ For Russ ++

Anlaf turned his attention to Dietriech and smiled threateningly. "Bring it on"

The battle between the two Captains was, indeed, a tale worthy of the skalds. They eschewed their weapons, each choosing to fight bare handed; the respective honours of their own Legions were at stake, and this test would prove which one was the more ferocious.

Dietriech was covered in blood from his broken nose and ruptured eye; but instead of weakening him, the injuries drove him onwards, making him stronger. And in one brief opening, he ripped Anlaf's left hand from his wrist. The Snow Wolf howled his pain; and, as quickly as he felt it, the Laramen cells began to stem the flow of blood and the painkillers went into overdrive.

But he was not down and he was certainly not out; even with one hand, he was still a fighter and still a son of Russ. He charged Dietriech and bashed him into the wall, causing a deep indentation in the shape of the World Eater. He drove a raised knee into the World Eater's stomach and, with his right hand, he made an upper cut that snapped Dietrich's jaw bone.

He held onto the stump of his other hand, and with both, he bashed Dietriech across the face, cracking more of his face. Dietriech fell to the floor, spitting goblets of blood; the Nails were beginning to fade, but the voices were not. They did, however, descend into an incomprehensible cacophony. Defiantly, Dietriech turned to face Anlaf and smiled crookedly. "Is that all you have, crippled wolf?"

With a roar born from the very valley that he had begun his life in, Anlaf leapt into the air and landed square on the back of the World Eater, cracking his armour and his spine. Anlaf grabbed the head and pounded it into the floor, locking his arm around his opponent's neck.

"The Emperor would never order such a thing," he snarled into the ear of the World Eater captain. "This is just your insane master, doing his own thing."

"Believe it if you want to, Wolf, but we do what the Emperor orders," Dietriech whispered with the remainder of his breath.

With a roar, Anlaf twisted Dietriech's neck until it snapped, after which he dropped it to the floor. He fell back onto his haunches, only to be lifted up; he turned to see Dragfinn and Apothecary Justan to either side of him.

"I told you to get off the ship," he snarled.

"Sorry, Captain; I had the urge to come back and see if your sorry arse needed saving."

"Which," Justan grinned, "it did not, but the 16th Company need their Alpha; we are not ready for a new one yet."

Anlaf began to feel weak from his injuries and let himself go limp so they could half-carry and half-walk him.

"When I get out of here, I think I am going to get laid," he muttered, causing both Wolves with him to snigger.

"You might want to get cleaned up first, Captain - no she-wolf would touch you," Justan chuckled.

It was an old joke from the days the three men were Blood Claws, not yet full Astartes and still with some human instincts. It was one that Justan was happy to hear and play along with.

The Legend of D'seshara was dead in space and, as the Umbergora turned to fire upon her once more, she exploded of her own wounds. Dragfinn, on the bridge in place of his wounded Wolf Lord, watched in satisfaction as the World Eater vessel vanished.

Their dead had been retrieved and their Canis Helices removed, as well as the gene-seed, ready to be born with pride back to the Fang so that a new batch of recruits would enter the service of the Father of Wolves.

But Dragfinn was far from content. Anlaf had told him what had been said to him, and unlike his captain he believed it; and as the Umbergora emerged from the jump point, he began to wonder just how mad the Imperium was going.

He would soon find out.