Chapter two

Romulus stalks through the corridors of the massive ship, Bloodmaw was recovering in a medbay specially rigged to handle the massive wolf. Bloodmaw's skin had been extensively burn and had to be replaced with ceramite scale plates. Blood's jaw was also reinforced with plasteel teeth and jawbones. The Thunderwolf was now as tough as a battle tank and had a bite like a lascannon. Romulus was thankful for the attention that the Greyknights had given to his wolf and he was getting to know some of the Inquisition warriors very well. He was drawn more towards the Inquisitorial storm troopers however as they gave their lives on the field of battle without the extensive genetic recoding that the Greyknights went through, and were just as brave, if a bit shell shocked.
"Brother Romulus we were wondering if you wanted to spar with us on the refectorium deck?"
"I would be glad to Brother Inmar, what weapons today?"
"Simple swords, I think you can handle that?"
"Absolutely"
A grin spread across Romulus's cheeks, the Greyknights he was most fond of however were the Purifiers of the 4th strike squad. They were an unruly lot that liked to play hard but fair. They reminded him of the Brothers he lost on the snows of Formic Primus all those years ago.

Soon Romulus and the 10 Greyknights were covered with Plasteel chainmail, and had triple bonded shields strapped to their arms, the swords they used were a simple design, an undecorated hilt, cross guard and pommel with a meter long blade. The sturdy swords could match up to even the powerful Astartes blows and never seemed to dull. Romulus took his general place in the circle they always started in, about 3 meters from his nearest sparring partner. One of the group always volunteered to be in the middle to start. This would be the man who would take the brunt of the combat, but the participants would eventually shear off into small groups of 3 or 4 to spar. But they always started in a circle; it gave them a sense of Fellowship before the full scale scrap that usually unfolded.

The Greyknights and Romulus stamped their feet on the ground. Boom... Boom... Boom after the third resounding thud they all simultaneously piled in. Technar smashed his shield down against Romulus's side and Romulus was momentarily off balance but spun to the right, ending up back to back with Grendin. The two simultaneously yelled "Truce" And fought back to back for a few moments, but then Gerdin nudged Romulus's side and they yelled, "Break" and pushed forwards, using their shields as battering rams to force their way out of the press. Another pair of warriors quickly formed a "Truce" and the pattern repeated itself. The Greyknights and their honorary Brother Romulus fought long minutes against each other without once drawing so much as a scratch or blow on another member. The chainmail was just to give the Astartes some weight on their shoulders, the 11 Men knew to never actually hit a Brother, if an opening was made it was ignored and instead the attacker would break of from the pair and search for a new combatant. Of which there where never short of. However soon one of them yelled "Down to the Ground" and then whenever an opening was made on a Brother the Defender would back out of the circle he was "Eliminated" and in this way the 11 men worked their way down to just 2, Romulus and his good friend Jacnai. The competition between these two was long and fierce, both knowing the others stratagems and ploys. Around them was a ring of cheering spectators, other Strike squads having learned of the pairs duel and come to watch.

The two had been battling for well over half an hour after everyone else had been "Eliminated" but neither were beginning to tire. Even so the Astartes around the ring were beginning to make bets on who would come out on top. Most cheered for Jacnai as he was popular and a true brother of the other Greyknights but there were a good number cheering for Romulus. Eventually Romulus managed to batter Jacnai's shield away and use his own shield to knock his friend's sword out of his hand. The crowd yelled in excitement at the hard fought victory. The two friends exchanged a sweaty hug and clapped each others backs.
"Well fought Brother!"
"Indeed, if we were at the Fang we would have both been given barrels of Ale for that battle."
"Wouldn't that be good my friend? I am sorry there is little in the way of alcohol here."
"Not to worry Jacnai, I went through withdrawal months ago."
"Indeed you did Brother, how long did it take? An hour?"

"To get over it? That sounds about right"
"Lets get to the showers, you stink Wolf man!'
"So do you Warphead"

The group hit the showers and purged their bodies of the sweat and grime of combat in the heavy Plasteel chainmail. Then they move through the belly of the ship to the Infirmaries, where Bloodmaw is recovering. When Romulus enters the room the massive wolf bounds over and gives the, now power armour clad, Romulus a huge lick that you would never expect from sage a ferocious hunter. The Greyknights all laugh,
"Romulus you have an admirer!'
"When's the union going to be Wolf man?"
"You want me to get him a ring?"
"Oh hush you lot, he's just happy to see me"
"We can see that!"
Romulus laughs heartily, it's just like being with Bloodclaws when he's around these warriors, but Romulus knows that these Astartes loose all humor when they hit the battle field, they become an armoured wall of Daemon hunting death. Romulus sighs into his beard. They would never grow up though, he was sure of that. They were still all children in their hearts. But Romulus felt old, his 7 centuries weighed heavily on his shoulders. It wasn't for nothing that his neck was adorned with dozens of Wolf tooth necklaces and his armour had Wolf tail talismans hanging from many corners and ridges. And on his right knee was a pair of horizontal bands, one white, they other red, over a black background; the symbol of a Lone Wolf, and an old one at that. His armour had been repaired so many times that none of the original plasteel remained. He shakes himself out of his reverie as the Greyknights inspect Bloodmaw's plasteel and ceramite hide. He grins and chuckles into his beard; the Iron wolf.

He pats Blood' on the head one last time before heading back into the corridor, the Greyknights following him. They travel back to the elevator that would take them to the center decks but here Romulus stops.

"We part ways here brothers, but not for to long. I will meet you in the training decks in 45 minutes?"

"Agreed brother. Do not allow your depression to cloud your mind. We are your family remember that."

"I will. Now go, your storm bolters await you."

"Indeed they do brother Romulus, farewell."

"Farewell indeed brother Jacnai. Train well, train hard."

"I will brother"

With those words the Greyknights ascended the elevator shaft aboard the platform of reinforced plasteel that the elevator was made of. Romulus watched them go with a light heart. They always made the old wolf smile. However as he turned and made his slow way to the Pondero Domus his mind began to wander to his brothers. His real brothers. The brothers he had lost on the snowy plains of that horrid planet. Upon reaching the lower decks he began taking off his armor. Placing it on an armor tree slowly and reverentially piece by piece he bares his shattered body to the near pitch blackness of the Pondero Domus. If one could see the Lone Wolf the observer would gasp in shock. Fully two thirds of the Astartes' body had been replaced by mechanical parts. His arms were a mix of Organic tissues and Mechanical servos and plating. His entire left shoulder had been replaced with a plasteel – cythrion alloy. The second metal having been found on a planet not to far from Fenris. The Iron priests had reconstructed most of the aging space wolf's body with the alloy and the result was a truly terrifying warrior. His body alone was known to withstand autocannon shells and heavy bolter volleys. The Greyknights knew of Romulus' condition and they had even sanctified his body, placing holy sigils all over the alloy plates and blending them with the traditional runes of his home world.

Once completely bare Romulus felt his way to the edge of the bath situated there. He lowered his battered frame into the steaming water and hissed slightly as his body began to feel the effects of the steaming water. His mechanical body was quite waterproof so he took no worries about submerging most of his considerable bulk into the water. Soon his fingers were combing through his beard plaiting the foot long growth into a tamed wedge. His hair he also smoothed out. The grey mass slowly straitening under his ministrations. After a thorough wash he put on a simple white toga that covered his frame and he made his way into the inner sanctum of his personal Pondero Domus aboard this ship. The room was dark but soon after lighting a few candles it began to appear from the gloom. It was circular, with a domed roof that peaked at 3 meters. The circle of alcoves in the wall held candles and it was these that Romulus had lit. He settled himself in the middle of the room in a cross-legged position and gently let his eyes close. He concentrated on his breathing, taking measured breaths that would last several dozen seconds. And slowly the length of these breaths increased until he was in taking oxygen only every few minutes or so.

He began to think now about his life. His existence. His purpose. His reason for being. Images flashed through his mind. Always the same. His old brothers skinless and bloodless for a fraction of a second as the cultists device tore through them. Their Thunderwolves suffering equally beneath them. The brief twisting and bucking as their bodies rebelled against the warp device and then the limpness of recent death. The rag dolling effect of once graceful warriors as they collapsed into the snow. Their power armour and weapons gone, along with their skin and flesh. Only the bones of his comrades remain.

Romulus searches through his mind for an answer. Always the same answer.

"Have I avenged you my brothers?"

His mind sank down into the depths of his being. Searching through the darkness of his shattered and bloody existence. The war torn being that is Romulus Aredic Greythroat. The darkness in his soul is not the darkness of chaos. But the darkness of loss. The inner rage and burning desire to see his enemies defeated, his fallen kin avenged. He hated that darkness. It drove him nearly to the point of madness. Feeling the hurt and anger of a dozen lost souls, the souls of his brothers wishing for vengeance and vindication. And Romulus was the Astartes charged with this task.

His fingers ran over the scars on his right shoulder, loyalty honor and pride. The three words that had ruled his existence from the day he had stumbled back into the fang with a Thunderwolf pelt wrapped around him and the scent of a new born Space Wolf in the wind. Another word had been inscribed into his flesh. Just below that of the three ruling edicts of his existence.

"Vengeance"

The whispered word echoed blankly through the Pondero Domus. It felt hollow so Romulus said again, this time with more force

"Vengeance!"

He stood up. The toga flowing about him. His eyes blazing in the candlelight. He tipped back his head and howled. Howled long and hard. His lungs pumping out the needed oxygen to fuel such a monolithic burst of sound. The walls of the Pondero Domus rang and echoed with his exhalation. Greythroat's mind raced as he thought of what he had done. He had avenged his brothers. With the death of the Obliterator he and Bloodmaw had freed themselves from the debt owed to their brothers and kin.

Some minutes later as he strode into the training decks and the Greyknights turned to see the Lone Wolf in their midst they murmured appreciatively. The old wolf had a glint in his eye.