MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. DOES ANYONE HAVE SOME SPARE BLOOD? NO PARTICULAR REASON, JUST, UH… YEAH, NO PARTICULAR REASON.

Shepard's weathered one storm, but now she has to travel into the very heart of Chaos. Or, eye, if you want to get technical. Whatever.

Star-Bound

Chapter 19

Wolftime

Shepard's announcement was met with almost universal opposition.

"Your Holiness, I beg you to reconsider," Rex pleaded. "It has not been long since your resurrection, surely you must need rest!"

"First of all, I've been resting for over a week, while my soldiers were still fighting," Shepard said calmly. "Second, don't call me Shirley."

The joke went right over everyone's heads, but her almost playful tone was enough to set half of her council at ease. The other half was stubbornly refusing to budge.

"I understand that your gifts are enough to push back Chaos," Zandtus said, "but going into the Eye of Terror itself is suicide!"

Shepard almost made a joke about how she would just come back to life, but held her tongue; her recent death was still raw, both to her friends, and herself. Before she could speak, she was cut off by harsh, grating laughter.

"Your Saint has more courage than sense," Gabriel Seth chuckled, ignoring the outraged glares from everyone else. "Flying into the Eye of Terror itself to find a Primarch that has been missing for ten thousand years, when his own sons haven't found him in all that time? I would say that it was insanity, if she had not already found two Primarchs."

That brought everyone up short; Shepard had indeed found Corax and Johnson, so why couldn't she find Leman Russ? The only difference was the insane level of risk that came with entering the Eye of Terror.

"I won't risk the entire Crusade by taking everything we have into that mess," Shepard said. "I'll be on the Space Wolves' ship. Bjorn and Lord Blackmane have the right to look for their Primarch."

Bjorn wasn't present at the meeting; the damage he'd suffered from the Swarmlord had been critical, and several Iron Priests were busy repairing him aboard the Howling Storm. Ragnar, however, nodded in agreement with Shepard's words.

"I swear to you that no harm shall befall the Saint," Ragnar said. "And there are nearly a thousand of my brothers who will swear the same oath."

That was enough for most of the council; a thousand Space Marines was enough to protect anyone from almost anything. However, it rankled the pride of Zandtus and Phoros; after all, the Space Wolves weren't even a part of the Crusade.

"I respect your abilities, Lord Blackmane," Zandtus said, trying to remain diplomatic, "but we would all insist that an honor guard accompany Saint Shepard."

"Hey! 'Saint Shepard' is right here." Even the Space Marines looked a little sheepish for arguing over her like she wasn't even there. "But I agree with you, Raquilon. It's only right that a small group from the Crusade come with me. The Alexian Guard, for one."

"I shall assemble a squad as well," Zandtus said.

"As will I," Phoros added.

In the end, every element of the Crusade had some representation. Vils offered a squad of his best Scions, Xem-Beta assigned some Skitarii, and Helmin assured her that the Eleventh Vigilant Guard would be more than happy to loan a squad, or even the entire regiment, if necessary. Though her honor guard would be vastly outnumbered by the Space Wolves, Shepard felt better having people she'd fought alongside for years travel into hell itself with her.

She just hoped that they would all make it back out.

…

While Shepard waited for preparations to be completed, she was finally able to take stock of the Crusade's losses. They were the heaviest they'd ever been, with nearly a hundred thousand dead among just the Astra Militarum, over ten thousand from the Mechanicus, hundreds of Sororitas, and dozens of Space Marines. That wasn't even counting the wounded, or damaged vehicles that needed repair; by her estimate, the Shepard Crusade was down to seventy-five percent effectiveness among its ground forces.

Plans were already being made to return to Vigilus for reinforcements and resupply, but Shepard knew she needed to give the elite of her forces more time to find and train new recruits. That would take longer, especially for the Astartes.

Another thing she did while waiting was make good on a promise she'd made at the beginning of the campaign. Hundreds of soldiers had met her quota of at least twenty confirmed kills, without dying in the process. She'd gone from regiment to regiment, awarding medals for courage and exemplary service; every unit she left was determined to reach the same acclaim as those heroes of the Crusade.

…

"I'm going with you."

Shepard looked Hiral dead in the eye. "Are you asking me, or telling me?"

To his credit, her banner-bearer didn't flinch. "Please. Maybe it's arrogance, but when I saw you…" he shook his head, unable to finish the sentence. "I want to be able to protect you this time."

Shepard had been told how her death had utterly broken the young man. Apparently, only the constant attention of a Seraphim had kept him from committing suicide out of grief. She nodded, and then pulled him into a brief hug.

"Just remember that you're supposed to protect the flag," she said. "I've got a small army ready to protect me. Also, I can punch a tank to death if I wanted."

"Right." Hiral tried to hide his watery eyes, and failed miserably. "I'm still going with you."

"Fine… geez, you're worse than Richter."

Hiral frowned. "Who?"

Shepard tried not to get lost in old memories. "An old friend. I fought alongside him for years; had a habit of trying to talk me out of dangerous stunts, and when that failed, he'd chase after me to try and help. He died helping me accomplish a mission." She gave Hiral a look. "Don't you dare die on me. No one else is allowed to hold that banner, okay? If you die, it'll never be brought onto the field again."

Hiral realized she was completely serious. "I understand."

"Good. Now get some rest, because we're shipping out tomorrow."

…

The next day, Shepard's departure from Agris Minoris had little fanfare. Most of the Crusade was still rooting out surviving Tyranids, but a small group was still there to bid her farewell. All of the Crusade's leadership was there, including Blaise.

The Canoness Superior had been horribly injured by the Swarmlord. Nearly every bone in her body was broken, including her spine; Xem-Beta was currently working to build augmetics to replace the damaged parts. Her left leg was also beyond saving, and she was awaiting a cybernetic replacement. Between her hand, eye, and now leg, her entire left side was gradually becoming more machine than flesh.

Blaise had been brought out in a simple chair to watch the proceedings. What was left of her wore simple robes over heavy bandages. Her organic eye, however, held a spark of determination, and Shepard knew she would recover.

"I wish I could go with you, Your Holiness," she said as Shepard walked over to her.

Shepard knelt and held the other woman's remaining hand—her bionic one had been removed, and was being repaired. "Next time, you can. Just focus on getting better, Temperance."

"As you command." Blaise was surprised when Shepard pulled her into a gentle hug. "Your Holiness?"

"I'm glad you're still alive," Shepard whispered. "I don't want to lose more friends if I can help it."

As Shepard pulled away, Blaise was struck by just how sad her Matriarch looked. Whatever she had seen during her time dead, she hadn't said, but it was causing her so much pain. She only kept it from overwhelming her by virtue of her own indomitable will.

"We will be here," Blaise promised.

"I know you will." Shepard grinned. "Try to keep the other kids in line while I'm gone, would you?"

Blaise couldn't keep from smiling back. "With Helmin around, I doubt I can."

Helmin, who had been nearby, feigned offense, and the two women laughed.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Shepard promised, as the mirth faded. "Stay alive until I get back."

Blaise nodded. "Only if you do the same."

Shepard smirked. "Nothing will stop me."

…

Elements of the fleet escorted the Howling Storm to the Mandeville Point. As soon as the ship entered the Warp, Shepard went to the modest quarters the Space Wolves had set aside for her; she channeled her power to protect the ship as it traveled to the Eye. The strike cruiser was smaller than the Vehemence, which made things easier on her, though it was still exhausting.

After a few days of travel, Shepard felt strong enough to walk through the ship and still maintain her power. It took her a bit of searching, and asking a Space Wolf for directions, but she made her way to where the Dreadnoughts were stored. After that, she found Bjorn resting; his arms and legs had been removed for repair, but his sarcophagus had been returned to its former glory.

"Hello, little one," Bjorn rumbled. "I am glad that you have returned from death. It would have made finding Lord Russ… difficult."

Shepard chuckled. "Well, I knew it wasn't because you liked me."

"That, and you don't fall over yourself while addressing me, like so many of these whelps." Bjorn laughed. "I have missed that."

"Same here. You win one major battle, and suddenly you're a hero." Not for the first time, Shepard wished that someone else had won the Battle of Elysium, back when she was in the Alliance. "Then, you start glowing and get wings, and people start bowing. So annoying, right?"

At that point, Bjorn's laughter was almost deafening, so much so that they almost didn't hear the alarms ringing throughout the ship. Ragnar himself made the announcement that the ship would be reaching the Eye of Terror in a few hours.

"We dare not return to realspace outside the Eye," Bjorn said, his tone serious. "Traitor ships patrol the area in great numbers. We would be overwhelmed in minutes."

"Yeah, I'd rather not get blown up in space again." Bjorn couldn't move, but Shepard knew he was staring at her. "Long story. Short version, I fell through the atmosphere of a nearby planet, got put back together."

"That must have been painful."

Shepard was reminded of when Wrex said the same thing. "It was a little warm on the way down." She noticed several Iron Priests approaching with Bjorn's repaired limbs. "I should go. I want to put a little more power into the shield, just in case."

"And we will be ready to repel any maleficarum, should it slip past." Bjorn's sarcophagus let out a mechanical growl. "It is good to be so active again."

Shepard thought about the decades she'd spent in retirement, lost in grief and memories. "Yeah, it is."

…

The journey into the Eye itself was far worse than Shepard could have imagined. Though her power kept Chaos at bay, she could feel the claws of the Neverborn scratching at her shield, looking for even the tiniest crack in her defenses. Aboard the Howling Storm, no one went anywhere alone, nor without weapons and armor. The mortals who required rest did so fitfully, unless it was near Shepard, whose power was enough to banish their fears.

Personally, Shepard thought that it was mostly a psychological thing; if Chaos had actually started influencing people aboard the ship, then they had serious problems.

Of course, at that point, Shepard didn't have the energy to say so; it took all of her concentration just to keep the shield perfect.

"Carolya," she said, her voice raspy after three days of silence.

In an instant, the head of the Alexian Guard was at her side. "Yes, Your Holiness?"

"I could use some water," Shepard admitted. "Empowered or not, hydration is still a thing."

"Of course; one moment, please." Carolya returned shortly with a Militarum-issue canteen, which Shepard drained in seconds.

"Thanks." Shepard took a deep breath, and then forced herself to her feet. "I need to head to the bridge."

"Have we reached our destination?" Carolya asked.

"No, I think we need to alter our course." Shepard gratefully accepted the arm Carolya offered to steady her. "The closer we get, the more accurate the directions are going to be."

As soon as they left Shepard's quarters, the rest of her honor guard was ready for anything. Sergeant Ashlynn led one of the most decorated squads from the Eleventh Vigilant Guard, and had helped save Helmin's life against the Tyranids. Tempestor Raffe had served as one of Vils' best officers among the Deltic Scorpions, and held the distinction of being the best shot in the entire regiment. A squad of Sicarian Infiltrators—back-legged Skitarii with domed heads and armed with crackling taser goads—had been seconded from the Mechanicus. Their designation was Hex-9, with their leader only identifying as Hex-9-Alpha; they weren't much of a conversationalist, but they had the distinction of being one-fifteenth of a percent more efficient than any other Skitarii unit in the Crusade. For the Mechanicus, that was high praise.

The Space Marines had offered the smallest contribution in terms of numbers, but Shepard was under no illusion that they were the most powerful element of the honor guard. The Necropolis Hawks had sent five Bladeguard Veterans, led by Lieutenant Artin. Shepard hadn't fought alongside him since Prospero, but he had been transferred to the First Company; he now wore ornate Tacticus armor, with a helmet that reminded her of a knight's. He carried a large storm shield, strapped to the bionic arm he'd gotten as a replacement for the one he'd lost on Prospero, and a beautiful power sword that he rested his other hand on at all times. The Lamenters had sent five Sanguinary Guard; each had sworn an oath to die before letting Shepard fall to even the slightest harm, and considering that that was the same vow they took for their Chapter Master, Shepard knew just how big a deal that was.

And, of course, there was Hiral; her standard bearer may have been the least experienced and least skilled of them all, but his courage was respected by everyone.

Carolya let Hiral support Shepard, as she needed to be ready for possible combat. Shepard was still in her armor, which nearly made Hiral buckle. That, of course, Shepard couldn't let slip by.

"That better not be a silent joke about my weight," she warned.

"Even if you weren't a Saint, I know better than to suggest that in any way," Hiral said without missing a beat.

Artin, who had earned the title of 'the Pure' after Shepard had purged him of possible corruption, nodded sagely. "A wise idea."

The honor guard took staggered positions in the corridor leading to the bridge; only Hiral and Carolya actually entered, and Ragnar nodded at them. Nearby, a wizened Space Wolf—the captain of the ship—was speaking to one of the mortal bridge officers in hushed tones, and didn't turn to the newcomers.

"Lord Blackmane," Shepard greeted, and forced herself to stand unaided. "Anything unusual out there?"

Ragnar chuckled. "It is the Warp, Saint Shepard; it is always unusual."

"Point taken."

"In fact, the only thing out of the ordinary is how smooth the trip has been. Your power to keep the tides of the Warp at bay is extraordinary." He glanced at the non-Astartes. "The mortals are nervous; travel through the Immaterium is not supposed to be relaxing."

"Well, it isn't for me," Shepard said. "It's like trying to hold a door shut against a flood."

"If we actually find Lord Russ, it will be worth it." Ragnar eyed her. "Speaking of which, is there a reason you are here?"

"Actually, yeah. I think we might be getting close, but we're going to have to come out of the Warp… and into whatever the hell the Eye is."

"I understand." Ragnar gripped the hilt of his sword tightly as he spoke to the captain in his native tongue. The older Space Wolf was grim as he barked commands, and alarms throughout the ship began to wail. "We'll be coming into realspace soon. It will likely be a bumpy exit."

I just hope we don't hit anything on the way out, Shepard thought. We did kind of make a blind jump.

The Howling Storm shuddered as she emerged out of the Warp. No one wanted to risk opening the blast shutters and expose their souls to whatever madness was waiting, so the bridge remained dark and oppressive. Shepard didn't pay much attention to that; instead, she focused on the wayfinder. The small wolf's fang shifted slightly, pointing to her right.

"Adjust heading by eight degrees starboard," she ordered. A moment later, the ship turned. "Maintain course and speed for now, but be ready for anything."

…

The journey continued for another twelve days, but there were no major incidents. The ship avoided contact with any other vessels, and Shepard's protection kept any daemons from even wanting to get close. Tensions remained high, though; no one was foolish enough to relax within the Eye.

The first true sign that they were on the right path was when the Howling Storm picked up an old locator beacon's signal. And it was truly old—it dated back to the Horus Heresy. They found the source drifting through space and brought it aboard; it was a casket with a single occupant, a Space Wolf.

However, Shepard was hard pressed to recognize the dead warrior as ever even being human. His body was covered in shaggy fur, and his mouth twisted to look more like a muzzle; even in death, his muscles were far beyond what a Space Marine should have been able to have.

"Mutation," Carolya spat as they beheld the corpse. "This warrior was exposed to the Warp for too long, and this is the result."

"No, this is no sorcery or corruption from the Dark Gods," Ragnar said, arms crossed. "This is the curse all sons of Russ bear. The curse of the Wulfen."

Shepard looked at the dead Marine, and then at Ragnar. "What, you're telling me you guys can all turn into that?"

"Not by choice, and there is no going back once the transformation sets in," Ragnar answered grimly. "It gives us strength, but it becomes a struggle to even listen to orders, much less follow them. Every day, we fight against the beast within; this is what happens when we lose that battle."

"Well… shit." Shepard closed her eyes. "Let's just find Russ and get out of here."

Not long after their first discovery, the Howling Storm picked up more signs that they were on the right track. A piece of debris—identified as outer armor from a Gloriana-class vessel—drifting through the void, and signs of weapons-fire on the remains of lesser ships. If they were indeed tracking Russ, his ship was still fighting.

Shepard had to admire not just Russ, but also the Space Wolves who went with him on this insane mission. To remain steadfast for ten thousand years was insane to think about, even for a Primarch—Shepard had seen what that had done to Corax, after all. For anyone less than a Primarch, though, that required fortitude of unthinkable levels.

Would the crew of the Normandy have followed her for so long? Would her friends in the Empire? A part of her hoped that they would, but she would have rather they all find their own measure of peace before then. Shepard had never wanted to drag anyone else along on her missions, especially during the Reaper War; she only ever asked for help because she knew she couldn't do it all on her own. But her friends had answered the call, even in the face of certain death. Would they have done so again, if she'd somehow called them here?

She wouldn't have done that, though; there were things in this galaxy that were far worse than death.

…

It was on the thirteenth day that Shepard set her eyes on a legend of the Imperium. She had never seen a Gloriana-class battleship before; when she had been in Ultramar, the Macragge's Honor had been elsewhere. Even though the Hrafnkel was battered by time and war, she was by far the most impressive ship Shepard had ever seen. Her blunt prow was large enough to smash apart anything unfortunate enough to get in her way, and her flanks bristled with some of the most powerful guns ever mounted to a warship. Running along her scarred hull was a massive symbol of the Space Wolves, with a VI underneath.

Shepard could have spent hours simply gazing in awe at the astounding feat of engineering. Unfortunately, the Hrafnkel was busy fighting a squadron of Traitor warships.

"All hands, prepare for battle!" Ragnar shouted. "Our Primarch's flagship is under attack!"

At Shepard's side, Artin studied the battle with a critical eye. "Why does she fight so poorly? Those scavengers should be dust by now."

While a Gloriana should have been more than capable of dealing with the half-dozen frigates that surrounded her, few of the Hrafnkel's guns actually fired. Strangely, it looked like the ship still functioned, but nobody was pulling the trigger.

"It's been ten thousand years," Shepard realized. "They've had to have taken losses, especially among the regular crew. It could be that there's just not enough people."

"Then we shall bolster her number," Ragnar declared. "The Howling Storm will drive off those bastards, while the rest of us shall board the Hrafnkel and secure her. Whether or not Lord Russ is there, I will not let such a potent relic fall into enemy hands."

"Agreed." Shepard turned to Artin. "Time to get to work."

"It shall be done."

Shepard and her honor guard joined the Space Wolves in their fleet of transports—mainly Overlords and Thunderhawks, but smaller craft as well. They waited until the Howling Storm got close enough, and then shot out of the hangar at speeds nowhere close to safe. For the Space Wolves, caution had been officially thrown to the wind; every last one of them would die if it meant there was a chance of recovering their Primarch.

Fortunately, the Howling Storm's arrival threw the Chaos ships into disarray, buying time for the transports to reach the Hrafnkel. A worrying sign was that while the larger ship's main hangar was still securely shut, two of its secondary launch bays were open. As soon as that information reached the boarding parties, the mission changed from not only reinforcing anyone still alive on the ship, but also repelling any unwanted guests.

The inside of the Hrafnkel was a mess; equipment that hadn't been touched in years, let alone properly maintained, lay scattered about, and a thick layer of dust covered everything.

"At least life support still works," Shepard muttered as she stepped out of the transport. She also saw signs that the ship had already been boarded—tainted Thunderhawks rested nearby, their engines still warm. Without a word, packs of Space Wolves broke off and hurled melta bombs onto the enemy transports' engines, grounding them; soon enough, they were completely destroyed.

"Thank the Allfather for small mercies," Ragnar grunted back, and then got to business. "My men will secure the vital sections of the ship—engineering, power stations and such. The rest of us will make our way to the bridge; if we encounter more of the Thirteenth Great Company, be very careful, for they are easily provoked." He snarled as a thought occurred to him. "If you encounter hostile forces, strike them down; I will have no traitors sully this ship."

One thing that Shepard was thankful for was how the Imperium always built big; even with hundreds of Space Marines, many of them Primaris, there was still plenty of room. All but the smallest corridors could allow even a Dreadnaught passage, something that Bjorn appreciated.

"It has been so long since I walked the decks of this ship," he said almost wistfully. "So many memories… celebrating battles won, mourning brothers lost…"

"Try to focus on the here and now," Shepard gently reminded him.

"Yes… yes, you are right."

A Space Wolf, one slightly ahead of everyone else, turned a corner, and suddenly raised his bolter and fired. "Enemies ahead!"

He barely got off a handful of shots before his head exploded in a fountain of gore. A pair of Chaos Space Marines stepped over his body and opened fire. Both wore patchwork suits of power armor; one was armed with an archaic and warped bolter, while the other carried an autocannon that seemed more flesh than machine.

Bjorn stomped forward to block the hail of gunfire; even the autocannon couldn't do more than scratch his armor, while the return fire from his assault cannon shredded the Traitor Marines.

Ragnar knelt by one of the corpses as soon as he was sure there were no other enemies. "Dregs," he spat. "Scavengers. A warband in name only. I would not be surprised if most of their ilk hailed from different Chapters or Legions."

"No brotherhood at all," Bjorn added darkly. "We are fortunate, I think. One of the Traitor Legions would cause problems."

As they continued on, reports started coming in; Ragnar's men had encountered several small groups of Chaos Marines, and had eliminated them as they went. Casualties among the Space Wolves were light, but there was still enough resistance to slow their progress. One pack of Wolves had discovered a scene of absolute carnage—a dozen or so Chaos Marines, torn limb from limb by what they were sure were Wulfen.

"Where is everyone?" Shepard asked. "We should have run into someone who doesn't want to kill us."

"It is a large ship," Ragnar reminded her, "and there are few…"

Shepard paused when Ragnar trailed off. "What is it?"

Ragnar inhaled deeply; his eyes were closed, and he looked like he was trying to remember something. "This scent… I know it, yet I don't."

"You sense him," Bjorn said, his own voice tense. "As do I. He is close."

Shepard mentally reviewed the schematics of the ship. "We should be near the bridge. If Russ is going to be anywhere—"

It all happened in an instant. A feral roar, a blur of motion, and the crash of ceramite-armored bodies hitting the deck as an enormous shape burst from the shadows with the expertise of an experienced hunter. Shepard had Liberator in hand before she could think, and raised it to defend herself, but that only drew the attacker's attention. The Alexian Guard were tossed aside, and a hand wrapped around Shepard's throat with superhuman strength.

Barring his monstrous rage, the Primarch was instantly recognizable; his battered armor was decorated with Fenrisian runes and symbols of the old Sixth Legion. His hair was shaggy and grey, where once it had been blonde, and his beard looked like it had been trimmed with a blunt knife. The hand not pinning Shepard to the wall held an axe that probably weighed as much as a fully-armored Space Marine, and a massive sword was belted to his hip.

Shepard smiled weakly. "Leman Russ, I presume? Your father sent me to find you."

For a moment, the Wolf King merely snarled, as if considering just ripping her throat out with his teeth. Then, the fury receded, and Shepard was lowered gently to the deck.

"You…" Leman Russ blinked, and then peered closer at her. "You are not the Neverborn. You are human. Mortal. How have you come to this place?"

"With a little help from your sons." Shepard waved off Hiral, who came to her aid. "They look a little star-struck."

Russ glanced back; sure enough, the Space Wolves stared at their gene-father in awe. It was worse for some of the mortal soldiery, who outright prostrated before him. "Some of them breed large now."

Ragnar fell to one knee, Frostfang pointed tip-first into the deck. "My Lord, I am Ragnar Blackmane, of the Blackmane Great Company. My warriors and I have come to bring you home."

Russ regarded the young Wolf Lord for a moment. "There will be time for that later. For now, we must purge these traitors from my ship."

"Agreed," Bjorn rumbled, and then picked up Ragnar and planted him on his feet. "Kowtow later, whelp."

Shepard tried not to laugh at the Astartes equivalent of getting embarrassed in front of dad, but the moment was ruined when alarms began to blare throughout the ship. "Oh, what now?"

…

For almost three hours, battle raged throughout the Hrafnkel; though the Chaos Marines aboard the ship were not a truly united force, they were still fierce warriors, and they would not be stopped so easily. Another problem was the sheer size of the vessel, and the limited number of Imperials to hunt them down; even with Ragnar's company bolstering Russ' numbers, they had less than two thousand Astartes to search a ship meant to carry more than ten times many. Thankfully, that problem was mitigated by the superior senses of the Wolves, and their knowledge of the ship's layout.

"These should be the last," Ragnar said as he and Russ met up with Shepard's force near the middle of the ship. "They are trapped between my warriors and Lord Russ' Wulfen."

"They will still fight like cornered rats," Russ said, idly shaking corrupted blood from his sword. "The overconfident wolf dies to his prey's fangs."

Ragnar nodded, and then gripped his own sword tightly.

Shepard cracked her neck, and then gestured to the door that led to the enemy. "Who wants to go first?"

"Me," Bjorn growled, and smashed the door open. Bolter rounds ricocheted off his chassis, and he stomped into the fray.

"Everyone's being so dramatic today," Shepard muttered, as she and her honor guard followed the Space Wolves.

Nearly fifty Chaos Marines had set up a makeshift barricade, and had two squads toting heavy weapons—Havocs, they were called. One squad was armed with missile launchers, while the other had long, multibarreled guns that Shepard didn't recognize; the latter whirred and fired a storm of rounds that overwhelmed even power armor. Several Space Wolves fell, and more than one didn't rise again.

Shepard flew to the ceiling with the Alexian Guard and hovered for a moment, looking for the best place to lend their strength. She saw it near the rear of the heretic position—a massive brute of a Chaos Marine, nearly as tall as Russ himself, directing the battle with bellowed orders. His armor was decorated with brass markings that Shepard recognized; he was a follower of the Blood God, a powerful warrior made all the more dangerous because he could control his bloodlust.

"The big bastard is mine," Shepard said, and dived towards her target. The Alexian Guard followed close; after her first battle against the Swarmlord, they were unwilling to let her too far out of their sight.

Though he was big, the Chaos Lord was as fast as any Astartes Shepard had met. He met Liberator with a power fist, and then nearly took Shepard's head off with an axe that literally screamed in rage at her.

"Mortal scum!" the Chaos Lord shouted. "If I am to die this day, it will be at the hands of a Primarch, not some pathetic—"

"Oh, shut the fuck up," Shepard snarled, and blasted him in the chest with a beam of golden light that sent him staggering back. Just like every other time her power hit something corrupted by Chaos, her opponent's chestplate was purified of taint; it was now a beautiful sable color, with a white dragon on each side.

"How… what…" The Chaos Lord forced himself to his feet, only for the hand holding his axe to be severed at the wrist. "No!"

"That's the problem with you Chaos guys," Shepard said as she smashed the blunt side of Liberator into his fanged helm, shattering one side and exposing pale flesh that throbbed with purple veins. "You never believe you might get killed, and then throw a shit-fit when you lose."

"It matters not…" The man who had once been a noble champion of humanity threw a punch with his power fist, but Shepard flew up to avoid it. "Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows, and my skull will still adorn his throne!"

"Good." Shepard hit him with more energy, which forced him to his knees. "That should tell him that he's next."

At that point, the Lord knew he was doomed, but spat at her in defiance. "Then you are even more mad than I, little mortal."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Shepard brought Liberator down on his head, and shattered his skull with a single blow.

With their leader dead, and a Primarch leading the charge against their front line, the remaining Chaos Marines were quickly destroyed. Artin managed to claim the final kill of the engagement; he had led the Necropolis Hawks and Lamenters in a charge against the Havocs, and he stood over the last of them, sword buried in his foe's throat.

"Judging by the transports we saw on our way in, these were the last," Ragnar said.

"The Wulfen will scour the ship, just in case," Russ declared, and a nearby Wulfen who heard him growled and loped off to spread the word. Russ then nodded at Shepard. "Good kill. How did you burn away his corruption?"

Shepard's wings vanished, and she shrugged. "A mix of your father's power, and some blackstone." She smiled when she saw Russ' confusion. "There's a lot you need to catch up on."

"Clearly. Follow me to the bridge, and we can discuss our next move there."

…

By the time they arrived on the bridge, the Chaos vessels had either been driven off, or destroyed. This battle was over, but Shepard knew that she had another to wage before they could leave the Eye.

There were only a few members of the Thirteenth Great Company who had not devolved into the Wulfen, and they all remained on the bridge. Less than twenty were at their posts, all covered in scars, weapons and armor barely held together. Shepard noticed that they didn't look as old as she thought they would; then again, time moved differently within the Eye, which made getting out as quickly as possible all the more important.

"So, you claim to wield the Allfather's power, and want me to abandon my quest?" Russ sat hard on his command throne. "I cannot do that. I must find a way to heal my father's broken body, and restore Him to life."

Shepard stood at ease, but the rest of her honor guard looked worried—those who could express emotions, at least.

"That's your plan," she said. "I'm pretty sure the Emperor's orders overrule yours."

Russ snarled. "Watch your tone, mortal."

Shepard's eyes glowed gold, and her voice took on a double-tone. "You watch yours, Leman Russ. You swore unending loyalty to the Master of Mankind. He tolerated your willfulness in the days of the Great Crusade, but no more—night has fallen on the galaxy, and the enemy is at the gates. For now, your responsibility is to the Imperium, not mending your wounded pride because you weren't at Terra."

A little much, Shepard thought, and she felt the Emperor's will recede from her mind.

Russ was silent for a long moment, and then turned to Bjorn, who just barely fit inside the bridge. "Do you believe her?"

"Since you left, I have seen many things we would have called impossible, even during the Heresy," Bjorn said. "Shepard has done more for the Imperium than could ever be repaid. She deserves the loyalty she inspires in her warriors, and has earned the respect of the Imperium's greatest champions. Even if she did not speak with the Emperor's voice, I would advise that you heed her."

"The Emperor has a plan," Shepard added. "He hasn't told me all the details, not yet, but He's trying to save the galaxy, and He needs your help."

Russ closed his eyes and took several long breaths. When his eyes opened, he smiled; it was weary and pained, but there was excitement there, the prospect of a worthy challenge igniting a fire within him.

"Of course my father needs the Rout," he boomed, and rose to his feet. "As if He could trust the fate of the galaxy to any but us!"

The Space Wolves, new and old, burst out laughing; even Bjorn, who had been tense since reuniting with his Primarch, relaxed a fraction. Shepard grinned; like Corax, it seemed she had convinced Russ to return to the Imperium.

The good mood abruptly ended when alarms suddenly blared across the entire ship.

Russ whirled to one of the Astartes at the sensor station. "Report!"

The Space Wolf spat off to the side before he read his findings. "My Jarl, more ships have arrived! They are registering as traitor vessels, under the banner of the Fourteenth Legion!"

Russ snarled. "The Death Guard."

Sorry this chapter took so long to finish. I would have had it done weeks ago, but life decided to punch me in the face. Over the last month, my dog died, then my aunt died, and at the time of this chapter, my grandfather is in the hospital. This has put a damper on my desire to write grimdark stuff.

But, hey, at least Shepard found Leman Russ! It was easier than it might have been, thanks to Shepard's anti-Chaos powers, and her wayfinder. This was actually very hard for me to write, mostly because Russ is actually my least favorite surviving loyal Primarch. Sorry if that's not true for you guys, but this part of the story was always going to be challenging for me. That's why I threw in the Death Guard at the last minute; they're among my favorite Traitor Legions, both pre- and post-Heresy.

No, Mortarion won't be here. He's for later. I have something else interesting planned for the next couple of chapters, though.

Also, Hrafnkel is a pain to write over and over, and I think my laptop is planning my murder.

As always, please consider buying my book, Alpha Sanction, by Josh Gottlieb. You can get it as a PDF on my site (link in my profile), or on Amazon as an eBook or physical copy. I haven't had sales in a while, and that makes me sad.

If you want to support my own crusade (for a place to live), please consider donating to my P-atreon page (link in my profile). Every dollar donated helps me build my fortress, from which new chapters may march out in glory!

And now, I'd like to thank the Adeptus Muffinicus who support my efforts:

Serious Muffins: SpaceEmperorSpar, Nimrod009, Anders Lyngbye, Matthias Matanovic, ChaosSpartan575, John Collins, Red Bard, Aaron Meek, Shaolin Khalil, killroy225

Incredible Muffins: RaptorusMaximus, michaelb958, Crazyman844

Ultra Muffins: Adam Costello, Matthew Bunting, RangersRoll

Next Chapter: A daring escape leads Shepard and the Space Wolves to a world under siege by the Death Guard, and a secret that could affect all Space Marines…

Stay safe out there!

We claim this Muffin in the name of the Emperor!