It has only been three hours since my judgment with the Great Wolf, it now I'm currently stuck within my room, still anxious, still uncomfortable.
I knew - with my previous memories, that this was intentional with many Space Marine Gene-see, when not in combat Space Marines would usually feel uncomfortable and it seems like not even I would be spared from that.
I thought back to my interactions with Ivarr and Bjorn; they felt natural - sure, but something I couldn't place told me otherwise.
I exhaled as I slowly paced the small room I inhabit, it wasn't easy dying and being reborn, even more so when you are reborn in a universe that wants you dead because you had the audacity to live.
So now I must decide what I want to be, who I will be.
Sure, I'm one person and I have next to no impact in the long run. Now that I've passed Logan's judgement and suddenly declared a blessed brother to the rest of the Space Wolves.
I can choose who I am.
Slightly.
I blinked away faint golden lights away from my eyes, and I watched them gently go into the darkness, swallowed up like daemons devouring humanities' hopes and dreams like a toddler.
I swallowed, finding my throat dry. The gracefully golden light followed my eyes like a dog to a leash as I stood up and went over to the door and opened it; I looked left, then right and found no one - or rather no one other than mortal serfs.
"Where is everyone" apparently the manners that my mother has distilled into me seemed to cease to exist when I was speaking to anyone unenhanced.
The mortal serf turned to look at me, her eyes were blue, her hair was that of grayish-blond, her wrinkles filled her face as she took a second to stare at me and my eyes.
"E-everyone is down below. Th- the Daemon Primarch Angron has descended, Blessed Lord" she stuttered her body seemed to shake lightly.
"…why do you shake?" Why did it take effort to talk to her? Why do I find this wrong?
"B-blessed Lord… you hold the Allfathers' light" she admitted as she seemed to be unable to tear her eyes away from mine.
"So I'm told" I spoke slowly as I blinked once "where can I watch the fight?" I asked her.
"A- A pict feed Blessed Lord" she swallowed something as she produced a data slate and handed it to me.
Looking down at it showed a live feed of the battlefield. I wanted to ask her how'd she get this or rather why'd she have this but instead I asked something else.
"Do you have any Mjod? And food?" I asked her as I met her eyes.
"Yes, Blessed Lord" she seemed to stop stuttering for a mere moment "please follow me"
I nodded once as she started to walk and I still can't help but notice that she was still shaking.
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Bjorn wasn't one to feel much - especially after more than a reasonable amount of time within the Dreadnaught, however ever since he fought along that one brazen whelp he's starting to feel something.
Excitement.
Or rather competition, Killing - banishing - Khârn back to the warp wasn't an easy feat, he himself did the heavy lifting due to the whelp being tossed around like a fresh scout.
However, Bjorn reluctantly had to give credit to what the others have begun to call the 'Blessed Wolf' - to him?
He was either lucky or extremely stubborn.
Agnar Wolfbreaker was someone who he decided to keep an eye on, from what Logan said the whelp is only forty of years and yet he could - from what he saw - potentially contest with Khârn.
Bjorn was one to boast, however he had to give the kill to the whelp, he took blows just to test him as well; allowing the Betrayer to take him down was a gamble that he was extremely reluctant to do.
But now?
He was happy, which for a Dreadnaught was absolutely terrifying.
Maybe with Angar he could finally find a brother that has a little bit of competence when it comes to the Allfather.
Bjorn scanned the battlefield, Angron himself had descended down to, it was the same place that Khârn was killed; no doubt Angron was looking for the warrior who killed his second - too bad, the only beings he'll find himself and the Grey Knights.
Bjorn didn't care much for the Grey Knights as much as the others did, Psychic abilities aside, from what he's seen, he is found wanting.
The haze before him was thick, he couldn't smell so he could only guess it smelled like that of an old battlefield and blood. The fog was heavy with a miasma that only came from a blood splatter, smog from tanks and Dreadnaughts alike filled the air.
"We fight in darkness so the Emperor's light can shine upon that of mortal men" a Grey Knight next to him spoke to a Space Wolf.
Bjorn mostly ignored them, not because he didn't care about this or he hated them, but rather because he just simply had no interest in them at all.
The Grey Knights had only sent one company, whilst the Space Wolves brought their entire chapter; Bjorn couldn't help but think that this was a small disrespect to his chapter.
Were they not enough?
A haze of hate came forth that was the best way to describe it, black leathery wings attached to its back, each twitch of them brought forth heat that made warnings come up upon his systems.
Hoofed feet crunched up long dead imperial guardsmen and battle brothers' alike, a trail of fire was only his wake. Copper armor adorned its reddened figure, most cracks of the armor came for the weeping red blood that threatened to evaporate due to the head.
It's face was that of a maw of teeth, each one was as sharp as knives, the mechanical tubes that no doubt had no effect on it came from its back like mechanicized dreadlocks. The being held two twin bright hateful orange suns for eyes, it's gaze froze those of both unprepared and new Space marines alike.
Angron - the Primarch of the World Eaters, the twelfth legion that the Emperor once held under his belt now controlled by a raging god and Daemon Primarch.
His twin copper axes, once perhaps beautiful in its way, have now become a never ending weeping waterfall of blood.
The Red Angel snarled, not speak - Bjorn no longer thought the Twelfth Son could even think, let alone speak as he stalked forwards.
Khorne truly ruined something that was supposed to be good - or was it everyone involved? Bjorn didn't want to answer that, never could.
However, he couldn't let anyone take this opportunity away from him!
"Grey Knights, now!" Logan Grimnar, the Smart Wolf barked out, as at once, every grey knight member immediately bore down their sheer psychic might onto Angron.
Angron roared, be it pain or rage no longer mattered but the action did. The ground seemed to tremble at the mere action of Angron announcing that he was raging, the maw that was less a mouth and more a bucket of violence screamed out.
Bjorn would've laughed, if only he had the capacity to do so.
Then the worst thing for Angron happened, his ever continuously weeping dropped out of his hands and reality cried.
A hole appeared before Angron as he reached in, and the Grey Knights seemed to stumble back a step - all of them, at once. Before them all Angron pulled out his Demonic blade; the Hideous Khornite Black Blade.
The blade drank in the light and seemed to weep out its terrible darkness, seemingly leaving the figure of Angron in darkness, only able to see his eyes.
"Taremar - Begin!" Logan commanded, and the 3rd Brother-Captain of the Grey Knights stepped forth with his own guard, and they all brought forth their psychic mass.
It was as terrible as it was great.
Bjorn for once couldn't help but fully acknowledge them for once, if he was fully flesh he'd might even give them a drink of Mjord; but alas, fate is eternally cruel.
Bjorn started to walk forwards, the terminators before him took note almost immediately of the mechanical legs underneath him and began to walk before him.
Agnar couldn't beat Bjorn The Fell-Handed! He himself will break the back of Angron!
————————
My vision swam, as I felt light I didn't think Mjod would be that heavy - and now I'm paying the full price. The barrel beside me was only given to me because they only come in barrels and now I either had to drink it all or admit defeat.
And for some reason unknown to me, admitting defeat was akin to that of a sin.
So I drank, and drank I did! So now I was watching the fight between everyone and Angron and his army of Daemons behind him with envy.
I should feel elated, jumping up and down in joy due to not having to face a Daemon Primarch; instead I feel shame.
I slammed my palms down on the table because apparently Space Wolves have cafeterias that are five times the size of a town hall of a seventh century Viking clan.
I was fine with that.
I stood up, and immediately regretted living with the surety that I was going to die as I tripped underneath my chair and stumbled back - I wanted to cry, not in embarrassment but in shame.
Shame I'm not there.
I couldn't just stay here! But I have no armor, they won't let me wear the Deathwatch Armor anymore after I beat Khârn to death.
"Fuckin' Angron… not fair!" I cussed; this wasn't like me - especially back on earth, was this me in the 40k?
I grabbed the barrel of Mjord with two hands, lifted, and drank. It tasted like mead, I tasted honey, berries, and somewhere in there… poison. Not the Fenrisian poison that was deliberately placed to get Astartes drunk but rather poison to kill.
So I slammed the barrel down but still drank, it simply tasted that good, but the bigger question was how'd I know it was genuinely poisonous to me was anyone's guess.
Or I could be so drunk that I think I'm dying.
.
.
.
"Who fuckin' cares… stupid ass chaos gods" I muttered under my breath as I lifted the barrel back up and took down a few more thirsty gulps, the cold beverage taking its sweet time to enter my stomach… or liver.
Or whatever I have.
The barrel slammed down, this time empty which only released an empty echo of its former self. I breathed heavily gulping air as needily as I did the Mjod.
I needed this, I needed to get absolutely shitfaced, in fact I deserve it, getting drunk sounds as appealing as a naked anime woman. Yet instead of an anime I got eternal war.
This was the worst, everyone enjoys warhammer - no one wants to be in warhammer. There could never be a better universe that I know of that could beat Warhammer in terms of horribleness.
I wobbly sat back down, ignoring the fact that the bench was slightly further away from the table than before so I couldn't even rest my head on it, so instead I settled on resting my head in my hands.
I'm going to die here, I don't even know how I even fought down there, I only did what comes natural to me! Killing shouldn't be natural, especially someone like me!
I'm just a dumbass who died and got reborn in the worst universe possible! Why am I here? What do I even do now?!
"Blessed Lord, do you want another barrel?" A silky smooth voice echoed in my ears and I blinked once before I turned to my left.
She was… perfect in terms of symmetry, her eyes glowed in an unnatural purple glow and somehow I felt… attracted to her?
Nah, must be the drink.
"Yeah… yeah, I'd like that" as soon as the last bit of words exited my mouth a barrel slammed down between us.
I blinked once, the golden light around my eyes seemed to drunkenly fly around me as I opened up the barrel and started to drink once again.
"You know, with me you can drink this… Mjod all you want~" her voice was silk made manifest, and her tone was a harmonic that was completely wrong.
I shrugged it off, I don't care, I would be satisfied just here, in my own silent despair and drunker than that of an Irish and Scottish man trying to fight in a bar.
I gulped another bucketful of Mjod before I slammed the barrel down, this time on the table, my breath came out huskily and low, as if something was blocking it.
"Nooo… I… I never…" I spoke, or rather slurred out, my body was brazenly slowly, as if it was purposeful.
I smacked my chest and leg out a burp that rattled the area around me, the liquid in the barrel made waves from the sound alone.
"Ahhh… I need" I stopped suddenly, unable to continue.
"Need?~" the voice purred in my right ear once again and I felt a cold hand on my left bicep, it wasn't freezing cold, but rather a needing cold, one that begged you for warmth.
—————
3rd Person View
"With me you'll never need again, you want more drink? I can give you a drink that'll get you drunk with just a sip. You want a safe space? I can give you a space that's so safe not even gods could ever get you~" the Demonette whispered into the little Wolf's ear.
It wasn't often she gets summoned but with a blood sacrifice by mortals with the begging to get rid of a blessed little Astartes?
Oh she couldn't resist.
Sitting next to the drunk man she could feel everything, and by She Who Thirst she hit the jackpot. The drunk wolf let out his insecurities and fears out like a lighthouse. Why, if this was the Warp he'd bring in other Daemons who'd have no problems getting their grubby little hands on him.
So she'll make his soul hers.
She giggled in her mind as she leaned into his ear, after all it shouldn't take much convincing to that of a drunk human.
"Listen to me~ Just. Listen. To. My Voice" she moaned at the end as her hands trailed up his arm feeling every cold vein on his arm and every scar that had been overlooked by those who'd never seen true desire.
"Your voice?" The human blinked, his damnable eyes made the Deamonette wince but she pressed on.
"Why would I listen to you?" He slurred at the end as he stared at the empty barrel.
"I could grant you your most impossible desire" she gently but her ear, her knife-like teeth easily piercing his flesh, drawing a small amount of blood.
"My most impossible desire? You can send me home?" He spoke and she could feel it, the hope she'll crush when his soul is in her hands.
"Oh yes~" she moaned again "just with a snap of my fingers, home will me yours" she lied as naturally as she breathed.
The human didn't speak for a moment, no doubt thinking it over, which was fine, she knew the answer would be yes - after all she has eternity to take him.
"What is a Slaanesh Daemon doing here?" A shrivel of fear and coldness crept up the Daemonettes' spine, it was unexpected, shouldn't be possible.
The Slaanesh Daemon met the Blessed Soul's eyes and she felt herself shrink inside of herself - it was no longer a mortals' eyes, but so much older.
The humans' eyes were hard, cold, and cruel. The Daemon genuinely gasped as she jumped up from the bench only for a far larger arm to wrap around her shoulders and forced her to sit uncomfortably beside him.
She tried to unleash her claws, to bite him, to attack him psychically. Her body refused to even move underneath her command, she tried to attempt to return to the warp, but the warp was eerily silent.
"I… I have no idea what you mean Blessed One" she wanted to kill him, this pathetic human dared to not only touch her but seemingly succeeded in controlling her?
She'll kill him.
"I dunno either" he said drunkenly, the massive mood swing had shaken the Slaanesh Daemon like a bell.
"But I do know this" he drunkenly said as he brought his head down to her level "your going to die here, so try to make yourself at least entertaining to me"
The drunken man saying this - anyone would scoff. The Daemon on the other hand? Felt sweat roll down her back, a daemon, a being made of warp stuff realized what the human was doing far too late.
'He's making me - no! He's forcing me to accept and suffer human emotions! I can't move! I can't fight him! I can't even convince him!" The Slaanesh Daemon wanted to scream.
Her body couldn't listen.
—————————
Born continued forwards but, he allowed the multitude of brothers to get their drink-full of glory. Space Wolves clashed with the red sea of violence and admittedly were at a stalemate.
The guardsmen up above shot their lasguns with the righteous fury that could only be brought on by Commissars and their no nonsense attitude.
Bjorn stared at the raging Daemon Primarch and couldn't help but feel pity for the thing, he was so good under the Emperor - now he is a failure within the image of Angrons' father.
Bjorn stepped forwards, his lumbering form and his mechanical legs cried out as he stepped. The mechanicus behind him slowly followed with their trillions of bullets dragging along the ground like the chains of slaves.
Bjorn's gun spun before it shot, it was more of a wheel spinning before the barrel started to light up like a star thousands of bullets poured forth tearing the flesh off Daemons that got too close to the wall of terminators before him.
Angron's maw opened up as he roared, a spew of violence poured forth like lava as they both lumbered forwards.
The grey Knights fully recovered, only taking a few seconds to gather themselves before they took up their own weapons and began to kill Daemons by the tens.
However the Grey Knights and Space Wolves weren't given free kills, the lesser Daemons did put up a fight, a weak fight but a fight nevertheless.
Daemon Engines roared their rage from inside their engines, flames bellowed out burning Grey Knights and Space Wolves down where they stood.
Bjorn couldn't wait any longer - if he did he'd die of pure boredom.
Bjorn broke free from the formation of Terminators with a speed that simply wouldn't fit his size, his weapon churning out burning metal towards Angron who noticed Bjorn and roared out his fury.
Bolter rounds pelted his leathery skin, looking more like firecrackers rather than rounds that turned mortals into a fine red paste.
"Fall to me!" Bjorn's lightning claw came down with the fury of ten thousand years of silent suffering.
Angron took it well, too well in fact and slammed the Black Blade down onto his form.
Or it would've.
Instead Taremar and his own entourage's psychic might finally realized itself into reality and as soon as the Black Blade hit the form of Bjorn it shattered into ash and the darkness that swallowed up Angron's form simply vanished.
Angron was defenseless, allowing Bjorn to bring his full might without much of a fight.
Bjorn's lightning claws shined in the ashen air, lighting crackled through his mechanical form as it swiped into the form of Angron, this time drawing blood and a rage filled roar from the Daemon Primarch.
Angron clenched his fists and slammed an overhead on the tip of Bjorn's dreadnaught form; Bjorn's feet sank into the muddy ground, no cracks formed as Bjorn sank.
Bjorn's weapon sang as its barrel became bright orange in merely a few seconds as Bjorn slowly moved his feet up out of the hole his form made.
Angron punched Bjorn so hard he immediately went out of his hole and made rivers of blood from his feet making divots in the blood filled muddy ground.
Bjorn immediately went back forth for another attack.
Grey Knights poured forth alongside him, each one filled with their eternal duty to make the warp submit as they carved their bloody way towards Bjorn and Angron's fight.
Their Nemesis Force Weapons carved a bloody trail through multiple lesser Daemons, each Grey Knight squad took down - or attempted to - to at least take down a Daemon Engine; most succeeded, while others failed.
"For Russ! For the Allfather!!" Logan bellowed out as he ducked underneath a swipe of a Lesser Daemon and retaliated brutally and cleanly decapitated it.
"Move! You are His will!" Taremar raised his spear as the Grey Knights began to move as one grey wave.
Bjorn mercilessly clawed at Angron's head, taking half of his face; however the Daemon Primarch still stood and Bjorn took another strike from Angron.
Bjorn's gun sputter to life again and sang its base tone with bolters that tore into the skin of Angron, but still not delivering the blood that Bjorn wanted.
"Behind you, Honored Brother!" Logan slid between the legs of Bjorn and gave out a war cry, raising his Morkai axe and swung down.
Blood came free and a genuine howl of pain from Angron, his wings flew out batting away anyone who dared to get too close as his gut had blood flow freely for once in this battle.
"Khorne cares not for where the blood flows!" A traitor Astartes sang out before he was stabbed by a Grey Knight.
Angron swatted Logan away to tumbled in the mud and other unmentionables.
"We are the hammer!" Taremar roared out and the ground shook as Angron roared again and once more Daemons came forth, this time their figures were much more distinct along with the foul scent of Chaos.
"Cruor Praetora!" Taremar barked out as 'The Twelve' otherwise known as the twelve strongest Daemons that have pleased Khorne.
"Frange eos, nunc cade!" Taremar barked out as multiple Grey Knights fell down from the sky more than willing to bring their righteous fury with them.
"Unleash hell!" Logan commanded and thunderhawks unloaded their payloads and wolves that were waiting up among the guardsmen fell down into the battlefield.
Bjorn lumbered forth once again, with The Twelve now entering the battlefield he'd assume that it'll just get more and more bloody; no doubt it'll be a saga worthy for The Fang!
Battle Barges in space roared out in fury as the Mortals on board got the go ahead from their commanders and the battlefield was turned into a small lake of lava - or rather the area where Angron and The Twelve lumbered forth.
"Fall back! Let the bombardment take hold! We fall back to give on the southern end of the planet!" Logan gave out his orders as the area of effect only got large and Bjorn couldn't help but hesitatingly agree.
Bjorn looked upon the screaming form of Angron and was reminded by the Little Wolf who caved in Khârns' skull.
He would not be outdone. Until he gets his chance he'd cover the younger wolves.
The Twelve were a factor that simply wasn't taken in account by anyone, and their arrival had complicated things tremendously.
In the first month since the start of the Ork invasion on Armageddon, the upper hemisphere of the planet was lost to chaos.
But the wolves will bite back.
———————————
The slaaneshi daemon screamed once again in her mind as the man got much, much, much more drunk words attempting to get out of his mouth but only came out as muttering and dribbling.
She ignored it.
She sighed internally as she once again attempted to remove herself from his grasp, yet alas it was useless; whatever the mortal did to her it was permanent, she couldn't move as long as he held his grip over it.
So she'd scheme.
She went to speak but when she did he slammed down his third barrel, and suddenly stiffened, whatever controlled his body was no longer him, but rather his instincts.
Or whatever mortals have.
The hand that seemingly held her there let ago and she immediately took the chance and stood up to flee, as soon as she got a meter away in her jump, she stopped and fell to the cold unforgiving ground.
She looked behind her and found the mortals' hand on her ankle, and when she looked into the man's eyes she completely froze.
Power.
She saw a power that was akin to the damnable light that flew from the Anathema and his light, the color was brown and dull.
The only light that emanated from his eyes was the light that surrounded them, making it seem like a black hole.
She didn't like it, not one bit.
She went to scream - to say anything. Nothing happened.
"I don't want to play with you anymore" the mortals voice was layered, one was far younger and far less imperium, the voice was like a regular unagmented mortal.
The second was what he spoke when he was drunk, accented. The voice was a deep rumble the sound akin to two freezing stones rubbing together.
The third voice was far, far older than both. One that was authoritative beyond measure, who has seen it all and will tell none.
She knew only two.
Then he raised his fist and slammed it down on the Daemons' neck - only then was she finally allowed to scream.
A/N: tried something different this chapter.
During Feb 20 - march 8 there will be no updates to this fanfic, taking a vacation.