40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 692 74. Resurrection (Part )

Sometimes, Bjorn missed the Ultramarines - it sounded weird, didn't it? But he wasn't kidding, and even by jokes, a son of Russ missing the Ultramarines wasn't funny at all.

So, Azek Ahriman knew, he meant it.

"They are used to setting up a common standard and using countless such standards to quantify everything. I didn't like this in the past, old blind man, but now I have to admit that their practice is not without reason."

In the biting cold wind and the strong smell of blood, the lone wolf said this expressionlessly. The blind man stood behind him, leaning on his cane and standing straight, with the same expressionless face.

Sixty-five rune priests were drawing formations and preparing for the ritual not far in front of them. Even Ornn Evilwinter joined in, busy checking for deficiencies and filling in the gaps. He was not very proficient in rituals in the past, but the power of time was too ruthless.
"However, in the world of psionics and magic, there is no such thing as rationality or standards," the blind man said cautiously.

"That's better than watching these guys swearing at each other over different patterns!" Bjorn roared. "I'd rather represent the wolf pack and argue with the logistics department all day than to watch them quarreling like vegetable vendors and getting close to fighting over the position of a line!"

Ahriman shook his head, and for the first time ever, he adopted the academic tone that the Thousand Sons used to use.

"The inheritance method of rune priests is a non-standard apprenticeship system. Young talented people will learn and grow under the guidance of old priests according to the different fighting styles of each company. Only those who are particularly talented can officially become apprentices. In other words, they usually cast spells based on their feelings, and everyone's feelings are different."

Bjorn glanced at him sideways, then suddenly put his hand on his shoulder with ill intent and whispered, "I say, blind man—"

"--No." Ahriman said, and turned around and elbowed Bjorn without hesitation, making him cover his heart and grimace.

"I haven't said anything yet!"

"And I said, no." Ahriman shook his head. "Whatever you say, I will not get involved."

"why?"

"Because this is an exorcism." The blind man gripped his staff with particular seriousness. "And its location is in Fenris - which means that any slight disturbance could lead to a drastic change in its nature."

"Not even a little guidance and help from the Thousand Sons?" Bjorn asked, seemingly unwilling to give up, his tone very intriguing.

The blind man raised his cane above his head, his expression becoming unreadable. The lone wolf laughed and quickly stepped back, away from the ceremony site.

After only a few steps, he ran into a small group of wild wolves and an Astartes who was half escorted and half guarded by them in the middle of the group. The latter was pale and walked unsteadily.

He was wearing a fur cloak that was obviously from a wolf pack, and thick pants and a pair of thick-soled boots. His chest and abdomen, wrapped in bloody bandages, were exposed to the horribly low temperature.

This was certainly not good news for his injuries, and he was not a Fenrisian and did not know how to breathe in this world - just look at the wolves around him and his face to understand this.

The wolves barely exhaled any white mist when they breathed, but this man's mouth and nose were already covered with white frost.

"Lone Wolf." A voice called him in a growling voice. "He insisted on coming to see you."

Bjorn did not speak, but answered with gestures. After a few rounds, the escorts hammered their breastplates at him, nodded, and turned away.

He looked expressionlessly at the injured man, who was standing there with all his might, his muscles stiffened by the supernatural cold of Fenris, but he still tried to raise his hand to make the Sky Eagle Salute.
Bjorn almost laughed at his stubbornness.

The lone wolf shook his head and cursed.

"follow me."

He turned around and strode towards a cave at the edge of the ritual site. Its entrance was covered with a special kind of luminous moss, which made it unnecessary to arrange light sources inside. At the same time, this special moss could also lock in the temperature.

The injured man limped into the cave and immediately felt the special thing inside - the sudden rise in temperature made him sigh uncontrollably.

"Russ said that you are like me, an old antique from the Legion era. I was a little skeptical at first, but seeing your stubborn look," Bjorn shrugged. "Well, welcome to Fenris in the fortieth millennium, Legion veteran."

The injured man looked at him in confusion and alertness, then asked, "You too?"

"Bjorn."

The injured man was obviously stunned for a moment, and it was not until a few seconds later that his confused mind transmitted what he knew about the name into his perception - then the injured man uttered a confused cry.

He knew nothing about the name.

Bjorn raised an eyebrow quickly, looking a little surprised.

"Where did you live in the past, my friend?" Lone Wolf finally couldn't help laughing. "You haven't heard of me? Well, I don't mean to be proud of it or brag about it, but the Empire has used us old guys as propaganda for thousands of years. You won't go farming like your old brothers, will you?"

"Old brother? Farming?" The wounded man looked at him in astonishment.

"You don't even know this?" Bjorn was even more surprised. "When they were first found by the lion, they were almost able to cultivate the land and be self-sufficient with the locals."

"I'm afraid I know nothing about what you're saying, Captain Bjorn." The wounded man spoke with difficulty, his expression still wavering between vigilance and confusion.

"So where have you been for the past ten thousand years?" Bjorn asked.

Hearing this, Zabril sighed deeply. He covered his wound and leaned against the wall tiredly. The temperature in the cave made his face slightly redder, but overall he still didn't look like a living person.

"I was captured by an alien." Zabril spoke briefly and directly. "It seems to enjoy collecting us. Many people, like me, were attacked and taken away by it without knowing anything. I spent ten thousand years in the stasis field without knowing anything. So I really don't know who you are, Chief Bjorn."

"It doesn't matter." Lone Wolf waved his hand indifferently. "As for that alien. Well, let's not talk about it for now. Let's talk about you, veteran. Do you know what attacked you?"

"Armored vehicle?" Zabril asked.

Bjorn snorted. "That's a good answer, but we call that thing Hur-Hal, which means monster in the blizzard in High Gothic. You are really unlucky to have run into such a beast. And you beat it. Great, veteran." "Anyway, let's get back to the topic. You are still seriously injured. Logically, I should knock you unconscious and throw you back, but I guess there is absolutely no way you can lie down and rest well, right?"

Zabril responded with wordless silence, and Bjorn took in his reaction, which didn't come as a surprise to him.

"Did Ruth tell you that we were going to perform an exorcism?"

"Yes, he did." Zabril replied in a low voice. "Also, can I know where he is now?"

"He's returned to the All-Father."

".I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. He'll be back. Now let's talk about why you're here. The lion is dead. Do you understand?"

Zabril took a deep breath and managed to control himself. He replied hoarsely, "I understand."

"But he is a Primarch, one of the sons of the All-Father. His lifeline cannot be simply cut off here." Bjorn shook his head. "Well, that's all I can say. Now put on that cloak and follow me."

As soon as he finished speaking, he strode out of the cave. The cold wind was howling, and gray-white snowflakes fell from the sky like ashes left after something was burned.

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Zabriel was prepared to resist the cold, but he didn't expect that the feeling of snowflakes falling on his face would cause a burning pain. He was stunned, and this was just the beginning.

The burning pain easily awakened his senses, which had been dulled by his injuries, forcing him to smell the pungent herbal scent that was wafting in the air.

Zabril couldn't tell the specific ingredients in it, but he could clearly sense the power contained in it - perhaps he had dealt with psychic energy and the subspace too many times before, and he actually heard some whispers coming from the wind.
He could not understand the heavily accented Fenrisian dialect, but he could understand its meaning directly.

Bjorn hummed just right, the ancient language blooming hoarsely from his throat. The melody was soft and sad, but the pauses between words were filled with anger and the urge to kill.

"The stars shift, the storm howls, we polish our axes, oil our shields, and call for fury in the winter morning. We swear by our blood that we will enter the realm of the dead and bring those who have passed away from the dust from among the bones."

He sang only this paragraph, as if it was the beginning, and a low howl could be heard from behind the gray-white curtain of snowflakes. Every sound was like a war cry, and every word was like the roar of a war drum.

Zabril's remaining heart began to beat rapidly, and he could not control it, and his blood rushed to his head.
Bjorn actually drew the battle axe from his waist.

Snowflakes flew in his face, and the lone wolf swung his axe as usual. The blade engraved with runes cruelly tore at the increasingly thick snow curtain. The sound produced by the collision between steel and snowflakes was as dull as chopping flesh.

"What is this?!" Zabriel asked loudly, but his voice was still drowned out by the cold wind.

"Exorcism," Bjorn replied in a low voice.

What he said seemed to be true. Although none of the runes on his axe blade lit up, the dull sound of chopping flesh and blood did not stop. The road under their feet was becoming increasingly gray and thick, with snow piled up in every corner that could be seen by the naked eye. It felt like walking on corpses.

A chill ran down Zabril's back.
It is true that he had experienced many unspeakable horrors, but those were different from the current situation. At least he believed that Fenris should be different from those places - he never imagined that such a strange thing would happen on the home planet of the Sixth Legion.

But the fact is the fact, the ceremony has begun.

The strong smell of incense rushed into Zabril's nostrils as Bjorn split the last curtain of snow.

In an instant, his sense of smell seemed to have experienced a missile attack. The indescribable complex smell deeply stung his brain and forced his already somewhat confused mind to quickly regain clarity.

Zabril looked closely and saw that there was a deep pit in front of him. In the center stood a dark stone platform, and on it lay the body of Lion El'Jonson, wrapped in the fur of Hul-Hal.

Many white figures were circling around him. They all wore masks, made of bone or wood, of ancient style, painted with scary patterns and dark red like blood.

A dreadnought stood at the end of the pit, its pale searchlight piercing through the snow curtain, illuminating a path that was neither wide nor narrow in front of Bjorn and Zabril. The singing echoed without interruption, and the cold wind was biting, as if they were in hell.

"How does this ceremony proceed?" Zabriel couldn't help but ask.

Bjorn didn't answer, but pointed to his side. The dark angel looked back and saw a lame man leaning on a cane. The man was dressed like a wolf, covered with ornaments, knots and furs, but his face made Zabril stunned.

"Azek Ahriman." The lame man nodded to him and introduced himself. "It seems you have seen me before."

"He used to be more famous than I am—and he's blind, by the way." Bjorn whispered maliciously in his ear. "And he happens to be your attending physician."

"I'm just blind, but that doesn't mean I can't really see anything." The lame man slowly retorted. "As for now, let's get back to the point. The key to this ritual is to exorcise the evil power that permeates the lion's corpse, Zabril of the First Legion."

"Your Primarch bled dry, and something tried to take advantage of the situation. Although it failed, it left its power behind. We must drive out what it left behind and let the Lion regain its human identity."

Zabril was completely confused and had no idea what all this professional knowledge was describing. Azek Ahriman's words sounded like riddles to him, but he was very good at grasping the key points.

"And after that?" the Dark Angel asked hopefully.

Ahriman did not answer his question immediately, but took out a black cloth from his bosom and tied it around his eyes. This unnecessary move should have caused Bjorn to laugh at him, but the lone wolf did not do so, instead, like him, he closed his eyes.

A ray of light bloomed before their eyes, then quickly expanded, burning fiercely, reaching the sky and the earth, hotter than the sun.

A voice slowly reached their ears.

"Tell him that Lion El'Jonson will return."

(End of this chapter)