Warhammer: Hail to the Void Lords!.

Chapter 892 (08.891): "The Werewolf and the Silver Bullet"

Pfft!
The massive body glided several meters across the gleaming ground before finally coming to a stop in front of Captain Horatio's gleaming combat boots.

The creature that had once been a Space Marine—a cursed werewolf—fell heavily to the ground, its body still convulsing and struggling in vain.

It was not Judge They who fired the shot.

The fatal blow came from behind her, from a silent black-shielded monk named Derek. The sleek sniper rifle in his hand was still emitting a wisp of smoke from its muzzle, and the chamber was filled with specially made explosive bolts.

The werewolf that fell to the ground let out a painful and suppressed howl, but it did not die.

The silver explosive projectile did not penetrate the flesh and shatter the internal organs after hitting the target. Instead, it exploded with a crisp sound as soon as it touched the target. However, this small explosion actually caused the berserk werewolf to fall to the ground and not get up.

This was clearly a carefully tuned non-lethal munition, intended to subdue rather than kill.

The werewolf continued to growl, its body limp from the nerve shock, but its hideous head stubbornly remained raised, baring its fangs at Horatio, and threatening breaths emanating from deep within its throat.

Horatio looked down at the struggling beast and slowly raised his hand, palm facing forward—a gesture that was both soothing and commanding.

Werewolf

Number of participants: 1/1

'Shooting accuracy: 12'

Melee Attack: 82

Melee Defense: 45

Armor: 30

Morale: 78

"Stamina: 80"

Agility: 73

Willpower: 11

A series of parameters provided by the "Commanding Hand" appeared in Horatio's field of vision.

Many of these values ​​fluctuated wildly due to the creature's current severely injured state, but several core parameters still clearly revealed a disturbing fact: this terrifying mutated creature was very likely a former Astartes monk of the Emperor.

[Willpower is only 11...] Horatio thought to himself.

Activating 'Mental Pressure'

Energy: 7 → 6/11

'Psionic Power: 5→4/9'

"Calm down," he commanded, his voice as cold as the Fenris wind.

A faint purple light flashed in Horatio's eyes, and at the same time, the werewolf struggled violently, its neck muscles twitching and its wolf head shaking wildly, clearly trying to resist.

But just seconds later, its struggle turned into a low whimper, and it finally lowered its head in resentment.

Just then, at the end of the corridor, where the werewolf had rushed out, four space wolves clad in gray-blue power armor charged in with lightning speed.

They held explosive guns, their steps steady and powerful, each step causing the deck to tremble slightly, yet their movements still betrayed a certain anxiety.

They immediately recognized the scene before them: their company commander, the great Ragnar Blackmane, was standing solemnly in the middle of the corridor.

Opposite him were two ordinary people who were clearly not ordinary, and several black-shielded cultivators of unknown identity, wearing black power armor.

The rose knot emblem, representing the supreme authority of the Inquisition, adorned the neck of one of the mortals and stood out starkly in the dim light.

It's clear they came to capture the out-of-control werewolf, but obviously, their worst fears have come true.

The arrival of the Inquisitor escalated what might have been an event confined to the warband to a point where it could not be easily resolved.

While the Space Wolves are known for their impulsiveness and wildness, they will never act rashly before a direct agent of the Emperor's will, without justifiable reason. The tragedy of the "Month of Shame"—a dark page in the history of the Chapter—must never be repeated.

Moreover, this incident was entirely the fault of Dalian Black Mane.

The troubles at hand extend far beyond the courtroom.

The other mortal, judging from the decorations on his void armor and his epaulets, was actually the captain of the Supreme Lord of the Imperial Navy's Gothic Fleet.

Just outside this black ark, the Imperial Navy's high-speed battleship "Eastern" and a battle group consisting of several escort cruisers were silently hovering in the void. Their dark, massive cannons had already locked onto the black ark, alert for any possible changes.

The Imperial Navy, as the largest void armed force of the human empire, is the absolute ruler of the stars.

Any hostile act against its high-ranking generals cannot be quelled simply by destroying evidence.

Once a move is made, even if the two people in front of them are killed, the Imperial Navy and the Inquisition will not only investigate to the end, bringing endless investigations and espionage, but may even involve the entire warband. At the very least, it will definitely attract artillery fire immediately.

As a non-canonical chapter that openly rejected the Codex Astartes, the Space Wolves were already seen as a major threat by the Terra Highlords.

In the turbulent 41st millennium, Fenris's descendants, though unafraid of challenges, were unwilling to endure further political marginalization unless absolutely necessary.

Openly defying Robert Guilliman's Astartes Codex, clashing with the Grey Knights and the Inquisition during the "Month of Shame," and the Chapter's entanglement in the turmoil of genetic defects and the werewolf curse... all these events have made their path in the Empire's power game extremely difficult.

Having become marginalized, if they take another wrong step, they could be completely labeled "traitors" by the High Lord Council and expelled from the human empire.

Just like... their only subgroup, the 'Wolf Brothers'.

"Your skills are beyond those of an ordinary person."

Ragnar Blackmane broke the heavy silence first, his booming voice echoing in the corridor. His gaze, sharp as a hawk's, scrutinized Horatio, ignoring the werewolf beside him. "I have never seen any mortal with such swift reflexes and skill. Amazing. The strength you are displaying right now is enough to rival that of an Astartes monk."

“You flatter me, Company Commander.” Horatio lowered the still-humming Holy Blood Chainsaw, its blade slightly tilted, a drop of crimson blood slowly sliding down its jagged fangs, dripping onto the deck with a soft plop. “So, can you explain what this is?”

He raised the tip of his sword, pointing it at the werewolf that was still whimpering.

"..."

Ragnar, the Wolf Lord, took a deep breath, and the power system inside his breastplate emitted a muffled growl.

A jumble of thoughts churned within his exceptionally sharp mind; one plan after another was proposed and rejected simultaneously: lies, bribery, bribery, silencing…

In the end, he didn't try to hide it, but instead chose to openly admit: "This is my comrade-in-arms."

The strange curse he carried, coupled with the trauma of endless battles, ultimately consumed his mind—the poison cast upon him by these damned aliens!

Being honest doesn't mean you have to tell everything.

"I understand your difficulties, Company Commander. The Dark Eldar do indeed possess many 'strange' abilities that can render people inhuman. Your support has turned the tide and is a timely help, for which we express our sincere gratitude."

Horatio followed Ragnar's words and gave him a way out.

He sheathed his chainsaw sword and gave the Wolf Lord a solemn Eagle salute, the double-headed eagle emblem gleaming on his chest: "It's just us here. We can pretend we didn't see anything."

"Or."

Judge They then spoke up, gracefully walking to Ragnar's wide, long chainsaw sword. She curiously examined the fangs, forged from the tusks of the Fenris sea monster, and ran her gloved fingers lightly along the deadly edge, exclaiming with genuine admiration, "Truly remarkable! The owner of these fangs must have been a powerful ruler of the frozen seas of Fenris in his lifetime."

She changed the subject, her voice becoming low and meaningful, "Although I am an Inquisitor, I have come to the Calissis Sector with a duty that may be related to this battle monk's... curse."

"Is that so? Perhaps we can discuss this further later."

“But before that, monk.” Wolf Lord Ragnar’s gaze swept over the crowd, then swept with slight concern over the werewolf who had been shot and fallen to the ground, finally locking sharply on Brother Derek and the silver bullet sniper rifle in his hand, his brows furrowed. “May I know the secrets of the bullets you just used?”

Click! Click!
He was met with two crisp metallic clanging sounds.

Brother Derek expressionlessly pulled back the bolt, and an unfired silver explosive round shot ejected from the ejection port, arcing through the air before he caught it precisely.

Unlike the other spare ammunition hanging on his tactical vest, this explosive projectile has a clearly engraved gold mark on its tip, which is covered with pre-made crack patterns.

(End of this chapter)