40K: When evil spirits appear

Saen had heard the stories of the Varakirs.

On many nights in the past, when people needed to pass the time, the tribe's old priest would tell many stories, each invariably ending with one of their legends. The flickering light of the campfire reflected in the eyes of every listener, and the old man's voice was deep and drawn-out, filled with unmistakable reverence...

Valakir, Valakir, son of Ruth of the Leman tribe, wolf among wolves. They slay dragons in the middle of the icy sea, and fight frost trolls atop the seven peaks of Asaheim. Their eyes are golden wolf eyes, and their breath is the chilling breath of Fenris.

And now, they've arrived.

Saen expected to feel fear or excitement, but she didn't.

She had once admired them, but what was the end result? One night, a group of people who had a pact with them suddenly arrived and severed the lifelines of everyone else in her tribe* (1). Therefore, she only knelt down and lowered her head like Zarek, but did not place her left hand on her chest and bend her index finger like he did.

This is an ancient ritual, very familiar to the tribespeople, which means "I offer you my utmost loyalty and my life"...

But the Ironheart tribe's Saen had no loyalty to them; only resentment remained in her heart. And if they wanted her life, they could take it themselves.

However, the Valakirs who have come to the cave seem to pay no attention to her.

There were twelve people in their group, along with two black-maned wolves. They were enormous and incredibly strong, with tiny, needle-like eyes that were a dull gold. Saan secretly observed them and suddenly realized something—the two wolves didn't want to enter the cave; they were lingering outside the entrance.

This seemed to displease a young-looking Varakil with long, reddish-brown hair and an intricate tattoo on the right side of his forehead.

He grinned and howled at the wolves in a language that Saan couldn't understand, but they still didn't come in. So he roared once more, but that was all; he didn't say anything more.

And so the Valakirs entered the cave and spread out, surrounding the red-eyed man.

Saan heard them gasping for breath.

After a while, one of the Varakir spoke. Thick white bearskin was draped over his shoulders, and his face was mostly obscured by his neatly combed beard, except for a pair of golden eyes that were clearly visible. His vertical pupils were fixed on the red-eyed man who was still standing in the same spot.

"What are you?" he asked, his nostrils still twitching.

He received no answer. The red-eyed man didn't even move; he just stood there calmly with his hands hanging at his sides.

Saen had expected his attitude to provoke the Valakir's anger, but she was wrong. None of these demigod warriors who lived in the sky were angry; instead, most of them exchanged surprised glances. The Valakir draped in a white bear fur spoke again, this time in a different language.

Saen couldn't understand it; it sounded incredibly difficult to understand. The red-eyed man still didn't answer. To Saen's surprise, Zarek, who was kneeling beside her, spoke up at that moment.

She turned her head and saw that the Frosthowl tribe assassin's forehead was covered in fine sweat, but his expression was very determined.

"He protected me and this girl, the alpha wolf."

Footsteps suddenly sounded, and Saan only felt a white shadow flash in front of him. The Valakir was in front of Zarek and then gently lifted him up, the movement was not too rough.

He only let go of Zarek's hand after confirming that Zarek was standing firmly.

“Really, Frosthowl? Then you tell me what’s going on,” Valakir mumbled. “This whole thing is completely baffling…”

Zarek took a deep breath and began to recount his memories. From the initial raid to the demon being brutally torn to shreds, the entire account flowed smoothly and effortlessly, almost completely captivating Saan. Valakir even offered encouragement for his eloquence.

He nodded, pounded his chest with his right fist, and said, "You are a piece of steel suited to record stories, Frosthowl, but your stories cannot fully solve my problem."

He turned around, returned to the red-eyed man, carefully sniffed him, and then asked in a very sincere but also very threatening tone.

"What the hell are you?"

He still received no answer.

Valakir curled his lip, raised his hand and gestured to his brothers, who then grinned savagely, like madmen whose long-awaited desires had finally been fulfilled—a chilling laugh. They drew their weapons—axes or longswords—and slowly approached the red-eyed man.

Saen unconsciously frowned, and she subconsciously turned her head to look at Zarek, only to find that he was taking deep breaths.

"You'd better come with us quietly, you mute. There's too much going on about you," said Valakir, draped in a polar bear pelt. "Your hands are stained with blood, and three different kinds of blood. One from beasts, one from humans, and one from evil spirits... This means the Frosthowl's Watch isn't lying or delirious; you did indeed kill an evil spirit last night, yet you don't smell human at all."

He squinted, paused for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts. But at that moment, the red-eyed man suddenly turned his head and looked at him.

"What? Finally decided to speak?" He grinned. "Too late, you're too late now—"

—What happened?

A loud bang rang out, and Saen incredulously raised her hand to cover her ears, feeling a sticky sensation between her fingers. She pulled her hand away and saw that it was blood.

The pain surged up belatedly. She gritted her teeth and struggled to endure it. When she looked up again, the red-eyed man was gone, and a deep crater had appeared in the ground. The Valakirs were rushing out. They were running so fast, but she couldn't hear anything. Only a piercing buzzing sound stabbed her head, making her feel nauseous and almost causing her to collapse.

At the crucial moment, Zarek caught her.

Saen opened her eyes and saw Frosthowl's lips moving as if he were saying something. She shook her head in confusion and helplessness, opening her mouth to speak, but only vomiting bile. So Frosthowl didn't say anything more, but simply knelt down, used one hand to lift her up, and ran out of the cave.

The blinding sunlight ripped through the snow, illuminating Saen's face and making her drowsy consciousness yearn for sleep. But she didn't fall asleep like she had the night before; even with the taste of blood lingering between her lips and teeth, she gritted her teeth and persevered.

For this, she was rewarded.

She saw with absolute clarity the rebirth of the first ancient evil spirit last night.

-----------------

This is a disgrace. "This is a disgrace," Draco thought angrily. "I didn't even notice..."

With his hair and beard bristling, he leaped down from the cliff halfway up the mountain, landing precisely next to the completely inhuman creature, kicking up a flurry of snowflakes. The Bloodclaws (3) followed closely behind, landing in the snow, while two black-maned wolves growled and slithered into the surrounding forest, preparing to launch a surprise attack.

"Get to the back!" Draco yelled, turning to the silent mute. "We'll handle this!"

The "thing" he was referring to was a frost dragon* (4), one of the most dangerous monsters on Fenris.

When fully grown, they can reach a length of about 35 meters, and their wingspan, when spread, can truly blot out the sky. Covered in thick scales, even explosive bombs are unlikely to cause significant damage. In addition, they possess powerful hind claws and forelimbs, and can even spew forth icy streams that instantly freeze magma. The only reason they haven't yet wiped out all the other species on Fenris is their own incredibly weak reproductive capacity…

However, in contrast, each frost dragon can live for several hundred years and is extremely vengeful.

They will relentlessly hunt down any enemy who dares to offend their territory or has ever offended them.

The frost dragon standing before Draco at this moment has a deep-seated hatred for the wolf pack.

Four months ago in Terra, Krom Dragon's Gaze Wolf Lord led his wolf guards and some of the younger Bloodclaws from the Great City on a hunt. Although they suffered heavy losses, they returned with a full haul: nineteen Frost Trolls* (5), four giants hiding in the wilderness attacking the tribes* (6), and twenty-two Frost Spiders* (7)...

Among them, the most eye-catching prey that made Krom the star of the banquet was a female Frost Dragon.

The wolves held a celebration for half a month, but bad news followed closely behind—late that night, a transport plane carrying a wolf priest and the trialists he had found crashed 4,200 kilometers east of the wolf den, and each of them was crushed to pieces by some enormous force.

At the scene of the accident, the wolf pack found a forest that had been turned into ice sculptures by the breath of the Frost Dragon.

This is undoubtedly some kind of act of revenge...

From that moment on, Krom Dragon's Gaze sent out all his best hunters. He vowed to kill the frost dragon.

The other wolf lords wanted to offer assistance, but chose to give up after being persuaded by the great wolf Logan Grimner.

Great Wolf believed that Krom should uphold the honor of his Dragon Slayers' League and at the same time console the fallen victims. To this end, he even issued a decree that no one other than the warriors of Dragon Slayers' League was allowed to ride in flying vehicles while the Frost Dragon was still alive, unless they had something to do.

Draco and his Bloodclaw squad were the unfortunate souls who had something to do.

Looking back now, he was almost certain that the dragon had been watching them since they left Et* (8), but that didn't explain why it had followed them all the way without triggering any radar warnings, unless it was very clever and had learned a lot from its battles with the dragon slayers over the past few days...

Is this really possible?

Grey Hunter preferred not to think about the answer. He gripped his axe and, in Volgan—the language of the battlefield—ordered his Bloodclaws to scatter and prepare to fire into the eyes of the dragon that had cast a massive shadow over them… Though he didn’t hold out much hope, he had to do it. These young lads couldn’t possibly fight that dragon head-on; only he had the experience.

The dragon remained motionless, its head held high in haughty indifference, not even bothering to stop the wolves from forming their battle array. This silent contempt made Draco's temples throb with veins, but he hadn't suffered a loss in battle because of his own anger in a long time. He knew he was capable of correcting his mistakes and would never repeat them. Therefore, he suppressed the urge to charge at the behemoth that could crush him with a single step, and instead, wielding his axe in both hands, he began to slowly approach it.

It was at this moment that he heard a strange sound. To call it thunder would be too low, but to call it the sound of war drums would be too terrifying... It had rhythm and cadence, one beat after another, pulsating incessantly, relentlessly resounding.

It landed in Draco's ears, making him inevitably and irresistibly compelled to look back.

I will correct my mistakes. He thought through gritted teeth, then turned to look—

He saw that the person with the bloodshot eyes had clenched his fists at some point.

The two dim marks under his eyes were now shining brightly, as if suddenly infused with life. Their color deepened abruptly, becoming like flowing lava, crisscrossing his skin and drawing a boundary. In the next instant, a terrifying heatwave erupted, and dense, low thuds burst forth from the depths of his bones.

The man's body began to grow and swell rapidly until he reached a height of three and a half meters, while the things that originally belonged to humans had completely disappeared.

His skin transformed into a thick, black carapace, tightly encasing the drastically altered muscles beneath, stretching them bulging and bulging. Then came his head, a pair of enormous, curved, and ferocious golden horns piercing his forehead and pointing skyward, their edges razor-sharp. His facial features vanished, and the lower half of his face was covered by stark white bone, gradually deforming into a terrifying maw of interlocking, tightly clenched fangs...

However, beneath this terrifying aura unique to monsters lies a strange suit of armor woven from gold and red.

It covered the chest, shoulders, and forearms, its main body a deep red, dark as blood, yet reflecting light. From certain angles, it looked almost like a gemstone, only its facets were rough and uneven. Gold accents adorned the edges, inscribed with ancient characters, fine and continuous, noble and extraordinary. Because of this armor, it no longer appeared to be just a simple monster, but rather possessed a sacred yet terrifying majesty, even its ferocious horns taking on the weight of a crown.

However, for some reason, even in this state, Draco still saw a common thread between it and the man who had been replaced.

eye.

Crimson eyes, burning intensely.

Even now, trapped beneath the crown, throbbing and grotesque, it is just like the man with the red eyes.

The monster calmly strode towards the dragon. The dragon suddenly flapped its wings and let out a deafening roar.