40K: When evil spirits appear

Ald twisted his wrist and swung his sword from top to bottom.

He barely exerted any force; one could even say he was merely waving his arm lightly. Yet, the ridiculously large sword still transformed into a swift silver shadow, disappearing into the oppressive darkness of Amighiddon. The slightly muffled sound of the sword's wind finally arrived two seconds later, by which time it had already entered the body of a mutant.

He was very tall, except for his short, thick, and deformed left hand. At first glance, he seemed to be just an ordinary person who was too strong and dressed in rags, but one look at his face was enough to tell that the truth was far from that.

The truth is, he's a beast.

His eyes were devoid of anything but the ecstatic ecstasy of slaughter. His face was smeared with dried blood, and bits of flesh, seemingly from nowhere, clung to his hair. Even in his final moments, he smiled strangely, as if unusually pleased with the carnage he had committed just half a minute earlier…

The greatsword cleaved him in two, or rather crushed him.

Aldakrel wasn't wrong; Ald didn't often activate the disintegration field, not because he disliked it, but simply because it was unnecessary most of the time. The blade swept over the flesh that had been reduced to pulp, fell to the ground, scattering countless fragments of stone, then was lifted again and grasped by Ald with both hands.

Then he waited.

One second, two seconds, three seconds... Gradually, their roars drew closer.

It was an indescribable, vast sound, noisy and intense, disordered and frenzied, containing immense fervor, like a grand piece of music. But if you listened carefully for a moment, you would find that the notes that made it up were either meaningless roars or an endless longing for an act that should be hated, abandoned and regarded as sinful.

"Kill!" they roared. "Kill!"

Olde waited until they were almost in front of him before he drew his sword.

This time he held nothing back. If he hadn't been wearing armor, and if there had been a painter present, they would probably have immediately focused their attention on his hands and back—those muscles, broadly resembling human muscles yet exuding a chilling aura in the smallest details, were bulging, so much so that the lining beneath his armor was creaking...

"boom--!"

As the greatsword's blade clashed once more with the mutant's flesh, a deafening roar echoed through the air, followed by a fierce, scorching gale. Limbs and severed bodies flew from the edge of the massive blade, then were swept up by the wind, transforming into bloody bullets that scattered and crashed into the heart of the fanatical army, creating even more carnage.

The perpetrator remained completely unresponsive; his expression was unbelievably calm, except for his strikingly bright red eyes.

His enemies couldn't understand the true meaning behind it. A few of them, excited by the prospect of facing such a formidable foe, even thought he shared their violent desires. So they roared and charged forward, crushing the rough bones of their kind and swinging their weapons at him.

Ald could see their faces clearly.

The third time, he swung his sword. This time, the strike was light and silent, like a smooth curve on a piece of white paper, enough to evoke a strange pleasure. But the result was terrifying—with one strike, eight burly mutants were cut in half at the waist.

Their flesh and entrails didn't even have the chance to fall to the ground; they were annihilated by the immense mass of the sword blade the instant their master felt the strike. So only filthy, scalding blood fell to the ground, like a night rain that came from nowhere and sprinkled around.

Ald sheathed his sword, took a step, deftly twirled it, and plunged it into the ground. The earth, already soaked in blood, sang in celebration of its arrival, countless fragments of bone rubbing fiercely against the blade, whispering softly, urging it to commit even more bloodshed.

Its owner heard this and calmly looked down at it.

"Evil creature," Ald said, using a language now known only to him. "You are unworthy to command me."

He released his grip, leaving the greatsword in place, then took a step forward, transforming into a violent meteor as he charged into the mutant army that was regrouping. They had already suffered more than half their casualties, yet they made no attempt to flee. Instead, they disciplined themselves and tactically moved those wielding shields and spears to the front.

Even Ald was somewhat surprised by this scene. He had initially thought these creatures were merely mindless beasts, long since degenerated into monstrous evils, and their previous behavior perfectly matched that description. But what about now? Such courage and discipline...

His astonishment vanished completely when he saw their faces again.

"Just a beast," he thought. "But it's just...pretending to be human."

The carnage ended two minutes later. Everything settled down; no more blood or severed limbs lay scattered. Ald stood amidst the filth, his fists clenched, head bowed. His armor, cloak, and fur were completely stained with blood, and soon, like the previous days, they would be covered in the unique dust of the battlefield, becoming black, filthy, and covered in grime, just like everyone else.

He looked up and gazed into the distance.

At the far end of those two rushing rivers, beneath the walls of Amighiddon where countless corpses hang, a pack of wolves prepares to engage the enemy.

For days, the Sons of Fenris had been slaughtering mutants, cultists, and Amighodtons who seemed impossible to eradicate, until now, when they finally encountered a worthy adversary—a group of Astartes clad in red and gold power armor.

Ald knew their names, the World Eaters, and that they were among the traitors who had betrayed the human empire, led by their Primarchs, causing countless worlds to bleed... But that was all. The Wolfpack Library's collection was extremely restrained in its records of anything related to the rebellion, quite unlike the book he had read, "The Great Rebellion."

The scene he witnessed at that moment had an impact hundreds of times greater than any words could describe.

Astartes are modified warriors whose primary function is combat, or rather, slaughter. The World Eaters have reached the pinnacle of this art, their armor adorned with a series of skulls that gleam in the cold light of searchlights and the headlights of armored vehicles, covered in blood.

Half a minute later, the battle officially began, but the wolf pack did not charge. Instead, they lined up behind the Land Raiders and other combat machines and silently advanced.

Gunfire flashed rhythmically, never indiscriminately firing at the mutants used as cannon fodder by the World Eaters. Instead, they fired precise bursts, striving for maximum impact with each shot. They were utterly ruthless; their former ferocity was nowhere to be seen. Even the most impulsive and violent Bloodclaws followed the main force closely…

Ald didn't know exactly how Logan Grimner had managed to tame the wolves' ferocity, but the result was a clear tactical advantage. The World Eaters, aside from driving out the cannon fodder ahead of time, made no further tactical adjustments and even seemed extremely intolerant of the situation. Those in the front ranks had already pointed their chainsaw axes at their nominal allies, hacking and slashing, and seeing that this had yielded no results, they eagerly began their charge.

Yes, charge, charge into the armored onslaught of artillery fire.

But this wasn't suicide, because the World Eaters were incredibly agile. Their speed was astonishing, their trajectories unpredictable, and they traversed the wolf pack's meticulously crafted network of fire, stretching for thousands of meters, in moments, paying only a negligible price...

They did it with such skill, as if they had practiced it, used it, and achieved results in countless worlds.

So what about this time? Will it be effective?

Ald disappeared from the spot, returned to his sword, drew it, and rushed to the battlefield.

The Armageddonian army, which had been following him closely, watched silently as their vehicles slowly advanced, completely taking control of the high ground. They were originally a flanking force, tasked with stopping any mutants who might interfere with the main battle, but Ald had already wiped out the first wave of attackers before them. The advantage he had created for them was not wasted; instead, it was firmly seized upon.

They began to set up artillery positions on the spot.

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

Logan Grimner sneered as he swung his Mokai Axe, severing the sword-wielding right hand of a World Eater who was trying to ambush him. The madman ignored him, still roaring incomprehensible words, and swung his left-hand serpent axe at him again.

The alpha wolf mocked his foolishness with its actions.

He raised his left hand, where a storm bomb gun was hanging.

Two explosive shells roared from the barrel, shattering the World Eater's upper body, armor and all, into pieces. This sight made Logan's cold smile widen; he would never normally show such an expression, but at this moment he simply couldn't resist. Killing traitors was incredibly exhilarating, especially seeing the World Eater actually fall into their trap, just as he had predicted...

He turned around and saw that the battle was gradually reaching its climax.

The World Eaters' reckless charge was successful—successfully trapping them in the wolf pack's encirclement.

The wolf guards and longtooths, already prepared, launched a furious counterattack. The Swiftclaws and Skyclaws, carefully concealed behind the vehicles, suddenly emerged amidst the roar of motorcycles and jetpacks, their joy at finally being able to wait no longer filling them with unbridled savagery. The Fenris's giant wolves followed closely behind; these noble beasts, as tall as wolves even when crouching, truly dealt an unimaginable blow to the World Eaters' advance.

In just a few dozen seconds, the wolf pack achieved remarkable results, but Logan had regained his composure. He knew that the battle had only just begun.

The Bloodclaws can act with impunity, and even the Wolf Guards can briefly deviate from their duties, but he cannot. He is the alpha wolf and must remain rational at all times...

But soon, he discovered a problem that he had to deal with.

It was a scattered squad of World Eaters, locked in combat with the Grey Hunters. The leader wielded a massive axe, each swing capable of felling a battle-hardened wolf. Unlike the others, he fought with remarkable discipline; were it not for the paintwork on his armor, Logan might have even doubted he was a World Eater.

Without hesitation, the alpha wolf raised his gun, aimed, and fired five shots in quick succession.

Ten explosive shells spun and flew toward the traitor like huge raindrops, hitting him, but in the end they only exploded on his armor, creating a series of black dust clouds—the seemingly ordinary red armor was completely undamaged, at most only losing a little paint.

Its wearer burst into laughter, raising his giant axe high in the next second, and then with a diagonal slash, he forcefully cleaved the Skyclaw that was trying to dive down and attack him in two.

Before the remains could fall, the man raised his left hand, grabbed the half with the head attached, and then lifted it toward where Logan was standing.

The alpha wolf charged at him expressionlessly.

His speed wasn't particularly fast, but every step he took caused the ground to tremble. In response, the World Devourer also left the battle group and rushed over impatiently.

Their weapons clashed a third of a second later, the arcs of electricity from the disintegrating force field intertwining and leaping, illuminating Logan's gloomy face and the World Eater's visor... The second second arrived precisely, and in that brief moment, their axes had already collided fourteen times, each time evenly matched.

The Devourer chuckled deeply, took two steps back, and held the axe upside down. The voice, seemingly smeared with blood, came from beneath his helmet.

"Remember my name, Wild Wolf. I am Skachalik, the lord of the Life Slayers—I will take your head."

"You bastard," Logan said calmly. "You call yourself a lord, yet you wear ordinary armor and serve under your men? Cowardly behavior."

The World Eater's laughter did not stop; instead, it grew even more intense. He roared and took a step forward, his giant axe slashing at Logan's left arm with a seemingly slow yet swift motion. This attack was clearly premeditated, intended to disable the alpha wolf's ranged firepower, but Logan would not give him that chance.

As if it were a prophetic foresight, Mokai's Axe blocked the path of the giant skull axe, firmly stopping it, and the two were once again locked in a struggle.

A rumbling sound came from the sky; it was the hovering Sky Claws. They tried to help, but the Wolf Guards, who had already noticed the battle, immediately ordered them to disperse—they knew far better than these young men that it was unwise to intervene rashly in a battle of this level, lest it backfire...

However, while they thought this way and the Skyclaws reluctantly obeyed the order, another person who was cutting across the battlefield from the flank did not think so.

Logan Grimner suddenly heard a sharp whistling sound, followed by a chill running down his spine.

Time seemed to slow down at that moment. He clearly saw a giant sword crackling with electricity grazed past him like a cannonball, grinding straight into his enemy's right shoulder...

Arcs of electricity from the disintegrating force field leaped across the armor, which, though clearly blessed, stubbornly protected its wearer. Yet, the immense force that accompanied the sword forced the World Eater to retreat several steps. Logan gave a silent sneer, caught up, and swung his Mokai Axe diagonally, cutting deep into the shoulder armor where the greatsword had struck.

Thick, pungent blood splattered from the gaping wound. The Devourer roared furiously and immediately tried to retaliate, but his fate was already sealed.

A shadow swept past Logan.

The alpha wolf withdrew its axe and retreated, grinning with a chilling aura spreading across its face.

Two seconds later, the headless corpse of the World Devourer collapsed limply to the ground.

Old turned around and glanced at him. Logan's smile changed, and he was about to speak when he heard a deafening roar from not far away.

He was stunned at first, then his expression turned to disbelief—he turned his head sharply and saw twelve Khorne demons, as tall as small mountains and clad in brass armor, charging from behind them, slaughtering them. This scene was terrifying enough, but what truly made the alpha wolf's eyes widen in horror was not them, but something else.

That thing was truly as tall as a mountain, its wings were darker than the night, and when spread out, they enveloped everything around it.

"Angron..." the alpha wolf whispered, his fists clenched.