40K: When evil spirits appear

Logan Grimner raised his hand and gestured for Draco, who had been summoned, to sit down.

The lord of the wolves sat on a sturdy wooden chair, his face hidden in shadow. Two frost wolves nestled at his feet, their golden eyes unblinking, reflecting the image of the grey hunter. The latter slowly sat down, his posture not exactly prim and proper, but certainly quite upright.

Logan glanced at him, smiled, and dagger-like fangs emerged from his lips.

"I have visited our prisoner. You are right, Draco, he really won't say a word. But I really wanted to deal with such an enigmatic man, so I summoned Irnist. Unfortunately, I don't know if he was unskilled, but he vomited a mouthful of blood shortly after casting the spell, then uttered some riddles and passed out."

Draco was startled and instinctively leaned forward.

Logan raised his hand again to reassure him, then said, "I summoned every rune priest still in Et, and they examined him. The conclusion was that he was unconscious, but the cause wasn't his own spell. In fact, the spell itself was fine; if he hadn't forcibly ended it, he wouldn't have even had to vomit that blood."

"Then why did he fall into a coma?" the Grey Hunter asked hesitantly.

The alpha wolf's majestic face slowly emerged from the darkness, and he replied with a furrowed brow, "They say it's because he's no longer here."

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Indeed, the wise Irnist has left his Ete and his brothers, and even Fenris.

His soul is wandering above a battlefield from eternity ago...

Moreover, he was so eager to get involved.

"Get up, get up!" he roared at something on the battlefield. "Don't let them defeat you!"

they?

Yes, them.

Demons.

They varied in form and affiliation, yet they were all equally greedy, equally thirsting for flesh and soul, but Irnist could not recognize a single one of them. He could smell their evil, sense their filth, but he could not connect the knowledge in his mind with these demons from the distant past.

This horrified him. He had spent a century with runes and psychic powers, and knew countless secrets and taboos unknown to ordinary people; identifying different types of demons was practically basic knowledge among them...

How could this be?

He was unwilling, but there was nothing he could do. Right now, there was only one thing he could do.

Look.

Watch him fight them to the death.

Some time later, the war ended. The sky was dark, black smoke billowed, and a blood-red setting sun hung behind the thick, gathering clouds, appearing cold and eerie. Moments later, a torrential downpour began. Without a warning thunder, it fell suddenly, crashing down on everything on the ground.

Soon, the blood mingled with the rain, forming a river in which countless corpses drifted, a sight that appeared to be nothing but demons. Their numbers far exceeded the boundaries of imagination, causing a stinging pain to the eyes and an urge to vomit at the mere sight of them.

Irniste descended slowly with a furrowed brow, landing beside the still-standing warrior.

The latter showed no reaction to his arrival, but simply looked up at the setting sun, blood slowly trickling down from the broken horn on his head, his hideous face gradually swallowed by the raindrops and darkness.

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

To be honest, Draco couldn't understand the alpha wolf's thoughts, but fortunately, he didn't need to. As a member of the pack, obedience was in his nature, so he could simply carry out orders and headed to Hold's Fortress in the center of Etter.

Hundreds of thousands of warbands live and work here. Over tens of thousands of years, it has far exceeded its original design scale. Successive Great Wolves have ordered the addition of a series of buildings, including training rooms, medical rooms, and workshops. Today, it would not be an exaggeration to call it a city located inside Etter.

Led by two guards, he found Zarek Frosthowl, who was recuperating there, and the surviving Ironheart child. They were completely unprepared for his arrival; the former was fine and quickly understood that he had to go with him, but the latter had a different opinion.

"Where did you take him?" the girl asked loudly, her deep red hair piled up like weeds on her head. She wasn't pretty, but she had a stubborn wildness, which was a good thing, enough to keep her alive in this world after losing her loved ones.

Draco respected this quality, and therefore he offered an explanation, which was unusual for him.

"Prison," he said. "He's locked up."

The girl was taken aback, and then suddenly began to stutter.

"What?! You... how could you do this? He saved you!"

These words made Draco stop in his tracks, and he growled angrily, "Nobody wants to harm him! We're not unintentional."

Ignoring Zarek's attempts to stop her, the girl struggled to catch up with him and said, "But you just said you locked him up."

"Yes," Draco said, looking straight ahead, his voice almost a mutter, before quickening his pace. "Do you have a problem with that?"

The girl chased after him for a while, but was eventually left behind. Frustrated, she angrily shouted, "I'm going to tell the great Ruth on you!"

Draco's anger vanished at those words, and he grinned, then suddenly turned around amidst his lingering roar, looking down at her.

The girl was startled, but she stood there stubbornly, her eyes shining like the moonlight.

The Grey Hunter crouched down, made an apologetic gesture towards her, and his tone returned to calm.

"Then go, child, may Ruth be on your side. What's your name?"

"Saen, Saen of the Ironheart tribe," the girl answered softly.

"Nice to meet you." The Grey Hunter nodded solemnly to her. "I am Draco Steelborn of the Death Wolf of Dalian. I'll remember your name."

He stood up, turned, and continued on his way. After 629 breaths, aided by Etner's unique natural ascent mechanism—the howling winds blowing from the earth's core—they returned to the upper realm and met the Great Wolf. Draco, already aware of their objective, remained calm. Thane, unsure of the meaning of the title "Great Wolf," was equally composed. Only the Night Watchman of the Frosthowl tribe was both excited and fearful, dreading that his current state of torment from the loss of his arm would disgust the legendary Logan Grimner.

His worries were completely unnecessary, because Logan burst into laughter as soon as he saw him.

"A person whose lifeline is not yet severed!"

The alpha wolf barked loudly, rose from his chair at the banquet table, and walked toward them with outstretched arms, his gaze fixed on Zarek's face.

"I'm so glad to see you recover so quickly. At this rate, you'll be back on duty in just a few days! By the way, I'd like the craftsmen to forge you a new arm, one that I guarantee will be even better than the original. What do you say, Frosthowl? Are you interested?"

Zarek's face turned red, but he couldn't utter a single word and could only nod repeatedly.

The alpha wolf grinned and looked down at Saen. Saen was dumbfounded. She had seen many Valakirs these past few days, but she had never imagined she would see one so strong and so tall. Compared to him, Draco the Steelborn who had brought her here didn't even seem intimidating anymore.

"You still harbor hatred," the alpha wolf said gently. "I understand. The pain of losing loved ones can haunt a person for life, but I want you to understand one thing: the Frosthowl tribe didn't act without reason. They are not madmen who take pleasure in killing, nor are they bandits who make a living by plundering. They attacked your tribe at night simply because they were possessed by evil spirits..."

Saen lowered his head and remained silent.

Seeing that she didn't speak, Logan Grimner simply knelt down and even bent over to put his hands on the girl's shoulders.

"Listen to me, listen to me, child," he said patiently. "I'm not lying to you; what I'm saying is true. Think carefully: do the priests in your tribe always tell you where to migrate before summer arrives? Did your father or mother ever create sentient objects from clay or stone to help them hunt?"

Saen nodded reluctantly.

Logan Grimner nodded calmly.

"That's it. They possess extraordinary power, but it's not a power they should have. This power connects to the lower realms, to Hell... Only a few can use it correctly, because their wills have been tempered, and their souls are linked to the Allfather. But even so, they risk going out of control. And what about your tribe? Do you know what will happen if they go out of control?"

The child, who had lost everything, slowly raised her head, tears streaming down her face, but her voice remained quiet.

"To become an evil spirit. I've seen it."

"Yes." Logan Grimner nodded solemnly. "And that's why I sent the Frosthowls to kill you. I've explained the whole story to you, child, so if you still have any hatred left, hate me."

He stood up and cast his shadow again, covering them.

"But before that..." he began slowly. "Tell me, Zarek of the Frosthowl tribe, and you, Saen of the Ironheart tribe, did that prisoner we're currently holding in our cell ever do you any favors?"

"Yes," Zarek said without hesitation.

"Yes," Saen followed closely behind.

“Very well,” Logan Grimner said expressionlessly. “Then I ask you to do one thing for him. And you, Draco, too.”

The gray hunter standing to the side placed one hand on his chest and nodded.

The alpha wolf turned and waved to the shadows in the hall, whereupon numerous giants clad in robes and furs, carrying long staffs, emerged. Their waists were adorned with various insignia, and their faces were shrouded in the darkness cast by their hoods, giving them an air of mystery. They approached the three men and surrounded them.

"From now on, whatever you feel, do not resist, understand?" one of the giants said to them.

Saen swallowed nervously, unsure of what was about to happen, but she soon felt it—an unimaginable cold that penetrated her flesh and blood, taking over everything. She didn't feel pain, but she wanted to scream out of fear, but she held back.

In the depths of her being, she heard someone praising her, a voice exactly like the one of the giants who had spoken before...

"You have talent," he said. "And unlike your family, you are good at perseverance. Hang in there, son, we'll discuss its fate later."

And so, her consciousness gradually faded into a peaceful darkness.

Zarek Frosthowl and Draco Steelborn followed closely behind, their bodies being laid to the ground and quickly falling into a deep sleep; the Night Watchers even began to snore.

Logan Grimner stared at them for a moment, then fixed his gaze on two figures formed by the psionic energy projected from the tips of the staffs held by the rune priests. He examined the broken horn on one of the figures with interest, even comparing it to the pair of menacing horns on the other's head, before turning to question the darkness behind him.

"Old leader," he asked almost respectfully. "Well? Do you remember this soldier?"

A deafening roar echoed in the darkness, followed by a bionic synthesized sound generated by electronic signals.

"no."

Logan Grimner sighed regretfully, then lowered his head apologetically: "I'm sorry we—"

"—Hey, let me finish what I have to say, young man," the voice boomed from the darkness. "I don't know, because I'm too old and crippled. My mind isn't working properly anymore. I can't tell you stories every time you ask me to, haven't you noticed?"

Logan Grimner took a deep breath at the address of "young man": "No, Bjorn, nothing was found. But I will correct my mistake."

The man called Bjorn chuckled, then continued unhurriedly, "Anyway, like I said, I don't know. I have no recollection of this somewhat intimidating fellow, but I do know someone who might have some insight. He's far more knowledgeable than those of us who spend all our time holed up in Fenris."

For some reason, this statement instinctively put the current alpha wolf on guard.

He remained silent for a long time before cautiously questioning Bjorn the One-Handed, the first Great Wolf, the Fearless Elder, who had fought alongside the Emperor, even using a respectful title.

Who are you referring to?

"Ahmed Ibn Rusta, or perhaps Kasper Ansbach Hauser..." Bjorn answered slowly. "Our former bard."

Logan Grimner paused for a moment again, then pressed for an answer.

"Who?"

This time, it was Bjorn's turn to remain silent.

After a while, Old Fearless emerged from the darkness with a rumble and strode away from the main hall.

"I really should start teaching you kids some history lessons," he said, not without complaint. "How come you remember nothing you should? Come with me!"

Logan followed him silently.