40K: When evil spirits appear

The relentless footsteps echoed heavily through the ancient corridors of Et, each one enough to shake the ground. Logan Grimner followed silently behind him, unaware of where the old chieftain was leading him. Et was so ancient, and he had been a Great Wolf for less than two years*(1)...

Although he has established prestige within the wolf pack, he still lacks many things that must be built up over time.

They continued downwards until they came to the front of a bottomless pit, from which a relentless gale, like a howl from the depths of hell, surged forth.

"This is it," Bjorn said. "Jump."

Logan looked up at him.

Wuwei chuckled in a low voice, the synthesized sound making his laughter sound very strange.

"He's right down there, if I'm not senile... We buried him in the deepest part of Et, waiting for the Hour of the Wolf to come so he can be reawakened."

The Hour of the Wolf?

Logan frowned, surprised to hear such an unexpected statement: a bard he had never heard of was qualified to participate in the wolf hunt, and even had to be specially awakened? Who exactly was he? Unfortunately, now was not the right time to ask questions, otherwise he would definitely ask for clarification.

He raised his hand, pulled off the fur draped over his shoulder, and went straight to the edge of the pit, intending to go down and investigate.

But Bjorn stopped him.

Old Wuwei spoke solemnly.

"Don't rush, Logan. I need to tell you something first. After you go down, remember not to wake him. He made a promise with Ruth, and we cannot break Ruth's vow. You can look around for him first. Before coming to Fenris, he was a great scholar and very influential in the empire at the time. After people learned that he had become our bard, many even wrote to us demanding that we release him, saying that we were wasting his talent. I don't want to comment on this, but..."

He pondered for a moment, and finally said, "Anyway, remember to look around first; you should be able to find something."

What did you find?

Logan bared his teeth at Bjorn, impatiently turned away, and leaped down. A fierce wind whipped his face as he stretched out his hands, skillfully manipulating the immense energy, adjusting his position little by little, maintaining a constant angle with the wind. The deeper he went, the larger the pit grew, until finally it resembled a colossal fissure cleaved open by a god...

After nearly a hundred breaths, he landed steadily and felt a bone-chilling cold.

For some reason, he was certain that he was no longer inside Ete, but below it. This feeling arose directly from the depths of his heart, without any thought, and came naturally. He couldn't help but feel a sense of vigilance, looked around for a few seconds, and then quickly left the eye of the storm, soon discovering that it was utterly silent, devoid of any life.

Interesting, the alpha wolf thought. The old man was clearly hiding many secrets.

He grinned broadly and strode toward the obvious gap in the distance. It had been carved out of the rock face, its edges lined with polished white bone and cold steel, with a giant wolf's fang hanging from above.

Logan took a few steps closer and saw the following words written on it: The place where the poet sleeps.

That's it?

Logan shrugged and went inside.

The cave wasn't deep, and it was completely dark inside, without any lighting. But he didn't need any; his eyes gleamed in the darkness, helping him to pinpoint the ice coffin in the center of the room. Logan approached it, trying to catch a glimpse of the face of the bard from ten thousand years ago who seemed to know Bjorn, but he could only make out a vague outline.

He was somewhat disappointed, but didn't insist. He simply began rummaging through the chests and drawers. He was very good at this, and before long, he found a wooden box in the southeast corner of the cave. It was quite large; though only human-sized, it was still a large box. He gently opened it and smelled a strong stench of decay.

Logan let out an unpleasant sigh, resisting the urge to breathe again, and began to browse through the contents.

What first caught his attention were several large rolls of parchment. He unfolded them and read them one by one, discovering they were all research manuscripts. Some contained intricate and detailed star maps, which, had they not been ten thousand years old, would likely still be of practical use; others were anatomical descriptions of aliens, none of which were still relevant in the present day…

To be fair, they were indeed valuable, but had nothing to do with Logan's goal, but he still rolled them up again and put them back in the box.

At this moment, a black book, with only its edges showing, that was pressed under a bunch of stone slabs, caught his attention. He gently moved the stone slabs aside, pulled out the book, and opened the first page.

The following is my record.

May the Father forgive me for writing these words.

Father...? That's a word only Fenrisians would use; Kaspel should have called him Emperor.

Logan unconsciously squinted his eyes, then turned to the second page.

Fenris is an ancient world, perhaps even too ancient. The Father once commented on it, and I remember his brief description: "Remnants of the Old Night." This is incredible, meaning that Fenris was inhabited long before the Great Crusade began, during the Age of Strife, which was the twenty-fifth millennium. If this is true, then Fenris must hold many secrets. I was once very interested in this.

[In fact, that's precisely why I came to visit Fenris. Unfortunately, I didn't land safely. Bjorn, who hadn't yet entered the Fearless Realm, mistakenly shot me down... I truly miss the days traveling with the wolves; they changed me. Although I lost interest in the secrets of Fenris, I myself became part of its enigma. From this perspective, the saying "you can't have your cake and eat it too" is indeed true.]

But what I'm about to say has nothing to do with these things.

If you are reading this, you've probably come seeking the truth, and the truth is actually quite simple. I have many stone slabs in my wooden box; do you see them? I've marked them. Take them out, and you'll find the answer you seek.

Logan's brow furrowed even more; he was almost losing his patience, but what could he do? Should he smash everything in frustration?

He sighed deeply, then bent down to arrange the stone slabs, finally laying them out one by one on the ground.

There are eight stone slabs in total, each with a painting drawn with deep lines.

Logan crossed his arms and looked impatiently at the first piece.

The stone slab depicts a prosperous city suspended in the air, its inhabitants smiling and seemingly carefree, yet each displaying something extraordinary. For example, a vendor in the lower right corner has his goods floating around him, shrouded in a faint blue glow. And in the city center, a woman is flying through the air.

Psychic...

Logan let out a cold snort.

The second stone tablet proved his guess, in the form of tragedy.

The city collapsed, and a gaping hole appeared in the sky. Peace and beauty were extinguished by the sudden, grotesque flames. People cried out within, but their own forms began to change. Twisted monsters appeared from the sky or crawled out of their bodies; no one was spared, and even death became a blessing.

The psionicists have gone out of control, and demons have invaded.

Logan looked at the third stone slab expressionlessly.

This scene is simpler, featuring a stone platform beneath which stand a dense crowd of people, stretching from near the altar to the far end of the mural. Most of their faces are blurry, but those that are clear show no fear, only unwavering resolve.

Logan silently shifted his gaze to the fourth piece.

At that moment, from the edge of the altar to its farthest point, people of all ages and genders collapsed. Countless fine threads radiating a hazy glow emerged from their bodies, surging towards the stone platform like a dark cloud, forming an incomparably dazzling gem.

Sacrifice? Spell? Ritual? The alpha wolf stared at the stone slab for a long time before finally looking away. He had many guesses in his mind, but none of them were good. In his memory, such group sacrifices by psychics usually only led to one outcome.

He looked at the fifth stone slab.

On the stone slab, a person is standing beside the altar.

He clenched his fists, blood and tears streaming down his face, leaving two long streaks, and the gem was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to be in great pain, his body undergoing strange changes; half of his face was almost melted away, and his eyes shone with a dazzling red light. In the lower left corner of the image was an ancient inscription, below which was a Yuvik word, clearly added later.

That word means warrior.

Logan's expression grew increasingly serious. He recognized the face, or more precisely, he recognized the eyes.

He took two steps back, stopped looking, and gathered his thoughts before looking at the sixth stone slab.

It is the largest of all the stone slabs, depicting a collapsing city, with a monster facing off against an endless horde of demons. It has a pair of ferocious, thick golden horns on its head. Its face is distorted, its mouth is wide open as if roaring, its sharp fangs drip blood, and its eyes are like leaping flames.

Logan guessed who it was, but it could no longer be seen what it looked like when it was a human.

Now, it is far more terrifying than the demons.

The alpha wolf pondered for a moment, then slowly shifted its gaze to the seventh stone slab.

He saw warriors fight them, saw it smash skulls with its fists, tear bodies apart with its claws, and even rip with its monstrous mandibles. It killed, relentlessly killing, the ruins already soaked in filthy blood. The demons harmed it, and it retaliated a hundredfold; it sought not survival, but only battle, only slaughter, displaying an extreme form of violence.

It was clearly just a painting, but Logan could sense something more from it—he felt it was crying, silently howling.

Moreover, being a fellow soldier, he could even see that beneath that terrifying violence lay a painful resolve...

The eighth stone slab.

A blood-red setting sun had appeared above the city, thick, dark clouds surrounding it, giving the sunlight a chilling quality. Torrential rain poured down, pounding the battlefield and engulfing everything, while the warrior stood alone amidst the ruins. Besides him, there was no other living thing around. The demons were dead, their corpses dissipating into wisps of smoke. His brethren were also dead, succumbing to disaster and catastrophe. He looked up at the setting sun, his狰狞 (zhengning, meaning ferocious or hideous) face swallowed by darkness and raindrops.

Logan lowered his head and reopened the black book.

[As you can see, this is an ancient human civilization, one whose development path differs from that of the current empire. I have no ill will towards psychic powers, but everything should be controlled... What a humorous irony! The tragedy of Prospero was born countless years ago. Now let me reveal the final truth to you. Look at the third stone tablet, turn it over, and you will find a line of text—their record.]

Indeed, Logan found the text, which Kaspel had already translated. The poet's hand-carved Yuvik script was carefully left below, the characters not deeply etched.

Logan stared at it, his expression shifting from initial impatience to solemn gravity.

"I know I'm wrong and I'll correct it," he said softly, and began to read.

We have unleashed the monsters of our nightmares. Their greed is insatiable; even if they devour all our souls, their eternal thirst will not be extinguished. They will always crave more, and we cannot allow any more innocent people to suffer because of our folly. The mistake has been made, but it can be destroyed, right here, in our homeland, with our blood.

After a moment, the alpha wolf slowly straightened up.

"Admirable," he muttered to himself, suppressing the urge to sigh. "But there are still many doubts."

He opened the black book again.

Undoubtedly, this is a respectable ancient human civilization, but some questions remain. For example, one obvious point... the warriors won the war, and this was recorded. However, according to their own accounts, all the survivors seem to have willingly sacrificed everything, didn't they? So, who inscribed this history on these eight stone tablets? My speculation is that some must have chosen to survive. That's human nature; there are heroes, but there are also cowards.

[This is a reasonable explanation, and quite plausible, but I must tell you something else: these stone slabs were collected one by one from all over the galaxy during my early archaeological career. These were wild and remote, desolate worlds, either devoid of life or deemed worthless by the Empire... yet many tombs existed beneath them. I visited many of these sites, and in the tombs containing the stone slabs, I always found a line of long-lost writing belonging to that civilization on the stone platform or inside the coffin where the slabs were placed.]

On the aged pages of the black book, Logan Grimner saw the bard's account and his translation.

He murmured it aloud.

"When evil spirits appear..."