40K: When evil spirits appear

No matter how far you go, Irnist can hear its breathing.

His usually unrestrained imagination took hold, conjuring in his mind a monster whose body had already stretched into every corner of darkness. It slept, but was restless, constantly dreaming and babbling incessantly. Irnist tried to listen, but only received a sharp, piercing pain; his intuition screamed at him, warning him never to do so...

But what could he do now? He was trapped in this darkness, just like the monster, the only difference being that he had willingly entered this false prison, while it had been deceived. Irnist could see its past and the reason why it had fallen to this state, which ultimately boiled down to only one reason—a fear of death.

It didn't want to die.

When it was still human, it faced a choice: to sacrifice itself for righteousness, or to bury itself underground?

But it chose neither, instead begging for mercy from the monsters that slaughtered its brethren.

"I don't want to die!" it cried out. "I've spent my whole life achieving what I have today, I can't die!"

It was willing to give anything to survive.

The demons chuckled as they completed the pact, then took its bones and flesh, infused it with evil, and finally abandoned it in this echoing place that no one remembers anymore... Its prototype is that war, and since the war is over, it is forever trapped within it, unable to escape. It will live forever, living in a dream of weeping and begging for immortality.

Its wish was fulfilled.

But now, Irnist has arrived. Although he has come in search of the warrior’s past, it doesn’t matter, because he is also trapped… He has a way to leave, but that way has a necessary prerequisite: he must awaken this immortal being that has been sleeping for who knows how many years.

He understood what would happen—he would turn the illusion into reality, and it would use his power to break free. He couldn't just stand by and watch it happen; he couldn't liberate such a terrifying monster for his own freedom.

Therefore, the wise man is willing to succumb to this state, but he does not know how long he can hold on.

His psychic power was so strong that every second he was present was passively making it more real. Soon, the monster would awaken and discover the existence of Irnist. As for what would happen next...?

The wise man had no answer, but he had made preparations beforehand. He had imprinted ancient exorcising talismans and almost imperceptible threads of psionic energy on every place he left his footprints, which together formed an array. If he so desired, he could imprison the monster in darkness for the rest of his life.

He would never allow it to escape using his psychic powers, because that would mean it would appear on Fenris...

However, at the very moment he made up his mind, a burst of crimson light, like a burning flame, suddenly burst forth from the darkness.

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

"Your compatriots?"

Ulrik's voice sounded almost like a growl. The dim firelight in the stone chamber cast his shadow on the wall, as large as a cave bear standing upright.

The wolf priest's age was visibly apparent; aside from the sleeping Dauntless, he was the oldest wolf in the pack, yet this did not diminish his strength in the slightest. Time had not taken away his power and agility; it had even endowed him with an additional power. He usually slept, but at certain times—like now—he would awaken and tell the world why he was called the Slaughterer.

He stepped forward, stared at Olde, and his voice became hoarse and low.

"I have heard the truth from Logan Grimner: your people died countless millennia ago, Dragon Slayer. Aren't their ghosts still begging for your forgiveness in that stone tomb that should have been destroyed? And now you tell me that someone who should have died long ago has somehow survived and is targeting our rune priest, treating him as prey?"

Old remained completely unmoved by his anger. Facing this old wolf that seemed to be devouring people, he remained calm, though something heavy was welling up in his eyes.

“No, you’re wrong, he’s long dead,” Old said. “He just refuses to accept it.”

Ulric's pupils constricted sharply. He had lived too long, long enough for him to miraculously understand Alder's meaning from this seemingly riddle-like statement. He turned to look at Irnist, who, like Logan Grimner, had been chosen by Ulric to enter the wolf pack. Irnist's face was now almost transparently pale, like that of a dying man.

After a while, he spoke again.

"...You knew he was being watched, how did you manage that?"

"Feel."

"Didn't you tell Logan Grimner that you had given up your psionic powers?"

Old nodded: "That's true, but I can still—"

The Slaughterer, without turning his head, raised a hand to interrupt him: "—I don't care about these things, I just want to know if you can feel more. He helped you, even if it didn't really help much, but he became like this because of you. You have to bring him back, Dragon Slayer."

He was silent for a moment, then turned his head to the side, his expression almost pleading.

"Can you do it?"

"I'll give it my best," Old said.

He reached out and grasped the wise man's hand again. The lines beneath his eyes brightened with a violent speed, and then, instead of fading, they turned from a dark red to a blazing, scorching gold. Ulric didn't understand what was happening, but he could clearly feel the air in the stone chamber rapidly becoming stagnant...

Then came another kind of noise.

He jerked his head to his crucible, noticing it shaking, followed by the weapons hanging on the wall and the wine glasses on the table. They rattled and collided, the sounds like a harbinger of impending doom. Amid the violent shaking, the killer reached out and grabbed the edge of the bed, hearing a dull, distant thud.

It emanated from beneath their feet, from the deepest depths of Ete. All things groaned at its presence, even Ete's foundations, forged of pure gold.

"What happened?!" Ulric shouted.

He received no answer; Ald still held the wise man's hand, though the latter's body was convulsing uncontrollably. Blue light, representing psychic energy, surged from his seven orifices, leaping and flaming like flames. Finally, he screamed and sat bolt upright.

The first thing he did was look at Urd beside the bed.

"It's awake!"

A series of even more intense, deafening crashes interrupted his words; they were terrifying, so violent, like Fenris in a rage. Dust rained down from the ceiling, cauldrons overturned and spilled onto the floor, and the varnish hissed as it corroded the stone slabs. Ulric turned and rushed outside to find chaos—servants were fleeing in disarray, and two Bloodclaws dragged their weapons past. He wanted to grab them and demand to know what had happened, but he no longer needed to, for he too had heard that sound…

The sound of the horn.

The sound of horns came from the depths of Ete.

It has only one meaning: enemy attack.

A gust of wind swept past his ear, and Ulric instinctively turned around to look, only to find that the warrior had vanished.

The warriors were running wildly through Ete's corridors.

He clutched the frost wolf pelt tightly in his hand, his footsteps heavy and deafening, each step like a thunderous roar, yet he didn't break a single stone slab, and his speed was astonishing. He didn't know the way in Etne, nor did he need to. In just a few seconds, he smashed through a window at the end of the corridor, plummeting towards the ground amidst shattered glass and blinding sunlight.

How high is it? A thousand meters? Ten thousand meters? Tens of thousands of meters? The warrior didn't know the answer, nor did he want to know; it didn't matter. He adjusted his body in mid-air, letting go to allow the frost wolf skin to flutter in the wind, gaining his freedom. Then, he transformed into a shooting star, landing directly in the undulating mountain range that together formed the outer layer of Et.

The shockwave from his landing cracked the ground, sending rubble and broken trees flying in a visible storm, while he had dug a path through the underground city with his bare hands... Finally, he leaped out of the false starry sky and landed on the main road where Logan Grimner had once walked alongside him.

He lowered his head and gazed down into the dark abyss.

He knew it was down there, climbing up the rocks without stopping.

It's truly absurd and laughable. The battlefield had long since vanished, but the violent tectonic movements of Fenris over the years had moved a remnant of it beneath this ancient city. It was undeniably a coincidence, yet he didn't want to laugh. Because of the being that had broken free—this ancient being that couldn't be simply labeled a 'thing' or a 'monster'—it was no longer his kin.

Its essence had long since become distorted, even rotten, within that eternal dream. It was no longer human, nor even a beast...

The soldier could clearly see what it looked like now.

It had countless limbs and a bloated, enormous body, climbing frantically. Its eyes, once densely packed but tightly closed, were now opening one by one. And its face—it resembled a human face stripped of its skin, with remnants of its former nobility still visible in its features—high brow bones and a prominent nose…

But its chin had been split open by something, and the dark, wet substance made its entire face look ridiculous, like a torn mask. Through the crack were wet, stiff hairs and chitinous carapaces, and its eyes, a murky pale yellow, blinked constantly on them, containing nothing but madness and evil.

Then it saw him.

It was stunned.

It suddenly sped up, crawling out of the bottomless abyss beneath the city, reaching the edge of the main road, craning its neck to stare at him, and after a moment, it actually revealed a strange smile. It no longer had a mouth, yet it could express a bizarre joy with the torn muscles on its mask.

"It's you, it's you!" it cried out in a sharp, metallic voice, a language now known only to itself and its warriors. "You're still alive!"

The warrior silently looked back. A foul-smelling gust of wind, stirred by the monster's actions, ruffled his disheveled hair and tattered shroud, but he remained silent, standing still as the sea of ​​flames behind the glass surged with a sorrowful intensity. After a while, he finally spoke.

"And you should have died long ago."

The monster's smile vanished. It roared angrily, and dozens of its needle-like limbs suddenly rose as if to attack, but ultimately did not. Its remaining human face was filled with urgent, feigned rage. It continued to howl, retreating, then turned and charged into the city, moving madly as if venting its fury, destroying most of it in an instant. Then, it leaped up, climbing the rock face again amidst the sound of countless rocks falling into the darkness, and charged towards the ground.

It doesn't look like it's gaining freedom; it looks more like it's running away.

The soldier watched quietly as it tore through rocks and everything in its path, finally bursting through the ground and emerging in ecstasy.

It reappeared in the pale light of Fenris and the blanket of snow.

But the wolf pack saw it clearly.

They saw with perfect clarity the monster burst forth from the depths of Et, its bloated body towering like a small mountain, its wrinkled carapace, and its countless limbs like steel needles. Its eyes, starting from its pitifully malevolent face, which was small in comparison to its body, spread out and eventually covered its entire body, staring intently at the sky.

Then it screamed, its voice filled with a vile, triumphant joy.

It finally escaped.

The dream was more than just a dream; it had been deceived, and it knew it all too well that its desire to live was completely different from the demons' ideas... It had been imprisoned for so long in vain, but that no longer mattered; it was free, it was at ease.

And Ete burned fiercely behind it.

The cause of the fire is no longer of concern to anyone, but about a third of Ete's territory cracked due to its escape, and the fire spread from the bottom up, indeed burning fiercely. Black smoke billowed into the sky, the wolf pack was gathering, and the turrets were slowly warming up... It knew nothing of these things, but this was indeed a chosen moment, for chaos reigned everywhere, and the Sons of Fenris were too late to surround it.

At that moment, no wolf could stop it from leaving.

Yes, it's okay without wolves.

The blizzard was suddenly torn apart.

For a fleeting moment, the sky above Ete seemed to darken, and in the next instant, all the snow falling into the crater where the monster had escaped was evaporated by a surge of heat, turning into a hazy white mist. Thunder roared at that moment, like a dense drumbeat of war. In the very center of the mist, a figure walked slowly, its red, flame-like light constantly blazing, like a world-destroying wave of fire. With each step, its form rose higher with a terrifying sound, until finally, the mist was torn apart by five sharp claws.

A warrior from ages ago stands in the snow.

Beneath those crown-like golden horns, his eyes burned fiercely.

The monster looked at him.

"You want to fight?" it suddenly asked, its tone full of confusion. "But the war is over, and you have already fulfilled your duty."

"No..." The warrior whispered, his mouth opening and fangs clashing. "There's still one monster alive."

The monster froze, its eyes curving into confused arcs: "Where?"

"Here," the soldier said.

Then he clenched his fist.

The monster suddenly understood, and it immediately screamed and retreated, its cries sounding like the wails of a baby.

"You want to kill me? Why would you do that! I just want to live!"

"But you are now a cannibalistic beast," the warrior said, and stepped forward. He did not run, but walked towards it step by step, leaving a trail of burning footprints behind him.

"I have not eaten anyone!" the monster roared. "Are you referring to that reckless apprentice? I didn't even take away his talent! He's still alive!"

"You let him go, yes," the soldier said in a low but firm voice. "But beasts that have eaten people have a distinctive scent; I can smell it. In those eternally dormant dreams, did you ever act on instinct, hunting prey? I don't believe you didn't. Your soul is filled with the cries of others. I can hear them; they are still crying out, suffering terribly..."

The monster stopped arguing, perhaps because it realized that the truth was indeed true, or perhaps simply because it knew in its heart that it could not deceive the warrior.

It whirled around, its limbs plunging into the ground like steel blades. Fragments flew everywhere, scattering like a torrential rain, providing it with unimaginable power and speed for its escape. In a mere instant, it had already sprinted down from the summit of the seven peaks of Assahim where Et was located, hurtling rapidly towards the foothills below.

Aside from running away, it had no other thoughts in its mind; all it wanted was to escape, to get as far away from him as possible.

But it cannot escape.

What happened next was etched in the memory of the wolves; they remembered it well and recounted it again and again by the fire for the rest of their lives.

The soldier bent down and began to run.

The first step: the ground cracked, he vanished, and reappeared as a tiny black shadow in mid-air. He climbed a towering black needle tree, then bent his knees slightly at the top and disappeared again. The giant tree collapsed as if struck by lightning, and he was already rushing towards the monster in the shockwave. The howling wind and the swirling snow could not stop him; they could only watch helplessly as he landed in front of it.

Then he raised his right hand and threw a punch.

It's hard to say what martial arts technique was involved in that punch, because it was really just a very simple straight punch, but that was enough.

The punch landed precisely on the monster's body, and the world froze for a moment. The sound rang out several seconds later, short and muffled, startling countless birds into flight.

The monster was sent flying through the air by the punch, its limbs flailing and leaving unsettling trails, but it couldn't even utter a sound. After a brief flight, it crashed heavily onto a frozen lake. As it fell into the water, ice floes bobbed, and some more murky, black liquid gushed from the spot where the warrior had struck it, making the lake gurgle and simmer like a swamp. It struggled to climb out of the lake, but before it could even catch its breath, it saw the warrior again.

"No!" it pleaded instinctively. "Am I not your only remaining brethren?! So much time has passed! These wolves don't even know who you are!"

The warrior's raised fist paused for a second, then he said, "You read Irnist's memories."

The monster was taken aback.

Flames spread from beneath the warrior's feet, completely engulfing the entire lake, and finally, anger flared in his eyes.

"You want to eat him..." the soldier said. "You just didn't have time. You've already started preparing."

The fist struck, the ground trembled, and the monster's shell silently shattered, splattering bodily fluids. Most of its limbs were forced off its body by the immense pressure, yet they still twitched and writhed like living things. Flames surged, instantly engulfing all the filth. However, within the fiery curtain, some translucent spirits vaguely appeared. The monster's eyes saw them clearly, and it screamed frantically, causing the severed piece of its body, still attached to its head, to gush even more pus and blood.

The spirits went toward it.

They were dressed in magnificent robes, their faces shrouded in pure white light. They surrounded it, yet did nothing, only singing a vast and mournful song.

The monster froze.

The soldier walked towards it and crouched down.

The wind and snow joyfully reclaimed the sky, landing on his shoulders without melting. Some of the snow also fell into the monster's eyes—its true eyes, its original, human eyes, not the later compound eyes. It stared blankly at the warrior and the spirits, opened its mouth, and spoke a sentence in a long-lost language.

This time, its voice didn't sound scary at all; instead, it carried a sense of relief.

He closed his eyes.

The soldier stood up silently.

The flames continued to burn everything until they went out, and he stood there for a long time, so long that the snow turned his horned crown white.

The wolves arrived at that moment.

The warrior turned around, and the ferocious form vanished in an instant. On the shroud, the human face was now covered with furrowed brows and deep, unconcealed grief in his eyes.

Logan Grimner walked toward him and handed him a frost wolf pelt. Ald took it and saw that it was the very pelt he had thrown out.

He draped it back over his shoulders, wrapped it tightly around himself, and whispered, "I know I'm wrong and I'll correct it."

The alpha wolf hesitated for a moment, then smiled slightly, reached out and embraced him, leading him back to the pack, where the wolves howled and cheered for him. They came in packs—wolf guards, grey hunters, or bloodclaws… Draco Steelborn was among them, Urka was among them, and even the wise Irnist was there, the old wolf priest supporting him. Gunboats circled overhead, casting searchlights that illuminated their way back to the hive.

"You will have a new title," the alpha wolf whispered as they walked, offering this assurance.

"What kind?" the dragon slayer asked.

"I don't know what kind you want?"

The dragon slayer pondered for a moment and replied, "Warrior, that's good."