[In the twelfth week, the joy of the Wolf King's brief return still resonated throughout the Fang.]
[Grandfather Bjorn, awakened early from his millennia-long slumber, had announced the extraordinary news to the entire Chapter. Leman Russ lived. Their gene-father still fought for the Emperor in realms beyond mortal understanding.]
[The Space Wolves' response was immediate and enthusiastic. They launched an expedition called the Great Hunt, a tradition with deep roots in Chapter history.]
[Originally, the Great Hunt had been conceived as a quest to trace the Wolf King's path, to follow his trail through the galaxy and perhaps find him again. This time, the purpose was different but no less significant. This Hunt would celebrate the Primarch's appearance, and more importantly, it would share the Space Wolves' fanatical joy with the Imperium's enemies. Through violence and victory, they would honor their father's continued existence.]
[You stood watching as Thunderhawk transports roared out through the Gate of Blood, Fire, and Sunrise. The massive hangar doors remained open, creating a constant stream of departing aircraft. Each transport carried howling Astartes and ground vehicles, all bound for the Emperor-class battleship "Pride of Fenris" waiting in Fenris's orbit.]
[As a newly-made Blood Claw recruit, you were prohibited from joining this grand celebration. You had to remain behind at the Fang, continuing your training while your battle-brothers claimed glory among the stars.]
[Your eyes shifted with complicated emotions to Lucas, who stood nearby. The red-haired troublemaker's wolf-like yellow eyes were wide open, and an enormous grin split his face as he watched the departing forces.]
[Not long ago, you'd finally understood the melancholy that had colored the Chapter leadership's expressions when discussing Lucas. You'd learned exactly why the other Great Companies had refused to accept him into their ranks.]
[On your very first day as Blood Claw Pack Leader, Lucas had tricked you into drinking what he called his "exclusive mead recipe."]
[The horrific toxicity of that brew had nearly overwhelmed even an Astartes's legendary detoxification capabilities. The concoction was so poisonous it might have killed a lesser being outright. You'd survived only because of your unusually robust physiology, the same trait that had allowed you to endure the Canis Helix transformation so quickly.]
[After recovering, you'd grabbed your double-bladed power axe, Frost Fang, and chased Lucas through the Fang's corridors for an entire day. Your angry howls and creative curses had echoed through every level of the fortress monastery. Serfs and Astartes alike had scattered before your fury.]
[Eventually, Grandfather Bjorn himself had intervened, physically placing his massive Dreadnought frame between you and your quarry. He'd mediated the conflict and extracted a solemn promise from Lucas to cease playing pranks on you specifically.]
[But Lucas wasn't entirely without merit. Far from it, actually.]
[Despite being demoted back to Blood Claw status, his combat ability and battlefield experience were comparable to Wolf Guard veterans. He'd fought for decades, perhaps centuries, and that accumulated skill didn't disappear just because his rank had been stripped away.]
[Your own combat abilities improved steadily through sparring sessions with him. His unorthodox techniques and vast experience pushed you to adapt, to think creatively, to never assume you understood all possible approaches to a fight.]
[You applied similar methods, if somewhat gentler ones, to tempering the hot-blooded Blood Claws under your command. Regular beatings administered with educational intent taught them to control their aggression, to channel their fury rather than being consumed by it.]
[The results were undeniable. Your Blood Claw pack became the best among the recruits. At the very least, your warriors had learned not to charge mindlessly into enemy lines the moment battle began. They fought with tactical awareness alongside their natural ferocity, using reason to guide their animal instincts rather than being ruled by them.]
[In the thirteenth week, during a routine training session, you received an unexpected interruption.]
[A Blood Claw recruit rushed toward you, his movements urgent and his tone anxious as he made his report.]
[A Chaos Lord from the traitorous Word Bearers Legion had transmitted a message to the Fang. The heretic had issued a terrifying threat: he would descend from orbit and destroy the entire fortress monastery, grinding the Space Wolves' home to dust.]
[You drew a deep breath through your nose, your expression settling into cold neutrality. Your hand moved to grasp Frost Fang where it rested against the training hall wall.]
[You and the Blood Claw recruits ran toward the Watch Hall, the combat operations center that served as the Fang's tactical nerve center.]
[As soon as you entered, you saw Lucas engaged in heated argument with someone on the communications array. The hololithic display showed a Word Bearer in corrupted power armor, his once-proud Legion colors twisted and defiled by Chaos.]
[The Blood Claw recruits exchanged confused glances. Many wore fierce grins, eager for violence but uncertain whether they should interrupt Lucas's reckless behavior. No one moved to stop him from antagonizing a Chaos Lord.]
[The Word Bearer was clearly losing his composure. His voice rose with each exchange, rage building toward an explosive climax. Finally, completely enraged and apparently beyond rational thought, the Chaos Lord issued a challenge. He demanded a vigorous duel with Lucas personally. He would grant the Space Wolf a decent execution before destroying the rest of the Chapter.]
[You didn't intervene in Lucas's provocations. Despite his love of pranks and his sometimes questionable judgment, Lucas was never careless when facing the forces of Chaos. He understood the threat they represented. If he was antagonizing this Word Bearer, he had a plan.]
[You raised your voice to address the restless Blood Claw recruits, speaking calmly to settle their rising battle-lust.]
[The communication link terminated abruptly. Lucas blinked his wolf-like yellow eyes and turned toward you, his expression shifting into something approaching smugness.]
[He explained his plan with evident satisfaction. While provoking the Word Bearer, he'd exploited a moment when the Chaos ship had lowered its defensive protocols. During that window, he'd uploaded a data-corrupting virus into their systems. The virus would cause the enemy vessel to misjudge Fenris's terrain coordinates.]
[You frowned, processing the implications. Your voice carried an edge of concern as you asked the critical question: where would the Chaos Lord's ship actually arrive?]
[Lucas's grin widened. The red-haired warrior could barely contain his amusement as he answered. According to his calculations, the Word Bearer had chosen what he believed would be a dueling ground. Instead, his corrupted navigation data would bring him down in the center of the Sea of Lost Souls.]
[The Sea of Lost Souls. Even Astartes avoided venturing too deep into those waters. Countless terrifying sea monsters prowled those depths, some large enough to drag down starships. The extreme cold and unpredictable conditions made it one of Fenris's deadliest regions.]
[The sea creatures and brutal weather would teach the Word Bearer an unforgettable lesson. If they didn't kill him outright.]
[You expressed genuine appreciation for Lucas's cleverness. The plan was elegant in its simplicity. Let Fenris itself destroy the enemy.]
[But you couldn't trust that everything would proceed according to Lucas's expectations. Chaos was unpredictable by nature. Plans that seemed foolproof often failed in unexpected ways when dealing with the Ruinous Powers.]
[You assumed temporary overall command, your authority as Pack Leader extending to the emergency situation. You ordered all Blood Claw recruits to don full battle gear and assume defensive positions throughout the Fang. If the Word Bearer somehow survived and reached the fortress, they would be ready.]
[Then you grabbed your bolt gun and Frost Fang, slinging both across your back, and instructed Lucas to pilot a Thunderhawk transport to the Sea of Lost Souls. You would verify his plan personally.]
[Lucas complained constantly during the flight. His plan was foolproof, he insisted. The ice in the Sea of Lost Souls' center was far too fragile to support a space vessel's landing weight. The ship would break through and sink immediately. There was no need for this trip.]
[You remained unconvinced. Your response was measured but firm.]
[Winter on Fenris wasn't finished yet. The ice might be thicker than Lucas estimated. No one could guarantee the Chaos Lord wouldn't survive the landing. The responsible course of action was to see for yourself.]
[If the Word Bearer somehow survived the descent, then you and Lucas together would be more than sufficient to kill him. Two Space Wolves, even if one was technically still a recruit, could handle a single Chaos Lord.]
[The Thunderhawk's engines roared as Lucas pushed the transport to maximum speed. The aircraft streaked across overlapping mountains and through deep valleys, gradually approaching the coastline where solid ground gave way to frozen ocean.]
[You retrieved Frost Fang from its magnetic clamp and checked your bolt gun's load. Everything was prepared. You moved to the troop compartment's rear hatch and activated the opening mechanism.]
[The hatch slid aside, exposing you to the full fury of Fenris's weather. Biting wind immediately assaulted your face. You'd chosen not to wear your helmet, preferring unobstructed senses despite the discomfort. Rough snowflakes pelted your exposed skin and rattled against your power armor's ceramite plates.]
["Lucas! Keep accelerating!" you shouted toward the cockpit, your enhanced voice carrying over the wind and engine noise.]
[Your gaze swept across the Sea of Lost Souls passing below. The ice stretched endlessly, dark and forbidding, cracks spider-webbing across its surface.]
[Occasionally, you glimpsed movement beneath the ice. Massive shadows rolled in the depths, their scale almost incomprehensible. Eyes comparable in size to a Valkyrie transport aircraft opened and tracked the Thunderhawk's passage overhead before slowly closing again.]
[Unknown sea monsters. Creatures from Fenris's prehistoric past, or perhaps things that had never been properly classified. The Sea of Lost Souls teemed with them, ancient predators that had survived since the world's formation.]
[The Thunderhawk flew over the outer approaches and penetrated deeper into the inner sea. The ice here was darker, more treacherous, marked by areas where the frozen surface had clearly failed and refrozen.]
[Then you saw it.]
[A crack in the ice stretched for nearly a hundred kilometers, a massive wound in the frozen ocean's surface. At its center, a Chaos vessel was locked in a death struggle with something from the depths.]
[Enormous tentacles, each one easily fifty meters thick, had wrapped around the corrupted ship. The appendages were covered in scales and what looked like rock-like protrusions, and they constricted with inexorable strength. The vessel was sinking rapidly, dragged down into freezing water that would flood its corridors and drown its corrupted crew.]
["DAMN CHAOS!" Lucas's voice erupted from the cockpit, filled with gleeful excitement. "TAKE MY SPECIAL FENRISIAN SEA MONSTER WHIP!"]
[You couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at your lips despite the situation. Your expression settled back into seriousness as you slowly lowered the bolt gun you'd raised. The sea beast was handling things nicely on its own. No intervention required.]
[Then something at the edge of your vision caught your attention. A flash of light on the ice surface, distinctly artificial in nature.]
[A figure materialized through teleportation. A Thousand Sons sorcerer, his power armor painted in dark blue that seemed to shift and shimmer unnaturally. Wing-like devices extended from the back of his helmet, marking him as a practitioner of significant psychic power.]
[The sorcerer didn't hesitate. His hand rose immediately, and you felt the buildingpressure of gathering warp energy even from this distance.]
[A terrifying psychic spell lanced toward the Thunderhawk, reality bending around its passage.]
["LUCAS! EVASIVE MANEUVERS—" Your roar cut through every other sound, desperate urgency lending it volume that shouldn't have been possible even for an Astartes.]