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I don't write much and it's even rarer for me to do 40k fiction, but I just got he desire and I was looking at the Sons of Russ. So, this is it. It's short and I don't know how good it is but I hope you enjoy.
Brưningr held up a power armoured fist and as one the pack halted. Brưningr sniffed the air, his enhanced canine senses picked up the scent of the Space Wolves quarry ahead. Moving forward again he sensed that beside him, his brothers moved as quickly and silently as he did. The small pack was a mixed group, being as he figured he would be moving and into close quarters quickly he had chosen to forgo the inclusion of the venerable Long Fangs. Instead his group consisted of a score and a half of Grey Hunters and two score of Blood Claws, it was only the stoic nature of the Hunters that were keeping the Claws from tearing off to get to grips with the enemy. Brưningr scarcely remembered being a passion lead Blood Claw, his century under the banner of the Bjorn Stormwolf seemed to be ancient now. The recent decades dimmed, punctuated only by the wars he had fought in and his rise to the current position of a member of the Wolf Guard.
He smelt the desire and bloodlust in his brothers as the scent of the enemy grew stronger. Their prey was a small guerrilla force on a backwater planet; they had slaughtered a missionary of the holy All Father: his corpse was displayed on the gates of the small city that served as a capital. The message was clear; “We refuse the false God, the Emperor”. Thus, the Wolves answered, they happen to be passing close to the planet when the call was heard, and the result being Brưningr and his pack. Once more he halted the pack. They were mere metres from the enemy emcampment now, and he saw it was more than a mere case of a few non-believers. This was the start of an army. A small building had been erected next to a high raise platform with stone steps leading to the top of it. Around the encampment were sentries, no doubt aware that the Imperium’s troops had been sent in but it was doubtful they were expecting the Sons of Russ. Brưningr noted the positions of the heavy weapon placements and retreated to plan with the rest of the pack.
“We should just attack. They’re only humans, what can they do to us, the Sons of Russ!?” growled Drengi. The Blood Claws were practically biting at the bit to get to grips, their bloodlust barely held in check. Brưningr shook his head slowly
“No, we shall not barge in. I saw at least three heavy weapon placements: here, here and here” the Wolf Guard marked out their positions on the plan he had etched into the dirt “And one was an autocannon. Even one such as you could not walk into the face of that and return unscathed, Drengi.” Brưningr ran his hand through the ragged beard he had been growing; the red hair was now long enough to have two plaits in it. “Eitri, you take the east flank. Take a quarter of the pack with you. Drengi, as you thirst for glory brother you take the bulk of the Claws and take the west.” Grinning the young wolf rose and began moving towards his pack again, “And Drengi. You move only when I give the signal. Understand?” Brưningr called after him. The remainder of the pack stayed with Brưningr at the fore. His plan was simple: attack from all sides, taking out those emplacements first. Once in place he waited for the acknowledgements from the rest of the pack, then nodded to the Grey Hunters who he had placed forwards, both were the best shots he had and both aiming for the heads of the heretics armed with the heavy weapon. The loud, solid crack of two bolter rounds filled the air, moments later they were followed up with the wet sound as the explosive shells hit both their targets square and detonated. The air was filled with fragments of skull and grey matter. This was the chance, powering forward out of concealment the Grey Hunters leapt upon their opponents with a savage, bloodcurdling howl.
From each flank the call of the wolfkin was taken up and the two forces sent to either side erupted from the foliage and into the fray, the savage delight of battle was written upon all their faces in the dim light. The heretics were not without courage and they held in the onslaught of the Fenrisan warriors, las fire blistered the paint of the heavy ceramite armour and every now and then the sounds of a heavy weapon blast connecting with armour could be heard. Brưningr’s axe sang. Swinging the rune encrusted weapon in large sweeping arcs he lopped off limbs with ease, the axe’s power field tore through them, leaving nothing but steaming stumps of cauterised flesh. He pushed even further, into the ranks, howling his delight at the thrill of combat. But it was cut short, savagely as right beside him Bjorn fell. He was not felled by a weapon blast or by the cutting blade of steel but by sorcery. Again the magik was released and another brother fell. The hairs on the back of Brưningr’s neck rose as his nostrils flared at the scent of burnt ozone. Of all things the Sons of Russ despised, it was the foul taint of sorcery that they hated more than anything. His lip curled into a snarl as he spotted the one responsible. Stood a top of the raised platform was a man clad in a long robe, purple lightning flickered at his finger tips. As is sensing Brưningr’s gaze he turned to face him and with a flick of his wrist he sent a bolt of lightning towards the Wolf Guard.
His mind raced and in the split second between the strikes he did the first thing that came to mind. He raised his axe. The two powers collided in a brilliant flash of white, the warp born magiks cancelled by the power field of the axe. Brưningr was quicker to react than the others around him as many of them paused to run their blinded eyes. He was much quicker and used this advantage to the full: powering towards the robed figure. His large armoured form knocked the humans about like skittles; his sheer strength sent many of them flying. He was now on the steps, the axe blade sweeping in front of him like a vicious serpent tongue from the depths of the oceans of Fenris. As he battered the final guard out the way Brưningr saw his opponent before him. He was only a human, nothing compared to a full battle hardened Space Wolf, yet this man stood before him with a grin that was visible beneath half of the hood that covered his face. Raising his axe before him Brưningr charged, loosing a furious roar as he pounded along the stone floor towards his enemy. Brưningr didn’t see him do it, but he felt the parry as the robed figure had, with superhuman speed, drawn an axe from his robe and blocked the Imperial warrior’s attack. The two pushed against on another, straining to get the upper hand; between them sparks or bright orange and yellow leapt from the blade edges as the ground against one another. It was the Wolf who managed to break the deadlock, separated the two quickly behind to exchange blows as quick as the eye can see. Brưningr had dropped his, now empty, bolt pistol and gripped his axe with both hands but even with the additional strength he was barely a match for the man.
As the purple and blue energy field met time and time again Brưningr sought an opening, something to slip his attack in and end the fight quickly. As quick as the Wolf Guard was, the man was quicker. Brưningr‘s armour sported several deep gouges where the damned weapon had bitten into the armour. In one place particular his armour sported a large section missing as he had narrowly missed loosing is arm to the weapon. Instead it sliced off a portion of his shoulder guard and bit slightly into the flesh below. Brưningr needed a moment, just one, and then it could end quickly. Then it happened, the man had moved himself into a difficult position and before he could correct his mistake, Brưningr was there to collect. Swinging the glowing axe upwards he struck with all his might, the weapon bit into flesh just above the elbow, severing the arm. The flesh glowed red as the heat of the weapon sealed the wound shut before continuing with its path. With nothing to opposite it now the axe entered the body below the nipple and exited beside the shoulder, leaving behind in its wake a ragged red line of steaming flesh across the torso. Reserving the blow, with practised precision, Brưningr now severed the head. Gripping it by the hair he walked to the platform edge and held it high. He let forth an immense howl and tossed it into the battle below: then leapt to join it. With a grin on his face, the twin canine glinting blood red in the dying light, Brưningr ravaged the heretics below.
that was tight
Um.. thanks. I guess. Anyone else? =( Knew I should have stuck to Fantasy. xD
Oh, dear Kuffy, you're so impatient for a Dwarf. Just give it time, well, more than 15 hours anyway
I thought it was quite good. You really managed to capture the essence of the scene quite well, it's something you're good at doing in a lot of the work that you write. Having said that, I think you should write more often; I enjoy reading it. Especially your stories on the...walking dead
Thanks, it was really just something I knocked up whilst looking at the Wolves (for no particular reason *ahem*). I'd like to write more often, I just never do or get distracted etc. And.. I think thoses stories would get me banned for gross misconduct. =D
after reading the space wolf omnibus, i wanted to read more about the space wolves. anyways I was browsing and came across your story and I must say it was quite enjoyable. I think you did an excellent job.
That was great!:yes: I thought it built up nicely. Is there going to be anymore?
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Member of the Conspiracy Theorists Clan
The story was nice, especialy the discription of beheading the demonhost.
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Thanks. =) Nah, it was just a short story. I hadn't written anything for a while and it felt good. I just have a particular liking for the Wolves.. can't think why. -__^ But thanks. =)