# Skyrar's Dark Wolves



## Ambush Beast (Oct 31, 2010)

Dark Wolves 

Hagar walked through the blood. It was knee deep and sloshed about him like tiny waves with each step he took. His armor was grey with light blue trim most of the time, but not today, not in this space of blood. He could smell the blood. It was sweet and yet bitter, like copper and acid. It was like wine and he was as one who had sipped too many times at its contents. The doors were closed and sealed, not even air could escape. If air could not escape, what chance did blood have? He laughed like gravel on steel as he allowed himself to fall backwards, arms spread wide, hands holding chainswords. The blood tore away from him as if it was about to flee before slamming back into and over him like water would in a pool. 
Because of his genehanced physique he could hold his breath for over twenty minutes if he so chooses. Under the dark black blood he smiles as he ascends into a higher place, into a spiritual place and his other self touches the warp. All around him he hears the fears of men; their torments and pain. He sees roiling swirls of purple and deep reds and blacks twisting, dipping and rising on waves resembling demonic oceans of souls who are hopeless to save themselves caught up in currents of torture and terror the likes of which the universe has never known. Great beasts swim through the waves that resemble the great wyrms in the oceans of Fenris. He frowns as he remembers Fenris. He screams in hate as he remembers fleeing Fenris.
Skyrar had gone feral and was to be put to death. The 7th saved him, but lost something cherished in the process. Threads were cut and bonds broken. Brotherhood was lost and oaths were made. Never again would he set foot upon his home world. Never would he walk through the Mead Hall and boast with his brothers. Never again would he stalk prey with his kin. Never would he be able to look upon the Space Wolves again without hate in his hearts. They forced the 7th to act. They forced their hands to the murder make. They forced all hope from the 7th and for that they would pay. 
The warp responded to his hate and carried his inner self upon its currents. It felt as if time had stopped as he stepped from the warp and back into reality once more. His body still lay in the blood while his spirit stalked the halls of the Fang. He could see his kin sitting in the Great Hall unaware of his presence. With his mind he watched them and waited for the right moment to act. He did not have to wait long. With a shout from his spirit self he shattered the armor of his former brothers. Twenty Space Wolves fell to their knees clutching their chests. They would die within moments with no understanding of what was happening. 
With a thought Hagar ripped their threads from them and with chains of blood he bound them and dragged them screaming back into that place where he had come from. Their screams attracted predators both great and small, but Hagar spoke a word and the great beasts of the warp obeyed him. They circled Hagar and the twenty souls he had enslaved, but they did not attack. Time was useless in the currents but torment was not. With a whip of thought he struck his former kin and wracked their souls with pain. They screamed in terror the likes of which they had never known before. He watched them as they were dragged behind him and relished their fear. The wolves of Fenris were as pups before the great wyrm; helpless and feeble. 
Reality opened itself to Hagar. The blood still covered him and he smiled as he sat up and exhaled a ragged breath. Blood covered him as he stood and sheathed his weapons. All around him the blood roiled as the souls he had captured flailed about not understanding what was happening to them. They were confused and in great pain. The blood held their souls from rising. He could feel the hate of his kin. Even in this state they were ready to fight. That was good. That would make the prize so much more valuable. Above him, one hundred space marines hung from the iron girders. They were Dark Angels or once had been. Their armor had been stripped from them and they had been skinned alive. Their bones had been ripped from their flesh and ground into powder. The bone powder had been flung into the blood while their throats and lungs still sang the song of torment. 
All around the room, the Dark Wolves stood. Nineteen of them plus him made twenty. They stood with heads lifted high and eyes open. They stood unmoving in the blood. They did not make a sound save that of their breathing. Hagar stopped moving as well. But the blood still churned as the souls he had ripped from bodies warp years away writhed and fought to be free. Finally with a word he slammed his hands into the blood and brought forth a soul. It manifested as a blood silhouette in his hands. It tried to fight but was powerless to do so. With another word Hagar pulled the soul from the blood and slammed it into the armor of one of his brothers. Hiason fell to his knees and anointed his armor in the blood. 
One by one each soul was bound into the Dark Wolves armor and one by one the Dark Wolves knelt into the blood. At last Hagar pulled the last soul from the blood and slammed it into his breast plate. Exhausted and exhilarated he allowed himself to fall to his knees in union with his true brothers. A wind of sorts began to twist around the room and the hanging bodies of the Dark Angels began to move. The ropes holding them began to tear and shred. One fell into the blood. The still living flesh bag sank to the floor and drowned, its mouth and lungs unable to stop the blood from rushing in. One by one the Dark Angels fell into the blood until at last all were consumed and drowned. 
The Dark Wolves stood as Hagar uttered a final word that shook the room. The light was extinguished but not the wind. The blood began to swirl rising and falling and then everything stopped. The binding was complete. The doors to the great room were opened at last and the Dark Wolves stepped out in a flood of sanguine fluid. None looked back into the room. There was no point in looking back for there was nothing left to see. The corpses were gone having been swallowed into the warp to be consumed by the beasts that looked upon the sacrifice. 
Hagar held his staff and knelt before a great throne that held a thousand skulls and reeked of a thousand corpses. The sickness that was common to the Dark Wolves leapt forth and permeated everything within reach of its foul stench. Hagar hated that smell as did each of his brothers, but it was a small price to pay for revenge. Hagar kept his face to the ground for a long moment before lifting his eyes to look upon his master. Skyrar’s black eyes looked down and met Hagar’s. ‘Is it done?’ he asked. Skyrar’s voice was like the grinding of to stones together over broken bones. It was cold and yet full of life and hate. Hagar smiled as the question was answered for him by the screaming of the souls bound into the Dark Wolves armor.


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## Dave T Hobbit (Dec 3, 2009)

Interesting description of ritual magic.


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## Dave T Hobbit (Dec 3, 2009)

Interesting description of ritual magic.


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