Wind and frost. Besides that, there was a biting chill.
This was Fenris, not the legendary lush greenery, but only the bone-chilling wind and endless frost.
The world of Fenris, a planet almost eternally frozen, where summers were short and intense.
Summers were brief and violent; when volcanoes erupted, the ice-bound surface cracked in the searing heat, and magma, laden with meltwater, shifted tectonic plates.
The ice islands and floating continents of the frozen sea, alternating between summer melting and winter winds, meant the geography was constantly changing, never the same year after year.
The people of Fenris, like rock thorns on the ice plains, took root amidst the tearing winds and snow, stubbornly surviving.
On the ever-changing frost, they constantly vied for living space.
They vied with humans, with monsters left over from ancient times, and with packs of wild wolves.
A few years ago, a human tribe discovered a strange, wolf-skinned creature. It lived with a wolf pack, behaving like a werewolf.
The werewolf and its wolf brothers attacked the tribe, and eventually, the wolf pack suffered heavy losses and fled in disarray.
To cover the wolf pack's retreat, the werewolf and its wolf brothers stayed behind to fight the human hunting party. They were eventually captured.
The people subdued the werewolf. As it bared its fangs, threatening the crowd, they used long spears to pull back its wolf skin.
The true face of the strange creature astonished the hunting party; it was a naked human.
He was extraordinarily strong, his limbs and torso powerful with muscle. His toes and fingers were as sharp as a beast's, his face wrinkled with anger, tusks grew from his mouth, and wolf's mane sprouted from his cheeks.
People were astonished by his form, yet they still brought him back to the tribe and gradually accepted him.
The tribal chief named him Leman Russ, meaning Russ' love.
Russ quickly learned human language and, with his two wolf brothers, survived among the humans.
In the eyes of the wild wolves, humans were no different from them; they were a kind of kin.
After the shattering of the Golden Age, to resist Fenris' harsh natural environment, humans injected themselves with the "Wolf's Helix."
Those who did not succumb to bestiality and successfully endured gained bestial strength, allowing them to withstand the storms.
The failures, whose minds were consumed by wildness, became the wild wolves of the Fenris ice plains.
Russ gradually displayed his talents as a Primarch, instructing the Russ tribe's blacksmiths in forging and leading warriors in campaigns across the land.
Through repeated conquests, Russ earned respect and was fully accepted and embraced by the humans.
Before the tribal chief died, he appointed Russ as his successor to continue leading the tribe.
Under Russ' leadership, the Russ tribe unified half the hemisphere, becoming the true overlord of Fenris.
Today, the tribe was exceptionally lively. A grand raid had seized a large amount of supplies, and the people were celebrating another victory.
Leman Russ laughed boisterously in the tribal hall, his hearty laughter drowning out everyone else's conversations.
He was at the very center of the feast, his enormous physique drawing attention, while behind him, his wolf brothers devoured meat, showing expressions of enjoyment.
The Primarch was the center of the feast. All warriors and attendants drank Fenrisian spirits and heartily ate fat-rich roasted meat.
Since Russ took power, he had led his warriors to hunt giant beasts, killing previously unconquerable creatures, ensuring the tribe enjoyed abundant food even in winter.
No leader could ever surpass him, the Great Wolf—Leman Russ.
Because of his existence, Fenris' winters no longer inspired fear, but were merely a comfortable wait before the arrival of summer.
Russ drank the strong liquor heartily and chewed down large mouthfuls of roasted meat. The amount of meat and liquor he consumed far exceeded the total of all the warriors combined.
He thoroughly enjoyed everything in the present, expressing himself freely and joyfully, without needing to care too much.
Russ' wolf-like instincts were keen. He acutely perceived all the external expressions and internal psychological activities of everyone in the banquet hall.
Someone slapped a serving girl's shapely bottom, causing the girl to shriek in surprise and quickly leave.
It wasn't excessive. The warrior and the girl had an ambiguous relationship; she just hadn't expected the sudden attack and shrieked in embarrassed indignation as she fled.
The faces of the warriors returning from the raid were flushed red, clearly drunk by several others. They jumped onto the round tables, spittle flying, recounting how they had beheaded enemies.
His actions were wild and intense, boasting of his achievements, and though there was a suspicion of exaggeration, it still ignited the atmosphere of the feast.
In the dim corners of the banquet hall, several warriors, red-faced, were still arguing over the spoils of war, and the tension between them gradually increased.
Russ drank a large gulp of strong liquor, then picked up a sizzling, oily roasted rib in front of him and casually tossed it in front of them.
The roasted meat falling from the sky made the arguing men jump up, immediately abandoning their quarrel and turning to find out who had thrown the meat.
"Come here! Eat meat and wrestle!"
The men saw Russ beckoning to them, immediately put aside their unpleasantness, and gathered around him.
"Wrestle!"
Russ urged impatiently. He loved wrestling, and the first skill he learned in the human tribe was wrestling.
Under his impatient urging, several warriors walked to the center of the banquet hall and began to grapple with each other.
The men vented their frustrations during the brawling, wrestling until their noses were bruised and faces swollen, but their conflicts were completely resolved.
Beneath Russ' savage exterior lay keen intuition and a clear mind.
His seemingly careless and barbaric demands were, in Fenrisian fashion, a way to unite his warrior brothers.
He was very satisfied with the current atmosphere, narrowing his eyes in enjoyment, watching the intense and carefree laughter.
Yet, in the depths of the Great Wolf's eyes, a profound calm was hidden.
Amidst the laughter and the curses of wrestling, the atmosphere of the feast gradually reached its climax, promising another sleepless night.
What Russ didn't know was that on the ice plains of Fenris, two figures, one tall and one short, were walking through the snowstorm, gradually approaching his tribe.
Their cloaks were lifted by the cold wind. Undaunted by the Fenrisian night, they steadily advanced through the snow-covered wilderness.
These were the Emperor and Blazkowicz, who had descended from the Emperor's Dream to Fenris.
The raging wind and snow could not shake the two transcendent beings. The giant beasts of the wilderness trembled, fearing their powerful aura.
Blazkowicz wore a suit of unpowered light armor. His combat boots trod on the snow. His waist had only a simple skirt-like armor, leaving his thighs and upper body bare.
His heroic face, in the shadow of his cloak's hood, revealed only half of his chin.
He was quite curious about the Emperor. Before departing, the Emperor wore a true suit of armor, but now he only wore a robe. While his stature had shrunk, his figure looked extremely gaunt.
"Why this method?"
Blazkowicz asked, his voice cutting through the wind and snow, clearly reaching the Emperor's ears: "A landing craft could have descended directly to the tribe; negotiations could have been conducted just as well."
He now somewhat understood that the imposter who enjoyed role-playing games might have often been by the Emperor's side, learning such bad habits by constant exposure.
"Long-term solitary life, or life as an adopted child, your brothers, like you, have developed independent personalities."
The Emperor, holding the edge of his hood with one hand to prevent it from being blown off by the wind, explained the initial intention of their action to Blazkowicz: "I hope to foster some affection through a bit of interaction."
"To increase our mutual understanding."
"Perhaps it will be useful," Blazkowicz said noncommittally, maintaining a neutral stance on the Emperor's "interaction," neither denying nor supporting it, preferring to observe first before drawing conclusions.
As they spoke, the two arrived at the entrance of Russ' tribe. The tribal guards at the gate were inside the guardhouse, drinking and eating meat by the dim yellow light.
The two figures quickly caught the attention of the guards, especially Blazkowicz's physique, which made the guards instinctively tighten their grip on their weapons.
The guards, with spears and battle-axes in hand, rushed out of the guardhouse and sternly demanded: "Who are you?"
The newcomers were mysterious, wearing concealing cloaks. They certainly didn't look like good people.
The tall figure was even taller than Russ.
"No need to be nervous," the slightly shorter one spoke. He took off his hood, revealing a dark-skinned, gaunt middle-aged man.
The peace and inclusiveness in his words made the guards lower their guard: "We come from afar, travelers passing through, hoping to rest our feet here."
The guards nodded repeatedly, somewhat convinced.
On the Fenrisian wilderness, where monsters and wolf packs roamed, the fact that these two could travel safely naturally meant they possessed extraordinary abilities.
They were highly skilled, yet they made no excessive moves; their words, on the contrary, were very polite.
"I'll take them to see Russ."
The guard gestured to his companion. He would take the strangers to see Russ and wasn't afraid of any unusual moves from them; Russ' strength would resolve everything.
"Come with me, strangers," the guard's eyes constantly roamed over Blazkowicz's body. Russ should be able to take him on—right?
What if he couldn't?
If Russ couldn't handle it, what else could be done? The tribe would just surrender; any more sacrifices would be meaningless.
Blazkowicz remained silent, learning the language of Fenris.
Although the Imperium and Argent Nur were half a galaxy apart, their linguistic heritage was the same, stemming from the "High Gothic" of the Golden Age.
Despite thousands of years separating their encounters, language communication presented no obstacles.
The language of Fenris had degenerated, becoming one of countless dialects officially designated as "Low Gothic" by the Imperium.
On the spaceship, Blazkowicz had read the planetary data provided by the impostor and listened to relevant recordings, memorizing some terminology.
Now, he took advantage of the Emperor's conversation to rapidly learn the Fenrisian language.
As for the Emperor, his psychic power was immense; any language he spoke would be the true language that others could understand.
The two were soon led by guards to the center of the tribe, hearing the distant revelry and clamor of the feast.
Laughter and curses merged, creating a wild roar, occasionally punctuated by the howls of wolves, as if they had arrived at a primitive tribe where humans and beasts coexisted.
Blazkowicz's nostrils twitched, catching the smells around the hall: sweat mixed with grease, and even the stench of wolf feces.
He widened his eyes for a moment, then smiled and shook his head in understanding.
He could choose not to understand, but he had to show respect. He would follow the advice of the Warrior's Law: observe first, then offer opinions.
The Emperor merely shook his head, showing no signs of disgust. The primitive eras he had experienced were a hundred times more harsh than the current environment.
"To Russ! The strongest warrior of Fenris! May you conquer the storm!"
The feast was at its climax, with Fenrisian warriors offering praise and blessings to their ruler.
Blazkowicz and the Emperor exchanged glances. Led by the guards, they politely pushed open the large doors.
The moment the doors opened, the boisterous atmosphere of the banquet hall gradually cooled, and all eyes converged on the entrance.
A giant stood at the doorway, cloaked and exceedingly tall, with a mysterious runic symbol on his chest, standing there, surveying the hall.
The Fenrisians' gazes went back and forth between the mysterious giant and Russ, subconsciously comparing the sizes of the two towering figures.
Ultimately, they concluded that Russ was slightly inferior.
The never-before-seen giant at the door was estimated to be five meters tall, while Russ was only four meters, not as burly as him.
Russ, who had been leaning back, sat up straight in his chair, also staring at the tall figure.
His wild instincts told him that the giant before him was an insurmountable presence.
Blazkowicz also saw the man on the massive chair. His face had a wild, unbridled look, with sharp canine teeth and wolf's mane growing from his jowls. His eyes were the tawny yellow of a beast, as sharp and dangerous as a wolf's.
Yet, Blazkowicz sensed a calmness, a wisdom hidden beneath the savage exterior, and a unique, steadfast soul.
"Outsiders?"
Leman Russ stared intently at the giant, unconsciously straightening his back, yet casually picked up a piece of roasted meat in front of him and brought it to his mouth.
"We are outsiders from afar, travelers passing through."
Eyes drawn to the tall figure, they heard an unusually calm voice and then saw another person standing beside him.
The cloaked companion was a slender, brown-skinned middle-aged man.
"Travelers?" Russ rubbed his chin, his eyes constantly looking at the self-proclaimed "traveler," clearly not believing it.
"However," the middle-aged man raised his voice so that everyone in the banquet hall could hear, "I do not agree that he is the strongest warrior."
"Let alone this one beside me," the middle-aged man pointed to the tall figure, then to himself, "you can't even defeat me!"
As soon as the middle-aged man finished speaking, a huge burst of laughter erupted in the banquet hall.
"Hahahaha!"
The Fenrisians roared with laughter as if they had heard a joke, their spittle and strong liquor dampening their thick beards.
The guards who had led the two in merely retreated to the side. He thought this person was a bit off; he said he came in to rest his feet and get some hot wine to warm himself, but after a few words, he started looking for trouble.
Russ also laughed, his laughter hollow and prolonged, like the howl of a lone wolf under the moon.
He found the person in front of him amusing; the first half of his statement was debatable, as the tall figure was indeed very dangerous, but the second half was utterly presumptuous.
"If I defeat you, will you submit to me?" the middle-aged man asked again, with a mysterious confidence.
Blazkowicz's thick eyebrows furrowed under his hood; the Emperor's "interaction" was indeed a bit amusing.
If showing up and demanding the host's submission counted as interaction, then the Emperor was doing quite well.
"How about this, outsider." Russ ran both hands through his golden hair, tidying it, and looked at the two outsiders, "According to Fenrisian tradition, we will have three trials."
"Three trials: eating, drinking, and strength. If you can defeat me, I will submit to you."
"What do you say?" Russ' wild, beast-like eyes fixed on the tall warrior who had not yet spoken.
"Alright."
"I will compete with you in eating and drinking," the Emperor pointed to himself, then to Blazkowicz, "He will compete with you in strength."
"No problem, outsider." Russ stood up from his chair, looking at the outsiders with full confidence, "Leman Russ accepts all challenges."
Perhaps he was lacking in martial prowess, but when it came to eating and drinking, Russ feared no one.
"No," Blazkowicz shook his head, rejecting the Emperor's proposal, and said in slightly unfamiliar Fenrisian, "I am not good at fighting. I will compete with you in eating and drinking, and he will compete with you in strength."
"Boo!" At these words, the Fenrisians booed loudly, banging on the tables, mocking the big man as all show and no substance, despite his large build.
What did he mean, not good at fighting? Just his physique standing there, the sheer oppressive presence could scare someone to death.
The Emperor looked up and sideways at Blazkowicz, who was wearing a hood, and realized he had no intention of cooperating, and shook his head helplessly.
Not good at fighting? Who in the universe could contend with him?
"No problem, I can accept that." Leman Russ grinned, showing his canine teeth, pleased.
Defeating the big man in eating and drinking, and the small man in strength; victory was within reach.
"Bring on the ale!!!"
Russ let out a low growl, announcing the official start of the trials.
Blazkowicz pulled back his hood and sat at a long table opposite Russ, a mysterious smile on his face, anticipating the strong liquor and roasted meat.
Russ and the Fenrisians were also momentarily stunned by the big man's heroic face, and the serving women in the banquet hall blushed profusely, swaying their slender waists and frequently casting alluring glances.
They all shook their heads, saying that a powerful big man with a heroic face claiming he wasn't good at fighting was not to be believed for a single word.
The Emperor also sat to the side, quietly watching their eating and drinking duel.
Blazkowicz grabbed a wine barrel, a barrel that required two Fenrisians to lift, but in his hands, it was like an oversized cup.
He took a shallow sip of the local Fenrisian ale, and a scorching warm current flowed down his throat, making his eyes light up. He glanced at the strong man carrying the ale, then looked up at Russ opposite him and said, "A bit not enough."
Russ looked at the gradually accumulating mountain of wine barrels beside the two, somewhat surprised by the outsider's drinking capacity. His face lit up with the excitement of a worthy opponent, and he roared with high spirits, "Keep bringing them! Empty all the wine cellars!"
On the Emperor's calm face, an eyebrow subtly raised, and his dark eyes were also stirred with a certain interest.
With such a potent liquor, his body's functions would struggle to metabolize the alcohol without using his psychic powers.
"Prepare!" There was no more space for barrels around the two giants. A warrior walked to the center and forcefully smashed a drinking cup, "Start!"
At the word "start," the two Primarchs began their drinking competition.
Blazkowicz tilted his head back, aligning his mouth and throat, and used both hands to grab a barrel and pour it directly down.
His drinking style was even wilder; the extraordinarily potent liquor flowed like a waterfall from his mouth to his throat and then to his stomach. In just a blink of an eye, a dozen empty barrels were already discarded beside him, leaving the Fenrisians wide-eyed.
"Amazing!" The Fenrisians cheered, captivated by this wildness, screaming for the outsider's straightforwardness.
Russ' eyes were red; he too used both hands simultaneously, grabbing barrels and pouring them into his mouth, drinking heartily while observing the outsider.
"Fierce!"
The Fenrisians present continuously shouted and screamed, watching the two extraordinary warriors guzzle the liquor, hot as magma, which made their blood boil.
"Bring me a vat!"
Seeing himself falling behind, Russ roared, seizing the moment, and had the Fenrisian warriors bring up large vats; he was about to exert himself.
He leaned over into the vat, with people continuously pouring wine into it. The Primarch's throat was like a high-powered pump, and a whirlpool even appeared on the surface of the liquor in the vat.
"Too strong!" The crowd exclaimed, covering their faces to avoid excessive excitement.
Puffs of white smoke rose from Russ' body as his bodily functions operated at full capacity, expelling alcohol from his skin to prevent his brain from becoming intoxicated.
Blazkowicz caught sight of this scene from the corner of his eye; he had to find a way to break the stalemate!
Their competition wasn't about drinking capacity—a Primarch's physique made it impossible to get drunk. Instead, it was about who could consume more strong liquor before the alcohol ran out.
The goal of the competition was simple: the one who drank more strong liquor before the supply ran out would be the ultimate winner.
As Blazkowicz chugged his drink, he subtly sent a distress signal with his eyes to the only 'ally' in the arena—the Emperor.
Upon receiving Blazkowicz's gaze, the Emperor immediately understood it was his cue to act.
He raised his palm, and an invisible force lifted the mountain-sized wine barrels into the air. With a phantom grip, he crushed all of them.
The liquor inside gushed out. The Emperor enveloped the liquid in golden Psyker power, then waved his hand to separate the barrel fragments.
The fire-colored strong liquor, encased in a layer of bubbles, floated steadily before Blazkowicz.
Blazkowicz smiled in approval, giving the Emperor a thumbs-up before immediately plunging his head into the liquid bubble.
He sucked in fiercely, like a Kunpeng swallowing the sea, vigorously drawing the potent fine wine from the Psyker power foam, a swirling vortex extending from his mouth.
The Fenrisians had stopped their screaming, staring wide-eyed at the scene.
The two giant wolves were equally astonished; they stretched their tongues, widened their eyes, and rolled and writhed on the ground, expressing a shock that came from their very souls.
Only two superhumans in the hall made swallowing sounds from their throats, like Fenrisian sea monsters gulping down seawater.
White smoke billowed from their bodies, and the expelled alcohol condensed into a mist, eventually gathering into a high-concentration alcohol cloud at the hall's dome, even raining down a drizzling liquor.
Mortals in the hall collapsed, intoxicated by the inhaled alcohol mist.
The Emperor merely flicked his finger, and golden Psyker power instantly dispersed the alcohol, saving the Mortals in the hall.
Russ lifted his head from the wine vat. Witnessing this, his vigilance towards the Psyker Master abruptly intensified.
A sorcerer with such formidable power indeed had the right to challenge him.
"I concede!"
Russ saw the shattered wine barrels on the ground, far outnumbering his own, and frankly conceded without hesitation.
"Give me back my wine!" He said to the middle-aged man, a pained expression on his face, "The victor has been decided; don't waste the liquor."
The Emperor nodded. With a mere flick of his finger, all the empty barrels on the ground stood upright, and the liquor from the air precisely returned to them.
Blazkowicz licked his lips and nodded to Russ, without any hint of victorious pride.
"Shall we compete in eating next?" he asked softly, calm and genuine.
Russ' impression of the big man soared. This was a strong individual of great character, with a heart as vast as the ocean.
"Yes!" Russ was willing to contend with such a strong individual, out of basic courtesy and mutual respect.
"Someone, roast the meat!"
He roared, summoning all the master grillers, and the two sides began their second round of battle.
The hall was bustling with activity. Mortal warriors, bare-chested, toiled in front of the grills, sweating profusely as they roasted succulent beast meat. Russ had specifically instructed that the finest meat, prepared by true masters, must be served to their distinguished guests.
He and Blazkowicz continuously chewed the roasted meat, like bottomless abysses, devouring the endless supply of grilled meat.
Meat was also placed before the Emperor, who ate heartily, nodding in approval of the grilling technique.
The digestive systems of the two Primarchs before him were at their peak, converting everything they ingested into nutrients.
Hard bones, metal skewers, clinging charcoal—everything was swallowed without any adverse reactions.
In the eating contest, Blazkowicz and Russ looked at each other, a sense of mutual appreciation growing between them, an acknowledgment between gourmands.
Blazkowicz savored the taste of hot fat bursting in his mouth, his entire being filled with happiness and satisfaction.
His tongue carefully savored every ounce of rich aroma released as the muscle fibers tore apart.
Come one, come all! Come one, come all! Everything went into his mouth, everything into his stomach.
The functional differences between the two extraordinary beings became apparent, and the victor would soon be decided.
Russ felt a sense of fullness; his body had reached its limit and could no longer store nutrients.
Blazkowicz, however, was at ease, devouring roasted meat in large mouthfuls, his stomach seemingly a bottomless pit.
"Hiccup~"
Russ crunched a bone, burped as he swallowed, and generously admitted his defeat: "I concede!"
"You are too strong!" He shook his head, giving Blazkowicz a thumbs-up: "Russ admires you!"
"You as well." Blazkowicz swallowed the last bite of roasted meat, savoring the aftertaste, and saluted Russ.
"Then, next—hiccup~"
Russ turned his gaze to the Psyker Master, signaling the start of the final competition: "The test of strength begins now."
"Give me a few seconds." He gently rubbed his belly and twisted his waist a few times, quickly digesting the food in his stomach.
The Fenrisians gathered around. Compared to eating and drinking, combat was the main event and the crucial part of this competition.
If the middle-aged man lost, the previous two contests would be called into question. How could someone without strength command obedience?
Russ walked to the center of the banquet hall, raised his hand to signal the middle-aged man, and the final, most crucial round between them began.
The Emperor, expressionless, stepped onto the wrestling mat in the center of the banquet hall. His surface was calm as the sea, yet deep within, a storm was brewing.
Both understood that victory or defeat would be decided in an instant.
Russ took a deep breath. The best way to deal with a sorcerer was to charge forward and kick them hard before they could utter a spell or activate a ritual.
Then, the sorcerer's defeat would be assured.
He decided to go all out in this match, holding nothing back, unleashing the full power of his body.
"Are you ready?" Blazkowicz held two cups, acting as the duel's starter.
The two individuals on the central mat simultaneously looked at Blazkowicz and nodded with great solemnity.
"Clink~" The two wine cups clinked together, emitting a crisp sound, symbolizing the start of the match.
Boom!
In the eyes of the Fenrisians, the moment the battle began, there was a flash of golden light, and the outcome was decided.
Their tribal king, the Great Wolf Russ, was sent flying backward, falling to the ground unconscious.
Only three people in the arena witnessed the battle that occurred in an instant.
The moment the signal sounded, Russ' body, like a hunting gray wolf, suddenly lunged towards the Emperor. His speed was extreme; he intended to win with a single strike.
But then he saw that the Psyker sorcerer's figure suddenly swelled, and then a golden gauntlet extended from his cloak!
In that moment of stunned realization, the middle-aged man's appearance instantly transformed; his lean body became massive and majestic, radiating golden light.
Russ felt a primal stir of blood kinship. As he stood bewildered, the enormous golden fist struck his face, and his vision went black.
In a daze, Russ understood everything.
The anomalies on Fenris days ago, the outsiders in sealed armor, observing the tribe from the shadows.
At first, he thought they were invaders, until they vanished without a trace a few days prior.
Now, the golden giant standing before him was his birth father, who had come to take him home.
Then, his vision went black, and he fell unconscious.
The Fenrisians had no time to cheer; in their astonishment, they rushed to Russ' side to check if his mighty body was injured.
As Russ lay unconscious, the two white-maned giant wolves leaped onto the banquet table, lowering their bodies, arching their backs, and baring their fangs as they snarled softly at the Emperor.
"No need to be nervous."
The Emperor, his form returned to that of a magnanimous man of middle age, gently waved his hand, a calming gesture to the tense Fenrisians and the two giant wolves. "He will wake up soon," he promised, his voice a low rumble, "and you will know everything."
With that, he sat beside Blazkowicz, a casual, mortal figure in the face of such raw power, and drank the remaining wine from his cup, using a small knife to cut a piece of roasted meat. Seeing his lack of malice, the Fenrisians gradually lowered their guard. The two figures before them had defeated Russ in combat; if they had sought to harm his people, it would have already been done.
"Go get a bucket of ice water," Blazkowicz gravely instructed the anxious crowd. "And pour it on him. It's very effective."
The Emperor's eyebrow quirked, a silent glance at Blazkowicz. A hint of dark wit. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and the Fenrisians obeyed. With a mighty splash, the bucket of ice water descended upon their Primarch. Russ jolted, his beast-like gaze sweeping around, locking onto the one who held the bucket.
Yet he did not rage. Instead, he scrambled to his feet and knelt before the Emperor, a gesture that shattered the Fenrisians' expectations. "Father!" he choked, his voice thick with sincere emotion. "I am willing to submit to you."
The Emperor smiled, his form once again transforming into the great, golden, power-armored figure of myth and legend. The Fenrisians, seeing the divine form, fell to their knees in reverent awe.
"Rise, my son," the Emperor commanded, extending a golden-armored hand to stroke Russ' hair. He crouched slowly, drawing his son to his feet. "I have come to take you home."
And just like that, a father-son reunion was concluded. Russ knew everything. The Emperor had come from Terra to pick him up; it was time to leave Fenris and see the grand design of the Imperium.
He brought his wolf-brothers, Freki and Geri, and his chosen warriors, boarding the magnificent voidship. In the resplendent palace of the Emperor's Dream, Blazkowicz sat on the steps, stroking the two white-maned giant wolves. Blazkowicz, a giant in his own right, found it as easy as a normal person petting a dog. Freki and Geri purred with contentment, their ears twitching as they listened to the conversation between their master and the Emperor.
By the throne, the two conversed. The Emperor enlightened Russ, explaining his existence, the state of the Imperium, and the urgency of the Great Crusade. Russ, too, marveled, learning his destiny and the great legions of gene-sons created in his image. Blazkowicz heard it all, but neither interrupted nor offered an opinion. He simply listened, a quiet observer.
Blazkowicz stood up and walked to the palace's viewport, squinting into the depths of the Warp.
"Brother!" a warm voice called from behind him. Russ had crept up, letting out a sudden roar.
Blazkowicz turned, a slight smile on his face at his brother's goofy grin. "Why the look of deep suffering?" Russ asked, his joking reined in by the profound fire of hatred in his brother's eyes.
"I bear a monstrous blood feud. Should I set it aside for the Great Crusade?" Blazkowicz did not hide his truth, confiding in Russ.
Russ walked to the viewport, standing beside Blazkowicz. He asked earnestly, "Are the enemies very strong?"
"Very strong," Blazkowicz nodded.
"Then you must participate in the Great Crusade and complete the Great Crusade!" Russ turned, looking up at his magnificent brother. "Complete his plan, and we brothers will help you get your revenge!"
Blazkowicz's heart trembled. This was the most direct solution he had ever heard, a simple, clear path.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"We are bound by blood! Helping a brother get vengeance is only right!" Russ put an arm around Blazkowicz's broad shoulders. "I have a question," Russ continued, changing the subject. "I lost at eating and drinking. Can I beat you in a fight?"
"No, but you can try..." Blazkowicz answered gravely, with undeniable confidence.
A flicker of dejection crossed Russ' face, then he was gone, to look after the Fenrisians.
The Emperor's Dream exited the Warp, arriving at the "Gate of Hades" within the Solar System. Horus Lupercal had not yet left Terra, eagerly awaiting another Primarch.
But when he saw them, his noble face could not maintain its composure. The Emperor had hosted a banquet, and the Fenrisians frolicked like barbarians in the hall, heedless of the setting. On the second floor, behind a one-way window, veins pulsed on Horus' bald head. He had come full of anticipation, only to see a group of barbarians urinating on the soil of Terra.
"He is defiling your radiance!" Horus growled to his father. "A flea like him shouldn't even be on Terra!" He truly did not want to admit that the person urinating on the banquet hall pillar was his brother.
"You are wrong! Horus, maintain calm and reason," Blazkowicz said in a steady, deep voice. "Father has many sons, and each is different. Moreover, he grew up alone on a death world!"
Blazkowicz's gaze was sharp, piercing directly into Horus' eyes. "If you had fallen on Fenris, could you be civilized? Please tell me, my brother?" He deliberately re-emphasized "blood."
Horus was speechless. Blazkowicz's magnanimity, his use of history, struck him like a physical blow.
"Brother. We are bound by blood; you should show respect to every brother," Blazkowicz continued, his voice softer now. "We have twenty brothers, and there will be many more different beings. Are you going to issue decrees of extermination for all of them?"
"Enough," the Emperor, who had been silent, spoke. "You should spend some time alone with Russ."
The Emperor led Blazkowicz out. Blazkowicz nodded to Horus, an encouraging look in his eyes.
Horus watched them depart, his anger subsiding into a long sigh. He walked down the corridor to meet his brother. When Horus appeared, Russ knew instantly. But he saw the deeply hidden disdain in his brother's eyes. "Not as good as Blazkowicz," Russ couldn't help but think.
"Brother, we need to talk alone," Horus invited.
Russ nodded. When the door closed, Russ' demeanor immediately changed.
"Leman Russ," he said, stating his name. He was a different person entirely, the barbarian vanished, replaced by a wise and perceptive king. It was not until this moment that Horus truly realized how little he knew about this seemingly savage brother.
A week later, the Emperor sought out Blazkowicz alone. They walked through the intricate corridors to his private chambers, a space simple and unadorned, a stark contrast to the palace's splendor.
"Honor needs splendid embellishment," the Emperor explained, sensing Blazkowicz's thoughts. "The sacrifice of golden decorations is perhaps the only thing I can do to commemorate those mortals who gave their lives in the Great Crusade."
Blazkowicz nodded heavily, agreeing with the Emperor's words.
"What do you think of what Russ said?" the Emperor asked, his power armor gleaming. "Participate in the Great Crusade and support my plan first."
Blazkowicz crossed his arms and looked out the window. "What is your next plan?" he asked, unable to face the urgent plea in the Emperor's eyes.
The Emperor answered with two words: "The Webway. Humanity's salvation."
"Webway?" Blazkowicz spun around, his eyes sharp. He understood how the Master of Mankind had become involved with the Webway.
"I've heard rumors of it," Blazkowicz said, "and have some understanding."
The Emperor did not delve into how Blazkowicz knew about it. His calm, unruffled voice now held a hint of excitement. "I plan to hack into the Webway, move all of humanity into it, completely severing our reliance on the Warp. Thereby removing humanity from the sight of the Four Gods."
The Emperor walked to a wall, pulling back a red curtain to reveal his plan. On that obsidian surface, his future was depicted with complex lines and numbers. Primarchs, Space Marines, the Great Crusade, the Webway plan, species migration, and the beautiful future after escaping the Four Gods. He had used pure hand-drawing, inscribing dreams and the future in gold.
"Do you think it will succeed?" Blazkowicz asked.
The Emperor was silent, pondering. If anyone else had asked, he would have said yes, but Blazkowicz was different.
"With your help, the success rate can be increased by at least thirty percent," the Emperor finally said. "Originally it was only fifty percent, now it's eighty percent."
Blazkowicz looked at him with an "I'm not easily fooled" expression. "You said humanity only has one chance for revival?" Blazkowicz asked. "If you fail, do I still have a chance?"
"Humanity indeed only has one chance," the Emperor nodded. "I have one chance, you have one chance." He pointed at himself, then at Blazkowicz. "Before I saw you, I believed humanity truly only had one chance, and I had to seize it. Your return brought another chance, and I can even be bolder."
As the Emperor spoke, he grabbed a handful of gold dust and continued his artwork: "First, complete my plan, then you and I will join forces. Bring your brothers, and after stabilizing humanity's situation, together challenge the Four Gods."
"The Four Gods are not blind or deaf; they will do everything in their power to stop you," Blazkowicz warned, grabbing some gold dust himself. As it scattered, an ugly eight-pointed star appeared on the obsidian. Its evil tendrils pointed at every key point of the Emperor's plan, depicting Primarchs corrupted by Chaos, Legions fighting each other, a destroyed Webway, and a failed migration. At the center of the star, a glowing figure was imprisoned: the Emperor himself, a prisoner of Humanity's own species.
"That's why I need you!" The Emperor did not destroy the future Blazkowicz had depicted. He continued to move forward, throwing his own gold dust. As it scattered, a warrior rose, holding high a god-slaying sword, standing once again before Humanity. He was unyielding and powerful, confronting the ugliness of the Four Gods.
"You get one chance, I get one chance." The Emperor stood firm again, bringing the conversation back to its original point. He gave no commands or coercion; the plea and expectation in his eyes, like scorching sunlight, burned Blazkowicz: "If I fail, I will do everything I can to stabilize the situation and help realize your opportunity."
The Emperor's voice was too sincere. "Why are you so certain?" Blazkowicz still had his arms crossed. "So certain that I can seize the opportunity again."
"I am certain!" The Emperor's raised hand never lowered. "You are the Doom Slayer, the unyielding God-Slayer. If you fail, I am confident you can rise again!"
Blazkowicz looked at the Emperor's outstretched hand, and finally at his eyes, which shone with an undisguised certainty. Finally, he extended his hand and clasped it with the Emperor's: "First, we shall execute your plan, complete the Great Crusade!"