Ragnar awoke with a start, not because of any bad dreams but of the scents hitting his nose like a punch from a power fist, but far far far more pleasant. A melange of scents his brain was rapidly identifying, whilst the names were still a bit unfamiliar to him he could smell sausages, bacon and some kind of bird that smelled awefully like a Fenrisian Mountain Grouse.

It took a heartbeat to let his eyes adjust to the pitch black of his cell before he slid out of his bed. That itself was still something he was getting use to in part. Use to a solid slab of mountain granite covered in a pelt the soft and springy bed had surprised him at first, just not use to the luxury of having something to lay on that yielded to you. The blankets were also new, whilst he in essence didn’t need them due to the alterations made to his body making him near immune to cold temperatures Ragnar had to admit that being able to drape a blanket over him felt good. Combined with the pillows Rangar found himself in the habit of curling up in a mass of sheets and pillows. Totally not a nest or den..okay…maybe a bit.

Adapting to not really having a schedule had been challenging, the Marine still busied himself in the morning either going for runs round the facilities grounds or going to the danger room most of the time but it felt ‘strange’ to have free time. But thoughts of going to the Danger Room or going for a run were firmly banished from Ragnar’s head, he could smell delicious food and that became the overriding matter for the Marine.

Pulling some jogging pants on and a T-shirt that still felt a bit too small the Marine padded downstairs, literally following his nose.

The chamber was dark, the black stone walls barely lit by the burning flickering torches or lux-globes that spread a cold grey light around the room whilst from the speakers hidden in alcoves or worked artfully into black iron angels, chants and prayers to the Emperor played, a low background noise in addition to beneditions against Chaos and Heresy.

“This looks familiar does it not brother?” Angron said, giving Ragnar a sidelong glance, the hulking armoured form of the Primarch seeming ghostly, one minute solid the next little more than a haze.

“An Inquisition interrogation cell…yes I’ve seen these unhallowed places…” Ragnar replied, resisting the urge to throw himself at the shadowed form of the traitor Primarch.

“And do they look familiar?”

Angron said, stepping back. A dozen meters down, beyond the armoured glass were four cold steel tables with four people strapped to them. More hooded acolytes could be seen and there was the ozone tang of psychic powers being used.

Bobby, Logan, Thor, Baird were all strapped to the tables. The blond Asgardian was encased in the shimmering blur of a stasis field whilst capacitors whined, building a charge to a large barrel descending from the roof. Thor’s face was frozen in a silent, unending shout of defiance, his blue eyes open, shining with the strength that Ragnar knew was the core of his being. But in a stasis field, there was nothing he could do, he was frozen in time.

Baird was not frozen in stasis, he kept thrashing against his bindings, the armourplas blocking out what he was saying but Ragnar was lip reading regardless.

"You're a bunch of fuckin' idiots! So brainless your asshole 'emperor' could skullfuck you and not lower your IQs one bit! Yeah, pray to your god, see how much he cares!"

The Serran looked battered and bruised, a las burn on his right arm had been crudely healed, not that it mattered, you did not leave these chambers alive unless you was extremely lucky.

Logan was next, bound, stripped and chained, his hands encased in metal gloves, lashed and chained to the table like some kind of animal, a metal gag jammed into his mouth but his eyes burned brightly with hate and anger.

Bobby was the last, metal probes were sunk into his skull and spine, connected to a host of machines and his table and body were covered with a layer of psychic frost, his expressions slack and dull.

“Of course…they lobotomised him..but even that is not enough for the followers of the Corpse Emperor is it…Brother..” Angron hissed, his words pouring into Ragnar’s ear like hot lead as the Wolves stomach lurched before he started pounding his fists on the armourplas view port.

“Save your strength Ragnar Blackmane, you know what comes next…”

Down below a door hissed open and cherubim flew in flittering in patterns round the chamber as a robed Inquisitor in full regalia came in, followed by his servants reading aloud from the books of Pain and Punishment. A taller, armoured form was at his side but Ragnar could not make it out due to the darkness that defeated even his low light vision. A crimson robed Adept of the Mechanicum was also present, although to call him Human was a stretch of the imagination as his mechandrites snapped and swayed like a nest of snakes above his shoulders.

“For crimes most foul against the God Emperor of Mankind, for Tech-heresy, for causing the death and injury of His most Holy servants, for refusing to accept the Emperor’s light into your hearts and souls, for genetic impurity, for perverting the most Hallowed Form of Man and for refusing to be taken into His most Holy service with psychic abilities, you are all to be sentenced to death. Your crimes are many, your heresy obvious and the damage you caused before being subdued extensive. There can be no redemption for you, no mercy. Abhor the Witch. Hate the Mutant. Kill the Heretic. So as it was, so shall it be, God Emperor be blessed.”

Over all this Baird was laughing, pouring white hot scorn onto the Inquisitors words that had no effect, forming a background noise to the Inquisitors amplified voice but Ragnar felt proud at his friends defiance.

“Why..why show me this…to break my will?”

“Ragnar..that will break eventually…but not here, not now.” Angron replied with a chuckle that sounded like a tank’s engine starting up.

“But you have forgotten who and what you are. You ape their emotions, you copy their friendship…longing for the brotherhood denied to you…you know what you are…what you do. You’re a killer…and you will turn on them in the end. All of them. The wolf will take you…and they will not survive…the death they suffer here..is far more merciful…”

Down below in the chamber the armoured form walked forwards and Ragnar wanted to roar in refusal. He saw himself, fully armoured, Frostfang in hand, walking towards the bound prisoners, getting to Baird first.

“Just fucking do it already…at least I won’t have to eat any of your shitty prison food…fucking worst junk I’ve ever tasted.”

‘Ragnar’ raised Frostfang, the blade roaring to life.
“In nomine Dei Imperator . Mors est haereticus .”
The blade fell and Ragnar awoke, a scream barely held in his chest, his body bathed with sweat, Angron's cold chuckle still ringing in his ears.

Ragnar and Damon’s binge went on for a good few hours, the two drinking and just enjoying the food whilst Ragnar refreshed himself with the bottle of turps he’d found, only grumbling about its lack of any distinct flavour and that it was a dull drink that relied on its heat. Thanking Damon for his company the marine stood to leave and on auto-pilot Ragnar returned to his room, his belly full with some of the finest and yet strangest foods he’d ever tasted and a pleasant buzz from his drink that his bio-engineered organs were quickly filtering away.

Although his mind was still buzzing about the events earlier in the day he disrobed and lay on his bed, hands laced behind his head. When he wanted sleep he could go to sleep in the space of a minute yet despite trying, Ragnar didn’t get to sleep for a full thirty minutes, drifting off slowly into an unsettled sleep.

His armour was torn, internal systems faltering and dying, the fusion reactor in his backpack was making truly alarming noises but Ragnar grinned savagely even as his blood ran down his breastplate. His target was in sight, the object of his hate and scorn. The architect of the lies that had shaped his and uncounted trillions of lives and was willing to spend them with barely a thought. Its guardians had fought and died bravely but they could not, would not stay his hand.

But all it was, was a corpse, sat atop a massive golden throne who’s intricacy and ostentation were covered under thousands of cables and wires going into the armoured skeleton that sat immobile and upright, a sword of huge proportions across its lap.

Pulling Frostfang back to strike the marine rocked back as a voice hammered into his mind.
*Why?*

“Because I must…because everything you stand for, everything you are is a lie, a lie you could stop, but do not.. why? Because I must. Because humanity will never be free with you at its helm. Tyrant!”
Ragnar’s blade descended with glacial slowness and just as it made contact with the skull of the Emperor everything went black.

‘Have I done it? Are we finally free?’ Rangar thought, glancing down to see his armour repaired, looking good as new, there was no pain, no blood, just darkness. Darkness that filled with fire and booming footsteps.

The…creature was immense, as tall as a Warhound titan, its fists the size of a rhino, its head savagely saurian with iron and bronze dreadlocks coming from the back to form a mane of hair. The runes on its armour burned Ragnar’s eyes to look upon them and he knew what this was even as the stench of blood reached him.

“Well done little mortal.” The things voice was like tank treads on rubble or the rumble of distant thunder and artillery fire.

“You have done what I never could…what Horus never could…”
“Who are you…” Ragnar growled, his teeth bared.

“I have so many names…titles and honorifics…I will settle for the most simple…Angron.”
Ragnar’s hearts skipped a beat, his blood running cold. A traitor Primarch…

“You and me..we are alike, in more ways than you know. Like you I hated our father, he betrayed my brothers and sisters, left them to die…chained us ALL to his will…but you…brother…you severed those chains for ALL of us..” As the great beast approached its form was shimmering altering changing into something more human in looks if not scale. The face could have once been handsome, but rage had altered it into something hideous.

“I…did what was needed…”

“As did I…”

“You broke your oaths!”

“You killed the Emperor…driven by your hatred, your strength your need for vengeance..there are rewards for such acts of slaughter…and you ARE a killer Ragnar Blackmane..Brother…”

Ragnar blinked and his gaze was drawn down, gone was his storm grey armour, in its place was armour the colour of freshly spilled blood edged with bronze that seemed to pulse with an inner light in time with his hearts beating.

“Say it…say the words you KNOW you want to…deep down, we’re the same…killer, butcher…weapon…servant of Khorne..”

“NEVER! I AM NOT LIKE YOU! I WILL NEVER BE LIKE YOU!” Ragnar surged forwards even though he knew it was death to do so. He would not submit, not again, not to any ‘god’ or creature that fancied itself as a god. He was now free…and would live and die free.

“So be it…” Angron growled, his axe, swinging, biting into armour, flesh, bone…organs.

Ragnar roared in pain. “I’ll die a free man…not a slave..never a slave again…traitor…” His last act was to swing his blade as the world went black.

Ragnar awoke with a start, his hand embedded in the wall up to the elbow, his sheets kicked off him, one pillow torn to shreds the other flung against the opposite wall. Pulling his arm out of the wall Ragnar put a hand on his chest, his breathing hurt and his hearts hammered, his body keyed for combat.

“I’m no traitor...if I could do that…I’d do it gladly..to be free..”

The computer scans had been sitting on the front of his tablet for a while; for most of that time, the familiar smug leer had sat on Damon's weathered face.
Shit... this tech might be advanced but I can actually do better. I'm. So. Fucking. Awesome.

He plotted out the modifications and he knew what he could improve; 3.87% improved heat dissipation. It'll keep him comfier in the suit and the Hydrogen cells will last longer. Indeed, when Damon found out the suit used a minaturized hydrogen fusion reactor he didn't know whether to cum in his pants, reverse engineer and patent immediately or to panic over having an atomic hot potato which could destroy half of New York State sitting in his lab.

All he needed to do was replace some conduits in the suit with silver ones laced with synthetic diamond, and use a new thermal paste which Hank helped him cook up; also based on synth-diamond plus some carbon nanotubes in it as well.

There was, however, one little problem with Damon's plan; a problem which was quite well signified by the fact that Frostfang was still embedded in the floor right outside his workshop. He remembered when Ragnar tried to slice his door open; his knuckles were white as he gripped at his firearm.
Religious fanatic. Serious true-believer type. Priests tend to his armor. Its gotta be sacred. There's no fuckin' way he wants me modifying this.

But Damon knew he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it. And who knows, maybe Psycho-Puppy will actually be less chemically brainwashed now and listen to some fuckin' reason. Immediately he sent a text message to Ragnar and asked the man to come down to the workshop.

And take your chainsword with you on the way out he added to the end of his note.

After tidying up the kitchen, Ragnar had helped himself to a few of the cylinders of metal that contained alcohol, not bothering with the can's pull tab he just bit into it, snorting and coughing in supprise when he got a high pressure jet of beer shoot into his mouth. He used the ring pull on the second can.

Spying a hearth with coals and wood in it the Marine got a fire going and he hauled one of the couches round so he could sit looking into the fires, listening to the crack and pop of the wood, the wind hissing through the trees outside. It was..strange to be at peace like this, it was almost meditative for him.

Unbidden the lyrics of a song came to mind, not one of the rowdy songs sung at the feasts, far from it. But for the life of him Ragnar could not remember where he had heard it, it was of Fenris that he was sure. But where.. He didn't even realise he was singing it quietly, looking into the fire, trying once more to grasp at smoke in his mind

"Heyr, himna smiður,
hvers skáldið biður.
Komi mjúk til mín
miskunnin þín.
Því heit eg á þig,
þú hefur skaptan mig.
Eg er þrællinn þinn,
þú ert drottinn minn.

Óðinn, heit eg á þig,
að þú græðir mig.
Minnst þú, mildingur, mín,
mest þurfum þín.
Ryð þú, röðla gramur,
ríklyndur og framur,
hölds hverri sorg
úr hjartaborg.

Gæt þú, alvaldur, mín,
mest þurfum þín,
helzt hverja stund
á hölda grund.
Send þú, konungur Russ,
málsefnin fögur,
öll er hjálp af þér,
í hjarta mér."

The words were a prayer, a prayer for peace, strength and fortitude..and Ragnar could not remember where he'd heard them, only that some time in his life, he had.
When he finished Ragnar snorted, his eyes damp The heat from the Hearth no doubt..

For two weeks Ragnar had been living in the Mansion, padding around, getting to know the place and those who lived at the Chapter House. He'd been more pleased when he had found the Danger Room and had been instructed on its use. It was different to the Practice Cages he'd trained in but in this case different was a good thing. Fully programmable, any environment he chose and with a huge catalogue of things to fight. As a consiquence of this he spent most of his time in there, or out running round the Chapter Houses impressive grounds.

This had only caused one minor kerfuffle when he and a large blond had met for the first time and argued over who's turn it was to use the Danger room. This had ended in what could be called a friendly brawl, Ragnar sensing something of The Wolf in the big man who even had teeth a bit like his own. Bruises and scuffs were traded and the beginnings of a bond but also something else could not have gone unnoticed by Ragnar. After the fight his hands were..shaking, not from adrenaline..and he didn't know why. Assuming it was exhaustion Ragnar returned to his Cell to meditate and rest.

But the shaking didn't stop, indeed it was joined by an ache in his stomach that brought Ragnar out in a sweat. Muttering a prayer to the Emperor Ragnar growled to himself as he tried to will his body to heal.

What was happening though was beyond his control. In the food and water of the Fang that was given to the Marines, chemicals that helped to balance certain functions were part of the meal. Not out of malice, but because it had been that was for over 10,000 years as the Emperor had decreed. And none challenged the decree nor even thought about what was going into the food.

Without regular 'refils' these chemicals could be washed from the body, naturally purged or weakening as they were not reinforced and this is what had been happening over the two weeks since Ragnar's arrival and now at long last, it was starting to show. Hormones that had long been denied were flowing once more, the Marine had even found himself inexplicably getting hard during his scuffle with Victor

I've been drugged...by something powerful enough to overcome me..only a thing of Chaos could do that... Ragnar thought as he pushed himself to his feet unsteadily. Then he began to think of who it could be and if he was Emperor damned honest, he wasn't thinking straight. He recalled the scents of rut that he'd picked up coming off the short hairy one called Logan, off the male who had eyes like a Salamander's, black and crimson, but the body and build of an Imperial Assassin. Of one of the rooms he'd walked past that reeked of sweat and other bodily fluids. Slannesh...here? The thought that Stormborn Drake had inadvertently put him in a place where worshippers of the God of Excess lurked chilled Ragnar to the core, but then he realised that Bobby didn't have the Imperiums experience with cults. But he did.

Swaying on unsteady legs, Ragnar grabbed the vox (phone) and keyed in the code to speak to the Stormborn, but when there was no answer and he got the vox's servitor asking him to leave a message he had no choice but to do so.

"Stormborn...this is Ragnar, there is danger at the Chapter House...a cult of the Dark Gods has taken root here." Ragnar stopped to shake his head to try and clear it. "I need your aid, they have put a sporific into me..but worry not Stormborn." He said, glancing over to Frostfang, his chainsword that rested against a wall "I know how to deal with this heresy..."

Somewhere in the 40th Millenium.

Deep in the Warp there lurked consciousness’s. Broiling, turbulent storms of sentience given form through emotions refined, distilled, amplified, twisted and warped into polarising facets. These entities were as old as the universe, as old as sentient life and in the psyco-active substance of the Warp they were lords of domains that were cyclopean in scale. Realms of madness and endless violence for the Gods warred with one another for supremacy for that most delicious prize. Reality itself. Although these storms of sentience that could easily be called Gods desired the mortal realm, it was hard for them and their underlings, daemons to interact with reality. So they operated through pawns or used raw power to breach the barriers between the Warp and real space, flooding regions with their underlings. And now one of those maelstroms of malevolent intellect watched as a Mortal, a puny, ephemeral thing worked to undo His plans. Again.

For a moment it envied its 'brother' who felt nothing but rage because He felt something akin to that now as the mortal, a genebreed, or Space Marine as they were called slaughtered his way through cultists, disrupting a ritual that would have seen a world of billions plunged into madness and never ending Change. This would not do.

The God resolved to simply remove the object of its...frustration. It could not strike at the Mortal directly..but there were a billion and one ways to skin a wolf.

Ragnar Blackmane's blood sang, every sense keyed and alert as he waded into combat, the Chaos cultists were no challenge, they were humans, armed with little more than slug throwers and insane courage, no threat to an armoured Space Marine, let alone one of Ragnar's skill and ferocity. Even without his armour Ragnar was quicker, stronger and far more deadly than his foes but the thick ceramite Power Armour covering him augmented his speed and strength even further.

He could hear the other members of his Pack around him, he didn't need to turn his head to look, he could smell them and that was enough for the Space Wolf, with his Brothers with him and the foe before him there was no place he'd rather be.

Tzeench how ever had other plans. All it took was a flicker of concentration, a tug on the lines of fate, destiny and reality and a flicker of power at His command as Ragnar leapt, howling like a wolf, chain blade swinging towards the lead Cultists head for reality to shift in a blaze of blinding white light as Ragnar was sent...elsewhere, but not exactly where planned. No..far from it.


New York Financial District.

The offices of Jeremiah Sach's had seen more than its fare share of..'interesting things'over the years of being a leading interior design firm catering to the super wealthy. They had entertained Liberace, two European Royal families and Gaga but getting 7'4 of fully armoured Space Marine (a ton and a half in armour) appear out of thin air was definately a new one. Ragnar had been at a full sprint but appeared in the air, momentum and gravity conspiring to make him bulldoze back first into a rather ghastly statue of a nude woman before a ceramite armoured boot hammered through a metal, oak and glass table like a wrecking ball. His fighters instinct and training made him kick and push out with his arms, throwing his body up, into a half crouch but this mearly meant that he came up and then down onto a large photocopyer.

The machine didn't stand a chance, buckling, snapping and breaking under the sudden application of battle armoured marine but its frame held, momentum from his jump transferring into the wheels, the mangled and crushed photocopier with its grey armoured burden jerked and hammered into the tainted glass window separating the Sach's office from those of Bobby Drake. The thick glass never stood a chance, showering Ragnar with bits of safety glass as he was wheeled on his back into Bobby's office.