Squad Valis all that is known to remain of the 3rd great Pack of the Wolf Brothers. The 3rd Great Pack was on an emissary mission off world when the 'Great Change' came about. Slowly at first but with an alarmingly increasing rate members of the pack began to transform into the cursed Wulfen. When news came from Kaeriol that this problem was not isolated to the 3rd and that the Space Wolves we're even now traversing the warp to bring judgement on their lost sons all hope seemed lost. It was at this point in the young chapters history that it fell apart as it was in nature the individual packs split and sought only to look after its own, on Kaeriol the Great Packs fought each other for control of the armouries and for passage off world.

Luckily for the 3rd they had the chance to escape without conflict, like so many before and after, they did all those who had lost everything could do and fled to the dark abyss of the Eye of Terror. However this was not the end of the 3rd's problems as the change was still rampaging throughout the Pack unchecked. It was at this time that Jeptral Lothkarl Shaman of the 3rd did what his parent legion had fought against many years before and made a pact with the Chaos God Tzeentch to save those remaining in his Pack that had yet to be affected by the call of the Wulfen.

It was 350 years later that what remained of the Pack was absorbed into the Grand Company of Kloros Juddthall of the Black Legion and it was this pact that lead them to the agri world of Clauder

Squad Agnet served their legion honourably if without distinction. It was due to this lack of recognition that lead to the actions that would earn the squad its title 'The Grim Reapers' after the joy and enthusiasm with which they butchered the Terran Veterans during the Isstvan lll atrocity. The squad lost only one member during the events of the heresy, brother Enaol died on the word of Molech to an Imperial Army flamer squad. In the 600 experienced year since the heresy the have only lost a further two members; Brother Gaiment died on the frigate Barbaros' Mist from an explosion caused by lances from an imperial fleet 258 years after the heresy. Brother Voyten died against the Tau just 12 years before the assault on Clauder dying during a Kroot ambush it's said he died laughing as the first kroot who had began devouring his flesh began to come out in great pustules.

During the campaign on Clauder squad Agnet would be used extensively against the trench works of Derital and against its heavily contested eastern residential areas of the great port hive cities. Theirs use of chemical warfare turned the street into smog filled death grounds.

Tiberian looked around at the burning mortals camp, during the night they'd come for them, blown in like the wind before cutting through them, right to their heart. Men and women in pale blue flak armour streamed past him some even running into him in their blind fear. Unlike many within the legions he took little pleasure in butchering sheep, though he had rebelled against the emperor credit had to be given for what he had created. His squad on the other hand had no such reservations.

Faultan was currently dragging ammo crates aside to get to a pocket of resistance being organised by a captain, who seemed to be the only person in this place with any military knowledge. It did him little good in the end Faultans claws shredded through his ranks of men. The chitin covered skull on his back juddered up and down as if some inner predator was still alive in there.

The squad's heavy weapons specialist Zorgdon was spitting control bursts of rounds into the sea of humanity surrounding him each burst sent the jaw trophy on his back rattling, how he hadn't lost it after all these years still shocked him. With each spray of blood Zorgdon's eye lenses glowed with a malicious evil, the likes of which he had never quite seen in any other legionary, it often crossed his mind just what Zorgdon had given to the dark gods.

Finally his attention was drawn to To'rk and Hemlak, both moving through the knots of defence force butchering in their own ways. Hemlak's two power weapons lashed out independently of each other meeting little resistance, Hemlak had always been the duellist of the squad, always seeking the greatest challenge and the most extravagant kill. To'rk on the other hand was a man who had been wasted in the green of the Son's the blood stained white of the Eaters would have suited him better, he barrelled through the defence forces his chain fist lacerating men with every brutish swing.

In the distance a booming klaxon rung out audible even above the screams of the dying, the Ravens of House Morrigan were finally joining the fray....

Commissar Leytron hid. What else was there to do? Those creatures had moved through them as if they weren’t there, arms slicing out reducing his command to nothing in seconds. He had run, and he had hidden, and they had left him alone.
The rocks and debris cut at him, bring sharp needles of pain flaring through him. Screams and weapons could be heard still in the distance along with a high-pitched whining. It was then that he saw it moving towards him. A man in a deep purple armour was approaching, the arm was formed of slopping surface and covered in white rosette swirls, it was then he saw it his face. Unlike the rest of his armour his helm was a brilliant gold and formed into the shape of the Emperor. Tears exploded from his eyes, a saviour! He clawed his way from the gravel and groped at his saviour’s legs, he had to be sure, to be sure he was real.
……………
He looked down at thing clawing at his feet, tears ran down his distorted grim covered face. He reached his hand down and stroked it against him. The sensors in his armour made it feel as if he wore no armour at all, a tingle flared up his arm causing convulsions throughout it. Without though his arm reached for the mask attached to his face.
……………
A scent reached Leytron’s nose, not un-pleasant but neither was it pleasant it reminded him of the thick fumes that had lined the streets of his home world on the day of St Bastilian. Looking behind the angel brought a strangled whimper from his lips, creeping up on them was a something that had a vague resemblance to a human, but one who had been turned into a mockery of what the term meant. He was pushing a brazier from which a cloud of perfumed pink smoke floated.
He looked up at his protector, pleading for help, but the only movement he was making was to reach to his helmet. The thing behind him and stopped pushing the brazier and was now warily approaching them.
He heard a wet tearing noise and looked up. Its mask was half off its face now, but it seemed to be bringing most of the face with it leaving the wet muscles underneath exposed to the air, it’s eyes, blood shot and rolled back into their sockets betrayed the edges of brilliantly blue pupils. Its lips were peeled backwards revealing the nubs of where its teeth had once been. It casually flung its golden mask into the heart of the pink smoke, the creature behind them jumped around excitedly.
He desperately tried to push himself away, but it put a hand on his shoulder pulling him in closer. Its words came out as if it’s tongue wasn’t in one piece.
‘’Where are you going my child? I’ve not introduced to your new brother yet.’’

‘’And they shall know no fear’’
He snorted too himself, they knew fear alright, they may not fear death or the horrors of the galaxy but ‘he’ saw beyond that, even in those he called brother. He looked down at the axe resting in his hand, this one had been scared, what was it he had called him?
‘A witch’ that was it. He had looked beyond that screaming visage deeper beyond his indoctrinations even into his inner most feelings and he had seen it. The fear of something he didn’t understand, something he couldn’t touch. He had killed him and while the life had fled his body, he had shown him the truth. The real secrets of the warp and the inevitable fall of his beloved Emperor and finally he had allowed him to see the fate of his weapon, how it would channel the warp the lives it would take in the name of the ancient Gods he worshipped. That had done it, the last of the creatures conscious had slipped away.
His thoughts went to the Blood Angel mounted to his bike. Now that had been more than fear, the rage, that never-ending battle against rage that he was constantly losing. Being slowly dragged towards a cliff trying to claw his way back. He had broken him, like Horus had broken his father and when he spoke to the sons of Sanguinius he used that angel’s voice, so they’d know he knew them and he knew how to undo them.
The explosions brought him rushing back to reality, beneath him the Imperials camp was in flames, his mind was already thrumming with their fear.