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"Few return whole in body and mind, from the apothecarion's touch."
-Remembrancer Jahn Elric, referring to the implementation of the Canis Helix (Space Wolf Legion "geneseed")

I was born too late to bear witness to the God Emperor's glory, and the Great Crusade's righteousness. I was born too late to lay eyes on my genefather, Leman Russ. By the time I was born, he only lived in memory

I don't despair at this. The God Emperor, whose invisible hand guides us all, acts in mysterious ways. I believe it was by fate that I was born in this age; this is where I belong

The Landspeeder sped along, its anti-grav generators thrumming and its diesel engine hacking up smoke. A blizzard raged all around us, blanketing the brown-green fields of Fenris in pale white. Brother Carec, situated comfortably in the pilot's seat, was driving more slowly than he'd have like to. He seldom appreciated these voyages. Neither did I.

I am a Wolf Priest; I trust the elements of nature, not machines. I prefer the tanned leather saddle of a galloping Thunderwolf to the cold steel seat of a Landspeeder; the Landspeeder won't care if it crashes. Our Priesthood's decision to wear canine skulls in favor of helmets symbolizes this. We prefer the natural to the unnatural.

It is only through the natural that the Space Wolves can be saved.

The Great Wolf Logan Grimnar, our Chapter Master, didn't support the voyage. I was forced to remind him of the fate of the Wolf Brothers, and the rapid degeneration of our kin. I was forced to speak of the Primarch I never knew, and the geneseed that threatens to tear us apart. It hurt to speak of my own Chapter's imperfection, and my own brothers' mortality. I was raised believing that the Space Wolves were majestic and flawless angels. As a child, I could never accept just how mortal they were.

Brother Carec stopped the Landspeeder just before the cave's entrance. With the stalactites and stalagmites ringing its stony entrance, it looked fanged. The tribes believed it to be the mouth of a dead God. I undid the restraint harness around my chest and hopped out of the speeder. My ironclad boots sunk into the snow, and I found myself up to my knees in it. I trudged my way towards the mouth.

The Wolf Brothers, may they rest in peace, were our Chapter's only successors. Grimnar, who decreed their creation, built the Chapter without Wolf Priests. A clear gesture of contempt towards our Priesthood. Without us, to call on the Fenrisian spirits and stabilize their geneseeds, they degenerated. Many succumbed to the Curse of the Wolfren.... the others, I don't like to talk about. Adults can't survive geneseed implementation, so all of the victims were children. I saw something skinless and eyeless, skulking about and trailing blood, and at heart it was just a scared child. When I drew my boltpistol, it whimpered. I closed my eyes when I pulled the trigger.

I stepped over the ridge of stalagmites and inside the cave. It looked like it'd been lightly dusted than snow and frost, but there wasn't too much. I'd been fearing that the blizzard would've sealed the cave. I rounded a corner and then descended down an unhewn staircase. The steps were tiny, clearly meant for mortals. As I went deeper, the howling blizzard grew further and further away. My footsteps were beginning to echo.

My Space Wolves, of all the Legions, were the most unfortunate. We were founded with an unstable geneseed, incapable of cooperating with a mortal host. It made men into monsters and turned their own bodies against them. Organs failed one by one, and strange things grew in their place. Musculature and bone shifted, for lack of a better term. The Curse of the Wolfren became increasingly common. Our Legion appeared doomed.

I reached the bottom of my steps. The shadows lying before me tingled me with dread. My chest tightened. I retrieved the chalk and set to work on the summoning circle. Slowly and carefully, I drew it around myself. The summoning circle was simple enough; a circle with four lines passing through it, dividing it into eight equal sections. Wolf Priest Ulrik once referred to it as, "the Pantheon Star of the Spirits".

The Space Wolves should've died off. But we refused to. As the Legion ceased recruiting from Terra and moved from Fenris, we began to recruit the sons of priests. They spoke of miracles performed by Fenrisian spirits, and their beliefs spread quickly the Legion. The first Wolf Priests were recruited from the wisest of these spiritual men. They were the ones who first made contact with the Dead One, and they were the ones who saved our Legion. The Dead One, born of the Fenrisian cycle of life and death, would save us where all others couldn't. And there I stood, to speak with him as I had done so many times before.

The circle was complete, and within it he could do me no harm. The Dead One, for all his mercy, lusts for souls. Before the summoning circles were known of, Brother Isaak summoned the Dead One without one. We heard a scream. By the time we reached him, his lifesigns had already gone out. His armor was voidsealed. We cracked it open, and what was left of Isaak poured out. It burned my eyes and knotted my gut.

With the circle completed, I set to work summoning him. I spoke the incantation that so many Wolf Priests before me had, enunciating every syllable with sharp precision. I caught a glimpse, in the corner of my eye, of something moving. Something slithering. I kept going with the incantation. I told myself that the circle would protect me, but the reassurance felt hallow. Maybe the uneven stone floor distorted the circle, every so slightly. Maybe one of the lines was a fraction of a degree off. Some sort of imperfection that's invisible to the human eye, but all too blatant to a spirit. The Dead One could've be crouched in the shadows, just waiting to pounce.

I finished the incantation, and was greeted by shallow breathing. It was quiet and subtle, but it was there, all around me.

"Priest," a voice drawled. It sounded like it was speaking from a mouth full of dirt.

"Dead One, we of the Space Wolves require your service." I was trained to speak impersonally. Never say 'I' or 'myself''. Never forget what you're speaking with. "Our geneseed had once again destabilized."

"Such a pity, such a pity," it said. It grinned, and its yellow teeth glinted. There was a wet sound, like lips smacking. "Show me your face."

I undid the clasps of my helmet. My head's up display went out, plunging me into darkness. I carefully removed the helmet and waited for my eyes to adjust. The cool air felt good on my face's weeping sores.

"So nice... come forward."

I took one step out of the circle. Then another. The shallow breathing grew louder. For just a fleeting moment, I saw it. The Dead One, with its slumped shoulders and its broken teeth and its terrible, terrible eyes, stared into me. It stared through me. It must've liked what it'd seen, because it let out a wet burbling chuckle. I held my ground, and it reached towards me.

"Say it," the Dead One said.

"He is God, Nurgleth," I said.

A long, scimitar like talon poked my right temple. The Dead One dragged it downwards, slow and deliberate, cutting through flesh. I stood unflinching, using prayer to steel myself against the pain. The wounds didn't sting, like cuts should. They felt sore and raw, almost like growing pains.

The next day, my guts burned. My excrement came out in thick, slapping bloody chunks. My skin went pale, and was pulled taunt over my bones.

Our next wave of aspirants, three hundred in total, only suffered from four Curses of the Wolfren. The Great Wolf, Logan Grimnar, praised it as a miracle. They too, are beginning to change as I do. They look thin, malnourished, broken. Not how Space Wolves should. But they are cured.

Wolf Priest Ulrik tells me that members of the Polonius Campaign are beginning to suffer. Space Wolves who have fought for years without difficulty are only now finding their bodies wracked by the curse, and breaking down into Wolfren in a matter of hours.

Last night I dreamed of the Dead One waiting for my inevitable return.

Well done, but I must say this. It is strange to read a story from you regarding loyalists. well until you mentioned the plague father.

Yeah, I have trouble with loyalists. Aaron Dembski-Bowden said the key to writing loyalist Space Marines is to make them autistic, which I'm not good at. Traitors though; they can be emotional. They can also be flying rodent gak crazy.

Space Wolves always seemed like traitors. They have an unstable geneseed, they refuse to follow the Codex Astartes, and they're enemies of the Inquisition. Not only that, but they also worship Fenrisian spirits that no one really understands.

The wolf making deals with chaos it's traitorus to think but I like it.

This was amazing. Never saw it coming, but it's perfect. I sense tension between Carec and the Great Wolf.

Was well written and an interesting, if a teensy weensy bit underdeveloped, idea. However, a couple of innaccuracies really took me out of it.

First of all a minor one, though to be honest it was pretty sloppy; Landspeeder Diesel engines. Although it's brother STC vehicle the Rhino can indeed run on Hydrocarbons and even Coal iirc, the Landspeeder cannot. Diesel is not a volatile or high yield fuel, it is efficient, AFAIK it cant even be used to drive contemporary aviation turbines. The landspeeder would most likely be Fusion/Macguffin-powered or Promethium-powered or possibly just use current era aviation fuels. Think of the things that run on Diesel; Commercial vehicles, Ships, Trains and low performance/good fuel economy cars, cant really imagine them zipping over an alien planet at supersonic speed

Second, and more major is your date for the Wolf Brothers' founding. Although it's date is not accurately set in the canon afaik it was definitely a Very early one, i would guess the 2nd or 3rd. Not the 26th, as Grimnar is most certainly under 1000 years old. Seeing as your protaganist's dislike for Grimnar is fairly central this is a big hole.

All being said, Keep up these One-shots please LL!