Warhammer: The 11th Primarch - The Black Emperor

Seeing the Emperor agree so readily, Leman Russ's eyes lit up with a fierce gleam, the savage glint of a Fenrisian ready for battle.

The two giant wolves sensed their master's combative spirit and stepped forward from both sides.

Adult Fenrisian wolves were at least the size of horses.

The smaller silver one's head only came up to Alpharius's shoulder.

The black wolf curled its lips back, revealing sword-like fangs. A bare, raised pink scar marred the top of its head.

They stared down the cat-like creature with ginger fur and black eyes, barely a meter in length.

But the gyrinx was fearless. Its pitch-black eyes flashed.

Suddenly, terrifying visions overwhelmed Freki and Geri: hunters armed with poisoned arrows and blades assaulting their wolf pack. Their mother lay dead in a pool of blood.

Their brothers fought valiantly, sustaining countless wounds, but were ultimately overwhelmed by the hunters and captured.

Freki and Geri trembled under this induced nightmare.

Leman Russ placed his large hands on their backs.

Feeling his warmth and strength, the wolves snapped out of the nightmare.

They snarled and crouched low, ready to pounce.

The gyrinx stepped forward elegantly, its black eyes glinting coldly.

The Wolf King rose, placing his massive frame protectively in front of the two wolves.

A psychic blast struck him. His huge body wavered slightly.

Russ's eyes narrowed.

"Witchcraft!" he growled coldly.

Without hesitation, he raised a leg to kick the gyrinx.

Bang!

A deafening sound rang out.

His leg was blocked, by a towering warrior in black armor.

The black-armored giant stepped forward, bowing his head slightly, locking eyes with Russ.

"You should've killed the two behind you first," said Nareth coldly.

His gaze swept over the two men in dark furs. Their heads were shaved, capped with plain leather hats, unlike typical bearded Fenrisians.

Bone charms hung from their bodies. They held staffs carved from bone.

"They're not shamans. They are Gothi," Russ said.

From the earlier clash, Russ had realized that this black-armored warrior was no weaker than himself. He now regarded Nareth with wariness.

"Changing the name doesn't change the essence," Nareth replied, eyes icy, voice scornful. "That only makes you seem hypocritical."

Fury burned in the Wolf King's eyes. He swung a fist at Nareth's head.

Nareth started to raise his arm to block, but stopped when he sensed movement beside him.

The Emperor appeared instantly between them, stopping Russ's brutal punch.

"Disputes like this are born of cultural differences," the Emperor said. "Russ, this is your brother Nareth. You are brothers, you shouldn't fight."

"Keeping a witch for a pet is disgraceful. I am not his brother," Russ spat in disdain.

Nareth responded coldly, "I won't try to wake a man pretending to sleep."

As a Primarch, Leman Russ could surely perceive that the power used by the Fenrisian shamans was essentially the same as the so-called "witchcraft" used by the gyrinx.

There was no point arguing with someone so obstinate.

The Emperor frowned. This meeting had gone worse than expected.

The duel hadn't even begun, and the Primarchs were already at odds.

'I must find a way to resolve their conflict, at the very least, enough to ensure effective cooperation in battle. But first, I need to win this challenge against Russ.'

Thinking this, the Emperor asked, "Russ, shall we proceed with the challenge now, or are you ready to return to the Imperium?"

He had come to understand Russ well enough through observation and conversation, he knew how to provoke the Primarch and shift his focus away from sibling conflict.

"Of course not," Russ said, pulling his gaze from Nareth.

"Follow me."

A short time later, the group arrived at a massive circular ivory gate, upon which a giant serpent coiled.

Its mouth was clamped tightly around its own tail, clearly trained to form a ring, imitating the Ouroboros.

The people of Terra revered the Ouroboros as a symbol of eternity. That belief had spread to Fenris.

Beyond the ivory gate, the chill receded. The air filled with smoke and strange mixed odors:

The stink of bad cured meat, herbal scents, scorched fat, damp fur, and the musky warmth of sleeping beasts.

This place resembled an animal den far more than a palace.

Flickering resin torches and table candles cast dancing shadows. The walls were coated in soot.

Braziers between tables emitted stifling heat, burning animal fat that coated the ceiling in a layer of oily residue.

Russ strode ahead to a throne covered in thick animal pelts.

He sat, with Freki and Geri lying on either side of his feet.

The Emperor took a guest seat at the high table, with Alpharius standing behind him.

Fenrisians brought out a spare royal throne and pushed two tables together so Nareth could sit beside the Emperor.

Once seated, Leman Russ declared: "The first challenge, a feast."

"Food is Fenris's gift from nature to its people. The more you eat, the more you are blessed, the stronger you become!"

"Very well," the Emperor nodded.

The feast and the competition began simultaneously.

Dish after dish of meat was served to Nareth's table. In the frozen wasteland of Fenris, crops were scarce, and meat from hunted game was the main fare.

Leaves soaked in fruit oils had carbonized into thin, crispy shells. When lifted, they cracked like glass, revealing rib meat with a gem-like luster.

Superheated stone slabs had scorched the surface with brown fissures, as tiny oil bubbles squirmed in amber fat.

As the blade sliced through, rose-colored juices trickled down flint-carved grooves, releasing an aroma of minerals and smoked wood.

Closer to the bone, the meat fibers shifted hues, from honey-browned crust to juicy crimson, and finally to the light pink exclusive to rock-roasting. Every layer was steeped in the bitterness of pine needles and the sweet-sourness of wild berries.

Nareth dug in without hesitation, forking a rib into his mouth.

The first bite met a crispy crust speckled with salt crystals, flavored faintly by the volcanic stone.

Next came the fat layer, melted into a buttery stream across his tongue.

As his teeth sank into the central meat column, juices exploded with fruitwood smoke, and a clean, icy sweetness lingered from the meat's natural water content.

Even the joints had a translucent membrane clinging to them, like solidified amber in the candlelight. His fingertips were left with the rough texture of salt and meat juices.

'Though the cooking technique is simple, it preserves the ingredients' true flavors, Fenrisian cuisine isn't bad.'

After three ribs, Nareth slowed his pace, ignoring Russ's provocative glare, and shifted his attention to the Emperor and Wolf King's own eating contest.

...

If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.

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