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In the wind-swept mountain pass, there was only death.

"Brothers! For Fenris and the Wolftime!" a red-helmeted giant bellowed above the cacophony of war. The figures around him looked bulky in their sky-blue armor, but they moved with inhuman speed. Ahead of the giants was a sea of alien flesh. The ground thundered as a small horde of large, green-skinned creatures was charging at them howling their rage, all bearing the crudest of arms and armor. An ordinary man might have been broken upon the sight of the xenos tide and fled, but the giants were no ordinary men. As one, the warriors opened fire on their enemies, standing stalwart through the sporadic return fire with their own guns blazing trails of explosive destruction.

They were Adeptus Astartes, Space Marines.

In the Imperium of Man, the Space Marines were the God-Emperor's Angels of Death, His greatest warriors. They were mortal men boosted through a combination of genetic modification, mental conditioning, harsh training, and equipped with the finest weapons and armor to become superhuman defenders of humanity. These marines' sky-blue power armor, feral manes of hair, along with the iconic black wolf head on a yellow shoulder pad, identified them as Vlka Fenryka, the Wolves of Fenris. The Space Wolves were a Chapter of Space Marines that was renowned for their ferocity in battle, anti-authoritarian ways, and embrace of their homeworld Fenris' savage barbarian culture.

Their opponents were creatures no less formidable, a race of brutish and warlike green-skinned humanoid monsters known as the Orks. They were a fungal organism made sentient, a resilient race that thrived on a diet of conflict. Even the weakest of their foot-soldiers were nearly the match of Space Marines in strength, if not skill. War was woven into their race, into the very fabric of their society on every scale. Despite the tremendous, bloody holes punched into their ranks, they pressed forth the attack with a mighty war-cry.

"WAAAGGGHHHH!".

Space Wolf Fireal Thunderfist was at the fore of his Pack when the green mob crashed into them. The pack leader brandished the massive red power fist on his right hand and fought savagely, and it was easy to see how he had earned his surname, honoring the great hero of his Chapter who bore it last. Fireal responded to the Orks' war-cry with his own wolf's howl, a menacing sound amplified by his helmet's vox communicator. The rest of his pack joined in joyfully as they fought, reveling in the close-combat.

"Ojor va Russ! Leman Russ!" the Space Wolf cried, ducking under an axe stroke that would have taken even a marine's head off. The crackling energy field that surrounded his power fist disrupted matter and made rending through armor and flesh child's play, tearing the ork apart on Fireal's counter-stroke. There was no time to celebrate the kill as the Wolf immediately brought the large pistol in his other hand up to bear. The weapon bucked in his hand, sending .75 caliber self-propelled mass-reactive 'bolts' into the head of another greenskin leaping over its fallen comrade, sending the creature toppling back before the round exploded with gory results. The stream of xenos seemed unending, and they outnumbered the Wolves better than ten to one. It was only the small size of the pass that prevented the marines from being surrounded and cut down from all sides.

Through the haze of combat, Fireal shouted orders in his native Fenrisian tongue for the rest of his pack to fall back. Space Wolves were fierce, but they were also cunning warriors, intent on luring the warband deeper into the pass. Each member of his pack acknowledged the signal and disengaged with ease, and Fireal was to follow them when one of the largest orks in the horde muscled its way to the front of the battle and stomped down before him, bellowing a challenge.

The more an Ork fought and survived, the more it grew, and the stronger it became, naturally becoming leaders in a society dominated by strength. The greenskin that stepped before Fireal now was such a leader, brandishing heavy armor plating and a pair of giant chainsaw-teethed choppas in each hand. A string of heads, helmets, and other trophies adorned the brute's trunk-like waist, and behind his helmet, Fireal bared his fangs. His hatred began to burn to a fever pitch as he recognized some of the helms as from Space Marines. Despite the marine's plan to lure the orks into ambush, honor demanded that the warboss die.

Holding his ground, Fireal holstered his bolt pistol, mag-seals on his armor clamping the weapon neatly onto his side, and he drew a short axe slung on his hip. The Ork warboss forced his band to halt with a roar of dominance. Any greenskin chief that needed help in single combat was seen as weak and unworthy to lead, even their alien minds respected single combat, that sacred contest of strength between two warriors. Towering over even the eight feet tall Space Wolf, the monster gave a guttural growl of approval, tusked lips twisting upwards into a mockery of a grin as it attacked almost immediately.

Recognizing their pack leader's duel, the Wolves held back, and both sides exhorted their respective commanders. Only the sound of the struggle between these two mortal enemies rose above the howling wind of the pass however. The warboss moved with a speed that belied its huge size, and it was all Fireal could do to dodge or ward off each furious, crushing axe blow. The marine was no slouch in speed, but his power fist was a naturally slower weapon. He managed to score first blood however, twisting aside a cleaving strike and bringing his own axe down on the offending arm. The head of Fireal's axe bit deeply into knotted muscle, but it was testament to the creature's toughness that it would not cut all the way through. With a howl of pain, the Ork wrenched his arm away, ignoring the slab of flesh that came off in the process and redoubled his assault as if the blow had not affected it at all.

Fireal finally saw an opening as the warboss raised both its axes up high for a mighty hammer blow. Taking a chance, the Space Wolf punched into the strike with a mighty uppercut using his crackling power fist. For a moment, the world stood still as the Ork attempted to overwhelm the Space Wolf, and then the teeth of both axes shattered against the power fist's energy field. The greenskin staggered back, looking in apparent shock at the sight of his mangled weapons. "Deyz waz ma favorite chopp-!" the creature spat before receiving a heavy-handed punch to the face. The warboss was spared a killing blow for the fact the exchange also damaged the power coupling on the fist, disabling its deadly disruptive aura.

Spitting teeth and enraged by the loss of his weapons, the Ork responded with a fury, answering with a devastating backhand using the mangled remains of the axe. It struck with enough force that the Wolf was sent staggering, with his helmet cracked and sparking. Following up with a kick using its over-muscled legs, the warboss sent Fireal crashing to the ground, where the marine then found the giant xeno looming over him.

He could barely hear the Ork over the increased howling of the wind, but the Ork was gesturing clearly enough. "I iz warboss Twinkilla, an' yer arm iz mine!" the warboss growled, announcing his name and intent on making a trophy out of Fireal. In alarm, the rest of the Wolves started to rush to save their beleaguered leader, but Ork warhost charged forth to block the way, chanting their leader's superiority and nearly blocking out the screaming overhead.

The noise didn't escape Twinkilla however. The sound was too loud to ignore now and alien looked up, distracted from finishing off the job. It found the source, jaw agape exclaiming "Zoggin sky is falling!” as seven tear-drop shaped meteors blazed across the sky toward their location, too fast and aligned to be a natural occurrence.

Bruised, but not broken, Fireal took advantage of his enemy's distraction to lash out with an armored boot at the warboss's knee. A loud crack and scream of pain told him something broke, not even the tough alien physiology like an Ork's could withstand a direct blow to the joint. Getting to his feet, the Wolf doubled over Twinkilla with a devastating gut punch, and then proceeded to pin the warboss's other foot into the ground with his axe. The alien roared in agony and tried to swipe at the marine, but the Wolf managed to slip inside the Ork's reach, battering the greenskin with yet more strikes.

Above the combatants, the descending objects revealed themselves to be drop-pods. In quick succession, each of the pods burst in midair. Figures in dark green armor similar to that of the Wolves jumped out of each landing craft. Using massive jetpacks on their backs, each new marine maneuvered their way into the pass with practiced precision. The discarded pods slammed into the mountain, leaving behind enormous craters and gouges in the crags, while the marines themselves landed upon the rearguard of the Orks. It was a drop only a Space Marine in power armor could endure, each warrior weighing over a ton and easily leaving a mark in anything they landed on, be it earth or alien. The leader of the new arrivals stomped on a unfortunate Ork underfoot his drop before drawing his weapon, a masterfully crafted sword possessed of a brilliant aura.

"For the Lion!"

The gleam of his blade seemed to draw the attention of every greenskin in the rear, and his fellow marines echoed his war-cry. In a storm of sword and bolt pistol they fell upon the flank of the xenos mercilessly.

Without his fist's power field, Fireal resorted to prying open the warboss's face. The Ork was unable to bite down with the over-sized gauntlets in his mouth and it scrabbled weakly at the Wolf's ceramite armor as the pressure built in his skull. Ignoring the Ork's pained screeching, the indomitable son of Fenris gave a roar that was taken up by all his Pack as he tore the warboss's head apart in a bloody spray of gristle and bone, hoisting Twinkilla's metal-plated jaw bone up in the air for all to see.

"For Russ and the Allfather!" the Wolves shouted, counter-charging the greenskins. Trapped and leaderless, the remaining orks panicked and were slaughtered in glorious carnage between the anvil of the Wolves and the hammer of the new arrivals. One of the larger Orks left desperately attempted to rally its diminishing allies and take control when Fireal clove his way to him. Before the marine could act however, there was a streak of light splitting the alien from head to toe. The greenskin blabbered incoherently as both sides of it fell apart and hit the ground with a pair of bloody thuds, revealing the dark green Space Marine leader behind in striking form.

As the battle concluded, the savage Wolves met their Dark Angel brethren amidst the corpses of the destroyed warband. Fireal saluted the other commander by way of raising his power fist and removing his damaged headgear, privately noting that the Iron Priests weren't going to be happy with him managing to ruin yet another helm. Shaking his salt and pepper mane of hair loose however, Fireal was happy to be free of it. Wolves usually preferred to fight without their helmets anyway, and he had only been using it for the vox-comm built in to keep in contact with the other Imperial forces. The Dark Angel removed his own helm in return, greeting Fireal simply. "Well met son of Fenris".

They were both loyal, fearsome warriors of the Emperor, and similarities ended there. The Wolves looked distinctly more barbaric, bearing animistic eyes, long canines, and graying hair. Bones and trophies of enemies decorated their power armor, each bit telling a story of the owner. The Dark Angels were also a First Founding Legion, and if their leader was any example, were more noble in appearance. Their badge of a sword through white wings decorated their shoulder pads, and each of the Angels bore a jump pack and chainswords, identifying them as close-combat assault specialists. Fireal scoffed at their wargear. Most Wolves disdained jump packs, reasoning that if their Primarch thought fighting on foot was good enough for him, so would it be for them.

The slight did not go unnoticed by the Angel. Even though they were allies, there was still animosity between the two Chapters due to an ancient feud between the Space Wolves Primarch Leman Russ and the Dark Angel Primarch Lion El'Jonson. Tensions were easy to flare, but as long as the enemies of the Imperium still drew breathe, there would be an uneasy peace.

"What is it Wolf?" the fairer-haired marine demanded. "Nothing brother Cygany", the Wolf noted, addressing the other marine with an informal tone. "I merely thought you took your time with the landing.". The bit of humor in Fireal's tone set the Angel sergeant's lips into a thin smirk. "What's this? I could swear you were bragging that you could lure the Orks without any problems. It seemed a shame to cut your sport short. Don't tell me your bite did not live up to your bark, Space Wolf".

Thankfully it was a playful exchange. Cygany Barron knew well the honor of the Son of Fenris from the pre-mission briefings beforehand. Switching back to business however, he confirmed if the objective was safe. "Aye, the Mechanicus survey relays are untouched", Fireal replied. The ageless piece of archeotech at the end of the pass was a vital resource, securing it meant that Imperial forces would have access to its advanced cogitators and scanners, allowing them to garner clearer intelligence on enemy movements on the planet. The battle here was merely a small skirmish in the grand scheme of things, a fact that they were quickly reminded of as the Dark Angel's helmet began to crackle with new orders.

While Cygany answered the hail, Fireal took stock of his pack. With only a few minor injuries and no casualties, the brief battle left them wanting more. The Wolf sergeant looked at his counterpart. "More fighting?" he asked, baring his fangs in a feral grin. The Angel nodded, returning the smile. "Much more. Perhaps enough to sate even your barbarian appetites, Wolf" he jibed. Fireal just laughed and ordered his squad to form up to hasten for new battlegrounds whilst assuring, "Do not worry Dark Angel”

“There shall be killing enough for all of us". Little did Fireal Thunderfist know just how prophetic that line would be.

After all, the Crusade for the planet of Arkhona had only just begun.