Wolf's Honour de Lee Lightner

Following events described in Sons of Fenris, the Space Wolves find themselves under attack from all sides by the Thousand Sons Chaos Space marines. In a last-ditch attempt to stop their ancient enemy, Ragnar and his battle-brothers launch a lightning strike on the Thousand Sons' base. Will the Space Wolves triumph, and can Ragnar retrieve the Spear of Russ from his nemesis, the Chaos Space Marine Madox?

RAGNAR TWISTED IN the air, kicking both feet into the chest of the lead heretic. Not even the mutant’s massive musculature could protect it from the force of the blow driven with all the force created by his running jump, augmented muscles and the carapace’s hydraulic systems. Ribs snapped, and the heretic was propelled back into the ones behind it, sending them tumbling back down the stairway. At the same time, the force of the kick killed Ragnar’s velocity and allowed him to land nimbly on the stairs.
One swift look told him the situation. The mutants were in disarray; one of them had been driven completely off the edge of the stairs and sent tumbling to the hard metal floor below. Another had saved himself by clutching onto the guard-rail as he went over, and now hung on like grim death with one hand, as his legs and free arm flailed for purchase.
Ragnar brought his chainsword down, severing fingers and sending the wretch crashing downwards to join his fellow in death, then sprang forward once more while the mutants were off-balance.
With one stroke, he severed the head of the leading heretic; another stroke split his body in two. Pressed back by falling bodies, the mutants were unable to bring their close combat weapons to bear effectively. Ragnar struck again and again, using his superior elevation and momentum to great effect.
The chainsword reaped heretic lives like a scythe swathing corn. The bolt pistol in his left hand spat death into the faces of the mutants beyond.
He could see one or two of the bolder mutants trying to press the ones in front forward. He aimed at them through the gap, blasting one heretic skull to fragments. He chopped at theenemy in front of him. It managed to parry, barely, with its power axe. The teeth of Ragnar’s chainsword screeched against the metal pole of the axe, sparks rose where metal met metal.
Ragnar twisted his blade round, moving it over the obstruction and burying it in the heretic’s throat. A swift leftright movement had the head hanging by a flap of neck muscle. A kick sent the near-decapitated body tumbling headlong into the heretics behind.
It was too much for the mutants. Hampered by the press of their numbers and the falling bodies of their friends, they knew they were no match for the ferocious reaver striding among them. At that moment, Ragnar was a sight to make the bravest heart quail. Covered in blood and brains, moving almost too fast for the eye to follow, slaughtering half a dozen Chaos worshippers in as many heartbeats. The survivors turned to flee back down the stairs. It was then the killing really began.
Ragnar pounced like a wolf springing on its prey, smashing his blade through the heretics’ undefended backs, severing spines, rupturing spleens, painting the stairway with blood.
The screams of his victims encouraged the remaining mutants to run faster, panic more furiously. They smote each other in their desperation to get away, tripped over the bodies of those they had backstabbed and stunned themselves as they fell headlong down the stairs. Ragnar saw that he was not going to be able to overtake them quickly enough to kill them all. Instead, he holstered his chainsword and snatched up a bolt pistol from one of the fallen. Pistol in each hand, he braced himself with a leg on either side of the banister and slid down, blasting away with both weapons. Firing into the panicking mass, every shell took its toll, slamming into tightly packed bodies and exploding to cause the maximum damage.

Uriel Ventris a écrit:On va devoir lancer des pétitions pour choisir les titres(anciens) que l'on veut en français.