Of gods and monsters.

‘Easy brother. Our lord is in a dark humour’ The gold armoured Space Marine veteran warned his battle-brother as he ran into the Wolf Lords anti chamber.
‘But brother, I have news of battle! I know it will cheer him!’ The marine stood with a parchment in his massive gauntleted hand. With a wry smile the veteran stood aside and the marine entered the anti chamber.
On the walls of this round vaulted room were the trophies from innumerable conflicts throughout the galaxy. Standards and banners of legions both foul and alien lay in heaps next to broken weapons and armour of equal design and condition. Honours and awards displayed in gold and steel cases adorn the opposite wall. But around the door to the inner chamber were by far the most telling trophies.
Skulls. Thousands of skulls piled and nailed to the walls and door frame. Some were alien, some were shattered and split, and some were human. But all were evidence of the violent power of the occupant.
The inner chamber was smaller and more informal. The far wall was dominated with a vast throne covered in fur and hide upon which the Wolf Lord sat. At his feet were his four bionicly enhanced wolves, each the size of a man and as they slept there vast muscles rippled under their grey fur. In the chamber stood the five figures of the towering terminator armoured honour guard, also there stood the Master of the Fleet and the Iron Priest. The Wolf Lord was indeed in a dark humour.
‘Lord, the repairs to the tanks will take more resources than we have on board. Grendal and Wardam slumber yet but it will be a short time before the sword-urge is on them again and no amount of rituals will assuage that terrible thirst.’ The tone was matter of fact and the Iron Priest stood squarely in the foul glare of the Wolf Lord. A pause filled the room and only the sound of the wolves sleeping could be heard.
‘How long till we land Master Brinnus?’ The Wolf Lord growled at length.
‘The warp is foul here and hard to judge. My best guess is 4 months.’ The Master of the Fleet ventured via his helmet vox.
‘4…months.’ The Wolf Lord strung out the words. ‘Cooped in this iron box like cattle! 4 months is too long for the proud and the brave to endure!’ At this he was on his feet and the wolves began to stir.
Both the Master and the Priest nodded in solemn agreement. This was not a rebuke but a fact understood by all present. From the doorway the marine stepped forward and fell to one knee in deference to his lord.
‘Stand brother and tell us your views of 4 months confinement in this cage!’ the lord gestured to the marine and turned to face the wall behind the throne. There lay none but a simple bracket and his mighty Frost Blade axe.
‘I feel the 4 months is indeed too long a time lord (at this murmurs of agreement came from the assembled marines), which is why I have brought you this transmission we have intercepted!’ The room turned its attention to the parchment and the Lord turned slowly and strode to the marine.
‘What is this? A distress call from a sector I have not heard of?’ He paused as his bright blue eyes scanned the script. A smile spread across the scared face of the Lord. The smile turned to laughter.
‘Brothers, the Tyranid have attacked this Harmony Sector and we are blessed by Russ himself! He heard our cries of boredom and sent a worthy foe! Master Brinnus, maximum speed to this location! Priest, wake the dreadnoughts and tell them it is time to feast on violence once more!’
As the rest of the Battle Barge was summoned to hear the glorious news, far away the people of Harmony saw not glorious battle and worthy foes but blood and terror before them. Space Marines may be the gods of death but the Tyranid were truly the monsters of the darkest fear made flesh and claw.