The scout stood above the fat count, flexing his hand. 'Seemed to work just fine. The captain will be pleased to see you,' he snarled, and smashed his fist into Gruber's face once again as he tried to rise to his feet. The nurgling that the grand count had been cradling had fallen heavily to the ground, and it clawed towards Wilhelm, baring its rotten teeth. The scout took a step backwards and raised his bow, nocking an arrow to the string. His bow was a powerful weapon, and fired at such close range, it drove right through the small daemon, pinning it to the ground. It squealed like a piglet in pain. The count tried to scramble to his feet, and began an incantation, but the scout was too quick for him, stepping forwards and smashing his fist into the man's face once again.
Gripping him by the shirt, Wilhelm drew the bloody count's face up to his, snarling. 'I'd like to gut you here and now, you sick bastard, but it seems that won't do no good. No, I'll leave that to the captain.' Wilhelm slammed his fist into Gruber's face again, the force of the blow driving the count's head into the ground. Standing, Wilhelm grabbed the leg of the unconscious man, and began to drag him down the hill.
The engineer, Markus
, lowered his eyeglass from his eye. 'Captain!' he shouted. The engineer jumped up and down, waving his arms over his head. 'Captain von Kessel!' Not getting any response from the captain, who was wheeling the Reiklandguard around on the plains below, making ready to charge into the daemons, the engineer scrabbled inside a leather bag. He pulled out a small clay ball. A long fuse protruded from the clay sphere, and he shortened it by biting at it frantically, spitting the string to the ground. He pulled from his pocket a small brass device, one of his own devising that contained oil, and had a small flint attached. Striking it, it produced a flame, and immediately lit the small fuse. It burst into sparks, and he threw the ball high into the air. Small clockwork wings of brass unfolded from the ball, flapping frantically, but whether they aided or hindered the device was not clear. At the apex of its journey, the ball exploded with a loud bang, and light flashed like lightning.
The captain, pulling his horse around, heard the sound and looked up, his eye drawn to the flashing light. Markus leapt up and down, pointing across the field. Stefan looked across to where he was gesturing. He shouted an order to the knights, and they wheeled again before thundering up the hill towards the figure. They rode through a group of plaguebearers, smashing them aside. Markus, his eyeglass back in position, watched as one of the knights was dragged from the saddle by two of the foul daemons, his horse cut down beneath him. The man struck one of the creatures, its guts spilling out over the ground, and rose to his feet unsteadily. The creature he had just disembowelled launched itself at him, its ropey intestines trailing behind it, and rammed its single horn into the mans head. He fell to the ground, and was overcome by the foetid daemons. The other knights broke through, and galloped up the hill towards the scout dragging the unconscious Gruber.
'Engineer Markus,' came a shout, and he lowered his eyeglass to see one of the crew of the
Wrath of Sigmar
pointing, stabbing his finger down the hill. A group of daemons was loping up the hill towards their position. Markus hurriedly packed away his eyeglass, and retrieved his Hochland longrifle, hefting the heavy weapon to his shoulder. Sighting carefully, he fired, the shot smashing through the eye of the lead creature, dropping it. Marvelling at the weapon's accuracy, he lowered it, and shouted to a nearby mortar crew, gesturing at the daemons. A mortar shell was lobbed towards the creatures, detonating in their midst, tearing flesh from bones. Still, most of the daemons continued loping up the hill, despite their missing limbs and torn flesh.
'Ready the helblaster! Fire all nine barrels on my signal,' Markus called. 'Hold it. Hold. Fire!'
Once again, the
Wrath of Sigmar
spat fiery death, destroying everything in its path. Markus whooped with excitement, and began to reload his longrifle.
Captain Stefan von
Kessel leapt from the saddle of his steed, and ran towards the unconscious count. The scout dropped
the man's leg, and stepped away from him. 'He's all yours, captain,' he said, and signalled to the other scouts. They ran swiftly down the hill until they were in range of the daemons, and began to fire their longbows into the press.
As if he felt the hatred in the eyes that looked upon him, Otto Gruber blinked heavily with his one good eye as he rose from unconsciousness. Stefan stepped forwards and placed his knee on the fat count's chest. With his left hand, he grabbed the count's thin hair - in his right he held the drawn elf blade, its glowing golden tip scant inches from Gruber's throat. The count's eye widened as he saw the weapon, and he struggled in vain.
'You do not deserve a quick death, Gruber,' snarled Stefan. 'You deserve to be ripped limb from limb by horses, and for your entrails to be slowly drawn from your body. Flames should lick at your flesh, burning away the fat from your bones and boiling your eyeballs in their sockets. Your tongue ought to be ripped from your mouth, and your fingernails pulled from your fingers, one by one, but it is not to be, for I shall not lower myself to your level... This is for my grandfather, you sick bastard.'
Without ceremony, Stefan rammed the glowing blade through the fat count's throat, pushing it deep up into his brain. Gruber convulsed violently, and then his skin withered and turned black. As if all the liquid was being sucked from his body, Gruber's flesh dried up, shrivelling away to nothing in the blink of an eye, leaving just a blackened skeleton.
'It's over,' Stefan whispered. The glowing sword in his hand began to hiss, and he dropped it to the ground, the blade melting to nothing. All across the battlefield, the magic that kept the plaguebearers in existence was sucked away, and they fell to the ground, writhing and contorting, turning to foetid liquid and seeping into the soil.
Only the great unclean one remained, its power too great for the death of the magister, Gruber, to affect it. It was surrounded by the army of Ostermark, and hundreds of arrows and crossbow bolts thudded into its thick flesh. It roared in anger and pain as countless handgun shots pierced its skin. Dozens of men rushed forwards, driving their halberds into the creature's belly and back, but it fought on, smashing away its enemies as if they were insects, killing a handful of men with every sweep of its fell weapon.
It stumbled as the flagellants rushed forwards, screaming and yelling, and struck at the greater daemon's flesh with their spiked flails. The nameless ex-knight was there, exhorting his followers to do their duties, and he leapt upon the great unclean one, hacking at it with a pair of spiked maces. The daemon's flesh was torn to bloody shreds under the onslaught, and it sank to the ground. Its mouthed tongue lashed out, latching onto one of its tormentors, ripping his face from his skull. Bellowing in rage, the daemon surged back upright for a moment, and swept its weapon before it once more, the poisoned blade cutting three flagellants in half.
It slumped to the ground as Gunthar stepped before it, his huge hammer raised high over his head. With a bellow, he smashed it into the daemon's head, the blow driving through the skull and into the rotting, maggot-infested brain within.
A great cloud of flies suddenly rose, obscuring everything from view. They dispersed into the air, leaving behind nothing but a bubbling pool of poison seeping into the ground.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The black-clad
body of the sorcerer knelt on the cave floor. The creature that was a part of him slithered awkwardly around the circle that the Khazag had entered, feeling at the power within. It should have been his day, thought Sudobaal. The day of his ascension, but Hroth had snatched that from him. He had been much more powerful than he had realised, and Sudobaal cursed himself for a fool.
The creature snarled with its deformed mouth, exposing the tiny teeth within. Leaning forwards on its fleshy, snake-like tail, it extended one of its tentacles gingerly towards the swirling vortex of dark smoke contained within the circle of power. As the tentacle entered the area, there was a sharp explosion of power, and electricity rippled over the creature, throwing it backwards. It smashed against the far wall, its tentacle blackened. The smell of burnt flesh rose from the injured limb.
With difficulty, leaning on its head, the creature righted itself, and gazed into the circle venomously, gnashing its teeth. Holding its wounded tentacle coiled, it shuffled across the floor of the cavern. It circled the black robed figure of the sorcerer, and began to approach the circle once again. Something was happening. The black shadows coiling within began to swirl with increasing velocity, and the creature cowered behind the body of the sorcerer, hissing.
The rocks surrounding the circle were suddenly blasted away, shattering into a thousand pieces, which scattered around the room. Dozens of these shards sprayed the sorcerer, lacerating his flesh and cutting his robes to tatters. No blood dripped from the wounds. The creature cowering behind the sorcerer began to pull itself frantically across the floor, trying to escape. The dark shadows were released from their bindings, and they screamed around the room, coalescing into shadowy, daemonic figures, before dispersing into the air.
With a further explosion of rock and earth, Hroth the Blooded, Daemon Prince of Khorne, burst from the Realm of Chaos, stepping back into reality. His blood-red wings unfurled behind him, and he bellowed loudly, the titanic sound making rocks tumble from the cave roof. In one hand, he held his faithful double-headed axe, and in the other, he held the sword, the Slayer of Kings, the blade that held the power of the daemon U'zhul. Sparks rippled over the blade of this immeasurably powerful artefact.
Turning his gaze towards the kneeling sorcerer, Hroth's daemonic, flaming eyes narrowed. He scanned the area, and his gaze came to rest on the foul tentacled creature trying to climb the stone steps that led out of the cavern. With his daemon-vision, he could see the link that bound the body of the sorcerer and this creature together, and he launched himself towards it with a powerful leap.
It screamed soundlessly and tried to get away, falling awkwardly onto its face in its haste. Hroth reached down with one of his massive, red-skinned hands and grasped it tightly 'Get back in your flesh, familiar,' he growled, and hurled the creature across the room. It collided with the motionless body of the sorcerer, and fell heavily to the ground. Righting itself with difficulty, it threw a look of pure hatred towards the towering daemon prince, and began to burrow into the sorcerer's grey flesh.
Colour began to return to the sorcerer's skin, and blood began to weep from the wounds on his face and hands. Sudobaal opened his eyes with a gasp, as the blood began to flow. He gaped up at Hroth, who stood some twelve feet tall. Throwing himself to the floor of the cavern, he abased himself before the power of the daemon towering before him.
'Sudobaal, look me in the eyes,' the daemon commanded, and the sorcerer was powerless to resist. He raised his gaze to the flaming orbs of Hroth, his will utterly dominated. 'You belong to me now, sorcerer. Your soul is mine.'
'Yes,' stammered Sudobaal, feeling a wrenching pain within him.
'You are nothing any longer without me. I bind your soul to me; you will serve me now, and for all eternity.
In this world or the Realm of Chaos, you will serve. You will serve me faithfully, snake, for if ever you try to break my hold over you, you know that you will be tormented in the Realm of Chaos, your soul shredded over and over, but you will never be allowed release from your pain. Never will your torment cease. Oppose me, and you will reap the consequences. You know I speak the truth.'
Sudobaal knew the words the daemon spoke were truthful. He felt it deep within him, with a sinking horror. He collapsed to the ground, gasping in agony.
'I go now to deal with the elves. I will return to you once I have finished. Then we will return to the Empire, and we will finish what was started.' With that, the daemon prince left the cave, leaving Sudobaal exhausted and in agony on the ground.
A
roar of
terrifying rage echoed above the battle, and all who fought raised their eyes to the heavens. Hroth burst from the cave, scattering rocks in all directions, and leapt into the air, throwing himself from the cliff face. He plummeted hundreds of feet down towards the swirling melee, his wings tightly furled behind him. The wind ripped at him, and he roared as he streaked down towards the battle that was calling to him.
Lathyerin looked up with a sense of horror to see the massive daemon streaking down from the turbulent sky.
'Sea guard! Turn your bows skyward!' he called, swaying backwards to avoid a swing of an axe from a Norscan. As the axe sliced past him, an inch from his neck, he sent a fatal riposte stabbing into the man's chest.
Dozens of arrows streaked into the air, many of them striking the descending daemon in his chest and arms. They bounced from his armour, and shattered on his skin, slowing his descent not at all.
The ground trembled as the daemon landed feet first, scattering elves and Norscans alike. With a roar of pure rage, Hroth swung his axe and sword around him, cleaving through a score of elves within seconds.
Blood fountained from the bodies as they fell around him, unable to match his daemonic power, frenzy or speed. Blades rebounded from his flesh, numbing the hands of the elves assailing him. Spears jarred as they struck him, doing little damage to the massive creature. In turn, he swept his weapons around, cutting elves apart, severing limbs and heads, and cutting through torsos with ease.
The daemon turned and Lathyerin surged forwards, driving his glowing blade into the back of the creature. Using all his force, the elf pushed the blade through the armour of his back, the sword tip piercing the flesh of Hroth's lower back. Despite the magical nature of the sword, the blade only penetrated a few inches into the daemon. Black blood bubbled from the wound, spitting and spluttering with heat.