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Chapter Twenty Three – Punishing Fire

The defenders of Untergrad had fought the monsters before, slain the beastman and the mutant, and driven them from their walls at no little cost. Citizens and mercenaries alike made ready to do it all again, the newly arrived but veteran soldiers recognised the weary competence as they did so; it gave them at least a little reassurance….

If anything it was them who felt unsure as the rest of the town scattered, gathering quickly and efficiently at defensive posts and positions. However von Hirschfeld made sure this uncertainly was short lived, calling for his men to form up on him and setting forth striding towards where he had left his sergeant.

Watching him depart, Master Engineer Bardin shook his head before addressing his fellow dwarf. “I hope this smiting does not take too long, I have a bridge to build.”

He took the time to light his pipe and after a lingering look at the task to come, hefted his hammer meaningfully – “let’s get to it then eh?”

Skalli was a respectful step behind him, he called out in Khazalid, and half of the armed men aboard the two mechanical beasts moved to form an armoured wedge behind their master, weapons ready, and eyes alert. The two warrior priests of Sigmar were already moving purposefully towards the wall, hammers in hand, both chanting a prayer to their god in preparation for the onslaught to come.

Lothar took a moment to spit into the mud clogged gutter as the captain and his men went past, he glanced at his employer without shame, uncaring of her frown of disapproval, it was nothing he had not seen before.

“You pay me for my sword, not my manners, My Lady…”

“I do indeed.”

“….and also perhaps my good advice?”

Again, she did not disagree, looking around at the now nearly empty street, her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“….so maybe I’ll be heading off and making sure our horses are ready?”

The noise of the approaching beasts was now evident, a rumbling growling wave of hate that, once again swept over the walls. She considered her mans words, knowing the wisdom of the tried and tested survivor was no small thing to discard or ignore.

She was about to reply when Albrecht and Ulrike ran around the corner, he with his sword unsheathed and ready, a long knife in her hand. He clattered to a halt before her, flushed and an all too familiar mixture of fear of excitement warring in his eyes, behind him, his lover simply looked scared, the grip on her own weapon white knuckled with tension.

“They are coming again, M’lady?” Albrecht smiled, flicking his blade at the wall in a practised, precise motion before nodding to the older man, who meaningfully raised his eyes to the skies, not having drawn his own sword or dagger.

“…Yes…” Her voice was soft, distracted.

“…and we should be going,” Lothar murmured, drawing a sharp look from Albrecht and a nervous glance from Ulrike.

“Do as you suggest, Lothar. Take who you need….with my full authority. Be ready.” Her last words had scarcely faded and he was gone.

Sabina swept her eyes across the young couple, drinking in their appearance, their closeness and the potential in them. It was obvious they were staying together, bound together in blood and more. She smiled as she sensed her complete lack of control over the young man, his loyalty pure and entwined with something more.

“Stay close.” She ordered and they too began the run to the wall.

xx

Drifting slowly forwards, exuding his perfumed smoke, watching the movement on the walls, Varsilas was not impressed by the small settlement and even less so by its defenders, scattered on its stone walls, sheltering behind their false strength.

Around and before him, his own band of followers had been swollen by more beastmen and mutants, drawn by his power and the potential to finally crush this small outpost of humanity in the forest. He had them driven them before his own warriors – if they wished to partake in the feast to come, they would need to prove themselves in battle.

Now they ran at the stone walls, bellowing and screeching at his bidding, seeking to draw his attention to their bravery and ferocity. They would the champion considered, at least serve to give the humans something to expend their ammunition upon and allow him to gauge the strength of their potential resistance.

The humans did not disappoint on this occasion, arrows, bolts and even a few bullets slammed into fur and flesh, smashed bone and tore into organs. Beastmen fell tumbling or staggered onward, clutching at bloody wounds and impaling weapons.

A single siege weapon spat a great bolt at the sorcerer himself, but the vast grunting ogre at his left side simply used the huge and unpleasantly tarnished metal shield to deflect it away, laughing as it skewered an unlucky mutant malingering nearby. The unfortunate creature screamed through its many mouths as it was propelled into the tree behind it and stuck there, thrashing and gasping out its last pain filled moments.

His own followers lingered at the rear of the bestial horde, watching their master, careful of what he might do; what flaming presence or manifestation he might use on this occasion. Like his foes, he did not disappoint. From the be fanged maw that served the shifting fiery apparition as a mouth issued a series of twisted, brutal words, lashing out at the world around them with their concentrated hatred.

Driven by anger, the first undulating wave of muscle and fur had reached the foot of the wall and now found its rage impotent against the unimpressed stone walls. Several of the more lithe creatures leapt upwards, finding first handholds and small cracks but then only the hard thrust of spears to reward their prowess. More died from bullet, bolt and arrow, the curses and contempt of the humans above of them the last thing many beasts would ever hear.

Cerise lightning and eldritch laughter suddenly issued from Varsilas at the same time, arching across the carnage before him and with a resounding crack of thunder, impacting with the bolt thrower, even as the dwarf gunner was carefully aiming the powerful weapon again at the sorcerer.

The energy lashed out and into the wood, stone and flesh alike, making each material blaze with unnatural flame quickly encompassing the entirety of the top of the tower. The fire was insidious and unrelenting, consuming all it touched and leaving a layer of pink ash beneath it.

As the tormented souls of Orzard and his human assistant fled the world, the remnants of the bolt thrower collapsed into the thick layer of pungent ash, the heady perfume it gave off even overwhelming the scorch of burnt flesh. Suddenly the ash began to swirl and shift and a vortex formed in the centre of the material before, with a burst of fire a capering creature emerged, unleashing a squealing, discordant laughter upon the world around it.

The Daemon was malformed, its hefty arms and legs twisted and with far too many joints, the claws on its vast feet splayed out in all directions whilst its central head and body were one, large eyes, a huge nose and low slung, fang filled jaws from which the baying lunatic laughter continued, unceasingly.

Its glowing pink skin was distorted by bumps and nodules and generated small flashes of energy that flickered in and out of existence as it stood looking at the world around it before suddenly cart wheeling into the street below with an especially loud cackle.

Varsilas nodded in satisfaction and with an insolent gesture he conjured more power from the winds of magic swirling around him. As a favoured devotee of Tzeentch, magic now came naturally to him, feeding and enthusing him as he called upon its energies and prepared his next trick.

He could hear the clarion call of other Daemons pressing at the wall between realities, some even scratching at his mind and he laughed sadistically as he denied them, at least for the moment. He knew that his master could use his soul as a conduit for its favoured daemons at any time, but no-one could understand or predict the actions of his God and patron, Tzeentch.

Tzeentch was born of, embodied and fed upon the excitement of change, the will to forge destiny, the chance to roll the dice of fortune, to gain or loose material and temporal power. All this and more was the Changer of the Ways, the Architect of Fate, the Great Conspirator.

Xx

The first wave of beastmen were dying or dead, scattered at the foot of the wall, bleeding and gasping out their last, growling their hatred of those that had killed them, the stones that had forestalled them and the world at large. Others were capering about behind them, brandishing weapons, screaming and bellowing, a few of the more foolish still charging at the apparently unassailable defences.

There was a scrapping sound as a box was kicked over to the battlement, Master Engineer Bardin continued moving forwards in one fluid movement and stepped on it to look at the enemy.

“Is that it?”

Captain von Hirschfeld ruefully glanced over at the powerfully built dwarf and then at the tower where the towns only war machine had resided.

“They have magic…..I am glad that we have Sigmar with us and that……..you stand with us master Dwarf.”

“Aye, well, let’s smash these creatures and then get on with our work.” He hefted his hammer and thrust it out at the creatures.

“We’ll, come on then you bastards.” His voice was strident, commanding and powerful and even raised a laugh from some of the defenders as well as an approving growl from his own entourage.

Xx

Sabina had her own sword in her hand by the time the Daemon somersaulted around the corner, still laughing and screeching. It landed in the centre of the street, mud scattering at the impact, not quite reaching the vampire or the two humans at her heels.

It had two large eyes, both without pupils, one void black and one snow white and it stared at her for a moment, the jarring laughter echoing forth still. The whole creature tipped on to side, balancing on its suckered left hand and clawed foot and it stared at Sabina.

She moved forward as quickly as she could and still it almost dodged her first blow. One suckered hand flew across the street and impacted wetly against the wall, before vanishing abruptly in a small burst of fire. It still did not stop laughing.

Even as he pivoted away from a taloned foot, Sabina gestured for Albrecht and Ulrike to stay back, inadvertently causing the Daemons attention to flicker towards them, it licked large rubbery lips as it now fixed on the two humans.

Using its prodigious leg muscles it leapt vertically upwards and over the backswing of the vampire’s sword, landing easily just in front of the young mercenary. Not needing to breathe, the laughter was incessant as the mouth stretched unnaturally wide.

Albrecht swung at its central mass, but it was too quick and the heavy head slammed into his body, knocking him backwards, he scarcely managed to maintain his grip on the sword as he staggered back. Ulrike instinctively thrust her knife at it, but it caught her hand with its own remaining hand, the large suckers gripping hard to her soft skin and it spun to fling her at the leaping vampire. The two of them crashed heavily to the ground and the Daemon somersaulted on the spot in pleasure.

The cackling did not pause as the sword blade emerged from between its eyes, but its arms went limp, dragging on the ground and slowly it slid forward. Albrecht smiled as flicked his sword back into the guard position and looked around for other foes, already noting that his lover was unharmed. He looked confused as with a warming cry Sabina unceremoniously pushed the dazed Ulrike to one side.

The Daemon exploded in a powerful burst of cobalt energy and immediately two more smaller and bright blue Daemons popped into existence. They were about half the size of the original and similar in form but rather than laughter a grumbling, whining noise issued from their too large jaws.

One spun to face the vampire as the other leapt swiftly upwards and slammed a powerful fist into Albrecht’s face before he could bring his sword into play. He back peddled, fending off further blows with his arms and legs as it growled and rumbled at him, its arms and legs moving surprising fast.

Sabina simply ignored the creature’s attacks, accepting the impacts as the price to pay for ramming her sword into the head and tearing it out of one side to maximise the damage. The Blue Horror had only time for a final unintelligible complaint before it popped back out of existence. Its sibling lasted only a few moments longer, now assailed by two combatants.

Albrecht winced and wiped the blood from his broken nose before helping Ulrike to her feet, hugging her briefly as he noted the fear behind the determined expression. His liege touched the girls shoulder gently.

“Child, if you are going to stand with him; find yourself a shield and cover his left – but don’t attack, defend him.”

Ulrike nodded, going a little red.

“Good, now follow.”

Xx

A feeling of deep disgust and hatred welled up in Lothar, the priest of Sigmar as he looked upon the enemy, the minions of the dark powers that swarmed out of the dark forest. It was here; on the battlefield that Sigmar’s teachings had the most clarity; that the strictures truth was most evident – humanity must be united in the face of darkness and forged into weapons against the machinations of Chaos.

He stood on the wall and gazed upon the bellowing beasts, capering mutants and the fiery sorcerer that drove them onwards and allowed the hatred to build in the pit of his stomach. He had sent his brother priest to another wall to bolster the defence and the Faith of those who manned it.

The dwarves he had seen moving to the wall as well and he felt assurance in their presence, a small connection to his god who had first been named as friend by them and who they had helped forge an empire, the Empire. He looked down at the great hammer he bore, tracing the symbol of the twin tailed comet reverently – soon he would match his faith and steel against the enemy, the enemy that Sigmar had once crushed, so would they crush them now on this day.

Lothar scowled as the discordant words that the Sorcerer profaned the very air with sounded across the killing field. He felt the urge to charge, to run amok through the beasts until he reached the witch….. he shook his head and forced himself to wait, it would not be long.

He did not glance away from the monsters as three more defenders joined him but rather welcomed them with swift and potent words, “Welcome friends, rejoice for Sigmar is the hammer and we are His holy anvil! Woe to any caught between us!”

Sabina did not reply but stepped quietly up to the battlements to also view the foe set against them, Albrecht smiled at the Priests familiar words, something he heard many times before as a child, in stories told to him,

“That was well said.” Ulrike was less familiar but took her cue from her lover and managed a nervous and unnoticed smile, clutching the heavy shield she had acquired close to her body.

“It is the truth.”

“I hope so,” the noblewoman had not yet drawn her sword, she stood merely watching and listening – “You do understand that we need to kill the sorcerer to win?”

Lothar nodded, “You speak wisely, it is best to take the head from the enemy, be they beast, witch or undead monster.”

She looked across at him, his voice controlled, “you have fought all of these things then?”

“Indeed, my order does not merely preach the good word, we act as our God would have us, as He would do; after all it would not do to hide from His enemies.” He spoke without hesitation, confidence and assurance redolent in every word.

For the first time he took a moment to look at her, slight even in her armour but obviously unafraid and apparently more intelligent than some of the “fearless” nobles he had fought alongside.

“…and you M’Lady, have you fought many such creatures?”

Her smile was feral, “Probably even more than you, good sir, hmmm what is he up to now.”

All four looked over at the chanting sorcerer, flanked by two hulking brutes clad in heavy armour and bearing huge shields. Red smoke had begun to drift from the burning figure, at first mere curling strands of vapour but quickly the cloud began to build and expand, beginning to conceal the sorcerer and his guards.

“Clever bastard.” Albrecht cursed.

“..Let us look on the bright side…….” The Priest was unmoved by the new manifestation of the enemies power.

“….Ah let me guess – they are coming to us?” Sabina’s words drew a smile and a nod from Lothar.

“Indeed they are….”

“…and we should be ready to welcome them….”

“….with hammer and Faith.”

“….Sword and skill.”

“…As you say, M’lady, as you say, our God helps those who help themselves.”

Albrecht seemed to enjoying the conversation, grinning as they exchanged words but Ulrike shivered and clutched at the silver wolfs head medallion at her throat, whispering a prayer to Ulric to watch over her beloved as he had always watched over humanity.

The Priest seemed satisfied and turned his attention back to the increasingly indistinct enemy and began to quietly hum a familiar hymn.

Xx

“Anything you can do about……….that?” The Pistolier captain gestured with his sword at the growing mist bank that was already cloaking many of the beasts at the edge of the forest and beginning to creep closer to the beleaguered town.

“What do you want me do, laddie? Blow it away? Nah best we wait till they come at us and kill them as quickly as we can, but you know that already.”

Von Hirschfield nodded irritably, “Then choose your ground Dwarf and fight well.”

“We always do, Manling, we always do.”

Xx

Varsilas sank low, nearly touching the ground, his energies heavily taxed as he gestured to his followers to attack. The fire that burned at his heart was cooler than normal and he felt the painful scratching at his mind intensify as the creatures of the warp felt his weakness.

He asserted his will and power and snarled at their impudence in their pathetic challenge and his voice sounded across the minds of his warband.

“Take captives…………” at the unspoken question he relented a little, “you may play with them but keep them alive.”

Chapter Twenty Four – A New Perspective

The clouds swirled about the great beast, cool and clinging to the matted, bloody fur, leaving a residue of water droplets behind. Great feathered wings, four of them, beat hard against the wind, but it was magic that kept the monster aloft and together. The beaked head of a griffin turned now and again, straining the stitches that held it the bear like body but it saw nothing for its eye sockets were empty.

As it flew onwards a slight keening noise issued from the head, the wind sweeping through it and then out of its skull. It was a mournful wail that suited its appearance. To the left and right a pair of lesser but still formidable necromantic constructs flew protectively, searching with unnatural senses for enemies or threats.

The great flying beast was easily big enough to carry several riders and now it carried two – one was its creator and master, the other his favourite paramour. He sat in a vast leather and brass throne inspired saddle, whilst she was draped across his lap. It was not the most practical or indeed comfortable arrangement for her, but he seemed to enjoy it so she humoured him, in this as in all other things. After all, she had mused to herself when he had indicated his preference; it was not worth provoking his temper and perhaps putting her immortality at risk.

She was very conscious that they were up very high now and moving fast, but the clouds kept up with them, held in place by her liege’s will, shielding them both from the direct light of the sun. Far below them, the ground had shifted from a patchwork of fields and forest to the rugged foothills of the Middle Mountains.

As they had flown towards the mountains, Ariete’s enhanced vision had picked out the odd ruined stronghold and even a few dark masses of warriors and beasts on the move. She had spotted a few other winged shapes below them, large and slow moving – glimpsing them with her predatory eyes she had wondered what they were and at whose command they flew, but they were soon lost from even her sight.

At some unspoken command, the riding beast suddenly began to dive towards the ground at considerable speed, and in an instinctive response, she tightened her grip around her lord’s neck. He smiled, fangs showing at her small movement and in response the speed of descent increased even more as they swept into a thick bank of still forming and turbulent storm clouds.

Lightning sparked all around them and she watched open mouthed as the vast bolts of energy flew and arced all around them, the three beasts weaving artfully in and out of the glorious light display. She fancied that if she reached her hand out she could touch the lightning, so close did some of them come. Thunder crashed about them, booming through the clouds without restraint, viciously loud to her ears.

A lifetime ago she had been a young girl, venturing out into the dark woods to fetch wood to help her family alive and warm, to cook fires and whatever her mother could find to feed them all. All that had changed when Hermann Schtillmann had performed the ritual that had brought her beloved Mannfred back to un-life and then she had been intended merely as a first course for the newly awakened vampire.

Yet now she flew above the Empire with, if she had anything to do with it, the future Emperor – things had turned out very differently – for everyone involved! Briefly she wondered if any of those she had grown up with were even still alive, it was doubtful, life as a peasant was hard and short. She had gone back once, seen the squalor and smallness she had escaped from, that she had evolved beyond and was reassured that her choice was more than right – it was destiny.

They broke through the cloud cover and once more saw the landscape laid out beneath them, to their right was a snow speckled mountain slope, its pale expanse reaching up into the growing storm clouds. Ahead was a conflagration of fire and fury, all centred on the vast spire of rock that stubbornly held the besieged city above the armies of Chaos.

Mannfred knew the fortress city well, its formidable defences, the tenacity and fighting spirit of its people - after all he had himself laid siege to it, unsuccessfully, on several occasions. He remembered the arrogance and defiance of its rulers, the ancient power that resided deep at its heart, frustrating those who dared assail its walls.

For a moment he allowed the anger to flicker across his features at the memory of past failures. It held as he beheld the apparently more successful efforts of the Chaos Champion that now threatened the City of the White Wolf. It was evident that the damage inflicted was considerably more than he or his fellow vampires and all the dread forces at their command had ever managed.

Fires burned in many places, buildings had been shattered and ruined – even the four great causeways were damaged and battered, one apparently only held up by great cords and vines of barbed metal. The vampire lord mused that the defenders must have been hard pressed enough to trigger the ancient magic’s that acted as a final safe guard and even then the magic’s at the command of the forces of Chaos had frustrated that defence.

A huge mass of rubble and shattered rock lay supine at the foot of the northern side of the Ulricsberg, a brutal scar had been carved into the defiant rock so far above, evidently taking part of the outer wall with it when it slid.

Lightning flashed past him as the storm clouds boiled and undulated above the small undead force. Mannfred stared hard, confirming to his satisfaction that the fortress was still defiant in the face on the continuing onslaught. He laughed as a flare of fire showed that one vast cannon was still roaring its anger and displeasure at the invaders.

Yet even as the siege continued, it was evident that the battle was entering a new phase as huge masses of the creatures gathering in the shattered remnants of the forest were heading west, not quickly, not fleeing but apparently at their command of the warlords and sorcerers that enforced their will on the horde.

Xx

The wind from the north was cold and Graf Boris Todbringer had little to celebrate, his city and his people were battered and bruised, he knew for a fact that tens of thousands had perished in the conflagration that had enveloped Middenheim.

Boris was old now, he felt every one of his many years, the weight of the armour he wore an unwanted burden, akin to that of the runefang, the ancient sword he wore at his waist. What limited vitality he retained, yet enough to command and fight on, was gifted him in large part by the artefact at his neck, the talisman of Ulric. He winced slightly as with an ear-splitting boom, Ulric’s Thunder unleashed its fury on the enemy.

The vast cannon was, like most of the cities remaining artillery, blackened and heavily scorched with the constant usage. It fired only once a twice a day now, powder was beginning to run low and the enslaved giant that served it as a loader had been slain days ago, making that process difficult and time consuming. Yet its formidable shape and sound helped all the suffering inhabitants know that the city could still defend itself, could still inflict pain on their tormentors.

Several of the renowned Knights Panther, his personal guard stood nearby, quiescent until there were enemies to kill, they had done plenty of that in the last few days. Like almost everyone in the city, they looked battle worn and weary, but defiance remained within them and they stood ready to die at his command.

The Graf look expectantly at the man approaching his position, in contrast to the others, High Wizard Helseher seemed little changed by the siege, still somewhat carelessly clad in dark robes although there was perhaps a little more grey in the long dark hair.

“You bring news?” The Graf’s voice was raspy and painful, but still carried.

A slight smile appeared on the mans face, even as the dull echo of a large explosion sounded from the city beyond. He nodded and in his surprisingly thin voice conveyed the message.

“Janna has received a sending from her Order – the army draws near, it is likely that they will meet the horde in battle tomorrow.”

“Praise Ulric, it is about time. “ The Graf coughed and then steadied himself.

“Max….” A huge armoured mountain of a man immediately stepped to his lord’s side, the bearded Marshall did not speak but merely nodded in readiness.

“We will not stand idle whilst others fight for us….” He smiled now, pain banished for a time. “We shall bring our vengeance down upon them like a hammer blow from the God. Make the preparations for a grand sally.”

The other warriors around him smiled, they were men of action, and being confined within the walls suited few of them.

Maximllian Von Genscher exchanged a broad grin with the equally imposing son of the Graf as they went to gather their men.

Xx

Weakness was something that Teclis was used to, something he had had to deal with all of his long life – potions gave him the appearance of strength, but his illness always lurked beneath the surface, waiting its chance to bring him once again to his knees.

He was tired, the formidable energies that invigorated his body fading fast, he would need new infusions soon, but his stocks of the potions were running low and he knew that his most formidable challenge yet awaited him. The powers of chaos had granted their champion not only their favour and seemingly numberless armies of minions to expend at his whim but also powerful sorcerers.

It was doubtful that any one of them could come close to the skill and power at the command of the elf high mage but it was equally unlikely he would have to face only one. The human mages that accompanied the army seeking to relieve the city were, to his mind still but children – how they could learn anything in such a short life span…… His own kin were sorely pressed in their homeland but every morning he was tempted to reach out for assistance, something they would have been most surprised to learn.

He stretched, wincing as several neck joints clicked and swept out of his tent, itself a shadow of the normal finery that the pre-eminent mage of the world would normally travel in. It lacked his full complement of servants, guards or even the soothing presence of his favourite concubines, Shienara and Malyria. One of the two sword masters on guard duty outside immediately moved with him, his eyes scanning the surroundings for threats to his charge.

Teclis was aware that the rest of the army commanders were already gathered or even now heading for the central pavilion where the human Emperor and the Exalted of Sigmar, Valten awaited them. Luckily, Teclis had foreseen that in the time of need, humanity would be aided by their gods, it had been one of the main arguments for aiding them, even granting them the steed Althandin for their new champion.

With some effort he did not allow a frown to mar his fine features as he noted the dwarf leader heading in the same direction. Barek Grimjaw was as good as his name – setting his craggy features into a formidable scowl at the sight of the approaching elves, with a visible effort he managed a semi-polite nod.

There was much work to be done before the armies met and when they did, axes and magic alike would be needed…..

Xx

Naaima stole silently through the grand reception hall, it was skill that in her first life she had been extensively trained, to be neither seen nor heard unless it was required by those she was to entertain. Since her rebirth over three millennium ago, few could discern her presence if she choose to remain hidden, yet she knew her mistress was one and so she was cautious. Neferata, her beloved Queen was ever a temperamental and tempestuous woman in life and perhaps even more so in undeath.

It had been the custom of the former courtesan from the far off lands of Cathay to travel across the world when the deathless court of the Queen of Mysteries grew wearisome. Naaima was high in the favour, beloved even of the Queen but still it was a dangerous thing to depart from the presence of Neferata unbidden. She had ventured forth and returned many times, much to the chagrin and comment of others within the court.

The forces of Chaos were not absent from even these lands, both stealth and violence had been needed as she had neared the ancient dwarf hold. The long millennia had made her a formidable foe for any that were unlucky enough to notice her, no matter if they were beast, malformed creature or even daemon of the warp.

Having entered Silver Pinnacle itself she had found that the interior of the hold quiet in contrast to the outer defences, now pressed hard by the varied monsters that assailed many parts of the world. The dead however did not cower before the oncoming storm, they stood and fought on uncaring and sometimes their enemies were made to join them in defiance.

As always she was uncertain of her welcome, of who might have supplanted her in the Queens affections, who had been whispering maliciously into those delicate ears. It would not be the first or even the last time such things were attempted, the court, like many others thrived on jealousy and intrigue and even one who had been with the Queen since the very beginning could never, ever, be totally safe and secure.

She had not seen any of the “sisters” since she entered the sprawling structure, those few she had encountered on her journey “home” had been nervous and unsure, on edge as they tried to enact or on one case predict their Queens desires in such times. For the most part Naamia had reassured them as much as she could, but she knew that they were but pieces on the gameboard – sometimes to be protected but sometimes to be sacrificed.

Naaima did not glance left or right or even up into the sculpted balconies where her kin would normally be gathered to watch such an arrival. She would have sensed them if they had been there and was unsure what their absence meant.

Perhaps the Queen wanted to greet her alone, perhaps she was to be turned away at the very last or was even to be used as an example to others, but she did not hesitate in her movements, her choice was made, as it had been so very long ago in a palace in lost Lahmia.

As she had entered she had considered taking the form of a cat, it was a trifle that had always amused them both. Yet she had chosen to keep her old and familiar form, an act of what might be defiance that might add a little piquancy to their long relationship.

“So you have returned……….” Neferata was suddenly beside her.

“My Queen,” her eyes remained downcast and her voice soft and deferential, soothing and reassuring. “I could do little else….”

The lithe ivory figure circled her slowly, never taking her eyes from the sole other occupant of the cavernous space. The ancient ruler was wearing the finery of her lost homeland, even as she had transformed the ancient dwarf hold into a bitter echo of the city of her birth and death.

“Indeed………..yet others never left my side…..”

“Others are not…… I………My Queen. “She allowed a teasing note to enter her voice, testing the waters between the two of them, once again starting the familiar game that could end in pain or pleasure…or both…….

The Queen paused in her pacing as she considered this, her exquisite face expressionless.

“I am glad you have returned.” The admission was a surprise to Naaima, not something she had expected.

“I always come back………..you know that Neferata….” She touched her face gently, but still cautiously.

The Queen in turn enclosed it in hers before she broke away in a swirl of silk and the former courtesan smiled in silent satisfaction.

“I wondered if you might be marching to war?”

Another dangerous question but one that had been pressing on her mind as she had passed through the battle scared lands. Certainly the queen was not garbed for battle – she was an uncannily skilled swordswoman, taught long ago by Abhorash and she had slowly honed her skills over millennia, but she had no blade scabbarded at her waist, no armour cloaking her form.

Neferata had lead armies before, had delighted in their triumph and raged at their failure, but not in recent memory. Now she preferred to enact her will through her sisterhood and those who they in turn manipulated and controlled. A few of her chosen enjoyed the thrill of battle – as she waited for an answer Naaima recalled long lost sisters, saw again Stregga and her barbarian warlord. They had delighted in battle and each other…..and like so many others …they were gone.

“Not yet, perhaps soon.” Naaima narrowed her eyes even as the Queen looked away, perhaps she too was remembering all that she had lost over the long years, not just the realms but the people. She wondered if that was why she was reluctant to commit herself or her resources.

“Do we have time to wait?” She pressed as few others would do.

The Queen laughed, “My sweet Naaima, we have nothing but time…..”

Xx

‘Always kill the messenger’ - this was a saying in the terrifyingly paranoid world in which the assassin lived.

If a courier was dead, he could not confirm the message was ever delivered…..should things…somehow go wrong. His long dark snout twitched in satisfaction as with a flourish of his prehensile tail he cleaned the jagged dagger and returned it to its sheath, alongside the others.

Scife the Whisper was an adept of clan Eshin, a master of the hidden blade, so skilled was he in the arts of stealth and assassination that his name was scarcely whispered in the burrows of power. No other skaven had the skills and abilities to carry out the mission that he had been granted.

Infiltrate the most secure fortress in the man-thing over empire and slaughter the leaders was a task for only the greatest of the scions of Clan Eshin could attempt, let alone accomplish. His scent glands swelled with pride and anticipation of the rewards to come, the many breeders and warp tokens that he had been promised.

He emerged from his lair, avoiding traps he had previously set with a series of precise rapid movements and moved silently to where his apprentices had gathered. Each was a trained killer, skilled in the Art of the Silent Death, techniques learned long ago in Cathay, far to the East.

They watched him carefully, as he expected, but often their gaze would flicker around the others – their rivals. All were heavily armed, razor edged swords, blades and throwing stars were worn openly, poison and garrottes less obvious but still ubiquitous.

Scife raised himself high, his large incisors showing, noting the appropriate lowering in posture of his Claw, those he had selected to serve as an extension of his supple paws.

“Rejoice-celebrate favoured ones, time to kill man-things.”

Chapter Twenty Five – Approaching Ascension

It was time.

Damar knew that his life in the mortal realm was coming to an end, he could hear the whispers all too clearly now – they still teased and taunted him about his future still but he knew that his long sort after ascension approached. They claimed to know what was coming, what he would become but he did not care, he had always only obeyed two voices – his own and that of his god.

Nearly fifty years ago he had set his course, sure and straight, he had maintained it as he progressed and evolved. He had seen many others fall to madness and mutation – now they ran as mindless tormented spawn with the other beasts, those that had survived. Some had simply perished, those who were weak, those who were foolish or misguided, without the proper drive and focus. He had killed not a few aspiring champions himself and drank their magic and souls.

He was, as he had always been without doubt that he would ascend to the ranks of the daemons that clustered around his master, the god Tzeentch. Then he would drink deep of the pleasures and power that awaited him – for eternity – as he had been promised.

One more challenge, one more step before he could claim his reward.

Purposefully he strode forth, he sensed the growing expectation in the acolyte that accompanied him. Apparently he thought he was favoured above all others as he moved alongside his master. Although if Damar actually had a decent scribe or storyteller in his retinue he would have brought him or her instead and drained the soul in a pleasurable interlude.

Xx

Resistance continued as they moved through the woods, blood flowed and flew as the monsters duelled under the trees. Rain had now begun to fall and water droplets were insidiously seeping through the tree cover to the mud below, mixing with the blood.

Wounds were apparent on all of them – even the uncanny resilience of the vampire and the witch sorely tested against acid spray, fire and other exotic methods of attack. Lucarius and Hans would have impressive scars, if they survived. Now they were encountering minor Daemon summoning’s as well as beasts and also heavily armed and armoured warriors, quick and deadly and harder to kill.

A lumbering monstrosity shambled towards them, tendrils and slobbering maws reaching for new prey, a strange lustful whistling noise emanating from the creature. Goading it on were a pair of capering beastmen – cracking whips of energy lashing its armoured hide forward towards the four.

“Yours?” Lucarius looked weary but managed a slight smile as he gestured at the creature, his gaze upon Viktor.

“If I must….” The vampire strode forward, lashing out with his abused blade to sever the appendages reaching out for him.

Hans spat blood and a broken tooth into the mud and rested for a moment, hands on the hilt of his great hammer whilst the witch woman sat astride a huge black armoured warrior, its limbs pinned to the mud by shards of his own massive axe which had severed her left arm clean away. Fire and smoke issuing fitfully from the still gaping wound.

She exhaled blood, fire and arcane curses into the helm of the warrior and the sable iron twisted and melted, revealing the blistered and blasted face beneath. In turn it gurgled its own hatred at her, blood bubbling up from its throat as its life faded away.

Lucarius looked away from the scene, he had seen enough of the witch ripping the souls from her prey, devouring them with unnerving relish. He looked down at himself, his blood soaked armour and clothes, the beastmen still twitching at his feet and felt merely sick and tired.

Viktor leapt over the onrushing monster and rammed his sword into its armoured body, with all his strength behind it, it sparked and shuddered as it sunk to the hilt. He did not pause, even as the beast staggered to one side, screeching and wailing in pain, he was moving on to the two who had been herding it.

He landed in front of them, snarling as the larger of the two lashed his whip across his armour, gouging its surface in a cascade of energy. Another blur of movement and the beasts head was flying, blood arcing gracefully as he backhanded the other beastman, shattering its jaw with the force of the impact.

As the wounded creature fell back, he returned his attention to the monster, now paused, several tendrils hanging limp. It groaned again and staggered heavily to one side, unsteady on its four trunk like legs, unfocussed eyes looked up at what it had thought were prey and saw a great metal object heading towards it.

The impact of the hammer was loud and messy, blood and other fluids erupting from around the massive crater that had been its head. There was almost no pause between this and the second hammer blow that crashed into the gaping wound, smashing the creature down to the ground, twitching and flailing.

“Done” Hans intoned wearily, glancing at the vampire tearing several more beastmen apart.

“Wait a….” The witch’s voice was unusually urgent.

It was brutally interrupted by a loud scream as something rocketed into Viktor’s body and immediately detonated. The explosion tore half of his chest away and sent him stumbling over the dead at his feet before a second impact exploded his right hand and left leg. He dropped heavily into the mud.

“I dislike vampires.” Kreesha looked hatefully at the shattered body, the huge pistol in her hand smoking as she tracked her next target – the witch woman.

Lucarius was running towards the new arrival, expecting a sheet of fire or a lightning bolt to cover his advance, but the witch did nothing more than back away, chanting as a shimmering blur of energy appeared in front of her.

The armoured woman’s scowl deepened as she advanced, sparing the elf warrior only a cursory glance full of contempt. She sent several rounds of screaming ammunition at the witch, cursing her as the arcane shield held, although the strain of maintaining it was obviously harsh on the one armed woman. Veins pulsed and throbbed in her body and several burst, leaking black viscous fluid into the mud as she staggered back.

Despite the weariness that never seemed to leave him now, Lucarius executed a perfect leaping strike, the blade angle a thing of beauty even his sister would have applauded. It was aimed at the woman’s neck with unerring accuracy, a blow that would sever her head in a display of elven excellence.

Skittering and shrieking, the glittering blade left a trail of sparks as it glanced harmlessly off her skin and the Elf captain lurched off balance helped by a swift and powerful punch to the jaw by his intended victim. He too fell to the ground, temporarily incapacitated by the force of the blow.

“I am not fond of Elves either.” She refocused on her primary target and blasted more shells at the shield, then swiftly pivoted and pumped them into the vampire who was struggling back to some semblance of un-life.

“Stay…down………..foolish…corpse…….stay…dead!” She punctuated each venomous word with another exploding shell. She drew a curved silver dagger that glittered in a flash of weak sunshine, signalling the end of the latest rain shower.

The distraction was deadly as a streak of rune bedecked metal slammed into her body, crushing ribs and puncturing her left lung with a shard of bone. As she fell backwards, she saw the human stride towards her from where he had thrown the hammer, a grim smile on his blood flecked face.

Kreesha coughed blood, feeling weakness begin to spread through her powerful body and rolled to one side, dislodging the weapon into the ichor polluted mire. A heavy booted foot connected with her jaw, mud splattered and stinking as it snapped her head back, but it could do no serious damage. She unleashed her anger in an outraged screech and slashed out with her dagger, seeking to gain room to employ her main weapon.

The human dodged backwards from the blade but almost immediately the glittering blade of the Elf clattered against her skin, seeking to sever her gun hand and although her aim was deflected, no serious harm was inflicted. More rapid blows rained down on her, the blade apparently showing its frustration in the screeching sparks that flew as it ricocheted for her skin and armour.

She rolled aside, feeling fresh pain in her body from the hammer’s impact, cursing her own foolishness at not noticing its Dwarven heritage. Another pair of glancing impacts, this time on the back of her neck, were scarcely felt and instinctively she rolled again and this time came up with her gun blazing at where the Elf stood.

The first two shrieking projectiles were close, but the elf managed to avoid, his eyes focussed on the movements of her hand to keep him alive. He pivoted away to avoid a third but the fourth caught his left hand in a glancing blow and exploded.

His whole hand and part of the arm simply exploded and he lurched back, stunned by the impact. He looked down at the ruin of his limb, horrified by the wound and for a moment forgot completely about his enemy, whose pain racked face had shifted into a vengeful grin.

“Look at me when I am hitting you, Bitch!” Came a deep voice from right.

Hans had recovered his weapon and the runes blazed with angry fervour as he slammed into the woman in the mud. Where swords, bullets and arrows had proved no more than a nuisance, the Dwarven weapon brooked no such insult.

The force of the first blow crushed her nose and one eye exploded from its socket. A shudder of shock and pain rippled through her body, and she lost her grip on her weapons. Hans did not stop, powering the hammer from above his head onto and into her head. Then he did it again. And again. Soon little was left of the woman’s head, much of it coating the weapon itself.

“Enough I think.” The witch had emerged from the safety of her shield and approached the scene.

Lucarius collapsed onto his knees, clutching desperately at the wound to try and stem the flow of blood through the mangled wound. As he did so, Hans looked round at the woman, shaking the worst of the flesh and brains from the head of his hammer with a flick of his powerful wrist. She noted with narrowed eyes how comfortable he now seemed with the weapon.

“Can you do anything for him?” He gestured towards the Elf captain. “He seems to need a….. hand….”

No one laughed.

Xx

Damar advanced through the trees, burning them as he went in case a beacon was needed to bring his prey to him. About him capered a small mass of Daemons, grumbling and laughing as was their wont. Several more bizarre creatures bounced along on the edges, semi-transparent with only a tenuous grip on reality. They were shaped like inverted mushrooms or jellyfish with two large tubular arms from which they unleashed blue or black fireballs upon their surroundings in imitation of their summoner.

At the Champions side strode a pride filled Kurt, enjoying the fiery advance towards the enemy, anticipating his masters triumph and perhaps his own rewards in its aftermath. He looked across at Damar, now clad in his burning armour and caught the eye of the familiar lurking on his shoulder. It raised its large malformed hand and gave him a thumbs up. As he turned back away, the familiar scowled and reversed the gesture.

Xx

At Hans’s question, the witch had shaken her head and suggested he attend to the wounded Elf.

She had walked over to where the vampire still lay, half torn apart by the repeated detonations and stood considering his body for short time before apparently making a decision. She gestured at the remaining bodies lying nearby and began to chant in her disturbing language.

In response a sanguine vortex began to form, swirling and draining the blood from the mud and bodies that surrounded her. She gestured as she intoned the ritual and the miniature cyclone shifted in the air, still forming and growing and now hovered above Viktor’s unmoving body.

The witch adjusted its position in the air a little and then made an abrupt gesture as her words also ceased. The blood dropped in a crimson waterfall, drenching the vampire below, washing into his mouth, nose and wounds. At first there was no response, but the life-giving fluid continued to seep into the flesh of the slumbering figure and several fingers began to twitch.

“There, battlefield surgery at its best.” Hans looked down at the roughly bandaged stump that had been the Elf captain’s hand.

Lucarius nodded his head numbly, he had indeed seen worse in his time but usually there were skilled healers on hand when the Elves went to war. He too looked at the crude attempt at bandaging following the horrifically painful cauterisation.

“I can give you a new hand if you like?” The woman’s tone was not enticing or sympathetic.

He fixed her with a glare – “you can heal this?” Instinctively he moved the stump and instantly regretted it as pain shot through his arm.

“No……..but I can replace it, graft another in its place?” She looked amused. “I you like…….”

Turning back to the various bodies littering the ground she ripped out a length of flaccid tentacles from the greater spawn. She looked again at the Elf, “No?”


The Elf looked away, disgust clear on his face, banishing the pain, “I dislike the offer and the likely your terms – your assistance in the recent conflict would have been more appreciated.”

“Ah well, this body needs repair as it is – much more damage and it would be unlikely I could remain.”

She glanced down at the lengths of strange tissue and closed her ebony hued eyes, spoke several ear scorching words and the appendages began to shudder. A swift movement and one end of them mass of purple and black tubes was slammed into place on the fire licked shoulder, the flesh hissing as it met and melded with the pale skin. A faint smiled crossed her features as she flexed still growing muscles and the tentacles moved and undulated in the still air.

“Better than before….”

A groan of pain announced Viktor’s return to consciousness, slowly and painful he leaved himself upright, his flesh still trying to heal the massive wounds that had been inflicted. He limped slowly towards the bulk of the slain monster, pain evident in every slowed movement he made as he neared his sword still sheathed in the malformed flesh.

“Everyone still alive then?” He rasped.

Xx

Malitha-Kluthras could feel the pain for the forest as they moved towards their enemy – not just the intrusion of the corrupted ones, the presence of the never born but the scorching fire that killed young and old. The greater spirit and the elf witch were still one pure mind and emotion – rage.

Around them were the growing army of the forest – creatures that loped and paced nearby - bears and wolves, wild boar and even the sleek forms of greater wild cats. Laith-Oriou were the closest, tall lean killing shapes of various heritage, even the fiercest of the beasts gave them a wild berth.

The prey was not trying to hid, not seeking to hide away from the rightful vengeance bearing down upon it. It might once have given her pause, this heedless movement towards her, the forest itself was contemplating the enemy, but it was slow and steady on its now set course, never swift in making or indeed changing its decision.

There were other wounds in the forest, sores and gaping holes that were still appearing in the conflict that raged within and far beyond the borders of the Drakwald.

Xx

Damar paused for a moment in his march as he felt Kreesha die, felt her soul be sent screaming to the feet of their master. Whatever shielded them from his arcane gaze was not enough to block the knowledge of the fate of those he had bound to him.

He considered her death as he began to walk again, the cavalcade that had fallen still and silent at his suspension of movement once again a fiery mass of movement. Kreesha was strong and resilient, deadly as she was blessed with weapon whose power he respected, had allowed her to retain as it had been a gift from their master.

Dwarven weapons were one of the few things that could breach the mix of spell forged armour and skin – perhaps that was how his new enemy was concealing themselves – their Runes were ancient and powerful. Yet it felt wrong – he was missing something and he heard the voices mocking him again, taunting him that his future might be slipping away.

He shut them off with a thrust of his mind – his goal approached and he was ready for it.

Xx

Viktor looked terrible, his body was slowly healing – as rent and torn as the amour that still clung to parts of his body. With several audible groans he clambered atop the greater spawn and clasped his hand around the hilt of his favourite sword.

It was sheathed hard in flesh and bone alike, not something that would be easy to withdraw as he knew from bitter experience. His strength was returning however and after a moment’s pause to gather himself he pulled – hard.

It slid for a moment than stuck fast – he pulled again and twisted, pulled again then staggered back as the blade snapped with a blast of magic energy – the spell forged steel and runes finally reaching the limit of their endurance. Cursing he flung the hilt away and stomped back to the others who stood watching.

As he reached the witch he stared into the void that were her own unblinking eyes.

“I hope that we are close, Daemon, for we are ALL fast reaching our limits.”

“Yes.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What more do you want? I can lie if you wish,” She stepped closer, “you must adore lies to exist as you do, a mockery of your former life, a pathetic shadow of what you once were.”

She turned away from, uncaring of the obvious anger.

“We need to go now – whilst we are able.”

No-one seemed enthusiastic but also no-one argued but they merely began to trudge into the trees.

Xx

Now that was a brutal one, makes me feel bad for the characthers. An joy to read, well done sir.

Thank you - coming to end of Book one

Mroe bad things yet to come.

Oh dear`? More brutal than this?

Well I am told that good authors Kill (or at least damage) their Darlings ......

Been reading Game Of Thrones have we? Well I must admdit to this myself

I likd the first few GOT books but deeply disapointed by the later ones - especially Dance with Dragons - terrible book - at least the tv show sorted out some of the mistakes GRM made.....

back to the blood

Chapter Twenty Six – The Enemy Within

“You recall my words Ulrike?” Sabina drew the frightened girl’s attention from the indistinct shapes in the crimson fog that still thickened around them and tendrils of which were drifting into the town proper.

Wide eyed, the girl nodded and moved a little close to her lover, holding the large shield in both hands. She softly intoned the advice “Don’t attack them, defend him….”

Lothar spared the young woman a glance, he agreed with the others words but wondered if the girl would stand against what was coming. In contrast the other two standing nearby seemed unconcerned by the unseen enemies whose battle cries, screeches and booming bellows echoed unnaturally through the mist.

Determination and perhaps anticipation was in the face of the man, by his scars and well cared for weapons the priest took him for a seasoned warrior – he had seen younger men who were veterans in these dark times. Boys barely into their teens quickly learned to use a weapon in the wilder parts of the Empire – or they and those they loved perished.

The woman wore the armour and demeanour of veteran fighter but she lacked the usual marks of such a life – he had seen women who had gone to war for various reasons, a few even by choice but they seldom remained unscathed for long. Scars – physical and mental quickly made their mark on those who went to war, this one however………..

She noticed his scrutiny and raised an elegant, inquiring eyebrow.

“Don’t worry – I…..We will stand.” She smiled, a brief thing that faded quickly as she turned back towards the still encroaching fog and the enemy hidden within it.

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to pierce the billowing uncertainty that grew thicker by the moment but to no avail – its arcane nature easily forestalling her uncanny vision. The sounds of the approaching creatures were indistinct and hard to interpret and even her keen sense of smell was being laid astray, taunted even by the mist.

Lothar nodded at her certainty, “As Sigmar wills.”

“Ulric grant us strength.” The girl’s voice was quiet but strong and the priest again nodded approvingly, he had thought it unlikely any could survive this long without the blessing of the gods. His melodious voice sounded out again, loud and strong.

“As he did to our Lord Sigmar in ages past, so now will he grant us the strength to drive back the darkness.”

Albrecht did not speak, although he alternated attention between the wall and the cloaked landscape beyond and his lover. He took a moment to wipe sweat from his hand, it was no time to lose your grip on your sword. He remembered that after the last big fight he had vowed to get a chain attached to the hilt of his blade like his employer, but he had never got round to it.

As the first screaming, frothing creature leapt over the wall and straight at him he hoped he would not regret that oversight.

Xx

The dwarf engineer took a moment to spit meaningfully over the wall before he refilled his pipe and returned it to his mouth.

“Hmm they are certainly taking their time.” He looked up and over at the manling captain who stood drumming his fingers absently on the parapet and who had in front of him, placed upon a scarlet cloth, a matched pair of pistols.

Captain von Hirschfeld nodded absently and for the third time carefully checked the mechanism of his ornately gilded flintlock pistols. The movement was noted by the Dwarf who assessed the two weapons with a swift but professional eye.

“Nice pieces – a bit flashy, but they look passable for manling work.”

“I am sure the armourers of Nuln would agree with your assessment…” The captain’s voice was dry and showed little if any amusement.

“It was Master Kruger in this particular case. I have always found his work most satisfactory.”

Bardin grunted, “I know the name – some in that city have learned well from their betters.”

“Hmm, indeed.” The human lifted the pistol and sighted down the barrel, the intricate and delicate scroll work making it a true work of art. Each bore his family crest, a source of renewed pride every time he drew them, gazed upon them. He cocked the immaculate gun, the oiled mechanism smooth and silent, precision engineered to his specifications.

“I must send a letter of commendation to Master Kruger, they have served me well this past few months.”

A rare smile broke across the dwarves face, “Aye, you should do that – a craftsman likes to hear how his work has performed. Good or bad, he would want to know and praise unlooked for is the best kind to receive.”

He took a deep breath and the smile left him as he caught the unwelcome scent of the bestial, “Well then – here they come.”

So as the first creature raised its foul malformed head over the top of the wall, grunting and snarling its lust for blood, Captain Von Hirschfeld calmly put a ball through its right eye and sent it tumbling into the mist and down to the ground with a satisfying thud.

The two, man and dwarf, exchanged grim smiles and set to work killing the rest of the creatures clambering up the wall.

Xx

Granny had gathered the children in the kitchen, fed them and reassured them – promised them that nothing would enter their home unless she allowed them to. She hoped she was right, that the bargain she had struck would hold.

Slowly she looked at them all, her charges – the sullen and the broken, the sweet and the affectionate. For now, for the moment they were safe – she had seen to that – at least she hoped so. She had been shown what was coming to them, over the walls and into the streets and homes and it was clear that there was little hope for anyone in Untergrad who was not……..protected.

They all sat now in the comforting warmth of the large lop sided kitchen, the old crooked walls having stood for dozens of years, The children were talking amongst themselves in low voices apart from Elsa and her older, silent sister. Elsa had quickly fallen asleep with her head pillowed on the old dog’s belly, both having consumed large meals whilst Klara sat slightly apart, bolt upright and her eyes watchful, she usually remained quiet unless pressed.

Dieter rubbed his forehead as looked at the pawn in front of him, the carved piece was scorched and a little twisted by the fire but still recognisable. Carefully he picked it up and rotated it to look, once again at the damage. He sighed heavily and replaced it on the kitchen table before reluctantly starting to pack the pieces away into the damaged but still functional box.

He glanced over at Granny, remembering the rune she had traced on his forehead and wondered why it itched. Then like everyone else in the room he froze in place as someone or perhaps something large and heavy began pounding on the front door.

Xx

“Where is she?” the veteran mercenary growled, eyes flickering towards the two exits to the stables, the three other warriors watched him, they each had swords or axes in one hand and the reins of their horses in the other.

“Maybe she is …..” The youngest of the trio ventured, the vivid scar on his cheek standing out against his pale skin.

“What, you think she is Dead?” Lothar laughed as he turned to face them, “She has already been dead – it can’t touch her – I am betting it can’t touch us either…..if she is with us.”

“But she is not with us is she?” Franz was one of those who seldom spoke unless he felt there was something worth saying and both of his companions turned to him as he did so now.

He looked speculatively down at his gleaming axe blade and continued, “Are you sure she said to meet here – doesn’t sound right to me…….”

“What doesn’t seem right?” the other veteran stepped towards him, losing the hold on his horse’s leading reins.

Eyes met his, cold and uncaring “That she would run….”

“Sometimes there ain’t another option – you know that same as I do.” He looked back at the doorway, “this place is done – they will be over them walls soon and we need to be gone.”

Franz nodded, then dropped his reins as he ran a calloused thumb along the blade of his axe, crimson drops oozing out and dripping to the straw.

“It too late anyway.” He suddenly turned and brutally rammed the weapon into the belly of his young companion before withdrawing it with a gush of blood and entrails, “far too late.”

Xx

“I told you it wouldn’t be a problem.” Julius looked down at the Pistolier sergeant as he gurgled and thrashed on the blood soaked wood of the tower roof.

With no little effort he withdrew his sword from the body of the large three armed mutant, grimacing in distaste at the smell that only increased as its dark blood sluggishly emerged. He pushed the stinking corpse off the wall and took a deep breath, his heart still pounding from the fight.

All around he could hear the sounds of violence, he could hear the clattering of sharp claws as they climbed up towards him but he took a moment. He knelt down by the old soldier and placed his hand over the gushing hole in his throat, stemming the flow a little but not completely.

“I don’t know if you can hear me Sergeant.” There was in truth little recognition in the pain filled, desperate eyes of the dying man.

“You might be right about who I serve, might be right that she should be burnt…..but I do know that we will soon be judged for our deeds by whoever or whatever waits beyond.

He could hear them getting closer now, several of them if the mist was not distorting the sounds more than he thought. They must have impressed something enough to send a goodly amount to kill them – it was small comfort to a doomed man.

“Truth be told Sergeant, I don’t wonder which of us is be right or wrong – I only hope that we are judged on our deeds.” He looked down at his blood slick sword. “I am ready – I hope that you are too?”

As he finished he realised that the man he was talking to was dead. He nodded and closed the eyes before standing and turning to face his fate, sword in hand and Ulric’s name on his lips.

Xx

The creature raked huge claws across the girls shield as she frantically interspersed it between her and certain death. Ulrike had drawn its attention and wrath by blocking its initial onslaught on her lover and now it sought only to eviscerate her.

She staggered under its powerful blows, blood slick beneath her feet and the stench of its body and breath almost as potent as its strength. As she recovered her balance, it screeched through the large unsightly beak that dominated its misshapen face and grabbed hold of the shield, attempting to pull it away from her.

Frantically she used both hands to forestall it, her straining muscles screaming as loudly to her as the monster that was trying to kill her. Just as she felt her grip failing she saw movement beside her and then alongside the beast, a blur of crimson and steel and the pressure was gone.

Albrecht’s eyes flickered worriedly over her, the evident concern not at all eased by her uncertain smile but he turned back to his bloody work, striding down the wall to where another creature was clambering over the parapet, his sword raised high for a killing blow. Ulrike scurried after him, ignoring the twitching, headless corpse of her recent assailant.

Not far away, the priest of Sigmar assailed his attackers with powerful hammer blows and, when he had the breath, a potent mix of dwarven battle oaths and the name of his god. He was sure there could not be a finer thing, doing the work of his god, acting in his name and even in the manner that had first brought his name to attention of mortal and immortal alike.

He grimaced in pain as a hooked and barbed tail spiralled out of the still thickening mist and lanced through his left leg, adding his blood to that already spilled all around him. The huge multi-legged thing at the other end of the scaled segmented tail emerged, its semi-translucent body pulsing red and white, demonstrating its growing excitement.

It was perhaps twenty feet in length, propelled by a mixture of long clawed insect like legs and a disturbing amount of elongated humanoid hands and arms. Whereas the legs were similar; insectile, black and armoured in thick chitin, the multitude of hands and arms were all different, seemingly gathered from other creatures. Disconcertingly several even still had rings on their fingers.

The creatures head was a twitching mass of flexing pincers around a maw that boasted rings of serrated teeth that descending back into the depths of its body. A strange hissing sound emanated from that orifice, as it moved towards its prey.

The priest smiled embracing the pain in his leg, it seemed Sigmar had sent him a worthy test……

Xx

“Who is it?” the youngest child voiced what everyone else was afraid to ask.

Elsa pulled herself away from the dog that was also stirring from its slumber and got to her feet. “Shall we go and see who it is Granny?”

The old woman breathed again, deeply and choked off a coughing fit as she moved towards the little girl.

“I’ll go, you wait here.” She finished just as the hammering came again.

“But I want to go with you…..” the girls face slipped naturally into a petulant frown and her hand slipped insistently into Granny’s.

For a moment the old woman hesitated but then the two of them moved towards the door in silence, all eyes on the pair as they left the kitchen.

Just as they reached the great oak door, the hammering came again, taking a deep breath, Granny called out to those beyond the threshold.

“Who is there?” Her voice wavered through the words and she wondered if they could even through the thick wood.

The voice that came through was gruff but appeared to be human in origin.

“Gustaf Nagel, Priest of Sigmar. Open up woman!”

Pausing only to usher Elsa behind her with a crinkled finger pressed against young lips, Granny carefully moved the worn wooden cover to the peep hole to one side and peered through.

She saw part of an irritated young man, the stubble on his head contrasting badly with the poor attempt at a beard he sported on his face. For a moment she thought he was alone, then she glimpsed the shiny helm of a warrior, short in height perhaps even a dwarf like the one armed Orzard.

A small hand tugged at her dress and an even smaller voice whispered –“Are you going to let them in?”

Xx

Sabina ripped her sword free of the dying beastman’s broad chest, flinging out her other arm to parry the thrust of pallid creature, its bone arm painfully plunging through her mail, clothes, flesh and just stopping short of her body. She locked eyes with her assailant, twisted her newly impaled limb across and up, pulling off balance before she rammed her sword through its torso and back out in a quick deadly movement.

Pulling its strangely rubbery fleshed body closer, she tore into his throat with her fang, drinking deep - her body needed blood to heal, to revitalise her for the fight to come. She wasn’t feeding just for the sake of it, for the very taste of it, she needed it……..

Pulling her arm off the bone spike with a loud curse, she looked around her, scowling at the thickness of the mist. She could hear muffled fighting, curses, bellows and curses, the clash of metal and wood, but she also caught glimpses of creatures moving over the wall and into the town, taking advantage of the confusion.

Not far away, Albrecht and Ulrike were holding their own but she could see no others due to the clinging crimson fog.

The battle, the town itself was not yet lost but it would not be long…..she needed to do something.

Xx

Tsla was not a great sorcerer, not like his master. He could not raise a mist to envelope a town, summon and control demons to assault its defenders or send bolts of fire at those who dared resist the inevitable. He did however have some minor talents.

They had been nurtured and encouraged through intricate and arcane ritual, painful and taxing though they might have been, they had grown to better serve Varsilas. Normally his soul link to the agent of change would mean that he would be merely used to boost the already formidable powers of that mage but he had been urged forward into the fray.

“Get out there Tsla, its time you flexed your wings and showed me what you can do.”

He had drank in these words and rushed headlong into the battle, even enjoying the familiar mocking laughter that sang out from Varsilas; following him into the fog.

Now that the dead were on both sides of the wall he knew his talents would shine under the gaze of his betters.

Xx

The door creaked open to reveal the frowning man’s full countenance – he was powerfully built, armoured and at his side a great hammer swung slightly at the end of one calloused hand.

“Are the children safe woman?” The man’s eyes flickered to the small blonde head peeping round the old woman’s dress and Granny saw relief flit across his face.

“Sigmar be praised indeed!”

He stepped quickly across the threshold, forcing her to give ground. Behind him, two armoured dwarves were watchful, examining the street for danger, peering through the strange mist that was drifting through the air.

“We are here to get them to the great machine, to safety….now where are the others?” He pressed forward before she could even consider his words.

“Above, Beware!” The words of the dwarf were loud and direct, even as he swung his crossbow in a smooth practised motion up to bring it to bear on something above him, out of her sight. The Priest was moving, turning quickly as the apparitions of horror swept out of the sky upon the two armoured warriors that had escorted him to the house.

They were like huge malformed discs, composed of multi-coloured flesh, feathers, scales and the many watchful eyes of ravens. Horribly, they screeched as they swooped down, one much louder than the others as two crossbow bolts hammered into its rippling body. It staggered and went rigid, ploughing into a nearby wreck of a building with a despairing, childlike cry of frustration.

Three more Daemons held true to their course and a cascade of fangs, talons and raking claws appeared across their malleable flesh as they plunged into and through the dwarves reaching for their axes. One of the dwarves simply fell apart at their brutal passage, arms and body severed by the flensing blades of his attacker. The other dodged some of the slashing, tearing attacks as he rolled aside and came up with a well-tended axe swinging hard into the flesh of the rearmost Deamon.

Purple and green ichor splashed across his torn helm as it flew unsteadily up into the fog with its companions and vanished from sight. Suddenly feeling his wounds, the dwarf dropped to one knee, his axe holding him upright on the now bloody cobbles.

Gustaf did not hesitate, he was out in the street and alongside the wounded dwarf in several long powerful strides. As he heard the screeching wails come again as the Daemons dived upon them, he looked towards the house, to call out to the woman to help get the dwarf inside. He was too late.
He saw the door close but he did not hear the words the old woman quietly spoke to the wide eyed child at her side.

“Come along Elsa, we can’t help them, let’s go back to the kitchen where it’s safe and warm.”

Xx

“How long have you been a traitor?” The mortal spat words and spittle at him in turn.

He considered this, time was a difficult, transient thing, a strange concept to embrace and understand, but so important to them in the tiny, limited world they inhabited.

“A Traitor?” That sounded not quite right, inappropriate even.

He grinned, his mouth stretching far too wide and the mortal addressing him stepped back, fear now showing where there had previously only been anger and defiance. “That would imply deviation from the nature of things.”

“What the feth are you?”

“Sadly it is unlikely that you can fully comprehend the truth of what currently stands before you.” The grin grew even wider and skin split at the corners of the flesh shells mouth – an interesting sensation the Daemon reflected to itself, the pain, the trickling of the blood down from the still opening wounds.

“Perhaps it would be best to show you – would you like that little mortal?”

The mortal then described something very strange and difficult, no impossible to perform – biological speaking – it would require considerable restructuring of the entity it was inhabiting – which would almost certainly not be able to take the strain.

“It would be better for you to accept the violence that you are about to receive and accept the desecration that will be performed on your flesh following the consuming of your soul. No?”

As the mortal charged at him, bellowing curses, it allowed more of its true form to come through and shape the flesh to better combat its opponent. Soon the bellows turned to screams and sobs, just as welcome as the obscenities and threats of a moment before.

Xx

Tsla shifted his perception so he could see the magic all around, the subtle all-pervading enchantment of the mist spiralling and drifting all about in both realms. His eyes traced strands of twisting magic and bursts of multi-coloured sensation as Daemons manifested and departed, enjoying the weakening of the barrier that his master incorporated in the spell.

In amongst the various strand of magic, he could see the Shyish he wanted, lurking in the shadows and clinging to the dead and dying. Opening both of his mouths he began to chant the ritual that would enlist the corpses in his service, to turn the slain attackers and defenders alike against the remaining survivors.

As he finished his first incantation he spread wide his iridescent wings and leapt up towards the wall where he could control the dead as they rose. It was time to begin his own journey towards power and immortality.

Very nice update, the combat descriptions is really good. And the way you portray your characthers are truly inspiring to other would be authors!

Thanks most kind - looking forward to catching up on your work when work slows down.......

Chapter Twenty Seven – Soul Food

“Come to me.” Lord Damar whispered, scarcely conscious of his own words as he stood ready to embrace his destiny, the force of nature that was approaching.

He gestured languidly and his fiery minions swept forward as he laughed – “Blaze a trail for me! Light the way so that we can all join in the inferno to come.”

The daemons he so commanded scattered forward, upwards and outwards, like the edge of a firestorm. The vegetation blazed and shrivelled, the life was scorched and tortured by the unnatural fires that were cast upon them. Fragile, blackened, tormented skeletons of trees and bushes were left behind, hanging above ash laden soil.

In truth, the spectacle was quite intriguing, even invigorating and the lord that had unleashed it enjoyed it for a moment, feeling the slight tug of sympathy in the strangely fleshed arm that had been gifted to him by his god. He swivelled the pulsing growth that his arm had been transformed into and joined his brightly cavorting summoning’s in raising the conflagration, a great gout of flame arcing out from the weapon-limb into the trees.

Xx

“We have to fight that?” Viktor shifted his gaze to look around at the rest of the battered group, the one handed and still limping elf; the weary looking human and the…….the thing of chaos still masquerading somewhat as a mortal woman.

They had gathered not far from the growing conflagration, clustered near a blackened copse of now dead trees, the gaunt forms still reaching out in seeming supplication to the uncaring and darkening sky above.

“No Vampire, we need to destroy that.” Her voice was flat and calm, but for once neither mocking nor amused.

Viktor swore softly and fluently in several languages.

“Can he not hear us?” Lucarius concern and weariness competing in his voice.

“I doubt it.” The witch fixed her ebon eyes on her target and smiled.

“I am fairly certain he cannot hear anything save his own growing madness and the incessant whispers of his intended home.”

She cocked her head on one side, “But……..I could be wrong………..”

“So let’s get this over, one way or another….” Hans growled and the vampire lord flexed his hands in response, the long clever fingers now more closely resembling hooked talons, ready to begin the killing work.

“Indeed. What exactly is the plan?” The captain awkwardly drew his sword and looked meaningfully at the witch.

“Dead Thing – you kill the minion.” She gestured at the lone, though heavily mutated mortal watching the flames rise and the daemons cavort.

“Once that’s done; Viktor, Hans - we will distract our prey, keep him occupied whilst you my good captain – you dismember him, take his arms first and his tongue if you are quick and good enough.”

“That’s it?” Viktor expressed the evident surprise of the others

“Yes.” She shrugged.

Hans kicked an errant, fire blackened stone deeper into the heat dried mud at his feet. “Seems too easy?”

The witch smiled, “Really? I am glad you think so”

“You are sure this will work……that..we are strong enough.” Lucarius glanced down, first at his damaged limb and then the blade.

“No.” She shrugged again at his look of incredibility.

“It’s a risk, a throw of the dice………..” She smiled “isn’t it glorious?”

“Not really,” Viktor stretched tired muscles, the healing still not fully complete.

“Surely some magical arts, some power………..” The Elf trailed off as she shook her head.

“No.”

“But we thought…”

“No, you thought wrong………again.”

She turned back towards Lord Damar and his minions. “We need to kill him and we need to do it now.”

The others looked at each one last time, mutually grimaced and took a firm grasp on the weapons they carried.

“Soo…….ready?” The witch began to walk forward, uncaring of their answer. It was time.

Xx

Kurt could feel the heat pleasurably washing across him as his undulating flesh skirt propelled him in the wake of his master. He smiled, the soft feminine lips had been something he prized greatly in the youth he had ripped his current visage from. It was sweet to remember the curses and pleas that had issued from them, mixed and mingled in those intimate moments between them – victim and tormentor.

Then he paused, catching an aberration in the winds of magic that were swirling about them, dancing amongst the destruction and the entities summoned from the very birth place of the gusts of pure magic. He glanced at his master, seeing if this was the precursor of some new enjoyment, demonstration or indulgence, he wanted to witness all that would transpire.

The chaos champion saw Lord Damar’s familiar turn as well, its malformed body atop the head of the master. Its maw opened in a grin and it waved a too elongated finger at Kurt as he opened his mouth to speak.

There was no further warning, only the familiar sensation of intense searing pain as claws raked into his body and back out, dragging flesh, lengths of viscera and a half severed worm with them. Another talon plunged into his large body with brutal force and he undulated forward as the hand thrashed about inside him, evidently looking for his heart or other vital organs.

The pain flooded through him, something almost invigorating in its intensity, spurring him to action. Hissing in anger and anticipation, Kurt twisted his head round sharply, tearing muscles and bursting veins, more thick blood spurting into the air as he did so.

A new blow ripped across the stolen face he wore, taking much of his nose and just missing hooking out an eye. More glorious pain as the questing claw ripped its way out of his body, a now feeding worm attached to the blood slick flesh of his opponents arm.

“Too late.” He laughed, his flesh heating up as the cleansing, healing fire swept across his form.

He fixed his eyes on this new quarry, drinking in the large lean body and the darkly handsome features, soon to be his he had no doubt. The prey was preparing for another attack, crushing the squirming parasite that had already began to burrow into the arm with ease.

Kurt felt pleasurable anticipation course through him – strength as well as beauty.

“Give me your soul my pretty.” He focussed on the dark eyes and waited for them to widen in helpless fear as their will was crushed.

Xx

Viktor laughed, “My Soul? Oh you Foolish boy…”

He leapt forward at the still smouldering creature and raked one claw through the face, the nearly restored nose flung now into the baked mud. His other talon ripped back and forth through the gelid flesh of the champion’s body, shredding skin, muscles and undulating worms alike.

Kurt lurched back, stunned for far too long that his vaunted gaze had failed him. Words of power began to flow from his clever, twisted tongue but were unceremoniously truncated as the blood soaked claws shredded his lips and tongue. A second rapid strike tore loose the entirety of his lower jaw, the remnants hanging and jangling down his neck.

The vampire did not relent, his arms and claws becoming a frenzy of brutal motion, flensing and tearing until there was little left but a mewling, but still living carcass. It crashed heavily to the ground, twitching and bleeding forth dark turgid blood and writhing parasite alike.

“Time to die.”

Viktor tore the head free of the body, plunged his hand into the neck and reached out to tear out the pulsating brain, crushing it in his blood cloaked claw and discarded the pulped remnants with a precise flick of his hand.

Xx

Damar felt the death of the thrall wizard, he felt the soul struggling to escape the flesh prison and leaping into the otherworld, screaming its frustration and desire for just rewards. A brief moment of amusement touched his own heavily corroded soul as he ensured that the supplicant was instead torn asunder by the predators that served his Master.

“I do not reward failure.”

These were words he had heard many times in his own painful youth and rise to power in the service of Tzeentch.

“They are still words to live by.” He intoned with feeling and satisfaction.

In response he felt his familiar shift on his head, a claw finding purchase in the thick hair and thicker skin of his scalp. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned away from the oncoming force of nature, growing closer the sheer power intoxicating even at this distance.

“…..or die by.” The voice of the witch was loud and reverberated strangely through his mind.

“Ahh, now I see.”

His eyes washed over the vaguely familiar feminine form, he barely noted its nakedness, more the blessed marks of Chaos that had recently touched the mortal, deceptively fragile looking shell. A brief smile touched his features at the tendrils that had replaced an arm, the feathers that served as hair would a human. In the other hand, she held the weapon that had been Kreesha’s, its malicious potency obviously undimmed and latent as she moved the barrel to line up with his head.

Unwillingly he began to focus more on the actual reality in front of him. She had brought other’s with her he noted, likely they were formidable in their own right.

He allowed himself to smile, she should have brought more……

Xx

A blaring projectile tore through the smoky air, aimed directly at Lord Damar’s head, he gestured and it slammed into the ground before him and exploded.

“Please…” He sighed disdainfully at the attempt and in response unleashed a roiling gout of fire from his undulating weapon arm.

Several more screaming missiles raced out of the building inferno followed by the witch herself striding purposefully forward, the fire trailing unheeded from her naked body, still dancing and caressing her form. As she stalked toward him, she continued to pump the trigger of the weapon, sending a veritable storm of the arcane bolts at him.

Lord Damar focussed more attention on the mundane, with a thought he ignited his armour, its surface suddenly blazing white hot. The shells impacted on that unnatural surface and detonated without apparent effect, but he felt the impacts, his body jerking somewhat with the pacts. From his left a blur of snarling fangs and rending, tearing claws leapt at him whilst a roaring human closed from the right, swinging a hammer that glittered with power and pent up wrath.

Potent energy manifested in a crackling azure shield which absorbed the hammer blows, cackling laughter sounding at every fearful impact. Hans shifted his stance, moved to one side and lashing out again but to no avail, the defence remained strong and true, frustrating and unyielding.

Ignoring the human, a screaming shard of pure malice appeared in the Prophet of Flames hand and was propelled with a casual, brutal force into the almost feral vampire clawing ineffectually at the iridescent flashing shield, the globe of force still sounding its mocking enjoyment at every blow.

Viktor staged back, clutching at his chest as the shard impacted and screamed in pain as at a new gesture the shard expanded, crystalline growths sending spikes of pain through his body. Damar looked at the pain racked dead thing in contempt and shook his head, causing the familiar still atop to grip harder with its clawed feet.

It was a pathetic weak shadow what it had been, he wondered vaguely if it would have been worth reaping before it lost its soul. He grew the malice shard a little more, shaped the barbed spikes with a spiteful thought. For a moment he allowed himself to enjoy the pain that was cascading through the ghost still clinging to its corpse, now twitching in the mud.

A notably impressive strike against his shield drew his attention back to the human, the energy field fluctuated and pulsed, this time in pain – there was no trace of the mocking amusement as cracks spread across the expanse of colour.

Damar spat a word of power and the human flew back as an ethereal fist slammed into his body, runes flaring brightly on the hammer he still held, protecting him from the full power of the magic’s unleashed against him.

“Annoying little creatures.” The prophet rasped, his face shifting from that of a youthful child to that of an ancient woman and back to a handsome but scared youth.

Dwarves made powerful weapons - the chaos champion remembered taking that hammer the first time, it had been a worthy challenge from his master and he had barely survived the initial contest intact. As he watched the human trying to recover from the blow another powerful series of impacts smashed into his blazing armour as the witch blasted away with her pistol.

A part of his mind shifted to the capering daemons that still gambolled destructively through the foliage nearby, he would use them to shed these annoying distractions so he could concentrate on his destiny. Irritation flicked across the powerful mind, stirring areas that were seldom used in the recent years of his supremacy – they were no longer servants of his will alone.

Xx

The witch smiled as the revelation came to her enemy. Beyond the besieged champion, the daemons of their lord had ceased their revels and instead turned their malign attentions from the tormented woods to each other. They fell upon each other with whistles and bellows, gouts of fire and tearing claws.

As the fight intensified, several of the more powerful daemons even summoned more of their kind to their aid and to join the carnival of mutual destruction. Energy swirled and cascaded around them as they swept up the churning eddies and swirling flows of the winds of magic to focus on this small corner of the Drakwald.

Atop the uncertain platform of the head of Lord Damar, the familiar’s grin continued to grow as it observed all that took place, its huge heavy head swivelling and pivoting to watch the drama unfold. For a long moment it locked its unblinking gaze with the witch, then nodded as it turned to watch the approach of the final player.

Xx

Lucarius advanced through the horror, not far away Daemons burned, screeched and tore each other apart. The vampire writhed in the mud, having broken the scorched surface even as Hans clambered back to his feet, shaking off the power of the impact that had flung him from the burning figure.

“Isha protect me,” the Elf whispered in his own tongue.

“Khaine grant me the strength to act in your name.” His voice was even softer now, the words were dangerous for the dark god was always looking for those who would act in his name, loose themselves in the murder-lust he could inspire in the Asur.

He did not know why he was unchallenged but he suspected the witch cloaked his approach despite her words. The grasp on the sword she had lead him to was firm but retained suppleness, he had not forgotten his lessons or his long experience in battle.

A phantom pain pulsed up his left arm as he automatically flexed his lost hand, he winced but ignored it and strode onwards through the faint layer of ash that cloaked the ground.

Xx

Hans coughed and spat blood, still feeling the pain of that blow in his broad chest and wondered if the damage was serious and then as he pulled himself straight he wondered if he cared. He glanced down at the hammer, the blazing red of the runes now fading and smiled, blood flecking his teeth.

He noted that the elf captain was moving close now, almost within striking distance he lurched forward, the great hammer swinging as he roared his anger once again.

The shock of the impact reverberated through his arms as the weapon crashed in to the arcane barrier guarding the sorcerer. There was a screech of agony and frustration as the shimmering globe vanished in a flare of magic leaving the way open.

In direct response, without its owner even looking, the pulsating organic arm swivelled to face Hans, its maw ringed with growing heat and flame.

“For once do it right Elf!” Hans intoned bitterly even as he stepped forward, hate in his gaze and the hammer held steady as he advanced.

Xx

A single word that the hammer wielding mortal muttered caught the attention of the sorcerer and he paused in its immolation to consider the implications.

He looked hard at the witch, understanding now why he could so easily perceive her and he could feel the mocking gaze caressing him from the twin voids that served her in this realm as eyes.

His head jerked as the daemon familiar leapt from its uncertain perch and somersaulted towards the witch, cackling madly. It was then that Lord Damar, Prophet of Flame, Incandescent Bringer of Revolution realised that he was, finally and absolutely, betrayed.

Xx

Lucarius moved swiftly, still whispering the dread name of the elf god of murder as he raised his sword to the prefect height and directed it along its curved path precisely, his movements sure and true. The target of his attack was still apparently unaware of him as the glittering blade swept down and through the fire and metal of his armour.

The still human appearing hand dropped to the ground, the flames that danced across the brazen armour, guttering and then ceasing entirely. No blood issued from the stump but rather a sudden outrush of fire that briefly scorched the Prophets attacker, searing his lank hair and skin of the left side of his face.

Pain lanced through the elf, but he gritted his teeth and immediately spun away from the flare and then back again for his second strike. The blade again arced beautifully – one of the most precise cuts he had ever performed as he aimed at the base of the organic growth that served the sorcerer as his other hand.

Damar did not feel the deadly cut of the blades but he could now see the elf spinning and cutting, moving from one side of him to the other. He smiled broadly as he admired the perfection of the movement even as he lost feeling in his weapon arm, a great shriek of anger and pain sounding from its mouth as it dropped to the ground.

He looked down at the large worm like thing thrashing as his feet, the roaring in his head growing in intensity, the words louder but growing more and more indistinct, unintelligible. Slowly, he cocked his head on one side as he tried to focus on the still building cacophony of voices.

Hans did not pause, he strode forward, propelling the hammer into the Chaos champion, its runes flaring as the weapon impacted with the armour, the flames flaring and then failing entirely where the two met. The force was formidable but the unnatural metal held firm, not transferring the force to the creature that wore it. Even as the hammer rebounded, the flames stuttered back into life.

“Be Gone Fool! I can’t hear them properly.”

The Prophet fixed his gaze upon the human and gathered the aetheric energies to fling and flay the impudent creature. Yet even as his mouth opened the glittering blade came again, slicing through his tongue and choking off the incantation in a gout of flame.
Lucarius stepped smoothly back, waiting for the inevitable counterstroke, be it mundane or magical. Behind him the familiar bounced from one foot to its other before summersaulting backwards to land at the witches bare feet.

She looked down and smiled as it scrambled up her body and onto her head, its own head and eyes swivelling to watch the demise of the Prophet it had served for so long. Hans swung his hammer again and the elf shifted to the right, ready to strike again. The vampire was recovering quickly, the malice shard fading without its master’s influence and control. In contrast to the others, the witch turned away, satisfaction on her face.

Energy swirled around and inside the sorcerer, but for once no longer under his control and he staggered forwards, the voices now screaming in his mind. They were at once accusing, mocking, taunting and lamenting – a thousand and one tones and pitches all competing for his attention.

A burst of molten fire energy erupted from his shoulder, quickly followed by a rainbow of energy that blasted his damaged arm into the air where it detonated in a shower of flesh and metal. Damar felt his left leg suddenly bloat and twist as the magic cascaded through his body, it transformed into delicate glass and shattered in a new explosion of deadly slivers that radiated out from his falling body.

Lucarius was caught in the cloud of glass fragments and he screamed in pain as his legs were flensed, only his ithilmar armour preventing the same thing happening to the rest of his body. He managed one more step forward and then collapsed as his right leg gave way completely, the bones shattered by multiple impacts.

Hans fared better as the shards lashed first into the body of the champion but he grunted in pain as a number of the shards lanced through the flesh of his arms and right leg. He mastered the pain and looked at his target, startled when without warning a multitude of thick tentacles erupted from the body and hammered into the scorched ground, anchoring the sorcerer.

More undulating growths spiralled out of the limb stumps, multi-coloured and glistening – one of them exploded into a cascade of tiny golden tear drops, showering the elf now sobbing with the intense pain of his wounds. Flowers with eyes of surpassing beauty in their centre bloomed through the armour but quickly shrivelled in the heat of the still burning metal and began weeping acid tears as they perished.

Damar was lost in the voices, fighting to hear what they were saying, understand what was happening. He drew upon the arcane energies he could still feel to steady himself, but suddenly found himself unsure of what he was doing, where he was. He fought for control, drawing yet more magic and vaguely, faintly feeling his body shudder and change, but memories seemed to be slipping, melting fading even as he tried to grasp them to him, to shore up his fragmenting mind.

Then, abruptly the voices stopped and he heard only three voices, all speaking at the same time but all equally clear and identifiable. The first deep, powerful and sardonic was his father, the second, discerning, cold and unforgiving – his mother, whilst the final voice was his own.

“I do not reward failure.”

He considered this as he felt more and more new mutations blossom all over and inside his body. They were words he had lived by for most of his existence, a path of existence he had imposed on himself and all that followed him.

They were still good words. Words to live…………or die by.

Xx

Viktor staggered to his feet, blood red eyes sweeping across the scene.

The elf captain was being tended to by Hans – both were liberally covered in blood – he could smell it in the air, taste it in his mouth. He felt his injuries crying out for the live giving ichor and slammed down hard on the need, something he had become adept at over the centuries. Luckily there was a distraction.

Where the Chaos champion had stood was now a huge mass of pulsating flesh, chitin and metal, anchored to the ground by glistening pulsating tentacles, fluorescing gold and blue. Behind him a familiar, if unwelcome voice cut across his contemplation.

“Impressive is it not?”

He did not turn but tension rippled through him.

“It does not look dead.”

“It lives, but the mind is dead, the threat is gone, now it is just a tool.”

“To do what?” he snarled now, suspicion continuing to grow.

“For me to use. Did you expect anything else Dead Thing?”

“Not really.” He sighed.

She stepped into view, apparently unarmed, her own gaze focussed beyond the treeline. On her shoulder sat a malformed Daemonic thing he had previously seen with the Chaos champion.

“Do you want to fight?” Her voice was unconcerned, provocative even.

He smiled, “Not if you want me to……”

She laughed, “Wise words.” She began to walk towards the mutated chimeric mass.

“You should find your corpse women, Dead Thing – they may allow you to continue your false existence – should that be what you want.”

He considered this, but said nothing.

“In the meantime, the forest comes – you really should flee.”

She continued to walk, ignoring the others – she would encounter them again – or not as he master decreed. As she neared the conglomeration that had once sought immortality she began to sing, not as a human or even an elf might – but as a song bird, trilling out the notes.

In response, the bulky flesh shivered, the metal resonated and the chitin vibrated. It moaned and shuddered as one and the still formidable energies within began to pulse in tune to the melody and a fire began to trace a design upon the surface. The eight pointed star burned its way out and flared brightly whilst in its centre another design became clear the twisting cobalt coloured S-shaped rune of Tzeentch.

The witch stepped forward and kissed the rune and the whole giant mass shuddered again as if in ecstasy, trembling in supplication. The fire blazed again and in an instant the mixture of materials, living and inert within the star were immolated and dispelled. In their place was a swirling vortex of colour.

“We had a deal, Witch!” Hans stood, his hammer held ready.

She turned to face him. “You once said that I was not to be trusted….”

“That I did…” He looked down at the dwarf weapon.

“…..and I said then that I had not lied to you.”

“So then?”

“..Ah yes, the soul of the elf.”

She reached into the still shuddering mass and slowly pulled out a crystal in which a softly pulsing heart was confined. It was light, yet she took a moment to weigh it in her hands – feeling the soul within before she said a word and the crystal melted flowing across her hands and falling to the earth.

“Catch!”

She tossed the still beating heart at the human who caught it with one hand and a curse.

By the time he had looked back she was already stepping through the portal.

Xx

Chapter Twenty Eight – The Rising Tide

Tsla alighted with ease on the blood and entrail slick stone, feeling the caress of the magic swirling about him as he continued to chant the words of awakening. Stretching his wings, he felt the dubious caress of the languorous Shyish magic as he directed it into the dead arising on the forest side of the wall.

As he spun slowly to survey his stage, he felt the first cold drops of rain begin to fall, hard drops striking his head and dripping down his upturned face.

“How refreshing”.

Both of his mouths smiled broadly at the thought as he turned his attention to the dead both on and beyond the wall, sprawled uncaring amongst the pitiful huddled dwellings of the southerners. All around him the mist swirled and twisted, still propelled onwards by his master, sowing confusion and hiding his living weapons – soon to be joined by walking corpses.

He hoped Varsilas could see him now.

It was his moment and he spat out the necessary chants with both speed and precision, it would be dangerous to get even a single syllable wrong but he had spent so long honing his talent – despite the disdain of others in the Prophets retinue. All around him he felt the corpses of the recently dead arise – all under his control – it was wonderful!

“Arrrghhh.” His pleasure turned to pain as a sword rammed through his spine and flensing clawed finger gripped his throat tightly.

“Thank you.” The nascent Chaos champion felt the heated whisper in his ear, smelt the ichor thick breath as he went rigid with fear.

A movement by the impaling sword and pain tore through his body as felt it scrape along his spine and his legs went limp. Painfully, he coughed up his own thick blood and spluttering, tried to speak, recite a defensive incantation, but the claw twitched and his voice box and much of his throat became a crimson ruin.

“Shhhhhh, time to die……”

The voice was quiet and held no warmth as once again, the blade twisted viciously, but this time as it was pulled free of his body and now only the brutal grip at his throat kept him upright, his body no longer obeying his commands.

As his vision faded he felt a hard shove in his back and he was falling, his body limp and useless, wings tangled with his legs and arms as the mud approached. He felt little pain when he hit the ground, but he could no longer see or move as the mud began to fill his mouths and nose.

Xx

Sabina did not bother to watch the winged necromancer fall to the ground, her attention on the rising dead that the creature had unleashed. Men and monsters alike were stirring, groaning and rising, dripping blood and viscera, shedding and tearing skin and useless organs as they pulled themselves free from impaling weapons.

The other side of the wall was thick with corpses and many were rising and she was for a moment shocked at how successful the incantation had been – such a raising was a difficult and dangerous undertaking. Fewer were on the wall or over it but many of them were also stirring with unnatural energy – she could hear new cries of alarm and fear.

Several of the newly risen groaned or even cried out before slumping spasmodically back into the mire as the last embers of life fled the now cooling corpse of Tsla.

The vampire glared at those she could see in the town, her eyes shifting to crimson as she concentrated and tried to recall the brief lessons she had tolerated in the art. She had spoken the truth to the impudent captain, she could not (and indeed would not) raise the dead but she should be able to command them now that their summoner was slain.

But it was not easy….

She could hear the sounds of battle around her still, but she focussed on the dead, the chant clutching at the strands of Shyish and Dhar that animated and controlled them, mouthing the ancient words whose meaning she did not know, having learnt them only by rote.

All around her she felt the magic swirling and she could almost see it, something she had never been able to do, unlike others of her kind or true magicians. She continued the chant, trying to grasp the invisible strands with her voice, blood sweat standing out on her face as she exerted her will.

Inside the town, torn necks and battered heads slowly turned towards her as she stood atop the wall, muscles straining and blood dripping as they did so. A mournful chorus of groans issues from those that still had throats, a supplication to their new master as they stood otherwise unmoving.

Sabina had their attention now but she could not relax, could not stop, not even when she heard bestial grunting from nearby.

Xx

From the upstairs window, Granny watched the potent magic’s swirling around the house, her home. She had confined the children in the cellar- urging them to be quiet; that she would not be long and that had been her intention.

Yet now she was not even sure how long she had been watching the swirling colours, the glimpses of the greater realm beyond the physical, the tiny brief extrusions into her reality of its inhabitants. Although not long ago she would have been afraid of them, the daemons – but now, well now things were different – and the rune she had invisibly inscribed upon her door would protect all within.

At least, she had been promised it would.

It was……enthralling, invigorating….then she noted a new pattern in the rainbow of colours that were streaming before her. She frowned as she observed the two strands of magic moving: the Shyish – dark purple like a polished bruise and the Dhar – oily, glistening and so very black - an unpleasant, unsettling combination.

She watched several small vortices of the magic combine and swirl downwards, intrigued she leaned forward and saw it entwine itself around the scattered corpses below in the street. Despite herself she gasped as she saw them twitch and move, the strands of magic like the strings of a puppet, pulling at the helpless bodies.

A dwarf warrior sat upright for a moment but the vortex suddenly dissipated and the body went limp again. Nearby however, the priest was still rising, clambering unsteadily to his feet, the shattered remnant of his right arm dropping heavily to the ground. His head turned towards the wall and a keening moan issued from between smashed teeth and torn lips, clearly audible even from where Granny stood watching.

“Where is your Sigmar now?”

She whispered the profane words and turned away, heading back downstairs to her children.

Xx

“You fight well, Manling.” The voice was grudging but sincere, following as it did the sickening crunch of metal into helplessly yielding flesh and shattered bone.

Von Hirschfeld did no more than grunt an acknowledgement as he pulled his bloody sword free from the hirsute corpse, kicking the weight away with a weary glance at the dwarf. In contrast the engineer, although equally drenched in the ichor of his enemies, had barely broken a sweat.

“It does seems to have gone a bit quieter eh Master Dwarf?”

Certainly no more mutants or bestmen had appeared over the wall since they had dispatched the last three attackers.

“True,” The dwarf stretched and cracked his bull like neck, “Well I guess I’ll be heading back to check on the lads and Thora.”

“Thora?” The human said distractedly as he took advantage of the pause to load his last ball into his pistol.

“My machine – she’s a rare beauty that one.” He flicked his hammer in the direction of the bridge and his machine with a precise motion, sending gore and brains splattering away against the wall.

Bardin looked up at the human officer. “Named after the wife, she’d have given me hell if I called it anything else.”

He winked and grinned, “You know how it is, Eh?”

“Not married.” The captain replaced the pistol in its holster with a disdainful sniff.

“Ahh right, well each to their own………..”

“Indeed.”

The dwarf shook his head and turned to begin heading back to his precious machine when the keening moan drifted across the town. His grip on his hammer’s haft tightened.

“Well, still work to be done here then.”

Captain von Hirschfeld drew himself up to his full height as he wiped his sword blade clean.

“Yes.” He then turned back to the dwarf with a cold smile.

“You are right, your place is with your machine; it may be that it can break free of this place.”

He brought up a hand to forestall the inevitable protest.

“Break free and bring fiery vengeance on this place and on all the damned that assail it – then when it has been cleansed of all the fifth that infest it you will build it anew – is that not a good dream?”

The dwarf hesitated, even as the chorus of the dead grew louder, echoing uncannily in the unnatural mist.

“Aye Lad, it is a worthy dream.”

“Good.” He rested cold eyes on the craggy face and nodded at what he saw.

“You see to it for me then, Master Engineer Bardin.”

He turned back to the wall and the dwarfs heavy footsteps began to move briskly, purposefully, away.

Xx

Varsilas felt the death of his winged underling, felt the abrupt cessation of the link between them and allowed his body to blaze a little brighter in momentary irritation.

“It is time.” His voice roared out across his followers, deep and powerful, an unconscious echo of his own master. The two ogres grunted in anticipation, pounding their great metal shields into the mud, splattering themselves and a few of his braver followers who clustered nearby.

Magic swirled restlessly around him as he raised his hand to send a cascade of energy at the pitiful defences before him, the outstretched near ethereal digits now eye searingly white hot. Then he shivered, stopped as pain tore through his burning form, a tearing rending agony as the magic was drawn through and out of him.

He drifted to one side, off balance and in shock, not seeing the surprise in his followers as pain filled his mind.

Magical power rushed through him and for the first time since his allegiance had been pledged to Damar he felt true weakness in that entity. He had fought and schemed alongside that paragon of their Masters will, killed and tortured, sacrificed and changed, witnessed the continual mutation into the glorious form that cloaked the glittering remnants of his mortgaged soul.

Now what had been unassailable, an exemplar of the long path was failing………….

If the shared pain had not been so intense, he would have rejoiced that finally Lord Damar had been brought low, evidently humbled and broken. Yet he was bound to not only the divine in the great universe that beyond the thin walls of unfaithful reality, but also to the Prophet himself. Bound fast with arcane chains. Soul binding chains.

Those intangible unseen links were tightening around flesh and fiery throats as both champion’s fought for their life, their very presence in the world, one still rising in the service of his god, the other frustrated, lamenting that his great work was still not complete.

One would fail, the other would be weakened by the struggle.

As the single survivor drifted, his mind torn and trying to knit its agony strewn shards back together, blind and uncertain, the crimson mist he had conjured began to fade and fray.

Xx

Petra screamed as she once again heard the scrabbling at the door, the hissed profanities and inane chatter that issued from unseen and obviously inhuman throats. The knife she had held in her hand clattered to the ground as she dropped to her knees and began to crawl away, not noticing that she had soiled herself in her growing terror.

Only briefly did Inga look at the frightened girl as she scuttled, sobbing incoherently under the kitchen table, her kitchen table. She returned her gaze to the door to the outside world, the growing noises beyond the solid oak. She wished she could dive under the table and hide, or curl up and close her eyes and wish it would go away.

But she didn’t. Her trusty cleaver felt heavier than normal, but her grip was firm, despite the fear sweat on her brow and trickling down her back.

Several heavy impacts sounded through the thick wood but it held fast, muffled noises that could have been frustration seeped through and the scratching, scuttling and taunting began again.

Xx

The priest looked down at his shattered foe, satisfaction waring with the pain flooding though his body as he tried once again to put his weight on his injured leg. The severed tail barb was still thrust through his leg, now as quiescent and colourless as the great corpse of the beast that had fallen to the ground, back over the defensive wall.

He leaned on the wall as he caught his breath then with a sure swift movement yanked the offending appendage out from the wound, turning the scream of pain into a bellow of rage. Crimson blood poured firth and he clutched the parapet hard with both hands, his great hammer hanging loose by its chain from his arm.

Even as his life blood flowed, he gave thanks to his god, calling out his name to the world. His gore slick right hand, trembling only a little moved to the symbol of his faith and he began to recite a prayer.

“Lord Sigmar, look kindly on your servant, only grant him the strength to carry out His work.”

His grimace of pain turned to a beatific smile as felt the divinity respond, he felt the brush of an ice cold wind that in its wake caused the blood flow ease and then cease, felt the searing heat that that sealed the wound and sent a righteous anger through his body, a fury directed against the enemies of man, the Empire, His Empire.

When he heard the first uncanny moans of the unquiet dead, his soul was armoured in cold disdain and body filled with fettered rage, chained in the service of his god. His eyes now peered through the mist without impairment, seeking the source of this latest threat.

He saw the witch now and clearly.

She stood aloof and atop the wall, chanting her foul spells and incantations – he growled in righteous anger at such perfidy, such deviousness – to dare to stand alongside him, mouthing platitudes whilst all along she was one with the enemy.

“Sigmar!”

He was running now, harnessing his fury, building his speed. With a casual back hand swing he near decapitated a lone beastman clambering over the wall, sending the corpse flying backwards and down to the corpse strewn battlefield.

“Witness your vengeance!”

Xx

Despite lying prone Albrecht could see the danger, see the onrushing threat but at that moment he could do little to aid his mistress, he was in enough trouble himself.

Hot, fetid breath lashed against his face, foul spittle flying from the ravening jaws as they sought to rend and tear his face to shreds. He had managed to get one hand partially around its formidable throat as they fell to the ground, sending brutal pain through his back and left leg as they struck.

Three dangling eye stalks bulged in his direction as the bestial creature tried to leverage its jaws a little closer, a keening wail sounding through its mouth and nose, a desperate sound of consuming hunger. Albrecht’s right hand was trapped between their straining bodies, his sword embedded deep in the guts of the carnivore, yet the creature seemed to care little about the wound, even when he managed to twist it a little.

Thrashing and now screeching the creature managed to work its way a little closer to its prey, slobber dripping onto the man’s nose in its excitement. It had only one functional arm, the other atrophied, pale and limp, but it had more than enough strength in the remaining limb to hold the human in place.

Terrible frustration and hatred screeched from it mere seconds later as its head was yanked back by a large hand and something buried its teeth into the exposed throat, tearing deep into bruised and battered flesh and grinding it’s over large teeth quickly down to the spinal column.

Hot gore splashed his face unmercifully as Albrecht fought even harder to break free; he could hear the other shambling dead beginning to close in, their eyrie moans of hunger clear over the cries of pain.

Xx

Ulrike raised her head slowly, feeling the blood trickling down the back of her neck, no real pain yet, but she was not sure that was a good sign. She could smell the unending stink of battle, the now cool blood, the tang of sweat from exertion and fear and the cloying residue from released bowels.

Then a cold wind caressed her cheek for a moment, banishing the odour‘s.

“Thank you Lord.”

She whispered her thanks to the wolf god as she realised that the shield that had saved her life so many times already this day was still firmly held to her arm. It scraped across the stone as she drew herself slowly, carefully upright, even as she called out for her lover.

The corpse of the creature lay nearby, its malformed body cleaved nearly in half by the sword stroke that had saved her life. She shoved it away and off the wall and then looked around, unsure and a little afraid as to why Albrecht was not answering.

Moans of the dead and incoherent cries of bestial creatures echoed and resounded through the mist and she shivered, shrinking herself behind the battered shield.

“Albrecht!” She cried out again, her voice high pitched and quickly smothered by the fog.

In response a different voice ghosted across and through the crimson shards of the unnatural miasma, a voice that she at least recognised – that of her lover’s liege.

She began to move towards the sound, as faded and grew stronger, seemingly at random. The lady was calling or perhaps chanting? Yet the words made no sense to her, even when she could hear them clearly. She staggered onwards, slipping on blood and entrails and badly scrapping her hand on the wall as she managed to stop herself from falling.

Again a blast of cool air stirred and shredded the mist, and she could at last see the woman, see what she was doing and what was beyond.

“Ulric protect us!” She gasped.

Unmoving, her crimson bedecked sword held loosely at her side, Lady Sabina stood atop the wall, apparently careless and uncaring of a danger or indeed any who might see what she was doing. Strange words fell from her pale lips, their cadence almost lyrical but not in any form that Ulrike had heard before.

Slowly the slight figure turned to face the town, still reciting and Ulrike could see her eyes were no longer that of a woman, but blood red orbs, without emotion, or pity or humanity. Her face was narrow and distorted and as her mouth opened the twin ivory fangs were prominent and unmistakable.

Ulrike stood frozen as her free hand, still dripping blood moved to cover her mouth as she saw what was beyond, the horrifying reality that the noble woman was calling to…..summoning…..

The dead were rising, moving and apparently it was at the command of Lady Sabina.

Xx

Varsilas potent mind snapped back to reality, pain still flowed through his body and whilst during his ordeal he had felt some of his memories, his knowledge bleeding out into the world beyond but he was conscious again, attuned to the lesser reality that his body existed in.

Both of his bodyguards were watching him speculatively, heavy brows furrowed with unusual speculation and deliberation.

He could see that the mist was dying, dispersing as its guiding light and source of power had abandoned it and the town beyond still fought for its life.

“Come!”

He moved forwards and discovered the reason for their pondering gaze as his feet touched the ground, something that had not happened for a decade or more. He looked down at his faithless body for where once had been a blazing inferno, a cascade of fire and purpose that helped dominate all that served him now it was something else entirely.

Now it was translucent and solid with delicate strands of cilia waving gently in the cold and growing breeze that was moving across the battlefield, shredding and tearing at the mist, hastening its demise. Where once fire had blossomed now crystal glittered, he had legs again – a strange sensation as he moved forward, the dim light glancing off the multifaceted structure that was now his new form.

In truth he was not sure if it was a blessing or a curse, if his now deceased master or their god had triggered this latest transformation. Yet he was not one for hesitation.

“Lord Damar, the Prophet is gone, ascended to our Masters side….” His voice was clearer, sweeter but still powerful.

“Rejoice, loyal ones, He has chosen his successor and our god, the Great Architect himself has shown me his favour.”

He paused for effect…….and to see if Tzeentch would act on his presumption, he took the lack of punishment as approval – and perhaps it was…….

It was time to test the limits and new abilities of his new body.

Chapter Twenty Nine - Food for the Forest

“They are coming.” He heard the words but they meant little in comparison to the pain that absorbed his attention, the mind numbing agony that his legs had become.

The human spoke the words again, an urgency in his voice.

It did not help the pain.

“Do you want to die, Elf?”

The voice penetrated the fog of pain and he inadvertently moved one ruined leg and a fresh wave of agony tore through him, but this time he took notice of and understood the words.

When he slowly opened his eyes he was confronted by the familiar, unsmiling visage of the human, his bloody and battered form bent close to his own.

Unsympathetically the man continued, his voice a discordant growl to the elf captain.

“We need to go….Now!”

Lucarius shook his head and looked down at his blood soaked legs, the bandaged stump of his hand.

“Not….going……anywhere” he managed.

Hans hesitated, his eyes sweeping across the mutilated form of the elven warrior and reluctantly nodded.

“Guess not, but they are still coming…….” He looked up and behind the seated elf, the ground around him damp with the wounded captain’s blood.

“Let them come….” Lucarius paused as a new shard of pain tore through him, “but…. give me……….my sword.”

A smile drifted across the face of the human, and again he nodded in agreement. Without haste, lest he open his own still healing wounds, he recovered the sword and placed it in the warrior’s one good hand, closing his fingers around the hilt.

He could see the vengeful tide of the Drakwald approaching, the loping figures of dryads accompanied by other predators – bulky roaring bears, lean wolves and lithe greater wildcats and above and behind them, vast tree like shapes stalking forwards.

All his life he had enjoyed the forest and he thought that perhaps it would not be such a bad place to end his life in.

He rested a hand on the shoulder of the elf.

“Not long now……….”

Xx

Viktor could feel the atmospheric pressure of the vast power behind him and he did not look back, he had not yet heard the death screams of the two men he had left behind but he thought surely it could not be long in coming.

The elf was finished, torn and shredded he had lost too much precious blood and indeed an insistent inner voice had murmured that the elf did not need what little he had left. Yet he had resisted the thirst, once again, mainly to prove to himself that he could, that the ever present need was not in control……..at least not yet.

Elf blood was also a little rich for his taste, he remembered Mannfred’s favourite blood childe waxing lyrically about its heady flavour, but he had his doubts that she had actually tasted it.

Still blood was blood…perhaps it had been a mistake to refuse the seeming gift.

He had dismissed Han’s suggestion that he infuse the torn and bloody body of Lucarius with his own blood as likely to do more harm than good and had been shocked when the man had told him his mistress had done it once.

Even as he now ran for his un-life, he grinned at the impetuosity of Sabina – such a dear child….

The warning was at least partially true he mused, the magic’s that created creatures such as he were old and not fully understood, likely only the great necromancer, Nagash and perhaps the first of their line, having any real idea what could be created in such a potent mix of vampire blood and elder race.

His blood was old and full of power. Likely enough to trigger a fatal reaction in the elf – or worse.

Also he had no wish to bring such a powerful potential rival into the world – he would need to explain this to the lady. She still had much to learn he considered.

Animal cries sounded nearby, the howl of hunting wolves, the screech of a great eagle and he realised that his meeting with Sabina was no certainty.

A glance to his left saw movement in the trees, he shifted is vision for a moment and he mis-stepped, lost precious momentum as he saw the flickering nimbus of power that was sweeping round like an outstretched talon, ready to close on its prey. He did not need to see the other side to know it had a twin.

He was tiring, his normally unending reserves drained along with the blood he had shed liberally in the recent battles, his heart sluggish and uneven as his feet pounded on. Perhaps he should not have given Hans a draught but he had worked for it, earned it – he should face death on his feet.

As Viktor now realised he was………….

Xx

The Drakwald was not as old or as powerful as fabled and deadly Athel Loren, it was darker and colder, in temperament as well as appearance. It was less haunted by the spirits and sprites that were such a feature of the forests ancient ancestor, and it was mainly vast treemen and predatory dryads that stalked the deeper glades.

Even the elves that found a home under its branches were not as integrated with the entity that was this forest, they were smaller in number but less constrained by its will and whim. Seldom did the Drakwald manifest its spirit, make demands or command the creatures that scurried, lived and died beneath the umbrella of its branches.

Greater elements of the vest construct now stirred, as significant parts of the wood burned or were tormented by the forces of Chaos. It was difficult however for the compound spirit to react quickly or effectively, and so parts lashed out wildly, destroyed anything not of the forest, be they human survivors or rampaging beastmen – all became mulch to feed those that had awakened to wrath.

Malitha-Kluthras was unusual, it was powerful and tightly focused, crushing the forces that were wounding the great whole as it moved towards the locus of enemy power, hatred and outrage at the core of the dual entity.

Then suddenly the throbbing canker had pulsed and exploded into oblivion and the combined spirits of the forest and elf witch had paused, unsure.

But it had only been a pause.

Xx

“I hate trees.”

A human would have needed to save his breath, but the dead don’t breathe so Viktor just ran faster.

“Especially psychotic ones……”

He could hear the two dryads closing the gap regardless, the strange rasping sound of their feet as they closed in, one on each side, the wind rustling in the complicated structure of their heads. For a moment he wondered if his pursuers could hear or understand his words.

Like him the tree spirits had no need to breath, or at least he did not think they did.

A howl came from behind, the undulating sound ironically familiar to the fleeing vampire as it was answered by others of its pack from further back.

“I do however usually like wolves….”

His eyes roved speculatively as he ran through the burnt landscape, dodging around and even on occasion hurdling low charred stumps. Bodies were dotted about, remnants of those who had opposed Viktor and his comrades as they had advanced on the Chaos lord.

Then he smiled cruelly for he had found his salvation ahead.

Xx

Hans stood whilst Lucarius could no longer, in his scarred right hand was the dwarven hammer, its runes glowing ever more brightly as the vast creature-growth approached. In his left hand was a quietly beating heart, pulsing at a steady unhurried pace.

The large man hummed an old tune he remembered his mother singing when he was but a babe in her arms as she gathered wood in the forest. He recalled that the words as he looked up at the vast entity that was approaching, it had been an old lullaby – partly addressed to the child a mother would be carrying as she worked and partly to the hopefully quiescent spirits of the trees.

Lucarius was silent, all his strength was invested in remaining conscious, his wounds severity and blood loss an insistent drag at his mind, tendrils of pain constantly trying to pull him into a slumber from which he knew he would not awaken.

All around them were gathered the tall lean forms of dryads, long wooden talons flexing as they stood otherwise motionless; the lean long heads aimed at the two men. Unnaturally quietly, the vast bulk of two towering treemen stalked closer, the vanguard of the Malitha-Kluthras entity. Predators of the forest stood in a ring, silently watching eyes wild, hackles raised, unsettled at the close presence of each other, yet obedient enough to the forest.

Hans continued humming, rotating his grip on the hammer slightly.

The ground shook slightly as Malitha-Kluthras closed in on the two men.

Xx

Viktor had heard the sound of the horsemen tensely talking, the nervous nickers of the horses they rode and he accelerated to meet them as they emerged from the unburnt foliage. Behind him he could also hear his pursuers moving faster to keep up.

It was a small patrol of humans evidently scouting the forest, they were lancers, tall and lightly armoured men on powerful steeds; doubtless, he considered as he leapt towards them, they were usually confident and collected.

He had killed so many like them……

The force of his impact against the nearest soldier was terrible, brutally crushing and snapping ribs and throwing the man clear off the horse, his far leg breaking then tearing free entirely as his foot caught in his stirrups. The vampire followed him, grabbing the falling lance and rammed it through the second horse as he crashed into its side, his own arm and shoulder fracturing with the force.

Uncaring of his own injuries, nothing more than a temporary inconvenience, he reached up with his good arm as the shrill shrieks of man and beast tore through the air. The unfortunate lancer, desperately trying to bring his own lance in to action was flung into another, as yet unengaged soldier and the vampire was already up and running.

He could hear the two pursuing dryads arriving, the song of their tearing claws as they attacked the men and their steeds.

“A gift to you, my wooden friends……” he called as he raced away.

As he ran he upended the arm he had torn free and drank deep of the life giving ichor that was still leaping forth, blood coating his face and upper body.

It was a good day to be undead.

Xx

“Huuuummaan.” The heavy, brutally growled word reverberated through the vast construct of the forest, its metres thick heartwood and the living branches and outgrowths, the heavy writhing fleshy tentacles and roots. The voice of the construct echoed through the lesser spirits of the forest and the hovering form of the elf witch at its shoulder.

It had decided, no deigned to speak in the brief, unwieldy tongue of those that dared to stand before it.

“Hans, my name is Hans….” The lone human stared up at the monstrosity, his gaze steady and only a slight tremble in his right arm to convey the fear he felt.

Lucarius laughed at the man’s impudence in the face of such power, coughed bloodily and finally lost his grip on his blade.

“Hannnsss” The feminine part of the entity called, her voice that of a thousand calling birds shrilling at an invader.

He nodded and waited.

“Beetraaayer.” A hiss of a hundred angry snakes, cursing their prey.

The forest stepped forward, talons uncurled and an angry growl rumbled from the gathered circle of animal predators. Slowly the shinning female drifted down and towards the blood stained pair, her thin delicate fingers flexing in time with her handmaidens talons.

Hans reaction was immediate.

“Bollocks!” His voice was a little hoarse but still strong enough to carry to all.

The laughter that once again echoed forth from the elf was fractured and hurtful to hear, but drew little attention.

In response to those defiant words, the tension that followed through the circle of gathered death grew stronger, pulling supernatural nerves taught.

From behind the towering growth a handmaiden stepped, she was smaller than her kin and her head was cloaked almost in the soft moss like hair that she sported. Unlike her hungry sisters, she was not in her war form, standing only a little taller than Hans, her face a careful mockery of a young maiden, beautiful but unyielding.

In her too long, too lithe arms she carried a naked, bloody form of a elf man, almost tenderly she set him down, holding him upright with a single hand. He stood swaying, unseeing, uncaring, the bloody hole at the centre of his chest speaking clearly for his sister, for the forest itself.

“Beetraaayer.” The angry snakes spoke again but through the witch alone this time.

“I am not the one who seeks to break our compact, witch.” Hans allowed anger to steady his nerves, give him the strength to continue this madness.

He looked over at the ravaged form of Hasir and raised the beating heart as he lowered his hammer.

“I offer you his life, you ungrateful bitch.”

Hans stepped forward and offered the organ, his face reddened and his grip on the rune weapon tight and white knuckled.

“Now take it and heal him before I change my mind.”

Again the forest paused, unsure now that it’s main guiding force, the heart of passion and rage was surprised, its wrath subsided at least for the moment.

Silence reigned as Malitha’s naked feet touched the scorched earth, her soft soundless impact scattering ash, staining her pale flesh, her body clad only in animated blonde tresses. As she alighted, she cocked her head on side as she considered the humans words and the offering in front of her.

Xx

Lucarius could still hear the exchange of words but his vision was failing, patches of darkness clogging his vision. The shards of pain that had been a constant background since the brutal flensing were fading along with his senses.

He could still taste blood in his mouth, in his throat, still smell the scorched landscape that surrounded him, now intermingled with the musky perfume of the forest dwellers and the earthy loam scent of the very forest itself that had come to him.

Vaguely he had felt the dark blade fall from his grip but he had mourned it’s loss only a little, he had no strength left to wield it and its link to Khaine or perhaps other darker gods was not what he desired in these fragile, failing moments.

Even sound was now uncertain and his vision so blurred as to be valueless.

He closed his eyes.

Xx

Hans and Malitha looked into each other’s eyes, as intent as lovers or bitter enemies.

The feel of the elf witches fingers was cold, akin to her eyes as she finally touched the gnarled hand that held her brothers heart. In response, the lone human forced himself not to move, refusing to flinch at the malignancy that pulsed from her and power of the forest she had gathered about her.

“Wahhht doo you want for thiisss gift?”

His anger was still a rock on which he stood firm.

“I am not doing this for myself or even my mistress, and by Ulric and Sigmar I am not doing this for you, Witch.”

A flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, Malitha broke the gaze, looking down on the bloody living organ in his hands.

“Then why?”

He sighed, the weight of the hammer suddenly dragging down his arm further.

“Not long ago I am saw my son die, watched him gutted by beasts even as I fought to reach his side…..I’ve seen too many friends perish…too many bloody people…….too many.”

In a swift movement, he had pressed the heart into hands and gently closed the witch’s long slender fingers around the heart of her brother.

“He was my friend, now Morr damn you, you save him!”

Hans stepped away and his voice changed, weakened, “….as I could not do for my friends or my………son.”

Xx

His mother smiled at him, amusement and love in her eyes as he looked up at her and told her of his adventures at the port, the sights and smells, the people had seen, not just elves but humans as well. Confidently he proclaimed that he would too be an sailor, an explorer, a captain of a great warship and she listened to it all before she picked him and carried him into dinner, laughing as she ignored his protests that he was too old to be carried.

Laughing, his sister dodged away with startling fluid grace, dancing back to disarm him with a flick of her wrist, before slapping him hard on the buttocks with flat of her blade. Ruefully he bowed his head in submission and quietly accepted her subsequent lecture with good grace, enjoying the passion in her voice, the connection that they only really formed when they sparred.

He lay quiescent now, feeling the motion of the sea as it travelled through the ship, enjoying the feeling of peace and pleasure recently spent, at his side, the girl snored lightly and for a moment his eyes traced the athletic lines of her body, the intricate serpentine tattoo that curled around her firm right breast then down her back.

Other scenes came and went…………..until a final moment of clarity arose.

Even as another club hammered into the side of his helm, a crude axe slammed into his chest armour, glancing off the ithilmar surface, yet the impact still crushed ribs such was the force behind the blow. Spitting blood, Lucarius fumbled for his long knife with his good hand, his vision blurring from the pain of his wounds as he fought to stay conscious……

A fight he could not win, he was dying………..

Suddenly he felt a firm grasp on his head, the taste of thick blood in his mouth and throat. From the nearby trees a pair of crows watched the scene intently, a human woman feeding an elf her blood.

But she was no woman, not really.

A new memory. A new insight.

Xx

Malitha said nothing more to the human, any gratitude or understanding overridden by the strength of her pride. She turned away and towards her brother, her eyes fixed on the gory ruin that was his chest, her own heart beating now in time with the one in her hand, taking comfort in its movements.

Behind Hasir, the handmaiden held him steady and upright, a surprisingly tender hand at his shoulder stopping him from trying walk in his sister’s direction, the only impulse he seemed to have left in the fleshy shell he had been transformed into.

The other spirits watched through unseen eyes, unsure of necessity of their inaction and impatient to rend the nearby interlopers. The vast growth that towered above all merely waited, such a pause was hardly noticeable to the embodiment of the forest without the driving urgency of its mortal half. Invisible, the winds of magic were still drawn to the nexus of power it represented, cascading down into the monstrous form.

It was this power that Malitha now drew upon, trusting to Kluthras to protect her from the terror and malignancy that was the source of the magic. It indulged her in this act, for regeneration and rebirth was as much a part of its nature as destruction and the need to devour.

Tendrils of Ghyran, the wind of life were predominant in the spell the elf witch now wove, her voice clear and powerful as she moved close to Hasir. She traced his eyes, nose and mouth with a feather soft caress and slowly brought the heart close to the gaping hole in his ribs.

Flashes of Aqshy, wind of fire flickered in the aura that began to surround them both, melding with untamed sparks of Ghur as the spell progressed. For a moment there was resistance, the old spells and safeguards of the chaos champion protesting at the affront to their master.

They crumbled and shattered as Malitha pressed her will upon the body and soul of her brother.

Xx

Ereth Khial, the Pale Queen might have forestalled her cool embrace for a time but her love was not to be denied, not by a mortal at least……

Lucarius had been startled when he first seen the statues of the human god of the dead, heard his priests speak of him – he was inevitably tall and clad in robes of heavy darkness, his air that of aristocratic detachment – to an elf he was more akin to an sorcerer lord of Hoeth than the guardian of the dead.

Where humanity had Morr, the elves had a very different deity, Ereth Khial was bright and cold both, her beauty fabled and only rivalled by her mirror-sister, the goddess of life, Isha and her daughters. As he faded from the world, he smiled as he considered that once again, the elven way seemed better.

Chapter Thirty – Fire and Blood

Varsilas continued his implacable advance, enjoying the sensations of his new body as he moved through the churned mud and blood. The impacts of his feet sent pleasant vibrations throughout his form and he felt the new face transform itself into an expression of pleasure.

As his left leg crunched heavily into the ribcage of a fallen mutant he looked onwards towards the heavy stone wall that still stood, defiant and apparently unyielding. He paused a moment and spoke several guttural words as he called upon the magic, shifting his vision to view the energies.

His delight only increased as he found that his powers had only been enhanced by the latest transformation, his crystalline structure resonating as the magic began to flow through him. On either side of him his bodyguards stopped too, glancing at him with small, dark and questioning eyes, grunting unconsciously as they did so. Behind him, the rest of his warband hesitated at what they fervently hoped was a safe distance.

Laughing he realised that his entire body was now glowing with a rainbow of colours as the various strands of magic were drawn to him and reformed into a single more elemental power, more akin to their origin in another realm. The resonance continued to grow within him as he stored the power and he revelled in the feel of it within him, like new life growing within a mother.

For a long moment, he wondered if should ask his patron for a change of gender next – he thought it might be worth investigating such matters further…..

Regaining focus, his long, glinting fingers twisted into the arcane gestures that he had perfected so long ago, when he had last had such a coherent form. He allowed the building force to undulate within him, pulsing through his body to rise to the surface and with a roar he unleashed the roiling energy upon the great stone wall that bared the way.

Glowing and flushed lightning lashed out across the blood ground, connecting the sorcerer and his target almost instantly, whilst stray tendrils of the unleashed power danced around recumbent bodies and walking corpses alike, playfully igniting and exploding the flesh.

As the bolt struck, a pair of his patrons Daemons were drawn from the warp and laughing manically they capered ecstatically within the undulating cascade of energy, ignoring the petty constraints of reality as they flowed towards the town.

Varsilas joined them in their frenetic laughter, still powering the destruction.

No one saw it coming.

Xx

Lucky for all the dwelt within the walls of Untergrad, those stout defences, like many towns in the Empire, especially those surviving in the grim north, had not been built by men alone. Not only in battle was the ancient alliance between dwarf and manling enacted, even before the time of Sigmar they had given grudging help to the humans, seeing some little promise in them.

They had taught them small skills in building, in metalwork, nothing that a true dwarf would be proud of – but then the manlings were just too short lived to learn such skills properly. With the rise of Sigmar they would even on rare occasions set their hands to building for a king or a queen, nothing less than a wonder to the manlings, a mere rough shelter to the dwarves.

Proudly this tradition continued, for if one wanted a wall to stand firm against a storm – be it natural or unnatural, there was nothing better than good solid dwarf work. Stone was never silent to a dwarf, and each one of the elder race knew instinctively how to make it sing in pleasure as it was shaped and formed anew as it had once been in the ancient fires of creation.

The very symbol of the empire itself was a hammer given by a dwarf king to a man who would become a God, Sigmar and the words that king had spoken so long ago still rang true…….

“I gave Sigmar this hammer for a reason. True enough, it is a weapon, a mighty weapon to be sure, but it is so much more than that. Ghal-maraz is a symbol of unity. A hammer can crush and kill, but it can shape metal, build homes and mend that which is broken.”

……and so the wall held fast, just as its makers had intended centuries ago.

They would have nodded with satisfaction as the ravening energies dissipated across its length, old hidden runes igniting deep within the structure and blazing in invisible defiance.

Xx

With a guttural cough, the blood flecked spit flew down to land at the feet of the creature.

A keening moan issued from it and a slender iridescent tongue unravelled swiftly from the toothy maw to taste it, withdrawing into the creatures mouth with obvious relish. Captain Schiller coughed again as he stepped slowly backwards, the pain in his chest was not receding this time and he could feel it spreading to his right arm.

His vision was now polluted with black spots as gritting his blood slick teeth he raised his sword slowly, every inch that it moved a victory.

The beast he faced was pale and sporadically hairy, the rippling expanse of its broad back now marked with the path of his previous sword stroke, turning the monster to face him rather than the door of the house it had been battering at with scarred fists of gnarled and stained bone. The smell of blood and unwashed flesh arose in an unseen but fetid cloud all around it.

Its large, heavy head swayed slowly atop a long and evidently prehensile neck, as eyes scattered across its body stared hard at the single human that now confronted it and whose blood it had already tasted. A rumbling purr started in its swollen belly and it stood fully upright, its legs bracing the creature as the body elongated and stretched, demonstrating the unnatural pliability that had allowed it access to the town.

Soon it stood some twelve feet in height, its body only now beginning to thin as it raised its twin bludgeoning fists even higher.

Xx

Sabina was tiring, the strain of trying to control the various lurching and shambling corpses pounding ceaselessly at her mind, the plaintive moans of the undead as they lurched towards prey, desperate to destroy, to consume.

They all converged in her mind, somehow seeking to infest it with their lust for the flesh of the living,

She had never felt anything like it….well save for her own thirst…….but she forced back that thought, beat it back, retained control and continued to chant the words that would save the town……….that focussed their hunger to the followers of the dark gods, the mutated monsters that stalked the streets.

But she was growing thirsty now and it would not rest quietly inside her ………blood would invigorate her body, empower her mind …..human blood would be best.

It would taste so good at this moment.

What she desired.

It was what she needed.

The blood thirst was roaring in her ears and echoing through her head, her normally acute senses giving her no warning of the approaching danger. She could not hear her words, but could still feel them reverberating in her so dry throat.

Xx

He could see only one thing with clarity, his gaze fixed steadily upon his target as his iron shod boots pounded across the gore slick stone. Anger warred with contempt in his mind and soul – how could such a creature fool him, how could it dare to do so!

A great mass of stinking dead things lurching towards the living, he had seen such an atrocity before, he would not tolerate it beginning here.

The priest knew well that the forces of the dark gods fought amongst themselves as much as they did with others, but he had not expected such a creature hiding in plain sight. As he closed with his prey, he realised that a girl stood on the battlements between them, staring in apparent horror at the vampire seeking to envelop the town in a legion of corpses.

“Witness this girl!” he snarled as he shoved her to one side.

“See how Sigmar deals with the unclean!”

Xx

Granny was listening, her new home had thick walls to resist the weather of the north but occasionally she could catch faint murmurs of the conflict that raged in the streets of the town.

Her eyes gleamed in the fire light as they slowly caressed each of the children in her care, at least they were safe even if the defenders were killed or enslaved. The sacrifice of a single soul, old and tired as it must be, was easily worth such a victory.

She nodded to herself as her softly murmured words began to have an effect, with several of the children already yawning. Granny smiled broadly as Elsa clambered sleepily but determinedly into her lap and began to make herself comfortable. There was no need for them to witness what was happening – the world would still be there when they awoke, time enough for them to deal with it later.

First some peace to help preserve their souls.

In contrast her own body felt less tired and weary than she could remember in decades, her vision was sharper, she could suddenly make out details that she thought were lost eternally to her and her hearing no longer betrayed her.

Why did she wait so long to give into the entreaties ……

She wondered briefly if the inevitable pains when she next arose from her chair would perhaps be lessened….another small victory.

Another reward……

Xx

The pounding had stopped, the thick wood proving a match for whatever monstrosity had laid into it with such gusto. Yet still neither woman moved, reverting to a childlike hope that if they were quiet, if it could not see them, perceive them - perhaps it would go away, seek out some other prey.

Xx

He was down to his dagger now, pistol shot expended, his sword’s fine blade snapped off in the throat of a still twitching beast. The finely crafted stiletto was cloaked in blood and viscera, much like its wielder and he was breathing heavily, tired but bitterly defiant.

Reluctantly his far too heavy and unusually unwieldly arms raised themselves into a guard position as he found himself pushed back against the tower wall. The two mutant creatures were wounded already but seemed intent on pressing the fight, at least one of their comrades had already sought easier quarry in the town beyond.

The nearest was a shocking hybrid of a man and bird, its lower body and legs that of a giant fowl – it would almost have appeared comical if not for the psychotic look in its eyes and the pair of hand axes clogged in dried blood that it held ready.

In contrast its companion was even more horrific in appearance, its skin was completely translucent, revealing the play of muscles and fat, the bones and organs shifting in a distracting display of colour and movement. Its left eye socket wept blood from where the human had previously rammed his dagger and its face was a contortion of pain and anger.

A mournful moan issued from nearby and von Hirschfeld risked a glance at the doorway from which several shambling corpses were emerging, mouths agape as they moved to attack.

Xx

Metal crashed into flesh with a sickening crunch as the hammer found its target, snapping the head back with brutal force, ichor indiscriminately lashing the surrounding air. A pain soaked shriek erupted in the aftermath of the blow as long arms flailed for balance.

Without haste and unheralded, the weapon dropped to the mud.

Captain Schiller managed a smile at the sound, but pain lanced again through is chest and he lurched to one side, a brittle arm flung out to brace himself against the rough stone wall, his sword now clattering to the ground.

The dwarf surveyed the scene as the chaos beast began to regain its balance, then he began to stride forward, speaking loudly a single word in the ancient tongue of his people.

In response the hammer moved slightly in the sludge and a single rune flared into life on the discoloured head.

Continuing to move forward, the engineer rolled his neck in preparation for the forthcoming conflict before letting out a low short whistle.

The monster growled in anger and still throbbing pain, blood dripping from the ruin of its face, a single shattered tooth falling to the mud below.

Master Engineer Bardin enjoyed the solid, now familiar thunk as his hammer flew into the palm of his hand and he strode on.

As he passed by the pain racked old man he spoke softly.

“All right now, lad……this one’s mine….”

Xx

Ulrike fell heavily against the crumbling stone parapet and bounced back, her foot sliding unmercifully on a thankfully unidentifiable organ, still warm and pulsing with unnatural life. Heading over the edge, she scrabbled desperately with her free hand, her right arm still tangled with the shield that had kept her alive but was now a burden.

Several of her fingernails ripped painfully free as she tried to dig them directly into stained but solid stone and she cried out in fear as she slipped over the edge and down into the town. She could hear the groans of the dead below as they welcomed her to the street.

Xx

Screaming its frustration, the bolt of energy lashed into the wall, but aside from a vivid, smoking scar in the implacable stone, its powerful magic was mostly deflected down into the earth or upwards and outwards as it screamed its frustration.

Mostly……..but not entirely.

A single snaking tendril of power reared above the wall and viciously arced into the foolish creature intoning words of power upon its summit.

Xx

Sabina had burned before.

On the ash streaked streets of another town, itself under siege from the forces of the dark gods. She and others long since gone from the world …….or worse……had killed beastmen and dark armoured warriors before all, friend and foe alike were enveloped in fire by a sorcerer.

The conjurer had cared not, there were always more minions to gather in the dark forests and far north.

Then she had been human still and she should have perished in that unrelenting explosion of flame and pain. She had been only half alive when the fighting had ceased, her flesh seared and scorched, down to the bone in several places.

It was only through the intervention of another that she had survived that night at all……….another’s blood.

She screamed now as she had screamed then.

Xx

Von Hirschfeld stepped back and to one side, putting his back hard against the stone, knife blade still raised in front of him, eyes flicking back between the corpses and the mutants. The dead resembled the others, malformed and un-natural but with bellies torn open and brutal slash wounds crisscrossing their bodies and faces.

The mutants seemed unsure at first, the bird like creature scenting the air with its beak and letting out an interrogatory screech that was not answered save by the moans of the hungry dead. They lumbered forward, mouths open to show their teeth and reaching out with ragged limbs.

Blood, offal and sweat combined in a rank cloud as they moved passed the pistolier captain, seemingly intent on tearing into their former companions. Strife between such creatures was nothing new however, and the two living mutants moved to engage, the bird creature slamming its axes into the head and chest of the larger walking corpse.

It absorbed the blows for a moment, but then fell back with a heavy sigh and a cloud of black blood, crashing to the ground. The other cadaver had more success, it was taller, leaner with a massive, muscle bound and deformed right arm contrasting with the shrivelled left. A sword blade skittered along its mottled and lumpen skull, rebounding with little more to show than a new scar weeping dark ichor.

Unrelentingly advancing the corpse ignored the blow and in return its huge hand clamped down hard on the shoulder of the translucent mutant, razor sharp but encrusted claws digging in through the skin and flesh to the bone below. Surprisingly quickly it lunged in and began to tear into the neck of the unfortunate mutant with its large teeth, several working themselves loose as it pulled back with a hefty chunk of quivering flesh in its gnashing jaws.

Mortally wounded the mutant dropped to its knees, hands clasped desperately to the wound from which blood sprayed forth. Snarling its companion glared at the human now backing away but swung its attention to the remaining corpse, once again slamming its axes powerfully into the lumbering hulk.

One again skittered off its bony hide, but the second bit deep into the skull, but as the cadaver twisted to face its attacker and the mutant tried to yank his weapon free, the axe blade snapped off in the thick bone. The corpse leered at the bird-creature and swung its heavy arm round to try and grasp the mutant, but it jumped back. With a squawk of anger and using both hands, it planted its other axe in the centre of the dead things forehead.

Still quivering with exertion it turned towards it original prey, but the human was gone.

Xx

He was not a renowned fighter, but in this his heritage stood him in good stead, granting powerful muscles and a doughty frame. Usually when a dwarf tasked him or herself to learn something, they took the time and made the effort to learn it properly – and Bardin had never been known as a slacker.

Long hours had he spent practising the basics of self-defence, both with his father and later with a hard eyed veteran, the latter was as serious about the teaching as he was about his drinking.

Bardin smiled as he recalled Hergrorli and his father drinking together, his own heartfelt pride as he had been called to join them after a good hard training session, and that following a proper day’s work in the forge. He kept that smile as he ducked under the swinging arms and smashed his hammer into the beasts rib cage, hearing bones break asunder at the impact.

A long cry rang out from the creature, but the master engineer was not listening, he had a job to do and only when it was done would he stop. It was a tried and tested method that had always served him well. Again he powered the hammer into his enemy with a short intense battle cry, this time the metal he had forged himself fell upon the right knee cap and crushed it utterly.

Bone fragments and blood leapt forth, eager to reach the air and the beast was beginning to topple, crying and balling like an infant as the pain tore through its shifting body, unable to cope with the brutal wounds its assailant had inflicted upon it.

The dwarf grunted heavily in satisfaction and slammed his body into the creatures leg, ensuing the motion was strong enough to send it crashing to the ground, floundering in pain and desperation. He stepped deftly aside and for surety drove his hammer into the other kneecap before heading towards the whimpering head.

He contemptuously batted a flailing arm aside and did not pause as he finished the work, pulverising the head and skull with powerful and precise movements. Even then he watched it carefully as it twitched and quivered its last, a new dark stain spreading from beneath its large body.

A short nod of satisfaction was all he allowed himself before turning to the ailing manling and the door he had been protecting.

Xx

Albrecht managed to withdraw his sword from the bestial mutant and with a groan, throw the still twitching corpse and the undead predator away from him, cursing loudly at the pain it caused. Cautiously he began to limp away, nervously noting that none of the animated dead were paying him any attention.

So far.

He glanced up at a bellow of rage and in reply a cry of distress.

“Ulrike.” A dry mouthed appeal that he himself could scarcely hear.

Horrified he saw her scrabbling to stay on the wall, the small group of dead beneath her apparently unaware of the potential feast above them. Three of them were beastmen he had dispatched earlier, the fourth a ragged remnant of a pistolier, while the last was a man of the town, his face ripped free and wide eyes swivelling in the gory mess that remained.

Slowly heads began to look upwards even as he cried out in denial, forced himself past the pain, crying out his lovers name again, tearing at his dry throat with uncaring passion.

This time it reached her and he saw the blonde and crimson streaked hair frantically turn to try and see where he was.

“Albreeecht!!” Her plaintive wail as she fell was piercing.

Xx

The bolt of energy did not just burn, its power was such that she was propelled bodily into the air and across the town, screaming and enveloped in a fiery aura of pain.

Below her a single figure watched the fireball arc across the sky.

“Burn bright little girl………..burn well.”

It had mostly shed the mortal form it had hid within and now it’s time in the world was limited, fading, it could still feel the amusing pain and intriguing sensations as the body crumbled and shredded itself but continued to carry out its will. For a moment it immersed itself in the limited perception of time, allowed itself to consider a previous moment when it had encountered the vampire Sabina.

It had wanted to make Sabina burn, and perhaps it would do so, in due course, but this would do….for now.

“Remember Einzelheit child………….you should have let me help you see the light, little burning girl………”

It laughed as it felt the impacts of crossbow bolts and slowly turned a single baleful eye on the dwarfs by the metal construct. Unimpressed by the glare and the unravelling entity, Thora’s guards were reloading.

“Boring little creatures………”

The body the daemon wore suddenly convulsed, then coughed and spewed out some important organ, idly it tried to remember which one it was as it slowly dropped to its knees, legs failing under its own weight. Still unsure, it began to prod the pulsing lump in the ichor and entrails with a malformed and talon tipped finger.

“So then, what are you?”

It slurred the words through more bloody vomit and a second volley of barbed crossbow bolts before it lost interest in the rapidly cooling organ and glanced in the direction that the vampire had last been seen, falling to the houses below.

“See you soon, burning girl………”

It coughed, laughed, choked and collapsed into a spreading pool of offal.

Xx

Lightning blazed across the priest’s vision, not the pure white fire of his patron but iridescent and tainted energy, an anathema to his heavy browed gaze. The dazzling stream of fire enveloped the target of his ire in an instant conflagration and forced him to halt his charge, eyes reduced to squinting against the blazing light.

The screams of pain were not unwelcome but the rapid projection of the burning vampire across the town roofs and away from his wrath was not.

He raised his eyes to skyward, staring into the dark swirling clouds, feeling the occasional drop of rain on his face and prayed.

“Sigmar, guide me!”

Xx

The mutant emerged from the doorway with murderous purpose, axes raised and moving fast, searching for the prey that had fled from the skirmish at the foot of the tower. It snorted through its serrated beak and scanned the street for anything worth hunting.

A few previously animated corpses were dropping hard to the ground, lifeless and worthless.

The spear head rammed hard into the side of the beast, brooking no resistance from the bird-creature’s skin and mange filled feathers. A spasm of pain reverberated through the mutant and its left hand fell limp, the axe it had held dropping to the mud and stone below.

It screeched in pain and tried to turn, the but the wielder was already pushing hard, driving the point of the spear through and out of the other side, even as his armour clad form crashed into the mutant, driving it back and against the wall.
The painful impact jarred the wounded creature long enough for von Hirschfeld to step to one side, hamming his boot down on the mutant’s naked, scaly feet before drawing his dagger and plunging it into the heart of the beast.

Xx

The screaming ball of fire plunged down and into the roof of the house, clattering through the neat tiles and into the building proper. Startled, the dwarf engineer paused at the threshold of the house.

“Siege engine?”

Another look at the door showed it still to be sturdy, despite the obvious impacts of the monsters great fists

A low moan of pain and nearby the old man collapsed fully to the ground, gasping faintly.

“Let’s get you somewhere safe…..” He intoned as he moved quickly towards the recumbent figure.

Xx

It was quiet for a moment, the sounds of battle had eased outside, a little after the pounding on the door had ceased. The two women looked nervously at each other and Inga risked a reassuring smile at the young mistress.

Then the fireball hit……

Chapter Thirty One – Raging Storm

For thousands of years the Drakwald had been a place of hidden wars – man against beast, beastman against man. First spirit against all that trespassed into its depths. As the Empire arose so the forest concealed both the elves and angry herds of bestial creatures that mocked humanity by its form, each in turn stalking the other.

Since the founding of the great fortress city, hunters from Middenheim had braved the forest to prove themselves and cull the herds lest they grow too strong. It was a dangerous sport in which even the best prepared and largest expeditions risked death or worse. The Graf of that proud city had himself lost an eye seeking the death of the greatest beast amongst them and he still sought vengeance for that wound.

For months now the beast and the mutant had roamed almost unchecked, devouring, burning and destroying. It had been a time of brutal plenty, of vicious pleasure taken and long held frustrations eased by the blood of the human interlopers into the home of the beast. Sacrifices to the dark gods had been made in celebration and in anticipation of pleasures to come.

Now the tide had turned once again.

Many of the more canny and battle scared creatures were returning to the fouler depths, those areas marked by them for centuries with blood, bones and gak. There they had worshiped great monoliths of uncanny rock that spoke to their shamans and changed them, empowered them and their offspring.

Yet that still left thousands to heed the clarion call of slaughter as the great horde prepared for battle, turning to face the new challengers. Others did neither, they spread out across the lands, pillaging and looting, killing and devouring under the leadership of their own kind or champions of their gods.

Xx

They had ridden and marched without pause ever since their master had returned, smashing through pockets of resistance with a brutal efficiency that was, however, proving altogether futile. They surrounded hulking flesh caravans of sighing despair and carved them into uncaring oblivion, but there was no time to allow the ghouls to feast on the tainted flesh.

Rampaging tribes of goblinoids and the remaining dregs of the great chaos horde that had moved to face the so called Alliance of Light were torn asunder, their bodies and bones scattered and then raised to replace those lost against such inferior opposition. Burned and brutalised villages were cleansed of the invaders, but there were almost no survivors to welcome the vampire Elector count and his army of the dead.

Most that they found simply welcomed a clean death and each skirmish took precious time……

Mannfred cursed the delay at every turn and drove his army onwards, now he was ever at the forefront of the wedge of living snarling death, more than a match for anything that stood against them. His blade carved out his litany of frustration and outrage, the insult of disdain that the enemy were showing him by sending such unworthy fodder.

All around the count swarmed his unhallowed vanguard, surly vampire courtiers atop belligerent fleshy mounts and silent uncaring skeletal wights, once kings in their own right, now they rode to war on the ancient remnants of the steeds that had been interned with them in their now despoiled burial mounds.

Knots of un-living bodyguards surrounded them in turn, silent guardians to their vampiric masters who continued to spit cries of hatred and disdain at their fellows even as they hacked and slew the followers of Chaos. The mood in the grand army of Sylvania was always tense and fractious and as Mannfred himself grew in rage and frustration as they advanced, so the discordant emotions travelled through his entourage and his army stoking the fuel of disputes and feuds, be they centuries or merely minutes old.

These old scores were many and varied; choice victims snatched from the jaws of a rival, betrayals at the heart of a battle, the selection of a dance partner, all were remembered and all held as future accounts to be settled in cold dark hearts.

Unknowing, uncaring of such matters, the ranks of skeletal soldiers marched ceaselessly onwards, fighting as directed and then reforming to continue their advance. Mobs of shambling corpses lumbered onwards even as necromancers screamed and whispered incantations to raise the slain to replace the army’s losses

Elegant carriages and carts alike had been abandoned in their wake, much to the distress of some courtiers who had quickly flounced home, risking the wrath of their liege in their imperious petulance. The rank and file might not be capable of desertion, but now many of the dead were simply falling apart as the pace was maintained, behind the army was a trail of trampled flesh and bone, crushed deep into the surface of what had been a road.

Depleted packs of gorged and lazy ghouls slunk ahead or lingered at the flanks of the horde, but they were much fewer in number now, many having slunk off to sate their unnatural hunger and never returned – such was the bounty to be found in the desolated land.

A cold wet wind whistled through the valley, sapping the strength of the few living that accompanied the army, but the dead did not notice or care, or at least most didn’t.

“My hair….my dress….Ruined!” muttered the red headed vampire as she once again ran long taloned fingers through the tresses streaming in the wind. Like her mistress, she was mounted on a recently flesh crafted steed, its darkly glistening muscles and bone evident as it moved onwards.

“Jana, if you speak again, I will give you to Nastasja for the next year.” Ariete’s tone was not remotely playful and had not been since she had returned from the long flight to view Middenheim and beyond.

The blonde vampire so named immediately glanced at her fellow handmaiden, her lips curling in a wide anticipatory smile that showed a hint of delicate fang. Her own clothing was far more practical, finely cut but hard wearing boots, dark hued trousers and tunic. Like her sister by blood she did not deign to bear any weapon, trusting rather to her unnatural gifts.

For her part, Jana disdained to notice the predatory gaze but dipped her head submissively to her mistress, her long wet hair cloaking her face and now pointedly ignored the mud and gore splashing against her skirts as they rode through the grim mire of the road.

She remained quiet however.

Listening to the exchange, Letta allowed herself a brief smile and looked up to the sky, cool rainwater easing down her face like tears, wearing winding paths through the grime that had gained a firm grip on her sallow skin. The storm clouds circled reassuringly, vivid purple and black mountains of potential force that cloaked the army in death preserving shadow.

Slowly, her gaze shifted back towards the West.

“We are coming……stay safe……..”

Letta’s voice was quiet, her throat still sore from the repeated incantations that were required by the head of her House to raise and preserve the warriors he liege needed. Ariete’s gaze snapped to the necromancer as she spoke but this time she made no comment.

Xx

“So where am I?”

Viktor’s eyes never left those of the creature he addressed but after a few moments he sighed in exasperation at the lack of response.

“Yes, Yes I know it’s the Drakwald, but more specifically?”

It emitted a warning growl, heavily reverberating through its chest and throat as it backed away.

“It’s a simple question, my friend.” He stepped forward.

The bear headed humanoid he addressed was larger and heavier than him, standing some eight feet in height, but its nostrils were wide and flaring as it scented the vampire.

“I don’t appreciate the reticence.”

He stepped forward again and the beastman raised itself up to is full height and roared at him.

“Ah well,” he shrugged and glanced away. “I suppose I can work it out.”

Another rumbling growl as the bearman backed away further.

“Don’t go just yet, there is another way you can assist me.”

A blur of metal and flesh and Viktor slammed into the creature, shards of tormented metal tearing into the oily fur and greasy flesh beneath. Claws raked the shoulder, skittering off remnants of a once proud pauldron as the beast reeled back, bellowing in a potent mix of fear and rage.

The vampire’s right hand rammed through flesh and bone, smashing ribs aside and pulverising organs on the way through and out of the bears back. The wounded beastman went rigid as pain coursed through its frame and Viktor yanked his hand back, briefly rummaged about in the now spasming bear’s chest cavity.

Cheerfully he tossed the heart up once, watching the blood spurt forth before catching it and quickly plunging his fangs into the still pulsing organ. He ignored the crash as his donor fell to the ground.

“Good blood, my friend, good blood.” He tossed away the pale husk.

The beastman was hardly moving now, it’s right arm twitching a little as it succumbed.

By the time he had drained the beast of all of its blood he was nearly fully healed. He smiled and stretched, discarding several pieces of armour as he did so and then his expression shifted to annoyance.

“So, time to run again?”

The dryads gave no answer as they advanced.

Xx

Those beasts that had joined the assault on Untergrad were already dispersing, snarling in contempt and anger at the mutants and monsters that remained. Several took the time to tear free choice limbs from the recently dead as they returned to the woods, one huge creature with the head of wolf slung a whole body over his brawny shoulders.

Meat was meat.

“That was fabulous!”

The crystal sorcerer enthused, looking around at his minions in expectation and aside from the departing beastmen, his retinue responded with the expected wide grins and heavy nods.

Whoever or whatever had dared conjure in the presence of an anointed servant of the god of the arcane had been suitably chastised. His mouth cracked open in a gleaming grin, perhaps they might even have survived the blast of power, if so they might be worth draining of life, soul and magic.

Delicious!

One of the two ogres snarled at a nearby beast which cringed away before dropping to all fours and scampering for the treeline.

Varsilas could care less what they did, although he resolved that he might hunt some of them down later - for the sport.

“Onwards!”

He gestured imperiously with one vast glittering arm, a stray strand of weak sunlight sending a chorus of rainbows beaming out from it. The foul detritus of the battlefield sloshed heavily against his legs as he advanced but he paid it no head, looking for a fresh challenge on the town wall. On either side the two massive shield bearers moved just as purposefully, hungry eyes sweeping ahead for danger.

On the wall ahead, the chaos champion made out the laughable sight of a single defender, and his soul pulsed with excitement as he read the creature’s aura – the pathetic pawn of one of the puny gods that humanity cried out to in a desperate, yet ultimately futile hope of survival.

The day just kept getting better and better.

Xx

She could hear it sobbing, a pain racked gasping sound.

Whatever it was, it had smashed through the roof and into the attic room and now lay there in some pain.

Inga paused on the stairs, one hand on the polished rail, the other white knuckled around the handle of her heavy cleaver. Its keen, bright blade flickered with reflected light as it caught the embers of a dying flame from the doorway above.

The sobbing ceased abruptly, and still the housekeeper paused.

Perhaps it was dead, surely it could not live on after that impact;

A series of reassuring thoughts pulsed through her mind despite that the rushing of her heart was now loud in her ears, cold sweat forming on her body.

Then she heard a scraping noise, a hiss of pain and a second slow dragging sound of something heavy.

Something was alive and it was moving.

Xx

The lurker moved closer, its thin unnaturally lumpy body shifting colour to match the shadows in which it moved, it was not tall, even with the bald head surmounted by a twitching crown of long nailed fingers. It could see prey nearby, its heavy nose wrinkling as it scented the air, a thin line of glistening drool falling unheeded from its mouth.

Climbing slowly, cautiously over the wall it had paused as the dead had arisen, then quickly fled into the shadows rather than risk confronting the shambling corpses.

Now it had emerged again to hunt, flexing its right blade arm, an ebony length of razor sharp bone.

Quietly it moved across the mud, stepping lithely between now quiescent cadavers, the questing fingers on its scalp moving excitedly as it approached its prey.

It was close now, almost within striking distance to the two young humans.

Then it paused again, feeling a sharp pain in its chest, its usable hand moved to the source of the pain and found a shard of metal poking out. It was quickly withdrawn and them the pain was bright and sharp again, this time at the lurkers throat, a line of fire and blood that began to weep.

Eyes that always pierced any darkness began to fail and fade as it lost feeling in its limbs and slipped to the ground. A heavy boot stepped firmly on the feebly moving blade arm until all movement ceased and darkness embraced the creature entirely.

Albrecht dragged Ulrike free of the now recumbent corpses, her ashen face streaked with blood and worse, eyes wide and staring. Ignoring several stabs of pain from his wounds he pulled his lover to him and away from the dead, a wide grin on his face as he embraced the reality that they were both still alive.

Von Hirschfeld wiped his knife clean of the blood and glanced at the oblivious young couple with a snort of practised derision.

Xx

Captain Schiller coughed wetly, painfully releasing a frothy stream of lifeblood onto the mud and cobbles on which he lay. Unrelenting pain tore at his chest and he was blind, unable to move his limbs or head move than a few inches, but behind his eyelids, his eyes still ached as if bright light was burning into them.

He could hear movement and groaned, a gurgling unhealthy sound –even to him, his mouth still touched by the blood he had vomited up, foul and stinking.

“Rest easy, the fight is over, the beast is slain.”

What Beast? He couldn’t recall any beast, he just knew he didn’t want to die here and now, face down on the street in his own blood.

But as the darkness took him he realised it was not his choice…….

“You died well, old man.” The dwarf straightened up, his own joints creaking for a moment bringing a wry smile.

“Morr will be waiting for you……….I am sure.”

Xx

The priest of Sigmar noted with satisfaction the collapse of the dead and uttered a prayer of thanks to his god, once again the disunity and infighting of the enemy had worked against them. So it had ever been.

“Yet the task is not complete.” He rumbled to himself for the wall was, as far as he could see in the clearing mist, bereft of other defenders.

Blood still trickled down his leg, but he shrugged of the pain and growing stiffness of the wound. Yet for a moment he rested, his belligerent gaze marking the progress of the sorcerer champion of the dark gods as it and its minions approached the wall.

A glance down from the wall showed the leech’s warrior pulling the girl to her feet from a pile of corpses and anger pulsed through his hefty frame once more. He wondered how much they knew about the vampire, perhaps where more of her kind lurked.

In contrast he grunted in approval as another creature was cut down by the pistolier captain, it seemed Sigmar’s gaze was still upon the town, or at least upon some of its inhabitants.

He turned back to face the oncoming enemy, his smile growing broader as the rain began to fall in earnest now, dark clouds growing in the sky above the town as the cool cleansing wind grew in strength and finally swept the mist away.

Xx

She was fire and pain, her remaining skin hot and blistered, wet blisters beginning to form over the exposed raw flesh. Carefully she moved a single finger and winced at the immediate pain, then screamed at the resultant agony that caused.

Sabina’s clothes were gone, or worse like her armour melted and melded to her body, trying not to think of what she would need to do to free herself of its remnants, she held herself still, reducing the pain to a manageable level. Nearby she could just about make out her sword, it’s still gleaming surface mocking her with its still warm perfection, amused at her weakness, confident it would outlast her.

Her senses were at fever pitch, ramped by the ordeal she had just underwent and as she held still and silent she became aware of the beating, pounding heart of a woman not far away. She could almost taste the sweet blood that it was pumping through her veins, calling to her; a familiar siren song.

The insidious darkness within her laughed at her arrogance and ignorance, that a creature such as she could escape the red thirst……

So she had drank the blood of a dragon and banished the hunger, subsumed it for at least for a while. It had been a hard deed, and not accomplished alone, something she did not speak of.

Her mind drifted, escaping the coursing pain as she recalled the fountain of blood; cascading across her as the great beast thrashed and screamed in its death agonies. She had never felt anything as glorious, as beautiful as she had gorged herself, and after she had felt as if she drank the essence of a goddess.

For a moment, she could taste that celestial blood again, transported by the ecstasy.

And she wanted It again so badly.

Mentally she slammed down hard on the clarion call. She was better than that.

Are you so sure little Monster?

The voice was that of the dragon, her tones harsh and pain racked, just as they had been when they found her beneath that mountain.

Like her it had been immersed in torment and pain.

It was not a thought she could avoid. Not when she could drink and be healed.

Xx

A footstep behind him, confident and unafraid.

He turned quickly, thrusting the girl behind him to tenuous safety.

“There is work still to be done soldier.”

Captain von Hirschfeld looked up at the priest of Sigmar, himself gazing out at an unknown enemy.

“Get a sword and let’s finish this.”

Albrecht turned back to Ulrike with a shrug and a grimace, he kissed her quickly and then began to look about for a blade.

Watching him, tears welled up in the girl’s eyes but she quickly wiped them away and herself began to seek a shield.

“Gather anyone who remains alive and able to fight.”

The priest’s voice was assurance and restrained anger as it rang out from the wall above,

“They will come through the gates and it is there we will kill them.”

He had no doubt there would be any other outcome.

Xx

“Not dead then?”

“Not even close, Manling.”

The dwarf looked at the battered and bloodstained looking officer with an assessing gaze, he doubted he looked much better. The blood that draped his heavy form was not his own, beastmen and mutant monstrosities alike had stained his clothing and armour alike – even his hammer was lightly smeared with the remnants of his foes. His right hand was still coated the blood of the old human who he had watched die before continuing his journey towards his machine.

“Last stand?”

“Hmm. It would seem so.”

“Still want me to break free of this place heh?”

The human slowly turned and looked back towards the gate, “Is the machine ready?”

“Aye, I hope so.”

He grinned “I’ll be displeased with my men if she is not.”

“I’ll see you there then.”

Again Captain von Hirschfeld paused, cold eyes meeting the dwarves own unwavering gaze. “Do not hesitate to break from the town as we discussed.”

The dwarf scowled at the words but nodded reluctantly.

“As we agreed.”

Xx

The monster leaped, a terrifying vision of scorched flesh and burnt twisted metal, rank from its recent immolation. The now hairless head was a nightmare juxtaposition of crimson and black, the remaining skin brutally pealed back from its fangs as it screamed in pain.

Yet it was still fast.

Whilst Inga was not fast enough.

The pair tumbled down the stairs, intertwined and now performing a duet of screaming, tormented cries that reverberated around the house. Scrabbling at the daemon, Inga was horrified to find its flesh tearing and flaking in her grasp, leaving her to grasp the slick flesh and muscle beneath.

Yet it was still strong.

Even as they crashed heavily down the staircase, one talon grasped the writhing woman’s neck and wrenched it sideways. One half of the duet ceased abruptly as the fangs plunged deep into the neck but the other increased intensity for a short solo, then lapsed into a gurgling fading groan.

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, still intimately embraced, the housekeeper was limp and drained.

Yet the monster was still hungry.

Xx

The rain grew in strength as another heavy rumble of thunder sounded from above.

Slowly the scorched and battered gates to the town creaked open, pausing for juddering seconds as the old straining hinges reluctantly moved, squealing out their own protest. Several recent slain beastmen whose corpses had been leaning against the door, collapsed heavily into the mire.

Varsilas paused, eying the opening gates with amusement, ignoring the rain and the uneasy looks a few of his entourage were casting at the storm continuing to build above them. Aping their master, both his huge bodyguards stared intently at the opening, hefting their shields in readiness for any assault.

“Our revels come to an end then.”

The chaos champion could sense a trap, a last throw of the dice by the defenders, indeed he had wondered as the gates opened if a glorious impotent sally had been planned. His disappointment was fleeting when it had failed to materialise, but his spirits rallied quickly.

“Tzeentch looks down upon on you, prove your worth to us both.”

His voice resounded around the minions, magically electrifying them with hidden ambition and naked hunger for the conflict to come. It was a minor spell, but effective.

Slowly his heavy head swivelled to face the town and he gestured imperiously with one glittering arm,

“Now draw them out of that stinking lair, my chosen.”

The largest and most powerful of the beasts and mutants that served the sorcerer surged forth, the dregs and weaker creatures having already been culled in previous assaults. All that was left was lean and athirst, toned muscle and fierce power.

Hooting and screaming, howling and chirping they ran towards the gate, only a couple slipping in the blood and muck, one swiftly regained his feet, the other was slow was trampled with raucous relish by an ogre sized goat headed beastman.

The broken form twitched feebly in the mud as its soul was drawn froth by its sorcerer master and relishing the flow of more soul food to come, Varsilas strode forth behind the mob, laughing for the joy of it all.

Xx

The gates were not fully open and had been left that way, as the priest had instructed, their still potent weight and defiance would help to funnel the oncoming creatures. He stood alone, some two dozen yards inside the walls, untouched by the storm, the rain that was now hammering into the roofs of the building that flanked him.

Men and a single woman stood ready, growing quickly soaked by the water, grim faced as they watched the void to the exterior world. Three still held crossbows, sheltered as much as they could in the windows of the right hand building, whilst on the left von Hirschfeld had found enough powder and shot to reload both of his pistols and they were safely covered within the depths of his long coat.

The first through the gateway and into the street beyond pounded forward on short but powerful legs, a ragged canine head atop its crimson and gold furred body. It held a black iron mace in its scarred left hand and hefted shield of the same material, embossed with the symbol of its god on its right arm whilst a third arm sprouted from the small of its back, clutching a serrated dagger of glittering obsidian.

The priest gazed upon the vanguard beastman with contempt and hatred, focussing the latter into a cry of defiance and entreat to Sigmar. The call reached out to the mass of storm clouds above and was seemingly echoed by a tremendous crash of thunder.

For several moments the rain increased in intensity, lashing those below with cold ferocity then the cry was answered in earnest. An eye watering flash of light and power connected the ebon clouds and the dog headed creature leading the charge, blasting through its skull, down through the body, rupturing organs as it travelled before exiting through the beast’s right foot.

Seconds after the lightning hit, three crossbow bolts hammered into the chest of the muscle bound creature that had been running at its right shoulder. It lurched heavily to one side as the pain registered and collided with another, sending them both reeling and sprawling headfirst into the mud.

A piercing whistle sounded from the interior of the settlement and Thora came rumbling forth, smoke billowing forth to join the storm clouds above.

Oh my! What a read, clearly I missed out a lot? Great work AS always

 Trondheim wrote:
Oh my! What a read, clearly I missed out a lot? Great work AS always

Thank you glad you enjoyed it - working on the next chapter - coming to the end of the "book".

Sounds like something I will be looking forwards to! Eagerly awating it

This has been a great read! Keep it up!

Well, another grand read for me to put on my list of many fan fictions to read on this site. I'm enjoying so far and hope you'll continue posting more or start another series. Either one would be great.

Benny Badmen wrote:
Well, another grand read for me to put on my list of many fan fictions to read on this site. I'm enjoying so far and hope you'll continue posting more or start another series. Either one would be great.

Thanks for all the kind words guys - working on the chapter at present - likely penultimate chapter - Book 1 done - Book 2 will follow at some point - the aftermath of the Storm of Chaos.

Chapter Thirty Two – Wrath

Implacable metal slammed into yielding flesh with a triumphant flare of blood, a brief grinding of bone and swiftly drowned screams. Heavy wheels ploughed through the slurry that had been the vanguard of the assault, seeking traction as the great machine charged onwards through the beasts and monsters.

Several more malformed creatures were crushed beneath its wheels in as many seconds, but the others, snarling and screeching in anger were not the lesser creatures that Varsilas had spent against the walls. They leapt, dodged and scrambled away, cursing and gathering their anger as they did so; some towards the nearby buildings, a few onto Thora herself.

The rain water made its unyielding metal slick and hard to grasp and one multi-armed horror immediately slipped back, crimson appendages flailing uselessly as it hit the ground. Uncaring, its companion’s had sung forth a short verse even as she had leapt up and now the long claws that concluded her limbs were sheathed in cold blue fire.

These unnatural talons served her well enough, although even they could not breach the armour entirely but they did hold her in place. She tensed her muscles to continue the climb and a crossbow bolt slammed into her heavy, fur matted body provoking a guttural snarl in brief recognition of the assault. Purple hued blood dripped reluctantly from the wound and the scarlet crest that ran the length of her skull and back reared up in anger and threat.

Her four small primary eyes shifted rapidly across her long narrow skull and focussed on the dwarf that had shot her, his closed helm dipped as he calmly reloaded. In one smooth movement, she extracted the bolt with one hand and muscles rippling launched it at the guard as he looked up.

Blood flared as the missile buried itself in the throat of the dwarf but she was already moving upward, sparks flashing from the metal of the machine as her sapphire tainted claws made new purchase points. With a grunt of satisfaction she was atop the iron beast even as the top turret ground its way around to face her.

A sleek barrel thrust forwards at her and with a scream of anger she slid sideways, her right hand and both foot talons ripping into the metal once more. The left lashed out at the protruding weapon, initially merely deflecting the aim as it discharged before grabbing it and brutally ramming it back into the turret with a deep growl of satisfaction.

Master Engineer Bardin cursed as behind him, the heavy form of his guard crashed down the ladder, blood cloaking his face, the musket clattering to the floor after him. Focussed on the controls of Thora, he did not spare him a glance, but rather eased the accelerator leaver forward, feeling the machine shudder in response before he bellowed over the growing noise.

“Get back up there and kill it!”

Chastened, the burly armoured dwarf growled, spitting and snorting out his blood as he began to scramble up the ladder, axe in hand. The remaining two guards within the compartment kept a careful eye on the opening above, clasping heavy axes in one hand, the other firmly attached to leather straps hanging from the ceiling.

Xx

The blood was soothing coolness, a blessed stream of joy and icy ecstasy as it flooded through her body, revitalising and regenerating. Flesh and sinew, skin and hair were re-growing and realigning; the pain was fading to a dull ache, at least where metal and fabric had not melted into her body.

Her eyes flickered open and her hands twitched into familiar talons, still little more than blackened bone and tormented muscle on her left. Swiftly, painfully she tore herself away from the cooling corpse and began to tear the remnants of her armour and clothes away.

Shards of new, necessary agony tore through her but swiftly she was kneeling only in her own smooth skin, embracing the cool air.

Yet the monster was still hungry…

Xx

Varsilas laughed loudly as both of his hulking bodyguards leapt forwards, the great metal shields raised as they sought to protect their master. He enjoyed the sensation of his amusement as it vibrated through his new body but he could also feel the deeper emanations of the onrushing war machine as it steamed toward them, churning through members of his retinue.

Instinctively he began a sonorous chanting, calling upon the winds of magic, still gusting strongly from the far north. A flourish with his left hand and a beam of scintillating energy enveloped the machine, caressing it in a purple haze.

Inside Thora, the Master Engineer bit down hard on his pipe and snarled around it, cold hard words.

“Do you think I would go to war without protection wizard?”

He could feel the runes come to life in response to the powerful arcane assault, a steady heartbeat of denial and hatred as he adjusted the course slightly to head directly towards the glowing crystalline entity that had conjured the power.

A gruff laugh sounded through the cabin, “It will take more than that to stop us.”

Xx

“Advance and Kill them!”

The order was projected loudly by the priest as he himself strode forward, his hammer held ready as he took the measure of an onrushing creature.

Its nine legs discordantly sloshed through the mud, surprisingly efficiently propelling its heavy centaur like body forward, the upper humanoid torso and head swivelling to focus on the prey in front of it. The single great pincer that dominated its right arm repeatedly clicking together and apart, purple flesh and gold chitin gleaming in the rain.

The mutant grunted in pain as the inscribed hammer slammed into its torso, shattering bone and spraying blood into the damp air. Yet its momentum carried it forward, despite the impact and the pulsing organs impaled by fragments of its broken ribs, slamming the priest backwards and off his feet as he tried to pivot aside.

Roaring and screaming in a mixture of rage and pain, the centaur tried to turn and finish the author of its wound, lashing out with its vicious claw which barely cleared the man’s head. Still screeching and bleeding, the creature lost its balance, its multitude of legs entangling themselves as it too crashed to the ground. As it tried to rise an axe and sword rammed into its head as a pair following the priest finished the job he had started.

Not far away, a scrawny looking avian humanoid caught a sword in one gnarled hand without flinching or harm, its body and head feathers flaring in a brief cool fire as it did so. With unexpected strength it twisted the blade away from the cursing man, flinging it to the ground and then just as quickly gabbed and snapped his arm like a dry twig, its beak wide and emitting a loud discordant cackling.

Stepping carefully in the rain, Captain von Hirschfeld took swift aim at point blank range and put a bullet into its head, smiling grimly as the feathered cranium exploded. He glanced down at the man now kneeling sobbing in the mud, clutching his damaged arm.

“Get up and fight”

His attention was only drawn by the wounded man for long enough to rasp the words; the rest of the pack were upon the remaining defenders and he moved forward with sword raised to kill them.

Xx

Ulrike had cried out when the priest went down, just as she had when the monsters ripped at her shield with their teeth and claws, smashed at it with their clubs and blades. Albrecht winced, but knew she was unaware that the screams were coming from her.

He rammed his sword into the gut of his opponent, twisting and turning the blade in the wound as he shoved it down into the mud. Its three mouths gaped open in a silence; agony apparent in its single huge eye as it twitched around the weapon that was killing it. The mercenary pulled himself free and slashed the sword across its throat, blood fountaining forth to mix with the rain.

Tired and hurting he glanced up from the still spasming corpse and managed a grim smile as he found Ulrike standing above them, legs braced and shield raised, a fleck of blood on her lips where she was biting down hard in concentration. Slowly, warily he clambered to his feet, noticing the priest doing the same, the downpour washing the blood from his head wound as he advanced on the remaining creatures, hammer raised.

Turning toward the ongoing fight he could see men were still dying; he winced as a portly man, his bald pate gleaming wetly paused too long to reload his crossbow and was immolated by the arcane screech of a squat lean mutant. Its malformed head was dominated by the great beak that was itself surrounded by a multitude of tentacles, each surmounted by pulsing nostrils.

“Sigmar is with us!”

A cry of righteousness spilt the air and the sonic mutants beak cracked and skull crumpled as the priests hammer flew through the air to pulverise his enemies head. The other survivors were closing on the few beasts that still lived and fought, human faces starkly illuminated by another lightning strike that arced down from the storm clouds above.

“Now kill them all!”

The remaining defenders of Untergrad charged as one, the gods name on their lips.

Xx

She hear the blood pulsing in the veins of the girl, rushing through organs to the heart and back around her fragile body.

The sound called to her, a siren song that she had ignored, banished, disdained for a long time.

Sabina glanced down at the dead woman at her naked feet, now just a bloodless husk and felt nothing but the old hunger for more.

Xx

The iron beast was still moving, unrelentingly powerful with smoke pouring from its high stack, almost lost against the darkness of the clouds still building above. The female beast growled in anger, still shocked that it and indeed she had survived the power that her master had unleashed on the machine. She could feel its defences vibrating through her bones, the powerful dissonance painful and unsettling.

Her flame shrouded claw was the only thing keeping her atop the lumbering, swaying machine, but the now active dwarven runes meant that this would not last, she could feel its inimical energy reaching out towards her, seeking to dislodge the intrusion. She glanced back along the length of the engine and through the rain could see the rest of the warband.

Anger and uneasiness alternately flooded through her, she had expected them to be slaughtering the humans, dancing in their entrails as they moved into the town to complete the massacre as they had for weeks now, ever since they had come south to the land of the Empire.

Blood was flowing, limbs cleaved and bodies hacked apart – yet for once it was her pack mates who were the victims. Not of any familiar fraternal squabble over spoils but rather at the hands, blades and hammers of the enraged human defenders. Distracted she did not hear the dwarf return to his post, levering open the hatch to get at the creature on the roof.

The first she knew of his resurgence was the heavy impact of an axe in her leg.

Xx

Varsilas took a step backward as he unleashed another gout of energy at the oncoming vehicle, seeking to overwhelm its defences by sheer firepower and spite but to no avail, the runes held and the energy faded. He took another step backward, chanting as he did so.

The two ogres exchanged glances as the rumbling machine continued to advance, shrugging off the magical assault with disdain, the larger of the two bodyguards visibly starting as a piecing whistle issued from the iron monster.

His brother looked over at the huge and heavy crystalline figure and then again at the approaching engine before making a quick hand gesture. The other ogre’s large heavy head nodded slightly in response and they both began to withdraw away from the sorcerer who was apparently focussed entirely on the machine.

Xx

Sabina was mostly whole by the time she reached the kitchen, her pink skin glistening with its new painful growth, her face a feral mask of need and receding hurt. Her movements were slow, careful, testing to see that her body had regained all the required muscle and sinew that it needed to function.

In contrast she opened the door quickly and moved through into the room beyond swiftly, her predatory instincts alive and ready to react to any resistance from her prey, one talon tipped hand raised defensively.

She need not have worried.

Petra stared at the naked apparition that confronted her with horror, her wide eyes fixed on the monstrous visage, the gleaming fangs and the blood red eyes. Her slim body was shaking in her growing terror, but she could not even bring herself to fight or flee as it stalked closer.

The young woman tried to scream, to merely faint but even in this, her body failed her, merely standing, helplessly quivering in anticipation of the inevitable assault to come.

Suddenly the monster was there at her side, one hand gripping her arm with inhuman steely strength. It made a hissing noise, perhaps of anticipation, Petra thought inanely as it firmly tilted her head to one side and without hesitation bit deep and began to drink her life.

Xx

The screech the creature made as the dwarf extracted his axe was nearly as loud as that when he had drove into the outstretched leg. He grinned at the sound and raised it for another strike but was unprepared for the speed of her counter attack.

Now heedless of her wound she turned and leapt at him, blue fire curling around the outstretched talons. He managed to parry one of them but the other found brutal purchase in his mail, yanking him forward and off balance.

Instantly the front of her face peeled back to reveal a multitude of spiral jaws spinning down into her equally tooth lined gullet. Despite his bulging muscles and frantic struggles she propelled his face into her maw and began to shred and devour the hapless warrior, sending blood and shards of bone down into the compartment below as a harbinger of what she intended to visit on the remaining crew.

He did not, indeed could not scream, only gurgle and thrash as he was consumed.

Narrowed eyes upon the hatch and ladder, the two remaining warriors in the vehicle hummed a short funeral dirge; both for their lost comrade and perhaps for themselves.

Xx

“Burn you metal bastard!” The sorcerer shrieked in defiance at the uncaring machine as he shuffled backwards in the clinging mud, his words and movement sending a chorus of chimes from his hanging cilia.

Thora ploughed on relentlessly toward him and another mocking whistle sounding out across the scene, lightning flashing in the clouds above, seemingly in concert with the instrument.

Through his new body he could feel it approaching, its momentum and sheer power, but he could also feel the lesser pounding as his bodyguards fled away, one even flinging the great shield away in his haste. Faintly he felt the rest of his warband being cast down, slain and slaughtered.

Only one of them still fought on now, atop the machine and desperately he willed her on as he himself began to stumble away in the wake of the ogres.

Xx

Von Hirschfeld smiled as he wiped the thick cloying blood from his face, flicking it away and tilting his face up to the heavens to allow the rain to further cleanse it. He nodded as the lightning flashed and the great storm clouds rumbled overhead.

“Thank you Lord.” He intoned.

“Indeed, we should praise Him!”

A heavy hand, equally soaked in the blood of the unclean fell upon on the captain’s shoulder,

“Yet the work is not yet done….”

A pause and a meaningful glance at the quickly disappearing bulk of the dwarven machine, where atop its surface a desperate fight was witnessed.

“Let us pay tribute to Him by……………our deeds.”

The priest strode forth, blood dripping in his wake from his wounds, he knew he would be followed.

Xx

Sabina lowered the now lifeless girl gently to the floor, closing her staring, accusing eyes with an almost reluctant gesture.

“I am sorry, Petra.”

She sighed and wished she felt more sorrow for the girl within her rather than the fierce pleasure that still coursed through her veins, burning them clean and pure with the precious vitae she had ingested. Sabina glanced down at herself, now whole again, although her body was smeared with soot and blood and felt the dark joy spiral up inside her again.

Slowly she looked around the kitchen, a place she had come to know well, felt the cooling warmth of the fire, took in the discordant scents of cooking and sudden violence. It was, she considered, a place that was now devoid of all who had brought it to life, had made it more than just a room.

Without further hesitation she strode out of the door and up the stairs to retrieve her sword.

It was time to leave.

Xx

“Wait!” Albrecht caught his lovers arm.

Ulrike looked back, startled. She had been following the half dozen other survivors of the battle, some staggering, near collapse themselves as they doggedly followed the priest and the officer towards the gateway.

“We are done, the town is safe.” He paused to catch his breath, fatigue and pain catching up with him.

“But…” She glanced again towards the gate and gestured with her free hand, her shield arm dropping a bit with the unaccustomed weight.

“We need to go.” His voice was low and urgent, “Whilst we still can.”

Her eyes were wide as she stepped close to him. “If the town is safe……”

“Then we are not.”

“Because of …..Her?” Her voice was equally low, sudden worry twisting its normally light cadence.

Albrecht winced and nodded, he retrieved and cleaned his sword before slowly, awkwardly sheathing it and turning away from the aftermath of the conflict at the gate.

Xx

Granny could feel them failing, their blood mixing unceremoniously with the mud and gak in the streets. It was a fleeting gift from her new patron, she could feel its amusement at their despair and failure, the pleasure of raising and dashing the hopes of those who served it and she shivered.

It did not care that she knew, rather it relished the gift of such information, not all its game pieces could handle such knowledge, but it was confident that she could.

And if she couldn’t – there were others.

There were always others.

Xx

She dropped into the interior of the machine, disdaining the ladder, absorbing the brutal impact with unnaturally resilient muscles and bones. One trailing talon bashed and sparked off the metal rungs, leaving glittering shards of burnt metal falling in her wake.

Before she could rise to her full height, the warriors were upon her, axe and hammer crashing into and slicing through her skin and flesh. Her gore flecked toothy orifice screeched in pain and anger as she was battered backwards, flailing out with her flaming talons to parry the unrelenting onslaught.

“Stop playing with the bitch.” Bardin roared from his seat, “Don’t make come back there and do it myself!”

The two dwarves grunted in response and redoubled their efforts, working together, each shifting easily from attack to defence and back again with practised precision. She had grabbed one of them by the wrist and began to squeeze, her claws heating the chainmail as they began to melt through when the axe cleaved straight through her flesh and bone, leaving the still fiery remnant to skitter brokenly across the metal floor.

Grinning, the now freed dwarf followed up with his sword, the mortal wound scarcely avoided by the still screaming creature, but its length sliced bloodily, painfully along her ribs and his companion was already moving to get a clear angle for a second strike.

Xx

Frustrated by the dwarven runes worked into the machine, Varsilas changed tactics, he was a chosen of Tzeentch, not a battle and blood crazed berserker of Khorne after all. Forcing himself to stand fast in the path of the iron contrivance, he focussed his magic on the churned mud, blood and corpses to one side.

He screeched a discordant chant and a huge portion of the killing field shuddered, liquefying as it responded to the arcane call. A final rune chimed from his mouth and the wave began to build, an undulating mass that rose quickly and began to surge towards the machine.

The sorcerer champion looked back and forth between the oncoming contraption and his vengeful wave of sludge and tumbling bodies, arms waving at it him as they rose and fell within the mass. It was going to be a close run thing he considered as he stomped backwards.

Xx

“We need to kill the witch.” The captain gestured with his sword, towards the still building wave that was surging towards the dwarf wonder weapon, already as high as the machine powering forwards.

The priest nodded and he too broke into a run, a scowl surfacing briefly as he recalled who had last spoken that truth.

Behind them the last defenders of the town followed as best they could.

Xx

The rain was cold, but she didn’t care. Its touch washed the blood from her lithe form as she walked. A great peel of thunder crashed across the storm clouds and she paused, looking upwards as a lightning bolt reverberated brightly amongst the blackness, beautiful in its revealed power.

Sigmar might strike her down, but she could do little about that. She doubted he would, surely there were others more worthy of his attention, more deserving of his wrath.

But then again, she considered, she had just slaughtered a pair of innocents.

She had saved them in the past, now she had taken their lives, chosen their fates.

Like a God…………….or a Goddess.

She smiled, if he stuck her down now; perhaps it was not in judgement because she could be a rival, a threat, for even mighty Sigmar had once been nothing more than a mortal man. Perhaps a rival to all those that dwelled beyond the world,

…….and she was so much more than a mortal man.

That was how Albrecht and Ulrike found her, staring upwards at the storm, rainwater dripping off her blood clad but otherwise naked body, her scabbarded sword held loosely in one hand.

A lean predatory figure, relaxed and unmoving, seemingly awaiting something or someone.

She turned to face them as they stopped and gazed upon her, her face showing no sign of recognition and the smile she gave them was full of fangs.

Xx

The mutant had taken another glancing axe blow and lost an ear, but in return had gouged out one of her adversaries eyes and torn his nose free with a vicious slash of her remaining talon. As he reeled back, cursing, his companion rammed his sword through her right kneecap and she went down hard onto the metal floor.

He followed up with a rapid, searching thrust through her torso, withdrawing the blade and slamming it him again. Both the warriors stepped back, catching their breath as they prepared to finish the invader, the stouter of the twos face an unheeded ruin.

The wave slammed into Thora with enough force to send them all crashing and tumbling, as the mighty vehicle tried to stand fast against the tide of filth. Screeching tortured metal vied with cries of pain from within and the lights failed inside the machine as the boiler tumbled, safety mechanisms cut in to forestall an explosion.

The mutant gurgled in a unnerving form of laughter as the dwarf with the now mangled visage was flung into her in a parody of a lover’s embrace. As they fell and twisted in the darkness, she began to shred the rest of his face and head, devouring blood, flesh and bone with relish.

Over and around the bulky construct the wave flowed and fountained, its energy failing as the Runes within Thora fought against the animating magic. Still she would not be denied her vengeance as she slid and ploughed through the mud, stuttering unerringly towards the crystalline sorcerer.

He spat a vitriolic curse as he realised that he was not going to escape her entirely, his new form was too slow to escape.

Xx

Several of the defenders of Untergrad had stopped and gazed upon the scene in amazement, the massive machine turned on its side and sliding, unnoticed one of them slip slowly to the ground, unable to stand, never mind run or fight.

Neither the captain or the priest wasted time in such futility, they ignored the pain of wounds and tired, aching muscles, screaming at them to stop. The ground had been stripped of the clinging layer of mud and beneath was firm and cool, allowing them to gather speed as they closed on the sorcerer. Behind them limped a crossbowman, wincing every time his left foot hit the ground and leaving a trail of blood droplets.

Thora advanced upon Varsilas in a spray of sludge; a small measure of revenge for the indignity already inflicted upon her. The wet gleaming crystal was mostly hidden beneath the muck when she hit, slamming him backwards and into the same mud as a final ignominy.

Xx

Inside the now quiescent machine it was still pitch black, full of the stench of blood and carnage, the sound of the still grinding and tearing jaws sounding and echoing across the metal interior. There was a sudden burst of activity, the piercing sound of a blade scraping across metal, the grunt of impact as the wielder was thrown backwards and away.

Baradin shook his head and groaned as the pain flooded through him. Whilst he had been safely strapped in, not everything else in the vehicle had been and something large and heavy had smashed into and crushed his arm, heavy bones fracturing under the pressure.

He made a mental note to look at equipment stowage at a later date.

Even if he could not see it, he could hear and smell the battle continuing and he focussed his will on unstrapping himself and joining it. He had extracted himself from the chair when he heard the below of pain and a grotesque tearing wrenching sound as something tore free and was flung wetly against a metal surface.

Quietly he drew his hammer and hefted in it a defensive stance, angling his injured arm away from the interior of the machine. He could hear a panting, coughing as something dragged itself along, the hissing of cooling pipework, even the drip of some liquid nearby.

Cautiously he edged forward, the surface, the wall of the compartment, uneven and unfamiliar as a surface to walk on. He paused again, patience was a virtue he thought and waited, ignoring the tension building as his eyes trained against the ebon nothingness.

Then light flared in the room, a brief burst of energy but enough for him to see his foe, equally quietly limping towards him, her gaping maw silent and waiting, a long proboscis undulating out from deep within to taste the air.

The other dwarf coughed blood and sank back, his silver lighter skittering away and out.

“Good lad” he rasped as he moved forward with purpose, his hammer moving with deliberation even as she ignited her own talon.

Xx

Once again the prey was not running.

She cocked her head on one side and examined them, blinking away watery droplets of blood from her eyes, feeling them run down into her mouth. She licked her lips and enjoyed the distracting taste for a moment.

A man and a woman, a faithful servant and…….who… no what was she?

She moved to her right, crimson eyes flickering between the two of them.

If she was not a servant, and not an enemy, no she was definitely not an enemy…. Well then she must be food.

Xx

It was not easy to rise from the ground, Varsilas resonated with anger, mud dripping and energy glittering through his huge body as he lumbered and rocked himself towards standing upright.

“You do test me, my Lord,” he chimed out loud.

There was a muted sound and something ricocheted from his arm, and spent itself in the ground. A black flecked crossbow bolt.

He spoke a word and his head pulsed with light and shed the clinging mud so he could perceive a small group of men heading towards him, one hanging back and reloading his crossbow.

“Yet more?” The heavy glittering head turned up towards the sky as he intoned the question.

The two men moved to flank him, both calling upon their god and again the thunder crashed above them all.

A brief moment of uneasiness clouded his reactions at the sound and it was enough for the larger of the two men to launch his hammer at him with a powerful below of hate and piety. The force of the impact shocked him, as it crashed into his body and real pain sensations warred with his higher thoughts for his minds attention.

He screeched an incantation and crimson fire enveloped the hammer thrower, turning him instantly into a staggering inferno. Varsilas could almost taste the soul burning as he gestured and increased the power of his spell.

A sword clattered with force but ultimately harmlessly against his body from the other side, and immediately he lashed out with a huge fist, enjoying the physicality of the blow, the almost forgotten sensation of blood splashing against his knuckles.

He turned back to the burning man and was surprised to see he was still staggering towards him, enthralled he watched him continue his advance before dropping to his knees, dripping melted flesh and already blackened bones showing in places.

Yet the man’s eyes were still intact as the flames died suddenly, a cold wind sweeping across them all and snuffing them out. They fixed with the sorcerers and the intensity of the hatred within them made his step back as he realised it was not just the loathing of a lone mortal but something else looking through his eyes for just a moment.

He felt the anger of a god and he quailed before it, not even noticing the sword shattering against his body.

Xx

Ulrike stepped back, away from the approaching woman, wide eyed at the long fangs and bloody orbs that gazed back at her and then flickered to her lover. They moved back and forth as Lady Sabina walked slowly, unhurriedly towards them.

“My Lady”. Albrecht was attempting to remain calm, he had once seen his liege like this, detached and predatory….inhuman and he had watched Hans talk her back to her humanity.

He was not sure he could do it.

“My Lady, It’s me, Albrecht,” he paused, keeping his eyes locked with hers as she approached,

“……and Ulrike…. You remember Ulrike,”

She stopped and her gaze snapped entirely to the girl.

Sabina remembered, she recalled asking her retainer almost the same question, long ago it seemed now.

“So the food has a name”, the voice inside her, the dragons voice taunted, “It’s still food?”

“My Lady, we need to leave, the town is safe but we are not.”

“Safe?” Her voice was soft, contemplative.

Xx

He spoke a word.

A single word he managed despite burned lips and melted tongue, his life used up in that last action.

It was a fitting word and a miracle in its own right, a charred, brutal vengeance seeking miracle.

Von Hirschfeld did not hesitate – he discarded the useless sword hilt and reached for the hammer where it gleamed in the mud.

He looked up at the monstrous warlock staggering backwards and he could see a crack where the hammer had hit first time, a dark jagged thing that stood out against the brightness of the entity.

Heavy, angry thunder boomed above them once more.

The weapon was light in his hand, balanced for throwing as well as close combat and now he could see exactly where he needed to strike.

“Sigmar!” He yelled as he threw.

It flew true as did the bolt of lightning from above, they both connected at the same time with that flaw in an instant of detonation and erasure.

Now that was a figth I dare say! Your descriptions of combat makes me green with envy, well done. And I dare say you can never go wrong with a bit of hammer throwing

Epilogue

The Storm of Chaos had passed.

It had been a brutal event, devastating hundreds of miles, slaughtering hundreds of thousands as it swept across Kislev, the Dwarven realms and the Empire. The war was over, the enemy defeated at great cost.

The dead could attest to this, but in the main they remained silent unless ordered otherwise.

Letta looked down and across the massed ranks of the slain, the huge army of arisen corpses and animated skeletons drawn up before her, standing silent and uncaring that the rain continued falling. It was an impressive sight, almost as powerful as the insidious stench of the unwashed, rotting bodies that rose from them.

Alone with her mistress she stood atop a great tower of bone, flesh and sinew and it was only by a conscious effort that she restrained herself from humming cheerfully as she watched the spirits swirl endlessly about the construction. Unusually, Ariete had dismissed her handmaidens before the two women had ascended to view the confrontation.

Both women gazed at the crimson pavilion erected between the two armies, the carrion cleared from about its fluttering skirts. Mannfred had rode out alone to the meeting place, disdaining any escort, snarling dangerously at those who had questioned his orders.

The entrance to the shelter shifted and revealed the tall dark figure still alone, his sword scabbarded at his hip. Without a glance backwards, her liege lord mounted his flesh crafted steed and began to stalk towards his army. His blood childe gazed upon him, eyes sweeping across the lean form, looking for a clue as to what had passed between the living and the dead.

“It’s over,” the vampire sighed mournfully, razor tipped talons scoring deeply into the quivering flesh that formed the balcony.

The necromancer glanced at her, thoughtfully and with a carefully blank expression on her face and then turned back to look at the army that stood now against the dead.

It was smaller, but anchored in its defiance and the confidence that arose from victory, powerful vortices of arcane energies swirled above them, matching anything that the undead could field and indeed surpassed it a few cases. Even Letta did not care to gaze too long at the pure silvery light that revealed the presence of a high mage from Ulthuan.

She had never seen such an array of varied warriors – humans from across the Empire and beyond, even a potent mass of knights from far off Bretonnia. Elf swordmasters stood ready too, their armour still glittering in places not yet tainted by blood and gore. At a safe distance a throng of dwarves awaited battle impassively, their attention fixed on the mass of the dead, small trails of smoke drifting from a multitude of pipes.

Behind and above them was the still smoking pillar surmounted by the fortress city of Middenheim, battered but unbroken akin to many of the warriors that stood now facing the army of the unquiet dead. Strewn between the two armies were (as yet) unmoving mounds, corpses of the creatures of chaos that had invaded, a potent resource as well as a symbol.

Yet she could not touch them with her magic, and she knew she was not alone.

In the wake of the peerless vampire lord another figure strode out of the pavilion, long blonde hair blowing in the wind, yet he was untouched by the rain. His gromril armour was torn and rent like the flesh beneath it but it was also aglow with potent runes and in his right hand he held a great rune hammer.

The hammer that had been gifted to Sigmar himself some two and half millennia ago, the fabled Ghal Maraz – Skullsplitter in the dwarf tongue. He held it easily as if he was born to wield it or so it appeared to many of the sentient dead that gazed upon him.

Not a few of them quailed at the sight.

The man stood and watched the vampire returning to his army, he said nothing, his presence was enough, the storm above him an undeniable symbol of the god of winter in whose realm they trespassed.

Letta did not look upon him with her uncanny gaze……she did not want to burn in the light of a god reborn.

The war was over and the living stood triumphant.

Xx

End of Book One.

Now that was a solid conclusion I dare say! Well done sir