The girl threw herself to the ground at the elf’s side, checking for a pulse, as Karl stood defensively over her, his sword flashing out at any greenskin that drew near.
Grunwald rammed his knife up into the throat of another foe, and heaved with all his strength to knock the dying creature to the side, where it flopped onto the ground. A fist cracked against his chest, and he saw a blade flashing towards his throat, but it was intercepted at the last moment by an axe.
Nodding his thanks to Thorrik, he swung back into the attack, which was now devolving into little more than a deadly brawl, as more greenskins vaulted the boulders. They would be surrounded within minutes, and then they would be massacred.
“Pull back to the cave!” came Karl’s shout, and Grunwald realised that the knight too had seen the danger.
“Come, Annaliese,” shouted the preceptor.
“He lives! We must take him with us!” shot back the girl, and she began trying to drag the elf back from the battle. Grunwald ducked through the fray to aid her. A blade hacked into his shoulder and he winced, stumbling. The killing strike did not come, however, and he saw a knight surge past him, ramming his sword through the orc’s throat, the blade sliding in deep. Before he could offer his thanks, the knight was impaled upon a barbed spear from behind, lifted up into the air by the strength of his killer.
Grunwald half ran, half stumbled through the battle to Annaliese’s side. He gripped one of the elf’s legs and began to drag him back, Karl walking backwards before them, protecting them as best he could.
“Thorrik!” shouted Grunwald as he saw the dwarf still battling furiously on the stone wall. “We need you!”
Karl was deflecting blows aimed at him with his now battered shield, but it was clear the knight was tiring.
“Knights of the Blazing Sun!” he roared. “Back to the cave!”
A blow smashed into his shield, knocking the preceptor back a step, though his return blow ripped the throat from the savage greenskin, who died with dark blood bubbling from its throat.
Then Thorrik was at his side, lending the strength of his arm, and they fought a retreat inside the dark cave mouth. The entrance was wide, but it narrowed sharply. They would make their stand here, and fight to the last.
The echoing of the feral roars of the greenskins reverberated around the cave, bouncing off the sloping, natural walls.
Dropping Eldanair’s leg to the ground, Grunwald leapt back into the fight. But just as any forlorn hope of victory seemed to fade, the orcs began to pull back. Their faces were fearful, and they seemed indecisive and unsure of themselves.
A massive greenskin roared its fury, and violently shoved the orcs forward, but they resisted. Alone the orc chieftain stomped forwards, and its warriors edged forwards at his back.
Karl and Thorrik stepped out to meet the orc head on. The monster swung a pair of huge cleavers, and Karl was knocked to his knees from the power behind the blows. Thorrik lashed out at the orc’s legs, but his blow was deflected and the orc kicked out, knocking the dwarf back.
A shot rang out and smoke spewed from the barrel of Grunwald’s pistol. The orc staggered back, blood pumping from its neck, and Karl and Thorrik surged forward. A blow from the chieftain sent the preceptor reeling, but Thorrik’s blade found its mark, sinking deep into the greenskin’s groin. It roared in fury and slammed a cleaver down onto the dwarf’s shoulder, bashing the super-hard gromril metal out of shape, driving the dwarf to one knee. Surging upright, Thorrik’s axe hammered up into the orc’s chin. The giant orc staggered, and his warriors faltered.
Karl’s blade buried itself in the chieftain’s chest, and the massive orc fell. With one downward sweep of his axe, Thorrik decapitated the beast and raised the severed head above his own, roaring his defiance to the horde of greenskins. Their will to fight was broken, and they turned as one and fled from the cave.
It was then that Grunwald once again noticed the stench on the air. He had thought it was rotting carrion at first, and there certainly was something akin to that deeper within the darkness, but there was something else, something that niggled at the edge of his mind.
The power of Chaos.
“There is something here,” he said, his voice deep and sepulchral in the sudden silence.
As ancient as the mountains themselves it awoke in the depths of cave, roused from slumber by the sound of steel on steel, the screams of the dying, and the delicious taste of blood on the air. It had once been a normal creature, but it had long ago been twisted and corrupted by one of the great gods of Chaos, and its nature altered. For millennia it had slumbered, waking occasionally to kill and feed. It had grown powerful and strong over the years, and its furred hide was stronger than steel.
It felt the presence of the great god, the feathered lord that had given it strength, and it could feel that the power of Chaos was strong—far stronger than it had ever experienced before. The creature could taste the coiling winds of magic on its long tongue, and it breathed in deeply, inhaling the luxurious scent deep into its lungs.
It was called many things—among the dwarfs it was known as the Dum Thaggor, though the mountain kin had no records of it having awoken for countless centuries, and its existence was all but forgotten. Before the coming of Sigmar, in the times before the Empire, the local tribesman had dubbed it Tefalbar, while to the orcs and goblins it had no name, but they believed it was some primal aspect of one of their deities, and left it offerings of corpses and gold.
The sounds of battle came again, echoing down through the darkness, and the mighty creature lifted itself up on massive clawed feet. Lips drew back from its huge jaws, exposing a fearsome array of teeth, and eyes and smaller mouths pushed through the flesh of its muzzle, rippling the skin, blinking soundlessly open before merging back into the living flesh once more. Its own eyes blinked, irises black and ringed with flickering blue flame.
Lifting itself onto its hind legs it roared, the sound deafening and making the air ripple with change. It dropped down to all fours, and began climbing up to face the intruders of its realm, claws ripping great chunks of rock from the cave walls as it ascended towards the surface.
“What in the name of Sigmar was that?” said Annaliese, her face pale as the sound of the ungodly roar echoed through the cave.
“Something that the greenskins feared to face,” said Karl, turning around warily with his sword in his hand, looking into the darkness surrounding them. The other knights too circled warily, licking their lips in uncertainty. “I don’t think this is the safest of caves to rest in,” the preceptor added.
“You don’t think?” snapped Grunwald.
“How is the elf?” said Karl.
“Not fit to travel,” said Annaliese. Eldanair had regained consciousness, but was clearly unable to stand.
“Perfect,” said Karl. “So we just sit here and wait for the beast of the underworld to appear then?”
“I will not leave Eldanair here,” snapped Annaliese, “and it lessens you to even think it.”
Karl swallowed hard, but had the grace to look shamefaced. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I spoke out of anger.”
“Of course we cannot leave him. But could we not carry him?”
“The orcs have set up camp below,” said one of the knights, walking back into the cave. “They have sentries watching the entrance.”
“Well I guess that answers that,” said Karl.
“Have you ever heard of any beast haunting this area?” Grunwald asked Thorrik.
The dwarf shook his head. “But I do not know this place, manling, and do not know its local legends.”
“Let’s get a fire banked,” suggested Grunwald. “If it is any natural beast, it will fear the flames.”
“There wasn’t anything natural about the sound of that roar,” muttered Karl, but the preceptor organised his men swiftly to do as the witch hunter said. Doing something was better than just sitting waiting for whatever was coming for them.
They sme
lt it before they saw it. It stank of rotting meat, but there was the nauseating, cloying vapour of Chaos hanging about it. The stench was strong, and as one they rose from their seats around the bonfire, drawing weapons. Grunwald felt his stomach clench, and tasted bile upon his tongue.
“Gods, what an unholy stink,” said Karl, spitting, and Grunwald knew that the power of Chaos was clawing at all of them. He alone amongst them had often faced the minions of the dark gods and felt this sickening, corrupting essence of Chaos. “I can feel it… twisting inside me.”
“Speak aloud the prayers of your order,” said Grunwald to the knights. “Your faith will be your shield.”
As one the knights began reciting a prayer in the language of the men to the south of the Empire, from where the faith of Myrmidia originated. Grunwald began speaking a prayer of Sigmar aloud, and Annaliese joined him, their voices speaking together. Eldanair was clearly distressed, and he tried to rise to his feet, but sank back to the ground, sweat appearing on his forehead. Only Thorrik seemed unaffected, standing still and grim, awaiting whatever drew near.
The air seemed to shimmer as if with heat, though they could see coiling shapes writhing in the corner of their eyes, ghostly figures that lunged at them with widespread mouths and clawed, long-limbed arms. The knights spun left and right to face these daemons, but when they looked straight at them there was nothing there. Disturbing and ethereal, these images seemed unable to harm them, for they turned to smoke as they reached forward, though strange cackling screeches and giggles could be heard all around them.
The warriors closed together in a circle around the fire facing outwards, their eyes darting back and forth at the maddening images surrounding them.
“They are nothing,” said Grunwald, trying not to be distracted by these apparitions. “Creatures of shadow—they cannot harm us.”
Still, it was impossible to ignore the shifting shapes that writhed, blurring and mutating just beyond their vision. But they were merely heralds of the beast that came forward out of the shadows. Indeed even as they watched, more of the wisp-like spirit-creatures were exhaled from the giant beast, flowing from its nostrils to encircle the group.
The ground shook as it stepped forth, and it rose up on its hind legs, standing almost twenty feet tall. It was covered in thick, matted black fur, though its underbelly was furless, the heavily scarred skin an icy blue colour. It raised its legs high into the air, each tipped with long scythe-like talons, and bony spikes and protrusions extended from its forelegs, gleaming and deadly. Its head may once have been that of a bear, but it had grown and mutated out of all proportion, spikes of dark bone erupting from its brow like a crown, and immense curving tusks protruded from its slavering maw.
It opened its jaws, which seemed to have a double set of hinged joints so that they opened far wider than any natural creature’s, and when it roared the air shimmered before it, and the warriors staggered, nausea washing over them, and their vision wavering. Spines jutted from its chin, and as the monster bellowed, Grunwald could see that blue fire flared from deep within it. Its eyes too, small and round, were rimmed with this fire, which was blotted out for a moment as they blinked shut, four eyelids closing over each of the hateful orbs.
It roared again, and several of the knights staggered to their knees, grabbing at their heads. Grunwald too felt light-headed, as if he had drunk too much wine or imbibed noxious, mind-altering fumes. The shadow-spirits circling around the group closed in, as if feeding on this confusion, fear and disorientation. They began to circle madly, creating sickening patterns with their ethereal bodies, forming hateful, ruinous symbols, and mesmerising shapes.
“Begone, foul beast of Chaos!” roared Grunwald, breaking the spell abruptly. He levelled one of his precious wheel-lock pistols at the towering monster, and the sound of it as it fired cut through the ghostly whispering of the dim manifestations of Chaos.
The shot impacted with the beast’s cheek, but it ricocheted off its flesh as if it had struck stone, leaving not a mark or a weal. The creature drew in a deep, rattling breath, and the spirit creatures were sucked back through the beast’s nostrils, disappearing in an instant. However, they were not gone—they could be seen within the beast’s flesh now, pushing against the skin of its chest and belly, forming mouths and eyes and clawed limbs in its flesh.
It dropped to all fours, and charged at the group, the stone cracking beneath the impact of its massive clawed paws. Grunwald leapt to the side of the monstrosity, firing his other pistol as it closed the distance with sickening swiftness. The shot took it behind its left foreleg, but again he may as well have been firing on stone, and the lead shot dropped to the ground, flattened, as if it had been fired against a wall of stone.
One knight was too slow to react, and the beast drove a tusk through his body, the thick bony spur punching through the metal of his breastplate and out the other side. He was lifted high into the air, and hot blood splattered into the roaring fire, making it spit furiously. The beast shook its head, hurling the dead knight far across the cavern to smash into the wall before sliding to the ground.
Karl roared a battle cry as he drove his sword at the flank of the beast, and his knights too surged towards its rear, swords slicing through the air. They clanged off the beast’s haunches. Redoubling their effort they attacked again, but the beast seemed impervious to harm.
The beast swung around, tusks knocking two men flying, and another was swatted to the ground beneath a sweeping foreleg. The monstrous creature reared up onto its hind legs as it turned on the fallen knight, lifting him towards its maw. With one savage bite, the warrior was bitten in half as the other knights fell back from the monster, rising panic on their faces.
Thinking quickly, Grunwald lifted a burning brand from the fire and hurled it end over end towards the beast. It struck the creature in the small of its back, and the thick fur caught fire instantly. The stink of burning hair filled the cavern, and the monster dropped back to all fours, snarling fiercely, thick rivulets of blood and saliva dripping to the ground. The flames on its back rose for a moment, but then changed hue from orange to blue, then to purple, and then they faded altogether.
Thorrik and Annaliese charged at the beast. Thorrik swung with all his strength, but his blow rebounded. Annaliese smashed her hammer into the creature’s leg, and it seemed to feel some pain, though it was far from truly injured. It swung around viciously, talons lashing out. The blow caught Thorrik in the chest, the span of the beast’s paw reaching from his neck to his groin, and he was sent flying. He took the brunt of the blow, but Annaliese too was sent hurtling backwards, striking her head hard against a rocky outcrop, and she fell limp to the ground.
“Annaliese!” shouted Karl, and he charged back at the beast, and Grunwald joined him, screaming a prayer to Sigmar. With his mace held in two hands the witch hunter attacked, and he grunted as put all his weight behind the blow. It was like striking a castle wall, and he staggered back, the blow jarring all the way up his arms.
The creature rounded on him, and he hurled a vial of sanctified water into its face. The glass shattered on impact, showering the contents over one side of the beast’s face. The flesh blistered and sizzled as it burnt, and he saw one of the creature’s eyes dissolve in a liquefied mess of tissue.
The beast roared in pain, and staggered, shaking its head. It crushed a knight underfoot as it stepped backward, and lashed out blindly at another, the knight barely avoiding the slashing paw.
“Got any more of that stuff?” shouted Karl.
“No,” replied Grunwald. His other vials on his person were shattered from the fight against the greenskins.
“This is it then,” said Karl, as he stared up at the monstrous beast that was clearly readying itself for another charge.
“Looks like it,” replied Grunwald.
The beast exhaled, and the ghostly creatures surged around them. One of them reached for Grunwald but pulled its hand back as if burnt, and it was then that he
realised the pendant hung around his neck was glowing faintly.
He gripped the pendant tightly in his hand, and prepared himself for death.
Thorrik blinked his eyes and pushed himself to his knees. It felt like several ribs were broken, but he ignored the pain. His axe was gone. He glanced around and saw the witch hunter hurl the vial into the beast’s face, saw it reel backwards, and heard the swift exchange between the two humans.
His eyes locked on something propped against the cavern wall, something he had placed there before the fight against the greenskins outside. An object wrapped in oilskin.
He flicked his gaze back to the beast, and saw a pair of knights reel back from it, their weapons useless. One of them died a second later, ripped in two as it was caught in the massive paws of the Chaos-warped beast. His gaze flicked back to the ancient heirloom he had carried across the Empire and back, and he swore as he realised what he needed to do.
He scrambled across the cavern floor towards it, and lifted it in his hands, discarding his shield. Whispering the forgiveness of the ancestors, he ripped the oilskin from the shape and held the ancient warrior heirloom Karagaz reverently in his hands, awe upon his face.
It was a beautiful, immaculate, rune-inscribed war axe, forged six generations past by the finest war-smiths of Zhufbar, and inscribed by the runesmith Beorik Silverfist. It was a double-headed axe, its thick haft inscribed with runes of power and inlaid with gold and gromril. The axe blades themselves were forged in the likeness of twin dragonheads, and they gleamed in the firelight. Never would such a weapon need sharpening, and never would the axe blades tarnish or chip.
Many were the old tales of beasts of the deep that were immune to all but the strike of a rune weapon, mighty wyrms of the dark places and dragons of the treacherous elves.
With a heavy heart he lifted the revered blade, turning it before him, and his eyes fell on the massive beast of Chaos. The monster dropped to its four legs and charged at the few remaining standing humans, and Thorrik felt the fire in his belly become a roaring inferno of rage.
[Age of Reckoning 01] - Empire in Chaos Page 23
