by Darius Hinks
‘Leave!’ she hisses, when Hakh is just a few paces away from me. ‘It’s impossible. You’re too late. You can’t reach the skull before dawn.’
Hakh turns to face her and she lowers her head, too afraid of him to say more.
The warlord grins, takes a deep breath, and charges.
Chapter Eighteen
Lord-Relictor Boreas Undying
‘Hold the line!’ I cry, reeling back from the carnage.
The phalanx is still intact but even a wall of sigmarite will eventually buckle under such ferocity. The Liberators have thrown all their weight against each other, still singing my brother’s hymn as they shudder under the impact of the juggernauts. Where they can, they unseat the red knights with spring-heeled lunges, pounding their hammers into the enemy and then dropping back behind their shields.
The remaining Judicators are sheltered by the shield wall, loosing volley after volley at the enemy. Arrows blaze as they punch through Khornate armour, toppling some of the riders but leaving others hunched in their saddles, inured to the pain by their unholy rage.
I can no longer see Tylos or Retributor Celadon. I strain to look over the smoke-snorting heads of the juggernauts but it is useless. They had reached Hakh’s honour guard and marched calmly into the circle. I have to trust him. I have to believe Tylos can reach the Crucible of Blood or this will all have been for nothing.
Another charge crashes into the phalanx and, finally, the shields start to give.
‘Hold the line!’ I roar, and we surge back at them with a storm of hammers and arrows.
I slip back through the ranks and grasp my honour scrolls. My heart pounds as I consider what I’m about to attempt. My body is broken and my mind is close behind.
I look ahead and see, briefly, the horned figure of Hakh. He is flying towards Tylos, swinging a great two-handed sword. Tylos has proven his courage, but he can’t defeat them all alone. We need to reach him.
The Liberators’ song falters as another wave of juggernauts crash into us. They can’t hold out much longer. The Stormcasts are greater than any mortal foe, but the daemonic steeds are stealing our precious remaining minutes. Dawn is almost upon us. We have to get Tylos to the crucible.
I start to pray, reading from the mass of scrolls that trail down from my armour, and immediately, my gauntlets begin to spark and flicker.
I recite the final words and power jolts through my body. Before I have chance to register the pain, I point my hammer at the storm clouds and channel the power of the heavens, calling down Sigmar’s wrath. Lightning connects with my hammer and splays out over the heads of the Liberators, turning the night into a fierce, colourless dawn. It hits me with such force that I’m hurled backwards across the ground.
Blows falter as both armies pause to watch. For a brief moment, the clouds become silver, shimmering peaks. My prayer flashes across the sky and then hurtles back towards the ground, reborn as a thick column of lighting. The air rips apart as it slams to the earth. It lands in the heart of Hakh’s army like a comet from the heavens.
While the others stare in wonder, I’m already running. I ignore the pain of my wounds and stagger through the stunned crowds of warriors.
The column of lightning doubles and redoubles, lashing and arcing its way through the enemy warriors. It’s incredible, so beautiful that even the Chaos knights pause to watch, before being blasted apart.
As the column of light reaches the juggernauts it slices neatly through the daemon steeds. The blades of light leave smoking, butchered corpses in their wake.
Some of the knights manage to howl in rage, but most are simply thrown from their mounts and left in bleeding heaps of smouldering metal. As the lightning’s power grows, more of the juggernauts are dissected, spilling scarlet flames as their unholy bodies fall apart. Even the ground starts to rupture and crack, spewing gouts of lava from beneath its black, splintering crust.
‘Charge!’ I cry, weaving through the crowds of Liberators. ‘Make for the crucible! Find the Lord-Celestant – the night is almost done!’
As I run across the cracking earth, dodging jets of lava, the tower of lightning begins to slowly rotate, trailing twitching limbs of electricity that tear apart even more of the Chaos steeds. The red-armoured knights are so busy trying to control their bucking mounts that I stagger half way through their ranks before they even notice. Even then, they find it hard to place me in the blinding glare.
One of them manages to bar my way and attack. He’s lost his weapon so he simply dives headfirst through the inferno of spinning lights. I sidestep his clumsy lunge and pound him into the ground with my warhammer. Without breaking my stride I race into the heart of Sigmar’s fire. It’s so fierce I can barely see and my armour begins to ripple with heat, but I can’t falter. I will not let Tylos fail.
The warriors of Khorne have fled the blast and I stumble through the blaze alone. The arcs of power are still passing over me, rather than slicing me open, but my armour is starting to buckle and boil. The heat is incredible. I’m still a few feet from the core when my damaged leg gives way. The wound I sustained at the lake explodes with pain and I crash heavily to the ground. I crawl on but the light is growing more ferocious with every second. I take a breath that’s nothing but fire and agony blossoms in my chest. The pain is horrific, beyond even the pain of my Reforging.
As the lightning crashes down around me, the earth cracks and judders again. I crawl up a shifting ledge of rock, trying to see if the army is with me. After staring into the light, I realise I’m trapped. The lightning has left me surrounded by a circle of angry, spitting lava. I stagger from side to side, trying to find a way through, but wherever I go I’m met by more lava. There’s no way through. I shout, but the roaring of lightning drowns out my cries.
Chapter Nineteen
Prosecutor-Prime Drusus Unbound
It’s like dropping into the sun. As I plunge into the Lord-Relictor’s storm his howl of pain rings out and I pound my wings faster.
I order the rest of the retinue clear, sending them back towards the brass skull. Some of them falter, unwilling to desert me and unnerved by Boreas’ cries.
‘Lord Tylos ordered us to wait for him at the realmgate! Do as your Lord-Celestant commands or risk his wrath!’
Reluctantly, they swoop and sail back through the clouds. I turn back to the lights below. This is it. I can feel it clearly. This is my chance to erase the past.
I fold my wings and dive with greater speed than I have yet attempted. The descent is dizzying and exhilarating but the light burns into me like acid.
I have seconds at most.
The ground rushes towards me but it’s impossible to see anything clearly. The world is a maelstrom of white, celestial heat.
I realise, too late, how low I am, and only pound my wings seconds before crashing into the rocky earth. Agony jolts through me and I roll, howling, through the blaze.
The incredible heat drives me back to my feet and I see Boreas lying with his hand outstretched towards the centre of the lightning. His armour is warped out of shape and he’s struggling to move. I stagger to his side and lift his head. Blood pours from the eye sockets of his mask, but he manages to speak.
‘Tylos,’ he grunts through shredded vocal cords.
The heat is beyond anything I have experienced and I topple away from him, unable to breathe.
I reach out and my hand locks around a ball of agony. I see that I’ve plunged my fist into the magma. I draw back my ruined limb and realise a new wall of lava has sheared up from the ground, separating me from Boreas. I’m so close to death that it fills me with rage – I cannot die until Boreas is safe.
I throw myself through the curtain of lava, grab Boreas and fly with a fury I have never braved before. As the lava eats into me I soar upwards, surrounded by a spinning halo of light.
The pain grows and
I realise my armour is collapsing.
I beat my wings harder, holding Boreas as tightly as I can.
I’m flying so fast that I can’t breathe. This is no mortal strength I can feel in my wings. This is the strength of a god.
The lightning falls away, the smoke fades, and soon all that lies ahead of me is the night.
My armour peels away and my skin runs like water. Slowly, my insides boil and break apart.
I die as I land, letting out a final roar, not of pain, but of victory. Boreas is safe. We will not fail. It is not my flesh but my past that I can feel burning away, my madness that’s dripping from my limbs. Finally, I am worthy of my name. Finally, I am Drusus Unbound.
As Boreas leans over me, reciting the Oath of Passing, I see the God-King, waiting for me in the blaze. He raises his hammer as he welcomes me home.
Chapter Twenty
Lord-Celestant Tylos Stormbound
The Blood Creed roar as Hakh swings his sword at my face.
I plant my left heel in the ground and bring Grius up to meet his blade.
As I am hurled back across the stone hand, I realise I’ve underestimated him. My arm sings with agony as I roll and stumble back to my feet. His strange, bestial features crease into a leer as he swaggers after me, drawing back the huge sword for another strike. The lumbering colossus should not be able to wield that sword with such ferocious power – the Blood God is in his flesh. Khorne is battling me through the body of this snarling ape.
The thought only adds to my pride. To stand alone, bearing Sigmar’s honour. It is not the fate I imagined for myself.
He swings again, but this time I’m ready. Rather than parry I roll towards him, leap forwards and bring Grius down between his obscene horns.
There’s a dull crunch as his skull gives way.
The force of the blow sends him reeling into the circle of onlookers.
I stride after him, raising Grius for another blow, but Hakh’s honourless warriors crowd around him, blocking my way with a wall of weapons and curses.
They hold me at bay as their lord climbs slowly to his feet. His thick brow has collapsed, giving his face an even more misshapen appearance. He shows no sign of weakening, however, as he turns on his own men. He’s clearly furious that they thought he needed help, and he butchers anyone within reach. Only when there is a circle of twitching warriors lying around him does he turn and face me again. He reaches up to his broken head and laughs.
‘Not enough,’ he growls, as he charges back into our impromptu arena.
I take a deep breath and lift Grius. This is going to take more time than I have.
Before he reaches me, light floods the sky and I realise to my horror that day is upon us.
Hakh and I both turn to look. It’s immediately apparent that this is no natural sunlight. A few hundred feet away, not far from my embattled Liberators, a column of light has burst from the ground. It’s pouring up into the storm clouds, coruscating and sparking as it lights up the ruins.
Hakh recovers from his shock and takes the opportunity to attack, bringing his sword round in a low strike at my stomach.
I bring Grius down in time to block the blow, but my mind is only half on the fight. As I back away from him, clutching Grius in both hands, I see that the shaft of light is having a devastating effect on the monsters attacking my army. It is spewing buttresses of energy that blast apart the juggernauts when they collide, creating spectacular eruptions of flame and armour.
‘Boreas,’ I mutter, recognising the power of my brother.
Hakh staggers to a halt and lowers his sword, staring at the scene beyond the edge of the stone hand. He howls in outrage at what follows. As the column of light turns, its radiance slices through the daemon-steeds and tears up the ground, leaving Hakh’s knights floundering in a swamp of lava, blood and body parts.
My men are still locked in formation and as their attackers falter they surge forwards, lowering their shields and unleashing a flurry of hammer and sword blows.
Hakh forgets me and races to the edge of the hand, still growling.
The light grows brighter and a fierce heat washes over the plain.
My Stormcast Eternals blaze like a constellation of stars as they smash through the enemy, but the heat is so great that they start to falter. Even Hakh’s knights, denizens of this hellish realm, recoil from the blaze, shielding their eyes as the night burns white.
The light grows so fierce that I’m soon unable to see even Hakh, who’s standing just a few feet away from me. I hear him raging and cursing as he tries to find my position. Is this dawn after all? Have I failed? Is the Crucible of Blood about to open its gates?
I climb along one of the hand’s crumbling fingers, feeling my way, trying to peer through the light.
My mind whirls as I see that it is fading.
As the glare dims, my vision starts to return. Hakh and his knights are still gathered in our makeshift arena, staggered by the display, but Celadon is striding towards me, clutching his great, two-handed hammer.
Blessed night floods back over the steppe, leaving just a single point of brightness, racing through the sky. It briefly becomes a golden, twin-tailed comet before crashing to the ground.
‘The God-King is with us,’ I whisper, as I see that my army is now free to advance.
‘Lord-Celestant,’ says Retributor Celadon, raising his hammer and drawing my attention back to Hakh. The Chaos lord turns his mangled face back in my direction, and I see the doubt in his eyes.
In the wake of Sigmar’s lightning, my men are now charging across the steppe towards the stone hand. The lightning has filled them with unimaginable fervour. I can hear their voices from here, still roaring the hymn as they smash, pummel and hack their way through the reeling knights.
Hakh looks from the butchery of his men to me and Celadon, fury written across his face. He throws himself at me like a bull, horns lowered. The ferocity of the attack gives him incredible speed and neither Celadon nor I have time to block it.
His horns crunch into my armour and we roll back across the palm of the hand.
Hakh’s men charge past us as we stagger to our feet, rushing to attack as my golden Liberators pour up over the rock, so incandescent with faith that even I can barely look at them.
Battle explodes all around me. Sigmarite pounds against brass and swords bite into flesh as a huge tumult of figures surge across the stone hand.
I haul myself to my feet and see that my armour is dented but not punctured.
Hakh lunges again. I block him but the impact knocks the breath from my lungs.
‘They will not save you!’ cries Hakh as he wades after me.
As I stagger backwards, clutching my chest, he draws back his sword to strike again.
He never stands a chance. Sigmar is everywhere. He’s in the sky, blazing through the cosmos. He’s in the song that’s roaring from my throat. And he’s in the hammer that I smash into Hakh’s slobbering jaws.
I swing Grius with such force that the front half of Hakh’s head shears away. There’s an explosion of red and he’s thrown several feet through the air, landing in a broken, lifeless heap.
‘Lord Tylos,’ shouts Retributor Celadon. He’s standing just a few feet behind me over a pile of broken bodies and I realise he’s been guarding my back while I dealt with Hakh. The red knights fight with a deranged fury as they’re driven back but Celadon pounds through them with fluid, easy blows.
‘We must reach the skull now!’ I cry, struggling to be heard over the din of tormented spirits, hymns and war cries.
The steady, unremitting blows of my men are smashing Hakh’s army apart. We’re still outnumbered but the storm summoned by Boreas has wiped out half of Hakh’s army, and his sacrifice has turned the survivors into a desperate rabble. In a few more moments we’ll have broken them and be on our w
ay to the Crucible of Blood.
I rally my men and drive them in a surge to the far side of the hand. From there it’s just a few hundred yards through the drifting ruins and we’ll be at the lip of the crater.
At my command, they redouble their attack with a blinding wave of hammer-blows. We force the dazed knights back to the edge of the hand, where many stagger and fall onto the black rocks, dying beneath the shadows of the floating city.
Daylight is moments away, but moments are all I need. I shoulder my way through the lines until I reach the heart of the fighting.
Some of the knights recognise me as the man who killed their lord. They growl and charge, but Celadon is still with me. The first of them crumples beneath a blow from Grius, the second reels away headless, devoured by Evora, and the third is driven into the ground by the force of Celadon’s hammer.
Without pausing, I vault over the tumbling bodies and smash my way through the enemy ranks, making my way towards the centre of the Nomad City and the crater at its core.
The Liberators explode into action behind me, summoning up a final, furious push. The red knights collapse before us and we reach the lip of the crater with a victorious roar.
I raise Grius aloft and I look at our prize.
The Crucible of Blood grins back at me – the hideous creation of a brutal god. It soars overhead – thousands of tons of brass, cast by hellish sorcery in a realm of daemons. The top is open to the sky, and with dawn only minutes away, the lake of blood it contains is already starting to bubble and steam. Deep within its cloying depths, an obscenity is forming, preparing to spew madness across the steppe. The sight of it hits me like a physical blow – such a vast act of violence wrought against the landscape makes my breath catch. The bowl of charred rock that surrounds the skull still seems to be smouldering in memory of that ancient wound. Steam or smoke is rippling over the blast hole, but I stride on, feeling the seconds slipping away.
It’s only as I enter the crater that I realise that it is not steam that’s rippling across the ground – the rock itself is rolling and heaving.
