Vision faded to black. I lay on the ground, feeling a crushing pain in my chest and ears. Getting up was impossible. It felt as though I had been concussed or even broken by the blast wave. Worse still, the ground beneath me continued to shudder for some time.
Loom-Pya... — I addressed my unseen companion in my mind. — Is there anything that can be done?
The dagger, — he reminded me. — Reach for it and... Wait, warm-blood. Our problem is about to be solved.
The pain began to recede, and my sight slowly cleared. I saw loose earth before me, churned up by the explosion. Then, green sparks drifted past. The Wind of Ghyran. Even if the spell didn't affect me properly, Loom-Pya managed to attract and absorb part of the energy. It wasn't the direct sorcery of a Magister, but the mere presence of the Jade Wind healed my wounds. Someone helped me to my feet. It was Liandra, completely unscathed by the blast.
Around us, wounded and battered men were rising from the loose soil, bathed in a greenish glow. The Magister of the Jade Order stood nearby, leaning on a wooden staff topped with a green stone orb. The wizard's eyes shimmered with emerald light.
Looking around, I noticed a massive crater not far from our redoubt. It was about five meters deep. Tons of earth must have been ripped out by the force of the explosion and scattered across the area. At the bottom of the crater, a crimson fire still smoldered. Had they hit us more accurately, Magister Gerard would have had no one left to heal. And there likely wouldn't be much left of the wizard himself.
No sooner had I recovered than the roar of new detonations nearly deafened me, and the echoes of shockwaves almost knocked me down again. In fact, hitting the deck seemed like a rather sound idea right now.
— Down! — I screamed hoarsely. — Get down! Everyone, get down!
The artillery bombardment hammered our field fortifications and the city walls. The latter took a particularly heavy beating. Several direct hits from the heavy calibers of the Dawi-Zharr artillery literally obliterated entire sections of the walls, seven to ten meters in length. Only smoking ruins remained of the thick masonry, with baleful crimson flames flickering from beneath the debris. These were likely the results of hits from a Dreadquake Mortar. It was one of the most powerful engines in the Dawi-Zharr arsenal, where technology was interwoven with the darkest sorcery.
The massive fireballs of the Hellcannons changed their trajectory in mid-flight. One of them turned nearly ninety degrees, raking along the top of a wall like a wave of molten heat. A dozen of the city's defenders perished in an instant.
Our cannons tried to answer back. Ordinary round shot flew toward the enemy host with thunder and whistles. They likely caused some damage, but they lacked the staggering, spectacular power of the Chaos Dwarf projectiles. I only managed to spot the impacts of the Imperial Mortars. A couple of lucky shots landed in a cluster of enemy riders, sweeping away the raiders and tearing Norscan bodies to pieces.
I lay behind the rampart of the redoubt, pressed against the damp earth and covered by my shield. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched various sorcerous missiles and Chaos spells fly overhead. The earth trembled; I felt it with my entire body. Every strike from those monstrous engines crushed not only the fortifications but also the morale of the defenders. Prayers, screams, and even weeping drifted from all sides during the rare moments when explosions didn't thunder. Far from all the men were prepared for such a waking nightmare.
Truth be told, I was stunned to the extreme myself. I had hacked my way through enemy ranks many times before, but back then, much depended on me and my actions. But now? Lie there and just hope you don't take a direct hit. Listen to the explosions and the screams. Feel with your very gut how the earth shudders and moans.
I was certain that a couple of hours of such bombardment would grind us into the dirt. And considering the magical attacks, the enemy could have leveled Pfeildorf's defenses using long-range combat alone. However, Olger Hoch had been right. Instead of trying to annihilate us entirely with fire, the enemies moved into melee as quickly as possible.
Riders, giants, and the bulk of the infantry began the assault on the forward fortifications. A foul-smelling avalanche surged toward the earthen walls. Plaguebearers, brandishing rusted swords, climbed over one another in an attempt to cross the ditch. Many failed. They became a living foundation upon which Chaos Chosen, Northmen warriors, Pestigors, trolls, and Bile Ogres stepped.
— For the Emperor! — the voice of the artillery sergeant boomed, followed immediately by a cannon shot.
Though the Imperials had fewer guns and they were inferior in power to the enemy's, they hadn't been destroyed all at once thanks to proper dispersal. Our artillery continued to fire.
While the first fortifications took the brunt of Tamurkhan's main horde, flying monsters rushed toward us, flapping hundreds of pairs of wings. Tucking away in the rear was not an option. The enemy wanted to deal with our mages and silence the remaining guns.
— Up! — I barked, picking myself up from the damp ground.
— Form up! — Max's voice echoed mine.
— For Sigmar! — the artilleryman shouted again.
The second cannon blasted so hard my ears rang. Gunpowder smoke rose from the Imperial positions toward the dark-green, defiled clouds in the sky. Unholy lightning flickered inside the Warp-twisted clouds. Harpies and Furies flew through the rising smoke.
— For the Empire!
The Helblaster Organ Gun выплюнуло навстречу летящим монстрам залп пуль и дробин. Пяток фурий буквально снесло. Зеленоватые тела этих бестий разорвало на части и они тут же начали распадаться, обращаясь энергией варпа. Однако многие чудовища до нас долетят. В этом сомневаться не приходилось.
— Line up! — Max and I shouted, calling for the men to raise their spears.
The men formed a rough circle, with the Magisters at the center. I stood in the front ranks near Liandra.
Crossbow bolts and arquebus bullets managed to take out several harpies, but the rest fell upon us like a vicious swarm. Three dozen winged terrors attacked the squad from all sides. Harpies, looking like hideously deformed women, and Furies—lesser demons resembling gargoyles.
I had never fought a winged opponent before. A harpy dove at me. The creature was extremely fast, but I managed to brace behind my shield. I was knocked back slightly by the force of the impact. Razor-sharp claws scraped against the wood. However, I held the line.
The harpy, having struck the shield, hopped back and landed on its paws. The winged beast immediately beat its wings, wanting to take flight again, but I shoved my shield aside and hacked at its shoulder area. A piercing shriek rang out. Several spears from our squad immediately drove into the harpy's body. I finished the wounded monster with a thrust to the neck.
I immediately had to parry a Fury's attack. This creature, roughly the size of a teenager, latched onto my shield, dragging it down. Simultaneously, its right paw with sharp claws reached for my throat. I tried to block with the flat of my blade but was too slow. Suddenly, the creature's paw vanished. It had been severed at the elbow. Thick drops of blood sprayed from the wound, turning into sparks of magical energy mid-air. Liandra's silhouette flashed before me behind the demonic gargoyle. The beast's head rolled from its shoulders. The demon's entire body quickly melted and burned in a greenish, translucent fire.
The sensation was strange. An unnatural chemical smell mixed with the Nurgle-stench, resembling the summer aroma of a seasoned vagrant. Just a moment ago, the Fury had been pressing against my shield, practically hanging off it, but with every passing second, the monster's weight diminished. Within moments, not even a skeleton remained of the demon.
We were holding our own quite well. The Imperial mages weren't even helping us; they were busy weaving battle spells to support the army's front lines.
Above the advancing mass of Chaos, a gray vortex began to swirl, raining sharp metallic shards down upon the enemy.
A yellow, translucent wave of heat washed over the ranks of the Greatswords. Their zweihanders erupted in flame. Now, every strike didn't just hack and slash—it ignited the fatty carcasses of the Plaguebearers.
Similar aid was given to the halberdiers, who were using fierce strikes of their polearms to prevent the Chaos Warrior heavy infantry from scaling the rampart.
It was much harder for those facing the giant monsters. Giants, swinging their blade-arms, easily swept away even well-prepared infantry. Mammoths tossed men like toys with their tusks. Javelins, stones, and spells rained down from the backs of the woolly behemoths.
Many Imperials were struggling, but our squad was still managing the mission assigned to it.
— Come and get it, appetizer! — Mugg laughed.
He managed to grab one of the harpies by the wing and, ignoring her desperate scratching, bit her head off.
The squad's spearmen warded off the flying filth, preventing the creatures from pouncing on the mages. The furies and harpies were slowly thinning out. Taking wounds to their wings, they fell to the damp earth, where the infantry finished them off.
I tried to personally have a hand in exterminating as many creatures as possible. It wasn't just my fervent devotion to Sigmar's cause. I simply needed to fill the bloody chalice as quickly as possible. From the first wave of flying pests, I managed to fill one mark.
The sounds of battle echoed around in a grim cacophony of thundering shots, screams, roars, and the clatter of metal. The ground constantly shuddered from the explosions of Dawi-Zharr magical projectiles. It felt as if this tremors were the breath of a colossal monster. The battle itself resembled a giant rabid beast. We were all parts of this monster, devouring itself.
— More incoming!
No sooner had we fended off the winged small fry than monsters much larger and more dangerous came for our souls. Manticores. Two of them. One wild, and another ridden by an armored warrior. Along with the manticores, about fifteen more furies and a giant Plague Drone—a Rot Fly—were flying toward us. A creature so vile you didn't just want to avoid fighting it; you didn't even want to look at it.
— Tighter, tighter! — Max commanded, slapping the flat of his sword against the shoulders and thighs of spearmen who had drifted too far out of line. — Back in formation, you sons of bitches! Stand your ground!
— Sigmar! — Markus shouted, holding high our squad's banner, now stained with harpy blood. — To me, brothers! We are the shield of the Empire! The shield of humanity!
Both manticores roared at once. It seemed they intended to crash into our formation regardless of the spears.
Everyone expected a new onslaught that threatened to be much worse than the previous one, but magic unexpectedly came to our aid. Hundreds of black shadows swarmed the approaching monsters. Crows. A flock of birds attacked the enemy with desperate cawing, trying to peck or scratch out their eyes.
I glanced toward Hel. The young shaman stood enveloped in amber sparks. Perhaps her late teacher was right, and there would be some use for the girl after all.
Thanks to the shaman's spell, the dangerous momentum of the monsters was broken. Some furies fell down, smothered by the crows. The manticores snarled and snapped at the birds. The terrible monsters suddenly had no time for us. Only the foul Rot Fly moved purposefully toward the wizards, paying no heed to the crows' efforts.
Then Hel, with a quick motion, pulled out a gnarled wooden horn. The shaman's instrument emitted a low, noisy sound, like the creaking of treetops under a hurricane wind. Golden flame enveloped the girl. She thrust out her left hand, and a shimmering spear of amber energy tore from her fingers. The magical projectile sliced through the gloom with immense speed and slammed into the Plague Drone.
A sound erupted that was something between a screech and a shriek. The Rot Fly jerked desperately, trying to stay airborne. But it seemed one of its wings was severely damaged. The fly spiraled downward, crashing not far from the crater left by the Dawi-Zharr shell. Excellent! I was almost glad I saved the little brat.
Instead of crashing directly onto us, the manticores landed about 20 meters from the redoubt. The Chaos beasts were still trying to rid themselves of the crows.
I looked at the artillerymen. They were still reloading the Organ Gun. Damn it! They could have hurried up.
The manticores' bodies were comparable in size to a large bear, but they seemed much larger due to their leathery wings. Their length was further extended by spiked tails with a venomous stinger at the end.
— Fire! — I ordered.
Two arquebuses barked, followed by crossbow bolts. But the monsters seemed not to care about the fire. Lashing their tails, flapping their wings, and snapping their teeth, they rid themselves of the crows and turned their focus back to us.
A hulking Norscan warlord leapt to the ground from one of the manticores. The Chaosite held an axe in each hand. An ugly horned helmet with jagged holes instead of slits covered the berserker's head. A copper-colored, matted beard poked out from under the helmet. The barbarian had virtually no other armor, save for an incredibly wide belt with a steel plate in the center and spiked bracers. The Norscan was two or three heads taller than me. He stood taller than even Liandra and probably weighed two hundred kilograms. The muscled body of the Ruinous Powers' champion was covered in complex tattoos and countless scars.
— For the Dark Gods! — he roared, charging fearlessly at our entire squad. — Sacrifices!
The Chaosite didn't attack alone, however. The manticores surged after him like a pack following its leader. Liandra, Max, Mugg, and I blocked their path. The rest of the squad bristled with spears behind our backs.
The Chaosite leaped onto the rampart, and another shot rang out immediately. Erik hit him in the head with the Dwarf pistol. Another hole appeared in the helmet. I thought that was the end, but the Chaosite only faltered briefly before resuming the attack.
Raising his axes—each of which probably weighed as much as a cannonball—the berserker lunged at Max, likely taking him for the squad leader. The sergeant's armor was better than mine.
— Running beefsteak! — Mugg chuckled, swinging his trophy axe at the Chaosite.
The man blocked the blow with his twin axes and managed to hop back before Liandra could sever his arm. The Chaosite was inhumanly fast despite his massive musculature. Clearly not a Nurglite. A Chosen or even a Champion of Chaos Undivided.
I barely managed to catch a blow on my shield. One of the manticores tried to sting me in the face with its tail. The wood of the shield couldn't take it. It was pierced through, and I could see the stinger, coated in a greenish substance, sticking out of the hole. A sharp, burning smell hit my nose.
I stepped back, simultaneously hacking at the beast's tail. It was protected by chitinous plates, but I managed to hit the joint between them. The creature roared in pain. It yanked its tail back, nearly tearing the shield from my hand, but failed to evacuate the venomous stinger. Mugg's axe severed it.
Though I didn't land that wound, a drop of the creature's life energy entered my chalice.
— Sigmaaaar!
Markus's voice carried through the roar of the monsters. The squad's standard-bearer was leading the Garbage Guards into the fray. Long spears from behind our front line began to sting the manticores and threaten the Chaos champion. He easily parried them with the flats of his axes or even sheared them off with strikes of incredible power. However, these disjointed attacks distracted the enemy. Erik's second pistol barked. The bullet caught the berserker in the thigh. This hit seemed even more unpleasant for him than the one to the head. The Norscan snarled, and the axes in his hands began to shimmer crimson.
— Blood for... — he began.
— My belly! — Mugg interrupted, bringing down his new axe with both hands.
The Norscan blocked again, but several spears caught him in that moment. A crossbow bolt pierced his right bicep. The manticores couldn't help their leader; they were being held back by the spearmen, as well as Max and Liandra.
Erik and I rushed forward. While Mugg pressed the enemy with his raw strength, there was an opening to attack. I lunged at the enemy's stomach area; Erik slammed his hammer into the knee. The Norscan roared. Smoke rose from his mouth, enveloping his tangled beard. One-on-one, the Chaos champion could likely have defeated any of us. Possibly even Liandra.
A swing of the shimmering axe!
The blood chalice, already half-full, gave me the perceptual speed to dodge. However, the monstrous weapon shattered the edge of my shield and dislocated my left arm from the shoulder joint. I winced from the sickening pain.
While the Chaosite was occupied with us, Liandra, with the help of the spearmen, finished off one of the manticores. The artillery sergeant appeared from the other flank. He discharged both his pistols into the Norscan's torso, Akimbo-style. The man was still alive, though drenched in blood.
Hardly even trying to defend himself anymore, the Chaosite traded blows with Mugg, while Erik tangled under the berserker's feet, trying to shatter his knees with the hammer.
Two of the squad's arquebusiers finally tipped the scales in our favor. Adora had led them to the site of the melee almost by the hand. Two more bullets tore into the Chaosite's torso. He finally weakened. Then Liandra and I fell upon the bleeding Norscan, hacking at his steel muscles.
Perhaps the Chaos champion had launched desperate attacks many times before to win the attention of his dark masters, but today he had chosen the wrong victims.
I hacked at his bull-like neck while Liandra sliced the tendons at the crook of his elbow. The Northman's flesh felt tougher than the meat of ordinary men or even a troll's hide. Through the holes in the helmet, an eye crazed with madness stared at me. There was not a drop of fear in it. Only hate—infinite hatred for those who had robbed him of the chance to reach the very peaks of power.
— You won't be a Daemon Prince... — I whispered barely audibly, landing another blow to the neck.
Liandra pierced him from the side under the ribs. The Chaosite's gaze went dark, and his body went limp. Seeing their leader fall, the second manticore fled.
— Make way! — the artillery sergeant barked, and then, once we cleared the path, commanded: — Fire!
The Organ Gun spat out a volley of heavy bullets—or rather, small cannonballs—directly into the carcass of the Rot Fly crawling toward us. The projectiles left deep gashes in the demon's flesh. Even its carapace couldn't save it. Pus and ichor poured onto the long-suffering earth. The fly, however, was still twitching, stubbornly crawling toward us. But then the shaman's horn sounded again. A second amber spear struck the demon right in the wounds left by the shots. The creature was torn apart by magic from within. The demon's flesh and shell immediately erupted in green flame, disintegrating before our eyes.
— Sigmaaaar! — Markus bellowed, holding a sword in one hand and our squad's banner in the other.
— Sigmar! — the others joined in.
Though the situation was dire in other parts of the battle, we had managed quite well. We held our ground, fought back, and inflicted losses on the enemy.
— Sigmar! — the infantry and artillerymen shouted.
— Dragon! — Erik suddenly screamed out of nowhere.
Everyone fell silent immediately, turning their eyes to the heavens. A black dragon, indeed, was flying toward us with an armored rider on its back.