The very beast that had so recently terrified the entire Imperial army was flying straight at us. A black dragon, adorned with gilded ornaments and sporting a second maw across its torso. At what range would it breathe? The dragon was currently about five hundred meters away, and the distance was closing rapidly.
— Scatter! — I commanded. — Get down!
I personally tried to find cover near one of the ramparts. Against the backdrop of explosions and volleys, it was impossible to hear the dragon releasing its first streams of foul fire. I covered myself with my shield, despite the pain in my left arm, which had been dislocated by the blow from the Chaos champion. Screams erupted from all sides. For a moment, I imagined my poor guardsmen being agonizingly killed by the corruption-soaked flames. However, the shouts suddenly sounded very... optimistic. I peered out from my shelter and saw a stream of fire above me. A wave of almost unbearable heat washed over me, but my heart rejoiced instead.
The fire above me was normal and bore no corruption. Performing several rolls to the side to lessen the suffering from the heat, I was able to get a better look at the situation. A true duel of fire was taking place on the battlefield. The Magister of the Bright Order had directed a torrent of flame to meet the dragon's breath. For a few seconds, the wizard and the monster tried to overpower each other. The dragon seemed to tire first, but when the flames stopped coming from one of its mouths, the second one on its torso joined in. Streams of brown vapor, swarms of insects, and splashes of acid erupted from it. One of them unfortunately hit my right wrist.
Even through the bloody rage, the pain from the burn was horribly unpleasant. It felt as though not just acid had hit my skin, but thousands of tiny creatures that immediately began eating me alive. One blood chalice was already full. Thanks to the death of the hulking Chaos champion, the manticore, and other small fry, I had received a boost to nearly all my attributes.
The dragon had almost overwhelmed the Magister in the fire duel, but then another amber spear struck the side of the flying horror. To a dragon, such a projectile was like a pebble to an elephant, yet the beast wavered slightly, losing its flight stability. The jet of steam and acid redirected into the ground before our redoubt, and the Magister of Akshy's already weakening fire engulfed the creature. The dragon crashed to the ground about forty meters from the redoubt.
— Burn! Burn, you Chaos filth! — the mage shouted with excitement, releasing the last flickers of flame from his hands.
However, the sorcerous bombardment did not end there. A gray-steel vortex began to swirl over the dragon's crash site. From it, iron spears, looking like sharpened rebar, rained down. Each was as long as my forearm.
— Chamon! — thundered the sonorous voice of the Magister of Metal.
Or perhaps it sounded more like "Shamon"? It didn't matter. The important thing was that it worked!
Sand, ash, flames, and metal shards briefly hid the dragon's bulk from our view entirely. It already seemed that we could celebrate another small victory in this great battle, but a soul-chilling, rasping roar erupted from behind the cloud of dust. The dragon was charging at us.
Its hide was covered in wounds from the magical spears, but none of them were deep. The rider sitting on its back didn't seem to be harmed at all. His sword was wreathed in multicolored flames. He swung it, and the dragon, as if sensing its master's command, abruptly thrust its long neck forward. I don't know who he was aiming for, but I hope he missed. I decided to seize the moment myself.
Leaping up, I covered the two steps to the dragon's neck. I didn't dare to slash. I thrust. I put my weight, momentum, and the strength from my stacked rage into it. But even so, the blade barely entered the scales, which were similar in strength to high-quality chainmail. I leaned in, trying to drive the blade as deep as possible. The dragon reacted unexpectedly fast. I felt him jerk and almost let go of the sword's hilt.
The monster's head turned toward me. The maw opened, and greenish lights flickered between the teeth.
I threw my entire body backward. Spinning around my own axis, I fell onto my stomach while simultaneously covering myself with my shield. I already thought I had overreached and the dragon would char me to the bone in five seconds—unless, of course, my resistance saved me. However, the creature didn't seem to try particularly hard.
For literally a moment, I felt a suffocating heat. My neck, hands, and some other exposed parts of my body were scorched. That was it. The dragon roared again. It seemed my allies and comrades hadn't been idle. They had distracted the winged brute.
I jumped to my feet, tossing aside the burning shield. Part of my clothing was also on fire, but I decided to ignore it for now.
The dragon was busy snapping its teeth and exhaling small jets of flame, trying to reach Liandra.
— Cannons! — Max's shout reached me. — Treat this beast to some round shot!
I completely agreed. I tried to reach the monster's neck again, but the dragon flapped both wings, knocking me to the ground. The blow was unpleasant, but it caused no serious damage. Rolling slightly across the loose earth, I extinguished my clothes. Burns, dislocations, minor wounds—all of this was compensated for by the rage.
I jumped to my feet again and...
— Oh, for fuck's sake!
A new flap of the dragon's wing sent me into a knockdown once more. The monster's head, meanwhile, was fighting the remaining warriors of the squad who were still on their feet. Now I could hear screams of pain. It seemed the dragon had partially exhausted its supply of fuel and acid for its breath, but it could still release individual jets of flame, burning the unfortunate defenders of Pfeildorf.
I crawled deeper into the redoubt, while the dragon's wings flapped over me every now and then. In this manner, I managed to reach the nearest cannon. However, it had already taken a fair beating from the dragon's attacks. The carriage was damaged, the barrel tilted downward, and of the three artillerymen, two had suffered burns from the dragon's fire. I grabbed the shoulder of the third, uninjured one, screaming into his ear:
— Is the gun loaded?!
— Yes! — he replied. — But the carriage... But the boys... We can't fire!
You can now.
I rushed toward where the battle raged. Another amber spear whistled past me with a sound like the flight of an arrow. I barely managed to duck in time. The magic wouldn't have killed me, of course, but I didn't want to catch a spell intended for the dragon with my own body.
Liandra was still managing to dodge the teeth and streams of flame, while the sorcerers tried to help her as best they could. They themselves had already suffered from the dragon. I glanced at the Magister of Akshy—the left side of his face had turned into a solid wound, scorched by acid. How was he even managing to stay on his feet? Perhaps the Magister of the Wind of Ghyran was sustaining him with his charms.
The shaman Hel was as pale as death. A trickle of blood ran from her nose, and capillaries had burst in her eyes. Overexertion. How many amber spears had she released today? Many, but not yet enough for victory.
I hurried over to Mugg, who was just picking himself up from the ground after a not-very-successful exchange with the dragon. The ogre was covered in blood. Fresh wounds gaped on his shoulders, thick neck, and face. Gutrom had received some of them back in the fight with the champion rider on the manticore.
— Mugg! — I shouted, running closer.
In response, I almost got hit by the two-handed axe that I myself, by the way, had provided to the ogre. I had to jump back. A heavy enemy projectile flew over us with a terrifying whistle. A moment later, an explosion thundered, collapsing part of the city wall. I even had to wait a couple of seconds before starting to speak.
— Ah, Jurg! — the ogre recognized me. — Let's go! Let's slaughter the lizard!
— The cannon! — I roared, pointing at the gun. — Help fire the cannon!
The ogre stared at me in surprise, but then finally looked where I was pointing.
— Aaaaah! Cannon! Like the Leadbelchers have! Let's go!
We ran to the gun through the gunpowder smoke and dust. Huge flies, as well as other insects whose names were unknown to me, tried to land on my sweaty face. I had to constantly swat them away with my free hand. Some insects stung me, causing flashes of nauseating pain. In the background, one could make out how Pfeildorf was burning. The enemy artillery hadn't stopped firing, though it had shifted its fire further into the city.
We reached the gun. The cannon was too heavy even for Mugg, but he managed to lift its barrel and aim it at the dragon. Meanwhile, I pulled the terrified artilleryman from behind the weapon.
— Blast it! — I screamed into his ear, my voice cracking. — For Sigmar! For the Empire! For your father! For your mother!
The bewildered man nodded nervously and brought the burning fuse to the touchhole. The powder ignited instantly, and half a second later, the whole world turned into a thunderous blast. I was nearly deafened. Through the terrible ringing in my ears, I could hardly make out the ogre's ecstatic roars. He liked the process much more than I did. But the main thing was that we both liked the result.
The heavy cannonball struck the dragon's bulk from close range. It hit neatly in the middle of the gaping second maw. You could say the Chaos spawn swallowed hard in its battle with the Empire. Even the massive creature recoiled from the force of the impact. The dragon emitted not a roar, but some kind of gurgling rattle. Splashes of blood erupted from both mouths.
The dragon wanted to lung forward again, but the artillerymen had already managed to reload the organ gun. It spat out a volley of small cannonballs toward the monster, piercing its scales and tearing the membranes of its wings. However, the monster withstood this hit much more easily than swallowing the cannonball.
— Reload! — I ordered the artilleryman, and I didn't care that he had another superior. — Mugg! The second gun!
However, the second gun was no longer needed. The dragon was retreating. The rider waved his sword, calling for his monster to withdraw. Arquebusiers fired at the back of the beast and the Chaosite, a few bolts flew, but it was all useless. It was a great pity, of course, that we didn't finish the monster, but the very fact of our survival could already be called a victory. We had managed to put to flight a monster that until recently had seemed almost invincible and had managed to terrify an entire army.
More and more gunpowder smoke rose toward the dark-green defiled clouds. More and more people were going deaf, losing their minds, or receiving fatal wounds. We had managed to fight back, but in many other directions, the situation was much worse. In dozens of places, the enemy infantry had broken through the first line of defense. A brutal, desperate struggle seethed between the redoubts. Halberdiers, pikemen, and swordsmen tried as best they could to hold back the nightmarish onslaught of the Chaos mass.
Mutated spawns, oozing pus, fell upon the men, burying them under their convulsing bulks. Bile Ogres wielded massive rusted cleavers and bit into the bodies of still-living soldiers of the Empire at every opportunity. A true hell on earth.
However, we had no time to watch this or try to come to the vanguard's aid. We had to fight for our own survival. The flying filth stopped bothering us, but a new threat appeared.
Between us and the partially collapsed city wall, reality itself began to churn. Green-yellow oily splotches appeared in the air and merged together. Grotesque, clumsy figures began to take shape from them, looking like walking wineskins. Plaguebearers of Nurgle. Lesser demons of the god of disease.
The Plaguebearers looked like brothers, yet they differed from one another in certain details. The arrangement of pustules on their bloated bodies, varying degrees of decay. Some had vertically arranged jaws right in their bellies. Others had a gaping wound from which blackened intestines hung. Each of the demons held a distorted, rusted sword in its hand. A hideous mockery of the work of normal weaponsmiths. However, there was no doubt that in the hands of demons, this filth was capable of sowing death.
About 20 Plaguebearers in total manifested in our rear. A formidable force.
— Follow me! — I commanded.
— Back in formation! — Max roared. — To the banner! To the banner, you scoundrels!
While the sergeant tried to line up the rank-and-file infantry, Liandra, Mugg, and I had already rushed into battle to prevent the Plaguebearers from reaching the wizards and the guns. However, the demons of Nurgle could hardly be called very quick.
I tried not to get too close to the Plaguebearers to avoid being surrounded. I just tried to slow them down a bit.
— Accept Grandfather's love or die in agony, manuring our Garden, — the nearest Plaguebearer seemed to squeeze out in a nasal voice, swinging its foul sword at me.
Go to your grandmother with your grandfather, I thought, evading the attacks.
Letting the Plaguebearer's strike pass by, I hacked at its attacking arm. The blade slid across the oily hide, cut through it, but got stuck in the demonic flesh. The Nurglite only chuckled merrily, winding up for a new blow. It wasn't hard to dodge. The demon attacked in a straightforward manner, but the problem was that he and his comrades were actively advancing on us.
Liandra landed blow after blow, severing fragments of decaying flesh. They immediately melted into greenish sparks, but the demons continued to advance. Tough bastards. The elf tried to hack off someone's head, but the sword got stuck in putrid wounds that quickly began to close.
The situation was better for Mugg. The ogre had no lack of strength. With a wide swing of his axe, he finally managed to chop off the head of one of the demons. The Plaguebearer immediately began to disintegrate. Mugg was extremely outraged by this fact:
— How!? Where to!? The food is disappearing! Who is stealing my meat!!?
His indignant shouts were echoed by the laughter of the Plaguebearers.
Soon the Garbage Guards came to our aid, leveling their remaining spears at the demons. A heavy, disgusting fight began. Entire squadrons of flies erupted from the bodies of the Plaguebearers. The vile insects got into eyes, bit, and stung. These weren't just winged lovers of brown substance, but bloodthirsty creatures like gadflies or botflies.
A separate problem was the smell. It would seem, a stench is a stench, so what. However, the suffocating miasmas emitted by the crowd of purulent warriors literally choked us. Tears welled up in my eyes. Sometimes my attacks were interrupted by coughing. If I weren't under the influence of rage right now, it's quite likely some demon would have taken advantage of such a brief weakness and hacked at me with a rusted blade.
I was already working the sword with both hands, gripping the pommel with my left to somehow strengthen the blow. The blade hacked through rotten flesh, but the demons kept coming.
With great difficulty, Liandra finished off another one, severing the Plaguebearer's head. It already seemed that we wouldn't hold the position and the demons would overtop us, when magical support arrived. A yellow, translucent wave of heat enveloped us. Mugg's axe, Liandra's and Max's swords, the squad's spearheads, and even Erik's hammer were engulfed in flames.
The magic didn't work on me properly, but the very attempt at an effect already filled me with additional energy. Warmth spread through my body. My strength increased. The effect was like that time I licked the magical dagger.
My next blow hacked through the Plaguebearer's arm to the very bone, and not-so-cheerful cries of demons were heard from all sides. Their wounds were burning now. They stopped healing so quickly. The foul smoke from the smoldering flesh of the Plaguebearers was still better than their native stench.
— Die, you useless runts! — Mugg roared, swinging his flaming axe. — I need normal meat!
Liandra's attacks became much more effective. With two or three blows, she began to get rid of the demons deprived of their regeneration.
I managed to take one down myself with some help from our spearmen. More and more Plaguebearers disintegrated, having failed to inflict any damage on us, not counting the fly bites.
— Protect us! Protect us as long as you can! — the Magister of Metal commanded.
Uncle, what do you think we're doing? I really wanted to say.
Then the alchemist-magister added:
— We are the last wizards in this army.
Glancing at the other flank, I realized he was right. A two-headed Chaos Dragon was frolicking there. Icy winds swirled in waterspouts, sweeping away men and even fortifications. Righteous Sigmar...
— Look, it's Hoch! — the artillery sergeant shouted, pointing to the sky. — It's the Margrave!
Through the ragged clouds of gunpowder smoke, I could see against the background of the dark skies the soaring figure of a griffon with a warrior in armor on its back. His enchanted sword gleamed like silver. The Chaos flying monsters had either perished, fled, or were ravaging our rears. This untied the hands of the Imperial flying cavalry. The Margrave and several other celestial riders decided to undertake a desperate attack. Stop! Were they going to attack Tamurkhan himself!?