Chapter 37
— Drop everything! — I bellowed, dragging along an artilleryman who was desperately trying to roll an organ gun toward the city.
— But, Herr Captain… — the man started to protest.
— Fall back! Fall back! — Max came to my aid, literally kicking the gunners away from the piece.
The Garbage Reiksguard was demonstrating a much more pronounced survival instinct. The unit was already retreating toward the city walls. Erik was leading a terrified donkey named Ponka on a tether; the donkey pulled a wagon where they had left only the most essential items. Valuables, spices, some gear.
— Sacrifices! Sacrifices!
The iron wall of the Chosen was already only twenty meters away. Seeing the presence of the Chaos elite, the beastmen took heart. Ungors and Gors were flanking us again. There weren't many, but they didn't need to win. Their main goal was simply to pin us down until the heavy infantry arrived. The situation was dire.
Max, Mugg, and Liandra were bringing up the rear, trying to prevent the beasts from striking us in the back. Through the chanting of the Chosen and the cannonade of the Dawi-Zharr artillery, a deafening baying pierced the air. Charging behind the Ungors came massive, horned hounds. Chaos Hounds. This was going to be bad.
We had to back away, keeping the beastmen nipping at our heels constantly in our sights. Three Ungor spearmen took a particular interest in me, trying to jab at my arms or legs. Lacking a shield, I dodged and parried with my blade, aiming for the freaks' limbs. Max covered me. The sergeant shut down the boldest lunges of the goat-men and used his shield to deflect the most dangerous thrusts.
The hounds were closing in. A dozen mangy, salivating monsters, each the size of an Alabai. I needed to move closer to Mugg and Liandra, or else…
— Aqshy!
A massive fireball streaked past me. It veered several times, changing direction, before exploding right in the center of the approaching pack of Chaos Hounds. Four of the beasts were literally blown apart. The others swapped their raspy barking for pitiful whimpering and bolted back.
— Burn! Ash and dust!
A gout of flame swept across the Ungors and licked the marching ranks of the Chosen. The latter couldn't have cared less about the fire show, but the goat-men lost their nerve.
— Rise! — another voice commanded.
The earth in front of the Chosen and directly beneath their feet began to churn. Wet, mud-slicked roots, nearly as thick as my arm, erupted from the soil. Like tentacles, they coiled around the Chaos heavy infantry. This was the work of the Jade Order Magister. However, it was too early to relax. Tree roots aren't as strong as branches. The Chaos Chosen, possessed of superhuman strength, tore through the natural bonds and continued their march. The magic of the Lore of Life only slightly delayed them. Even so, Magister Gerard managed to buy us those precious few seconds.
Max and I ran toward the city. Two Magisters stood in our path. Gerard was backing away, holding his staff in one hand and the unconscious shaman Hel in the other. But the Magister of the Bright Wind had no intention of retreating. He already looked like a walking corpse, steam and smoke rising from his body. Half of his face, melted by acid, was covered in a black crust resembling charcoal. Blood leaked from his remaining eye, nose, and mouth. The wizard was clearly in agonizing pain, but he continued to cast, sending streams of flame toward the beastmen.
I ran up to the Magister, grabbed his shoulder, and shouted:
— Fall back!
— Don't, — Gerard answered for him. — It's over for him. Don't take a man's final stand away from him.
I understood everything. Like Hel's mentor, this Magister wouldn't survive. He had used too much power and sustained too many grievous wounds. Yet he wanted to go out in a fight. To stay here, covering our retreat.
Max and I dashed toward Pfeildorf behind the rest of the Garbage Reiksguard. Behind our backs, through the screams of the Chaosites and the thunder of cannons, the cry of "Aqshy!" rang out several more times.
Regardless of the prejudice Imperial citizens held toward wizards, some fought the forces of Chaos as bravely as Warrior Priests of Sigmar or Witch Hunters.
The battle was left behind. Tamurkhan's horde was crushing the last pockets of resistance in the center of Olger Hoch's once-mighty army. The Margrave himself was dead, and the remnants of his forces were forced to flee. They ran toward Pfeildorf, which was under a merciless bombardment by the Dawi-Zharr. A glow of fires blazed over the city. The walls were severely damaged, but the saving gates remained open. The first Reiksguard were already running inside, mingled with local militiamen. Mugg's massive figure moved through the crowd like an icebreaker, easily shoving aside panicking soldiers. Liandra tried to stay close to me. She kept looking back at Max and me as we trailed behind the rest of the unit.
We were already at the gates when a crowd of utterly terrified halberdiers and spearmen cut us off. Grimy, blood-stained soldiers blocked our path. People screamed, trying to force their way into the city as quickly as possible.
Liandra tried to break through to me. Her tall figure began moving against the crowd, but the crazed soldiers prevented us from reuniting. A lethal crush could have started at any moment. I waved the elf off, signaling her to get into the city. She resisted at first, but the pressure of the crowd was too much. The girl had to give in to the current of the human mass.
I turned around. We still had time. The combat-ready Chaos units were either trailing behind or crushing the army's center. It seemed we would make it into the city without issue, and then…
— Get down! — Max screamed.
I heard the whistle and understood instantly. I managed to throw myself onto the ground, which a moment later shuddered from a monstrous explosion. The earth bucked beneath me like a frenzied bull I was trying to break. A second later, I was buried under clumps of dirt thrown up by the blast. There was a lot of it. It was as if I'd been buried alive. Meanwhile, the soil beneath me continued to tremble, tormented by the horrific sorcery the Dawi-Zharr had packed into the shell.
"Be very careful, warm-blood," Loom-Pia warned me. "You are no longer participating in the bloodshed, and our strength is waning."
The hypnotoad was right. The bloody sacrificial chalice was slowly beginning to empty.
I started digging myself out, throwing clumps of earth in every direction. Through the ringing in my ears, I could hear screams of pain and wails of despair.
The place where the city gates had once been was now a massive crater, with fiery magic blazing at its bottom. Dozens of broken soldiers crawled about, covered in dirt.
I really hoped Liandra, Mugg, and the others survived. There was every chance. They should have been deep inside the city when the blast hit.
I scrambled to my feet, feeling dizzy. At first, I tried to dig out other victims, but looking back, I saw enemy forces approaching through the smoke. I had to retreat. Anyone who could would save themselves; the rest were already doomed.
— Jurgen, move it! — I heard the sergeant's voice through the din.
The gate had become a burning crater, and Max was running toward a somewhat cooled breach in the wall. Pfeildorf's mighty fortification had collapsed there, turned into a smoking mountain of brick rubble.
Max climbed up, stumbling and using the bottom corner of his shield for leverage. I joined him. Fragments of stone rolled out from under our feet. They tumbled down, creating miniature landslides. Still, we managed to climb. The stones under our feet were hot. Choking smoke seeped through them. Likely, cellars or underground storage rooms were burning somewhere deep below.
And so, having struggled up the rocks, we found ourselves in the city. The streets were choked with smoke. Explosions and screams echoed from all sides. We had to cross Pfeildorf to reach the evacuation points.
I didn't see our people nearby. They weren't ahead. It seemed that through the breach, we had ended up on a different street. We were separated by the burning ruins of Pfeildorf's houses.
Only two bars remained in the blood chalice. It was becoming increasingly difficult to move. Exhaustion was taking its toll, and the suffocating smoke didn't help. Yet there was no choice. I hobbled forward, trying to keep Sergeant Max in sight.
His once almost-splendid armor was dented, scratched, and smeared with mud, earth, and soot.
Step, another step, squinting against the smoke.
Salvation was close. Meeting no enemies, we traversed a long street, leaving the zone of the most active fires. There was less smoke, and the sky cleared. I looked at the sergeant's grimy face, upon which a satisfied smile was spreading.
We broke into a light jog, heading deeper into the city. Compared to Friedrichsburg, Pfeildorf was a real metropolis. Two- or even three-story houses rose on both sides of us. I looked into the gap between their roofs and saw a shell from a Hellcannon flying like a fiery comet against the dark sky, which was obscured by desecrated clouds. A massive glob of orange-purple flame. It was flying low, but judging by the trajectory, it shouldn't hit us…
Holy mother of…!
— Run! — was all I managed to shout to Max before the projectile changed its flight path and dived toward us.
Two men on a narrow street, pursued by fiery doom. We sprinted for our lives, eyes searching for any cover. Every second counted and…
I felt a monstrous heat at my back. A bright wave of baleful light eclipsed reality. From the fire chasing us, I heard the screams and moans of the suffering souls used to create this projectile. My legs carried me forward, but they weren't fast enough. The homing shell was catching up.
Unbearable heat washed over me. Following it came more than just pain. The word "pain" is insufficient to describe the sensation. Shock and awe. A white-hot wave strikes at your very essence, trying to wipe away any trace of reason. Instinctively, I consumed everything left in the blood chalice. I wasn't trying to save myself. I just wanted to dull the monstrous agony.
"Hold on, warm-blood," Loom-Pia's voice implored. "Do not let the Warp destroy our essence."
The pain did not stop. I screamed, but couldn't hear my own voice. A massive dose of magical energy forced its way through my spiritual barriers. The most powerful sorcerous attack since I'd arrived here. I was burning and regenerating simultaneously. My teeth chattered, every inch of skin felt seared. I saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing but the flames.
It seemed my body wouldn't survive this horrific ordeal. My heart would stop, I'd suffocate, or I'd go mad. But suddenly…
Something else mingled with the pain. Or perhaps my body had simply exhausted its capacity for suffering. My brain short-circuited the nerves, like an electrician ripping out damaged wires.
Following the pain, a monstrous, indescribable wave of power washed over me. I saw the heavens. I saw them through the flames, through the clouds, through the planet's atmosphere. The rivers of the Immaterium, shimmering with every color imaginable, flowed among the stars and galaxies. The World with a capital W in all its naked glory. Perhaps this was how the Old Ones saw reality, or how demons see it now.
I heard laughter. This laughter shook the stars and reality itself. Something was looking at me directly from the abyss of the Immaterium that had opened in the middle of the sky.
I tried to turn away, to shift my focus, to look there no longer.
"Fight, warm-blood. You can resist them."
I tried. Mentally, I spoke:
"I am protected from magic and from the influence of Chaos as well. The Taint will not take me!"
— Are you sure!? — through the laughter, a chorus of many voices reached me. — The higher you climb, the deeper the fall! The purer you are, the darker the stains on your soul! Archaon the Everchosen was a templar once! What could you become?!
The image of the heavens vanished. It was replaced by a new vision. Before me stood a massive Champion of Chaos in heavy armor. He flew upon a dragon, and beneath him, sweeping away cities, marched a boundless army. Every victory of his turned into a mountain of trophies. Hundreds of demons knelt before him, eager to serve. Countless gifts, slaves, enormous palaces, and even entire cities inhabited by monsters. I was shown ambitions that could take one's breath away.
The answer didn't come to me immediately. I asked the unknown tempters a question:
"Did you film this vision specially for me, or is this your standard promotional video?"
The unknown tempters didn't appreciate the joke. I tumbled back into a reality full of pain. I slowly came to, although I still couldn't see or hear anything.
Can I breathe? Yes. Seem to be in one piece? Yes. Excellent.
What wasn't excellent was the state of my clothes. They were burning right on my body, and I had to tear the rags off myself. My cuirass was white-hot. My helmet too. I had to get rid of them, searing my hands. However, due to the surge of magical energy, my wounds were healing rapidly.
I managed to pry my eyes open. Around me were smoke, flames, and the cracked stones of the pavement. Most of my clothing and gear were destroyed. The sword in my hand was covered in soot. However, something had remained completely unharmed. That object was the enchanted Dawi-Zharr dagger, lying in the tatters of my smoldering clothes. It seemed to look even better than before. Clean, sharp, gleaming. The sorcerous runes on it were glowing.
I picked up the dagger and, with great difficulty, began to trudge forward, barely distinguishing the road through the smoke. Every movement took an immense effort. A storm seemed to be raging inside me. I had plenty of power, but my nervous system wasn't coping properly. I was shaking with tremors; my arms and legs wouldn't obey.
Max? It's unlikely he survived. We were both at the epicenter of the Hellcannon hit. However, grief was an unaffordable luxury right now.
"You will manage, warm-blood. I have bolstered your defense as much as possible, and full control over your body will soon return."
I was simultaneously very unlucky and incredibly lucky. Had I been hit by a shell from any other weapon, my heroic path would have ended there. However, the Hellcannon fired Warp energy. It seemed they didn't even use actual physical shells. Pure sorcery. I would have died of burns, of course, but I had absorbed enough Winds of Magic to regenerate constantly.
Step, another step, one more!
Move your hooves, Jurgen. This city can't be saved, but I still have a chance. And suddenly…
May Nurgle sit on you with his filthy arse!
Though, those who stood in my path would hardly have objected to such an act from the Great Grandfather of Filth. I had walked right out of a narrow street and into the iron wall of the Chaos Chosen.
The impact of the Hellcannon shell had hurled me onto the stones. I had lost all senses and my sense of direction. Without realizing it, I had turned around and then tried to escape by going the wrong way. And so, I'd run into my old acquaintances.
At the head of the Chosen unit stepped the very same Chaos Sorcerer who had recently stormed my redoubt. In one hand was a sword, and in the other, a metal staff topped with the eight-pointed star of the Dark Gods. The visor of his horned helmet was riddled with holes through which the monster peered at the world.
I realized my mortal hour had come. I couldn't even run. My legs wouldn't obey yet. But then I remembered how the Bright Magister had stayed to cover our retreat. I remembered how his cry of "Aqshy" had sounded behind us. If I had to go out, it would be like that.
Holding my sword and dagger out in front of me, I tried to draw breath for a battle cry. It wasn't working well. I was still shaking far too much.
The Chaos sorcerer approached me first. Perfect. Killing wizards is practically my specialty. The sorcerer drove his metal staff into a crack in the pavement with all his might. Likely, he was freeing both hands for fencing. Fine. Let's dance, you bastard!
He reached for me with his free palm. I tried to dodge, but the Chaosite managed to grab my shoulder and…
Strange, very strange.
The sorcerer didn't try to kill me—by plunging a blade into my stomach, for instance. Acting surprisingly gently for a massive madman encased in plate, he turned me around. He simply turned me to face the other way. Then I heard his unusually calm, bubbling voice:
— That way, little one… Fight that way. Go on… Go.
He nudged me forward, like a master trying to take an overly stubborn house dog for a walk. At first I didn't understand, and then it hit me!
"Fight that way!" — I chuckled mentally as I hobbled away.
Of course! Right now, I looked absolutely nothing like an Imperial soldier. What did this sorcerer see before him? A grimy, soot-covered madman in rags with a blackened sword in one hand and a sorcerous dagger in the other. He quite logically assumed I was one of the cultists or some other heretic caught in the fire. So, the kind Uncle Nurglite tried to talk some sense into his deranged ally. As if to say, you're fighting the wrong way, kid.
With every step, I managed to walk more briskly. The tremors gradually subsided. I regained control over my body. My walk turned into a jog.
I felt sorry for Max, sorry for all those who perished today, but I still had a chance to leave the dying city.