WARHAMMER DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. MASS EFFECT DOES NOT BELONG TO ME. I MIGHT HAVE FAILED TO MAKE A GRIFFON, BUT MY NEW DEMIGRYPH SEEMS TO BE DOING WELL. I MEAN, HE'S THE SIZE OF A CHIHUAHUA, BUT WE ALL HAVE TO START SOMEWHERE.

I have a man riding an eagle-headed cat into battle against a dinosaur-man that is riding a T-Rex looking thing, armed with weapons forged by beings so powerful that the mortal mind cannot comprehend it.

Warhammer is weird.

Honor-Bound

Chapter 37

The New World, Part 7

"History focuses on the danger Alexia Shepard faced, but the Lustria campaign was full of acts of courage that were worthy of record, from the lowliest foot soldier to the mightiest knight."—From the memoirs of Captain Elias Locke

…

Gregor had faced many foes in his life, from rebellious peasants to mighty Daemons, and he was not unnerved by much. Strange though they were, the Lizardmen were nothing outside of his comprehension, and he did not hesitate as he led his knights and their allies in their charge.

The host attempting to relieve the city had been focused on their Itza counterparts, and was unprepared for the wedge of horses, panthers and reptiles that crashed into the flank. Claws and hooves flashed, while lances pierced thick hides, and shorter weapons lopped off limbs and heads.

Roars and bellows answered the allies' war cries, and the army of Hexoatl moved to counter the attack. Halberds clutched by Saurus warriors swung and stabbed, pitching knights, Amazons and Lizardmen from their saddles. Skinks rushing to protect the reeling flank traded javelins with those of Amazons as Quetza and her infantry finished their charge.

"Push forward!" Gregor waved his broken lance—the front half lay embedded in the chest of Kroxigor—over his head. "Break through them!"

Though their charge had expended most of its momentum, the cavalry still had cohesion, while the Lizardmen were still trying to reorganize, and couldn't counter with their skirmishers, because they were tied up by the Amazons.

With a roar, the Ironrock Knights urged their horses and Demigryphs forward, followed by the Amazon Huntresses and Lizardmen riding Cold Ones. The knights tossed aside their lances in favor of the war-picks their order was known for. The enemy Lizardmen had thick hides, but few natural creatures had skin tough enough to withstand weapons specifically designed to pierce armor. Saurus, Skinks and Kroxigors fell before they could rally, and the attackers slowly began to split Kroq-Gar's army in half.

For a moment, Gregor was exhilarated; they were going to do it!

A massive roar cut that thought out from under him. Stomping through parting ranks of Saurus was a Carnasaur, a two-legged reptile with a long tail, and a large head that was full of sharp teeth. Riding on its back, on top of an ornate seat that was more throne than saddle was a Saurus, but like no other Gregor had seen. Its left arm was covered in thick golden armor, and in its right hand, it carried a wide-bladed spear that was etched with runes that glowed with power. Both the Saurus and its mount were covered in old scars, evidence of their long struggles.

Gregor felt confident that this was Kroq-Gar, but that was the only confidence he had. The Lizardman was bigger, stronger, and more experienced than him, and Grymloq looked like he could kill Mortis with a single bite.

When he was younger, Gregor would have charged without hesitation; killing such a foe would bring much glory, and no knight worth the name did not crave glory.

But Gregor was not the reckless knight of his youth; he was a Grand Master, and he knew the value of caution. He knew he had to fight Kroq-Gar, but he needed to do so wisely.

Below him, Mortis screeched and pawed at the ground, and Gregor patted his flank. "Don't worry, my friend, we're not running. Let's show them what we're made of!"

…

Shepard smiled as she accepted a waterskin from Richter. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Richter said gruffly. "Try not to let this happen again, would you?"

"I'll do my best." Shepard weakly turned her head to look at Stormwing. "How's he doing?"

Parral, who had been healing the Griffon, barely turned in her direction. "His wounds are deep, but they are nothing I cannot heal. I wish I could say the same for you, General; you look terrible."

"Worst bedside manner ever," Shepard grumbled, though she didn't dispute it. Her skin was the color of ash, and her hair was a solid grey, save for a single shock of red.

The worst part wasn't her physical appearance; deep within her, she felt an ache, something that she couldn't easily explain. If Kroak was right when he'd explained what happened to her, then her soul was scarred, and like any scar, it would hurt, even after the wound was healed. Shepard suspected that this pain would be with her for the rest of her life; she couldn't explain how she knew, but she was positive that she was right.

"What about him?" Shepard raised her arm—and was annoyed by how hard it was to do something so simple—and pointed at Kroak. The ancient Slann had, for lack of a better term, 'shut down' several minutes ago, not responding to anyone.

"I believe he will recover," Parral said. "The magic he used in battle, and then what he did to heal you, took much of his energy. I sense that he is trying to regain what he lost."

Shepard nodded, and then almost fell over. Despite the sound of battle around and outside the city, she could barely keep her eyes open.

Richter, who hadn't left her side since she'd woken up, noticed immediately. "Get some rest, General. We'll stand guard."

"Thanks," Shepard mumbled, then frowned. "They took some of my armor. And my weapons."

"We'll get it all back, I promise. Just close your eyes and sleep."

"Okay." Shepard closed her eyes. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was that she hoped the battle was going well.

…

Gregor turned his head and spat out a small gobbet of blood. He was too disciplined to look away from his opponent, but he knew that he was in trouble. Kroq-Gar had slipped his spear through Gregor's guard and plunged the tip into his chest. The ancient weapon had passed through his plate armor like it wasn't even there; Gregor counted himself lucky that he'd shifted at the last second and avoided a mortal blow.

At least their first exchange hadn't been completely one-sided; Mortis had raked his talons across Grymloq's leg, and the massive beast now walked with a limp. But Gregor was quickly losing blood, and Kroq-Gar was still unharmed.

The Saurus regarded Gregor with a cold eye from his seat, and raised his left arm, aiming what looked like a gem inserted into the armor's palm. Instinct kicked in, and Gregor had Mortis move to the side an instant before a beam of light lanced out; the magic missed Gregor, but two knights that were close by were not so lucky, and were reduced to ash.

"Come on, boy," Gregor urged, straining to be heard over the din, "we can make another pass!"

Mortis screeched and charged fearlessly at Grymloq. The Carnasaur looked almost surprised at the smaller creature's defiance, and Kroq-Gar urged him forward to meet the charge. Mortis leaped around Grymloq's snapping jaws, and Gregor leaned out of the way of Kroq-Gar's spear and swung his war-pick. The trusty weapon was only able to reach up to the Saurus' leg, but it still connected, and tore a chunk out of his calf.

Kroq-Gar hissed in pain, and Grymloq roared in outrage at his partner's wound. Gregor allowed himself a bloodstained smile; the wound was minor when compared to his own, but now he was in the lead.

Gregor ignored the blackness creeping into the edges of his vision. Passing out on a battlefield would be fatal; besides, his pride as a knight wouldn't allow it. Pushing Mortis into another charge, he scooped up a fallen lance when he was precious seconds away from Kroq-Gar. The thrust was awkward and misaligned, and though he scored a hit, it was against the Saurus' gold-plated arm. The blow nearly unseated Kroq-Gar, but was otherwise unharmed; Gregor's borrowed lance, on the other hand, was a mass of splinters. Worse, he was now exposed to a counterattack.

Kroq-Gar, with his millennia of experience, likely saw the opening before Gregor did, and already had his spear raised. Gregor didn't realize he'd been stabbed until Kroq-Gar lifted him out of his saddle and held him up to meet his gaze. Gregor spat out more blood, and then he felt the pain. His broken lance tumbled from shaking fingers; dimly, he could hear Mortis screech in despair and rage.

Gregor wanted to say something, some show of defiance in the face of his death, but found he lacked the strength to do more than wheeze. He could only look into Kroq-Gar's eyes; the ancient warrior inclined his head at the Grand Master, acknowledging his courage, if nothing else.

To die against such a foe is not a bad death, Gregor thought to himself. And perhaps I bought Shepard enough time. Perhaps… I should have told her, back when my feelings burned bright. Even if it came to nothing, I still regret not saying something then.

Kroq-Gar lifted his gauntlet, aiming to use his magical artifact to give Gregor a quick death. A small part of him was thankful for that.

"No!"

Two blurs crossed Gregor's vision. There was an impact that made his wounds flare with renewed agony, and then he slid off of the spear. Mortis, still roaring fearlessly at Grymloq, slid under his master to break his fall. Gregor weakly lifted his head to see who had saved him.

"You will not touch him," Quetza snarled, her clawed shield raised, the blades glowing with unearthly light. "His time has not yet come."

At her Matriarch's side, Ahuila hefted her spear, ready to let fly at a moment's notice. All around them, knights and Amazons fought with unbridled fury to reach the armies' leaders.

Gregor tried to tell them to run, to not fight such a foe; instead, more blood gushed from his mouth, and the world spun. He was fairly certain that he blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he knew, Quetza was deflecting Kroq-Gar's spear with her claws, and Ahuila's spear was buried in Grymloq's flank.

Then there was a sound like thunder, and an iron ball ripped a chunk out of Grymloq's tail. The Mako trundled into Gregor's view, its Heavy Repeaters spitting red-hot death at anything with scales.

On the other side, Michael and the rest of the infantry had reached the Lizardman lines, halberds and swords hacking deep into scaly hides. Michael himself leaped at a large beast with thick armor on the top of its body, and a large crystal held by a golden cradle on its back.

"Out of my way, beast!" Michael roared as his glowing hammer smashed into the Bastilodon's head. Armor cracked and splintered, while soft flesh split. "You shall not bar our path!"

Michael swung again, hitting the same spot. Without the armor protecting its head, the Bastilodon's skull cracked, and its eye burst. Michael was soaked in blood, but he only fought harder; his third swing nearly tore the beast's head from its neck.

For a moment, Gregor thought he was dying—pain faded as death approached, did it not? Then he noticed a soft green glow, and saw a Jade Wizard holding his hands against his chest.

"Hold on, Grand Master," the Wizard said, "you will not die if I can help it."

Gregor tried to nod, but all he did was twitch. Still, he felt a twinge of relief as he slipped into unconsciousness; perhaps today was not his day to die, after all.

…

Back in Hexoatl, Kroak's eyes began to glow. Before anyone around him could react, he vanished.

…

There was a flash of light, so bright that everyone for miles around was struck blind for several minutes. It was enough to immediately stop the fighting; weapons fell to the ground as warriors rubbed their eyes, trying to restore their vision.

When their sight returned, all eyes were drawn to the ancient Slann that hovered above the fighting armies. Above him, enormous clouds, blacker than night, rumbled as they gathered together. Kroak was surrounded by a sphere of crackling energy, and everyone knew, without knowing how they knew, that he could unleash the storm upon them with but a thought, and that none of them would survive.

"THIS WAR," Kroak declared, his voice reaching every Human, Imperial and Amazon, and every Lizardmen, from Itza and Hexoatl, "ENDS NOW."

And so it did.

…

Gregor slowly opened his eyes to a sight that, in his youth, would have sent his heart racing. Quetza was kneeling over him, watching him with a gentle smile.

"I knew you would not die," she said. "You are too stubborn."

"I think—" Gregor's rasp was cut off by a fit of coughing. Quetza handed him a jug of water; after he washed away the blood in his mouth and throat, he tried again. "I think I was just fortunate. And I believe I owe you my life."

"As much as it amuses me to have a man in my debt, I insist you think nothing of it." Quetza reached out and gently flicked his nose. "And I insist that you are just stubborn."

Gregor sighed, too tired to argue. "Where are we?"

"In Hexoatl," Quetza said. "After Lord Kroak ended the fighting, we were brought into the city. The Lizardmen here now follow Lord Kroak's orders; he said that we are no longer this city's enemies, so they are treating us like friends."

"That is… strange." Gregor winced as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. "What about General Shepard?"

"She is resting in another chamber," Quetza said, then blinked when Gregor looked panicked. "Not the eternal rest, I promise. She suffered at the hands of Mazdamundi, but was healed by Lord Kroak. She is still recovering."

"I need to see her for myself." Gregor struggled to stand, but his injuries were not fully healed, and he grunted in pain. "Help me to her. Please."

Quetza sighed. "Stubborn man."

Gregor's armor had been removed while he was unconscious, and he wore only bloodstained trousers, so Quetza was able to hold him up with ease. She led him through the makeshift infirmary, where wounded Imperials shared space with Amazons. Those still conscious traded stories, jokes, and even good-natured teasing. There was no trace of the animosity that had plagued the two armies since the day they'd met; Shepard would have been proud.

After a few minutes, Quetza brought him to a door guarded by Saurus Temple Guards, elite Amazon warriors, and a dozen Greatswords, including Richter. The sergeant's eyes widened when he saw the battered Grand Master.

"Sir, you look like hell."

Gregor laughed, then winced at the pain it caused. "I would be lying if I said I have had worse. Is the General awake?"

Richter nodded. "She was when I checked in on her. That was just a few minutes ago." He stuck his head through the door for a moment, then withdrew. "She'll see you."

Gregor stepped away from Quetza and limped inside. He was stunned by what he saw.

Shepard lay on a bed, barely propped up by a pillow. Most of her body was covered by blankets, but enough skin showed to reveal how different she looked. Her pale skin was a far cry from the slight tan she'd once had, and her hair was silver, save for a single shock of her former red. She was still beautiful, but now, there was an almost ethereal element to her beauty that advised caution as much as it invited.

She turned her head towards him and smiled. "Hey, Gregor; finally, someone who looks worse than me."

It took Gregor a moment to find his voice. "That is debatable, General."

Shepard chuckled. "I'd offer you a seat, but no one left a chair." She patted the side of the bed. "Sit down, you look like death warmed over."

Gregor sat at the far end of the bed; Shepard seemed to delight in how uncomfortable he looked.

"I am… glad that you're alive, General."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "If I hear you guys call me by rank one more time today, I swear to Sigmar, I'll hit one of you."

Gregor took a deep breath. "Alexia, you have no idea how worried we were."

"I remember when I got eaten at Karak Eight Peaks; I imagine it was similar to then."

"I wasn't at Karak Eight Peaks, so this is new for me."

"Really?" Shepard frowned and tilted her head. "Yeah, I almost forgot that you're technically the newest commander in the army."

Gregor got the sense that Shepard was trying to distract him. "Alexia, how are you feeling?"

Shepard noticed the seriousness in his tone, and the lighthearted look in her eyes vanished. "Horrible. I was tortured, Gregor. My soul was ripped apart and stitched back together again, and I don't think all the pieces are where they should be, and I'm not completely sure I'm who I used to be!"

Gregor leaned back as Shepard's voice rose, but as quickly as it began, it ended, and Shepard leaned back. Her eyes were clenched shut, and a few tears leaked out.

"Then it is a good thing that you have us," he said. He got up and made his way over to her; he sank to his knees and put a hand on her shoulder. "We'll know if you start acting strange." It was then that he noticed something on her wrist—a thin chain bracelet, with a small tag, shaped like a twin-tailed comet. "That's different. When did you start carrying icons of Sigmar?"

Shepard rubbed her eyes, then looked at the bracelet. "Oh, Michael brought that in a few hours ago. He gave it to me, and asked if I'd join him in a prayer, asking Sigmar for strength. I think… I think it helped, a little."

Gregor was surprised; Shepard had always displayed disinterest in faith, and now she was praying? Perhaps she had changed.

"That's actually not that new," Shepard admitted. "I prayed to Sigmar before, back when David was kidnapped. He's okay, so maybe there's something to all this."

Gregor smiled. "Then when Father Michael leads the next prayer, I will add one of my own for you."

"I appreciate it." Shepard glanced at his hand, still on her shoulder, and a bit of mirth returned to her eyes. "You do know that I'm not wearing any clothes right now, right?"

Gregor's hand snapped back like it had been bitten. Shepard laughed.

…

Five days passed, and Shepard was ready to leave Hexoatl forever. The inhabitants might have become friendly, but she was never going to forget what she suffered through while there. She couldn't even look at the temple she'd been held in without flinching.

At her side, Stormwing stretched his wings and made a squawk that sounded like he agreed with her. Shepard patted his flank and smiled; the Griffon had come close to death in his attempt to save her, and only the efforts of Parral and a team of Jade Wizards saved him. He still needed to rest and regain his strength, though; they both did.

"Are you prepared to leave, Fate-Breaker?"

Shepard glanced at Kroak, who hovered at her other side. As much as she was grateful that he had saved her life, a part of her would always hate him, and the Old Ones he served. More blood than could ever be accounted for was on their hands, and one day, they'd face justice for it. Maybe she wouldn't be the one to carry out the sentence, but she hoped to be there when it happened.

"Yeah, I'm ready." Shepard turned around, pausing to brush a bit of dust from her gauntlet. It had taken a bit of searching from a team of Skinks, but her armor and weapons had been returned. After putting the armor on, Shepard was extremely reluctant to take it off again; she would only feel comfortable enough to do so once she was back in the Empire.

"Finished gazing at the sunrise, General?" Locke smirked from atop his horse. "As dramatic as it looked, we do have things to do."

Shepard rolled her eyes. "Yeah, all right. Let's take this magical shortcut to Itza, and then we'll let the troops rest for a few more days."

Quetza grinned fiercely. "And then we shall finish what we started with the Dark Elves."

Shepard nodded to Kroak. "Let's get started."

The air around Kroak hummed for a moment, and then the shadows engulfed the combined Imperial, Amazon and Itza armies.

…

Jiro Blightscar looked out at the jungle and sighed in relief. Once again, there was no sign of attacks from further inland. He didn't know why the Imperials and the savage women had abruptly lifted their siege, and he didn't care. All he cared about was that his warriors could forage in peace, repair damaged equipment, and prepare for the next raid.

He smiled as he saw a group of Witch Elves bring in another hapless Amazon. The barbarian woman snarled and spat at the Elves, even as knives plunged down and carved out her heart. The Witch Elves laughed and sang praises to Khaine, while their leader held the heart over her head and let the blood drip down onto her face. According to them, the sacrifices would bless Jiro's endeavors here in Lustria; there hadn't been enough before, which, to them, explained why the Dark Elves had suffered so many setbacks.

On a personal level, Jiro didn't believe Khaine cared enough to favor him. All he wanted was to carve out his own little kingdom, far away from Malekith and his machinations.

He was brought out of his musings when he heard a crash in the distance. Peering out towards the jungle once more, he saw some of the trees shaking as something—or many somethings—passed through.

A wild beast, perhaps? He thought, then shook his head. No, an animal wouldn't head for a place like this.

"To arms!" he called, drawing his two swords. "Enemies approaching!"

The fort erupted into a storm of activity. Elves with crossbows manned the walls, while those favoring close-quarters fighting marshaled at the main gate, or stood by to guard the ranged fighters.

Jiro waited on the ramparts, watching as figures emerged from the jungle. First were lines of Imperial soldiers, infantry and artillery. From wider gaps in the trees, dozens—and then hundreds—of mounted warriors emerged. A Steam Tank pushed its way through the trees and moved to the center of the line. The Imperials confidently arranged themselves on the field, just out of range of the Dark Elves' weapons.

Next came scores of Amazons, assembling at the Imperials' right flank; most of them were basic warriors, but there were dozens of them riding enormous panthers. Their leader, a savage-looking woman with an ornate headdress and a clawed shield, glared hatefully up at him.

Then, to Jiro's shock, hundreds of Lizardmen poured out of the jungle, roaring and hissing as they massed at the Imperials' left flank. Saurus Warriors arranged themselves in disciplined ranks, while Skinks darted around quickly. Lumbering Kroxigors were spaced out between regiments, slowly swinging their massive clubs. Armored Bastilodons thudded to the center, the large gems mounted on their backs glowing with contained power. Above the armies, flocks of Terradons and Ripperdactyls wheeled and banked, waiting for the moment to strike.

And at the center of it all, flying just above the Imperial army, was a massive Griffon, armored and screeching defiantly. Sitting on the beast's back was a Human, their shoulder plates and helm forged into the shape of snarling wolves. They held an axe of Dwarf make in one hand, and a shield that looked Lustrian in the other.

Jiro knew this Human. They had killed his sister, back in Marienburg. Had this army tracked him down, even though years had passed?

He shook the thought away; now wasn't the time to think on such things. At a quick estimate, his army was outnumbered almost three to one, and had siege weapons. However, his walls were strong, and he had a defensible position. He could hold out until his ships were ready, and then he and his forces could retreat.

The Human on the Griffon raised their axe, then lowered it. Jiro's sharp hearing picked up a female voice as it shouted.

"Open fire!"

Cannons roared, and their shots slammed into Jiro's walls an instant later. The crystals on top of the Bastilodons hummed, then fired beams of searing light that punched clean through the metal barriers.

Jiro knew then that they were doomed. If they tried to simply hold, the attackers would batter down his walls in minutes, far too quickly for the Dark Elves to board their ships and escape. If they abandoned their defenses and fled, there would be nothing holding the three armies back, and would overwhelm them in massive attack.

That left only one option: attack. It was risky, probably even suicidal, but the only chance was to punch into the attackers' lines, take out their artillery, and then retreat to their ships while the enemy was in disarray. It didn't escape him that his sister had attempted just such a plan at Marienburg, and that had ended with her death.

"Prepare to attack!" he shouted. "Charge their lines and crush their artillery! It is our only chance!"

The Dark Elves looked at each other nervously; not many relished the idea of abandoning their fortifications, but they were quickly reaching the same conclusion that he did. The only ones that were excited were the Witch Elves; they were confident in their ability to reach the foe in time, and were eager for blood.

The gates were opened as quickly as possible, and the Elves rushed out, shouting war cries and oaths to Khaine. The Imperials opened fire with their smaller guns as soon as they were in range. Storms of lead tore through the Elves' armor, and they began to die in droves. Amazons and Lizardmen spread out and charged, the two sides closing around the Elves' flanks like a vice, while light cavalry disrupted the Elves' charge with guns and javelins.

The center of the Elves' attack was met by a wall of cavalry, led by Locke. He was the first to claim a Dark Elf kill, but he was far from the last.

Jiro could see immediately that his ill-conceived counterattack was a complete failure; at best, it would buy a few extra minutes. Then again, that was all he needed. He had not joined in the attack himself, in case this very thing happened, and now he had the opportunity to flee.

He quickly gathered those most loyal to him and set out for the ships that were moored in the harbor. There were only enough of them to crew the smallest ship, but it was better than nothing.

Jiro was working on his next plan when several large rocks fell from the sky, landing among his followers and turning several into bloody paste on the ground. A moment later, an angry Griffon landed in front of them, right in their path to the ship.

"Going somewhere?" On the Griffon's back, the Human leaned forward, posture suggesting amusement.

Jiro raised his swords and charged. "Kill her!"

The other Elves followed, with the knowledge that they would die if they didn't get past the Human and her angry mount. Swords and spears were readied, but several of their bearers died as the Human drew a large multi-barreled rifle and fired. She dropped the gun, picked up her axe and shield, and had her Griffon leap at the Elves.

Limbs and heads flew as Shepard swung Unbak Urk, while other Elves were messily torn apart by Stormwing's beak and talons. Between the powers of Shepard's axe and the ferocity of Stormwing, the Elves that weren't immediately slaughtered tried to flee, but there was nowhere to run. In front of them was Shepard, avenging Marienburg, and behind them were three entire armies that were already breaking through their forces and making their way inside.

In moments, only Jiro stood, his armor soaked with the blood of his followers. His blades had some blood on them, but it wasn't from Elves; his swords had cut into Stormwing's flank, but the injury had only served to make the Griffon angrier.

"Fight me!" Jiro roared, all hope of survival lost now. "Get off your beast and fight me!"

Much to his surprise, Shepard dismounted, boots splashing down into the blood. Even more surprising, she tossed aside her shield.

"Come on, then," she said, and Jiro snarled when he realized she was mocking him.

Screaming in rage, Jiro lunged forward. In a move that would have rivaled an Elf in speed, Shepard drew her pistol and put a bullet between his eyes. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Shepard regarded the body in front of her dispassionately. As far as she was concerned, Marienburg was avenged, and some justice had been given to Eliza. She didn't keep grudges like the Dwarfs, but she mentally crossed one out anyway.

When the first troops of all three armies made their way to her, she was calmly inspecting Stormwing's injury, completely ignoring the carnage around her.

"Hey, guys," she said with a casual wave. "I think we're just about finished up here."

Wow, I updated twice in two weeks! There's a reason for that, actually. I've been making pretty good progress on my second book, so I decided to reward myself (and recharge that particular set of batteries) by writing a chapter for this story. I actually got this one done in just a few days.

Seriously, though, this will be a very rare occurrence, especially after I finish this arc (next chapter!). The only way I'll be able to keep up this kind of rate of new chapters here is if you all start buying my book. Honestly, if every single one of you bought my book, I would be updating a lot faster here. Please visit my website (link in my profile) or go to Amazon and look up Alpha Sanction by Josh Gottlieb. I think you'll enjoy it!

As for this chapter, I know that the fight between Gregor and Kroq-Gar was short, but let's be honest here: Gregor may be a badass, but he's up against motherfluffing Kroq-Gar. You know, the guy who held off entire armies of Daemons by himself? The Lizardman who has thousands of years of experience, and is just plain awesome? That fight was only going to go one way, that way being 'Gregor gets his ass kicked'. The only reason he didn't die in this fight is because I like him, and I want him to stick around a bit longer.

And as for why Hexoatl is suddenly being nice? Their boss is dead, and Kroak took command. The Lizardmen tend to do whatever the head Slann says, and if he says play nice, they're going to play nice.

Some of you may be surprised that Shepard is becoming a bit religious. Remember, she literally had her soul torn apart. That has to be one of the most traumatic things to ever happen, and people have turned to religion for a lot less. Now, she won't be like Michael or anything, but she'll probably have a few more icons of Sigmar lying around.

As for why the battle against the Dark Elves was so short: Guys, it was three armies against some Elves that were in a glorified outpost/harbor. The knife-eared bastards were screwed from the get-go. Bye, Jiro, you were fun while you lasted!

Also, a bit of a heads up, the next chapter will probably be a bit shorter, there are some things that need to be wrapped up, and then this arc will finally be done! I haven't had an arc with this many parts since Karak Eight Peaks! Neat!

Next Chapter: Shepard works out a deal with Kroak to get the shard, and one step closer to home. Meanwhile, some old friends are making plans of their own…

He is Kroq-Gar, the last Muffin of Xhotl.