Of Atonement and Salvation: The End Times
Chapter 18
Our Blood Our Soil
Written by S. J. Kandil
The immaterium, the warp was such a fickle beast to harness. Extract the knowledge and stride down the path of endless power and one might become a sinewy mass of writhing tentacles. On the same trajectory limitless potential waited for those willing to lose a part of themselves along the way.
Exhibit A: Thavan Vanamar. Bound by hatred and prostrate to calamity, it was Vanamar's inability to stymie the nagging itch boiling beneath skin and blood. How far across the tightrope of irreparable harm to one's own humanity became too great for a soul bound on a path of self harm? Could an answer formulate on the path of vengeance? Or had it all become clear on the journey of this life?
The instigator widening the gap in this mental battle for control was The Daughter In Black herself Serisseeiana. Removed from the equation his odds fared little better. Seduced by revenge, greater minds would conspire on his behalf. Whereas she nurtured and sowed the seeds of a formidable ally. Could she ask for a more willing compatriot?
Freed of the shackles imposed by the Great Four, she became as much of an anomaly as himself. On a path of self gain, her motives and eventual rise to power left questions unanswered. What was her origin; what awaited the world if her goals became reality; and was she truly emancipated or merely another pawn to someone else? As for her intentions surrounding her human protege, well, all good things come to those who wait.
The Lightbearer, the origin of his name originated from the flaming morningstar he carried on the Battle For Last Light. At this precise moment, it materialized before his eyes – A thought willed into existence. Clenching with steely conviction it was here his way of life and the future built in this empire came crashing down. The false sense of security fell through and there waited only death.
The colors of the past faded as the man he once was. The armor blessed unto him by Seriss herself, swaddled his body. The promise of limitless potential and the strength it bestowed, emboldened him in daemonic glory. How far was he willing to go to lose his humanity was a trick question; there was nothing left to lose.
# # # #
(Thavan Vanamar / Location – Grozen Capital Surface / – Time – 4/1/21)
Running the gamut of every emotion ever expressed sweltered to the beat of a pounding heart, instilling within all consuming hate I never felt possible to convey in words. This painful rage blot out reason, it removed sense and instilled wanton hunger dyed red.
Grass and trees, mud and mountains, all were specs in the corner of black dots surveying carnage. Swung over shoulders in spiteful reprisal the morningstar paved the way toward the first victim foolish enough to block my path. Consumed by might and malice, the full weight of bone-crushing steel sundered helm and flesh. The kinetic force reminisced days past of savagery and slaughter and the satisfying destruction of skull and messy gore.
Eyes burst. Their respective holding cells crushed amid helm and weapon. Every detail flashed across my mind in devilish glee. As the head exploded, launching brain and blood onto my face, it instilled the ever rising embrace of victory over every snuffed life. In death the visceral end depicted art and in life he was nothing.
Before those feeble legs and spent bowels might give out from under him to become one with the earth, I moved on, eager to plunge deeper, exacting my toll on them.
Zenara, and the patter of her feet failed time and time again to match my tempo. Losing sound of her presence, my focus turned elsewhere when two sets of eyes locked on mine. Smug and confident as they were, the visage of living breathing rage carving a path to their destination paused the duo in their tracks. They gazed upon a reflection of their own, or so it seemed.
"Thavan!" The voice of reason cried out. Glancing over my shoulder, Zenara waved her staff imploring I stop.
"Retreat!" She managed against ragged gasps. "The others, we have to warn them! Now is not the time to throw our lives away!"
Rushing right for me, I turned my back on Zenara to see hundreds enclosing all around us. Right into the eyes of that squid shaped bastard I glared malicious intent to kill, maim, and slaughter all under his thrall. Utilizing magic of her own, we dispersed out of harms reach, leaving the forest behind and descending into new levels of madness.
In the midst of utter chaos, civilians and soldiers alike scattered across the heart of Grozen. Bellowing voices of those capable to fight, congregated and marched in step as the ones caring for youngsters held their children close to their bosom, gazing on in silence and widened, fearful eyes. Alarms shrieked and all around them I knew the topside sentries must have completed our task for us and spotted the chaos forces. That'll leave us free from the hindrance of playing messenger.
A collection of cannons, turrets and explosives were placed into position all across the empire in preparation for the invasion. In the face of warfare they steeled themselves and readied for a day I'm certain they prayed never happen; but an opposing front on their doorstep rung a shrieking bell in my own mind. Surely, they grouped and gathered yet they scattered without purpose and without resolve. Where were the commanders to instill order? Trampling over one another only pressed the blade deeper into our backside.
"Zenara." A voice called out.
That gruffness, the heavy weight of deep yet orotund characteristics defied all other possibilities in the back of my mind. That is how I knew it was Grodmoor before my head turned to face him.
Consumed by purpose and compelled to quash this blunder, I searched for the nearest building. Upon spotting a vantage I made haste. Leaping over their heads and abandoning Zenara and Grodmoor, I scaled several meters with ease. The rush of cavernous air and the crackle of leather cape flowing back was felt as if I took flight.
"Hearken unto me!" The normal range of a human wouldn't suffice. Projecting with more depth and range, the furry heads and pointed ears pistoned right for me. Swayed or not, I had their undivided attention.
"As if foretold in scripture our destiny is preordained. They will come, they will kill, they will rape and there will be nothing left but an ossuary of bones erected to a tomb of forgotten empires. Cut out the pestilence. Drive back the heart of this infestation. Every able bodied skaven, male or female of combative worth march in step and locate your superior. Those of lesser worth protect the sick. And those whom moments ago awakened to this insanity and know of their assigned positions – and I know you do – go forth in the name of Grodmoor and Zenara and strike down this chaos horde. Our blood! Our soil! To war!" Vociferated malice out of the lungs of fire and hell itself instigated near religious zeal in their returning screams.
Snapping back to reality order prevailed and the skaven emboldened by my words did as commanded. I cannot state it was my skill in speech alone that wooed the crowd to action. Nay, I was never one of the cloth, imbibing rhetorician qualities. It was the influence of a certain daemon I must thank for that.
From below Zenara watched me. Gazing on with full blue eyes bearing on me like spheres of light burning away all the fabrications. What was she thinking I pondered? Sensitive to the magic imbued in me, I can only attest to this matter by accepting it cannot be any good.
Leaping down to convene around a small group formed amid Zenara and Grodmoor, I noticed two faces: Ziv and Varron. The collective focused on a plan of actions. Landing in the middle of Varron's thoughts it went something like this, "...And so if in their forces have consolidated, there's no tellin' what sort of vile monstrosities they'd send to put an end to us. We have poked the beast and they have come. Their weapons of war may topple the cave networks and bury us beneath tons of rock. A place of refuge becomes our tomb."
Grodmoor negated his thoughts. "I made certain to quell this heresy when I planted the seed that began this empire. Nothing of that sort would stop us. We are too deep."
As if on cue Kreevan arrived just in time for the surface to quake and pebbles fell from the stony sky above. "That remains to be seen."
"I fear I know how they've ascertained our location." Zenara gestured toward me. The others looked to me – their scapegoat in daemonic clothing. Can't say I'm offended.
"Judge me silently if you must. Cowardly as it is, I know I've never had a hand in acting against my best interests. So spit it out if any of you so much as believe I am culpable."
"Directly, I believe none who'd think otherwise. But indirectly..." Grodmoor left us all hanging on his implication.
"Was it not you whom summoned me to this empire? Was it not you whom confided that I must strengthen the bonds of this power in order to destroy our enemy? Yet now that your precious plan unfolded, you look upon me with beady, verminous eyes and silent, scornful dispositions for a price you paid. No daemon communes with me saved for that which you made thine bed with." A tremulous voice and thinly veiled words ached on account I so deeply wished to reveal my darkest feelings. Alas, a fight was not the answer but I could not help myself to proceed in delighting my fantasies.
"The sooner this war ends I expect you to plant a bullet in my back, eh Grodmoor? Tying up loose ends I foresee."
Unfazed by my words, his retort came swiftly. "Were it not for me human, your end should have arrived at the pack-masters whip. It is your crazed delirium that postulated facts only your mind fathomed in an unhinged, false reality."
"Never failed to remind me of my own past misfortunes. You that sanctioned the assignment to pluck me out of their clutches. Look around you failed Grozen Warlord. Your people are crumbling and you resign to the sidelines; you're a drunk and have fallen to the wayside living in the past of golden days."
The first mistake was turning on the head of this empire. The second mistake held the belief virtue remained and reprisal abstained.
Burning, searing pain sparked inside my kidneys. Its arrival so sudden and violent. Large clawed hands enclosed around the nape of my neck and ran my face into the stony wall. Cartilage cracked. The heat of blood smeared the point of impact, trickling down. Throbbing, pulsing pain thundered in my skull not unlike the beating of artillery shells. I groaned in meek protest at the unexpected attack on my person, completely at his mercy.
And then, like the flipping of a switch, something within changed and my actions committed freely of my own volition. Unholstered gun found its place firmly in the gut of my assailant. The end of the barrel aching to fire a volley of bullets.
"Only a matter a time twill this day came." I hissed through gritted teeth only to be separated by Zenara's magic.
Before the bloodshed might go any further – one way or the other – each of us, Grodmoor and myself were flung backward and landed on the rocky ground. Zenara stood poised betwixt the unraveling madness. "I cannot begin to chastise the poor showmanship of each of you. Your integrity has waned, your composure surrendered to mindless anger; need I remind you, we are on the verge of being exterminated! Gather yourselves. You know the stakes, now act the part less we die."
As the two of us stood Ziv pushed past me intentionally. "Outta my way." he grunted, heading toward the main gate and at the front of the invasion.
Another explosion topside confirmed to all of us that the prospect of being buried alive might just become a reality. As Zenara said, it was time to act. The blood pooling down my face would offset the burning in my chest. Pain was trivial and when used against the opposition, it truly became something more than a crutch.
With machine pistol and morningstar in hand, the gates called to me, guided by the distant lullaby of slaughter. The need to kill equalized all else. Like a slave thirsting for water, to crave the blood of my enemy, I'd settle for nothing less. The rush of promises to come whispered sweet nothings into the depths of my mind; like blood rushing to ones head whilst suspended upside down. It was euphoria to my soul. They were beneath me – all of them.
Blurred images flashed on by and ground no longer held feet at bay. Over hoards of my allies I lept, ascending to the front-line in seconds.
Turrets and cannons deposited their payload at the ram shackled gate, ripping apart chaos trolls and infantry splattered in a haze of gore and crimson rain. Those skaven who only moments ago defended the entrance died before my eyes. Their own weapons imploded from sources unknown. A volley of explosive bluestone and shards peppered their faces, mangling them and leaving a trail of blood and bodies atop the pools of red. Those closest blew back from the concussive force and crashed into walls, breaking bones and crushing organs in its wake.
Whomever it was had pulverized our main line of defense and I had the slightest inkling of whom that might be. And knowing them, I'd glean their arrogance shortly thereafter.
Here I stood at the gates of no return. Among a horde of warriors of chaos, trolls and a giant. Push them back, rally the skaven, and close that portal. It was my duty.
The answer to whom broke our defenses slithered onto the warzone. Through the throngs of endless numbers I discerned its squidlike head: Assazion. Clawing, gnawing, and chewing like rats in my cell on those tortured nights so many years ago, the torment was enough to suffocate. He is the bane of our existence and must be silenced.
As soon as they found themselves unable to commit a victory on their own terms, they conscripted their former masters to finish what they could not. Twice now, they will fail.
"Invoking the powers that be, Seriss Daughter in Black, shroud this soul in your protective ward!"
Assazion retaliated, casting blue waves – snakelike and dexterous – in erratic fashion directed at me and those closest. Zenara cast herself nearby and deflected his feeble attempt to maim.
My reprisal arrived without resistance. All around his fellow hell-spawn flames ruptured out of rock, black and surrounded by a glowing, white aura. The entire first line of assault screamed amid the magic cast at my command, charring their skin black and boiling fluids inside dissolving veins.
The melodious cries of their ilk dying at my will instilled harmonious glee to wanting ears. In tune with a melody only I discerned, bullet after bullet discharged. The muzzle flashed and blood poured into the cracks of black-fire, into the cauldron – the great devourer of souls eager to feast eternally.
Zenara reasoned words regarding plans and other nonsensical noise. Across the fire and corpses I waltz, ignoring any plans she entailed. Untouched by the flames, no skin nor armor charred. Lapping at my flesh the fires singed no hair on my head.
Stronger, more resilient foes with thicker hides such as chaos trolls strode through the fire in long lumbering gaits. In pairs of three their rock-like hide resembled an oyster. And if you know which gaps to exploit, they'd pry apart. Jagged teeth and slack-jawed drooling maws stilled those lacking strong discipline at the prospect of becoming a meal. Morale might have long since perished yet they had not faced one of my caliber.
Holstered handgun granted me just that extra amount of oomph. With morningstar clutched in both hands, the extra leverage allowed me to use every speck of muscular strength. Their slow, lazy swings demanded little effort on my part. His kneecap the anticipated target; the results, he'll never walk again. Driving in right behind the kneecap, the ball made short work of the patella and fibrous tissue. The femur and tibia ripped straight through mangled flesh. Applying so much pressure to an already incapacitated limb sent tiny shards of bone fragments everywhere and the monster, having lost its ability to walk, groaned a deep wail and fell to the floor.
One sustained blow to the head coming down with all my weight crushed the skull into a bloody pulp. Overflowing a deluge of cerebral matter was far too much for a dim creature like it. Congealed fluids and softer chunks clung to my weapon, drooling between the spiky gaps as I pulled back and the flattened remains of its skull stunk foul. The flames burned away all impurities as it baked in the fires I cast. Standing over the spasming kill, its fellow brethren marched in tow.
Conjuring the liquid of life, my throat swelled by the gift of eternity. Vomiting black, I dedicated my life-force to the cause. Such gargantuan creatures scream as pitifully as every other life snuffed out. Melting away hide and flesh it was the yellow of fat and their underbelly that demanded they shriek the most heinous of cries. Freed of intestinal lining and skin, a mass of squirming pink vermian-like internals never meant to see the light of day gushed out. Clenching their organs and gazing down in, vacuous, dying eyes, vain attempts forced them to push slippery pink into split walls.
On either side of me guns fired off one by one in succession as those arriving into the cavern fell by the dozens. Holes the size of small cannonballs created cavities of cracked bone and mangled muscle tissue. Voices screamed against the report of rifle fire. It all came together creating the symphony of war.
Instinctively my tongue slid against the roof of my mouth and across my lip. The taste of blood and the irony scent traced along the edge of my lips. Dragging back to swallow the fluids my tongue glide along the tips of my teeth. To my surprise my own blood mixed with theirs. When had they become so sharp?
Thoughts of change fluttered to the darkest recesses of my mind when more fodder filled the ranks of the fallen. To the beck and call of death I say. Who was I to deny them such a privilege?
Wound up and surging forward with such might, gusts of wind generated at my swing. Flesh bruised black and red, muscle tissue shred back in strands. What was once taut and firm hung like shredded pulp. Those who felt the direct impact flung backwards and into the air, exploding like overripe blood sausages.
Darik, Hadran, every breath that leaves my lungs widens the barrier between your deaths and my perseverance. Petty zealous beliefs and morals bound each and every one of you to an early grave to a god that shan't grant thee salvation. Beyond this mortal coil there is only the promise of death.
I can see into their lidless eyes, vacant expressions and slackened jaws screaming through maladies in honor of gods who shun them as equally as that whom I devoted my life's work to.
To the ends of this planet I scour the portal beyond to exact tenfold onto their realm. I'm coming for you Assazion and Skarlorn and I will not rest till both of your skulls are beset upon my mantle.
# # # #
Stuck in place with bated breath and widened eyes, Zenara gawked, not in fear nor apprehension, no, another emotion had come over her. His ensuing rampage nor the fires that followed had not exasperated the sorceress, nay, it was the followup of hundreds thundering down on him and just like that with the raising of his hand he parted the throngs of barbarians and daemons, sending them hurtling into rock walls and each other. The screams and the echoes of bones snapping emboldened the skaven to push back with Thavan at the helm.
It was this grand display of violence that Zenara couldn't help but...admire. The purity of the slaughter instilled new-found zeal in her heart. Something she herself shan't have entertained the thought of days prior. Wherever did this spark originate?
Covered in blood and screaming colorful epithets might not have been the first quality she found attractive but down lower another reality came to fruition: In her loins she felt heat and slippery warmth. Flashes of intercourse in the blood of the fallen cast a black cloud inside her thoughts that she was not so quick to cast aside. These thoughts laid to rest when Varron accompanied by a lagging Ziv arrived nearest the sorceress.
He hadn't minced words when stating the following, "The lads gone mad – entirely unhinged."
Grodmoor trailed. He himself secretly admired his pawns dedication. "Won't fault him for trying."
Compounding matters further, another tremor thrashed above-ground. Skaven crashed into each other not unlike a strong gale. A sky of endless rock shattered and deposited boulders onto Grodmoor's soldiers, crushing them where they stood.
As if the situation could not get any worse, holes in the sky allowed winged daemons to slip through the gaps. Announcing their entry by hideous wails, they descended into the chaotic frenzy. Flying into the cavern to destroy all that Grodmoor worked tirelessly to build effected the skaven deeply but not on the surface.
The blazing blue of turrets fired into the sky of stone, surely to do more damage than hinder the invaders but alas, even though they've been stripped of the poisonous warpstone, sometimes that wily nature can never be curbed. One after another more flechettes fired into the "sky."
How is it possible they dug so deep? This unsettling prospect rattled Grodmoor's mind, consuming his rationale and bogged down much needed calmness under pressure.
"New directive: Assist Thavan in closing that portal." That was the cold, hard reality Grodmoor demanded of them and they knew there'd be no alternative. To Zenara's credit, before he finished, she'd already stormed off in haste for Thavan.
Had her loyalty remained in question before there be no doubt now where she'd stand in a confrontation between Grodmoor and Thavan himself. A sobering reality for certain and one that made him ponder, how'd the human manage to worm his way in?
In the middle of conflict, at the epicenter of this bloody tug of war, the chaos giant whom evaded the damages brought down on his allies, knew better than to willfully walk into the humans trap. Ripping a giant chunk of rock right from the ceiling the behemoth heaved, wound up and launched the boulder with precise aim for Thavan. Dispersing his physical form, Vanamar left those behind him at its mercy.
Ziv did all that a bulky globadier could do, and that was dive. Zenara landed on the balls of her feet after a spectacular leap, displaying finesse and grace and Varron landed somewhere in the middle of the two, dive-bombing out of harms way. Those in front and behind them felt the kinetic blast; flattened and crushed by the boulders path till it careened into the rear lines and plugged the entrance shut.
No allies. No aid. Nothing. This revelation dawned on the trio as they rose, licking their wounds. The seriousness of their dilemma had not gone unnoticed, though the rampaging human lessened the blow to an extent.
Zenara gazed in Vanamar's direction to see him hovering over the giants bald head. Gawking in confusion how the man turned invisible, the dumbfounded expression stamped on the behemoth left him open for reprisal.
Behind Thavan, a daemon appeared. The same daemon whom sent him throttling down this path of self destruction. Realizing what may become of her beloved, Zenara cast herself into the sky. Gusts strong enough to rock Varron, smacked right into the poor sod. All other sights and sounds became a distant image blurring her peripheral.
Crashing into her lover like a speeding bullet, the two spun out of control and past the clutches of death. A blade sliced across thin air, moments before it'd have embedded in Thavan's spine.
Salvation arrived behind deaths embrace. The reaction, one near fatal demanded Zenara take action. "It's me! It's me Thavan!" She plead. Vanamar retracted a blade, meant for her heart.
All of this of course took place while they were airborne. No sooner had their scuffled subsided, the two crashed outside of the cavern, breaking up grass and soil in their collision. Bruised and beaten, Zenara flung past him whilst Vanamar landed on his back. Spent of breath in strained lungs, one gulp of air relieved the burning within.
In that moment of respite Assazion scaled down like a comet falling from above; poison blade poised to dive right into his jugular. Hands rose in self preservation. Missing the softness of veins and neck, the blade cut cleanly through leather and plate and into skin and bone. Dangling by a negligent strand of flesh his pinky finger snapped off, robbing Vanamar of his left hands digit.
Cries of pain were met by a playful, "Shush." The tentacles around its mouth vibrated, enamored at the sight of anguish. Glowing eyes spoke for a face without a mouth. His excitement was palpable. If only he pressed deeper.
Up and directly into that birdcage chest, balled fist made contact against a pair of ribs. Every bone touched through the thin blockage of flesh and muscle, cracked beneath the strain.
Zenara faced unstable matters of her own when Skarlorn disregarded Thavan and made her his conquest. Unable to assist Vanamar, it was time spent for better or worse to hold this daemon at bay.
Bolting at impossible speeds, Zenara cast magic to blast the daemon back or strike him down where he stood. It wasn't working and he was closing the distance. Reaching into her robes, hands clasped a small portable explosive. Launched not a moment too soon, the small device cracked against his armor and simultaneously exploded, immolating the great bastard in blue flames.
No screams ushered forth; no delirious wails echoed in the aftermath of the destruction. A blue haze choked out all other sights as the flames lapped at all in its raging path. A relief seemed all but impossible for Zenara and as his eyes glowing black as pitch glittered through the mist and flames, Zenara steeled herself in the wake of his arrival. Dented armor and a sour disposition demanded she assault from a different angle.
He huffed and the heat of his breath burned hot as smoke and embers flashing into the night sky. Grasping weapon in hand and standing over the fires lapping at his charred armor, his turn had come.
Choking on crushed ribs, blood seeped out of the corners of Assazion's beak. A blade intended to pierce Thavan's heart stuck behind in plated gauntlet and a severed finger. No opportunity had risen and Thavan was quick to gain control in a blood drunk fury. Wrist intertwined in crushing grasp, shattering bone. Another set of digits wrapped firm around tightening windpipe.
Two clashed for control as the duet rose skyward, leaving Zenara and Skarlorn behind. In their immediate takeoff a surge of energy stripped the land bare of life and killed any chaos forces in range.
Bug eyes and gagging breaths culminated as one when Assazion wheezed upon crushed lungs. "What hope remained lay forsaken at the terminus! You cannot resurrect those deceased. Take heed mortal, I grant thee solace in knowing you'll join them alongside your whore and the skaven will face the same course; a destiny each of thee are bound to bare."
Assazion only needed a certain set of choice words to draw out exploitable blind rage in the man. This may have worked, and quite possibly sent one of them on a one way path to victory. What Assazion had not expected in all of this airborne frenzy is that Thavan had a target, and that target was the spine of the giant.
What a magnificent spectacle of blood and gore! Skin penetrated skin. Flesh peeled away muscle as the pressure became too great. Vessels expelled contents of crimson life. Seering hot warmth of slippery entrails and the taste of foul blood poisoned nostrils. It was dark, it was red and it was hell. Organs popped one by one and the rib-cage snapped on the journey to the other side. The duet burst right out of the center of his chest in all its macabre glory. On first glance it resembled one messy and daemonic birth as two twins ripped on their mothers umbilical cord. If that cord was a pair of bloody intestines that is.
Looking down at the crater in his chest, the giant stopped short of smiting Ziv and Varron. Hands idly fumbled at the hole as confusion turned to horrific reality. Weapon fell at his side, following a chunky thud as it collided into the earth and eyes rolled behind the back of his head, leaving behind bloodshot whites. To his knees he landed and with one final thump the head cracked against the earth and the giant lay dead.
Arriving out of the other end neither side fared better. Smeared in blood and offal both felt the sharp pain of bony shards embedded in their vital organs. Adding to this detrimental situation a large bone speared Vanamar's liver, drawing blood between cracked lips.
Rising upon unstable legs the cephalopod lessened the landing by magic. Even then he was no better off: One of the many tentacles hung by strands over his face and the physical form he manifested within was fading. Blood flooded his feet whilst disdain in being bested was evident in his irritated features. A black mark – the most telling of all – crushed his chest inward where Thavan dealt the greatest blow.
Blue magic fluttered betwixt the daemons fingertips. Thavan pondered if this was where he'd die? No words uttered among either side of the scuffle. Legs and arms failed him in his most vital hour and he was left helpless.
No sooner had these thoughts crossed his mind when a flash of metal and armor appeared out of the corner of his eye. Ramming into Assazion like a mad bull was Ziv himself. The slender daemon felt the crack head on, thrashing him to the ground. Shielding Thavan from the brunt of magic, this form of salvation couldn't come sooner.
Stampeding on past his ally, Ziv intended to crush his adversary beneath his feet. This was for naught as he had already dispersed.
Reaching out of the blackest of voids, hands clasped Thavan's shoulders. Too weak to resist whatever horror might befall him, instead he gazed at Ziv one final time whom returned his gesture. In the middle of screams and gunshots a faintest of sounds caught Vanamar's attention. It managed to worm its way into his mind till it made sense in this madness.
The shrill whistle of pipes forcing out hot air clung to his conscious; where could such a sound originate? The noise grew in intensity until Thavan spied the culprit. There was a leak in Ziv's suit. Had an alternative coursed inside Vanamar's mind, it became impossible. Whomever the figure was, pulled him out of harms way when a great explosion of blue engulfed the battlefield where Ziv stood.
Flames singed the tips of Varron's fur. The smell dragged its rancid odor across the blood-stained air. Eyes betrayed him. How can this be? How is it possible? He was there! He was! Left in his place was the charred blue of scorched earth and a black rim around the edges. In the middle of this hellish battle Varron lost his mind.
"Ziv!" A broken scream choked on tears and denial. It was a most hideous wail, conveying every manner of loss imaginable.
Disregarding all other hazards, Varron stormed off, covered head to toe in metallic shards and fragments of his dead friend. Landing directly where Ziv stood only moments ago, he fell to his knees, gathered what little remnants remained of his dearest friend and wept. He wept like a child on that ground, clenching his fist and screaming to a world that cared little for his loss.
"Look at thee. Observe thine countenance and reflect on the imbecile you are. Abrasive and unchained, you'll drag all those down around you for but a whiff of vengeance. And now you've lost your finger, can't bring that back." In the blackness opposite of Thavan, a mirror reflected his presence and a pair of purple and black eyes behind him.
"What I see is a result of your own inaction, daemon." He spat at his reflection whilst lifting his hand up, looking at the missing digit.
She neither reacted positively nor negatively though her response fell within the later. "I comply at mending the flesh yet it is thine responsibility to abide by my machinations as agreed upon."
"My land is burning. What was I to do? Idle hands reflects suicide. Have you seen what is going on out there?" He lashed.
"Beg pardon? Ascertain if you will where this impulsive inclination took thee? It was I whom plucked you from harms reach. And what is this nonsense you speak of? Home? Boy, thou art a pawn in Grodmoor's empire. When the use has ceased you will be cast aside."
"Who's to say the same treatment won't fall upon me from thine own kindness as a parting gift when you have what you want?" His words of distrust grew old to the daemon. Petty squabbles have long since passed.
Disregarding his remark, Seriss drove home another point. "Had that skaven not sacrificed himself and I intervened, you'd be dead at the hands of one seemingly always one step forward and thee two steps behind. Now why is that I ponder?" Coming within visage in the reflection, her finger tapped against her lip, decidedly playing coy.
"Go to hell." Thavan muttered, followed by a parting glance and a cough stained bloody.
Having now turned to face her. "Where's that fire?" She asked of him, sliding slender digits along his bloodied thighs.
Reaching up to the white of a compound fracture, Seriss pulled, moaning at his cry of anguish.
"Goddamned cunt!" He seethed, lashing out and her and trying in vain to snatch her neck in his grasp and throttle her to the blackest abyss.
"That's what I crave to see! Rage is but a tool you fail to utilize! Let me taste the fire in thine soul!" She moaned hoarsely as he fell to his knees, Seriss pushed him down, straddling him. Grinding her cunt on his thighs, her womanhood grew wet, intermixed in the warmth of blood.
Restraining such feeble resistance was simple enough. A dexterous and inhumanly long tongue tasted his neck and cheek, not unlike times past in their first encounter along the sandy wastelands where the tomb kings reside.
"God's what I'd do to kill you." Words departed pain-stricken lungs. These only seemed to entice her further, cultivating feelings only a daughter of the Prince of Pleasure might conjure. Previous employer or not, some urges and their lingering effects are impossible to evade. Sins of our father, so to speak.
"Use that fury." She purred. "Engrave it in this mortal vessel and vindicate oneself in the blood of every being on this world and unto the next. You shan't kill me Thavan. I am stability; I am assurance; I am that which you've always sought. I daresay I admire dedication, though it may be a frivolous vocation. Do go on, I insist. It heralds back to a time when you filled my darkest depths." Seriss groaned in ecstasy, moaning directly into his ear.
"Drowning in fornication, thine fragrant essence warms this soul hot as seed seeping into my womb." A confirmation rang true in the recesses of his subconscious. In some impossible form of magic he made union with not one but two, but where had this thought originate?
"Cease this whorish utterance at once. Home or not, we have made our bed with the skaven. It is their numbers that grant us even a sliver of a chance to win this war. We must return now. No time to dally." His volley of words amounted to nothing beyond the constant barrage of anger and need to fight.
"So insistant." She droaned on, delaying precious time. "Resolve and fire, they grant you the strength to persevere. Discard the title, despoil the flesh, but the essence, the very fabric of woven fibers embodying the core of thine persona, remains tucked away in the eyes of the fallen witch hunter. Corruption is purity inverted and I love to see a beautiful fall from grace."
She'd seen enough. And his patience had run thin. Returning now to the mortal realm the duo touched down onto solid ground and far away from where she saved his life. Nay, not one scratch nor nick remained on his armor or skin and the pain subsided.
To his surprise, time passed differently from his time abroad. In the minute or so they spent locked away, the tides of battle shifted. The wreckage blocking the skaven's ability to muster any form of defense had since been removed.
Forces on both sides clashed, bodies dropped and death crested over the setting star. A brief repose sheltered his mind before the calamitous reality struck him: Varron, but most of all Zenara was nowhere to be seen and it was nightfall before he left.
What was once joy at the thought of slaughter emanated into despair. Where had she gone? What transpired in all of this wasted time. As if sensing this overload, Seriss gripped his arm to which he recoiled. Bolting with eyes wide open, he nearly broke her arm in the scuffle. Seriss said nothing, an eerie silence fell over her and with a gloved hand she pointed to the portal beyond, leading into the chaos domain.
Disregarding his own safety for another, Thavan pushed forward, cutting down daemons in his path for the portal. Trailing behind, his accomplice followed, admiring his craft and the elegance of blood-lust. She couldn't help but allow things to continue undisturbed.
As gunfire subsided, fists punched holes out the back of armor and flesh. When all else failed, his weapon of choice pulverized bones and wrought internal bleeding on failing organs. Mopping up the remnants of casualties was a bonus Vanamar took with stride. Watching the light burn out of dying eyes was the ultimate sign of power.
At the mouth of the portal Thavan stood resolute around scores of the dead and dying. Sweat glistened at the ends of his brow, coating the rim around his eyes in grime and blood. The portal now lay within his grasp and the flow of troops subsided. His conquest had come at the expense of others no doubt. More portals opened at some unspecified time while he was away and both sides clashed for victory over the island. No rest for the Grozen Empire.
Thavan eyed the portal before him. Purple bolts flashed across the black energy of a semi translucent effect. He waited precious moments to ensure there would be no trickery beyond. Gazing at himself through the reflection his armor and clothing glistened a crimson sheen, though not one bit of damage marred him this time around. Distance closed and his accomplice joined him, sidling up beside the human.
"Into the maw, there be no return." It was the last voice he discerned when Vanamar let go of this plain of existence and stepped through, abandoning this world and entered the gates of hell.
A sharp jarring of the mind depicted the feel of cerebrospinal fluid sloshing inside the back of his head. Such a fragile product to waste was it not? Flushed face and hairs stood at attention on entry. Skin and bone and blood all washed anew from the inside out. One might swear they felt their everything rewriting itself in the chaos realm, or perhaps, that was only Thavan Vanamar whom felt the tug of otherworldly power pulling at his mind? A jet of energy washed anew old blood and bone. Such raw intensity throttled harder than impending climax in fertile, squeezing walls.
To be born of the warp and freed from puppet-masters recollected a deep seated longing. It was that steely countenance and black gazing eyes, – rigid and resolute – proving time and time again it was here where he'd belong. Reflections of black glimmered as faint specks in the dark.
Swirling maelstroms grand and unending stripped the land. Rock and earth siphoned up into undulating waves to be spat out into the blackness of thundering skies and purple lightening stretching to what seemed an eternity. The white, foamy waves guiding the sea to shore carried on as far as the hellish skies above. Crashing against onyx colored stone and feeding into blown out pits, the cyclical endeavors proceeded as before. As above so below.
Waterspouts spit skyward, guiding forces of incredible might to the iridescent purple heavens. Massive whirling clouds of varying shades of black carried the malefic rains onto the otherworldly realm. A bluish tinged hue encompassed all sights and scenery in an alluring yet cold gaze.
Standing beside him as he took in the sights and sounds, Seriss spoke no word. Her hand pointed off and below to a nondescript platform of rock.
Five figures dueled for their lives. No need to guess who they were. Thavan leaped from floating rock to floating rock across the endless chasm of waters. A sharp gale cracked against the currents, depositing salty mists against his face and swaying the cape out with each leap of faith. Like black wings they carried him on his journey to the end.
The two daemon's he hardened a personal vendetta against stood on one side of the platform and on the opposing front there remained Zenara, Grodmoor and Varron alive and on the brink of no return.
No time to waste. In a spectacular feet of agility Thavan rushed to the edge, the swirling mass of chaos energy burst off the soles of his feet, propelling him several meters across the chasm and landing him squarely between the two sides with bent knee and hand slamming into the earth. A hole where fist met rock, cracked open a large chunk of the ground, all for the purpose of stabilizing his trajectory. Head tilted upward to bore the countenance of immortal enemies locked on his position.
"The lapdog of Seriss what took you so long?" The deep voiced armored one half mocked/half inquired.
Rising and disregarding his futile attempt to overthrow his mind as before, Thavan was ready. Assazion gazed in contempt at his foe.
Knowing their time was spent, Assazion left a parting gift for his adversaries. A nucleus of swirling black magic cast from his fingertips soared past them all, directing the brunt of magic at Zenara.
It all transpired so fast the sequence of events almost blurred. For Thavan, it was already too late but not for his accomplice. Idle hands played part and parcel with her machinations. Against better judgment Thavan reeled, craning his neck back for the expected results. The deed had been committed.
Expectation drew unimaginable possibilities of even worse depictions in his mind of Zenara sprawled out, dead and covered in blood. But that was just that, an expectation to one such event that had no rhyme or reason to infest his mind – for something else took root. The alternative birthed before his eyes as Grodmoor shield himself in front of Zenara as a last ditch effort to save her. By the time the chaos subsided, Grodmoor laid flat on his back and unresponsive; spouts of blood funneled through the gaps of his lips and down the contours of his face.
In the midst of all this Zenara's voice cracked in the most profound scream, forcing Thavan to examine her doubly sure the possibility she may have faced the brunt of the attack also. That was not the case. As the rains poured onto her disheveled figure, the illuminating colors of darkness and lightening detailed the horror in her glowing eyes and trembling mouth.
Turning to face a blade or a magical attack directed at him in one final act of defiance came exactly as he predicted: they were alone. As the feeling of their isolation crept inward, Thavan felt something he couldn't quite describe.
Completely unfazed by Lord Grodmoor's fate, Vanamar ignored Zenara and Varron's plea for aid. His face instead regarded that of the daemon whom accompanied him. In that gaze there lingered a peculiarity that originated when the isolation set in. He couldn't quite pinpoint it but the disregard for someone he supposedly loved was a stark contrast only just hours before. The strife of the mortal world grew tiresome. Far greater trials awaited them. The duo knew the next time they had an audience with their departed guests, the time to settle the score would come.
# # # #
In the wee hours of dawn a soft stirring commenced. It started with a twitch and the moving of eyes beneath closed lids. Brain activity rose and rose as the grizzled skaven fought against a throbbing headache and the inclination to vomit. Down for the count he was not. Not this time and neither the next.
A wet phlegmy cough purged mucus intermingled in the red of blood through tubes running down his throat. Rising from his bed in private quarters away from prying eyes, he noticed the numerous intravenous needles prodding through patches of shaved fur where bare greyish skin connected to chemicals flooding his insides. Just one of the many reminders telling Lord Grodmoor, 'Oh right, you nearly died.'
Those placed under his care rose to the occasion at the sight of their masters return. Unfortunately for them, he had no intention on remaining here under their orders. There was an empire to run and so, as long as he was capable of standing then his capital took precedence over his own health.
The panicked cries of healers, assistants and doctors insisted he rest and wait it out but that determination would be made only by him.
Another cough and a wave of nausea swept over him, clouding his judgment and mind. The glare of lights and blurred vision served only to hinder his recovery, at least to him and his need to move.
Through all of this, something hadn't sat well in his mind. It felt like his equilibrium was thrown off. Only one eye worked. His peripheral, or lack thereof was nonexistent.
"Mirror." He mumbled, gurgling on more fluids only to be sucked out by the apparatus.
Hastily an attendant fetched the item.
"We-we worked in earnest with your finest surgeons at hand Lord Grodmoor. I regret to inform you milord we strove to the best of our capabilities. It is a wonder you are alive." Meekly the servant deposited the mirror into his clawed hand, allowing the skaven himself to determine what it is he spake.
Gazing into the reflection of one he thought he knew, words, well, Grodmoor had no words of his own countenance. In long, contemplative silence he watched himself through the mirror for some time. Even as the doctor gnawed at his nails in anticipation for what was to follow, nothing happened. Their lord sat in prolonged silence at his own reflection.
Flesh never resisted the plying pull of dark energy in the form of potent chaos magic. Now as he looked into his own reflection, he understood why there remained no sight in his eye. The left orb was but a dead, milky white. A stark contrast from the glow of his right. Reaching up with clawed hand, he touched the remnants of a mangled muzzle and scar tissue. Loose skin hung pendulous down the left side of his face. It almost resembled a stroke as the skin contorted but then lost the tightness it once had. The Grozen Lord could state without a shadow of a doubt he no longer recognized his own face.
Tracts of sutured flesh lay barren of fur. Poisoned by chaos magic his fur could no longer grow on his skeletal face. Spared of this trauma his neck and chest shan't fare better. Scars snaked down his flesh to his chest facing the most invisible of damage.
"Your left lung – the magic baked it from the inside out. Charred and no longer functioning properly, it is why you have contracted this cough. It is a byproduct of your brush with death. You'll live milord but a life of combat is no longer yours to bear. I offer my condolences. Should you deem necessary, I shall take my life for failing you." Obsequious to the end, his head healer bowed in respect and failure to achieve greater results. All others followed in his stead.
"No." Grodmoor, mouthed, low and throaty on gurgling phlegm. "You've saved my life. It is more than I can ask for."
The simple act of breathing became a monumental chore as he stood on twig-like legs. Gripping the bed for support, his confidant provided a cane in the understanding that he would not take no for an answer. At the very least he might ease his burden.
Walking as an invalid, what a pathetic end for one whom conquered so much. Personal ailments aside, his curiosity piqued at the thought of his empire for his people outweighed his own dilemma.
Departing out of the protective walls of his inner keep and down into the city proper, there was no imagining how great the damage was until seeing it with his own eyes. The devastation and loss of life encompassed all manners of the city. From cave-ins to street fighting, so much death and each damaged section of the city was a story unto itself.
Some sections of the city lay flattened beneath rubble and debris. His people cleared portions out street by street. And unto this very moment they continually cleared wreckage in search of loved ones trapped underneath.
One of the grand mushrooms illuminating the cavern dislodged in the fighting and flattened an entire portion of the city. The last rays of blue light fluttered out of its dying form. Each hour its faint glow lessened, soon to grow dormant in the coming days and an eerie reminder of how close they were to following its path.
What a mess this has become. What a goddamned mess! So much he strove toward and lost in a matter of hours. His face, his people, their honor, all gone. Were it not for his disability he'd have stormed down there himself to provide aid.
This introspection and anger had been cut short. Something toward the surface attracted the attention of his followers who were none the wiser of their leader. His features no longer mirrored that whom they'd come to recognize. He was as many others; A casualty of war.
The journey to the surface was a long and arduous one. Lungs taxed to max capacity and a steady stream of phlegm hampered his progress. Nevertheless he remained steadfast in his ascent. It wasn't the hardest task he committed to, he has faced worse in fact. It just may take some time to acclimate to his new setting. Though when his eyes gleaned the surface, Grodmoor second guessed his intentions and believed it best to have remained behind the safety of the castles walls.
Scores of chaos troops intermixed with the barbarians from Norsca all encountered a harrowing fate: Skewered on poles inserted into the anus and out the mouth, the sight before him rung of profound consequences. Gaping mouths hung slackened as the foreign invader speared right on through like a caught fish, drying in the sun. It wasn't the only piece Grodmoor picked up on. Stripped of their clothing and emasculated, their genitals were cut and discarded. The smell of rot hung heavy in the putrid air. Empty sockets robbed of eyesight leaked black fluids down sunken cheeks.
More and more poles rose up on the grassy fields facing toward the mountain in the distance. Skaven worked tirelessly to enact the foul markings along the scorched landscape. Black clouds circled overhead in the midst of midday. A dark omen in the eyes of Grodmoor. Cresting over the mountain, Morrslieb hung low and pierced the black of the sky painting the locale a caustic green coloration.
In the distance erecting another pole with his bare hands was the only human inhabiting this island. To Grodmoor's unbelieving eyes, Zenara assisted him.
It was necessary for him that he approach these two and discover what madness crept over their minds. When he closed the distance, Thavan called to him before he might get the first word in. "Can you see Grodmoor, with your own two eyes what we have wrought on these interlopers? This fate is what each of them are destined to reap." Even in his mangled state the human recognized him.
Grodmoor refrained from speech. His eyes wandered across the remnants of a battle he took no part of. The act of leaving a mark across the land as a warning for others isn't what concerned him as he'd do the same. It was the means in which Thavan exerted his control over his people and the fact that what he did eerily mirrored the opposition.
"I can see the questioning in your eyes. You believe I forced this upon Zenara. You fool, it was her decision." Thavan remarked.
Zenara turned to regard Grodmoor. The color in her blues eyes wandered over him and her deathly empty expression unnerved the handicapped skaven. She hadn't even the decency to question his health. What had become of this city since he risked his life to save her? If only he waited and inquired information from the healers before he departed. How long could it have been?
Amid corpses under a black, cloudy sky Grodmoor pondered if this was the time in question? Never to be outdone, all appeared to be lining up in his hidden agenda. Even if there were some unexpected results.
"What is this?" Grodmoor motioned for the poles and corpses around him.
Thavan eyed them then back to Grodmoor. "This is only the beginning." He stated coldly, turning his back on the skaven. And all Grodmoor could do was smile. The end to a long winding road was coming to a close.
One thing I would like to say about this book, is detail the crushing blackness that is the last 5-6 chapters. Yes the book is dark but near the end the pure chaos ramps up to extreme lengths as you see major characters die and other horrible things transpire. I hope you all are enjoying the deluge of content. Have a great day/night.