Of Atonement and Salvation: The End Times
Chapter 19
Revered Destruction
Written by S. J. Kandil
In command of a crew of five, Varron skimmed over the ragtag team with a modicum of disgust. Lingering animosity surrounding the skaven, humans, and singular vampire comprising his staff wasn't founded on bigoted practices. Nay, Varron felt the grasp of emotions tugging at his heartstrings. The recent loss of his closest cadre of allies and friends deprived the soldier of a sense of camaraderie in this hellish war. He grieved for his pack and there awaited nobody to join him. And as Zenara and Vanamar both chose a path he'd take no part of, Varron accepted in contemplative silence that he was the last of the old guard.
A new set of orders came down from high command and the task moving forward was something he'd relish in achieving; but these foreign faces reminded him just how alone he was and how happier he'd be when he too, joined his kin. It was a sad reality but there was nothing left for him here and only somewhere beyond this mortal coil he might attain happiness. If that was even possible.
Grieving among the public is something he'd never do. Bottling these emotions up was the only acceptable course of action.
Varron achieved his accommodations and war trophies for his stalwart practices and undying loyalty to his empire. If they knew it was he whom wished he died that fateful day when Ziv sacrificed himself for a man who irrevocably altered all that he was to follow a one way path of vengeance, would they have so eagerly given him such a monumental task? Actually, they probably would because the journey he departed for was quite possibly a one way trip.
The indifference of his mannerisms seemed not to affect the expectant eyes of upstart recruits waiting for their commander to speak – and speak he did.
"As you know, in our previous discourse, I worked in conjunction with Kreevan and many other engineers on explosive ordnance capable of levelin' an entire landmass in a small traversable package. What knowledge we omitted for fear of it slipping, is we are currently housing that weapon in the confines of this here vessel. What you need to know is we're headin' for the center of Norsca. Time's short. Once activated, we flee and-and before this rock becomes a monument for all our tombs. Any questions?" He eyed the crew with steely conviction.
An upstart - the youngest of the crew – waved rapidly in the air.
"Yes?"
"Sir, pardon my ignorance, but if there exists a bomb capable of destroying an entire landmass, what hope have we of escaping the continent before detonation? Additionally, why are an assortment of vehicles accompanying us?" He inquired, bright inquisitive eyes, notwithstanding.
"Right. Our forces are spread thin; fightin' 'cross three continents in a protracted yet losing war. We scrounged what we could to act as a diversion while we plant the bomb undisturbed. As for survival, our weapon will glass the surface. Deeper down into the core we should be alright. Though all of us knew what may happen when we were assigned to this task, with or without knowledge of the bomb. We may not be returnin' home. Whatever that may be anymore." Varron muttered the final sentence beneath his breath.
"Speak for yourself, rat. At the behest of Neferata I am here to serve. If you believe the journey ends in death, do not deny me the pleasure of thine own end. As for myself, I know eternity." His vampire acquaintance mouthed with all the haughty arrogance of her kind.
Varron waved his hand. "Ah, yes, the information I revealed was omitted from all but thee. She, our guest Hiseelia commits herself to the war effort. Do not fear her mortals; she is an ally." Avoiding a confrontation he spoke to her sensibilities.
Internally, Varron was reeling. What was Grodmoor thinking supplying him with a group of divided mortals? Better yet, what was Varron himself thinking? God's know this was all a ruse. The truth of the matter was...well, Varron lied. These miserable whelps served a singular purpose of slowing the Norscan war machine to a crawl. All were expendable, except him and Hiseelia of course.
When their venture exceeded its course, she'd be there to pluck the two out of continental annihilation. Had Varron entrusted his life to Hiseelia? Need one even express the obvious answer to that? Life and death became one and the same for him. It made no difference to him which way the rope pulled.
All tens of thousands of their allies arrived, acting as a diversion only destined to die in the end and only a handful of souls knew this. It had not set well with him and living with that lie only worsened his disposition. Resting like poisoned meat in his gut, nothing could shake the burning within.
Hiding in the shadows surrounded by a reality built upon deceit was the life of an Eshin Assassin, not him. This war meant sacrifices must be made and though he despised it and what it morphed him into, he knew the survival of the Grozen Empire took precedence over the needs of the few.
The lonely road before him was borne out of desperation by his superiors. The war covered the globe as all walks of life fought for their very existence. Could anything be salvaged through so much destruction?
# # # #
"I...I have no words for my actions. No excuse can rid me of this sickening feeling. At your side is where I needed to be most." Zenara held back tears at the horrific sight of Grodmoor's mangled flesh.
"You risked your life and I, I have failed you." Grodmoor rose his hand. She silenced.
Seated on his throne he watched Zenara well up with tears. There harbored no ill will nor resentment toward her, only indifference. "Expend energy on unchanging misfortunes? You have your duties and a war to win; with or without me."
"Nonsense. You speak these words to relieve the rising tension, yet you allude to something else."
Grodmoor's eyes followed her. Even in this state of despair he never lost the gaze of a predator. "And what is it I am thinking Zenara?"
"Playing coy will achieve nothing. I'm not some skaven clan you intend to win favors over. Remember whom you are speaking to." She enunciated, tinged in anger.
Grodmoor clasped his hands. "Oh, I haven't forgotten, which makes it cut that much deeper. Where has thine loyalty drifted?"
She eyed him suspiciously. "You believe it is Vanamar's doing?"
"For a being in tune so deeply with the flow and tide of the winds you are one dense creature. His influence over you is astounding." His words were not thinly veiled or playful in nature, it was malevolent.
"All roads return to the human with you at his side. Thavan is not your scapegoat nor the myriad of other martyrs sent in droves to the slaughter-fields in your name. He suffers because of you. He was molded by you. I am loyal to this empire. I am loyal to you and always have been. But I will stand by Thavan for he has none and above all, he is the only individual possibly capable of ending this horde. The monster you see was orchestrated by you. You have what you wanted."
"And he will die beside the old era. There is no place for one such as him when the world is washed anew."
Zenara's furry temple flared. "You sit on your throne and preach of change and yet what have you done to bring about this change? It is the pawns you put into position by using all those around you that elevated you to this status."
Grodmoor appeared unamused. "Exactly that. I am the great orchestrator putting the pawns into position to save this pathetic world. Humanity fails in the end and so does every other species. Were it not for me and your vision, the world was destined to oblivion. Look at you, look at how you recoil in rage and only moments ago, welled with tears. You and him are one and the same. You belong to each other."
A moment of clarity sparked fear in her eyes. It was telling as muscles clenched and mouth hung ajar. "He is our key to freedom."
A sharp and pronounced cough followed by the flowing of blood trailed down his muzzle. "Continue telling yourself that if needed all in the name of mutual destruction. Remember, you cling to one whom so adamantly cast aside all of his closest kin. The man turned on his species Zenara. And he will do unto you as he has all those before him. This will come to pass."
Zenara, tense as ever, held her staff so tightly a sliver of blood fell down the black base. In denial she blurted, "Envious of my future, there is a place for me but you will rot on this throne alone. Of that I am certain. My days are numbered here and when this war concludes, I will bid thee farewell." She intoned haughty and arrogant.
Lidded eyes betrayed much through the milky white and crimson glow. "So much for loyalty, eh? All that I have done for you surrendered at the prospect of a new beginning befits you. The aloof sorceress believing she above destiny. The whore eager to spread thighs for a human was but a puppet in our eyes. You are my greatest failure."
Rising temper eclipsed lashing tongue. Thoughts pervaded her mind of many possibilities all ending in pain. "I am the furthest from yours."
"Indeed." He wheezed, spittle landing on the edge of his muzzle.
"Go to hell." She seethed.
"Have you looked outside? We're already in it." He mused.
After several seconds of silence Grodmoor took the hint: There'd be no further exchange. He instead, pressed the attack. "Do you have the faintest inkling of how I've operated this empire? It was never for my namesake or to be remembered as the hero of some war. It was to prevent us from complete and utter annihilation. I sent Thavan to the Silver Pinnacle harboring the insight he'd not return unmolested. I feel no sympathy for him nor my actions that led me to this path. Their alliance was simple enough:sSteal an artifact and offer up the human as a concession. I made it clear there was to be no killing, nor maiming of the human to which they obliged without complaint. Every web of intrigue, every task be it little or great, all originated out of my obligation to prevent genocide. Were it not for my voice alone, Thavan Vanamar would have died there. Know this sorceress: There won't be a next time." Pointing to his scars her eyes watched in what turned from hate to disgust.
"You orchestrated his collapse." She stated breathless.
"I did and so did you. Have you forgotten you damned his entire cadre of troops to act as a diversion if only to weaken Clan Vanmeek. If anything, it was you who set him on this great path. I only nudged where necessary. One sacrifice for billions is a worthy cause I am willing to live and die by. This dream you planted in your mind of eloping and having half breeds is just that, a fantasy. You both did your part as I had foreseen and wanted but you have overstayed your welcome." He spit on the floor in disgust, tainting the marble red.
It wasn't just the searing hate inside her body pumping adrenaline across all parts of her core and mind that tore at the sorceress, no, there lingered deep resentment so profound that if she were to observe her own countenance, she'd notice the blue in her eyes was fleeting and black was all that remained.
A frightful acceptance washed over her. Zenara smiled and nodded. "Goodbye Grodmoor." Her spiteful rhetoric may have proceeded further had a cooler head not intervened.
First there were two and now there were three. The third voice once depicting meekness and demure mannerisms acted out in defiance. "Treason, you utter treason! You walk away from your people and spit in his face as he near death for you. You deserve nothing." Feefee clamored, the spectacle adorned assistant of Lord Grodmoor.
Zenara towered over the petite skaven, rising with crooked limbs, craned neck and poised staff. She embodied something akin to a monster moreso than the skaven she was, soon to devour anything that challenge her. As if perhaps something else was controlling her mortal form, Bolts of energy burst at the source of her magical staff and she pressed for her enemy. "One more word out of you and I will bleach your bones on my throne!"
Feefee cowered in defense at her aggressor. Legs trembled and tail hung feebly between quivering legs. So much for standing her ground. Shivering behind Grodmoor's throne the contents of her bladder expelled. The warm trickle of fluids slid down her robes and onto the floor.
Out of the blackness of shadow and in the absence of light another presence emerged. Had it been hiding and waiting for the opportune time to strike or could it have truly materialized out of the blackest corners of the throne room? That question would remain a mystery.
"Convenient of you to reveal critical information in a time like this when eyes and ears are everywhere. Could it be you let slip vital information with the intent of an outsider joining in?" Now the final one arrived.
Bathed in black garb, juxtaposed to the pallor stricken skin on his face, Thavan's deadly black eyes matched Zenara's though the lack of emotion hid the ill intent dedicated for the one seated on the throne.
The cold steel of his machine pistol gleamed in the candlelight. Aimed squarely at Grodmoor's chest, the goal was of deadly conviction. Black veins traced above and below his neck. Dark colors saturated his eyelids as if they were dipped in the inky void of space.
Reaching over his shoulder, Thavan stripped the cape from his armor and flung it forward. Landing on the floor, the insignia of the Grozen Empire lay at Grodmoor's feet.
Neither side made their intent known as each expression was as a wall, stone cold and lacking any visual cue of what was to come. As Thavan approached him Grodmoor only sat in silence and watched.
Zenara also uttered not a peep, watching the scene unfold without intervention.
"Why must I deceive an audience whom so eagerly clamors for my attention? This is your chance is it not?" Wheezing on pained lungs, Grodmoor spat coagulated blood into his rag he held to gather body fluids. Pushing his hand down he watched as the chunks collected into a pool of drying blood.
Feefee attempted assistance to which Grodmoor was quick to shoo her away.
"Here to tie off loose ends." No charm to his voice, no source of life, it was cold and lacking in avenues. There was nothing left.
"Then do it."
Finally for Thavan, there was closure. "I know where I'm going. I'll see you there."
Zenara's muffled scream came too little too late – A moment frozen in time. Everything she ever knew came crashing and burning down.
Trigger cracked back so hard, part of the metal shattered and the machine pistol screeched a deluge of bullets to the last round. Smoke hissed out of the muzzle and into the cool, damp air. A cloud of gray dispersed, leaving behind the macabre sight. Hunched over and spewing blood out of countless bullet holes sat Grodmoor, the ruler of The Grozen Empire dead at Thavan Vanamar's hands. His scarred form twitched, the last synapses of life fluttering to the great beyond.
In the midst of the chaos Thavan emitted a painful cry. Skin peeled back and two black horns ripped out of his forehead. Blood trickled down his face, under his eyes and stained his lips.
And as this transpired, the pious skaven frenzied. The man who once protected her life and sheltered her when he was at his lowest, took the one thing most precious to her in this dismal world. It was he and he alone that gave her purpose and that fucking human stripped her of the last vestiges of sense in this life.
And so, he'd get what he deserved. Unsheathed blade constricted between tightening digits. A glint of steel flashed and the intended target aimed squarely for his jugular. Thavan discarded the handgun and caught her hand in his own. Crushing down, slow and methodical he savored her meek protest and examined every detail of anger subside and dawning acceptance crest over the subjugated skaven. Like a vice, constricting without relent, her puny bones crushed beneath his grasp. The screams that followed would chill any soul except for him.
Losing her dagger in the scuffle, Thavan gained complete control by placing his other hand over her throat. Windpipes are such feeble pieces of the mammal anatomy. Apply just the right amount of pressure and it snaps like tinder. Her beady red eyes bulged harder than a boggling rat and foam emanated out of corners of her muzzle. There resembled no difference between her and an animal with rabies. And Thavan knew what must be done to creatures suffering incurable ailments.
Her teeth clenched so viciously her tongue felt the full force of locking jaw. Sliced in half by the incredible bite force, blood filled the mouth and pressed through the cracks of the teeth. And as for the severed appendage, it splat against Thavan's cheek, sliding down and leaving behind a slimy trail.
Raising her on high with one hand, she resembled a flag soon to be embedded into the earth as a reminder of who conquered this land. He hadn't hesitated to expend a grand show of force and she and Grodmoor were the conquest.
Feefee thrashed in the air like a fish on dry land. Unable to withstand the coming assault it was all she could do till he thrashed her down with such unprecedented force she actually broke through the marble floor and embedded into the busted rubble, leaving a physical cutout of her mangled body and a spine piercing out of her chest. Crumbled into a contorted pose she lay still as blood filled the hole in which she resided.
To his ears and eyes the crunch of cracking bone and the macabre pose to which became her final moment on this planet forced a subtle smirk, admiring such vile handiwork. At least in death she served a purpose.
Brought back to reality and the consequences of his actions, Zenara begged, "Why?"
He turned granting her no illusion of regret. "Why? Why remain idle when an opportunity to stab me in the back was always there? Ask yourself that." Leaving her to ponder on the horror of what he implied, in burst Grodmoor's honor guards to see a spectacle of death.
They never hesitated as each took aim and fired. The retort rocked the room and echoed in the confines of the chamber; but it was already too late. His physical form dissipated. On his journey to tie all loose ends there was one final task at hand.
# # # #
High atop the jagged peaks of central Norsca a birds eye view of biting chill and frostbitten cliffs into valleys plunged waste deep in snow depicted a place no sane person should ever want to take refuge at. It harbored a hellish landscape that only the strongest might persevere. And if the inhabitants had anything to say about those claims, they'd remark a positive affirmation.
The mountain pass split the earth in two, leading into an open plain detailing a rather peculiar oddity of technology and the lack thereof in a struggle of blood and metal.
Mighty mammoths clashed against prodding skaven vehicles of war aiming to fell the great beasts. Stomping and spearing opposition with might and ferocity the sheer force of such a creature demanded a wide berth. Werewolves and chariots dragged by snarling beasts thrust into the heart of the skaven assault.
Varron never dreamed in his right mind such an army remained behind while the bulk of Norsca penetrated the southlands. Now he truly understood why those above him were willing to sacrifice so many. In the grand scheme of things, this was a drop of water in comparison to their forces. Worst of all, not even his superiors anticipated such overwhelming odds. The horror of a suicidal mission silenced those fresh faces among him whom clamored for war now shook silently to the rocking of their vehicle.
The dissonant noise of thousands of sounds clashing and colliding pounded his eardrums. One after the other the beating hit thumped hard into his heart and vibrated through his entire body. From the deep bass of cannon fire to the wheezing of fuel lines bursting and immolating all inside into charred husks soon to be covered and forgotten in snow, the sight and sound was utter madness. The screaming shrieks of great beasts dying in fresh fallen white and weapons firing blurred the lines of the scenery before him. Thrice damn these sensitive skaven ears.
Operating the death treader with a foreign crew in a land never traversed by foreign powers whilst an erratic vampire lamented him on every step of the way on equipment she has no understanding of just about brought him down to drinking himself into a coma.
"I seem to recall it was I who knows a thing or two concernin' how to operate this vehicle, seein' as how I helped build the damn thing! Don't need you breathin' down my neck. Though, I suppose that's what your kind does best." Though she could not see, he was about ready to bite out her throat.
Weaving between the crushing steps of mammoths and flaming arrows of barbarians along with other beasts of war in between was within his realm of capabilities, the vampire was not. The vampire had to go and she knew it. Reverting her gaze from imminent death around every corner, she resigned herself to the other members and waited. Once again he could breathe and focus on what taxed his mind so deeply.
How could the reconnaissance have gotten this so wrong? These unanswered questions perturbed Varron. The situation was too convenient for the opposition. All answers pointed toward a trap and the insanity before him conveyed the pressing reality he witnessed. No matter the hardship, no matter the task, no matter the pain endured, he'd see it through to the end. Today had one future in sight: The destruction of Norsca.
One should never doubt Varron's commitment to the cause; only his ebbing sanity that was in short supply these days was the true subject for concern. The stability of his world faded with the dying star. Yet, he can only fathom what other trials skaven and humans alike are facing. He is but a face in a sea of millions. What difference does it make? Mowing down wolves and trolls by tread and slicing blades granted him purpose and reinvigorated a losing battle.
Bone and blood stripped free of the fleshy skin cocoon, depositing hot, rancid innards onto stained snow. Screams and gurgled growls ceased, crushed beneath tires and treads. Carriers of skaven forces offloaded onto the shaky front-line. Splitting the forces up continued with the diversion as planned even with the destabilizing battle soon to be decided.
Varron dispensed every cannon, rocket pod and missile at his command, exhausting all munitions on his path to the mountain pass. The mountain pass, two snow-capped peaks on either side awaited him standing resolute and silent among the countless deaths. As if watching Varron and judging him on that snaking path upon which he was determined to detonate the bomb.
If only someway there existed a means to arrive here closer, under the cover of anonymity. Underground wasn't an option for Grodmoor and his scientists, as they hypothesized the best course of action was to detonate the ordnance at the most comprised location of chaos magic. This would be the catalyst to draw in unimaginable carnage and exact total annihilation of the island – or so they claim.
To impede matters further, all that blood and gore gummed up the treads. This wouldn't have phased the skaven since ultimately the vehicle was to be left behind. Of course, that is until the harsh winter storm concealing a sizable boulder uncovered the blockade at a most inopportune time. Unable to shift away due to the blood, the vehicle smacked directly into the boulder, sending the vessel airborne and all occupants restraints snapping followed by each and every one of them hurdling in the tight compartment.
In that moment of clarity Varron felt each millisecond ebb by exaggeratedly pronounced. Airborne and thrust from his seat, the impending contact with glass was the least of his concerns. Was there a chance the bomb may detonate? Would he die here; failing all those who relied on him? A chance such as this, executing without upheaval seemed nigh impossible. And now these nagging questions, brushed off hours before all collided together with excruciating finesse.
And of course the questions ceased when face met glass. For what goes up must come down. And down it had, thrashing into the earth so viciously permafrost cracked and ripped up as tires stripped off one by one and treads separated from their base.
It had not ended there either, The vessel faced another volley of damage as it began flipping and ripping itself apart in the destruction. Each successive overturn thrashed all occupants and battered them beyond comprehension. A trail of parts led the enemies to their location like a blood-drawn trail on the hunt for an injured beast. Strewn about from the source of their landing to their final destination, the wrecked hull creaked and flames burst out of the shattered frame, wheezing on its last vestiges of life support.
Crumbled against the glass, blood trickled down his brow and along his muzzle where Varron lay indisposed. Well, his neck wasn't broken and he was cognitive so he reckoned that was a start, if any. Sitting still he verified the feeling of blood trailing down his face, yes. And he also noticed an overwhelming soreness – to be expected – and fatigue about ready to knock his ass out. Of these two ailments, he noted no broken bones. As an extra precaution he felt for his limbs, making a mental note all faculties were in order. By gods, he'd finish this once and for all.
Punching against the glass Varron groaned as every muscle in his body screamed in collective rage. How dare he move when everything was wrong! Just as he reached for a way to pull himself up a figure, jerked him and into a standing position much to the chagrin of his body.
"Out!" Hiseelia growled. "Time has passed. We conclude these affairs now, or I abandon you." The finality to her words shuttered the growing migraine in his noggin.
Standing and guided by her assistance, his equilibrium was thrown into despair, vomiting up the remnants of his previous meal, the judging eyes of the vampire lingered over his pained form, content in never hiding her disdain for his species.
At that precise moment, he saw how bad it truly was. All three of their compatriots lay dead in macabre, contorted poses with broken bones and necks twisted to degrees he never thought possible. Guess it'd be better to die now than be lied to and left behind.
The bomb, since its unexpected incident, broke free of its straps and now was pressed against the bay door at the rearmost exit of the Death Treader.
"Damaged?" Varron cringed, nursing his bruised skull.
"A superficial scrape or two."
Varron nodded. "Powers still runnin' then it's only a matter of getting it outside and onto the surface."
The bombs internals hid behind a protective shield consisting of layers of metal and other alloys to soften unexpected incidents such as this. If it indeed was unscathed, then he'd have to take her for her word.
Bracing against the remains of his vehicle, Varron hit the opening to the bay doors in the hopes that some power remained. The upper row started first then lagged behind the bottom. And then both stuck in a perpetual rhythm. They wheezed, They ground and both remained in a state of battle with the gears until finally something snapped within and at that instant it acquiesced and sprung open with enough force to rip off a trolls head. Albeit, a bit too fast for his liking as the bomb flung out and crashed into the snow, breaking up ice along with its arrival.
Varron ducked over hanging debris and stepped onto the windswept treeless tundra. Beside him she stood, awaiting his decision though it was useless. He knew as had she there was no moving this hefty object. Indeed, it was small enough to stow away in the cargo bay and contained more firepower than imaginable but there were limitations and that was the extreme weight.
He knew whatever it was they'd equip Thavan with had to overcome several hurdles. That much was certain. As they stood surrounding the wreckage, a battle of ungodly scale waged beyond their meager shelter proving yet again how minuscule they were and yet such a vital key to end these barbarians once and for all.
Varron began in earnest, peeling back the outer shell. A stubborn section resisted but with his tools at the ready it came off as with all parts. In reality, every sequence of events to prepare this weapon should have gone off in a cinch. A few button presses and the device would be ready but the release mechanism seized up at a most inopportune time. A few more minor adjustments and there it was; a glass shield of impenetrable armor contained glowing blue fluids casting a glow over his figure. In the reflection, relief flooded his features.
"It really is safe."
"Yes, I knew this." She spat in arrogance. "Presumably my words fall on deaf ears."
Refraining from participating in her game he voiced another thought, "Never gonna move it beyond here. It'll have to suffice. Any words of wisdom you'd wish to entail?"
Hiseelia's red eye glanced beyond their little wreckage a clear enough sign of her wish to be silent. Roughly half a mile away the mountain pass was out of reach forever.
"So be it." She hissed. "Skaven, have you surmised the reason behind their intentions? Come now, you know, don't you? Why else should we waste precious resources when a swift kill was assured." She smirked acknowledging some hidden plot.
Varron held the detonator firmly in his grasp. "Don't play games, neck drinker. I know very well the reason why. Humanities coastline will no longer exist when we are done here. We are all suffering and making sacrifices."
"Are you capable of presiding over the deaths of tens of thousands? Perhaps hundreds of thousands?" The sultry grin that followed revealed the true bloody nature of her beautiful face belying the monster beneath.
"Shut yer mouth." He blurted, tired of her insistent yammering.
To his shock she did just that. Varron performed one final routine inspection, ensuring all the diagnostics were a go before they left this place behind. The metallic legs hiding on the underside squealed mechanically and stretched their legs partially into the snow and ice. There was no sign of damage so no need to wait. Of course, none of this will matter if that 5 second delay doesn't activate.
Her approval was one thing but he must verify all was in working order. If they abandon this place, it can only be left behind one way. Her words meant nothing to him for this chance is something they deeply relied upon. Once he was satisfied he moved out of the kneeling position, stood, and called out, "Vampire, are you ready? I'm prepped and gonna hit the charge on your signal."
Another couple seconds passed. "Hiseelia?" He called out, almost cautious in his approach.
A splatter of warmth splashed against fur. Oh gods, the chaos. A brief moment of survival instincts kicked in. Reeling on his feet and machine pistol at the ready, Varron preemptively readied to dispatch whomever was asking an audience with death.
At the sight of his would be aggressor, Varron froze. Gawking at her dead eyes rolled into the back of her head, red veins traced all along the whites. Tongue lolled out in a rather perverse manner. Gazing downward he bore witness to the gaping hole in her chest. Right on through he distinguished the white of cracked rib-cage, intermixed with mangled entrails slopping out of the hole like wet noodles so pink and slippery.
In the middle of this macabre scenery was the fist that made short work of the vampire. Clenched within that fist was a small reddish object still beating life. It was her heart. Pulse after pulse, blood squeezed through the valves and down the interlopers hands and into the snow till not a drop remained.
Applying pressure, the heart crushed beneath its grasp; popping not unlike a pimple filled with puss. The splatter smacked Varron's cheek and the remnants slithered down the black glove as the hand released.
Hiseelia fell forward and the hand was freed of her chest cavity. Face first in the snow, garbed in black dress she landed in a pool of red. Cold and dead. The individual whom dispatched the vampire shook its hand discarding the remaining proof of her life into the cavity where snow fouled crimson.
It was not the death of Hiseelia that startled the skaven, nay. It was the individual across where he stood that left him in a frigid state. Thavan Vanamar awaited him. What he had not expected was a firearm leveled at his chest.
The utter evil in his eyes was proof enough for Varron he became something else. Protruding out of his forehead, short, black horns pierced through flesh and bone and black veins marred all corners of his face and visible skin. By this point in time, he had more in common with the opposition on a physical level and most probably a mental state too. And it had not stopped there either. His eyelids were black as coal; as if the poison spread beyond his eyes and to every corner of flesh.
Even something as simple as self-care which he prided himself on was long lost to time. Long flowing black locks of hair and a dense beard covered most of his facial features. What visible skin remained now lay detailed in daemonic symbols. No doubt beneath the layers of clothing his entire figure was covered in the blasphemous script.
Fragments of bone and dried blood tattered his black locks. A sickening aura encompassed the former witch hunter. As an ill feeling washed over the skaven, this notion became fact. Varron found him indistinguishable from the man they rescued and nurtured years ago to this spitting image of a chaos champion.
"Heh. Only seems plausible it'd be you. You look like hell, Thavan." No need to beat around the bush when he had a solid understanding of where this exchange headed.
"Thavan, er, should I say Light Bearer? Decided to change yer' name I see."
For a scant few seconds he held the firearm at his chest and only listened to Varron's words. "It serves its purpose. The remnants of my past are shed." He proclaimed. Stony coldness and those black hole eyes would send shivers down the most stalwart of souls but Varron wasn't budging.
"And this is the repayment owed to us, we who took you in? Your family. Those be words by yer' tongue Vanamar. In your blind arrogance you'll soon see the ending awaiting you will be the loneliest of all."
The Light Bearer stood still. Nothing said affected him in the slightest. No blinking, no reaction, neither aggressive or remorse – he only listened.
"So...why level a gun at me?" It was fair question and one he felt he'd have better luck with than the previous point made.
"You are the sacrifice. I cannot allow you to return unscathed and she indisposed." The sarcastic remark as he nodded to the dead figure below was rather bizarre given his mainly deadpan expression so far.
"To put it simply, our allegiance to these vampires will crumble and though I am fouled by their arrogance and freedom to walk among our lands, I am not beneath using them. A beneficial means to an end so it seems. They are necessary. You've expended your worth."
Nothing. Not a hint of sincerity or regret in his eyes as the emptiness contained inside now wrought onto Varron's livelihood.
To his credit, he was a good sport, laughing it off. "Seems logical. I'm tired of living on this planet. Been ready to say my farewells for sometime now. Shame a second round in the tavern never materialized. I'd kick yer' ass again." Laughing alone it was another moment of clarity where Varron no longer had a friend in him.
Collecting himself as the battle grew close and time was running out, he offered a parting gift, "Thavan, I hope, no, I pray your god is fairer to you than our journey was to us. I pray you find the peace you've always longed for."
Sparing Thavan the expense of needing to add another body to a long list of death, Varron pressed the detonator. Betwixt loosening digits the device fell into the snow.
Thavan lowered the gun, titled his head upward, glanced at Varron one final time seemingly as if he wanted to stay there with him and then in one blink, disappeared out of existence.
Behind Varron the liquids reacted instantaneously. A sharp hiss like steam passing through straining pipes rang first then the fluids bubbled and the results were catastrophic.
"I'll seeyah soon, Ziv." Varron muttered under his breath before the white of light swallowed him where he stood.
# # # #
High above in the blackest reaches of space overlooking a fertile land of vibrant greens and deep blues depicted a scenic place where one might call home. Those unwise to the hellish landscape and constant warfare would claim there was a soothing presence exhibiting among this sphere of life.
The jagged stretches of land and high distant peaks covered by a complete whiteout over Norsca depicted a soothing effect when seen from orbit. All seemed so well and tranquil.
In the brief moment of tranquility all was snatched free, forgotten as was the peninsula right at the heart of the landmass. Immolated in swallowing white light the immense explosion pierced the veil tearing asunder the ground and the heavens above, choking out clouds and precipitation in its all consuming path. Mountains disintegrated to dust. Planes covered by snow boiled over and burst into flames scorching the landmass to glass.
Fissures tore open like spread rib-cages into titanic sinkholes swallowing large swaths of rock and debris. Northlanders, skaven, humans; all of them vaporized beneath the might of a weapon so great.
Were it feasibly possible to witness the destruction from above, those capable of seeing such catastrophic results would bear witness to the brightest most destructive image of their lives. A power so immense the entire world felt it as earthquakes triggered on every continent. Those who could have seen it without facing their end would come into a world of darkness, robbed of their own sight. And all of this came about by warplock engineers working beneath soil and rock, stretching across the old world under the watchful eye of the now deceased Grodmoor.
Norsca and the peninsula disintegrated. Landmasses shifted beneath the boiling Sea of Claws and Chaos respectively. Out of the ashes, tiny fragments of land jutted out like long spires of rock piercing the ocean and resembling jagged towers borne out of the chaos realm. All the rest was blown away or swallowed into the blackest abyss of the ocean.
Anything north of Troll Country slipped off into jagged cliffs descending into scorching water bubbling in fire. Grodmoor's intentions were well warranted. Evading The Empire of Man was one of his primary concerns. Their numbers were needed. Yet because they had acted early and did not activate the bomb at its proper coordinates, a new horror manifested.
A grand wave towering thousands of meters over the puny mortal realm, materialized in the aftermath of the death toll enacted onto Norsca. Down and southwest it raged toward the coast of Estalia. Unsuspecting mortals roused out of their slumber to the lumbering giant of ungodly wrath.
White waves swirled, rising higher and higher as if the very wave itself swallowed up all sources of water to grow immense heights, threatening to destroy the entire nation. Unfortunately for them, that is what it did. Cities of ancient times were swept up in the whelming wave. History and the lives of so many pulled down into the deepest of depths, forever swallowed into the deep. Every living being in Estalia and Norsca died.
# # # #
In the minds of the Grozen Empire's superiors, the lines of succession blurred. Heated arguments and lashing tongues clashed as all forces vied for control of Grodmoor's throne. Should this incident proceed as follows, another skaven civil war was on the rise and then all that he established was doomed to crumble.
Each one of them believed it clear who might aspire to the head of state. Lesser beings seem to lose track of the secondary syllable in Grozen's name.
Bursting through the two doors leading into the throne room and heated in a boiling temper, came Zenara, staff in hand and all eyes set to her. The cacophonous screams stilled and each and every one of them waited with bated breath.
"In the wake of our leader's death you strike as serpents destined toward a prize unattainable. Let it be known I assume direct control over this empire and all its properties. Kreevan shall take the mantle of second in command and you will treat him as such. If there be an inkling of disrespect I will kill each and every one of you and promote your subordinates and unto their fledglings until order is established. I will not treat with the old ways. It is dead and buried. Act as such." Zenara cracked her staff into the floor for added emphasis, daring one of these fools to act against her demands.
Kreevan nodded with a neutral expression as envious eyes undoubtedly watched as their path to succession shattered and possibly contemplated assassination.
All that Zenara prepared for in this speech and the actions to follow came from another source. The source in question was no longer among the living. Zenara almost felt he prepared for these turn of events. It unsettled her and deviated from standard practices. At least what was to come next coincided with her goals.
"Our path forward should only concern you with one motive: The final battle. We are to make a beachhead upon the shores leading to the chaos dimension. This primary force is to act as a means to slow down the chaos war machine. Our scouts are already reporting chaos forces ramping up for the conquest of this world. This will play itself out as anticipated but this is only half of our objective. I will take it upon myself to reach the north polar warp-gate alongside Thavan. The horde, indisposed by our actions shall never learn of our secret. The bomb we have created has proven its worth. Norsca is no more, and soon, so will follow the chaos realm and all of its existence."
"Leveling rock and earth is but one of many possibilities. How can we be so certain this is the answer we seek?" Inquired one among the crowd. Others murmured in agreement.
Zenara circled the table, sizing her challenger and preventing those from gaining a clue over her reactions. "Bluestone. I need not ramble on matters all of us are well versed upon. It absorbs chaos till nothing remains. Norsca is not purely chaos as is the realm in which we stride toward. The polar warp-gate leads to their realm in its most purest essence. And that leads me to my final piece." Zenara rested against her staff, taking a short breath.
"I believe it is not a mistake to inform each of you that my journey will end without my reentry. Kreevan assumes control in my absence – no challenging this. The fate of our entire world matters beyond your petty squabbles. A hint of insurrection is tantamount to suicide. Any questions?" Her final words were almost a challenge, daring these runts to usurp her law.
Silence swept the audience. Satisfied with herself Zenara said one word, "Leave."
As the collective gathered their belongings, she grasped Kreevan's shoulder firmly. He took the hint, lagging behind till all others were out of earshot. When the lot had dispersed and she was comfortable with speaking, Zenara turned to the tired and world weary black furred general.
"You are to stay behind at the final battle. Do not challenge this. These were part of Lord Grodmoor's final orders. We need stability and gods know when you are not obsessively warring over battles, you are our greatest mind and this status quo must be held firm.
"Aye." Kreevan agreed. "I'll do as you say. Grodmoor never led us astray in times past. I have to speak on the matter of Vanamar. I am understanding of his plight with the chaos influence. Can we trust and or rely on someone such as him?"
Zenara for but a fleeting moment presumed he doubted her. Her eyes revealed those sinking feelings of being lost, wading in a sea of black. "Allow me to contend with these circumstances. The daemon explained before that I am a necessary piece in her schemes. I am not to be killed by her, yet. Our greatest point of contention is the distraction itself. If the chaos horde gleans of our machinations this world will fall. The less who know of this the better. Never forget that."
"Won't be long now before we learn for certain if your vision will have saved us. The shift of the power balance and genocide of so many species will assure whatever world we inhabit after this battle ends, will be something akin to a whole new reality. Of that I believe."
And with that, Kreevan left Zenara behind to ruminate on them playing god in a world close to the end. In stoic silence she stood alone. Pensive and concerned, her hands weighed heavy against the staff. When the weight became an encumbrance too great to bear she collapsed. Her staff clanged against the stone floor. On her knees and alone, tears expunged from pain-stricken eyes. When he wasn't near and the influence waned, she cried in silence at the thought of what would become of this world and what horror she envisioned waiting for her and Thavan Vanamar.