Jagdfalke fighter-bomber 500 meters above the battlefield

The tracers looked like fiery comets rising lazily towards Eberhard von Roon. He did not even think about changing course, his feet pushed the pedals before he realized that he did. Pulling the stick a bit closer, banking the plane to the left and some fore work with the rudders brought the glowing ellipse in his HUD over the Druchii warriors that assembled in the rearmost trenches. Pushing a button on his stick he released two streamlined bombs. Both unfolded braking surfaces once they had cleared the plane's shackles and lagged behind the Jagdfalke in seconds. They had barely stabilized when their casing broke apart and hundreds of bomblets descended in a swarm of destruction. More than half wasted themselves on open ground or empty trenches. The rest found a final resting place between the few Black Guard whom Kouran Darkhand had kept in reserve. A sound like a loud string of firecrackers sounded harmless enough, but the bomblets left so few survivors that a counterattack was out of the question.

Von Roon had pulled his plane into the half-loop that was the start of a Split-S and looked for the AA-gun that had tried to shoot him down. The place where it had likely been was a flaming mess now. He spotted a group of Druchii who pushed a field gun before them. They probably hoped to snipe one of the Wiesels who had now reached the ridgeline Kouran had anchored his defences to and made a bloody mess of everything moving that was not of the Reiksbund.

Eberhard would introduce the Spitzohren to some 30 mm ammo, that should take care of that.

Druchii trench

The Druchii before Joakim were close enough that he could see their open mouths, the hate that defined their faces better than their race and heard their screams. They were armed with a mixture of revolvers and rifles, they all pressed forward in their haste to kill one more human.
Joakim's power armor allowed him to keep the Mauser on target while he emptied a full 40-round magazine into their midst. Geneva and The Hague were in a different universe and the munitions that could hardly miss them made a horrible mess of the enemy. Most bullets that came the other way found a new home in the trench wall or flattened themselves against high-tech armor. One went into the Mauser's receiver, destroying the rifle most thoroughly. Vos dropped the weapon in an instant and gripped the sword that was maglocked to his back. It was a substantial weapon, a two handed sword for most humans. Joakim could have used it one-handed without the armor, with the servos augmenting his well-trained arm it handled like a rapier. The trench did not allow for great swings, so the Paladin charged forward, stabbing the sword into anything that moved. His armor was put to a test when daggers sanctified to the god of murder and brand new revolvers tried to find a weakness. Sword and man fused for a moment, turning Stormbringer's millennia of experience into an assault that was as brutal as it was efficient.

Every Druchii that died sacrificed some of himself to the sword which used it to strengthen his wielder and burn his doubts away. When Joakim could no longer see a living enemy before him he finally found the time to check his back. Stormbringer's cold rush of energy was nearly enough to stop him from blinking. Ulrika Mandragova had his back when he jumped into the trench. The vampire could probably never have children as she would as a human, but that did not mean she could not adore them or kept her from protecting them. Joakim had led a power-armored vampire with a serious dose of the hate into a trench full of slavers and murderers. He was hard-pressed to find a single spot on Ulrika's armor that still showed its camouflage colors.

The lull in the fighting allowed Joakim to do his real job and check the situation. The HUD showed that the Reiksbunders had broken into the Druchii lines in several places. They had paid for that, but the battle was over but for the mop-up. There was more dying to do before the day was out, the Spitzohren would fight like cornered animals. But Joakim's people would not be the only ones bleeding, several columns from Neustadt were about to blast their way through the wire.

Druchii trench, a hundred meters from Joakim Vos

Kouran Darkhand's head felt like it would split every second now. The taste of blood in his mouth was an old acquaintance, waking up from a concussion and the blood that ran from his ears less so. His pierced eardrums made hearing difficult, everything sounded muted, as if his head were under water.
He tried to get up from the trench's floor, but his vision blurred and he struggled to keep his balance. He searched his memory about what had brought him to this place, but there were only fragments of an unending chain of explosions close by. That had obviously passed, but there were other sounds now. Human voices who screamed something again and again he could not understand and the sound of firearms discharging. He had to get up and take command of his people, he would do Malekith a disservice otherwise. And he would not falter in his duties to the Witch King, that was the one thing that defined him.

He steadied himself against the trench wall with his left and grabbed for his revolver when a half-seen, half-imagined human cleared the corner before him. The slave dared to point a shotgun at him and pulled the trigger before Malekith's enforcer could do a thing. Three pellets managed to find his exposed throat, filling his airways with blood. He still had the time to hear what the slave screamed at the top of his lungs.
Kouran was mostly on his way to whatever awaited him in the afterlife when he still tried to understand what "Remember Kuan Ti" was about.

Tower of Cold Naggarond

The Witch King watched his city go up in flames from his balcony, and for the first time in a very long time, did not understand his own people. There had always been a lot of tension and strife in Naggarond's Druchii society. In part as it was the way of the true elves, in part as he fostered it so he could play one party against the other.
The two-fronted war that had threatened to end his 5000-year reign had put a lot of pressure on this particular kettle as the usual ways to solve problems were out during the war. A period of vigorous settling of scores was to be expected now that both armies who had threatened all true elves were gone one way or the other.

What happened in the streets below was a totally different thing. It was not the usual backstabbing or a round of assassinations. It was full on warfare between factions who hated each other for millennia without going to such extremes. On top of that there were reports of really intense orgies going on, surpassing even Druchii standards for such things. He sensed several ongoing rituals that needed to be stopped immediately, lest they open his capital to the forces of the Empyrean that were not under his control.
And when he had his hands full, just when he needed every bit of concentration necessary, his mother asked for an audience. Well, maybe he could use her to quell some of that unrest below. He had asked "his" mercenaries to come to Naggarond as soon as possible, they should be able to subdue the rest. And while they were so close to Malekith he could do something about their leadership…

Portal of the Old Ones, Albion

Converting a single gram of matter into energy would yield the same amount as 42 Hiroshima bombs. The Zero Time Transfer System had been built to handle the conversion of hundreds of kilogram, the transmission of the resulting energies and their reconstitution every second. It could convert and handle inconceivable amounts of energy, a lot of it in forms that would affect the Empyrean as well as the mundane world.

Lord Kroak controlled all of that as he had been installed as a part of this system as a replacement for a Truthsayer who had sacrificed himself to stabilize the old transport net. He knew about the "one gram, 42 Hiroshima Bombs" thing as several Skinks did very few things, but reading German books and papers. They would not understand much of it, but the knowledge went right into a brain that had withstood the test of millennia.
And that knowledge allowed Lord Kroak to understand the atrocity planned by Hashut in ZharrNaggrund. The God of Fire wanted to drown the DawiZharr heartland in a Trap volcano.

That was no ordinary volcano, no fire-breathing mountain that would bury the Chaos Dwarfs under lava and pyroclastic gasses. If nothing happened it would convert hundreds of square kilometers into a sea of glowing lava. It would be the end of the DawiZharr, who had angered the god somehow. The volcano would also spew so much carbon dioxide into the atmosphere that it would raise the Warhammer World's temperatures a lot.

And if the German texts were not mistaken that would release methane from the sea beds in such amounts that it would raise the temperatures even further. It would change the face of this world like nothing since the opening of the Chaos Gates, if not more. Huge deserts would replace forests and farmland, vast tracts of the world would be too hot for any mundane life. It had happened on Earth, a long time ago even in his way of thinking. It had killed more species than any other extinction event.

His people would not survive this, he was sure about it. So what could he possibly do?

The Empyrean/Depths of the Warhammer World

Have you ever looked at an old-fashioned globe, depicting the lands and seas? The oh-so-important borders are painted on a wooden ball? The paint on that globe is thicker in comparison to the wood below than the solid ground under your feet when compared to the vast molten masses that roil below. At the center is a core of nickel and iron so hot that it should be vapor, but the great pressure keeps it solid. There are many layers above it, becoming increasingly cooler, but also more mobile. The heat below is both a left over from the birth of the world, but also fed by radioactive decay. The heat is transported to the upper levels by huge convection currents, in which hotter, semi-fluid rocks rise and colder ones sink towards the core that will heat them up again.
And that solid ground you are standing upon? The plates that make it up float on the searing fluid mass below with all the stability of a leaf floating on a pond. Moving this way and that with the speed of a growing fingernail they are at the mercy of the currents below. The various tectonic plates grind against each other, causing the ground to shake violently at times. The great convection currents rise higher in some places than in others. And if they meet a weak spot they break through, spilling hot gasses and hotter molten rock on everything in their way. They cannot be fought or negotiated with. They are an unstoppable force that destroys at a whim. Such volcanos have burned themselves into the hearts and minds of thinking beings since the beginning of time.
And when such beings fear and ponder, when they have nightmares and aspirations they cause shadows in the Warp. The great fear and respect for the fire from below coalesced into a living, thinking force of its own.

Hashut, God of Fire.

Hashut had, in a generosity that bordered on insane by its own definition, taken care of the Dawi that were lost in the Dark Lands. He had given them access to far more powerful magic than they ever had before. In his infinite wisdom Hashut even kept them from becoming slaves of the Four Great Gods by turning the DawiZharr who used magic too much into statues demonstrating their folly and Hashut's glory.
He saw to it that they could settle in lands that would take no others and helped them thrive where others would perish. He inspired them to build weapons of terrible might, so that they would subjugate the lesser races unable to see the Fire God's glory.
And for all that he demanded a few …hundred sacrifices and worship. Hashut asked them not to bow down and worship any other gods, as he was a jealous god.

And so the DawiZharr had done and he had seen that it was good.
Until the Germans arrived, until they brought their mundane lore to this world. They left the DawiZharr alone and Hashut, in his boundless patience, deigned not to notice them.
Their wretched refuse washed up at ZharrNaggrund's doorstep, asking for shelter. They promised better weapons to the DawiZharr than those blessed by Hashut, taught heretical methods of smelting and inferior alloys which did not need his benevolence. And they brought that wretched child, Slaanesh's Avatar, who was allowed to grow up as Hashut's own protected him.
Did that brat thank him, worship him as was right and proper? Did he help fend off the Germans or keep the DawiZharr from folly? No, he did not. Instead he gave them flowers supposed to clean up the soil and bedazzled the Germans into ignoring what the DawiZharr did at Mordred's orders. Neither Mordred nor the DawiZharr who should know better had taken up the worship of the one true God of Fire to Naggaroth, as they should. Instead of living the life of sturdy warriors and artisans as, they started to enjoy perversions that turned even his godly stomach. Instead of working their Hashut-given slaves to death erecting new monuments depicting the glory of the Fire God they had used them up in disgusting displays of lust, humiliation, and pain.
Hashut's own temples had lain fallow, and the meager following still in the services were old or not worshipping him from the depth of their hearts.
If he could not have that worship he would burn them and use the world as their pyre. When he was done it would be a monument to the Fire God's glory, glowing with his eternal might.

Lothern, Ulthuan

Teclis'bedroom was a place only very, very few people ever got to see. Not in the least as his Isha-approved pallet he rested on now sported a very nice German seven-zone cold foam comfort mattress which was far better for his back than a sack full of dried herbs and maiden's hair. The latter smelled better, but getting up without back pain beat that by a mile. Were its presence known to his detractors it would give them another lever to besmirch him and he could do without that.

The mage's body twitched nervously, his eyeballs moved rapidly this way and that. Compared to his mind his body was at rest. That was currently inside a huge stream of molten lava that flowed upwards ever so slowly. It was unaffected by the heat, the crushing pressure of whatever this place was. His mental ears were not damaged by the sound of things that moved when they should be solids, but for the immense pressure and heat they were under. He could not spend much effort on the wonders around him, his attention was taken by the spectral figures before him and the huge shadow that was their backdrop.

5000 years ago, a civil war had ripped Ulthuan apart, in more than one sense. There were those who supported Malekith, despite him falling victim to the flames that were to prove his worthiness of becoming king of all Asur. And the others, those who opposed his attempt to achieve the Phoenix Crown by force of arms. It had been a violent and bitter war and at its end the Witch King himself had ripped Ulthuan asunder. It would have sunk beneath the waves if not for the sacrifices of mages who gave up both their lives and their chance of the afterlife promised to true elves to protect their people. Ever since then, they existed between the planes, diminishing a bit with every year so that their erstwhile home might live. As long as they still existed they steered the great streams of stone below Ulthuan so that the island remained afloat. Teclis shuddered whenever he thought about their fate, and now the same mages had entered his mind, asking for his attention.
Their voices were a chorus in his mind, all speaking the same words slightly out of sync. It would have grated on Teclis if the message had not caught his attention.

"Teclis, there is a dire threat to all life on this world, one we must foil at any cost. Nothing we have ever done, none of what we ever achieved will count unless we find a way to avoid the fate an angry god wants to visit upon us."
The only living being present shook his head. A few moments ago, he had thought the Asur as safe as this wretched world allowed for. He was one of the most mentally flexible elves there was in Ulthuan, but this was overwhelming.
He used all his experience and control to keep his incredulity from his mental voice.
"Honored ancients, what threat alarms you so much?"
The choir answered immediately.
"Let him show you…"

Before Teclis could ask who was to answer Lord Kroak made himself known. Like all elder Slann he had been very sparse with words when he was alive, that had not changed when his lips turned to stone.
That he could project his visions directly into Teclis' mind was a demonstration of just how powerful Kroak had become.
Teclis might have blocked the pictures that appeared in his mind, or protested at the intrusion. What he saw made sure he did not.
He saw ZharrNaggrund and the vast plain around it converted into a sea of lava, shrouded by clouds that would burn all living things faster than they could poison them. He somehow saw the copious amounts of carbon dioxide rising from the glowing sea and just knew how that would cause global temperatures to rise. He saw the methane released from the seas, marveled at the ice melted at the poles and the seas on the rise. Seas defiled by whatever the ice so close to the Chaos Gates contained. But as much as he saw the seas rising, he saw the living things in it dying from poisons and the changes in temperature. He saw the deserts that consumed so much fertile land and the wars that would be waged for every field that would allow the production of food.
He saw so much of this world heat up to the point where mundane life would be impossible, deserts as lifeless as Verda.
The visions he had seen of a bright future for the Asur were burned to ashes before his very eyes.
At that point he heard something, even if he was not sure of he had actually heard sounds or if the memory of the words had been pushed into his mind.
"Wake up your mages, all of them, they are needed. Talk to the Germans, they trust you."
And with that Teclis woke up, knowing what he could do, but having no idea whether it would help in any way, shape or form.

Bundeskanzleramt, Berlin

The Emergency Council had been called up more times on the Warhammer World than in all the years of the Bundesrepublik's existence on Earth. Meetings in the middle of the night were still rare, but by no means unknown and usually far more serious affairs than the usual ones. Christian Lindner had taken part in most of them and he was weary to the bone. The Weltensprung had produced one crisis after another, many of them with the potential to end Germany as a functional society or threatening to kill millions. Being one of the council's old hands he knew that a lot of these problems had been solved only with a dose of luck. And like most of the others he asked himself when this luck would run out.

He knew what he was to brief his colleagues about and the question whether this would be the one that they could not solve was very much in the forefront of his mind. He had just described Tehentoto's visit to his office and the vision he had experienced. That nobody asked whether a vision was enough to set the government into overdrive said a lot about Germany's time on the Warhammer World after the Weltensprung.
"I have asked the Research Service of Parliament about an opinion on my way here and they have data from satellite observation and seismic data that supports Lord Mazdamundi's claims. To put it mildly: The scientists are very concerned about this. They think that Hashut might bring about a similar situation about to Earth during the Permian-Triasic transition. I will admit that this did not ring a bell with me, but I was told that this was the worst extinction event on earth after the change to oxygen-based life. During this event 70% of all species on land and a whopping 95% of all known species in the seas died. This makes the events that made the da pale imitation."
Several of his colleagues looked at him with incomprehension or the blank faces of denial. It was Markus Söder who spoke up.

"Did they or Lord Mazdamundi say anything about what we can do?"
Lindner took a deep breath before answering.
"Lord Mazdamundi claims that stopping Hashut will be extremely hard as he is in his own region of the Warp. Harming a god in his own domain is next to impossible to other gods and plain impossible for mortals like us. He asked for the help of our scientific community though and hinted that there is a plan. Probably a long shot though."
Uwe Junge was uncharacteristically subdued when he asked.
"And if this "long shot" fails?"

Christian Lindner's answer was resigned.
"Then we are all in deep shit. If this follows Earth's pattern we are talking about a rise of the mean global temperature from 12.5 to 22 to 23 degrees in two stages. The Parliament's Research Service could offer only estimations on the quick, but Germany would roughly receive the same weather as the hotter parts of Saratosa. At the same time, we would lose large parts of our coastline due to water levels rising by several meters. And we would get off lightly. I can see that we, the northern parts of the Empire and Kislev could feed the Reiksbund, but so many parts of this world would become deserts or cease to be habitable. The trading network we have established around the world would fail, large scale migration will lead to wars and famine. I am not sure if Germany and the Reiksbund will survive this at all, let alone as a high-tech civilization. There was a scientist who hinted that our space program could help by reducing the energy received from the sun, but this is nothing I would bank on."

Markus Söder's voice was toneless.
"I will stir up the German Research Foundation, but let's try to keep things discreet for now. A panic will help exactly nobody. We will need a cover story, a good one and quick. Christian, whatever Mazdamundi asks for, he will receive. And somebody tell me why I wanted to have this job, this is not what I need."

Wild Geese Landing Ship Vehicles, Gulf of Naggrond

The sun had crept up above the horizon some time ago, but the cliffs along the Gulf shielded the ground from its meagre rays. It created long shadows that moved slowly across the waters, transforming the farms and fishing settlements. The empty windows held the darkness of a skull's eyeholes, ornamental spikes gained a ragged obsidian sharpness. Wolfgang Böhler's binoculars revealed all that, but failed to show a single living thing.
He cleared his throat before he addressed Areta Bane who stood next to him at the railing.
"Is this as bad as it looks?"
Areta's answer was a toneless monotone that tried to distance its owner from the news.
"No, it's worse. Ivil's people have gone through a few, contacted the residents where possible. The DawiZharr did not come here, but that did not improve things much. The Witch King's regiments went through them several times, confiscating all food, most slaves and the draft animals. They drafted all able-bodied true elves, with a generous definition of able-bodied during the last few months. The last sweeps often took the seed stocks as well. In some places the squire sacrificed the rest of the slaves, now that they could not feed them anyway. In at least two locations they were too slow with that and the slaves managed to overcome the few Druchii still present. What they did managed to unsettle the Night Shift, I did not ask for details.
In short, the estates are fucked and the fishing villages are not much better. I have no idea who is going to feed the survivors come spring, and lack any idea how many survived anyways."
Böhler needed a minute before he spoke up.
"I would be lying if I would not say they had it coming, but this is all kinds of bad. I have no idea who is going to pick up the pieces when we are done."
Bane nodded before she spoke up.

"Well, we are on the way to support the Witch King, aren't we? Allow me to say again that I do believe it is a bad idea to bring you before Malekith.. You took a lot of his pet Germans away. With all the people we brought to Antiguillia we slowed his industrial growth considerably. Right or wrong, he will blame you for that. Remember what he did to the Bloodcrest clan when that bungler Silvar killed most engineers still in Neustadt. He might also think the rest of us would be more malleable with you dead or in his captivity. And I have no idea how we can protect you against the Witch King."
Wolfgang gave a wan smile to that.
"We all have our orders Areta, we may not like them or even believe we will survive carrying them out. But follow them we must."
Areta was incredulous.
"You believe Malekith is worth following his orders like that? "
"His orders, certainly not."

Institute for Planetary Research, Berlin

The Skink sitting before the computer typed quickly while watching the screen before him. While his fingers danced over the keyboard and his pupils moved this way or that one Tehentoto's mind was not at the helm. Lord Mazdamundi made use of the Skink specially bred for the purpose to be his extension to the Germans.
Tehentoto had been here or in front of similar computers on and off for the last few years ever since the Reiksbund had captured the Citadel of Lead. The Slann, Asur, and the Germans had a very long-term project studying the convection currents inside the world with the goal of stabilising Ulthuan without the dead mages intervention.
Now that project had gained terrible urgency and so the Skink entered all the information provided by the mages, the Slann,and Lord Kroak into the system.
It was analysed by a network of supercomputers looked for patterns and tried to predict the future. With every keystroke and every cycle of so many chips the picture resembled the reality below to a higher degree. The number of possible outcomes reduced themselves at the same pace and the shape of the coming disaster revealed itself.
The age-old wisdom of the Slann, the sheer computing power of several supercomputers, an AI, and the accumulated knowledge of so many scientists worked on a solution. Given that they needed to best a god in its own domain they had a daunting task indeed. Failure was not an option though.

The Warp

The Empyrean has no shape as such, having far more than three dimensions and obeying laws very different from the mundane realm. It is shaped by the thoughts and emotions of the mortals, it is the will of the gods how they express themselves in their domains. Hashut had shaped something that resembled the physical reality he ruled. Huge streams of magma pushed upwards with glacial inevitability or sunk to the lightless depths below according to their temperature and the Fire God's will.
A deep rumbling shook his realm indicating where continent-sized masses of lava passed each other.
This was as it had been for eons, ever since the first sophonts had watched the fire from below with awe and fear and thus formed Hashut in the Empyrean.
But not all was as it always had been. Deep booms reverberated through the glowing streams, shrieks fanned flames at times. Hashut resented these distractions, they kept him from drowning his former believers in cleansing lava. The gods who hammered at the borders of Hashut's domain were mighty elsewhere, but here, in his chosen realm they had no entrance. Let them watch the world waste away while they could do nothing. He would see how strong they were when most of their followers were dead.

Airship Melitta von Stauffenberg over Battlefield near Neustadt

The floor dropped out under Ulrich Stoiber, literally. A large part of the zeppelin's central loading bay descended on sturdy cables. The view in the tank commander's monitors changed from the cramped confines of the airship to the desolate ugliness of a former battlefield. Even a human not moulded by the God of War would have seen the field's detritus for what it was. For somebody whose brain was altered to see the patterns of war it told the tale of several bloody battles.
The appraising whistle of his gunner told him he was not the only one who could see what had happened here. The intercom did nothing to mute the deep rumble of Frank's voice.
"They had a hell of a party here and did not wait for us, what a shame."
Ulrich shook his head. He had to remind himself consciously every day that war was not the natural state of mankind. That the god who had taken an interest in him and his people thought otherwise and had written his designs all over Ulrich's soul made it a necessary and challenging enterprise.

"They had the last party so we could take part in this one. Let's see if the Chaos Stumpies see the light in time, otherwise there will be Mechs for breakfast."
The wireless beep interrupted whatever comment was incoming.
"Wolfpack actual, this is Stauffenberg. We took the first 60 tons of water ballast, you may offload the first tank."
"Stauffenberg, this is Wolfpack actual, solid copy on unassing first tank. Robert, drive off the platform and park to the right of the guy who is waving his arms."
It took more than an hour to unload the huge airship. By the time it was finished the Wolfpack had taken up positions behind the ridgeline that had once secured the Black Guard's defenses. Three 140 mm barrels barely cleared the rise and pointed north.

Inside Draken clan fastness, Naggrond

Malekith at his most calm was a terrible threat to all who displeased him in the slightest. His searing hate for the injustices done to him and the state of his body were never far from the surface. Displeasing the Witch King was a dangerous enterprise, not showing him sufficient respect a way to a quick death when one was very lucky. The Druchii he held by his neck had stepped in his way as if she were his equal and clothed in her finest regalia. Instead she was nude, smeared in blood and other half-dried substances and utterly unafraid. Her voice might be more hoarse than usual as his fingers closed on her throat, she was still unfazed. Instead of begging for the Witch King's non-existant mercy she ran her tongue along her blood-stained lips.
"Don't you find me attractive Malekith? Not just a little…"
Whatever else she wanted to say was subsumed by her shrill screams when Malekith's Witchfire consumed her. Her remains were blacker than the night, not any bigger than a child and gave off an acrid smoke when he dropped them. He was amazed at not being angry at the insolence shown. He felt something he rarely did, fear. He and his retinue had entered the Draken clan's fastness to learn what had roused his people to their dangerous madness.

The fastness had been disturbingly empty of live true elves, the remains of several dead could be seen far too quickly. They had neither been murdered cleanly in cold blood, as it would have been the true elven way of settling feuds, nor had they been tortured for amusement, information or dominance. Instead slaves and Druchii alike had been butchered in ways that disturbed even the Witch King. Many displayed signs of having been used up in orgies, other showed teeth marks, and some both. This would be most disconcerting anywhere, but this was the Draken clan's holding. The clan's members had always been thought of as somewhat bland, having earned their position not so much because of their daring, but their discipline and relative lack of internal strife. The remains of this orgy of lust and destruction was not them.
Malekith's frustration found an outlet in a storm of eldritch lightning that raced all over the fastness and burned every living thing not blessed by him to ashes before leaving for the Tower of Cold.

The Witch King's retinue formed a hollow square around their liege, protecting him against the madness that had gripped Malekith's capital. They looked out for all real and potential threats to their liege, killing anything that moved if it did not show complete submission immediately. It was a good thing they did as Malekith was lost in thought. He had reigned over Naggrond for more than 5000 years, and he thought he knew every cabal, every conspiracy and every plot that mattered. He had monitored and shaped the politics of every clan and faction that existed. He had set them at odds, so that they might not unite against him, he kept a carefully measured balance so that no party became dominant.
And if that balance failed, then Malekith could send the fiercely loyal Black Guard and their frightening leader, Kouran Darkhand. Unfortunately, those warriors had all been killed by slaves and meddling Germans.
Now that the dual threat of DawiZharr and Chaos was averted Naggrond had exploded into an orgy of bloodletting even the Druchii had not seen before.

So now all the things Malekith thought he knew about his people and capital for sure became suspect and he lacked answers. Unable to send his usual enforcers and seeking insights into this madness he had ventured out from the Tower of Cold and confronted the Draken clan.
This endeavor had not provided any insights into the nature of the unrest, but one very disturbing one. All the minds that had been burned by the Witch King showed a hint of something. He could not say what exactly, but he had glimpses of something that pushed even relatively dour true elves into a madness exceeding that of Witches at the height of a drug-fueled frenzy.
And for the life of him Malekith could not say who or what had bewitched his people, he just knew he had to find out quickly, or he would be a Witch King without subjects. He went through the Tower of Cold's entrance without noticing the guard's somewhat mechanical salutes and made his way up to his chamber. He got as far as his throne room when something finally got his attention. A figure stood in the middle of the room as if he owned it. He looked like Druchii at first glance, but even a short glimpse through the Empyrean revealed something very different. Tall as the being before him was, his shadow in the Warp was huge, complex and mighty. An intricate armor conformed to the rapier-slender figure below. Brilliant colors and glittering gems still failed to distract from a beautiful face and white hair that flowed over his shoulders.
The voice fitted the sight all too well, smooth as an oil stain on water.
"Hello father, it is time we had a talk, don't you think?"

Portal of the Old Ones, Albion

There was a small team of scientists, technicians, and Skinks before Lord Kroak. At times they aimed a pistol-like infrared thermometer at the petrified Slann. Depending on the reading they adjusted the fine spray of water aimed at the mage. Lord Mazdamundi had alerted the Germans to the need for increased cooling. They worked quickly when they saw that Lord Kroak gave off heat that threatened even the insulated cables that connected him to the Portal of the Old Ones.

The Slann mage did not really register their ministrations. He was currently channeling the magic provided by every Slann geomant, every member of the Tower of Hoeth, and quite a few Imperial mages. All of that was enhanced by the nearly limitless energies contained in the Portal itself. Their combined might could be enough to challenge the God of Fire. If he was clever about it, and the Germans, the Oracle of the Old Ones, and the combined experience of the Slann geomants had provided a possible answer, he might get away with it.
He would not try to combat Hashut directly, that was not going to work in the god's chosen realm. The trick would be to change the circumstances so that the titanic forces Hashut sent into motion would go elsewhere where they would do no harm, or at least less of it.
For now, he needed some time as the trap volcano Hashut wanted to make was on the verge of becoming reality. A convection current had been deflected and accelerated, so it might break up the already thin bedrock around ZharNaggrund and convert it into a sea of lava.
So, Lord Kroak transferred more than a little energy into the lava already boiling in a magma chamber below what used to be the Fire God's temple. He managed to change the viscosity of the molten rock at the same time and then widened the fissure that was already there. The magma started to rise with irresistible force, spewing dozens of meters into the air. Hot gasses escaped through the same hole, forming a flame hundreds of meters high. Still solid stones were thrown huge distances. And while the flames and hot gasses provided a pyre burning ZharrNaggrunds remains the ash that followed provided a funeral cloth hiding the ugliness of Lord Astragoth's former domain.

The volcano would grow every day for quite some while, spewing lava and ash into the air and making modern air travel impossible for a couple of thousand kilometers to the east. It would reach Mount Pinatubo's size before it was done. Impressive as the burning mountain was it was far less than what Hashut wanted the world to experience. Like lancing a boil before it could burst Lord Kroak had released a part of the materials the God of Fire wanted to use for its orgy of destruction. As long as it existed Hashut would find it very difficult to build up the pressure in the magma to achieve his goals. It would be akin to try to burst a tire tube by overinflating it while the tube had a leak. ZharrNaggrund's ruins shook with an earthquake that was the mortal shadow of Hashut's frustrated scream.
It gave Lord Kroak the time needed for a longer-term solution. Using the knowledge gained from the Germans and several Gold Order mages he increased the radioactive decay in a convection current, raising heat far more efficiently and higher than if he had applied energy by himself. The current rose faster than it would have otherwise, lowering the pressure of the magma around it. Which promptly redirected the convection stream Hashut wanted to use for its table volcano.

Lord Kroak's manipulation was about to bring about a couple of nasty earthquakes. Consulting the Germans and the Oracle he raised the viscosity of the magma between two tectonic plates. They still moved and actually produced a drawn-out series of quakes, but they were less than a hundredth of the violence of what would have happened without his intervention.
While this was an impressive victory that saved billions of lives, it was just the first battle of a war. And the allies had to win every time, while Hashut only had to get it right once to burn and poison a world.