Druchii camp, a kilometer before the Neustadt front line, two hours later
Kouran Darkhand's face did not move a millimeter when the medic removed another piece of shrapnel from his shoulder. He had taken and caused far more pain and would kill any weakling who would react to such treatment with anything but disdain. Still, it would not do to ignore the wound as this had the potential to reduce his worth as a warrior to Malekith. The thought of that nearly made him wince, he and the Black Guard had failed the Witch King badly today.
He had made a very basic mistake and underestimated the enemy, badly so. He had been so sure that no slave would dare to stand against any Druchii, let alone the Black Guard. Maybe he was even right, but he had hardly seen any slave during the two assaults. Explosions had rained down here and there with next to no warning. Single shots and machine gun salvos had come from emplacements hard to spot and harder to suppress. Any warrior who had stood up to cut that damned barbed wire had been cut down in short order. He had to call his warriors back, they would have died trying, and retreating was not in them.
It was his mistake, a mistake that had killed nearly a hundred Black Guards and wounded many more. This hurt and the thought of calling for reinforcements made his stomach churn.
The medic had finished his stitches soon enough and Kouran stepped from the tent when his ears started to twitch. Waiting a second for his consciousness to parse what his ears had already detected he heard a faint, off-tune whistling. He had heard that before, on several demonstrations and just an hour before. He was making for the next available cover while he screamed for his warriors to do the same before he had fully understood that more mortar bombs were on his way. The first salvo went short, giving him a stinking, fuming, blessed piece of depression where Malkeith's chosen warrior could hide from the slaves' wrath.
Bundeskanzleramt, Berlin
There had been a time when meetings of the Security Cabinet had been few and far between. They usually had been about issues that were driven by greater powers than the good old Bundesrepublik and most of the time the decisions in those sessions had not meant life or death for a lot of people. The more experienced members of the cabinet missed those times, others reveled in their newfound importance.
The colonel who gave the briefing came to a close with a final PowerPoint slide.
"To sum it up, we observed a detonation of at least nine kilotons 250 kilometers north of Karkan Station. It was concurrent with the release of 250 Megarandi of magical energy, of no discernible Wind, which indicates Chaos energy. We do not detect a rift into the Warp at the place of the detonation. Normally we would not expect such an event at the relatively low energy expended, but there were doubts whether that would hold true so close to the Chaos desert.
The incident happened in an area contested by substantial Druchii and Chaos forces. Satellite recon cannot find many survivors of either force. Neither are there any large-scale movements towards Naggaroth proper, nor do we see trains resupplying the Druchii. Given this outcome the most likely explanation is the failure of a major spell that wiped out both armies."
Uwe Junge's voice managed to carry both vindication and Schadenfreude.
"Told you that this mess would clear itself up, no need to endanger a single serviceman's life. And they manage to off themselves with style, what more can you ask?"
"Maybe a better explanation what the fuck happened there. I for one would not like to see an accident or whatever that was happen in Berlin or anywhere else."
Markus Söder was more than a little exasperated.
"Christian, please contact the Asur, they are closer to this mess than we are and magic is their hat. Maybe they have better answers. Lothar, push the intelligence weenies, I do not like what happens in that icebox. This might not be the last unpleasant surprise from there."
"Will do Markus."
Camp Joy, close to Kar Karond
A chain led from Lady Heles Jeres' iron collar to the bolt on the wall. It was long enough to allow her to use the bucket for wastes. The cell had a window high up in the wall, too high for her to reach and too small to wiggle herself through, it was barred by iron bars still. She had a threadbare blanket to cover herself and a layer of thresh between her and the stone floor. She shared the small room with four other Druchii women who were in the same state as herself.
Lady Jeres knew she should not complain, she had it good for now. If she needed any reminder of that, the screams and other sounds that came from different parts of the former slave pen would remind her. Whenever she heard the sounds her nether parts tried to clamp themselves shut in the memory of the past months.
Heles was Druchii, she had prided herself that she knew how to give and take pain and humiliation. Oh how wrong she had been, she had experienced things that she had not even imagined before. For now, she was free of such things, as long as she took care of herself and…them. Her experiences had burrowed themselves into her mind and soul, the mere thought of resisting or harming herself too much brought an involuntary whimper to her lips.
Whether it was remembering the last months or simply their wont the denizens of her womb started moving again. Lady Jeres had given birth to several children, she could not remember any of them being so energetic at this stage. Whether this was so or not, the movements brought the pressure in her bladder to the point where she could no longer ignore it. She no longer cared that the other Druchii in the room could see her, they were all long past such niceties.
When she made it back to her thresh she made sure to lay on her right side, becoming unconscious would not do. This pregnancy was the hardest she ever had. She still wished that it would never end. If she successfully gave birth to what she thought to be twins she would be available again. And then they would be back.
Lady Heles Jeres shuddered at the thought.
Gulf of Naggarond
Ernutan Doomshackler could still not believe that he was worthy of Lord Mordred's trust and praise. Even so, the proof of his trust was all around him, in insignias of his elevated rank and far more DawiZharr warriors that were his to command. Only recently had he received two new gifts. One kept him alive, the other would hopefully allow him to fulfill his mission with fewer losses.
The first token of Mordred's affection was a set of periscopic binoculars. They allowed him to observe the battlefield-to-be with leisure, to note the strong and weak points of the dandelion eater's defences without getting his head shot off. Ernutan was dead sure that he had used up any luck he was due in this life with the Druchii snipers during this campaign. They managed to be absolutely invisible until they took their shot and nearly always hit what they aimed for.
He loved the new binoculars, but he did not like the picture they presented. The space between the cliffs and the cold water of the gulf was filled with defenses of some kind. There were the half-seen, half-imagined lips of trenches and foxholes, There were the low mounds of bunkers with cleverly concealed firing slots. Some places were covered by barbed wire, others were dotted with spikes and some places, most worryingly, were empty. Whether they held concealed traps or were simply bottlenecks that were to funnel his warriors in front of the machine guns Ernutan was not eager to learn.
If things went as planned, he would not need to. Stepping back from his observation post he was met by his brigade leaders.
His voice indicated that their answers better be the right ones.
"Are all troops in their starting positions?"
He received several "ayes"
"Is the wind favorable?"
"Yes Sire."
Then what are we waiting for? Go to your troops, lead them well. Taurid, open the valves in five minutes, and then we shall see if this works."
Five minutes later Ernutan heard a deep hiss emanating from several positions in front of his observation post. It was not as loud as the roar of a dragon and had a higher pitch, but it still managed to sound at least as threatening.
A greenish fog came from several pipes that had been laid last night. The wind went towards the Druchii and so Ernutan watched as a cloud of Chlorine moved to kill them all. If this worked he might be able to grind through the elven defences between here and Naggarond without killing another army of DawiZharr.
The green fog was not stopped by the barbed wire, it hid the bunkers as they had never been. He might imagine it or he might actually hear the screams of confusion, fear, and pain. He had seen what this chlorine did to slaves and imagining this happening to the Druchii warmed Doomshackler's heart.
He looked at his watch and saw that there were about two minutes of gas remaining when the howling started. One second there was the fog, the next one something that might be a localized winter storm. It pushed at the gas and dispersed it all over the landscape, including the DawiZharr lines.
Ernutan coughed his attack order instead of making a bold statement.
He could just watch as his warriors left their assault trenches and made for the Druchii. For a long, long moment he could hope that the chlorine had killed the defenders. His troops crossed most of the no-man's land without taking many casualties. They started cutting the wire and were only inconvenienced by a few stray shots.
The DawiZharr started going through the breech they made when a machine gun started firing, followed by another. Ernutan's warriors were in the open, hemmed in the wire, and could not really take cover. They had to go through and enough of them made it through to roast the bunkers with flame throwers. Ernutan saw the next wave of DawiZharr stepping on the bodies of the first one. They made it through the defences mostly alive and vanished into the interior of the Druchii stronghold.
They had been there for less than half an hour when huge explosions rose in the middle of the fortifications. The elven stronghold on the other side of the gulf used its huge mortars against something other than a ship.
In the evening the true dwarves had carried the day and captured the Druchii position. Measured against the experiences of Hag Graef the casualties were low. They had brought Lord Mordred five kilometres closer to Naggarond and would have to repeat the effort soon enough.
Neustadt, Naggaroth
Anja huddled herself to Torsten Breitkop. Not in the nice glow of having enjoyed themselves, but for warmth and comfort.
"We did good enough Torsten, didn't we?"
"Better than I'd hoped actually. And if nothing else, that lifted morale like no tomorrow."
"I hear a but?"
"But now they will call for reinforcements. I have seen this Black Guard before, at theTower of Cold. If I remember right they did not fight in this war. They have rifles and some heavy weapons, but they have not learned about the new way war is fought. Sooner or later they will bring in the guys and gals who have seen the elephant.
And while our people fought well I fear what happens when they breach our lines."
"Isn't that what your new project is for?"
"It is. But the first trial of a weapon rarely goes well. And we will die if we need it and it does not."
"I hope we are that lucky."
"You say the nicest things, my love."
30 Kilometer from Haltdorf, the Great Forest, Empire
Dusk started to leech the light from the small clearing. Colors shifted from bright green and rich brown to darker tones and grey.
Sunlight did not reach the bottom of the clearing often, so moulding and rotting and plants and foliage covered the ground. Worms and insects burrowed through the mulch, trying to find sustenance.
A stone stood upright in the middle of the clearing. It did not fit into the middle of the forest and bore mute testimony of the unknown forces had brought it to this place. One of its sides was smooth, rounded by whatever liquid had taken eons to whittle it down. The other was coarse, with many sharp edges. It looked like something had cleaved the stone in two, its other half nowhere to be seen.
Even the smooth side had lines. They were washed out, nearly gone in some places, well defined in others. They conformed to no known language and might as well be shaped by natural forces. If one was to look at the lines for too long, they seem to move and wiggle in a dance that is both unnatural and hypnotic, drawing the eyes and clouding the mind.
The fading light allowed the lines to shine with a greenish glow that seemed to grow more intense as the sun finally went down on the unseen horizon. When the last light of day was finally gone, a dark liquid seemed to spill from the stone. If there was someone to examine the phenomenon, the person will find that the old saying of 'getting blood out of stone' came to pass.
Jagdfalke T, in cradle of Airship Carrier Graf Zeppelin, 4000 meter AGL
Hauptmann Eberhard von Roon was able to watch the sun a moment longer as he was that high up. Spectacular as the view was, he had little time for it. As long as his plane had been inside the airship's hangar, it would have been madness to start the engines.
The Jagdfalke had brought its wings to the flight position before it was lowered through the launching hatch. Now it was time to rouse his steed from slumber.
He and his observer could both cite the checklist up and down, left and right and drunk on Dwarven ale. He still listened while Norbert vom Bruch read the checklist line by line. Launching a plane from the Graf Zeppelin was like defusing a bomb, there was no room for errors.
"Fuel pump to on"
"Fuel pump is on"
"Fuel Pressure 2 bar"
"Fuel Pressure is 2.05"
"Prop to feather"
"Props are feathered."
"Initiate Ignition sequence."
"Sequence is on."
"Left engine first, prop to full pitch."
"Left engine, prop to full"
If the Empire's wooden wonder had been on an ordinary runway, high-pressure air would have been squeezed into the engine. While underway under the airship Eberhard had other options. When he pitched the propeller blades just so the slipstream turned it quickly indeed. This moved the turbine blisks that usually powered the prop, pulling air through the engine.
There were enough electronics controlling the engine to make up half a smartphone. It was more than enough to recognize the airflow was sufficient, and so fuel was admitted into the combustion chamber.
It ignited at once and when that stabilized, it powered up the compressor blades up front, increasing airflow considerably. Without needing any input from the pilot, the engine ramped itself up while fathering the propeller again, lest the Jagdfalke tear itself from the cradle.
The second engine needed no longer to spool up than then first, while the crew went through more checklists.
And then came the divine moment
"Graf control, this is Falke 01, ready for drop at your mark."
"Falke 01, this is Graf control. Copy ready for drop. Dropping now, now, now."
And on the third "now" Eberhard von Roon lost all weight and dropped like a stone for a moment. Pointing the Falke's nose down he pushed the throttle all forward and the plane accelerated very nicely indeed. By now the airstream over the wings was more than enough to provide lift and the pilot pulled the Jagdfalke to the right. It certainly would not do to collide with the carrier while gaining altitude.
Falke 02 dropped a minute later and joined Eberhard's plane when they made their way to the part of the Empire that was theirs to patrol. The landscape below them was bathed in an eerie light provided by two full moons.
30 Kilometers from Haltdorf
The stone's coarse side had started to glow green ever since the sun went down. The green glow intensified as the light from Morslieb crawled across the clearing reaching towards the stone. When the fell moon's light touched the stone, there was a brilliant green flash which bathed the clearing. After the flash died, the clearing was lit with a sickly multicolored light that shifted hues in a random and unnatural ways.
The light was broken up by shadows produced by the things that crawled from the rift into the Warp. The shadows crawled over the ground, misshapen and shifting all the time. They did not lie or distort too much, the beings that emerged into the Great Forest were obviously not of this world.
Most lacked symmetry, were covered by scales, feathers, rough skin or none at all. They had all colors of the rainbow and some that were hard to describe. Snouts opened, revealing long, uneven fangs and what might be noses tried to sniff every scent. Some indeed managed to detect far-off scents, while others sensed souls.
Misshapen heads turned here and there before they all agreed on a direction. A discordant howl rose up to the two moons in the sky, and the horde started to run. Usually, these denizens of the Warp would not remain stable in the mundane world without considerable magic. Tonight, however, was a very special night. A night blessed by the True Gods. This would be a time when they have free reign and could hunt any mortals unlucky enough to be in their path.
While the demons were able to spot any mortal for many miles, they could not detect the new watchers that were looking for the ripples of their passing into the mundane world. From fixed stations in fortified cities, planes that patrolled the vast Empire to Kopernikus Station high above the world, the discharge of magical energies was detected. Locations were triangulated, warnings sent and armed forces placed at even higher levels of readiness.
Armored train Hammer,120 km from Altdorf
Captain von Pfeilstadt listened to the scratchy voice that emerged from the loudspeaker. Given that the voice originated from a Spatz observer plane lighter than a car and using a wireless set older than the pilot the quality of the connection wasn't that bad.
"Hammer, this is Auge. Adjust fire, over.
"Auge, this is Hammer, Adjust Fire, out."
"Grid 345781, over.
"Hammer copies 345781, out"
"Hammer, target is many demons in the open, moving west at about 20 kph."
"Hammer copies demons in the open. Gun one and two, five rounds HE out."
"Auge copies five rounds HE."
Pfeilstadt gripped the edge of the table before him without thinking. It took less than 20 seconds for the 155 mm howitzers closest to roar their challenge to the world. Their flash did not penetrate the command car's blinds, but the train shook with the power needed to accelerate 50 kilogram packages of hate to twice the speed of sound.
His artillery team had started clocks when the first rounds left their barrels and contacted the observer 30 seconds later.
The ground was smashed with overpressure and razor-sharp shrapnel filled the air, creating instant circles of death. Some shrapnel ripped in the warp denizens, banishing them back into the Empyrean, while others wasted themselves on dirt and foliage.
"Auge, this is Hammer, Splash, over."
"Hammer, Auge Splash out."
Quite a few kilometres from Hammer, the sky was ripped apart by a rumble like a passing freight train. The shells fired by Hammer's guns dropped back into the Great Forest. Some emitted radar waves and detonated when they were still 10 meters from the highest treetops. Others used superquick fuses and exploded when they so much as touched a tree.
All produced beat down on the ground below with overpressure and razor-sharp shrapnel, creating instant circles of death.
The Spatz's infrared camera might be a commercial model usually sold to fire brigades, but it managed to show the hits and misses well enough.
"Hammer, this is Auge, Direction 2,500, add 100, left 50, over"
"Hammer copies Direction 2,500, add 100, left 50, over"
The huge barrels changed their direction and azimuth minutely before flash and muzzle blast assaulted Hammer's crew again. The shells arched over many kilometres of dense forest before dropping down again. This time the winds that had pushed the shells around were accounted for, and the enemy's movements were anticipated better. The shells exploded above a concentration of demons, ripping some apart and leaving others bleeding various fluids and sickly light.
The Spatz's pilot had covered the lens in time, there was no whiteout. When he uncovered the optics, the picture was a grim one. His mouth pulled up into something resembling a smile but it was from anything humorous.
"Hammer, this is Auge. Fire for effect."
"Hammer copies fire for effect. 50 rounds HE."
So far only two of the train's guns had ranged on the enemy, now all four went at it. While the turrets had come from former Paladin SPGs had neither power rammers nor automatic loaders the crew had a serious dose of hate. They shoved the rounds into the waiting breeches like ammo would go out of style tomorrow.
The effects on the warp creatures were beyond horrific. With no way to fight against the artillery, with no understanding what hit them at all, even demons could not endure the pounding. Many were ejected back into the Warp when their bodies were destroyed, even more demons released the hold on the mundane world on their own.
They were assaulted by something they could not see, could not understand and certainly could not fight. The mundane world held no prices that made being flayed by razor-sharp shrapnel worth the while.
Five minutes after the fire mission ended Hammer made its way back towards Altdorf. Aerial recon had spotted another demon incursion, and it would cross the railroad at a place the armored train could reach in time.
That massacre would put the artillery strike to shame.
25 kilometers from Haltdorf
Desiretornix ran as fast as his legs would propel him. The forest around him, the squishy ground below his hooves, the wind that passed his scales and the branches that tried to grab his three horns were all unfamiliar sensations.
He could have them only now and then and doubted he would want them every day. It was just too different from the well-known Warp, but for such an old being like the lower demon, anything different than the usual was to be savoured. Yet as refreshing all these sensations were, they were just the appetizer for what was to come.
Like all denizens of the Warp, Desiretornix was fuelled by the thoughts, dreams and emotions of the mortals in what they thought to be the real world. And while the thinking and the unthinking beings provided sustenance, nothing could beat the more specialized variants of thoughts, feelings and dreams.
Those who styled themselves gods would bask in the prayer of the faithful, others would partake in acts they liked and sponsored. Desiretornix and his kind ran on pain and fear. There was a surfeit of that in this world, but so few were exclusively for them.
They were not so mighty that they had a name in the mundane world, no foul deeds were done in their name. But on the rare exciting beautiful occasions when they could enter this reality, when they could inflict themselves on the mortals, then the pain, the fear and the desperation was theirs. And the survivors would leave such a nice aftertaste that lingered forever.
Tonight was Desiretornix's night, it was when his kind reigned supreme and took what they wanted. Before the demons otherworldly senses flickered a cluster of multi-colored lights. Those were the souls that he and his would dine on, he could taste their fear already.
Desiretornix tried to coax more speed from his legs; a feast awaited him.
Haltdorf, the Great Forest, Empire
The sound of the bell filled the village to the palisade and beyond. On any other day Father Hark might have mused on the fact that his village had been too poor to buy a bell. When the money finally turned up a sound system costed less and had more use. The Sigmarite told his flock more than once that he was sure Sigmar himself approved. This might have swayed them, or the grandiose music it would play on demand, he was not sure which.
Now he did not ask his flock to pray or to reflect on the deed and commandments. Tonight was about the core commandments of his faith, protecting the people. And tonight was the night when they all came. Some came full of swagger, maybe convincing themselves, but none else. Others were pale faced and tried to control their panic. All clutched weapons of some sort. In the old days this would have been spears, clubs and flails. Now it was shotguns, single-shot rifles and revolvers.
Father Hark entered the pulpit facing his community. The hammer that was his weapon as much as his badge of office glowed in an orange light, indicating that they were not alone.
"People of Sigmar, hear me, for I am here to proclaim his words and will. We have come together as this is Geheimnissnacht. The night when both moons are full and the Empyrean is closer to our world than any other time. Now is the night when small rifts open and the creatures of the Warp can enter our world.
This was the night when the wise closed their doors and prayed. Those who were lucky looked which of their neighbors survived the night and whom they had to bury. There seemed to be no defense against the demons that entered our word, but for the prayer.
Tonight is not that night. Tonight we have been warned that demons want us, tonight we have mighty weapons. And as always we have Sigmar's aid.
Sigmar protects"
"Sigmar protects"
The congregation answered as one. The young brash and confident, the older ones trying to show their fears.
"I am done with talking for tonight, now I will do my part as member of the militia. Karl Hermsdorf, lead us."
Haltdorf's teacher might no longer be able to march, but that did not mean he had forgotten what he had learned as a Sergeant of the Reiksguard City Detachment.
"I will not waste our time on a speech. You all know what you fight for, your lives and those of your loved ones. You know the plan, we drilled it a thousand times. Remember that bullets fly where you aim them, not where you wish them to go. Watch your comrades back, keep your posts and your wits. I know you, all of you and know you can do this. Now go to your posts and wait for the signal. And when this is done the beer is on me."
Now that brought a cheer and Karl Hermsdorf lead the Haltdorf militia from Sigmar's Chapel. When he passed Father Hark he stopped for a moment.
"None will pass, this I swear in Sigmar's name."
"I know that Father and that is why you are here."
"Thank you Karl."
Sigmar had been a warrior, first and foremost. It ran through his church like a backbone and every priest could fight with the Hammer that was their badge of office. It was just that some did that better and others..not so much.
Father Hark looked after his flock, tried to keep up with the new times, loved sweets and had a friendly word for any of his flock. He balanced the books of the Raiffeisen cooperative and gave sound advice.
He would never lead a platoon of warriors into battle, he would not rouse the faltering spirits of warriors in the midst of combat. So he had left the battle to a professional soldiers and would defend the Sigmar's chapel for all that was worth. Now that the able bodied of his flock had cleared the building all who remained were either too young, too pregnant or too old to be of any use in the coming fight. He had sworn to be their last line of defence and that he would do. It was an open question how much that was worth.
When he turned to check whether all shutters were indeed closed he saw the widow Marks. She had been widowed twice and had buried more than one child. Her first farm had burned before she had taken the chance and joined the then-new Raiffeisen community. The only thing that bent her spine was age, nothing else ever managed that. She was the right woman for the most daunting task of them all and her hand was never far for the still-secured switch.
Haltdorf's children, mothers-to-be and the old ones would live or they would be with Sigmar before the night was out. They would not be demon food, not as long as Marks had her hand close to the detonator connected to many kilograms of dynamite.
She looked straight at Hark and the priest felt checked and weighted. After a long second she nodded and broke contact.
Father Hark was no great warrior, but he had a flock to look after. He squared his shoulders, straightened his back and made his way to his place behind the closed doors. The hammer started glowing more brightly while he made his way.
Silvania, 20 kilometer from Eisigfurth
Manfred von Carstein needed no Magic Detector to see the rifts into the Empyrean. No spy planes were needed to spot the demons that had crawled into the mundane world. He just needed to close his eyes and use the senses he had inherited from his sire. He could see the souls of the living and the shadows the undead left in the Warp.
Silvania had many places where the barriers of the mundane world were gossamer-thin when things were as normal as they got in Carstein's realm. When the two moons were both full at the same time, they were definitely not and so many beings who wanted could do so.
In the old days, he would have amused himself on such a night. Manfred would have sent anything back to the Warp that threatened what was his and left the rest for amusement. That would no longer do, the mortal citizens of Silvania were far more important these days.
Woe betide him if the Reikstag would hear complaints about a ruler who could not protect his subjects. He already had enough Reiksbund troops in Sylvania, protecting the oil wells of course, and keeping a discreet eye on him.
That von Carstein had to protect his investments into infrastructure and a trained workforce that was far too valuable to lose. If nothing else, he needed money for blood; so he would go hunting demons tonight.
The vampire count's sight had revealed more than a few making their way towards the Leichenbad suburbs. He had left one of his lieutenants with a mixed force of militia and undead to cover one side of the town, he would take care of the rest. And truth to be told, he needed a good scrap these days and he itched to try some of his new toys.
The first demons to emerge from the forest were the small ones. Fast and skittish they tried as much to escape their stronger brethren as to find victims. They were a threat to his citizens and to his weaker Undead, but could be dealt with by his soldiers.
The real problem emerged behind them. None of the beings that came into view were alike, but they all possess tough skin, scales or clad other forms of armor. All had long claws of some kind, and beaks or fangs to rend filled too-big mouths. Bringing these down was a much harder job as even with the rifles that his militia had received might not kill them before they had closed the distance.
Time for his new toy then. Von Carstein had all kinds of Germans in his employ. Some he had to send home quickly, as they thought themselves much cleverer than they were. Others brought such interesting lore and allowed him to adapt to the new world the Germans were making.
One thing he had learned quickly was that it paid to listen when one of them asked "why don't you..?" Far too many ideas were outlandish, impractical or grounded in a distorted idea of what he was capable of. Far too often they had ideas which seemed so obvious when asked, but somehow had not occurred to anybody before. Now he got to test one of them.
A swarm of Undead rose from the ground between him and the denizens of the Warp. They were the remains of wily foxes, of dogs and birds. None of them would have any use, but for scouting in the past.
The first of the Undead to strike had been an owl. The forces behind its movements, motivations and flight were as fascinating as they were intricate. Muscles moved despite being dried and bereft of the chemicals that once powered them. There was definitive electrical activity in its brain, but it no longer obeyed the paths described by neurons.
Its connections to the Quantum Sea were quite different from those of mortals. Many of the feathers were no longer present and energies of the Warp had to provide lift where aerodynamics would no longer suffice. All of this presented the German scientists with a sense of wonder and had opened such new fields of study.
The 50-gram charge of industrial dynamite inside the bird's rib cage was far simpler, easier to understand. It detonated when the owl's brittle bones snapped upon impact, removing the head and utterly destroyed the upper body of a towering demon it briefly met though.
Before the demon's remains even hit the ground more detonations lit the night. They converted hard scales and long claws into projectiles that speared many of those who had not met an exploding Undead. When the last bang faded, the horde approaching Manfred was severely reduced in numbers and lacked any cohesion.
The time to attack was now, when the enemy was reeling from the shock and losses. In the old days, he would use his abilities or attack from a chariot. Now he preferred his new Brabus G-Wagen and the machine gun mounted on it. When one had to go to war protecting his subjects one could look good doing it, couldn't one?
Jagdfalke T, Great Forest, 3000 Meter AGL
Hauptmann von Roon pulled his plane into another lazy turn. His wingman was a black dot against a sky illuminated in the darkest green and some 200 meters off. So far this night was an exercise in boredom, yet like any Imperial he knew that would not last.
The radio crackled into life before he had the chance to complete the next racetrack pattern.
"Falke 01, this is Graf Control. We have business for you at coordinates 349698, demons in the open moving north to Reichendorf."
"Graf Control, this is Falke 01. Solid copy on 349698, will take care. 02, follow my lead."
"Falke 02 copies."
By the time the radio went silent, Roon's observer had punched the coordinates into the computer and a steering pip appeared in the pilot's HUD. He pushed the throttles far forward and the Falke accelerated smoothly to 750 kph.
Ten years before von Roon had been happy if his horse carried him over the battlefield fast enough to keep his pistol-toting squadron from melee combat. Now he thought the turboprop fighter-bomber was slow, but it still allowed him to cover a great deal of real estate very quickly.
He still loved his first Falke he had flown against the Chaos Dwarfs, but that bird had been next to useless at night. This one was very different, sporting a very decent set of infrared sensors among other improvements.
Eberhard von Roon had to fly his plane through the night and make sure his wingman was where he was supposed to be and have an eye for the status of a host of systems. That was why the "T" model had an observer, in air-to-mud combat they were a godsend.
"Skipper, I have something on the infrared at 323 degrees, could be our customers."
The pilot did a fast calculation in his head, it was at least possible their targets made their way to this point since the contact report.
"Fast fraggers aren't they?"
"Looks like they really want to party. Got a better pic now, definitively out guests for Geheimnissnacht."
"Show me"
"Yes, Skipper."
Eberhard von Roon watched as his left TFT changed from showing information about the plane with the whites and greys of an infrared picture. White-hot blobs moved through the marshy terrain in jerky jumps and loping runs. The greyscale varied greatly in the beings that moved, ranging from barely warmer than their surroundings to hotter than living organisms should be.
"Looks like the party guests have indeed arrived, let's give them a warm welcome."
Pushing one of the many switches on his throttle he shifted channels.
"Graf control, this is Falke 01. We have found many demons at 349696, moving fast on Reichendorf. Request weapons-free."
"Falke 01, Graf control. Copy demons at 349696. Weapons free, repeat weapons-free."
"Falke 01 solid copy on weapons-free. Falke 02, we go in. Norbert, give me a steer."
"Yes, skipper. Come left to 010, altitude 3,000."
The pilot watched the white blobs change aspect in the TFT when his plane flew right over them. The pod under the Jagdfalke's nose contained an infrared camera that swivelled to keep the targets in sight. His observer could plan the course far better than him as he was less occupied with keeping the plane flying.
"Come left to 260 on my mark, now, now, now."
Bombing a target with unguided ordnance, especially one that could not shoot back, resembled a landing approach. Roon led the plane through three more turns until the Jagdfalke's nose was pointed at the enemy again.
"IP coming up in three, two, one, IP reached."
The pilot pushed the plane down and watched an ellipse move in the TFT, indicating where the ordnance would hit if he were to release now.
His observer read him speed and altitude so that Eberhard could concentrate on aiming.
"2,500 meters, 720 klicks, 2,000 meters 750 klicks, 1,500 meters, 750 klicks, 1,000…"
That was when the ellipse covered the most blobs and that was when Eberhard von Roon unleashed hell. When he pushed the pickle two slender canisters under the wings of the Falke dropped away and started to tumble immediately. With standard bombs that would have been a bad thing, here, not so much.,
When the canisters hit the ground the thin aluminium skin ruptured with all the elegance of a pustule venting. Together with two similar cylinders dropped by Falke 02, viscous liquid covered the demons and the marsh around them. Bits and pieces of white phosphorus lit up as soon as they were exposed to oxygen.
The ground below von Roon was converted from a marshy swamp full of demons into a crematorium in mere seconds. Napalm burned every bit of organic material, mundane or otherwise to fine ashes. The fire consumed any bit of oxygen it could possibly convert, taking breath and life away in similar measure. The few demons that had been outside of the conflagration had one look at the grave of their brethren and released their hold on the mundane world.
Von Roon pulled the now much lighter fighter-bomber into a steep climb combined with a curve that allowed him to observe the effects of his bombing run.
"Graf control, this is Falke 01. Target neutralized, will …fuck me."
"Falke 01, this is Graf control, please repeat, Falke 01 come in."
Hauptmann Eberhard von Roon was an experienced pilot, an ace and the Emperor's flying sword. Even his breath caught when Morslieb silhouetted huge leathery wings and a sinuous body. A head at least the size of the Jagdfalke's cockpit rose on an immense neck and a fanged mouth screamed its challenge into the night-time sky.
The pilot firewalled both engines and pulled his plane away from the winged demon.
"Falke 02, break left, I am taking the shot. Graf control, engaging airborne target."
With the plane lightened after dropping the napalm, it managed to accelerate even when climbing. Roon forced the Jadgfalke into a tight turn with the cockpit pointed half downwards.
The manoeuvre might be uncomfortable but allowed him to keep the demon in sight. A ball of blue lightning broke from the beast's mouth, hopelessly lagging behind the speeding plane. Pushing a button on the joystick changed the picture in the HUD markedly, it was now mostly taken by two lines forming a funnel.
When the plane had taken a 360 degree turn Roon pulled the wings level and put the demon's wings between those two lines. When they matched the wingtips he pressed the firing button firmly. The two 30 mm cannons shook the wooden plane despite their mountings.
Originally developed for the Puma IFVs, they were beasts, firing 600 rounds a minute each at a velocity of 750 meters per second. Each round was able to break through moderate armor and contained a filling that managed to mix explosives with incendiary effects.
Enough of them hit to amputate one of the great wings and fill the mighty chest with fore and shrapnel. Cast from the heavens, leaving a trail of burning fragments all the way the demon ceased to be a threat.
Haltdorf, Great Forest, Empire
The fields had been the first sign that the feast was near. The humans needed these crutches, so they might have food they might indeed eat. They were connected by dirt roads so their carts helped their weak backs. Everything was neat and just so, Desiretornix saw only signs of weakness. The True Gods gave their followers the ability to live on what unfettered nature provided by its own, and a mind that could thrive in a chaotic environment. The cowards and weaklings that lived here were just good to feed Desiretornix and his kind.
The few houses the demons found on their way here had been empty. Their owners had probably thought it clever to hide like rats with their equally weak fellows in the village before them.
They might hope that the simple palisade might stop demonkind. Desiretornix would gladly show them how wrong they were. Lowering his head he ran even faster than before, waiting for the arrow or the single bullet that would hurt him enough to rouse his anger. None came, neither for him nor for any other demon that assaulted the village.
He jumped and legs propelled by strong muscles and magic propelled him up so that his clawed hands could grab the top of the palisade. Pulling himself over the obstacle he found the parapet empty. The cowards were indeed hiding in their homes and hoped Desiretornix would still his hunger with others. They were out of luck then, the demons were not in a mood to spare anyone.
Jumping to the ground below, he found a broad way that lead to a central plaza. That was where his otherworldly senses told him the prey huddled together. He was one of the first to reach the place and had crossed it mostly to the big hovel on the other side when his world ended.
All around the plaza things exploded with sharp bangs and something flayed Desiretornix's brethren like an angry god. There were several bloody gashes on his arm and sharp stones lodged in the wounds he could see.
The survivors needed a second to find their wrath again and then stormed the houses all around that plaza. Before they could reach them, shots rang from many places, from cellars low in the ground and from roofs above. Something drew a burning line across Desiretornix shoulder, something else smashed into his right hoof.
It slowed him down enough that another demon grabbed through the wooden shutters and pulled an old man right through it. Before the claws fully pierced the dodderer's chest he managed to discharge a double-barrelled gun right into the demon's chest. It seemed impossible that such a puny weapon wielded by an old man could fell a demon, but it did. The smoke that rose from the chest indicated why, something burned inside. Desiretornix could not have named the red phosphorous that coated every ball of the buckshot load, but he could fear it.
He wanted off this place, to a place where no unseen cowards could shoot him. Running away was not him and so he smashed through the double doors before him. The door gave easily and he stumbled forward into the room beyond, a room full of children and the old. He could see no weapons, only fear. Oh yes, he would sate his hunger and…
His eyes saw an orange glow for the briefest of moments, far too short to turn around, before something hammered into his back with incredible force. Desiretornix spine was the diameter of a small tree, it still gave before the hammer. The demon fell forward on his face and before he could do much he was hit again and again. His legs were hammered to mush, his right arm struck so hard that he no longer felt it. Turning himself on his back with his good arm he caught a glimpse of a pudgy robed man wielding a glowing hammer screaming at the top of his lungs.
It was a short glimpse and darkness filled his vision when the hammer dropped on his brow.
He awoke much, much later. The parts of his body which were still able to feel anything told him that he was outside again, he had been moved while he was out. His vision was blurred, but his ears worked fine. It was just that he could not understand what he heard. There was a ratcheting sound, something blubbered and failed to catch. There was a human voice, but what did "Now start up you Sigmar-forsaken piece of trash, run you…" mean
And then there was the scream unlike anything he had ever heard before. It was hardly surprising, there are no Sachs-Dolmar chain saws in the Empyrean. The pain too was unlike anything he had ever felt. His last thought, before he was thrown back to the Warp, terribly reduced and weakened was:
"How can they be so cruel…"
30 Kilometer from Haltdorf, the Great Forest, Empire, two weeks later
The first things to hit the clearing's floor were ropes which slithered around like snakes for a moment. They moved in sych to the helicopter that hovered above the trees tops. They guided the descent of armored men and women who fanned out and looked for threats. They found none, so others followed them. One of them was not like the others, he wore a robe bedecked with stars and comets.
He examined the stone that was inert by now, tuted and hemmed before declaring his verdict. He had found another rift anchor, an item that rested half in the mundane world, half in the Empyrean. It would allow the passage to the Warp when the time was right. It had shown up on several magic detectors when it had allowed Desiretornix and his brethren passage into the real world.
It had been a small incursion and one of many, so that it had been ignored. Until now.
The helicopter took the soldiers and the mage away, but the place was marked and more people would arrive soon. It was an open question whether the stone could ever be activated again when they finished their work. But even if it did, it would open the passage into three meters of steel-reinforced concrete, sealed by wards.
Geheimnisnacht by Geheimnisnacht more such portals were found and sealed for the time being. Those which remained were far from Reiksbund settlements. Even those did no longer birth the same amount of demons as they had before. The demon's minds were quite different from human ones, they could still learn. And many learned to fear the mundane world, it had such dangers to the uninitiated.
A flat in Düsseldorf, Germany
You could say many things about Johan Schmich, witch-hunter and Inquisitor of the Order of Sigmar, but he LOVED carnival season.
It was a time where he could go out in full hunter regalia and not being suspected! But beside that fact, Johan found carnival to be fun. The Empire or better several member states had some roughly comparable feasts, but it still was different.
Schmich had had a hard time when he arrived in Germany 14 years earlier. Sent by a hard-line faction of the Sigmar Church to lead Germany onto the right way, he was a witch and Chaos hunter through and through. Filled with righteous mission and staunchly convicted to cleanse Germany of any murderous infection, his entrance on the scene could be compared to a bomb coming in.
That Schmich was coming was not unknown. In fact, he was the first witch-hunter sent to help the German police learning to sniff out Chaos, witches and critters in the established exchange program of the two nations.
His secret orders stayed secret. Namely helping the Sigmarite religion taking root in Germany.
When Schmich had arrived in Berlin first, the little temple of Sigmar there had a "massive "congregation of eleven people, seen of them Imperials on various official business. Even a hardcore believer like Johan Schmich could find some humour in this situation.
Personally, he did not consider the order to add new believers his main one. That was something for after. He was a witch-hunter, one of the best, not a fraking bell-ringer handing out invitations!
In the beginning he was attached to the Berlin Police Department and damnation, was this an incident-rife time. Like so many Hunters and Inquisitors „shoot first, ask questions later" had been a thing of life and death for millennia in their chosen occupation.
So Schmich was all for drastic, quick actions. Not that did happen often, the police held him back most times, insisting that in all places which came from Earth, be it Germany or for instance Wang Chan, this was not the way to do it.
While nobody held him back two times at the Cottbusser Tor, the officers seemingly looking elsewhere despite it not being a Chaos occurrence, Johan learned the hard way that things WERE different in Germany.
Witch-hunter Schmich had considered it simply rumours or misdirection, but over the years it became clear to him, that certain kinds of Chaos-Influence simply did not get a foot in the door in Germany. And more, with the Empire´s steady „modernisation" some influence of the not sufficiently damned Chaos-Gods would become weaker and weaker there as well.
To seduce you, the Chaos Gods needed something you wanted or feared excessively. When you had enough to eat, medicine when needed, schools for the children and these were just a couple of the most obvious things, the lure of Chaos lost much of it's appeal.
As such, Johan Schmich had far fewer run-ins with his chosen foes in Germany than he estimated before his travels. And he learned to love the new equipment and help he got. Fingerprints, Magic Indicators, DNA-Testing, official Duty Car, Police Sorcerers or minor talented magic helpers like the „Spökenkieker e.V.", such things made his work a lot easier than before.
And it was not a one way street either. Despite their heavy-handed, brutal and indiscriminate ways of operation, the really good witch-hunters were capable investigators and streetwise. How to sniff out Chaos and get rid of it, Johan gave many police stations throughout Germany the needed lore, examples and backbone.
Nowadays Johan normally went out to work clothed like a typical civilian Beamter, blending in. But today, on Rose Monday, Johan Schmich once again wore his old uniform and full Hunter regalia. Not only because of the old times and since it was carnival without undue attention, but especially because of the free time after work.
Then Johan Schmich would become „Inquisitor 007/8 (double O seven-eights), secret witch hunter with the licence to blabb" and getting „in die Bütt", as one of those giving humorous, sometimes sharply worded, speeches and puns.
