Before Camp Joy, Karond Kar
The submachine gun rattled in Ivil Bloodcrest's hands and thin streams of smoke connected its muzzle to his target. The daemonette screamed her pain and ecstasy to the world until blood and unquenchable fire filled what went for her lungs.
The assassin had to step aside to avoid her last lunge and the claw missed his chest by a few centimeters. His ears were assaulted by the double blast of a recoilless cannon mounted on an armoured truck. The Keeper of Secrets that caught the shell did not contribute to the clamor, but simply vanished in a multi-colored explosion.
The compound outside Karond Kar's walls had been a terrible surprise for the Wild Geese and their Cathayan allies. It was behind wooden walls topped with spikes and had been guarded by a few DawiZharr. No assault party sallied forth from it, no artillery tried to kill the mercenaries, and there were no snipers waiting for their next victim. In the barely controlled chaos that was the assault on Karond Kar it had been ignored as uninteresting and unimportant while Battlemechs tried to stop on Wolfgang Böhler's troops.
Now that most DawiZharr had shuffled off the mortal coil in one way or another the mages had taken notice of the compound. They described the miasma that poisoned the warp from that place as a terrible mixture of terror, lust, pain and death.
Shangxiao Lin Sung had detailed a company to conduct reconnaissance. The Cathayans had killed the DawiZharr guards quickly and efficiently. When they had tried to enter the compound's buildings they had been faced with hundreds of Slaaneshee Demons.
Quite a few soldiers had fallen on their knees, begging the Keeper of Secrets for the favor of worshipping him while they were slaughtered.
The Night Shift's selection process would allow only very strong-willed individuals to pass their grueling tests and the elite mercenaries had more than a few wards to distribute. They could be expected to withstand Slaanesh's allure long enough to kill the fraggers. Which meant they had to do what they abhorred and assault an enemy position in clear daylight, without lengthy preparation. Ivil Bloodcrest had used his connection to Areta Bane to rustle up fire support and was so nice as to inform Böhler's staff he intended to do so. The frontal assault looked furious, coming at the end of a mad minute shooting that shredded the compound's wooden walls, actually toppled a guard tower, and killing a handful of unfortunates. When the Night Shift emerged from cover the demons crawled from their hiding spaces, ready to massacre the puny mortals. The Night Shift promptly reversed their course, fleeing back into cover as fast as they could. They had good reason to as two mortar batteries and no less than four 105 mm guns from Leviathan plastered Slaanesh's chosen with high explosives and razor-sharp fragments. The survivors had retreated into the former warehouses and cellars as fast as they could and now Bloodcrest had to dig them out.
So far Areta's armored trucks had provided a lot of firepower, that was about to stop. Ivil did not relish going in and engaging the demons at close range. Even worse, something was happening in there that made sounds that chilled even his blood.
Inside Camp Joy
Lady Heles Jerres had received a longer chain as a reward for successfully giving birth to twins. It also helped with her taking care of them. And taking care she did, they were the lights of her life, her only love, and worth every bit of attention and care she could give them.
They were just so very cute, so adorable, and she could see the great beauty that would blossom in both when the time was right. Both had been uneasy as they had grown teeth during the last few weeks. Beautiful, sharp teeth that often hurt her when she fed them. That was right and proper, they were truly Druchii and that meant they had to be able to hurt others. And she would do everything, really everything to keep others from harming her treasures, she would.
It was just that she could do so little in her current state and the demons were coming ever closer. From what she could hear they were going to cell after cell and had their way with the true elves inside. The cries of anguish, pain, fear and ecstasy were coming nearer and she feared for the very moment they would come through her door. She would protect the children to the last, but feared that all she could do was to buy time.
And at the same time there were the other sounds. There were explosions, shooting and more. Who was fighting there and would they be able to save her children in time?
Inside Camp Joy
The greatest change for Ivil Bloodcrest when he joined the Wild Geese was the teamwork. No longer a lone wolf hunting for the prey chosen by the Temple of Khaine, now he was leader of the pack. Training to fight as a group far more effective and efficient than improving the perfect dagger thrust.
Currently he watched five Watchmen do their thing on a cell. One had pushed a priceless endoscope under the door, making sure that there were targets inside and where. She lifted a couple of fingers and pointed to the doors sides. There was the briefest of pauses before the group exploded into action. One ripped the door open for the fraction of a second, two dropped grenades in before the door slammed closed again and a wedge made sure it stayed that way. The explosions inside shook the door and nearly ripped it from its hinges. Before the dust had a chance to settle the door was ripped open again, this time for real. The grenadiers had Sterlings in their hands by then and went through the opening. They hammered short bursts of incendiary ammo into whatever moved after two grenades had vented their fury into a very limited space.
The next door brought no fingers from the endoscope operator but a confused shake of the head. The door was opened more slowly this time and two submachine guns covered the small elven huddle on the floor. The sight was so bizarre that Ivil Bloodcrest blinked.
Gulf of Naggarond, Naggaroth, same time
Ernutan Doomshackler's command tent had been erected and torn down so many times that the fabric was frayed and patched many times. Icy winds crept through the many rents and caressed what skin could be found. Mordred's chosen general could care less, he had the next assault on the Dandelion Eaters to plan and execute. It would be straightforward, as the winds were too fickle to use gas and Lord Mordred needed the flying disks. The front between the dark waters and the imposing cliffs did not allow for fancy maneuvers. Not that they needed such measures to fulfil Lord Mordred's commands, he just had to expend the resources.
His voice was clear, a bit toneless and flat, talking about evolutions he had ordered many times before.
"The first wave will attack before the end of the artillery strike. There will be smoke shells with the last salvos. It is imperative that you march right behind the creeping barrage. You will lose good DawiZHarr to our own guns, but far less than if the Dandelion Eaters have time to crawl from their bunkers and emplace their machine guns. Up to five percent losses to our own artillery is expected, double that is acceptable if it allows you to get to the wire without the Druchii opening fire. Bring the fallen with you, you can throw them on the wire, it is faster than cutting it. This will also trigger the mines the damn elves leave in it.
First company, you attack on the left flank, make sure that you do not wander into second company's lane of attack."
Ernutan called everybody by their functions these days, it made the losses fractionally easier to bear. The officers might fight better if they thought their general cared about them, but he no longer had the energy to fake that. His heart ached about that, he was letting Mordred down, but he could really, really not stand to lose more DawiZharr he cared about.
Allied Command Post, Karond Kar
Wolfgang Böhler had a hard time believing what his eyes saw so clearly. Ivil Bloodcrest, the coldest killer of a race that revered a god of murder he personally knew, was fazed by something.
"We cleared the compound without too much difficulty. Most demons that wanted a fight were caught by the artillery, that took the starch right out of them. The rest tried to kill the camp's prisoners, but as they took their time to have a bit more fun with them they were too slow and distracted. They were very ...creative in their ways. We took advantage of that and actually managed to save some of the camp's victims. They allowed us to learn what this operation was about, at least in parts."
Böhler waited for a few seconds for Bloodcrest to go on, he finally asked when the Druchii's mind was obviously still in the compound.
"So what was going on in there?"
"It was a bloody breeding camp. They made children for...something. When we stormed in the mothers tried to protect their children. Some succeeded, others died doing so."
All attendants of the meeting winced in some ways, at least one prayer was murmured in the group. Yet Böhler sensed that not everybody did so for the same reasons.
"I take it that this is unusual. I fail to understand the import of...
Ivil's unease was easy to see and hear.
"Protecting their kids, especially when it is obviously a hopeless case is not what Druchii mothers do. They have to give children to Khaine every so often, and before they are eligible for that honor many are culled as they show minor defects. Even when these fates can be avoided a true elven mother will avoid growing attached to her children as this would make her vulnerable to blackmail or worse. A good Druchii mother will care for herself and her household as this is her life support. She cannot care for every child and still these tried to fend of Daemonettes with their bare hands.
I do not understand this, something is very, very wrong here.
Entrance to the Undergound Sea, Close to Karond Kar, Naggaroth
The ship's bow pushed water and ice floes aside with equal ease. The bow wave increased with every second as the ironclad accelerated for all it was worth now that it had exited the narrow tunnels of the underground sea. Bearded heads were glued to rare binoculars, spotting targets for the huge guns in the twin turrets before her bridge. Their muzzles seemed like tunnels into darkness and they started to bear on their first victims. She was an ugly ship, with a ram bow, huge superstructure, lots of secondary guns and heavy armor. She would neither be fast nor maneuverable, yet her armor would allow her to withstand whatever the mercenaries could fire at her. The short time between her emergence from the tunnel and being in range of its targets would prevent the Dandelion Eaters and their lackeys from bombarding the ship from the air. If Lord Mordred's promise was good, and they always were, then his magics would have hidden the ship's passage through the Underground Sea. The dreadnought would smash all in its way, paving the way for true dwarven reinforcements.
The box on the seabed looked somewhat innocuous, not like a weapon of war. It was made from waterproof concrete and the only thing suspicious about it was the thin cable that connected it with Karond Kar's shore. It ceased to look harmless when the DawiZharr shipped passed over it by some 20 meters. A circuit was closed by an observer, a blasting cap and a small charge of black powder answered the call. That was enough to excite roughly two tons of dynamite into a fearsome detonation. The gas it produced under high pressure found the sea bed unyielding and the pressure on the sides high, while it decreased with every meter it ascended. Following the past of least resistance a huge gas bubble formed and parts of it met the steel hull of the Dreadnaught. It lifted the bow high, dished in the hull plating and cracked the keel in two places. Water rose in a huge column eclipsing the ship's mast by many meters. Inside the ship DawiZharr and their slaves were hammered into the deck by the explosion, many suffered fractured legs or ankles. In their shock and pain they could just listen to the tearing and the groaning of the hull, now that a huge portion of it was not supported by water. Even without the damage from the explosion, that would have destroyed the dreadnaught, since the keel fractured it broke into two halves. The choir of tortured metal was interrupted by an explosion when cold seawater met the tortured soul reactor. It killed everybody in the machinery spaces mercifully quick. The crewmembers not so lucky had to listen to an otherworldly shriek when whatever had been bound to the reactor was released. The sound lasted while the ship's halves sank and were silenced by the Sea of Chill's black waters.
Above Naggarond, Naggaroth
The Pfadfinder drone had arrived above Naggaroth a day before. Its predecessor had finally exhausted its batteries to the point where it had to return to an airfield in Ulthuan. The few bleak hours of sun available at this time of the year had been unable to recharge even the relatively meager needs of the huge propeller-driven drone. Both this one and its predecessor had the same task: keeping close tabs on the war that raged in the icy hell. The huge cameras with their folded optics could give a resolution that was simply not possible from orbit and the drone had a persistence unlike any manned plane. This was a great help when humint was very thin on the ground and sigint practically non-existent.
This war had been interesting enough before a magical explosion of considerable size had woken the Reiksbund to the fact that the conflict might very well reach out and touch them.
So the drone would follow its minder's orders and take a long look at the battles along the Gulf of Naggarond's shores. It also had a second set of orders, unknown to most of those operating the Pfadfinder. When the drone circled above Naggarond it received a signal buried in its course data. It waited till the position was right before it released a small pack held under the huge wings before continuing on its course. Five minutes later its electronic brain had forgotten the orders and the incident completely.
The pack deployed a small parachute. It slowed the pack minutely, but mostly provided stabilization. Dropping from a height where the blood of an unprotected human would boil through the layer where he would merely suffocate it reached an altitude where Dragons roamed.
It was there that the package unfolded four arms that ended in dual rotors. The parachute was dropped and the slipstream turned the propellers with ever-increasing speed. The electricity generated by that allowed the drone to go from standby to powered.
It accessed its position from the GPS, found itself a bit off the path it was programmed to follow and corrected course. The drone followed a downward spiral and its infrared camera looked for one tower among many. It wasn't hard to find as it was the tallest one and had a unique shape no other had dared to mimic. When the little aircraft was close enough it matched the upmost balcony with a picture stored in graphene memory. It briefly hovered above the balcony, dropping a small package on its floor. With that accomplished the drone made for the Gulf of Naggarond. The gigacaps allowed it to make it several miles from shore before failing. The drone fell into the silent water, never to be seen again.
Malekith would find the package a few hours later, wondering as always how it had gotten there. This time the package was heavier and held more than just pictures and messages. The instructions were quite clear, with lots of pictures in between. Even so he needed hours to learn to use the tablet, set up the solar charger and establish a satellite connection. That was a good thing, given that an army was allegedly fighting for him and he had no opportunity to contact them. Until now.
Meeting Room, Leviathan
When the mercenaries command staff had an emergency meeting, the topic was usually urgent, deadly, and could spell doom for the Wild Geese if not handled quickly and properly. This one was all of that and about babies. The briefing was held by an unlikely team, consisting of Anethra Hellebane and Hermann Corzilius, who headed the magical and medical departments respectively.
Currently Hellebane was referring to her findings about the babies freed from the DawiZharr camp and she was clearly exasperated.
"I checked these rug-rats with every spell at my disposal and passed them by any artifact that might provide an answer. I even conjured a minor entity of the warp and had it examine the babies from the Empyrean.
And the answer is still the same: They are not magically active. They are not nulls or something like that, they are just nothing out of the ordinary for healthy Druchii babies of their age. And all the while they vexed me so I still had the urge to coddle them. Me, coddle babies like a cross-eyed mother? Something is not right here, but I cannot see what. But where I failed, Hermann here has a theory he would like to present."
The Wild Geese's elderly doctor had never been a large man, after several years of campaigning he was rail-thin and bald as an egg. His voice was firm and deep though.
"Like Anethra I could not find anything wrong with the children I was tasked to examine. By my, albeit limited, experiences with Druchii children these seem to be a very healthy lot. The PCR-test for Chaos corruption has come up negative. That said, me and my staff also thought that the babies were very, very cute. In fact, so much so that there was a certain competition between the nurses who would be allowed to change their diapers, and if that is not a first I do not know what is.
I could neither make heads nor tails about this, until I asked an orderly to don gear normally used only on patients who are suspected to be highly infections. This one uses an external air supply and lo and behold that orderly did not get a case of how very cute these babies are and how much we need to protect them.
A bit of experimentation later and we could narrow the vector of whatever these kids have down to something airborne. I suspect pheromones, but lack the equipment to test for that. We can protect against that and there seem to be no lasting consequences if one is not exposed for long periods of time. I am no expert on Druchii psychology, but the little I and my staff knows indicates that the mothers are very much bound to their children. They cannot stand not being around them and are extremely protective of them."
Wolfgang Böhler looked at both, clearly unhappy at what he had heard. By the looks of the faces around the table he was not the only one.
"That does hint at capabilities we did not suspect before. A being emitting these pheromones could fly right under the radar of magic detectors and PCR-Tests, right?"
It was the elderly doctor who answered: It would look that way, we would not have suspected anything if the mothers would not been protective of the children to a degree uncharacteristic of the Druchii. And if memory serves pheromones are hard to detect. What I cannot answer is why they were bred that way, what is their purpose. I think the babies have too much potential just to be made at a whim."
Ivil Bloodcrest's voice was as cold as the winds that whispered around Leviathan's hull.
"They could be future demonhosts, being absorbed in Druchii society, making their way up until they are in a position of importance. Maybe they are just meant to promote Slaaneshe worship or toys for hir's amusement. I do not care, these are dangerous and should die before the sun is down."
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room, with nobody willing to gainsay the mercenary unit's deadliest killer, especially when they suspected he was right. It was Wolfgang Böhler who broke the silence, his voice was hoarse and toneless.
"No, we will not kill the babies. Not only because the Wild Geese do not do such things in cold blood, but if this ever gets out we would be be beyond the pale in most of this world, rightly so. Ivil, find me a small island in this Sea of Chill that is uninhabited. We will erect living quarters there, guard and monitor things from outside. I'll contact our real sponsors, they might have better ideas and more options. Involuntary sterilization I can support, murder I won't. Dr. Corzilius, we need some test to figure out if there are more of these."
Most beings around the table visibly relaxed and Ivil Bloodcrest gave no sign of being dismayed by the rejection. The mercenary doctor cleared his throat for a moment.
"I understand why you ask me for such a kit boss, but I need far better equipment. Sorry, to say, but this is a project for a genetic lab at a reputable university, not an old country doc."
"Noted Doctor. I can see what I can whistle up."
Berlin, former Kit Kat club, evening
Andrea Hermann's face was lit by the video on the screen before her, otherwise she was in darkness. Her face was hard to make out in the gloom, but there were hints that her jaw was clenched in an attempt to control her features.
The video showed a small room with two short benches and a rough table. Kuan Ti was in the center of the screen her children not so far away. She cracked some large cookie in half, giving each kid one.
"Sorry, not so many left of these. So you get one half and you get one."
Both children gushed with joy before they paused. It was Bo who looked up from his sweet and into his mother's face.
"What about a part for you mom? Do you have one?"
"Err, I eat mine later, thanks Bo."
The two children looked at each other wordlessly before breaking their pieces in in half and giving that to Kuan Ti.
"Here mom, it is better that way."
Hermann's vision blurred a bit, even though the video was fine when the three consumed their last sweet for the evening and cuddled before Kuan Ti brought them to bed.
She went back to the table and sat down for a moment, gulping a bit of tea that had to be bitter from the way her mouth curled. Kuan looked at the small plate that had held that cookie half an hour ago, now empty of the smallest crumb. A smile started to form on her, lighting up the room for the briefest of moments. Her face froze seconds thereafter and she broke into sobs, trying to keep them quite.
Andrea Hermann's chest seemed to contract and the air seemingly lacked oxygen for a moment. Despair swallowed Andrea's mind when she realized how little she could do to rescue Kuan Ti and her kids. She had somehow motivated so many people in Germany and beyond to care for her. E-Mails, letters,and tweets blocked the in-boxes of any Member of Parliament, minister or politician of note. Kuan Ti and Anja were household names by now, with a popularity that eclipsed many a politician. And still, she was so far away and the blockheads in government wasted day after day. It was nearly more than she could bear.
The lighting in the old club room was sub-par and was mostly provided by monitors. Where the orange light that brightened up her vision came from, she could not say and she did not look for its source. Her spine had straightened up considerably and she started writing notes on ideas how to improve the social media campaign even more.
Schneider Repair, Wuppertal, Germany
Thomas Schneider was about to shut down his age-old computer when the phone rang again and again. An employee might have decided that this was after hours, but Schneider was his own employer and if he wanted to keep his company he better serve his customers. He picked up the handle and regretted that nearly immediately.
"Elektro Schneider, how may I help you?"
The voice that came from the phone was thin, shrill and indicated panic.
"You have to come immediately Herr Schneider, this time the washing machine is really possessed."
Schneider silently debated if he should just terminate the call here and now and decided that he would be called again and again.
"Frau Meier, really now. I have examined the washing machine three times by now and could not find a thing. It is just an old washing machine that you should replace sooner or later. It is a bit out of balance, it will move a bit if you insist on loading it to full capacity."
The voice added indignation to the panic.
"Herr Schneider, I have been using washing machines since before you were born. I know how to fill them, not to overload them, and only use the appropriate detergents. Do not lecture me about this. I know what I have seen and this cursed machine tried to bite my arm off with the door just last night. And now it is…"
Schneider knew from experience that this rant could go on and on. Not today, it was really too late.
"Sorry to interrupt Frau Meier, but if this is really as bad as you claim you have to call the police and not me. They have people who deal with this kind of thing. I am a electrician and repair technician, not an exorcist."
Desperation mixed itself with the indignation.
"I have done this you doofus. They claim their magic indicator shows nothing and they won't come out."
"Then they might have good reason to refuse Frau Meier. If you really need me I'll visit you tomorrow afternoon. But if I find nothing I'll still charge for that."
"Yes, yes, you would. Oh my god , please come soon."
"Tomorrow Frau Meier. Good night."
Schneider sighed while he shut the computer down and got his coat. Mrs Meier had probably been quite the gal in her time, supposedly good-looking and sharp. The death of her husband, the Weltensprung, and diabetes had taken quite a toll on her. The electrician was pretty sure that she could not state the year with confidence and could often be heard talking to her dead husband. This bright new world knew many a horror, but he still feared dementia like few other things.
Mrs. Meier placed the handset back on the phone and went upstairs into her bedroom. She closed the door, locked it, and placed a broom handle under the opener. Pulling open the drawer of her nightstand she made sure that the pistol her Herbert had insisted not to tell anybody about was still there. She sat down on a chair, knowing that she could not sleep. Something was hammering on the cellar door from the inside and she was sure it was the possessed washing machine.
Wolfgang Böhler's office, Leviathan, before Karond Kar
The former sniper's desk had been pushed to the middle of the room, displacing a few chairs and a bench to do so. This was awkward, but the only way a circle of warding could be inscribed on the wooden floor around it. Böhler's hands ran down his tunic, making sure that the wards below it were still there. He looked at the clock, found that there was no time left and glanced at Hellebane, the mage that hovered nearby, outside the circle.
Her voice was gruff, a brittle undertone gave her nervousness away to those who knew her long enough.
"Get on with it Wolfgang. He won't be in a better mood if you call him late and we have done all we can."
"Will it be enough?"
"I have no bloody idea. We are talking about the bloody Witch King after all. But he should know that we are his only hope."
Wolfgang Böhler gave a snort.
"Banking on Malekith being rational. That is a new one."
"It would be. But self-interest he understands as well as any of us."
"Well, here goes nothing."
The laptop on Böhler's desk was connected to a hefty satellite antenna on top of the ice carrier's bridge, the mercenary's server was connected to a satellite at any time. And so, just when he expected it, Wolfgang Böhler received a request from a new contact to be accepted. He gingerly clicked on the accept icon, musing that he should at least be safe from hacking.
The former sniper had met Malekith several times during audiences. He had never been close to the Witch King and when you wanted to survive in the vicinity of Naggaroth's ruler you did not stare into his face. Now Malekith's visage filled a decently-sized monitor in high resolution. Wolfgang Böhler could not do anything but stare and the foremost thought in his mind was how good it was that he was not in the presence of his employer.
If cruelty and hate had an avatar it filled the screen before him. There was the headdress that combined the features of a crown, protective helmet, and instrument of torture at the same time. The skin below held a swirl of colors ranging from bone-white to deathly gray, forming ridges and valleys made from wrinkles and scars. When the Witch King moved his head it folded itself in ways that showed how the crown was fused with his skin. The eyes burned with hate, determination, desperation, and contempt in equal measure. The slant of Malekith's mouth reinforced those notions.
His voice was a deep hiss, full of threat and disdain.
"Wolfgang Böhler, the mercenary who deserted me, comes back into my service. Welcome back to Naggaroth. What makes you think you can earn my forgiveness?"
Wolfgang Böhler entered the path of war as a sniper. His mind went back to that place, the place where there was neither good nor bad, no beauty and no hate. There were only targets and his judgement as to who might live and who needed to die. His voice was free of any quivers.
"When your favorite general left my troops to die in Ulthuan I saw that as a dismissal. That your troops killed most of my former comrades in Naggaroth provided supporting evidence. It did not seem wise to return to Naggarond to discuss matters. Let me be clear here highness, I am neither here to beg for forgiveness nor to ask for your nonexistent mercy. The Wild Geese and the Cathayan Expedionary Corps are in Naggaroth to fight the Chaos Dwarfs. This link has been established so that we can receive your requests and discuss how we can best use the forces at my disposal."
Wolfgang Böhler had thought that Malekith's face had so far displayed as much hate as any creature in this world could. He had been wrong, as he learned when the burning emotions at display seemed to breech the screen and flood the office he was in. The lights around him flickered for a moment and the air around him chilled markedly. The runes around his table started to glow and some lost their outline.
The general's voice was even colder than before.
"If you really manage to kill me you will have destroyed the only link between my troops and the forces that want to keep you on your throne highness. In a week Karond Kar would see the last of us. Your tower will make an excellent vantage point to watch your realm burn. So what will it be?"
The shadows in the room became longer and gained a third dimension, wafting through the room like smoke. Those that met the circle of warding vanished, leaving the smell of ground bones and burned blood. All of a sudden the lights regained their brightness and the shadows went back where they belonged.
Wolfgang Böhler heard something from the loudspeakers he could not place, a sound familiar and yet alien at the same time. It took him long moments before he realized that this was Malekith's laughter. He suspected the Witch King was out of practice. The laughter lasted half a minute when it ended as if cut by a knife.
Malekith's voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.
"I remember I granted you a Ritual of Blood, once. You should live a great length of time, far beyond your meager human reach. You will spend these years fearing what shape my retribution will take and when it will find you and yours. But this is not the plane and time for this, now you have your uses. So what have you accomplished in my name and what are your plans?"
"I react badly to threats your highness, refrain from using them if you need our services. So far we have taken Karond Kar and cut the enemy's supply line to ZharrNaggrund. We have sunk all DawiZharr ships that we encountered. We will fortify the city and can send troops through the Sea of Chill into the Sea of Malice. This call is to establish where we should attack. We can lift any of the sieges of Har Ganeth, the Blacklight Tower, or lay siege to Hag Graef. We cannot do this at the same time, we need to prioritize according to your desires."
Wolfgang Böhler had the urge to check if venom dripped from the laptop when the Witch King answered. "So nice to hear that you would indeed obey me mercenary. And yet I do not hear about taking back Neustadt for me. Are you unwilling or unable to do so?"
"We can reach Neustadt only after neutralizing the DawiZharr at Hag Graef, which would be a lengthy process. What I can do is contacting Torsten Breitkop. We had no direct communication during the last years, but I am confident that I can mediate a cease-fire between your army and the citizens of Neustadt. I believe something can be arranged by which you ship raw materials to them and they supply you with weapons and munitions. It would also allow you to use your troops against the…."
Malekith was not very loud, but he managed to cut the General in mid-sentence.
"You will do no such thing and live. No slave, no matter how useful, will ever get the idea that a revolt could be successful. This disgrace in Neustadt is going on far too long already, but the Darkhand promised me that this will end once he has received reinforcements. You shall not do any of the things you listed, you will fight the DawiZharr that battle their way up the Gulf of Naggrond. They are on the way here, they are the main thrust and they need to be stopped. Your hirelings will do the fighting on this one, the damn dwarfs kill my warriors one by one."
"Very well highness. We have a plan prepared for that contingency and can flesh that out during the next days. Expect us on the march in ten days at the most."
"Your tardiness is noted General Böhler."
Barque Frederike, Sea of Claws, one day later
The smell of the whales blowing had been a nasty surprise for the spectators, reducing the majesty of the school broaching the surface minutely. Seeing the magnificent animals on the surface took the minds of all those who hung to Frederike's railing. This was not a shoal of small cetaceans, these were blue whales and the largest one probably exceeding 30 meters in length. They parted the waves for a few minutes before giant flukes rose skyward and marked the whales descent into the depths.
The spectators stayed on the railing for a few moments longer before the biting wind and the humid, cold air drove them to the heated deck house. Their bright, modern outdoors clothing marked nearly all of them as Germans, only one was clad in in heavy oilskins. One of the spectators was an elderly man whose eyes displayed youthful excitement that was mirrored in his accelerated speech.
"Wow, just wow. I never thought I would see them in my life. I am so happy that I made this trip, I don't know how long we will be able to see such a marvel."
The stout sailor in the oilskin turned to the tourist.
"Why do you think they will vanish Herr Müller? They have been here for as long as Imperial sailors ply these waters."
"Yes, yes. But now you have access to much more modern ships. Surely you will hunt the whales like we did in the old world. Only very few remain there."
"Ah that. I have talked about this with other guests on my ship on earlier trips, and I don't rightly think so. If I remember correctly the whales on your world were mostly hunted for their oil, their whalebone, and only a few for ambergris and meat. Now that you Germans have shown us how to produce and refine oil, and plastics do better than whalebone there is far less demand for them. At the same time we hunt the Kraken, even if some of you don't like that either. But they have never seen a ship torn apart, the sailors eaten, and the wreck pulled under the sea. And without the Kraken the whales multiply. I don't think the few slaughtered for meat will endanger them."
"You really think so? You think my grandchildren will still be able to see this miracle Capitan Commers?"
"More like your grandchildren's grandchildren. No matter what else you Germans did on this world, you certainly saved the whales."
The old man froze for a moment before chuckling.
"Saving the whales through faster industrialization. I wonder about the Greenpeace position on that.
Unterlüss 22, Wuppertal
The monster pounced on Kurt Schneider. Its mouth was ajar, promising missing limbs and a bloody death. It had jumped him from a corner of the dark cellar, where it had hidden under the detritus of whatever had wrecked the storage room. Schneider had entered, expecting no trouble at all. The ripped clothes on the floor, mixed with the shards of countless preserving jars had alerted him that something was afoot, still he had not expected to be ambushed that way. The only thing that saved him was the cable that tangled the monster, cutting its jump short and dropping it at the electrician's feet. While that saved him from immediate death, it was now between him and the stairs that led to the only escape from this cellar. The steel toes of his working boots left a deep dent in the monster's hide and pushed it back. The monster reared up, screeching and sparking like mad, threatening bloody revenge. Schneider stabbed at it with a long screwdriver, leaving a long scratch that bled a whitish fluid. The screeches grew shriller when the monster jumped back. There was an uneasy standoff between electrician and monster that was broken when Schneider made a feint with his screwdriver. The monster pounced again, just to be intercepted by the electrician's tool box. A substantial case made from sturdy ABS and metal reinforcements weighing nearly 20 kgs that hammered into the monster's flank dishing it in considerably. It flew by Schneider and collided with the wall behind him. The electrician did not look for it, but made a run for the stairs. He managed to close the door in face of the screeching monster and wedged the door shut with his trusty screwdriver.
Frau Meier's voice was shrill with fear and righteousness.
"I told you the washing machine was possessed."
Schneider was already busy dialing on his smartphone.
"No, it was not the washing machine, it was the bloody spin dryer. Why do you keep that clunker around anyways, that Miele can do that on its own?"
"But not as good as my old spin dryer."
"Not anymore, that is for sure."
Druchii camp, before Neustadt, Naggaroth
The sound started as a low rumble and worked itself up to a threatening roar. Something jumped, the clinking of chains and loud wheezing sounds said that the jump had been cut short by a chain and a choker. Cracks were momentarily louder than the beast's fury and its challenge faded with every crack of the whip. Whatever happened ended with mewling sounds that were far too loud for something wordlessly begging for mercy.
Racca Dawneyes shook her head, the Beastmaster's compound did not just smell the worst of all in the Druchii camp, it was also the loudest, at least for now. The candidates for the worst clamor to come were in the next one. At the moment there were the grumbles and moans that spoke of hurting limbs, stressed joints, and hangover. The few Druchii females seen outside the tents moved slowly and listlessly. Seemingly harmless now, the Witches would rouse themselves to a crazy furor with a mixture of wild drugs, an intense orgy, and bloody sacrifices. When they were hyped up they moved with lightning speed, felt no pain, and were deadly with their short blades. Just now they were in the depths of withdrawal and depression and that was where they belonged by Dawneyes' reckoning. Nearly useless against modern weapons they could not be trusted to kill only those who needed to die. If Racca had her way they would not get into a position to do so and still be moderately useful.
The last compound was different. There was the slithering sounds of meeting blades, the clipped voices that gave orders or comments, and not much more. The tents were just so and there was none of the filth that could be seen in the other camps. True elves sparred against each other with huge, two-handed blades they wielded with inhuman speed and precision. Their helmets covered the whole face, resembled skulls and they still managed to radiate a frightening intensity. These were Hag Ganeth Executioners, worshipping Khaine in his aspect as the executioner. It was said they knew how to slay any creature on this world with a single, well-placed stroke. They were disciplined and could be depended upon to leave some of the useful alive. Some Executioners might even get in a position to do so.
Racca felt a shiver crawl down her spine. Turning her head she found the source of it, an executioner who watched her with an intensity exceptional even for a Druchii. She found herself inspected and assessed as something distasteful. Dawneyes recognized the Dreadbringer, the deadliest killer in a city worshipping mass executions. Her hand dropped to the well-worn handle of her revolver.
Her plans had better work, or there would be a fierce competition for whom was allowed to kill her.
Unterlüss 22, Wuppertal
The SEK team that went into the cellar was as well-equipped as could be expected in a middle-sized town far from Germany's border. A ceramic carapace over spidersilk armor plus a few wards covered everyone, they were armed with an eclectic mix of a staff, a warhammer glowing a bright orange, and a few shotguns. They had watched the video provided by a drone long enough and decided on a plan.
Thomas Schneider chuckled when he realized how different they were from what he saw on TV: these guys spent far longer preparing and far less jawing off than on the screen. But when they moved they did so very, very quickly. They thundered down the stairs single file at a speed the electrician would not have achieved without armor. There was no long firefight either, except for two deafening booms and the clangs that a hammer on sheet metal would produce.
A few moments later the assault team emerged from the cellar. Their combat mage led the party, holding a piece of cloth before him with long-handled pliers. There were barely visible symbols on the cloth and they seemed to move ever so slightly. The fabric itself seemed to shift in ways that could not be explained by wind. It rustled quietly when it did and Schneider believed he had heard something intelligible while that lasted. The sounds cut off immediately when the fabric was dropped in a warded container and the lid closed on it.
The mage had an accent that marked him as an Ostländer and he sounded incredulous.
"That piece of dreck was jammed between the drum and the housing of that machine. It might have been a piece of a Chaos banner or a fragments of a Chaos mage's garb. Seems whatever was bound to it was not happy with being laundered. Frau Meier, this is important: Where did you acquire this?"
Frau Meier looked dazed for a moment before she lifted her head.
"Oh that I remember clearly. I bought it at the flea market at Elberfeld. There was this stand from Tilea, yes Tilea. Or wait, it might have been from this nice old man I met last week…
