The location had been set, a Rakdos temple, hand picked by Erebos himself, as he called upon the undead once again. The smell of rotting flesh began to permeate the air while the spasms of the undead could be heard echoing on the wind. Ripping and tearing could vaguely be heard over the creaking trees that towered above the temple, hordes of zombies rising from the dead, hands bursting from the ground, outstretched towards the night sky; the few Rakdos inside unaware of their encroaching doom. The zombies lifeless, milky eyes rolled around as they jerked and stumbled towards the temple, each shuffle making the necrotic flesh peel from their bones, the breathy groans of the dead filling the night. The scourge began to spill into the temple, the Rakdos inside already slicing through zombie after zombie, the horde seemingly unstoppable while a faint thundering could be heard in the distance accompanied by light tremors in the ground.
On the horizon, a vast army of crazed minotaurs could be seen careening down the hillside, descending upon the temple. The thundering sound of their colossal hooves digging into the ground echoed through the air, their blood stained manes whipping in the wind, the mighty minotaurs releasing a demoralizing battle cry as their strong, robust arms thrust their weapons into the sky. They rushed the temple, led by Deathbellow Raider, bursting through the wall, weapons flying in every direction. The sickening sounds of bones breaking on war hammers filled the room, the few Rakdos suicidally defending their temple, knowing they would not make it out alive. As the Cult of Mogis continued it's slaughter, the zombies gradually began to retreat, and the groans of the undead became no more than a whisper. But the fight was just beginning; unbeknownst to the minotaurs inside, Erebos had released a plague of rancid rats.
For a brief moment, all was silent; except for the unsettling sound of scratching in the walls. The pustule covered, yellowish colored rats squeaked and screeched while they scratched at the walls, their discolored ulcers oozing and bursting as they rubbed against each other. The scratches echoed throughout the temple, getting louder and louder until finally the rats came spilling out of the walls, a flood of diseased rodents quickly covering every open space of the temple floor. The minotaurs shook and kicked at the infected vermin gnawing at their legs. Deathbellow Raider, however, stood firm, knowing their God would protect them, and as he grabbed a rancid rat, squeezing the life out of the rodent until it burst in his hand he said,
"It is unwise to insult a God."
And with the fall of a hammer, the plague ridden rats fell to the ground, dead.
But dealing with the dead is playing into Erebos's hand, and while Deathbellow Raider and his army of minotaurs struck down the remaining retreating zombies outside, two more zombies rose from the stagnant pond nearby. Drunau Corpse Trawler emerged from the pond, blueish, decomposing skin hanging from his bones, spear in hand and another zombie attached to his back. The glazed, frenzied eyes of Drunau Corpse Trawler stared hungrily at Deathbellow Raider, lurching and shuffling towards the minotaurs as another wave of zombies rose from the surrounding area behind him. But Deathbellow Raider was not discouraged, he knew their God would protect them once again.
"This temple belongs to Mogis now."
And with the fall of a hammer, Drunau Corpse Trawler was dead. Digging his hooves into the ground, Deathbellow Raider rose his arm high in the air and let loose a hair-raising battle cry once again as his mighty legs thrust him forward into battle, the army of minotaurs following behind.
The thud of bodies against bodies, bones breaking on war hammers and the unearthly mix of the minotaurs roar with the cries of the undead filled the night sky. But the undead are restless, their hunger never satiated, and as Erebos could be heard laughing, dancing a macabre waltz, Drunau Corpse Trawler rose from the dead once again, shambling out of the stagnant pond, followed by a flood of Rancid Rats. Deathbellow Raider and his army faced the unending onslaught of zombies head on. Now, Minotaurs may appear as snarling, drooling beasts, and they are; but they appreciate different methods of war, methods like those adopted from the Rakdos. One such method is the suicidal charge, known to the minotaurs as the blood rage, which they used now, as they ripped through the sea of undead.
The sickening sound of flesh ripping could be heard over the thundering hooves of the minotaurs as they used their horns to impale the zombies. In the chaos of the battle, the rancid rats weaved in and out of the stampeding minotaurs as the undead fell two by two around them. Swarming the field, the rats clawed their way up the minotaurs legs and began gnawing at the thick hides. Their assault did not last long, however, as their pustule covered chests began to glow a deep red as, one by one, they began to explode violently; puss, entrails and skin flying in every direction. Blood and guts flew everywhere as Deathbellow Raider impaled two zombies through the chest; their arms still grasping for him, their crooked, rotted teeth gnawing at him in hunger as he threw them to the side. A strong downward thrust of his massive arm sent his war axe sinking into a zombies head and continued down, through it's chest and stomach until the axe hit the ground with a *THUNK* as it sunk halfway into the soil, the zombies' entrails landing in a pile at his feet as both halves fell to either side. Momentarily distracted, 3 harpoons burst through his chest.
Staring down in shock at the rusted harpoons through his chest, Deathbellow Raider fell to his knees as Drunua Corpse Trawler and the two zombies at either side pulled their harpoons from his body, taking a large mass of flesh and viscera along with them; blood oozing and gurgling from the gaping fatal wound. As Drunua Corpse Trawler began to shamble away into the surrounding battle, a dying Deathbellow Raider swung his mighty war axe, letting it loose as it swung through the air, slicing Drunau Corpse Trawler in half. His upper body slid off his hips, his intestines following suit while his knees buckled and his lower body fell to the ground. Drunau Corpse Trawler dragged his half body slowly across the battlefield, entrails dragging behind as a wall of minotaurs stampeded through the shambling bodies, the minotaurs having no mercy as they ran the undead into the ground. The scene was a gore fest, a blood bath, a complete slaughter, and as the minotaurs roared out in an adrenaline-fueled war cry an eerie silence swept over the battle field. Felhide Petrifier stepped out onto the scene, the very earth beneath his hooves dying as he walked. Razor sharp horns spiraled out and curved up from either side of his head as froth dripped from his drooling, snarling mouth, his cloak of animal hide whipping at his back.
Walking among the incapacitated zombies as the battle raged on, Felhide Petrifier ripped a head from one zombies shoulders followed by a sickening *CRACK* as the spine relinquished the skull, the crooked teeth still gnashing at anything it's blood-rimmed eyes could see and he thought,
You never know when a trophy will prove to be more than ornamental.
As he stuffed the zombies head into a satchel, a dim light caught his eye in the distance, the light floating along the mist like an ethereal haze accompanied by a rusty creaking sound. Emerging from the mist was Lamplighter of Selhoff. He was a stitched, mangled, pink fleshy mess of a ragdoll with two arms on each side, each holding a lantern which in turn supported another lantern with four hands grotesquely stitched to its back, each holding melting candles which dripped along his butchered, humped back. He, and the army of undead that surrounded him, were a gruesome sight, but not nearly as intimidating as the mass of minotaurs ready to charge, each releasing a mighty war cry.
Their rage-filled war cry's were enough to prove their devotion to Mogis as a thick red fog began to roll down the hillside, blanketing the area and engulfing the ethereal haze. As the fog thickened, a form began to take shape as Mogis, God of Slaughter emerged from the fog, floating over the battlefield like an unearthly presence, watching for those who were devoted enough to receive his gifts. Another form began to take shape in the crimson fog as Felhide Spiritbinder emerged, red fog swirling in turmoil around his hooves. His loin cloth tattered and torn, his eyes like 2 black beads that stared into your very soul. Two massive horns curled back from his head as the bones and spikes of unimaginably terrifying creatures adorned his body. On his heals was Kragma War Caller, eager to join the battle. Kragma Warcaller looked like he was made of pure testosterone and muscle, his scowl was enough to make your blood run cold, his greyish-white mane still stained with blood and had two massive horns that jutted out to the side like an 'S', ending in a razor sharp point.
Kragma Warcaller, accompanied by Felhide Petrifier and Felhide Spiritbinder, let out an echoing battle cry, as more and more minotaur gathered, but while the war cry brought them together, it was the meat-hunger that pushed them into a complete frenzy and charged as one. The undead shambled towards the terrifying, towering beasts, arms outstretched, hunger driving them, as if fear was an emotion they'd never known. The smash of bodies against bodies once more filled the night as the minotaurs leveled the battlefield, stampeding, impaling and smashing the zombies into the ground, their giant hands ripping zombies in two as their slaughter continued.
Felhide Petrifier tore through zombie after zombie, thrusting his spear through them and throwing them off into the distance. Kragma Warcaller was an unstoppable beast, slicing his giant war axe through crowds of undead as body parts were sent flying in all directions. Felhide Spiritbinder stood in the background, aiding his fellow comrades, searching for the mightiest minotaurs to 'enhance'. Chanting as he moved his arms, Felhide Petrifier summoned a warrior, a blank slate, a moldable being; and he chose Kragma Warcaller as his muse as he transformed the warrior into a perfect copy of Kragma Warcaller.
This was it, Mogis new, this was the end. The zombies were far too mangled and Erebos too weak, as his army was ripped to shreds by razor sharp horns and trampled beneath the minotaurs hooves. As Fellhide Petrifier and Fellhide Spiritbinder, followed by Kragma Warcaller and his copy, who both let out a final warcry, accompanied by Mogis' unimaginably large army of minotaurs, rushed the temple, taking it for themselves, the army of the undead, what pieces of them remained, clawed their way back into the ground as Erebos' army was finally defeated.
Mogis was triumphant.