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Chapter 3: The Eternal Challenger's Challenger
(8 Years Later; Icedrake Fjord)
Wulfrik the Wanderer, also known as the Eternal Challenger and the World Walker, the mightiest warrior of the Norsca and self-proclaimed strongest man in the world, finally saw what it meant to be the object of humility by the gods. He should have first realized when he succumbed to the folly of drink of glory and spouting claim that he was the mightiest warrior in the world be it man, elf, dwarf, lizardman, or chaos spawn. That would not be so bad if in his drunk mind he didn't foolishly claim that he was equal of every warrior of the mortal realm and of realms beyond mortal flesh. It was expected that Wulfrik's own gods would not be so enthusiastic about that.
They cursed with an impossible deed, and more of a cruel joke of irony. If Wulfrik was truly the greatest warrior, then he shall prove that claim. By order of the gods, Wulfrik was to take to all four corners of the world and challenge its greatest warriors of the modern day.
The Seafang, a ship blessed by the Dark Gods to travel through the Chaos Realms and traverse the world in the blink of an eye was not enough for Wulfric. Unfortunately, most of these worthy warriors to prove Wulfrik's worth to the gods are leaders to entire nations. Challenging them meant challenging the armies that were at their beck and call. His only option was to create a unified Norsca to take the whole world by storm.
That was Wulfrik's quest started by conquering all the tribes of the north. He dueled and killed every chieftain to force their own tribes under his banner. Once that was done, Wulfrik began growing his own armies. Wulfrik and beaten cheiftains that submitted soon marched from their lands with hordes of Marauders equipped in armor and metal-wrending axes, packs of armored Skin Wolves, and all the while atop mighty beasts such as the Ice Drake or the enormous Mammoths that dwarfed Trolls and Giants.
These very armies then put themselves to the test first by taking out the Dwarven strongholds in the mountains near the End of the World. It did not matter to Wulfrik how high their walls were or thick their steel. Stone walls crumbled and workshops turned to ash. For each mountain stronghold they pillaged in fire and war, Wulfrik battled each of their Lords, but their crafted armor made no resistance for the Champion's blade aimed for the short heads.
Not even the stronghold of the nearby Skaven were safe from the Eternal Challenger. In fact, the infestation of Ratmen meant more blood, skull, and hearts to offer to the Chaos Gods. They can skulk in the ground all they want, but at the end of the day they're fair slaughter for his army to have fun with.
His sights were set on the Empire and the Kingdoms of Bretonnia. Wulfrik needed to challenge Emperor Karl Franz and Louen Leoncoeur respecitvely. Mighty they may be, but they were not prepared for the united hordes of the North that would soon burn their precious lands. They will fall before Chaos as all things will, and his pillaging of the nations of man will herald the awakening of the Chaos Warriors.
That was the plan, at least until an unexpected factor came into play. Never did Wulfrik expect that of all the factions, it was the Dark Elves from the North of the New World. The Norsca and the Empire of Naggarond were more or less non-aggressive towards each other. Until a few months ago, a radical change went through the Dark Elves and suddenly the remaining Norscan tribes that were settled in the West corner of the world were suddenly silenced. Then came their Black Arks and ships of a new army completely unknown to Wulfrik, carrying banners not belonging to any of the clans. By the time Wulfrik had realized his territory was in danger, these new armies of Naggarond led by unknown generals already swept through the Helspire, Vanaheim, and Naglfari Mountains.
None of his provinces lasted long, and the Dark Elves made their new homes after killing or enslaving all Norscans. The strangest part of them was that the army was undeterred by the corruption. In fact, the Chaos Wastelands that made up the frozen north completely left them and the occupied settlements alone. As if something was commanding the Chaos energies drenched in the land to not harm them, which should be impossible. Only Greater Daemons and those transformed by the Chaos Gods themselves could affect the land, but this was an entirely different scale.
He had to go on the defensive to keep his land, or else all Wulfrik worked for to prove himself the superior warrior would be all for naught and his soul would be banned from the halls with the gods. Not to mention that torture the daemons promised to inflict upon Wulfrik in the afterlife.
Wulfrik returned to his capital of Icedrake Fjord, but it was too late to save the rest of the Ice Tooth Mountains. Doomkeep and the Longship Graveyard were already in their clutches by the Dark Elves, but as it would seem the bulk of the invading force was converging on Icedrake Fjord. Somehow, Wulfrik knew that the army that was knocking on his doorstep was led by the main general, the very leader that staged this entire invasion, and the Champion knew that that very general was coming toward his capital not because of territory but himself. The Eternal Challenger's gruff irritation turned into excitement. For once, a worthy opponent, for what else but a strong warrior could lead such a force, was coming after him for a challenge.
Thus, the siege began. The Dark Elf army encircled the capital camp of over four thousand strong against an invasion force of equal number. Their Reaper Bolt Throwers did not simply fire steel bolts, but rained down a storm of arrows lit in crimson fire. Heat suffused the air, overpowering even the chillwinds of the north from the inferno that came down upon the Norscan capital. This hell on the mortal world lasted for a month, yet they did not attack. Wulfrick knew why: the general wanted him to go on the offensive.
The World Walker did not back down from the challenge. He marched his army joined by the Throgg, who he won against in a duel. The Chaos Troll himself led an army of his own consisting of Ice Trolls and packs of Ice Wolves. Wulfrick himself marched out with his Marauders out the camp, armored and ready for combat. His mammoth mount was killed in the siege, so Wulfrik rode out on the top of a chariot pulled by hungry wolves bigger than most bears. From his stand on his mount he saw his Marauders marching across the snowy plains to meet the enemy on the battlefield.
A roar drew his attention to the air where Wulfrik saw the Cold-Voider flying in the sky. A legendary Frost Dragon that was considered the apex predator of the mountains that Wulfrik beat into submission and now serves him. Behind him, Wulfrik looked to see his packs of Skin Wolves carefully marching ahead of three giant mammoths fully armored with one of them carrying a shrine to the gods to empower his army.
Wulfrik considered this the fiercest army in the world that would take on the many nations and burn everything in its path to ruin. So it begged the question what did the Dark Elves offer to properly challenge Wulfrik's power?
The answer when the horizon ahead of them was suddenly covered in a blanket of black holding banners of Naggarond. Wulfrik's trained eyes saw perfectly the marching knife-earred invaders, but he was momentarily stunned. The bulwark of the army that dared to face him consisted of Bleakspears, but there was an obvious difference. He had met Bleakspears before and knew of their universal trait of their annoying arrogance. However, these Bleakspears carried themselves as proper soldiers with stoic expressions showing not an inch of a sneer. They marched as true soldiers of war. Unlike regular Bleakspears, these units wore hide of sea serpents instead of the purple-colored steel. Which meant they were more durable and agile than normal.
Behind the lines of Bleakspears marched units of Dark Elves covered head to toe in thick black armor with red cloaks whilst carrying mighty halberds to rend armor. Wulfrik did not recognize them as 'guards' of Naggarond, but they served well in the armies of Dark Elves as heavy infantry to hold the line even against monsters. The Eternal Challenger knew behind and possibly at the far sides were missile units armed with crossbows capable of piercing through armor like paper. That is what he assumed at least and cried out his orders to properly prepare for the threat.
As soon as he did, the Dark Elves began their charge towards his army. Wulfrik made a feral smile at the sight. Yes, this would be a battle worthy of many sagas to sing and talk about. He could practically feel his warriors shaking in anticipation, and they only needed Wulfrik's word to charge forth. So why not let the wolves out?
"SLAUGHTER THEM!" Wulfrik roared out, his voice like thunder for his entire army to hear.
His Marauders cheered his name, his Skin Wolves howled in excitement, and his beasts roared for battle. Thus did Wulfrik's army take the charge with his men taking the lead to meet the Bleakspears head on. The Cold-Voider screeched as it flew over the charging hordes of Marauders to wreak havoc and shock among the enemy to assist his men, and following them would be Trogg with his beasts flanking from the sides and Wulfric with his Skin Wolves to join his Marauders in the killing. The mammoths would make their way through the front to properly plow through the bulk of the forces. Such was the plan that Wulfrik had to win this glorious battle, to crush his opponents strength and retrieve the head of their general personally when all of the leader's forces were torn asunder.
This plan went askew when another roar went off through the skies. This was a roar of mighty dragon as well, yet where the Cold-Voider shriek was shrill and chilled to the bone, this roar was mighty like thunder or the wrath of the gods. Wulfrik's eyes scoured the white sky murky from the fallen snow, but he could see a black shape descending from the sky. Then it appeared from the clouds to eclipse the light of day. A Black Dragon, a species bred by Dark Elves, that was massive, easily the size of the Cold-Voider if not bigger. Along with its pitch scales that were the usual for Black Dragons, it also had accents of red upon its limbs, claws, and spine. Instead of noxious breath, the Black Dragons maw flicked with dark crimson embers.
It was what was on top of the dragon that caught Wulfrik's attention. Riding it on a chair chained down at the base of the dragon's neck Wulfrik saw a single person steering the dragon by massive reins. His smile grew tenfold now that he has sighted his prey, but he could unfortunately not get a clear view as the dragon's constant beat of its wings covered the rider.
His smile faltered when the black and red dragon crashed into the Cold-Voider, locking the Frost Dragon in midair to fight with a rival for the skies. At the same time, his Marauders crashed down their axes upon the charging line of Dark Elves. But at the last second, the Dark Elves stood their ground instead of charging forth and made a shield wall with their spears pointed forward. The move baffled Wulfrik for what reason would they do that if his Marauders would simply kill them on the spot.
The answer came when out of nowhere Witch Elves jumped over the shoulders and heads of their Dark Elf brothers with the grace only elves can have. Instead of axes smashing down on armor and shields, whips and blades shred into the flesh of his men. These Witch Elves were not the usual norm, for they were well-armored with plated pauldrons and braces to protect their arms and thick leather corsets to resist blows from opposing blades. They were even more deadly as they were beautiful, slaughtering through Wulfrik's warriors like a dance of murder and blood with both whip and blade in hand. So skilled and graceful were the Witch Elves they did not even harm their allies while leaving pieces of Marauders on the now blood-stained snow.
These Witch Elves were all led by a single Death Hag with hair as lustrous as Dwarven gold with icy blue eyes. The intense gore she danced in from tearing out entrails and hacking limbs could not mar her beauty nor dirty her blonde hair. Set on her head was a circlet of black iron that went around her head and protruded five spikes just above her temple. In her hands she wielded twin knives that made quick work of metal and flesh. Any of those to survive were coughing up their own blood made a sickly green from the poison from the steel of her knives.
Trogg's monsters never made it to the enemy flanks and were instead met with shades riding Cold Ones into battle carrying either greatswords or halberds along with their crossbows. The Ice Trolls found themselves at the mercy of hungry reptiles as the Cold Ones bit down on their flesh. Two would bite down on the arms of a troll, their combined weight forcing it to kneel before one of the shades hacked off the head with their weapons. Some stayed at a distance pelting the monsters and wolves with bolts that dug deep into their hide. By the twenty that were shot, one would fall.
Reaper Bolt Throwers started from far behind the enemy lines down on the mammoths. Wulfrik scowled in irritation, figuring out they were taking out the monsters that would be able to level the enemy down. He had no choice but to shout an order for the mammoths to charge despite his Marauders in the way. The giant monsters roared forth into the fray of the battle, stomping upon both Norscan and Dark Elf. The Witch Elves avoided the monsters with ease thanks to their agility, as if they were expecting them to attack. The Champion's eyes widened in realization, but it was too late.
The Dark Elves spread out in a practiced motion big enough for the mammoths. The monsters would have continued on to slaughter the enemy until a whistle in the air drew Wulfrik's attention. From the skies rained down golden fireballs crashing down on the mammoths. Their fur was lit in golden fire, making the mammoths cry in pain and shake so violently their Norscan riders fell off.
The next that followed would haunt Wulfrik in his last moments. He felt the Winds of Magic shift. From the once gentle breeze it once held, it became a torrent of violent gusts that felt mountains would crumble from the force. Wulfrik and every warrior in his army knew that it was their gods' powers manifesting and the Winds of Chaos were blowing. But the intent, the vile feeling of being stared back by the abyss, was directed at them.
It came as a shock to Wulfrik to realize that the Winds of Chaos were not blowing for them. The crackling of lightning turned the Wanderer's attention to the sky where the Druchii general was, and it was there he found where and how the Chaos magic was forming. Wulfrik was filled with both anger, shock, and fear that a Druchii was using the powers of Chaos, the magic of the Ruinous Powers they served, against them.
Chaos winds collected into the leader's raised left palm till the Druchii was holding a bolt of red lightning. The massive black dragon the Druchii rode upon kept steady as the red bolt was flung towards the armored mammoth with the war shrine on its back. On contact, the Chaos powers electrified, but no real damage was done on the outside.
However, the body of the mammoth began to convulse unnaturally, and Wulfric could notice significant shifting beneath the hide as though something was lurking inside of it. Untold nightmares that could make hardened men lose their sanity could not compare to the defilement of flesh that was wrought on the beast. Its whole body mutated from the Chaos energies going wild within it, first starting with the mammoth's entire rib cage exploding out of its chest. The giant bones themselves grew gnarled and twisted like the branches of trees. Some parts split open to the marrow that was growing mutated pusses, gnarled growths of pulsing flesh, and fleshy appendages.
The knees gave out as the joints and the bones broke apart in mutated flesh and cancerous tumors that grew eyes and mouths all in some eldritch law. The energies that made the war shrine were turned against the mount, and the mammoths head suddenly exploded as its own bloating guts erupted from the throat and mouth. As before, the mutations became random from the ongoing gore with the blobs of massive guts sprouting terrifying eyes, teeth-covered puss, and tongues and tentacles from no matter of origin.
In just thirty seconds, the massive titan was turned into mass of mutating flesh on the battlefield that continued to writhe and pulse. The Norsca were familiar with the happenings of the mutations of Chaos, but never have they witnessed the Ruinous Powers put at such a scale on a beast such as the mammoth. It also added to a loss of morale that not only was their war shrine destroyed, but the enemy was using the Ruinous Powers they put their faith to against them. And why was a Druchii of all things blessed by their gods as it would seem for no normal soul should be able to wield the Winds of Chaos? Any man of the untainted nations would have lost their grip on reality and sanity, vomiting out their own guts and clawing out their eyes to rid of the unimaginable abomination.
Even Wulfrik was unnerved at the sight, but his reaction was kept back by iron will. He expected the Druchii to be a bit shaken at the forces of Chaos at work right in front of them. That wasn't the case as he saw the stoic faces of the Druchii warriors break into smiles. The Witch Elves began to laugh hysterically, making their movements vicious and swiftness two fold to cut down the Norscan warriors.
Wulfrik did not let this hinder him, and commanded his packs of Ice Wolves and Skin Wolves to follow his lead. At the far left where Trogg and his monsters were battling, they managed to break through the onslaught of Shade Riders and were engaged in combat with the Druchii armored and wielding halberds. He knew that those particular Druchii could prove the most dangerous against his men as their equipment was of top quality for a fight and a dwindling of their numbers with shock troops can do wonders. That is what Trogg was aiming for, jumping into the fray with his giant stone hammer.
It was unfortunate that his mammoths were caught in an artillery trap as they were continued to be bombarded by whatever magical projection was being fired from afar. Possibly a Black Ark that had managed to sneak its way down the south. It would take more than that however to stop the mammoths rampage and it filled Wulfrik with satisfaction to see the giant beasts still aimed at crushing the enemies around them. Seeing as how the Druchii were too distracted in gaining distance from the war mammoths lest they be killed by their own weaponry, Wulfrik rallied his men with his voice alone to press the attack.
The Witch Elves were simply too few to completely hold back the amount of Marauders and they remade their charge against the wall of shields and spears. The Druchii met them halfway, their weapons making contact first before the hail of axes could. But the disadvantage of a spear was to pull it back out in time to make another thrust before an attack came. Spear and shields made for a good defense, but a much less proper offense.
As the main force was in combat, Wulfrick led his own followers of wolves to go to the left flank so he may enter the battle himself. His wolves snarled and barked in excitement ready to tear into their enemies for fresh blood. It was only that Wulfrik made the turn to charge into the flank did another complication arise. The snow shifted so suddenly and out popped a full unit of shades armed with loaded with crossbows aimed right at him.
He fell into another trap. Again. His teeth barred openly in frustration as he reined to the left as far as he could to avoid the hail of bolts that zipped through the air upon his wolves. Armor meant nothing, and his Skin Wolves suffered wounds that dug deep into hide, and his packs of Ice Wolves stood no chance in the rain. That was a quarter of his forces decimated right then and there, and the shades were about to reload for another round.
The Skin Wolves, by Wulfrik's orders, turned their sights on the shades instead, and the Druchii met them without fear and raised blades. Wulfrik continued his charge towards the Druchii, intent on letting out his rage through his blade on any poor soul he saw. His allies from the other side under Trogg's command seeing Wulfrik's intent, decided to aid. A Balefiend magic user of the Winds of Fire casted down a rain of fireballs to soften up the Druchii for Wulfrik and his remaining wolves.
Fire burned ferociously against the cold winds, yet Wulfrik jumped through the fray gladly. His chariot cut down Druchii like a meat grinder as he passed by, and his sword swung wildly at all sides to cleave off heads. His blood pumped as the rush of battle fueled him ever more. To slaughter, to kill. Collect their skulls. Tear out their hearts. Draw their last breath.
Wulfrik was starting to laugh maniacally, now in the center of the main battle. The fight had chaotic to the point wherever Wulfrik looked, there was only Druchii fighting Norsca and fire burned everywhere the Balefiend's magic. Truly, it was a beautiful sight of what war really is, and the Wanderer loved every second of it.
His moment was ruined when the dragons previously battled in the air crashed down in the midst of the battle. Their fall made the ground shake hard enough to make Wulfrik stumble. It was then that Wulfrik felt the impact of someone kicking from above on his back, sending him off his chariot and to the ground on his hands. He was able to keep his head leveled to see that the one who kicked was the Druchii general, who decided to leap off his dragon to strike him from behind.
Coward was the first word that came to mind when Wulfrik didn't see his attacker, but it was only a short while. A black shadow approached from the still burning plains, and it suddenly felt that the carnage around him was meaningless. Here, in this moment, the only thing that mattered was the challenger that came before him. He would admit that the general made quite the entrance walking through the fires to meet him face to face, but once the Wanderer saw 'him' it wasn't exactly what he expected.
Instead of the usual rigid and strong build Wulfrik expected from a general, the Druchii that approached him was shorter than with a slimmer frame. A black cape was draped over the left shoulder to hide the left arm. That was all he could clarify really for the Druchii was covered head-to-toe in black armor made into a scale-like design so as to not hinder movement. There was no sign of skin that Wulfrik could see, and the helm that consisted of three horns and a mask showed none of the face. All that Wulfrick really did see where the mismatched eyes of purple and red that glared at him.
'His' choice of weapons were odd to say for he never thought a warrior would bring both a sword and a halberd. The sword in question had a guard and hilt decorated in gold and black, and the blade was eerie dark grey with a single sharp edge and serrated on the other side. The halberd in question was unusual as it looked more like a spear with an over-sized point, and was holstered on the Druchii's back.
Now words were spoken, and the duel commenced immediately as the Druchii charged forth. 'He' opened with a thrust of the wicked grey blade, and Wulfrik acted accordingly putting his shied up in defense. His eyes widened from the raw strength put into the blow that caused his feet to slide back a few feet. Wulfrik hadn't felt strength like that other than Trogg's hammer. Since when did Druchii get such high physical strength?
Yet despite such a raw strength, Wulfrik's challenger was quicker on 'his' feet than most of his foes. It was as if 'his' feet blurred over the ground and the Druchii was hovering. Not that Wulfrik can't adapt to the speed. His eyes tracked the Druchii's movements till at the right moment he angled his blade to the left just slightly titled to the air to block the blade that threatened to cut off his arm.
His eyes narrowed as he took in the Druchii's stance. Wulfrik expected that an opponent of smaller stature would have used two hands on the weapon to compensate for the difference of strength. Yet, Wulfrik's opponent held his blade in 'his' left hand, but his sword arm was shaking from blocking the blow. For someone so small, it baffled Wulfrik how his opponent had such strength behind 'his' blows.
Wulfrik planted a foot forward to steady his ground. Those mismatched eyes narrowed in response. There was a surge of magic, and the strength in the opponent went tenfold. He was forced to step back once his defense faltered, but not before paying the price of having the serrated edge of the blade biting into his shoulder, his armor ignored in the swing.
The Wanderer cursed in all manner of tongues. The duel has just started, and the opponent has drawn the first blood. Back at neutral distance, Wulfrik eyed the Druchii, who didn't even give the courtesy to give 'his' name. At the same time, Wulfrik's blood boiled. His expectations had been met and exceeded. Whoever this general was to challenge him directly, 'he' has proven to be the most worthy opponent to date.
Wulfrik needed a successful blow on his part. That much he knew was necessary, but the pace of the fight was not in his control. Again, the Druchii pressed on the offensive with a wide sweep. Wulfrik's tall shield defended him from the strong blows, each impact sounding like a hammer striking an anvil. In one swing where the Druchii held the blade above 'his' head, 'he' fainted the blow by suddenly dropping the sword. It was snapped in the grip of 'his' right hand, right out of Wulfrik's peripheral vision. He suddenly felt a Troll's hammer smashed into the side of his shield where the Druchii struck, throwing off Wulfrik's balance to the side. A cry of pain escaped his lips when the Druchii seized on the opening to stab into Wulfrik's unprotected left thigh. It took significant willpower on Wulfrik's part to not fall on the bad leg.
He lashed out like a wolf, swinging his sword out and leaving defense behind. The Druchii's eyes widened at the wild offense and continued to step back to gain distance. Deftly avoiding the iron slab of sharpened steel was not a good decision, and 'he' decided to go all out. At a heavy swing made by Wulfrik, the Druchii turned 'his' back to the blow so the hit the halberd instead. It didn't even look chipped from Wulfrik's sword.
The Druchii's left hand snapped to the shaft of the halberd, and in the show of just how strong 'he' really was releases the weapon from its holster. Twirling back to face the Wanderer, the Druchii slammed down the halberd down. Wulfrik put his shield up to defend himself, but was not expecting for the earth to be gouged out and himself flying off from the blow.
By the paraplegic sociopath that is Khorne, what kind of strength does this Druchii have?! It was like a Giant in the body of a Druchii!
His attention was forced back to the duel at hand to step out of the way of the black halberd, picking up snow and dirt on impact. The Druchii used that as a vantage to flip into the air right over Wulfrik where she slashed down the Challenger's back. Blood spilled on the ground as the grey blade cut through his armor to shred into his flesh. Pain shot through his entire body, but then turned into rage to pay it back tenfold.
But when Wulfrik turned around, he was instead met with a raging wall of Chillwinds, the coldest of blizzards only made possible through the Lore of Dark magic. This Druchii is also a magic user?! It was rare for a Druchii general of any kind to go into such fields. Case in point, it was how those such as Malekith the Witch King were famed in both the Old and New World in both proficiency of magic and skill with the blade. So how was this Druchii proficient in combat and magical lore not known until now? Just who was 'he'?
The duel continued on as steel struck steel, some so heavy and swift that sparks flew. Every swing of Wulfrik's sword was parried or deftly dodged like a snake and punished with a smash from the halberd. His shield was his only saving grace from that weapon. All around them, the main battle continued on. Trogg's monsters had failed in the assault as the shade riders returned to pelt them with crossbow bolts. His mammoths were brought down from their feet continually butchered from spear and halberd. His Marauders all but overwhelmed by the Witch Elves high on slaughter.
Wulfrik saw a chance at last when his opponent made a thrust aimed at his leg. He sidestepped the blow and locked down the halberd by stepping on it. He opened immediately from the momentary pause and swung down his sword. The Druchii's blade held back Wulfrik's, but the sudden attack left his opponent at a weak standing and it was easy for Wulfrik to push forward.
But it was not be as when Wulfrik decided to press more on his swordarm, the Druchii suddenly slipped down onto the ground. With agility befitting of the Witch Elves, she spun on the ground, letting go of her halberd, and stuck out a low kick to Wulfrik's weak knee. The Wanderer let out a grunt and faltered in his attack, allowing the Druchii to grab 'his' halberd, and swing out the halberd with such strength to stagger Wulfrik off his feet and give the Druchii general room. As soon as he got his bearings, there was a series of clicks and Wulfrik felt pain in his chest.
Coughing blood, Wulfrik looked down to see four bolts shot into his chest. Looking forward, he saw that the Druchii sheathed away the blade and had withdrawn a hand-held bolt repeater, ebony in color, to shoot. It was returned back to its hidden holster at 'his' waist and the general made his way to the kneeling Wulfrik.
The Wanderer refused to have it end like this. He is the strongest man on this world. No one is a match for him. Slowly, Wulfrik made his way on his feet, abandoning his shield to pluck out the sticks stabbed into him. His breath was akin to a growling wolf, ready to tear apart whoever was in his sights.
"Fool." Growled Wulfrik, taking his favored sword in both hands. "No man - can kill me!"
The Druchii decided to leave 'his' halberd on 'his' back to take 'his' own sword in both hands. This clash, this one final clash will decide it right here, right now. As is how the world works. Only the strongest will thrive. Wulfrik was not going to let him be out of that. He is the strongest. He is the one to thrive in this world. He will be one to be sung in ten thousand sagas till the world's end. He will be celebrated in his glory in the halls with his gods praising him.
"I will see the halls of my gods!" Roared Wulfrik. "DIE!"
They both took off in a run, their blades held back for one final swing. Wulfrik's vision temporarily went white, and he swore he saw the grand halls of his gods. A clang steel sounded throughout the entire battlefield, louder than the rest. They didn't know why, but every fighter paused to look at the source. What they found determined the conclusion of the battlefield.
A soft thud landed beside two generals. It was the the three-quarters of Wulfrik's sword, shattered apart from the blade of the Druchii. The blade in question tore into Wulfrik's right shoulder like a knife through butter till it stopped at its chest area. Wulfrik's expression was almost blank with only the widening of his eyes. Blood poured from his mouth, but his eyes were locked on one detail. He didn't entirely get off without some damage dealt for his broken blade still continued and had stabbed into the Druchii's side. It was only a flesh wound if the blade hadn't shattered.
The Druchii released 'his' blade from Wulfrik, but even as the man was dealt a fatal wound who still stood proud. The Druchii went to fetch 'his' halberd and now stared up at Wulfrik, who only had a forlorn look in his eyes. Then for the first time, the Druchii spoke.
"You were right." The Druchii, 'his' tone surprisingly high-pitched and feminine. "No man did kill you."
Emotions returned to Wulfrik's face when the Druchii lifted the helmet off 'his' face. 'He' was in fact a she. A young woman of pale skin dusted pink with young features of round cheeks rich with life. Her hair free from the confines of the helm swept down her back like a waterfall of ebony dipped in blood. She was beautiful, leagues ahead of any damsel of humans and surpassing Asur maidens of Ulthuan. But the eyes were not innocent. The right, purple eye held sickening and cruel joy as the Druchii expressed in her wicked smile, and the red eye was unnatural even to Wulfrik's standards for he could feel the storm of mindless violence just barely being held back. That crimson eye with the pupil of a reptile was like looking at Khorne himself.
And then he saw it. Hidden at the nape of her neck was a mark burned into her neck. A crest of eight arrows under the insignia of Khorne.
This female Druchii was blessed by Khorne himself. He could laugh dryly if he wasn't so weak. So all this time and this entire battle was all but him being a plaything for the gods. Indeed, his gods were awfully cruel.
"But I am no man." The Druchii general, also known as Allisara, daughter of Malekith, spoke sweetly like the hiss of a snake.
She thrusted her halberd into Wulfrik's chest, fully impaling him through the back. Bone, guts, and blood spilled out the other side, and the life in Wulfrik's eyes left him. With strength granted to her by both war gods, Allisara lifted the polearm with the now Eternal Skewer with one arm into the air for all to see. An evil smile of bliss etched across Allisara's face as the blood rained down upon her, coating her skin in a sheen of the crimson liquid she loved so much to bathe in.
The effect was instant as the Norsca lost all hope seeing their leader, the mightiest of the Norsca, brutalized and skewered like a pig. Most immediately dropped their weapons in surrender, in which they will be detained to either be made slaves or sacrifices for her and the Witch Elves' Cauldron of Blood. Those that tried to run away... they were made free food for the Cold Ones.
Meanwhile, her precious dragon, Fafnir, had pinned down the Cold-Voider into submission, yet it don't go for the kill. By the openly primal lust in her dragon's eye, Allisara knew exactly why. It would seem the famed Cold-Voider was in fact female, and Fafnir was indeed horny for a new mate. Hopefully the Cold-Voider lives up to her strength and survives. Fafnir had a habit of breaking his mates, and it would be a shame for such a strong dragon that gave him such a good fight to go to waste.
The frozen north of the Old World was hers, and the Naggaronds. It would serve as an expansion of territory for the empire Allisara dreamed of. The chaotic lands will obey her will to not harm the Druchii. From here, the armies will rain down on the pitiful empires of the mortals. For this world belonged to those that have proven themselves to dominate all, and she will see the whole world submit their lives to the Druchii. The Asur can have their precious Ulthuan, and the Phoenix Throne was her father's right. For she cared, Allisara would rather have the Asur burn for betraying his father and his right as king.
She'd rather have a whole world. That amusing it was that she wold receive her desire in a way she would never imagine.
This took a fuck ass long time. Did I make it gory enough because I honestly tried my best? So in this, Allisara (Ruby) wields a repeater crossbow, a sword named Extinction, and a naginate with a daito-style tip for a polearm. This was to show Allisara's strength as an individual and the strength of her own army. I had her go up against Wulfrik because he is one of my favorite lords of the Warhammer world, and I thought it'd be cool to give him this fight. For her next conquest, Bretonnia will burn to the ground, and she'll find some new allies in the Vampire Counts to combat the Empire. Until then, she is going to have a new special mission of dear father.
Let me know of some other people murder Ruby can go brutalize.
Up next is Chapter 4: A World for Myself
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