Children of the Horned Rat,
First of all, please accept my apologies if you think you waited a little too long. It hasn't been easy writing lately, and I'm going to take a little vacation. A little trip to Mannfred von Carstein's province should change my mind.
I have a little secret to tell you: like many (or all) authors, I always put a little of myself into the characters or situations.
Most of the time, I think of a famous face to portray one or another of the characters in my fanfictions, whether this face is fictional or real. So, I imagine Prince Steiner with the features of Gérard Depardieu, or Prior Romulus played by Matthiew McFayden, Eusebio Clarin as a double of Guy Williams, or even Marjan with the face of Gwendoline Christie. And that goes for fictional characters; look at a picture of Justin, the juvenile lead from The Secret of N.I.M.H., make him a lefty, and you have Kristofferson. And if you remember Chitik, visualize "little Brutus" from this same animation picture.
However, I happily insert dialogues or situations that actually happened to me into my writing, sometimes word for word. Some characters are not famous people, but people who inspired me. Out of discretion, I will not name them, but they are aware, I ask permission when they are people I respect. Besides, I made my own cameo as Samuel Heifetz.
Sometimes I take a little revenge on people who have irritated, annoyed, shocked, or deeply upset me, by ridiculing or punishing them in my fanfiction. Nothing too bad, especially when it remains anonymous – I won't reveal names directly, because they are generally not public figures, and therefore compromising their peace of mind would be serious. And what's more, in this case, I don't ask permission, I take revenge straight away. It may seem childish, but after all, isn't writing one of the healthiest ways to purge yourself of this kind of thing? Provided that this cannot impact the real life of the person thus "mistreated", of course.
In any case, you should know that on several occasions I have said to myself at the time of a publication: "revenge is a dish best served cold, please accept the dessert, with all my compliments."
To illustrate this theme, I advise you to watch the film The Magnificent One by Philippe de Broca with Jean-Paul Belmondo, you will understand my point of view a little.
Glory to the Horned Rat!
- You can't escape, you horned shitbag!
Sigmund was still pursuing Karhi, more determined than ever to catch him up. The corridors followed one another at a frantic pace, the intersections multiplied, and for a moment, the tall Black Skaven wondered if the fugitive was not leading him into a trap?
He quickly swept the idea from his mind, convinced that it would only weaken him.
He spotted the Grey Seer's bloated form entering another opening. But at the threshold, instead of rushing forward, he leapt backwards, pushed back by a violent instinct for survival. His instinct was not wrong: three blades sparkled and ricocheted off the rock exactly where he should have been.
- Damn!
A hooded figure was blocking the Black Skaven. Sigmund only made out two eyes glowing with a warpstone light, and three long daggers twirling between the two hands and the tip of the tail of the Feral Skaven standing in front of him.
Captain Steiner frowned. This one didn't seem like a simple Clanrat ready to fall under Heart of Unicorn's blows. In addition to its Gutter Runner outfit, several small details suggested that this was a fighter who was out of the ordinary. First, its posture: instead of the usual hissing and panting that the common troops of the Under-Empire normally produced, this one stood very straight, without any unnecessary twitching or jerking, and twirled its weapons with an almost hypnotic grace.
Its smell was disturbing, too. The Black Skaven could not explain it, but upon contact with this fragrance, something pushed him not to immediately consider this character as an enemy. Something more ancient, more visceral than anything he had experienced or learned so far. No way of knowing what.
But above all, there was the appearance. The brightness in its eyes was almost blinding, so much so that it was not possible to distinguish the features of this opponent. He clearly identified the muzzle, the incisors, and the large ears under the hood, but there was no way to get a more precise idea.
Was he really dealing with a Skaven?
Karhi's distant snickers brought him back to reality. It was time to act. Sigmund brandished his sword with his two hands, and ordered:
- Let me pass!
The hooded Skaven simply flexed its legs and tensed its muscles, ready to attack. Sigmund insisted.
- I have no time to lose-waste on you, Eshin! Get out of here, or I kill you!
The Feral Skaven hissed in anger, and raised its daggers. Sigmund had had enough.
- You asked for it!
He raised Heart of Unicorn, and let out a war cry, but instead of rushing towards the Wild Skaven, he took a step forward and went no further. The Eshin crossed its three blades forward and brought them down towards Sigmund, but it had poorly anticipated the Black Skaven's movement. The three daggers grazed the captain without touching him. His sinusoidal sword cut through the air right up to the hooded one's side. The three steel points focused as one on a specific point and pinned Heart of Unicorn squarely.
- You little bastard!
Sigmund gripped the Feral Skaven's ringed tail with his left hand. The individual screamed and its three daggers spun in a circle like the wings of a windmill. The Black Skaven only had time to free himself to avoid having his face slashed.
He gritted his teeth as he felt a small line of pain flare across his right cheek.
I've been too reckless, he made me pay in cash!
Sigmund growled in rage as he thought of his prey escaping. He stomped his foot and bellowed. The Feral Skaven didn't react to this taunt. It continued to pass its daggers from hand to hand, while slowly circling around the Black Skaven. The latter became more impatient.
- Come on, it's no use! We'll find and kill your master! The difference is that if you continue to stand in my way, I will finish...
The bright-eyed Eshin didn't wait for the invective to end. It made a huge leap forward, and in the move, brought down its three daggers towards Sigmund. The Black Skaven whirled to the side, and felt the deadly blades graze the steel of his shoulder guard. He was only inches away from the Feral Skaven, so he reacted quickly. He sent his fist towards his opponent's head, hitting him in the temple. This time, the hooded Feral Skaven was thrown back with an annoyed squeak. Sigmund crushed its tail squarely with his foot, and Heart of Unicorn traced a glittering circle towards its prey. The Feral Skaven raised its two daggers and parried the blow, but the shock knocked it off balance, it rolled on the ground, then jumped up and sent one of its daggers towards Sigmund.
Captain Steiner stepped back and pivoted to avoid the projectile. Now free, the Feral Skaven passed the dagger at the end of its tail in its hand, and continued to leap in all directions.
Sigmund decided to try another strategy: he took his repeating pistol from his belt. He didn't want to try to shoot piecemeal in the face of such a tornado. With his left hand he grabbed the barrel on which the six cannons were fixed, and made the entire piece turn around its axis. Then he tried to follow the Feral Skaven in its movements, squeezed the trigger, and left his finger clenched. The three remaining bullets thundered and three flashes illuminated very briefly but brightly the tunnel.
The hooded Feral Skaven was still leaping, but Sigmund clearly detected a loss of control in its movements. Quickly, the Eshin slowed down its dance, and bumped against the wall. He shrank at the foot of the wall, and dropped its weapons.
Ready for the slightest trick, Sigmund raised his sword again, and waited. The rage of battle quickly gave way to anxiety. Indeed, fear escaped from every pore of the Feral Skaven's skin, and the musk of incomprehension tickled the Black Skaven's nose.
This was not normal! As a Skaven of Clan Eshin, no such smell could come from the body of a Gutter Runner.
But then... If you're not an Eshin, who are you?
Poor Sigmund quickly had the answer.
The Skaven lowered its head, furiously tore its cloak, and revealed its chest, pierced with a bullet. Already, the blood was escaping to the rhythm of the frantic beating of its heart. The individual gurgled, raised its head, tried to take in large gulps of air. Its hood fell back, revealing its features. The Black Skaven gasped in surprise.
The glowing-eyed Feral Skaven was very young. Unlike all Clanrats who were mature enough to fight, no scar lacerated its flesh, no mutilation, nor even the smallest slag on its body. But the worst thing was its stare. No anger, no desire to kill, only total incomprehension, and indescribable terror.
The young Feral Skaven trembled, tears of fear and suffering mixed with its foaming saliva. It opened his mouth, and emitted a long, high-pitched moan, which combined all this pain and this surprise. There was no maturity, no intelligence in this cry, only the expression of the most primal and youthful instincts.
This sad spectacle horrified Sigmund.
He must be barely older than Gabriel! By Verena's Libra, what have I done?!
The Feral Skaven cried uncontrollably, and begged with desperate looks and moans for the Black Skaven to do something. Alas, there was nothing more to do. Carried away by a torrent of compassion, Sigmund crouched down beside the unfortunate ratman and hugged it. He tried not to pay attention to the loud screams and sobs, just to convey some warmth to it.
- Hold on, kid! Maybe we can…
Alas, the glowing-eyed Skaven eventually stopped moaning, and then moving. Its eyelids fell, never to rise again.
Too upset by this new tragedy, Sigmund lost awareness of everything around him. He leaned the head of the young assassin against his chest, and felt tears welling up in his eyes.
- Poor child… what have they done to you?
Neither the sound of clashing weapons, nor the angry squeals, nor the coppery smell of blood mattered.
- Hey, Captain, is everything right?
Sigmund started and raised his head. Himmelstoss was standing in front of him, looking worried.
- You're not injured, are you?
- Less than him.
Himmelstoss sensed the bitterness in his superior's words and in the surrounding scents.
- Captain, you won't regret having defeated an opponent in combat in the middle of a battle, will you?
- I won't, Soldier! I…
Sigmund shook his head. He gently placed the body on the ground and got up.
- It's nothing, Himmelstoss. Excuse me.
- You are completely excused, my Captain.
- Look at that: a kid! They're attacking us with children now!
- By Sigmar's Hammer, they no longer have any limits!
- I'm really starting to get tired of it!
- You are not the only one, my Captain.
- We go back. Soldier, if you ever detect a sign of weakness in me, don't hesitate to give me a backhander!
- Uh… At your orders, Captain.
A few more minutes of forced marching, and the troops behind Sigmund finally arrived at what appeared to be the place where all the remaining Feral Skaven had gathered.
- Stop! Sigmund shouted, raising his sword.
He needed a few moments to analyse the terrain. The Vereinbarung fighters had entered a gigantic cavern, so large that it was not possible to distinguish the walls or the ceiling. There were several hundred yards of distance between the soldiers and the servants of the Horned Rat, and yet Sigmund could sense their aggression, their rage, whether through squeals or smells. The cavern was open, devoid of stalagmites or reliefs, except on the left, where the ground tilted into a chasm about thirty feet high.
The ideal place to corner them… or to get cornered! We will have to be careful!
The Black Skaven scanned the opposing ranks. The filthy clothes, the atrophied or rotten limbs which appeared here and there between two fabric envelopes, the censers which swung at the end of their pole... mistake was definitively unconceivable, this regiment was made up of the putrid elements of Clan Pestilens.
Sigmund swallowed when he remembered the stories his father had once told him about the most damned of the Feral Skaven. Psody had spoken to him in particular about Moly, his own blood brother, not evil but made disillusioned and aggressive by his deplorable state of health and the various drugs he used to consume to at least partially support his pitiful condition. Because of the diseases that constantly devoured them, the Pestilens were undoubtedly the most unfortunate Skaven in the entire Under Empire, even more so than the miserable slaves. They alternated between soothing substances to ease lingering pain and exciting concoctions when they went into battle. The fumes from their incense in particular drove them crazy.
Sigmund had had the opportunity to face them sometimes during the Harvests, and each encounter had only confirmed, or even worsened, the master mage's words. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and had a rejoiced smile.
His men had already been weakened by the cruel Eshin blades, and the clash against the Feral Skaven battling the marauders of Khorne had further reduced the numbers, but the survivors didn't seem ready to give up just yet. Better yet, Commander Renata's forces arrived as reinforcements. The tall Tilean woman galloped until she found herself near the captain.
- Report, Captain Steiner!
- We led the way here, but Clan Eshin assassins came upon us while we were investigating a temple they invaded. They have caused heavy losses, Commander! Barisson's Dwarves in particular suffered from this assault.
- I know, I saw them with your horses. And hey, speaking of that: why did you leave them behind?
- Who, the Dwarves?
- No, the horses!
Sigmund, irritated by this question which seemed very insignificant to him compared to the threat that was coming, felt the tone of his voice rise.
- Most of the riders were cut into pieces by the Clan Eshin killers, and I didn't want to take the risk of riding in unfamiliar and dangerous terrain with people who weren't trained for that!
- And yet, I got there! I took the opportunity to take the horses for the infantrymen who had enough professionalism to ride, indeed!
Sigmund's heart began to beat twice as fast, but he didn't know whether it was from anger or worry.
- I hope none of your soldiers touched Okapia?
- Otherwise what, would you give him a hard time? Watch your language, Captain Steiner!
- I won't need to do that, my mare will take care of very well!
- Yes, that's why we left her with the Dwarves. Without you, she's just as uncooperative as you can be!
For a brief moment, the Black Skaven wanted to commit a reprehensible act against the commander, but he preferred to concentrate on the Feral Skaven.
- Listen, Commander, let's not bicker! I remind you we are facing bigger problems!
- You're right. By Myrmidia's sword, this is all getting boring! What is the enemy's situation?
- They are there, Commander, replied Sigmund, pointing with the point of his sword to the bottom of the cavern. I believe we're in front of their most important army corps!
- In this case, this will be our last assault, because we won't let any of them slip away!
- None, Commander!
- What should we expect?
- Clan Pestilens, Commander!
The commander gritted her teeth.
- I hate Pestilens! Too bad, they will be sent to a world of hurt! Where is the leader?
Sigmund blinked, and focused his gaze on the front row of the teeming mass. He looked for a particular sign, a Plague Monk robe of a different colour, a more decayed figure, but saw nothing of the sort. No trace either of the Grey Seer, who had succeeded in losing him.
- I don't see anyone who looks like…
Suddenly, his heart stopped abruptly. The Feral Skaven had just moved aside to let a warlord pass. Unlike the Grey Seers, these willingly took their place in the front row, in order to satisfy their thirst for carnage. The young captain felt the temperature on his forehead jump a few degrees when he recognized the immense ochre Skaven. He yelped in rage.
- Blokfiste!
- A friend of yours, Captain?
- I know this sod well! He's the one who polluted the Nichetti Estate! I'm going to pulverize him!
- No, Captain!
- What?
The Black Skaven looked at the Tilean woman both very surprised and disappointed. She remained inflexible.
- I see you don't lack the desire, Captain, and I know your combat skills, but I also know you have a tendency to get carried away, what must not happen. Not now. Besides, I'm on horseback, with my riders we'll have better chances. The rest of us will break through to him. You stay behind with the infantrymen, and you will deal with the Plague Monks.
- But…
- Captain, this is an order!
The sentence snapped like a whiplash. And yet, it was the harsh reality, and Sigmund was obliged to submit to the authority of the Commander. He lowered his sword, and muttered:
- May Myrmidia guide your arm, Commander.
- And may Sigmar give you the strength to eliminate them all, Captain. Come on, riders, charge!
The commander followed her steed, and the riders set off forward. The Black Skaven raised his sword in turn.
- Come on, guys! Let's kick some Pestilens butts!
The footmen followed the cavalry with lots of war cries.
The riders were already only a few yards away from the first Pestilens. Commander Renata twirled her sabre, ready and eager to use it. This was not the first time she had faced the most decrepit Feral Skaven in the Underground Empire. However, as she approached the opposing army, she felt something unusual coming.
Generally, Plague Monks are so high they run to attack without hesitation, so what?
She didn't have to wait long for the answer.
The Pestilens furthest forward swirled above their heads some sort of terracotta pots attached to leather straps, then threw them towards the horsemen. Several dozen pots broke right in front of the horses. Immediately, enormous bloated flies escaped from the pottery debris, and created a barrage of legs, mandibles and faceted eyes. The swarm engulfed the cavalry regiment in a few seconds, and the cries of surprise and pain of the men and horses mingled with the humming sounds.
Commander Renata couldn't believe it. She had already fought Pestilens, even when she was just a simple cadet in the army of the Empire, she had studied the sociology of the different great Clans by reading in particular the book written by Romulus and the master mage Prospero, she therefore knew the main weapons of the Clan ravaged by disease, and yet it was the first time she had seen such horror. After all, that was the order of things. The Feral Skaven had revealed new technologies of war during the Battle of Kreidesglück, no reason for progress to stop its course.
She saw one of these disgusting things hit her horse's neck, and dig into its flesh as easily as a lump of butter. The poor animal whinnied in indescribable pain, and reared up. The Tilean woman fell on her side, swearing. But her heart froze when she saw the other horses fall one after the other. One of the riders found himself pinned under his steed, another was thrown forward and fell headfirst onto the rocky ground.
A few dozen yards back, Sigmund, horrified, fortunately had the right reflex. He raised his hand and shouted a "Halt!" loud enough. All the Vereinbarung soldiers behind him stopped as best they could, the last ranks jostling those in front of them.
- Do not move! Stay away!
- But, Captain, we can't leave them like that! protested a soldier.
- What do you want to do, Soldier? Against that, we need a Dwarven flamethrower!
- Captain, these critters are flying towards us! Himmelstoss cried.
The tall Black Skaven assessed the situation at full speed to find the best strategy to apply.
- Soldiers, I want everyone who has a torch or a lamp to take it out, light it and brandish it! Especially the torches! Use the oil from the lamps to intensify their fire!
Immediately, the soldiers quickly took out a torch or a lamp from their packs. Sigmund reached for the nearest torch.
- Give me that, and get on the ground! All those who do not have a torch, get down, tuck in your arms and legs, and cover your head as best you can! The others, form a circle around our comrades!
Already, the first mutant flies approached the infantrymen. Some were stained with mammal blood. The standing soldiers formed a circle around the others, and waved the torches furiously. The monstrous mutant insects burned themselves in bunches on the flames. Sigmund kept his lips tight, and his face tightened. Above all, don't shout, above all, don't keep eyes too wide open...
The furious buzzing had gone away. Commander Renata opened her eyes and carefully lifted the cape flap she had stuck on her face. She had the reflex to quickly protect herself, then lie on the ground without moving. The flies had primarily attacked anything that was up.
All around her, riders and horses lay in a foul mixture of dust, mud and blood. Some were still alive, but in too poor condition to fight. Moreover, they were quickly dying under the frenzied blows of the Plague Monks who had gone on the attack in their turn.
Two of them painfully dragged their carcass in the direction of the Tilean woman, ready to subject her to the same fate. Shocked by the violence of the assault and by the horrible disaster that resulted, the commander let her anger burst forth. She brandished her sabre in both hands, and struck as directly as possible. No superfluous trickery, no subtlety, the only way to stop her attackers was to strike a vital point. She decapitated the first one with a sharp blow, and opened a huge gaping wound in the chest of the second one. After which, she rushed towards two other Feral Skaven Pestilens who were hammering with their plague censer a fallen Skaven soldier.
- Get out, you scum!
She shattered the spine of the one on her left with a mighty sabre blow. The Plague Monk on her right, that had seen her coming, squealed with anger, and made winds with its censer. The formidable commander dodged the heavy metal bowl with green smoke coming out of it, once, then twice, before counterattacking. With one gesture, she cut off both of the Pestilens' hands. It stood looking at its arms, now reduced to stumps, but instead of panicking or expressing any pain, it threw himself at the Tilean woman and tried to bite her.
- I don't believe it?! You damn…
She stepped back with a graceful flick of her wrist, and slashed the ratman's jugular. Brownish blood spurted out and the Pestilens rolled on the rocky ground.
Satisfied, the commander sheathed her weapon and ran towards the soldier on the ground. The poor warrior had his legs crushed and his torso bruised by the censer blows, and the smoke made him cough.
- Hold on, soldier, I will…
A huge cannonball attached to the end of a heavy chain fell out of nowhere and fell directly on the head of the wounded soldier, and crushed it with a horrible crack. The chain tightened, and pulled back the ball with irresistible force. Commander Renata had the reflex to roll to the side to avoid the heavy mass of iron. She got up, and grabbed her sabre again in the movement. She followed the ball as it returned to its place at the end of the arm of her new adversary.
In front of her, a few yards away, stood the huge warlord Blokfiste. Now that she saw him up close, she could see with disgust that this Feral Skaven in particular lived up to his title, in the manner of the Feral Skaven: very tall and muscular, with a neck as wide as his arms, his ochre coat was covered with scars in multiple places. His tail, covered with sharp iron blades, whipped the air nervously, and presented on the third of its length a profusion of coarse seams. Heavy metal encrusted with warpstone crystals bracelets encircled his right arm at the end of which he brandished his cannonball, and a complex mechanism of gears encircled his shoulder and right side. Skryre top technology, the commander thought. Clan Moulder had added its touch to this individual: he had long metal claws grafted to the fingertips of his left hand. The most confusing was his enormous snout, almost as big as a watermelon, with two quivering nostrils.
Renata glanced over her shoulder, and saw in the distance the regiment of infantrymen repelling the terrible insects with torches with more efficiency than she had demonstrated. Everything in its time, it was time to defend ourselves.
I have little chance against him... I hope to at least weaken him!
She pointed her weapon at Blokfiste, and in a loud voice, declared in Queekish:
- In the name of Vereinbarung, I, Commander Giulietta Renata, challenge-challenge you to a duel, Lord Blokfiste!
The Plague Monks, excited, shouted and sneered louder, but the huge ochre Skaven didn't accompany them. On the contrary, he seriously considered the woman's challenge. He raised his left hand, commanding silence. The Pestilens muted.
- All right, she-thing! I don't need anyone to rip out-devour your guts! The rest of you, stay back! The first one to intervene, I'll break-cut him in two halves!
Commander Renata had no vain hopes. Even if she beat this Feral Skaven, all of the other ones would throw themselves at her at the same time. But she had no intention of leaving alone.
Blokfiste stretched his right arm forward. His bowl was ejected from the tip of his wrist with the force of a cannon shot. The commander dodged while rushing at the Feral Skaven. She counted on how long it would take for the cannonball to return to attack the warlord on his right. The left paw with its enormous claws flew through the air towards her head. She anticipated the strike, and jumped again in the opposite direction. But if she dodged the slash of the claws, she had an unpleasant surprise when the Feral Skaven's tail emerged from behind his back and snapped like a whip in her direction.
Renata immediately placed her forearms in front of her face. The blades embedded in the flesh appendage tore her uniform and her skin. The blow knocked her off balance, she rolled on the ground. She got up in the movement, just in time to avoid the ball which crashed, and cracked the rock.
Blokfiste grabbed the chain with his left hand, and whirled his ball around him, faster and faster. He advanced slowly towards the commander, without slowing his winding movement. The Human's muscles were tense to the point of breaking, ready to react. She felt a change in speed in the swing of the ball. And as she had predicted, the Feral Skaven brought down the cannonball vertically, from top to bottom, with all his might. She dove forward, did a somersault, and landed right in front of the warlord. The iron weight smashed into the ground right behind her. She raised her sabre, and with a sharp blow deflected the blades grafted to the fingertips of Blokfiste's left hand. The steel spikes nevertheless blocked her weapon.
A clicking sound followed by a metallic friction attacked the commander's left ear. The ball was going to come back towards her at high speed. She then decided to be cunning: she pulled the handle towards her with all her strength. The ochre Feral Skaven resisted, grumbling, and wanted to tear the sabre from her hand. The chain retracted faster and faster into the warlord's artificial arm. Renata resisted for a second more, then she suddenly let go off the handle of her weapon. The warlord found himself thrown off balance, carried away by his own pull. Renata took the opportunity to slip under his left armpit, and found herself right behind him. At the same time, she grabbed a dagger hidden in her thigh-high boot, and tried to stab the ochre Feral Skaven in his back.
Unfortunately for the Human, Blokfiste was protected. Certainly, his thick prostheses forced him to fight shirtless, but his skin was partially reinforced with pieces of metal and copper grafted here and there, and it was on one of these plates that the blade of the dagger ripped. The Commander accidentally stuck her weapon into the root of the Feral Skaven's tail.
The huge warlord squealed in pain, then yelped in anger. He threw away the commander's sabre with an angry gesture, and spun towards her. Renata took a few steps back, still holding her dagger. Her legs bent, she awaited the next attack from the Feral Skaven. The sneers and mocking hisses of the Plague Monks irritated her ears, to the point of making her hair stand on end. Out of the corner of her eye, the Human saw her weapon on the ground, only a few steps away. Blokfiste slowly circled around her, his right arm raised. He emitted little chuckles, and even presented his back to her.
Is he kidding me, or what? What a big… Hey!
As the Commander had a clear view of the Feral Skaven's posterior, she could see his tail poking over his patched plaid pants. She could see thick black strings encircling the rings of pink flesh about four inches from the base of the appendage. She could also see a difference in colour on either side of the seams.
I bet that's not his birth tail!
Then she had an idea. A dirty trick to place. She watched every movement of muscle, every ripple of the warlord's ochre fur. Then she jumped forward. Blokfiste raised his right arm. Instead of continuing her momentum, Renata abruptly changed direction and jumped in the opposite direction. As she passed, she cut the seams with her dagger.
Blokfiste's tail was catapulted into the air in the movement.
The commander had been right: Blokfiste old wound had been clumsily treated, and despite the efforts of Clan Moulder, the flesh and tendons could not hold together securely without the wires. Unbalanced, Blokfiste spun around awkwardly, and found himself with his left knee and hand in contact with the ground, almost on all fours.
Now!
She ran towards the ochre Feral Skaven, and rolled to pick up her sabre. Then, when she was within range, she made an immense leap with a terrible cry, and fell with all her might from top to bottom. The blade cut through the air, whistling towards Blokfiste's large head. But instead of splitting the ratman's skull open, Renata was stopped dead in her move by a brutal shock. She widened her eyes, surprised as she had never been, when she saw the steel blade of her sabre stuck between the enormous incisors of the warlord. Blokfiste clenched his jaw. The bladed weapon broke in a blink.
Blokfiste stood up suddenly, his steel-clawed paw extended forward, and punctured the commander's skin beneath her breastplate.
The woman felt her delicate face horribly distort in an explosion of pain. Her feet gently lifted off the ground, as the warlord lifted her up, still chuckling. Blokfiste slowly approached her to his face, opened an immense mouth, and the dry snap of his jaws announced the end of her life.