Kemmler's successor

by Soulsavore

The Lichemaster mysteriously dies in a very inconvenient set of circumstances. To salvage the Barrow Legion, one of his acolytes summons a replacement. Fortunately, she succeeded in this endeavor. Unfortunately, he is not exactly what she was expecting, especially considering he was from another world.

42. Chapter 42: Mêlée à Quatre

A/R:

Destroyer78901: As much as I would love to write about an awesome character like Ciaphas Cain, what holds me back is that I'm afraid that I wouldn't be able to do the character justice. If he were like a side character and I wouldn't have to focus on him solely through the story, I would be tempted, but I just wouldn't want to write about Ciaphas as the main character because I wouldn't want to unconsciously instill any OOC characteristics in him. Still a great suggestion though.

Superfann217: Y'know I didn't actually consider the Lizardmen angle, but your suggestion actually has a great idea behind it, especially if you lean into the clear aztec themes that they have. Also thank you for loving this story, I appreciate it!

Urus Osium: I can't say for sure if anyone is going to die, but some people you mentioned are definitely going to come out of this in less than one piece. Also a lot of great suggestions here as well, especially with the ogre and chaos dwarf ideas. If I were to ever write a story based on those two, it would definitely take place in the Mountains of Mourn and the Darklands given how it's often an underrated location.

Dandaman5: Sounds like the perfect situation to drop Captain Jack Sparrow in, if I was capable of writing him accurately.

women ruiz: It would be cool for them to have varying types of undead, but that would no doubt lead to even more work on their part. Plus lets face it, getting models is expensive enough as it is.

Haldir639: Without a doubt, Grom would have made it very close for Lyle if that damned Malagor wasn't their to screw things up (again). As far as your story suggestions though, I don't think I'd go with Bretonnia again since it wouldn't feel interesting and challenging to me to write in the same setting for such an expansive world of Warhammer. With the high elves in particular out of all your elven choices, I would lean more towards them because of just the sorry state that their nation is in and how much it has declined. It would be interesting to see if there was someone who could return them to a shadow of their glory days. And as far as orcs and goblins this is something I have thought of frequently, and it's actually not as hard to suspend your disbelief as you think if you can get the right situation. Say for example if someone was reborn as a goblin or an orc…or was in a unique position to command them, like a Simmire as you mentioned or something else intirely.

Aymen El Kadouri: All of that's going in the book!

Focus of the Future: Grom the fat bugger is very unique thanks to his disposition as you mentioned. And I have to admit putting someone in a Kislev is something I've considered. Consider if you will if a Russian was dropped there. I'd be split between either a Russian who likes to talk a big game about war on the internet and being a badass only to shit himself and have to learn how to fight at the horrors Kislev has to fight everyday. Or maybe a veteran from the Chechen Wars or the current invasion of Ukraine, having to adapt to the terrors the Old World Kislev must fight and maybe teaching the Tzarina on new tactics.

Dadg12346: I'm glad I'm impressing so much and hope I can continue to do so. And yeah, I feel that if you can't have good bantering mid-battle dialogue in a fight, the fight itself can become dry with lowered stakes and less reason to get invested, turning the battles into walls of text.

Darkwarrior41: Bruh, why would you wanna do that to poor Legolas? Lol! I can't deny that would be interesting though!

Godofear: You're half right on your prediction. And I'm glad I can impress with a third so readily! Granted I don't know If I'll be able to do that consistently since I now have a 40/hr a week job, but I'm glad to impress!

Zerkil: Meh. My notifications are very selective when they choose to work. I gave up on listening to them. Also Deathbelchers. I'm using that for sure. Also, damn that beastmen story sounds ingenious, especially the concept of two beings existing in one body. My only concern with that would be where to take the story and how to incorporate it into the expanded universe as you suggested.

Jajo Camello: Actually three chapters in one month. Also on the Goddess topic you wouldn't be wrong for thinking like that. But, at the end of the day while the Lady would no doubt be frustrated at that, the danger that an outside force would present in upending the social fabric of Bretonnia would make someone like her and her followers resistant to change. And see I'm liking the Greenskin idea more and more, and it wouldn't be nearly as hard to pull off as you think, especially if the earth-native was reborn as a goblin or orc…or something else entirely.

Guest: Like I mentioned to one of the earlier reviews, that's a surprisingly interesting choice given how you can lean into the old mes-american culture right there if you play your cards right.

rc48177: I'm using that title. Hope you don't mind.

Samot: Mousillon won't be joining this fight as they're too far to intervene. But, they'll be intervening in some fashion in the coming chapters, this I can promise. And damn dude that story idea you have is sick! Someone leading a slave rebellion against the druchii with a variety of races at their back like Spartacus is ingenious. Heck you could even apply that to the Chaos Dwarves in the right situation! You may have just given me a germ of a situation to come up with!

…

"So our dear Lichemaster is in need of saving." Deni said with a delicate finger to her lips as she stood inside the currently smashed gate to the castle. "That does indeed sound rather dire, it'd make matters terribly complicated if he were to up and die, especially now. Why it would even be outright tragic, dare I say!"

"Glad you agree, your flauntiness." Sybille grunted as she ensured her necromancer cowl was secure over the leather gambeson Soren had insisted that she wear underneath it. Considering the chaos they were about to venture to save their vaunted leader, she could hardly blame him, even as his undead fingers fussed over her clothing to ensure she would be secure. "Should have known the boy would get himself into trouble. He seems to draw it like goblins to shrooms."

"Now, now. We have Malagor to thank for this bit of danger, not our dear Lord Spoletta." Deni corrected as she patted down her steel corset and ensured that her arms had enough movement in her dress/armor. "The wretched…ugh…beastmen knew they had no chance of winning this battle, so they are throwing a wee tantrum at Lyle for spoiling their chances." Her disgust with the word 'beastmen was hard to pass over. "Now, we must ensure that they get nothing out of this. Unless it is too much trouble for you, Mademoiselle?"

"Hardly. I just know that I'll need to give the boy an earful to duck next time when I get my wrinkled hands on him." Sybille huffed. Sybille urged her grave guard forward, making sure that the best of her best was ready for battle. "Are you ready, my dear Soren?"

"Always, my mistress." Soren replied, decked out with well-maintained chainmail and light armor to ensure mobility. "Any that dare reach toward will be terribly remiss for choosing to do so."

"Ahhh…true loyalty. It is utterly precious to see." Deni smiled as she drew out a long rapier and walked forward, followed by what seemed to be twelve heavily armed men and women, all of which were clearly thralls showing unwavering loyalty to Deni. "Come now, my dears. I would hate for you all to be shown up in the dedication department!"

"Oui! Mademoiselle!" The twelve thrall retainers shouted in unison.

"Lovely, darlings, lovely! Come now! Let us go forward! It would not do to dilly dally as our vaunted leader fights for his life!" Deni cheered with an unnerving amount of decorum and cheered as she marched forward. Not wanting to be outdone by this fancy prancy Lhamian vampire, Sybille marched herself and her grave guard-forward with Soren shadowing her steps, his zombified head swiveling around for all threats.

It was hard to blame her dear undead companion, considering the utter chaos being wreaked upon the battlefield. She and Deni were truthfully undermanned for what was to come, but the other necromancers would need more time to rally their forces off the walls to sally out properly. They were more of a spearhead to see if they couldn't reach Lyle or not, and given the madness before them, that seemed increasingly unlikely.

On the outside of the walls, it would be chaotic enough as it is with the goblins and the beastmen slugging it out with one another, the hostility between the two sides boiling over into one massive clash between greenskin and chaos-children.

That manageable chaos became unmanageable with the arrival of hundreds of Knights of the Realm.

They rushed out of the trees with heads full of steam, lances dipped forward, and the enemies of Bretonnia were in their sights. Already, a few clumps of wayward goblins and beastmen had been unfortunate enough to be in their paths and met an untimely end. When it came to the goblins, they didn't even slow the knight down, getting trampled outright by the thunderous hooves of the war steeds that were being rushed forward. The beastmen barely made a dent in the charge, getting run through by the sheer weight of the heavily armored cavalry and the lances tearing and perforating any ungors or gors in the wrong place and the wrong time.

As the Barrow Legion's rescue party surged forward to see if they could reach Lyle, Sybille grits her teeth, wondering just how much longer Lyle could survive this change of events.

…

Krell had immediately been summoned on the spot with the insertion of Alvin, who had rushed toward Lyle, Grom, and Malagor with vicious intent. It had been a wise move, too, since the sight of a hulking Great-ax-toting undead champion was enough to force the grail knight to change course from trying to barrel into Lyle outright. Instead, he settled for a glancing blow on Krell, who quickly smacked away the strike with the haft of his own weapon.

After Lyle breathed a sigh of relief and huddled close to the undead champion's shadow, Krell looked around himself, his undead blue eyes flickering across all the foes before him. Only then did he chuckle. "My, my, my. Master Spoletta, you're spoiling me. Three mighty warlords for me to water my ax with? I know I told you to give me greater challenges, but you truly are a giving master. Hehehehehhhhh."

"Glad I could deliver. Just keep these guys between you and me." Lyle whispered harshly. Trying to buy himself time as Krell began to chomp at the bit of gutting these warlords, Lyle addressed the newcomer grail knight, his eyes narrowing perceptively. "Ya know, I've met a lot of grail knights, knights, lords, and peasants since I came to this land, shouting 'the Lady' this, 'the Lady' that. All of 'em' sound as French as a frog with its legs divorced from its body. Thing is though, I dunno if my ears are playing tricks on me or not, but that didn't sound French at all!"

"Oh, you figured that out on your own, did you? Would you like a medal in that case?" Alvin sniped back his horse, strafing the three warlords, keeping his sword at the ready. "I take it that you're Lyle, then. Not very smart of you to be all the way out here on your lonesome."

"Didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Plus, I ain't completely alone." Lyle accentuated patting one of Krell's pauldrons. "But hey, when ya got yourself a crew to back ya up, you always make sure you got em' in your pocket!"

Alvin snorted derisively. "Lemme guess. New York?"

"From the Jersey Jungle, actually. You?"

"Phoenix, Arizona."

"Damn, that would explain the white skin that could go lobster red in a moment's notice. Ya got me sympathies!"

"Oi, now, wot is all dis yammerin!?" Grom grumbled as he eyed his combatants warily. "You two humies know each other or somethin'?"

"Know each other? Nah." Lyle shook his head. "We're just from the same country."

"Same country, different states," Alvin retorted. "Trust me, I'm not the kind of guy who likes to get mixed up with the low-end guidos from the poor man's New York."

Lyle felt his eye twitch. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me? It actually makes all the sense in the world. I'm shocked and insulted at myself for not realizing this sooner! But that still doesn't explain why. Why, out of all the ways you could have gone about trying to conquer Bretonnia, you do so by appealing to the peasants. I mean, seriously? The peasants? The biggest inbred common denominators in all of the Old World? If you wanted to trick them into thinking that they were worth a damn, why not just take a page out of Sylvania's playbook? Their way is a lot faster and cheaper!"

Now Lyle was just confused, and he wasn't the only one. Grom's face was scrunched in utter confusion, only catching a few references here and there, while Malagor stayed oddly silent, watching the interaction while gripping his staff tightly, taking note of how the Bretonnian knights were giving the four or five if you include Krell, a wide birth. Even more jarring from Malagor was that he was getting an odd…feeling from this grail knight who had inserted himself into their fight. It was a warm feeling, but that only confused the mighty Bray Shaman. What could this be from?

Regardless, Alvin's comments only confused Lyle before slowly, albeit partially, putting two and two together. "Sylvania? You mean…Oh, that's where all those vampires come from, right? Gotta remember to ask the others about it."

Alvin looked as though he was about to insult Lyle, only to fully appreciate what the necromancer just said. His eyes widened perceptively before he laughed, confusing the others further. "Holy shit! Holy shit, you're a noob! An honest-to-God noob! You don't know anything about this world, do you?" When Lyle only looked more confused than before, Alvin laughed harder, shaking his head and wiping a tear from his eye. "Dear God almighty, hold up, hold up, I gotta make sure…does the name Warhammer mean anything to you?"

"You mean the weapon? I mean, I haven't seen one myself, except maybe from some dwarves, but it does sound kinda cool-

"Yup, you're a noob! A damn newb is giving King Louen THIS much trouble! Ohhhhh, good God, this is just rich, too rich! It figures that some ignorant Guido from the Jersey shithole would know jack about a great universe like Warhammer!"

Once again, Lyle felt his eye twitch. "Hey. Watch it, buddy."

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt your feelings? It's hard for me to feel sorry for your ignorance when you've been wasting so much of your time trying to use Bretonnian peasants as a way to take over the country when you have so many better alternatives. Trust me, I would know. Then again, if a greeseball like you couldn't put two and two together to use your necromancy-

"Hey!"

"Hey? Hey you! Don't get mad at me! I'm not the one who pretends to like peasants who stink to high heaven and bang their family on the regular? What're you getting mad at me for!?"

"If you know how bad it is, then what the hell are you doing fighting for the side that's perpetuating it, you smart ass? And call me Greeseball again, and I'l-

"What? Swear on a burning card in your hands that you'll avenge your honor?"

"My man." Lyle felt a vein pulsing in his temple. "I'm warnin' you."

"Dude, you're a noob. A noob who's clearly lucked into all the bullshit you've gotten to so far. I refuse to believe that someone who knows nothing about Warhammer could have gotten this far, I mean, in a world this unforgiving? Please." Alvin snorted, shaking his head. "Nah, you had to have gotten a major assist to get to where you're at. Maybe one of the many Gods here took pity on you and decided to lend that assistance so you could delude yourself into tricking the peasants into helping you…unless you actually want to help the peasants?" Alvin queried, coming to the point of realization after seeing the indignant look on the necromancer's face. Alvin then full-on guffawed. "Holy shit, you actually are thinking you're helping them! Helping a bunch of illiterate bumpkins who don't know their asshole from their appetite? Well, I mean, if the shoe fits it-

"HEY!" Lyle's voice pulsed with his second magic, making a cold shiver break out to those near enough. "Keep talkin', it's only giving me more reason to gut you, here and now! I will fuck your sorry ass up!"

"Tsk, tsk, that's some nasty language you got there. Does your momma kno-

That was more than enough for Lyle. The moment his mother was brought into the equation was the excuse he needed for a full-on Gaze of Nagash courtesy from his eyeballs fired right at Alvin, who was legitimately surprised by the speed of the attack. It took all of his poise and God-given core strength to use his shield and not get blown off his horse. What's more, foregoing any defense, Lyle sicked Krell on the earth-native Grail Knight, forcing his horse to backpedal as the undead champion went into attack mode.

Grom laughed at the action, leering at the fight breaking out. "Now that's more like it! Heard enough Yammerin' for moi tastes! Let's get back to scrappin' so Oi can take dat castle n' feast for Gork's sake!" Wanting to settle the score with the beastmen, the goblin warlord mushed his wolves to carry his chariot right at Malagor, who flew up and away from the stray swing of Elf-Biter, who came his way. Getting rightfully annoyed at the big fat goblin, Malagor used the Viletide spell, which created a massive growth of insects that latched onto the chariot of Grom to try and distract and lightly damage him.

Sadly, this only partially worked, as Grom grabbed fistfuls of the insects and shoved them into his gullet, munching on them with voracious hunger. After swallowing powerfully when he ate a fistful of these bugs, Grom belched and chuckled, pounding his gut with a fist. "That the best ya got, ya horny git!? If so please, please give me more! I could always use some more snacks ta stuff in me gut!"

Malagor let out a slur in his beast tongue, diving down to strike the Goblin with his sword, only to get batted away by Elf-Biter and narrowly avoid a slice to his left hoof.

As the two continued to skirmish, Alvin cursed as he was constantly on the backfoot against Krell, who refused to allow his horse to turn and get some space, moving with near-blinding speed with massive, hefty axe swings that would have unhorsed any other knight. But not Alvin. He met the undead champion, blow for blow, sword to ax, ax to shield, making sure not to lose his balance on his horse and gritting his teeth.

"Ohohohoh, you're a strong one. Have you any idea what my master is thinking of doing to you?" Krell jeered as he made an overhead swing blocked by a shield becoming seriously dented. "I must thank you for your insults! It's riled my dear master quite a bit, I can feel his wrath flowing into my joints! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

Alvin knew how dangerous Krell could be. He'd read countless books about the many battles the former chaos champion had partaken in, but he'd been beaten several times before. If people like Sigvald could beat this bony bastard, he most certainly could! Yet every time he tried to counterattack, Krell seemed one step ahead. When he tried to stab, Krell slapped his blade away with his haft and counterswung. Whenever he tried to flee with his horse and maybe make some distance, Krell shoved his ax in their path, using its length to limit their options.

"Come now, grail knight! Where is your bravado? Don't tell me you insulted my master so heavily only to die so quickly! If you do, I might be tempted to desecrate your corpse!"

Getting tired of being used to the equivalent of a training dummy, Alvin blew hot air through his nose. He wasn't really worried. After all, it's like he thought before. Krell was dangerous, but a ton of more powerful warriors in Warhammer had beaten him before. At best, he was a hindrance. At worst, he was good fighting practice.

Wanting to get through this quickly, Alvin tapped into the magic that Be'lakor had bestowed upon him, which could be sensed by no one even if he were to use it…at least in small bursts. If he were to use grand spells that could blanket a battlefield, it'd be a bit harder to hide the Chaos influence, but in this case, he would be fine.

Using the shadow magic that Be'lakor was fond of, he sent a murky cloud of it right into the sight of the undead, using the chance to swing horizontally at the champion's right hand to weaken his strikes.

Only to receive a massive head-butt right into his plated chest, sending him flying from his horse, which whinnied and ran at the first chance it had. Alvin gasped as the large helmet of Krell managed to slightly dent his armor with the impact from the ground, knocking the wind out of him. What was worse, he couldn't even lie on the ground to ruminate on his mistake as he heard the heavy stomps of the Wight's footsteps coming toward him with its ax swinging downward to split his head and body in two.

Knowing that his shield wouldn't be able to stop the full weight of the blow, Alvin rolled to his right, rapidly moving to get to his feet, which was a tall order in full armor and a homicidal Wight coming at you with murderous intent. Though he eventually succeeded in getting off all fours, Alvin was still on the back pedal, with Krell unleashing a flurry of blows that kept the grail knight off balance. A swing to his right was barely deflected by his blazing sword. An upward swing was blocked by the knight's shield but knocked him even further off-balance, making Alvin gasp as Krell continued to stalk him.

"What's the matter, pretty knight? Confused as to why your little parlor trick didn't work!? You forget I served chaos once upon a time ago! You'll need to try harder than that!"

What was worse was that Alvin had to jerk out of the way and duck a swing by Kemmler due to him nearly losing his footing again, courtesy of a bolt of dhar fired by Lyle. The Jersey native was trying to go in for the kill with murderous intent on his mind.

Realizing that he wanted nothing to do with one of the most powerful Wights in existence, Alvin shouted as loud as his blessed lungs would allow him. "Knights to me! I need you to dispatch this creature so I can slay the necromancer! To me! To me!"

Though chaos enveloped the battle, especially with knights running down stray beastmen and goblins out of formation, more than a couple of dozen managed to hear their vaunted leader and peeled off to assist him. Whether they were junior Knights Errant or Knights of the realm, many surged toward Krell, who shoved Alvin away in disgust.

"You can't best me so you call your lessers to fight for you! Pathetic!" Krell let his disgust be known to all as he charged headlong right at one of the Errant Knights, who was young as he was impetuous, dipping his lance to try and take the head off the Wight only to pay with his life. Krell swung his mighty ax at its full extension, forcing him to turn with the swing and taking off both the right hooves of the horses, eliciting a pained whinney from it as it collapsed the ground in a heap, taking the rider with it and breaking his spine in the process without so much as a chance for a shout.

However, Krell didn't have even a moment to bathe in his newest kill due to the knights converging upon him. The Wight let out grunts of frustration, being forced to play defense instead of the offense he loved wrending upon his victims, being pushed to dodge and deflect sword strikes and dipped lances that were aimed his way. The Wight was becoming so greatly inconvenienced by this change of events that he rapidly swung his ax in a fury, slicing off the leg of one unlucky knight while on the saddle and slicing a lance aimed at him in two. "Fight me on the ground, you cowards! Are Brettish horse lovers too frightened of being on the ground with your peasants like the coward you are!? Come down and face me!"

Though his insults bit their pride, the Bretonnians didn't take the bate, thanks in part to the more senior knights of the realm now reigning in the pride of their junior counterparts and because they knew all too well that if they fought Krell's game, their end wouldn't be too far behind them.

"My thanks, brethren! Now allow me to slay the wretched necromancer to end this battle and this war!" Alvin shouted smugly as he rushed toward Lyle.

Krell continued to seethe, forced to block a sword strike. "Damn, coward! Face me!"

Ignoring the Wight, Alvin continued to rush forward to Lyle, who fired bolts of Dhar after Dhar in his direction, forcing the grail knight to block each bolt of magic with his shield. It slowed the Arizona native but did little to stop him entirely. Lyle grits his teeth, cursing as he realizes that with Krell now occupied, he needs to get creative to stand on his own here.

Flexing his magic muscles, Lyle fired off a Gaze of a Naggash, unleashing the more powerful bolt of magic right from his eyes, forcing Alvin to either dodge or block the attack. When it became clear that he would sidestep the attack instead of eating it with his shield, Lyle summoned bony arm constructs from the ground to snare the joints of the grail knight, trying to restrain him for a more devastating attack.

To Lyle's frustration, the grail knight's strength shined through, and Alvin ripped his way through the bones with muscle strength alone, resuming his rush right at the necromancer. Going back to the well, Lyle decided to see how cocky and willing to rush with reckless abandon Alvin would be when he stripped him of his youth.

Yet, when Lyle unleashed that devastating spell, he blinked in stunned shock. It seemed as though the spell that should have sapped and drained Alvin of his youth fizzled and died out when it made contact with him.

"Are you kiddin' me!?" Backing up in shock, Lyle summoned undead around the feet of Alvin, who wisely either ran past them before they could do anything or stomped and swiped his blazing sword through them. Getting desperate as the grail knight drew closer, Lyle used a significant chunk of his magic to desperately fire off Winds of Death, and to his credit, it definitely surprised Alvin, who was knocked onto his back from how quickly Lyle fired it off. Realizing that this was as good a chance to deal some severe damage, Lyle gathered another gaze of Nagash that was building around his eyes.

Only to gasp in shock and wince as a bolt of Wild magic struck Lyle's side, barely blocked by the wards he had set up around him.

However, because Lyle was so unprepared, he hit the ground with a thud wincing as Malagor chortled at his somewhat successful strike before returning to fighting Grom, who looked annoyed. "Oi! You're fightin' me, ya winged, horny git! Quit flyin' around so I can get you in moi belly!"

…

Elsewhere on the battlefield, the rescue party comprised of Deni, Sybille, and Soren surged forward, cutting a path toward Lyle with a sense of urgency, which was proving to be hard work given how the beastmen suddenly seemed intent on getting in their way. The Ungors, at this point, were looking out for themselves, their heads darting around themselves to see if they could keep themselves from getting surrounded by Orcs, Undead, and Bretonnians. The Gors and Bestigors, however, were bold, eager to slake their thirst for blood, whether it be alive or dead, charging at the retinue heading towards them, baying loudly for lifeblood.

But, the first few Gors that were foolish enough to be the first to meet this retinue had little time to regret their decisions when A rapier tore through them as if they were a ragged tapestry that needed to be put to rest. The first Gor to rush forward suddenly found itself unable to bay any longer when its throat had been torn open; dropping its axes, the Gor fell to its knees, grasping at its neck, trying in vain to stem the spurting blood flow. One Gor also was struck by the rapier, which was used to slice open its stomach, forcing a cry from the goat creature as it tried to keep its intestines from spewing out. A bestigor boldly growled a challenge to the monster it's brethren tried to fight and swung its great ax in their direction.

Only for the rapier to be thrust right into the neck of the beast, stopping it in its tracks. With a twist of the rapier, Deni split it open and held a goblet right under the fountain of blood spurting from the Bestigor's neck as it twitched and blinked in terror, watching in vain from its compromising position as it was drained of its lifeblood.

Removing her rapier from the Bestigor, Deni allowed the pitiful creature to collapse to the ground, not even bothering to watch it twitch it's last few times as she brought the blood-filled goblet to her lips and took a delicate sip. "Hm. Potent but rather bland for my tastes. Not quite the delicacy I'm looking for."

Deni held out the goblet, which was taken by one of her retainers, an enthralled man with a thin mustache. "Would you like me to dispose of it, my lady?"

"Hm. No. I'm picky but hardly wasteful. Store it for the lot of you as I make my way through the rest of the rabble, would you?"

"Of course, my lady." The man said, passing the filled goblet to another thrall she stored in a larger jug strapped on her back. In turn, the thin-stacked man handed Deni a clean goblet that she held in her offhand as she continued to stalk forward toward the now wary beastmen who had witnessed how easily she had dispatched their kin.

Soaking in their fear, Deni grinned, showing off her bloody fangs. "Come now, you adorable little lambs! Certainly, you are not squeamish at a grown woman feeding, yes? It is only natural with so much excitement billowing around me!"

Sybille was not nearly as patient, sending forth her elite grave guard to cut a path toward their Lichemaster, using Soul Leach on any particular bestigors that were giving her troops too much trouble or impeding their progress, being efficient and calculating with her spells. For his part, Soren shadowed his Lady, swinging or throwing his daggers at any foe that was deemed too close for comfort.

For a moment, the ladies of the vanguard thought that they would make good time to make Lyle when they heard it—the thundering of hooves coming in from the right. Sybille spat, and even Deni spat at the sight of more knights wheeling around the right side of the battlefield, charging in their direction with their lances dipped.

"I'm starting to wonder if these bastards are slowing us down on purpose!" Sybille shouted as she raised a wall of zombies with the help of a few other acolytes into their right flank to blunt the charge.

"If so, they're doing a marvelous job." Deni smiled with strained lips. "So good I feel the urge to tell them myself."

…

Lyle hit the dirt yet again, wincing at the bruises forming on his body from having to hit the deck so much. This time, he had to eat the dirt because of how close for comfort Malagor's sword was to separating his head with a dangerous swoop, which was compounded by his attention being forced to stay on Alvin, who continued to dog his steps. Dealing with one madman with a blazing sword and ridiculous cardio was terrible enough, but a goat-man that could fly and liable to take your head off? It just wasn't fair! Especially since Lyle couldn't help but notice how these two weren't outwardly attacking one another and had, more often than not, in this skirmish, ganged up on him and Grom when they had the chance.

Lyle had to scramble to his feet only to leap forward and roll to his feet, narrowly avoiding a sword thrust from Alvin, who had covered the distance quicker than any normal man could. "What'sa matter greaseball? You were puffing your chest out a few moments ago!"

"Get bent!" Lyle fired back with more dhar that were shield blocked to his growing rage. Lyle didn't have time to come up with more witty responses as he was forced to summon zombie after zombie to try and stop the Arizonan with no success. He wanted to summon better meatshields, but that took time and concentration, neither of which he could afford with the Grail Knight bearing on him with a blistering pace. What was worse was that out of the corner of his eye, Lyle could notice Malagor swooping down on him, ready to make another pass.

Roaring in frustration, Lyle took his staff and slammed it down to create a wave of bones that rumbled beneath the feet of the grail knight, tripping him and maybe giving him a few moments to respond to Malagor, who was clearly gathering more magic for a spell of his own—a spell Lyle didn't know if he could counter in time.

Only for Malagor to howl when a bit green hand snagged his hoof when he got too low, slamming him down on the earth. Grom was so surprisingly swift on his chariot that he managed to pluck the bray-shaman out of the air and grinned at his catch. "Bahahahaha! Not so smug now, are ya, ya git! You thought you could foil my invas-

Grom's small victory was short-lived when, after quickly recovering from his trip up, instead of going for Lyle, the grail knight suddenly made a beeline for Grom and, with a herculean show of strength, slammed right into Grom's chariot splintering wood, and knocking it over, which was an impressive feat given how fat and heavy the goblin warlord was. Grom sputtered in shock and fell on his back, struggling to get up due to his weight. He nearly succeeded in doing so when Malagor fired off a bolt of Wild Magic that knocked him back down after hitting the Goblin in the shoulder.

Grom the Paunch winced from the attack, his shoulder searing slightly, only saved by how thick and heavy his hide was. But it was cold comfort when Alvin stomped on his wounded shoulder, making the Goblin Chief cry out in pain, especially when he realized his ax-Elf Biter, had fallen only a few feet away, out of his reach. He could only stare in shock at this turn of events right at the cruel eyes of Alvin, who sneered at the Goblin.

"Personally, I never got the hype for you with all the Total War players. But, now that I look at your obese ass, it's clear that people love playing what they are." The Arizona native then lifted his blazing sword, intent on cleaving Grom's head in two. "Oh, and by the way. I think Skarsnik was always the better Goblin." Alvin then swung his sword down…

…only to be launched into the air when a man-sized fist made out of bones erupted from the earth, launching Alvin away as the air was knocked out of him. Malagor tried to retaliate but was forced to retreat when zombies stumbled towards him, forcing him to fly up in the air to avoid their grasping, rotting hands and teeth.

Grom tried to get up faster, thinking that these zombies were about to turn upon him. To his surprise, they stopped and faced away from him, pointedly toward the Bray-Shaman and Grail Knight, who were recovering from the sudden attacks. Confused but not looking a gift horse in the mouth, Grom got to his feet as fast as possible and snagged his ax, looking warily at the necromancer approaching him.

"Hey! Hey, big man!" Lyle shouted at the Goblin. "You notice how these assholes are tag-teaming us? I know with a head as big as that, you can't miss it!"

"Course I haven't missed it humie! Bit hard to miss dat dey haven't done shite to each other either!" Grom fired back, his eyes flickering between the necromancer inching closer to him and the other two opponents. "So wot? You thinkin' of workin' togetha?"

"Maybe. Are you?"

"Ya think I'm gonna give up takin' your castle cause da fightin' gettin' a bit tough! Zog off! I-" Grom flinched when Lyle brought up a ward blocking another bolt from Malagor, which was just a feint for Alvin to rush in with his sword. A sword strike that Lyle hitched his breath at, realizing he had no space to dodge it.

But, Alvin was intercepted by a heavy ax swing that sent the grail knight skidding backward, barely getting his sword up to block the damage.

Grom snorted through his nose, glaring heavily at the the knight and beastman. "Wot is dis? You two gits got all chummy? Is dat wot dis is!? Neither the horsie humies nor beasty humies think they can beat Grom Da Paunch One on One, so you band together!? That's gonna be a Krumpin' for you lot!"

"So, alliance?" Lyle queried, sidling up to the hulking Goblin.

"For now! Just keep your dead fings outta my way, and I might not gut ya! But afta dis is over Oi'm comin' for your fancy castle!"

"And I'll be ready for you, big boy. But, that bein' said." Lyle then glared at Alvin, who seemed none too pleased at the impromptu alliance that was forming. Now that I think about it… you're Alvin, right? The newest and greatest grail knight to grace this earth, right? Funny that managed to happen around the time you got into this world," the necromancer glowered. You were the one who ran into Rudy, weren't you?"

"As if I have enough time to care about who that is." Alvin rolled his eyes.

"He was the peasant boy you stabbed when hunting down those goblins. A group of which are in my castle as we speak."

Recognition flashed in his eyes as he started to stalk forward. "Ohhhh, he was with you, was he? What are you accusing me of something?"

"He was hit by some chaos and corruption. Corruption that nearly killed him. But funny that happened the moment you stabbed him."

"I don't know what you're talking ab-wait…nearly killed him?" Surprised, Alvin squinted his eyes. "What do you mean survived?"

"Survived the chaos and corruption you gave him. Close thing, but he came out of it in the end, despite you tryin' to grow a tumor out of his guts!"

Alvin's stern frown was telling. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're not even from this world, you don't even know what chaos truly is."

"I know that it's not something you should go messing around with." Lyle countered, eyeing the blazing sword that Alvin held critically. "Ya know, even some of my coldest-hearted necromancers shiver at the idea of me being infected with chaos. Makes a guy like me wonder, what could the prissy prancy, shiny, armored, pearl-clutching Bretonnian knights think of chaos…especially when they find out that one of their grail knight i-

Alvin moved with inhuman speed, rushing at Lyle and ducking the bolt of dhar that was fired at him, only to be forced to lock his sword with Grom's Ax, which intercepted him partway. Malagor tried going at the goblin warlord's exposed flank, but Lyle, true to his word, watched the goblins back, firing dhar at the Bray-shaman that strafed to the right to avoid his wings getting clipped.

And just like that, the four-way fight turned into a 2v2. If any of the many soldiers fighting in this battle had the time to look at the warlords' battle, they had to wonder why some of them weren't bothering to fight one another.

In the chaos of battle, however, victory and survival were on everyone else's minds as they fought to live another day. Bretonnians trampled and skewered beastmen. Beastmen gored goblins and unlucky knights. Goblins used traps, snares, and other nasty tricks to bring their foes low, while their surviving troll allies used their clubs to smash and bash anyone or anything that wasn't green and mean.

All the while, the garrison forces under Schmitz and Fredericka started to march their forces as quickly as they could out of the center gate, looking to support the rescue party of Deni and Sybille.

…

Gerome twitched once again, down within the bowels of the Beast Pit prison, where he and all the other noble prisoners had been captured after the battle for Bastonne. Again and again, he heard the faint sounds of men screaming, goblins shouting, and beastmen roaring above. Many of the nobles, including himself, huddled close to one another, hearing stomping and cannon fire dominate their surroundings.

"By the Lady, what on earth is happening out there? It's like the world is shaking by whatever madness is happening!" An older noble grumbled in his rags, his eyes darting furtively. "Do any of you think that…that relief forces have come to save us?"

"If they have, they certainly took their time!" A younger noble harumphed, trying to keep his dirty blonde hair out of his eyes. "We've been down here for days, and we've barely had a chance to bathe! It's inhumane the way these necromancers treat us!"

"Them and their peasants! Did you see the way they spit and turn their noses at us!" Another noble complained. "That damned Spoletta, a thousand curses on his name, is breeding our peasants to be ill-tempered and uncouth, disobedient, and Goddess knows what!"

Gerome only sighed just to twitch at the sound of more canon fire, with many nobles ducking their heads at the ungodly sound. It was as if the sound of distant and muffled thunderbolts were being cast to add to their misery.

Personally, the former noble of Gisoreux found himself unable to care about the outcome of such a battle. Either way, he would have to live with disgrace. If there indeed was a relief force outside coming to save them, it did little to improve Gerome's mood. If it was an unsuccessful battle for his fellow Bretonnians, then he would stay here to eventually be met with Lyle's judgment as had been told to him. He was sure he only hadn't received said judgment because of the coming battle this day had led to. If their forces won, and King Louen eventually found out about how he partook in the slavery within Bastonne, albeit briefly, then his days as a noble were over. His days of living in disgrace would only truly begin, which only made the idea of ever meeting his family face-to-face again a dreaded ordeal.

"Chin up, Gerome. Your wife won't care to see your face stuck like that when she sees you again." The disgraced noble shifted his marose eyes to his right. In a separate cell cut off from the rest of the nobility of the Beast Pit was Yasmine, sitting cross-legged on a mattress that Lyle had provided her for 'good behavior.' "I'm sure she couldn't have a child with you if you were looking THAT dour."

"Forgive me, Lady Yasmine, it's just… it's been a trying time."

"Oh, that I have no doubt about. I can't even complain since you've been undergoing the worst luck longer than I have." Yasmine smiled wryly, trying to keep the noble's spirits up. "Come now, chin up. There are worse fates to be undergoing in the Old World."

"Knowing that does little to lift my spirits up. When Lyle passes his judgment on me…when he's done-

"Oh? So convinced that he's going to survive whoever is confronting him outside?"

Gerome snorted. "Calling that boy a cockroach is a disservice. If Duke Bohemond could not finish him, I struggle to imagine anyone short of the King himself succeeding where the Beastslayer failed. No. His sentence will pass on me one way or another, I'm sure."

"You're not completely to blame for the slave trade that happened here. Even I share blame for it." Yasmine consoled the man with a smile. "Think on it. I, one of the chosen women of the Lady, failed to see a seed of villainy and crime under my very nose."

"You didn't see it. I partook in it."

"You did it for your family."

"And now I'm the poorer for it. How could I ever face them…nay…Lyle may not even give me the chance."

"Do you think him so cruel? You forget he is no Kemmler." She then extended her right bare foot, pointing to it. "After all, he could have tortured me to get the information he desired, and instead, he acquired it through…less than conventional methods." The woman smirked, shaking her head and putting her foot back down. "Lyle Spoletta is a heated and passionate young man with a strange sense of justice. But, he doesn't strike me as cruel."

"Would it be cruel for me to suffer the consequences of my actions…to pay for my failure to defend my town and family? To abandon my liege lord and fail in upholding the code of chivalry?"

"The fact that you realize your failings whether they or your fault or not ar…wait."

Gerome caught onto the sudden shift in Yasmine, her conciliatory tone rigid and her eyes wide. "Is…is there something wrong m'la-

"Shh! Listen! Quietly!...Men of Bretonnia, I bid you to be quiet, please!" The other nobles who had been grumbling or bemoaning their circumstances earlier suddenly halted their tongues, heading the word of their captured Damsel. For a moment, they and Gerome wondered what brought about the sense of urgency in Yasmine's voice. Many, like the disgraced noble, thought that something had happened in the battle that was happening outside that only she noticed.

That was when they heard it—a clinking sound. No, the sound of dirt shifting nearby—shifting dirt that could be heard on Yasmine's side of her cell. Many crept over her cell, trying to hear better when they saw the dirt wall on Yasmine's side of the Beast Pit shake and shift slightly.

Many gasped, and nearly just as many smiled. "C-could it be? Could it truly be a rescue?" The younger knight from before asked tentatively? "Nay! It has to be! We're saved! The rest of Bretonnia hasn't forgotten about us!"

To further support this theory, more dirt began to fall from the wall, with clumps knocked aside. Many knights were now openly cheering at the sight of what had to be a straightforward rescue. Yet Yasmine did not share their enthusiasm. On her face, there was only tentative dread.

Gerome couldn't help but understand that feeling because he was one of the few who voiced a seed of doubt growing in his mind. "But…how could our fellow Bretonnians dig their way through here? What tools do they have to get through? The beastpit is under the castle itself, where would they have the time to dig such tunnels?"

The young and inexperienced noble shook his head. "Of course, you'd have no faith in the Lady coming to deliver us, Lord Gerome. Is it any wonder th-

The noble halted his words when he saw a snout with yellow rectangular eyes stick its head out of the hole, eliciting a shock of silence from all those who could see what was happening. Just when it seemed that all their eyes were playing tricks on them, the head lunged forward with the hole opening further behind it, revealing a large and muscular bestigor breathing heavily through it's snout, with five of its fellow kin stomping just behind it.

Yasmine shrieked and backed against the cage, her hands clinging to the magic-sapping collar around her neck, reminding her how powerless she was as the Bestigors stalked forward.

The Bretonnian nobles, once they got to their senses and realized the danger that Yasmine was now in, all started shouting and yelling, scrambling and rushing to the cell walls, many pulling desperately and trying to twist them out of the way in a vain attempt to save the Damsel. Even Gerome tried with all his might to work with his fellow nobles to pull the wrought iron out of the way to bring the defenseless blond-haired woman to safety, even if he knew deep down with everyone else that her fate was sealed the moment those beastmen stepped out of that hole.

And sure enough, the lead Bestigor began to stalk forward, hoof after hoof, inching closer to the Damsel, who pressed herself as close to the bars as much as she could, more terrified than she had ever been since becoming a damsel. Lyle didn't truly scare her, for she could see the goodness in his actions and heart, save for when she thought he would torture her.

But now? She knew there was no such kindness in those yellow eyes.

The youngest noble rushed toward the prison entrance, banging on the reinforced in desperation. "HELP! HELP! BEASTMEN! BEASTMEN IN THE PRISON!" But it was all for naught. The castle's forces were nearly all focused on its defense from without, not within, and his cries for the safety of their captors came upon deaf ears.

Yasmine grabbed Gerome's hand with another noble within her reach, holding on tightly as the Bestigor neared her and, eventually, grabbed her ankles and pulled. Gerome and the other noble held on desperately, trying to buy as much time as possible, especially as Yasmine's terrified eyes looked into his.

But, in the end, they only delayed the inevitable, and though Gerome and the noble weren't weak by any means, their strength paled in comparison to the strength of the Bestigor. He yanked Yasmine to the ground, grabbed her with ease, and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of wheat. All the while, Yasmine shrieked and screamed, pounding her fists into its back and kicking her feet fruitlessly as it stalked away, its fellow bestigors leading the way.

All the while, the noblemen screamed and cursed at the beastmen, their hands reaching forward through the bars, hopelessly watching one of the Lady's chosen get taken away by a creature worse than any necromancer at this point.

And as if to add insult to injury, before the bestigor kidnapping the Damsel left back into the hole whence it came, it turned around to the nobles, a nasty smirk on its goat-shaped face.

And once again, Gerome felt the sting of failure once more, perhaps more bitterly than ever, as the only sign that Yasmine had been there were now her echoing screams down the tunnel.

…

"Fire!" No sooner had Nalga bellowed that order than the nearly 300 peasants fired, ejecting their lead into the beastmen and goblins, but mainly into the Bretonnian knights who made excellent and tempting targets with how they towered over many with their horses. Pained shouts from any within the cross-hairs of the human musketeers were elicted, as Fredericka, Wendel, And Schmitz surged past them, using the salvo of the most recent firing line to charge forward and take advantage of the chaos that was caused.

"Keep going forward! Forward, Forward, Forward!" Schmitz growled, shouting at any acolyte near him. "If the Lichemaster perishes, I'll use anyone who draws my ire as my newest experiment! Forward, damn you!" Zombies, skeletons, and grave guards surged forward, not fast but effective. Initially, they didn't meet much resistance since Deni and Sybille had cut a blood path forward toward Lyle's skirmish, but once they started to meet more pockets of foes of all types, the necromancers cursed in frustration as their undead started meeting resistance.

Oh, the undead themselves weren't having too much trouble killing anything in front of them. Zombies bit into the throats of any unfortunate beastmen, Skeleton spears or swords pierced goblins, and Grave Guard battered knights that found themselves pinned between beastmen, goblins, and undead. Sure, most experienced knights were smart enough to keep themselves on the move to strike down anything unfortunate to get in their way, but any unlucky or unfortunate knights that got bogged down and lost their vaunted momentum were cut or dragged down from their horse, or in some cases killed right with their horse if their steeds were severely wounded.

But despite their success, there were just so many bodies and distance between the undead and their commander, and even the vanguard force that went earlier found themselves having to slow down due to more knights pouring out of the forests, forcing them to watch their flanks for any lances or swords aimed at their heads.

This ultimately left Lyle on an island with Grom, of all people, the very Goblin, who now no longer had any doubts about the odd, unspoken alliance between Malagor and Alvin. Back to back, both the necromancer and Goblin fought side by side in a matter of not friendship or comradery but pure survival at this point. And to their credit, they were doing a masterful job of their foes' tag-teaming.

Alvin tried to swing his sword at them, but Grom was ready to meet him with Elf-Biter, who was holding up surprisingly well against the supposedly holy weapon. Malagor tried using the Viletide to overwhelm the Goblin and necromancer with enlarged and volatile bugs, but Lyle immediately ensured those bugs aged to death. Whenever Malagor and Alvin tried attacking simultaneously, Grom and Lyle switched with the Jersey native, keeping Alvin at bay with more dhar and Grom scaring off the airborne bray-shaman with wild swings.

"Quit bein' a buncha scaredy gits and keepin' away from us!" Grom spat as he held his ax tightly. "If you're here for a scrap, then come n' scrap! Oi've got a castle to conquer here!"

"You wish, big man!" Lyle spat back, standing in the shadow of the goblin warboss, making sure to keep an eye on his 'ally of convenience.' "But if you ask me, I just think these guys can dish but can't take it! Afraid of gettin' a few scratches on em'!"

"Bah! Doesn't surprise me! The horny and horsey humies like to yammer about, but even the pointy ears are tougher than em'!" The goblin boss swung yet again at Malagor, who flew back yet again, making the Immense One wish he could reach his harpoons without getting harassed. "You gits are startin' to make me think that throwin' ya both in my pot when I'm done wit ya is too kind!"

Not taking too kindly to the insults, Alvin rushed forward yet again, this time using underhanded tactics and kicking dirt up at Grom. But, Grom was intimately familiar with dirty, underhanded tactics, with the supposed Warhammer expert forgetting that Grom was a goblin at heart and blocked the dirt with his mighty hand, swinging his ax with such velocity that he managed to tear the shield in Avlin's hand in half with a mighty swing and a good angle. Lyle tried to take advantage of the newly made vulnerability by casting a Gaze of Nagash at him but was frustrated by Malagor swooping in and blocking the attack with a ward.

"Seriously?" Lyle cursed in frustration. "What? Are you two lovers at this point? With the lengths you go to protect one another, I think your fellow knights are gonna look at ya sideways, Alvin!"

Alvin didn't say a word, simply glaring at his two adversaries with a frustrated expression; eventually, to Lyle and Grom's confusion, the Arizona native only smirked before suddenly raising his blazing sword up high. The two gawked at the gesture only to curse and sputter when a bright, shining light erupted from the sword. Lyle barely managed to squint and close his eyes in time, but Grom had been temporarily blinded, not quite quick on the draw, growling and shaking his head at the brightness overwhelming his vision.

Lyle managed to shake off the effects of the light just to see another penumbral pendulum courtesy of Malagor…and it wasn't heading toward him. "Grom! Get outta the way. Another pendulum is headed your way!"

Grom managed to glimpse the attack, barely enough to see it coming. The goblin lord fell backward, narrowly avoiding the attack and swinging upwards to carve off his head.

But, unfortunately for the warboss, his massive stomach finally worked against him as the magic scythe sliced open his gut, tearing into his stomach and causing his entrails to spill out of him.

Grom the Paunch couldn't even muster a scream of pain, staring wide-eyed as his stomach was sliced open to the point where a massive tanned and stomach-juice-covered hunk of meat slipped out of his Paunch, with it being none other than the troll-flesh he swallowed down so long ago. A hunk of troll flesh the size of a small boulder.

Grom fell on his back, heaving and gasping, blood building up in the corners of his mouth as he tried in vain to squeeze his stomach together, desperate to keep his intestines from spilling out and staring in mute horror at what had given him his size now lying in a bloody chunky heap on the grass.

"Holy shit!" Lyle gasped, unable to hide his own horror. Sure, Grom had been someone who was trying to invade him, but he wasn't sure if he could wish this on his worst enemy, especially as Grom desperately tried to keep himself in one piece, even as blood gushed from his center.

And then Lyle realized he made a fatal mistake. He took his eyes off Malagor, who suddenly used his Bray Scream spell to launch Lyle from sheer magical soundwaves into the wreckage of Grom's chariot, eliciting a grunt of pain from the necromancer as he landed in a heap.

Grom tried to get up only to howl at how much hurt that put his body was going through. He tried to reach for his ax only to have to keep both his hands occupied due to how easily his guts were spilling out of his open stomach. All the while, Malagor stalked forward, chortling at his foe's misfortune and drawing his sword back. "Foolish green filth. Did you think you could stand against one of Chaos's greatest champions? Against the crow-father?" Grom could only stare up in pained defiance at the Crow father, blood leaking out beneath his teeth and dribbling out of his chin.

"K-krump you…" Grom wheezed out in defiance, hacking and coughing blood from the agony in his abdomen.

"How ironic for a green lump of waste such as yourself to curse one as blessed as me." The Bray-shaman then reared his sword over his head. "Worry not Goblin. I'll make this-GAAAAHH!" Malagor roared in pain as night goblins, being the sneaky buggers that they were, suddenly leaped out from nowhere, climbing and attacking the beastman, knives flashing. "Cursed Green-filth! You will not deny me!" Malagor shook one of them off and pulped its skull on the ground with his right hoof. Yet more and more swarmed around him, forcing the bray-shaman to shake wildly, flaring his wings and trying to take to the air.

"Save da boss! Krump this horny git and git him away from da boss!" The fanatic goblins bit scratched and stabbed Malagor everywhere they could, proving to be an utter nuisance to the Crow Father, who bayed and shouted at their protest. One night, the Goblin even got atop his head and grabbed his horns, trying to pull him off balance so his brethren could harass him further.

All the while, a makeshift wagon rolled up to Grom, piloted by a frantic Zulz who stared in abject horror at the state of his warboss, lying and bleeding on the ground with most of his insides on the outside of his body. "G-get da boss in da cart! Quick! Quick! We don't got much time!" Several goblins swarmed around Grom, both trying with great difficulty to lift his immensity while also keeping any more of his pink guts from slipping out of his stomach. Thankfully, with the assistance of a dim-witted but subservient troll, they managed to succeed, tossing Grom onto the cart with a wince of pain. "Move it, ya gits, move it! If da boss dies, I'm gonn-

"Z-zuls!" Grom wheezed out his hand, reaching out forward. "M-moi troll flesh…" His eyes watered, and his breathing started becoming labored. "G-get it! O-oi nee-

"Oh, hell no! You're not getting away that easy!" Alvin declared, surging forth and cutting down any goblin unfortunate enough to be near him. Against Lyle and Grom, Alvin was met toe to toe. But against these goblins, they may as well have been wheat against a scythe, being bisected or vivisected without care and utter disdain as he rushed toward the wheelbarrow. A troll tried meeting Alvin, only the grail knight, to dodge a club swing and slice off the offending hand that held it. Before the poor troll could scream in pain, Alvin shoved his sword upward, stabbing the troll in its admittedly small brain before cutting right through its throat, slicing off the head of the beast and leaving it a heaving hunk of flesh. Now covered in the blood of greenskins, Alvin stormed forward, eager to put the greenskin menace to bed once and for all as Zulz watched in despair.

He knew his boss wanted that troll flesh, but he knew how good of a chance someone like him and his boyz had against a grail knight as vicious as this one. "I'm… I'm sorry, boss!" Zulz cried out before shouting for the goblins holding the cart to pull. It took over a dozen goblins pulling the cart on a rope to get any momentum, but with desperation in their veins and a burning desire to save their boss in a surprising show of unity and solidarity, the goblins pulled the heavily wounded big boss away from Alvin who continued to give chase only to find himself cut off by more and more goblin fanatics that were trying to halt him as much as they had Malagor.

Malagor, in particular, had managed to take to the sky, shaking off multiple goblin night fanatics who plummeted to their deaths as he snorted and bayed angrily at being interrupted, only for his mood to turn to victory as he witnessed some particular bestigors out of the corner of his eye. Just past a group of goblins, trying to climb atop a group of knights to stab them with mixed results, five bestigors were running from the direction of castle Bastonne, with one of them carrying a burlap sack that only had a pair of feet sticking and wiggling out of it, thrashing helplessly as the bestigor continued to run with its other kin.

The Crow Father grinned and looked around the battlefield, a feeling of triumph clashing with frustration. He could see a large group of necromancers approaching where had fought the other warlords and surmised that killing Lyle Spoletta wasn't worth it anymore. Definitely not worth dying to not fulfill future requests from his gods.

After all…killing Lyle was a bonus for this mission of his. Not the primary objective. Now that he had the Damsel as requested, there was little reason for him to risk any more of his herd than necessary at this point. Taking out a curved horn, Malagor sent out a series of blows that could be heard throughout the battlefield. With many of his kin feeling relief from not being decimated by three other armies, any Beastman that could tear away from their respective fight or skirmish began pushing through any resistance they could to go toward the treeline. For them, it didn't matter which part of the forest they reached, only that they reached any part of it to acquire salvation, with Malagor himself grinning darkly as he flew to the leftmost forest, not wanting to draw attention to the secret team that he had stolen away a certain damsel.

But it was here that Malagor failed in this objective. Staring hatefully at him was none other than the goblin warlord whom he had not only gruesomely maimed but also robbed of the one thing that gave him so much girth and power.

Grom glared balefully at the flying beastmen only to follow his gaze to the bestigors trying to make their quick getaway. The clever Goblin didn't miss how the Crow-Father suddenly called for a retreat when he saw this.

Turning his head as much as the pain could allow, Grom rasped to Zulz, looking around for threats as the goblins continued to pull his wagon to safety while others cleared a path through their many hostiles. "Zulz…zulz ya see dem bestigor gits?"

"Wh-which one boss? B-bit tied up here at the moment!" Zulz yammered back, not sure why his boss was bringing this up now while a few goblins tried desperately to sew up the Paunch's stomach wound with haphazard results.

"Da ones over dere!" Grom coughed, feeling blood on his lips. Weakly yet stubbornly, he pointed toward his right, allowing Zulz to make out the burlap-sack-filled prize they had. "Get em'...get em' and take whoever it is in dat sack!"

"B-but boss, w-we need ta focus on gettin' you outta here! Why wo-

"Malagor's callin' off his gits! Callin' off his gi-*cough* *cough* c-callin' em' off cause he got somethin'! Cause he got someone! Oi, don't want em' to have it!"

Zulz looked pleadingly at his wounded boss. "Boss, please! W-we lost, okay! L-let's just focus on gettin' ya outta here so we can scrap another d-GURK!" Zulz's eyes bulged as Grom managed to wring his neck with the last of his strength. Yet Zulz didn't find himself choking as he saw the look of outrage on his boss's face.

"Dat horny git took everythin' from me! He took moi food! He took moi boyz! He took moi chance ta have da castle! He took moi victory! He to- *cough* *hack* H-he took me flesh! Me Troll flesh! Oi, can't let him get away with all o' dat Oi WON'T!" The fat Goblin hacked and coughed more, spitting up more blood and looking as though he could cough up a lung. "If Oi… can't have what Oi want from dis scrap…den' neither can he!

Zulz wanted to argue with his boss that it wasn't worth it. That something like this was a fool's errand. Yet he couldn't help but be moved in anger by what his boss had just barely managed to utter. Even other goblins nearby couldn't help but shake with the indignity that their boss had to go through. After all, they not only saw Grom as their boss but also as a source of inspiration. In a culture dominated by orcs, Grom was a great example of how even the most diminutive goblins can reach the most incredible heights. He inspired them as much as he chastised him, and to see such misfortune brought about by one singular beastman who seemed determined to ruin everything he worked for brought shame, anger, and resentment on the goblins.

All these actions fueled a goblin like Zulz, who called out some nearby wolf riders. "Oi! Wolf rider gits! Get over here! We're goin' on one last mission!" Having been nearby enough to hear the words of their warboss, the wolf riders saddled up near Zulz and the other night goblins who hopped onto the wolves, acting as passengers to the wolf-riders themselves to act as guides to their targets.

Targets that they were quick to ensure they did not lose as Grom struggled to stay conscious through his army's haggard retreat from the battle, their losses heavy.

…

Back with Alvin, the infuriated grail knight managed to kill the last of the night goblin fanatics that had impeded his chase of Grom, slicing off the head of one and stomping another into the throat, crushing its larynx with his armored boot. He spat on the ground, infuriated that this kill had escaped, only to shrug in frustration. With a wound like that and without his troll flesh, Alvin reasoned that there was no point in giving chase anymore. Even if Grom, by some miracle, survived, he would definitely be a shell of himself.

No. There was another target that he could contend himself with now. One that Be'lakor had insisted he take care of as soon as he could.

And just in time, too, as the Arizona native stalked back toward where his original battle was, he saw Lyle coming to, shaking the cobwebs of being launched back-first into a broken chariot. All around him, goblins and beastmen fled in varying directions, clearly realizing that this battle was no longer theirs to win, or in Malagor's case, he simply reasoned that completing his secondary objective was no longer worth the trouble.

No matter for him. Alvin raised his sword up, ready to finish the job for him. "Nothing personal, Jersey Shore. But, someone who doesn't know Warhammer the way I do honestly doesn't have the right to shape this world in your flawed and ignor-

Alvin stopped, nearly falling over when his left leg suddenly stuck in place. Utterly baffled, the chestnut-haired man looked in confusion at a web that had suddenly attached to his leg.

Then he saw it. Dozens of javelins were hurled at him from the tall grass nearly at once, which forced Alvin to gasp and do two things. One: Swing his sword at a blinding speed to stop at least half of them. Two: Use another smaller spell from Be'lakor's shadow magic to blow some of the javelins off course, but even then, it was a close thing.

The grail knight didn't even have to wait long to see who was responsible for such a dastardly attack when tribal forest goblins rose from the grass, riding arachnarok spiders, with the middle of them revealing a familiar wizened old goblin who glared hotly at Alvin. "Even now, a sorry lookin' git like yaself don't know when to die, do ya knight?"

"Ah. The Goblin and his tribe that got away."

"Oh, we be doin' a lot more than dat now, humie." Rucnor, the goblin shaman, spit out, gathering the magic of the Waagh in his spider-web staff. "Oi've got a debt that I'm collectin' from ya and you're gonna pay more dan' in flesh!"

Slicing the spider web and tying his leg down, Alvin grinned, which, much to Rucnor's shame, made him shiver in fear along with the rest of his boys. "I'd like you to see you try you overgrown-

Then Alvin froze, feeling a spell wash over him. A spell that he hadn't seen coming. He hadn't seen it, but Lyle had managed to come to and cast the Doom and Darkness spell yet again, this time on Alvin himself.

Suddenly, Alvin was back home, moving around his Khorne Demon models four years earlier, when his dad entered the room, glaring at him open-mouthed.

No. This wasn't right. This couldn't be right.

"Al." His father began, breathing through his nose. "Last I checked, you didn't have nearly this many models the last time I told you not to waste time on this shit."

Something about this seemed wrong. So wrong, yet Alvin couldn't speak.

"Oh, let me guess. You borrowed it from your friends? More crap like that?" His father asked, glaring full-forced. "Be upfront with me, kid. How much did you spend this time? In double digits? Triple digits? How much?"

Alvin tried to open his mouth and succeeded, but again, the words just wouldn't come out. His heart raced a mile a minute as his father started unbuckling his belt.

"You stupid son of a bitch." He muttered darkly. "Wasting precious time and money on the Hammer Quest crap." Alvin wanted to rage and correct his father on what it really was, but the fear he felt overrode any idea of that.

And instead of facing this terrifying visage of his past head-on, he did what he felt he could only do in that moment. He turned and ran. Ran and ran as far as he could from the belt-wielding man who looked down on his favorite hobby, when in reality, he was fleeing the battlefield that he was really on as quickly as his blessed body would allow with much of the knights that came with him following suit as the army of the dead continued to surge from Castle Bastonne.

All the while, Rucnic stared on in utter confusion and then realization when he looked back at Lyle. "Some kinda…scary spell or somethin'?"

"Somethin' like that, yeah." Lyle muttered, using the last of the magic he had available to him to use the Invocation of Nehek on his body to heal the bruises and cuts he'd accumulated through his fight. "Thanks for the save, by the way."

"Bah! Just making sure that we're even now, humie!" Rucnor harrumphed pridefully. "Still…somethin' ain't right. Dat couldn't have been all da horse humies dey had ta offer. Oi heard dat dis was da King's army, but I didn't see a humie wit' no shiny crown!"

"Well, if he doesn't show up, I ain't complainin'." Lyle muttered, wincing as he stretched out his tired and battered body. "After all, I-

"There you are, boy!" Sybille barked out, panting heavily as she stomped toward Lyle with Deni in front of her, the vampire smiling eerily with her mouth covered in blood. "Have you any idea…how hard it is for someone my age to march all the way here! Even worse, how fast you made my heart race with that scare, you pulled on all of us!"

"It was quite exhilarating, yes." Deni said, taking a napkin from one of her retainers to dab away the blood on her mouth with delicacy. "However, it is heartening to see you alive and whole, Lord Lyle. It would have been quite ignoble for you to perish in such a manner."

"Well, better men than people like Malagor have tried. I ain't keelin' over that easy." Lyle said with pride. "I admit that was a close fight to-

Lyle and the others winced as the sound of metal colliding with metal and flesh, followed by screams, was heard nearby, which could be followed by a sickening crunch and a squelching sound. Not too far from them was none other than Krell, killing and butchering a knight that had fallen off his horse in the aftermath of the now winding down battle. The wight himself was coated utterly in goar, blood, and viscera, with his armor seeming as though it was painted red for the occasion. Satisfied with his latest kill, he spotted Lyle surrounded by friendly forces and casually strolled over, striking a terrifying visage.

When he reached the group, his blue, glowing eyes looked around as if searching and coming up empty. "Where is the grail knight?"

Lyle pointed in the direction of the retreating Bretonnian forces. "Ran away like a bitch when I gave him some Doom n' Darkness."

The wight sighed. "A shame. The rest of those knights that slowed me down were poor substitutes for a fight. The only thing they offered was quenching the thirst of my ax." Planting said ax into the ground, looking in utter dissatisfaction despite having no facial muscles. "Pitiful."

"Doom and Darkness?" Sybille noted with interest. "By Nagash, you really do learn spells quickly."

"Had some crunch time with Freddy. Saved my ass big time today, I ain't gonna lie." The Lichemaster admitted before seeing approaching friendly forces. "Speakin' of the lady herself…"

"Lord Lyle! Fredericka shouted, looking relieved to see him primarily unscathed, along with all the others with her. "Thank the Gods! When I heard you were taken by Malagor-

"Ahh, don't worry. He flew away like the whip when he saw we were handing him and his herd a big giant 'L.' Nice work, by the way."

Before Fredericka could reply, Nalga stomped forward, looking utterly unimpressed and glaring up at her taller counterpart, her hands coated in gunpowder. "Well, I'm so glad that ye look so pleased at barely comin' outta this with your mortal coils attached, ya damned umgi!"

"Hey, come on, babe, I'm fine!" Lyle laughed as she shoved his leg.

Nalga glared as her face became heated. "BABE!? Ye have to the gall to say that after nearly gettin' turned into beastmen food!?"

"Come on now, I didn't see him coming!"

"Then look around ye'self next time! You got those long legs and height! Use em'!"

"I can't help it! For all I know, it makes me a bigger target!"

The female dwarf huffed and folded her arms stubbornly. "Then duck next time! Take it from me, it helps to make yourself smaller!"

Deni couldn't help but smile knowingly. "Oolala. How delightfully interesting."

Sybille raised a wary look. "What on earth are you on about?"

"You're experienced enough, Lady Sybille. I'm sure you can figure it out."

"Oh, I know you're just dying to call me old." The older woman smiled dangerously. "Go on pale skin. Call me old."

"Peace, mistress." Soren said, putting a rotting hand on her shoulder, shadowing her as usual. "We've won the fight. No need to get worked up."

At this moment, Schmitz inserted himself in the conversation, sweating from his bald head from the constant movement and shouting he had to commit to reach Lyle but otherwise still grumpy and dour-looking as always. "Master Lyle. I'm afraid that now is hardly a time to celebrate easily. I interrogated some of the knights we'd managed to take alive under the threat of…persuasion and managed to discern that this wasn't the entire Bretonnian army. This was just the vanguard front that was sent to not only scout ahead but do as much damage to any of the armies that it could reach. The rest is commanded by King Louen Leoncur himself and is headed our way in less than a day."

The good mood immediately took a dive on that bit of news, but it wasn't wholly surprising. Even Lyle had figured that there were too few Bretonnians to make up the massive army he had heard so much about. Even now, he could see the wariness on the faces of those like Sybille, Wendel, and Fredericka despite surviving such a massive assault on their new castle walls. Deni seemed most blase, more focused on wiping down her extravagant rapier. In contrast, Krell, who for some reason had yet to disappear, actually seemed to literally shake in excitement, a menacing chuckle emanating from his skeletal head.

Eventually, before anyone else could comment, the peasant musketeers, whose conditioning still wasn't the best, finally managed to catch up to Lyle, panting and looking utterly relieved at Lyle's survival. With Ave coming up with them, the undead peasant smiled knowingly at her more lively counterparts. "I told ya he wasn't going to die that easily. Beastmen or no beastmen, he's made of sterner stuff."

"Lord Lyle, thank the Lady your alright!" Jori huffed as he finally reached the group. "When we saw that damned bird-bastard take you, we thought you were a goner for sure! I-I almost tried to shoot it down, but common sense previ-

"Ya mean after that, baldy told ya otherwise, you moron!" Ham snickered.

"Oh shove-off Ham! I didn't do it, that's the important part!"

"But ya thought about it!"

Before the two squabbling peasants could get into another row, Lyle clapped them both on the shoulders, his eyes sweeping to the other peasant gunners, who had been looking at him with no small amount of concern. "Man, look at all o' ya! You were lettin' those rifles of yours sing a beautiful tune all battle-long! Wouldn't you agree, Nalga? Did these guys do you proud?"

"Bah! They aren't as good as Dawi Thunderers, that's for sure!" The dwarf harumphed momentarily before acquiescing. But they managed to hit their targets despite such a small trainin' window, so they did well enough."

Coming from a dwarf, that was incredible praise indeed, and Lyle made sure they felt it. "You all did me so damn proud today yall' know that! Each and every one of you did what ya needed to and pumped those guys so full of lead that the knights might even think twice about a second helping! And Schmitz, Fredericka! Great job on holding down your sides of the wall! You both did fan-frickin'-tastic!"

Schmitz half-scoffed. "As if I need to know how well I performed. We won. That is all there is to it."

Fredericka, however, couldn't help but feel herself go lighter at the genuine praise. "I…thank you, Master Lyle."

"Don't mention it! All of you did great! Think about it, we just fought off three entire armies and lived to tell the tale! We just gave the middle finger to each and every one of these guys that wanted our castle, and now all they can do is put their damned heads down in shame at how bad we smacked their sorry-asses!"

Many of the peasants started openly grinning-some of them veterans from fighting as men-at-arms of nobles who hadn't given them nearly as much praise, even the necromancers found themselves getting amped up from Lyle's words.

And he wasn't done yet. "But the job isn't done, boys and girls! Cause' in case ya didn't hear Schmitz, King Louis is gonna come down here, thinkin' that were all tired and softened up to try and finish us off! He's gonna try and rewind the clock! To send you necromancers running back to Blackstone Post! To put you peasants back on a fasting diet with nothing but skin and bones to show for all your hard work! So, lemme ask ya? Are you just gonna turn around, pull down your pants, and take it from this bastard?"

"No!" Many in attendance shouted.

"You sure? That didn't sound too convincing!"

"NO!" Acolytes and peasants shouted, moved by Lyle's words once more.

"And do you know what we're gonna do when we whip King Loui's ass back to his sparkly and fancy castle!?"

"We're going to make Bretonnia Great Again!" Ave shouted, holding up a fist with all the enthusiasm her undead body could muster.

Lyle hollered back at her. "You're damn right we are!"

"Make Bretonnia Great Again!" The peasants and acolytes shouted with fire in their chests and heart. "Make Bretonnia Great Again! Make Bretonnia Great Again! Make Bretonnia Great Again!"

Deni stared around her as even the zombies began to chant Lyle's mantra, joining in one unified voice, with Sybille even taken aback by the dedication to Lyle's cause. Deni herself was now starting to truly see and appreciate just how dangerous Lyle was to the social order of Bretonnian nobility. It wasn't just his power or the conquest he was making but because of the following that was clearly burgeoning around him. The utter belief and zealotry morphing around his forces that even a blind man could see.

She held no illusions about how much chaos this could cause in Bretonnia itself if allowed to grow. And it would no doubt be a point of contention to the half of her sisters back at the Lahmian court who preferred the status quo while others desired change. And to be honest, Deni herself couldn't help but feel excited by the coming change and the opportunity it presented, especially as a few peasants got underneath Lyle and held him up on their shoulders, the clear cult of personality that was forming around him.

All the while, the chant continued to ring out among acolytes and peasants, cheering Lyle on as he, in turn, cheered them on. The Lahmian empire couldn't help but smile at the opportunity this young man would bring to her court.

At least, that's what she thought would happen until an arrow suddenly whizzed past her head and pierced Lyle's face.

A strangled gasp of horror broke out among every living soul in attendance as blood exploded from Lyle's face, an arrow piercing both of his cheeks as he held his face and neck, trying to say something but unable to thanks to the object now driven through his mouth. He hacked and coughed, and a couple of his teeth slipped out of his mouth, bloody and red as life-blood leaked into his throat, everyone looking on in unbridled terror at what was happening before them.

The blood had been so sudden and so violently driven from Lyle's mouth that Fredericka and Wendel twitched, looking at themselves as their Lichemaster's blood landed on their faces, clothes, and even a few peasants near them.

And then Lyle slipped off the peasants' shoulders, everyone screaming, shouting, and cursing as many swarmed his body, desperate to help the young man who couldn't even scream.

…

A/N:

This was one of the craziest and hardest chapters I actually found myself writing. It was a bit of a task writing an ongoing duel, battle, and other situations to make a great story out of it, but at the same time I'm glad I did. It was an amazing experience all the same.

And for all my Grom fans out there, I'm sorry you had to see your big jolly green giant brought so low and on the verge of death. But, don't worry, there's still a chance he could survive this…maybe. Can't spoil everything I'm afraid.

Also thank you all for the great story ideas you gave me. See the main reason I asked all of you to pitch some ideas to me is because a few changes are coming to my life. The biggest change is that I'm almost done with the book that I'm going to publish in hopefully a few months which means I may have time to write a story within the 'Kemmler's Successor' universe so to speak and I was also interested in starting a in the future. One of the main reasons I held off on making a is because I didn't want to start one until I had something to create that could be worth paying to read for you guys and a spin-off might be a good idea. It would be a situation more or less where I could post future chapters of Kemmler's Successor as well as the spinoff that you could have access to sooner rather than later.

But, none of this is really set in stone just yet. Just juggling ideas at this point, especially since I just got a new 40/hr a week job. Anyways, aside from that let me know what you thought of the latest chapter and I'll see how quickly I can finish the next one.