The general melee was so confused that no one paid attention to two short figures who dismounted near a ladder leading to a raised platform at the roof of the sawmill. Each of the two climbers was carrying a leather case as large as himself slung over his shoulder. While climbing, they allowed themselves to exchange their impressions.
- Still, I wish I would have preferred to come with the Brave Griffin, but the Prince answered "too noisy".
- Bah, we're doing very well without it, so far. It seems Verena is smiling at us.
- Yeah, I guess Grungni and Grimnir are, too.
Once at the top, they promptly unpacked their equipment –a long-range rifle for each one – which they prepared meticulously.
- And now, allow me to show you my skill in the "shoot the pillock" art, Nedland Barnrooster declared in a professorial tone. I dare to hope you will take advantage of it!
- Do so, please, but remember you can't teach an old Dwarf to cut the rock! Aghnar Barisson replied in the same tone.
- Are you insinuating you are experienced in this discipline?
- I'm not insinuating, fellow, I'm certifying: I am very talented at "shoot the pillock", as you so poetically call this art. I will go even further; I bet I put down a couple of pillocks when you only shoot one!
- Oh, you want to play that? Right, so set the stakes.
- How about a supper at Esmeralda's Blessing? Let's count the points, one per head, and the loser pays the bill.
- Deal, my friend. I hope Martial Law hasn't cut your supplies off, Halflings have the unpleasant habit of taking desperately expensive meals.
- And I hope you got your monthly wages, because I'm always very thirsty after a good day's work!
- Ranald is my witness, I promise not to falsify my account.
The Dwarf nodded. Barnrooster, for his part, did not need a reciprocal promise; questioning the honour of a Dwarf was superfluous to him. The first shot was fired, the contest began.
Yavandir Palebough felt the energy of Dhar rising little by little to his heart. He murmured a few words intended to shape this energy which was directed to his hands. Sparks crackled around his fingers. He then jumped from behind his hiding place, and stretched his arms as far as he could towards the starry sky.
- May the judgment of Tzeentch fall upon you, miserable insects!
Dhar flowed from his palms, and shot above the sawmill in the form of two long multi-coloured light streaks which joined and intertwined a hundred yards in the air. The swirl of magic grew thicker and thicker, and a clap of thunder boomed across the clearing. The thousand colours cloud was torn apart, and tongues of green, blue, red, silver, gold, and many other shades fire fell on the general melee. Yavandir sneered at the number of mutations this deluge of corrupting magic was about to cause. It was then that a dome of flames materialized about thirty feet from the top of the sawmill. The multi-coloured tongues fell on the layer of flames which absorbed them all in a few moments, before disappearing.
The Elf clenched his fists in rage.
Do not panic! They have a wizard, be careful, and you should spot this spoilsport!
He didn't need to open his mind to the winds of magic. Indeed, a column of light and swirling flames rose near the edge of the clearing. In the middle, a lanky figure that the cursed juggler had no trouble to recognize.
You? May Tzeentch curse you!
Calmly, without paying attention to the tumult of the general battle around him, Yavandir advanced in his direction. For his part, Brisingr Steadyhand walked calmly. Two hooded cultists wanted to block his way. With a simple sweep of his arm, he conjured a tongue of fire thirty feet long and ten feet wide. The two attackers burned to death within seconds.
When there were only about fifteen steps left between the two Elves, they stopped at the same time and stood still.
The juggler's eyes sparkled with a light that mixed annoyance and excitement. He whispered:
- Brisingr…
- Yavandir, replied the vigilant magister with a mischievous smile.
- Brisingr!
- Yavandir!
- I thought you were in jail for heresy?
- They released me for good behaviour. On the other hand, once I bust you, you risk staying there for a long time.
- Bust me? This will be easier to say than to do!
- I hope so! I hate it when it's too easy.
Brisingr twirled his fingers, and immediately a long flame sword appeared in his hand. Yavandir made a few esoteric gestures, a spear with a copper handle and a suspended mercury blade materialized in an instant at the end of his arm. The two Elves rushed forward, their magic weapons clashed violently.
They began with a few passes of arms that two ordinary fencers could have exchanged. Yavandir, a dancing artist, perfectly combined his acrobat skills with martial discipline. For his part, Brisingr was accustomed to weapons using, he had done so many times during his career as a magister.
After a long minute, the juggler decided it was time to change tactics. He gripped his spear firmly in his left hand, the tip pointing towards the flaming mage, and stretched the fingers of his right hand. Immediately, iridescent coils burst from his knuckles and wrapped in a flash around Brisingr's neck. The bright magister found himself with ribbons around his throat and covering his face. He shuddered with disgust as he felt the straps transform into small tentacles with sticky suction cups. Reflexively, he sent a small fireball in Yavandir's direction. The juggler jumped aside and avoided the magical projectile, without releasing his grip. Brisingr tried to cut the elastic cords with a blow of his fiery sword, but the blade rebounded on the soft matter which contracted more and more strongly.
Yavandir sneered.
- Now that's what I call a choking shaking hand!
Brisingr quickly placed a hand on the writhing mass of tentacles before him, and summoned Aqshy magic. Immediately his fingers heated the purple and viscous flesh red. Under the action of the heat, the tentacles tensed and tightened further. The magister resisted, as the blood pounding in his temples deafened him. His fingers still resting on the quivering, sizzling flesh, he held his breath. Finally, after what he considered a very long time, he felt the loathsome appendages release their grip. Brisingr shook his head, his vision becoming clearer again. Yavandir waved his arm nervously, and the burned tentacles vanished into nothingness.
- Snarky, murmured the bright mage with an evil smile. I like when they resist.
He spun around, arm outstretched like a discus thrower, and jumped gracefully. At the end of his movement, he gestured forward, and threw his sword forward. The weapon transformed into a three feet in diameter fire disc, and whirled towards the juggler. Yavandir raised his hands, and caused a myriad of small pebbles to spring from the ground which compressed in a blink, creating a transparent prism with smooth sides as large as himself. When the fire disc hit the prism, instead of altering it, it melted inside, and bounced on all its inner faces for long seconds before leaving at full speed in the direction of the vigilant magister. With a gesture, Brisingr caught his energy weapon and dissipated it. Yavandir flicked the prism that exploded immediately. Thousands of tiny shards of glass shot towards the bright mage. Brisingr only had time to turn his back on his opponent while protecting his face with his cape. He winced in pain as he felt small cuts lacerating his entire body.
Yavandir sneered again. Brisingr stood up. This time, he no longer displayed the slightest cynicism.
- Who taught you this magic, Yavandir?
- I took private lessons between two tours.
- Such manipulation of the winds of magic requires years of study that you were not able to have. Years of study… or a pact with a Demon! That's right! You not only collaborated with a priest of Tzeentch, you outright sold your soul to one of his Demons!
- "Sold my soul", what an ugly expression! It is not a loss, but collaboration.
The juggler twirled his spear in his hands, and leapt forward towards the vigilant magister. He quickly materialized a new fiery sword in his hand, and the two fighters crossed swords even harder.
Kristofferson and Walter, back to back, were still furiously looking for their enemy. Around them, the fight raged on and on, and did not appear to be won. Even if the first assault had caused damage in their ranks, even if they were less well equipped, Tzeentch's followers fought like madmen, and remained twice as numerous. The surge of raw magic emanating from the warpstone circle made them all the more excited.
- Here are the reinforcements! Walter exclaimed, pointing to Brother Arcturus.
The Priest of Sigmar raised his hammer, and ordered the warrior brothers who accompanied him to disperse and attack the cultists of Tzeentch. Behind, horsemen led by Sergeant Weller formed a large circle around the perimeter so as not to let anyone pass. The Sigmarites threw themselves in turn into the fray. One of the confirmed priests wanted to approach the two ratmen, followed by two initiates.
Suddenly, there was a flash of mother-of-pearl. Alcibiades moved at incredible speed, teleporting from target to target. Each time, he struck with his roaring blade, slashing and slicing his victims. In just a few seconds, half a dozen Vereinbarung warriors, the priest and his two acolytes, were lying on the ground in blood and mud.
- Shallya have mercy, what a horror!
Alcibiades turned to Kristofferson, stretched the tip of his demonic sword in his direction, and vanished again. This provocation pushed the brown Skaven to unleash his anger.
- Come and fight!
There was no response. The Chaos Warrior did not appear.
- At least we know that he decided to face us, and not your grandfather.
- Unless he's teleporting to him right now!
- Don't panic, Kit! I've just understood something.
- Have you, what then? Kristofferson asked eagerly, looking for the smallest positive detail.
- These fighters he has just killed... there is one thing in common: he attacked them all from behind.
Kristofferson's heart raced even more.
- Even more evil than I thought!
- As long as we stay back to back, we have a chance of seeing him come.
- What if he decides to abandon us to attack others?
- We'll eventually be able to surprise him. Maybe he can't teleport forever, either.
- Yeah… Maybe it tires him.
- We should push him to make mistakes.
- Careful, perhaps he's listening to us?
The young Steiner swallowed.
Not far from the warpstone circle, initiate Reyes was jubilant. Knelt next to Cazarras' corpse, he was sneering wickedly.
- Well, old pal, looks like we need to appoint a new priest of Tzeentch!
He pulled his hood back, revealing the thin face of a dark-haired man, with small black eyes glinting in greed beneath his short locks. A pair of glasses sat on his pointy nose. When he saw a pouch full of warpstone powder at the priest's belt, he rejoiced even more.
- It's time to take my due!
He grabbed the purse, untied the cords that kept it closed, and shouted with joy at the sight of the glittering powder inside. The war cry of a priest of Sigmar brought him back to his senses.
- May Justice punish you, heretic!
The priest raised his hammer, Reyes acted faster. With a gesture, he threw a handful of warpstone towards the Sigmarite's face. The effect was immediate; the priest suspended his action and was seized by a violent coughing. He coughed so hard that he dropped his hammer. Strangled cries that conveyed abominable pain followed. He toppled backwards and fell on his back, shaking with spasms. Something tore his throat from the inside and burst into the open air: a kind of cylindrical mushroom of flesh.
- What a beautiful organ! Reyes exclaimed with a mocking laugh.
The initiate then saw something more surprising: a small character was taking advantage of the general confusion to go around and approach the circle at a gallop on its pony. It was not possible to clearly distinguish the features of this new arrival, it also wore a long hooded cape. Judging by its size and build, it was a Human child or a Halfling, perhaps? In any case, it was carrying a bag slung over his shoulder. The Human's blood only made one turn. He was convinced this individual would try to disrupt the ritual, one way or another. No, he wouldn't allow such sacrilege, when the tear in the veil of reality was now a good foot wide!
Reyes weighed the purse. He still had a few good doses of powder left. With an nasty smile on his face, he ran towards the small masked form. That one stopped its pony near the warpstone circle, and slapped it away from behind. The Tzeentch initiate ran towards it.
- Embrace your destiny!
Reyes rolled up the bag in one movement in the direction of the intruder, sending a cloud of green glitter towards its face. The little figure fell to its knees, its hands hidden by the loose sleeves tightened around its throat. It coughed, coughed, fell on its stomach, and didn't move anymore.
- You deluded fool, the initiate mocked.
He leaned towards the hooded one, and reached out his hand to uncover its face.
- Let's see what gifts Tzeentch offer...
He didn't have the chance to say more. The short shape suddenly raised its head, and collided with the chin of the initiate who fell backwards. Reyes barely had time to see a pink glowing under the hood when his attacker pounced on him, and plunged a dagger into his chest several times.
Psody stood up, shook his head, and wiped his nose.
- You're the deluded fool! A Grey Seer couldn't even fart with such crap-crap!
He looked down at the circle formed by the burning warpstone powder, and allowed himself a few seconds to analyse it with a professional eye. Under the mask of Fershitt Melted Mouth, he had discreetly consulted Karhi's accounts, but he hadn't had access to the material itself. What he saw made him hiss in mockery.
No wonder-surprise Palebough had to buy such a quantity of warpstone from Karhi. He got hustled! I bet three coal bags of such poor quality powder would not have the effectiveness of two pounds used by Vellux!
But while the purity of the warpstone was ridiculously low, the quantity was sufficient. Psody gritted his teeth as he looked up and saw the slit between reality and the Warp. The opening shook like a torn theatre curtain, and was now as large as a Dwarf.
Strong means are needed to be used-used!
Without further ado, he took out a leather package from his bag and opened it. He took out the golden mask that Cuelepok had once entrusted to him, and adorned himself with. He muttered a few words intended to awaken the magic flowing within the artefact. Little by little, the hair on his face warmed gently. He then turned towards the tear, and focused his mind on the resonance of the singularity. He had to determine its exact nature in order to be able to counter it.
It was not easy for him to see something clearly in the swirl of dancing shapes and colours. The master mage placed his fingers on his temples, over the mask, and narrowed his eyes. The nature of black magic appeared to him slowly, but gradually...
Suddenly, something electrified his brain so much he was pushed back, as if he had been hit on the muzzle with a stick. Simultaneously, a sort of high-pitched cry mixing indignation and mockery resounded, so loud that the White Skaven squealed in pain, his eardrums tortured. There was a thunderous crackle, and a volley of one foot-diameter energy balls were catapulted out of the tear, in all directions, dozens of yards away. The master mage meowed in disgust. Every time a ball of energy hit the ground, it burst, and instantly revealed a horrible creature of flesh, teeth and claws, which reminded him of the description of the thing that had attacked his daughter in the greenhouse!
Brother Arcturus also saw this slew of mutated creatures bursting out from all sides. Surprised at first, he quickly recovered. He raised his hammer and ordered in a powerful voice:
- My brothers, let Sigmar's righteous anger burst on these abominations!
Then he proclaimed loud and clear:
- I am the Voice of Truth, my faith dictates my actions.
The other priests in turn brandished their hammers, and responded in chorus:
- I am the Hammer of Justice, and I strike without remission.
- I am the Ultimate Punishment that crushes corruption, Brother Arcturus continued.
- Sigmar is the Saviour, and I spread his absolution, his subordinates recited.
- I am a Brother of the Holy Hammer…
The priests replied together:
- Sacred is my mission!
At these words, the hammers of the priests began to shine with a golden glow, as if an inner fire was manifesting in the iron head of each weapon. The Sigmarites charged the creatures of Chaos, invoking their tutelary God.
The spearhead passed within inches of Brisingr Steadyhand's thin face. The flaming mage responded with a swing of his flame sword. Yavandir jumped back and held out the hand that wasn't holding his weapon again. A multitude of coils of coloured smoke coils materialized at his fingertips, and stretched towards the head of the vigilant magister. The latter didn't want to be fooled a second time. Anticipating the spell, he positioned his hands facing each other, a foot apart, and quickly concentrated the Aqshy energy between his palms. He thus created a globe of swirling flames in which the multi-coloured ribbon burnt.
The two magicians remained like this for long seconds, each trying to gain the upper hand over their opponent. Sometimes the wisps of smoke would engulf the sphere and threaten to crush it, and in the next few seconds the flaming ball would absorb the magical tentacles faster than they regenerated.
Yavandir…
Brisingr felt the magical energy of the Fire Wind heat his hands and face. His eyes narrowed into two tiny slits. The temperature rose more and more, so much so that Yavandir was also sweating profusely, and felt his mask becoming sticky on the skin of his face.
Yavandir?
The magical winds formed a whirlwind just where they were crossing, and intertwined. Small stones, shreds of corpses, clods of earth and lost weapons began to revolve around the two Elves, carried by the wind which was getting stronger and stronger. The more the two magicians unleashed their magic, the more intense the cyclone was.
What the Hell are you doing, Yavandir?! Rip his head off!
Brisingr opened his eyes wide, surprised by what he had just heard. Yes, he was sure, the concentration of magic was such that he had clearly perceived something that was not intended for him. It was then that he saw something else. Just above the sun and moon mask, for half a second...
By Hoeth, Nedland was right!
The bright mage gave a nervous little laugh which intensified.
Now I know how to defeat you, Yavandir Palebough!
It was necessary to weaken him first. He continued to laugh, louder and louder. As he hoped, this simple change in behaviour was enough to distract Tzeentch's servant at least a few. Half a second of less concentration, there was no need for anything more. Like an arm wrestler, Brisingr brutally used a large amount of magical energy to make the fireball glow in front of him. The air burned all around the crackling globe, and the temperature became unbearable...for someone as unaccustomed to Aqshy's bite as Brisingr was.
Both magicians were repelled by the caloric energy at the same time. Brisingr gritted his teeth as he felt blisters popping across his face, and his gloves burning, but his ruse had succeeded. Yavandir was completely taken aback, and the wisps of coloured vapour around him dispersed. The bright mage hurried to recite another magic formula while waving his arms – numerous, rapid, but precise gestures – then he aimed his palms towards his opponent.
A golden cylinder of magical force struck Yavandir in his heart. The wave didn't damage his clothes, his flesh, nor his bones, but the shock was so intense the servant of Tzeentch was catapulted backwards as if he had received the charge of a Knight Panther.
- ARI!
Yavandir disappeared from Brisingr's field of vision with that cry, a howl that mixed surprise, anger, and despair.
The bright mage prepared to run after him, but he spotted several Tzeentch creatures nearby. He bit his lip and, true to his personality, couldn't help but make a witticism.
- Clean up all the waste will be a necessity. Don't run away too quickly, Yavandir, I won't need more than a minute!
Still facing the tear now wide enough for a horse to cross, Psody kept his composure. Fortunately for him, the raw energy creatures had been scattered in all directions, and at a good distance. The priests were taking care of this new problem with hammer blows and prayers, which still left him free rein.
He slid his fingers over the mask, and wanted to feel the golden energy circulating in the precious metal. Then he knelt down beside the intricate canvas and placed his hands on the warpstone dust. Of course, he didn't fear the devastating effects of mutations, but he nevertheless felt crackling under his eight fingers. The raw magic contained in the warpstone flowed at full speed along the powder lines.
Psody then muttered a magic formula and wanted to divert the course of the Dhar force. But no sooner had he touched the raw energy with Ghyran's radiant aura than he was pushed back. He slipped on the grass and ended up on his back. He raised his head, and looked towards the inter-dimensional opening.
He didn't know it then, but he would spend the rest of his life regretting having done this simple act.
In the midst of the swirl of colour, he distinguished two globes floating a couple of feet apart. These two globes emitted a bright, iridescent light that quickly changed colour. They also leaned one way or the other. The master mage's heart found itself compressed into a block of terrified ice when he understood the nature of these twin lights.
Eyes!
Yes, eyes that were clearly not mortal, eyes that didn't belong to a creature born in the Old World. Those eyes gazed upon the White Skaven with a mixture of intrigued perplexity, angry contempt, and extreme mockery. Psody shivered more when he heard dozens of voices whispering in his ears. He sometimes perceived in the midst of this horrible mixture of logorrhoea a few words in his native language. Words that touched his heart, that hurt him, that weakened him, and the flow of words was so strong he had no time to resist them. Every time he tried to overcome a verbal attack, three others fell simultaneously on his ego.
All around him, the world slowed, then stopped, and disappeared from his sight. He was bombarded with hundreds of images, some clear and realistic, others completely obscure. Like the day Iapoch tried to knock him off his feet during the Battle of Kreidesglück. But he felt a power far more formidable, far more devastating, penetrating his mind and sowing absolute chaos.
Psody summoned all his strength to look away, with a shrill cry. He closed his eyes, but the images remained clearly visible under his eyelids, and the murmurs and exclamations still lacerated his ears. The Archdemon was not content with violating his senses, he was directly attacking the recesses of his brain! The White Skaven then had an idea: to hold on to concrete memories that would allow him to find a little stability in the middle of this mental storm. But the being which faced him was much more powerful and dangerous than a pathetic little Grey Seer. Faced with such adversity, he had to find memories much deeper and more intense than those his memory had called upon in Kreidesglück.
He went back far, much further into his past, and saw... Rather, he lived again.
This outing in the open air where he found himself alone with Diassyon and Chitik, for the first time. Of course, it was to do something wrong, under the guise of pleasing Grey Seer Vellux. Of course, he would fix this mistake, one day or another. But what was more pleasant to him was the presence of his two brothers, and the harmony that had been between the three of them that night.
A delicious taste rose in his mouth, while the scent of vegetable soup prepared by Lady Katel, vegetables he had cultivated himself, without magic.
He found himself in his separate laboratory, at the back of the estate's park. On the doorstep, the small silhouette of his eldest son Kristofferson, then aged around thirty months. The little brown Skaven, motionless and mute, had his clothes covered with sand, a scratch on his knee, and a tear in his eye. His first attempt at horseback riding had ended in disaster. The White Skaven had spent the next hour reassuring him, consoling him.
He relived the moment when Bianka and Sigmund, still very young, both walked out of the house for the first time, each held by the hand of their caring big brother.
He felt his heart burst with joy when he discovered Gabriel's face, finally come into the world after hours of effort by his companion.
He finished reading the chapter of the story he had been reading to Isolde for several days, when she was already sound asleep.
And between each image, there was one that repeated over and over again: Heike, lying next to him in their bed, smiling at him.
No. He wouldn't lose everything because of a demonic aberration whose sole purpose was to sow disorder wherever it went!
The voices fell silent, the lights went out, the confusing images dissipated, the tingling sensation disappeared. There was nothing left but the tear in the fabric of reality. Psody felt his face tighten with anger.
Whoever-whatever you are, you shall not take them from me, NEVER!
He stood up in a flash, jumped forward, fell to his knees right next to the warpstone circle, and firmly placed his hands on the crystallized powder. The energy in the golden mask blazed, the metal heated suddenly, and waves of golden energy flowed down the master mage's arms. Psody groaned in pain as he felt the lightning crackle on the skin of his arms and hands, but he held on. He gritted his teeth, and chuckled in triumph when he saw the warpstone dust's reaction. The shiny matter solidified, froze in a few seconds, and became inert. The green light emanating from the outlines of the canvas was sucked into Cuelepok's mask. When there was no longer a single ounce of Warp energy on the grass, the White Skaven threw himself back. Once leaning on the grass again, he aimed his muzzle at Morrslieb, and pushed with all the spiritual strength he had left. All the green vibration held by the golden mask was catapulted at once towards the warpstone moon at the speed of light.
A terrifyingly high-pitched screech tore through the heavens, as the opening shrank and shrank. At the last moment, an enormous clawed paw, similar to an eagle's claw larger than a Dwarf, extended by an arm covered in feathers, crossed the tear. The hole between dimensions completely closed. The hand was detached from the arm in a neat and clean section. It fell onto the dirt, and instantly turned into grey stone.
All links with the dimension of Chaos severed, the horrible monsters sent by the Archdemon quickly lost their substance. Those closest to the now closed portal suffered the magical backlash, and instantly crumbled into dust. The strongest ones weakened, so much so the priests of Sigmar, encouraged by this turnaround, redoubled their combativeness, and the Demons who had not disintegrated were quickly crushed with war hammers.
Still on the roof of the sawmill, Nedland and Aghnar had not missed a beat of the show.
- By my beard, it looks like the Master Mage succeeded!
- The opposite would have both surprised and upset me, Master Barisson.
- Do you think this Archdemon understood we didn't want him here?
- That would make me… Ho, watch out!
Driven by his survival instinct, Nedland rolled to the side, just in time to avoid the rigid flesh arm of the shapeless creature that had attacked him from behind.
- Where are you from? wondered the Halfling, who had not seen the abomination of Tzeentch climb directly to the wall using its multiple appendages.
Master Barisson cursed in Khazalid, took out his hammer, and waved it in the direction of the monster. For his part, the treasurer drew his short sword from his belt. But as the two brothers in arms simultaneously attacked the beast, their weapons only hit the void. In a few seconds, the creature of Chaos faded, and disappeared completely.
Alcibiades snarled with rage. With his hand on his chest, he seemed out of breath. The two Skaven faced the pearly knight. The latter whirled, his sword still roaring. Kristofferson and Walter struck simultaneously. Their weapons clashed; once again, Alcibiades had magically slipped away at the last moment. He reappeared just behind the two comrades with their weapons intertwined, his sword raised ready to cut them in two with a single swing.
- Hey!
Moved by a reflex, the Chaos Warrior turned his head to his right, and barely had time to see Marjan Gottlieb's furious face, before feeling the violent shock of a mace falling on his shoulder. The violence of the blow threw him off balance, he had to take a few steps back. Kristofferson and Walter spun on their heels. Sir Alcibiades, however, recovered quickly. He stood firmly on his feet, and twirled his serrated sword with an inhuman ululation. Marjan responded with a cry of defiance, her mace raised. The azure knight put himself on guard, and disappeared again.
The three fighters immediately stood back to back. They stayed like that for a few long moments, listening for the slightest movement. Kristofferson expected the knight to appear at the edge of his field of vision. Walter, for his part, was not having a great time. Tense like a mandolin string about to break, he barely dared to breathe. Marjan whispered slowly:
- Above all, avoid letting him the slightest oppo…
Suddenly, Sir Alcibiades rematerialized in front of Walter, about thirty yards away. Instinctively, the spotted Skaven tightened his grip on his hammer. For his part, Kristofferson restrained with all his might his urge to pivot to face their adversary. The young Human woman barked:
- It's your turn, Wally!
Walter gritted his teeth as he saw the huge knight running towards him, his sword with moving teeth reeling. He raised his hammer in both hands, ready to use it. Suddenly he felt something cold on his toe. It was a short sword lost in the middle of the fight. The captain then had a crazy or daring idea, it all depended on the point of view. Without letting down his guard, he grabbed the weapon with the tip of his tail, and threw it towards the legs of the Chaos Warrior who was only a few steps away. Alcibiades, too focused on the spotted Skaven's face, had no time to react.
The short sword stuck into the imposing knight's left foot and buried itself half the length of its blade. Immediately, a torrent of multi-coloured flames escaped from the wound. Alcibiades, cut off, stopped short, and looked at his nailed to the ground leg with a surprised grunt. Marjan didn't let him time to think. She swung her mace forward with all her might. The weapon spun through the air and slammed into the Chaos Warrior's helmet. Sir Alcibiades found his head thrown back. A loud crack rang in Kristofferson's ears. The young Steiner spun around, and then noticed the shell which constituted their enemy's armour had been broken by the violence of the shock. Some debris fell like pieces of an eggshell, revealing the purplish skin of the Chaos Warrior's neck.
The brown Skaven didn't hesitate any longer. He leapt forward with a terrible cry, and plunged the point of his rapier into the little bare place. The iron sank into the corrupted flesh, stopping only when the hilt touched the Mutant's neck. Sir Alcibiades pushed the ratman away with his muscular arm, but the damage was done. The blade broke, the brown Skaven quickly moved away. Immediately, a new spray of multi-coloured flames escaped from the wound in which the thin blade was still stuck.
Alcibiades pulled on his foot, so much so he tore off the sword that was preventing him from moving. The fire that was charring his boot increased in intensity, and was now devouring his abdomen. Incandescent blood spurted in torrents from under his helmet. The Chaos Warrior was seized by a hysteria mixing pain, anger and panic. He waved his arms in all directions, uttering high-pitched wails, mixed with strange sounds of clockwork going wrong. Finally, after a very long handful of seconds, he toppled backwards and collapsed full length with a crash of metal and shell.