Chapter XV
The Blood of Fire and Lightning
Sigmar was standing on the edge of the forest, looking back at his cabin. He was in his armor with his spear, Hrungar the Star Piercer, and a Great Bolt, forged by the great smith Grungi, in the other. Vandus Hammerhand was standing next to him in his armor as well, but his helmet was on.
"I'm going to miss it here." Sigmar said sorrowfully as his mind dwelled on all the memories he had here.
He remembered Hestia, his son, and every beast that had come for him when he was a child; they were happy days. He has the ability to bring an end to everything. How could he ruin something he once treasured knowing this? Hestia would arrive, expecting the worst. She'd cry, and there was nothing he could do to console her.
He felt the weight of his decisions fall on him, each one resonating with echoes of the past. Torn between duty and love, he realized that inaction may lead to catastrophe, forcing him to face the repercussions of his hesitancy.
A single tear fell from the God-King's eye as he thought about what he was about to do.
"My liege," he said, walking to the king's side, noticing the tear that was falling from his eye. "This was your home...But they will come after you, and your son will never forgive them should you fall to them."
The king wiped his eye, steeling himself for the weight of the decision ahead. "Then we must prepare, for I will not let my legacy dissolve into fear or regret," he vowed, his voice steady despite the turmoil within.
Sigmar looked back at the Great Bolt in his hands. He was right. This was for his son.
"My liege, a messenger from Sigmaron has arrived." A mortal soldier walking up to them said, "He says that Lord Prometheus and Ulric have returned to Sigmaron. And that Zeus has agreed to meet with you in person but only before the Summer Solstice." The gravity of the news settled heavily in the air, and the soldier continued, "The lord advisor urges you to prepare for this meeting with utmost caution, as tensions run high among the Greek gods." Sigmar nodded thoughtfully; the fate of Terra might very well hinge on this fragile alliance. He has to act quickly.
"Thank you, lieutenant. I will see you back at the base." Sigmar told the mortal soldier.
The lieutenant saluted before helping clear away any remaining; soon he came out and joined the rest of the operators who were getting ready to move out with everyone. A squadron of Black Hawk helicopters was getting ready to head off. As soon as the lieutenant joined them, all the helicopters started to lift off and head back to base as well.
Sigmar looked at his cabin one final time before he threw the great bolt. The sound echoed through the air as the bolt struck, illuminating the area with a blinding flash.
The cabin detonated in a fireball, with a portion of it propelled away and landing in the front yard. The building continued to burn as Sigmar and Vandus disappeared in a flash of lightning.
Forty minutes passed since the cabin exploded. In a flash of fire, Hestia appeared on the edge of the forest beside the road that led to the cabin. Hestia's eyes widen in horror at what she saw, and her hands come to her face, covering her mouth.
"No," she said as she looked at the burning cabin.
Hestia's legs gave out, and she fell to her knees and cried out in sadness. Fire exploded all around her, burning the trees and scorching the ground as the fire responded to the goddess' sadness. Firefighters came to find a cabin engulfed in flames, fifty acres of woodland cleared, and an unusually high temperature. They hurried to control the spreading inferno, unaware of the divine presence that wept among the charred remains. Hestia closed her eyes, feeling the heat radiate not just from the fire but from the turmoil in her heart, each flicker of flame echoing her grief.
He stood on a hill overlooking a large army of Achronian hoplites in a long line in an unknown valley wedged between two steep cliffs like a cork in a bottle. Heron could see the fear in their eyes; some of them were trembling in their gear while others were showing a strong front.
He looked around to see a massive army of Parsian Ghulam and sea people raiders corrupted by the ruinous powers; all were looking to the Achronians with disdain.
He looked back at the army that we were about to engage in combat. To the inexperienced person, it would look like the smaller army was about to be wiped out as they stand now. However, if you looked more closely, you could see the Achrionians were in a strong, defensible position. The sound of clanking metal came up behind him. Heron looked back to see who it was.
Before him was a shadow of a man in a black cloak; he could tell he was Achronian because he had his helmet under his arm. He had black hair and soulless red eyes, and an aura screamed leader. His armor was blackened and had a bow strapped on his back. He frowned in controlled rage as he passed him to look at the enemy army.
The man frowned when he looked in disgust at the servants of the Olympian gods standing defiant before him.
His crimson eyes pierced through the smog like a monster emerging from the depths of the abyss. With a voice that resonated with authority, he barked orders to his troops, igniting their spirits with whispers of dominance and glory.
As the clash of steel echoed in the distance, he knew the time for hesitation had passed; victory awaited, and he was determined to seize it.
He then looked at Heron and smiled sinisterly, then placed his helmet on his head. He drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the sunlight as it left his hand. He then pointed it at the Acheronian and roared a battle cry, which was taken up by the army behind him.
The earth rattled and rumbled behind him as seventy thousand feet rushed forward like a human tidal wave, determined to destroy all in its path.
It was then the battle began, and when the two sides were about to clash, the Acheronians cried out a single, united war cry.
"ATHENUS!"
With a sudden gasp, Heron snapped out of bed, breathing heavily before realizing that it was only a nightmare; using his right hand, he rubbed his forehead to alleviate the acute ache that had shot through his brain. As the remnants of the dream began to fade, he sat up and tried to steady his racing heart, the dim light of dawn creeping through the curtains providing a flicker of reassurance. With a deep breath, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, determined to shake off the lingering dread and start the day anew. However, this was not any normal nightmare; it felt like a warning, a premonition of something yet to come. He couldn't quite shake the sense that the dream was intertwined with his reality, leaving him with an uneasy feeling.
Though the contents were different, the dream was exactly the same years before on the day he was sent to Ghur. At first he thought it was just bad dreams caused by stress, but in fact it was a warning of what's to come. In the end, the dreams finally came to pass after the Knights Excelsior arrived. Now, he couldn't shake the feeling that those dreams had been a prelude, foretelling the chaos that was about to envelop Camp Half-Blood. Then he focused on the individual experiencing his dream. Who was that man? Was he the one who broke the barrier? Was he the one who destroyed the barrier? And that man's rage was palpable, simmering just below the surface. Like a volcano ready to explode.
Then came the Parsians, who were working beside the sea raiders corrupted by the ruinous powers no less.
The Parsian Empire, or more commonly known as the Iron Sultanate, ruled the central lands of the old world on Mallus Secundus. Situated between the west and east, the Parsian Empire bordered the kingdoms of Ind in the east, Hattsua to the west, and lastly the Bitter Sea, and the Darklands to the north. Being the only safe trade route to the far east, the Parsian's would become extremely wealthy because of these gains, and with their fierce warriors and cunning strategists, the Iron Sultanate stood as a formidable force against any would-be invaders. Yet, despite their might and wealth, whispers of dissent brewed within even their ranks, as the burdens of an empire weighed heavily upon those tasked with maintaining its borders and honor.
Like its terra counterpart, the Parsian used vassal kingdoms aside from taxation, where they were allowed to keep their religion and culture; however, this system bred tension, as many found their loyalties divided between the Iron Sultanate and their ancestral lands. The resulting friction threatened to ignite a rebellion that could shatter the fragile peace, forcing the Sultanate to confront not only external foes but also discontent simmering within its ranks. However, the Persian vassal kingdoms would never join forces with chaos, as not only does the Shahanshan still have the loyalty of the kings who hold on to the hope for a prosperous future under his rule, but they never join the ruinous powers since their two gods, the Simurgh and Allah, are the arch enemies of the chaos gods. This deep-seated belief, ingrained in their culture, often acts as a deterrent against rebellion, fostering a hesitant yet strong allegiance to the Shah, even in turbulent times. But waging war on Acheronia and with the City State of Athenus of all people.
Last time he was on Mallus Secundas he heard the Parsians were on good terms with the leagues of Acheronia.
As he continued to be deep in contemplation, disoriented voice that he knew all too well broke the serene silence: "Praise Sigmar."
He stiffened, cursing himself for not sensing someone in the room. Weeks staying in Camp Half-Blood have made him soft. Dulling his keen senses like an overused knife. Turning his body ever so slightly, he discovered a solitary finger standing silently in the corner of the room. The figure holds a staff that, as it moves along its length, emits aetheric light, casting an ethereal light throughout the otherwise gloomy room. The figure, cloaked in sigmarite, regarded him with a piercing gaze, as if assessing his every strength and weakness.
A Lord-Arcanum, from the Sacrosanct Chamber, Heron thought, based on the armor the Stormcast has on.
The Lord-Arcanums are masters of Aetheric lighting who lead the Sacrosanct Chamber in the stormhoists of the Stormcast Eternals. Once they were brave magic users who risked body and soul as mortals to defy the Chaos gods, and now upon their reforging, they find themselves in command of even greater powers.
His eyes were uncertain as the Lord-Arcanum gazed at him with the same intensity as his own. The air between them crackled with unspoken tension, each waiting for the other to break the silence. He felt a small perpetual chill wind blowing around the immortal warrior, which made him have goosebumps on his skin. His fist clenched then unclenched as he struggled to maintain his composure. Memories of Yet, amidst the tension, a sense of calmness enveloped him, as if the presence of the Lord-Arcanum offered an unexpected reassurance rather than a threat.
"Who are you?" Heron demanded.
"My name is Aramus Stormbringer, Lord-Acanum of the Terran Chamber." The immortal warrior known as Aramus says
Moving his body to the side of the bed, he hissed when he felt his sore muscles protesting the sudden movement. But eventually, he forced himself to move.
"The wound was... fatal." His voice was distorted by the mask of impassive, which is hiding most of his face under a metal mask. "You survived only through the power of the grand advisor. He saved you. He restored your health." Mismatched eyes narrowed, and Heron's lips frowned at the news.
"Why?"
"Lord Prometheus had no choice. Your body couldn't handle the power it held within you."
"Is he here?" Heron asked, and the Tempest lord shook his head.
"Gone. Summoned by your father."
Not good. I need to hurry. Heron thought to gather his strength; he pushed himself out of bed. "I must get back to my squad."
"You have been reassigned."
Heron jerked his head at the immortal warrior, his features barely containing rage: "I will not allow another massacre to occur." His eyes sparking with lightning faintly.
Aramus didn't react but responded calmly. "The Lord-Celestant can find no stain on the children, Heron Heldenhammer, or the non-humans." Aramus reassured, "Even when unjustly accused of corruption, you have served penance on Mallus Secundas for almost two years, and not once have you faltered. True atonement, however, can never be known until you have faced the judgment of your brothers and sisters. Prove yourself to them, and know true absolution."
The weight of the term "absolution" hurt his ears. The dark deed of Harkanibus came to mind like an evil specter of the past coming back to haunt him. He could still feel the echoes of that fateful day reverberating in his conscience, the faces of those he had wronged, the emotionless faces of those who had tried to kill him in cold blood, flickering like shadows in his memory. As the chill of remorse settled deep within him, he realized that true absolution would require more than mere words; it demanded a reckoning with his dark past.
It was only when Heron's mismatched eyes caught sight of the symbol of the twin-tailed comet that he felt a surge of determination stir within him.
The emblem, a constant reminder of his ancestral legacy, united the tribes of men under one banner.
He sighed deeply, staring deeply at the symbol. He understood that it symbolized his family background, his obligations, and the possibility for change.
"Did the lord Celestant know what I was?"
"Yes."
"When?"
"On the day you were sent to be under Sigrid's command."
"And my sword brethren?" Heron asked," Did they know what I am?
The stormcast shook his head and replied, "No. They do not. The God-king had made sure to keep your origins a close-kept secret."
"That's good to hear." Heron sighed, feeling both relieved and betrayed by the disclosure; he was pleased that his friends weren't in on this and a little disappointed his father kept this from him for so long. His heart raced as he tried to process the weight of the secret. He demanded, his voice wavering with bewilderment and hurt, "Why would my father conceal this secret from me? That my mother was a Greek goddess."
The stormcast sighed and shrugged his armored pauldrons, the weight of the truth hanging heavily between them. "I do not know. But I think the answer to your question lies with the Lord Celestant or your father, not me."
"But why?"
"I do not know why Prometheus had remade you as a demigod. However, you are still stronger, faster, and more resilient. You will take your place among the Greek demigods. Your fellow demigods will know that you served honorably in your father's armies. But your dishonorable actions as a renegade have been redacted from the archives. Should it be discovered, there would be…questions."
Heron nodded slowly, the weight of Aramus' words settling heavily on his shoulders. Was he destined to live a life of secrecy, continually haunted by the shadows of his past?
"Lord Iden has offered you a great responsibility," stated Aramus. "Do not waste it."
"I understand the stakes, and I won't let my past define me." He straightened his posture, determination flickering in his eyes.
Although he couldn't see underneath the mask of stoicism, he could imagine that Aramus was now smiling. The immortal demigod turned his head slightly towards the doorway. "You can come in now."
The door to the infirmary swung open. Chiron, who was back in his wheelchair, wheeled himself into the room with Luke following close behind. Upon seeing Heron, the centaur smiled sadly. The next person who came in was Dionysus, wearing his signature Hawaiian T-shirt; however, the god of wine was more annoyed than usual.
Luke, on the other hand, was happy to see his friend alive and kicking.
"It's good to see you finally awake," he said, his voice filled with relief. Chiron nodded, though his expression remained solemn as he turned to Heron, who was still recovering from his ordeal. "I cannot express how much gratitude I have for helping heal one of my students." Chiron thanked him, concern etched in his features.
Aramus nodded in acknowledgment, grateful for the support as the weight of his recent experiences began to lift, if only slightly. "No thanks is required, Lord Chiron. I am only doing my duties as one of Sigmar's chosen."
"Chiron is just fine," he reassured the Stormcast.
"Still, you and Mr. D are the heads of this camp. So it is only polite to show respect," Aramus replied, a hint of a smile breaking through his serious demeanor. "But I appreciate your kindness, and I will always be here to support the camp and its students until ordered otherwise."
"Then I am glad that you are here with us to make sure nothing happens."
Aramus gently shrugged off the comment and smiled. "Now, Lord Chiron, your flattery is unnecessary for one such as I." the Stormcaste laughed heartily," If you keep this up, I may decide not to kill you."
Chiron chuckled nervously, not knowing to either be flattered or just be more concerned.
"Now excuse me if I am no longer needed; I have other duties to attend to." True to his word, Aramus walked out of the infirmary and into the bustling campgrounds.
Once he was out of the room Chiron wheeled next to Heron bed, "How are you doing, my boy? asked Chiron.
Heron took a deep breath, contemplating the question. "I'm doing better, Chiron," he admitted, his expression softening. "Although I felt like a herd of horses decided to trample all over me in a stampede,"
"Still, every bruise tells a story, doesn't it?" Chiron chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a mix of wisdom and amusement. Heron nodded, wincing slightly as he shifted in his seat, feeling the ache in his muscles from the battle he had just endured.
"If that's true, then Luke must have a ton of stories," he said sarcastically.
Luke rolled his eyes, cracking a smile nonetheless. "Very funny."
"By the way, where's Percy? and Silena is she—" Chiron raised his hand, cutting the son of Sigmar off and reassuring him that Silena is safe and sound. "She is alright, Heron; a couple of cracked ribs, but nothing that a drop of nectar could heal. However, she is also concerned for your well-being."
He gave out a relieved sigh upon hearing the news. "That's a relief. And Percy?" he asked.
Chiron's expression turned uneasy when he mentioned Percy but hid it under a mask of calmness. "A few bumps and bruises but nothing serious. But—" Chiron trailed on a bit.
Luke quickly took over the conversation. "Discovering that he's the son of Lord Poseidon, along with last night's fight, took a lot out of him," he assured.
Heron nodded, understanding what Percy was going through since he went through the same situation. "Well, I hope he bounces back quickly. But knowing Percy, it might take a while."
Chiron nodded. "We are fortunate that none of the campers lost their lives." His expression was grave as he added, "The monster seemed more interested in killing you than the other campers."
Heron let his shoulders fall, happy to hear that no one got hurt. "That's good to hear," he said under his breath, but he sensed something strange in Chiron's gaze. "Guessing by your expression, you didn't come by to check my health." It was more of a statement than a question, and he could see the spark of inquiry in their eyes. By the look on your faces, I can tell that all of you have numerous questions."
Chiron nodded solemnly as he spoke, "Tell me, what was the last thing you saw before you went unconscious?"
"Other than Prometheus plunging his hand into my chest and discovering that I am a god." Heron said dryly, "No, I don't remember."
He growled a little as he got out of bed and stretched his muscles to relieve some of the tension. "Yet, before I lost consciousness, I had a brief moment of clarity in which I realized my true identity. "I felt like I was finally whole again." He paused, his brow furrowing in thought as he remembered the rush of power that ran through him. "I felt as if I could burn down the world with a mere thought if I wanted to."
He took a shaky breath, turning his head to look at Chiron straight in the eyes, his voice barely a whisper. "Chiron...what the hell am I?"
Seeing how lost the boy in front is, Chiron's gaze softened. "You are a god, my boy," he replied, his voice steady yet filled with compassion. "You are a child of two gods from two different worlds."
"That does not elucidate the rationale for my status as a demigod. Like why the hell did my dad keep this from me!" Heron nearly yelled at his former history instructor but kept his cool. Knowing that venting his anger on Chiron won't make him feel better.
Chiron scratched his beard raising one of his eyebrows, "Its not unheard of for a mortal becoming god."
"Like Hercules and Adonis."
Chiron nodded, "Indeed I'm glad that you paid attention in class. However I never heard of a god turning his own flesh and blood into a demigod before."
"You're not alone in wanting answers." Mr. D says, rubbing his neck, which was still sore from Prometheus's neck grip.
Heron could see the burned skin of his neck as clear as day,"I could see that Prometheus gave you a warning." Heron says, eyeing the red outline of a hand around the god of wine's neck. "That's what you get for pissing off a Titan who holds the power of fire; his wrath is not easily forgotten, and trust me, his threats are always more than just idle chatter. If you don't believe me, look at Dionysus's neck as a prime example for those who get on his bad side," he stated in a serious tone.
A sinking feeling came over Luke as he gulped, realizing what Prometheus said last night wasn't bluffing: "So when he threatened to destroy Camp Half-Blood. He was willing to kill everyone in Camp Half-Blood if the gods didn't listen."
He grimly nodded his head. "That's right. But typically he would be friendlier when greeting pantheons from Terra, being my dad's diplomat and all," Heron sighed. "But when it comes to the Olympians, he gets a little upset."
"Upset is an understatement." Luke said," He looked like he was ready to tear Mr. D limb from limb."
"Prometheus hated Zeus always for what they did to his family but he swore an oath not to exact revenge on any of the Olympians. However that doesn't stop him from making strategies on how to destroy Greek pantheon entirely."
"Surely you can't be serious." Chiron said, his voice barely covering his skepticism.
Heron fixed his gaze on Chiron, his expression steely. "I wish I weren't. Prometheus didn't become my dad's most trusted right-hand man for being nice or ignorant." Luke exchanged a worried glance with Chiron, his mind racing to comprehend the gravity of the situation. " Many powerful foes fell, thanks to his sharp mind."
"You make it sound like Fire Boy is an entirely different person," said Mr. D, raising one of his eyebrows.
"Perhaps he is," Heron replied, his tone unwavering. "Once you cross certain lines, there's no going back, and Prometheus has crossed many in the name of humanity." Luke could feel the tension thickening the air, each word heavy with implications they were only beginning to grasp. "While his methods may be seen as merciless to near horrific, one thing that stayed the same was his love of mankind. It was thanks to this love and being an old friend of my dad that Prometheus was given a prominent position in his council, becoming one of his trusted advisors, and had complete authority to speak and act on behalf of my father wherever he went."
"And who is Cipher anyway?" Luke asked, "Apart from his being Olympus's worst enemy, you make him seem like he is some sort of benign deity."
He surprised everyone when he abruptly began to giggle. "You have no idea," he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Cipher is just one of many aliases that my dad took on over the years, like yours, Chiron."
"His real name is Sigmar Heldenhammer, king of Azyr, god of humanity, civilization, and progress," he says, not bothering with pride in his tone.
"Sigmar Heldenhammer?" Chiron repeated, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. "You mean to tell me that the infamous Cipher is actually a god from a different pantheon?" Heron nodded, a grin spreading across his face as he relished the reaction his revelation had sparked.
"Exactly! And let me tell you, there are stories about him that would make your hair stand on end."
Mr. D was not convinced, as he still doubted, "If he is so great, then why did he hide under a rock so long?"
Heron chuckled softly, clearly amused by Greek gods ignorance. "After the king of Olympus defeated the Titan king, my dad first considered allying with Zeus. Unfortunately, per verbatim, the apple didn't fall far from the tree, so to speak."
Outside, Luke and Chiron heard the rumble of thunder, indicating Zeus heard that, which made them both look up uneasily while Mr. D only snorted apathetically. Heron, meanwhile, muttered 'thunder baby' under his breath before he started to go out the door. Chiron quickly noticed and wheeled forward to block his path.
"Hold on, Heron. We need to discuss this further before—" But Heron cut him off.
"I don't have time for this, Chiron," he responded. "I have to speak with Lord Celstant and inquire why an entire stormhost is on Long Island. Also, I need to know how bad the problem is before it gets worse."
"Heron wait!" He didn't give Chiron more time to speak as he went out the door.
Once he stepped out the door, he was greeted by an all-too-familiar sight. A sight he wished to never see on Terra. Several hundred tents were arranged neatly next to the Big House, offering an amazing and unrestricted view of Camp Half-Blood. Sadly, he wasn't there to enjoy the view. Chiron called out to him, but he ignored it. Focused on the task at hand, he marched toward the far edge of the camp. The weight of impending decisions pressed heavily on his shoulders, and he knew he couldn't delay any longer.
He could see the 9-foot-tall superhumans strolling through the Camp Half-Blood grounds, taking in the surroundings with curiosity while some conversed with a few of the non-humans to ease some of the anxiety that had descended over Camp Half-Blood. However, it sadly wasn't enough, as most of the campers were still wary of the Stormcasts. In the camper's eyes, the Stormcasts were clearly not human since they were so much taller than any typical adult mortal they would normally meet. The stormcast's appearance didn't help either. He didn't hold it against any of them if the campers were scared of them—eyes that crackle and flare with lightning, a voice that sounds like two people speaking at once, or a constant frigid wind blowing about the Stormcast and the tattoos that cover sections of their bodies. The Stormcasts look more like warrior barbarians than Stormcast Eternals were created to inspire awe and fear, not the opposite.
The satyrs were also not as lucky. They were viewed suspiciously since they resembled the beastmen they had been battling the night before. So they were treated with suspicion and hostility. The Dyads and nymphs, on the other hand, were treated with much more respect than the satyrs. As for the Ghorgon, its body is awaiting transport so it could be disposed of in an undisclosed location.
Speaking of dead bodies, out of the corner of his eye, Heron could see a line of body bags lying in the midday sun.
Forty-seven and still rising.
A small but harsh number.
A grim reminder of the cost of war, each bag representing a life lost and a story cut short. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach, knowing that behind each one was a family mourning their loved one, while the world continued to turn, oblivious to their grief.
Entering the war camp, Heron was greeted with the sounds of clanging metal and shouts of encouragement filled the air as the Stormcast honed their skills in duels, so none of them could get rusty before going into battle. The group had to move out of the way a couple of times for one passing by each minute.
"Heron, wait up!"
Stopping abruptly, Heron turned his head sharply in surprise when he saw Luke running up to him, being careful not to bump into anyone. The son of Hermie's' reflexes are showing on full display. Avoiding people left and right.
Figuring that Luke is here to bring him back, Heron crossed his arms. "If you're here to drag him back to the big house, then forget it."
"I'm not here to drag you back." Luke replied.
"Then speak your mind." Heron says, as he walked away, "And be quick about it."
Surprised by the sudden firm seriousness in Heron's tone, Luke made his case quickly: "I'm here because I wanted to talk to you about something. Something important that I wanted to discuss."
"Now?" Heron asked indignantly, "Can it wait for another time? There's something more important I have to do."
"Is it about the monster we fought last night, isn't it?" Luke inquired.
Heron's expression softened slightly at the mention of the monster, but he quickly masked it with impatience. "Yes, but it's not what you think," he replied, finally turning to meet Luke's gaze. "There are deeper forces at play here. Forces that you and the Olympians are not prepared to face yet."
Luke's brow furrowed, curiosity piquing despite Heron's urgency. "What do you mean? Are we talking about more monsters, or something else entirely?"
"Ghorgon."
"What?"
"It was called a Ghorgon." Heron repeated spitting out the name like the very word was toxic: "Beastmen utilize those ferocious beasts as live siege weapons."
"Beastmen," Luke repeated, letting the word roll on his tongue. "I take it the beastmen are the ones who created that monster."
He nodded. "Yes, the beastmen are a savage but cunning race." Heron's voice is tense. "A dark plight on all of the civilized world." He seethed, stopping to take a hate-filled look at the Ghogon's corpse. "The beastmen think that civilization is an affront and will stop at nothing to tear it down." He tore his eyes away from the wretched sight as he continued walking. "I fought them too many times to count." Heron continued, "Slaughtering thousands until the ground turned red.
"Oh, they do, and when I get my hands on the son of a bitch, I'd want to ask him some questions." He snarled, fueling the urge to tear the fiend limb from limb. "I need to uncover the truth behind how they got to Terra and stop them before they can spread their corruption of the ruinous powers."
"Now you got me lost there." Luke said confused, "What are the ruinous powers?"
Heron's muscles tensed, and he inwardly tilted his head to the son of Hermes, "Luke, I respect you as a friend and now a warrior," he began, his voice low and steady, "However, there are some things that are better left unspoken."
Seeing that it was a touchy subject, the son of Hermie decided to change the subject. "Ok, is that the reason why you don't like Grover? Because he looks like Beastman?"
Heron sighed, his expression darkening. "It's not just about appearances; it's the cruelty they represent, the chaos they bring. Grover may not share their savagery, but the fear he embodies is a constant reminder of the battles I've fought."
"Grover is not a beastman. He's a person, just like you and me," Luke replied, trying to lighten the mood. "You can't let your past dictate how you see everyone. Maybe he deserves a chance to prove himself." Heron narrowed his eyes, contemplating Luke's words, aware that forgiveness was a harder battle than any he'd faced on the field.
"As much as I hate to admit it, maybe you're right. I may have overreacted a bit too much." He sighed, now feeling a sliver of regret about how he treated one he considered a long-time friend. It's just difficult to distinguish between Satyr and beastman because they both look so the same. The major difference is that one serves Mother Nature while the other serves the chaos gods.
"However, that doesn't change the fact that he was spying on me and Percy and not telling us that he isn't human but in fact a satyr," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Grover needs to gain my trust first before I can trust him again."
"I understand," Luke replied softly. "Trust is difficult to rebuild, especially when it feels like you've been deceived." With a sigh, he crossed his arms, considering how to help his friend come to terms with the situation. "Maybe you should give him a chance to explain himself," he suggested gently.
"Grover already did explain himself a couple of weeks ago," says Heron simply, like it was nothing to worry about.
"Okay then, if he already did, then there's no longer a reason for you to hate him." Luke stressed as he leaned forward, his expression earnest. "Sometimes people make mistakes, and it takes time to understand their motivations. Holding on to that anger will only weigh you down."
Heron scoffed, "You make it sound so easy."
Luke, who was staring at him intently, abruptly grabbed his forearm. "Is not trust me; I tried." Heron's eyes narrowed as he studied Luke's face, searching for any hint of insincerity.
"What did it cost you?" he asked quietly, a flicker of curiosity breaking through his defenses.
"More than you know," Luke replied, his voice heavy with the weight of unspoken memories. "It's a burden I carry every day, but letting go is the only way to move forward."
Heron sighed. "Ok, I'll give Grover one more chance. Just remember, if he lets me down again, there won't be a third chance," he warned, his tone serious. Luke nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation and the fragile balance they were trying to maintain.
"Thank you." Luke smiled.
"Don't be thanking me just yet; I might change my mind." Heron murmured under his breath.
The duo arrived at the tent, which had been positioned in the middle of the military camp. It was bigger than all the tents in the camp. The tent itself is protected by two Praetors who carry storm-kissed halberds that are razor-sharp enough to pierce even the most robust armor. Heron could see Luke swallowing hard as he felt a bit intimidated by the two warriors in sigmarite armor who could, any second, cut the duo down.
They stood resolute, their eyes scanning the area with a fierce intensity, ready to defend their charge at a moment's notice. When Heron came into view, though, the Praetors let the son of Sigmar pass unhindered. However, not all are welcome inside, as Luke was about to follow suit until he was abruptly stopped by two halberds crossed at the last second.
"I'm sorry, Luke, but this is a private meeting, so you need to leave." Heron says, giving Luke a solemn expression, "If you run into Percy, tell him that I'll find him later."
The son of Hermie's response was a simple nod as Heron opened the tent flap.
Upon entering the tent, he beheld a trio of battlemages positioned across a map of Long Island that had materialized thanks to the wizard's magic and the carto-arcanabulm war table.
Three radio operators on the other side of the tent coordinate strike teams in the field and monitor radio traffic to keep the outside world from seeing what's happening. Every three minutes, the operators would give the lord Celestant new information on what's going on out in the field. That is one of the keen advantages that the Stormcast found extremely useful in battle.
The radio.
Thanks to the radio, the lord Celestant was allowed to be updated on field conditions around the clock. Sadly, they were unable to take it into the mortal world.
The explanation is that Terra's sophisticated technology was unable to pass through the realm gate. A fail-safe so nothing or nobody could pass through to another realm. Nonetheless, a prototype of the telegraph is being tested by several Kharadron inventors. He had heard that it is still not ready and that they are still having problems with the range.
Standing in front of the table is Lord Celestant Iden OrrukSlayer, former Knight-Vexillor of the Hammers of Sigmar. Years of wars have taken their toll on the once vibrant figure, leaving him with a rugged demeanor and a gaze hardened by conflict. As he surveys the operations mapped out before him, his mind races with strategies and contingencies, knowing that the fate of this realm hangs in the balance.
The tension in the tent is palpable, each operator's focused expression reflecting the high stakes of their task.
As of right now, the lord Celestant is currently in the middle of a conversation with one of the captains in the field. Based on what he was hearing, it isn't good.
"We've been able to contain the corruption, but it's getting harder to contain. I've already lost four squads trying to stop it from spreading any further."
"Stand by, major. Sending Stormcast support."
"Thank you, lord. We shall ready a counteroffensive."
Putting the microphone down on the table, Iden turned to one of the mortal officers. "I want a squad of vanguard-hunters to find that source."
"Yes, sir," the radioman replied before relaying out new orders.
Gathering his wits, Heron announced his arrival: "My lord, Heron Heldenhammer reporting for duty."
Blue eyes Iden turned to face Heron, his expression stoic, showing no sign of emotion whatsoever; he then turned to his aide, saying, "Have Elodie report to the command tent." The aide obeyed without question, walking out of the tent, while Iden eyed his old student. "How are your wounds?"
"Good enough," Heron replied.
The lord Celestant was convinced but let it slide. "I'll be straight with all of you, Heron. I have my reservations about your reinstatement and the Greek pantheon joining with the Grand Alliance." his voice was steady, saying his thoughts out loud, not out of spite but out of cold, hard truth. "There could be questions, suspicions. I cannot afford discord among the men, not now."
"You're a guardian of Terra now." Iden said, "Will that be a problem?"
Heron wanted to say, 'Hell yeah, there is a goddamned problem!?' He wanted to go after the scum who tried to kill his friends. But he kept his composure, responding in a calm and collective tone, "No, sir."
With a "Very well," he shifted his attention to the image of the great Parch and Long Island, which depicted each region with painstaking attention to detail and vivid colors that highlighted the various landscapes. "Tell me, what do you see?
Walking up to the carto-arcanabulm war table. Be careful not to disturb the magical connection. However, Heron noticed the eastern part of the adamantine chain was almost completely gone. Replaced with an entirely new one. It was like someone decided to turn eastern Parch into a mangled mess of lakes and islands. He furrowed his brow, leaning closer, trying to decipher the implications of this drastic alteration. The transformation hinted at a disturbance in the natural order, one that could have repercussions far beyond the maps and charts before him.
Raising his head, he turned to Iden. "My gods...what is this?" Heron asked in his voice as shock and disbelief took hold.
"What's left of the eastern part of the Great Parch. We're facing a full chaos invasion." Iden expressed what Heron was thinking, a commander whose tone matched the dismal circumstances. "They've engaged us on two fronts: Aqshy, the Realm of Fire, and now Terra, which you already know. We're abandoning the latter. The rest of Terra is safe for now. Stormhosts from Europe, Asia, Africa, and South America are being rerouted to help our allies push back the Skaventide."
He took a second, silently ordering the battle wizards to bring up the image of Long Island on the war table. "But these beastmen attacks have exposed a significant weakness in our defenses. The Skaven may have taken note." He held his stony visage, not showing a single ounce of emotion as he turned to face Heron.
"Get down there and find their encampment. Questions?"
Heron was silent for a minute, like days, his mind blank like a sheet of paper as he took in the news. Shock, horror, and disbelief filled his entire being as he continued to stare at the map. This was like one of his father's worst nightmares coming to pass. The entire eastern part of the Great Parch has been overrun by skaven. The twin-tailed Crusades gains in retaking lost territory were now gone. The numberless sacrifices were now all in vain. Worst of all, the Skaven now have a permanent foothold so that they could launch their numberless armies in a massive assault. The fear of an unending war loomed over him, each moment feeling heavier as he contemplated the impending doom. He knew that if they didn't act quickly, the Skaven would spread like a plague, engulfing everything in their path and threatening the very fabric of the mortal realms.
It took almost a full minute for him to finally find his voice. "How the hell did the skaven destroy—no, replace an entire continent?!" If he was trying to hide the tension in his voice, Heron failed miserably, "It should've been impossible!"
"I thought so too as well." Ignoring his student's raised voice, Iden scowled at the sickening green of what was once part of the Great Parch. "However, we have sorely underestimated Skaven cunning and are now paying the price for it."
Paying the price for it indeed, and by the look at the map, Heron could see, "How could we let this happen? The watchtowers would have warned us."
"No one expected the Skaven to launch something so bold," Iden replied sternly, his voice steady despite the rising frustration in the room. "This thing is an entire landmass. Wrenched into reality by skaven warp magic, existing in two realms at once. Millions of humans, avelves and duardin were taken in a matter of moments. Now endless Skaven pour through that hole in reality and whatever it is. It's here to stay."
"It was summoned, right?" Heron said, "So it can be sealed away, and people like us are good at that."
"This is not some spectral apparition that can be exercised back to Shysh Heron. Anyone who lived there is...dead. Scouts report the sulfur seas are boiling with warp flux, but the ratmen are constructing invasion fleets anyway. Well, thousands of them die in the process, not that they care. More will always come."
Heron leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
The lord Celestant gave Heron a serious expression. "It was only guesswork, but what I could gather is that at its heart, the region is a giant open portal to the Skaven subrealm. Their very own twisted realm gate, they're calling the part of it that has breached reality the Gnaw. It's made a mess of the lands around it, and you'll realize why."
"Why the realm of fire? Why there of all places?" Heron asked.
"Because we didn't see it in time." He answered, "Our dawn of strong points and Nexus Siphons has been overrun across the east of the great Parch. We thought it was the rampage of the Troggoth king, maybe a soul blight curse; turns out we were blind to the real threat."
"Skaven cunning." Heron spat.
Iden nodded before saying, "Tell me, what do you know about ley lines and geomantic nexuses?"
Now that took him off guard. Confusion washed over his face as he tried to process what Orurkslayer had just said. Why is he suddenly changing the subject now?
Keeping his composure, Heron replied. "Well, I know that geomantic nexuses are powerful places found throughout the mortal realms, mostly near the edges. And the ley lines run close together or intersect with the Gemoantic Nexuses." Heron recited what his tutors had taught him: "But what does this have to do with the ley lines?"
The lord celestant nodded, "Precisely. A geomancer from Hammerhal told it, 'The Nexus sites were systematically corrupted,' spiked by the rat men's toxic version of realm stone. This is a grand plan, with the horned rat behind it, and by Sigmar's blood, it worked."
"They're only dealing with the edge of this—in the realm of fire."
"Yes, and it's going to get more intense. Those people at the heart of it were slain instantly, but those on the periphery will fare far worse."
"How so? At least they're alive."
"No, technically yes, but the Duardin holds are infested, and the cities of the Great Parch are a shattered mess; even mighty Anvilgard is all but abandoned. Now haunted by madmen."
Heron let out a humph. "I'd likely be the same," he grimly says, crossing his arms. "If it was my home leveled in a massive explosion."
"Oh, far worse than an explosion, my boy."
Tilting his head up, Heron raised one of his eyebrows. "What would you call it then?"
"The Vermindoom."
The Vermidome. If fate has decided to pull a bad joke this was it. The doom of the mortal realms. The hour of ruin. The Second Age of Chaos.
"Oh FUUUCK!"
"Language! I did not teach the son of the god king to swear like a greenskin," Orurukslayer chastised. "Such behavior tarnishes his noble lineage and brings shame to his very name." The youg man nodded in understanding, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment at the reprimand.
"Sorry, sorry." Heron apologized for swearing, but still there was the million-dollar question that needed to be said: "How are we going to fight some half-real nation of rat men?" he asked.
"You're not, and before you say why, it's because it's not only for your safety."
"Let me guess, there's a bounty on my head."
Ourukslayer was silent for a minute, confirming Heron's worst fears.
"Not only that, but even if you were sent there, it would be pointless at this point. Hordes of skaven pouring over themselves in a frothing frenzy as the din of their infernal bell spurs them on. Arcane weaponry that melts flesh from bone. Fleshy monstrosities wading like gargants through the mass, and they're endless."
"First rule in fighting Skaven: there are always more."
"That's why most of the Terran stormhosts are being rerouted to Aqshy. Lord Commander Caratholos has requested every chamber he can out to the east. As for striking back, the storm hosts are sending out our best warriors...well, our strongest.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
The stormcast stared into Heron's eyes like it was seeing straight into his soul as he said one word "Ruination."
Once he said those words, it took Heron a moment to decipher what he was saying until Elodie entered the tent, astonished to see her sword-brother/group leader, Heron, who smiled before bowing slightly to his sword sister, relieved to see a familiar face.
She gave the same salute Heron did before saying, "Lord Celestant, you wished to see me."
"Elodie, I'm giving Heron command back to his squad."
This surprised her for a moment, but then she was overjoyed that their friend would be rejoining their team again, but she didn't show it. She had missed the camaraderie they shared during their previous adventures, and the thought of reuniting brought a small smile to her face. Besides, he was a much better leader than she was.
"Sir...I..."
The Lord Celestant cut her off, his voice steel and unwavering. "I expect you to be on recon within thirty minutes. Dismissed."
Elodie's brow furrowed, but she nodded, not wanting to put more weight of responsibility that rested on his shoulders. Heron, on the other hand, still has something important to tell him.
"Sir, before I go, there's something I need to tell you." Heron said
"What is it?"
"Remember four years ago. When I had that nightmare in the realm of Ghur." Iden paused for a moment, then glanced at Heron.
"Yes," he responded.
"It happened again."
Iden was silent for what seemed to be an age, knowing what the son of Sigmar was referring to. The visions "When you have the time, I would like to speak with you privately on this matter. Until then, you are still dismissed."
The two teens saluted and, without a word, left the tent, leaving the Lord Celestant of the Terran chamber alone in his thoughts.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Zhou did the breath a few more times, listening to his heartbeat.
Listening to the rushing water.
The chirping of birds.
The feeling of the gentle wind.
The flow of chi in the earth.
The insects are crawling on the ground.
The animals are moving in the overgrowth.
His mind is finally at rest.
It was a routine that was drilled into him by his father. To keep himself balanced between the yin and the yang.
Meditating in the middle of the forest near Camp Half-Blood and away from all the noise. He sat cross-legged in a clearing near a small stream so he could meditate. His twin fangs are right beside him, in arm's reach.
After they had a good night's rest, the Lord Celestant released Artemis and her hunters as promised, allowing them to leave into the forest without any issue. But their glares were a different story. Their pride, though, was damaged. He could see it in their eyes. Having their goddess being defeated so easily must've struck a chord with them. Who wouldn't? They just saw their goddess easily subdued by ones they consider your inferiors? Now he has to look over his shoulder for a group of angry demigod females coming after them.
Not only that, tensions are now at an all-time high. Thanks to Prometheus's threat last night, the campers of Camp Half-Blood look at the stormcast with caution and trepidation. Thinking that any moment the golden armored giants would bring down the executioner's blade.
The tension was annoying him greatly, so he decided to head into the forest. To clear his mind, so to speak. Expanding his senses to incorporate every living thing around him.
Being a dragon-blooded had both benefits and drawbacks; he soon found this out when he was a young child. Among the high-ranking mortals in the imperial court, his lineage causes some resentment and jealousy; this resentment only got worse because he was born of a lowly concubine of western descent; as a result of being a half-breed, he suffered almost constant bullying from the other noble children.
Zhou furrowed his eyebrows; he never knew the woman who birthed him into this world. All he knew about his mother was from his father. When he asked where his mother came from, his father said to him that she came from the old world and was a victim of the infamous Arab slave trade. Her village was destroyed by Arabian corsairs. But his mother was strong; the swine could never break her regardless of what they would do. She was eventually presented as one of many tributes to Grand Cathay after being purchased by one of the several Ind rulers for her musical talent and becoming his father's concubine. It was one of the few things, besides her beauty, that his father fell in love with her: that and being a strong, independent woman whose wrath can make his uncles shake with fear. He could still remember the story how his father got kicked in the family jewels for seeing her half dressed.
In the end, though, she died in childbirth to him, leaving his father stricken with grief. His father often reminisced about her melodious voice echoing through the halls, a haunting reminder of what was lost. Her absence left a void that no amount of power or wealth could fill, and he vowed to honor her memory by embodying the strength and resilience she had always displayed.
Sensing someone fast approaching, Zhou slowly opened his eyes. He squinted against the bright light filtering through the trees, his heart racing in anticipation. As the figure drew nearer, he recognized the familiar silhouette of his childhood friend, Elodie, her expression one of annoyance.
"There you are." Elodie says, "I wondered where you may be."
"What do you want, Elodie?" Zhou asked, uncrossing his legs before standing up, "I was in the middle of deep meditation."
Elodie frowned slightly, her brows knitting together. "Meditation can wait; there's something important we need to discuss," she urged, her voice urgent as she glanced around as if wary of unseen eyes. "It's about Heron. He's finally awake."
Zhou's heart raced at the mention of Heron's name, a wave of both relief and joy washing over him. "Awake? About time; he got us all worried last night," he replied, his mind racing with questions as he stepped closer to Elodie, eager for answers.
She nodded and took a deep breath, her expression serious. "But there's more to it than just waking up. He wants us to assemble near the big house on double."
"Do I need to ask the question why?"
"Orders, the lord celestant wants us to find Beastmen encampment before they could escape the net."
Zhou let out a deep sigh. "Very well, let me get Anatoly, and we—" Suddenly he stopped mid-sentence, sensing someone more powerful close by.
When he turned around, though, Zhou saw nothing there except trees and the chirping of birds. He tried using his senses again. Nothing. He furrowed his brow; he could have sworn—no, it must be his imagination.
Elodie noticed this change of behavior, hands hovering over her curved knives. "What's wrong?" she asked.
"It's nothing, probably a wood dyad trying to sneak up on me." Zhou assured her, "Anyways, I was saying. I'll go get Anatoly, and we'll meet near the big house."
Elodie nodded. "Very well. Don't be late."
"When was I ever late?" He replied before walking away.
Watching on the outskirts of the camp's training area, the son of Yuri Barkov watched in dismay. The great Achilles must be rolling in his tomb if this is what the Olympians term training for their sons and daughters. The children of the Olympian gods stumbled through their drills, attacking almost wildly at the straw-stuffed dummies.
Lacking the discipline and endurance that Barkov had always seen in their mortal cousins on Mallus Secundas. He clenched his fists, knowing that this was not the legacy the Greek demigods of the old had fought to build. If a raiding party of Norsii marauders came through here, then this entire camp would have fallen in a matter of hours. Barkov's heart raced as he envisioned the chaos that would ensue; the foolishness of the gods could lead to devastation that no amount of divine power could reverse.
Anyway, as Anatoly was on his way to watch more of the campers' lessons, he stopped when he noticed a commotion at the camp store, where he saw two Hermes sons, the Stoll brothers if he recalls correctly, harassing a girl with warm brown eyes and long black hair. The Stoll brothers were stealing from the camp store while the girl yelled and attempted to draw them away.
Anatoly took in the scene before him, and feeling pity for the girl, he walked up until he stood behind the two boys, his arms crossed and just waiting for them to bump into him. Once they did, they stiffened and turned around slowly only to see the imposing figure of Anatoly standing there, who towered over them by a few inches.
"H-Hey, you're Heron's friend, right?" Conner said uncomfortably. One thing that made him anxious about the Kislevite was the fact that he was built like a brick house (though that did factor in a bit); it was how frightening he could be just by standing there and not saying a word as he carefully stroked the flat side of his unsheathed sword with his thumb.
Additionally, it may have been advantageous that on his initial evening in the area, a group of Hermes children attempted to steal his coveted longsword. Only for Anatoly to put a stop to it and send a clear message to all: Do not touch the possessions of a son of Kislev.
"How are you this fine day?" The other Stoll, Travis, asked just as nervously.
"Just fine." Anatoly grunted, eyes narrowing dangerously, and he withheld the urge to smirk as the Stolls looked more petrified, especially as thunder could be heard beginning to rumble above, dark clouds rolling in. "Now, if I were you two... I'd leave this poor devochka and walk away before someone gets hurt, wouldn't you say?"
"Sir, yes, sir!" The Stolls saluted him and ran off quickly, leaving Anatoly alone with the girl.
"You okay?" Anatoly asked.
The girl scowled, then sighed. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks for helping me."
"No problem. I know how much of a hassle people like that can be."
"Thanks." The girl reached out, offering to shake his hand. 'I'm Katie Gardner."
"Anatoly Barkov." He shook her hand in return, feeling how rough it was. Which surprised him; he didn't expect a girl like her to have hands so rough, but then again, it wasn't to assume things.
Katie's eyes lit up with recognition. "You're the one who fought the monster last night, right?" Anatoly nodded. "Thought you looked familiar. Still difficult to believe other gods actually exist."
Anatoly raised a brow. "If the Greek gods exist, what makes you think the other pantheons don't? Who says the Egyptians, Norse, Shinto, Hindu, and Slavic pantheons of gods don't exist?"
Katie opened her mouth to say something but couldn't find anything to respond with, so she shrugged and nodded. "That makes sense."
"So...Who's your Olympian parent?" Anatoly asked curiously.
"Demeter, Goddess of agriculture." Katie said with a proud smile. Anatoly hummed, so she was from cabin four. That explained the calluses on her hands from working in her cabin.
"I see." was all Anatoly said regarding that. "Well, I know Vesna and Demeter would get along well, given Vesna is regarded with great respect for harvest."
Katie tilted her head. "I never heard of that goddess before."
"No, she's one of the Slavic gods," a voice said, causing Anatoly to raise his head, sigh in frustration, and turn around to face Zhou.
"Wow, you really do appear out of nowhere." Katie said with wide eyes. "And who are you?"
"Zhou Cao Bo, son of Yuan Bo," Zhou bowed slightly, "Dragon-blooded Shugengan lord of Grand Cathay."
"Still an arrogant scaly prick," Anatoly snorted. "If you don't know what that means, let me put it bluntly: he's half dragon."
"Hey, my arrogance is rightly deserved, mind you! And rightly so!" Zhou defended himself.
Katie frowned, confused by his words. "You're part dragon...you don't look like a dragon."
"That's because they often take a more human form." Zhou stated with a sigh. "Unlike the monsters that would regularly hunt your kind, the dragons of the Celestial Empire are revered as immortal creatures of great magical power. But like gods, dragons would take on mates through the ages."
Katie's eyes were wide with disbelief and horror, disbelief that Anatoly's friend is part of a race of supposedly immortal dragons who has the knowledge of an unknown magical lore that she had never seen. Horror that Zhou is half monster and half something far more powerful than she could comprehend.
"It's a long story." Anatoly explained, getting a nod from Katie. "Anyway, I better go. I have a date with patrol duty... even though we have thousands of walking tanks around us."
"Nothing wrong in doing something simple, my friend. You know that better than most." Zhou reminded.
"True." Anatoly muttered and gave Zhou an annoyed glare. "I should get going."
"Okay, I hope to see you around." Katie said, getting a nod from the son of Kislev before he parted ways with the daughter of Demeter.
"She's quite nice, wouldn't you agree?" Zhou said slyly, causing Anatoly to mumble a silent friendly insult in response, which just made Zhou chuckle. Anatoly may have been trained by his father, Yuri Barkov, and his loving uncle, Gerik Barkov, while growing up in the Tzardom of Kislev, with its unforgiving winters and fierce, incessant battles against the tribes of the chaos-worshipping Northman, but beneath that hardened exterior of a warrior was a seventeen-year-old boy, so Zhou wouldn't be surprised if Anatoly liked spending time with the opposite sex. He remembered how easily Anatoly could flip from stoic warrior to light-hearted companion when the mood struck him. It was one of the reasons they had become fast friends, sharing laughter and camaraderie even amidst the chaos of their surroundings.
A cuckoo bird gazed at the dragon blood on a branch and watched them depart with peacock eyes. For behind those birdlike eyes was a far superior intelligence than that of a simple 25-inch flying avian. No. The bird emitted a moment of joy seeing her son safe and sound, then vanished in a sphere of light, along with a note of melancholy.
Sorry for the long wait I was in Las Vegas for a few days but now am back baby!
Anyway looks like his mom finally claimed as her son However she is now searching high and low for her lover who is trying to cover his tracks. While Sigmar is not ready to face her yet as he is now too busy in keeping the mortal realms from going to literal hell right now. And soon he'll have to contend with even more problems later on as assassins are now coming after his only son.
Also I have to apologize for what happened a few days ago. I got a little ahead of myself thinking this chapter was ready but it was not.
Guest:I was inspired by the relationship between Malcador the Sigillite and the Emperor of Mankind. So choosing Prometheus to be Sigmar's advisor was a logical choice.
Naedine-Daki:I'll think about it but the last ones were too expressive for my taste sadly.
Jjohn34:Thank you.