Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

Ionus watched them come, cracking no smile under his deathmask helm. He remembered the oaths he had sworn, as old and hard as the grave, binding him to the service of the one who held the promise of liberation for his beloved lands of shadow.

As the first of them drew within range, the Cryptborn held his bone-sigil aloft in both hands, feeling the cold sigh of unnatural winds curl around its length.

‘Unto death,’ he whispered, and advanced into the maw of hate.

Rakh cowered with the rest of the bloodreavers, unable to believe what he had witnessed. One moment they had been running down the scent of terrified mortals, the next the skies themselves had broken asunder and gilded paragons had hurtled down from rifts in their heights.

From where he crouched, he saw the earth explode in clouds of splintered stone. A dome of silver flared up, raging like starlight, before shattering into a thousand spinning fragments. From its heart came a golden warrior, towering and imperious, his white pinions stretching out like the fell shadow of a vengeful angel. The warrior raised his warhammer high, and lightning curled around it in greeting. The storm boomed and cracked, the air itself singing with strange sorcery, and the angelic warrior leapt up into its heart, thrusting upwards amid a riot of light and racing flame.

Rakh screamed out in rage, reaching for his cleaver. Others of his pack recovered their wits and scrabbled for their own weapons. The bloodreavers may have been debased flesh-eaters, but they had all been raised in a world where fighting was the only form of life — once threatened, they would always strike back.

‘Not them!’ cried Rakh, hauling the others back before they could charge the greater mass of golden warriors. Those ones were already quitting the rise, forming up into battalions to march down into the lowlands beside the gate. There were too many to take on, and they were fearsomely well-armoured. ‘Pluck the birds from the skies!’

The winged ones looked an easier prospect — they had their eyes fixed on the Gate, heedless of those crawling on the ground below but staying close enough to be grasped. There were fewer of them and they seemed more fragile.

The surviving bloodreavers did as they were commanded, and Rakh led them up to the ridge’s summit. They went stealthily, hidden by the drifting clouds of underlit smoke, unseen by the golden warriors hovering just above head height.

As they closed in, Rakh began to believe that it could be done. He picked out one of the angels who had only just emerged from its lightning-dome, still glistening from whatever magic had summoned it and yet to ascend fully into the skies.

‘Take it!’ he hissed to his brothers, and together they sprinted to bring it down.

Rakh leapt, swinging his cleaver wildly at the warrior’s trailing ankle. The thick blade connected, smashing the armoured heel and causing the winged warrior to cry out. The angel tried to gain height but more bloodreavers piled in, leaping as high as they could to try to grasp the creature. Flails and long-chained hooks lashed out, punching into the warrior ’ s armoured plates and dragging him down to their level.

Once they had it encumbered, the bloodreavers fell on it in a ravening scrum, seizing its kicking legs and pulling it to earth. Rakh clutched its breastplate, hauling his way towards its throat. He caught a glimpse of its golden mask — a blank expression, belying the desperate life-and-death struggle — before he was thrown back to the ground.

The angel was incredibly strong. Despite taking a dozen deep cuts from axe-blades, it struggled on, ever trying to gain loft. Its warhammer, held one-handed, scythed around, smashing three bloodreavers clear and sending their broken bodies tumbling. It kicked out, severing the neck of another and almost breaking free.

Rakh pounced again, hurling his cleaver straight at the creature’s breastplate. The iron edge hit the metal but was deflected, scraping across the pristine surface. The bloodreavers became more desperate, drooling with anger as they battled to pull their prey to earth.

The prospect of healthy flesh to gnaw on rather than worm-infested gristle made Rakh frenzied with meat-lust, and he flung himself into the air one more time. This time his outstretched fingers caught onto something solid — the warrior’s weapon-belt — and he yanked down with all his strength. Others of the pack seized the angel and chains were flung up, clanking onto his limbs and dragging at him. The axes and cleavers got to work, slamming down and breaking up the armoured plate.

Rakh smelled the first gush of the creature’s blood and knew then he would be locking his teeth onto skin within moments. He ripped the warrior’s helm-rim back from its neck and stretched his jaws wide, picking his spot before he plunged down.

The lightning bolt hit him cripplingly hard and he was sent flying, his chest smoking and his jerkin burned to scraps. His head spun and his vision reeled. He reached for his weapon groggily, gasping from the shock and pain, and tried to get to his feet.

More bolts flew in, each one crackling like ball-lightning before exploding with a sharp bang. The deluge scattered the gang of bloodreavers, some of whom were caught by it and cut down just as he had been. Rakh stood up, still bleary-eyed, and stared into the skies.

The angels were swooping in low, hurling bolts of energy right into the midst of the bloodreavers. Now acclimatised to the buffets of the storm-wind, they were hurtling through the air in a blur of gold and cobalt, uncatchable, unreachable, and burning with wrath.

The one that had been pulled to earth got back to his feet, still swinging his warhammer and crunching the skulls of the bloodreavers about him. Rakh stumbled into a charge, holding his cleaver two-handed and determined to bring at least one of those damned flying creatures to its death.

The angel turned to face him, his armour running with blood, and opened the palm of his gauntlet. A ball of white fire slammed into Rakh, this time burning right through what remained of his armour and chewing into his chest. He screamed and collapsed onto his back, clutching impotently at the forks of heat tearing across his skin.

Prone and agonised, Rakh could only watch as the battle-ravaged warrior leapt back up into the skies, bloodied but still capable of flight. His counterparts were dropping to the earth now, landing amid bursts of the searing starfire that shot from their very hands. Others darted down low, airborne still but flying near enough to send their hammerheads blasting into the backs of the fleeing bloodreavers.

Amid all his dizziness, Rakh couldn’t help but spit out a bitter laugh. They had tried to take down one of them, just one, and failed. Now the whole pack was suffering the vengeance of these strange and terrible warriors, and within moments they would be slaughtered to a man.

Rakh lifted his head just in time to see one more of the golden creatures coming for him. There would be no escape this time — he could barely move, and already the numbness creeping up his limbs was near-complete. With his last breath, he could only marvel at what had taken place.

What are these things?

But before any answer could be given the angel unleashed his fire, and Rakh’s brutish world ended in a blaze of pain.

Vekh had seen the danger before any of the others. While the rest of the army were still blinking and staring stupidly at the apparitions from the skies, he had reached for his flail and summoned the bestial presence at the heart of the horde.

For the long march north the behemoth had been shackled, weighed down with spell-wound chains of iron made in the depths of Khul’s forges. They had goaded it and dragged it, never getting too close, knowing what it could do. It had raged at them, lashing out under the burden of the iron collar and the iron yokes, and Vekh had always been there at its side, whispering the maddening words, stoking the fires that ever burned within its ruined mind.