Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

We’re barely settled when Khorlagh gives another signal, eliciting more blasts of energy. There’s a clanging din as the Blood Creed are thrown to their knees, and I’m forced to cling onto Hakh’s armour. For a terrifying moment, I think we’re going to plunge beneath the lava, but the furious ghorgons keep the metal above the surface as it powers back out into the lake. Heat pours over me and I can’t seem to catch my breath. I try to rise and cry out, but then the world turns black.

When I come to, I’m on my back, looking at a mixture of stars and spinning embers. Hakh has gone, but I’m chained securely to a shard of heat-warped brass. At first, I think I must be delirious, the scene is so nightmarish. I’m surrounded by the howling, grunting ranks of Hakh’s knights, and they’re fighting for their lives. The air is teeming with huge, ferocious animals — snarling, feline monsters with great leathery wings and broad, slashing claws. Before my books were burned I spent long hours studying the creatures of myth and legend, and a name tumbles from my lips: manticores. They’re roaring furiously as they dive, tearing Hakh’s warriors from the metal, and feeding on them like gulls fighting for scraps.

The more the manticores kill, the more enraged their shrieks become. They hurl corpses into the lava and roar with bloodlust.

The manticores are almost as massive as the ghorgons but the Blood Creed are inhuman and utterly fearless. After the initial shock, they soon start to revel in the slaughter. They laugh at the terrifying creatures as they cut them down. Hakh has unshackled himself and climbed to the lip of the silver crater, surrounded by fumes and sparks. He’s like a captain at the prow of an infernal ship, howling as he cuts the manticores from the sky.

The beasts fight on, berserk, but the end comes quickly. As the last of them plunges to a fiery death, I lie there on the scorched metal, shaken by the horror my world has become. Chaos has tainted every part of the Khavall Steppe. Everyone I ever loved died at the hands of Hakh’s armies. Is revenge really enough?

As Hakh’s knights celebrate their victory I can think of nothing but Tylos, striding towards me through the flames, blazing with valour.

As the Anvil entombs our foes, the fossil that destroyed it whirls away, leaving a tornado of dust and rubble as it hurtles across the steppe.

‘Follow it!’ cries Boreas, struggling to be heard over the din, battling through the falling debris to reach me.

The rest of my army emerges from the swirling clouds of dust, bloody but unbowed — looking for my command. As they stagger from the wreckage towards me, I’m distracted by the skeletal colossus filling the sky, blocking out the moonlight and shedding towers the size of mountains. Truly, this realm is full of wonders.

‘Hammers of Sigmar!’ I roar, rising up in my saddle and pointing Grius at the disappearing fossil. ‘Witness a miracle! Witness the power of the God-King.’

Boreas staggers to a halt nearby and the rows of expressionless masks turn to face me.

I keep Grius pointed at the enormous skeleton crashing across the steppe.

‘The realms will kneel no more!’

I bring Grius and Evora together over my head and they erupt in a ball of holy fire. Faith and fury pour through my skin and armour, surrounding me in a blinding nimbus of light. ‘For the God-King!’ I cry, as Zarax rears beneath me, spewing lightning from between her gaping jaws.

The Stormcasts reel away from me, shaking their heads in wonder, even Boreas. Then, as Zarax tears off in pursuit of the skeleton, I hear them echo my war cry and join the chase.

At first the going is slow, as we struggle over the ruins of the Anvil. Most of its defenders are buried beneath a landslide of broken masonry, but every few feet I see a grim reminder of the warriors who seemed so unstoppable a few minutes earlier: twisted, bleeding hands jutting up from the rocks and lifeless faces, staring up at the sky, their skulls sheared apart. I allow Zarax to hurtle past most of them but there is one corpse, skewered on a fallen spire, that catches my attention. I rein Zarax in and look down at the still muttering warrior. It’s the champion with the skinless face. His body has been torn almost entirely in two by the piece of masonry but he’s still clinging to life.

At the sight of me he laughs and tries to rise, but he only succeeds in pouring his viscera across his broken legs.

‘You do not exist,’ he gurgles through a mouth full of blood. ‘The Blood God and I—’

Before he can say more, Zarax roasts him alive with a blinding flash of lightning. I make the sign of the hammer as he crumbles into ash, then urge the dracoth on.

As I leave the ruins behind I see that Boreas’ warnings were not exaggerated. The fossilised serpent is heading directly east, towards a shimmering line of fire that stretches across the entire horizon.

‘Lake Malice,’ I say out loud, recalling my brother’s description of the impassable lake. I would never let Boreas know, of course, but I have no idea how we will cross this final hurdle. Even god-forged Stormcast Eternals cannot simply wade through lava.

As it nears the lake, the skeleton is lit up in red and gold and I have the strange sense that we’re chasing a lost soul, plunging into the depths of the underworld.

I rein Zarax in and allow the others to catch up. Boreas is at the fore and I’m about to praise him for destroying the Anvil when he speaks.

‘Lord-Celestant,’ he says. His voice sounds angry rather than pleased. ‘Our passage through the Anvil was not bought cheaply.’

‘I understand, Boreas.’ I glance at the quickly disappearing monster. ‘Sigmar sees all. Whatever pain you’ve endured—’

‘Tylos, you don’t understand.’ He glances down at the relics hanging from his armour. ‘The price was the Kuriat.’

I can’t hide my shock. ‘The heart? Boreas, what do you mean?’

‘I bought our passage with it.’ He steps closer. ‘It was the only way. We’re almost out of time. The tempest was sent astray. If we’d spent any longer trapped in the Anvil—’

‘Yes,’ I interrupt. ‘I understand.’ Anger pounds in my chest and it takes all my strength to keep my voice calm. The Kuriat was the key to the Crucible of Blood. Without it, there’s no way we can seize control of the realmgate. For the first time since we landed, I feel the ghost of my past rising to challenge me. I grasp the hilt of my sword in an attempt to steady myself. I hear a harsh voice at the back of my thoughts: the brutal, honourless killer I was before the Lord of Storms tempered me. I grip the hilt tighter until my heart steadies.

Boreas watches my hand on the runeblade.

‘I had no choice,’ he says.

The rage passes. I am as true as Evora’s blade. I dismount.

‘Boreas, do you trust in Sigmar?’ I place my hand on his shoulder.

He nods.

‘Then trust in me. We both know what we must do.’

He grips my arm. ‘Brother,’ he begins, ‘I swear that there was nothing else—’

‘I know,’ I reply, returning his grip. ‘And we both knew it might come to this.’ I manage to keep my voice level as I consider the path left open to us. ‘There can be no return.’

Before either of us can say more, an explosion tears the night open. Golden light flashes in the polished metal of my men’s masks. Boreas and I both turn to study this latest miracle.

The serpent has thrown its entire length across Lake Malice. The liquid sprays and hisses over bones as big as mountains and it is enveloped by a liquid heat haze.

‘You bought us a bridge,’ I say, turning back to Boreas with a laugh of disbelief.