Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

He emerges from the rabble, walking better and no longer clinging to a Liberator’s shield for support.

‘It’s the ghosts of the city!’ he shouts over the din. ‘They’re trapped here.’

Boreas sounds like he’s in agony, but he’s more awake than I’ve seen him since we reached the lakeshore.

‘They’re reliving their defeat,’ he continues, staring up at the massive shards of rock. ‘Can you see them?’

I follow his gaze and realise, to my amazement, that I can. What I took for flickering shadows are towering, humanoid figures charging into battle. They’re as faint and insubstantial as the moonlight glancing off my armour, but their pain is all too palpable. For a while, I can only stare in wonder at their massive forms, pounding into a fight that was lost before my ancestors were born. The longer I look, the less human they become. Their anatomy is similar to that of a man, if ten times the size, but their heads are strangely broad and sunk low in their shoulders and what little I can see of their ghostly faces shows brutal, exaggerated proportions — like crudely chiselled statues.

‘Lord-Celestant,’ gasps Boreas as he finally reaches my side. ‘The enemy.’

I drag my thoughts back to the present. The Chaos knights are moments away from us. I can see the face of the lead rider now, the lord with the swooping horns. This must be Hakh. His eyes are blazing with mirth as he watches my front ranks stumble. The Liberators are struggling to raise their shields as the war cries of the giants boom in their helmets. They look like a rabble.

‘Stand proud!’ I cry. ‘You are Stormcast Eternals.’

The Liberators manage to raise their shields and form ranks, but the sound is growing louder all the time.

‘Don’t they hear it?’ I ask, staring at the crimson-clad riders.

‘They’re revelling in it,’ replies Boreas. The sound of the giants’ pain only adds to the knights’ bloodlust. Their juggernauts are unhinged — snapping their great, bestial heads from side to side as their riders hold them to a slow trot.

The pain in my mind increases but I clench my jaw and bite down hard, determined not to cry out before my men.

I grab my Honour Scrolls and recite my oath. Pain may be my flesh. Death may be my fate. But victory is my name.

I shout with all my might and, as the sound leaves my throat, I wrap it around the words of a hymn. The song springs from somewhere deep in my subconscious; I haven’t sung it since I was a child, but the words ring out of me with all the force of my forging. It’s a hymn to Sigmar and I roar it like a curse. Behind me, hundreds of other voices pick up the tune.

Boreas raises his sepulchral tones in harmony and, together, we drown out the sound of fallen giants and thundering hooves. The louder I sing the more powerful I become. I start to picture the halls of Azyr soaring up around me — gleaming statues of star drakes and mythical heroes rising from the shadows as I sing louder, driving the noise from my mind.

I lift Grius over my head and give the signal for a shield wall.

The phalanx closes ranks seconds before the juggernauts smash into us.

Hakh leads from the front, his blazing eyes locked on me, and his steed hits us like a boulder. Shields judder beneath the force of the massive beast and, as the front line of Liberators stumbles, Hakh lunges at me from his saddle, swinging his great, two-handed sword. Zarax rears to defend me and the blade sinks deep into her face.

She falls backwards, crushing more rows of blue and gold shields as she lands. Lightning envelops her body as she dies. It spears through the battle, silhouetting us all in white heat.

I tumble, blinded by the detonation, but Sigmar is with me. As my vision clears I see that that I’ve landed near Hakh and he’s reeling from the blast, swaying in his saddle.

‘Victory is my name!’ I cry, grasping Grius in both hands and slamming it into Hakh’s chest.

Lightning flashes a second time, ignited by my blow. The crush of armour and weapons falls away and Hakh topples from view, surrounded by a red cloud of his own blood. Bodies slam into me and I’m driven to my knees. Grius is torn from my grip and I howl in frustration.

I draw Evora and she is singing before she has even left the scabbard. Her eerie tones cut through the cacophony and fill me with strength. The red knights may revel in the pain of the ghosts overhead, but Evora’s voice is another matter. They falter in their saddles, confused, giving Castamon and his Liberators in the front line the chance to drive them back and smash some of them from their steeds.

There’s a flash of golden sigmarite and I haul Grius from the carnage with relief. It’s only then that I see Boreas, trapped beneath a fallen juggernaut and thrashing in silent pain.

I try to reach him but our lines are battered and reeling under the weight of the juggernauts’ attack. I see flashes of gold as Liberators throw themselves at the brazen horrors, pounding their sacred hammers into fume-shrouded snouts and plates of jagged metal. The shield wall has held. My god-born brothers have dug their feet into the rock, thrown their shoulders against their shields, and held back the weight of a landslide.

‘Zarax,’ I whisper, in belated recognition of her death. These blasphemous curs can have committed no greater crime than ending such a proud life.

Hakh’s juggernaut tears through the crush. Hammers fall and flash but the monster is unstoppable. It may have lost its rider but it is clearly still set on my destruction as it charges straight for me. Its head is down and its speed shocking but I feint to one side, drop the other way, grab its horn and swing myself up onto its back.

Infernal heat pours up through my armour and my mind recoils at being so close to a creature spat from the Blood God’s own realm. It bucks and leaps beneath me, but I hold fast and ride the monster as it careers through the phalanx and takes me out into the enemy ranks.

Suddenly I’m surrounded by jagged, blood-coloured iron rather than gleaming gold sigmarite.

The juggernaut is driven to a frenzy by my presence on its back and it tramples several of Hakh’s knights as it circles and stomps, trying to shake me off, but then the daemon steed collides with a force equal to its own, and reels backwards.

When I manage to focus I see a glorious sight — a wall of implacable, towering paladins: the last of my Retributors.

They barrel into the monster, pounding it with their shimmering, two-handed lightning hammers.

Their weapons blaze and the monster staggers, then prepares to launch itself at them with renewed force.

I take my chance and let go of the juggernaut’s iron saddle, grasp Evora in both hands and drive the runeblade between its metal shoulder plates.

Evora’s voice soars as she sinks up to her hilt.

Flames spout from the wound and the monster bucks even more violently, throwing me clear. I roll aside as the beast tries to pulverise me with its thundering hooves and, as I lurch to my feet, the paladins strike again, bringing their warhammers to bear.

Their aim is true and the creature explodes, firing shards of metal through the air. When the blast clears, they pound across the rock towards me.

‘Lord-Celestant,’ one of them says as they form a protective circle around me. ‘Perhaps we should rejoin the others.’ His hammer is still sparking and crackling with power but his voice is a laid-back drawl.

I look around and see that we’re on the enemy’s flank and a line of them is already hauling their enormous steeds around to face us.

‘Celadon,’ I say, recalling his name. ‘We must find Hakh.’ I glance at the pale line of silver spreading across the horizon. ‘We have to end this quickly.’