Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

‘There it is,’ says Giraldus, his voice tight with anger.

I turn back and see that the fumes have rolled away to reveal a soaring wall of brass. It’s stained with centuries of dried blood and I steer my chariot backwards, unable to take it all in. I can make out the jawbone of a skull but the rest of the brass idol reaches so high that it seems to support the clouds. This is the source of the energy that’s rattling my teeth and humming over my skin. Rage is pouring from the bloodstained metal, rippling the air and churning my shrivelled guts.

I hold a hand in front of my face as though blocking the sun.

‘We’ll have to be fast,’ I say. I turn to Giraldus. ‘How do we enter? Tell me that you learned that much before destroying anyone else’s chance of gaining knowledge about this place.’

He’s too furious to notice my harsh tone. ‘There are steps to the mouth. We enter through the teeth.’

‘Of course we do,’ I grimace, steering the Coven Throne towards the jaw. I deploy most of the army around the perimeter of the crater, but I take a few hundred skeletons with me, to keep an eye on Giraldus as much as anything else.

As we approach the skull, the power spilling from it becomes almost overwhelming. There’s a deafening grinding sound in the air and my bones ache as the throne lurches and sways above the black rocks. Even the spectral steeds that are drawing my chariot twist and writhe before the wrath of the skull, but I do not allow the princes to pause. I have no desire to be here when Khurnac awakes. I want to be travelling through the realms by then, raiding the mausoleums of a hundred cities and plundering wells of long forgotten learning. Or perhaps just back in the fane, safe in the knowledge that I control a route between worlds. The thought drives me on through the pain and we finally reach the wall of metal. The sound here is deafening and there are streams of energy billowing over the brass.

‘Over here!’ yells Giraldus, leading the way, and I drive my throne after him. My heart is pounding furiously now, as though I’m being charged by the skull. I shout at the princes until they pull the Coven Throne faster, speeding past Giraldus.

A few minutes later I see the steps. They’re wide enough to front a great palace and we race up them, the spirits of my chariot rolling tendril-like across the brass.

Khorne’s rancour rises through my seat and eats into my flesh. I can feel my skin starting to blister and burn, but I ignore the pain. My mind whirls with visions of greatness. The higher we go, the grander my visions become. Why stop at merely accruing knowledge? With this army and passage to other worlds, might I not use my scholarship for something greater? I could become the wisest lord who ever walked the realms. Everything starts to make sense. As I travel faster up the steps, I see that I was born for this. It is my destiny to rule with a wise and just hand; bringing the realms into the kind of unity that others have failed to do. And all those who deny my right to rule will face the wrath of the greatest host ever to emerge from the underworlds. If Nagash can no longer protect his kingdom, perhaps it is time that the undead had a new master? If I control the realmgates, who could stand against me?

I’m vomiting now and blood is rushing from my nose, but the spirits struggle on and haul the throne up the last few steps.

I notice that Giraldus and my army are no longer with me, but there’s no time to wait. I ride the chariot towards an opening between the skull’s enormous brass teeth. The doorway towers over me and I see that it’s framed by a huge portico wrought from the same bloodstained brass and forged to resemble snarling, reptilian hounds clawing and tearing at each other. It’s an unnerving sight but I drive the chariot on and, as it hurtles down the passage, I see that there is no door — just a wall of rippling blood, rising hundreds of feet over my head.

‘Now what?’ I try to ask, but my words come out as muffled gibberish.

I look back and see that Giraldus is dragging himself up the last few steps towards me. His sorcery has failed him and his face has assumed its true form. He looks like a reanimated cadaver, smeared with gaudy makeup. His shrivelled flesh has fallen away from his mouth, revealing long, inhuman teeth.

He tries to say something, but I can’t hear him over the roaring sound that is pouring through the brass.

He jabs his finger at the crimson wall, shaking his head. He looks to be in horrible pain.

Of course. He’s afraid of the power I will hold over him, but he need not be. I will be a benevolent, wise ruler. All my centuries of learning will inure me to the folly that has left Nagash battling to preserve his own domain. I turn to face the wall of blood that fills the doorway and try to ride closer, but the power flooding out is like a physical wall.

I kick the base of the throne and it lurches forwards. We’re still several feet away, but the chariot’s moving with slow, spasmodic bursts, as though wading through mud.

The closer we get, the more my mind slips away. All I can see is my vast army crushing the realms beneath skeletal feet, with me at their head.

Finally, we reach the wall and I prepare to enter the portal, preparing myself for unimaginable power.

Before I can enter the skull, the visions become even more violent. I picture myself crowned in the blood of a thousand slaughtered foes. I am standing above a mountain of corpses, screaming words of tribute to my lord as he watches from his throne of skulls.

I look down and see that my robes are drenched in blood, and steaming and shrivelling in the heat. I look like a slaughtered corpse. The sight shocks me and, suddenly, my thoughts seem deranged. I’m no servant of the Blood God — what madness has taken hold of me?

Giraldus hauls himself up the ribcage frame of my Coven Throne and drags my face away from the portal of blood.

‘This is not the way!’ he cries, finally managing to be heard over the din. ‘Not for us! We were wrong. All that lies through this gate is damnation.’

The skull’s power is smashing through my body with so much force that I think I might be thrown from my chariot. Dazed, I look from Giraldus and down the brass steps to the crater below and our wonderful army. Have I really summoned this host just to create more ruin? Visions of slaughter linger in my head and I’m filled with a growing sense of horror. Is this where all my learning has brought me?

Then I see something else. Racing across the crater towards the skull is a triangle of golden figures. Barely a few hundred of Sigmar’s warriors are left, but they make an incredible sight. Vast storm clouds are rolling in their wake and lightning flickers across their shields. There is something so righteous about them, so pure. They could never be consumed by the madness that just filled my thoughts. They are unassailable.

‘Boreas,’ I whisper, sensing that I might have made a terrible mistake.

The energy pouring from the skull suddenly triples its force. My whole body judders and my teeth begin to clatter against each other.

Giraldus points his sword at the sky and I see that it is grey. Dawn has come.

I look back towards the skull and the sight that greets me makes me collapse back into my throne.

Sigmar’s wrath carries me through an avalanche of bones. Unnumbered hordes of skeletons press around me, crashing, tumbling and rolling in great waves, grasping with their brittle fingers, hacking with rusty swords. I stride on across the crater, leading what remains of my army in a glorious, martial tribute to the God-King. Despite the ivory waves smashing into me, I swing Grius with a grace and serenity I have never achieved before, shattering skull after skull after skull and filling the air with splintered bone.