Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

Griffon and dracoth collided, the winged monster bowling over the mount of the Lord-Celestant. Theuderis released his hold and rolled with the motion of Tyrathrax, throwing himself clear of her as she turned onto her back, claws raking at the underside of the griffon even as its beak skittered and screeched across the armour protecting the dracoth’s throat.

The Chaos champion’s axe blade bit into the back of Theuderis’ shoulder as the Stormcast came to his feet. Powered by vile sorcery, the edge of the blade parted sigmarite and flesh down to the bone. Theuderis threw out an arm in reflex, the head of his tempestos hammer crashing against the flank of the griffon, snapping bones and pulverising flesh.

Spitting and snarling, Tyrathrax struggled free of the griffon’s clawed grip, lightning crackling along her fangs. Theuderis sprang forwards, using the back of the dracoth as a launch point to hurl himself at the Chaos champion. Taken unawares by this tactic, the griffon’s rider could do nothing as Theuderis’ hammer connected with the side of his helm. Arcs of power erupted from the Stormcast’s weapon and the champion’s head caved in, skull splintered and neck snapped by the force of the blow.

Wound gushing from its flank, the griffon was not yet ready to die. Battering Theuderis aside with a wing, the monster charged Tyrathrax once more, beak closing around the dracoth’s foreleg with a sickening snap of bones. Tyrathrax snarled in pain. Lightning flared from her mouth and crackled across the sable hide of the griffon, leaving burning welts in the flesh.

Theuderis swung his hammer in both hands, bringing the head around in a long arc to connect with the shoulder of the griffon where leg and wing met the body. Bone shattered beneath pulsing flesh, forcing an unearthly scream from the beast. The blow lifted and toppled the griffon to its side, a wing buckling and snapping beneath as its heavy body rolled onto the blood-pooled dirt. Tyrathrax was on the wounded monster in a heartbeat, chewing into the exposed flesh until her head disappeared, tearing out entrails with swipes of her claws.

Gore-slicked scales shining in the cerulean light of Theuderis’ hammer, the dracoth ripped herself free of the twitching corpse, ribbons of tissue hanging from her jaws. She limped to her master, feeling now the wound caused by the griffon’s assault. It was obvious she would not be able to bear Theuderis’ weight.

The larger gors and bestigors that had been following their smaller cousins stalked closer, perhaps thinking the wounded creature would be easier prey. Theuderis turned a glance back to his army and saw half of the centre had now broken away to reinforce the rearguard, where hulking beast-brutes, thrashing, formless spawn and nameless foul creatures were throwing themselves at the Liberators and Judicators.

Tyrathrax was not Stormcast, she would not be reforged but returned to the stars to be reborn as a child of the cosmic serpent, Dracothion. He did not know whether they would be reunited. Yet for all the tenderness Theuderis felt for his mount, who had bonded with him on the arduous Trail of Starwalking and deigned to carry him since, his duty lay with his warriors.

He laid a hand on her neck and she understood his intent without words. The dracoth turned towards the approaching beastmen and hissed a challenge, standing over the body of the griffon as though she defended a prize or nest.

Theuderis turned his back on her and broke into a run, carving into the ungors that ebbed and flowed around the Stormcasts like a sea breaking on rocks. The righteous fire was tinged with a bitter feeling as he set upon his deformed foes. Grief powered his arm more than vengeance. The Lord-Celestant battered his way back to the line, crushing smaller beastmen beneath his boots as he opened a path with devastating sweeps of his hammer.

Two Decimators stepped forwards to meet him, parting to allow him past while their gleaming axes smashed aside a flurry of ungors hurling themselves at their commander’s back. As fluidly as they had counter-attacked they fell back into place, their comrades’ blades rising and falling in unison to carve apart the next wave of foes.

Theuderis sought out Voltaran and found his Knight-Vexillor commanding the opposite side of the line, facing down the slope of the mountain. Swift centigors rode back and forth just a dozen paces away, hurling axes and javelins while they laughed and cursed in their barbarous tongue. The missiles were of little threat, but the Liberators were pinned in place by the attacks, unable to move to support their brothers beset by fiercer foes while the centigors threatened a charge.

‘Their leader is dead, their spirit will break soon,’ Theuderis assured his officer. ‘Stand fast for the moment.’

‘I fear otherwise, my lord,’ replied Voltaran. He gestured down the mountain. ‘We have not yet seen the worst of it.’

Further down the slope Theuderis could see a group of figures, horned heads visible beneath the cowls of their robes, staffs hung with grisly baubles and runes made of sinew and bone.

‘Shamans,’ snarled the Lord-Celestant.

‘They summon fresh forces,’ Voltaran added.

The lower slope was filling with all manner of mutated creatures — hounds and wolves with mutated spines and misshapen heads, slug-like, tentacled abominations and gangling monstrosities with snapping jaws and blade-like limbs. Baying and howling broke out, accompanied by whining and mewling from the Chaos spawn.

The forest started to shudder, shedding leaves and snow. A trunk snapped as a gigantic figure pushed through the press of trees, its heavy tread setting the other boughs shaking. Several times the height of a Stormcast Eternal, the gargant heaved and shouldered its way forwards, tree limbs snapping, gigantic feet sinking into the soft mulch and earth. It was clad in a crude jerkin and trousers of patchwork furs and hide, its engorged belly testing the rope-like stitching. A roughly shaped and poorly welded helm wobbled on its head, while pieces of ancient plate and broken shields tied with belts and scavenged horse harnesses made for vambraces and gorget. In its hand it trailed several long staves spliced together, cart or chariot axles perhaps, three axeheads wedged into the length to make a fearsome polearm.

There were more beastmen coming, following the packs of dogs — ungors with short bows that scampered up into the trees and bestigors clad in thick mail hauberks and coifs. In the sunlight from the gap in the trees made by the giant, Theuderis estimated another two or three hundred goat-headed fiends. Other creatures prowled the shadows, eyes glinting, their growls and snarls audible even at this distance.

A glance over his shoulder confirmed to the Lord-Celestant that his Knights Excelsior were still holding against the attack from above. The outer line had been pushed back, forcing the Judicators behind their companions in the retinues of Decimators, Protectors and Liberators battling with the beastmen. Trajos was doing his best to stem the flow of attackers trying to encircle the line but time and numbers were against him.

‘Enough!’ snapped Theuderis. ‘Attaxes, report to me!’

The call for the Knight-Heraldor went along the line but it was a while before Attaxes appeared, running down the mountainside from the fighting at the head of the column. His armour was dented and scratched in several places but he had no obvious wounds.

‘We cannot hold like this,’ Theuderis said. Looking from Attaxes to Voltaran. ‘We must attack.’

‘As you command,’ the Stormcast Eternals chorused.

‘What battle formation, my lord?’ asked Attaxes, readying his clarion.

‘Divine Vengeance, Jaws of the Dracoth drill,’ Theuderis replied. ‘Signal the storm of wrath to Samat.’