Chris Wright - Age of Sigmar - Omnibus

Down below, more seraphon had appeared in flashes of coruscating light — massive reptilian warriors, larger than any saurus and wielding heavy war-clubs and maces, marched into being behind a gigantic horned creature. The sound of war-drums filled the air as the howdah full of skinks mounted on the brute’s back kept time with its ground-shaking tread. The living, bellowing war engine stomped towards the central gates of the barbicans, horns lowered. They groaned as the brute struck them. Hardened setaen fibres burst and split as the armoured monster shoved its way through to the courtyard beyond.

The gigantic seraphon warriors surged past the creature, wading into those skaven unlucky enough to be nearby when the gates finally gave way. Great clubs and hammers, their heads infused with shifting motes of light, rose and fell, leaving a path of broken bodies in their wake.

Zephacleas felt a grim sort of admiration well up in him — even Stormcast Eternals did not fight so fiercely, or so ruthlessly. ‘Worthy allies indeed,’ he murmured, glancing at Sutok.

The scar-faced Sunblood dipped his broad skull, as if in acknowledgement.

‘Your comrade seems to have things here well in hand,’ the Lord-Celestant said, nodding towards Oxtl-Kor and his mount as they tore apart another skaven catapult. ‘What say we find new prey, my friend?’

Sutok showed his teeth and pounded his shield. Zephacleas took that as assent and shouted, ‘Thetaleas, Duras — leave the remaining engines to our scaly friends.’ As he spoke, Sutok roared. Stormcasts and saurus alike moved towards their commanders.

Side by side, Zephacleas and Sutok led their warriors across the ramparts and towards the inner bridges. The wide walkways led to the central network of barbicans, and beyond them, the walls and gates on the other side, which overlooked the anterior avenues of the Crawling City. The Lord-Celestant raised his sword in greeting as he caught sight of Seker and Takatakk hurrying to meet them, a retinue of Protectors and skinks following in their wake.

‘Zephacleas — quickly,’ the Lord-Relictor said. ‘We must take the central barbican before the skaven can regroup.’ Zephacleas nodded and waved his warriors forward. He thudded across the bridge as the Lord-Relictor’s lightning-storm snarled above.

Once past the outer walls, he saw few skaven. Those he did encounter seemed more interested in escape than in preventing the Stormcasts from entering the inner chambers of the barbicans. Those few who tried to intercept them were dispatched with ease. As they crossed over the courtyard below, he saw mortals armed with makeshift weapons locked in battle with their former captors. Mantius and his Prosecutors swooped overhead, lending aid to the former prisoners where necessary. Zephacleas growled in satisfaction as he watched a woman clad in the stained remnants of what might once have been robes of office brain an unwary skaven with a chunk of setae. Despite being sick, malnourished and outnumbered, the mortals were giving a good account of themselves.

‘Should we aid them, Lord-Celestant?’ Duras said. The eagerness in his voice was echoed in the murmurs of the other Astral Templars. Each and every Stormcast Eternal knew what it was to be a victim of the Ruinous Powers, and each and every one of them desired restitution of the most bloody sort.

‘No. Mantius has it well in hand. Let them fight,’ Zephacleas said. Several of his warriors made as if to protest and he turned, fixing them with a stern glare. ‘Are they not owed for what they have suffered? Would you take that from them, merely to sate your own desire? We have many battles before us, brothers, and victories aplenty — let them have theirs.’

Satisfied, he turned. The central barbican rose over them, rounded walls now mostly covered in a shroud of filth and mould. Wherever the plague-rats went, such foulness was sure to follow. The massive doors had been torn off their hinges and the way in was unguarded.

The sounds of battle grew dim as the allies entered the structure. The chamber spread out around them, the air thick with the stink of vermin and illness.

‘The Libraria Vurmis,’ the Lord-Relictor murmured, with what might have been awe. ‘I have rarely seen its like, save in Azyr. It is spoken of admiringly, even by the scholars of Sigmaron and the liche-monks of the Dead Vaults. They say it holds all the secrets of the Ghurlands.’

Curved rows of shelves occupied the great chamber. Piled tomes and scrolls filled every nook and cranny, and were scattered across the floor in disorderly heaps. Zephacleas looked around, taking note of the bodies hanging from the shelves or lying broken on the floor. Men and women, clad in the remains of robes and armour, their bodies showing signs of torture. Their passing had not been easy, he thought, and anger rose in him.

Takatakk hissed softly, and he followed the skink’s gaze. A strange glow throbbed at the heart of the chamber. Past the fallen shelves, amongst the filth-covered pillars, a single skaven stood with its back to them, swaying slightly, clutching a staff tipped with a green stone which pulsed with a strange light. The creature hacked and wheezed piteously.

‘Rat-priest,’ Zephacleas said. The creature whirled with a shriek. It was cloaked in a sickening murk. Its flesh was swollen and its blind eyes wept oily tears. It shrilled and swept its claws out, filling the air with greenish flames. The shelves caught immediately, and their contents as well.

‘Seker, keep everyone else back,’ Zephacleas said as he stepped forward. He caught sight of Sutok doing the same. The Sunblood lifted his shield and Zephacleas crossed his weapons as the green flames washed over them. The heat of them was not clean — it made his flesh crawl beneath his war-plate. It was the heat of infection given shape and unleashed. Zephacleas ducked his head and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. The flames licked at his armour, leaving greasy trails of char across its purple surface.

From out of the corner of his eye, he saw Takatakk strike the ground with the end of his staff. The tainted pressure of the flames seemed to lessen, for just a moment. The skaven’s blind gaze turned towards the skink and it snarled wordlessly. With a gesture, it sent a column of flame roiling towards the Starpriest. Takatakk swept his claws out, splitting and snuffing the flames in a burst of star-light.

Zephacleas lunged forward through the dying flames and brought his runeblade down on the rat-priest’s skinny shoulder. The vermin staggered, but did not fall. Yellowish froth burst from its mouth as it caught hold of his blade with its free claw and tore it loose. Its blood spurted and sizzled where it struck his armour. Wormy muscles bulged unnaturally in its arm as it bent the sword away from itself. Zephacleas swung his hammer into the side of its scrawny chest, but the blow barely budged it. Still clutching his sword, it struck at him with its staff.

Zephacleas avoided the glowing nub of warpstone and tore his sword free from its grip. He chopped through the staff as it swept it around again, trailing greenish smoke through the air. The rat-priest shrieked and tossed the remains aside. Before it could attempt a spell, Sutok’s club crushed its skull. It fell twitching to the ground, its diseased blood burning the floor. The Sunblood waved his shield, snuffing the flames which clung to its surface.

‘Call down the storm, Lord-Relictor,’ Zephacleas said. ‘Put out these fires before we lose this whole chamber.’

Seker’s prayer was a melancholy one. The atmosphere grew damp as the Lord-Relictor called water from the very air. It dripped outwards from the walls and down from the ceiling, snuffing the flames. Soon, the air was thick with ash and blackened shelves groaned as they settled. Piles of scrolls and books had been reduced to nothing more than blackened smears on the floor.