Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘Take cover,’ Zephacleas bellowed. The Stormcast Eternals were in range of the deadly war engines now, if only just. And the skaven appeared to be wasting no time in taking advantage of that fact. A globule of the poisonous slop splashed down, spraying corrosive fluid over the Stormcasts. One of Duras’ Liberators stumbled, choking, and dropped his weapons to claw at his helm. The warrior fell to his knees and toppled forward, his body already vanishing in a slash of azure lightning. Another joined him, and another. ‘Back! All of you, get back!’ Zephacleas shouted.

Thetaleas and the others retreated, giving ground before the sickening impacts. Zephacleas looked up and signalled to the Prosecutors. The winged Stormcasts swept down and hurled their celestial hammers with pinpoint accuracy, creating a wall of explosions between their fellows and the tide of filth which spread towards them.

Zephacleas and the rest of the vanguard retreated. Skaven bearing whirling censers emerged from the smoke, chittering frenziedly as they pursued the Stormcasts. Glowing arrows knocked several of them sprawling and celestial hammers crushed the rest as Mantius and his Prosecutors sped low over the enemy ranks.

‘Far-killer — take out those catapults if you can,’ Zephacleas shouted, as the Stormcast shield wall split to allow the vanguard to retreat. The sigmarite shields slammed back together with a ringing crash as the first of the skaven reached them. High above, Mantius saluted and swooped upwards.

Zephacleas turned his attentions back to the battle at hand, confident that the Knight-Venator would accomplish his task. Skaven were spilling out of the setae towers, scrambling down the swaying structures towards the battle unfolding below. ‘Thetaleas, bolster the left flank,’ he commanded. ‘Duras, take the right — we must do this the slow way.’

As his warriors hastened to obey, Zephacleas scanned the area — crude barricades and filth-pits covered the street, signs of skaven habitation. The mortal inhabitants of the city had long since abandoned these ways to the invaders, leaving behind only mouldering corpses dangling in curse-gibbets or heaped in the filth-pits to rot and become the fertile soil for new plagues and poxes.

The streets of the Crawling City changed shape constantly as the worm moved, making the towers and walls on its back shift position, forcing the Stormcast Eternals to rely on their winged brethren to guide them. The only unchanging routes were those which stretched between the uppermost tiers of the tallest setae. Woven from worm-hairs and sealed with ichor, they bent and swayed with the movements of the worm.

Unfortunately, the setae were also full of skaven. They had turned most of the natural structures into stinking warrens, burrowing down deep through them into the worm’s body. Shu’gohl would be dead and the city in ruins by the time the Astral Templars cleared them. But if they could silence the catapults and take the Dorsal Barbicans, they might be able to prevent one of those eventualities at least.

Then we’ll burn their stinking warrens clean, as we did in the Ghurdish Heights, he thought, with savage satisfaction.

The worm heaved, and skaven rained down, tumbling from the swaying towers. Those on the ground didn’t seem unduly bothered, and they pressed on, squealing blasphemous chants. Besides the sheer number of their foe, the Stormcast shield wall was hemmed in by the plague-clouds launched from the verminous catapults. Trying to cut off possible avenues of retreat, Zephacleas thought, watching as the right flank of the shield wall shifted slightly to avoid the breeze-borne clouds of contagion which spread slowly across the battlefield.

Even worse was the creaking war engine which loomed over the centre of the skaven horde, expelling a foetid murk from the massive censer swinging from its arch. He’d seen similar war-machines during the battle for the Gates of Dawn, and in the plague-burrows of the Ghurdish Heights. The smoke from its censer drove skaven into a frenzy, but could melt the flesh from a warrior’s bones. A skaven rat-priest stood atop the pulpit mounted on the front, shrieking in what might have been fury.

Swirling clouds of flies filled the air, flowing towards the Stormcasts as the rat-priest gestured. As the solid wave of insects swept over the shield wall, they clustered at the eye and mouth slits of the Liberators’ helms, smothering their heads and blinding them. Warriors staggered and the line began to come apart. They recovered almost instantly, but the skaven took full advantage of the momentary lapse. Skaven censer bearers lurched forward, shoving aside the other rat-monks in their haste to reach the shield wall.