Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

Mantius Far-killer swooped over the Crawling City, sickened by what he saw. The skaven had left a trail of destruction from the Dorsal Barbicans to the outskirts of the Setaen Palisades. The streets between the tall bristle-towers were full of toxic smog and pits eaten away in the worm’s flesh, thick with bubbling pox-waters. The worm’s convulsions were growing worse as it twisted first one way and then the next, as if trying to shed its abused flesh.

Shu’gohl was strong, befitting a creature that had lived for uncounted centuries on the open steppes of Ghur. But the great worm was approaching its limits, he suspected. He looked towards its head, where the eternal lightning storm shimmered. The storm acted as the great worm’s eyes in some manner, Mantius suspected, allowing it to know where it was crawling. Whatever its purpose, the storm also marked the site of the Sahg’gohl. He could almost make out the tiers and shattered minarets of the ancient temple.

The loremasters of Sigmaron spoke of a calamity, in the early days of the Age of Chaos, when some hell-sent beast had attacked Shu’gohl on its unending travels. The great worm had almost died then, and the ancient temple-crown which clung to its head had been destroyed, its priests killed to a man.

But Shu’gohl had survived, and the Crawling City had survived, even as the folk of Azyr had done. Chaos surges wild, but it cannot drown us all, he thought, his earlier bitterness forgotten. It was one of Zephacleas’ favourite sayings, and was always punctuated by a bellow of laughter. His Lord-Celestant was capable of great mirth, for all that he was an implacable warrior. But there was a fatalistic streak to his commander as well — a surety of death. The only surety Mantius possessed was that of finding his mark when he loosed an arrow.

He climbed up through the air, away from the worm, into the amber skies. He could see the vast plumes of dust rising from the steppes as the worm crawled across them. In the distance, through the dust and rain, he could make out the hunched, mountainous form of one of the other great worms, and the long columns of smoke which rose from the bastion on its back. Guh’hath, the Brass Bastion, he thought. The Great Worm of Khorne.

The Brass Bastion had been squirming towards Shu’gohl for months — years even — in slow, agonizing pursuit. It would have caught up with the Crawling City in ten years, maybe less, if warriors from the Sons of Mallus Stormhost had not intercepted it. No less than three Warrior Chambers from the Sons now laid siege to the Brass Bastion.

It would fall, as the skaven would fall. They would free the steppes of the taint of Chaos, and harry its followers wherever they found them. Mantius snarled, unable to contain the sudden surge of savage joy which filled him. The air rushed around him as he rose towards the ochre storm clouds. He swooped down, crackling wings spread, and scanned the tops of the setae towers which rose along Shu’gohl’s back.

He could just make out the shapes of his Prosecutors, spread out across the city, hunting the skaven wherever they might choose to congregate. After the fall of the Dorsal Barbicans, the vast majority of the vermin had scattered, streaming into the crooked streets beyond. They had occupied the city long enough that there would be innumerable warrens and burrows for them to seek refuge in. Lord-Celestant Zephacleas was determined that the ratmen would find none, and have no chance to regroup. And so Mantius’ huntsmen had been dispatched to range ahead of the combined host and harass the skaven.

Mantius himself had already claimed the tails of over a dozen reeking rat-monks as they sought to ambush the seraphon vanguard which followed the trail of the largest group of skaven. But while he’d paused to deal with the ratmen, the seraphon had continued their hunt, and seemingly vanished.

Somewhere above him, Aurora shrieked. The raptor swooped past him and he followed. She had seen something. A moment later, so did he. The bird’s swelling starlight rose up, washing over the towers. He felt a tingling in his limbs as it blazed over and past him. As it cleared, he spotted a shape fleeing the fading edge of the light. He recognised the verminlord easily enough. The daemon was running flat out, springing from tower to tower with all the agility of the vermin it resembled, outpacing the light with desperate speed.

I see you, beast, and no shadows to hide in thanks to that light, he thought as he angled himself and swooped downwards. He drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it as he dove towards the daemon.