Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

The slann stretched out his hands and, for a moment, it seemed to Zephacleas as if the creature were larger than it was. A titanic shape, quite unlike the crude amphibian body it normally wore; something vast and serpentine, as wide as the world and as long as eternity. It stretched up, and fangs of starlight scraped the sky. A glittering cerulean rain began to fall across Shu’gohl — lightly at first, but then growing in intensity. It was not the rain which accompanied the Stormcasts as they went to war, but it was of Azyr nonetheless.

Zephacleas lifted his hands in wonder. Other Stormcast Eternals followed suit, as too did the mortals. It was a cleansing rain, as would purify both body and soul, and he felt invigorated as it splashed across his armour. Where it touched the ground, a pale steam rose from the worm’s flesh. The filth of the skaven was reduced to ash and their abominable structures sagged and decayed in an instant. The worm’s shuddering slowed, and its groaning faded to a dull rumble.

Seker stumbled, his staff nearly slipping from his grip. Zephacleas caught him and helped to steady him. ‘Easy my friend — you have truly worked a wonder this day.’

Seker shook his head. ‘Not… not me. Not alone. It’s— his mind, it was so vast, like nothing I have ever witnessed… his mind is a sun, and we but orbit it,’ the Lord-Relictor said, in a whisper. ‘I saw horrors and beauties undreamt of even in the halls of Sigmaron, and moments… like fragments of crystal, holding flickering images of places I did not recognize. His mind is as clockwork, built not of mortal matter but something else… he has played out this very moment a thousand times across a thousand years, honing it, pruning away those possibilities which displease him. We… No.’ He shook himself and pushed away from Zephacleas. ‘Forgive me, Lord-Celestant. I… I am myself again.’

‘You are worthy indeed, dream-of-Sigmar,’ Takatakk said, softly. ‘You have seen the Great Equation, though you cannot understand.’ The little seraphon patted Seker’s arm, as if in sympathy. ‘It is a great thing, to witness the all that was and is.’ A flying reptile shrieked overhead. Takatakk looked up, head cocked. ‘The vermin flee across the causeway. There is nowhere else for them to run. The Great Lord Kurkori’s dream is coming to an end.’ The skink looked up at Zephacleas. ‘We must march.’

‘And we will march with you,’ Zephacleas said. ‘We make for the causeway and the Storm-Crown. And we will end this once and for all.’

Lightning speared through the sapphire air and crawled across the ruins. It cascaded down shattered statues and washed over broken domes. The air stank of iron and heat and Kruk’s filthy fur stood on end. Lightning struck the causeway ahead, filling the air with dust and stone. Kruk pressed on, followed by the remnants of his congregation. He had to hurry, quick-quick. The enemy were close at hand. All of them.

Kruk could not say who he hated more at this point — Vretch or the star-devils. The storm-things were a close second, but they were as nothing compared to the continuing intestinal malignancy that was Vretch. The plague priest thrust his good claw beneath his robes and scratched furiously at himself. Worse than the nearness of his foes was the lack of his daemonic patron. Skuralanx had not appeared to him since the Setaen Palisades, and Kruk had begun to wonder if the daemon had abandoned his most loyal follower. What sort of master did that? No sort of master at all, Kruk thought. Kruk would never abandon his own followers, no-no.

The causeway to the temple wasn’t long or particularly wide. Broken statues lined its rail, glaring down at the scurrying skaven, and at its end, a ring of massive effigies occupied the plaza where the causeway intersected the heart of the temple. Kruk could see the broken dome of the central temple over the tops of the shattered outbuildings and something told him that was where he must go — and quickly. The enemy weren’t far behind them. They would soon finish off Skug and the others. Poor Skug… poor heroic, expendable Skug. Kruk shook his head. It was hard to find a lackey of that quality in these decadent times.

The causeway began to shake on its foundations and an elemental groan rose up, blasting his skull free of all thought. All around him, skaven released the musk of fear or fell onto their faces, screeching in terror. Broken statues toppled from their plinths, and one crushed a dozen plague monks into a foetid paste. Kruk alone maintained his claws during the quake, more because he wanted to be ready to run than from any innate obstinacy. Stubborn as he was, even he knew better than to try and fight a force of nature.