Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

The Chaos warrior lifted an enormous flail. ‘Have you come to stop me, then? A last test, perhaps.’ The chains of the flail clinked softly as it was thrust upwards. ‘Or come, mayhap, to silence the bells. Seven witches cast seven spells on them, and when they lay spent and weak, my blight-brother Goral and I took their bones to make the clappers, which sound without ceasing as their strength waxes.’ Laughter burbled from within the helm. ‘Brave Goral is dead now. Slain in the dark by devils of bark and moss. A beautiful death, as the troubadour, Onogal, might say.’ He spread his arms. ‘Well, faithless one? Well, cruel spirit? Here I stand, a pilgrim most inflamed. I am Count Dolorugus, knight of the Order of the Fly. Come and test my faith, if you would.’

‘Gladly,’ Aetius said, stung by the creature’s remarks. Why did Nurgle’s servants always prattle so much? He stepped forwards and Felyndael followed his example. ‘This city will belong to Sigmar once more, beast, whatever your name, whatever weapon you wield.’

‘Fie on thee, fie and ruin,’ the Rotbringer rumbled. ‘This land is ours, by blight and conquest. You shall not have it — the Lady of Cankerwall has seen it and so it must be. I, Dolorugus, say thee nay.’ He swung his flail towards Felyndael, and the tree-revenant ducked aside. The blow arced over his head and obliterated a pillar of winding reeds.

Aetius charged, hammer thudding down to draw sludgy ichor from the surface of Dolorugus’ chest-plate. The gibbering faces set there began to wail and howl as the hammer cracked steaming scars across them. Dolorugus stepped back. His flail smashed down. Aetius interposed his shield, but the force of the blow drove him to one knee.

‘The basilica is mine. I will ring the pox-bells and call forth every mouldering thing in these marshy lands to my banner, and more besides. We will make this place a bastion — a temple to the King of All Flies. We will be the gate to the Garden, and break armies in Grandfather’s name,’ Dolorugus rumbled as he drove his cloven hoof into Aetius’ chest and sent him flying backwards. ‘Starting with yours, faithless one.’

Aetius groaned and clambered to his feet. His chest ached. Dolorugus was strong. But his faith in Sigmar was stronger. He shoved himself forwards, hammer raised in both hands. Dolorugus swatted him aside. Aetius stumbled, sinking to one knee. Dolorugus reached out with one wide paw and caught the Liberator-Prime by the back of his head. Aetius clawed at his foe’s fingers as Dolorugus’ grip tightened. Smoke rose from his hand as the blessed sigmarite seared his cankerous flesh.

Dolorugus roared in pain and hurled Aetius aside. The Rotbringer flexed his hand. ‘That stung,’ he grunted. ‘The pain is good, though. Victory without pain is anything but. I knew pain, dragging those bells here from Cankerwall, and I will know pain again, before long. Pain brings clarity of purpose. Let me show you.’

Aetius barely heard him. He forced himself up, groping blindly for the haft of his hammer. The chamber seemed to be shaking, and the reeds beneath him were loose and soft. Water bubbled up from between them. He looked around for Felyndael, but didn’t see him. Had the tree-revenant abandoned him?

He caught up his hammer, but before he could rise, Dolorugus planted a hoof between his shoulder blades. ‘A valiant effort,’ the Chaos champion rumbled. ‘But as I said — clarity. It is too late. The bells still ring, and the walls of this pale world grow thin. The tallymen heed the summoning knell… see! See!’

And Aetius did. Strange shapes shimmered in the murk of the chamber, not quite solid yet, but growing more so with every clang of the unseen bells. Suddenly, Aetius knew what his foe had meant by ‘more besides’. He’d faced daemons before. He couldn’t help but recognise their infernal stink as it grew stronger and stronger, almost choking him. ‘Sigmar give me strength,’ he whispered in growing horror.

‘There is no Sigmar here, my friend,’ Dolorugus rumbled. ‘Only Nurgle.’

Felyndael dived into the reeds as the blow arced over him. The sounds of the struggle and the bells faded, swallowed by the reeds and water. Aetius would have to fight alone. Only while the enemy was distracted would Felyndael have the time he needed to do what must be done. Though he knew it was necessary, it rankled. The Stormcast had hurled himself into battle on Felyndael’s behalf with a resolve that reminded the tree-revenant of glories past.