Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘I do not fear you. This is the moment I was created for,’ Goral said, lifting Lifebiter. But his words sounded hollow, and his axe shuddered fearfully in his grip. I am not afraid. I am the Lord-Duke of Festerfane and I am not afraid, he thought. The carpet of grass undulated beneath his feet. ‘I am not afraid — my moment has come! Come, come and die, monster,’ he shouted, turning slowly. ‘Where are you?’

Screams were the only reply. The screams of his warriors, as something hurt them, deep in the dark. He heard the whine of crumpling armour, and the squeals of dying horses. And above it all, the laughter. It spread like a miasma, creeping under the branches and winding about him. A low, sad sound, made horrifying by its incongruity. Whatever was out there was laughing as it spilt seas of sour blood. But there was no humour in the sound, no joy. They weren’t even enjoying the slaughter, and that made it all the worse.

Goral turned. The heartstones still throbbed. They pulsed with heat, like an infected wound. But it wasn’t the right sort of infection. It was wrong, like the forest. It was all wrong. He wondered whether the others who had fallen here had known as much, in their final moments. This place lived. It would not, could not surrender. Not to axes or fire. Not to despair. The mad did not know when they were beaten, and this place was truly mad.

He felt the old familiar fingers of despair, such as he had known only once before, when he’d been who he was, before Blighthoof had come to him. He had not been Goral then, but in despair he’d found strength. In surrender, he’d found purpose. ‘As I have found it now,’ he said, raising Lifebiter.

If he could not befoul the stones, he would destroy them. If he could not tame this place, he would lay it low, at least. He would hurt it as it had never been hurt. ‘Lend me your strength, Grandfather,’ Goral said, as he advanced on the stones. One blow would be enough to spread a contagion that would never be cured. This place would wither and die, though not immediately, and he suspected he would not be here to see it.

The pulse quickened, as if the stones knew what he intended and were afraid. He smiled. Good. It was good that he had taught them that much, at least. Lifebiter sang in his hands as he readied the killing blow. ‘In Grandfather’s name, for the honour of the Order of the Fly—’

A branch snapped behind him.

Goral spun. A blow smashed him from his feet. Somehow he managed to hold onto Lifebiter, and used the haft of the axe to lever himself upright. The thing followed him as he rose and stumbled back. How had he not seen it before? How could such a creature hide? Or had it been following him?

It was like nothing he had ever seen before, a hideous instrument of life run riot. It towered over him. Long, bestial limbs sprouted horrid blossoms across a surface that was swelling and contracting constantly. Great, honey-soaked hives clung to its shoulders and torso, their chambers full of squirming, humming shapes. Iridescent insects bored in and out of its flesh in continuous activity. Flowers blossomed, unfurled and withered in the space of moments, before repeating the cycle. Long, flat talons, dripping with gore, flexed as if in anticipation. But its face was the worst of all, at once feminine and monstrous in its nest of thorny locks.

That hideous head cocked, watching him. Gleaming tears of sap ran down its face. Goral couldn’t breathe. The air had grown thick and sweet. Insects circled him, wings shimmering with dew and light. He could no longer feel Grandfather’s presence. Lifebiter whimpered in his hands, and he knew the axe was afraid.

The moment stretched taut. The abomination lifted a claw. Goral recognised what was left of Sir Culgus’ face, twisting on a talon-tip.

‘For Nurgle, and the Garden,’ Goral roared. He lunged, Lifebiter raised. A blow rocked him back on his heels. A second lifted him into the air. Lifebiter slipped from numb fingers as he hurtled backwards. His back struck something unyielding, and he felt his spine crack. The warmth of the stones spread over him, and he clawed uselessly at the ground, trying to move away from it. He could feel it burning the blessings of Nurgle from him. The grass caressed his limbs, snaring them. Soil filled his mouth and he gagged. His legs didn’t work. In time, if he managed to get away, his back might heal, but for now, he was all but helpless. Crippled and broken. The grass pressed against him, seeking a way beneath his armour. It murmured to him and the heartstones sang softly, but he refused to listen.

Desperate now, remembering what had happened to Blighthoof, Goral tore an arm free of the winding grasses and groped for Lifebiter’s haft. If he could reach the axe… if… if… if. Wood creaked and the smell of honey filled his nose. The abomination sank to its haunches and watched him. Strange insect-like things crawled in and out of its hives. It reached out with one claw and touched Lifebiter.