Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

The Liberator’s reply was lost in the howl of the wind. Tegrus aimed himself towards the island, hoping that it would hold together long enough to land more or less safely. The mountain drifted lower and lower, losing pieces of itself all the while, as the acidic pus ate away at it from roots to crags. A dull groan, as of a living thing in agony, rose from it as it sank towards the shallows of the River Vitalis.

Tegrus rose upwards as the island struck the ground with a thunderous roar. Entire mobs of plague daemons were crushed beneath it as it fell, and more were similarly obliterated as the island collapsed in on itself. A tsunami of infected water surged back along the course of the river, escaping the banks and washing over the massive shape of the Great Unclean One squatting at the river’s heart. Tegrus stared in horror at the monstrosity. The creature was far larger than the beast that had attacked them in the Ghyrtract Fen, as if swollen by the stolen vitality of the river. The greater daemon roared in outrage as the dust thrown up by the island’s fall began to clear, and yanked a rusted flail from the water.

Pupa Grotesse forced himself to his feet with a second, rolling bellow and slashed out with the flail, smashing at the river. Turgid, brown-frothed waves smacked into the remains of the island, washing over it and clearing the dust and steam. Tegrus dropped from the air, depositing his burden. The Liberator looked at him.

‘Olanus,’ he said, raising the hammer he’d somehow managed to retain in salute.

‘Tegrus,’ Tegrus said, returning the warrior’s salute. He looked around. He saw no other Stormcasts — he couldn’t even see his Prosecutors, thanks to the haze thrown up by the island’s descent. Talbion crumbled behind them, dying if not already dead. Tegrus felt something that might have been sadness as he watched the mass of rock and earth split and dissolve in the flowing waters of the river. There had been something — some spirit, some soul — in it that was, while not human, still a life to be mourned.

We will not see your like again, he thought, as he turned back to face the distant shape of the Great Unclean One.

It was enormous, almost a mountain in its own right, if a mountain could walk. Where its shadow fell, the water frothed and was made foul, and its motion set the river to churning. ‘That is the beast Gardus spoke of,’ Olanus said.

‘Aye, it is,’ Tegrus replied. He said it calmly, masking the worry he felt. Perhaps the others were simply trapped — he had seen no telltale flash of azure, signalling the demise of his fellows. Either way, they were not in evidence.

Tegrus made ready to thrust himself into the air once more. If he could get above the beast, he might be able to distract it long enough for Olanus to get in close. He turned to say as much to his fellow Stormcast, when Olanus suddenly gave a grunt of pain and stumbled.

Tegrus spun, and saw a plaguebearer rising from the water behind the Liberator. Some of the daemons had survived the island’s fall, after all. This one had found a gap in Olanus’ armour, and it wrenched its sword free with a ghastly grin as blue light erupted from the eye and mouth slits of the dying Liberator’s helm. Tegrus moved to strike the beast down, but a splash from behind alerted him to his own danger. More of the daemons burst from the foetid waters and launched themselves at him, rusty blades drawing sparks from his hammers as he interposed them. More plaguebearers rose around him, erupting from the water like aggressive flotsam.

He fought desperately, trying to hold them at bay. His wings snapped out, swift as sword-strikes, their crackling feathers burning open loathsome guts as his hammers shattered diseased blades and plague-ridden bones alike, but there were too many of them. Rotting hands caught his limbs and he was yanked off-balance. He fell onto his back in the water, frantically parrying the weapons that sought his belly and head. Plaguebearers flung themselves on him, weighing him down, scrabbling at his armour, seeking to pry open the gaps so that their fellows could finish him off. Tegrus screamed in futile rage as his forearms were pinned beneath the water and a flabby, peeling foot crashed onto his chest, holding him down.

The plaguebearer that stood on him raised its sword in two hands for a killing thrust. It leered down at him, single eye burning with malign pleasure as it considered his plight. Tegrus thrashed, but was unable to tear himself free.

Suddenly, his would-be killer’s skull burst like an overripe fruit. A sword flashed, lopping off limbs and chopping through heads, and then Tegrus was free. He looked up as Gardus sheathed his sword and extended his free hand.

‘Up, Tegrus… I need you in the sky, Prosecutor.’

‘Gladly, Lord-Celestant. I confess, I am not at my best on the ground,’ Tegrus said, as Gardus pulled him to his feet.

Gardus nodded.