Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

‘Only the faithful,’ he snarled, shattering a daemon blade and chopping into its wielder’s chest.

A second blade glanced from his shoulderplate and he spun. Gardus bashed the plaguebearer from its feet with a swipe of his hammer. Before it could even attempt to rise, a halberd flashed, removing its head from its shoulders. Grymn tore his weapon free of the daemon’s remains as it sank below the swirling waters and said, ‘The big one is our true foe.’

‘Agreed, Lorrus,’ Gardus said. ‘But there’s an army between him and us.’ He crossed his weapons and caught a descending plaguesword at their crux. The plaguebearer groaned and Gardus kicked it in its bulging belly, knocking it backwards. As it fell, Grymn’s gryph-hound shot forward and leapt upon it, savaging it mercilessly. He ignored the daemon’s squeals and turned back to Grymn. ‘We’ll have to carve ourselves a—’

‘A path? It seems Ultrades beat us to it,’ Grymn said, gesturing with his halberd. ‘Look!’

Gardus did, and felt his heart stutter in his chest, as his fellow Lord-Celestant led a wedge of Stormcasts through a gap in the enemy ranks, straight towards the greater daemon. Their charge slowed as they reached the thick slop emanating from the daemon’s flabby haunches, where filth and water had mingled to form a tarry barrier. Ultrades tore his men a path and a phalanx of Liberators lurched forward, shields raised.

Pupa Grotesse glared down at the interlopers and bellowed in rage. A boulder-like fist descended from on high and Stormcasts were crushed, their bloody forms swiftly discorporating. The massive flail whirled and whole retinues were hurled back like broken dolls. Only Ultrades and his Decimators made it past these obstacles, but their blows rebounded harmlessly from the Great Unclean One’s elephantine hide. Pupa Grotesse roared in fury and swiped out one long arm to send shattered bodies flying. Many vanished in explosions of blue light, while others sank without a trace in the noxious waters.

Ultrades himself was nearly felled, driven to one knee in the water by a blow from Pupa Grotesse’s flail. He strained against the weight of the weapon, even as he was driven deeper and deeper into the filthy waters. Ultrades was strong — all Stormcasts were — but even he was no match for such a creature. Nonetheless, he was keeping the beast occupied, which meant they had a chance, however slim. We have to move quickly, Gardus thought, and looked at Grymn. ‘Hold here, rally our brothers, keep them away from that beast.’ He turned. ‘Morbus — to me!’

A burst of lightning danced across the water, frying a plague-beast in mid-bound. Lord-Relictor Morbus stepped through the swirling cloud of ashes.

‘I am here, Lord-Celestant. Proceed, and I shall follow,’ he rasped. Gardus nodded sharply, and began to bludgeon his way towards the greater daemon.

He lashed out with sword and hammer as he moved. Both weapons crackled with white fire as he slew plaguebearer and beast of Nurgle alike when they dared interpose themselves. Morbus followed close behind, lightning snarling from his reliquary to streak across the waters towards their foe. The crackling bolt slammed home, and the Great Unclean One reeled with an agonized roar. Smoke boiled from his gaping pores as he stretched out his long arm towards Morbus, who drew the beast’s attention away from his Lord-Celestant with a second bolt of lightning, as accurately aimed as the first. Sigmar bless you, Morbus — as ever, you know what I require before I ask, Gardus thought, as he charged beneath the sweep of the daemon’s flail. The daemon turned away from Ultrades, who sank back into the water, exhausted.

Morbus lashed out with his hammer, shattering one of the creature’s fingers. Pupa Grotesse roared out unintelligible curses and, ignoring his wounded digit, plucked Morbus from the water. He raised the struggling Lord-Relictor up and examined him, as Morbus struggled futilely in his grip. He said something in a rumbling, glottal voice that was too deep to be understood by human ears, and lifted Morbus higher. The Great Unclean One’s grotesque jaw distended, gaping wider than seemed entirely possible, even for such a massive being.

Gardus put on a burst of speed and ran up a stump of rotten driftwood. As he moved, he summoned a word from the pits of his memory — no, not a word, rather, a name. A name spoken by Bolathrax, in his heedless gloating. The true name of the being that called itself Pupa Grotesse — and to a daemon, its true name might as well be a blade aimed at its black heart. Gardus leapt, sword raised, and screamed the name, spitting the deranged syllables as if they were bolts from a crossbow. The name quavered on the stinking air, and the Great Unclean One turned, eyes wide, Morbus all but forgotten.