Age of Sigmar: Omnibus

Lightning flared, pitting its purer light against the dark radiance of the fire. Methodically the Judicators sent volley after volley of stormbolts into the approaching firewall. But they clanged against the flames with the sound of struck metal. Their lightning went out, and they fell to the ground.

‘Loose!’ ordered Eldroc.

The Judicators’ aim was true. Not a bolt missed its mark, but every missile was stopped as surely as an axe blow is turned by sigmarite. The flames grew to encompass the breadth of the platform. The runes of the duardin gate spat sparks as they were caressed by unclean light. There was no heat from the flames, but they radiated a dull prickliness that set Eldroc’s teeth on edge. The energies contained within his body reacted, writhing across his war harness in a series of short, hopping sparks. Smoke that smelled of brimstone and flowers rose from the armour joints of the Stormcasts.

The fire drew closer until it was thirty yards from the Judicators. Eldroc held up his hand to shield his eyes. Behind the fire he discerned dark shapes. Silhouettes wavered in the flame, warriors joined into one long, spiked profile. They were as tall as his own Stormcast Eternals, decked in heavy plate armour, helms crowned with horns and strange crests. Cavalry rode in the centre upon massive horses. Infantry were to the flanks, carrying huge, cruel-bladed axes. There was something else, a large shape that hovered behind and above the warriors of Chaos, but the nature of that was obscured by the fire, which seemed to gather itself more thickly and fluidly there, protective of its secret.

‘Sound the horns! Order the cliff guard down to the gate!’ shouted Eldroc.

Silver horns blared, the purity of their notes dispelling some of the odd sensation projected by the fire.

The firewall dissipated, revealing the Chaos host behind: at least two hundred of them, armoured in blue and yellow, bright steel and bronze, vile decorations upon their plate. The Chaos warriors and Stormcasts were opposite sides of the same coin, both kinds energised by divine will, but whereas the Stormcasts had had their souls uplifted by Sigmar, here were men who had sacrificed theirs for power.

The ranks of Liberators fluidly parted, allowing the Judicators to retreat and take refuge behind them. They locked shields again at the exact moment the warriors of Tzeentch roared and charged.

The flanks came in first, smashing into the outer limbs of the Bladestorms’ own formation. At that moment, Eldroc lost sight of Thostos, and his view of the battle drew in.

The crash of the meeting lines was deafening, a sound out of the ages of myth when the gods themselves clashed weapon on weapon. The Stormcasts raised their shields, taking blows that would have cut an ogor in half. Hammers descended in reply, battering Chaos armour to shards and pulverising the flesh beneath. Both sides exhorted their divine masters to bring them victory. Prayers to the Lord of Change were matched by Sigmarite hymns of war, and the very air boiled where they met in contest.

As the fire went out, Eldroc saw the shape it had concealed. Upon a spinning disk of purest gold rode a tall man in dark robes with long, pointed horns. A gangrel sorcerer, a disciple of change. He plucked at the air with long fingers, dragging power from the stuff of creation and hurling it at the centre of the Bladestorms’ line. These flickering bolts of multicoloured magic transmuted themselves into spears of burning quicksilver as they flew. One burst through the Stormcasts to Eldroc’s left. With a peal of thunder, the warrior discorporated and a flash of light raced upwards, back to the Reforging chambers of the Sigmarabulum. The warriors of Chaos were mighty foes, and there were more of these departures. But the Bladestorms would not yield. With each death, the Liberators bunched tighter, allowing no gap in their shieldwall. Skybolts arced over the front ranks, blasting Chaos warriors from their feet. The Chaos infantry were fully invested in the fight, but as yet the knights of Chaos had not engaged. They stood ready, mutant horses snorting, but they remained unmoving.

‘Stand ready, my brothers!’ yelled Eldroc. The footmen were attempting to pin the Stormcasts’ flanks in place, pressuring them so that more Stormcasts were drawn from the centre while it was further weakened by the magic of their leader. To the west, the Lord-Castellant caught sight of Thostos embattled, but lost him in the press of warriors gathering there again. Eldroc judged that the knights were waiting until the line’s middle was sufficiently depleted so that they could burst it asunder with their charge.

If that were the foe’s plan, it was failing. The Stormcasts did not weaken. The line remained tight; no gap opened up.