Hours ago...
Fire. Ulthuan was on fire. Tyrion saw it everywhere. Cities had fallen to cinder and the screams of his people were heard. Distorted and terrible in their cries. Bodies immolated by the fires, all in petrified agony. Massive ships slowly landed onto the beaches from the shores, sailing terrible flags of the Witch-King's personal heraldry. Great footsteps echoed the streets as the Druchii marched in unison, prowling for the wounded and the weak. Tyrion grasped for his sword only to find none on his belt. Moreover, he was no longer in his famed armour. Only in tattered rags. Seeing himself vulnerable, the Defender of Ulthuan scrambled for cover, running into an alley nearby. The walls grew taller and the path became almost narrow as he ventured the darkness, evading the sentries behind him as he escaped. Yet, he braved his escape, with a faint hope of finding the remaining Asur soldiers still left in the burning city. And following that thought, were his fears. Alarielle. Aliathra. Teclis. Where were they? Did they make it to safety? Could they have been captured? His fears turned to terror as he thought of them. Of what the druchii would have done to them. He ran and ran, his legs never failing him as he raced for the hope of seeing his family alive. The chase only ended as Tyrion now found himself at a crossroads. He stood centre of it, searching for a path to freedom... and avoiding the clutches of terrible evil.
"Tyrion..." He heard, turning his head in search of his caller. Melodious in its voice. Female and in sombre, it was. "This way..."
The Defender turned and turned to see who called but lost her, all while footsteps grew closer. A flash of something caught the corner of his eye, and Tyrion turned in time to see a faintly female figure pass through one of the paths. Risking it all, Tyrion followed the figure into the passage he witnessed. After taking so many turns, the way was finally lit as light beaconed further away from the Son of Cothique. Tyrion sprinted as fast and hard as he could in his legs, ignoring the fire and loss of air as he pushed himself towards liberation. The pathway finally ended and the Warrior twin found himself yet again in the streets of what was Lothern. The light vanished, revealing fires had died down, only smoke and ash covered the streets like blankets of snow. Burnt bodies were curled up in painful positions, others simply impaled on makeshift poles. Tyrion was accustomed to the horrors inflicted by the druchii. But to see his very lands be put upon the pyre like this only brought anger and sorrow as he made his way through the desolate street of what was once a beautiful paradise. Mists of smoke blanketed around him, impairing his sense of direction like a thick fog. Aimlessly, he wandered.
"Hurry..." He heard the voice again. It sounded so familiar. The voice enthralled him to follow. His intuition, this time, was better and he navigated through the ashy mist. The smoky fog was thick but the air was still oddly bearable to breathe in. He did not at all seem deterred by it, let alone choked by it. Tyrion breathed in the normally suffocating smog like it were oxygen, showing no ill effects of it. Whether it was of magical nature or not hardly mattered as he heard the cries close by.
"Help me, father!"
"Aliathra!" Tyrion called out, fear growing within as he recognized the distressed call of the Everchild. His own daughter. Born in secrecy between his true love, Alarielle the Radiant, and himself. Swiflty, he moved.
"Father, save me!"
"I'm coming, Ali!" He called out, desperately rushing through the fire and smoke. Running endlessly, he could hear more voices growing louder with each step he took.
"Tyrion, my love! Help!"
"Brother! Save us!"
"Alarielle! Teclis! Where are you?!" Tyrion cried out, to no avail. They called to him yet no answer came. The fog was thick and even when he seemed so close, they were always at a distance from him. His heartbeat was giving out and he felt the fire in his veins wearing him out. His relentlessness, however, pushed him to search endlessly. As he continued, the smoke began to clear out. The ground was visible and the smoke receded from him. Slowly, his speed decreased. His running slowed down to simple walking in mere seconds as the fog dissipated. Far away, three silhouettes made their presence behind the mist. Tyrion stopped in his tracks and took into a combat stance. He was unarmed but no stranger to fisticuffs. The shadows came closer. Tyrion's heart was beating to a normal. Neither fast nor slow even under the fear of death. He fought for all of his adulthood, and this will not be the last. Fists clenched tighter as the figures drew close, almost digging through the palms to draw blood. The first stepped out and out came a woman who had reached maturity. Tyrion's fists unravelled and rushed towards her. Her face had the qualities of both her mother and Tyrion's.
"Ali!" He cried, embracing her so that he might have crushed her in his grip. A father's love gripped him, a feeling most triumphant than the victories in the aftermath of each battle he fought. Behind his daughter, the other two made themselves known. The second came in the recognizable turquoise silk that suited her figure. She represented the will of Isha, and stood as the mother of all Elves; be it Asur, Druchii, or Asrai. The third and final donned his armor as befitting a follower of Lileath, with the War Crown of Saphery and the Moon Staff of Lileath to complete the look. Tyrion's heart filled itself with joy and relief to see all have survived.
"Alarielle! Brother!" He cried. "You're all alive!"
Tyrion's emotions blossomed so much he never noticed the solemn looks on their expressions. He was bursting with energy and was content to escape with them.
"Come! We must find safety! This city is no longer safe! We'll have to-?!" Tyrion was interrupted as he felt his daughter grip tightly on his arms. He looked down and noticed for the first time the sad expression on Aliathra.
"Why didn't you save me, papa?" She asked in a pleading tone. "Why did you leave me to die?"
Tyrion was speechless in confusion and scrambled for words.
"W-What are you talking about, Ali? I'm right here! I found you!"
"No. You didn't! Look what they did to me!" Ali cried, tears running down her face as she pulled her hands to his face. Tyrion's blood froze as he saw her wrists were slashed and blood spilled from them. Fear and panic gripped him tightly like a serpent coiling him. Tyrion desperately covered her bleeding wrists with the torn cloth on him, staunching them in futility.
"You left me to die! YOU DID THIS TO ME! WHY COULDN'T YOU SAVE ME?!" Aliathra screamed, now with a face of anguish and rage as she pulled away from him.
"I-I..." Tyrion's throat hitched in shock, few words escaping. "I w-wanted to save you... y-you're my daughter..."
As if compelled, his daughter fell to the ground after and Tyrion held her in his arms; cradling her as he apologized to her, over and over.
"I'm sorry..." He repeated.
His daughter's glare remained even as she was slipping away; turning her head away from him as if to shun him. Realizing the other two still stood in place, Tyrion called out to both his wife and brother.
"Alarielle! Brother! Please! Help her!" He pleaded. Neither showed concern for their own child.
"No, my love." Alarielle spoke first, despair oozing out of her voice. "There is nothing we could do. She is lost to us...as am I."
The ground quake following Alarielle's final words. Huge metal spikes jutted upwards and surrounded Tyrion's paramour, revealing themselves as fingers of a massive giant. Tyrion watched helplessly as Alarielle was lifted from the ground stolen away to meet the snarling mask of the dreaded Witch-King.
"Alarielle!" He called out to her. The hand slowly closed in on the Everqueen. Alarielle didn't even scream as Malekith's hand slowly curled itself into a fist. Tyrion was unable to witness her death as the hand obscured her, only the sickening crunch and blood pouring to the ground was enough to break him. Malekith's emerald eyes glowed with oppressive malice as he looked down upon the weak Asur. A peal of dark laughter bellowed from the giant, mocking Tyrion like a knife twisted through his ears. Tyrion's head keeled over and wept as he lost his greatest love before his eyes, and their daughter would follow after. Teclis still stood motionless, unphased by his brother's sobbing state.
"Teclis..." Pleaded Tyrion, almost silently as a whisper. "Please... save her... save my daughter..."
"No, brother." Replied Teclis, almost uncaring to a degree. "She was destined to die. Malekith will take his place as our lord. And you... will not stop this from unfolding."
Distraught and horrified by his brother's declaration, Tyrion felt almost every emotion clawing out of his skin.
Betrayal. Anger. Despair. They were seeking to unleash themselves. Tyrion's gaze turned baleful and prepared to roar in anger. No words came, however, and in near moments of reacting, his chest exploded in visceral gore. A sword impaled him through the chest from the back. The blade was still burning, melting his flesh and boiling what blood was left spilling out of him. The pain, he thought. Oh, what imaginable pain he felt. To be stabbed was one thing, but to feel burning metal cook his flesh was horrible. Tyrion tried to scream as he felt the agony coursing through his veins but nothing escaped his voice. Only strangled gurgling noises came as he choked on the blood.
As he struggled to remain alive, a figure circled behind him. It was huge. Stout. Bulky, even. And above all, it was smouldering in flames. It was built like one of the barbarians of the Chaos Wastes. Titanic in size. The armor, however, was distinct. It bore no marks of the Dark Gods. Nowhere near as impractical nor unconventional as the supposed champions of their foul deities. No, it bore resemblance to a sinister figure he had met. A daemon summoned by his own brother. The so-called Doom Slayer. And now he stood over the Defender of Ulthuan with utter disdain. Insignificant in the human's eyes.
The Slayer gripped the sword by the blade, which suddenly morphed, reversing itself with each end switching positions. Finally transformed, the burning giant pulled the sword free from Tyrion's chest cavity. The sole asur remained remarkably alive despite the impalement. Tyrion, seeing the sword in its glory, realized that it was nothing he had expected. In the Slayer's hand, was the fabled sword Aenarion wielded in life. The Widowmaker. The Sword of Khaine. And in his horror, Tyrion watched as the Slayer raised the flaming blade over his head and swung it down. Tyrion screamed for his life as the blade reached its intended target.
Tyrion gasped as he was stirred awake from his bed. It was the dark of the night in his home. The stars bloomed all over the sky and the darkness cascaded over like a blanket. But there was no comfort in his own home. The scream tormented him even as he came to the reality of it all, before realizing the scream came from someone else in the room. Tyrion darted back to the person next to him, wailing in anguish.
"ALIIIII! ALIIIII!" Cried Alarielle as she thrashed around in her sleep, arms flailing in the air as she reached for something. Tyrion immediately shook her to wake up in fear.
"Alarielle! Wake up! I am here! You're having a nightmare! Open your eyes!" Tyrion urged her, calming her in his embrace. He stroked to cool her down and hushed as gently as he could. The doors to their room burst open and the handmaidens came rushing in, alerted by the Everqueen's wails.
"What has happened to the Everqueen?!"
"She's having a nightmare! Help me!" Tyrion answered. The handmaidens quickly gathered and one set off a spell to wake her up. Alarielle, having been given clarity, calmed down as she awoke. However, the Everqueen broke down in Tyrion's embrace following her nightmare. She weeped again and gripped tightly in Tyrion's arms. The prince spoke up but gently.
"Alarielle, it's me." He soothed. "I am here. What happened?"
"I-I..." She faltered. "I-I sense her..."
"What do you mean?" Tyrion asked, now concerned for her. "Who are you sensing?"
"A-Aliathra..." She answered. "T-They took her... T-They took Ali..."
"Who?" Asked Tyrion. His heart now coiled with fear. "Who took her?"
Alarielle's eyes stayed almost blank. Wide-eyed but only expressed in trauma and terror. She slowly looked up to her lover, and the words that followed gripped him tightly.
"The demons." She spoke in a halting whisper. "The demons have taken her."
At that, Alarielle reduced herself to a sobbing wreck, kneeling her head against her beloved prince's chest. Tyrion's greatest fears rose up and wrapped his heart in a vice grip. Their daughter was now in danger, and outside the safety of Ulthuan's defense. With no other choice, Tyrion would now have to force his hand into the matter. Look up to the handmaidens, who despite serving only their queen, Tyrion made his orders clear.
"Handmaidens." Tyrion announced. "Though I am not your lord, I must make my request: send word to the barracks. Muster the Lions, the Sea Guard, my brother! Anyone! The Everchild is in danger!"
The maidens, not accustomed to a prince giving out orders, understood the dire situation and moved hurriedly. The guards rushed out, some staying behind to alleviate the Queen's pain. Regardless, it was Tyrion's duty to protect both the Everqueen and her Child. Their Child. And he would go to the ends of the world to see their daughter safely returned, he thought.
The Darklands - Daniel Pemberton (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword OST)
Present...
The clouds were glowing with the sun gliding over, giving an ethereal glow above the cavalry. For a few hours, it had been mere darkness save for the purple-lit torches that guided the cavalry. The harsh winters of Naggaroth posed a difficult challenge for the temporary alliance of the asur-druchii cavalry. Even if they were accustomed to the cold, the dark elves were all but invulnerable to the climate. Yet their arrogance proved to be an advantage to their situation. Under the grasp of the Blood Queen, the men and women of Har Ganeth followed under her, lest their disobedience catches her attention. For Alith, he and his men were disciplined to treat their entire lives as being on the edge of death; spending their lives fighting in enemy territory, with the druchii as their prime targets.
For the Slayer, the cold didn't really dampen his trek whatsoever. The Arctic had similar temperatures and even then, the powers he had made him invulnerable to the same weakness a normal human would go through. That being said, just looking at Alith reminded the marine that there are others amongst him that don't have the same privilege as he did. What did bother him however was the fragile ceasefire between Hellebron's and Alith's troops. Doom Slayer could feel the deathly glances given to him from the high priestess and her cohorts. Not that they could even pose any significant damage to him. Even if they could, they are but mosquitoes to a giant like him.
"The Road of Skulls is the fastest route we can take!" Yelled Hellebron, galloping in her dark horse. "If no interference poses itself, we'll be to the king's fortress in a day or two at this speed!"
"You'll have to factor in the possibilities of a Chaos Warband colliding with ours considering the invasion unfolding all around us!" Alith countered. This brought him a contemptuous grin from Hellebron.
"If you're so worried about being captured by them, don't be! We'll give you the mercy you've asked before they do!" Hellebron casually threatened. On that remark, Doom Slayer turned his baleful gaze back at the woman, who did her best to not let the Slayer's glare get to her lowered confidence.
"Do remember that you have me in your presence, Hellebron." Hayden reminded, indicating the Slayer in the company, though keeping the guise intact.
"My mind... slipped." Hellebron half-heartedly excused, feigning an apologetic tone to mask her rueful malice. Doom Slayer turned his head to the road ahead, still keeping his eyes on the witch. The witch, meanwhile, glanced to his mount. The nauglir, to her surprise, showed no resistance to the rider's presence. In fact, it was fully submitted to the gigantic man's control. She scoffed otherwise, having no time to ponder the mystery behind the man.
Off in the distance, Alith spotted a snowstorm pushing its way from the north. He thought of it to be just that but the rumbling was unusual. Listening carefully, he heard the sound of multiple footsteps trampling the snow bed beneath.
The Shadow King, realizing the danger looming, yelled, "From the north! A threat descends!"
By his words, the elf riders prepared their bows and crossbows. Doom Slayer, likewise, grabbed the Heavy Cannon in preparation. The moving storm drew closer, with shadowy apparitions revealing within. A beast burst forth, revealing itself to be a warhound of Chaos. Jagged teeth and bone protruded from its mangled face and orifice. More jumped from the snowstorm and descended upon the elves with avaricious hunger. Alith nocked the first arrow and slammed it into the first mutt, straight through the back of its throat. The beast toppled over and rolled on the snow, body trampled over by its other kin. A rain of arrows followed suit, delivering death upon the daemonic packs. Hellebron and the witches joined as well, carrying smaller crossbows to keep the beasts at bay despite being inexperienced and untrained in their hands. Still, they manage to punch holes into the rabid beasts' flesh and fur. Doom Slayer, predictably, supported his lot with his own fusillade of micro missiles, depleting the hounds' numbers with explosive results. Regular rounds would have been applicable were it not for the thundering barrage that the gun produced, spooking the mounts to break cohesion and disrupt the mission. Even so, the missiles hit their strides alright. But even as the cavalry dealt death from afar, more of the feral beasts continued to emerge from the rushing banks of snow. Terrible jaws oozing with toxic maladies, infused with the powers of Chaos coursing through their ill-ridden veins. The warhounds endured the raining death, pushing themselves to sate their appetite. And as if that weren't enough, a bigger breed of wolves appeared. Ice Wolves. Native only to the frozen tundras of Norsca.
As soon as they got close, Hellebron unsheathed Deathsword as they reached past the archery range and howled, "Druchii! Prepare death in hand! Spill blood and guts for Khaine!"
Men and women readied their swords in anticipation of the up-close and personal quarrel. Alith barked his own orders as well and the Shadow Warriors switched to theirs. The first wave of hounds collided with the closest elves they found, crashing into their horses with incredible force. Steeds toppled and riders crashed into the white road, immediately swarmed and devoured by the rabid dogs as they land. The surviving numbers retaliated with slashes of their swords and daggers. Doom Slayer switched to his axe, delivering a swing to a leaping hound. The beast met its end with sharp steel in a messy cut. His mount snapped its jaws as another hound came and trapped itself in the raptor's crushing maw.
"There's too many of them!" Cried Alith. "We're fighting against an endless tide here!"
"Then have your warrior use one of his magical weapons!" Snarled Hellebron. " I don't care how! Just get them off my back!"
Doom Slayer's helmet beeped as Hayden spoke inside his comms, grumbling the usual action. "You know what to do."
The marine grunted and whipped the nauglir to move forward. The two elves spotted the Slayer drifting away from the main body of riders, now leading the front of the feral packs, sparking ire from the Blood Hag.
"Where is that fool going?!" She hissed. "Since when has he been so fraught with fear?! And all it took was a storm of wretched hounds to set him off?!"
"If I'm not mistaken, he's usually up to something!" Alith argued, to which Hayden jumped in and said, "Be of no concern, Alith. Focus on getting to the Witch-King's location. I will have the Slayer track your coordinates while he keeps the wolves at bay. Go!"
With the message relayed, Alith whipped his horse to speed. Hellebron was left to the back with little idea of what was happening but made no attempt to claw out for information. As the horsemen bravely fend off the hounds, Doom Slayer summoned the Paingiver and launched rockets into the sky, detonating them as they reached the clouds. The explosions attracted many of the warhounds, leading them away from the elven host. The Slayer continued to detonate the rockets until the Paingiver was finally depleted. By this point, many of the rabid hounds had instead followed after the Slayer's mount. The nearest hounds closed in on him, snapping their jaws only to be met with a slug from the shotgun, heads exploding and dropping to the ground to be trampled to death. The Slayer cocked his gun and blasted away at the creeping horde. With more and more drawing, the Slayer drew out the axe and extended the Doomblade, preparing for vicious close quarters and reacting in kind. The nauglir, likewise, retaliated with tooth and claw to keep the wolves from getting close. Together, both man and beast fought with unmatched synergy as they rode through the darkness in search of an easy escape.
"Slayer." Hayden spoke up. "While you are preoccupied with the hounds, I have managed to locate an advantageous spot for you. A chokepoint. Just northwest of your location, there's a narrow valley that you could lure them into. Lead them there and end this chase. You already have the weapons at your disposal. I'll leave the rest to you."
A checkpoint appeared at the top of his visor, pinpointing the Slayer to his new location. Not one to turn down an advantage, Doom Slayer whipped again and steered his mount to his destination. The nauglir outpaced the hounds on the whims of his rider. Though it could feel exhaustion, the nauglir would prefer its survival over being fed to the hairy beasts. Besides, its master seemed much kinder compared to the last one who rode it.
From a distance, the Slayer could see the unmistakable shape of a valley with only an opening pass. The nauglir sensed the rider's intentions and dashed straight to the canyon. Behind, hordes of mutated wolves picked up their speeds, eagerly chasing their stubborn prey. The distance, of course, had been exactly farther enough for the Slayer. The nauglir's determination proved itself to be the better sprinter.
The vast outline of the valley became more visible to the Slayer, growing taller and taller as they reached the narrow pass. The path was small enough to force the bulk of the horde to squeeze. Other times, it would've deterred smarter enemies but their pursuers were too desperate and hungry to care, trampling their own kind was merely an obstacle for the prized meal.
In another brazen display of human valor, the Slayer jumped off from his reptilian steed as the Nauglir raced halfway through the valley. The nauglir felt the weight of its rider lifted from its back with surprise and relief, but continued its escape. The Slayer, meanwhile, held his ground and unleashed the Ballistae into his hands. The Destroyer Blade revved up its malevolent power; its deathly heat melting the snow around him. The ground rumbled with grave danger, the packs were coming close despite the storm's obscurity. Not one to hesitate, the Slayer released the trigger, firing the scythe-like energy into the direction of the mob. The dying howls could be heard as the Blade sliced its way through one wave of the rabid beasts; never hindered by the bodies it left behind. The Slayer started up the ballista again, repeating the action, over and over.
Swathes of lifeless bodies started to pile and reached closer and closer, stacking and falling over with each blade severing through the corpses, both old and fresh, into the crashing waves. The dogs were relentless, however, with the lucky ones managing to avoid the deathly plasma blade and climbed over the pile. The Slayer sensed his weapon lose its juice, instinctively switching to the Chaingun. The quad-barrels expanded and whirled up to life, opening fire upon the nearest hound that opened its maw. Bullets pierced through the mass of hairy, mangled flesh that ran foolishly into the Marine's direction, ignoring all instincts for the mere taste of human flesh. Doom Slayer kept his thumb down on the trigger, never releasing it as the mongrels pushed their way through to get close. Other times, a grenade or two was launched over his shoulder once the mass got too big. The passage was clogged with the bodies of beasts, blocking the path for any sentient creature who would seek to go through it. Soon, the horde's numbers dwindled into small dozens of them. By then, the Slayer's rounds emptied from the massive weapon. With only a few dozen left alive, the Slayer got to work with the shotgun and blasted away. Small fries they were and no less stupid. The fight ended with little inconvenience, with the last of them receiving a boot over its head, crushing it to death.
The Slayer breathed heavily, not out of tiredness but of mild annoyance for getting sidetracked. By now, Alith was running alongside enemies who would be more than happy to cut him down at a moment's notice. His thoughts were interrupted as heard a growl nearby and turned with the shotgun only to find his mount tearing through the flesh of a dead hound with its teeth, enjoying its meal.
"I'll get word to Alith about this." Hayden spoke up. "And it seems you'll have to take a detour elsewhere."
Doom Slayer understood as he noted the mountain pile of corpses... that choked the entire route he just came through. He grunted indifferently.
"I've pinpointed a new direction that will allow you to traverse the next route. It'll take a while to get there but-"
Doom Slayer walked towards the feasting Nauglir. With both hands, the marine lifted the mount with his strength, much to the confusion of both Hayden and the raptor. Turning back and walking towards the blocked valley. Stopping before the wall of frozen flesh, the Slayer used all of his strength and launched the nauglir in the air, throwing it over successfully even with all the screaming that followed. Following this, Doom Slayer began to climb over, using the limbs to pull himself up to the top. Finally reaching over, the marine sled down to the bottom, where his mount was found shaking and glaring back with great offense, which had no effect on its rider.
"...but of course, you have other means of getting back." Hayden sighed. "I'll pinpoint Alith's location now."
"Unf." Grunted Doom Slayer, mounting his nauglir once more and chasing after the cavalry. Had the Slayer stayed behind the wall a little longer, he would've noticed the onslaught of greenskins riding their way towards the valley only to find their route blocked by the corpse mountain. Both the large brutish orcs and the snivelling crooked-nose goblins looked on in puzzlement by the sight. Some of them, however, grumbled about the weird noise that came from here. The sounds of explosion and vibration had them talking when their ears picked up. The goblin Krikzuz approached first, dismounting from his seal squig.
"Sure wasn't 'ere de last time I came through 'ere." Krikzuz remarked. "Damn. Means we'll have to smash through or git elsewhere."
Turning back, Krikzuz noticed the warboss approaching, riding upon his boar. Of the orcs, he was the largest of their kind. He was a Black Orc, the toughest, meanest and strongest of them. His black armor brought fear in his lads yet was revered by all who sought a good fight. And a good fight was found in breaking the knife ears who put them in chains and whipped them to do the humiliating labor work.
"Looks like dem pointy earz are gettin' more and more cunning, Warboss." Krikzuz reported. "That or da red gits have been gettin' real choppy lately."
A loud snort blasted from the Black Orc. The goblin could sense the slight hint of irritability from his boss. Krikzuz took a step back to give way for the orc, only to accidentally kick something next to his feet. Curious, he looked down to find something shiny. Picking it up, he opened his hand to discover a spent shell. The scent on it was still fresh and he could recognize the smell of gunpowder deep inside the cylindrical metal. Prior, Krukziz had belonged to the Old World continent where the boys were eager to smash the umiez of the Empire before the pointy ears snatched him and his boys. The goblin could tell it was them. He then noticed there were several more on the ground beneath. The goblin was curious to see so many on the snow.
"Seemz we got sum umiez over 'ere." Krukziz asserted. "Dey brought dem boomsticks to the fightin'. 'Splains all that thunda we 'eard. But whateva dey got on dem handz, cud be useful fer us."
"Dat don't 'splain the footprints lef behind." The orc finally spoke, pointing at the tracks below. "Cuz I spotted only two gits' tracks."
Krukziz looked to where his boss was pointing, two pairs of feet - one human, the other bestial - much to the goblin's embarrassment. "Oh."
The green-skinned behemoth dismissively walked past his lieutenant and stood before the wall. The tracks stopped before the carcass mountain and looked up, thinking how lonesome git managed to get over the top. Then again, he also thought of how this git managed to best a horde of the mongrels by his lonesome. The metal bits that were strewn all over brought him to the conclusion that this lad was a tough one. The red gits would have been his prime suspects but the booming thunderous noise that the boys heard from afar made him think twice. With no patience to reroute and little time-wasting on the
"Ladz!" He roared to his mob. "Start climbin'! And be sure to get the meat after this! Cuz yer all starvin'! But I'm starvin' for a WAAAAAAGH!"
The greenskins roared with enthusiasm by the Warboss's proclamation. They raised their brutal and crude weapons in the air, screaming "WAAAAAAGH!" with bloodthirsty intent. War is good. And the orcs were good at just that.
And watching them just above the chasm, lay a creature of an older era. A time just right after the Old Ones had disappeared. Where Chaos had spread throughout the entire world, almost engulfing them into an Era of Destruction, were it not for the Elves' casting of the Great Ritual, and the sacrifice of perhaps one of the greatest Slann mages to serve the Gods. This one served his purpose just like many of his cold-blooded kin, though, his was a much hardened path. He travelled unwittingly through the realm of Chaos, delivering devastating blows to the Dark Gods' plans - even aiding a fellow hunter of an unknown yet grimdark era - while also evading their attention unseen. Fighting for what felt like an eternity, the cold one returned to the world just only seven thousand years. Too long has time passed since he was trapped and now lost in translation to the newest spawn of his brethren. And yet only one other creature - one whose body has since been ravaged by time yet his soul remains vigilant - had taken an interest in him and wished to give renewed purpose.
To seek out the one that daemons fear.
A new order and a new mission, the cold one travels through the North. And if not, he will find him elsewhere. For he is the One That Hunts Unseen. And right now, his observation was over. The Slayer was his target. The orcs, blighted as they are, were not his to seek. And into the winter's grip, he sprinted.
Hag Graef
Malus smashed a bloody berserker underneath his foot while crushing another's windpipe with his gauntlet. Or to be more accurate, a daemon-empowered Malus going on a rampage as he defended his city from the Bloody Legions like a red tide pouring into the city's walls. In the midst of the siege, explosions all over had crippled the defences. Malus had managed to survive in part of Tz'arkan's ruthless nature. Both wanted to survive, actually, but the daemon needed his vessel alive. If there's one thing he hates more than Malus, it's Khorne's bloody henchmen. In his time in the Palaces of Slaanesh, he had to deal with these savage idiots making a beeline to Hir home. He never got sick of fighting them since they made good sport (and good eye candy), but would it kill them to calm the fuck down and just relax in Hir home? They got refreshments the bloodthirsters could take with them for free if they want.
Tz'arkan scoffed as three more of these raging idiots charged blindly before he decapitated them swiftly with one swing of the Warpsword.
"Tsk! All screams but no tact in their fighting. Disappointing." He voiced his thoughts before impaling a bloodletter on his sword. The horde was pouring through Hag Graef like a raging flood. Everywhere, the warriors of Khorne made wanton slaughter on the citizens and slaves. Druchii infantry spread and defended their position with utmost fervour. From Tz'arkan's vantage point, he could smell something despicable.
Warpstone. And those Skaven bastards were under their noses this whole time. Somehow, they managed to sneak into the defences and gave Khorne's idiots a chance at winning. Malus would probably be screaming his head out in anger. So was Tz'arkan but he was a lot more annoyed about it than his vessel. The daemon continued to make the invaders look like chumps as he cut a swathe through their numbers. The druchii behind him rallied to their leader despite being possessed by a daemon.
"Fight, you meat bags! Fight and defend this little fortress you call home! Or do you wish to be a sea of corpses?! You are Druchii! So fight like one! FIGHT ON!" Tz'arkan commanded with ferocity, raising the dreaded Warpsword of Khaine over his head. The Druchii's morale increased and their murder prowess boosted exponentially. For none dared to question the First Dreadlord. Daemon-possessed or not.
Tz'arkan moved to the back of the Druchii Dreadspear line, allowing the defence line to soak up the onslaught while he made it to the back and did his best to hold onto the chains of command. The daemon was not one for being a leader but with Malus out cold, he was doing his best to curb the invasion.
From a distance, thunderous footsteps shook the earth like tremors. A loud roar erupted over the sound of clashing steel and battle cries from mortals. Its massive red frame and equally-sized wings extended as it made its presence known. The Exalted Bloodthirster leapt to the skies, leathery wings loudly flapping and blowing with force to imbalance those too close in its vicinity. His great whip cracked like thunder and struck down a misfortunate elven spearman at lightning speed, killing him violently as he exploded upon contact.
Any other times, the daemon would have bested bloodthirsters like him in the Chaos Realms when he had his original form. But to be trapped in a vessel like Malus has inconvenienced him to some measure. That's not to say the dreadlord was in any way weak; he just needed to be craftier with his tactics.
"Face me, bastard of Khorne!" Roared Tz'arkan. "Or are you so much a coward to lay waste upon mortal flesh for your slothful king sitting on his ass on his rusted throne for all of eternity?!"
The exalted demon snapped his head in the direction of the daemon-possessed prince with irate eyes glows in the darkness of his vast size.
"TRAITOR!" Roared the demon. "AND A WHORE OF SLAANESH, NO LESS!"
The blood-red daemon swooped down in a race to cleave the Tz'arkan in his mortal form. With the blessed speed of the Dark Prince, Tz'arkan managed to sidestep the slam of the daemon's axe, the cobblestone floor exploding in multiple directions, hitting any unexpected mortal with critical and/or fatal results. Tz'arkan reacted with a swift cut to his ankle. Enraged, the exalted daemon lashed out with a swing of his mighty axe, only for the empowered druchii to duck below in rapid response; escaping from a brutal execution. Combined with Malus' excellent swordplay and footwork, Tz'arkan amped up his vessel's potential with his own powers; allowing both to keep up with the violent monstrosity before them. The bloodthirster swung his weapons with infuriating dismay upon facing a swift opponent who managed to cut through his legs with perfectly-timed strikes.
"HOLD STILL, COWARD!" The Bloodthirster roared, smashing his axe and whipping about with his whip. Like lightning, Tz'arkan moved with unparalleled speeds and striking in accord. The battle still raged around them, though, some were foolish to take a glance before arriving on Death's door or returned to the Immaterium to lick their wounds. The duel was tipping to Tz'arkan's favor, and he was quite confident about to the point he was just ready to make the final blow.
Unfortunately, Fate was quite fickle and tipped to the Bloodthirster who - in a stroke of luck - found his grip loose on the axe as he went for a low swing, causing pieces of stone to fly directly toward Tz'arkan who had a split second to shield his face with one gauntlet. The towering daemon wasted no time and delivered the butt-end of his axe back at his distracted opponent, swatting him against the wall with a loud crash. Were it not for the possession, Tz'arkan's host would've been as flat as a bloody fly on the wall. The daemon of Khorne grinned satisfactorily upon seeing Tz'arkan's imminent defeat. His scourge-bearing hand twitched with enthusiasm, raising his whip above as he prepared to deliver death. Had he been well-aware of his surroundings sooner, the greater daemon might have notice the portal opening behind him.
The Bloodthirster was suddenly grabbed by a black tentacle from the wrist. To his confusion, more tendrils sprung and grabbed him by his limbs. Struggling, the daemon wrestled its way out and even swung his axe out of desperation. Too late and too many to fight off before he was dragged away into the black abyss. The portal vanished after, leaving Tz'arkan temporal respite. A nude figure approached the possessed elf. Tz'arkan looked up and smirked to find the self-proclaimed Mother of all Druchii leering down at him with semi-amusement.
"If men were like dogs, I'd say you should go ahead and call your pet, daemon." Morathi commented, earning a dark chuckle from Tz'arkan.
"Always the complimenter, my Lady." Smirked Tz'arkan. Dark veins and white hair reverted to their original form as the daemon receded from his host, allowing Malus to gain consciousness yet again, pissed off and inconvenienced.
"Blasted daemon!" Cursed Malus upon awakening. "I had everything under control until something threw me off the walls!"
"Well, it seems to me that you had some rodent issues within." Morathi pointed out.
"I'm already aware of that." Malus said bitterly. "Damn barbarians are in league with the bloody Skaven! They've been under our noses this whole time!"
"Perhaps we should call in a ratcatcher or two to deal with it then." Morathi remarked, looking at her nail with complete disinterest. Malus bit back a snarl and some cursed words. Were it not for her status and influence, he would have the chance to rip her to shreds.
"Aside from gaining my thanks, I take it something of importance has come up?" He questioned. Morathi smirked.
"How prophetic you are. My son - that is, your king - wishes every lord and subordinate to be at his tower."
"Important as I believe it is, I cannot go. Not while Hag Graef is under siege by barbarians!" Malus protested.
"Oh, don't be so daft." Morathi dismissed. "That's why I'm here on his behalf, darling."
With a snap of a finger, several portals appeared and all manner of monstrosities poured out from them, followed by their tamers leaving. The most famous of all beastmasters appeared with that bright red plume on top of his armor of torment. That signature 'smirking' scar on his cleft lip was striking and recognizable even from a distance.
"And of course, dear Rakarth." Morathi introduced, followed by Rakarth remarking, "It's always a pleasure to feed the menagerie. It would be too cruel for them to go on an empty stomach. And this was just too good of an opportunity."
Malus groaned upon listening to more of Rakarth's animal jokes. "Is this going anywhere? Because I'd rather see the king now than listen to Rakarth's perverted animal fantasies."
"Ooh, I would love to hear those." Morathi perked up at the suggestion, being the complete opposite of Rakarth's now scowling and brooding demeanour. "But let's not waste too much time. I'm sure your men will hold on without you."
Naggarond
The Witch-King's council room was a cacophony of generals, advisors, and dreadlords bickering over the next strategy and contingencies with the recent diabolical attacks. Across the great walled cities, bombings occurred over several key wall points; crippling their defenses and exposing their vulnerability. The siege battles were now coming under fire, spreading inland, past the barriers that protected the rightful species from the savages. The scent of pure Chaotic magic and the ill-green color that reflected upon these explosions lead to the conclusion that it was neither the work of the dull-witted reavers nor the scheming lords and ladies of the Druchii nobility. No, it had to be the Skaven. Always seeking to exploit and gain an advantage when the opportunity was at hand. Such as this invasion.
Of the cities, only Naggarond had not yet fallen prey to these bombings. It was only through Kouran and Ebnir's efforts to fortify the walls did they uncover the Skaven's plot to weaken the Elves in the pursuit of bringing forth Skavendom once the hordes of Chaos exhausted themselves. Were it not for this discovery, the Druchii would have been completely sundered with all cities no longer safe. As it was, the Witch-King's kingdom was safe behind unmolested walls, barring any daemon and worshipper of the Four from entering.
Presently, Malekith had been in distress with the recent plights of the vermin. It's one thing to fight off barbarians, it's another to fight off bloody rodents!
Dammit, thought Malekith, not when he was prepared to end the scourge. The King's crown deafened the sound of sycophantic generals unless it was needed as he contemplated his future. What will happen to him when his war was lost? Will he ever achieve his destiny of uniting Ulthuan under his rule? Could he really do so with the threat of Chaos casting its shadow over him?
"My King-"
"WHAT?!" Malekith lashed out at whoever snuck behind him, only to find his loyal Kouran standing as he turned. The look of mild shock and perturbed expression on Kouran had Malekith almost regret doing so.
"My... apologies, Your Highness." Kouran apologized. "But lord Darkblade has been retrieved as requested. And the council wishes your next course of action."
Malekith fumed but sighed as he tried to calm himself. Some of it being flushed out by his crown's magical properties.
"Very well, Kouran. I shall join as of now."
"As you say, my King." Kouran obeyed. Malekith watched as three figures joined his War Council. Malus and Rakarth took what seats were left available while Morathi stood beside him. The Queen-Mother waved her authority plainly but non-verbally to everyone addressing Malekith's rule, simply by just standing next to him, much to his malcontent.
"My son." His mother addressed him. "Just as you've asked. One possessed prince."
"Indeed." Malekith dismissively remarked. "Your help is needed as always."
Morathi pouted. "Is that how you would address me? Your own mother? Especially after her own tower was destroyed?"
"So I've heard." Malekith acknowledged. "As it is, we will punish these infidels for destroying your hold."
"Destroying my hold?" Morathi repeated, perplexed. Malekith raised a brow when she inquired the offense done to her.
"Yes. They have brought your tower to ruin, did they not?"
A look of realization dawned on her face.
"Oh. That? No, no. You have that all wrong..." She corrected. "That was my doing."
Even with the mask obscuring, his mother could already read the shock in his jade-coloured eyes.
"Oh, come now." Morathi dismissed. "It's not like I could do much to save it all. The northmen were already clogging the place so blowing it up was the most logical thing to do. The only things that weren't worth leaving out were a couple of artifacts and heirlooms. And a hefty amount of harem slaves. And some precious minerals. Oh, and some pupils that I had not yet abandoned."
Malekith sighed in exasperation. The things his mother had done still confounded him. The Mother-Queen could sense her son's annoyance.
"Oh, don't feel so worried. I could stay here in Naggarond when all has settled down. If not, I'm sure the other cities wouldn't mind me ruling in their stead." Morathi reassured. Upon hearing this, some of Malekith's trusted advisors and lords gave worried glances to each other and prayed Har Ganeth's leadership had an empty seat available by now.
"We'll discuss this another time." Malekith stated, giving a sliver of hope to anyone eavesdropping.
Peering around his subordinates, he saw subtleties of exhaustion and despair. Some were still licking their wounds - in a half-literal sense - with Lokhir of House Fellheart visibly bandaged and treated with what medicine and narcotic wine were available to him. Others, like the recently-arrived Malus, had an expression of dullness that could even border on madness with their forces suffering attrition and losses not seen since the Battle of Finuval Plains. A defeat many not dared to speak within the Witch-King's presence.
And still, there were a few missing. Perhaps dead and replaced in the time of war save for one other individual. Waiting for her would not bring things up to speed. The council ended their constant debating as Malekith made his presence.
"The time of bickering has ended." Malekith spoke up. "I have gathered you all here - the ones that survive, that is - for the expressed purpose of ensuring our people survive this apocalypse. The wolves no longer wait at the gates. They flood the streets of your homes with blood spilled to pave themselves and coat their armor. Not only that, but the verminous Skaven have taken to undermining all of our defenses with their eyes behind our backs. Only Naggarond remains standing with its walls still unbroken from interference. Even so, my tower could only stand as long as there are abled bodies willing to fell the enemy and to keep the pressure holding before we fall apart. This means we are now facing two fronts with a limited window of time until our nation is turned to sunder unless we commit ourselves to the betterment of our people. So I say this to you: offer what is from the mind and onto the table. Or I split it out from all of you myself. If it means to ensure the rest's survivability."
The War Council looked uncomfortably at each other, staying silent until one of their own was willing to sacrifice themselves. A wrong answer - or a misstep even - could bring his wrath down their heads and even their houses. Of the council, it was Ebnir Soulflayer who stood from his seat. The deep-seated scars that painted his once-handsome face did nothing to hide the concerned look he had.
"My King." Ebnir started. "As we continue to reinforce the defenses with what numbers we can relay with the help of the sorceresses transporting our supplies and numbers and the beastmasters sending their menagerie in place of siege weapons, we have been going into a number of problems. With the walls destroyed in several cities barring Naggarond, our fighting forces have been split and reallocated to the exposed points, leaving us in an... unfortunate... position. Our numbers have seen casualties more than we can to the enemy. And - not wanting to compound this further - we have also seen a loss in supplies. Much of our rations have been spoiled and poisoned by Skaven saboteurs. We've seen the patrols responsible for securing and overseeing such supplies executed for gross negligence but the Skaven have so far evaded punishment. In essence, we can only hold on for, perhaps, a few weeks."
"This is merely a report." Malekith stated. His gauntlets dug through the ebony table, speaking to his displeasure. "Though, I sense there is more to it than just that."
Ebnir paused as he thought to speak of the wisdom. His wisdom, at least.
"To start with the latter issue, I... would suggest we use the slaves or animals to recoup our dwindling supplies. As it is now, a majority of our slave pens so far have remained hidden and left untouched in the duration of this scourge. So... with your permission, we could perhaps extend our lives beyond the few weeks given if we resorted to... well, finding replacements for rations. Not now, of course, but... before the supplies reach their expirations. This is merely a last resort."
Whispers spread amongst the generals. Some have shown disgust and wished to rescind it altogether. Others understood the pragmatism behind Ebnir's reasoning. Individually, it was a mixed reception. Even Ebnir did not seem to enjoy this proposal he had made. As with the two most powerful rulers, they were not immune to opinions. Malekith felt nothing but revulsion to resorting to cannibalism, while Morathi suddenly now had a craving for long pork. Even so, the former desired to see his kingdom survive. Even if it means turning their proud people into carrions of the dead.
"This is... something that I find... concerning... but it will be brought up for another time." Said Malekith, not remotely hiding his disgust at all. "And I pray this does not end here, I believe."
"N-No, my lord." Ebnir answered. "As for the defences, we are - as mentioned - taking heavy casualties. If Naggaroth falls - and that is a big if - I suggest we prepare a massive evacuation with the Black Arks and all remaining ships in the case of overwhelming defeat."
"And what is it you suggest we sail towards, dear Ebnir?" Another spoke up. One belonging to that of Venil Chillblade. The latest batch to wield the position in Malekith's council by hereditary. "If you insist on Ulthuan, then let it be known they are still the bane of our existence. Treating them with diplomacy would end with swords raised and blood splattered on the sands!"
"I standby Lord Chillblade's stance." Said another. The beautiful - though, beneath Morathi's beauty - Drane Blackblood voiced her support. "We should set sail towards the East. We once had colonies there belonging to us. I'd say we get rid of the occupants that populate them. Killing them would be easier than killing Skaven."
"I would advise against it." Lokhir countered. "These 'occupants' you speak of will not go down without a fight. Not when they are equipped with their blasted gunpowder. I've seen the onslaught of elves fall prey to the inventions of guns in the hands of human forces. Even if we commit ourselves to lightning raids, the race of Men still outnumbers us. Their populace is ever-growing and replacing their numbers in the blink of an eye. And let's not forget the dwarfs who still seek to smite us to settle grudges."
"Tsk!" Venil sneered. "The great Krakenlord fears cattle that take merely too long to reload their fire staves while we possess powerful beasts and magic on our side! And the last I heard, the humans are too busy dealing with all sorts of monsters of their own! What's so different about us coming to the lands we rightfully lay claim to?!"
"Then we'd be simply replacing them and heap all of their problems to us!" Lokhir argued, his voice raised in response to the taunt. He looked to Malekith. "My lord, it is best we sail towards Ulthuan! Damn the Asur for all I care!"
"I second that notion!" Ebnir agreed, which caused an upheaval between the many lords that listened in. The endless torrent of bickering brought no end to frustration for Malekith. Any other times, such disorder would be met with hanging on the edge of his tower. Yet, the direness of this war forced him to be much more conservative with his lieutenants. His mother, however, did not seem to approve of his passivity. It was so unlike him to be this apathetic to the fight before them. Of course, she had witnessed bouts of wrath sporadically in every meeting she had, but this impassive form he espoused struck her as off-putting. That was not what Aenarion would do. And neither his son should do.
It was only when Venil made an unfortunate slip did Malekith react rightly so.
"Oh, you wish to repeat the same mistake upon arrival as to what had happened in Finuval-" Venil stopped mid-sentence before realizing his greatest mistake. The others gasped with horror before the noble was dragged away by dark chains conjured by the Witch King himself; his eyes burning with unnatural green colours as he was reminded of that failed assault centuries ago.
"You... DARE?!" Malekith roared; his booming voice howled for blood. "HAVE I GONE SOFT AND LENIENT TO ALLOW YOU TO SPEAK OF THAT INCIDENT?! HAVE I GROWN COMPLACENT TO ALLOW SHEEP LIKE YOU TO FESTER WITHIN MY RANKS?! TO SPEAK SO BRASH AND DARING BEFORE YOUR KING?!"
"Y-Your Greatness! It was an error of my judgement! I-" Venil protested, hands shaking in the air as he tried for innocence. Malekith ignored all protests as he dragged the poor nobleman outside, where the freezing winds caressed the king's midnight armor. From there, Malekith stood by the edge of the tower with one hand grasped on the frightened lord's chains. Venil could only cling to Malekith's arm as he desperately tried to avoid his fate. The grand height from below would be enough for any victim's screams to be carried by Naggaroth's winds.
"Too long have I tolerated each and every single lord here prattle about their exploits to curry my favor. Long enough to speak their minds with loose lips and intrigue! From this day forward, I will see to it that all will understand who rules this land!"
Suddenly, almost every single lord had been dragged by the ankle with the same dark chains to join with Venil. Only Kouran and Morathi had managed to seemingly be beneath Malekith's wrath, but even they felt disturbed with the King's maddened state. The Lords and Ladies that make up the Witch King's council could only scream in terror as they dangled by loosening chains. Some begged to spare their own lives, while others took to gripping themselves onto said chains in an effort to somehow outlive the others.
Malekith had reached his breaking point. His kingdom was falling apart. His parliament was full of greedy harpies who incessantly proclaim their allegiances to him just so they could have a better comfort. And now, enemies seeking to undermine him in every way possible.
Malekith's fingers loosened around Venil's collar, the noble in his grip losing blood from his pallor as Death was finally catching up to him and the others. Yet, as the Witch-King gleefully looked forward to it, with Morathi even taking some joy in it, a flash of something pulsed in his head. The air around him was seemingly frozen as was Venil's expression.
No one but Malekith was aware of this phenomenon. And he had only guessed what it was.
"Came back to beg again, father?" Asked Malekith to the apparition behind him. He had already felt the strange but recognizable warm glow that seeped through his armor and touch his skin. He would've felt it unbearing and tormenting even, but it soothed him rather. Turning back with his hand still outstretched and gripped, Malekith saw his father standing yet again, motionless like before. Behind him, both his son's loyal right hand and mother stood frozen in suspension like all around them. Knowing Morathi, it was hard to tell for Malekith if his mother was witnessing all that was present. But that did not matter to him.
"What's wrong, father? Do you not approve of what I am about to commit? Are you here to stop me from killing this pestilent weakling?"
"No." Aenarion answered. "I have no intention to stop you from what you feel is best to sate your old wounds. Therefore, his life is on your hands. As is theirs."
Malekith scoffed at the sheer apathy of his father. Very much like him when he was alive.
"There's the father I know."
"And the father I've come to regret being." Aenarion lamented. "Make no mistake, my son, I do not seek to stop you from killing a man whose forefathers spilled so many blood and buried so many bodies to accomplish a seat in your quarters. And is still even passed down from one generation to another even to this day. Then by all means. But if killing your subjects to prove some deranged point reflects who you are, then it will do little in the eyes of Ulthuan."
"And there it is again!" Malekith laughed. "I thought you would never mention it but it seems I misjudged my foresight! So suddenly does he now care about Ulthuan when he had abandoned his own home! His people!"
"A world where Aenarion never once thought that everyone close to him wouldn't mourn for his passing! Just head straight to the battle to save the world while never batting an eye when he left his own family! His own son!"
Aenarion simply stood and braced his son's emotional turmoil. All that anger. That grief. The suffering. Emotions that he could not solve in his own way to Malekith. But rather than talk down and berate, Aenarion simply let him expunge all that pain his son had carried over his shoulders.
"And now he comes back... just to lecture his own blood and flesh about change... why...? Just why do you still believe I am worthy when I have done nothing to show any goodwill for the past millennia? Look at me now. Of what I am. Of what I am about to commit. So what is it that makes me so special that you would come back when I am so far gone?"
Aenarion sighed. "Because even one so high as myself could never forget the most basic of needs. Like raising his own child to be better. I wish I can reverse time to spend what remaining days I had to concentrate on raising you not just as a king, but also as a good man. But we're long past that now. And even so, I am here to make amends. Starting with you. I love you, Malekith. Even if what I see now is not what imagined, I still forgive you... as you should forgive yourself."
"So please... don't let this poison inside you wrack your body. Don't let grief consume you as I was. I know you are strong. I'm not asking you to make the biggest transformation. Just a small sum of kindness will be enough."
Malekith stood there, silent and distanced, having lost all umbrage and maddening sorrow as his father poured his own heart out. To reach out for what he could have not done in life. Perhaps, too late even. But better than never getting that chance. Malekith turned away from his father, looking at the petrified Venil in his hand. Staring off, he saw the equally terrified council left hanging over the edge.
In one blank, time returned to normalcy. The air caressed his armor harmlessly, and the many cries of his subordinates blasted in his ear. Emotions returned to him once again. The feeling of anger consumed him to commit yet another terrible deed. But instead, the Witch-King cast the nobleman back onto safe grounds, as the same was done for his loyal advisors.
The council gasped and hyperventilate as they tried to reassemble themselves more calmly upon their spared lives.
"That... will be the last time any of you dare step out of line." Malekith simply stated. "And I will need all the extra hands to keep the masses disciplined."
Not far, Kouran sighed in relief to see the lord had not gone too far. Morathi, however, could only express disappointment. Both in how anti-climatic it was after all that bravado and to see her son express weakness.
By happenstance, another portal appeared. Appearing was Felicion with some Blood Hags. Influential and authoritative but nowhere near the one Malekith was seeking. Felicion stared dumbfoundedly as to why so many lords were on the ground but quickly presented herself upon seeing Malekith with the humbleness valued by most lords, feigning it to hide the contempt upon seeing Morathi. Which worked well in the eyes of many, save for Malekith who noted the clenched fist as she bowed upon seeing her captor, Morathi.
"Where is Hellebron as I've requested?" Malekith demanded.
"Your Highness." Felicion cleared her voice of fear. "I was unable to retrieve her due to having left Har Ganeth by the time I arrived. However, I managed to retrieve the best authority I could find in the city."
Malekith could furrow his brow upon hearing Hellebron leaving her city.
"Left? Had she already abandoned the city when the invaders came?"
"No, lord." A Blood Hag spoke. "The invaders had fled from the city with the aid of outsiders."
"Outsiders?" Malekith questioned. "And who were these outsiders you speak of?"
"Enemies of Naggaroth, lord." Said the blood hag. "They wear the colours of the Asur. Namely, the one known as the Shadow King."
Upon hearing this, the council felt a grip of panic and confusion upon hearing the legendary Alith Anar had come to Har Ganeth's aid. Even Malekith was taken aback by this news.
"You mean to tell me that Alith Anar had come to save Har Ganeth? Madness."
"Unfortunately so. But that's not all. He comes to aid with a mysterious warrior clad in green and bearing arms not yet known to us." The Blood Hag said further.
"Green, you say?" Rakarth spoke up. "Would this warrior happen to be burly like a barbarian have carried an unusually-looking human weapon?"
The Blood Hag narrowed her eyes upon Rakarth's recognition. "Why... yes? Have you met?"
"I met him when he was traversing through the Sea of Malice. He was with a crew of corsairs and-" Rakarth paused upon realizing his mistake. "Oh."
Malekith glared at the beastmaster with utmost outrage, grabbing him by the collar. "Are you saying you sent not only assassins to my direction but also the High Priestess of Khaine's Holy Grounds after me?!"
"I-I assumed they were looking for safety!" Rakarth protested. "They spoke of treasures of sorts! I had no way of suspecting them of murderous intent were it not for the battles with the Warriors of Chaos!"
Malekith fumed in anger yet again, casting the beastmaster aside. It was here that Morathi approached.
"My son." Morathi started, soothing his son's distress. "I believe it best that you should stay your hand in this. Let the outsiders come. Perhaps there is more to this story than what is accounted now."
"You speak of gambling my life by a thread!" Snarled Malekith, before pausing in a moment of clarity. "But if your assurance is anything, I'll be open-minded to more options available. But I will stand guard if my life depends on it."
Morathi nodded, gaining another of her son's trust. By now, the council had stood up with some regained confidence. Malekith, having reviewed what was given.
"As of now, the current issues will be addressed. I will have supplies transported and re-routed to your holds for as long as I can. And if the situation grows dire, prepare all vessels until further instructions. Leave Hellebron to me. I will take this by my own hand. Now be gone from my chambers."
Portals began to appear as Morathi gestured herself by Malekith's orders. Each lord returned to their holds and back into the fray. Of his advisors, Kouran and Ebnir remained in their home fortress but even they were sent back to manage the walls yet again. Felicion, meanwhile, continued her duties as told. With the entire War room now empty, only Malekith and Morathi remained.
"You knew they were coming." Malekith spoke. "And do not think to play coy, mother."
Morathi smirked. "I figured you were too overwhelmed at the moment. Thought I lifted one issue off your shoulders... if only for a bit."
"Such information would have been brought to my attention in haste!" Malekith retorted.
"And would it do you any good?" Morathi said back. Silence fell upon him. She could only sneer and said, "I thought not. Let mother handle this. You have enough on your plate. So allow me to lift your spirit this instance."
"Just get it over with!" Ordered Malekith. "And I want those three alive upon reaching here. Since you are so well-informed, I will have you be their envoy as of this moment. There are more questions than there are answers to this unexpected alliance. You are free to go."
"Oh my dearest Mally~!" Morathi coyly teased. "You forgot to say 'please'~!"
"Just. Get. Them." Malekith repeated, pausing before relenting. "Please."
Morathi bowed respectfully and hurried off. Of course, Malekith had already sensed she had something to gain from this. As he recalled, he could only guess the green warrior known only as the Doom Slayer was her main objective. He could only shudder in the implications. To keep his mind a bit more sane, he had thought of what his father had said. If there was a single shred of goodness left in him, would it be enough to rebuild not only his kingdom but his own self? Was it even that possible to seek forgiveness in the eyes of Asuryan? And what would his people think of him? Not just the Druchii, but as well as the Asur of Ulthuan and the Asrai of Athel Loren from across the oceans.
He had not much else to think of besides this present thought. Alone in the room, only the sound of wolves being kept at bay as they howled for blood kept Malekith from sinking into insanity.
To be continued...