"Queek, it's you again! You again!" Skarsnik's twisted grin finally faded. The Warlord of Eight Peaks had clashed with Queek countless times before. Both warlords knew each other well, and Skarsnik was painfully aware of how formidable and tenacious Headtaker Queek could be. "Lads, focus! We're fighting on two fronts now!"
"Waaaagh!" The appearance of a new enemy only fueled the bloodlust of the orcs and goblins.
"Send half the forces to fight Queek! I'll deal with him and his 'yes-yes' today!" Skarsnik quickly ordered. "Advance!"
Three of the five massive Arachnarok Spiders split off from the main force, charging toward the Skaven. Their thick, armored carapaces shrugged off the Stormfiends' warpstone bullets and flames, while goblins atop the spiders hurled javelins and arrows. The enormous beasts trampled the Skavenslaves underfoot, leaving only mangled corpses in their wake. On one of the spiders, a Goblin Shaman began chanting, praising the Spider God and the power of Mork. However, before it could finish, a green flash from the distance struck it in the chest, cutting off the spell. The shaman tumbled off the spider, dead before it hit the ground.
From afar, a line of Skaven jezzail teams fired their warpstone rifles, smoke rising from their weapons.
The Skavenslaves, as expected, couldn't stand against the Arachnarok Spiders. They collapsed almost instantly, but when they turned to flee, Queek had already blocked their retreat with Clanrats. Faced with no other choice, the terrified slaves had to charge back into the fray, knowing they would either be slaughtered by the spiders or torn apart by their own kind.
"Kill the spiders! Make them all die-die!" Queek barked his orders, leading his elite Crimson Hunters Stormvermin into battle.
It was a massacre. None of the orc boyz, goblins, or even the night goblins could last more than a few seconds against Queek. His dual blades cut through them like butter, leaving behind a trail of green blood and shattered bodies.
Meanwhile, the warp-lightning cannons and warpfire throwers of the Skaven bombarded both the greenskins and the human forces. Toxic gas bombs, launched by Plagueclaw Catapults and Poison Wind Mortar teams, filled the halls with deadly plumes, cutting down all who inhaled the noxious fumes. The entire battlefield was illuminated by the multi-colored glow of fire, lightning, and warp energy, turning the ancestral hall into a nightmarish inferno.
The Skaven hordes soon reached the human lines. Although the appearance of Skaven forces had somewhat relieved the pressure from the greenskins, the humans now found themselves fighting on two fronts as well.
Two of the towering Stormfiends charged into the right flank of the human army, breaking through Leonardo's Leopard Company. The veteran Triarii, armed with long spears and tower shields, tried to hold the line, but the sheer brute strength of the Stormfiends shattered their defenses. As one of the Stormfiends raised its warpstone-powered minigun, it unleashed a torrent of bullets, mowing down the veteran soldiers by the dozens. The Leopard Company began to collapse. With over half of their forces dead, the remaining soldiers clung desperately to the company's Eagle Standard as they retreated toward Belgar's central forces.
On the far right, the Kislev Seaguard, led by General Ivan, were now the last line of defense. Armed with halberds, spears, and shields, the Kislevites had fought valiantly, but they were exhausted. They had been holding off greenskins on one side and Skaven on the other for hours. Yet despite their fatigue, they held the line, determined to stand firm against the onslaught.
The Stormfiends and warp-lightning cannons tore through their ranks, engulfing many Seaguard in flames. Screams filled the air as the bodies of the fallen were quickly devoured by Skavenslaves. Despite these horrors, the remaining Seaguard fought on.
Seeing this, Queek turned his attention to them. With a sneer, he led his Crimson Hunters into the fray, charging directly at the Kislevites.
The Crimson Hunters were Queek's elite unit, selected through brutal deathmatches in Skavenblight. Only those who survived the bloodshed became part of this elite regiment, making them some of the deadliest warriors in Skaven society. As Queek's personal bodyguards, they were equipped with the best weapons and armor the Skaven could provide, and they followed their master with fanatical loyalty.
The addition of the Crimson Hunters proved too much for the exhausted Kislev Seaguard. With lightning speed and deadly precision, they cut down the remaining Kislevites, ending the storied history of this legendary regiment in one swift stroke.
"Za Tsarina! For Kislev!" cried the last few Seaguard as they attempted to hold off Queek and his forces, but their fate was sealed.
Queek cut down the final Seaguard with ease, his twin blades a blur of deadly motion. With a single strike, he severed the head of General Ivan, the brave Kislev commander who had fought to his last breath. His remaining officers carried his body away, but he quickly fell into unconsciousness from blood loss.
Now, Blackheart Rep and his Independent Regiment were the last line of defense against Queek and his Crimson Hunters. With Federmond and his Sea God Knights still fending off the greenskin assault, Blackheart Rep had no choice but to face the Skaven warlord alone.
The battle had taken its toll on the Independent Regiment. Over half of the original six hundred mercenaries were dead, and the survivors were battered and bloodied. Yet they stood resolutely around their commander. These soldiers were not as well-trained as the Leopard Company or as disciplined as the Seaguard, but they were loyal to Blackheart Rep. He had defied Bretonnia's entire knightly class for their sake, and now they were willing to die for him in return.
As the battle raged on, the sound of Bretonnian horns rang out from the west side of the hall. Calard had arrived with reinforcements! The sound of the knights' horns bolstered the spirits of the embattled army. Two of the three peasant infantry regiments had been nearly wiped out, and the Old Guard had lost over two hundred men. Exhausted and bloodied, the left flank was on the verge of collapse, but the arrival of Calard's forces brought renewed hope.
Leading the charge was Calard himself, clad in enchanted runic armor forged by the dwarven master craftsman Dron Feynson, and wielding the legendary sword Durandal. With the Red Dragon Brotherhood of Grail Knights at his side, he led the Bretonnian reinforcements into the thick of the battle, their shining armor and relentless courage inspiring the beleaguered forces to rally once more.
Calard fought alongside Ryan, standing back-to-back against the green tide. The battlefield around them was strewn with the bodies of orcs and goblins.
"Prepare to fire!" The remaining dwarven reinforcements had also arrived. Noregrin led the Ironbreakers and miners, who, under the command of Harlan Goldfinder, hurled grenades and blasting charges into the mass of Skaven and greenskins. Explosions rocked the battlefield, sending waves of enemies flying, as the dwarves formed a new defensive line around Belgar.
With the left flank and center reinforced, the right flank still struggled. The distance was too great for immediate support, and Blackheart Rep's Independent Regiment was crumbling under the weight of Queek's assault.
Queek was not like other Skaven warlords. While most Skaven relied on trickery, ambushes, and deceit, Queek preferred direct confrontation. Seeing the Independent Regiment still holding out in a spear wall and shield formation, he decided it was time to lead the charge himself.
The Stormvermin's halberds shattered shields and pierced through armor. The Independent Regiment fell one by one, their bodies strewn across the blood-soaked ground.
Blackheart Rep fought on, his magical sword, Blood of Valor, cutting through two Stormvermin. His body was drenched in the sickening blood of the rats, his vision blurry from exhaustion. He had lost count of how many foes he had slain, but even as he fought on, he noticed something disturbing—Federmond and the Sea God Knights were still holding the line against the greenskins, but his own regiment was being torn apart by the Skaven. There was no one left to stand beside him.
"I guess I really am from hell," Blackheart Rep muttered to himself, casting a glance at Queek, who had just disemboweled a mercenary with his weapon, Dwarfslicer. "It's a good day to smash these damn ratmen."
For weeks, Blackheart Rep had been plagued by inner turmoil. He knew that after the incident with the Bretonnian knights, his value to Ryan had diminished. His support in the Border Princes came directly from Ryan, and without that, his empire was finished.
There would be no more armies for him to raise. No more ambitions to fulfill.
He had spent his whole life fighting to reach this point, and now, it was all slipping away. Blackheart Rep looked up and saw Queek staring directly at him. The two leaders locked eyes across the battlefield.
Fury welled up within Blackheart Rep. He tightened his grip on
Blood of Valor. He couldn't let these cursed ratmen slaughter his brothers, but reinforcements were still minutes away. His regiment was on the verge of annihilation.
Should he run?
The thought crossed his mind, as it had countless times before. Running was how he had survived in the mercenary world for decades.
But this time, something inside him shifted. He had fled all his life, and now, he was tired of running. Besides, even if he escaped, what future was left for him?
"The son of hell returns to hell!" Blackheart Rep made up his mind in an instant. He raised Blood of Valor and pounded the flat of the blade. "Come on!"
His voice rang out clearly amidst the chaos, a challenge that echoed across the battlefield.
Queek, standing atop a mound of corpses, heard the challenge. The Skaven warlord grinned, delighted by the prospect of another head for his collection. He pounded his twin blades together in acceptance.
The Crimson Hunters immediately parted, clearing the path for their leader.
"My life is mine to take, no one else's! I'm the son of hell!" Blackheart Rep shouted, raising Blood of Valor once more. "And I have the right to choose how I die!"
With a final battle cry, the mercenary commander charged toward Queek. His sword crackled with dark lightning, clashing against Queek's Dwarfslicer. The two leaders met in the heart of the battlefield, their blows echoing through the carnage. Black and red light clashed as the duel raged.
Blood of Valor was a formidable weapon, and for a moment, Blackheart Rep fought as though he were in his prime. Each strike forced Queek to the brink of defeat. The Skaven warlord's arms trembled from the sheer power of Blackheart Rep's blows, and a final roar sent him crashing to the ground.
But Blackheart Rep was too tired. He couldn't muster the strength for a killing blow. Each time he tried, Queek's warpstone armor deflected his sword. When Blood of Valor was knocked aside one final time, Queek seized the opening. With a swift, deadly strike, Dwarfslicer found its mark, slicing through Blackheart Rep's neck, sending his head flying through the air.
Durant, still locked in combat nearby, was about to shout for reinforcements when he heard the victory cries of the Skaven and the squealing laughter of the ratmen.
In the distance, Queek held aloft Blackheart Rep's severed head, declaring his triumph.
"Skaven! Yes-yes!"
"Queek is the strongest!"
With a snarl, Queek hurled the head toward the remains of the Independent Regiment. It bounced and rolled across the blood-soaked ground, landing at Durant's feet.
"No!" Durant screamed, cleaving through a Clanrat in desperation as he rushed to recover his commander's head. But before he could reach it, the Stormvermin trampled it underfoot, smashing it into the mud.
"Today, all green-things, beard-things, and tin-cans die-die!" Queek bellowed, ordering a full advance. More Skaven surged into the battle, pouring through the shattered walls.
In the midst of this nightmarish bloodbath, the three armies—Skaven, greenskin, and human—continued their brutal clash.
None of them noticed the massive stone gate slowly rising in the far corner of the hall.
From the shadows, a cold wind swept through the tunnel, carrying with it the scent of ancient bones and tattered cloaks.
A terrifying new army had arrived.
At the head of the undead legion marched a skeletal figure, holding a gilded banner adorned with the image of a crowned jackal—a relic from the ancient kingdom of Nehekhara, imbued with immense magical power.
Under the command of a terrible master, the undead had joined the fray.
"The treasures of Valaya's Gate... are mine!"
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