The Dreaming Seer’s magics had turned the bubbling pox-froth which covered the streets to shimmering green glass, and Oxtl-Kor led the bulk of the seraphon host across it with earth-shaking strides. Behind the saurian host, the Gravewalker led the rest of the Stormcast Eternals in support of their allies. And he is welcome to that role, Zephacleas thought, as he booted a skaven over the edge of the bridge. I am the blade of the axe, not its haft.
Together, step by step, he and Sutok pushed the skaven back. The rabid rat-monks flung themselves heedlessly into death, and Zephacleas’ armour was scored by the marks of foetid blades and rusty bludgeons. Thin trickles of starlight ran down Sutok’s scales as he waded through the enemy, ignoring the bite of their blades. Whatever filth clung to them was seared clean by the touch of his blood, and the skaven seemed more frightened of that than the war-mace the seraphon wielded.
‘We’ve arrived, my friend — let us make the most of it,’ Zephacleas said, as he and Sutok reached the upper ramparts at last. Squealing skaven raced towards them, though some seemed less than enthused to get anywhere near the Sunblood and the Lord-Celestant. Behind them, their chosen warriors flooded onto the ramparts. ‘Thetaleas, the catapults,’ Zephacleas said, signalling the Decimators to attend their task. He turned and motioned to the nearest retinue of Liberators. ‘Duras, keep the skaven back.’
The warblade-armed Liberators surged forward, forming a wall of amethyst-hued sigmarite between the axemen and the screaming mobs of rat-monks seeking to intercept them. Thetaleas and his Decimators chopped down the crew of the nearest catapult. When the last sore-ridden skaven fell, they began to hack the war engine apart. Zephacleas turned to see that Sutok had his own ideas about how to dispose of the enemy artillery.
As he watched, the Sunblood wrenched the arm from a catapult and whirled it about like a staff, smashing a dozen skaven from the rampart. The seraphon roared in what Zephacleas took to be pleasure. He swung the arm around again, bringing it down on one of the other catapults, destroying it. Skaven scurried towards the lizard-man, whirling their smoking censers with fanatical intensity, and Zephacleas moved to meet them.
He chopped through the chain of one of the smoke-spewing spheres and crushed its wielder’s bandage-shrouded skull. Sutok’s war-mace whirled in a tight circle, filling the air with broken bodies and squealing vermin. Skaven sped towards them from every direction, driven into a berserk fury by the roiling clouds of poisonous incense and smoke which clogged the air. Zephacleas heard the crackle of lightning as unlucky warriors were pulled down by sheer numbers. He saw seraphon stagger and burst into motes of blinding star-light as pus-daubed blades opened reeking wounds in their scaly bodies.
Through it all, the catapults continued to launch their foul burdens into the city. The Stormcasts and their reptilian allies had destroyed three of the plague-engines, but more remained. As he fought his way forward, he saw that the crew of one was hastily attempting to haul the catapult around so that it could be aimed at the forces gathered on the rampart. Before he could alert his warriors, he heard a bone-rattling roar and turned to see Oxtl-Kor’s monstrous reptile leap from the courtyard.
Its claws dug into the surface of the barbican wall and it began to haul itself up, Oxtl-Kor urging it on with bellicose snarls. It scaled the wall in moments and clambered over the rampart between Zephacleas and his foes. With a hungry growl, it lunged for the closest knot of skaven, jaws wide. Teeth like swords tore into cringing, furry bodies. Oxtl-Kor impaled a fleeing rat-monk with his spear. The Oldblood lifted the wriggling skaven into the air and hurled it over the barbican.
Smaller beasts followed the larger creature’s example, scrambling up the wall with reptilian agility, carrying their saurian riders to the top. Spears flashed, piercing and gutting the skaven defenders, even as the cold ones savaged them with jaws and dewclaws. Zephacleas stepped back, momentarily awed by the ferocity of his allies.
A flash of fire leapt from Oxtl-Kor’s gauntlet, incinerating the crew of the nearest catapult. The giant reptile closed its jaws on the arm of the catapult and tore it loose from the frame, before sending what remained of the infernal device toppling into the courtyard below with a shove of its shoulder. The beast reared up and let loose a triumphant bellow. The Oldblood looked down from his saddle and met Zephacleas’ gaze. The Lord-Celestant lifted his hammer in salute, but the creature turned away with a snort.
Down below, more seraphon had appeared in flashes of coruscating light — massive reptilian warriors, larger than any saurus and wielding heavy war-clubs and maces, marched into being behind a gigantic horned creature. The sound of war-drums filled the air as the howdah full of skinks mounted on the brute’s back kept time with its ground-shaking tread. The living, bellowing war engine stomped towards the central gates of the barbicans, horns lowered. They groaned as the brute struck them. Hardened setaen fibres burst and split as the armoured monster shoved its way through to the courtyard beyond.
The gigantic seraphon warriors surged past the creature, wading into those skaven unlucky enough to be nearby when the gates finally gave way. Great clubs and hammers, their heads infused with shifting motes of light, rose and fell, leaving a path of broken bodies in their wake.
Zephacleas felt a grim sort of admiration well up in him — even Stormcast Eternals did not fight so fiercely, or so ruthlessly. ‘Worthy allies indeed,’ he murmured, glancing at Sutok.
The scar-faced Sunblood dipped his broad skull, as if in acknowledgement.
‘Your comrade seems to have things here well in hand,’ the Lord-Celestant said, nodding towards Oxtl-Kor and his mount as they tore apart another skaven catapult. ‘What say we find new prey, my friend?’
Sutok showed his teeth and pounded his shield. Zephacleas took that as assent and shouted, ‘Thetaleas, Duras — leave the remaining engines to our scaly friends.’ As he spoke, Sutok roared. Stormcasts and saurus alike moved towards their commanders.
Side by side, Zephacleas and Sutok led their warriors across the ramparts and towards the inner bridges. The wide walkways led to the central network of barbicans, and beyond them, the walls and gates on the other side, which overlooked the anterior avenues of the Crawling City. The Lord-Celestant raised his sword in greeting as he caught sight of Seker and Takatakk hurrying to meet them, a retinue of Protectors and skinks following in their wake.
‘Zephacleas — quickly,’ the Lord-Relictor said. ‘We must take the central barbican before the skaven can regroup.’ Zephacleas nodded and waved his warriors forward. He thudded across the bridge as the Lord-Relictor’s lightning-storm snarled above.
Once past the outer walls, he saw few skaven. Those he did encounter seemed more interested in escape than in preventing the Stormcasts from entering the inner chambers of the barbicans. Those few who tried to intercept them were dispatched with ease. As they crossed over the courtyard below, he saw mortals armed with makeshift weapons locked in battle with their former captors. Mantius and his Prosecutors swooped overhead, lending aid to the former prisoners where necessary. Zephacleas growled in satisfaction as he watched a woman clad in the stained remnants of what might once have been robes of office brain an unwary skaven with a chunk of setae. Despite being sick, malnourished and outnumbered, the mortals were giving a good account of themselves.
‘Should we aid them, Lord-Celestant?’ Duras said. The eagerness in his voice was echoed in the murmurs of the other Astral Templars. Each and every Stormcast Eternal knew what it was to be a victim of the Ruinous Powers, and each and every one of them desired restitution of the most bloody sort.