"Ugh!" Araloth barely regained consciousness amidst the swirling smoke and dust. The taste of blood filled his mouth, and the once smooth and immaculate long hair of the Wood Elf hero was now a chaotic mess, his body covered in dust and rubble from the broken building. He spat out a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva and instinctively tried to get up.
Araloth quickly realized he was inside a small human chapel. The place had already been evacuated due to the war. He seemed to have crashed near the main hall, where rows of pews and bookshelves had been blown to pieces by his fall, leaving debris and dust everywhere.
The great eagle had fallen at the other end of the hall. Once a proud and majestic beast, it now lay in a pitiful state, emitting low, painful cries. One of its wings was broken, and its eyes were filled with desperation.
"Damn it!" Araloth had barely risen to his feet when Kargkhank, the mighty daemon of Khorne, charged in after him. The towering daemon, over five meters tall with a bull's face and eight twisted goat horns, stomped on the fallen eagle. Releasing a wave of pure rage, the daemon grinned wickedly and grabbed the eagle's broken wing, yanking hard.
The eagle screamed in despair as Kargkhank brutally tore its wings off. Feathers and blood sprayed everywhere as the daemon roared with satisfaction, his cruel laughter echoing through the ruined chapel.
"How dare you!" Araloth watched in horror as his companion was savagely slaughtered. The sight ignited a blazing fury in his chest. The Wood Elf hero crouched low, placing his bow back on his back and drawing his curved blade and spear.
Araloth knew well that ranged attacks would do little against a daemon of Khorne. The only way to stand a chance now was to rely on close combat, with blade and spear in hand.
Kargkhank, satisfied with his gruesome trophy, turned his attention to his next prize: the champion chosen by Queen Alarielle of Athel Loren, Araloth the Brave. A third-tier daemon of Khorne, Kargkhank was convinced that slaying the elf hero would please the Blood God immensely, granting him promotion to the second tier.
In the shattered hall of the chapel, Araloth's battle spirit blazed as brightly as a green flame. His figure became a streak of pure emerald light, his green stag-helmet glowing more vividly than ever. With his long green spear gripped tightly and his curved blade gleaming, Araloth shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, straight toward the daemon.
Kargkhank bellowed in excitement, raising his massive battle-axe to signal his acceptance of the challenge. His brass whip lashed out through the chapel air like a streak of light, aimed at Araloth's side. The Wood Elf hero deftly leaped to avoid the attack, his speed rendering him almost untouchable. Just as the daemon swung his axe to strike Araloth's shoulder, the green spear pierced Kargkhank's chest.
Molten blood, as hot as magma, gushed from the daemon's wound. Kargkhank let out a pained roar but quickly retaliated. His brass whip, radiating the stench of blood and sulfur, snapped back to block Araloth's follow-up strike, sending the elf hero crashing into a pile of broken bookshelves. The daemon spread his wings wide, flames and blood spewing from his mouth. Kargkhank had come to a realization.
This Wood Elf might be skilled in combat and swift on his feet, but his strength and raw power could not match the overwhelming brutality of Khorne's fury.
Just as Kargkhank reached this conclusion, the distant bookshelves exploded with a loud crash. Araloth emerged once more, charging toward the daemon with bloodthirsty determination on his face. "For Lilith! For Athel Loren!"
"For Khorne! For blood and slaughter!" Kargkhank roared back. The two clashed furiously, the green shadow of the Wood Elf and the blood-red daemon locked in a frenzied duel. Their battle turned the already ruined chapel into complete rubble. Araloth poured every ounce of his skill and technique into the fight, matching the daemon blow for blow, at least for now.
However, the daemon's power, enhanced by the chaotic energies of a grand sacrificial ritual, was unprecedentedly strong. Each strike of the brass axe or whip against Araloth's weapons sent violent tremors through the Wood Elf's green spear, which seemed ready to shatter. The daemon's attacks only grew fiercer.
At last, the green spear could withstand no more. Kargkhank's overwhelming strength, like a hammer striking an anvil, cracked its surface. With a crisp sound, the green spear shattered, succumbing to Khorne's relentless fury.
Araloth immediately tried to roll away, but Kargkhank's brass whip coiled around his leg. The daemon roared with laughter as he yanked Araloth off his feet. "Crack!"
The Wood Elf hero was slammed to the ground beneath the daemon's towering form. He raised his curved blade to block the descending blood-axe but could not stop Kargkhank's next move. The daemon's massive hoof stomped down on Araloth's knee, twisting with brutal force.
The sickening crunch of bone echoed as Araloth's knee was shattered. The excruciating pain nearly caused him to lose consciousness. As he saw the daemon's colossal axe descending toward him, Lilith's face flashed before his eyes.
His strength and blood were draining away, but his courage and fury burned ever brighter. Blood streamed from Araloth's eyes and nose as he shouted Lilith's name, trying to muster the strength to swing his curved blade once more.
"One last strike! Gods of Athel Loren, I beg you, let me strike one last blow for Lilith!"
But his strength was gone.
Was this the end?
Araloth's prayer did not go unanswered. From the distant skies came a thunderous roar: "Elf boy! Ahahahaha! I'm here!"
"The Slayer King, Agrim Ironfist, has arrived!"
A fiery orange comet descended from the heavens. The wounded Slayer King crashed into the chapel, his mighty axe, Drago, carving a crimson streak through the air. Kargkhank was forced to abandon his killing blow on Araloth, kicking the elf hero aside and quickly using his axe to block the Slayer King's strike. The two collided mid-air, exchanging seven or eight blows, each clash sending shockwaves through the chapel.
The Slayer King of the Dwarves, even wounded, possessed the strength to stand against a fully unleashed daemon of Khorne. Their clash was even fiercer and more explosive than before, resembling one inferno colliding with another.
Araloth crashed into a protruding section of the chapel wall, where farming tools were piled up. A sharp pitchfork struck his helmet, nearly ending his life. Fortunately, his glowing green stag-helmet deflected the lethal blow.
The light emanating from the helmet seemed even brighter now.
"Lilith, thank you!" Araloth felt immense gratitude for the sacred helm bestowed upon him by the goddess.
The Wood Elf hero lay immobilized, but he quickly realized that the Slayer King's rage could not last forever. Agrim was already wounded, and even as a master of close combat, the Slayer King could not match the sheer brute force of Khorne's champion for long.
"Ironfist, you can't keep this up! We need a plan!" Araloth, his shattered knee agonizingly painful, struggled to stand on one leg.
"Pointy-ears… if you can still stand… then let's fight this bastard… together… forget honor with these chaos… scum!" The Slayer King's voice came in gasps as he wrestled with the daemon. A massive hole was blown into the chapel wall, and Araloth realized Agrim's stamina was waning.
What to do?
The Wood Elf scanned his surroundings and suddenly noticed something atop the chapel ceiling.
Araloth pulled an arrow from his quiver and narrowed his eyes, taking aim at the ceiling.
"Foolish mortal, do you really think your puny—" Kargkhank's mocking was interrupted as he seized the opportunity to lash his whip, entangling Agrim's leg. The Slayer King lost his balance, and his axe was knocked from his hands, embedding itself in the wall. Agrim himself fell into a pile of broken pews. Meanwhile, Kargkhank noticed Araloth aiming at him with a drawn bow and let out a terrible laugh. "I will shred your arrows to pieces!"
"Kurnous' Arrow!" Araloth fired three arrows. The daemon sneered as his axe shattered two of them mid-air, dismissing them as useless.
However, the third arrow veered upward toward the broken ceiling, striking a massive dwarven chandelier. The iron supports snapped, and the enormous chandelier, adorned with thirty burning dwarven lamps, came crashing down.
"What?" Kargkhank froze as the chandelier smashed into him, dousing him in burning dwarven lamp oil. Flames quickly engulfed the daemon, blinding him and forcing him to howl in pain, unable to extinguish the fire.
"Now's our chance!" Araloth pulled his curved blade from his side and used his remaining strength to throw it. "Shorty! Take this!"
"Got it!" Agrim Ironfist, ignoring the pain of his wounds and pushing past his exhaustion, caught the curved blade. Taking a deep breath, the Slayer King muttered the name of the dwarven war god: "Grimnir, Father of War, God of Slaughter, grant me your strength!"
A fiery red aura erupted around Agrim Ironfist, enveloping him in a searing wave of heat and energy. The Slayer King sprang up like a coiled spring, gripping the curved blade tightly in both hands with the blade pointed downward.
An orange comet streaked through the air as Agrim descended with all his might, aiming straight for Kargkhank.
"Die!"
The curved blade plunged deep into the chaos daemon's skull, splitting the eight-pointed star of Khorne emblazoned on his forehead into two. Only the blade's hilt remained visible as it embedded itself in the daemon's head. Agrim immediately released the hilt and leaped to the side.
A massive explosion of fire and molten daemon blood erupted as the daemon howled in agony. Kargkhank clutched his head, staggering as his blood, thick and molten like magma, poured from the wound. He roared, unwilling to accept his defeat.
The molten blood melted the blade lodged in his head, but the wound would not stop bleeding. The chaos daemon, weakened and collapsing, could only watch as Agrim retrieved his own axe, Drago, from the wall.
"Time to end this!" Agrim growled, raising his axe high.
With one mighty swing, the Slayer King severed Kargkhank's massive head. The daemon's body began to convulse and dissolve, returning to the chaotic realm from whence it came. Kargkhank's severed head, with its twisted horns and lifeless eyes, was hoisted by Agrim as a trophy of victory.
The Slayer King spat on the ground, throwing the daemon's head aside. "Not so tough now, are you?" he muttered. His back ached from his wounds, and the pain burned fiercely, but fortunately, it hadn't reached his spine. Agrim quickly limped over to check on Araloth, who was still sprawled on the ground.
"Elf boy, you look like hell," Agrim said, examining Araloth's injuries.
Araloth, his face contorted in pain, managed a weak smile. "That… that's…"
"What? Spit it out," Agrim urged. "I've got time to listen."
"That still… only counts as one!" Araloth shouted with the last of his strength.
Agrim burst into laughter. "Hah! The elf still knows how to count!"
"I'd outlive you even if I were dying, you stumpy dwarf!" Araloth retorted with a faint grin.
The Wood Elf and the Slayer King shared a rare moment of camaraderie, their laughter echoing through the ruined chapel. For a brief instant, an unspoken bond formed between the two—an understanding that transcended their peoples' ancient grudges.
It was the first time in millennia that an elf and a dwarf had felt such mutual respect.
But their smiles faded in an instant as a deafening sound came from outside.
Araloth gritted his teeth and made up his mind. He pulled out the flask of sacred berry wine, brewed from the Life Spring of the Eternal Oak, that Queen Alarielle had entrusted to him. The potent liquid worked its magic, stabilizing his injuries and restoring a fraction of his strength.
As he stumbled out of the chapel, the sight before him was nothing short of despair.
In just an hour and a half, the defenders of Ubersreik had been pushed to the brink. The city gates and walls of Ursas had fallen into chaos, with the defenders now fragmented and overwhelmed. Without Araloth and Agrim to anchor their lines, the tide of battle had turned in favor of the chaos forces. Across the battlefield, only a few noble commanders and their handful of soldiers continued their futile resistance, defending the banners of Ostermark.
These patches of resistance were fleeting, mere fragments of human determination and unyielding will. In some places, every officer had fallen, yet the pikemen and swordsmen fought on, numb to the slaughter. Many had resigned themselves to meeting Morr, the God of Death.
"Boom!" The city gate finally gave way under the relentless assault of a massive siege hammer. Chaos warriors poured in like a black tide. At the sight of the broken gate, the chaos forces erupted into victorious laughter, their chants of praise to the Dark Gods drowning out the cries of the defenders.
Yet, the chaos invaders soon realized their victory was far from certain.
The rumbling of steam engines echoed from beyond the gate, followed by the deafening roar of a steam cannon. A single shot obliterated the first wave of chaos warriors, reducing them to little more than crimson mist. Two regiments of handgunners followed with a volley, and as the smoke cleared, the second wave of chaos warriors lay lifeless on the ground.
"Come on, then! Let's show these chaos scum the mettle of Ostermark!" shouted Viscount William, leader of the Indigo Raiders. His face was a mask of fury as he rallied his men. "Come at me! Come face your death at the hands of Viscount William!"
Araloth's arrival reignited a spark of hope among the defenders. Although chaos warriors were already pouring down from the walls into the streets, Agrim and his Slayer warriors swiftly dispatched these "lucky" intruders. Meanwhile, Araloth reorganized his Grey Cloaks, the Wood Elf archers, into a loose skirmishing formation. Their arrows rained down on the chaos forces advancing through the breached gate.
For a brief moment, it seemed as though the defenders, bolstered by the steam tank's firepower, might hold the line.
But their fragile hope was shattered by a thunderous roar that shook the entire city.
"A dragon!" The defenders screamed in terror, scattering in panic as primal fear overtook them.
Chaos Dragon Streiskhul the Mighty had entered the battlefield.
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