The Urani-Surtr Regulate was a reclusive and tenacious League of Votann. They were famously stubborn, preferring to hold their ground against the simultaneous onslaught of Orks, Necrons, and Tyranids rather than retreat a single step. This constant warfare had forged their already sturdy physiques into living iron.
Months of fighting these Rat-Xenos had convinced the Kin that the vermin were only dangerous due to their sheer numbers and their erratic green weaponry.
However, when the League's researchers analyzed the "green bullets" recovered from the field, they discovered they were composed of crystallized psychic energy, far more chaotic and volatile than standard warp-matter. A laboratory accident involving warpstone led to horrific mutations and unspeakable destruction, prompting an emergency decree to seal and destroy all warpstone samples.
With the loss of the Angrund hold, supplies were dwindling. Kahl Durgar Ironhammer swore a solemn oath to exterminate these vermin to the last.
Yet oaths, no matter how ironclad, require logistics to fulfill. In the tunnels, the League's heavy ordnance was neutralized. Sending small teams of Kin into the dark often resulted in a bloody war of attrition. Even if every Hearthkyn traded his life for hundreds of rats, the Skaven numbers only seemed to grow.
The front lines were buckling. Deprived of supplies, the Kin were being pushed back toward the surface. Had it not been for the orbital barrages from the Votann fleet, they might have been driven from the world entirely.
Now, Durgar Ironhammer decided to lead an elite strike force to retake the armories and manufactorums before their munitions ran dry.
"Belegar, if I do not return, you are the Kahl of the Angrund Kindred! The burden of reclaiming our home falls to you!"
Durgar clapped a hand on the shoulder of his foster son, Belegar. His expression was severe. Belegar looked at the man who had raised him, his teeth bared in a snarl. "I swear by the Ancestors, this grudge will be settled! The foe will fall!"
"Good! That is a son of Durgar!" The Kahl laughed, drawing his Darkstar Axe. He led the finest warriors of the Kindred into the stench-choked tunnels.
"No mercy! In the name of the Ancestors! For the Angrund Kindred!!"
Durgar roared as he led the charge. He brandished his Darkstar Axe, a weapon capable of snuffing out the life of any biological entity it touched. Behind him, Cthonian Beserks, naked but for their cybernetic augmentations, hurled themselves into the fray. With concussive mauls and a total disregard for their own safety, they began to pulp the Skaven by the hundreds.
Their objective was the Angrund Manufactorum.
As they descended, the chittering rose to a deafening pitch. First came the giant rats, eyes glowing red, followed by waves of skeletal Clanrats.
"Aieeeee!"
Durgar was encased in master-crafted void-armor fitted with a miniature deflection field. The Slave Rats couldn't even scratch his plating. With a single sweep of his axe, a dozen ratmen were reduced to frozen, lifeless husks.
The Beserks carved a path through multiple Mors sub-clans. Five Warlords had already fallen beneath Durgar's blade. After five hours of relentless slaughter, the last of the vermin resistance was crushed into paste. Durgar finally reached the massive blast doors embossed with the Kin runes for "Angrund Armory."
He allowed himself a momentary breath of relief. Here, they could refit and regroup.
Suddenly, a bolt of green lightning arced through the dark, instantly reducing a Cthonian Beserk to a pile of charred ash.
"Who goes there?!!" Durgar bellowed.
Red eyes, positioned far higher than those of a normal Skaven, glared from the darkness. The heavy, rhythmic thud of metal boots echoed against the floor.
"Fight Clan Mors... only-only death! Yes-yes!"
Unlike the frantic, twitching movements of their lesser kin, these ratmen stood over two meters tall. Their crimson power armor was clearly a bastardized version of the League's own patterns. They leveled warpstone halberds, the tips crackling with malevolent energy.
At their head stood two massive rats. One brandished a chainsword and a power-chisel. He looked at the bearded Kahl and let out a high-pitched, excited shriek: "That-that Dwarf-thing! Leave him to me! He belongs to Queek! Yes-yes!"
Durgar realized these were no mere vermin. He raised his shield, his eyes narrowing.
"Forward! For Mors! YES!!"
Enhanced by Astartes-grade organs, the Rat-startes moved with impossible speed and strength. They unleashed webs of warp-lightning from their halberds as they closed the distance. The Beserks' energy shields absorbed the initial shock, and then the two forces collided.
For perhaps the first time in the war, the Skaven matched the Kin in individual martial prowess. Even the augmented Stormvermin found the Beserks to be terrifying opponents, but the two sides were locked in a stalemate.
Except for Queek.
Queek was a blur of violence. He parried a concussive maul with his chainsword and drove his power-chisel through the chest of a Beserk in one fluid motion. He spun, decapitating another, his eyes fixed solely on Durgar.
Ska Bloodtail, the loyal and massive bodyguard, carved a path with twin power axes, shielding Queek's flank as he closed in on the Kahl.
Durgar did not retreat. "Today you die, vermin!"
"Queek will take your head-trophy for the collection!" the ratman sneered. He lunged, his power-chisel whistling toward Durgar's throat.
The physical augmentations had made Queek a monster. He was arguably the deadliest small-scale combatant in the Skaven Empire. Durgar fought back with seasoned skill, but he found himself struggling to match Queek's unnatural speed. He relied on his thick plating to weather the storm.
"Hah! Man-thing tech is weak-unreliable!" Queek hissed, frustrated that his chainsword couldn't bite through the master-crafted armor.
In true Skaven fashion, Queek abandoned the "duel." He dropped low and hurled a glass vial directly at Durgar's face. The Kahl instinctively shattered it with his axe, but the vial contained concentrated warpstone dust. The corrosive powder instantly ate into Durgar's power armor and shorted out his deflection field.
Queek might be a berserker, but he was still a Skaven; he would never pass up a chance to cheat, ambush, or sacrifice a subordinate for an opening.
"Arrgh!" The toxic warp-fog fouled the armor's servos, freezing Durgar for a split second.
It was all Queek needed.
His power-chisel slammed into Durgar's chest. The brittle, corroded armor shattered like glass. Queek drove his chainsword deep into the gap.
Durgar's powerful frame shuddered and went still. A moment later, the tunnels erupted with the heartbroken, vengeful roars of the Kin.