Mark of Chaos (27 page)

Swearing, von Kessel mounted the snorting horse. Hundreds of plaguebearers were hacking down the last of the greatswords. Many of the Reiklandguard had fallen, and soon they would be overwhelmed and slaughtered by the daemons. More of the foul creatures were being excreted from the earth, and with a curse, the captain shouted out, his voice booming. 'Reiklandguard - with me!' he roared, and began to cut his way free of the chaos. Responding instantly, the knights fought their way to his side, and they rode away from the foul daemons, away from Gruber. Stefan could see that hundreds of other plaguebearers were rising all across the battlefield. They were falling on Gruber's soldiers, cutting them down in droves, spreading disease and foul contagions as they stalked across the earth. The frosted grass withered and died beneath their step, and men fell to the ground, coughing up foulness as the wind drove the stench of the daemons across the field.

Stefan's army had engaged Gruber's and the two battle lines were blurred together as they struggled to overcome their foe, dressed in the same purple and yellow uniforms. They were oblivious to the horrors unfolding behind them, and continued to fight.

Kicking his steed forwards, Stefan and the Reiklandguard thundered across the battlefield, passing in between Gruber's loyal warriors. These men did nothing to halt their passage, desperately engaged in combat with the foul daemons or milling around in confusion.

Stefan angled down towards the centre of the engaged battle line and charged towards the rear of Gruber's soldiers. Many of them, hearing the thundering of hooves behind them, turned to face them, raising their halberds defensively.

'Men of Ostermark!' Stefan roared, riding along the battle line, 'Cease your fighting! We face a common enemy. Cease your fighting!'

The soldiers' eyes were drawn up the hill, towards the legions of daemons slaughtering Gruber's rearguard. They gaped in horror, and lowered their weapons. Gradually, the fighting began to cease, until it had stopped altogether. Sergeant Albrecht pushed through the press of men that minutes before had been intent on killing each other, and approached the captain.

'Sigmar above,' he breathed as he surveyed the battlefield. Pockets of daemons were fighting with Gruber's soldiers, but the hillside above was completely overrun. It was hard to tell how many of the things there were, for a massive black cloud of insects obscured them. Even from here, they could hear the sound of the flies, a dull droning that was repulsive and abhorrent. The daemons had despatched the last of the humans on the hillside, but were not yet on the move. They seemed to be waiting for something.

Gruber stroked the
contented nurgling in his arms, and it cooed and dribbled in pleasure. Plaguebearers capered around him, and other nurglings clamoured around his feet, seeking his attention. He continued to chant, forming the difficult words with ease. Most of his courtiers were dead. Foolish they were, to think that he would allow them to share his power. Only one was truly powerful amongst them, and he remained standing at Gruber's side, adding his voice to the count's. The olive-skinned Tilean, Andros, his eyes closed in concentration and his face awash with sweat, mouthed the powerful incantations, lending his strength to the spell.

Young Johann had looked horrified as the first of the daemons had appeared, much to Otto Gruber's amusement. A stupid boy, he had thought. He had never really liked him, and he had laughed as Johann was ripped apart by a pair of plaguebearers, and his entrails eaten by nurglings.

He had not meant it to happen like this. He had not meant to unveil himself so soon. No, he had intended to await the coming of the Chaos chosen, and reveal himself only at the last moment, when his betrayal would ensure victory for the forces of the Dark Gods. He had planned to have his army inside the besieged city when he revealed himself. He would throw open the gates to allow the attackers entry, and then the true slaughter would begin. Great Nurgle would be pleased with his deeds, and would grant him great power, and no doubt bestow even greater contagions upon him.

All this planning had gone to naught, thanks to von Kessel, and the hated sword that he wielded. Gruber had had no option but to reveal himself. Looking up at the massive daemon rising from the earth before him, he was glad that he had finally unleashed his power.

Rising to over twenty feet in height, dripping with pus and foulness, the greater daemon opened its large, gummed-up eyes and looked around in pleasure. Its massive mouth opened, displaying its rotten slab-like frontal teeth and tusks, and the thousands of smaller inner teeth. Worms and maggots writhed within its cavernous mouth, and a long tongue slithered out over its fleshy green lips. The tongue ended in a snapping mouth, dripping with saliva and filth. Horns like rotten branches rose from the daemon's head, hanging with algae and fungus. Beetles and grubs crawled over the creature's flesh, and maggots and worms buried under its skin. Flies buzzed around the face of the daemon, descending to feed on the liquid of its eyes and mouth, and the saliva that dribbled from its mouth down its front.

The creature was corpulent and massive, easily as wide in all directions as it was tall. Its greenish skin hung in folds, and great tears appeared in the daemon's rolls of fat, exposing the red muscle beneath. Ribs protruded from the chest, and entrails flopped out onto the ground from its giant, distended belly. Long, spindly arms lifted high into the air, massive hands with long, multi-jointed fingers ending in cracked talons that wept blood and pus. The lesser daemons of the Chaos god of pestilence, nurglings, infested the massive creature, nestling amongst its exposed intestines and folds of fat. They pulled themselves into the rents in its flesh, seeking the warmth and comforting fluid within.

The greater daemon gazed adoringly at these miniature versions of itself, petting them and lifting them to its bulbous shoulders. One of them poked at one of the daemon's eyes, and it flicked the diminutive creature away. One buried itself in the flesh of its armpit, clawing deep into the warm cavity, and the giant daemon plucked it up in its spindly hand and lifted it to his face. His long, worm-like tongue extended and nuzzled the small creature, which giggled, and rolled its milky eyes in pleasure.

Gruber stepped towards the towering daemon, smiling broadly. He bowed low before it, still cradling the nurgling within the crook of his arm. The tiny daemon looked up at him with love in its putrid eyes. 'Great unclean one, you honour me with your presence.' Gruber said, speaking the Dark Tongue, the language of the daemon.

The giant creature turned its gaze towards him and winked at him, forcing the flies gathered on the orb into the air. 'Little human.' it spoke, in a deep rumbling voice that sounded like sucking mud. It coughed, a foul, liquid sound, its whole body heaving. It hawked loudly, and spat a mucus covered nurgling to the ground. 'Little human, I thank you for drawing me forth... The Lord of Plagues is pleased.'

'The enemies of Lord Nurgle are arrayed against us, unclean one. They wish to kill your children.' said Gruber.

The greater daemon clutched a clump of nurglings to its breast protectively, horror on its face. 'I will not allow my pretties to be harmed.' it gargled in its booming voice. Its eyes scanned the humans on the plains below it, eyes narrowed in anger and hatred.

The great unclean one extended one of its arms, flexing its fingers. A cloud of flies and other flying insects coalesced around its hand, flying closer and closer together, forming a rough shape. They began to cling to each other, forming the silhouette of a huge blade. The fingers of the daemon clenched together, grasping the buzzing flies. The insects melted together and changed into dark, corroded metal.

The greater daemon hefted the giant blade over its head, and pointed the weapon towards the human army. It was covered in rust, and virulent poison dripped from the blade - every contagion, disease, illness and plague was contained in that poison. The daemon roared, and a great cloud of insects rose around him in response to the hideous sound. The nurglings added their own tiny voices to the roar, staring towards the Empire army balefully. The plaguebearers turned their dead eyes on the enemy, and began to lope towards them.

With massive effort, the greater daemon shifted its weight, heaving its bulk forwards on legs like rotten tree trunks. Gruber stepped to the side, rubbing his hands together eagerly, and the daemon stepped again, eyes fixed on the hated enemy that would harm its children. It bellowed once more, and began to pick up its pace, stamping down the hill, a sea of nurglings surrounding it and the plaguebearers ranging out in front, loping towards the humans.

Cannonballs smashed through the plaguebearers, ripping apart their diseased bodies. Filth sprayed from the catastrophic wounds. Explosive mortar shells detonated amongst the daemons, sending them flying through the air, their rotting flesh ripped to shreds by hot shrapnel. The human battle line was readying itself to face the daemons, and arrows, crossbow bolts and handgun shots peppered the ranks of plaguebearers. The daemons were resistant to pain and injury, and many continued their advance even with countless bolts protruding from their flesh. Many others were slain, collapsing into pools of filth, their essence sent screaming back to the Realm of Chaos.

The great unclean one's anger grew, and it twitched as it felt every death, gnashing its teeth and spitting in fury. A cannonball smashed into its chest, piercing its flesh, snapping the ribs beneath and embedding itself deep within its body. Smoke rose from the hole, and the face of a surprised nurgling peeked its head out from inside the gaping wound. The greater daemon hissed in anger. With a roar, the daemon led its minions in a wild charge towards the army of Ostermark.

'Men of the
Empire! With faith in Sigmar, we shall prevail!' roared the warrior priest Gunthar, his booming voice carrying far, bolstering the terrified soldiers. 'Fear not the daemon! I faced far worse than this puissant Chaos lackey during the Great War, and I'll be damned if today is the day that I die. For Sigmar!'

Raising his hammer high into the air, the warrior priest launched himself towards the approaching daemons, roaring defiantly. Without hesitation, the halberdiers gathered around him surged forwards at his side. A great shining light surrounded the priest as he ran, glowing brightest around his massive warhammer. The daemons covered their eyes and backed away from the shining light, fearful of its intensity.

Gunthar smashed his hammer through the head of the first plaguebearer. Using his momentum, he spun around, smashing the head from the shoulders of another of the foul plague daemons.

'Sigmar, cleanse them!' Gunthar roared, and struck the earth with his hammer. A shockwave of light and power rippled out from the impact, and dozens of the plaguebearers fell to the ground, their flesh going up in flames as they were slain.

All across the battlefield, men fought desperately against the daemons. The men of Ostermark, with both Stefan's troops and Gruber's fighting together, outnumbered the plaguebearers heavily. They had inflicted a heavy toll on the daemons with war machines and missile weapons, but the daemons had closed with them, and six men or more were being slaughtered for every daemon that was felled. Where Gunthar was fighting, the battle fared well, the priest leading the halberdiers fearlessly, but elsewhere the state troops were falling back, overwhelmed and panicked by the pestilent daemons.

The great unclean one ploughed into the fray, scattering plaguebearers in its haste to join the battle. With a sweep of its blade, it sent six men flying into the air, and slew four more with its return blow. Nurglings erupted from its flesh, biting and clawing. They were largely ineffectual, but got under the feet of the soldiers, and leapt upon any man who fell to the ground. The greater daemon swept its blade before it again, and another five men were slain. The other men backed away from the creature, desperate to keep their distance from the horrific, twenty-foot behemoth, gagging and retching from its stench.

It opened its mouth wide and, with a heave, emptied its stomach contents, projecting the vileness over the press of men before it. Filled with cancerous filth, writhing worms and bile, the liquid covered thirty men, and they fell to their knees, screaming in horror and pain. Maggots burrowed into their flesh, and their eyes were burnt from their skulls by the bilious stomach acid of the daemon, the powerful liquid even eating through metal breastplates and shields. Backing away frantically, the soldiers facing the dread creature pushed against each other, and began to run from it blindly, trampling over those who fell in the press.

Cackling and chortling
with glee, Otto Gruber stood high on the hill, watching the carnage unfold as the daemons ripped through the army of Ostermark, slaughtering and killing. He yelped in excitement as the great unclean one joined the battle, sweeping everything away before it, and giggled as the men broke and fled before the horrific daemon. The day was his. True, he had unveiled his true allegiance earlier than he had wished, but it mattered not.

'All goes well, does it not, Andros?' Gruber asked, eyes fixed on the battle below. Hearing no response, he reluctantly tore his gaze from the slaughter, and saw Andros lying face down on the ground, an arrow through his neck. 'What?' he breathed, and spun around. An arrow slammed into his chest, driving between his ribs and piercing his heart. The force of the blow knocked him backwards, but he did not fall. He glared up at the small group of men that approached him, and a second and a third arrow thudded into him, taking him in his leg and chest. The force of them knocked him to his knees. Another arrow pierced his eye, driving through his brain and into the back of his skull. Angrily, he pulled the arrow free and threw it to the ground.

'Your pitiful weapons cannot harm me, fools,' Gruber snarled, ripping the arrow that pierced his heart from his flesh.

'That right?' asked Wilhelm, stepping forwards and smashing his fist into the man's face, knocking him to the ground once again.