At the sight of the frantic battle, Gotrek halted and let out an eager growl. He gripped his axe tightly and its brazier blazed with inner fire. ‘We’ve found the puppet master!’ he roared, pointing his weapon at the centre of the shrine.
At the heart of the stone briar there was a circular block, like a crooked pulpit, and inside it there was a slender man dressed in a white gown, his face hidden in a deep hood. He was waving a scythe back and forth, and with every sweep, the briar’s limbs lashed out, tearing the ghouls apart and allowing the caged corpses to attack with rusting swords. It was grotesque and surreal. The monsters fought like animals, spitting and twitching, but the briar corpses were silent, even when their cages hit the ghouls with so much force they exploded, scattering shards of bone and flesh.
‘A necromancer!’ cried Gotrek, charging through the dust towards the shrine. There was a worrying gleam in his eye that Maleneth had seen before. His muscles were trembling and the rune in his chest shimmered with aetheric power.
Maleneth was about to follow when she noticed another shrine a few hundred yards away. It was similar to the one Gotrek was approaching, but it had collapsed. Ghouls were swarming over it from every direction, and as they reached its summit something strange was happening – they were vanishing from view, tumbling into it as though they were falling into a well. As the shrine crumbled, the spirit mist lashed down from the towers, spiralling around the crumbling stones.
‘This is a wall,’ she said.
Trachos stared at her.
She pointed one of her knives at the shapes in the distance. ‘There are dozens of these things. They’re a barrier.’
All of the shrines were under attack. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of ghouls were spilling from the mist and tearing down the stone briars. As the shrines crumbled, the spirit winds lashed around them like sails torn from their masts.
A bellowed war cry drew Maleneth’s attention back to Gotrek. He drew back his axe and hurled it into the shrine wall, creating an explosion of shattered stone. Then he strode forwards, wrenched the axe free and began laying about himself, smashing mordants from the barbed limbs and bellowing. He made such a terrifying sight that even the ghouls hesitated, seemingly taken aback by the arrival of someone more deranged than they were.
The shrine heaved and lurched like an enormous crustacean, lashing out with its cages in an attempt to batter Gotrek away.
In his berserk state the Slayer was surprisingly agile. His short, muscular legs powered him through the tumult as he hacked chunks of stone from his path, howling the whole time.
The necromancer remained motionless, head down, his face still hidden in his hood, but it was clear he had noticed Gotrek’s approach. The stone briar became a storm of lashing limbs and whirling blades.
A stone branch thudded into the Slayer as if to hurl him clear, but Gotrek gripped it tightly with one hand and headbutted it. The stone broke with an explosion of sparks, and for a moment Maleneth lost sight of the Slayer.
When the flash faded, she saw him halfway up the shrine, punching a ghoul and roaring with laughter, hauling himself through the contorted shapes.
She raced towards the shrine, dodging the mordants’ grasping talons and leaping up onto the twisted mass, cutting down more of the creatures as she began to climb. When the Slayer was in the grip of a kill-fever, anything could happen. She had to get close enough to protect the rune.
Trachos lurched after her with a clatter of ruined armour. Then, absurdly, he launched into song. ‘Oh, faint, deluded hearts!’ he sang, his voice metallic and inhuman. ‘The God-King hath descended!’ Ever since Gotrek had dragged them down to the Realm of Death, the Stormcast had taken to singing hymns as he fought. Either his wounds had damaged his hearing or he had never had a musical ear. He turned every melody into a bludgeoning, tuneless dirge.
Maleneth weaved and ducked, planting kicks and dancing around lunges, but it was impossible to keep pace with Gotrek. Her blades flashed through necks and wrists, slicing the ghouls apart with calm efficiency. They tried to swarm over her, but she was too light on her feet, dancing away from them as blood-frenzy washed over her. At moments like this she could not deny her true faith. She fought in tribute to the Bloody-Handed God, making every cut as cruel and painful as she could, laughing mercilessly as the creatures tumbled away, gasping and choking, Khaine’s symbol scored into their flesh.
There was an explosion of light, and the whole scene became a frozen tableau of silhouettes. Then the light vanished and Maleneth stumbled, blinded, as ghouls rushed at her.
Hot pain erupted across her back as claws raked over her skin.
She whirled around, lashing out blindly, cutting through muscle and cartilage as she jumped clear.
Once she had gained a safer vantage point she saw the source of the light. Trachos had taken some objects from his belt and clasped them together, forming a slender sceptre with an ornate mechanical cube at its head. The cube was trailing strands of smoke, and there was a charred heap where several ghouls had been standing.
‘Steadfast and majestic!’ boomed the Stormcast, still singing. ‘Fiery hammer swinging!’
Maleneth grimaced and bounded up the shrine after Gotrek.
They reached the necromancer at the same moment, the howling Slayer barrelling through ghouls from one direction while Maleneth leapt gracefully from the other.
The necromancer whirled his scythe, and stone limbs stabbed towards the Slayer.
Gotrek was covered in blood and his grin was daemonic as he slammed his axe into the cages, shattering every corpse that tried to land a blow on him. He leapt through a storm of bone, blood and rock, grabbing the necromancer by the throat.
Maleneth arrived just in time to see the look of confusion on Gotrek’s face as the hood fell back.
Rather than a wizened old man, there was a young woman staring back at the Slayer.
Gotrek froze, shocked into momentary silence.
The girl took her chance. As the Slayer hesitated, she sank her scythe into his chest.
There was another explosion, and this one was so powerful that it kicked Maleneth back from the pulpit, sending her crashing into the ghouls.
‘Sound the starlit trumpets!’ sang Trachos from somewhere nearby. ‘Rouse the ardent host!’
‘Trachos!’ Maleneth howled, attacked on all sides and unable to rush after Gotrek.
The singing paused, and there were more flashes of light. Maleneth fought blind, weaving through the ghouls until she was back on the ground.
As her eyes adjusted to the glare, she saw Trachos swing his sceptre and hurl silver-blue flames. ‘Never-ending glory!’ he cried as the blast left a landslide of charred body parts at her feet. ‘Foes vanquished and unbound!’
Maleneth ducked and rounded on another mordant, opening its throat with a backhanded slash before leaping clear.
When she turned to look back at the fight, it was over. Gotrek had hacked down half the ghouls, and she and Trachos had dealt with the rest. The shrine was empty, its stone branches lying in the dust.
‘Where is he?’ she gasped, glancing at Trachos.
He did not seem to hear. His head was thrown back and he was still gripping the sceptre in both hands, aetheric energy sizzling around his gauntlets. He was still singing, but only to himself now, the words muffled and faint inside his helmet. Then he shook his head and lowered the sceptre, turning to face Maleneth. The light faded from his eyes and he suddenly looked dazed from his exertions. He leant on the sceptre as a crutch.