feiniaonovel Chapter 187 187: Many Are the Arts, but This is a Plasma Gun
Chapter 187 187: Many Are the Arts, but This is a Plasma Gun
Standing over three meters tall and laden with heavy power packs, the Ironclaw Warriors were impossible to miss. Though these flash-bred vermin were culled from the ranks of the Stormvermin, they utterly lacked the disciplined combat doctrine of the Adeptus Astartes. Instead, these oversized "tin cans" simply used their bulk to shove through the lesser rat-swarms, leveling their Warp-lightning glaives to bowl over the Kin in a mindless, brutal surge.
The sheer strength and speed of this new wave blunted the berserk momentum of the Cthonian Beserks. The Kin, however, were no strangers to these Skaven elite.
"Iron-rats! Ready the Magna-rail rifles!"
The Einhyr Hearthguard, seeing the threat, barked warnings to their comrades while unleashing a scathing volley of plasma fire.
Hardly had the shout faded when a streak of crimson lightning blurred across the battlefield. A Darkstar glaive smashed into the cranium of a Beserk, its lethality instantaneous as it severed the warrior's life signs. An Einhyr Hearthguard nearby raised his arm to incinerate the intruder with plasma, but the red shadow didn't even pause to find its footing. It leaped again, the power weapon in its other hand let out a continuous, predatory hum as it swept through the air, shearing through the Hearthguard's exo-armour and his barrel-chested frame in a single, fluid arc.
"YES-YES! The Bearded-thing Chief is here! He is mine-mine! None shall take-steal him from me! None!"
In a heartbeat, Queek Headtaker had vaulted into the center of the Kin's tightening, dwindling line. Behind him, Ska Bloodtail led a hundred Red Guard and a deluge of Ironclaw Warriors, crashing into the fray. The air grew thick with the stench of ozone and musk as Warp-lightning glaives met the desperate, close-quarters defiance of the Votann.
These Skaven, having undergone a twisted parody of Astartes gene-surgery, possessed the raw physical power to crush standard Hearthkyn Warriors in melee. Only the elite, the Hearthguard, the Beserks, and the Ironkin, could hope to stand against them. The Ironkin, in particular, proved a harrowing match; their cold, artificial bodies possessed a mechanical strength that often surpassed the modified rats, fighting with a logical precision that stymied even the most frenzied Mors veteran.
"Look at that. That is the true purpose of Artificial Intelligence, not like the dross that Golden Corpse produces," remarked Lucius, his gaze fixed upon the mortal realm. As for who he was speaking to... in the Realm of Ruin, there was only one deity currently forced to endure his company: Isha.
Isha remained aloof, seemingly indifferent to the fate of the Skaven. Her mind was occupied elsewhere, subtly weaving threads of communication with the Aeldari Farseers. Within this realm, such contact was far easier than it had been in Nurgle's Garden; the Great Horned Rat's constraints were fewer, save for the occasional, mandatory audiences of a more carnal nature. Recently, however, Isha had become more proactive in those encounters, using the ancient, esoteric arts of the Aeldari to ensure the rat-god understood exactly who held the true mastery of form.
No matter how valiantly the Kin fought, they could not stem the tide of absolute numbers. Eventually, Durgar Ironhammer was forced to commit himself to the front.
The last few hundred Kin and Ironkin retreated into the Ancestral Shrine of the Votann, a vast hall now stripped of its treasures. Looking at the empty dais, Durgar felt a surge of grim relief that he had entrusted Belegar with the Ancestor Core. That Core contained every scrap of data recorded since the founding of Clan Angrund; so long as it endured, the Clan was not truly dead.
The chattering of Clanrats and Slave Rats soon echoed through the hall as they surrounded the survivors. Yet, for all their madness, not one rat dared to step forward. It wasn't just the fear of death, it was the knowledge that Queek would never forgive any wretch who dared to steal his glory.
Sure enough, Queek shoved his way through the Red Guard, his crimson eyes glowing with a manic light from beneath his rat-form helm as he locked onto Durgar's stone-hewn features.
"Come, come, come! Queek has been waiting-waiting for your head!" The warlord slammed his weapons together, the impact echoing like a thunderclap.
Encircling the Kin, countless Skaven leveled their Warp-muskets, glaives, and Warpfire Throwers. At a single command, the "stout-things" and their "iron-shells" would be reduced to slag and Warpstone-tainted ash. But such a victory would not sing of Queek's personal prowess. He wanted the trophy for himself.
Faced with a challenge from a Skaven, Durgar could not, and would not, decline. He stepped forward, a Darkstar Axe gripped in his hand. Darkstar technology was a closely guarded secret of the Kin; a mere touch from these shadow-lit blades could cease the functions of both organic life and machinery instantly. It was the ultimate "instant-death" weapon.
The Warlock Engineers had long tried to reverse-engineer Darkstar tech. However, the half-baked researchers left with Clan Mors lacked the genius of the Clan Skryre headquarters, and they were loath to send such precious samples back to the Skryre main-hive. Thus, a Warpstone-fueled equivalent remained out of reach.
"Come then, you cowardly vermin! The grudges of the Votann are eternal!"
Queek could not abide the provocation. The Great Warlord of Mors snarled, spat, and launched himself forward. The three-meter-tall rat-thing descended like a blood-red meteor.
Durgar raised his guard, catching Queek's Darkstar glaive with his own axe. But Queek was a whirlwind; even as the weapons locked, his other hand swept a power blade toward the dwarf's throat.
Durgar didn't flinch. He raised his off-hand, which gripped a compact Plasma Pistol, and fired two shots directly into Queek's power sword. The violent thermal discharge and kinetic shock forced the blade from Queek's grasp.
Hiss—!
Seeing Queek staggered, a wave of whispers rippled through the Skaven ranks, some of terror, others of treacherous greed. Ska Bloodtail reacted instantly, decapitating a whispering wretch with a single stroke before barking an order to the Red Guard: "Open fire!"
Green lightning erupted, lashing out at the Kin behind Durgar. Their Void Armour and exoskeletons were scorched black in the Warp-storm. The Kin, seeing the "duel" collapse into treachery, erupted in righteous fury and returned fire. The silent arena vanished, replaced once more by the cacophony of war.
In the chaos, Ska Bloodtail unleashed a full-power blast of Warp-lightning at Durgar. Though the High King's armor spared him from instant death, the agonizing shock to his nervous system momentarily froze his reflexes.
Queek seized the opening. Rolling to recover his fallen power sword, he hurled it with desperate strength. The blade caught Durgar in a gap in his plate, carving a deep, ragged wound.
The dwarf gritted his teeth, refusing to give his enemies the satisfaction of a scream. But as he reached for his pistol to fire again, Queek was already upon him like a crimson storm.
In Queek's hands, the heavy Darkstar glaive was as light as a dueling stiletto. The two Darkstar weapons clashed, their dull thuds marking the air with heavy, flat detonations. Finally, Queek exploited the dwarf's injury. With a soaring leap that carried him beyond the reach of Durgar's counter-swing, he released his glaive mid-air, slamming it directly into the King's chest.
As the Darkstar glaive struck home, Durgar's life signs were extinguished instantly by his own people's terrifying technology.
"Stout-thing... you were a tough-strong one!" Queek panted, a note of rare respect in his voice. He reclaimed his weapons with a boastful flourish, turning to watch as the final remnants of the Kin and Ironkin were consumed by the overwhelming fire of the Skaven.
"Progress is good-good. I can report to Father-Lord now! YES!"
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