About half an hour later, the Grey Seers who had gone to fetch warpstone returned to the ritual site. The scene that greeted them made their fur stand on end, trembling with fear.
All the rats were dead! Every single one of them! They had all... died!
But the nightmare wasn't over. In the center of the ritual site, where the warpstone and the symbol of the Horned Rat once lay, there was now a boiling blood pool.
The terrifying pool bubbled and frothed, releasing an ominous steam as if something deep underground was heating it. The blood of the dead Grey Seers and Plague Monks was continuously drawn into the pool.
Something dreadful was about to emerge!
Before they could scream or flee, the Grey Seers and Plague Monks realized they were being pulled toward the blood pool. They screamed in terror, desperately trying to escape, but it was too late.
A pillar of blood shot into the sky, and a massive black shadow rose from the crimson pool. Towering at seven or eight meters tall, the figure had huge horns, a twisted face, blood-dripping fangs, and bulging muscles. Its massive wings were badly damaged and broken. The entire hall trembled before the presence of this bloodthirsty entity, and even the warpstone lamps flickered and dimmed, their green light suppressed by a powerful red glow.
In an instant, the Grey Seers and Plague Monks were paralyzed with fear. The stench of sulfur and blood emanating from the massive creature, combined with its insatiable bloodlust and immense power, froze all the rats in their tracks.
"Sc-Sc-Skarbrand! No! This shouldn't~ shouldn't be what we summoned! Nonono!" one of the Grey Seers shrieked in despair. "Horned Rat protect me!"
The terrifying being before them was Skarbrand, the Exiled One, once the greatest champion of Khorne, the Blood God. Skarbrand had slain millions, ravaged countless worlds, and even destroyed realms belonging to the other Chaos Gods. He had once stormed into Slaanesh's domain, defeating several of the Dark Prince's greater demons, and had personally torn apart entire worlds, leaving nothing but fire and slaughter in his wake.
Khorne had once prized Skarbrand as his most trusted general, bestowing upon him the highest honors.
But Skarbrand's unparalleled strength eventually drew the envy of the other Chaos Gods. Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, recognized that the Chaos realms could not tolerate such a powerful existence. Thus, Tzeentch began to weave a plot, subtly mocking and goading Skarbrand through illusions and whispers, stoking his rage and making him lose all sense of reason. Already prone to fits of anger, Skarbrand fell for the trick. Overcome by fury, he made a catastrophic decision: he would kill Khorne and become the new Blood God.
Driven by his ambition, Skarbrand waited until Khorne was distracted. He raised his mighty brass axe and struck Khorne with all his strength. In the Warp, Skarbrand's blow could have cleaved an entire world in two, but it only managed to put a small crack in Khorne's armor.
Enraged, Khorne grabbed Skarbrand by the throat and stripped him of all reason and intellect, leaving only primal fury and an insatiable lust for blood. Dragging Skarbrand to the top of his Brass Citadel, Khorne flung him into the void.
Skarbrand flew through the air for eight days and nights before crashing into a mountain, shattering it into a canyon and destroying his wings. Though weakened by Khorne's wrath, Skarbrand survived, still one of the mightiest of Khorne's demons. From that day, he became the Exiled One, driven only by rage and the unending desire to slaughter in the Blood God's name.
"Waaaaah! Kill! Slaughter! KILL!!!" Roaring with fury, Skarbrand swung his brass axe in a single blow, decapitating five Grey Seers at once. The entire underground hall quaked with his rage. Unfurling his broken wings, he charged out of the ritual site, slaughtering anything in sight.
The Skaven of Clan Mors fled in panic, their scattered forms running for their lives. Within minutes, hundreds of slave rats lay dead beneath Skarbrand's massive axe.
"Chop! Kill!" Skarbrand's fury only intensified as he continued his rampage. The mighty Bloodthirster found his form in the mortal realm unstable. His presence flickered in and out, and his axe sometimes passed harmlessly through his victims. Enraged further by this, he charged toward Clan Mors' stronghold with deafening roars and crashing blows.
Destruction followed in his wake. Rivers of blood flowed as Skarbrand cut down everything in his path, carving his way from the fifth underground layer of Eight Peaks Mountain to the third. After slaughtering a large group of goblins on the second layer, Skarbrand sensed a glimmering pattern in the Warp and turned back to the fifth layer. His endless rage drove him to destroy every Skaven burrow and any creature with fur and a tail.
Thousands of Skaven and goblins fell to Skarbrand's brass axe.
But now, Clan Mors began to mount a defense. Under Queek Headtaker's command, the Skaven rallied, bringing out their weapons to combat the Bloodthirster. The remaining teams of warpstone gatling guns and warpstone flamethrowers formed a defensive line and launched a fierce assault against Skarbrand.
The warpstone gatling teams frantically spun their barrels, unleashing torrents of deadly firepower. Poison Wind Globadiers hurled their toxic bombs at Skarbrand. Hundreds of Clanrats stood side by side, raising their shields in a futile attempt to block the demon's onslaught.
"Ratatatatatatat!" The three-barreled warpstone gatling guns fired with all their might, bombarding Skarbrand with a storm of bullets. Green warpstone flames filled every corner of the cavern, leaving no room for the Bloodthirster to maneuver. The deadly poison clouds were potent enough to kill any mortal who inhaled even a whiff.
But today, the Skaven weren't facing mortals—they were facing Skarbrand, once the mightiest of Khorne's demons and now the Exiled One. To him, their weapons were nothing.
Well, almost nothing. Despite his rage, Skarbrand could sense the Warp tide that had summoned him was rapidly fading. The Skaven's pathetic tricks were slowing him down, preventing him from launching his final assault.
In response, Skarbrand's fury exploded. He became a whirlwind of red fire, his roars shaking the entire hall. His bellowing cry was so fierce that it infected all who heard it with a bloodthirsty frenzy. Ignoring the punishing firepower and warpstone flames, Skarbrand charged into the heart of Clan Mors' defenses, sweeping his brass axe in wide arcs, reducing the Clanrats, their machinery, and their defenses to bloody rubble.
Clan Mors' defensive line immediately collapsed. The Skaven fled in terror, but they couldn't escape Skarbrand's axe. As their heads rolled and blood flowed, the Bloodthirster felt a brief moment of satisfaction, pausing to savor it.
But the very next moment, he was overtaken by an even greater rage.
"Not enough! Still not enough! KILL! SLAUGHTER THEM ALL!!!"
At that critical moment, Queek Headtaker finally arrived with his elite Stormvermin. Queek didn't know why Skarbrand, this murderous demon, was here, but the mere sight of him filled the Skaven warlord with dread.
Why is Skarbrand here?!
Even the mighty Queek considered fleeing for a moment. But then he noticed something strange.
Skarbrand didn't seem as powerful as expected.
The Bloodthirster was trying to exert Khorne's power, but his body was becoming increasingly unstable. His roars faltered, and the chaotic energies that sustained him were rapidly dissipating.
Skarbrand was weakening! Queek grinned wickedly.
Deep down, Queek had always harbored one dream.
A mere Skaven warlord or right-hand of Clan Mors could never satisfy Queek's boundless ambition. His true goal was to become the warlord of all Skaven, to claim a seat on the Council of Thirteen in Skavenblight.
If he could kill this Bloodthirster and banish it from the mortal realm, he would display immense power. Why should he remain under the command of Gnawdwell?
With that thought in mind, Queek grabbed his warblade, the Dwarf-Slayer. His Stormvermin, already driven to madness by Skarbrand's influence, followed him in a furious charge toward the Bloodthirster.
And Skarbrand, in his ever-growing rage, welcomed Queek's attack with a furious roar.
Queek's warblade clashed with Skarbrand's enormous axe, and the sheer force of the impact shook the entire underground realm.
Queek's speed was astonishing, his twin blades blurring into phantom-like slashes. But Skarbrand's raw power was immense. After only a few blows, Queek found himself struggling to withstand the Bloodthirster's savage onslaught.
The force of the brass axe sent tremors up Queek's arms, and the battle was quickly turning one-sided. Still, Queek's warpstone-plated armor proved resilient, saving him from being sliced to pieces by Skarbrand's crushing blows multiple times. Yet, Queek knew his time was running out. Despite his armor's strength, it couldn't protect him forever against the relentless force of the Bloodthirster.
Meanwhile, back at a distant mine tunnel entrance, Ryan and his group were observing the chaos unfold.
"Oh-ho! This is brilliant! That's a Khorne Bloodthirster down there!" Bellegar was overjoyed, watching the battle between the Skaven and Chaos unfold through his spyglass. The King of Eight Peaks couldn't stop laughing. "Why is a Khorne Bloodthirster here?"
"Perhaps we tampered with the ritual and accidentally summoned something else," Veronica whispered. "Either way, their infighting works in our favor."
"Exactly, we should wait and see how things play out," Ryan nodded. His gaze was locked onto the fight between Queek and Skarbrand. Even though Queek, standing barely five feet tall, was dwarfed by the seven-meter-tall Bloodthirster, the battle was surprisingly even. Skarbrand was weakening, and Queek was managing to hold his ground, though barely.
Olica remained silent, perched on Ryan's back, while Araloth watched them both, suspicion flickering in his eyes. Olica noticed and shot him a glance, prompting Araloth to avert his gaze immediately. "Is there something troubling you, Lord Araloth?" she asked coldly.
"No, I was just... wondering when we should act," Araloth replied, keeping his thoughts to himself as he tried to stay composed. "Ryan, what's the plan?"
"We wait until the duel is over," Ryan said slowly, nodding in understanding. "Look at Skarbrand—he's starting to falter. He won't hold out much longer!"
Sure enough, as time passed, Skarbrand grew weaker. The Bloodthirster struggled to maintain his form in the mortal realm. Sensing an opportunity, Queek launched a bold attack. His crimson form spun in midair like a deadly whirlwind, evading Skarbrand's sweeping axe. Twirling through the air, Queek's body became a blur, drawing the Bloodthirster's attention.
Just as Skarbrand leaped forward for what would have been his final killing blow, a green shadow appeared before him.
"Skreeeek k'yaaa!" A piercing shriek echoed through the hall as Lord Skreech Verminking, the Supreme Verminlord, materialized from the shadows. In a flash, Skreech plunged his warpstone blade directly into Skarbrand's exposed chest. The blade, imbued with the souls of hundreds of dead Skaven, tore through the Bloodthirster's flesh, carving a jagged wound across his torso.
"ROAAAAAAHHH!!!" Skarbrand let out a thunderous roar of pain, collapsing to the ground as foul ichor spilled from his gaping wound. Before he could rise again, Queek's warblades found their mark. One blade stabbed into Skarbrand's neck, while the other pierced his chest. Finally, Queek's third blade, attached to his tail, thrust forward, driving deep into Skarbrand's skull.
Skarbrand's form flickered, struggling to remain in the mortal world, but it was too late. With a deafening scream, the Bloodthirster was banished back into the Warp, his body disintegrating as he plummeted into the depths of the mine.
"What a tough opponent," Ryan murmured, stroking his smooth chin as he observed the battle's conclusion. "If the Fists of the Empire were here, they'd probably lose seven or eight squads, along with a chapter master, a chief librarian, five captains, and most of their veterans."
"The Fists of the Empire? Ryan, don't make me laugh," Bellegar scoffed. "I can't think of a single Imperial force that could take down Skarbrand with so few losses. Does Karl Franz have some secret weapon up his sleeve?"
"Nope, just making a joke," Ryan grinned. "Alright, everyone ready? Skarbrand's gone, and now it's our turn."
"Yes!"
In the heart of Clan Mors' stronghold, Queek Headtaker strode proudly through the tunnels, his armor dripping with Skarbrand's burning blood. The cheers and adulation of countless Skaven followed him. Even Queek couldn't help but bask in the glory of the moment. He had defeated Skarbrand, even if it had been a weakened version. But still, Skarbrand! The Exiled One! The greatest Bloodthirster of Khorne!
He deserved all the praise! All of it!
Queek returned to his private quarters alone, allowing only his most trusted slaves to approach him. A horde of castrated and blinded slave rats swarmed toward him, using their tongues and teeth to clean his blood-soaked armor. Queek was no fan of the filthy habits of Clan Pestilens. He liked cleanliness and order, not plague and rot.
Once the slaves had finished cleaning even his armor, Queek waved them away, left alone to revel in his victory. His morale had rebounded, and his forces were once again united. But why had Skarbrand appeared here? What had happened outside?
"Queek! Be careful!" The voice of Skreech Verminking echoed in Queek's mind. "Quick! Something's coming!"
"What?!" Queek grabbed his warblades and spun around.
The next moment, every hair on his body stood on end.
In a swirl of blue psychic energy, Ryan, Bellegar, Veronica, Olica, and Araloth materialized, surrounding Queek.
"It's time to settle this, Queek!" Ryan declared.
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