Amidst the smoke of battle and the roar of cannons, the massive dwarf statues blocking the Titan's Gate had been removed by the expeditionary army.
The first to charge through the gate were the Bretonnian knights, their shining lances forming a formation of steel, their once resplendent tabards now worn and battle-scarred. The knights rode under their family banners, plunging deep into the heart of Karak Eight Peaks. The relentless tide of lances and iron hooves crushed any resistance before them. The Greenskins of the Crooked Moon tribe had long since lost their will to fight in the face of these invincible knights.
After multiple crushing defeats, the Greenskin army had grown terrified of the expeditionary forces. Upon seeing the blue and red hammers of Clan Angrund, the book-and-sword emblem of Ryan, and the holy grail banners of Bretonnia, the Greenskins knew they were beaten. Panic spread like wildfire as they screamed, "The big tin heads' warboss is here! Run! Run! Scatter to the four winds!"
Their only response was to flee, but what awaited them was a bloody massacre. The knights showed no mercy, cutting down every Greenskin they could find with cold determination.
"Form ranks! Advance as one!" White Dwarf Grimbrindal commanded the dwarf armies of Clan Angrund and Ironpeak Hold. Whether it was the ancestral spirits summoned by Belegar or the Ironpeak King Kazador, even the haughty Runemaster Thorek Ironbrow respectfully followed the White Dwarf's orders, bowing courteously as they saluted. The vast dwarf armies advanced across the battlefield and onto the high plateau of Eight Peaks. Dwarf cannons and organ guns rumbled forward, firing in unison. A single shot from the magical crystal cannon reduced a crude Greenskin fort to splinters, wiping out the Goblin archers stationed within. "Karak Eight Peaks is ours!"
"Ryan, the damn Skarsnik is almost out of options!" Grimbrindal easily cleaved a Goblin warlord in two with his axe of Grimnir before walking over to Ryan. The Knight King's warhammer was already dripping with blood. Ryan nodded slowly, his gaze fixed on the highlands of Eight Peaks, now consumed by flames and battle. He muttered to himself, "How would the French fight this battle?"
No one responded to the king's musings. The Greenskin morale had collapsed, and the army had launched a full-scale assault. The scattered resistance posed no challenge, and the Crooked Moon tribe's doom was sealed. The Old Guard, led by Bertrand, advanced steadily. The combined volley of musket fire from the Old Guard and the dwarven Thunderers cut down Greenskin after Greenskin in a relentless barrage.
Perhaps driven by a desire to redeem themselves or recognizing that the Greenskins and Skaven were near defeat, the Wood Elves fought with extraordinary vigor. Araloth led the Eternal Guard and Wardancers in the vanguard, while Glade Guards, Waywatchers, and Scouts unleashed wave after wave of arrows, reaping the enemy like wheat.
The resounding notes of "La Marseillaise" echoed across the battlefield as the Old Guard advanced, knowing that today was the day to reap the spoils of victory.
Within three hours, the expeditionary army had cleared at least half of the plateau inside the Titan's Gate. The central fortress of Karak Eight Peaks and the Goblin town of Filthytown, located beneath Crescent Peak and Silverhorn Peak, were both reclaimed under the relentless assault.
Victory was within sight.
Meanwhile, deep beneath the Hall of Ancestors in Karak Eight Peaks, the Skaven of Clan Mors were locked in a brutal civil war, vying for control of the warlord's throne.
Skarsnik, pacing anxiously within the Hall of Ancestors, was growing desperate.
Where was Queek? Why hadn't the Headtaker shown up yet?
Skarsnik's elite forces had been wiped out during the previous battles at the Titan's Gate. The once-proud Madcap Marauders now numbered fewer than a hundred. The remaining Greenskin warriors and Goblins were utterly demoralized, their will to fight shattered by the knights and dwarfs. If the Skaven didn't come to their aid soon, Skarsnik's fate would be sealed.
But his messengers never returned. It seemed Queek had vanished without a trace. The Skaven not only failed to assist their Greenskin allies, but were now attacking them as well. Though the assault wasn't particularly fierce, it was enough to throw Skarsnik's forces into disarray. His army's morale was already low, and now they were being attacked on two fronts.
Even worse, the underground escape routes were now blocked. Skarsnik, ever the paranoid schemer, realized that if the Skaven had indeed betrayed them, there was no chance he'd risk retreating through their tunnels.
As the sounds of battle—artillery, muskets, and war cries—grew closer, Skarsnik knew the situation was dire. He signaled to his pet squig, Gobbla, to stay close.
"What about the escape route we prepared?" Skarsnik barked at his remaining Madcap Marauders.
"It's ready, boss!" the Night Goblins replied hastily.
"Good! We're leaving!" Skarsnik gripped his sword tightly. Before leaving the Hall of Ancestors, he cast one last glance at the highlands of Eight Peaks. "Mark my words, Belegar, you bearded git! I curse you! I, Skarsnik, will return!"
"Retreat! Retreat!!" Skarsnik commanded, leading fifty Night Goblins into a hidden ancient tunnel. This tunnel, long his secret path into the Hall of Ancestors, was one of Skarsnik's most carefully guarded treasures. He would escape through here, waiting for the day when he could return with a massive WAAAGH! to retake Eight Peaks, slaughtering every beard and tinhead in his way.
Twenty minutes later, a hundred meters below the Hall of Ancestors, in the dwarf's ancient underground road network...
Belegar Ironhammer, King of Eight Peaks, stood at the center of a dwarf ambush. His Angrund Oathsworn surrounded the tunnel, ready for battle. A team of dwarf rangers and Thunderers were positioned at the flanks, while Clan Leader Berek Northstar led the Ironbreaker warriors of the Northstar Axes in formation. The dwarfs were prepared for a fight.
In the middle of the tunnel stood Belegar himself, a towering figure. The sounds of distant battle echoed faintly from above, signaling that the expeditionary forces had already breached the Hall of Ancestors.
The dwarfs were trembling with anticipation, their breaths heavy and hot, but none spoke. Each dwarf clutched their weapon tightly, waiting.
For centuries, the dwarfs of Clan Angrund had shed their blood in the hope of reclaiming Karak Eight Peaks. Deep down, many knew that this goal was nearly impossible, a task that only a fool would pursue.
But it was not something to question or doubt. A vow had been made, and it would be fulfilled. A grudge had been written, and it would be settled. This was their ancestral home, and they would take it back!
Now, that dream was becoming reality. The hope of centuries was within reach. The time for the great revival was today!
Belegar remained silent, reflecting on his recent duel with Queek Headtaker. He had tasted the sweet satisfaction of avenging his people. Queek was imprisoned, awaiting a public trial and execution to be presided over by none other than Grimbrindal.
Now, Belegar was ready for the next foe.
The king stood with arms crossed, silent, his eyes fixed on the tunnel's entrance. There were no rousing speeches, no words of encouragement—only silence. He watched, waiting for the enemy to arrive. Finally, the silence was broken by Berek Northstar, who approached with a weapon in hand. "Your majesty, are you sure that green-skinned scum will come this way?"
"I'm certain," Belegar replied, gazing up at the dimly lit tunnel, water dripping from the ceiling. "I know Skarsnik. He used this path to enter Eight Peaks before. It's a rarely used and difficult passage, but that paranoid bastard will take it because it's Gobbla's favorite route. Skarsnik… always trusts his pet."
"Understood," Berek nodded, handing Belegar a finely crafted, glowing green blade. "We found this. It's one of the Wood Elves' weapons."
"Oh, I know this one. It's one of a hundred weapons blessed by the ancient treeman Adanhu. But why is it here?" Belegar examined the glowing green blade, imbued with the treeman's blessings. "Where did you find it?"
"Buried in a collapsed tunnel nearby," Berek grumbled. "What should we do with it? Give it back to the pointy ears?"
"Hmph! No need to be so generous to those cowards!" Belegar, still bitter about past events, stashed the blade under his cloak. "Keep it for now, we'll deal with it later."
"If I'm not mistaken, Skarsnik will arrive soon."
"Yes, sire!"
Sure enough, a moment later, Skarsnik's sharp cackle echoed through the tunnel.
"Hahaha!" Skarsnik's voice rang out. "The boss is laughing. Why's the boss laughing?" asked one of the Night Goblins surrounding him.
"I'm laughing at those witless shr
imps and brainless beards!" Skarsnik swung his sword, the Skarsnik's Blade, with a sly grin. "That beardling Belegar, always too slow to react—stubborn and dull-witted like a stone in the dung pit. Now, if those beard-things had any brains, they'd ambush us here, toss a few grenades our way, and we'd all be dead by now!"
As if on cue, a cannon roared, and dwarfs surged out of the shadows. Belegar led the charge with his Oathsworn directly at Skarsnik. "Skarsnik, today we settle our grudge!"
Dwarf rangers raised their crossbows, Thunderers leveled their muskets, and the Ironbreakers of the Northstar Axes hurled grenades. In an instant, Skarsnik's troops were decimated. Demoralized by their previous defeats, the Greenskins broke immediately. Even the last remnants of Skarsnik's elite Madcap Marauders collapsed under the assault. Only Skarsnik's pet squig, Gobbla, and a handful of Night Goblins managed to fight their way through, barely escaping.
Skarsnik's infamous speed saved him again. Though the ambush had been perfectly executed, the goblin warlord slipped through Belegar's grasp. Unable to escape through the underground passage, Skarsnik bolted toward the surface. When he emerged, only thirty wounded Night Goblins remained by his side.
Despite his usual cunning, Skarsnik was now in a panic, and he sprinted toward Silverhorn Peak, hoping to escape overland.
The highlands of Karak Eight Peaks were filled with the clash of armies. All around, the expeditionary forces battled the Greenskins, and amid the chaos, voices called out: "Capture Skarsnik alive! A knighthood and ten thousand gold crowns await! King Ryan himself will honor you!"
"Catch him dead or alive! He must be brought to justice!"
Skarsnik's heart raced as he heard the shouts. Spotting Ryan and Calard slaughtering Greenskins nearby, he quickly changed direction, sprinting toward Silverhorn Peak.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard another shout: "The one with the green, spiked cloak! That's Skarsnik!"
Terrified, Skarsnik threw off his cloak.
Moments later, another shout: "That goblin with the giant squig—that's Skarsnik!"
Skarsnik frantically grabbed a rag from the ground and draped it over Gobbla.
Despite his cleverness, Skarsnik was eventually spotted. Araloth's keen eyes locked onto the goblin warlord. With a shout, the Wood Elf hero led his Hawk-riders in pursuit. The remaining twenty Madcap Marauders fought valiantly for their boss one last time, spinning their chain-balls in a deadly defense, buying Skarsnik precious time.
"Damn it!" Araloth cursed as he pulled back from the suicidal Night Goblin chain-ball defense. Those balls could shatter even the strongest dwarf armor. He took aim instead.
"For Lileath!"
A star-powered arrow streaked toward Skarsnik. The goblin warlord spun around, barely managing to deflect most of the arrow's power with his sword, but the arrow still knocked out one of his front teeth.
Skarsnik, unflinching, pressed on with Gobbla at his side, climbing up the narrow path of Silverhorn Peak. With the path too treacherous for cavalry, the Wood Elves held back by the Night Goblins, and the dwarfs too slow, the goblin warlord began to outpace his pursuers.
Laughing maniacally, Skarsnik and Gobbla scaled the treacherous cliffs for nearly an hour, finally reaching the halfway point of Silverhorn Peak, where a massive mountain lake stretched out before them. The ice-covered lake reflected the snow-capped peaks, creating a winter wonderland.
Breathing heavily, Skarsnik froze.
Standing in the center of the lake was a dwarf.
Skarsnik's laughter returned, this time gleeful, like a child's. "You knew I'd try to escape this way, didn't you? You were waiting for me, you bearded git!"
Belegar Ironhammer stood proudly on the frozen lake, alone. The King of Eight Peaks was as unyielding as a rock in a stormy sea, his gaze fixed on Skarsnik, his voice dripping with hatred and Grimnir's fury. "That's right. I was waiting. Now it's time to settle this grudge."
"In the end, the victor will stand, and the defeated will fall."
Skarsnik was silent for a few seconds. He knew the truth. There was no escape.
The panic and fear faded. A crazed grin spread across Skarsnik's face as his battle lust and hatred returned.
"Good! Come on then!"
"Belegar, let's finish this once and for all!"
_________________________
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