In the inner city of the High Elf capital, most of the elite troops had been redeployed to the Great Wall and the outer city defenses, leaving the inner districts sparsely populated. With the High Elf nobility more occupied by indulgence or recent court upheavals, few paid attention to the presence of Ryan and Vulkan, who had used a pass signed by the Teclis brothers. While the pass would have allowed them through the gates of the Great Wall, it would have required them to surrender their weapons. Now that they had teleported directly into the inner city, they kept their weapons close, and made their way to an abandoned courtyard. There, they waited for the Night of Sorcery to arrive.
"This trip to Ulthuan has been unpleasant, to say the least," Vulkan remarked, taking in the fresh, salty air. The inner city was indeed Lothern's most refined area, with views of the distant, swirling Great Vortex. "Can you imagine it, Ryan? These High Elves managed to create the Great Vortex to combat Chaos, while those pathetic Aeldari turned their home into a swirling Eye of Terror."
"If we fail, this world will become another Eye of Terror," Ryan replied as he stood, gazing toward the shifting vortex. "And I should correct you: the Great Vortex was not the High Elves' invention. It's an ancient device and magical circuit left by the Old Ones, which the High Elves reactivated in their time of desperation."
"A system like the Webway?" Vulkan's curiosity was piqued.
"Something similar," Ryan nodded. "But the ancient spells are weakening. The souls of those old archmages are growing weary, as if something is unraveling far away in the magic web. The world is entering another cycle of transformation, and the dark powers are growing stronger by the century. Somewhere beyond this reality, forces of Chaos stir, and soon they will descend upon this world again."
"Kroak mentioned that, despite all the efforts of the Old Ones' firstborn, the failure of the Great Ward is inevitable. Our Father's return came too late, and he barely had time to prepare. The End Times are drawing near," Vulkan nodded thoughtfully. "The network of the Old Ones has long been broken, slowly crumbling, and no one knows how to repair it."
"We'll have to wait until the Night of Sorcery," Ryan said softly. "As the power of the vortex wanes, demons of Chaos will manifest. The military will be deployed, and that's our chance. The Isle of Flame is guarded by nearly two thousand Phoenix Guards, led by their captain, Cadroin. He alone will decide where and when to dispatch support across Ulthuan."
"So we'll wait for the Phoenix Guards to be deployed… then infiltrate the Phoenix Pyramid on the Isle of Flame?" Vulkan grasped Ryan's plan immediately. "So, we're waiting for the demons to descend en masse?"
"No, that alone won't be enough. Lothern's defenses are too strong for the Chaos demons to break through," Ryan added with a smile. "There needs to be inside help. Lilith will create a fog over the Isle of Flame to cover our movements, and Olica has coordinated with the dark elf infiltrators in Lothern to cause a distraction. This should draw the Phoenix Guard out."
"Do you really trust that dark elf handmaid?" Vulkan asked, intrigued. "There's a dangerous aura about her."
"You took on a wood elf handmaid, didn't you?" Ryan countered.
"That's different. I wanted to understand elven anatomy and their history," Vulkan shrugged, sounding casual. "She's a fool—a simple woman. With a bit of skillful coaxing, she told me everything. The resurrection of the first elven gods, Khaine's battle with Curnous for Isha's paradise, the secrets of the Wild Hunt, and ancient wood elf histories. She even revealed the mystery of her divine lineage. All she wanted was someone to care for her… and to spend the night with her, that's all."
"Shall I share what I learned?" Vulkan raised his glass of wine.
Ryan remained silent, suddenly realizing how little he truly understood his brother. Beneath Vulkan's flawless exterior, graceful demeanor, vast knowledge, and martial prowess, lay something else.
It was a combination of stubbornness, an arrogance rivaling that of the High Elves, a deep-seated self-interest, and a biting cynicism.
Unlike Guilliman, who was kind, hopeful, and sincere, or Angron, who was passionate, emotional, and simple, Vulkan struck Ryan as complex, layered in ways that made him difficult to connect with. They respected each other, but unlike Angron, with whom Ryan could banter freely, there was always a certain reserve.
In truth, Vulkan's sins in the Great Betrayal were heavy, and perhaps this was why even the Emperor hadn't decided what to do with him, leaving him here, in this world.
"For now, we wait."
"Indeed. Cheers."
---
As night fell, a storm blanketed the sky. Trees bent under the fierce wind, and the waves around Ulthuan's coast surged wildly. Gale-force winds drove thunderous black clouds, and a savage rain poured down as if to drown the world.
The sky was thick with Chaos sorcery, churning ominously above as the Great Vortex trembled and twisted under the pressure of the gods. Twisted faces of demonic energy formed in the sky, and the heavens turned into a kaleidoscope of colors. Figures began to materialize on the lands of Ulthuan.
In the kingdom of Yvresse, a foul green mist seeped from the void as flocks of Nurglings danced gleefully in the air, singing praises to the Plague Father.
"More sludge, more rotten blood!"
"More decay! Let Grandpa Nurgle show you~"
A green, pestilent miasma spread over the already desolate lands of Yvresse, whose villages and fortresses lay abandoned. Under the influence of the Winds of Chaos, a Great Unclean One emerged.
Standing seven meters tall, this grotesque, bloated figure was like a massive, rotting green balloon, its oozing flesh emitting a sickening stench. It wielded a massive sword, its blade corroded by Nurgle's plague, making it even more lethal. With a gruesome face and three sagging chins covered in sores and odd fangs, it laughed with glee, its exposed intestines dangling from its ruptured belly.
"More eyes, more spleens, more despair, more sorrow! Praise Nurgle's love and Father's gift!"
This demon, known as Limvas, Nurgle's eighth favored lieutenant, led its plague-bearing horde.
The land began to rot, buildings melted, and the trees and grass withered under the presence of Chaos. Nurgle's minions unleashed their twisted celebration, an ode to corruption, as they marched through the mist in a grotesque dance of decay.
Nurglings laughed as they ran amok, spewing filth, while bells tolled and horns blared. Lazy, buzzing flies hovered above, carrying a foul stench as they circled the grotesque beasts of Nurgle that lumbered forward.
The defenses of Tal-Ires, led by Aesarian's distant relative Allen, had only a scant garrison left after Aesarian had taken most of the forces with him. The city's walls still stood tall, and the defenders had only one hope: hold out long enough for reinforcements from Lothern.
Dozens of bolt throwers were lined up along the city walls, loaded with bolts sharp enough to pierce anything. Hundreds of archers stood ready with their bows drawn.
As the rain of arrows and bolts flew into the night sky, demons exploded into pieces, with the limbs of Chaos creatures pierced and ripped apart. Yet as they fell, their bodies dissolved into black ooze and green slime, spreading a miasma of rot over the city.
The Asur would never surrender!
The elves fought with unmatched precision, as though the ancient bloodlust had awakened in them.
Nurgle's forces continued their relentless advance, vile demons, rotting riders, and Chaos warriors gathering in swarms. The sky took on a sickly greenish hue as the corrupted mist spread, cloaking the night in pestilence.
Laughing maniacally, Limvas ordered the plague army forward, undeterred by arrows and bolts piercing their festering flesh. Their massive plague flies, carrying Nurgle's demons, dove toward the walls, and even when the elves shot them down, their dripping fluids burned and poisoned all they touched.
But Tal-Ires held strong, with the towering walls and elven magic keeping Limvas and his horde at bay. Furious, Limvas gnashed his teeth, grabbing a wriggling maggot from his neck and swallowing it in frustration.
"They're not fighting right… we need to draw them out!" Limvas grumbled, reluctantly preparing to use one of Nurgle's more powerful "gifts."
He ordered his minions to gather wood and build a massive pyre, from which he produced a small earthenware pot filled with Nurgle's most potent concoctions.
"Just one bite of Father's Secret Recipe Burger~"
"Wholesome and filling, sure to please~"
With glee, Limvas tossed a handful of Nurglings into the pot.
"Poison ivy, for flavor!"
"Spoiled honey!" Dripping honey, oozing with rot, added to the foul mix.
"Call me… the chef!"
But just as Limvas prepared to unleash his concoction, a shining arrow shot across the
battlefield, piercing through multiple demons before striking the pot and shattering it, banishing the filth within to the void.
"Begone, demon! Take your filth and leave this sacred land of Ulthuan!"
Bathed in moonlight, a tall, legendary hero emerged from the storm, with a row of shadowy warriors, their faces covered, standing behind him with drawn bows. Handsome yet fierce, his eyes gleamed like gemstones as he held up his rune sword.
"I know you," he said with cold hatred. "You've failed here before. And tonight, I'll make you fail again."
Limvas roared in fury, brandishing his sword, and a new battle began.
Throughout Ulthuan, demon legions had manifested in various realms, and the High Elves fought tirelessly.
Meanwhile, Lothern, Ulthuan's capital, saw only sporadic demonic incursions that were quickly repelled.
In the inner city, as the military mobilized, Ryan and Vulkan saw their chance. They secured a small boat from the harbor, setting sail toward the Isle of Flame.
With the hope of resurrecting Saint Gilles, they sailed into the mist crafted by Lilith, disappearing into the night.
_________________________
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