Warp Token 2 Word Update

2k words

***

Her chest burned for air, but Ironsnout would not let her pass out. He’d want her aware of every moment as he had her, and she could not resist him any longer. This was the end for her…

“Sigmar!”

She lurched as she felt something slide up her flank, something long and wet, and she closed her eyes as she imagined it to be Ironsnout’s tail, ready to force her legs apart. Instead, it wound high, past her neck and over the wrist of Ironsnout’s paw. Rending metal filled her ears, joined by the sound of a gravelly shriek.

Air filled her lungs once more as she was unceremoniously dropped, her chest convulsing. Chaos surrounded her. The Skaven had turned their attention elsewhere, the fighting ring quickly dissolving as they began to scatter. Some were keeling over, as though being pulled to the ground by some mortal wound, though she could hear no clash of steel of shot of powder, only the screams of her ratkin.

Something heavy thumped to the floor beside her, and she turned her snout to look. It was one of the clanrats, clutching at some sort of constriction round his throat. At first she thought it was a pipe, but it was actually the root of a tree, as thick around as her wrist. It wound up from a breach in the ground nearby like a tentacle, coiling the neck of the rat with a noisy croak of wood. Those who were not fleeing were meeting similar fates, several dozens roots protruding to constrict limbs and throats, the sounds of their choking making her fur crawl.

Ironsnout was also bound, a few roots wrapping against his wrists and knees, the metal subtly bending inward, such was the strength of the roots.  She flinched away when one of the wooden limbs brushed her foot, a scream building in her throat, yet the limbs did not seem to be targeting her as they wormed all over the ground around her.

Skyseeker was aware of a figure drawing closer, but it was no Skaven. She glanced green robes swishing as a human  joined the fray, carrying not a sword in his paws but a wooden staff, one end of it glowing a brighter shade of green. He rished to put himself between her and Ironsnout, his long beard flapping in the breeze as he raised his staff like a warhammer.

He swiped it across the metal jaws of the warlord, the giant Skaven growling through his helmet as the blow sent his head snapping back, as though the simple stave weighed more than it appeared. He could not raise his arms in defence, the roots were immobilising him, Wilfred following another strike into the Snout’s temple, the ringing metal filling the forest.

Wilfred spared the Snout no quarter as he wailed on him jabbing him in the helmet and upper chest, anywhere where his armour was thinnest. The Skaven visibly struggled against his binds, his arms vibrating as he summoned all his strength. He slipped his fingers around the root on his left paw and wrenched it, more of the root’s length pulling free with a splash of dirt. There was the sound of a spring-loaded mechanism, and then a previously hidden blade extended from the bulk of Ironsnout’s forearm, about as long as a human shortsword. He used the blade to cut the root in twain, slashing the blade towards Wilfred, but the old man was spry for his age and dodged aside.

Wilfred twirled his staff in an upwards arching motion, and as though the roots obeyed him, another one snaked from the ground, shooting out like an attacking snake. Ironsnout bellowed in fury as his paw was constricted once more, Wilfred moving in to strike him from beneath the chin. Bits of metal flew aside as his staff loosed some inner component.

“Foolish man-thing!” Ironsnout rasped. “Your magics do not compare against the power of the warp!”

Her fur suddenly stood on end, some subconscious instinct telling her something very wrong was stirring. The air was already imbued with Wilfred’s magics, she could feel its strength rippling down her lungs with each breath, but this was something much more, and familiar.

Ironsnout’s battlesuit began to stir, a low humming noise brewing from within its mechanised confines. Strikes of energy began to zip up and down his armoured limbs, like a tiny storm was concentrating its whole maelstrom over his harness, each strike flashing the area a sick shade of green. It brewed, swirling harder and faster, the energy coils sprouting from his back shaking as though barely restraining the warp from unleashing all tis power on everything nearby.

She watched the roots entwining his paws begin to boil, dissolving like a corpse left out in the sun for too long, the heat such that parts of the wood began to burst into flames. As vicious as they’d been, the vines began to snatch away out of fear, relinquishing the giant Skaven.

Wilfred just managed to raise his staff in defence, Ironsnout thrusting out his forearm blade, intending to run the human through. Wilfred countered, battering the Skaven in the chest and face, the blows stunning the warlord, even if they did not penetrate the armour.

Ironsnout was snarling, his arm blade lashing out in savage arcs, glowing with energy as his warp-battery coursed through his harness like blood. She could see the air shimmer around him, the suit boiling the immediate air around him. Even with some of his power cables cut, and the few dents Wilfred put in his suit with his magical strength, the warlord still came at the wizard, his savage bellows coming out tinny from deep behind his metal visor. Her heart skipped a beat when he produced a second blade on his opposite arm, catching Wilfred in a feint and slashing him across the chest, his green robes splitting to reveal a gash of blood as Wilfred turned away to retreat.

She had to help him, yet her body would not obey her. All she could think of was those horrible days of her initial capture, when Ironsnout had caught her in his cold, lifeless hands, and how it had burned. She could still feel it on some deeper level, as though being subjected to such raw warp power had permanently damaged her nerve endings.

Skaven steel and wood clashed as the two exchanged blows, another stab catching Wilfred in the shoulder as Ironsnout grazed him. Wilfred muttered a chant under his breath, drawing a circle in the air with the head of his staff, Ironsnout suddenly finding himself standing in a puddle of sinking dirt. It was like quicksand, the Snout sinking up to his ankles as he was immobilised once more, Wilfred sidestepping out of his reach.

The warlord brought his paw to a dial on his opposite arm, Skyseeker hearing a faint click. The shoulder-cannon suddenly reared to life, squaring its long barrel at Wilfred’s head. There was only a second’s pause before the batteries on its rear housing flared, discharging a bright bolt of energy. Wilfred did not duck away, but instead crossed his staff before himself, as though intending to block the bolt. The discharge was blocked by a sudden rise of the earth, the bedrock beneath the dirt layer rising to form a protective wall, the energy splashing off it harmlessly.

The restrictive quicksand suddenly stilled, Ironsnout ripping out his giant metal feet from the sunken ground, rising to his full, terrible height. It seemed Wilfred could only concentrate on so many spells at once, and it was no doubt harder still with the great warlord harrying him with attack after attack.

Wilfred hammered the warsuit where he could, always sidesteppgin to Ironsnout’s right, always keeping the lumbering suit moving. He came in to strike at his chest, raising the haft to block a counter. The wood seemed to bend under the Skaven’s strike, what should have snapped the staff in two only bending the wood a little.

Ironsnout’s other paw moved, but not in an attack this time. Instead, he grabbed one of the dangling cables that was spitting fumes, and held out its sputtering end towards Wilfred. The gases washed over his face, the old man’s coughing sending a chill down her back.

The wizard took a faltering step back, and Ironsnout stepped in to chase, his paw fading in through the wall of steam. He swept out the legs from beneath Wilfred, the human collapsing onto his back. He still clutched his staff, but Ironsnout had raised his glowing arm blade into the air, and before he could block the knife had plunged deep into his guts.

“Will!” She screamed.

The blade came out a deep crimson, the whites of Wilfred’s eyes going bright as he watched the blade recede. Ironsnout rumbled a malevolent chuckle, and then plunged the blade back again, this time a little higher towards his chest, giving the blade a cruel twist of finality. Wilfred’s body seemed to contract on itself, his fingers flexing around his wizard’s staff before they relaxed in defeat.

“Hide behind all the man-things you can,” Ironsnout rasped, his blade coming free and dripping blood as he turned to her. “You can never escape me, breeder.”

He took a ground-shaking step towards her, sparing one final glance at the fallen wizard. He paused, looking up to the left, where a mass of movement was stirring.

It was yet more Skaven, her heart filling with despair as she counted twenty, thirty, and yet more. She could not fight even Ironsnout, she stood no chance against so many. And yet they were not coming this way, not so much as glancing at their towering leader.

She soon saw why. Tens of mounted riders were hot on their tails, slicing them apart with heavy downward swipes from atop their saddles, the thunder of hooves quickly drowning out all other sounds. Three riders diverted to engage Ironsnout, and the warlord seemed unwilling to allow himself to be outmanoeuvred, taking a retreating step away to circle the oncoming knights.

It seemed the ambush had been withstood, Skyseeker turning to see the highway behind her had been cleared, the numerous Skaven turned to bloodied piles of dead. Those who had escaped were being ridden down, the land around her quickly devolving into chaos as the retreaters were hunted down. In the growing confusion she lost tracked of Ironsnout, but she could catch glimpses of him through the horses and men and Skaven, the warlord joining his beleaguered forces in retreat. With any luck one of the knights would cut him down.

She turned her eyes to Wilfred, crawling over to his side when she was sure she wouldn’t be trampled beneath the riders. It was not easy to look at him. Everything below the chest was red, and his face had gone pale, a dribble of blood seeping down the corner of his mouth. Yet his expression was strangely peaceful, and when he looked her way there was still life in his green eyes.

“M-Miss Seeker?” he gasped. “Forgive me, I wanted to aid you, but I was so late…”

“No, Will, you came just in time.”

She winced at the sight of his grievous wounds, but she willed herself to place a paw on it in hopes that the pressure might keep his blood on the inside, but it seemed a fruitless effort. In only a moment her black fur was drenched in crimson.

“Skaven should have helped you fight the Snout off,” she stammered. “I’m sorry, Will, I’m… so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he replied. “I have asked you too many times to risk your life in this quest. It was time I did the same for you.”

She was momentarily distracted as a horse trotted closer, its rider dismounting with a hurried lunge. “Wilfred!” the knight shouted, and when he pulled off his helmet she saw it was Roderick, his face drenched in sweat and blood. He rushed over, falling to his knees on Wilfred’s other side, his eyes darting to Wilfred’s stomach, then to her. “What happened?”

“Ironsnout,” she said. “He was here, he always took me, but Will saved me.”

“We need a doctor!” Roderick shouted, turning his head to anyone within earshot. “We have wounded here!”

“Don’t,” Wilfred whispered, taking Roderick roughly by the arm. “Leave it be, Roderick. It is far too late for that.”

“Then you must patch yourself up, Will,” Roderick replied, encouraging the wizard to grip his staff tighter. “Your wounds, you must use your powers immediately, hurry!”

“I’ve lost too much blood. Not even magics can save me now.”

“No, no no no,” Roderick pleaded. “You can’t… you can’t die now.”

“I have borrowed so much time from this world,” Wilfred answered. “I am old, Roderick, older than most, I should have crumbled to dust decades ago, you know this as well as I do. Every man must meet his fate someday, and mine is long overdue.”

“No,” Roderick repeated. “That day is not today. We still have a journey to complete, I-I can’t do it without you.”

“You’ve already done most of it without me,” Wilfred sighed. “From here to Tilea, and into the Dead Lands. From Lyonesse all the way to the border, all this you did on your own. You do not need me to guide you along, boy. You never have.”

Wilfred sputtered, a pink glob of blood pooling in his lower lip.