TG STORY (Prologue) - Did I really just transform the Old World into a Dating Sim!?

STORY BY THE GREAT TFWIZARDNO ART ON THIS PROLOGUEI need to share some bakstory for this. This project started as a funny concept some years ago, and TF-Wizard (a fellow patron here) was very into the idea. Like the madman he is - he turned it into a full story... in ONE MONTH.... 70 OR SO PAGES.

There are several chapters - each features one faction from the TTRPG World of "Warhammer Fantasy" - these factions are:- High Elves- Dark Elves- The Empire- Bretonnia- Dwarfs

I loved this story, but the thing is that I liked it so much, that I never felt I had proper time to actually draw for it. I wanted to do well, and Warhammer designs are quite complex... tho the Sketch Requests give me the perfect opportunity to churm out at least one of them! Hopefully, if you guys are interested, I can do the rest!The chapter bellow is the Prologue, it doesn't feature any TG by itself, but sets up the rest of the story.

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Forests of Middenheim, Year 2527 of the Imperial Calendar,  Forest Clearing

Dark days had come to the Old World. The Chaos Gods had finally given up on their great game, and the pieces were in place to end the world entirely. Nagash, the ancient lord of the Undead, had finally been resurrected by his immortal servants, and threatened to conquer the entire world. Bretonnia, once a bastion of stability, fell into a civil war that nearly destroyed it completely. The Dark Elves, also known as the Druchii, finally completed their painstaking plan, a grand war that had ravaged the once pristine home of the Asur, referred to by lesser races as the High Elves. The mountains themselves seemed to rebel against the Dwarfs, spouting fire as their lands were threatened by monstrous forces. The rapacious Greenskins had united an army of monsters and raiders, slaughtering all in their path. But even these calamities, horrible as they might be, were nothing compared to that which came next.  Archaon the Everchosen, Champion of Chaos, had raised an almighty army to finally butcher the pathetic mortal races who foolishly still thought they could save their world. The once disparate forces of Chaos, the brutal Norscan Raiders, the mutated Beastmen, and the wickedly brilliant Skaven, had finally set aside their differences and united to destroy the world for their foul gods. Many plans were enacted to halt these enemies, from mystical rituals to brilliant strategic maneuvers, but they were all doomed to failure. It was as if the path of fate were decided by some vast, cruel, and stupid entities who purely wanted to ensure the world’s destruction. The Auric Barrier had failed after petty bickering between priests and magi. The Undead had slain many heroes in their quest to resurrect their god, and their later alliance with the living against Chaos did little to change the tides. To many it was clear that the world was doomed. The Chaos gods would finally devour the land itself, leaving nothing but ash.

And yet, against all hope the warriors of Order fought on, desperate to save their peoples and the world itself. At Middenheim, holy city of the Human god Ulric, the final battle to save the world was about to begin. Gathered together were the greatest heroes the world had left, kings and emperors, champions and sages. They had lost so very much. Friends and lovers, cities and armies. Some of them had been mortal enemies before the End Times, but now they all united for one last, desperate chance at saving the world from the doom that had become so very obvious. And so, in the middle of the night, they stood in a circle outside of the city, accompanied only by small retinues and surrounded by priests and archmagi preparing for the ritual. The center point of the ritual was a series of ancient waystones, powerful magical artifacts originally meant to shepherd the immortal souls of the Elves and control the winds of magic throughout the world. But now the ancient elven stone was supported and transformed by spells from the others present. The entire structure had been covered in Dwarfen runes, while human holy symbols surrounded the exterior of the site. The artifact’s power had been enhanced by skillful Dark Magic of the Druchii, while the Asur High Magics channeled and controlled the incredible energies channeled through the device. The entire area hummed with magic and holy light, channeled by Sigmarite priests, Bretonnian Damsels, Asur Archmagi and more. The heroes grimly watched the spectacle, the very last chance to save their world. In brighter times it would be seen as a sign of hope, proof of what mortalkind was capable of when they worked together. Right now it seemed like yet another reminder of the inevitable doom they faced.

There was quite a varied group of guests present for the ritual, although all seemed powerful and regal in their own ways. Two among their number were High Elves, tall and lithe, nearly identical in face but exceedingly different in disposition. One was a warrior, the other a mage. The warrior sat in a chair of fine wood and jewels. Another was a dwarf, stout and strong beyond measure, with a face that had born innumerable hardships. He sat in a chair of stone, clearly designed to be carried. Two among them were humans, both appearing as kings and emperors, one the pinnacle of knighthood, the other a grim monarch carrying a mighty hammer. The knight sat on an ancient throne, the emperor on a much humbler one. The strangest among them was an elf somewhat similar to the other two, but covered in mystic steel plates of a villainous configuration, bedecked with spikes. He sat on a black steel throne, one that had several skulls impaled upon it. They sat silently, each staring at the display of magic before them and trying to understand just what was about to happen.

Teclis, High Loremaster of the Tower of Hoeth, Warden of the White Tower, and the greatest living wizard of the High Elves, was the first to break the silence. He was a tall and willowy man, even for a member of the High Elves.  However, his noble features were marred by illness that had followed the man his entire life, even now he coughed intensely before taking a drink from the medicine that sustained him. It was running out, but so was the world. After getting over his coughing fit he stood once more at attention. He cut quite the striking figure, wearing long blue robes bedecked with mystical symbols and illustrations. In his hand was a long staff topped with a beautiful gold symbol of the crescent moon, and atop his head was a long conical helmet that showcased his honor and wisdom. He had made many mistakes during the End Times, manipulating the sides of the Elven Civil war and failing in the ritual to contain the Great Vortex among others, but now he stood to make things right. Struggling past one last cough, he addressed the gathered heroes. “I am pleased and honored that you have accepted this invitation.” He spoke in a calm and even tone, needing to show grace and diplomacy even when partially surrounded by those of lesser races. “This rite could only be possible with all of your cooperation. I speak not only of the aid your magi have provided, but your very presence.” He tapped his staff against the ground, and an illusory sphere appeared in the air before the gathered heroes.

The sphere appeared to be a model of the world, surrounded by scintillating energies representing the Winds of Magic. Four creatures, a helmeted skull, a giant fly, a blue raven and a purple, glittering face ran along these winds, carving up the world. “With the Winds of Magic running rampant, the Chaos Gods are impossibly strong. Merely calling upon the powers of the winds of magic will strengthen them further.” He waved his staff, and the eight colored winds brightened, but so did the four horrible creatures. “What we will do instead is call upon influence from Another World, something to counteract these energies.” Several of the assembled figures’ eyes widened in shock when they heard the magus speak so casually about other worlds. Could they truly exist?  Back in the illusion, a hole appeared beside the model of the world, and a humanoid figure emerged from it, touching the illusory planet and restoring it. “This ‘savior’ can protect our world, but in order to attract it we need not only magical energy, but something much more ephemeral.” The magus tapped his staff against the ground again, and the illusory image changed to something quite different.

Now it appeared to be showing an ethereal depiction of the altered waystone. A couple of the assembled guests, notably the dwarf, peered closer to the image, while others seemed more relaxed. Teclis nodded, and continued onward. “This is what we shall call the Beacon. It shall serve as the guide for this otherworldly entity to find its way to our world.” As he said those words, the image of the beacon lit up and sent a line of light up into the sky. “All of this is purely within the bounds of reason. However, there are more...esoteric conditions as well.” The dwarf frowned even harder than his resting face at that statement, while strangely armored elf gave a slight grin. Teclis continued undaunted. “We will have to ensure that this savior is actually attracted to our world. It is possible that no being will come to our aid, or worse, that some malign presence may take this chance to intervene.” At that the knightly King and the regal Dwarf stood up, but they were waved down by the human Emperor. Teclis nodded to the Emperor and continued as the two members of the assembly begrudgingly returned to their seats.  The archmage continued. “That is why you have been called here. If you can attune yourselves to the Beacon-” The man waved again and a circle of humanoid figures appeared around the illusory sphere. “The beacon will be linked with your, for lack of a better term in this language, heroism.” The light shot out by the false beacon shifted from a soft blue to a beautiful gold. “With your attunement we can attract the savior this world needs.”

“Just one question, brother.” One of the figures, the other High Elf, stared seriously at Teclis. The man was the Asur Prince Tyrion, Defender of Ulthuan, Champion of the Everqueen, the greatest warrior of the High Elves, the man who many considered Aenarion reborn. He was the twin of Teclis, but of a considerably different build and form. He was tall and imposing, with large muscles and a body hardened by centuries of combat. He wore the dragon armor of Aenarion, a suit of beautifully ornate armor, with a conical helm that held gorgeous wings. At his side was Sunfang, a sword of supernatural strength and beauty. He sneered slightly, less than pleased to be relying on lesser races, and speaking in their barbaric tongue no less! “If we are supposed to be the height of heroism for our peoples, why did you bring him.” He said, leaning towards another member of the assembly. The champion of Ulthuan was a brave and noble warrior, but he could be blunt and forceful as well. “That man is vile beyond measure! A villain without peer! Did you forget when he slew our closest friends and allies? When he usurped our kingdom? He will poison this beacon of yours! I should slay him right now!” He glared at the other figure. Tyrion was a proud warrior, and he had faced much pain and suffering in the end times. All of them had.

The target of his ire grinned tauntingly. He was Malekith, the Witch King of Naggaroth, Son of Aenarion, and Supreme Leader of the Dark Elves. He was an ancient soul, the son of the original Phoenix King. Ever bitter about his lack of ascension to the throne, he forged his people into the Dark Elves, a wicked empire of war and slavery. Burned by the fires of a ritual meant to determine the worthiness of a king, Malekith was trapped in the runic Armor of Midnight. With the immortality granted to him by the armor, he became one of the foremost masters of dark magic in the world, and through an astonishing series of events had taken control of the Elven Homeland. He fought to defeat Chaos so that his rule may finally be pure and eternal. Tall and wiry, almost all of his form was hidden by the blackened armor he wore. He was a constant villain to the High Elves, an archenemy who had plotted to conquer Ulthuan countless times throughout the millennia. The Witch King chuckled, a terrifying sound given his deep, gravelly voice. “I bet it hurts, Champion of Ulthuan. That your beloved brother needed to rely on me. He needed my expertise for this ritual, and how could I refuse such a thing?” The lord of the Druchii had other reasons for going along with this ritual. Between the power of the Circlet of Iron and his true mastery of magic, he understood that attuning to the beacon would give a sort of primacy to those who did. And that was something that he wanted more than anything, especially with no fool like Finubar around to take it from him. “Besides champion…” He said, putting a venomous air on the last word “It was your Everqueen herself who bade me come. What sort of champion would you be to deny her wishes?” Tyrion seemed ready to draw his blade, but before he could another figure spoke.

The figure was King Louen Leoncoeur the Lionhearted, the Golden Paladin, Lion of Bretonnia, Duke of Couronne and an almighty Grail Knight. He was the noble monarch of Bretonnia, renowned for his wisdom, grace, and fierce sense of justice. The king had proven himself worthy through many trials, earning the supernatural power that came from the favor of the Lady of the Lake. The king certainly looked the part. Tall and broad shouldered with impeccable features, a short mane of black hair, and a perfectly manicured mustache, he was known for his beauty even when covered in the rot and bile of the Flylord’s servants. He had fought hard and lost many of his greatest knights, but still he stood as proud and noble as always. On his head was the golden Crown of Bretonnia, while the astonishing Armor of Brilliance bedecked his form. On his chest was the Tabard of Kings, blue and red with the Lion of Bretonnia standing proud. At his side was the Sword of Couronne. “Elven magus. If you truly require heroic souls, there are many Grail Knights among my host. They are true knights, chosen and blessed by the Lady of the Lake for their devotion and purity. Would they not be the heroes you desire?” After only barely surviving a battle with his treacherous bastard son, the king of the chivalrous kingdom had devoted himself to saving the world. He may not have been fond of magic, but he would work his hardest in the defense of the people. That he swore on his honor. It was the duty of a true Bretonnian knight to defend the weak, and even in these dark days he knew that honor would save the day.

“Aye! If it be heroes ye want, ye can do far better than spindly Elves and a few humans!” The comment earned a raised eyebrow from Louen, but the squat figure seemed to ignore it entirely. Indeed, this was High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer, Lord of the Everpeak, ruler of Karaz-a-Karak, bearer of the Great Book of Grudges. He was as brave and proud a dwarf as any, even if age had taken its toll on the mighty king. He was stout and strong, his bushy beard grey and lines crossing his face that showed just how long the man had continued the vigil of the Dwarfen people. On his body was the Armor of Skaldour, golden armor with powerful runes inscribed upon its surface. At one of his sides was the legendary Axe of Grimnir, the weapon of the greatest of the Dwarfen ancestor gods. He sat upon the Throne of Power, and next to him was one of the most important items to the Dwarfen race. It was the Dammaz Kron, a titanic tome that contained each and every slight against the Dwarfen people. While most dwarfs cowered within their mountain keeps, Thorgrim Grudgebearer had sought to retake the lands. With the losses of their mountain homelands in the End Times, things may have become untenable even for the proud dwarfen King. “The Thronebearers alone would be more than enough! Let alone a Slayer or-”

“That’s enough!” Shouted a voice, powerful and commanding beyond measure. It was a voice that made even those of the Elder races, sure of their own superiority, cease their squabbling and turn towards the wielder of such an incredible presence. The speaker was none other than Karl Franz, Protector of the Empire, Defier of the Dark, Prince of Altdorf, Elector Count of Reikland, and one of the greatest Emperors to lead the Empire of Man even in its long and storied history. Karl Franz was a genius general and canny statesman, a patron of the arts and sciences, and a skilled general who wielded Ghal Maraz, the fabled warhammer once wielded by Sigmar Heldenhammer himself. He wore powerful black armor made of gromril and embossed with golden symbols of the Empire’s might and glory. He was tall, with a pale face and fine features, and atop his head was an elaborate helm with a mask fashioned to look like an eagle’s beak. He was the greatest Emperor since the legendary Magnus the Pious, and was just the leader it needed during the dangers of the End Times. He stared out at the squabbling leaders of Man, Elf and Dwarf. “My brothers in arms, this petty squabbling is how we found ourselves in this situation to begin with. If we had prepared a unified front from the start, like in the Great War Against Chaos, we would have crushed Chaos where it stood.” The Great War Against Chaos was a legendary struggle, where evil only fell due to Elven Magic, Dwarfen Technology, and Human blood. Invoking it before Teclis, founder of the Human Colleges of Magic, and Thorgrim Grudgebearer, who fought alongside the humans in it, was a tactical move, but a necessary one. “If this ritual will give us a chance to save this world, then we must go forward with it no matter the cost.” The other kings and generals in the circle nodded (somewhat begrudgingly in Malekith and Thorgrim’s cases), but regardless turned back to Teclis. 

The High Loremaster nodded to Karl Franz, thankful for his silver tongue. “The Emperor of Mankind is correct. If we are to succeed, it must be together.” He also nodded to several of the skilled wizards overseeing the ritual, and then held out his hand. “The preparations are complete. We must needs not tarry.” The Loremaster pointed to the giant, altered waystone, which by now the other Magi present were surrounding and channeling energy into. “Place your hand onto the Waystone, and request aid. It can be a prayer, a diplomatic request, whatever you wish. The magic will take care of the rest.” He put his hand on the waystone, and said a soft prayer to Lileath, the Elven Goddess of the Moon, Dreams and Fortune. “Oh heavenly Lileath, I request your aid this day, that you may grant us the fortune to see us through this trial.” The space around him glowed with powerful blue energy, signifying Azyr, the power of the Heavens.

Tyrion was the next to go, trusting his twin brother. The Defender of Ulthuan placed his hand tenderly on the Waystone, his eyes widening as he could feel the power flowing through it. He was no magus himself, but he was more familiar than most thanks to his brother.  “Oh Asuryan, I pray that your spirit grant me guidance and skill. I pray that your glory be brought to this world once more, and that your chosen agents come in our time of need.” Beautiful white light energies around the man as he spoke, containing energy of Hysh, the power of Light.

Not one to be outdone, King Louen Leoncouer strode forward, as dignified and humble as he was the day he accepted his crown. He gave a kneel at the artifact before putting his hand forward, taking a deep breath and sending out his prayer. “Oh Lady of the Lake. You who has guided our kingdom for generations, I pray that you will grant us this request, and send us our savior. Just as Gilles le Breton was chosen to return in our hour of need, just as the Green Knight has blessed us with his protection.” As he spoke his prayer for deliverance, lively green light surrounded him, containing energy of  Ghyran, the power of Life.

The next to move forward without much hesitation was Malekith, the Witch King of Naggaroth. He lacked any of the surprise or confusion regarding the magic like some of the others showed, the incredible power provided to him by his centuries of study making much clearer. He proudly put his hand on the Beacon, smiling maniacally as he did so. “Oh winds of magic, oh power that lies in the world, give us this savior so that we may slaughter our enemies!” With a mad cackle the energy flowed around him. Rather than the light, his energies looked more like darkness, flowing and concealing. The energies surrounded him, containing energy of Ulgu, the power of Shadow.

“Like I’ll be outdone by these Elves!” Shouted Thorgrim Grudgebearer. Still sitting on the Throne of power, his four attendants, proud dwarfs known as the Thronebearers, rushed in to carry him towards the beacon. He reached out his hand towards the beacon, flipping through the Book of Grudges to a section near the end. “By the power of Grimnir and all who come before us, I ask for what we need! The power and safety to cross off each and every grudge within this book!” The Thronebearers shouted in unison as yellow light surrounded their king, containing energy of Chamon, the power of Metal.

Karl Franz stepped forward next, as proud and noble as always. Like many of the others he was no magus, but as a large patron of the Sciences and Magics he had made sure to learn more of the ritual before beginning. His gorgeous armor clanked slightly as he stepped forward, putting his hand on the beacon and taking a deep breath. He spoke out in his same booming voice, the tongue that had inspired thousands at the Battle of Blackfire Pass, the tongue that had calmed tensions between Elector Counts, the tongue that had forged the very alliance they kept. “I have never been too proud or too afraid to ask for help. I ask in the name of Sigmar that you, whoever you are, grant us succor in this time of need, so that we may build a better world.” As he finished his entreaty, red light surrounded him, containing energy of Aqshy, the power of Fire.

The energies of all those present swirled and combined at the top of the beacon, forming into a ball of pure, ethereal energy. The assembled heroes watched in amazement as the pure ethereal light suddenly shot upwards, forming a giant column of magical energy that blasted up into the air. It shot straight through time, space, even the holes between dimensions. It would find a savior for this world...although perhaps in an unexpected place...

Futsuno City, Japan, 201X

The sun shone brightly in the city of Futsuno, a vital and gorgeous metropolitan area in the Land of the Rising Sun. The weather was wonderful on this beautiful summer day, warm with a lovely bit of wind to prevent things from getting uncomfortable. In these sweet hours of the afternoon, children happily played on swings and playsets, teenagers hung around convenience stores and malls, adults happily chatted amidst work and play. It was a pretty city, with tall, sleek skyscrapers and fresh, quaint shops sitting side by side. It was a town with a low crime rate, excellent job prospects, a bevy of great restaurants, a rich cultural scene, and schools that would make the greatest cities in the world jealous. It was the perfect place to raise kids, have a family, and reach higher in the business world. 

All of this made it rather boring to Hiro Tanaka, an ordinary high school student. Tall, black haired, with thin glasses and a somewhat gangly appearance, Hiro was bored with his mundane life. Going to school in the morning, making dinner for his little sister in the afternoon, heading to cram school in the evening, it was nothing but a grind. Sure he was smart enough that it was pretty easy, but that just made things even more boring. Still, the world wasn’t all terrible. If there was one good thing in the entire world, it was Strategy Games. Hiro was amazing at them, able to optimize any strategy and conquer any opponent. Whether it was coming up with a perfect Go technique, finding a perfect build order in an RTS, or determining the perfect placement of plastic miniatures he could actually feel alive in a strategy game. In games he could matter, he could really make a difference. 

Just like in his favorite game, Sengoku Lance! A lot of people wrote off the game since it was part of a famous series of rather racy Visual Novels, but it was really really good! It combined the best aspects of a strategy game and a Visual Novel, allowing the player to date women even as they led their faction to supremacy! Cool tactical battles between fantasy factions, some fun mechanics for the overworld, and even awesome stories to go along with the sexy anime girls! When he played a game like that, he was truly happy. Who wouldn’t want to command a fantasy army or date a cute warrior girl? Sadly though, nothing like that existed in real life. Sure there were soldiers and girls...but they were nothing like in the games. Those worlds of high adventure and epic romance were a complete fabrication, nothing but fiction. Well, sort of anyway.

As Hiro stared out the window at a confused group of police officers surrounding a truck accident, he ruminated on his increasing suspicions about the world around him. It may have sounded strange, but Hiro was increasingly convinced that there really were other worlds around him, and that people from his world were chosen to go to them! Just like in all of the Light Novels! There were all sorts of strange disappearances around the Futsuno city, known to many as The City of Potential. He was a member of his School’s Gaming Club, but the numbers had dwindled over time. His friend Ryunouske, regional champion of fighting games, had mysteriously disappeared into the mountains one day. Hiro had seen him fall into a hot spring and never return! His pal Maresuke, platformer speedrunner extraordinaire, had fallen down a mysterious manhole in an alleyway! His shooter and gun otaku buddy Daisuke had been thought dead after a bizarre explosion during a class trip to a science lab! Even his old girlfriend Haruka, the puzzle queen, had gotten lost in a shrine that seemed to lead nowhere! Now it was just him and Goro, a huge lover of RPGs. Except that Hiro had seen Goro right near the truck and he even saw him...disappear? The strategy gamer sighed a bit as the bell rang and it was time to go home. He was starting to get lonely, what with his friends all disappearing to other worlds and all. Why them and not him? He supposed he had to be getting home, even if he knew it would just be another night of the same old thing.

He went home and ran straight into his room, ignoring his adorable little sister and strangely sexy mother in the process. His room of the incredibly gorgeous home was filled with a few tables of miniatures and terrain, a closet stacked to the brim with board games, and a beautiful computer setup with multiple monitors. He just needed a distraction right now. Life was so messed up wasn’t it? Now even Goro had moved on. He supposed he should be happy for all of them...but it was hard. He was in his last year of High School, and all of his friends were moving onto bigger and better things. Meanwhile he was still stuck...here. The boy shook his head, figuring that he should really just find something to distract himself with. 

He looked at a card table to the side of his room, where a few pieces of miniature terrain were stacked. Hiro had a sort of hobby of picking up old, busted up pieces of terrain from game stores and trying to remake them into something new. It was a task that engaged his creativity in a way that his usual strategy games couldn’t really accomplish. He rolled over to them and started with a busted up bit of hill. If he could just get some rock paint and maybe a few tiny boulders, he could always rework it. Also he’d need to change the color scheme to something brighter. The hill looked positively depressing. He flicked his paintbrush into some primer, but was distracted a moment later by a loud notification from his computer. Figuring it was a challenge in one of his online games, he rolled over only to find something very different on the screen before him.

It was a notification, but not an email or anything like that. It was just a bright light. It was a tiny spot on the screen, like some sort of laser or something. He scratched his head a little bit, moving his mouse over the light. As soon as he did he coughed, sounds echoing through his ears. They were...cries for help. Some of them sounded like prayers, others like requests for reinforcements, yet others desperate offers for an alliance. He trembled in his seat. What was going on here? He reached out his hand to the screen and touched the spot of light, and the cacophony grew louder. He was excited but also terrified. Could this really be what he thought it was?

A strange voice cut through the cacophony, filling his mind with a question, one that seemed like a prompt. 

“We need help. Only that which you can provide. Are you ready?”

His heart beating incredibly quickly, Hiro could do nothing but nod. The moment he did so his head crashed into the computer screen, and then through it. The world around him started to shift and waver, like it was never anything but an illusion. He disappeared through the computer screen, falling into a space between spaces, a time between times, a place nowhere and everywhere, a place that seemed to utterly defy description. He tumbled for a time that seemed infinite and instant. Eventually though, he saw a world. It looked somewhat like his own, blue oceans and large continents. But this world also looked nightmarish. Whole landmasses seemed to be aflame from his position in the stars, while others were already blackened. The rich blue seas were turning to disgusting bile, and even so he tumbled inexorably towards it. Four dark creatures, vast and terrifying, hovered around the planet hungrily. One was a giant man, covered in rot and boils, disgustingly fat and distended. Another was a hulking figure, red and seeming to consist entirely of horrific muscle and gigantic horns. One was cloaked in azure, and seemed to consist of numerous mouths and faces, all scintillating with a blue light. The last was a creature both incredibly beautiful and incredibly horrifying at the same time. A twisted mockery of human beauty that was too tall, too thin, too fat, too pale, too assymetrical, and too perfect all at once. The strange gods laughed as the man fell towards earth.

Then blissfully, for at least a few moments, all was dark.

Plains of Middenheim, Year 2527 of the Imperial Calendar, Forest Clearing

Back on the Old World, at the ritual site, the assembled leaders of the various races watched with bated breath as the ritual progressed. This could very well be their last chance to save the world. If it failed, surely the Chaos Gods would devour everything. Teclis nodded to the rest of them, who lowered their hands. The High Loremaster breathed deeply, coughing a bit and taking another swig of his medicine. With Ulthuan fallen to the sea, there would be little chance to make more. But he doubted he would need it much longer. “The ritual is complete. Now we need only continue supporting it with magical energy until-” Mid speech however, the light from the beacon collected in a sphere above it. Within the sphere was an ethereal outline of a humanoid figure. Even the kings and emperors felt their jaws drop in astonishment. Teclis merely nodded. “It seems something has answered our call! Rejoice my companions! Our world may yet be saved!” 

Hiro’s vision started to return, at least a little. He saw that he was on some sort of vast plain, surrounded on various sides by blackened forests. Around him he saw a series of figures, each more incredible and impressive than the last. Two seemed to be humans, one an emperor of brilliant stoicism, the other a knight of incredible nobility. Three seemed to be elves, one a frail wizard, another a skilled warrior, and the last...a dark lord? Then there were the dwarfs, an older man sitting atop a throne held by four others. Was this the fantasy world he had always wished for? Was this the land he was supposed to save? It might have been, but he couldn’t do anything right now. He couldn’t feel a body or anything, although he could hear something. Namely the cheers of the assembled figures.

“By the Lady of the Lake!” cried the knight. The lord of Bretonnia was sure that their prayers had been answered, that the Lady of the Lake would see them through. 

“Grimnir’s beard! The Elf actually did it!” Cried the dwarfen king. He normally put more stock in weapons and the world than such magics, but even the venerable dwarf seemed pleased. 

“By Asuryan’s light!” Shouted the elven warrior triumphantly. After all the pain, all the struggle, all the suffering, there was a way forward. 

“Hm.This had better be worth it, Loremaster.” Said the overlord. While his tone was venomous on the surface, it also carried hope the Naggarothi king had not shown in centuries.

“By Sigmar’s Holy Light this world will be saved!” Shouted the Emperor, thrilled to have a new chance after so long. 

“NEVER!” Answered a voice from the heavens, dark and terrible. It was a voice deeper than the darkest abyss and more powerful than a mountain. A voice that made even the Emperor and dwarf sound like tiny children. Accompanying the powerful voice was a hail of missiles, looking more like shards of titanic tusks than proper arrows that fell over the assembled warriors and magi. Accompanying the arrows were blasts of powerful dark magic, crashing down from the sky.

One of the attendant magi was struck by one of these hulking arrows, his head exploding in gore while the heroes scattered to defend themselves. King Louen Leoncoeur’s squire quickly tossed him his shield, which he used to shield the Emperor from a blast of energy even as the squire was obliterated. The Emperor in turn began to bark orders for soldiers to rally, for reinforcements to be sent, and to have his scouts figure out what the hell was going on. The Thronebearers rushed to bring their ruler out of the line of fire, the High King batting away one of the titanic arrows with a grunt of exertion. Malekith ignored an arrow slamming against his form, his armor invulnerable to mundane arms, while Tyrion deftly dodged the hail of missiles and magic. Teclis raised his staff, an arcane barrier of gossamer energy appearing above the beacon and the assembled magi, desperately grunting as he tried to ensure the ritual was completed.

Hiro’s eyes (if they could be called that) turned upwards to gaze upon the subject of the heroes’ panic. It was a host of monsters, most of them flying through the air. There were massive blue winged demons, foul mockeries of angels with purple skin, even dragons of bizarre form and no unified shapes. Many of them, such as the gigantic flies, had heavily armored warriors atop them. Leading the host, however, was a figure that was clearly greater than the rest. Perched astride a wicked manticore, the figure was like a medieval peasant’s nightmare made real. A gigantic figure, wearing a horned helmet and massive armor, a red cape behind him and carrying a flaming sword. Hiro knew not his name, but the rest of the heroes would immediately recognize him as Archaon the Everchosen, the Three Eyed King, Bringer of the End Times. Hiro could feel nothing, unable to even move as the horrifying figure howled into the air. “HOW DARE YOU!? YOU SHALL DIE FOR YOUR BLASPHEMY!” Hiro was terrified. He tried to shout, but no words came from his mouth. Did he even have a mouth!? What was going on? He was supposed to save the world? From a guy like this? How!?

As the scene of ultimate hope became one of ultimate despair, Emperor Karl Franz desperately tried to keep calm. He shouted orders at the non-combat capable aides to leave the area immediately. “By the gods! Not when we were so close!” He shouted, gritting his teeth as he tried to prepare a desperate defense. His resources were incredibly limited at the moment. There were no Imperial Engineers to prepare a counter barrage, the magi were busy sustaining the ritual, and the nearest regiment was much too far away. He did not even have his griffin, Deathclaw, who had been lost in the battle for Altdorf. All he had were his retinue and a small company of Halberdiers. He jumped out of the path of a blast of energy before growling again. “This should be impossible! How could they pierce our lines like this!?” He gritted his teeth, noticing more enemy warriors closing in from the treeline. 

Tyrion, general of the High Elven army and a skilled warrior besides, was the first to answer. “This must be but a small vanguard. A larger force could not have approached unnoticed.” Both he and the Emperor would take that as good news, albeit small comfort. While the small group they had assembled would be worthless against the true host of the enemy army, against a smaller group like this they may be able to win. As the Champion of the Everqueen readied for battle, he appraised the situation. His brother was busy protecting the other magi, who were in turn conducting the ritual. They needed powerful magic to deal with the flying host. And there was only one source of it at the moment. Gritting his teeth and swallowing his pride, he turned to Malekith. “Witch King. We have needs of your magic. Strike those creatures from the sky.”

The lord of the Druchii stood much calmer than the others, although he had drawn his blade. He had, after all, been in more battles than the rest combined. Even the sight of a few of his retainers exploding in blood and gore from the energy blasts meant nothing to him. He grunted at the Defender of Ulthuan’s request. To think they would have to fight side by side. At least the petulant boy was likely mortified at the request, although that was cold comfort given the seriousness of the situation. The witch king sheathed his sword and threw out his arms, feeling the dark energies (some of them summoned by the Chaos Sorcerers above) flowing around him. “I need but time mortals. Then I shall show them the true power of Naggaroth!” He began a powerful chant. 

But between the flying host above and the enemies creeping in from the treeline, time was something the group very much did not have. From the treeline emerged more of the Norscan soldiers, but also among them were squat but heavily armored figures, many of them operating a powerful, wicked cannon. It seemed that Archaon had thought to bring the Chaos Dwarfs with him. As the enemy readied to fire their Hellcannon, they were startled by a great and powerful war cry. It came from one of the greatest among the Dwarfs, High King Thorgrim Grudgebearer himself. “Khazukan Kazakit-ha!” The warcry was echoed by his throne bearers, who carried him in a direct line against the attackers. “Dawi-Zharr! Unbaraki Umgi! Die!” The Chaos Dwarfs and their attendant warriors were shocked by the sight of a stone and iron throne carried by four axe wielding dwarfs tumbling towards them, and while the enemy tried to rapidly move their cannon they were felled by a mighty swing from Thorgrim Grudgebearer. As the throne crashed against the assembled enemy warriors, the Thronebearers swung their axes as well, turning the throne into a whirling dervish of fury. 

While most of the unholy host above stayed there, pelting the area with stone, spear and spell, a few of the daemons flew to the ground, seeking to overwhelm the Witch King before he could bring forth his ruinous powers. Malekith was an expert swordsman, but if he could not focus on his spell, the energy could go wild and ruin everything. His retainers were being picked apart left and right, whether by arrow, spell, or the grasping claws of the daemons. Incompetent fools. Right as a blue birdlike daemon rushed towards him, it was slashed by a blade, causing it to explode in flame. “Not one step forward, beasts!” Howled the Elven Champion, deftly jumping into the air and slicing a warrior riding a giant fly in twain. He nodded to Malekith, who was cackling like mad. Tyrion grunted and went back to his grim work, fighting to save the man he hated most.

The Emperor, Karl Franz, hefted his war hammer Ghal Maraz, and ordered his attendant warriors to join the fight at the treeline. The Dwarfen king could hold the line for a few moments, but what about the skies? He felt a hand on his shoulder, and saw the knowing face of King Louen Leoncouer. The two men, both monarchs of their respective people, needed no words. Karl had arisen to the status of Emperor to defend the world against Chaos thanks to a vision from the Bretonnian King, and he understood that once again the Lionheart knew what must happen to save the world. The Emperor grabbed his warhammer and braced himself before rushing off towards the treeline, rallying his warriors. “For Sigmar! For the Empire, for all of mankind!” He roared as he rushed into battle alongside what few soldiers he had. A Chaos warrior charged at him, but one slam from the powerful ancient warhammer was more than enough to cave in his head. Grunting as one of his soldiers fell to a chaos warrior’s axe, he knew he was in for the fight of his life. 

The Bretonnian King looked radiant and serene as he stood on the chaotic field of battle. His assembled retinue of knights, many of them Grail Knights like himself, knelt before the king. He spoke out bravely. “Oh Lady of the Lake. Before your benevolence we take this vow. An oath to save this very world. Grant us your beneficence, and victory or an honored death.” The area filled with some holy energy as the king raised his hand. “Beaquis! To me!” He shouted, while his fellow knights called and shouted as well. A moment later, powerful and fantastic mounts, armored and ready, flew to the scene, dodging the blows of their attackers only by the grace of the Lady. The Knights mounted Pegasi and Hippogriffs, the warriors taking to the skies in a flash. “FOR THE LADY!” He announced proudly, his host of knights crying in unison as they charged, lances drawn, into the skies. As they flew, in unison they repeated the partial  vows of any true Bretonnian Knight. “We give our body, heart and soul, to the Lady whom we seek. No plea for help shall find me wanting. No obstacle will stand before us. When the clarion call is sounded, we will ride out and fight in the name of Liege and Lady. That which is sacrament, we shall preserve. That which is sublime, we will protect. That which threatens, we will destroy, for our holy wrath will know no bounds. Honour is all. Chivalry is all. Rejoice, for we, the Knights of Bretonnia... will be your shield.”

If this was the last charge of the Bretonnian King, it would be sure to be a glorious one. The knights crashed into the winged horde of monsters. Each of their lances striking with incredible force. The knights drew blades as the scene turned into one of chaos, holy steel battling against demonic fury. For every knight  that fell, they would be sure to take many with them. A chaos dragon attempted to get between King Louen and his true target, Archaon, but as it roared he struck it with his lance, cleaving a giant hole in the creature’s head. His hippogriff Beauquis scratched at the hide of the beast and kicked its dead body propelling them forward towards the Everchosen. He charged into the weapon at the unholy champion, the mighty Lion Lance crashing against the Armor of Morkhan. For a moment, the Everchosen fell backwards, before giving a mighty laugh and swinging his sword at the king, who barely blocked the blow with his shield. 

The champion of Chaos bellowed mightily. “FINALLY! A WORTHY OPPONENT!” He shouted as his unholy blade crashed against the sanctified sword of the Bretonnian king. Archaon managed to get a blow on the king, but was surprised (and delighted) to find the knight’s wound healing with a burst of golden light. The two battled in the sky, flying around one another, their mounts as much weapons as their blades. Watching this battle with horrified fascination was Hiro. Was this truly what he was supposed to be doing? Battles weren’t supposed to be this horrifying right? Was this the prologue or something? It seemed more like an ending! None of it made any sense! He watched with bated breath as the knight with the shining sword battled against the almighty berserker in the air. The Bretonnian King managed to get above the Everchosen with a graceful fip, and shouted as he made one last charge against the champion of chaos. The demonic warrior howled as he went to meet his charge. Their paths crossed, and both warriors screamed as they tumbled off their mounts, spraying the earth with blood both of golden light and the darkest black. The golden blood healed the heroes it touched, but burned several of the demonic warriors. As he fell to the ground, King Louen Leoncoeur humbly held his hand to his heart, the mighty knight praised the Lady of the Lake for his many blessings, and prayed that his sacrifice had saved the world. Then, the ground met him, and it was time to depart to Avalon.

 “D-did he do it!?” Shouted Hiro desperately, watching both figures tumble and crash into the woods behind. He looked around in surprise as a few of the attendant mages seemed shocked by the voice coming from the portal. Wait, was he able to speak now? It must have been working! Maybe once this ritual was done he would be here with superpowers and take down that giant guy!? It had to be something like that right!? One of the figures, the elven mage, seemed to smile calmly at the terrified dimensional traveler. “Do not worry brave one. Your time will come soon.” He said with a wink and a nod before shouting to the assembled Magi. “Brave wizards! We are archmagi, priests, and masters from many traditions. Do not be afraid! For when we succeed, it shall be the greatest spell ever cast!” The assembled magi refocused their efforts. If they could just complete the ritual, perhaps everything would be alright. At least, that’s how it seemed to Hiro. That was how it would work...right?

Malekith let out a mighty laugh as he understood that he had finally assembled enough Dhar to enact his spell. He knew his allies would not be pleased by him casting while those silly Bretonnians were in the air, but judging by the fall of their King and the knights dropping by the moment, it probably wouldn’t matter. Clapping his gauntleted hands together, he finished the last words of the spell, cackling as he pointed it at the skies. Tyrion scoffed at the laugh even as he slew a demonic mage riding a strange magical disk. While the sight of the demonic sorcerer exploding in flame from Tyrion’s blade, Sunfang, was inspiring, it was nothing compared to the havoc the Witch King wrought. A rip in the world suddenly broke forth in the sky next to the flying host of demons. Emerging from the rift was a black cloud of energy, slimy tentacles lashing out from the blackness. Eternally hungry, the tentacles grabbed madly at daemon, sorcerer, and Chaos Warrior alike, pulling them into some unknown darkness. By the time the dark cloud disappeared, the flying warriors were at a fraction of their strength, the ones with ranged weapons largely gone. Were the tides truly turning? Hiro watched with hope in his heart as the remaining flying daemons and warriors came to the ground, faced by Tyrion and Malekith, who fought fiercely side by side. 

Thorgrim Grudebearer swung the Axe of Grimnir, cleaving through the head of an armored Chaos Dwarf with a hearty guffaw.  Things were going much better than expected! His Thronebearers were also in an incredibly difficult fight, but if they could hold out long enough, reinforcements would surely arrive. He grinned as he saw the human emperor fell a foul warrior that looked more bloat and boil than man. He had (albeit barely) seen the human knight and Everchosen fall from the sky and crash into the forest. If he was dead, they might not even need the ritual! “Rally Dwari! Let’s show these Umgi how a true warrior fights!” The Thronebearers shouted in unison and raced forward, the dwarf king cutting a path through the Chaos warriors. They could do this! They could win! “We’ll be crossing off a lot of grudges today! Ho!” His charge forward was halted, however, by a sudden impact in front of his throne, one that scattered the area with gore. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he stared in shock at the sight of the blue and red cloth amidst the corpse in front of him. It must have been the mangled corpse of Louen Louencour. And that meant-

The High King’s fears were realized as a figure stepped forth from the shadows of the woods, his armor scarred but the earth seeming to shake with every step. It was Archaon the Everchosen, Bringer of the End Times. Thorgrim closed the Book of Grudges in a fury. He sat up in his chair, the Thronebearers adjusting to compensate. He leaned towards them as Archaon readied to charge. He looked down at the bearers and pointed away, giving them the option to leave. None of them did, and the Dwarfen King chuckled. Dying with honor was the way of the Dwarfs, and he would be disappointed if his Thronebearers chose to do anything else. Shouting a loud battle cry the Thronebearers and King charged to meet their foe, putting the full force of the Throne of Power against him. Archaon slammed against it with his shield, but used his sword to hack at one of the bearers. The skilled warrior tried to defend, but met his end as the demonic sword, The Slayer of Kings, cleaved straight through his weapon. Thorgrim took the time to bring the Axe of Grimnir down upon the Everchosen’s shield, the powerful runic axe smashing it to pieces even as the unstable throne tumbled towards the ground. One of the  three remaining Thronebearers rushed Archaon’s flank and mightily swung his axe, only to be grabbed by the Chaos warrior, the axe clanging against the ground as the poor dwarf’s neck was snapped. Turning his grim attention back to the Dwarf King, he swung the Slayer of Kings, intending to prove its namesake once more, and Thorgrim, his axe low, could only pray that the Armor of Skaldour could protect him. Before the blade cut into him however, one of the remaining Thronebearers jumped in the way, protecting his king at the cost of his life. Thorgrim howled in fury, having just enough time to raise his axe and land a mighty blow against Archaon’s chest, slicing the powerful warrior and driving him back. The final Thronebearer took this chance to jump into the air and swing at Archaon, but even staggered the Everchosen was able to use his free hand to grab the poor dwarf. Howling he flung him at Thorgrim. 

The Chaos Warrior recovered his footing as the two dwarfs tumbled off the Throne of Power and onto the ground. “PUNY FOOLS! YOU KNOW NOT WHAT YOU DO!” The furious lord of chaos rushed towards Karl Franz, believing Thorgrim dead. The Dwarf grit his teeth, only alive since his guardian managed to get behind him and cushion the blow. Looking left and right to notice the Emperor desperately battling a Chaos Warrior, he watched in anger as Archaon was about to charge the unaware warrior from the flank. The High King still had a debt to repay to Karl Franz, the human Emperor having aided his people in the second battle of Black Fire Pass, among other times. His body, already weak from centuries of battles and bloody wounds, felt close to death. Chuckling madly, he charged towards Archaon from the back, axe raised. “Ha ha ha Ungri! Never thought a Dwarf would hit ya in the back did ye!” He shouted heartily, using the last of this strength in a mighty blow. Archaon looked back in shock as the Axe of Grimnir sliced into his back. But the power of the Chaos Gods flowed through him strongly, and he was not felled. His power failing him, Thorgrim could do nothing but watch as the Archaon grabbed him by the neck and held him up, in clear sight of Karl Franz, who watched in shock. The Dwarf King laughed heartily. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself-” He screamed in the common tongue before being brutally thrown against the ground, his back breaking before the wounded Everchosen smashed him repeatedly with his foot. 

Hiro was able to see the brutal display, his vision better than expected. Right now having super vision hardly seemed a benefit though, as he watched the poor old dwarf being smashed into a bloody mush, and the horrors starting to come closer and closer. What if they got to him before he was whole? He did see something else amazing though, his fingers! Before they well, didn’t exist. But now...he could see them? Sort of? A couple of the magi cheered. It must have been working! But by the time he was whole, would there even be anyone left to save? 

Emperor Karl Franz glared at Archaon as the Bringer of the End Times violated the corpse of the once great High King. He silently prayed that the man would go among his ancestors, but right now he had concerns more tactical than sentimental. He had sent a messenger for reinforcements, but with the pace battle was going he doubted they could arrive in time. If he had more warriors at his side like his Reikmarshal Kurt Helborg, things would be different. But he had a scant few remaining soldiers at his command, and they would not last long against the second wave coming from deeper in the forest. The death of the Dwarf King had bought him time, and he would have to make the most of it. “Fall back!” He shouted, needing to regroup his troops. As he did so he waved his hammer towards an area near the edge of the treeline, where the Chaos Dwarfs had once stood. All that was left of them were broken corpses, and the overturned Hellcannon. A couple of his retinue understood, and rushed towards the cannon while the Emperor took steps back and raised his warhammer. He had to make this a fighting retreat, and place Archaon just right. As a few of his soldiers prepared the demonic artillery, he shouted at Archaon. “I heard you were a Sigmarite once. A Templar. Tell me traitor, how do you feel going against your Emperor?” 

The paragon of Chaos grunted. “NO MAN OR GOD CONTROLS ME. DIE!” The Chaos Warrior charged at Karl, the emperor taking a few steps back before mightily swinging Ghal Maraz to deflect the blow. The Slayer of Kings was a nearly unstoppable blade, but if it had any match it was the hammer of Sigmar himself. The Chaos Lord started to have more and more fun as he matched blows with the valiant Emperor. It was a fight he had been looking forward to ever since turning his back on Sigmar and the Empire. He had the Emperor on the ropes too! Driving him back and back, the human monarch only barely able to keep up. He brought down his almighty blade on Karl, the Emperor only barely blocking the attack with his hammer. The Emperor was strong, but there was no way he could match a powerful chaos warrior in a battle of brute strength. “I WILL CRUSH YOU EMPEROR. JUST LIKE YOUR PATHETIC EMPIRE. THERE WILL BE NAUGHT LEFT OF YOU BUT-”

Before he could finish, Karl Franz smiled and interrupted him with an order. “NOW!” He shouted, and the Master Gunner of his retinue prayed his calculation would be correct before a powerful roar of cannonfire bellowed throughout the area. The Hellcannon was a powerful weapon, normally enough to liquify any target unlucky enough to get hit by it. And now, it slammed against Archaon, who screamed as he flew off to the side. The Emperor breathed a sigh of relief, but was still unsure if the Bringer of the End Times was truly slain. Karl waved for his troops to head back into the clearing, where Tyrion and Malekith were finishing off the landed Daemons. He watched with bated breath as the figure in the light above the beacon seemed to be becoming more real. There was still hope yet, if not much. He coughed, injured from the struggle but still alive. He limped towards the center of the clearing. If he could simply make a new line and hold off the stragglers, they just might be able to win this. He grunted, considering his forces. Teclis was busy with the ritual, while Tyrion and Malekith fought the daemons near the beacon. He had maybe a dozen remaining Halberdiers who were rushing to aid the two Elves. He also had the master gunner and his captured contraption. There couldn’t have been many left in Archaon’s vanguard. If he could form a defensive line centered around that cannon, perhaps-

The master gunner shouted in terror. The Hellcannon was suddenly grabbed from behind, the master gunner looking back in terror as Archaon, Bringer of the End Times, stood before him, holding the very Hellcannon that had seemingly killed him. Before the poor Gunner could even say a word the Everchosen smashed the infernal weapon on top of him, the steel shell shattering. Archaon stood, the moonlight showcasing the warrior brilliantly. A huge chunk of his breastplate was covered by a melted scar, but yet the infernal warrior stood, a testament to the twisted blessings granted to him by the Chaos Gods. “NO MORE GAMES!” The Everchosen howled. As he did a second wave of Chaos Warriors came from behind, much to the horror of Hiro and the Emperor. “I WOULD HAVE KILLED THOSE CURSED GODS ONCE AND FOR ALL, BUT YOU JUST. WON’T DIE!” With that the Everchosen charged, his remaining Warriors racing down the field with him. 

Karl Franz was an intelligent man. He knew when sacrifices had to be made, and when to retreat. He looked back to see Tyrion slashing away at a multi headed Chaos Dragon, while Malekith was raining blows on a vicious beast of indescribable horror. His soldiers were setting for the Chaos Warriors’ charge, but would not be ready for them. They needed time, and the proud Emperor understood what needed to be done. “Ulric, grant me your fury in battle. Sigmar, protect me for as long as you can.” Hefting his warhammer, he shouted at the approaching warriors. “I am Karl Franz! Elector Count of Reikland and Protector of the Empire! I am the Defier of the Dark and the bane of Chaos! I am your final opponent!” With that he charged into the horde. Hiro watched with wonder as the mighty hero swung his hammer with a fury, cleaving his way through with reckless abandon, he took wounds, but pushed forward with a fury worthy of past heroes. He had one target above all others, the Everchosen himself. The mighty Chaos Warrior growled at the pesky Emperor who had thwarted him so many times. Archaon howled and kicked at the human’s leg, snapping it. The Emperor swung, but with his leg injured the blow was weak. And yet, the Emperor persisted.  Archaon slammed his pommel against Karl’s chest, shattering ribs. And yet, the Emperor persisted. Archaon brought down his blade, spraying both combatants with crimson. And yet, the Emperor persisted. Ghal Maraz sung one last time smashing into Archaon and splintering his armor before the Slayer of Kings claimed its latest victim. The Emperor looked back in his last moments to see the Elves standing victorious, his men at the ready, and the ethereal figure gaining his arms and legs. It was finally time to rest. 

Hiro watched in horror, first as the Emperor died, and then as the Chaos Warriors crashed into the soldiers. The Halberdiers were brave, their blades cutting into the superhuman warriors, but they were losing ground. Why was he brought to this world if he couldn’t do anything!? Wasn’t he supposed to command an army or something!? He was barely even real! He looked down in panic at Teclis, who sighed deeply. “I am...so sorry you had to see all of this.” The archmage said sadly. “Do not fret. Your time will come soon.” He said before turning to the battle at hand, casting a spell to heal and support the Halberdiers. 

Tyrion, panting from exertion, looked at the battle between the Chaos Warriors, the remaining soldiers, his brother and Malekith. It looked like it would, once again, be the job of the Elder races to protect the rest of the world. He sighed and looked to the Witch King. “I always fancied myself a duelist. And your magic makes you a better choice against the rabble. May you show the fury of Khaine.” He said, readying to move into battle against Archaon. The Champion of the Everqueen did not even wait for Malekith’s response (likely some spiteful retort) before suddenly taking off with a grace and speed that would shock even the greatest human dancer. Tyrion was quite possibly the greatest mortal swordsman in the entire world, and it was time for him to show his skills once more. Feeling the battle rage starting to take him, he leaped into the air above the line of halberdiers slowly being overtaken as he did so his brother prepared a platform of shimmering energy for him to jump off of. The two needed no words to coordinate their actions, not after their decades of working together. A chaos warrior with a poleaxe tried to cut him down while he was mid-air, but all it took were two slices of his blade to first slice the man’s weapon, then to smash into the warrior’s skull. Sunfang shone brightly as the chaos warrior’s head exploded in flame, and as the Defender of Ulthuan’s feet touched the ground there were none left between him and his foe, still standing near the broken corpse of the human Emperor. Tyrion had no time to mourn, not with the Bringer of the End times himself as his opponent. Archaon glared at the elven warrior, readying his blade as the two faced off against one another. One of his warriors rushed to his aid, but Archaon glared for him to stop, bidding the grunt go to instead attack the halberdiers. Archaon had always looked for strong opponents, and if the greatest swordsman among the mortal races could not provide, who else could? Tyrion wordlessly charged into the fray, the greatest sword duel in the history of the Old World about to begin.

Meanwhile, Malekith, the Witch King of Naggaroth, readied for battle himself. He watched as the halberdiers were being pushed back by the warriors of chaos, annoyed that his more skilled warriors had already been lost. He supposed he could just eliminate them along with the Chaos warriors in a huge explosion, but somehow he doubted that his allies would approve of such a thing. And with the ritual inching closer to completion, he could not risk Teclis tampering with things to remove his reward. The High Loremaster looked at the Witch King and addressed him a moment later. “Do not fear King of Naggaroth. I did not cast that spell to protect the soldiers from the warriors themselves. Do as you will.” The Witch King laughed uproariously. He had already been impressed by some of Teclis’s ruthlessness in the End Times, but now it seemed the archmage was trying to make him happy! He stabbed his blade into the body of the Chaos beast he had just slain. Innocent blood would have been superior, but this would have to do for now. As for the target...he watched as in front of the line a hulking Bloodletter got ready to smash the line of halberdiers to pieces. How fortuitous! The blood from the Chaos beast drained into a ball in his hand before blasting forth. The spell passed into the Bloodletter, seemingly causing no visible wound before the daemon suddenly screamed in agony, its body rebelling against it as it spasmed wildly. The creature’s blade swung back and forth, cutting a bloody swath in the enemy formation before it exploded in a pile of bloody gore, much to the shock and terror of the remaining soldiers. Malekith cast another spell, inky blackness forming around his free hand before tendrils erupted to form a powerful extra weapon. Then with his blade, The Destroyer, in hand he charged into the fray.

Hiro watched with a mix of terror and fascination as the Elven champion and the Everchosen dueled. It was a battle that looked more like something out of an anime than real life. The elven champion moved like lightning, making thrusts and stabs faster than Hiro could see! But if Tyrion was like lightning, Arachaon was like thunder, slower, but unstoppable. He managed to deflect most of Tyrion’s blows, whether through his blade or his powerful gauntlet. Tyrion dashed backwards and shot a ray of fiery energy from Sunfang, but the Everchosen blocked the magic with a few words. Tyrion’s berserker rage grew stronger and stronger as he crashed with the almighty villain faster and faster, each clash earning both of them new wounds. Archaon had taken a blow to the leg, the fire exploding under the armor to reveal bone underneath. Tyrion had blocked a powerful attack with his shield, shattering his left arm along with it. And still, the two warriors continued unabated, Tyrion with a calm fury, and Archaon with uproarious excitement. For the next few moments it seemed to Hiro that Tyrion just might win the duel! He managed to stab Sunfang into one of the cracks caused by the Emperor’s final blow, the Everchosen howling with pain as the fire burned through the wound. Tyrion roared in triumph, ready to finally slay the foe that had caused so much suffering, the foe that had indirectly killed so many of his friends and companions. He was the Defender of Ulthuan, and now he would serve as its avenger. But then Archaon screamed to the heavens, to the Chaos Gods he hated as much as he served. Filled with their unholy strength, he grabbed Sunfang within his chest, forcing Tyrion in place. The champion of Ulthuan howled in fury, but was unable to get away in time before The Slayer of Kings swung across his chest, the unholy blade slicing even through his enchanted armor. Tyrion’s eyes flashed with anguish and pain. He had lost so much...how could he...die now…

Hiro felt his torso coming into being, the sensation of his heart beating once more only adding to the new terror as he saw the brave Elven warrior meet his end. The Everchosen howled in triumph even as his armor lay sundered from the blow and his body filled with horrific wounds. Hiro was forced to watch in terror. How cruel was this ritual!? Bringing him here only so that he could do nothing! But still, even if he had been out there...what could he do against a warrior that strong? The archmage, Teclis, had returned to the site of the ritual now that Malekith was handling the chaos warriors. But still, he saw his brother being slain right before him. Teclis looked angrier than any had ever seen him first, his knuckles going bone white as he clutched his staff before sighing and looking crestfallen instead. “You know the path Teclis. You needs must follow it.” The archmage looked back over to Hiro. He smiled, but the Archmage’s expression was hollow. “Things are reaching their apex. For you, bravery will be far more important than strength. Things may seem impossible now...but life will go on.” The words did little to bring the poor boy hope. He was watching people get slaughtered right before his eyes! How were things supposed to get better!? Still, Teclis went to rally the other magi to finish the ritual. Holding forth his staff and channeling more and more energy into the Beacon. Hiro was mortified.Were all of these people really dying? For him?

With spell and sword, Malekith cut a bloody swathe through the Chaos Warriors, his black armor protecting him from many of the enemy’s blows. However, he still noticed a cry as the last of the halberdiers died. He had no true care for soldiers lost, especially lesser races like humans, but it also meant that there was nothing more to distract the chaos warriors from approaching the Beacon. He watched as Tyrion’s corpse went flying, Sunfang shattering as it was thrown to the ground. “Impertinent fools!” He growled. For his entire life Malekith was surrounded by incompetence! From his mother who failed to heal his body, to the fires of Asuryan that failed to recognize his greatness, to the minions that failed him time and time again! And now even the vaunted heroes of this pathetic alliance were failing to hold the line. Screaming a few words of magic, dark winds surrounded him  and threw him backwards, granting him a chance to face the horde head on. Archaon was rallying and bellowed a mighty roar as he charged forward with the remaining Chaos Warriors. The Witch King looked back at the ritual to notice Teclis staring at him, mouthing something unintelligible to most. But to a brilliant and powerful wizard like Malekith, it was obvious. The lord of the Druchii gave a cackling laugh. The High Loremaster was more wily than he thought! But still, it did make the option he had rather obvious. He sheathed his blade, the black armored figure raising both arms to the heavens to gather as much Dhar as possible. The winds of magic mixed into a terrible black energy, surrounding the immortal king. “I am the Witch King of Naggaroth! The true Phoenix King! You craven fools have stolen my rightful inheritance, and even my chance at revenge!” As he spoke, the very earth trembled, and the black iron plates that composed his form began to shake. His body trembled as he summoned a truly massive amount of mystical energy, the kind that normally would require many blood sacrifices to safely handle. He was swarmed by the Norscan berserkers, led by their Everchosen. A daemonic blade cut into his chest, but he did not care. An axe severed his left leg, but he still stood. Archaon himself stabbed the Slayer of Kings into his chest, but he only cackled as the dark energy all pooled into a ball above his hand. “Now you all die.” He said with a smug grin before his hand clenched into a fist. The entire scene around the Witch King erupted in a huge blast of dark energies, forcing Hiro to avert his eyes as his head finally came into being. When he looked back there was no sign of the Witch King of Naggaroth but a broken, horned helmet. Of the Chaos Warriors there was naught but piles of steel and gore. 

Teclis, High Loremaster of the White Tower of Hoeth, surveyed the scene with a deep sigh. He had no love for the Witch King, but seeing such a powerful mage fall was still a loss for the world. The archmage was filled with despair at the loss of his brother, but he still had a job to finish, even if he could now do so in peace. The cube of light formed by the beacon lowered towards the ground, and one of his attendants handed the archmage a scroll. The archmage put on a weak smile as he approached Hiro nodding weakly. “Take this. Contained within is all of the knowledge of our world collected by my order. With it you can save everything. The light of the beacon will keep you safe and hidden as-”

“NO!” Bellowed a mighty voice. Somehow, against all logic and reason, the Everchosen managed to get up. His armor was completely gone by now, the man’s muscled form blackened with burns, bloody from wounds, and seemingly barely able to move at all. And yet, the Bringer of the End Times still managed to stand, the shattered Slayer of Kings in hand. “YOU’RE RUINING EVERYTHING!” Shouted the mad Everchosen, moving solely on a sort of insane fury. He had agreed to be the chosen of Chaos not out of loyalty to the grim deities, but with the understanding that if he killed each and every mortal the Chaos gods would be starved of the emotions that sustained them. He could finally be free of those cruel deities that had so controlled his life. His crown granted him prescience, and he understood that if these shortsighted fools finished their ritual the cycle would merely begin anew. With a downright bestial roar he slashed his broken blade at the back of Teclis, spraying the area with blood. As he did he screamed triumphantly. “YOUR RITUAL IS OVER!”

Hiro watched it happen in shock, and was treated to a horrible display as the Archmage coughed up blood, clearly mortally wounded. Still, Teclis managed a weak laugh. “Archaon, you fool. The ritual...needed heroic deaths. You...just completed it.” The Everchosen howled with fury, but Teclis chided him proudly. “And I do think you’ve underestimated my brother.” Hiro looked across the clearing to see the bloody form of Tyrion charging across it. There was no reason in his face, just pure rage at the murderer of his brother. The noble prince looked like a beast, his shining armor in pieces and his wonderful tabard in tatters. Tyrion tackled the hulking warrior, showing strength beyond his lithe form. The Prince and Everchosen grappled on the ground like animals, driven purely by instinct and fury. 

Teclis laughed weakly at the sight, coughing up more blood. “Well done brother.” He said before turning back to Hiro. “He won’t last long...and neither will I.” He said the words with a bitter finality. Hiro had millions of questions, but know he had no time to ask them. The archmage continued “You...could never have saved this world. But after it is gone, there will be a chance to rebuild it. The Chaos Gods will be distracted slaking their appetites, and you shall have your chance.” He puked out more blood, tumbling to the ground and looking up weakly. “This world runs on stories. All worlds do. Use the scroll...but remember something else at the same time...something that brings you hope. A song, a tale, anything. Build a world where hope can reign eternal, where the world...can be saved…” As the thrashing behind Teclis ceased, Hiro unable to determine the winner, Teclis breathed his last. The High Loremaster of Hoeth had enacted his final scheme.

And as he did Hiro felt an incredible amount of energy surging through his now physical form. But he also stood there terrified as the world started to fade out of existence around him, the cage of light surrounding his form seemingly teleporting him away. How was he supposed to do anything that the wizard had said!? Rebuild a world!? He wasn’t a god or hero, he wasn’t even a leader or general! He was just some nerd who loved strategy games! This wasn’t what he’d asked for, this was way too much! As he screamed and panicked, he suddenly felt tired, and all went dark.

???

When Hiro’s vision returned to him he was in...space? It reminded him of that same vision he saw before when he first came to this world. He was surrounded by distant stars, but before him was an earthlike planet. However this time it was even more destroyed than before. Whole chunks of it were missing, as if some titanic beast had taken a bite. The entire planet seemed to be a blackened ruin, and Hiro saw the same four dread gods from before hovering around the planet. The pile of boils breathed some horrific poison that turned the oceans and rivers into disgusting bile. The red behemoth chomped and tore through the firmament of the planet. The blue demon feasted on the ethereal tendrils of energy surrounding the world, and the purple skinned abomination danced amidst the wreckage. The sight of it horrified Hiro to his very core. How could he think of anything hopeful when witnessing such destruction? Blessedly they did not notice him, but what was he even supposed to do here!? He was just...some guy.

As he stewed in terror and impotence before the gods, he clutched the scroll tightly and opened it, wondering just could be inside. It was...a map of incredible detail. In it he could see beautiful forests patrolled by wood elves, titanic mountains where Dwarfs drank fine mead, glorious oceans and dark, terrible islands. It was close to the sorts of fantasy worlds he liked to lose himself in during games, and he was sad to know that it was all gone. If only- his eyes widened as he felt that strange energy surging within him. His thoughts returned to fixing the miniatures terrain, or creating custom maps in strategy games. As he did the energy surged greater within him, the boy feeling a strange sense of excitement. He didn’t need to learn how to create a world! He’d done it dozens of times! The energy within him didn’t seem to care if he knew how to do it, he just needed the will! As his confidence returned the energy started to spread out into the universe, the Chaos gods looking around in surprise and confusion for just a moment before returning to their indulgences.

Hiro also remembered the other advice he had been given by the elven wizard. He had to combine this scroll with something hopeful, something that made him happy. But what would fit best? It had better be something similar to the world he had seen right? That would be the best way to honor the heroes he saw die, right? Or maybe an urban fantasy story? If he was going to live in this new world it would probably be better to put in some air conditioning right? Or maybe something more sci-fi? He’d love to see what those knights looked like in power armor. His happy ruminations ceased however, as he noticed the four dark deities had stopped their games. Now they were staring at him. They howled in voices that echoed through time and space, seeming to come right for the poor boy.

He stood there like a deer in the headlights, terrified beyond measure. His eyes closed and his mind raced to capture something that made him happy, something which gave him hope. And the first thing that came to mind was...Sengoku Lance. The cute girls. The bright colors. The sweet anime graphics. The battles for dominance where people didn't have to really die. The different factions that each brought him so much joy. As soon as he did, his mind went into overdrive. To his mortal mind, it was like painting a picture, designing maps in a video game, writing a story, sculpting a statue, writing a program and more all at the same time. The energy that had been built up within him burst out in a fury, reacting with the formless power lying in the world around. 

The Chaos gods howled in fury and anguish, their screams bizarre and terrible. Their new world was being stolen from them, and things would be very, very different.

When Hiro’s eyes opened, he didn’t feel like a god anymore. That energy was gone. But he did see something familiar. He knew it was probably just how his brain could comprehend it, but what was in front of him was obvious.

It was a faction select screen.