Chapter 64

Atlas observed from his vantage point, perched atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the battlefield, as the clash between the Chaos Dwarfs and Greenskins unfolded below. The air crackled with tension, thick with the stench of blood and the sounds of battle.

On one side, the massive forms of Black Orcs loomed over the Chaos Dwarf Warriors, their brutish strength matched only by their ferocity in combat. With muscles rippling beneath thick plates of armour, they swung their massive axes with lethal precision, aiming to cleave through any Dwarf foolish enough to stand in their path.

Meanwhile, Orc Bosses, mounted on boars or even soaring above on wyverns, rallied their troops with booming commands, their voices drowned out by the deafening roar of battle. The power of Waaagh! surged through the Greenskin ranks, fuelling their frenzy and driving them to ever greater feats of strength and savagery.

Across the battlefield, the Chaos Dwarfs fought with equal tenacity, their disciplined formations holding firm against the onslaught of the Greenskin horde. Dwarf Warriors clashed against their orcish counterparts, their shields forming an impenetrable wall against the relentless tide of green-skinned attackers.

Amidst the chaos, the clash of metal against metal rang out like a symphony of war, each strike sending sparks flying into the air. Hellfire cannons roared, belching forth torrents of flame that engulfed swathes of Greenskins in searing agony, while infernal war machines rumbled forward, their gears grinding as they unleashed devastation upon the enemy ranks.

As the battle raged on, Atlas knew that victory would not come easily. Both armies were locked in a deadly struggle, each fighting tooth and nail for supremacy on the blood-soaked plains. And amidst it all, the Caldron of Blood remained, a reminder of Atlas's ethos to profit at every moment; even war could bring great wealth in blood and magic.

As the battle raged on, the Chaos Dwarf leaders, with their titles of Daemonsmiths, Lords, and Sorcerer-Prophets, stepped forward to face their Greenskin counterparts in deadly duels. Each clash of titans was a spectacle of brutality, with Gromril-clad Dwarfs wielding infernal weapons against their monstrous foes.

Some of the Chaos Dwarf champions fell beneath the savage blows of their Greenskin adversaries, their bodies rent asunder by the sheer ferocity of the orcish onslaught. Yet others, fueled by dark sorcery and boundless hatred, carved a path of destruction through the enemy ranks, cutting down orc bosses and shamans alike with chilling efficiency.

Among them, Astragoth Ironhand stood out like a colossus, his towering form wreathed in the flames of Hashut's wrath. With every swing of his mighty hammer, he shattered the Greenskin lines, sending orcs and goblins flying like leaves in a storm. Two orc bosses dared to challenge him, their crude weapons no match for the precision and power of his strikes. With a single swing, Astragoth cleaved through their defences, leaving them sprawled upon the ground in pools of their own blood.

But then, Atlas spotted the wyvern-riding orc, soaring through the chaos with wild abandon. With a roar, the beast descended upon Astragoth, its rider brandishing a wicked spear with malicious intent. In a flash of fire and fury, the wyvern and its rider were engulfed in flames, the inferno consuming them both in a blazing inferno that left nothing but smouldering ashes in its wake.

As the smoke cleared and the echoes of battle faded, Atlas knew that the tide of war had shifted once again. The Chaos Dwarfs had proven themselves formidable opponents, but the Greenskins were a relentless force of nature, and the battle was far from over.

Atlas, while being impressed by the skill of his adversary, also couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret, the wyvern was damaged beyond even his ability to raise it – he had always dreamed of a flying mount.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Atlas's attention was drawn to the Greenskins as they began to raise a deafening clamour, pounding their feet and clashing weapons against shields with a ferocity that seemed to shake the very earth beneath them. In the centre of their ranks, a new orc boss emerged atop a massive boar, his presence commanding and his gaze filled with savage determination.

With a thunderous roar, the orc boss spurred his mount forward, leading a wave of boar riders in a frenzied charge that crashed into the Chaos Dwarf defence lines like a battering ram. The sheer momentum of their assault shattered the ranks of the Dwarfs, driving deep into their formations and leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

The boar riders cut through the Chaos Dwarf lines with ruthless efficiency, their crude weapons cleaving through armour and flesh with ease. Chaos Dwarf warriors fell by the dozens, their ranks thrown into disarray by the unexpected ferocity of the Greenskin assault.

Despite the valiant efforts of the Chaos Dwarf defenders, they found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer brute force of the orc onslaught. The Greenskins pressed forward relentlessly, driving deeper into enemy territory with each passing moment, their war cries echoing triumphantly across the battlefield.

Atlas focused his vampiric vision on the Orc boss. "AI, Identify." He commanded, knowing such a figure to cause a scene in this battle would be renowned enough that the Sisterhood would have kept a record on.

*Beep!*

*Searching. Comparing. Target is… Gorbad Ironclaw.*

*Gorbad Ironclaw is one of the most infamous of all Orc Warbosses. In his day, Gorbad led a massive invasion that almost crushed the Empire. His armies succeeded in slaying Emperor Sigismund IV and wiping the Imperial province of Solland off the map. Gorbad was a hulking Orc who rose to fame as the leader of the Ironclaw Tribe. It was he who first built the Iron Rock, the most redoubtable Orc fortress in the Old World. Yet conquering Greenskin tribes was no real challenge for Gorbad and so he inevitably crossed into the human land of the Empire*

Atlas smiled, he didn't know such a legend still remained East of the World Edge Mountains. Gorbad Ironclaw had earned his place in the history books with the bloody destruction he wrought on any who blocked his path. He was old for an Orc, having lived past a century; Atlas could only assume that the twin green gods (Gork and Mork) favoured him with their gifts.

As the mighty orc warboss Gorbad Ironclaw thundered into the heart of the Chaos Dwarf ranks atop his colossal boar, the very ground seemed to tremble beneath his weight. Towering over his foes, Gorbad's hulking form radiated an aura of savage power and unbridled fury.

With a bellowing roar that echoed across the battlefield like rolling thunder, Gorbad swung his mighty axe, Morglor the Mangler, cleaving through the ranks of Chaos Dwarf warriors with devastating force. Each swing of his weapon sent bodies flying and war machines crumbling, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

The Chaos Dwarf war machines, once thought to be impregnable, proved no match for Gorbad's unstoppable onslaught. With a ferocious determination that bordered on madness, Gorbad charged headlong into the heart of the enemy lines, his axe whirling in a blur of motion as he smashed aside anything that dared to stand in his path.

As the battle raged on, Gorbad's legendary strength and indomitable will inspired his Greenskin followers to new heights of ferocity. Orcs and goblins alike rallied to his banner, their bloodlust stoked by the sight of their mighty warboss laying waste to their enemies with unmatched brutality.

Despite facing overwhelming odds, Gorbad seemed to revel in the chaos of battle, his laughter mingling with the clash of steel and the screams of the dying. With each swing of Morglor the Mangler, he carved a path of destruction through the Chaos Dwarf ranks, his unstoppable advance driving fear into the hearts of even the most stalwart defenders.

In the midst of the chaos, Gorbad's war cry rang out like a clarion call to all Greenskins, urging them to fight on with unmatched fervour and unyielding determination. With their warboss leading the charge, the Greenskins surged forward with renewed vigour, determined to crush their enemies beneath their feet and claim victory on the blood-soaked fields of battle.

Then the two titans of the battlefield locked eyes. Both were blessed by gods with power far beyond mortals, reaching such a level of power, that they could have rivalled Vlad, the strongest being Atlas had encountered.

It was going to be Boss against Boss. General against General.

No words were spoken, but a common understanding was reached between the two parties. While the wild melee seemed out of control, an empty circle formed in the centre that neither Dwarves nor Greeenskin's dared to enter.

It was time for the great showdown of legendary lords locked in combat – only one would walk away.