Chapter 66

The battlefield erupted into chaos as Gork's colossal foot descended from the heavens, its sheer size casting a shadow that engulfed the entire landscape. With a deafening clap of thunder, the foot struck the ground with titanic force, sending shockwaves rippling across the ashen plain.

As the foot collided with the flames of Hashut, a cataclysmic clash of divine energies ensued, the very fabric of reality quivering in response to the collision of two opposing powers. The flames of Hashut, once a blazing beacon of Chaos Dwarf might, were suddenly snuffed out as Gork's immense foot pinned them to the ground, smothering their fiery fury beneath its colossal weight.

The impact of Gork's descent sent tremors coursing through the Darklands, causing the earth to quake and fissures to form in the scorched earth. Chaos Dwarfs and Greenskins alike were caught in the path of destruction, crushed beneath the weight of the massive foot or swallowed by the gaping chasms that opened up in its wake.

Amidst the chaos and devastation, the battlefield became a scene of utter carnage, with bodies strewn across the ground and the air thick with the acrid stench of death and destruction. Yet even in the midst of this turmoil, the war raged on, with those still standing redoubling their efforts in a desperate bid for survival.

As the momentum of the Waaagh! magic waned and the Greenskins who had fueled it fell in battle, the colossal green foot of Gork began to fade, its spectral form growing fainter with each passing moment. Meanwhile, the ground where the flames of Hashut had been extinguished smouldered and smoked, a lingering testament to the clash of divine powers that had rent the battlefield asunder.

Then, from a gaping fissure in the earth, the flames of Hashut erupted once more, their fiery tongues licking hungrily at the air as they clawed their way back into existence. At first, the flames flickered weakly, as if the exertion of their previous attack had drained much of their power. But then, with a malevolent surge, they began to swell and grow, casting an eerie glow across the battlefield as they regained their strength.

A savage snarl echoed through the skies as Gork, enraged by the resurgence of his foe, summoned his divine wrath once more. The colossal foot descended from above, intent on crushing the flames of Hashut once and for all. But this time, the flames did not yield. Instead, they surged forth to meet their aggressor, wrapping themselves around the godly foot with searing intensity.

As Gork's foot made contact with the flames, a fierce conflagration erupted, the infernal heat of Hashut's divine fire engulfing the colossal appendage in a maelstrom of flames. With a deafening roar, the foot began to smoulder and burn, its divine essence consumed by the relentless fury of the flames.

As the flames of Hashut finally consumed the last vestiges of Gork's presence, the battlefield fell silent once more, the echoes of divine conflict fading into the stillness of the Darklands.

As the remaining flames of Hashut surged forth with their diminished but still potent energy, they engulfed Gorbad Ironclaw in a searing inferno. Despite his formidable stature and the protective charms and trinkets he bore, the flames of a minor chaos god proved to be a force beyond mortal reckoning. With each passing moment, the flames consumed Gorbad's flesh and armour, their blistering heat searing through his defences with merciless intensity.

For a fleeting instant, Gorbad's defiant roar echoed across the battlefield, drowned out by the crackling roar of the inferno that consumed him. As the flames burned brighter and hotter, Gorbad's form began to waver and distort, his once mighty frame withering and crumbling before the relentless onslaught of Hashut's divine fire.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the flames of Hashut flickered and faded, their last vestiges of energy spent in their fiery assault. All that remained amidst the smouldering ashes was Gorbad's enchanted axe, gleaming defiantly amidst the charred remnants of its wielder.

As the echoes of battle slowly faded and the smoke cleared, the warriors on both sides beheld the aftermath of the titanic clash between gods and mortals. And amidst the devastation and ruin, there stood Atlas, his gaze fixed upon the lone artefact that remained as a testament to the fallen Warboss who had dared to challenge the might of Hashut.

Despite the grievous injury he had sustained, Astragoth Ironhand refused to yield to the pain, his resolve unbroken even as he felt the searing agony of his severed arm. With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, he rallied the remaining Chaos Dwarfs, his booming voice cutting through the chaos of battle like a clarion call.

Summoning the last vestiges of his strength, Astragoth led his warriors into the heart of the fray, his mechanized legs carrying him swiftly across the battlefield despite his wounds. With every step, he inspired courage and determination in his comrades, his indomitable spirit serving as a beacon of hope amidst the swirling tide of battle.

As the Chaos Dwarfs rallied to their leader's call, their ranks closed around him, forming an unyielding bulwark against the rampaging Greenskins. With disciplined precision, they struck back at their foes with relentless ferocity, driving them back with every stroke of their weapons.

Meanwhile, amidst the disarray and confusion of the Greenskin ranks, the loss of their legendary leader dealt a crippling blow to their morale. Without Gorbad Ironclaw to lead them, their courage faltered, and panic spread like wildfire among their ranks.

Driven to desperation, many of the Greenskins turned on each other in a frenzied bid for escape, their once-unified horde descending into chaos and discord. Amidst the chaos, the Chaos Dwarfs pressed their advantage, their disciplined ranks cutting through the disorganized Greenskins with ruthless efficiency.

In the end, it was Astragoth's unwavering leadership and iron will that carried the day, his strategic brilliance turning the tide of battle in favour of the Chaos Dwarfs. As the last remnants of the Greenskin horde scattered in defeat, Astragoth stood victorious amidst the carnage, his determination undiminished despite the price he had paid in blood and sacrifice.

It was at this point, that Atlas, who both Dwarf and Greenskin, seemed to have forgotten, prepared for his part of the war.

With a determined gleam in his eyes, Atlas drew his sword, the blade shimmering in the dim light as he stepped forward to take command of his undead army. The air crackled with anticipation as his skeletal warriors awaited his orders, their hollow eyes reflecting their unwavering loyalty to their master.

As he surveyed the battlefield, Atlas could see that the chaos of battle had taken its toll on both the Chaos Dwarfs and the Greenskins. The once-mighty armies now lay scattered and broken, their forces depleted and their morale shattered.

The Chaos Dwarfs, in particular, bore the brunt of the devastation, their ranks decimated by the relentless onslaught of the Greenskins with Gorbad Ironclaw and his elite warriors. Many of their war machines and cannons lay in ruins, their crews slain or scattered.

Seeing the opportunity before him, Atlas raised his sword high, rallying his undead legions to his side. With a thunderous roar, he led them forward into the fray, their ranks moving with eerie precision as they advanced upon the beleaguered Chaos Dwarf forces.

As they closed in on their enemies, Atlas could feel the anticipation building within him, the thrill of battle coursing through his veins. With each step, he could sense victory drawing nearer, his undead army poised to deliver the final blow that would shatter the last remnants of resistance and cement his dominance over the battlefield.

For in the crucible of battle, amidst the clash of gods and the fury of war, the true strength of the Darklands would be forged anew.

Atlas only prayed Astragoth didn't have another way to summon his godly patron.