Chapter 70

*Beep!*

The AI chip chimed as it completed another task. It had been working hard these past weeks, taking all of its stored knowledge of runes, including that gained from Thorek to solve his greatest concern.

Hashut.

In the battle against the Greenskins, Astragoth was able to summon a sliver of his God's power to wipe away foes otherwise too dangerous. From what he was able to tell, Astragoth used a rare type of single-use artefact to do so, however Atlas wouldn't take the risk he could have more. The threat of a godly vengeance is what stayed his hand in pursuing the Dwarfs and forcing a final battle.

If he was going to take out the last remaining stronghold of the Chaos Dwarves, Zharr-Naggrund where great temples of Hashut were built, he would have to be able to counter the God. Fortunately he had experienced the summoning once, if from a safe distance, hence he had tasked the AI chip to decipher a way to stop the God descend onto the mortal plain.

The method displayed by the chip was the most complex set of runes he had ever seen. Tens of Thousands of runes clustered together that would have to be carved on the outskirts of the city, creating a zone of special stability that should stop Godly beings outside of the world from sending their power to their followers.

Atlas glanced at the growing city, his enhanced hearing picking up the sounds of merry human activity amongst the creak of undead bones. It was a shame to break up such progress, however the time for war had arrived once more. They needed to cleanse the last cancerous hold of the cursed Chaos Dwarves and finally take full control over the Darklands.

From the tendrils of magic that connected him to every undead bound to his will, he summoned them forth commanding they assemble. As the undead downed tools in sync with thousands of their kin, they started the procession through the streets to assembly points outside the city.

The undead armies of Atlas marched to war once more.

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As Atlas gazed out at Zharr-Naggrund, the capital of the Chaos Dwarfs, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of awe and revulsion at the sight before him. The city rose like a dark monolith from the desolate landscape of the Plain of Zharrduk, its towering spires piercing the sky like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast.

The Tower of Zharr-Naggrund loomed at the centre of the city, a massive structure built in the shape of a mountain, its black obsidian walls reflecting the fiery glow of the countless furnaces that burned within. Tier upon tier, the tower rose, culminating in a massive temple dedicated to the malevolent deity Hashut, the Father of Darkness, where the ruling Conclave of Chaos Dwarf sorcerer-prophets held sway over their empire.

The city itself was a labyrinthine maze of tall steps, each one hundreds of feet high and crowned with battlements that bristled with dark energy. Four colossal stone gateways, bound in iron, pierced the bottom step of the city, allowing passage in and out of Zharr-Naggrund. Roads paved with gold and brass led from the east and west gateways, while the north and south gateways served as sluices for the River Ruin, its poisoned waters flowing through the heart of the city.

Within Zharr-Naggrund, a thousand massive furnaces burned incessantly, smelting the metals that fueled the Chaos Dwarf war machine. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid scent of industry, while the ground trembled beneath the relentless roar of machinery and the rhythmic pounding of steam-driven hammers.

It was a city of darkness and desolation, a testament to the twisted ingenuity and relentless ambition of its inhabitants. And now, it stood as the final bastion of the Chaos Dwarfs, a fortress to be reckoned with in the face of Atlas's undead horde and the marauding Greenskins.

At the pinnacle of Zharr-Naggrund, towering above the smouldering forges and twisting spires, stood the imposing Temple of Hashut, the bull-shaped god revered by the Chaos Dwarfs as the Father of Darkness. Guarded by the fearsome Bull Centaurs, twisted creatures born of Chaos Dwarf flesh and bull sinew, the temple exuded an aura of ominous power.

As Atlas gazed upon it from a distance, he could see the monstrous forms of the Bull Centaurs patrolling its perimeter, their snarling visages and muscled bodies a testament to their ferocity. The temple itself rose like a dark monolith, its obsidian walls adorned with grotesque carvings depicting scenes of bloodshed and sacrifice.

Within the temple's confines, dark rituals were performed by the Daemonsmiths, the ruling priesthood of Hashut. Captives were thrown into cauldrons of molten metal, their agonized screams echoing through the cavernous halls as the acolytes chanted hymns to their malevolent deity.

At the summit of the temple, atop a dais of blackened stone, stood the iron statue of Hashut, its imposing form radiating an aura of seething power. Its hollow belly housed a furnace that burned with intense heat, causing the statue's surface to glow a fiery red. Anyone foolish enough to touch it would suffer the wrath of Hashut's divine fire, their flesh seared by its scorching touch.

For the Chaos Dwarfs, the Temple of Hashut was more than just a place of worship; it was the very heart of their civilization, a symbol of their devotion to the dark deity who guided their every action. As Atlas observed from afar, he knew that to challenge the temple meant to challenge the very essence of Zharr-Naggrund itself.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks stretched into months, Zharr-Naggrund found itself besieged not only by the physical might of Atlas's forces but also by the relentless erosion of morale and provisions. The Chaos Dwarfs, trapped within the confines of their city, faced a grim reality as their supplies dwindled and their spirits waned.

Atlas, alongside the risen Dwarf Runelord Torek, had orchestrated a meticulous blockade, cutting off all avenues of resupply and reinforcement for the beleaguered city. With Torek's expertise in runecraft, the undead Dwarfs were set to work carving intricate runes into the very bedrock surrounding Zharr-Naggrund, creating a barrier that even the most skilled Dwarf artisans found baffling. An invisible defence against any Godly intervention.

Day after day, the Chaos Dwarfs within the city walls watched as their once mighty fortress became a prison, its towering spires now symbols of isolation and despair. With each passing hour, the rumble of empty bellies echoed through the streets, a constant reminder of their dire predicament.

Despite the valiant efforts of the Chaos Dwarf defenders, the relentless pressure exerted by Atlas's forces began to take its toll. The once unyielding resolve of Zharr-Naggrund's inhabitants faltered in the face of unrelenting hardship, their once-proud city now a shadow of its former glory.

And as Atlas looked out over the besieged stronghold, he knew that soon they would break and be forced out. With each passing day, Zharr-Naggrund's defences weakened, its people's will shattered by the relentless onslaught. And soon, he vowed, the city would fall, and the Dark Lands would tremble beneath the might of his undead empire.

"Vampire!"

The word like thunder cut across the vast distance between Astragoth and Atlas. It seemed they had enough waiting.

The battle was on.