Chapter 71
From atop the towering walls of Zharr-Naggrund, Astragoth, the High Priest of Hashut, bellowed out a challenge to the undead lord Atlas, his voice laced with contempt and defiance.
"Vampire!" he roared, his words echoing across the desolate plain before the city walls. "You cower behind your lifeless minions, too afraid to face us in combat! Are you truly so spineless, so devoid of honour?"
Atlas, standing before his amassed forces, watched Astragoth's tirade with a cool detachment, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. With a smirk playing at the corners of his lips, he raised a hand in a dismissive gesture.
"Coward, you say?" he retorted, his voice carrying effortlessly across the distance between them. "I've seen turtles with more courage than you, Astragoth. Perhaps you're content to wait behind your walls until you and your cursed kin turn to stone, but I prefer a more... proactive approach."
As if in response to his words, the massive gates of Zharr-Naggrund began to creak open, revealing the formidable ranks of the Chaos Dwarf army assembled within. Clad in black iron and armed to the teeth, they marched forth with a grim determination, ready to meet their undead adversaries head-on.
Atlas's gaze narrowed as he surveyed the approaching host, his mind already calculating the best strategy for victory. The time for waiting was over; now, the true test of strength and will would unfold upon the blood-soaked fields outside the city walls.
With a silent nod to his commanders, Atlas signalled for his own forces to advance, the ground trembling beneath the steady tread of his undead legions. The stage was set for a clash of titans, and neither side would retreat until the other lay broken at their feet.
As Astragoth's warning echoed across the battlefield, Atlas's keen senses tingled with foreboding. He watched with a sense of unease as the Chaos Dwarf High Priest made a signal that seemed to ripple through the ranks of Zharr-Naggrund, reaching all the way to the towering Temple of Hashut at its heart.
A chill ran down Atlas's spine as he realized the true extent of the Chaos Dwarfs' desperation. They were sacrificing their own slave legions in a dark ritual to call forth the power of their malevolent god, the Father of Darkness himself.
Feeling the weight of impending doom settling upon him, Atlas knew that he had little time to act. With a swift command, he rallied his forces, urging them to press forward with renewed urgency. The lives of countless undead and the fate of his fledgling kingdom hung in the balance.
As the Chaos Dwarf army advanced, fueled by the dark energies of their sacrificial rites, Atlas steeled himself for the coming battle. He knew that the odds were stacked against him, but he refused to succumb to despair. With his undead legions at his command, he would fight to the bitter end, determined to defy the will of the Father of Darkness and emerge victorious against all odds.
Besides, he still had his hidden card – the runes carved in the surrounding area. He could only pray that they were effective.
"Behold!" Astragoth's voice boomed across the walls of Zharr-Naggrund, infused with the fervour of religious zeal. "Witness the divine wrath of Hashut, the Father of Darkness, as he casts his gaze upon the blasphemous undead horde that dares to defile our sacred lands!"
"Know dis, foul vampire," he continued, his tone laced with righteous indignation. "Yo'r days ar' numbered, for Hashut's divine fury shall descend upon you like a tempest of fire and brimstone, consuming your wretched soul in righteous flame!"
"Prepare yourselves, my brethren," Astragoth declared, his words ringing out with unwavering conviction. "For we stand as the chosen servants of Hashut, the harbinger of divine justice, and together, we shall purge this world of the abomination that dares to challenge our faith!"
"With the blessing of our mighty god, we shall crush the enemy beneath our iron-shod boots and cleanse this land of their foul presence!" Astragoth proclaimed, his voice rising to a crescendo of religious fervour. "For Hashut is with us, and in his name, we shall emerge victorious!"
As Astragoth's fervent cries reverberated across the battlefield, Atlas stood firm, his gaze fixed upon the Chaos Dwarf High Priest with a mixture of defiance and contempt. With each word spoken in religious zeal, Astragoth sought to instil fear and restore morale among his troops, painting a vivid picture of the imminent divine retribution that awaited Atlas and his undead forces.
Yet, amidst the tumult of Astragoth's impassioned sermon, a subtle crackling sound cut through the air, drawing the attention of both armies. A flickering flame emerged from the ground, its feeble glow barely reaching the height of a dwarf before faltering and fading away. It was a small manifestation of Hashut's power, snuffed out before it could fully manifest.
Astragoth's expression twisted in disbelief as he beheld the failed invocation, his zealous fervour momentarily faltering. Atlas seized the opportunity to mock the Chaos Dwarf High Priest, his voice carrying across the battlefield with icy derision.
"Is that all the power of your so-called god can muster?" Atlas taunted, his words dripping with scorn. "A feeble flame, easily extinguished by the might of my runes. Perhaps you overestimate the strength of your deity, Astragoth."
The Chaos Dwarf's face contorted with rage at Atlas's mockery, but beneath the anger, there was a flicker of uncertainty. His confidence shaken by the thwarted display of Hashut's power, Astragoth struggled to maintain the facade of unwavering faith. Yet, with the fate of Zharr-Naggrund hanging in the balance, he knew that he could ill afford to falter now.
Gathering his resolve, Astragoth knew it was merely a matter of energy. Somehow the undead vermin had created a barrier, all he had to do was break it. If 10,000 slaves were not enough, so be it.
"Balegoth." Astragoth commanded, "Send word, sacrifice the slaves to repeat the ritual. Our God demands it."
"How many, oh great prophet?" Astragoth number two asked, still reeling from the failure of their God to manifest even at such a high cost of slaves.
Astragoth gripped the wall tightly with his one good hand thinking that 'heavy is head that wears the crown'. "All of them." He couldn't afford any more failures. He could feel the vampire's strength and as much as it galled him, with his injury he wasn't a match for him. Their only hope was Hashut divine power. If the slaves weren't enough to break the barrier, there was only one other option – immolation. It was a blessing, or a curse, that Sorcerer-Prophets of Hashut could ignite their life force for a single great surge of energy.
"Make sure they know, it must succeed – no matter what the cost. Make them understand."
Astragoth's gaze pierced through the thick haze of battle, his eyes narrowing as he observed the relentless advance of the undead forces led by the vampire lord Atlas. Despite their formidable defences and the resilience of his Chaos Dwarf warriors, Astragoth knew that without divine intervention, their chances of victory grew slimmer with each passing moment.
The vampire leader moved with an otherworldly grace, his form flickering like a shadow amidst the chaos of the battlefield. Wherever Atlas tread, death and despair followed in his wake, as his undead legions cut through the ranks of the Chaos Dwarfs with chilling efficiency.
Astragoth clenched his fists in frustration, his mind racing with thoughts of divine retribution and salvation. He knew that time was of the essence; they needed the intervention of Hashut, the Father of Darkness, to turn the tide of battle in their favour.
With a fervent prayer upon his lips, Astragoth beseeched his god for aid, calling upon the ancient powers of darkness to smite their enemies and deliver them from destruction. As the battle raged on, he watched with bated breath, hoping that their prayers would be answered before it was too late.
A light from the temple caught his attention – the ritual had started. The only question remained, what would be summoned?