The first forces to emerge from the western horizon were the vanguard of the Norscan Mountain Army.
Wulfrik the Wanderer, the Norscan High King, donned Chaos-blessed armor from each of the four gods. In one hand, he held a giant rune sword of darkness, and in the other, a massive axe ablaze with dark magic. He rode a monstrous Chaos-steel bull, towering at eight feet tall and over eight feet long, like a moving boulder charging toward the Kislevite lines.
Behind him, more than a hundred Chaos-steel bull riders followed, each bearing a fearsome Chaos champion. They swung their war axes, screaming in bloodlust as they thundered forward in a deadly charge behind their High King.
Rokossovsky's troops had braced for the assault, but their makeshift pike walls and shields buckled under the immense force of the Chaos-steel bulls. Ordinary pikes and halberds couldn't pierce the Chaos beasts' tough hides or the heavy armor of their riders. Against the mighty Chaos axes and rune-enchanted swords, Kislev's shields and weapons shattered, offering little protection as the massive axes tore through men, armor, and shields alike.
In mere moments, the hundred-strong charge of the Chaos bull riders shredded through the Kislevite spear lines, sending hundreds of men flying in bloody fragments. Blood and limbs were scattered across the frozen plains as the red snow soaked the ground.
Each Chaos bull rider required at least five Kislevite spearmen to bring down, and Wulfrik himself was like a living storm of death. With a single charge, he claimed the lives of over thirty Kislevite soldiers before pulling back to regroup. But before the Kislevites could recover, another wave of over a thousand marauder horsemen swept down upon them, long spears and axes in hand, eager to follow their king into battle.
The Kislevite front lines were thrown into disarray once more. The savage marauders stormed into the broken ranks, throwing javelins and tomahawks as they charged, and then switching to axes and spears for close combat, cursing and yelling as they showcased their brutality.
As chaos spread through Kislev's ranks, Rokossovsky rode back and forth on his exhausted warhorse, rallying his soldiers with Kislev's bear-standard flying high. Although the marauder's onslaught threatened to break them, the sight of their general's defiant figure filled the soldiers with renewed courage. Once again, the ranks reformed, with the brown-and-white bear flag waving defiantly.
Despite the sheer ferocity of the Norscans, Kislev's forces stood firm. The Norscan marauders were intoxicated with bloodlust, fully aware that the Dark Gods watched over this battle. They had no fear of death, only a fear of a death without glory. In this moment, there was no greater honor than to die under the eyes of their gods.
The marauders, numbering in the thousands, attacked in waves, hurling spears and insults at the Kislevites, and then pressing forward with axes and long spears. The Kislevite ranks wavered but did not break. Desperately, the brave and stubborn defenders held their ground.
But Rokossovsky knew his troops couldn't hold forever. This was no elite unit like the Tsarina's Imperial Guard or Konev's vanguard corps. Most of his men were militia or conscripts. Though strong and well-trained, they lacked the experience of professional soldiers. After hours of relentless fighting, exhaustion began to take its toll.
Just as the situation seemed dire, a distant drumbeat echoed across the plains.
"Boom—boom-boom-boom—boom—boom-boom—boom!" The rhythmic beat of drums and the blaring of horns signaled a new arrival.
A fresh Kislevite army appeared behind Rokossovsky's faltering ranks.
Rows of disciplined Kislevite soldiers marched forward to reinforce the line. Strong Kossar warriors and elite Kreml Guards joined the battle, stepping in to relieve the exhausted soldiers. As they marched, they sang the Kislevite anthem in voices strong and true:
"Oh Kislev, our holy motherland,
Kislev, beloved home.
Your strength and honor will forever endure,
A treasure eternal for all our land."
With these fresh reinforcements, led by nobles and Kreml Guards, the Kislevite line held firm once more. The Norscans, who had believed the Kislevites broken, were stunned. Wulfrik realized that his old foes were far more resilient than expected.
As the battle song grew louder, a fierce snowstorm swept over the field. The Tsarina's royal sled, pulled by four reindeer and flanked by her Ice Guard, advanced onto the battlefield. The Tsarina, Katarin, last of the line of Queen Miska, stood resolute, her cold face etched in determination. She began chanting a powerful incantation, and the Ice Witches joined in unison.
The land of Kislev responded to the Tsarina's call. The sky darkened as storm clouds whirled overhead. A massive spell began to take shape, drawing strength from the very earth of Kislev.
"Frostfall Destruction!" Katarin cried as she unleashed the spell. The sky rained down colossal shards of ice, each one tens of meters long, thick as ancient oaks, and filled with the Ice Witches' frigid wrath. Like a storm of meteors, the shards hurtled towards the Norscan army, crashing down upon them with unstoppable force.
Norscans who moments before had been fearless in battle now hesitated. As the icy barrage struck, even Wulfrik had to order his Chaos bull riders to fall back. Hundreds of marauders were shredded into frozen chunks, their bodies shattered by the massive ice shards. Taking advantage of this reprieve, Katarin signaled her army to charge. Drawing the ancient sword Ivan the Terrible, she led the assault herself. The blade, imbued with the power of long-forgotten Ice Witches, could only be wielded by one of Queen Miska's bloodline.
Kislev's sharpshooters unleashed a hail of gunfire, targeting the Chaos warriors and armored Norscan trolls. Though the trolls and war-wolves pressed forward, they fell under the relentless barrage of musket fire. Any who made it close were met by the Kreml Guards and Kossars, who tore them apart with deadly precision.
Then came the Ice Guard, the Tsarina's personal warriors. Clad in enchanted ice armor, they supported their allies with protective ice barriers, creating layers of frost-hard shields around the soldiers. Under this magical protection, Kislevite soldiers held the line, repelling wave after wave of Norscan attackers.
After nearly an hour of brutal combat, Wulfrik roared with frustration, charging through the Kislevite ranks to reach Katarin herself. The High King of Norsca swung his greatsword and axe, cleaving through Kossars and Kreml Guards in his path. But his rampage left him exposed. Katarin's Ice Witches seized the opportunity, casting a spell known as the "Ice Prison."
A thick circular wall of enchanted ice rose from the ground around Wulfrik, forming a prison he could not escape. Enraged, Wulfrik hacked at the walls with his rune sword, but even his might couldn't shatter the enchanted ice quickly enough.
With Wulfrik momentarily contained, the Kislevites began to push the Norscans back, gaining precious ground.
Katarin could almost taste victory. This would be Kislev's triumph!
Then, a rider appeared, galloping madly toward her. Sergeant Alexei of the Ice Guard approached, his voice laced with panic. "Your Majesty! Terrible news!"
Katarin's nerves, already frayed from the day's endless fighting, snapped. She swung her sword, nearly pressing its cold blade against Alexei's throat. "Out with it!"
"Our right flank… Fedosev's corps has been defeated! The town of Dagneper has fallen. Only three thousand survivors are retreating back to Zedvika, with the Nurgle army in pursuit."
"What?!" Katarin felt her stomach lurch. She realized that if Fedosev couldn't hold back the Nurgle forces, they would be encircled. Without a clear escape route, Kislev's entire army risked annihilation.
It took Katarin a full minute to process this. She felt a cold sweat run down her back, her body trembling.
"Why has it come to this?!" she screamed, clutching Alexei's coat. "I did everything right—seized every opportunity, executed every tactic! Sigvald's forces are collapsing, Wulfrik is held at bay… all I needed was to defeat the Slaanesh army and then crush the Norscans. This should have been a glorious victory!"
"Explain yourself! What went wrong?!"
Alexei choked out the words, "Nurgle's chosen champion, Festus, secretly sent over ten thousand troops across the Lynsk River. They flanked Fedosev, attacking him from both sides. Fedosev's forces were decimated. He was killed, and General Apanasenko now leads the retreat."
Katarin's fury boiled over. She saw Konev and Zayev pushing Sigvald off the hill and into retreat. Wulfrik's forces were faltering under her spells. And yet, despite everything, disaster loomed.
"Why? Why didn't Fedosev scout for enemy flanking maneuvers? Why must I personally oversee everything?"
she raged, desperation thick in her voice. "Why do I have no commanders who can act without my constant supervision?"
"My Empress!" said advisor Petrov, clutching his heart in fear. "Leave this to Rokossovsky. You must return to Zedvika and support the remains of Fedosev's army, or we will lose our escape route!"
Out of options, Katarin reluctantly agreed. She ordered a retreat back to Zedvika to secure their base.
This single act sealed the fate of the battle.
As the Kislevites saw the royal banners lowering and Katarin retreating, despair set in.
"She's abandoned us!"
"The Empress has deserted us!"
"We've lost! Katarin is fleeing—we're doomed!"
"It's over, every man for himself!"
That final straw broke the Kislevites. After a day of fierce resistance, starvation, and horrific casualties, they finally collapsed into panic and fled.
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