Chapter 16
Things were looking grim for Javier Esteban de Sousa. As, indeed, they were for all of us.
The Estalian was still trying to fight, but the difference in strength between him and the Werewolf was vast. And this wasn't just about brute physical power. Helsigal Pearl-Claw was incredibly fast and agile. His disgusting body, covered in scraps of his own skin, moved with terrifying grace. Accelerating, then slowing, and demonstrating deliberately fluid motions, the Werewolf circled Javier. He easily dodged the Estalian's lunges, closing and widening the distance in a few leaps. Then the Werewolf would drop to all fours and dart back and forth with lightning-fast bounds. Javier could barely react to his movements. And then the Werewolf would straighten up to his full, immense height and lash out with a long paw, slicing off another strip of skin from his victim's body.
Javier had already sustained several wounds. Not life-threatening, but painful. Helsigal was toying with the man, showing the blood running down his pearly-white, long claws. The liquid did not stain them, as if they were coated with water-repellent varnish. The Werewolf's teeth were the same. White, shimmering with mother-of-pearl, and incredibly sharp.
Coming to the Estalian's aid was impossible. A dozen enemy crossbowmen were keenly watching the duel, their weapons loaded. But something had to be done.
"Our mission is more important than the lives of everyone gathered here, warm-blood," Loom-Pia declared. "It is necessary to leave this place as quickly and quietly as possible."
Do normal heroes always take the long way around? Well, yes. However, if the Chaos followers wished it, you'd never escape them in the forest. I was sure this dog-fucker had a good sense of smell. Unless he got too busy screwing Adora and forgot about me? Shit! Fine. Before running, I'll try to help Javier a bit.
I took my sword from my belt and threw it, still in its scabbard, onto the makeshift arena. The Werewolf noticed it too, but wasn't angered. On the contrary, he pointed one of his long claws towards the sword and snarled:
— Berri!
Javier jumped and snatched the sword, then hurled the Skaven blade towards the Werewolf. With a laugh, the creature batted the rusty piece of iron away with a sharp swipe of his paw.
The slaughter continued, but now the Estalian had a normal blade in his hands. Things got a little easier for him. At least Javier could threaten the opponent with counterattacks when the creature tried to scratch him.
The Werewolf… was trying to fence?
Many of his poses and stances resembled Kitana's fighting technique from Mortal Kombat. Only instead of sharp fans, he used his paws with splayed, clawed fingers.
The Werewolf easily evaded even the fastest thrusts of the swordsman. Time was on the side of the Chaos creature. I could see how heavily the Estalian was breathing. He was a tough man, but he had endured too many trials over the past who-knows-how-many months.
— Sigmar Almighty, guide the hand of this man… — Markus prayed.
Surprisingly, Adora was also clearly worried about the Estalian's fate. She followed every movement of the fighters, barely breathing. This was hardly a deceitful performance.
The Beastmen drums roared desperately. The Werewolf made another attempt to reach the Estalian, but Javier, shifting his body slightly to the right, struck the Wereshark in the bend of its paw. It was unlikely to be a dangerous wound, but Javier had drawn Helsigal's blood for the first time.
The people greeted this with encouraging shouts.
— Slice that dog up for me, runt! — Magg chuckled good-naturedly.
— Well? — Javier asked the enemy, breathing heavily and shaking the black blood from his blade. — Are you still bored, Chaos filth? You don't have a tail in the back, but come closer and I'll cut off the one in the front.
The Estalian was deliberately provoking the enemy. Javier knew he couldn't drag out the fight. He wanted to provoke the proud Chaos worshiper to attack him in a furious rage. That way, the swordsman might capitalize on an enemy mistake and strike him, for example, in the heart. I hoped it wasn't strictly necessary to kill Werewolves with silver here.
The manipulation worked. Helsigal lunged straight at Javier. A hideous, piercing howl shook reality. The Werewolf turned into a blur.
In an instant, Javier's entire face was covered in blood. Part of his scalp had been sliced off, dangling near his forehead on a flap of skin. A long, distinctly non-wolfish tongue, ending in a sharp claw, protruded from Helsigal's maw. The creature shot it at the swordsman like a toad catching a fly.
Giving Javier no time to recover, the Werewolf struck left and right. Each movement was at a monstrous speed. This was the end. No chance.
First, Javier's left arm was gashed; then he dropped his sword, showered by a hail of blows, and finally, he collapsed onto his knees. The Estalian did not scream, but his wide eyes expressed unbearable agony. The man's abdomen was ripped open. With barely functioning hands, he tried to keep his entrails from spilling out.
— No! — Adora cried out.
Tears welled up in her usually cold eyes.
A murmur of fear ran through the ranks of the former slaves. What should I do? Try to escape now or go through the Chaos followers' trials? Temporarily join them to escape later? But could I maintain the integrity of my soul and many important body parts by associating with this freak show?
— D-die, herro, — the Werewolf snarled. — You are borrrring. You are stuupid.
— My turn now, — Magg said, already serious and even grim, taking his club in both hands.
Old Magg… I had grown used to him over the past weeks. Used to believing in his superior strength. With his fists and club, he was capable of crushing many of the dangers of this sick world. However, I didn't have much faith in Gut-Gouger's victory now.
The Werewolf made an inviting gesture with a clawed paw, stepping away from the dying Estalian. Javier's eyes were already dimming. Life was quickly leaving his body along with his blood.
Magg charged forward. The resounding thud of his steps drowned out even the Beastmen drums. The Ogre's blow was even more powerful. He tried to slam his club down on the enemy from above with both hands. However, Helsigal easily moved out of the line of attack. The club's head only crushed small stones and raised a cloud of dust.
And once again, the fight was too uneven. The Werewolf dodged playfully, widening the distance. Then, on all fours, this hellish quadruped circled the Ogre, darted around him, made a few lunges, and started the game anew.
Magg tried very hard. He swung his club so wildly that he could have smeared a couple of dozen Orcs or a hundred Goblins onto the rocky road. But the Chaos follower was too mobile. He was also blessed by Slaanesh, the bastard. Adherents of the Dark Prince are known not only for orgies but also for incredibly swift reflexes.
Another dull thud shook the ground. This time, it seemed the Werewolf had gotten carried away. He slipped out from practically beneath Magg's club and, zooming past the Ogre, used a claw to slash one of the large straps holding his belly plate armor.
Gut-Gouger grumbled angrily and began tying the ends of the cut strap with his left hand. The Werewolf did not rush to attack. Helsigal took a short pause, admiring his claws.
— You are fuunny, — the Werewolf snarled. — Will you be my eunuch? Keeperrrof the barrracks?
— Whhhat? — Magg frowned.
— We will castrate you, — the Wereshark replied, and his hideous maw stretched into a semblance of a smile. — I will eat yourr balls forr dinnerrr.
— Magg not food. Magg eater! — the Ogre angrily countered, preparing to continue the hopeless fight.
However, the Werewolf spoke the magic words.
— Do you want to drink? Wine! Tasssty!
— Oooo? — Magg was clearly interested. — Well, after booze, I'll definitely beat you up. Hand over the booze!
— No! — Erik cried in despair. — Magg, my friend, I beg you by the Great Maw! Don't take anything from them! These people are cursed!
The Halfling was about to step forward, but a crossbow bolt ricocheted off the stones near him. It was a warning shot. The other crossbowmen were clearly ready. Erik recoiled.
— Don't worry! — Magg waved his paw at him. — Neither food nor booze can harm an Ogre!
I highly doubted that…
And two cultists were already dragging a barrel of pinkish sludge that bore little resemblance to wine. This vile stuff shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, like oil slicks on asphalt.
— Drink! — the Wereshark laughed. — A little ecstasy beforre agony!
The situation was getting really nasty. Magg, despite the pleas of Erik and many other people, took a gulp. Then another, and another. His eyes immediately went blank. The Ogre swayed his head from side to side and smiled foolishly.
— Booze… — he chuckled, spitting out drops of the pink sludge. — Tasty…
Two more half-naked cultists emerged from the crowd and easily led the big brute into their ranks, slapping his thick flanks.
— Gooood, gooood! — Helsigal snarled, surveying the remaining victims.
In wolf form, human speech was clearly difficult for him, so he spoke less. The Werewolf straightened up to the full length of his bony figure. His appearance struck terror into the former slaves. The creature's black fur shimmered with a purplish tint in places. The vile, graceful movements of the Wereshark were captivating to watch. At times, this creature displayed a plasticity and gesticulation worthy of a skilled ballet dancer.
— I will chooose… Who to eat… Who to fuuck… You are all mine… Mine…
The cultists on the other side of the arena laughed and shouted, making obscene gestures at us. The former slaves, by contrast, remained silent. Only Markus Schlossberg tried to invoke courage in the sons of man, but even his closest Sigmarite comrades were not eager to fight. Despair had consumed the people. I, too, felt its nasty hold. The opponent this time was too strong and dangerous. Even with a mystical blood cup filled to the brim, I could barely fight properly against Helsigal. Not until I leveled up to his incredible speed and agility stats. So, what then? Try to run or…
— You! — the Werewolf's long claw pointed directly at me. — And you! — now he pointed at Adora. — I sssmell… You arrre the tasstiest meat. Come to me orrr…
The Werewolf didn't get to finish. Something akin to surprise was reflected on his snout. Someone was approaching him from the crowd of former slaves. A tall, pale figure, armed with a Skaven Glaive. The Elf woman.
— You? — the Werewolf's maw once again formed a semblance of a smile. — Also gooood… You will die forrr a long time. We will prreparrre yourr soul thorrroughly forr the Prrince's banquet. Slaanesh will feassst on yourr torrrment. I… Oh, what I will do to you!
The Elf woman paid no attention to the Wereshark's threats and promises. Her pale face seemed as apathetic as ever. The girl removed her black, baggy cloak. Above her waist, she now only wore gray bandages constricting her chest. She rolled up her loose pants and got rid of her leg wrappings—she was walking barefoot. Her black hair was now tied back in a bun.
The girl walked over to the likely dead Javier and took my blood-covered sword in her left hand.
— Come here, meat, — the Werewolf beckoned. — I will gnaw yourr fingerss.
The Elf woman, like a sleepwalker, walked toward him, but stopped five steps from the monster. She began to slowly, movement by movement, take up an intricate combat stance. The Elf spread her legs wider, bent her knees, placed the glaive shaft on her back near her waist, and raised the sword over her head for a chopping blow.
A strange position. For a human, this would only work as part of an acrobatic show. Something like the performances of Shaolin monks. Spectacular, but its effectiveness in real combat was dubious.
The Werewolf dropped to all fours and, extending its long tongue, lunged at the Elf woman like a swift black shadow. In the next four seconds, a dozen blows rained down on the girl. Wide swipes of the paws, short, whipping movements similar to a cat's manner of attack, and serpentine thrusts of the tongue with the claw on the end.
The Elf retreated, dodged, and even tried to attack. Several minor scratches appeared on her face and bare shoulders. However, the Werewolf failed to inflict serious wounds, or hadn't tried yet. He had only been playing with Javier at first, too.
— Tassty bloood! — Helsigal snarled, leaping back. — Ssweet flesh! I will tearrr you aparrrt!
The Werewolf lunged back into the fight. Another dozen and a half blows turned into virtually a single, smeared blur. The Elf woman darted from side to side, dodging like Neo from The Matrix. The way she bent back her entire upper body and then, in that position, spun sharply around herself, leaning on the glaive shaft… I strongly doubted that a human was capable of such a thing, even after many years of practice. Yet, the Werewolf continued to press her. The Elf barely countered his attacks.
— She doesn't stand a chance, — Adora sighed gloomily, wiping away her dried tears for Javier.
— She does, — I countered.
I managed to notice something truly encouraging. The Elf woman and the Werewolf had been circling in a dance of death for half a minute now. Blows at breakneck speeds, acrobatic pirouettes, swift lunges. Javier had quickly worn himself out doing this. The Elf, however… She hadn't even gotten winded. The girl still breathed barely noticeably, instead of gasping for air like a fish out of water.
Moreover, it seemed to me that during the fight, she was… waking up! Her movements gained speed, coordination, and grace.
I remembered that when we found her, the Elf had been sitting in the lotus position for who-knows-how-long, immersed in a trance state. That was already a hint of her combat potential. Clan Moulder had locked the pointy-ear in a cage on par with dangerous monsters. It seemed the Skaven were careful with her for a reason.
The Werewolf jumped back about ten meters at once. Then, on all fours, he made three long leaps, moving in a zigzag pattern. He was gaining speed. Helsigal rushed at the Elf woman like a black whirlwind. His onslaught seemed capable of crushing an entire squad. However, the Elf woman didn't even try to block the blows. Slithering on the ground like a viper, she twisted away. She slipped out of the line of attack, and the terrible claws sliced only air.
The Werewolf snarled. A long cut traversed his chest. I don't know what the Elf woman used to inflict it—the glaive or the sword. I don't think she struck the Wereshark in the usual sense at all. She merely positioned the blade at the right angle, and the Werewolf's inertia did the rest. Helsigal's black blood spattered the stones. The wound was unlikely to threaten the cursed Wereshark's life, but it was certainly not a mere scratch anymore.
The Elf woman now adopted a strange stance. She raised her left leg, resting it on her right knee, as if forming the number 4. She compensated for the lack of support by using the glaive shaft.
— She might win, friends, — Erik said, as if not believing his own words or our good fortune. — Mercenaries from Bretonnia told me about a magical forest and the Elves who live in its depths. Wardancers. I think that's what they're called. They wear no armor, but they are more dangerous in combat than any knight. Perhaps we have one of them before us.
The Werewolf turned to the Elf woman and, twisting his hideous maw into a semblance of a smile, spoke clearly, practically without snarling:
— I see yourr soul. Despairr, boundless sorrrow, shattered drrreams, and the blackesst malissse. You hate and despisssse all of uss, but you hate and despisssse yourrself even morrre. Cast off the weight of yourr past. Come to uss! Fall into the embrrrace of pleasurrrre. Become ourr champion, ourr comrrade, ourr new toy!
The Werewolf's voice changed almost beyond recognition. Thousands of enticing whispers could be heard in it. Every phrase was soothing and promised happiness.
The Elf woman slowly walked toward the Lycanthrope. She slightly closed her eyelids and now seemed relaxed.
— Cursed un-human seed, — Markus hissed. — She succumbed to temptation, just like the Ogre.
However, after closing the distance to two and a half steps, the Elf woman unexpectedly tossed her—or rather, my—sword into the air. The blade, spinning like a top, flew in a high arc toward the Werewolf. The Elf woman immediately took the glaive in both hands. Not a trace of the relaxed pose remained. Her body turned into a spring of muscle and sinew.
Everything that followed I could only perceive roughly, for the opponents moved incredibly fast.
The Elf woman delivered a diagonal cleaving strike with the glaive. The Werewolf blocked it with one paw and tried to hit the pointy-ear in the stomach with the other. However, she had already released the glaive. The Skaven murder weapon remained in the Werewolf's paw. The Elf woman, meanwhile, spun in a jump. The falling sword was right next to her and…
An instant—the Elf woman was already behind the Werewolf. She stood, holding my sword with both hands. Her right palm was on the grip, and her left was beneath the pommel.
A fountain of black blood rose, perhaps two meters high. Drops covered the Elf woman's almost naked back.
Everyone froze and fell silent. Mutants, sectarians, Beastmen—no one moved as Helsigal Pearl-Claw's head fell onto the rocky road. It was incredible! The situation, which had been hopeless minutes ago, had returned to the status of being uncertain.
Everyone waited to see what the Elf woman would do. The Chaos archers aimed their crossbows and arquebuses at her. The pointy-ear returned to the body of the defeated monster. The Werewolf's corpse writhed and contorted, as if every muscle now lived on its own. Black blood with rainbow swirls poured over the rocky soil in a thick pool. A pinkish mist rose from it.
The Elf woman paid no attention to this gruesome show. She merely retrieved the glaive, which the Werewolf was still holding with one paw.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by applause. It was the Chaos sorcerer in the bronze mask clapping. The rest of the heretics and mutants slowly began to join him. Even the archers temporarily stopped aiming, trying to clap as well. Only Magg sat squarely on his arse, licking the empty barrel that had held the Chaos plonk.
— Superb, — the Sorcerer's voice rustled, as he stopped clapping. — Your art of murder is elegant and exquisite. Helsigal was good, but you are better. However, you have nowhere to run. The Waystones are far away, child. Your soul is before my Lord's gaze. But do not fear. Rejoice! All your life you feared ending up on Slaanesh's dinner table, but now you have a chance to be among his chosen. True immortality and endless pleasure await. Come to me. I am your light in the darkness. And all your dreams, and all that you desire, the Dark Prince will fulfill. Taste the forbidden fruit of sin. Can you hear how he calls you…
The Sorcerer's speech was cut short when the Skaven glaive plunged directly into his chest. It was a throw of incredible strength and speed. The sectarians froze in indecision again. I realized: it was now or never!
— Charge! — I yelled as loud as I could. — Death to the Chaos spawn!