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The smell of new paper activates a buried collective memory. Turtles see in fractals. Every molecule of air tells an untold story with every breath. The word “lunatic” comes from the cry of a Roman owl. Chairs are the result of an ancient pact between humans and tired stones.

Chapter 8 of the travel through the Old World of Warhammer of few vampire knights seeking fighting supremacy and immortality.

Estimated reading time: about 24 min

Fire & Blood – Chapter 8

He parried the first blade with his own sword before jumping to the back of his opponent. Immediately the second demon mowed the place where he was before. Manesh’k devoured the frame into a confused ball and roll and managed to leap on the opposite roof. Several tiles fell into the street three levels below as he regained his balance on the gutter. This one protested under his weight, so he climbed cautiously higher before returning to the two demons.

In extremis he took a side step to avoid the blade that slit the tiles like butter in a panache of dust. He gave a punch from the left to the creature who nodded its head for a moment.

Manesh’ k bounced quickly to the top of the building to keep the two butcher in his field of view. The second one passed heavily through the tiles joining them on this side of the street, sinking down to the bust into the room below. It could have been funny with the elongated skull and two twisted horns, all covered with scarlet scales and strange dark tattoos. But the spark of hatred in the monster’s incandescent gaze spoke for itself about its intentions.

He had not planned to face the two puppets of the Necrarch alone, but this meant that Gilnash, Luther and their allies would have the field free. However, this plan implied that he would manage to survive the two unleashed demons until their summoner died. Moreover, he wondered if, with the spells of which they were affixed, killing the invocator would be enough to banish them.

He was also unable to determine which one he had faced the day before : they were both slightly different, but how to know with demons ? He widened his eyes with amazement at a detail. Neither of the two corresponded, but more importantly, they fought with only one sword each, while the other used two.

Raising his torch high, John looked with a certain distance at the layer of bones lining the corridor they were exploring. Each of their steps cracked this white mattress, raising pungent dust. Almost all of the limbs were broken and even the most talented necromancer would have some difficulty in lifting them. He had the intuition that their new allies were no strangers but kept his suspicions to himself.

Fear in the stomach, Leon followed his mentor with quick glances at the split skulls as they watched him pass through their empty orbits.

A breeze of fresh air gently blew into the duct. The flame carried by John shook as the handful of soldiers who followed him quivered.

The languorous voice was carried by the breath, but each of them perceived it as if the words had been whispered in their ears. Many of the men flip-flopped, surprised. The murmur became amused laugh. The soft, feminine voice mocked them.

The repurgator had a grin of exasperation but said nothing, examining a perpendicular corridor, empty. However, a ringing sound caught his attention. He went in, raising his torch as high as the ceiling permitted. Several soldiers froze as he revealed an ancient armor of rust-eaten breastplate, standing upright in front of them. The joints of the harness and the holes in the harnish revealed a mummified body with prominent bones. Its face was concealed by a mask of chain mail, orange-coloured and muddy meshes. A new breeze brought them the strong smell of oxide and dirt that he was emitting.

The undead man then lifted up his arm and carried it to his harness. He unveiled a blade devoured by time and pointed it in their direction.

Suddenly a detonation broke out in the confined space. The men shook their heads, stunned by the shot. This had no effect on the ancient warrior who walked towards them in a slow and heavy step. The shadows animated around them from both sides. A soldier frowned with fear as he turned his heels to hear the spongy and mechanical footsteps from which they came.

John grimaça. They were going to be far too many for his two holy water flask. Tristofan and Brother Brandit would have been of great help to them.

Spitting and coughing, he tried to progress in the darkness. He tried to remain calm in the face of the oppressive feelings of claustrophobia and despair that beset him. The ceiling was barely more than a metre high and the stagnant water left an air pocket with only a few fingers. Tristofan Tisseron, Altdorf’s fiery fire sorcerer, had his heart set on the edge of his lips, but nevertheless tried to keep hope alive. But it wasn’t just crumbling water running down his cheekbone.

He was baking his own cheek and forehead to breathe, the back on fire because of its uncomfortable position, lost in an aquatic labyrinth and darkened several meters below the surface. Only the anger he felt towards his executioner and the assurance that others were looking for him kept him from drowning. It would have been so easy… He had to believe in his chances of finding a way out. He had to.

Gilnash quickly rolled out of the ground again into fluid mud. Circular movements proved that he would have been sucked underground as the sorcerer had been. He lifted his head up and noticed that another rain of splinters was melting over him. Once again, it had to roll under cover to avoid being shredded.

An arrow whistled in the hallway before reaching its target with a dull sound. The necromancer lowered his eyes to the wooden stick extending to the right of his torso. Anger rather than amazement distorted his wrinkled features as he pointed to the archer of his crooked fingers, similar to bird claws.

A loud scream ripped the sewers apart and the humans fell to their knees, hands on their ears. A violent blast of air swept through the group of intruders. Before they straightened up, an emaciated silhouette became clearer beside Scleras and rushed to his victim. A soldier tried to strike a blow at the translucent appearance, but he felt as if he was hitting a breeze. All heat deserted his wrist, so much so that his gun slipped from his numb fingers.

The spectre rose in front of the terrified soldier, who a second one could see a woman’s face, horribly disfigured and with her throat slashed. The next moment she hugged him in her mortal embrace, taking off from the ground screaming a new high cry. The creature from beyond the grave dragged him into the darkness faster than his friends could have followed. The wretched man’s screams of terror mingled with the shrill complaint for long seconds before being suddenly smothered. The scene unfolded so quickly that she left the invaders stunned. The Necrarch snatched the arrow from his flesh with a careless gesture. His face deformed by time and deprivation now looked confident and serene.

Before Gilnash could intervene, the necromancer was slipped under the soldier’s raised arm. He grabbed it by the throat and lifted it from the ground despite its frail size, his feet pedaling in the air. Scleras opened his mouth wide as Rechald dropped his gun and grabbed the monster’s wrist, looking for breath. The undead spit out a thick greenish cloud in the face of the already suffocating soldier. The little air he managed to breathe in was filled with this stale gas, while Scleras took the time to enjoy the fear and suffering visible on the human face.

Gilnash’s blade made no distinction between stunted flesh and ancient bones. He slit the vampire’s arm neatly at the elbow in a splash of black hemoglobin. Scleras screamed, looking at his stump with horror as Gilnash pulled the captain convulsing towards the few soldiers still alive. The Necrarch had fished out of overconfidence but was not about to make such a mistake again.

The Grissenwald shipyard was the driving force behind the town, with most of the businesses having some connection to it. It produced warships, large fighting ships that then descended the Reik and travelled down the river to the ocean. But it also produced commercial vessels and, more rarely, pleasure boats ordered by wealthy clients. It was on this one that the workers of yard C were busy. They had a delay of several months to catch up on their contract and a night shift had been hired to try to fill.

However, a bestial howl interrupted their work. This one came from the mainland, but was so full of hatred, so inhumane that men looked at each other on the main deck. Even the foreman turned away from the plans he was consulting for the umpteenth time. A new, closer cry ripped the night away. From experience he knew that his men would make little progress on the finishes until nobody had silenced the jerk at the origin of this noise. Pestering against the inns that let their drunks roam the streets without remorse, he walked a determined step to the ramp. He leaned over and tried to determine the direction in which these cries came from.

In a scarlet flash he was caught by the face and swung overboard without having time to scream. It was too much for the crew who had their eyes on him. It was a panic when the bloody red creature hoisted up on board and rushed to the nearest worker who turned his heels, clawed all the way out. With an orange sword it cut off his back and he collapsed screaming. The next moment he was shaken with jolts and eviscerated.

A second creature, in turn, crossed the ledge and swept the chaotic ship out of sight. Not one man was thinking of stopping the monsters, all hitting the scaffolding. Some of them threw themselves into the water screaming. One of them, panicked, did not notice the pit planned for their lifter and fell to the lower level. Nor did anyone notice the third individual on board. He grunted and threw himself on the nearest creature, blasting his blade with his hands.

He nested the demon who had a jitter, the Lahmian blade coming out of thirty good centimetres in his back. Manesh’ k picked up the bloodletter and looked for the second one. It fell on him and before the vampire reacted, they both flipped over to the bottom deck of the ship through a section of boards that had not yet been secured.

Sounded, weakened, the creature on the bridge rose up painfully. The magic that chained the demon in this world shrank with each wound suffered and it began to feel the call of its own dimension. Nevertheless, it gazed at the last sailors on the highest scaffolding and, picking up its sword, rushed straight at them.

Further down the battle between the demon and the vampire was raging. Both had lost their weapons and were struggling with what fell to their hands: planks, toolboxes, nail bags… Several torches flew and when they reached the stored canvases and especially the tar stockpile, a fire broke out. Manesh’ k avoided a strike and replied with a right punch on the snap of its nose, which cracked under his steel-tipped gloves. The evil demon tried to scratch him with a reverse, but the vampire was quicker and dodged before catching one of its spiral horns. He used this grip to beat the already weakened creature’s abdomen with knee kicks before sending it to fly against a beam.

Confident, he approached quickly. With a flare of anger, the demon suddenly rose and charged with a fist raised. Manesh’ k realized with horror that its arm was covered with an orange glow that did not come from the flames and plunged backwards. He avoided as he could the incandescent sword, re-invoked by the bloodletter, and gathered a long reddish furrow along his left flank. He rolled in the carpenter’s equipment and got up out of reach. He was in one piece and his armor held, but he should at all costs avoid a new madness of this kind. And he had to quickly put his hand back on his weapon.

He plunged behind a beam that burst into a flock of splinters and ran to the other end of the level, frantically looking for his sword. He swore to have been so negligent, going so far as to confront this offspring of the skull lord in bare hand combat. He passed under the crane where a heavy load of beams and canvas was piled up and advised the body on the ground. He threw the unconscious carpenter into the face of the devil, who stopped for a moment to stab the unfortunate man. It tore the bloody body out of its blade and looked for the undead. The lifter then collapsed on top of it and it was buried under its load, passed through the floor and disappeared into the hold.

Manesh’k blew into the darkness for a moment. It had to be played tightly, but the monster’s bestial instinct had been the reason for his focus. He knew it would take more than that to defeat the demon, but he was neutralized for a while. Long enough for him to find his sword. He found it under a pile of debris that the flames were beginning to lick when he felt his hair bristling on his skull. He straightened up immediately, ready to jump when the demon appeared.

However, he was caught off guard. An intense purple light shone in front of him and dazzled him from nowhere. A violent crash shook the ship itself as he protected his sensitive eyes and was blown violently astern. He stumbled and staggered, taking care to tighten the guard of his sword. And suddenly the light faded as mysteriously as it had appeared, but Manesh’ k could see nothing for long seconds, completely blinded.

He remained alert, ready to respond to the slightest threat, but nothing attacked him. Not even the enormous mass that fell under this light protection when he could hear it moving perfectly around him. And for good reason, he managed to distinguish a good thirty barrels that were rolling on the floor, some of them torn apart by their fall. However, there were no other openings on the ceiling than that of the lifter and where they had fallen.

If he had been alive, his blood would have frozen in his veins. As the flames began to devour the building, he saw the dark powder vomiting from one of the barrels bursting from the impact.

He didn’t wear a sheath on his hip, and yet his rapier sang every time he hit the deads. John knew well that it was better to show savagery than to be subtle against such a mass of brain-dead enemies, but it was not really the ideal weapon. He also knew that their fight was lost in advance if they did not stop the evil at its source. They had to find the puppetmaster, the necromancer who coordinated all these creatures.

He avoided an axe blow, which an ancient guard in full armour assented him and rose quickly to his back. The repurgator slid his blade through the rusty meshes protecting the neck gap between helmet and chest and blew the head off the skeleton. However, this did not stop him, the undead man was not embarrassed and turned to split him in two. John once again avoided the blow of a roll and bounced, a flask in his fist. He poured the contents into the animated armor and twisted his wrist aside. The detonation of the pistol concealed in its handle ignited the spilled oil, transforming the skeleton into a huge moving torch.

John straightened up and walked through the chaotic melee again, finally having enough light to appreciate the evolution of the battle. Leon held in respect an enemy whom he disarmed and plugged before carefully retreating out of reach. The repurgator did not spend much time on it, he had trained him properly. Together repurgator and soldiers fought valiantly to defend the crossroads where they stood, but their fight was futile. They would end up drowning. Already two men were lying under a group of dead men hanging on their bodies.

He then noticed on one side the captain ashore, an opponent arming his shot to finish him off. With speed honouring the order of the repurgator, John had his rope flying at the end of which he had previously prepared a noose. The lasso made a perfect ellipse, encompassing the chipped sword and closing on the wrist of bone that could not bear its blow.

He literally tore off the arm of the skeleton, which no muscle attached to the body. The undead man tripped to John, who picked him up on the fly with a pommel punch andt hrew him spinning his way back over two of his fellow men. Valent, the still haggard gaze, saw under his nose the gloved hand of his savior and grabbed him to stand up.

He was already rewinding his rope to slip it into an inner pocket while watching the other skeletons approaching. He squeezed the soldier from the elbow but he did not move.

When he swung over he could only see horror. A woman out of nowhere stood on the other side of the guard and gave him a charming smile. Her eyes were surrounded and her blond hair in mess, but that wasn’t what paralyzed John. She gently removed her dagger from the soldier’s ear and stepped back, her short dress floating against her thighs.

Valent dropped his sword and collapsed against the repurgator who let his own rapier fall to support him.

He added nothing more as the soldier’s head swung backwards, his eyes reflecting the sad truth. The anger suddenly exploded in John Grenaille who looked for this woman, but she had already disappeared in the shadows leaving only a few footprints in the mud.

Brandit slowly straightened up and held a scream of pain. His ribs had been severely hit by the abomination. He was in terrible shape.

He realized that what he had taken for a torch was his precious war hammer, which lay nearby and radiated an intense and warm glow.

Brandit was amazed at the deplorable state in which his ally found himself. The top of his armor had been literally compressed and oozed in multiple points. It was obvious that moving was a real torture, the twisted metal biting the flesh at the slightest movement. Any individual would have been killed in such shocks. But Luther wasn’t just any individual, he was already dead once. His mouth dripping with dark hemoglobin. He approached the priest with difficulty. He critically gauged it, not saying a word.

His gaze was fixed on Brandit. He had fortunately avoided any open fracture, but his skull skinned and chin was stained with blood. The vampire puckered his eyes in detail, causing a chill that went down all along the priest’s back. Slowly he bent over to pick up his shiny war hammer, without leaving the undead eye.

Luther, don’t be a jerk.

The vampire’s eyes suddenly widened and he jumped up and flare with astonishing vivacity for his condition. The holy warrior’s fingers closed on the handle of the weapon and he swept the air with a violent hammer. The undead man took the punch and rolled further along like a disarticulated puppet. In his haste to eliminate the religious he had not even drawn his sword, charging armed with his fangs and his anger only, like a wild beast.

When the vampire should finally have been put out of action, he turned his back with measured gestures and unchecked a look of hatred at the human being.

Enough was enough for the undead who, with a pitiful frowning, avoided the blow of mass and ran into the dark corridors.

He wiped his temple still wet and his jaw tightened on a new surge of pain at his ribs.

The power of the blast blew most of the sheds along the docks. Several burning beams were projected in all directions. The fire immediately began to spread to other construction sites. A flaming shape in turn crashed and bounced back several meters. Painfully, it knelt on it knees and shook it head, before realizing that the flames were devouring its shoulders. It rolled to the ground to turn them off and then straightened itself. After a few moments, the person went to pick up its sword, which it had dropped when it crashed. It grimaced as it watched the flames burn down the ship, at least what was left of it. Small detonations continued to ravage the building.

It was close for him to burn in that furnace. Was it one of the Necrarch’s acolytes ? He seriously doubted it. They wouldn’t have sacrificed one of their creations. And probably weren’t able to create that kind of thing. He grinned and turned his heels. The appearance of barrels of black powder in a flash of light was not the first incomprehensible event with which he was confronted. And there was more urgency. Another demon was still prowling on the surface. Speaking of demon…

Manesh’ k leapt backwards as the incandescent blade burst through the cobblestones where he once stood. He flared while the scaly creature was releasing its weapon. It turned his face towards the vampire and threatened him with its long tongue. The abomination gathered upon itself, ready to leap. Manesh’ k went into motion first. The tattoed monster parried his vertical strike and pushed him back.

The demon ignored his threats and, in turn, attempted a vertical strike that he managed to dodge by one step. He struck his enemy’s weapon, driving it deeper into the ground, then went upwards, sliding his blade over his opponent’s blade. He split in two the red and black face of the monster who escaped his sword under shock. The vampire did not lose a moment. He slashed the muscular body from shoulder to hip, which staggered backwards. He did not waste time however, knowing full well that the demon would continue to rise until he had an ounce of power. Manesh’ k went after the unarmed creature, which was retreating step by step, advancing with each strike to support his moves.

The vampire left a dark furrow on the scarlet abdomen, then followed by cutting off almost the left arm and opening the throat again with the same movement. He turned around like a spinning top and cut again, from the left hip to the opposite knees and slammed a real slap in the face with his bare hand to the overflowed creature rolling on the ground. Any notion of honour towards an opponent had disappeared in the vampire’s mind. Only the enemy, who refused to die, was to be massacred. He cut off the back of the bloddletter whose body bounced every step of the way. His blows projected sketches of bones and pieces of scales in all directions. The growth of the skull and a horn quickly cracked and rolled to the ground. The gaps between the paving stones became small scarlet channels. He finally ricocheted against the stone, the flesh having been torn so much from the body by the raging vampire that the ground was visible through its viscera.

Manesh’ k breathed for a moment, stepping back a few steps to observe the remains. After a few seconds, the body stirred again and the shredded flesh braided. Manesh’ k put a face. How could him finish this creature once and for all ? He scanned their improvised arena with his eyes. The stalled carcass of the vessel continued to burn while the fire was wreaking havoc on the surrounding buildings. The flames extinguished on the debris falling on the docks, however, and dark silhouettes began to approach. Alert villagers began to approach without realizing the danger posed by the two monsters. Manesh’k’s eyes rested on the demon’s weapon and a smile stretched over his soot-stained face. He picked it up and, with a victorious grin, decapitated the deformed body with the incandescent sword. He nailed to the ground the body which was suddenly agitated with jolts, the demonic sword sinking into the ground. With a careless kick of a boot he rolled the head over the edge of the dock, tongue whipping like a hideous snake before being swallowed by the waves.

The corpse finally came to a standstill and before Manesh’k’s eyes, the flesh removed itself from what it was likely the skeleton of the defeated. The scarlet fluids spread in a dark puddle that reflected the flames all around. Manesh’ k then had the surprise of contemplating, for the first time, the body that served as the creature’s structure. Although having a multitude of broken sections, he could admire the work done on each bone : meticulous arabesques and drawings had been carved from the skull to the phalanges of the feet, the ungodly symbols blending in with the Lahmnian scriptures that he was able to recognize. He retreated and, after observing this horror for a few more moments, turned to the city.

The two creatures weren’t the one he faced the day before. They had proved to be formidable but slower, less skillful. Above all, he had killed the third more often than the two deceased put together. He had to join Luther and Gilnash.