The Price of Apotheosis

In the Chamber of the Broken World, a shattered soul writhed in the fires of Apotheosis.

I fought. I died. I was reforged. How many times has this happened? I know it is by Sigmar’s will, but it is too much to bear.

An axe severed my spine.

A maul caved in my skull.

A blade pierced my heart.

Am I being remade only to die again?

The pain is too great. I don’t know if I can–

KRINNGH!

The metallic ring of the hammer blow resounded through the halls of the Sigmarabulum.

Outside the chamber, a dauntless sentinel listened to its soul-splitting peal. An enormous golden door stood between Kavastus Seven-sense and the Anvil of the Apotheosis, and through it he could hear the individual strikes of each of the Six Smiths. In his long years of duty, he had learnt that their blows were slightly different in tone, and after each came different kinds of screams as new parts of the reforged soul were shattered and made anew.

As the deafening clang faded, the soul inside the chamber twitched with flickers of sentience.

I fought. I was reforged. How has this happened? I know it is by Sigmar’s will–

I was taken from my tribe when the sorcerer lords came.

They set my village ablaze and I watched my people burn.

I fought to the last. Maybe we could have won, but at the crucial hour I was taken up and–

KRINGGH!

Another wave of sound, and with this hammer blow came new screams.

Kavastus stood silently in the vast antechamber, his eyes fixed on the door ahead. He had experienced the reforging himself. Only once. Now he guarded this most sacred of chambers while those who died in battle were given new life by the will of the God-King. He remembered the unbearable physical and spiritual anguish, and he empathised with every Stormcast Eternal whose reforging he witnessed. But he could not let pity interfere with his duty. He had to maintain his vigil over the chamber, watching for those who would reject Sigmar’s gift.

Inside the chamber, the screams ebbed once more. But another blow would come soon.

I fought. I was reforged. It is by Sigmar’s will.

I last died in Shyish, in the land of endless death.

We fought the legions of the Great Necromancer, that ancient enemy of the God-King.

We slew hundreds, but they came by the thousand, their corpse-eyes staring as their hands ripped my flesh.

I saw something in those eyes, something that–

KRRINGH!

The screams were intensifying. Something was wrong. Kavastus had come to know well the cries that typically emanated from the chamber, the changes in pitch that told of different forms of pain. But as body and spirit were sundered by the Six Smiths, these outpourings usually lessened, and in their place came the glorious crackle of lightning as the Stormcast Eternal was brought once more into being.

But this reforged was still screaming.

I fought. I died. It is by Sigmar’s will–

The dead looked at me and I at them.

Their flesh was charred, their skin was melted, but I saw their faces amidst the shambling horde.

I recognised them, I had seen them–

KKRINGH!

Kavastus watched as the great golden door before him began to glow white hot. Rivulets of lightning danced along its surface. He gripped the haft of his stave firmly. Something was wrong with the reforging. Something was wrong with the reforged.

I died – by Sigmar’s will – it is too much to bear.

I recognised those wretched dead. I saw in their multitude the faces of my people.

What horrors had they endured? What nightmare had I let befall them?

Why would Sigmar send me to–

KRINGHH!

Cerulean energy arced across the antechamber, lancing out from the golden door with every agonised bellow. Kavastus steeled himself. The Stormcast within was resisting the reforging.

I died – it is too much to bear.

I could not strike my people, even as they tore me open.

They hated me for abandoning them, for leaving them to–

KRIINGH!

‘Sigmar guide me,’ said Kavastus as he took his stance, readying himself to face the tempest of the tortured soul.

It is too much to bear.

I did not choose to leave.

The God-King took me, but I cannot go on.

My people need me!

The great door burst open in an explosion of light and thunder. White heat bore into Kavastus’ eyes, blinding him momentarily, while waves of cerulean energy crashed into his armoured body. Electric pain shot through him, piercing his flesh and burning his soul, yet he stood his ground. He thrust his stave forward, and with a mighty shout willed the magic of Azyr through the arcane implement. An almighty crack sounded, as though two immense thunderheads had collided with one another, and as swiftly as it had emerged, the wild energy was blasted back through the golden doors. Where it had blazed, a screaming spectre of blue and gold static remained, and encased within it was the shattered soul of the reforged. A lightning gheist.

Kavastus beheld his quarry as it raced anarchically around the antechamber, and called out to it with the authority of the God-King.

‘Halt!’

Jagged tendrils of lightning shot forth from his stave, cutting a crackling path towards the gheist and ensnaring it in mid-air. The electric being screamed in agony and uncomprehending fury, but the Azyrite magic only bound it tighter, condensing its erratic form ever more, until it resembled that of a man.

‘Be still!’ Kavastus ordered, but the gheist thrashed against its arcane restraints.

‘Calm your soul!’ he bellowed. His demand was met with howls of tempestuous rage that echoed throughout the vast antechamber.

‘Your duty is not done!’

With this, Kavastus swung his stave, whipping the ensnared lightning gheist across the antechamber and through the great doors that led to the Anvil of the Apotheosis. The doors slammed shut. Kavastus breathed heavily.

KRINNGH! KRINGGH! KRRINGH! KKRINGH! KRINGHH! KRIINGH!

After what seemed like an age, the hammering of the Six Smiths fell silent. There had been no more screaming after the first hundred or so blows. That anguished part of the reforged’s soul had been eradicated, discarded as unworkable scrap. Kavastus wondered how much of the warrior’s humanity had been lost, but he cast these thoughts swiftly from his mind. If the reforged could once again fight in the God-King’s wars, then no cost was too great.

The golden doors heaved open, and the reforged Stormcast strode forward. Kavastus looked upon this warrior, this wonder of Sigmar’s creation. The reforged stared straight forward, his eyes utterly devoid of emotion. He opened his lips, and spoke the first words of his newly given life.

‘I died. I was reforged. It is by Sigmar’s will.’

PRODUCED BY GAMES WORKSHOP IN NOTTINGHAM

The Price of Apotheosis© Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2018. The Price of Apotheosis, Malign Portents, GW, Games Workshop, Warhammer, Stormcast Eternals, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world. All Rights Reserved.

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