The Final Witness

I should have listened to her. I should have run. But I had to see for myself what lay at the end of all things.

Gazing into my fire, I had borne witness to the horrors that were manifesting throughout the realms. I, Elias, a simple scryer of fates, had seen the portents that had foretold this doom, and in turn I had been seen by one possessed of power far beyond my own.

In my ignorance, I thought I was just an observer, separated from the wars of gods and mortals. But I was a fool.

Desperate for understanding, I looked into the flames once more, seeking out others who had read the signs. I saw the vast armies that had gathered in Shyish, and I watched as their processions led towards the same mass grave. They were heading to the city of the Great Necromancer. They were marching upon Nagashizzar.

The forces of Order were first to step onto the vast, lifeless plain that stretched south of the city. Led by a Lord-Celestant clad in black and gold, and shielded by the magics of slann Starmasters, they marched forward, through the raw flows of necromantic energy that had coalesced in the centre of the realm.

The dead poured out from Nagashizzar to meet them, endless columns of skeletal soldiers, cannibal thralls and deadwalker hordes. Howling spirits and winged monstrosities soared through the skies, striking fear into the souls of the living, and morbid engines of bone and sinew drifted south towards their enemy. As this host advanced, I saw its grim general, an ancient vampire whose name was synonymous with terror and cruelty – Nagash’s Mortarch of Night. But before the lines of Order and Death met, the Mortarch brought his legion to a halt. There they waited, a mere league out from the gates of Nagashizzar, as the forces of Order marched steadily towards them. It was then that I saw the paths of fate crystallising.

A Chaos Lord of Ghur brought his armies flooding over the horizon from the east, tearing onto the plain with terrifying speed, heading straight towards the left flank of the Lord-Celestant’s army. His frenzied and sadistic warriors charged with reckless abandon, while his spell-weavers and rot-addled henchmen rained obliteration down upon their hated enemies. I heard the howls of grotesque pleasure and the screams of agony – I saw flesh burn and blood spilled.

As the forces of Order squared off against this newly arrived foe, the clangour of battle resounded across the desolate plain, carrying into the east, to hordes of greenskins led by a Wurrgog Prophet. They were almost upon the sepulchral walls of Nagashizzar. The brutal greenskin tribes had the city in their sights, but upon hearing the sounds of battle coming from the south, their attention was diverted. In the din of combat, the prophet perceived the war to which his visions had drawn him. He steered his forces south of the city to where the armies of Chaos and Order were locked in combat, and he called out his Waaagh! as his warriors barreled into the fray.

The Lord-Celestant’s army was trapped – Chaos on one side, Destruction on the other. As bravely as the warriors of Order fought, they could not hold formation against the crush. Piles of fresh dead began to grow amongst the carnage – yet the fallen did not stay down for long. Mortally wounded bodies rose to their feet, taking up whatever weapons they could before turning upon the living. Dismembered corpses clawed at their erstwhile allies, tearing at the flesh of whatever warriors were nearest. It was then that the Mortarch at last moved his legion forward, advancing with grave certainty towards the rapidly dwindling invaders.

At that moment, I thought that the last glimmer of hope had faded. The armies of the Mortal Realms had marched against Nagash, and had come so close. But at the last, their bitter hatred for one another had spelled death for us all.

Yet this was not their end.

A deafening crack sounded on the far side of the city. The choking lakes of tar that flanked Nagashizzar’s northern border began to overflow, sending great waves of black sludge flooding forth. From this viscous muck emerged thousands upon thousands of greenskin brutes, bellowing in fury as they charged towards Nagash’s city. Where they had come from, I could not see, for whatever force had guided them into Shyish was barring my vision. The leader of this mysterious horde was an enormous orruk, his face marked by a vicious wound and his right eye missing. From atop his monstrous steed he called out to his fellow creatures of Destruction, and in a surge of green flesh they crashed into the outermost wall of Nagashizzar. I had not thought it possible, but as the night gave way to dawn the wall crumbled before the might of the attacking horde. Brutish warriors poured into the Nagashizzar’s outer districts, smashing through sepulchres and statues dedicated to the Lord of Undeath. Startled necromancers summoned their unliving minions to hold back the green tide, and from further within the city reinforcements marched with desperate haste to meet the intruders.

To the south, the surprise attack did not go unnoticed. The Mortarch split his army, leading the bulk of his forces back to the city to stem the influx of orruks. With the deathly legion divided, the Lord-Celestant was at last able to drive what was left of his army northward. His warriors hacked into the remaining skeletons and Deadwalkers, pressing ever forward, trampling over the dead before they could rise once more. Behind them, the Destruction hordes spied a new enemy that they had not yet fought, and charged headlong into the blood-slick forces of the Chaos Lord.

It was as though the flames of hope had been rekindled. From the north, Nagashizzar was assailed by orruks, while from the south, the Lord-Celestant’s army inched ever closer. The clouds of dread began to part in my mind, and I looked once more to the portents to see if this victory could be achieved. Was it possible? Could Death be defeated? Could the Mortal Realms prevail?

No.

These things would not come to pass.

As I stared deeper into the dwindling fires, I saw before me the Great Black Pyramid, a dark scar in reality floating above the heart of Nagash’s city. It was the locus of fates, the end of all things, towards which the energy of an entire realm was being drawn. As I looked upon it, I saw only death, for it was the limit of existence, beyond which all life would cease to be.

It was already complete.

Nagash had already won.

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