Chapter 74
Before the battle had even started, Atlas could sense the Dwarves had prepared for him; having learnt from their previous mistakes. All the corpses of generations of slaves had been either removed or destroyed, denying him access to their services.
Now as the battle raging on outside the city walls came to a close, Atlas stood at the forefront of his undead army, his gaze fixed on Zharr-Naggrund looming in the distance. He could sense the shift in the city, the subtle change in the air that signalled a new opportunity.
"The time has come," Atlas murmured to himself, his voice carried away by the winds of magic swirling around him.
With a simple gesture, he commanded his necromantic powers to their fullest extent. From the depths of the city, where once there had been only silence, now arose the cacophony of the risen dead.
Piles of corpses, once thought disposed of or destroyed by the Chaos Dwarfs, now stirred with unholy energy. The sacrificial ceremony of the Dwarfs had unwittingly provided Atlas with an army of his own within the city's very walls.
Thousands of slaves, their bodies broken and twisted in death, now rose to heed the call of their new master. Alongside them, the fallen sorcerers who had offered their lives in service to Hashut now found themselves bound to Atlas's will, their once-powerful magic now bent to his command.
With a chilling resolve, Atlas watched as his army of the dead surged forward, their hollow eyes gleaming with a hunger for vengeance. The streets of Zharr-Naggrund, once bustling with life, now became a battlefield of the undead, as Atlas's forces clashed with the beleaguered defenders within the city's confines.
In the final battle for Zharr-Naggrund, the clash between the hordes of risen undead and the last remaining Dwarfs echoed throughout the city's streets like a dirge for a dying empire. The Chaos Dwarfs, once proud and formidable warriors, fought with a ferocity born of desperation as they defended their last bastion against the relentless tide of death.
The undead, animated by Atlas's dark magic, surged forward with unrelenting determination, their hollow eyes gleaming with an otherworldly hunger. The once-silent streets of Zharr-Naggrund now echoed with the clash of steel on steel, the cries of the dying, and the unearthly moans of the risen dead.
The Dwarfs fought valiantly, their axes and hammers swinging with deadly precision as they sought to stem the tide of undead that threatened to overwhelm them. Each Dwarf stood as a stalwart defender of their fallen empire, their courage unwavering even in the face of certain doom.
But as the battle raged on, the numbers of the undead proved too great, and one by one, the last remaining Dwarfs fell to the relentless onslaught. Despite their bravery and resilience, they could not hold back the inexorable march of death.
In the end, Zharr-Naggrund fell silent, its streets littered with the fallen and the echoes of a once-great empire fading into history. The hordes of risen undead stood triumphant, their hollow victory a grim testament to the fleeting nature of power and the inevitability of death.
The time of Chaos Dwarfs was over. Now it was time for Atlas and his new empire – The Crimson Tide.
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Atlas stood in the heart of the underground armoury of Zharr-Naggrund, the air thick with the lingering scent of molten metal and sulphur. Before him lay an expansive vault, filled with the spoils of a once-mighty empire. The armoury was a labyrinth of steel and obsidian, its walls lined with racks of weapons forged in the great furnaces of the Chaos Dwarfs.
The weapons were as diverse as they were deadly. Mighty axes and hammers, designed to be wielded by the stout and powerful Dwarfs, gleamed menacingly in the dim light. Swords and spears of all sizes, crafted for men and beasts alike, were etched with runes of power and chaos. Massive war machines, from intricate crossbows to devastating cannons, stood in grim silence, their once-fearsome might now at rest.
There were suits of armour crafted for the towering Chaos Warriors, their blackened plates adorned with twisted sigils and runes that seemed to pulse with dark, malevolent energy. Helmets with grotesque visages and horns, shields emblazoned with the symbols of the Dark Gods, and gauntlets spiked and cruel, all testament to the Chaos Dwarfs' allegiance to the malevolent deities of the northern wastes.
Atlas walked among the weapons, his keen eyes noting the intricate craftsmanship and the sinister enchantments that imbued them. He was reminded that the Chaos Dwarfs had served the great Dark Gods, and by removing them, he had struck a significant blow against their plans for the End Times. The loss of Zharr-Naggrund meant that the Dark Gods' forces would be severely limited in their ability to equip and arm their legions, a victory that would echo far beyond the fallen city.
Yet, Atlas also knew that there were more Chaos Dwarfs in the Northern Wastes, and their threat was far from extinguished. His victory here would limit their numbers and weaken their capacity to wage war, but the battle against chaos was never truly over.
As he surveyed the armoury, Atlas's mind turned to the corrupting enchantments and sigils of the gods that adorned these weapons. He knew he would have to melt many of them down, to purge their dark influence and repurpose the materials for his own ends. But before that, there was one crucial task he needed to complete.
The heavy, iron-bound door at the far end of the armoury creaked open, and skeletal guards flanked the entrance, allowing three Dwarfs to enter. These were not the mutated Chaos Dwarfs with their tusks and twisted forms; these were prisoners, captured from other Dwarf holds in a failed attempt to convert them. Their appearance was a testament to their suffering: dirty, their beards unkempt and tangled, and their cheeks hollow from starvation. Yet, despite their physical condition, their eyes burned with a strength of will and a determination that had not been extinguished, even by the horrors they had endured.
Atlas stepped forward, his presence commanding and enigmatic. "Welcome," he greeted them, his voice smooth and steady. He could see the suspicion and wariness in their eyes, the uncertainty about what this vampire intended for them.
With a wave of his hand, Atlas cast a spell. The magical energy crackled in the air, and the iron cuffs that bound the Dwarfs disintegrated, falling away into dust. The Dwarfs stared in shock, their wrists free for the first time in what felt like an eternity. They exchanged glances, still suspicious, but now mingled with a glimmer of hope and confusion.
"Why have you freed us?" one of the Dwarfs asked, his voice rough from disuse but laced with an underlying steel.
Atlas met his gaze steadily. "I have no interest in enslaving the Dwarfs," he replied. "You were prisoners of the Chaos Dwarfs, not mine. Their empire has fallen, and their dark gods have been banished from this place. You are free to leave, even take your pick of armament from these shelves to ease your journey."
The Dwarfs exchanged looks once more, their suspicion still palpable but tempered by curiosity and a grudging respect for this unexpected turn of events. "And what do you demand in return?" another Dwarf asked, his voice tinged with cautious optimism.
Atlas smiled, a hint of genuine warmth in his otherwise cold demeanour, he had always had a soft spot for Dwarves and now this world was his new reality, didn't want to see their legacy fade. Before Atlas answered the Dwarves, he instead asked a question of his own.
"Fardohr, Gulnir and Bromtharn." Atlas could see their eyes widen slightly as he knew their names. "I chose to speak to you over your other brethren as you stand as leaders among your throng. You once held positions of authority in the region of Karak Eight Peaks?"
Gulnir, took a step forward and spat at the floor. "You'll not buy of loyalty with kind words and some Chaos forged steel. Vampire." The last word coming out more as a curse.
Holding his hands up, trying to placate the angry Dwarf, "I'm not asking you to betray anyone." Atlas took two objects from inside a pocket on his coat. One was a roll of leather parchment tightly bound with a blood-red seal – his sigil as ruler of the Darklands. The other was small and round like a coin, but was decorated with many runes that radiated magic.
"I request only two things of you." Holding up the scroll, Atlas explains, "As I have taken hold of this territory, denying it to the Dark Gods, it is up to me to make something of it. This holds a trade agreement I would like to forge between our two nations. The is much in rare metals, gems and other resources we can offer." Handing it over to Fardohr, the Dwarf who looked the least like he was about to attack Atlas, he described the second favour he desired. "This is a scrying talisman, it has one function which is to alert me when it is broken."
"And why would we need that?" Bromtharn finally spoke, although his voice was hoarse and sounded more like sandpaper.
"It is an offer of friendship. My kind has long since held the stigma of hate, one that has been well-earned, however I desire to be different. This is not Sylvania and I am not Vlad. I only ask you to judge my actions, not those of my predecessors."
The Dwarfs considered his words, the strength of their will evident in their measured responses. They had endured much, but their spirit remained unbroken. Slowly, they nodded, accepting his offer with a mix of hope and scepticism.
"Aye lad. We will deliver your words. What our kings makes of it, we can't say. However you have removed a tumour from every Dwarfs throat – the Chaos-loving scum who we once called kin. For that fact alone, you have earned our thanks."
While he could see reluctance in their eyes, each grasped his hand in a sign of the friendship that might one day flourish between their people. As Atlas guided them out, giving orders for supplies to be given to the several hundred dwarf prisoners that were now free, he kept a secret that would destroy the possibility of any friendly relations with his new neighbours.
A personal prisoner of Astragoth himself that Atlas desired.
A single Dwarf that was too valuable to be released.
PENSAMENTOS DOS CRIADORES 
Didiodo
Didiodo I'm just taking a short break as work is very busy for me this time of year. A few weeks and i will be back!
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