Chương 70: Chapter Twenty-Four: The Last Hold (Part X)
"My my, you are a big one." Vulkan remarked more to himself than anyone else, staring up at the cruel beady-eyed stare of Grunhag.
A cruel smile split the tusked maw of the Warboss. Grunhag reached up into the trophy rack latched onto his back and grabbed something bloody that he threw between Vulkan and himself. It was the broken body of Ur-Dammaz. The Squat champion was nearly ripped in half, covered in a mix of his own blood and gore. Even with the Dragonforged attacking, Grunhag had made sure to take a trophy from his duel. Speaking in the foul guttural growl of his breed Grunhag cackled at his victory and dared this new challenger to face him.
Not waiting for a response, Grunhag charged, his klaws raised high to tear into Vulkan's flesh, leaping over Ur-Dammaz's broken form and firing salvo after salvo of lead and lighting. Vulkan simply holstered his sidearm and gripped his hammer with both hands. Grunhag swung his klaws at the Primarch. Reaching out to rip apart metal and flesh. With surprising speed, Vulkan batted away each strike. His hammer knocked away the Orks blows with surprising ease for such a large and cumbersome weapon. If the Warboss was not in the throes of a terrible rage, it may have bothered the monster. Grunhag roared and brought his fists down together as a vicious cudgel. Vulkan met the downswing with an upwards blow of his own. The impact forced Grunhag's arms up and threatened his balance. Seizing the opportunity Vulkan smashed his warhammer right into the Warboss' chest. An explosive impact knocked Grunhag back, nearly flipping the ork as he skidded along the ground.
Looking down at his chest, Grunhag was shocked by the damage. His armor was cracked and ruined. The oversized gorget common to Orkish mega-armor was splintered and sparks flew from burst electronics. Spitting out a dislodged tooth, Grunhag glared at Vulkan. The Primarch twirled his hammer between his hands. Its head glowing red-hot with a cluster of rocks and scrap floating around it. Vulkan did not wield a Thunder Hammer or something of a similar classification. His weapon of choice was his own creation, a unique weapon of devastating power and purpose. The Typhon Hammer.
The hammer's head was an adamantium frame around a miniaturized gravity generator. That Vulkan reverse engineered usingMechanicum graviton weapons. Where those tools of Martian destruction relied on disrupting the gravity of its target, the Typhon Hammer manipulated its own gravitons, allowing the weapon to change weight. With a simple command from the Primarch, the hammer could become light as a feather or heavy as a building. Linked to Vulkan, the hammer could move like a wooden baton and hit like an artillery strike. Though powerful and deadly, the weapon required constant calculations and incredible control to keep the weapon from ripping its wielder apart. Such is the weapon's power that its exhaust of heat and gravitons creates orbits of molten rock and metal, collected with each blow and circling the hammer's head like a volcanic circlet.
Strongest of all his brothers, capable of feats of might beyond any other Primarch, Vulkan swung his weapon with practiced ease. The atmosphere and space/time distorted ever so slightly with every swing. Grunhag had struggled to his feet and continued his assault. Being a seven-meter mass of greenskin muscle and machinery that weighed at least several tons, Grunhag struggled to dodge Vulkans blows. Bestial instinct and millennia of combat experience kept Grunhag moving, dodging or parrying hammerblow after hammerblow. It was not enough. Each glancing blow carried the impact of a falling meteor. Vulkan never let up, and never gave an opportunity. A serpent trail of molten debris followed his hammer head, painting his weapons arc with droplets of lava. A storm of fire and steel surrounding the Dragon Primarch but nothing his hammer generated could rival the heat and intensity of his eyes. Vulkan felt the malice and cruelty of Grunhag. He had seen its effects as the XVIII Primarch traveled across hundreds of Strongholds he had searched for survivors. The Warboss was a barbaric beast, obsessed with despoiling and stealing. The antithesis of the Smith that faced it. Vulkan was born to build and maintain wonders, to be the craftsman at the forge, making treasures and gifts. He would protect and give as he saw fit. He was the wise Dragon King of ancient myth. He was a perpetual source and guardian of knowledge and power.
Each blow shook apart Grunhag. Every thunderous swing broke machines and damaged tissue. The Warboss fought a losing battle. Every strike he deflected or barely dodged still hurt. Shockwaves followed every swing of Vulkan's hammer. It was like trying to dodge a Titan's main cannon at point blank range. Still Grunhag the Flayer attacked. The feral fury that all orks felt kept driving him to keep up a pointless offense. This came to a head when the Warboss unleashed a frantic haymaker. Vulkan countered the blow with a strike of his own. A full-powered blow of the Typhon Hammer smashed into Grunhag's forearm, instantly pulping the powerklaw and ripping the ork's arm off. Grunhag spun from the blow and watched helplessly as the mess of metal and bone that had been his arm was launched off the bridge. Vulkan pressed his advantage, bringing his hammer down on Grunhag's right knee. A grotesque squelch filled the air as the monster's lower leg was reduced to a puddle of red and splinters of metal.
Grunhag screamed in pain and dragged himself backward, scrapping along the ground with his remaining arm and leg. In that moment Grunhag felt something unfamiliar to him. Something he had not felt for millenia. Fear for his life. In the distance, Ayida roared in triumph. She had torn an orkish orbital platform from the sky and hurled its flaming ruin into the swarming tide that was the ork forces. Yet she was not the Dragon that brought such fear to Grunhag the Flayer. Her master before him filled the ork with true dread. Something broke in Grunhag as he stared into the blazing eyes of the Primarch and saw the Typhoon Hammer burn his blood from its head. The mighty Warboss, who had broken countless worlds and peoples screamed and fled for his life.
Crawling along the ground with his broken limbs, Grunhag the Flayer desperately hoped to hide behind his army. It did not matter that he had humiliated himself by running. It did not matter any chance of surpassing the Beasts of Ullanor was gone. All that mattered was escaping Vulkan. The ork's mechanical secondary arms got to work. One assisting his surviving arm and leg, the other one held the severed head of a particularly powerful Weirdboy charged itself up. Unleashing a wave of green flame in a "brain-bursta" blast of WAAAGH energy. The severed head atomotized itself in the act. Sending a wretched Orkish curse onto Vulkan. The green fire was a miasma of orkoplasm. Burning and sticking to anything it touched. The flames covered the Primarch. Clinging to his armor and producing brutish cackles as it grew. Mustering his own psychic power Vulkan worked to douse the cursed fire. Cursing to himself, he pursued Grunhag while batting at the sticky orkoplasm.
Grunhag could see the Orkish lines, he was close. He could see the shocked looks on his subordinates face as he scrambled towards them. Then something grabbed the Warboss. The shriek of tearing metal filled the air and Grunhag came to a stop. A dagger had been driven through his remaining leg, pinning it to the ground. Covered in a thick coat of both fresh and dry blood. Clinging to the dagger with all his remaining might was Ur-Dammaz. The Squat champion had dragged his body's upper half towards Grunhag as he had fought Vulkan, finding himself right in the Warboss' path of retreat. Millenia of bitter fury pushed Ur-Dammaz onward.
Slowly the Squat Champion pulled himself up along his enemies leg. His entire lower body was gone. The burnt remains of his innards trailed him. Embers of the mighty psychic blaze that once coated Ur-Dammaz followed him, searing Grunhags exposed flesh. Screaming in equal parts pain and panic, Grunhag swore and tried to push Ur-Dammaz off him, not even noticing the great shadow that fell over him. Vulkan had banished the cursed flames and arrived to finish the duel.
The Primarch looked down at Ur-Damamz and felt an unparalleled force of will and fiery rage. Bloody cracked lips opened and the Squat Champion spoke in a raspy whisper. "What are you waiting for, Drakk? Finish the green bastard and be done with it?"
Bowing his head in respect of the Bastard of Grimnir. Vulkan stepped towards Grunhag.
Ignoring the Warbosses frantic cries and cowardly pleading. Raising the Typhon Hammer high, Vulkan brought the weapon down upon Grunhags torso. Before the sound of breaking bone and metal could fade he unleashed another blow. Then another. And another, hammering the ork's body like steel upon the anvil, striking till nothing remained of the torso save for a puddle of gore and scrap metal. Reaching down, Vulkan grabbed the head of Grunhag and ripped it free from the few strands of muscle attaching it to what had been the Warboss' body. Triumphantly, the Primarch held the head high, proclaiming in a voice like thunder.
"Grunhag the Flayer is dead!" Vulkan shouted. "He fled from my hammer and died to it all the same. The Imperium of Man has arrived, and no evil can stand in the face of our power!"
Scooping up the near-dead body of Ur-Dammaz, Vulkan marched towards the Ancestor Gatehouse with a fallen hero held by one arm and the head of a defeated monster in the other. At the entrance of the mighty cavern an army of Squats stood at the ready. Drill guns aimed at the Primarch while in awe of his might, fearful of what he might do. Vulkan towered the Squats and even some of their war machines. For a moment, neither demigod nor armored throng said anything. Vulkan casually tossed the head of Grunhag at the Squats' feet, the massive skull alone was the size of a Squat. Staring into the lifeless eyes of the monster, the Khazkhun slowly realized the magnitude of what had occurred. Vulkan lowered himself onto one knee knee and held out the broken form of Ur-Dammaz.
"There are battles yet to be fought." the dying champion coughed out as he stared at the army in front of him. "Our people's saga does not end here. What has been lost can be rebuilt. It is time for the Khazkhun to embrace the future and avenge the past."
With those final words, the greatest warrior of the Squats passed on. The final flames of his life went out as he let go of the material. His body had been held together by sheer force of will. Without the mighty spirit of Ur-Dammaz, it crumbled to ash. Blown away by the winds of battle. The lines of the Squats parted and Buri Flameshield, Hold-Lord of Khazrik hold stood before the Primarch.
"You have honored us greatly, Primarch Vulkan." The Squat leader said somberly. "The age of hiding below the mountain is over. We march with you today. Today Khazkhun and honored Terranborn fight side by side."
Across the planet, the orks were in crisis. News of the Warboss' death spread like wildfire. Organization collapsed and any hope of resisting the Imperial offense was lost. Finally, the WAAAAAAGH!!! broke when Primarch Vulkan led a charge across the Elder Bridge with armies of Squats at his back. The Dragonforged and Mountainborn Squats fought side by side. The main body of the WAAAGH crushed under the might of mankind as it fractured from Grunhag's death. Millions of Orks fled the battle only to be cut down by Squat battle-trikes, and Astartes Landspeeders or ripped from the sky by Ayida and the Imperial fleet. The Squats were pulled from the maw of extinction and one of the greatest WAAAAAAGH!!! in the galaxy broke upon the anvil of war.
Location: The Throneroom of the Hammerfall - Flagship of the Dragonforged
Date: 891.M30 (Imperial Standard Time)
In the months after Grunhag and Ur-Dammaz's deaths, the Imperium and Khazrik Hold fought night and day to purge the orkish taint from Grungron. Bonds of friendship and mutual respect were forged. Once closely guarded secrets of smithing were traded between Dragonforged and Khazkhun. Imperial soldiers and diplomats feasted within the great halls of Khazrik Hold and the Axe of Doom was recovered and became the centerpiece to a monument dedicated to Ur-Dammaz. The Axe would be held by a masterfully crafted statue of the hero, with the actual skull of Grunhag forming the statue's base.
The machine of compliance worked quickly across Khazrik hold. Plans to remodel the Squat ancestor cult into something more compatible with the Imperial Truth were made. The experimental post-religious system of 'Guardian Paragons' being designed by Uriah Olathaire and his Neologian minions might be tested soon. Primarch Vulkan swore oaths of friendship and duty to the Council of Khazrik Hold. Vulkan inspired a level of belief and loyalty in the Squats not seen in their culture for ages. The Living Ancestors named him Drakkarak, the Eternal Dragon. For a culture so ancient and set as the Khazkhun they changed at lighting speed.They were eager to join the Imperium of Man as a member state in humanity's new galactic empire. However they would only truly join on two conditions.
First, the Imperium must aid the Squats in reclaiming the holdfasts lost to the orks, allowing the Khazkhun to rebuild and regain all that had been lost. Rogue Traders operating in the galactic core would be required to report any findings to the Squats. Squat technology and discoveries would be shared with the Mechanicum but relics and artifacts would be kept by the Khazkhun. The Imperium would aid the Squats in these matters and would have the loyalty and might of the Khazkhun League to assist them in their endeavors.
The second condition was the election of the first High King in an age to protect and serve the Khazkhun the best they could. This High King would also be sworn to the Emperor and be his subject, a figurehead the various clans and guilds could rally behind. A figure who would ensure the Squat's interests were protected within the wider Imperium.
After little debate both conditions were agreed too. Vulkan asked the Squat high council who they wished to elect as High King. As the Emperor's son, he would witness the coronation and act as his representative. Buri Flameshield and the other council members responded plainly.
"You, Lord Vulkan. We want you to be our High King"
A moment of silence filled the council chambers where the discussions were taking place. Speaking slowly Vulkan asked with trepidation: "I am honored by this, nobles of the Khazkhun. Is this what you truly wish? Would it not be better for a Squat to act as High King? Even if I were crowned, my duties across the galaxy would keep me from the Coreworlds."
"Well of course Lord Vulkan." Buri responded. "You are a dragon in human form. Son of the oldest living Ancestor and savior of our people. The Holds and Leagues will run as they always have. We just ask you to be our champion and advocate. The Khazkhun people kneel to your fire and steel. The Imperium of Man shall count us as its citizens and you as our King."
Quietly, the Primarch knelt before the council and exchanged oaths with each lord and master. Vulkan would be crowned High King of the Squats, the Dragon of the Mountain Holds. Lord of Flame and Forge. A crown of adamantium inlaid with rubies was crafted and set upon Vulkan's brow by a trio of Living Ancestors. He was now Ogadin Vulkan, the Dragon Primarch and King Under the Surface.
Two entire Cohorts of Squats were assembled to join the XVIII Crusader Fleet alongside a menagerie of Khazkhun war machines. Six expedition fleets broke from the Crusader Fleet and were assigned to the Core Worlds to help the Squats reclaim them. Soon, the Dragonforged Legion would depart the ancient homeworlds of the Squats. Once the last scraps of WAAAAAAGH!!! Grunhag had been burnt to ash, it would be time for the XVIII Legion and Crusader Fleet to move on. Other wonders and horror awaited them across the galaxy. Worlds to be saved, monsters to be slain. All driving the expansion of the Imperium. All while the Beasts arise upon dread Ullanor.
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