The first battle that truly mattered came sooner than expected.
And this time, Malindra was not the one guiding the shifting sands of fate.
The Mortisan host was summoned — wrenched across the realms by the inscrutable will of the God of Random, D6 himself — and deposited once more on the Ravaged Coast, at the approach to the Cleft within the Adamantine Chain.
Another enemy closed upon them with unnatural speed.
Another army that could outmaneuver the disciplined and rigid Ossiarchs.
Malindra spoke quietly, almost gently.
“Less is more, Khatur. Its strategy.”
Her tone alone was enough to halt the storm inside him. His Rage. His pride. His unknown origin-born desire to charge blindly into carnage. She balanced him simply by existing near him, as if her presence pulled his emotions into alignment.
The Desciples of Tzeentch advanced. At first, it seemed an easy fight.
But then a third of the opposing force collapsed onto the Morghast Archai, pinning them down before they could dictate the pace.
Under the weight of brutality and dark blessings, the Archai crumbled far too quickly.
Khatur felt their loss like a punch through the ribs of his soul-construct.
He had to commit early.
Everything under his command surged forward.
And behind him — unnervingly close, without the protection of the Archai — Malindra followed.
Her hands trembled with arcane focus as she hurled spell after spell into the fray. The air around her warped, humming with a strange, escalating power.
Her aura felt wrong, even for an undead.
Her eye sockets glowed brighter with every enchantment she unleashed, a sharp, unnatural radiance that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Had been mortal, she would fall into a trance.
But as she was, it looked more like her power was consuming her, and she welcomed it.
Khatur felt the effect instantly.
A surge of strength.
A clarity that cut through his emotional fog like a shard of ice.
Her spells struck through him, threading into his bones, fueling him with a focus he had never known on his own.
He realised something then — something dangerous.
He fought better when she was near.
He needed her.
With Malindra at his back, Khatur pushed forward and — for the first time in his existence — matched the flawless technique of the Immortis Guard beside him.
Blow after blow connected in perfect rhythm.
A chain-fighting harmony he new he had been capable of, but never had the chance.
The Gothizzar Harvester thundered into the melee, its silhouette swelling with new bone and sinew as it reaped and fed. It seemed almost to grow, swollen with purpose, carving down foes and stitching its own allies back together.
The Immortis Guard lasted long enough to seal the fate of the battle, flipping the outcome once more.
What had seemed a doomed encounter, the Ossiarch managed to claw their way back from the brink.
And while they could not claim victory, they refused defeat.
A draw — but one wrenched from the jaws of annihilation.
As the dust settled, Khatur realised his bones were humming.
From her magic.
From her presence.
From the bond that neither of them yet acknowledged aloud.
He was beginning to understand:
Alone, he was flawed.
With Malindra, he was something sharper.
Something dangerous.
Something almost… whole.