The moment the undead knight took a step toward his wizard, the sand betrayed him.
It shifted with unnatural hunger and swallowed Ikh’sat whole.
Khatur Khar did not flinch.
He merely watched, his jaw tightening with something very close to satisfaction.
The Skaven horde skittered back toward the dunes.
Only Khatur remained standing, alone and unafraid.
Then the wind thickened.
A face formed in the swirling dust — ancient, stern, and unmistakably Mortisan.
“You were granted another chance to prove yourself, Khatur Khar. This time, you shall serve a different master.”
Khatur’s emotions — that constant boiling storm within him — crackled like lightning across his mind.
Envy.
Spite.
Ambition.
“I shall impress him with the best I can offer.”
“No.”
The wind sharpened.
“Her.”
Khatur’s skull twitched. “A female…?”
“It is necessary,” the voice continued. “The soul of a woman, the bones of a woman, the mind of a woman. One forged with empathy as well as precision. Her name is Malindra Boneweaver. You will learn from her. Do not fail her.”
The face dissolved.
Khatur ground his teeth. Emotions — old, violent ones — gnawed at him.
A circle of bone erupted around him as new units clawed their way out of the sands:
reinforced Necropolis Stalkers, a Gothizzar Harvester, and above them, the hovering forms of the Morghast Archai, all awaiting command.
A throne of bone assembled itself before him, revealing Malindra Boneweaver — tall, graceful, and unnervingly calm.
“You shall command my spare regiment, Khatur Khar,” she said.
“Follow my lead. Engage only when the Archai have weakened the foe. Impress me… or share Ikh’sat’s fate.”
With a gesture, she summoned a storm.
The army was hurled across the realms to a new battlefield.
When they materialised, Khatur scanned the horizon.
One rat ogre.
Two.
Three.
“The same army again? It can’t be!”
“Practice makes perfect,” Malindra replied.
“They will return until we win.”
And so the battle began.
The Archai fought tirelessly.
Rat Ogres fell.
Clanrats died.
Struk Covenlasher danced through gnawholes like a maddened spectre.
The Harvester lumbered forward like a skeletal juggernaut, consuming bone and stitching warriors back together.
The Stalkers re-formed their limbs again and again, but their numbers slowly dwindled every battle round.
First, the Clanrats returned half strength, then the Clanrats. The same story seemed to have played out again for the OBR. Even the Ratling Guns gained full health again.
But unlike first time, the Morghast Archai were still here and able to respond, wiping out first the Clanrats, then two of the three Rat Ogres.
At last, with a final squeal of frustration, the remaining Skaven dove into a gnawhole and vanished.
Silence settled.
Malindra bowed her head toward Khatur.
“Your place in this campaign is secured.”
For the first time, Khatur felt something unfamiliar: approval.
He did not know what to do with it.