Suddenly, the doom wheel swerved with wild unpredictability. Its spiked frame scraped viciously across our bodies, tearing into flesh and armor. Spinning away from the melee toward the back line it struck Freya squarely, sending her reeling backward into a cloud of dust and shattered stone. The cacophony of battle echoed off the ancient walls as Lim Dul, ever the shadow, slipped along a narrow ledge where Rory had recently battled, only to find a grim tableau of fallen Skaven. With grim resolve, he advanced from behind, closing in on the remaining vermin.
Gritting my teeth against the pain, I quickly activated healing magic; a warm, radiant glow seeped through my wounds even as I summoned a arcane construct—a ghostly embodiment of decay known as Toll the Dead. Its necrotic tendrils lashed out at the warlord, urging his imminent demise. Meanwhile, Rory charged the contraption once more, shoving the driver violently from his seat. For a heartbeat, he hesitated, considering whether to climb inside the machine to seize control, but instead he pounded the prone ratman with blow after brutal blow.
Freya surveyed the chaos with steely determination. With a dramatic flourish, she reached deep into her arcane reserves and transformed the mighty Skaven warlord into a pitiful, shuddering rat—a grotesque parody of its former menace. At that moment, Lim Dul closed in from behind while Friar Karl’s steady, reinforcing magic bolstered our battered line.
I advanced once more toward the contraption, scrutinizing its cold, rune-etched controls. My fingers brushed a dial, inadvertently in an instant, a jagged bolt of lightning surged forth. It struck the warlord with punishing force, and for a moment, his form flickered in agony before resuming its sinister shape. With vicious intent, the creature launched a heavy, lunging strike that nearly cleaved me in two. I parried desperately, my enchanted blade singing as it met the blow, and then countered with a decisive strike that cleaved down on the Skaven warlord shoulder.