Coruscating lightning danced across the blood dark sky as the banners carried by both hosts whipped and snapped in the rising gale. Fangrak climbed atop a high rock and raised his barbed ax to the heavens, Belshrek cast his gaze to the Champion and raised is own blade as the warriors around him did, a salute to the gods and to glory of battle to come. With a blinding flash a single bolt of purple lightning lanced down from the sky and struck Fangrak, the Champion burst apart in a ball of green fire and charred black armor. The lightning jumped from the felled Fangrak and struck another warrior who smoked and sizzled where he stood.
The warriors of the Man-flayers began to break ranks some rushing forward to battle the warband of Gah'neth others turning to flee from what was a bad omen for the fighting to come. Belshrek decided that he would die with his blade in his hand and made to charge forward, the warrior in front of him had other plans and turned to flee at the same time. The two warriors collided and crashed to the ground, Belshrek struggled to rise to his feet as the panicked warrior grappled with him to escape the battlefield, both spat curses through their helms and soon began to trade blows. Belshrek managed to bring his blade to bear first and slew the coward with a deft stroke through the exposed neck of the man's armor.
Now coated in blood of what should have been an ally Belshrek rose to his feet, he looked in the direction of the fighting, the Man-flayers were struggling to climb the hill, they were met by twisted creatures, servants of the God Slaanesh who mutilated themselves in order to worship their God, they fought half naked and used hooked flails that tore at one another as much as they harmed their foes. The boom of thunder echoed over the cries of the fighting and dying warriors. As Belshrek surveyed the battle he spotted Gah'neth, the Sorcerer stood on a stone dais and gestured towards the sky, the mage looked back in the direction of Belshrek and for a brief moment he knew that Gah'neth was looking at him. The hair on Belshrek's neck stood on end, he suddenly felt himself enveloped in the same purple lightning that had slain Fangrak, biting pain and heat scurried across his body and with a deafening pop everything went black.
Belshrek floated on an ocean of blood, the sky was the same dark shade that had benighted the battlefield in his last memory, and a deep booming voice spoke within his head.
"Not yet... not till your death meets my purpose..."
Belshrek awoke as a crow tried to peck his eye through the slit in his helm, he set up and flailed his arms. All around him were the dead of the battle, their blood coagulating on the ground, carrion birds pecking at the exposed meat of grievous wounds. Some warriors were little more than smoldering heaps of armor, those felled by the Sorcerer Gah'neth. Belshrek looked about himself for any survivors and spotted a few barely clothed Marauders moving among the fallen, stripping the dead of choice trinkets. One of the looters spotted Belshrek and called out to his fellows in a tongue he did not recognize, the looters raised their flails and began striding towards Belshrek, he didn't know their language but he understood their intent. Belshrek gripped his sword and shield and stood to his full height, he would meet his death on his feet at least... the mysterious voice from his dream again echoed in his head.
"Not yet..."
