Doom: End Times (Doom X Warhammer Fantasy)

Wolves at Bay

Hours ago...

Fire. Ulthuan was on fire. Tyrion saw it everywhere. Cities had fallen to cinder and the screams of his people were heard. Distorted and terrible in their cries. Bodies immolated by the fires, all in petrified agony. Massive ships slowly landed onto the beaches from the shores, sailing terrible flags of the Witch-King's personal heraldry. Great footsteps echoed the streets as the Druchii marched in unison, prowling for the wounded and the weak. Tyrion grasped for his sword only to find none on his belt. Moreover, he was no longer in his famed armour. Only in tattered rags. Seeing himself vulnerable, the Defender of Ulthuan scrambled for cover, running into an alley nearby. The walls grew taller and the path became almost narrow as he ventured the darkness, evading the sentries behind him as he escaped. Yet, he braved his escape, with a faint hope of finding the remaining Asur soldiers still left in the burning city. And following that thought, were his fears. Alarielle. Aliathra. Teclis. Where were they? Did they make it to safety? Could they have been captured? His fears turned to terror as he thought of them. Of what the druchii would have done to them. He ran and ran, his legs never failing him as he raced for the hope of seeing his family alive. The chase only ended as Tyrion now found himself at a crossroads. He stood centre of it, searching for a path to freedom... and avoiding the clutches of terrible evil.

"Tyrion..." He heard, turning his head in search of his caller. Melodious in its voice. Female and in sombre, it was. "This way..."

The Defender turned and turned to see who called but lost her, all while footsteps grew closer. A flash of something caught the corner of his eye, and Tyrion turned in time to see a faintly female figure pass through one of the paths. Risking it all, Tyrion followed the figure into the passage he witnessed. After taking so many turns, the way was finally lit as light beaconed further away from the Son of Cothique. Tyrion sprinted as fast and hard as he could in his legs, ignoring the fire and loss of air as he pushed himself towards liberation. The pathway finally ended and the Warrior twin found himself yet again in the streets of what was Lothern. The light vanished, revealing fires had died down, only smoke and ash covered the streets like blankets of snow. Burnt bodies were curled up in painful positions, others simply impaled on makeshift poles. Tyrion was accustomed to the horrors inflicted by the druchii. But to see his very lands be put upon the pyre like this only brought anger and sorrow as he made his way through the desolate street of what was once a beautiful paradise. Mists of smoke blanketed around him, impairing his sense of direction like a thick fog. Aimlessly, he wandered.

"Hurry..." He heard the voice again. It sounded so familiar. The voice enthralled him to follow. His intuition, this time, was better and he navigated through the ashy mist. The smoky fog was thick but the air was still oddly bearable to breathe in. He did not at all seem deterred by it, let alone choked by it. Tyrion breathed in the normally suffocating smog like it were oxygen, showing no ill effects of it. Whether it was of magical nature or not hardly mattered as he heard the cries close by.

"Help me, father!"

"Aliathra!" Tyrion called out, fear growing within as he recognized the distressed call of the Everchild. His own daughter. Born in secrecy between his true love, Alarielle the Radiant, and himself. Swiflty, he moved.

"Father, save me!"

"I'm coming, Ali!" He called out, desperately rushing through the fire and smoke. Running endlessly, he could hear more voices growing louder with each step he took.

"Tyrion, my love! Help!"

"Brother! Save us!"

"Alarielle! Teclis! Where are you?!" Tyrion cried out, to no avail. They called to him yet no answer came. The fog was thick and even when he seemed so close, they were always at a distance from him. His heartbeat was giving out and he felt the fire in his veins wearing him out. His relentlessness, however, pushed him to search endlessly. As he continued, the smoke began to clear out. The ground was visible and the smoke receded from him. Slowly, his speed decreased. His running slowed down to simple walking in mere seconds as the fog dissipated. Far away, three silhouettes made their presence behind the mist. Tyrion stopped in his tracks and took into a combat stance. He was unarmed but no stranger to fisticuffs. The shadows came closer. Tyrion's heart was beating to a normal. Neither fast nor slow even under the fear of death. He fought for all of his adulthood, and this will not be the last. Fists clenched tighter as the figures drew close, almost digging through the palms to draw blood. The first stepped out and out came a woman who had reached maturity. Tyrion's fists unravelled and rushed towards her. Her face had the qualities of both her mother and Tyrion's.