Fiction Killer Angel's short stories

[Killer Angel]

Warriors and Gardeners
(april-may 2023, theme was "War and Peace" ; this story was 3rd on 4)

Some stats:
this was my 22th story in this competition, and my 10th consecutive podium.

Spoiler: Warriors and Gardeners

Warriors and Gardeners

I am Kai-Loq, the Oldblood.
Let me tell you about Khutak, the kroxigor. He was a kroxigor as many others, until the final day of the great battle for the geomantic web. When the Great Pylons activated, finally closing the Warp Rift, immense magical energies were released. Mountains went shattered, entire armies vanished in a moment, and the essence of many things changed forever. Khutak was among the latter.
Some said he was an abomination, some other that he was blessed by the Old Ones. Either way, there was no one like him…



The morning sun was warming the large steps of the temple pyramid, wrapped in a light mist produced by the humidity of the night that was inexorably evaporating. The birds-of-paradise songs greeted what promised to be a hot day.
On one of the upper terraces, facing the morning sun, the heat was becoming pleasantly intense. Khutak was working on his stone garden. The massive kroxigor was wearing a linen tunic, and moved with calm attention among the arabesques of the garden, occasionally moving the stones.
Today, the rounded, white pebbles made a galaxy with spiral arms extending from the central core; nebulae of gray gravel enveloped the resplendent white, and at the edges, nuclei of black obsidian at times sucked in the sunlight, and at times returned it with dazzling force, according to the orientation of the smooth faces.
The statue of the Old One Xokha, which once stood on the large parapet, facing the city, long ago had been moved and turned, so that it did not cast shadow on the terrace and at the same time contemplated the garden (moving the statue had created some confusion among the skink priests, but a decree by Lord Tehupacli himself had given free reign to Khutak to do whatever he pleased on that terrace, so the statue was left in its new position).

Khutak would have liked to sit and contemplate the garden. It was now encapsulating a moment of clarity and beauty, that would have been gone when, fatally, the symmetry with the stars would have ceased. Everything changes, and beauty is to follow the flow of changes, to guide this flow in an ordinary pattern. Armony toward enthropy. Such a beautiful concept to ponder on… but this was not the time. More mundane tasks were at hand.
He couldn't see them yet, but he could hear them. The claws on the stone of a saurus warriors, preceded by the delicate steps of the attendant skink who was escorting through the pyramid. The saurus had a impetuous step, you could feel the repressed emotions. Kai-Loq, the young leader of the third regiment of the eastern spawn.

And indeed, here he was. Kai-Loq. The skink acolyte bowed formally.
“Revered Khutak, I hereby…”
“Thank you. No need to waste the officier’s time with protocol. I’ll take care of our guest”
The skink bowed again, and retreated out of sight. Khutak knew he would have remained in the vicinity.

Kai-Loq approached the massive kroxigor, grinning while doing so.
“Today you won't make fun of me. Today you will learn to respect those who are your superior by rights of spawning”.
“Bold words. In this place, I’m not only your teacher, but I am your commander. You came here too soon.”
“I came at the exact time I was to be here!”
“Which nonetheless is too soon. Now wait”.

Khutak knelt slowly. One of the stones was out of place. He moved it slightly, then again, and again, and again, finally returning it to its original position. He began to look at him from another angle.
Then he looked almost absently Kai-Loq. He was standing still, apparently at attention... but he was unable to control the imperceptible shaking of his tail, nor to stifle the pheromones of the fight.
The saurus’ nostrils flared.
“Permission to speak, Sir!”
Khutak rose on his feet.
“Denied. There’s a time for words, and a time for action. You cannot speak if your mind is set on war. Your words would be clouded by blood. Words must come from a crystal mind.”
“Then make me fight!”
“We have already begun. Follow me”

The kroxigor moved across the stone galaxy, toward a dark side. In a corner, outside the border of the garden, there was a table with a map and a series of tokens.
“As you can see, we are fighting near the Realm of Shadows. You are commanding a host of warriors and 3 knights’ squadrons, and you have the support of salamanders. Your opponent is a force of undead. They hold this fortified line and you know how their units are placed, thanks to your terradons scouting. However, you also know they have a certain amount of reserves, probably a couple of elite units and a commander, but you have no idea where they are. Show me how you are going to assault this position.”

Kay-Loq looked at the map, pondering his options. Both the left and the right flank were filled by tokens, representing the undead troops. Behind the main line, there were the overturned tokens… the reserve forces. Some of those tokens would have been empty, so it was a matter to guess where the reinforcements were placed.
He focused his attention to the main line…the right flank was stronger, the troops were more numerous and they could easily bog down his cavalry in a prolonged combat. And the overturned tokens on the right, were placed near to the front units, increasing the sensation of a threatening flank.
The left flank was weaker. Sure, there were several units, but each was made up by a few undead. the cavalry units would have slammed into them, eliminating them one by one, while the slow-moving troops on the right flank could not help.
It was so inviting… However, even if the overturned tokens in the rear were kept at a greater distance, those tokens were exactly in place for a countercharge.

“You want me to attack the left flank, but I saw your trap. You know what? I’m gonna crush the right flank… your skeletons will slow me, but they have not the strenght to cut down my sauri, and i have the support of the salamanders. Let’s do this fight, your reserves are on the left, too far to help a fight on the right, and when they will be here, my knights will be already free, ready to dictate their charge.”
Khutak looked at the map, silently.
“Come on, teacher. Are you unhappy? Didn't I bite your bait? Lord Tehupacli may let you live in the pyramid, but I am a Saurus warrior, and you are not”.

Khutak sighed, and turned the tokens on the left.
They were empty.

“Unfortunately for you, near the realm of Shadows things are rarely what they seem. Even the traps.”
Khutak turned the tokens on the right. The reserves were there.
“The necromancer raises the casualties you inflicted on those skeletons. The Grave Guards pile in directly on your knights.”

Kai-Loq fell to his knees. He clawed at the edge of the table, looking at the map and the meat grinder in which he had thrown his troops to die.
“Again… you did it again…”
“Yes. Do you wanna know why you losed?”
“No. The teachings of a lesson don’t matter in the next one. Each time you fight differently. Each time the result is the same. I don’t deserve my rank”.
“Don’t say nonsense. Do you wanna know why you losed? The real reason why you keep losing?”

Kai-Loq looked at Khutak directly in his eyes.
“Yes. Please”.
“Because you are obsessed by your opponent. Me, in this case. You want to demonstrate that you are better. Stop it. It clouds your judgement. There’s only one thing worse than a commander that don't take decisions. A commander that takes the decisions the enemy wants.”
“You tried to guess what my plan was, you tried to play me. That’s a good attitude, but it will be your final goal. First, you must master yourself. Learn caution, as no plan survives the contact with the enemy. Learn how to adapt, improvise and overcome. Up ‘til now I’ve teached you defeat. Every commander must know defeat, so that he will be able to recognize it from afar. The next time, i want you to show me how really good you are.”

Kai-Loq rose, and nodded.
“Aye Sir. I will do it.”
Khutak made a gesture.
“I expect no less. Now you can go”.
Khutak watched the young officer moving toward the exit. The skink acolyte was already there.

“Khutak, you really should lead troops in battle”
The High Priest Kilipak had entered by one of the inner doors and had watched the final part of the training session, keeping his distance, and was only now approaching.
“There’s no need for my talents on the field. I’d rather stay here, in my stone garden”
“I respectfully disagree”
“You know? the warmbloods have a saying: it’s better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war”

Kilipak blinked several times, trying to focus on the weird concept.
“It makes no sense. Warriors make war, gardeners tend the harvest. Why should you mix the two things?”
"Because the warmbloods don't follow the Great Plan, and don't know that everything has its place"
"They don't, but you do! A warrior in a garden is wrong"
“I certainly agree with you”
“Then why are you here? You clearly are a warrior”
“Because, my friend, it all depends on the kind of crop you are growing…”

 

[Killer Angel]

Lycanthrope Blues (summer 2023 poetry duel - lost 4 votes vs 5)

Spoiler: Lycanthrope Blues

LYCANTHROPE BLUES

When the chaos moon shines in the dark
Deep inside me, it ignites a spark
I can feel as it stirs, right under my skin
something awakened by that malignant green

I remember the day, when fate rolled a dice
bitten by Moulder’s mutated, twisted mice
the packmaster cried “a new curse you will bear!”
of the truth of these words, I was not yet aware

I feel the fur, growing between my scales
I feel the blood, pumping through my veins
and I wonder if I am a sort of a new breed
but the thought is now gone, as I just need to feed

…
the scent, the stealth, the chase
a cry, a shield, a mace
the blood, the flesh, the taste
so good, again, with haste
…

When I’m again myself, the night has bygone
but from dusk to dawn, what have i done?
my scales and my claws are covered by gore
a child of the Old Ones, I know I’m no more

As always I think “if I could erase the past…”
but I laugh at myself, I know the truth at last
cause I’m addicted to this dream, I’m lucidly insane
as I now only crave, for the moon to rise again

Comment by @Y'ttar Scaletail , the author of the other poem:

Poem Two: I think this piece is less a poem and more suited as a (well it is in the title!) Blues piece. The time I mentally added the wailing cry of a harmonica and a warm bass in the background...wow, this piece really came to life! Fantastic work!

 

[Killer Angel]

The Nightbringer
(July - August 2023, theme was "Hidden in plain sight" and this was the winning story on 4)

Updated stats:
this was my 23th story in this competition and the 8th victory.

Spoiler: The Nightbringer

THE NIGHTBRINGER


The Teacher
"Chaos is our enemy. Every threat we face is driven by a single thing…. Chaos."
The skink priest looked at the class. Almost fifty skinks had their eyes fixed on him… acolyte priests, scouts, scribes. Every one of them was giving him full attention. It's always satisfying when no student lets itself be distracted by flies or the pleasant rays of the sun.
"On a certain level you all know the four Gods of Chaos, their fields of influence and the danger of their corruption."
Many skinks' heads nodded in acknowledgment.
"But these daemons are not the first chaotic threat to the Great Plan. Before Chaos manifested in its true form, even before we were created, there were different entities… sworn enemies of the Slanns. They were called the C'Tan."
"These creatures were not made of Chaos, but derived their powers from it. They wanted to feed from the energies of the stars and the souls of the living beings. They held a strength capable of erasing entire planets, but their weapons were also deception, treachery and subterfuge. As the Chaos daemons, each one of them was a master in a particular field of expertise… and the most dangerous of them was called The Nightbringer."
A hand was raised.
"But Teacher Qui-Chin… I've heard that these so called C'tan are no more since millennia. Is that true? and if so, why should we study them?".
"That's a good question. Are they no more? They are mentioned in the ancient plaques… and time is fickle when you mess with chaos. I think it's better to know our enemies, even the ones that we think are dead. Now, to talk about the Nightbringer, it is said it was cloaked in shadows, and that it was the one with the greater connection to chaos…"

The Acolyte
When the lesson ended, the terradons already stopped chasing the morning ascending air currents. Time literally flew, while listening to the passionate exposition of Qui-Chin.
The acolyte was impressed "I never saw Qui-Chin so involved in an argument, not even during the lessons on the daemons of plague…"
The other students were chattering about the C'Tan, their ancient machinations, their tactics of corruption. Every one of them was clearly left impressed by the lesson.
"Yes, he was very passionate about it…"

The Teacher
The lessons about the C'Tan had been a success, from a professional point of view. Every student had been actively involved, every one of them questioned him.
An inquisitive mind is a mind eager for knowledge. Knowledge is power. They need to know what Chaos is capable of…
"Teacher Qui-Chin? May I have a word with you?"
Qui-Chin stopped his lucubration. In front of him there was a young skink, with the ornamental feathers that qualified him as an acolyte priest, destined to future service in the Vaults of the Ancient Knowledge.
"Acolyte Fren-Shui… what can I do for you?"
"Your lessons are very interesting, but I would like to delve into the topic. Is there some text I could refer to?"
"Again? it's not the first time you're asking me something more. You already have what's needed… further details could be redundant. After all, the C'Tan are only a very hypothetical threat."
"Yes but… please?".
An inquisitive mind is a mind eager for knowledge.
"mmm… I could grant you access to a couple of books I've used as references. After all, one day you will have to guard our Vaults. I will prepare a letter".

The Acolyte
Fren-Shui was finally in the Vaults. Yes, he could not have accessed the Vaults, the request was for the books, a consecrated priest should have given them to Fren-Shui.
It had been necessary to forge the permit a little. It had been risky, but it was the only way.
Fren-Shui looked at the two useless books in front of him. Then he looked at the corridors that gave the access at the most secret volumes and artefacts.
Now, my teacher, let's see what you real references are, and why you're so enamoured with these C'Tan…

The Teacher
"…and this is why the warmbloods are so susceptible to the lures by the deamons of pleasure. Now, I hope you will study your notes, because the next time you will be questioned."
The students rose and begun to leave the hall, discussing the lesson.
A brilliant class. The next leaders will know Chaos, and all its fascinating promises.
Qui-Chin moved toward the exit. Maybe he didn't noticed the pair of eyes fixed on his back.

The Acolyte
Fren-Shui looked at the teacher that was going away.
Teacher? yes, maybe you are a teacher… but what kind of teaching you're insinuating in us? I've read some of the ancient text, and not even all of them. Not the most obscure ones, the ones that you've learned. You were right… the Nightbringer cloaks itself in shadows, so that no one can see it.
Fren-Shui was filled by frustration and bitterness.
I've tried to talk with a couple of friends, the ones more open minded. I was forced to mimic irony, but nonetheless they refuses to see it… they don't correlate the passion when you were talking about the C'Tan and your indifference when you treat the chaos gods. They don't see behind your mask, even when I show them all the clues. What did you say? "creatures born from chaos always reveal themselves, but creatures that embraced it can hide its influence".
Fren-Shui was alone, and the rays of the sun were not able to warm his soul.
You are a prominent skink in our temple city. I'm just an acolyte. Dear Old Ones, what can I do?

The Teacher and the Acolyte
Qui-Chin was used to receive students in his chambers, especially the most brilliant ones; the saurus guards were used to this behavior, so they paid no particular attention to this particular student.
Qui-Chin was very surprised when Fren-Shui drew a dagger that was hidden in his vest, stabbing him… again, and again, and again.
Unable to cast a spell, all he could do was cry for help, gurgling in his own blood while the student raised the dagger for another furious stab.
Fren-Shui did not stop when his teacher was clearly dead, nor when the guards broke into the chamber. He knew the shards of the C’Tan could live after the apparent dead of the C’Tan itself, so he could not take a risk with one of their servants.
Old Ones, I will be killed for this. But at least You know… please accept my spirit and let me swim again in the spawning pools.
The weapons of the guards descended on him.

The High Priest and the Keeper of the Vaults
The high ranking skinks were in one of the inner chambers of the Temple. What happened had had dramatic repercussions on the daily life of the city, and the planning of the activities had been upset. It was vital to keep things quiet as much as possible, and give a… tranquilizing explanation to what happened, something that would allow the muddy waters to clear.
“So, this is it?”
“Yes. The acolyte entered the Vaults thanks to an altered request, apparently bribed by himself. The guardian failed to notice it”
“…and he put his eyes on forbidden texts. The ones capable to alter a weak mind.”
“It won’t happen no more, revered High Priest. From now on, any access to the Vaults will be granted only by me.”
“Yes. But now we’ll have to mourn the loss of a great Priest and a promising student. Because we weren’t paying enough attention.”
“He was just a student among many other ones… who would have thought that something was eroding its sanity? Who could have knew?”
The High Priest gave a bitter smile.
“It is said that in those books still lies a spark of the ancient C’Tan. If that’s true, the Nightbringer knew”

Well, i wanted to do a story like this one, with the usual interference by chaos (Tzeentch?)... but it sounded too clichè, with no real new element. I wanted something original.
Suddenly i recalled the 40k lore, the war in heaven and the great clash between the C'Tan and the Old Ones.
The C'tan were a perfect new element, a 40k piece that could fit into the ancient lore of the fantasy universe, set before the birth of the lizardmen.
After all, why not? if chaos trascends time, space and dimensions, i could very well imagine a fantasy version of the C'Tan (with the difference that here they lost the war)

the idea was there, i just needed to find a suitable C'Tan as "puppeteer"... and who better than the @NIGHTBRINGER ?
i liked the idea because it came naturally and was functional to the story, and that's the different between a character that works and a character that is forcefully stretched into the narration.
It paid off.


Other people's reviews

Decisions, decisions, decisions. I'm going to have to read over each of the entries multiple times before I can even begin to contemplate where to cast my vote.

On a completely unrelated note (and in no way indicative of who I am going to vote for )...

Short Story contest without Chaos Dwarfs content but includes a story titled and featuring THE NIGHTBRINGER
NIGHTBRINGER:

Well what have we here? A little 40K into the mix. I really liked the development of the story, following both characters and their actions. The build up was good, but had a very abrupt climax in my opinion. The concept of chaos influencing the ‘intelligent’ through the source of their intelligence is great and I would have liked this story to be longer.

Story Two:

Question-thing: Is this meant to be set in the 40k universe due to the presence of C’Tan shards or is it meant to be Fantasy but highlighting the potential connection between the two universes (or that they even exist in the same one?)

Regardless, I really dig the layout of this piece, flipping between POVs of the acolyte and teacher, with each POV titled after them. It’s not a form seen that much, so really gives this piece a nice uniqueness.

The meat of this story is a very well written paranoia horror showing the descent of the main character into madness (though part of me for a few moments wondered if there would be a twist reveal that he was right.) The mystery and built up suspense leading to the reveal was masterfully done.

There’s a few odd spelling mistakes and areas that could be improved with a little more proofing, but this is just a minor complaint to an otherwise very enjoyable piece.

 

[Imrahil]

Again congratulations with the win!!
I loved the story very much. As I said good build up.
Only the last part was a bit to fast for me, I had liked to have a couple of steps in-between the reading of the book and the assassination, but it worked the way you wrote it as well.

Very good read

Grrr, !mrahil

 

[Killer Angel]

A matter of Faith
(Jan-feb 2024, theme was "Divine Intervention" ; this story endend at the second place on 4 entries)

Some stats:
this was my 24th story in this competition, and my 12th consecutive podium.

Spoiler: A matter of Faith

A Matter of Faith

The man was wearing a worn tunic and leather boots which in a distant time may have been of reasonable quality. He was bent over the remains of a burnt wagon, and when he stood up he was not at all satisfied.
“A spark hit the black powder in the carriage. The ashes are completely cold, the smoke we saw yesterday must have been the last dying embers”
“Yes, and judging by the maggots on the corpses we were three days late”
The other man was wearing a greenish tunic, which could blend in with the forest background more due to the brown mold stains than the actual color. He was holding a sliver of obsidian in his hand.
“It was the lizard devils.”
"Obvious. I fear that our Constable will have to do without reinforcements from Sudburg."
“Judging by the number of bodies, quite a few survived. the tracks indicate that they went West.”
The first man shrugged and spat on the ground.
“Poor bastards. Let's go back to Port Reaver."

------

The jungle procession proceeded at a steady pace. The long line of bound prisoners moved along the path traced by the dinosaurs who led the march, flanked by saurian warriors. The wounded who had not been able to keep up, had been left behind... and their screams, muffled by the clanking of large jaws, had cast a dark aura of fear among the prisoners. Sergeant Hans had tried to protest, and he was indifferently slaughtered. No one else had complained. Everyone marched to the pace dictated by the lizard devils.


Fortunately, captors’ indifference applied much more widely.
No one seemed to care if the prisoners talked to each other, and soon Father Rutger monopolized the survivors' attention. Litanies that normally echoed in the cathedrals of the Empire now filled the undergrowth of Lustria.
“What is the duty of the faithful?”
“to obey Sigmar's Will”
“What is Sigmar's will?”
“that we fight in His name”
“What is the reward of those who fight in His name?”
"the glory"
“Who will get the Glory?”
“the faithful”
“What is the duty of the Faithful?...”
It was a reassuring thought. The procession of desperate people clung to the hope of those words, to the possibility of still being able to fight in Sigmar's name. All except one.


“I don't mean to pray, Rutger. I need my breath to walk, I won't waste it invoking nothingness."
Night had fallen on the jungle and interrupted the march. The men, exhausted, tried to rest and regain their strength…. not an easy task, tormented as they were by mosquitoes and all the other nocturnal insects to which their captors seemed immune. Only Father Rutger seemed tireless, moving among the men to comfort and encourage them.
“I'm sorry to hear you say that, Karl. You should not give up hope. Sigmar always listens to us.”
He received a laugh in response. "Really? look around. This is hell on earth. Sigmar does not arrive here. There never was."
“I looked around Karl, and I see a beautiful night sky. The stars shine only in the deepest night. When do you think miracles can happen, if not when those who have faith are put to the test in the most dramatic circumstances?”
“The Gods don't care about us, father. We are like ants in their eyes. You are deluded."
“And you are a defeatist. Faith keeps your comrades alive. If you don't want to pray for your salvation, at least don't belittle their courage."
Karl looked bitterly at Father Rutger's back, as he walked away to spread false hopes among the collapsed bodies.
Even if they are still breathing, they are already dead. They would be better off accepting reality and calling upon Morr, rather than Sigmar. Another entity indifferent to our fates, but at least it would be more themed.


The nightmarish march lasted for 10 days. The prisoners, from almost forty had been reduced to half.
The ordeal had dug a wedge between Karl and his companions. Little by little the need to find a reason to survive had imbued men with a religious fervor worthy of a team of flagellants.
Sigmar would send a sign. Sigmar would manifest himself. Sigmar would not abandon them.
The broken nose had taught Karl that it was unwise to doubt salvation.
In the eyes of those who were once his companions, he was a dangerous miscreant. Karl, for his part, had no illusions. This was not a land of gods. It was a land of beasts and savagery and death. And no imperial citizen had ever returned alive from that jungle thanks to divine intervention.


When they finally reached the city at the eleventh dawn, Karl didn't even have the strength to laugh.
The scale and proportions of the buildings were an inconceivable enormity. The outer walls alone were composed of countless blocks, each the size of a war chariot.
Towering stepped pyramids, taller than Altdorf Cathedral stood dotting the landscape, visible through the large fronds of immense centuries-old plants that grew freely in the city... a lush tangle of vegetation which however did not extend even with a single leaf along the immense, perfectly paved avenues, flanked by enormous columns depicting feathered serpents, with fangs as tall as a man.
And if the architecture was inconceivably infernal, the inhabitants of the city completed the nightmare. Winged creatures circled lazily around the tallest pyramids, while countless lizard devils crowded to follow the procession, forming a bizarre multicolored parade, some smaller than Karl, adorned with feathers, moving nimbly around other reptiles as large as a warhorse, crocodiles with arms as thick as the trunk of a small oak tree.
What hope of salvation could there be in that place? What god could manifest himself in the heart of chaos?
We are not even ants. An ant at least can be annoying, but we are nothing.


Although it was a bitter consolation, Karl felt a petty satisfaction in seeing the faith and trust of his companions crumble and weaken little by little. Father Rutger's face became more and more ashen with every step... and even his exhortations had now taken on a different tone, they no longer promised survival.
“Do not be afraid, my brothers. Faith will save our souls”
"If you say so"
"Yes, certainly. Sigmar is walking alongside us."


Growing voices accompanied them to their destination.
The crowd had gathered around a square, adorned with serpentine statues. The center of the square was occupied by a stepped pyramid, just a few meters high, at the top of which stood some small lizard devils, covered with colored feathers, gold ornaments and necklaces with sparkling jewels... pagan priests, evidently.
On the pyramid and all around, simple snakes could also be seen, apparently indifferent to the chaos that reigned around them. The men were made to kneel, and the priests said something to the crowd, which immediately calmed down, starting a sort of unison invocation, alternating with the declamations of the priests on the pyramid. It didn't take a genius to understand that this was a religious ceremony.
“Sigmar certainly won't let his followers be sacrificed to non-existent deities by these superstitious primitives…”
"Shut up…"


Then it began.
Four warriors took the first victim, holding him by the arms and legs and carrying him towards the top of the pyramid. The poor guy was desperately shaking, shouting and jerking with all the strength of desperation, to no avail. Having reached the top, they held him immobile while the priest uttered some litany, then the man was thrown to the ground... and disappeared.
There must have been some sort of well, because the sound of landing was heard after a couple of seconds. For a moment there was silence, then the screaming began. The screams didn't last for long. Father Rutger bowed his head and closed his eyes.
“Sigmar, help us.”


The warriors headed back to the waiting men. The first in line began to agitate, held still by the guards at his side. Karl, far behind, stood up.
"I'm going first! Take me!”
Then he looked hard at Father Rutger.
“I'll show you how a man dies”.
Karl walked steadily towards the warriors who had just descended from the pyramid. The saurians, confused, waded towards their priests, and one of them nodded. They moved aside slightly and let Karl pass, who spontaneously climbed the steps, now accompanied by the towering warriors, almost like a guard of honor. Karl then reached the top of the pyramid and, in fact, a black hole opened in front of him, from which came slow waves of warm humidity, mixed with a strong smell of musk. Karl looked into the priest's eyes… yellow with serpentine pupils. The priest intoned the same short litany.
When he finished, Karl jumped down.


At the bottom of the well there was a stone floor, covered with leaves and dirt and logs. All around, hundreds of snakes were moving slowly, hypnotically. A tangle of serpentine bodies was metodically dismembering the first man's corpse.
For a moment, nothing happened... then from the darkness emerged the head of an enormous reptile, a meter wide, with its eyes fixed on Karl's, while its forked tongue darted out, cutting the air.
Karl couldn't look away… then he felt it. The presence.
Something lurked in those eyes, something ancient, immense and impossible.
A series of images passed through Karl's mind, like a burning meteor… eons of sacrifices. Fangs dripping poison, countless pyramids scattered on this and other worlds, on other universes, infinite scaly bodies connected to a single entity.
Sotek.
And Sotek was there, at that moment. Aware of his presence, through the gaze of the primordial boa that reigned in that cave. And Karl knew that there, in that place, there was a God who recognized him as a living being, a God who was not indifferent, a God who cared about him. A God who craved for his blood, his flesh... and his soul.
It was only then that Karl finally screamed.

Other people's reviews:

Spoiler: Story one: A Matter of Faith

We find ourselves in a typical expedition party being captured by a patrol of Lizards. The religious journey of the captees shows the struggle between Faith and Ratio. The story takes us with them to their seemingly eminent demise. The ending gives a little spark of some deliverance despite the characters lack of hope. The closing seconds of the story shake the characters disbelieves in deities as he embraces his death.
The writing had me very involved with the story, the tension between the characters, the build-up and the ending where great to read.

This is my first go at reviews so if there's anything you'd like to discuss or point out in my reviewing feel free to do so! Just so I learn to write better reviews as well

Spoiler: Story 1: A Matter of Faith

I really loved reading through the first story. I love stories that use interesting vocabulary to vividly describe scenery and spectacles in front of the characters. I liked the relation between Father Rutger and Karl. It showed the different views of religion and gave good conflict. I didn't really know how to feel about the last sentence though. I feel like the ending paragraph had such an interesting and intense build-up and I really felt the sense of greatness floating in the room, but the last sentence had me surprised? I couldn't tell you what to change because it is a wonderful story with a fitting ending don't get me wrong, but I can't help but feel there was something more? In short: wonderful great story!

 

[Killer Angel]

Friends and Foes

Apr-may 2024: Theme was "Tactic and Strategy" ; this story won the competition, sharing the prize with @thedarkfourth , as it was a draw even after a tie-breaker round. It's my 9th victory!

Spoiler: Friends and Foes

FRIENDS AND FOES

High Priest Tek'totiki stood in the Sacred Chamber of Meditation, where Lord Temmu, Master of the Temple-City of Tunk-Xha, normally resided. It had now been almost fifty cycles since Lord Temmu last interacted with the skink priests, but this was the norm.
Also that morning, as he had done for twenty cycles now, Tek'totiki read the weekly reports to his Master. The celestial signs, the activities of the spawning pools, the communications from other temple cities, the reports from the scouts about activities of the enemies of the Great Plan, fortunately limited to a series of minor raids by the skaven along the routes of the outer borders.
Satisfied at having once again fulfilled his duty, Tek'totiki headed outwards, to return to the rest of his activities. It was only when he was almost to the door that a voice in his mind startled him.

“Raids of little importance, but particularly coordinated, I would say”
Tek'totiki whirled around, eyes wide. Lord Temmu, floating on his palanquin, had not moved. But his eyes were open.
“Summon Commander Kra-Gar. I have to entrust you with a mission."


The first battle – The swamps of Xo-than

“It’s a trap”
Kra-Gar gazed out over the damp, foggy expanse. Hygrophilous plants stretched as far as the eye could see, surrounding enormous mangroves and bushes of blade grass, the favorite lair of crested anacondas.
The Scar Veteran patted his cold one's side, eyeing skeptically what would normally be a great route for the troops.
“It certainly is, Commander. The enemy is waiting for us, reports of chameleon skinks are clear… or maybe…. it just seems so"
Kra-Gar just stared at Tek'totiki, which was trying to rearrange his thoughts.
“Lord Temmu has divined the enemy's camp. He himself showed us this path. Our cowardly foe, he loves subterfuge. Maybe they are showing us what they were planning for us to see. And perhaps they can deceive our senses, but not those of Lord Temmu"
Kra-Gar nodded.
“Let's move forward, the 3rd cohort will lead the way, I want the salamanders to cover the flanks.”
It was only when half the contingent was already scattered among the mangroves that the air was filled with greenish globes and lightnings; the first saurian screams arose, and with them a cacophony of squeaks from beyond the edge of the tree line. Many more than those predicted by the scouts.
Kra-Gar and Tek-totiki stared at each other, bewildered. It really was a trap.


The second battle – The Southern crossroads

Kra-Gar and Tek'totiki hadn't spoken much since the Xo-tan debacle. The expedition that was supposed to eliminate the threat to the outer borders had turned into a disastrous retreat; the patrols had been called back to reinforce the retreating contingent, and only stopped near the Crossroads.
Tek'totiki could not shake the feeling that he had made a terrible mistake, that he had grossly and incorrectly interpreted Lord Temmu's infallible guidance. And he knew that was Kra-Gar's thinking too, except that he was too disciplined a warrior to hold anything against Lord Temmu’s envoy.
Fortunately, reinforcements from the rear had also arrived, recomposing an army that was now even larger than the one defeated two weeks earlier. The crossroads was a great place to fight; not only was it a strategic point for the communications of the temple city, but precisely because of the converging roads, it was the most natural place to favor the arrival of the enemy, refreshed by the recent victory.
it was only a matter of planning the defense.

“Are you sure you understood it correctly?”
Kra-Gar scratched his head thoughtfully as he stared at the layout of his troops as outlined by Tek'totiki. His question was rhetorical. The Scar Veteran was present when Tek'totiki spoke under a trance, with the Voice of Lord Temmu.
“Is there something bothering you?”
Kra-Gar looked around, making sure the sentries on guard were not too close, then spoke in a low tone.
“Our center is well protected, on the right wing we can respond and reorganize effectively... but the left flank makes no sense. We have troops placed side by side but who do not support each other, our shooting barely covers a third of the front and if we need reinforcements, the closest units are slow and would be forced to cross our own shooting arch. If they attack us from the South-East we are in serious trouble, moreso because we have few scouts who can warn us. This deployment is not only weak... it is dangerous, and our enemy is far from a fool."
Tek'totiki had no answer.

After two days the skaven attack came. Slow at first, then with steadily increasing pressure. Low-ranking troops massing senselessly and hopelessly against the center and right flank.
Tek'totiki was relieved. It was evident that Lord Temmu had foreseen where the attack would come from and his orders had taken that into account. Kra-Gar sent the cold ones units to harass and encircle the enemy troops.
It was only when it seemed that the enemy would be repelled, that the drums and horns on the left signaled the danger. War machines, hordes of hooded figures and armored troops emerged from the South-eastern forest, heading inexorably towards the lines of the lizardmen.


The third battle – The lesser Temple of Huanchi

The retreat had been long and bloody, the rearguards decimated by the relentless attacks of the skaven.
The escape had stopped at the temple in the southern quadrant, dedicated to Huanchi. It was a minor building, part of the ring of citadels that surround the temple-city of Tunk-Xha.
The defense would be established there... not only was it unthinkable to allow the skaven to outrage a sacred temple of the Ancients, but it was also the last obstacle to stand between the rats and Tunk-Xha.
Kra-Gar was determined and moderately satisfied. With no indications from Lord Temmu, he had arranged the troops as he saw fit; the saurian regiments on foot had barricaded themselves in the walls surrounding the temple, while all skink units, cavalry and battle dinosaurs remained outside, to contrast encirclement and ensure mobility on the flanks.
Finally the skaven arrived. They almost no longer bothered to hide, encouraged by the series of successes... The warchief's banners waved proudly, among a mass of hairy bodies which incredibly had grown even further, intoxicated by the victories.

The assault began. The Skaven army, under the careful leadership of their lord, pressed against the temple defenses with no hurry, while elite units metodically protected the flanks, countering the enveloping movements of the forces of Kra-Gar.
The Scar-Vet had reached Tek'totiki. “It’s time to strike. Gather the other priests. Weaken their flank with magic, the razordons will help you, then the stegadons will charge and open a gap for my Saurus knights."
“Fine, I'll call the priests, just giv…”
Tek'totiki’s body stiffened as Lord Temmu took possession of the vassal skink. The Slann's voice was hollow.
“Kra-Gar, orders the retreat towards the temple city. Leave the field."
Kra-Gar looked the priest in disbelief.
“My Lord…?”
“The battle is lost. Retreat toward Tunk-Xha”.
The saurus commander grabbed the skink by the throat, lifting it to eye level. For a brief moment the veteran's muscles hardened, his throat let out a low, menacing growl... then he calmed down.
"My Lord, The battle is not lost, and the regiments in the citadel cannot retreat. If we leave we condemn them to death".
“Their sacrifice will be honored. The Great Plan demands your retreat. Now”.

The possession ended as it began. Kra-Gar now held a terrified skink by the neck, which was struggling to breathe... Kra-Gar let him go.
Tek'totiki fell to the ground on his knees, coughing and panting.
“I don’t understand…I’m sorry…”
Kra-Gar didn't hear it. He was already giving the retreat orders. And as the troops marched, only the drums of the saurus warriors could be heard in the distance, slowly drowned out by the dark ringing of bells.


The battle for Tunk-Xha

When they returned to Tunk-Xha, preparations for the looming battle were already underway. Kra-Gar and the other Scar Veterans were assigned to the reserve troops, while the Oldbloods set up the main defenses.
Tek'totiki had been relieved of front line duties and assigned to support the Revered Guardian in the defense of the central pyramid, from where Lord Temmu would telepathically coordinate operations.
“I've been cut off” Tek'totiki thought bitterly. “Not that it would have made any difference.”
The skink felt drained. After days of waiting and confusing but alarming reports from scouts on terradons, dawn had finally revealed the full extent of the threat. An endless horde of Skaven was amassing, far superior to anything Tek'totiki had ever seen or imagined. The city had no hope.

Then the assault began. Tek'totiki struggled to follow the flow of the fight in the early hours. He was not bred for fight, but in his mission he had begun to appreciate and fear the organized movements of enemy troops. But in the carnage that was developing in the plain, there was nothing organised. The skaven seemingly chaotically crowded into the lizardmen's defenses in uncoordinated waves.
Tek'totiki imagined it was some trick, but the doubt slowly faded when it became clear that the defensive lines, anchored on the regiments of Temple Guards and Bastiladons, were not giving way.
It was in the early afternoon that the attackers began to falter... the front lines tried to retreat, bumping against the pressure of their own backups, massed senselessly in the center, while the pincers of the lizardmen began to close.
It was only towards evening that panic truly spread among the skaven... regiments began fighting each other to gain apparent escape routes, which were promptly blocked by the Cold Ones and Carnosaurs.
After sunset Tek'totiki was no longer able to see anything, except for salamanders’ fire, but he could hear noises and screams in the distance. The massacre lasted all night. By morning the Skaven army was no more. A lake of blood extended in front of the city, soaking hundreds of thousands of hairy bodies.

Finally, Lord Temmu exited the Inner Sanctum.
“Ah, here you are, my little Tek'totiki. Your anxiety was very strong when you returned. And even now you are troubled... why? we achieved a great victory"
Tek'totiki didn't know where to start, too many thoughts crowded into his mind. Above all, he couldn't explain what he had experienced and seen.
“My lord… I… we retreated when we could have fought, and when it seemed we had no chance, we won. What happened? their warlord had proven to be a skilled and shrewd commander, while today his leadership was confusing and suicidal."

“That's because their warlord wasn't leading them. He died two nights ago. Leading them were several commanders eager to excel, convinced only that they had to compete for the spoils of a beaten and demoralized enemy. Too many heads, too many ideas, too little experience"
Tek'totiki couldn't follow the conversation. It seemed too absurd to him.
"Died? how did he die? it wasn't us... what killed him?”

Lord Temmu smiled placidly.
“His victories killed him”
“huh? how…?”
“Success and envy are a lethal combination, in the society of our enemies. If you create the right conditions, your enemy will defeat himself. As the Great Plan wills”

Other people's reviews (alas, only one...):

Here are my reviews:

"Story Three: “Friends and Foes”
The longest of the stories and with a great many of details. The descriptions of the battlefields time in time got visualized in front of me. The different ‘strange’ tactics coming from the Slann Lord made me think the tactic of the enemy was to corrupt him and give weird orders. The explanation of the tactics in the end tied the story together in a good way.

Grrr, !mrahil

 

[Killer Angel]

A Promise of Hope
(Jul-aug 2024, theme was "Hope and/or Despair" ; this story endend at the FIRST place on 5 entries)

Some stats:
this was my 26th story in this competition, and my 10th victory!

Spoiler: A Promise of Hope

A PROMISE OF HOPE

“just… one more… mile…”

The panting skink ran through the jungle. The pace of breathing was too fast, punctuated by a gasp every now and then.

“Oh great Huanchi… I am Te’Piki… Your humble servant… I beg you… give me the strength of the jaguar… to run… another…. mile".

The skink ran across a clearing of razor grass. When she emerged, numerous reddish scratches marked her legs, overlapping with other similar, slightly older scratches.

The skink ran awkwardly, carrying a suspiciously bloated shoulder bag, holding it in her arms so as not to bounce it.

The skink had a shield strapped to its back, and an empty scabbard at its side. The sword lost who knows where.

The skink ran.

“The top… of the hill. The top… of the hill. Then I'll look... behind. Then… I will rest.”

The top of the hill was a black ridge against the reddish sky, dazzled by the setting sun. When the skink reached it, she carefully placed her bag on the grass, then collapsed to the ground, her back resting against the trunk of a drum tree.

Panting, she looked in the direction she had come from.

The sky was boiling with greenish and purple clouds, behind the mist and the foliage of the tallest plants, the flashes of distant flames could be glimpsed… the flashes of the fire that was consuming the no more visible temple-city.

The clouds slowly expanded, no birds sang.

“I made so much noise that I must have scared them…”

Then the skink saw, from under a bush, a pair of eyes staring at him. The wide, glassy eyes of a howler monkey sprawled on the ground, motionless, its fur stained with spilled vomit.

“I have to keep running.”

---------

And the race went on. For almost a week, further and further west, always keeping the green clouds behind, always protecting the shoulder bag.

Every day a little slower than the previous one (“I should have already been at Thepulchan mangrove forest…”)

Every day with a greater need to rest ("What was that noise? I have to keep moving...")

Every day more and more hungry (“Corruption may have preceded me. I can't risk eating infected food...")

And so the flight continued, incessant, breathless. Fortunately, the skink was no longer alone. Pik'Ta'Ko, her dearest brother from the spawning pool, had joined her. He too was running away, he too was going towards the other temple city.

“I saw you die…”, Te’Piki had told him

“Don't be silly, how could I be here if I were dead?”, Pik'Ta'Ko replied.

And so they ran together for miles, remembering the days of training, the pranks on the saurus knights when they mixed the sleep flower with the food of the aggradons before the parade, the lazy swims in the Xanthi river, following the currents of warm water and try to catch by surprise the blot toads lost in their amorous serenades.

Until the warm water turned cold, and Te'Piki regained clarity. She was of course alone, with her legs immersed in the water of a swamp, in the late twilight, surrounded by the croaking of toads.

“For the Old Ones, I ended up in a swamp…”

Then Te'Piki realized.

“I'm in a swamp... it's salamander mating season. You should never go to the swamps during the salamander mating season."

The skink placed very delicately the shield on the water, like a small boat, putting the bag inside it. Then, very slowly, she began to swim, trying to disturb the waters as little as possible, trying to follow the few weak currents that could take her out of that trap.

“Caxuatn, God of predators, turn away from me the gaze of the flame-bearers. Tzunki, God of the waters, guide me through Your kingdom. Conalxa, God of shadows, hide me in Your cloak. Itzl, God of beasts, grant me to save Your children.”

And Te'Piki swam all night, silent and unable to feel her legs for the cold, letting the currents guide her, praying to Caxuatn, Tzunki, Conalxa and Itzl, until the marshes were behind her, until the first lights of dawn showed a landing place, until Te'Piki understood why she had been so lucky.

The salamanders had also arrived at the beach.

Dozens of bloated, rotting bodies… the carcasses had been carried downstream, pushed by the same currents Te'Piki had swum, piling up near the beach. No scavenger birds dared approach, only the flies were attracted by the fetid bodies.

Te'Piki left the river, and headed west.

---------

Day followed day, but time was now a blur. Sunrise behind her, sunset ahead. And in the middle a dull pain.

Something had followed Te'Piki from the swamp. Something in the water, the same something that had decreed the end of the salamanders. Something growing inside her, slowly but surely.

Since three days her breathing had become a gurgling hiss. Since two days she had been bleeding from her mouth and nose. Since a day she had felt something moving under the skin of her scratched legs that had been immersed in the water. It didn’t mattered.

Sunrise behind her.

“just… one more… mile…”

Sunset ahead.

---------

Confused memories accompanied Te'Piki. The Ritual of imprinting. The eggs that hatched, the baby aggradons that stared into her eyes, losing themselves in her gaze… her, the first living being there for them, their mother, who would protect and nourish them. And even years later, when they would have been nine feet tall seasoned killers, rode by Saurus Knights, they would have looked for Te'Piki, warbling the Song of Union.

“I’ve said stop! Don't take another step!"

Te'Piki shook herself out of her trance. She tried with difficulty to focus her gaze in front of her... the indistinct figures slowly became a skink priest, some saurus warriors and a couple of handlers with a salamander.

Te'Piki, exhausted, finally fell to his knees.

She tried to speak, despite the pain in her throat.

"I am the Chief Handler of the temple city of Xunt'la. We have been attacked by the forces of the ruinous powers"

The skink priest raised his hand, interrupting her.

"We know. Lord Baathrax is containing the plague, while we prepare the counterattack. But you brought the corruption with you... I’m sorry, but you can't continue."

He nodded towards the salamander.

“Your remains will be cleansed.”

Te'Piki nodded "I know, I’m not here to save myself."

She pushed the bag forward.

"There are two Crested Aggradons’ eggs in here. The ones we preserved from corruption, the last of their kind. Save them."

The priest looked at Te'Piki, a deep sadness in his eyes.

"Look... you've been traveling for over 2 weeks. Even if they hadn't been corrupted, and that's very difficult, there's no way anything could have survived all that time, away from the hatching grounds."

"NO!" Te'piki coughed up blood.

"No... the eggs were protected. Wrapped in enchanted cloth. The High Priest of Chotek gave them warmth, as if they never left the hatching grounds; the High Priest of Potek shielded them from the supernatural touch of Chaos. Please..."

The priest looked at the bag in front of him, thoughtfully.

"Even if it were, you've been running all this time... they will have been tossed around. The protection of the Old Ones might not have been enough. Dozens of things could have gone wrong. You're holding on to a very slim hope."

"Please... they are the last thing that remains of my city. Tell me I didn't do it all for nothing. Tell me there's a chance."

The priest remained silent. He grabbed the bag.”Such a thin hope…”

“But is there, yes?”

The priest turned his back to Te’Piki. “Yes, there is. May the Old Ones welcome you in the Celestial Spawning Pool”.

The priest went away. Te’Piki smiled, with blood tears in her eyes. The salamander closed in.

Other people's reviews:

"Story 3: A promise of hope "
This story has a great style, the pace of the story matches the pace of the protagonist. I liked the idea of it, building up hope from despair of losing the things that needed to be brought to safety. The constant lurking despair that does not strike. Only to find despair when the hope of the protagonist is at its peak. Clever writing.

Story Three:
Ouch. Such despair and such hope (even if it is a fool’s hope.) Wow…where do I start? The pacing for this story is pretty slow but that works to the author’s advantage, I think. It lets the mounting horror and vivid descriptions of the lands being blighted as well as the skink’s painful struggle feel that more heightened and real. The feverish visions giving memories and her running with the phantom of her spawn-brother gave some great characterisation and a great mixture of hope and foreboding. Hope that maybe there were other forces aiding her (i.e. the phantom actually being there) and foreboding in that the corruption was taking more and more of a hold. For areas of improvement, only thing I can say is that an extra proofread might have helped as Te’Piki briefly turns into a he near the end. But this does not detract from how impactful this piece was. Bravo.

(in the version posted here, it has been fixed the She/he. tnx )

Story Three, "A Promise of Hope": This one is probably my favorite of the five in terms of duality equally holding hope and despair in the same measure. I certainly identified with and rooted for the protagonist immediately. I wasn't sure what she was carrying until the very end, I just knew it was important to her. I'm not 100% sure on whether the bag being a "mystery box" was good idea or a bad idea, but either way the story was quite good.

 

[Killer Angel]

Like Father Like Son
(oct-nov 2024, theme was "A work of Art" ; this story endend at the FIRST place on 4 entries)

Some stats:
this was my 27th story in this competition, and my 11th victory (3 in a row!)

Spoiler: Like Father Like Son

LIKE FATHER, LIKE SON​

The precision awl chiseled away the surface of the cold iron. Slowly, methodically.

Sweat stung Drazhoath Blakhorn’s eyes, and his arms ached. It didn’t matter.

The chisel fashioned the intricate rune of the “Holder of Treasures,” the thirty-seventh of the sixty-six names of the Father of Darkness. The next rune would bear the name of “He who kills with fire” A series of sixty-six runes, repeated sixty-six times… Drazhoath was now working on the bands that would surround the enormous breastplate, a five-meter-wide plate of steel, heated in lava, quenched in blood and tempered by sacred fires, beaten and shaped into the image of the Bull of Hashut.

With a few final, gentle strokes of the chisel, the Daemonsmith completed the rune, blowing on it to remove the metal dust from the grooves. He then took out his ritual dagger and made an incision in his thumb.

“My blood is not only mine, my blood belongs to Hashut, the One who owns everything and gives nothing away”

Drazhoath placed his thumb on the rune. The metal drank the drops of blood greedily, while the rune glowed.

“Keep this blood, and never release it. Be greedy as our Lord, I am You and You are me.”

The chaos dwarf watched his work with satisfaction, as the regenerative spells activated to close the superficial wound. He still had much to do, but his concentration was broken by the sound of the main door opening.

Before Drazhoath could see him, he heard him. He heard the clatter of metal on stone, the chugging of pistons, and the hum of well-oiled mechanisms. Even his two most trusted K'daai Fireborn dimmed the glow of their flames and stood back in deference and respect.

High above the balcony loomed the towering figure of Ghazkorr, the supreme Sorcerer-Prophet, lord of the city of Zhar-Marduk.

Like a centaur, Ghazkorr’s torso rose above the massive body of a mechanical bull, which enclosed the sorcerer’s legs and pelvis. Like them all, a victim of the corruption of chaos magic, Ghazkorr’s legs and manhood had long since turned to stone. Drazhoath wondered if, beneath the rich and elegant robes, the stone had already reached past his navel, or higher.

It certainly hadn’t reached his arms yet, nor his face, where two fierce eyes shone. Eyes that looked with displeasure at Drazhoath’s work, the chaos of the forge-workshop where disorder had been deliberately created and very little of the actual work was visible.

The eyes rested on Drazhoath again.

“When will it be finished?”

“When I will have completed it.”

Ghazkorr’s gloved fist crashed into the stone parapet.

“Be very careful, boy. Being my firstborn won’t save you from the punishment for negligence, and it certainly doesn’t give you the luxury of insolence. How long did it take for your tongue to grow back last time? Two months? Give me an answer.”

“I… I’m afraid I’ve gone into too much details. But I’m making up for lost time.”

“Hurry up, I need this Destroyer. I’ll give you another week… or you’ll find out the price of my disappointment.”

Ghazgorr left, creaking and dissatisfied. Drazhoath could hear the typical crack of the broken bone, as his father's scepter struck the skull of one of the hobgoblin servants who ceremoniously was holding the gate open for him.

“I don’t have much time left. In a week, whether I like it or not, my father will realize my deception.”

Drazhoath took a deep swig of the alchemical liquor hanging from his belt. A renewed energy spread through his body, the tiredness vanished in a few seconds.

“another night of work…”.

_______________________________________________


Three further days of non-stop work had yielded their results. Despite the unavoidable deadline, Drazhoath had still been methodical. No step was to be skipped, haste was not to detract from beauty. His work could not be less than perfection.

A new load of finished pieces was taken and carried toward the inner furnaces. The hobgoblin slaves pushing the carts were not stupid… they had eyes and ears, and they knew full well that Drazhoath was building something far beyond the orders of the sorcerer-prophet.

But Drazhoath had not needed to threaten them. They were aware that betraying him would mean a horrible death for them… his father was not the type to forgive a slave who goes behind his Sorcerer’s back, even if he brought useful news: the only place for an unreliable slave is the furnace.

The internal foundry was an immense room, heated to the limit of bearability by the pools of boiling lava and filled by the dark, reddish light of the enormous votive braziers; hanging from the metal frames towered an enormous metal structure, shaped like a sort of armor divided into pieces, to be assembled around something gigantic.

Each piece was engraved with sacred scenes… one greave showed a volcano with streams of lava spreading out to devour a village. The other greave depicted a lammasu flying between snow-capped peaks. A pauldron showed the Father of Darkness seated on a throne, atop a mountain of gold and precious objects. Each carving was surrounded by sacred runes that pulsed with silent power.

Drazhoath had been to the temples of Zharr-Naggrund, had seen the works of art erected in honor of Hashut, and knew that his work could be displayed in the central temple. It was just a matter of assembling the latest pieces as they were produced, and of course hoping that the couriers who had brought news of the main piece were right, and that it would arrive in time…

_______________________________________________


Another two days had passed, when the Overseer finally entered the forge.

“My Lord, Skaven envoys have arrived at the underground passages. I have made sure that no word of their presence has leaked outside the secure channels… but the caves have ears.”

“So we’ll have to hurry. Have your manpower, your winches, and your wagons ready. And prepare the sacrificial slaves.”

Drazhoath journeyed deep into the underground tunnels of Zhar-Marduk, escorted by his faithful Harridans, the warrior widows. Now he knew the real race against time had begun.

In one of the outlying caves, the rat-men delegation was waiting for him, nervously sniffing the air. Drazhoath knew that many of them were hidden, but then he also had his own countermeasures in case of betrayal.

“Let’s not waste time. Do you have it? Is it intact? Did you manage to preserve it without it deteriorating?”

A particularly evil-looking skaven, adorned with the icons symbolizing their clan and their horned god, stepped forward.

“Ah yes, yes yes.. the body-corpse is here, my excellent buyer-partner. Good-excellent condition, but very difficult-complicated, long journey from Lustria, long-long. Large-bulky corpse. Dead slaves, dead warriors… many costs-expenses…”

Drazhoath muttered a few words in the daemonic tongue, waving a hand absentmindedly. A chasm opened in the floor and streams of boiling lava engulfed half a dozen of the skaven underlings. The stench of burning fur filled the air, along with the screams.

“Let’s cut the formalities short. You were going to ask me an obscene premium and I would have told you it was too high, we would have threatened each other over the price, and you would probably have told me the trick you have in store for destroying the ‘corpse-body’. I cut the procedure short. Tell me the true final price.”

The skaven licked his lips, chuckling, and gestured reassuringly to the hidden figures in the darkness.

“eheheh… clever-cheeky, yeah? The surcharge is 50%”

“mh. Maybe it can be done, but beforehand I want to see the body. Show me the Dread Saurian.”

_______________________________________________


Drazhoath was standing in the large entrance of the forge, satisfied. He had managed to complete his work and now it was only a matter of waiting.

Beneath his large robe he had donned his Hellshard armor, and he had driven all the dwarfs away. Even the Harridans were not at his side, as in this particular circumstance he doubted their loyalty… he had kept only the K’daai fireborn with him.

He did not have to wait for long.

The gate was not opened by the slaves this time. A dull roar preceded a tremendous crash, and the massive stone and metal doors were torn from their hinges. Behind them, a Taur’ruk held a massive two-handed warhammer, which had proven more than adequate for the task.

The giant bull-centaur, chief guardian of the temple of Hashut, stepped aside, allowing Ghazkorr and his personal guard of infernal ironsworn to pass. The dwarf warriors’ expressions were masked by the closed visors of their helmets, but the sorcerer-prophet’s face was one of rage.


“A QUARTER OF THE TREASURE IS GONE! A QUARTER OF MY TREASURE! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?” I SWEAR I WILL MAKE YOU BEG TO DIE!”

“I did.”

“OF COURSE YOU DID, YOU DAMNED IDIOT!”

Ghazgorr raised his scepter, ready to strike.

“I have completed the K’daai Destroyer. It came at a bit of a cost.”

For a moment, Ghazgorr was taken aback by the answer, and stood comically still with his scepter raised in mid-air.

“Do you want to see it?” Drazhoath said, as he allowed himself a smile. Behind him, the darkness lit up.



The Dread Saurian's body was covered in armor, inscribed with runes of chaos magic that had begun to glow a blinding red. The powerful clawed legs were reinforced by armored bracers with incandescent blades, the breastplate and gorget protected the reptile's entire torso, leaving only the toothy mouth free, while the skullcap was protected by a helmet that left the slits of the eyes open.

Hellfires burned inside the creature, turning its jaws and pupils red without consuming its body, preserved by the protective runes. Ghazgorr backed away, fearful, probably without even realizing it.

“What is that thing?”

“Do you like it? It’s almost twice the size of a Destroyer, I had it flown in from Lustria, I believe it’s the largest predator known. A worthy host for a greater fire daemon. A construct worthy of Hashut.”

“You’re a fool… I needed a Destroyer, not this… thing”

Drazhoath could no longer contain himself. A strange euphoria and excitement roared through his veins, his heart pounding, exhilarated by the bond with the chained elemental daemon.

“SHUT UP! You are weak, father… the stone is taking your body and you are afraid. You fear the moment when you will become a statue exposed on the road to Zharr-Naggrund, alongside the past Sorcerers. You fear what the magic of chaos brings… that is why you needed me to create a Destroyer, because you knew that the magic required to bring it to life would give your chest to the stone… COWARD! The stone is the medal we are awarded for knowing how to use the gifts of Hashut. And I embrace them WITH JOY!”

Drazhoath stomped his foot on the floor. Even through the sole, the dull thud of stone on stone was unmistakable. The confused Tarur’ruk backed away, and only the Ironsworn stood guard around their Lord.

Ghazgorr tried to compose himself.

“You are raving. I am the Sorcerer-Prophet of this city. You are my son. By the laws of Dawi-Zarr you owe me doubly. Kneel, now.”

Drazhoath shook his head.

“Hashut is my father, not you. It is time for this city to have a Sorcerer-Prophet able to remind the world that all the land belongs to Hashut… it is time for you to die.”

The Dread K’daai roared and charged.

Other people's reviews:

"Story 4: "Like Father, Like Son"
An interesting piece for sure. At the start I felt it was written as a crowd pleaser (being more specific one person), though upon reading it through it really was a good story. The theme was touched on early as the smith made a work of art, but the incorporation of our beloved reptilians came late in the story. What a turn of events, great writing[/SPOILER]

Like Father, Like Son.

There are stories with mentions of Chaos Dwarfs and then there Chaos Dwarf stories, praise be to Hashut that this entry belongs to the latter. What we've got here is a genuine tale of the mighty Dawi-Zharr that is dripping with clever nods to the lore while carefully expanding it in new directions. Drazhoath is an intriguing character whose devotion to his craft is only outstripped by his devotion to the Father of Darkness, Hashut. It is this devotion that justifies the betrayal of his father. This is no small feat for a Chaos Dwarf, who by nature and creed belong to the lawful evil category. A slave's life is meaningless beyond what work it can accomplish (as evidenced by the cruel but hilarious misfortune of the Hobgoblin servant at the hands of Ghazgorr), but to spill the life of a fellow Chaos Dwarf is not to be taken likely. The way I read the story, Drazhoath genuinely believes his father has betrayed the path of Hashut, so he is within his right to correct that deviation. The author does a great job of ensuring that it never feels like a Skaven(or Dark Elf)-esque grab at power for self-serving gain. Drazhoath while cruel, remains true to the dictates of his people and of his god. If I had to describe Drazhoath with a single word, it would be devotion. He is devoted to the true path, and his father is not. He is willing to make the sacrifices that his father cowers from. I love the way that this is demonstrated through the petrification that Chaos Dwarfs suffer as consequence of using their magic. At first I thought the description of Ghazgorr was a clever tie-in to the existing lore, but nothing more. However, in the end, the unwavering willingness of Drazoath to take on the very same curse in order to serve his true master puts an exclamation point on his story arc. In one stroke we are shown his resolute inner strength; a strength that is lacking in his father. It was a very impactful way of making the point while working within the limited wordage of a short story.

I must say I really liked the line "Being my firstborn won’t save you from the punishment for negligence, and it certainly doesn’t give you the luxury of insolence". It sounds good, and draws a sharp picture of the harsh boundaries that Ghazgorr has for his son. The dealing with the Skaven was equally good. Drazhoath understands the manipulative creatures and is having none of it (as is proper for a Chaos Dwarf!). Lastly, of course the Dread K'daai is a beautiful touch to cap off the story; chef's kiss. A very memorable and genuinely meaningful way to satisfy the short story Lizardmen inclusion requirement. That's how you do it with style!

Overall, its a wonderful story and more than worthy of my promised vote. The author provides a finely detailed view of Chaos Dwarf society and even more importantly, a brilliant characterization of Drazoath. There isn't much I can critique about it. The only thing that comes to mind (and I hope it is okay to provide constructive feedback too) is that the correct spelling is "K'daai" instead of "K'daii".

Anyways, that is my personal reading of the story and some of the things I liked about the tale. Kudos to the author. May Hashut's blessings guide you to victory!

Story Four "Like Father, Like Son"

Ok... this was an amazing work. And not just because we had mecha-Dread Saurian. The Dawi-Zhaar are an oft ignored subset of Warhammer Fantasy, most people I've spoken with aren't even aware of their lore, just assume them to be "Dwarfs who were mutated and thus serve Chaos" rather than realise that they have a full on culture and lore that can be explored. They have their own versions of Slayers (who ironically go the opposite direction of their baseline cousins and clad themselves in MORE armour) and they have sorcerers who slowly pay a toll for their power.

So, what we get here, is the son of a sorcerer, tasked with building one of the greatest weapons that the Dawi-Zhaar have to their roster, and he decides that he's going to go one step beyond. How to improve on a K'daai? Well let's just hybridise it with one of the biggest and meanest predators of the world. I'm sure it won't backfire down the line, after the final punctuation point of the story has been placed.

We also get some entertainment as Drazhoath negotiates with a skaven, and the two know each other to be evil bastards and just accept that they're both going to be bastards. Kill a few minions? Bah, it's fine-fine, they weren't me-me! So anyway, surcharge is 50%.

 

[Killer Angel]

Longer than expected
(jan-feb 2025, theme was "A long journey" ; this story endend at the FIRST place on 5 entries, victory shared with the story "A journey beyond" by @Imrahil )

Some stats:
this was my 28th story in this competition, and my 12th victory (4 in a row!)

Spoiler: Longer Than Expected

LONGER THAN EXPECTED

The battle around the pyramid was intensifying, the enemy slowly but surely closing in.

During weeks of ferocious combat the outer walls had collapsed, and the inner walls after them. The battle had become a gigantic, chaotic melee in the city since then; the resistance had concentrated around the main pyramid, the orderly cohorts of temple guards piling up hairy corpses, the giant dinosaurs in the rear hurling searing beams that carved furrows into the mass of the attackers, felling the towering abominations of the ratmen; the spells cast by the Slann opened chasms. But it was only a matter of time before those positions also became untenable… then the cohorts would slowly fall apart, and the defenders would retreat further, making the pyramid a fortress.

Then it would be time for Skarnikk Bloodblade.

The master assassin had infiltrated the lizardmen’s lines, through tunnels painstakingly dug over months, and now he was moving silently and invisibly through the ventilation tunnels, ascending one level at a time, waiting for the Slann to retreat toward the halls above. Toward his blade.

And that moment was approaching. Through the stone, Skarnikk could feel the vibrations of hundreds of clawed feet walking the corridors, a clear sign that the forces of the lizard-things had begun their retreat into the pyramid.

Skarnikk should have been in position by now, but he was annoyingly behind schedule.

It wasn’t exactly his fault, though… he was a professional, and in the face of the unexpected, one must always be cautious. The first unexpected event had come when, in the corridors, in addition to the stone, he had encountered sections with walls shaped from a strange metal, cold and extremely resistant, so much so that it could not even be scraped by his enhanced blade. The second unexpected event had been when a strange buzzing had begun to spread throughout the entire structure, slowly but steadily increasing…it was a bizarre sensation, which made the fur on his back stand on end; it reminded him a lot of the sensation he felt standing nearby the war machines of the Skryre Clan, when they were activated, charging up with energy.

Nevertheless, he continued to move… until something even more bizarre happened. The hum increased further, the entire structure began to shake as if there was an earthquake, and then a slow but powerful downward push crushed his body against the floor. No one was effectively crushing him, no air current from above… there was nothing, and yet, for a few interminable seconds he could not move, even struggling to breathe. Only when the pressure eased did Skarnikk regain control of his body and mind.

“Calm-calm down. You are not afraid. Release not odor-scent. Fear not real. You real. Blade real. Fear fake. Now continue-move on. Find-kill.”

Skarnikk continued to move through the now metal-lined ventilation corridors, but at this point he was not sure where he was. This pyramid was so different from the minor temples he had explored in the past. The informations on the mission were inadequate. Someone would pay in blood.

Then, something hit the pyramid. A crash of something massive on the outside, like when the rocks of the catapults collide with the masonry, but this time much larger and more powerful. Immediately after that, with a hissing noise, a door of the strange metal closed the corridor behind him. Out of nowhere, he heard a croaking voice. The automatic translator provided to him for the mission allowed him to understand the words, but their meaning remained obscure.

“Attention, all crew. In the upper atmosphere we suffered a collision with a fragment of the chaos moon. External casing of the third section badly damaged. It has been isolated the access to the following autonomous areas of the third section: Weapons storage X7, Hydroponics Y12, Ancient Records A2. Vessel not compromised, course unchanged. Begin stage one of stasis procedures.”

Skarnikk moved along the corridor, avoiding a grated opening and continuing forward, until his path was blocked by a second metal door. Any attempts to open it proved futile, so the assassin returned to the opening he had previously ignored.

The grate proved easy to open; the opening overlooked a dark room that smelled of leaves and water. Silently, Skarnikk lowered himself along the wall, hiding near a bush (“Why plant-bush in pyramid? Stupid lizard-things”).

Then, slowly, a soft light began to illuminate the room, becoming brighter and warmer. The room was a huge one, and it looked like a forest for all intents and purposes, albeit a very bizarre one. There was no real ground, the plants were all growing in sorts of tubs, neat and aligned, some surrounded by soil, others immersed in muddy water.

Skarnikk was completely alone, and he began to explore the place. There were many fruit trees, by groups and alone, in delimited but very large grounds, and there were several very young plants that would take years to grow. And flowers, many flowers. There were even some insects, buzzing around.

“fruits-plants-food, flowers-poison…. silly-crazy lizard-things. Maybe fear of Clan Pestilence? A small hidden-secured jungle?”.

The mystery could wait, the important thing was to find a way out… except that, after a couple of hours of searching, it was clear that there were none, because there was indeed a door, but it was hopelessly closed, and even the alchemical tools enhanced by warpstone shards were of no use.

After some time, the croaking voice returned… again, understanding the words was of no help.

“The course is stable. The subfleet includes 24 ships… we mourn the loss of the To'Lomek city-temple. With the completion of the stasis procedures, primary energy will be maintained in the hydroponic lounges and automatic systems only. May Chotec guide our journey to the next Sun-Home”.

It was pointless to try to extrapolate some meaning from those nonsense. Only one thing was sure.

Sooner or later, within a few hours or a couple of days at most, someone would open that door. The lizard-things, to take food to sustain the siege. Or to find shelter when the stormvermin will break into the pyramid. Or directly the troops of the warlord Kretch Skullweaver. And when that happened, Skarnikk would be ready.

It was just a matter of waiting a little.

Other people's reviews

An End Times story; very cleverly crafted. At first I was wondering how the Lizardmen would act on the attack and the assassin within their walls. The downward pressure seemed strange, but with the first ‘intercom’ message it was clearly because of the take-off from the dying World-that-was. Suspense in the end if the Rat-assassin will ever succeed in his endeavor. Surprising piece, written from a fun perspective.

"Longer Than Expected" – When an Assassination Mission Turns into Accidental Space Travel


Skarnikk Bloodblade, a Skaven master assassin, is deep in enemy lines, slinking through ventilation tunnels beneath a Lizardmen pyramid in the middle of a battle. His mission? Assassinate the Slann once it retreats into the inner sanctum. His problem? Everything is not going according to plan.

Things start getting weird.

"Longer Than Expected" is a brilliantly executed twist on a classic infiltration story. It starts as a tense assassination plot, then slowly drifts into something far stranger, culminating in an utterly hilarious yet horrifying reveal: Skarnikk has unknowingly boarded a lizardman temple-ship and it is leaving!

The slow-burn shift from gritty siege warfare to “Oh no, this is a spaceship” is fantastic. The way the clues are seeded—the metallic walls, the increasing hum, the sudden gravity shift—keeps the reader on edge without outright stating what’s happening until the final twist. We, the audience, realise the truth long before Skarnikk does, which makes his ignorant confidence both tragic and darkly comedic.

Skarnikk himself is a perfect protagonist for this story. As a Skaven assassin, he’s cunning, paranoid, and utterly ruthless—but he’s also stubbornly clueless in that special Skaven way. He never once questions what’s really happening, assuming it’s all just some bizarre Lizardman trick. His inner monologue of “Why plant-bush in pyramid? Stupid lizard-things.” adds to the absurdity—he’s so sure he understands the situation when, in reality, he’s completely out of his depth.

But what really makes this story stand out is its sheer cosmic horror. Skarnikk thinks he’s trapped for a few hours, maybe days. But we know better. The announcement about “mourning the loss of the To’Lomek city-temple” and their “course remaining unchanged” implies that the lizardman temple-ship; the realization hits the reader—Skarnikk isn’t just trapped in a room. He is light-years away from the battlefield, with no way back.

And the best part? He still thinks the war is going on.

A masterful blend of war, suspense, and sci-fi horror—Skaven arrogance meets the cold, uncaring vastness of space. Hilarious, tragic, and just the right amount of horrifying.

A Journey Beyond
Ka'rah: What a terrible fate to befall a city. And the last city of the Southlands. Wherever that was. The skink was so brave and dutiful. What a wonderful bond he had with his terradon though. Good descriptions too, I could really taste those rank smells on the end of my tongue.

Te'al'k: The Southlands was another place of the Itzatecah, outside of Lustria. Back on the World That Was, before our time. I agree, the descriptions were particularly good, with the cutting across of the present and the past. It kept a good pace and explained the situation well and the relationship of the skink and terradon with good pacing.

Story Three “Longer than Expected”: Once again, we have a story that serves an introduction to future stories. With no offense intended to the previous two, I believe this is how an introduction-style story should work. While this piece as a whole served as a primer to a future story, it still encapsulates a complete story in and of itself. The Skaven is caught unaware by an unexpected challenge and is adapting.


My misgiving is pretty small. I’d like to know a little bit more about the point of view character. I’m not sure what clan the Skaven is from. Eshin, is my best guest but he referenced other clans frequently. Skaven don’t normally have this level of stoicism and self control. A little bit of backstory would have helped me understand him better. Did he realize that even if his mission succeeded, he would be trapped and unable to return home or did he not care? That’s rattling about my head.

Some personal considerations:

@J.Logan guessed it right: it's a funny cosmic horror story.
Skarnikk's mission not only failed, but he's stuck in a section of the space ship which has been closed ermetically, and his efforts to break through already failed.
There is no way out, and while the lizardmen are going into stasis for the travel across star systems, that will lasts hundreds of years, he'll be awake and alone in a place with oxygen, food and water... for the rest of his life. With a slow realization (as the days become weeks, and weeks become months) that the door will never open.
Alone, traped forever, maybe a slow descent into madness.

 

[NIGHTBRINGER]

Some stats:
this was my 28th story in this competition, and my 12th victory (4 in a row!)

The Lustria Online short story king. Undisputed.

 

[Killer Angel]

Food for Thought
(jul-aug 2025, theme was "Non-conformity" ; this story endend at the 3rd place on 4 entries

this was my 29th story in this competition

Spoiler: Food for Thought

FOOD FOR THOUGHT


So, then... "non-conformity." OK, I need to come up with something different from the norm, something strange but believable, and that provides the right amount of empathy. In the last short story competitions there were plenty of excellent pieces, so I cannot submit a poor work.


Let's think about something on the theme of friendship.

A classic would be the friendship between two eternal enemies. Lizardmen and Skaven?

OK, but how do we develop it? A Skaven slave who runs away and perhaps, alone and desperate, helps a skink in need, thinking the skink is just as poor as he is? Perhaps he imagines that Lizardmen society is similar to Skaven society, where the big ones (saurus) tyrannize the weak ones (skinks). And the skink, surprised, cautiously tries to trust the not-so hostile critter...
hmm. Not exciting. Sure, it could be improved, but what else could there be with a theme like that?
Maybe something along the lines of the movie "enemy at the gates"? Two expert scouts, a chameleon skink and an Eshin assassin, facing off in a duel of wits, so much so that they respect each other, even saving each other's lives when their opponent is threatened by something else.

Well, I like this one better already, but it's too soon to go for it.

Other variations on the theme? A scholar from Nuln or Altdorf, who comes to admire Lizardmen culture and "defends" an abandoned temple from plunder-hungry humans? An act that, when Lizardmen retaliate, saves his life and marks the beginning of a collaboration between him and a Skink priest? Yes, that could be cool.



Before we dive headlong into friendship, let's see if we can come up with something else bizarre and worthwhile... perhaps something that breaks the basic lore.

That suggestion Nightbringer posted on the thread would be helpful... I could always use a scholar, part of a university expedition dedicated to an in-depth study of an abandoned temple city, months and months of painstaking research, studies on the lizardmen's religion and the Old Ones. The discovery of contradictory details that the skink priests missed due to their blind faith, details unknown to the lizardmen but known to those who live on another continent... and little by little the suspicion that one of the Old Ones has succumbed to Chaos and is actually the supernatural being known as Hashut.

It has potential, but the fact remains that the idea isn't mine... nah, better to leave it there.



What if I instead focused on personalities that deviate from conformity, but without bringing up friendship?

A particularly intelligent saurus? Nah, already done.

And what if I worked on a Slann instead? A Slann who deviates from the classic idea we have of supreme Lizardmen leaders...

Oh yes, maybe I have one! An addicted Slann. A Slann who, like all Lizardmen wizards, uses ixti grubs, the larvae that amplify the perception of the winds of magic. But he's so convinced that the larvae allow his senses to go "beyond" that he begins to abuse them, going on increasingly longer trips, increasingly disconnected from reality, immersed in visions he believes to be a reflection of the Great Plan of the Old Ones.

A Slann who has created its personal larval breeding garden, where he gorges himself, losing himself in dreamlike contemplations, giving increasingly confused and detached orders, a slow descent into a tunnel.

I could tell the story both from the Slann's point of view and from the point of view of one of the high priests, grappling with a mystery he cannot fathom, torn between absolute faith and the realization that the temple-city is headed for destruction.

Nice, I like it a lot, but it will be difficult to develop properly such a story. And the time for submitting my piece is running short.



Uh, wait a minute... what if I made the Lizardmen version of "Toy Story" or "Lego Movie" instead?

The army models used for play that have a conscience, and believe that the "Great Operator" is one of the Old Ones.

And maybe at some point a couple of robbers enter the house, and the models come to life to defend the Sacred Abode of the Gods. Maybe they injure one with bastiladon rays, the Dread Saurian rips a tendon from another one, the Slann bombards them with magic, but the guys have weapons and little by little the Lizardmen are decimated... until a Forgeworld Imperial Titan arrives from the 40k room and blows the intruders' heads off.

Maybe not very original, but fun.



So, let's recap... the scouts as friends/enemies, the scholar fascinated by lizardmen, the stoned Slann, Toy Story. Plenty of food for thought.

Okay, I've got the notes, but at this point it's best to sleep on them. Tomorrow I'll surely have a clearer idea on what to pick.

Other people's reviews

“Food for Thought” – Brainstorming at the Temple Gates

Most Warhammer short stories plunge you straight into battle, blood, or divine decree. Food for Thought is something rarer: a peek inside the forge before the blade is hammered.

The piece takes the form of an internal monologue — The writer wandering through idea after idea in search of the right take on the competition theme, “Non-Conformity.” What unfolds is half creative diary, half self-deprecating stand-up routine, as possible plots are toyed with, dissected, and set aside.

There’s a wonderful variety in the pitches:

• The heart-warming-but-maybe-too-predictable “eternal enemies become allies” story.
• A chameleon skink vs. Eshin assassin cat-and-mouse duel worthy of Enemy at the Gates.
• A human scholar defending an abandoned temple from his own people.
• A forbidden-lore conspiracy linking Hashut to the Old Ones.
• A Slann mage-priest spiralling into drug-induced detachment via ixti grubs.
• And, in a sudden gear-shift, a full-blown Lizardmen Toy Story where miniature models battle burglars until a 40K Titan shows up.

The joy here isn’t in which idea is “right” but in watching the process — how the narrator weighs originality, lore-breaking, personal pride, and sheer weirdness. Even the throwaways have hooks that could anchor their own full-length pieces. And that’s where the non-conformity creeps in: this is the story. Instead of delivering a polished, in-universe tale, it offers the messy, meta, very human process behind deciding what kind of story to tell.

By the end, there’s no final choice — just a notebook full of ideas and the decision to “sleep on it.” In a competition about breaking norms, Food for Thought rejects the most basic one: that a short story needs a beginning, middle, and end. Here, the ending is the pause before the real beginning.

And as an aside... I really want that last story idea to be written in full... I used to enjoy reading ToyHammer way back when... let's have a new ToyHammer. One that isn't limited to just 40K. Do it. DO IT!

"Story 2: Food for thought"
A very interesting piece. A gathering of ideas for a story, but not quite a story in itself. I loved some of the ideas. Especially the drug addicted Slann. My attention was grabbed by just a few lines about this idea, really worth a story of its own.

Featuring Nightbringer’s story idea suggests it is not written by him, but could it be a double bluff?

Story Two: "Food for Thought"
Food for Thought has to be given credit for being the most risky take on the contest theme. It's a bold move and it must be said that completely forgoing an in-universe story in a short story contest is the greatest example of non-conformity from among all the entries. The inclusion of both a Chaos Dwarfs AND Nightbringer mention of course automatically puts it in my top 2; I am a man of my word. If I am to be honest though, despite the admirable risk taking, I did miss having an actual in-universe story. That said, it was a truly unique and unexpected take on the theme. My favourite part of the story is the bit a the end about sleeping on it and finishing it tomorrow... but never doing so. Procrastination to the highest order; I can appreciate that.[/QUOTE]

 

[Killer Angel]

Elegy
(jan-feb 2026), theme was "Chaos Dwarfs" ; this story endend at the 2nd place on 6 entries

this was my 30th (!) story in this competition

Spoiler: Elegy

Elegy​

The avenue bisected the immense park, landscaped as an English lawn. Occasionally, one could find benches to rest or, more often, lose in memories, while statues of angels with compassionate faces gazed silently at the horizon.
The evergreen hedges, regularly clipped, enclosed small gardens where only the flowers that adorned the gravestones bloomed.
The tops of the cypress trees swayed faintly, tickled by the light breeze from distant fans. In the distance, beyond the glass-steel dome that covered the complex, the city's skyscrapers could be seen, partially shrouded in haze; today the smog had an unusual orange hue.
The old man walked slowly along the tree-lined avenue, his polished leather shoes crunching on the gravel. His face was thoughtful, almost tired, but anyone would have recognized it as First Senator Brunner.

It was well known that Brunner left the Senate Citadel every day; it was also well known that, for security reasons, often only holoclones left.
A bishop was also present... Brunner isn't particularly religious, but then again, he knows a lot of people.
Brunner has always loved the cemetery, he finds the sense of sadness it conveys appropriate.
The only cheerful note is the delicate chirping of larks, reproduced by the micro-speakers camouflaged among the trees.

The cemetery is almost empty today. Brunner smiles sadly: he expected nothing diverse, given how things were going. Even those few visitors have other concerns besides caring for their loved ones.
A man is watching the latest special edition of the video news on his wrist TV. He's turned the volume up so high that Brunner can hear the announcer's words.
"...it appears that negotiations have been definitively broken off. After the debate in the Senate and the grave declarations of the Opposition, numerous riots have erupted in the capital, promptly quelled by the intervention of the Guard. The Senate spokesman strongly condemns the demonstrators' excesses, which would have..."

The speaker's voice faded into the distance, repeating the censored version that Brunner already knew. State officials could admit that some "troublemakers" had attempted to storm some administrative buildings, but not that armored AV4s had fired at the crowd at point-blank range.
It didn't really matter: if anyone still believed the official reports, they would realize the truth when the mercenary militias promised by the Landlords would have arrived to support the Government's course of action. After all, the army might not be reliable when some soldiers share the rebels' views.

Lost in thought, the Senator suddenly realized he had reached the Chapels’ area. The familiar shape of the small black marble building welcomed him. He looked bitterly at the "Brunner Family" that decorated the architrave.
"I am the last of my family. No one will come to speak to me when I'm gone; besides, what could I possibly tell them? That I betrayed my people, to satisfy my selfishness?"

The cold, dry air of the tomb made him shiver for a moment, while the sensors recognized him and turned on the soft lights, illuminating the stairs leading down to the crypt. Twelve steps lead to a small room; the bishop stops halfway up the stairs.
His parents rest near the entrance, and Brunner touches their photos with his hand, sending them a silent greeting. Their memory no longer hurts, and it's not for them that he's here.
He heads to the back of the room, where there are two cubicles. One is empty. Brunner presses a button on the control panel, and a section of the wall slides away, revealing the metal frame of a helmet with cables connecting it to the primary system, a feature only present in the earliest models. He puts it on, letting the sensors adapt, waiting for the system to receive the necessary inputs… finally he gives the command.
"Activate memory banks".

An image blossoms before him, flickering for a moment, fading at times. She's a woman in her late 60s, with curly blonde hair, now verging on white. She's wearing a white lace shirt, and over it a sweater she'd hand-sewn one distant autumn.
She looks at him and smiles, two dimples barely visible on her cheeks, while small wrinkles form near her eyes, and greets him:
"Hi, Joseph"
and he replies, "Hi, Anne," and then, "You're beautiful."


“So, is it him? You've been monitoring him with the bioscanner since he entered the cemetery. How long will it take?”
The man is on the roof of a building, half-hidden by some pylons, wearing an old pair of thermographic goggles of the army. He has a semi-automatic assault rifle slung over his shoulder, and observes the cemetery dome, half a kilometer away.
The other guy, crouched behind a low wall, is wearing a faded black T-shirt with a picture of a fantasy dwarf in armor, wearing a ridiculously tall hat, advancing with a blood-stained axe bearing the words "I BRING CHAOS" written underneath. In the background, stands a small burning ziggurat.

He's busy fiddling with the console of some sort of radar screen. Green and red LEDs flash, and screens of numbers change continuously on one side of the dial. Then the numbers stop.
Chaos Dwarf grins like a wolf.
“Gotcha! The vital signs match, it's the real Brunner. The information was accurate.”
Goggles nods and turns on his transmitter. “All teams, green light, repeat: green light. We're moving.”


He'd like to touch her, but he knows it would be a painfully disappointing experience. When he tried, shortly after her death, he'd felt only a slight contrast, like a gust of wind; the program isn't capable of simulating tactile sensations realistically enough.
"Sorry I haven't been around much lately. I've been very busy."
"Ah, I see. I hope you've missed me at least a little."
("A little" is inadequate, Anne. "terribly" would be more appropriate.)
“Honey, can I ask you something a little silly? Would you wear the flowered dress?”
The figure blurs for a moment as the program processes the new configuration. Anne reappears in a light, delicately colored dress.
“You look lovely. I’ve always loved that dress.”
She shakes her head, sitting down next to him.
“You’re a liar: you never really cared about my clothes. Thanks though, you’re a gallant liar.”

For a few moments they sit without saying a word. He has so much to say to her, but he doesn't know where to begin. It's Anne who breaks the silence. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"It's your job, right? You always frown when you have problems."
He's always amazed at how his wife reads him like an open book. Of course, he knows that the visual simulation has nothing of Anne's perceptiveness and that, more simply, the sensors detect his state of distress, and the program elaborates the most appropriate response.
He knows this, but he prefers to believe that, buried in the memory banks, she hears him and can understand him.

“Things are getting ugly: the people can no longer tolerate the tyranny of the Landlords' Guilds, and with reasons. They control our economy, they've got their hands on our entire political and legislative system, and soon they'll be aiming for the military leadership. God help us, they want to restore the ancient noble rights of the Houses.”
“History has taught them nothing… you can push the limits almost to the breaking point, but you can't go any further. The popular deputies proposed an amendment to ease the pressure. The Senate rejected it.”
“But how come, Joseph? You're the First Senator; your opinion should have carried weight.”
“The Senate rejected it unanimously, Anne. I voted against it, too.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. “But Joseph, how… how could you? You've always been on people's side. You were their strongest hope in the Senate; you could never tolerate the arrogance of the Landlords. I don't… why?”
“I'm old, Anne. I'm tired of fighting.”

“Joseph, this is the biggest nonsense I've ever heard you say. Don't come spouting this nonsense and expect me to buy it. You've dedicated your entire life to the country, following the ideals of the Old Republic; I've never seen you compromise against your conscience, and now you come telling me you're tired? You've sacrificed your time and health for your job. Oh God, Joseph: you sacrificed us too…”
“Do you know it, right? In 30 years we've never taken more than a week's vacation, even that interrupted by calls. 30 years of waking up alone because you'd gone to work. Even on Sundays: you were already up, sitting at your desk. I loved you for who you were, even though it was difficult, and now I have the right to know why you voted against that amendment, spitting on everything you believed in.”

Brunner sighs, thinking back to all the opportunities he had postponed, until Anne's death had brought home to him the incontrovertible fact that his wife was no longer there, that the eternal postponement had been just a mockery, and that the lost time could only be recovered thanks to a memory program.

“Do you know why you always found me up at my desk on Sunday mornings? Because through the open door I watched you sleep. I didn't want to wake you just because I was used to getting up before six. So I watched you, your face relaxed, your hair loose on the pillow, while the morning light streamed through the window. And finally you woke up, disturbed by the sun's rays, blinking and shielding your eyes with your hand; then you saw me and smiled.”
“I've always loved my job, but I've always loved you too. If I'd voted for the amendment, nothing would have changed. Some would have followed me, but the Senate's stance was against it: the proposals would have been rejected, there would have been riots anyway, the military would have fired on the crowd, and the police would have arrested the dissidents. Opposing it would have meant fleeing and leaving the capital. Leaving you. I don't want to lose you again to politics, and the only way I could stay close to you was to side with the Landlords.”

Anne looks at him sweetly, and he realizes she's no longer angry.

Then, from outside, comes the sound of a loud explosion.

Brunner turns toward the entrance; on the stairs, the bishop has stiffened, and has put a hand to his right ear.
"What's happening, Thomas?"
The priest drops his holo-camouflage cape. In its place stands a massive, hard-eyed man wearing special forces insignia, a helmet, a flak jacket, and a heavy machine gun.
“We're under attack, Senator. I'm going outside to see what the situation is. Get ready, we may have to leave quickly.”
The soldier turns and runs up the stairs, not noticing Brunner's fleeting smile.

“You knew.”

Brunner turns back to the image of his wife.
“You’re right, honey. I leaked the information that I was coming here today. You see, Thomas is a good guy, but he’s very scrupulous, and he wouldn’t have let me do what I came for.”
As Anne looks at him curiously, he slips his hand into his inside jacket pocket.


The cemetery's dome had shattered. The roar of automatic weapons drowned out the screams of the wounded and the visitors fleeing haphazardly; the lawns were pockmarked with craters created by heavy plasma mortar fire. Smoke bombs covered the line of attackers, who, arranged in a semicircle, converged on the crypts.
Thomas, crouched behind a gravestone, cursed ferociously; if the helmet visor was to be believed, only two other men of his escort remained alive.
Angrily, he aimed a burst of machine gun fire at a speeder bike trying to outflank his position. The craft plummeted, crashing with a satisfying explosion.
He looked around for other targets, but before he could do anything, an armored round tore through his cover like tissue paper, hitting him squarely.

The shooting had stopped. At the crypt's entrance, two figures stood out against the light, descending the stairs and searching for their target. The senator stood perfectly still, still wearing his helmet, his gaze steady and a faint smile on his lips.
"First Senator Brunner, I place you under arrest in the name of the Democratic Forces. Consider yourself our political prisoner, and follow us."
The seated figure showed no sign of interest.

Goggles snorted dryly and moved forward: "Senator, I asked nicely, but if you don't make up your mind, then..."
Chaos Dwarf placed a hand on the other's shoulder: "Wait… look there.”
A sort of flat box was attached to the memory system's control panel, with flashing red lights and a pair of connectors connected serially to the helmet's cables.
“What the...”
“An Orpheus processor. This bastard shorted the system.”

For a moment, silence reigns in the crypt as Goggles weighs the implications.
"Can we unplug him?"
"No, there's a reason they're illegal. His brain is now directly connected to the database: if we turn off the system or try to disconnect him, he'll end up in a coma. Brunner is lost; the Orpheus' stimulators will keep him alive for a month, then he'll die of starvation."
Goggles shakes his head, bitterly; then he pushes Chaos Dwarf toward the stairs.
"Let's get out of here: the rescue teams will arrive in a bunch of minutes, and if they find us still here they'll slice us to pieces."

“Joseph, you're a stupid. Why did you do that?”
He looks into her eyes and smiles, taking her hand. Now he can feel her smooth skin, she's made of flesh and bone again.
“Because I love you,” and then he kisses her, softly.

Outside, the birds can be heard chirping.

Spoiler: some personal considerations

This story deserves some explanation.

First of all, I’m sorry a wrote a piece that basically has no ties to the typical stories that we write for the competition… but this story was haunting my mind, I needed to write it down, and while it’s true that I could have written the story for myself, it’s truer that I wanted to share it with people that I consider friends, listening to opinions I care for.

not only that… I wanted to challenge myself with what seemed some almost impossible tasks:

1 – to write a non CD story, and win against a CD story

2 – to write a story completely unrelated to the main theme, and compete head to head with all the other stories focused on the theme… possibly coming out on top.

Because let’s face it: the t-shirt with a chaos dwarf on it and a mayan pyramid in the background, was a clear expedient to just legally fullfill the criteria of the competition, but they have nothing to do with the story itself: if the theme was “Magic users”, the T-shirt would have been described with a Slann on it, and nothing would have changed.

All in all I’m satisfied. I knew the story was good by itself, but I also knew it carried a self imposed heavy burden. And in the end, It really was an uphill battle that proved to be impossible… I've bitten off more than I could chew

nonetheless, I managed to obtain a truly good result.

Other people's reviews

Entry with the most interesting story setting. A SF society on the brink of collapse. The elite suppressing the common folk. A well written story and a great one to read, but the mentioning of Warhammer Fantasy-branded cloths seems like a mere excuse to enter the story for the contest

Huh.

Other than a shirt and a nickname there was very little to do with the theme or Lizardmen at all in this piece. I also briefly entertained the notion that there was a reference to Brunner the Bounty Hunter…but alas no.

What we got however, was a beautifully orchestrated dystopian tale. In places even reminded me a little of Asimov. As an entry itself there is very little to fault with this piece, the pacing felt just perfect, descriptions were solid, and there was a lot of heart and emotion to it. Honestly, I would not be unhappy if this piece did win, not just for the comedy factor of playing vaguely with the themes but also because it was a very very good piece.

I bring up breaking literary rules a lot. Art technically has no rules, but I do believe that you must learn the rules in order to break the rules. Lets use Jazz as a metaphor (because I was just at a seminar that did this). Jazz breaks a lot of musical "rules". Jazz is really hard to do well, and not everyone likes Jazz.

To write a short story "by the rules". You must have a clear conflict with a clear introduction, climax, and resolution and every sentence needs to either advance the plot or help characterization. Anything else is Jazz and readers might not like it.

This is just for short stories. Novelettes, novellas, and novels can all go on tangents sometimes and get away with it.

A lot of pieces played fast and loose with the contest theme. You can have an unorthodox take on the theme while still being an orthodox short story or visa versa. I'm guessing the fact that so many authors chose to bend the contest theme so much is not all the authors are very fluent in Chaos Dwarf lore.


Story Four (Elegy): This piece really played fast and loose with the contest theme including "Lizardmen" and "Chaos Dwarf" to the loosest degree possible. But this fit the short story formula perfectly. Clear introduction, conflict, and resolution and lots of characterization. The characters certainly felt real and I found myself caring about them.

I understood the character conflict, but I don't fully understood what the setting actually was. I think the story would have been improved if the setting was explained better. It's a tough order to describe all the setting succinctly because in a short story the setting exposition must be succinct, but that's the cost when you play Jazz with the contest theme.