#alphabitchnkari

The thing about submission, at least for daemons of Khorne, was that it was better when taken, not given. N'kari doesn't fight back and this disappoints the Reaper. He squeezes the tail in his hand in irritation.

The Reaper isn't the only thing from the Blacksand of interest to the Rat-Daemons. Many a Verminlord had squeaked about his companion, the Arch-Tempter. An ally and a powerful one at that. Some of the Shadow-Lords had mentioned words like "breed-partner" or "mate-mate" which was...alarming.

The Slaaneshi were as wily as the Vermin-daemons themselves and to put Skarbrand in harm's way would surely incur the wrath of the Bejewelled One. And the wrath of a Slaaneshi could go on at length...unless steps were taken.

Enter Vermalanx, the Great Corrupter, Master of Diseases. The Horned One might've shared a domain with the Great God of Plagues, Nurgle, but the Rat-borne illnesses were less known, even by their daemonic kin. And therefore, difficult to defend against. Khornate daemons were poor vectors for disease, but the daemonettes and their sociable, cavorting ways...it had been no trouble at all infecting one, then another, and another...

All the way up to the Arch-Tempter himself.

It would take time for the phage to weaken the daemon, but when it did the Corruptor would be waiting. He gripped Curved Plaguereaper sickles in each paw, the weapons dripping with a foulness that could taint even fellow daemons.

Several Warbringers skulked and lurked behind him. Even with his exalted status and the weakened N'kari, the Corruptor had no illusions about the strength of Slaanesh's strongest daemon.

In all actuality, the battle was a distraction. The Claws of Malal were considerable force, dangerous enough to take seriously by this strange huddle of daemons residing in the desert, but victory wasn’t the point. All they needed was the Sage. All he needed was the sage.

M’tau flew above the carnage, his massive Manticore sailing overhead as the Mal-ungors slammed into the blades of the Bloodletters. Meatshields. Sacrifices. Bodies to tie them up and slow them down. If it were up to the Lion-gor, he would’ve thrown every single one of them in the meat grinder to accomplish his task. 

The Chaos Giant, bound to him through fell magics, swung it’s great metal club and swept aside much of Khazaan’s front line, allowing enemies to spill into the land. It swung again and hit the Bloodthirster himself, missing the unmanned Manticore by a hair. It was a solid connection, one that sent the daemon crashing into the desert sands. The riderless manticore wasted no time and flung itself upon the winded Bloodthirster, joined by several other creatures of Chaos. Chaos Spawn. Furries. Hounds.

M’Tau grinned upon witnessing it, continuing his advance. The steady plod of the Chaos Giant thundered in his ears behind him. With so many daemons about, it was easy to detect the scent of mortal blood and easier still to smell the particular corruption heavy on each Sage of Khorne. Below him, Chaos Spawn shuddered along. Minotaurs ran with their axes, snorting and tossing their horned heads.

They sighted the massive Skull of the Wyrm, where the scent was strongest. There. He had been secreted away there. M’Tau’s lips peeled back in a snarl and he turned the Minotaur and his small warband in the direction of the fossil, the scent of Slaaneshi heavy about the place. His manticore glided along...cautious but determined.