Chapter Text
They had a disagreement.
Some fools would call it a fight, but those fools had certainly never seen the Reaper of Men fight. Calas would have never won if they had fought. Which, they certainly did not. They had disagreed.
It had been about Calas's approach for battle against an Overlord's contingency - and possibly the Overlord itself - on the Black Plains. He thought the Reaper must have been in a strange mood when it occurred, but Calas knew his worth; and, more importantly, knew his plan of attack was reasonable for their foes. More than reasonable, it was emblematic of the Death Guard. A fight head-on, refusing to hide from their oppressors, embracing the possibility of death alongside that of liberation.
It was a minor Overlord, at that. Calas's branch of their army had defeated far more treacherous threats multiple times. Really, why had his - their, all of Barbarus's - Reaper been so against it? He wasn't being reasonable. Calas knew he could be so stubborn, and now that trait was coming to a head. Yet, he offered no alternative ideas except to wait for Mortarion's branch to come to his aid. Calas had told him their was no benefits to waiting and that he wouldn't. The Reaper had left the matter at that.
Really, now. It had been so unnecessary. Calas would see him again soon enough.
He stood on the damp grasses of the Black Plains, the saw-sharp edges rasping against the heft of his armored boots and solid thighs. His hips shifted above them, casually adjusting the solid weight they bore as he observed the carnage surrounding him across the plain.
Yes, this was barely a challenge indeed.
He remembered when those golems had been set upon him, beating him into the toxic mud as he had then been saved by such a being of power and beauty. Without a hint of resistance he crushed one beneath his boot, the muscles of his strong legs making short work of another insult to life. Those golems had fallen with such ardency it had stolen his breath more than the toxic air. Had stolen his-
"They're retreating!" A shout from one of his captains reiterated what he had already noticed. He was quicker, sharper than any of them. Sharp as his poison tongue, able and eager to point out weakness in both enemies and ally, swift to exploit either. He was strong. He was indomitable.
He was...untouchable.
"No," he stated, his deep voice carrying across the battlefield, reverberating among the blades of grass that sliced into the unprotected flesh of the beasts, "they will not run from death."
He followed, swift and deadly as the mists born down the mountains by a sheer cut of harsh wind. And in his wake, they fell.
His army strode behind him, faster than the shambling golems and faulty beasts this pathetic foe had scrounged up to try and fight them. A meager challenge indeed.
Nonetheless, a retreat was not unexpected from their enemy. They were cowards at heart, if such a thing as a "heart" could be considered something they had. Calas had one...but he was different from them. All of them. There was only one like him. For him.
The chased them down towards the far margin of the Black Plains, where the hard cliffs of the mountains would cut them off. They'd trap them there, slaughter them as they cowered, unable to flee. A reversal of how they had indulged their cruelties upon those they deemed lesser. A fitting, twisted end for beings so odious.
Calas spotted him - the minor overlord far at the rear, hiding behind his creations. Craven, weakling; his prey. He'd coat the dark soil with the bastard's spoiled entrails then stake his corpse above for the carrion birds to pick apart.
The golems fought back against his men, desperate with the fear of their master. They closed ranks, blocking his path to his target. He tore through them, slicing and crushing those in melee range and shooting those at range-
Psychic energy burst out from around the overlord. Putrid and stinking, as the Reaper would say. He detested such. Calas had some understanding why even though he hid from you, the full truth of the brutality from you. It passed seamlessly through the remaining golems and Calas, but slammed into his men, sending them flying back. He heard screams as some landed with the force to break bones. They'd fight, still, make do. Those who lacked the strength to fight through pain were not worthy of joining the Death Guard. Calas frowned at the interruption, his hand tightening on his thunder-gun as he aimed at the overlord...
...Opening a hole into the wall of rock.
No. A cave? There were no cave systems here. There should not have been any here - And yet there was, And this overlord had already retreated into it. The remaining golems clambered after their master, disappearing into the tunnel. Calas snarled and shot several as they fled, but too many escaped his retribution as his men missed many their shots.
Now it was just his men and himself on the battlefield.
The overlord escaped.
Damn it.
He gripped his gun, the metal creaking under the strain of his rapidly growing rage.
Damn it.
One of his soldiers ran up to him - Murnau, was it? He didn't have time nor patience to care. "A cave system here - what should we do?"
Cave system were common throughout Barbarus, most heavily modified by the overlords who used them to transport their troops or spoils. They had dealt with those before. However, they had cleared those out in large battles the Reaper himself had been present in before blowing them up, permanently destroying them so the overlords could not use them again. Those caves were well-mapped, and the locations of any and all entrances known and documented. This one, in stark contrast, was completely unknown. Never had any use been seen before, and the entrance, now left open, was far smaller than expected, not large enough for efficient movement of troops or materials.
He stared at the entrance, busy assessing the situation. He should have been able to kill them all if they hadn't escaped through such unanticipated means. They had no explosives to seal them in, nor did they know if it was the only exit point of the cavern. Mortarion had said to wait for him-
"We can't go after them in there..."
Calas turned away for a moment to survey his men. There had been only a few deaths he had heard in the midst of combat; seemed nearly everyone had survived, although he could see a number of individuals being helped to their feet by their companions. Broken bones in their legs or feet that would limit their maneuverability until they healed. Those would need to be temporarily retired from combat.
No, they couldn't go after the overlord in the cave.
He would. Alone.