Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Rahil's voice echoed through the narrow path, bouncing off the granite cliffs above, his roar succeeding in drawing the Chimaera's attention. Even in the midst of the carnage, one of the Chimaera's three heads turned toward him, staring at him with a pair of jewel-like red eyes.

In those eyes, there was only hatred, hatred for every living creature. In that shabby, ugly face, there was no other desire but to kill, destroy, maim and devour.

The chimera's eyes burned, its black lips pulled back from its bloodstained fangs. It felt the power within Rasil and knew it was in danger. With a savage growl, it threw off the followers surrounding it and pounced on the real threat. As it swooped, its wings beat outward with force, pushing the pile of muscle, flesh, and bone toward Rasil with the force of a collective cavalry charge. All three heads screamed with hatred, long strings of saliva dancing in the air.

"Karaman Ya Noresh Aksi!" Rahil stood there with his hands stretched forward. He shouted, feeling the power in his body rushing to the surface of his skin like boiling water.

Angry, gushing streams of fire burst from his open palms, two roaring streams of flame slamming into the oncoming Chimaera, stopping it in its tracks, the flames spreading like mercury over its rotting flesh.

The monster roared in pain and rage, shattering the rocks beneath its feet as it struggled to stand up.

Rahil remained motionless, arms extended, legs steady, and he could feel the energy pulsing through him, roaring and boiling, roiling through his body, then pouring out and crashing into the monster before him.

He heard himself shouting out spells of power, spells he thought he had forgotten years ago.

The burning pillar of fire grew more intense, tearing at the monster's skin and penetrating deep into its dark flesh.

The chimera tried to approach Rasil, it raised its front legs, waving its claws, black liquid poured down from its broken shoulder blade, boiling and steaming through the curtain of flames. With a huge pounce, it stretched out its front claws, desperately trying to grab Rasil, even in pain, it was driven by the insatiable desire to kill.

Rahil remained motionless, standing as stiff as a statue, awaiting the onslaught that was to come. He channeled more power, fire bursting from his body, and he trembled, trying to stay conscious, for he had become a conduit of this terrible power.

The chimera rushed over, screaming and roaring, striding forward in the flames, claws extended, neck stretched out to bite. It almost succeeded, and for a moment its teeth almost touched Rasil's jaw.

Rahil did not waver, he faced the beast, staring into the nearest pair of eyes, defiantly gazing at the reflected sphere. The torrent of flames never stopped, the wind of Akshay constantly washed over his body, roaring and gushing from him, making the air flicker and vibrate, and the rose-red flames constantly devoured the target.

With a howl of agony that shook the earth, the Chimera fell to the ground. Its burned flanks trembled, its charred wings shattered, and it struggled and rolled on the ground, trying to muster the strength to stand up again, but its life force had been burned away by the Akasha wind.

With one last cry of release, Rahil cut off the flames. As the flames died out, he stumbled forward and suddenly fainted.

The Chimera was still burning, and it was in its final agony, unable to rise again, its ferocious screams replaced by painful whimpers. Its tail was still swishing back and forth, but now the movements were spastic and erratic, rather than wild and fierce as before.

After waking up from his coma, Rahil picked up the sword that had fallen to the ground and walked tiredly, limping. He had never been so tired before, blood was flowing down his palms, and he was exhausted, dragging his body closer to the burning corpse of the monster. Around him, the remaining followers who could still move stood up or looked at him cautiously. All the followers looked at him with awe, looking at their prince.

He stood over the smoking corpse of the Chimaera, and he could feel the monster still dominating everything around it even as it collapsed in death throes. One of the three heads was still moving, attempting a final attack, and as he raised his sword high, bringing the blade down, a pair of eyes stared at him with malice.

The blade fell, piercing deep into Chimera's neck until it penetrated completely, and a stream of hot blood spurted out, splashing on Rahil's face and neck. Chimera's body trembled for a few seconds, twitching wildly, and finally collapsed to the ground.

Rahil felt the blood sting his skin, and instead of wiping it away, he stayed where he was, holding the hilt with both hands. Deep inside him, the energy was still pulsating, and he knew he had unleashed some great power, and even now, even as the Chimera's body was still smoking and trembling, he felt a tingle of uneasiness, a confusion in his heart.

"Why do I feel this way? Why now?"

For a moment he remained where he was. For another moment he looked down at the beast he had killed. Then he collapsed from fatigue and blood loss, staggering for a moment, fighting the darkness, before finally collapsing on the cold stone, knowing nothing.
-
Let’s repeat the old story and review the past.

As if there is a sense of fate, the Kingdom of Caledor is against the Kingdom of Nagareth, or more precisely, against Duruch.

During the initial Sundering, Imrik, the God-General of Caledor and grandson of Caledor the Dragon Tamer, was born. After the founding of Naggarond, Malekith launched a sustained counterattack against Ulthuan, and Imrik was still the God-General at that time.

When Caledor II died in Elshin Arwen, Malekith, who learned the news, counterattacked Ulthuan for the second time. At that time, the Phoenix King was Asanok's cousin, the fifth Phoenix King "Caladerel the Peacemaker".

Before becoming the Phoenix King, Caradrell was engaged in diplomacy and served as an advisor. Most of his points were added to politics, and only a few points were added to the military. For example, a rotating garrison system was established in various gates to ensure that the gates leading to the Inner Ring Kingdom were always in a state of full defense.

As for the commander and military force...

But we can’t resist the Caledor Kingdom’s spawning of divine generals!
Many military leaders emerged during the six hundred years of the war of revenge, and Caradrell gave them the command of the army. The most talented of them was Tesiris, who came from the Kingdom of Caledor. His war experience was only matched by his hatred for the Duruchi, because he became an orphan and the only one left in his family during the many attacks by the Duruchi.

Tesiris was not successful during the reign of Caledor II, and the arrogant Caledor II abandoned him. There are always good horses... When Caradrell came to power, his military career took a turn for the better, and Caradrell trusted him because he was cold and determined.

He eventually repaid Caradrell by gathering together an army of the bravest veterans from the various Semen garrisons, and drove Druki back to the sea, though in vain, and while the battle raged on, Druki still maintained some military outposts in Ulthuan.

When Caradrell died peacefully in her bed after ruling for more than six centuries, Malekith received word that Tesilis had become the sixth Phoenix King.

The third counterattack on Ulthuan began, the most brutal between Druki and Asur, with the two sides fighting back and forth and the situation constantly stalemated. In the end, after Druki advanced into the Inner Kingdoms, Tesiris adopted a scorched earth policy, and the Druki army, tortured by hunger and thirst, was eventually forced to retreat.

The two sides fought from the scorched earth of Nagarys to Tar Anlek, and from Tar Anlek to the Withered Isles. In the end, Druki was driven into the sea, and Tesiris died in the Temple of Khaine, his death becoming a mystery.

Malekith, who knew about Tesiris, sent out the Khaine Assassins to ambush around the Temple of Khaine. If Tesiris pulled out the Sword of Khaine, the Khaine Assassins would attack and use their own lives to prevent Tesiris from pulling out the Sword of Khaine.

Drucci had no idea what Taesiris had gone through while in the Temple of Khaine, but the Khaine assassin seemed to have succeeded.

The same is true on the Asur side, and to this day there are rumors that the Khaine Assassin was killed by the White Lion Guards, and that Taesiris was also killed by the White Lion Guards when he tried to pull out the Sword of Khaine, thus preventing all elves from falling into a new dark and bloody age.

Whether killed by enemy or friend, Tesiris eventually died in the Temple of Khaine, and with his death, the last trace of his desire for war disappeared.

Asur burned his lands, saw his people slaughtered in battle with the Druki, and they no longer had the courage to fight. Malekith knew that his army was broken, the fighting spirit exhausted in a thousand battles, and finally the Druki returned to Naggaroth to regroup.

After that, there was a long period of peace, but it was not so peaceful. The fighting at sea never stopped and the silent infiltration continued.

Then, the ninth Phoenix King, Moviel, came to power. The first thing he did was to organize an army to attack Naggaroth. And then... a massacre known as the "Day of Blood" occurred.

The militia system of Asur, that is, the whole people are soldiers, appeared during this period. The "Day of Blood" not only caused great losses to the Asur navy, but also the army.

When the news reached Malekith, he sneered at the new recruits, calling them cowardly bakers and farmers. He launched a fourth counterattack, and like the previous ones, he set his sights on Tal Anlek and the Kingdom of Nagarythe. After Duruchi regained his foothold in Nagarythe, he began to advance towards the Inner Ring.

Malekith chose to besiege the Phoenix Gate and focus his attack on the Griffin Gate. The militia he initially recruited did not perform well against the fierce and battle-hardened warriors of Naggaroth, but they still withstood the attack of Druki and ensured that the Griffin Gate was always guarded for the next thirteen years. Malekith also believed that the quality of the soldiers and the power of magic would eventually prove that the guards could not compete with them, and it was only a matter of time before the fortress fell.

During this period, the Asur navy was also restored and launched renewed attacks, attacking the route from Naggaroth to Tal Anlek, cutting off the supply of troops, food, and weapons to Duruchi.

As the battle at sea continued, the third Caledorian god made a brilliant appearance.

Mentheus, a famous general of Caledor, assembled an army in a desperate attempt to relieve the siege of the Griffin Gate. He eventually drove the army of Druch out of the Griffin Gate, as the army was weakened by lack of supplies due to the severance of the route.

Over the next few decades, Druki and Asur fought across the rotten lands of Nagarythe, and, unable to raise the supplies necessary for a decisive battle, Malekith was forced to send his troops on a guerrilla campaign, luring Mentheus's forces into ambushes and weakening them.

But the effect was not so good, Mencius was never fooled and the battle continued.

Finally, after more than three centuries of bloody fighting, his army managed to push back the army of Druki to Tar Anlek. The fierce battle lasted for three weeks. Druki was determined to prevent Tar Anlek from falling again. Malekith drove the Cold One chariot and led the Druki to fight. In the final attack of the Asur army, Mentheus was shot dead by an arrow shot by the Black Crossbowmen.

Menthus's dragon, Nightfang, went mad because of his death, and the proverb of the Kingdom of Caledor: The dragon itself is an army. This was fully reflected. Duruchi's army was dispersed by the dragon's fury, and the dragon was eventually killed by magic, but at that time, Tar Anlek was also destroyed, and finally Malekith was forced to evacuate Nagarys.

The fourth counterattack on Ulthuan by Druch also failed... and the next was in 2300 IC.

(Don't ask why we attacked the Griffin Gate, and don't ask why the two sides could fight in the rotten land for three hundred years. This is what the military books say.)

The flames burned, and the smoke rose from several funeral pyres set ablaze on the hillside. These pyres were, of course, high up on the hillside. The few remaining followers gathered around the lower, leeward fires, their cloaks wrapped tightly around their weary limbs to prevent them from freezing to death in the night.

In the center of the camp, Rahil, son of Mentheus, lay motionless. Every muscle ached, and his hands still burned as if the skin had been peeled away and the remaining flesh was soaked in acid. He had come out of his long coma and into a brief lucidity, and it took him a while to remember where he was, why he was there, and what he had done.

His face was badly disfigured, the Chimaera blood corroding his skin, and even after some time had passed, he could still feel the acid, gnawing at his body like a parasite.

"How do you feel?" Haval sat nearby, preparing herbal potions with the few supplies he brought. When he saw Rahil wake up, he asked.

"Better," Rashir said hoarsely, though he didn't really mean it. After a moment, he asked, "How many people were killed?"

"A lot." Harval's voice was accusatory.

"You're blaming me."

"My lord, I think this is not enough." Haval did not answer immediately. He was in pain, like a person announcing the news of death. Then he sighed, put down the potion and said.

"What do you mean?" Rahil narrowed his eyes. "I mean, we have failed, let's go home." Haval looked straight at Rahil, his eyes full of pleading.

Rahil felt Havar's words pierce his heart like a spike of ice, and for a moment his will wavered, the skin of his hands and face burning in agony. It would be better to return to Caledor, he thought, closing his eyes, trying to bring himself back to the fields of his homeland, where there would be reproach and scolding, no doubt about it, but also rest, sweet and blessed rest.

"You know I can't do that, you know Tal Morwen means nothing to me anymore," Rahil said as he opened his eyes.

"Something has awakened inside me. I am stronger than I ever dreamed. Can you explain? Is this the will of God, or the guidance of the dragon tamer Caledor? Whatever it is, I must believe this..." Laciel stopped talking at the end. He was too proud to say anything to Havar: I can't go back anymore, I can only keep going.

"It takes a lifetime to master this magic. I saw what you did just now..." Haval looked at Rahil with a puzzled expression, and his words were also interrupted. He didn't know how to end the sentence.

Rahil sat up with difficulty. Since waking up from the coma, the whole world has become different for him. Everything is clearer, more vivid, more real. The ruthless energy in his body is still growing. He can feel that power, growing in his body like a living thing.

"You do not have to come with me, Harval. The others can go. My spirit tells me that the dragons will awaken. I can wake them. Anything is possible."

"Becoming a dragon mage is a sacred calling. You left this path long ago. You cannot return to this path at will, and you cannot return to this path." Haval stared at Rashir. In the flickering firelight, his face looked distorted and elongated.

"Are you afraid I'll fail?" Rahil smiled, a motion that painfully split his lip.

"No! I'm afraid you will destroy all of us, I'm afraid you will succeed!" Hawa's voice was particularly gloomy.
-
After two days of climbing, the height of the crater became more severe, and the winds came fiercely, howling down from the ice fields on the roof of the world. The roar of the wind was constant, the rumble was disturbing, and from time to time, there was an echoing cry, like the screams of children, women or some supernatural creature.

Maybe it's a trick of the wind, maybe not...

Rahil chose to move on, and Haval and his followers did not choose to leave. Instead, they accompanied him and entered the snow-covered hillside. The horses and the followers' ashes were left there.

Hval was in pain as he trudged through the snow. Like the others, he had been wounded in the battle. When the Chimera attacked, his death was imminent, but at the last moment, Rahil summoned fire.

After years of being deliberately forgotten, Rashiel could summon fire that even the Chaos Creatures could not resist. His partial understanding of magic was enough to let him know that such a sudden reversal could only be a change in Rashiel that he was unaware of. Maybe everything Rashiel said was true, but it didn't matter. Everything seemed meaningless in front of the scene before him.

He gritted his teeth and resisted the biting ice and snow, putting these thoughts behind him. The entourage in the team wrapped their cloaks tightly to resist the cold, and soon the team bypassed a huge rock corner.

Beyond the rock corner, the terrain suddenly dropped sharply, and a huge valley stretched out in front of them, its depths submerged in the rolling sea of ​​clouds. The opposite side of the valley was hidden in the wind and snow, steep and dark, and the snow formed sharp stripes on the rock steps. The terrain on the near side dropped sharply, and the path wound around the rocks and extended to the right.

"What should we do now, my lord?" Hawaal looked over the edge, feeling the terrible dizziness and fear. There was no way to pass through the huge chasm, and there was no point in continuing along the path. He overcame his fear and shouted to Rahil.

Rahil turned around, and the black marks on his face spread, making his exposed skin appear strangely mottled.

Haval could see a vivid, uneasy light in Rahil's eyes, perhaps a strange latent energy.

"Can't you see it?" Rachel asked. He was a little confused, but soon became relieved.

"I can't see..." As Rahil said this, Haval came closer, and the loose stones bounced under his feet and rolled into the abyss with a clang.

He saw that the curtain of half snow and half rain had parted, and the path did end, but there was a tower at the end. The tower was unremarkable, only about ten meters high, full of holes caused by erosion, the steep roof partially collapsed, and the wooden door flapped loosely in the mountain wind. But what caught his attention was not the tower, but a stone bridge behind the tower that extended to the unknown. The stone bridge was as slender as a taut bowstring and disappeared in the mist at the far end. The stone bridge had no guardrails or railings, just a bare stone road that stretched high in the sky.

"Yes, I saw it." He didn't know who built the stone bridge. Maybe it was built by the original ancestors? Was it magic? Maybe it was not built by mortals. After watching for a while, he said softly.

"We're camping in the tower and we need shelter from the wind." Rahil smiled.

"and then?"

"You stay here, and when everything is ready, I will cross the stone bridge at dawn." Lahil looked at the stone bridge in the distance eagerly.
-
Rahil walked onto the stone bridge alone. Everything around him, above him, and below him was shrouded in a pearly gray, moving mist. He moved forward carefully, step by step, the stones under his feet becoming slippery from moss and rain. He could not see the end of the bridge, nor could he see clearly what was ahead of him a few meters away. As he moved forward, he felt a strange feeling, as if he was traveling in stillness.

He took one step, and another, but nothing seemed to have changed. The stone was still a damp, mottled grey, the sky still a rolling cloud of smoke. Everything around him was silent, his footsteps muffled by the deep rumble coming from farther away. The mountains always made some sound, like the crunching of teeth.

He took a deep breath, feeling the moist air filling his lungs. The air smelled clean, the raw smell of snow washing over rocks, the smell of old moss, and the salty sea breeze.

But he always felt that there was more than that, there was something else, a more primitive breath, the breath was very short-lived, he could only catch it occasionally, he believed that if Haval was here, he would definitely not be able to detect it.

He continued to move forward. His heart began to beat faster. His face still hurt and he could feel his skin tightening. The black mark left by the Chimera was permanent. He knew that the mark would remain on him forever. But he was not confused by this. Strangely, he began to enjoy these marks. The mark was a sign of his change, a sign of his entry from one world to another, and a glory that belonged to him.

It could be tens of meters, hundreds of meters, or even thousands of meters. He didn't know how far he had walked. As he walked, the fog gradually dissipated in front of him, revealing the end of the stone bridge.

At the end of the bridge there was a gentle slope, a mixture of gravel and loose rock from the top of the mountain, with a narrow rock edge where the rock wall extended up and down. Beyond that was an opening in a rock cliff, damp and covered with dark orange moss, forming an entrance into the mountain, and a huge stone monument stood at the entrance.

Rahil walked to the stone tablet and looked at the words on it. Some of them were in Elsalin, and some were more blurred and in other words that he didn't recognize. He had only seen it once in the White Tower of Hoeth, and he knew that only a few masters of knowledge in the White Tower of Hoeth had studied it.

With his cloak fluttering in the wind, he stood before the stone tablet for a moment, reading the warnings, odes, and hymns written in Elthalen that he could understand. As he did so, his heart beat faster than before, and smoke rose from his feet, darker and more acrid than the surrounding mist. He knelt, closed his eyes, and touched the ground with his hands.

As he did so, the Elsalin language and words he did not recognize began to glow.

There was a mind, older than the mountains in which it slept. It glowed like a flame in the darkness, a reddish-brown light flickering in the endless blackness. The mind had no thoughts, no movements that manifested in that dreary shadow.

He was on the border of life and death, in the grey shadowy realm of energy and inertia. He had wandered there for hundreds of centuries, perhaps longer. He was in a deep sleep, buried deeper than a pearl in the lightless gullies of the ocean.

No self, no being, no heartbeat, no breath. Just a faint glow, warm as an ember, in the grey shadows.

He did not sleep like mortals, whose minds dream, whose minds expect to awaken, whose flesh twitch and move in preparation for the dawn. This sleep was only a finger's breadth from annihilation, the sleep of an intelligence that did not expect to see the dawn. He had seen too many dawns, and the cycle of day and night, year after year, had lost any meaning to him.

It is a vast sleep, an existence in which an age passes away in flames, and of which the world that remains is but a fragile shadow.

Not a sound, not a sigh, not a breath, nothing.

His mind was cold, this world did not belong to him, and the stars in the sky spun and burned like shards of ice crystals on a velvet background. Those younger, more violent stars were not the stars he was familiar with.

There are forms among the stars, wings flashing, full of veins, flying in the ancient night sky.

Over dark, deep, primeval oceans, over mountains lit by stars, over plains as smooth and hard as glass.

There were more of them than birds, their wings beating in the dead air, flying across the sky in flocks. It was pure, terrible, harsh and pure to the extreme.

Kneeling on the ground, Rahil's mind was wavering. He was weakened. He didn't know what he was missing. He had lost the words to describe it. He knew that this world no longer existed, but he didn't know what replaced it.

Somewhere, his body still existed, his energy still pulsating, beating like a heart.

And that mind, that had existed in the shadows for countless eons, that had wandered a world of fire and war, moved.

Rahil opened his eyes, shaking uncontrollably. He curled up, his head against the stone, his body shaking on the ground. Pain woke him, cold pain snaked through his limbs, his skin cracked and bleeding from the cold, too stiff to move. In all the pain, he forgot his name for a moment. When the name came to his mind, his lips were cracked and black, and he couldn't speak it.

"Rahil Morwen, I'm still alive."

He thought, remembered, he was alive, but just barely. The wind tore at him, ravaging his already tortured body, he couldn't move, curled up tightly, trapped in extreme cold and pain. As the mind passed through him, he couldn't understand, he could only hear the roar of the wind, like thunder and continuous roar.

Suddenly, a burst of heat, like molten steel, broke out, dispersing the mist and dyeing the hillside a fiery orange. But instead of nourishing him, this warmth made him more miserable. He felt his limbs screaming, and he couldn't tell the difference between extreme cold and extreme heat.

More heat surged in, drowning him, and the air seemed to have turned into a sea of ​​magma. The warmth finally allowed him to scream, and he rolled in the mud, always accompanied by his cloak, rolling over and over again. At the end of the entrance, there seemed to be something, repetitive and heavy, making everything around it emit a burning metal smell.

He stopped screaming and looked towards the entrance. He gritted his teeth and propped himself up. In the process of moving, his limbs felt as painful as being pierced by rusty needles. There was no fog around, no rolling clouds, the sky was open, and it was brightly burned by pillars of blazing fire.

There were panicked shouts in the distance, and he heard familiar voices, cheering or screaming, he didn't know whether it was out of joy or fear.

He had only time to glance upwards before he fainted again, and as he fell, his face struck the gravel, his cloak covering him like a shroud, and he was once again on the verge of death, just as he had been before.

But this time, like any earthly mortal, he will travel to another world.

The wind of Akshay is everywhere, rippling through the air and roaring across the earth.

When Rahil opened his eyes again, what appeared before him was a terrifying pupil burning with flames. (End of this chapter)