She had seen what they became, the infected. She knew deep in her soul that, just like before, once the corruption took hold there was no saving them. It was just like before, and she thought her mind might snap, her heart might shatter right there and then at the thought of it.

‘God-King, why do you test me so?’ she whispered, then hefted her hammer and said, in a clear, unwavering voice, ‘Hendrick Saul, I offer you the mercy of Sigmar. I am so, so sorry old friend. Be with your brother now.’

Hendrick lunged with a howl. He was a huge man, heavily built, but Romilla had been fighting the spawn of Chaos in the Mortal Realms for nigh on twenty years. She had been through tests, endured horrors that would have seen most warriors curled foetal and ruined on the floor. This was no different. She told herself that as she stepped fluidly aside from his wrecking-ball punch, as she sprang back and swung her hammer down on the back of his skull. Bone cracked and Hendrick’s face slammed into the tabletop in a spray of blood.

Romilla cursed bitterly as he stumbled to his feet again, blood-fouled eyes rolling, and heaved a great stream of glowing purple vomit at her. She sprang back, frantic to avoid the fluid’s touch, and tripped over the half-eaten corpses behind her. Romilla hit the ground hard, managing to keep hold of her hammer, but he was on her in an instant. Bigger by far, heavier, stronger even with his skull broken and tongue lolling, Hendrick tried to pin Romilla down and vomit on her as she had seen so many other infected souls do already.

Squeezing her eyes shut and holding her breath, she did the only thing left to her, head-butting Hendrick in the face with all her might. Her forehead slammed into his already broken nose and drove shards of bone deep into his skull. Hendrick flailed backwards, blood squirting from his ruined face, and Romilla swung her hammer up from the floor and straight into the side of his head.

Hendrick was thrown sideways by the force of the swing, crashing against a fallen bench. He slumped over it, fingers twitching, and was still.

Romilla levered herself painfully to her feet, ignoring the tears threatening to squeeze themselves from the corners of her eyes. There would be time for grief later, she thought. For now, she would try to save the man that Hendrick had given his life for.

Yet the moment she turned to look at the regent militant, she knew it was far too late. In fact, she thought bitterly, they could never have saved him at all.