Romilla realised she still had an orb in her hand. She pushed the stud down and flung the weapon at the troggoth’s face. It flew straight into the beast’s open mouth. The troggoth gagged, its roar choked off. It raised a huge hand to its throat, blinked in surprise, then the bomb detonated. Trogflesh sprayed in all directions. Chunks of bone shrapnel whistled through the air and skipped across the soaked cobbles. Mucal slime and gore sprayed Romilla, drenching her afresh. The troggoth, now lacking its head, one arm and most of its upper torso, took a staggering step and pitched over sideways into a pile of corpses. Within seconds, insects were swarming hungrily across it.

Romilla stood, spitting foul-tasting slime. She was angry now, revolted and furious at these vile monsters that had burst up from below to befoul a city of the God-King.

‘Come on, you disgusting wretches!’ she bellowed, and as she raised her hammer it flared with the divine energies of Azyr. ‘Come and meet your righteous annihilation!’

Romilla spun as she heard footsteps splashing closer, yet this time it was several human figures that emerged from the fumes.

‘Borik!’ she gasped, feeling her heart leap at the sight of the duardin. He hastened towards her, his armour battered and scorched, a pair of bloodied watchmen flanking him.

‘Thanks be to Grungni the maker, you made it!’ he said, and Romilla saw none of the gruff cynicism Borik usually affected. He was exhausted, she could see despite his mask, dispirited and hurt.

‘Borik, where are the others?’ she asked.

‘Not here, not now,’ he hissed, beckoning them. ‘The rust-damned Moonclan are everywhere. Come on.’

Romilla followed, unanswered questions burning in her chest. Eleanora limped along behind her, with Bartiman bringing up the rear, staff in hand, scanning around him in search of threats. Water sloshed deeper underfoot as they pressed on across the square, and Romilla almost slipped as the ground sloped away.

‘Edge of the crater, watch your footing,’ said Borik over his shoulder. Romilla felt heat rolling in waves from somewhere deeper into that crater, heard the tick and crack of cooling rock.

‘The meteor?’ she asked. Borik replied with a tinny grunt.

They pressed on, scrambling over scattered wreckage and picking their way between heaps of corpses. Romilla thought that perhaps the fumes were beginning to thin a little, that visibility was improving slowly. The thought didn’t cheer her, but instead left her feeling more exposed. Any moment a horde of greenskins could pour into the square, if they weren’t already, and it could only be a matter of time before the light of the Bad Moon punched its leprous shafts through the thinning haze to twist and taint all it touched. No, she thought, they needed to be well gone and somewhere safe before that happened. If anywhere was safe in Draconium anymore.