Celus had entered the cave system, his eyes peeled for any signs of danger. The rumours of Chaos worshippers were only half the story, he knew. The darkness hid other terrors, lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. He could feel their presence, a cold weight on his shoulders, as he moved deeper into the cave.
And then he saw them. The creatures skittered and chittered in the darkness. They were small and twisted, with beady eyes that glowed in the gloom. Their skin was mottled and sickly, and their limbs were spindly and misshapen. They moved with an unnatural grace, darting around him, circling him like vultures.
Celus raised his hammer, ready to strike, but the creatures were too quick for him. They swarmed him, biting and clawing at his armour. Their tiny, razor-sharp teeth tore through the metal, and their claws left deep gouges in the steel. Celus fought back, striking out at one creature after another, but there were too many of them.
The creatures laughed and chittered as they dragged him down. Celus could feel his strength ebbing away, as the creatures swarmed over him, tearing him apart. He thought of his fellow Stormcast Eternals, of his duty to Sigmar, but it was all for naught. The creatures were too strong, too numerous.
As he fell to the ground, Celus saw the creatures closing in on him, their glowing eyes like pinpricks in the darkness. He knew that he was dying, that his body would be devoured by the creatures. But even in death, he remained defiant. He had faced darkness before, and he would face it again. His sacrifice would not be in vain, and the Stormcast Eternals would avenge his death. Darkness fell upon Celus, among the chittering laughter of the creatures that had claimed him as their own.
Years pass.
In the heart of Azyr, Sigmar looked upon the shattered soul of Celus. The Stormcast Eternal had fought bravely against the forces of Chaos, but he had fallen in battle, his body torn apart by the twisted creatures of the crawling, subterranean darkness.
Sigmar knew that he could not let his servant’s sacrifice go in vain. He reached out with his divine power, calling upon the magic of the Realm of Heavens to reforge Celus’ shattered soul.
The process was long and difficult, but Sigmar did not falter. He worked tirelessly, weaving Celus’ soul back together, piece by piece. He filled the cracks and gaps with the purest essence of the Storm, creating a new body for Celus, one that was stronger and more resilient than before.
Finally, the process was complete. Celus stood before Sigmar, reborn, reforged. He looked upon his creator with awe and reverence, knowing that he had been given a second chance at life.
Sigmar smiled upon him, and spoke. “Celus, you have been given a great gift. You have been reforged in the fires of the heavens, and you have been reborn as a true son of Sigmar. You are my servant, my warrior, my champion. Go forth, and bring the light of the Storm to all the realms. Fight bravely, fight honorably, and remember that you are always under my protection.”
Celus knelt before Sigmar, grateful and humbled by the god’s words. He rose to his feet, feeling the power of the Storm coursing through his veins. He knew that he had been given a great responsibility, but he was ready for it. He would fight against the darkness, no matter the cost, and he would honor his creator with every blow of his hammer.
And so, Celus set out into the realms, reforged and reborn, a true Stormcast Eternal. He would face darkness again, but this time, he would be ready. For Sigmar was with him, and he would never falter in his duty.
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