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The Champion of Tzeentch hacked his way viciously towards his sworn blood-enemy, axe rising and falling atop a sea of bloody destruction. Over the waves of weapons and blood-spray he could see the Wizard Champion of Nurgle on the low hill ahead. Hatred filled his heart with fire and bitterness, and he redoubled his efforts, forging through the surging mass of warriors between them. His axe became a blur of motion, bodies and limbs tumbling in his wake like red straw.
On the rise, the Wizard Champion followed his enemy's advance with a cold, secret smile. He closed his eyes and gathered his will. Writhing green and orange runes gnawed at the edge of his mind as he prepared the way for power, but he denied their siren call of madness. Ready, the knife edge achieved, the path chosen, his eyes snapped open. He raised his arms and began to chant.
The Champion of Tzeentch finally broke through the hordes of Nurgle. Now no-one stood between him and the Wizard. He started up the rise and was suddenly crippled by the heat of a debilitating fever. He staggered to a halt and fell to his knees, axe dropping from sweaty hands. Too weak to resist, he watched in helpless horror as the Wizard closed to deliver the death blow.
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