The All-Stars put their largest, meanest player up against M’Grash: a headless, slime-skinned troll by the name of Ichorbod. The green-slick thing carried an All-Star’s helmet around under his arm like a mother cradling an infant — a starving, undead infant. It stood as tall as M’Grash, even without a head atop its shoulders, and its mass was at least equal to the ogre’s.
As M’Grash lined up in his designated spot, the other creature did the same and let loose with a horrifying bellow that made Dunk wish he’d taken up a safer sport, like daemon baiting. Cavre stood by the ogre, calming him with a pat on the arm and some words shouted into his ear over the roar of the crowd.
“If he has no head, how does he yell like that?” Dunk asked.
“See that helmet under his arm?” Dirk said. “It’s not empty.”
Dunk did a double-take. “You mean he carries his own head around in that thing? That’s insane.”
“Strong words from a man who toted a black orc vampire’s head about on a chain around his neck for the past year.”
“Good point.”
Cavre trotted back from the centre of the field, where he’d left M’Grash. He lined up in the centre of the rest of the Hackers, all exactly twenty yards away from the middle of the field. This put him right between Dunk and Dirk.
“Get ready, Hackers!” Cavre shouted. “As soon as that ball drops, it is live! Grab it and go!”
“What did you tell M’Grash?” Dunk asked.
“To kill the troll. It’s not called a Hug Match. Now keep your eyes on that ball. When it squirts out of there, we need to grab it.”
“You think he can follow those directions?”
“Kill. Troll.” Cavre smiled and shrugged. “It’s M’Grash. I don’t know.”
Dunk nodded and focused on the new pigskin. He hoped that his stunt with Triomphe had disrupted Zauberer’s plans enough that he’d be able to play the rest of the game without interference from the wizard. At the very least, by getting rid of Skragger, he’d removed the bright, red target on his chest.
Bool walked to the centre of the field and held up the new ball. He showed it to the two monstrous players flanking him. A humongous image of it played on the Jumboball looking down on the stadium from the wall behind the northern end zone.
Bool tossed the ball straight up in the air and then galloped out of there as fast as his boots would take him.
Ichorbod ripped the faceguard off his helmet while the ball was still in the air, and then hurled his head straight at M’Grash. Distracted by the ball, the ogre didn’t see the head coming at him until it hit him in the face, smashing flat a nose that had been broken countless times before.
As M’Grash howled in pain, a long, pink tongue lashed out of the helmet and wrapped all the way around his throat. Then it pulled tight, constricting around his windpipe as he tried to claw it off with his thick, stubby fingers.
While M’Grash struggled with Ichorbod’s head, the troll’s body lumbered forward and blindly lashed out at the ogre. Its hands found M’Grash’s arm and locked on. Acrid vapours rose from where the troll’s flesh touched that of M’Grash, and the ogre howled in pain.
“Get that ball!” Cavre shouted.
The pigskin thudded in the middle of the field and took a bounce towards the Hackers. Dunk lunged forward, closest to it of anyone, but the choice between grabbing the ball and helping his friend tore at him as he went. In the end, he decided to do both.
Dunk plucked up the ball. It felt good in his hand — clean, a good heft, nicely balanced — the perfect weapon.
Dunk cocked back his arm and leapt up at M’Grash, who’d staggered backward towards him and the rest of the Hackers’ line. He grabbed the ogre’s pauldron and used it to lever himself up high enough that he had a good shot at Ichorbod’s head. He brought the ball down hard, and the spike on its tip slammed right through the troll’s helmet.
Ichorbod’s body shivered and fell back a step as it released its grip on M’Grash’s arm, leaving red blisters behind. The creature’s head, though, roared around its still-extended tongue. It did not let go.
“Wow, Jim! You have to admire a player who’s willing to use the ball like that.”
“You sure do! Too bad it doesn’t seem to have done any good. Hoffnung was probably aiming for Ichorbod’s brain. Those are darn small things to have to find in a skull the size of a troll’s!”
Dunk yanked the ball from the troll’s helmet and cocked back his arm to have another go at lobotomising Ichorbod. If he kept at it, he knew he’d strike grey matter soon.
Ichorbod’s body slammed into M’Grash, which sent Dunk toppling to the ground. He tucked the ball under his arm and tumbled away. When he rolled to his feet, he saw that two ram-headed beastmen had knocked the troll into the ogre, and then leapt away before the creature’s skin could harm them as well.
M’Grash tried to howl in pain, but he couldn’t get enough air past Ichorbod’s tongue. He marched a few tremendous steps and then fell backward, the troll clutching its toxic skin to him.
“Over here, Dunk!”
The thrower turned and saw Dirk sprinting towards the right sideline and waving an arm at him. No All-Stars had bothered to cover him. When Dunk glanced straight up field, he saw why. They were all coming for him.
Dunk hurled the ball towards Dirk and then turned to run before he even saw if his brother caught it. As he did, he saw M’Grash on the ground between him and the other All-Stars, struggling for his life.
Although it seemed like suicide, Dunk charged forward, lowered his shoulder, and dived into M’Grash’s neck, headfirst, using his helmet as a spear. It smacked into Ichorbod’s helmet, and something gave way with a wet sound. The head popped free and twirled off towards the onrushing All-Stars.
One of the All-Stars, an orc with a giant crab’s arms and pincers, stopped to catch the screaming troll’s loose head. The others came at Dunk like an ebony-jerseyed wave.
Dunk braced himself for the impact, but he couldn’t have imagined how bad it would be. The two ram-headed All-Stars smashed into him first, sending him flying back and to the ground. Then a man with the body of a bear landed on him, crushing the air from his lungs.
As spots floated before Dunk’s eyes, Kathula dived at him, the tentacles that dangled from her face wrapping around his helmet, creeping in underneath it, and gripping at his skin. Unable to move his arms or even cry for help, all he could do was watch in panicked terror as her beak-like mouth appeared from among her tentacles and made its way towards his face, its sucker-surfaced tongue flicking out at him like a slaver’s lash.
One side of the tongue slapped wet and warm against Dunk’s cheeks and stuck there. Then it started to pull him in towards the black beak, which flexed in anticipation of biting into his flesh. The tip of the tongue flailed free, searching, pressing for a way between Dunk’s lips and into his mouth.
Then Kathula’s tongue pulled free from Dunk’s face, pocking his skin as it left. The rest of her tentacles followed along with her tongue, and then the two ram-headed linemen disappeared as well. Still flat on his back, Dunk saw M’Grash grinning down at him and offering him a hand up.
“Thanks, big guy. I thought the ram-men and noodle-face there were going to make a cheap lunch out of me.”
“S’alright.”
Dunk glanced around and saw his attackers getting up and starting to circle him and M’Grash again. “Doesn’t anyone around here ever play the ball any more?” he asked.
“Touchdown, Hackers!” Jim’s voice said. “What an amazing play. Dirk Heldmann’s pass to Rhett Cavre put the ball way down the field, and then Cavre worked his foot magic to break three tackles — and a couple of arms — to get into the end zone!”
“It’s that kind of attention to basics — things like scoring points — that has always served the Hackers well. If they can avoid the All-Stars’ Total ’Ponent Kill strategy, they should be able to win this game.”
Lästiges chipped in at
that point. “I just finished talking with Dr. Shnahps Magillicutty, the team apothecary for the All-Stars. He says he thinks the team will abandon the TPK tactics now. With Dr. Pill on the Hackers’ side, it’s likely the team could manage to outlast the All-Stars. If so, the game would come down to points, and with the Hackers already up by a touchdown, the All-Stars have some catching up to do.”
“Good point, Lästiges. It would be great to see a game based upon the classic ‘scoring’ strategies rather than total annihilation. Call me old-fashioned if you like—”
“You’re six hundred years old, Bob!” said Jim. “Of course you’re old-fashioned.”
“Maybe. And maybe I just like yelling, ‘Touchdown!’ ”
“Well, you have to admit, it does have a certain ring to it.”
Dunk trotted back to the Hackers’ end of the field to line up for the kick-off, a grin on his face. Cavre’s score couldn’t have come at a better time. For the first time all day, he started to think about more than just surviving the game. If things continued to go this well, they might just win.
“Don’t go thinking about victory yet,” Cavre shouted out to the other players as they got into position, almost as if he could read Dunk’s mind. The thought made the thrower nervous for a moment. He hadn’t suspected that Skragger was telepathic. Could he have missed something with his team’s captain too?
“No,” Cavre called over to Dunk. “You just wear every emotion you have on your face.”
“Remind me not to play pogre with you.”
Cavre held up his arm to signal the others to get ready. Then he charged up to the ball and booted it towards the distant end zone. It arced through the sky and came down in the arms of a lizardman called Tzun Su, who had a bright orange crest that ran along the top of his skull.
The lizardman reminded Dunk a bit of Sseth Skinshucker, who’d played for the All-Stars last year. His career had ended after M’Grash had tossed him into the stands in Magritta. The fans there had skinned the creature alive and made, from later accounts, five sets of quality boots from his scales. Sseth had survived the incident and later claimed one of the pairs of boots for himself as a memento of his playing days.
Dunk hung back to cover the All-Star catchers who raced down the field. As they raced towards him, M’Grash and Edgar led the charge against them. On their way towards the lizardman, they trampled a beetle-headed man — one Kanz Frafka — under their feet as if he were nothing more than a giant cockroach caught unwillingly in a game not of his own design — and then paying the ultimate price.
An eagle-headed creature with wings for arms flapped towards Dunk, his feet almost leaving the ground as he sped along. The thrower threw himself forward to check the catcher, whose uniform read “Sam,” but the birdman skirted away from Dunk’s check and left him clutching air.
Downfield, Edgar put his branches in the lizardman’s face, giving him nowhere to throw the ball. As the treeman started to gloat, Tzun Su darted his head forward and spit fire from deep in his gullet.
The flames incinerated some of Edgar’s leaves and ignited his smaller branches. The treeman let loose a terrified scream that made Dunk think he might never care to go into a forest alone again. Then he began to dash back and forth across the field, looking for some kind of relief.
Under Cavre’s direction, M’Grash slammed into Edgar from behind and knocked him over. As the treeman toppled to the ground, the ogre yelled, “Timberrrr!” This did nothing for the bug-eyed goblin caught underneath Edgar’s bulk as he fell.
The poor creature chattered madly as its legs were crushed. This rose to a fevered pitch as M’Grash began to roll Edgar back and forth on the ground like a rolling pin, trying to put the flames out. By the time he succeeded, the goblin was little more than a nice, flat sheet of reddish paste that had been baked solid by the burning treeman’s heat.
“Cookie?” M’Grash asked as he scooped up the hot goblin/baked goodie.
Dunk didn’t see what happened next. He saw the ball appear in the air high above the field, and he angled towards Sam to try to intercept the pass.
It wasn’t a good throw, but the kind Pegleg liked to call a “wounded parrot,” and Dunk had the angle on it. All he had to do was jump up a little at the last second, and the ball would be his.
The sound of a massive bird cry from behind him almost sent Dunk diving to the Astrogranite instead. He managed to keep his composure long enough to jump for the ball as he’d planned, but as his fingers reached up, a taloned foot reached down and snagged it as the beating of wings sounded in Dunk’s ears.
Dunk looked up and cursed. Sam’s wings were more than just for looks. The creature had made it into the air and was now winging back around for a shot at his end zone. Dunk leapt up to try to grab Sam, but his fingers closed only on air. A moment later, the eagle-man, having gained enough height, went into a power dive that deposited him and the ball right in the middle of his end zone.
“Touchdown, All-Stars!” Bob said. “Yep, I never do get tired of that word! Touchdown!”
“That hardly seems fair,” said Jim. “The birdman there was flying! Blood Bowl isn’t one of those sissy games wizards play on the backs of broomsticks. It’s down and dirty action! Three yards and a cloud of dust! Ploughing divots out of the Astrogranite! It stays on the ground!”
“Spoken like someone who can’t fly!” Bob said.
30
The All-Stars and the Hackers stymied each other for the rest of the half. Sam kept his flying to a minimum, but only when Rhett Bool wasn’t looking his way. During one harrowing play, the eagle-man dived into Edgar’s upper branches in an effort to strip the ball from the treeman. He only ended up coming away with some bark, but ever after that Edgar chased the creature around the field, ignoring the ball unless it happened to cross his path.
When the whistle blew and the Hackers trotted back down the tunnel to their locker room, no one said a word. Ever since their early score, the game had been one frustration after another for them, and the Hackers were worn and tired.
“What in Nuffle’s nine original divisions is going on out there?” Pegleg demanded as the players sat down on their benches once again. “These scurvy dogs finally decide to give us a real ball game, and you bilge rats can’t be bothered to make them pay for it?”
“We’re down to only ten players,” Dirk said as he poured a tankard of water over his head. “Plus, it turns out the All-Stars aren’t all that bad when they actually play.”
“ ‘Not all that bad’?” Pegleg’s eyes grew large and showed whites all around. These are the Chaos All-Stars we’re talking about here! They’re nothing but bad! We need to go out there and punish them like the evil beasts they are!”
“Coach?” Dunk said. When Pegleg turned his furious eyes on him, he instantly regretted saying a word, but this game was too important for him to back down. “Are you just going to yell at us, or do you have a plan?”
Pegleg’s face turned bright red, and spittle sputtered from his lips. He raised his hook as if looking for something soft and yielding to plunge it into — like a beating heart. Then he managed some small amount of control over himself, just enough to speak. He spat each word out with a precision that said that to do otherwise might cause him to explode.
“What, Mr. Hoffnung, would you have us do?”
“I have some ideas.”
The Hackers kicked the ball off to start the second half. It arced down towards the All-Stars, and Sam the eagleman leapt into the air and snatched it.
Dunk stood right where he was, not making a move, while he watched Cavre, Edgar, and M’Grash stomp down the field after the ball. The rest of the Hackers gathered around him.
Dunk peered over their helmets and saw that the two ram-headed All-Stars had challenged the referee to a head-butting match right after he’d blown the whistle to start the half. As an ex-player himself, Bool managed to gore one of the creatures with his horns before the other laid him flat on his back.
With the ref out of the picture, Sam beat his wings and gained altitude. M’Grash jumped up and made a grab at the eagle-man, but fell short.
“Sam takes the kick-off, and he’s got nothing but daylight in front of him!” Bob’s voice said. “The All-Stars seem to have come up with a spectacular plan during halftime. If they keep this up, we can put this game into the record books right now.”
“The All-Stars are turning this into a game of broomball!” Jim said. “I don’t like it, and the fans don’t either!” A rousing chorus of boos and hisses confirmed the commentator’s opinion. “Drop the airborne routine, All-Stars! We came here to see Blood Bowl!”
Cocky from his clear shot at success, Sam performed a barrel roll, spinning his wings as an insult to Jim and the fans. This put him straight on course for Edgar, who raised his branches up high over his head.
The eagle-man let loose the screech of a predator bird spotting its prey. He dived straight for Edgar, planning to skim the tops of the treeman’s branches and prove that literally no one could touch him.
As Sam zoomed in hard and fast, Edgar flung a shimmering something between his arms. It glinted like a spider’s web in the clear sunlight.
Sam spied the thing at the last second and tried to pull up, but it was too late. He hurtled straight into the mithril net the Halfling Titans had given to Edgar.
The net engulfed the eagle-man, and the momentum of his sudden stop knocked Edgar to the ground. The treeman kept his grip on the net and brought it and its occupant down along with him.
The net rolled into a tight ball around Sam as he struggled to break free. He failed to do so before the net slammed into the Astrogranite and knocked him senseless.
“That’s one way to ground all flights in and out of Emperor Stadium!” Bob said.
The ball squirted free from the net and took a Hacker bounce. Rotes dashed forward and scooped it up. Standing alone in the middle of the field, she saw the rest of the All-Stars charging at her, and she froze.
“Stick to the plan!” Dunk shouted. “Throw the ball!”
[Blood Bowl 03] - Death Match Page 25