Git watched the delegate from the travelling troupe known as All Wight on the Night leave from the roof of the Abattoir. Clutching the parchment, he opened it to read:
“Lucifer must be stopped. He grows more powerful by the day, he threatens us with fire and brimstone. If he knew I had written this …. I know what you did with Steffan von Engelbrecht, I know not how you did it or what you sacrificed … but please, take this chance to make that sacrifice count!
Kill him, rid this world of the Morningstar!
Sacrifice. It was true. Several weeks had passed since the abduction of the Marauders star blitzer, Steffan von Engelbrecht … the ritual involved had been terrible indeed. Severing his soul from his body, and replacing it with the essence of a fallen comrade. Git hadn’t taken any time to consider what this would mean for his humanity, or what little was left – he just wanted the closest thing to a friend back, and he had the means to do it, so why not?
It turned out that life and death were not forces that a trifling Blood Bowl coach should be engaged in, and whilst the ritual had brought Blavod the Black back, stronger than ever, he had not spoken a word since his re-animation. The effects had been profound on Git too. He had lost part of his senses – smell was gone entirely, taste also. His eyes had blackened, and whilst his sight was much better in the dark, and his hearing remained, most disconcertingly, he was cold – intensely cold.
Git remembered Girth from his days as a Skaven coach. Ever gracious and honourable, not traits you’d typically associate with a Blood Bowl coach … feeling a twinge of humanity, he crumpled the parchment in his hands, and made his way down the the quarters.
Having assembled the mute Steffan, Conrad, Gerhart and Fat Mate, Git gave the order:
You’re going to slay a God tonight. Death is the only God that rules this realm. Bring him down and no matter what, make sure he never rises again. Do not come back until the task is complete.
Later that night, Steffan the Champion slew the pretender God, Lucifer Morningstar.
Git glanced over to Girth on the opposing sideline.
It is done, but now you must pay my fare.
And pay they did.
In advance of Dead Metal’s next gaeme, news arrived of a lively press conference held by famed Order of the Holy Squirrel coach, Sir Andy von Cook. They had spoken vividly in terms of justice and purity, they believed their deity would protect them from the wrath of Dead Metal as it had 2 seasons ago. Watching the practice on the pitch unfold, Gerhart pinpoint accurate with his cannon as ever, Fat Mate with his custom ‘RazrSkate’ boots (available from all good sports retailers), Ratcollector evading tackles blindfolded … Git had every reason to feel confident. And yet ….