The Winds of Magic howled across the plains.
High Elves, Lizardmen, humans... all the races of Order stood in neat ranks upon the plains.
Opposing this army united against Chaos were the scattered yet numerous tribesmen of the Wastelands and the heavily armored Chosen.
An armored man on horseback appeared before the Chaos battle line. He wore a helmet that seemed to have three eyes and brandished a greatsword wreathed in flame.
He galloped before the formation, roaring loudly and intimidating his followers.
Then the two sides clashed in a brutal, head-on bloodbath across the plains.
Human steam tanks charged Khorne's Brass Bull cavalry.
Dwarven gyrocopters battled Tzeentch Demons in the sky.
Skulls formed from flame rampaged across the battlefield.
A gigantic dark-purple pendulum suddenly appeared above a human infantry formation, claiming thousands of lives in an instant.
A thunderous boom rang through the sky as golden lightning tore apart the crimson heavens.
A man in ornate armor, riding a griffin and holding a golden hammer, charged toward a Greater Demon of Nurgle, shouting, "The enemy stops at Middenheim! For Sigmar!"
As this staggering melee raged on, a Psychic Power gate opened and closed atop a nearby hill.
A towering warrior in silver armor, an ordinary barehanded human in ragged clothes, and three Wood Elves emerged from the Psychic Power gate.
"Kaldor, this is my world." The Wood Elf named Alalaros pointed toward the embattled plains. "It stands on the brink of destruction. Once the enemy takes Middenheim, we will completely lose any hope of striking back."
"You look like you need a General Cannon or storm missiles." Kaldor studied the battlefield, then turned to Alalaros. "If you need a big weapon, ask him for help."
Alalaros knew that the man the towering silver-armored knight referred to was that utterly