Bardin threw a bomb. A gutter runner caught it mid-air and threw it back.
The Vermintide was just a vermintide again.
They cared about survival.
The five of them fell back through the keep—room by blood-soaked room. Every corner they turned, the repacked Skaven were already there, not ambushing but positioning . A warpfire thrower didn’t spray wildly; it painted a precise line across the only escape route. A packmaster didn’t drag; it redirected .
They made their stand in the armory. Not because it was defensible, but because Bardin had hidden a strange, ticking device there—a Dawi “de-repacker,” he called it. A bomb that didn’t destroy flesh but un-coded the warpstone-matrix holding the repack together. Warhammer End Times Vermintide-REPACK
Through the breach came not a screaming wave, but a single file. Stormvermin in lockstep, shields interlocking like a brass puzzle. Behind them, Ratling Gunners walked in a synchronized box formation, barrels sweeping in mathematical arcs. No friendly fire. No hesitation. They moved like a single, cancerous organism.
He spat on a broken warpstone shard.
Bardin helped Saltzpyre to his feet. The keep was in ruins. Half of Helmgart was ash.