The general's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "FALLBACK… KEEP GUARDING AND FALLBACK!" but his order was met with hesitation, the soldiers faltering for a split second in confusion.
How could they retreat now when victory seemed so close? Yet as the vanguard began to disengage, a new threat emerged from the depths of the orcish ranks—a line of colossal, muscular orcs whose brown skin set them apart from the green-skinned foot soldiers they had faced before.
These were no ordinary warriors; their movements were deliberate, calculated, and terrifyingly efficient. They didn't swing their clubs recklessly but instead used their feet to kick shields out of position, exploiting even the smallest openings with brutal precision.
When humans stumbled, they struck without mercy, their clubs arcing through the air like executioner's axes. Some grabbed soldiers by punching straigth through their defenses, lifting them high into the air before swinging their clubs with horrifying force—like baseball players aiming for a home run.
The battlefield turned into a strom of flying bodies as human forces crumbled under this unexpected onslaught. Atop the fortress wall, Elder Alaric's shout shattered the stunned silence.
"I can't believe it—it's real! I thought it was just a myth!" his words carried a weight that sent chills down everyone's spines.
Elder Cedric, wide-eyed and pale, demanded answers. "what?! What are you talking about?" Alaric's response came in a trembling voice, disbelief etched into every syllable.
"when I was a child, my father took me to one of our allied kingdoms. During a meeting, I overheard a general speaking of ranks within the orc hordes. Those green-skinned ones we've been fighting—they're mere foot soldiers, cannon fodder. Above them are Orc Chieftains, stronger and smarter. And above them…" he swallowed hard, dread creeping into his tone.
"… are Orc Champions. Only five to ten exist per horde, their dark-red skin marking them as apex predators. Their abilities? Double or triple that of a chieftain. And leading them all is the Orc King, nearly indistinguishable from the Champions save for the necklace of fangs around its neck—each fang representing an orc it defeated to claim its throne."
Cedric shuddered visibly, muttering under his breath, "so… its power could be double or triple that of a Champion?"
Back on the battlefield, Elowen wasted no time. Shouting urgently, she unleashed another spell: "ROOT GRASP!" her voodoo doll flared brightly, spinning wildly as thick roots erupted from the ground beneath the advancing Orc Chieftains. Rope-like tendrils, each as thick as a human arm, snaked across the field, binding the monstrous warriors in place and halting their devastating advance.
For a fleeting moment, the pressure eased, giving the battered human forces precious seconds to regroup. Seizing the opportunity, the general bellowed frantically, "FALL BACK! HURRY, MOVEEEE… MOVEEEE!" the vanguard scrambled backward, desperate to create distance between themselves and the enraged orcs.
Shields were raised once more, forming a fragile barrier against the enemy's fury. Meanwhile, Elowen staggered, her strength waning with every spell cast. Wide-range area-of-effect magic drained her mana reserves at an alarming rate, and without any potions left to replenish her energy, she panted heavily, clutching her knees for support.
The general and his soldiers, drenched in sweat and streaked with blood, braced themselves as the bound orcs began snapping free, crushing the magical roots with brute force.
The brief reprieve was ending—and the next clash promised to be far deadlier. The orcs resumed their advance, each thunderous stomp reverberating like a death knell for the human forces.
It was as if the very earth mourned the impending defeat of its defenders. To make matters worse, ten Orc Champions emerged from behind the ranks, flanked by the towering figure of the Orc King himself—a monstrous leader adorned with a necklace of fangs, marking his dominance over countless foes.
The sight struck despair into the hearts of the soldiers; it felt like a declaration that the end was near.
As hope dimmed and fear took hold, a sudden burst of light pierced the gloomy sky, emanating from the direction of the temple. A colossal pillar of radiant energy shot upward, splitting through the clouds with breathtaking beauty.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze—every living being, human and orc alike, gazed in awe at the celestial phenomenon. Even the charging orcs halted their march, mesmerized by the spectacle.
But as the light slowly receded back toward the temple, reality snapped back into focus. The orcs resumed their relentless charge, stomping forward once more, while the human soldiers swallowed hard, bracing themselves for what seemed inevitable.
When the two lines clashed again, the humans were overwhelmed. The Orc King raised his massive club high above his head, roaring defiantly, before swinging it down with devastating force.
Soldiers were sent flying left and right, crushed under the sheer brutality of the assault. Crossbow bolts fired desperately from atop the walls were swatted away barehanded, useless against such raw power.
In one final act of defiance, the general leaped toward the Orc King, attempting to plunge his blade into the beast's heart—but he was caught mid-air, lifted effortlesly by the throat.
With a contemptuous toss, the Orc King hurled him back toward the human line, where he rolled limply, on the verge of death. Elowen wobbled over to tend to him, her strength nearly spent.
Just then, the Orc King picked up a boulder twice the size of a man's head, hoisting it aloft as he shouted something in his guttural tongue. With a deep, guttural growl, he barked something in his native tongue.
The other orcs erupted into raucous laughter, their jagged weapons clanking against their rusted armor in anticipation.
Then, to everyone's shock, the Orc King took a lumbering step forward and spoke again—this time, in broken, barely comprehensible human speech.
'Humans… weak.' His voice was like grinding stone, each word forced out with difficulty. 'Give… meat. Keep… live. No meat…' He let the sentence hang before dragging a clawed finger across his thick, scarred throat. 'All… die.'
The council members standing behind the warriors stiffened. A murmur of unease rippled through their ranks. This wasn't just a mindless beast. He understood them. He could speak to them. And worst of all, he was mocking them.
The orc king turned his gaze toward the soldiers. His crimson eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. He pointed a claw at one of the younger knights, barely past his twentieth year. 'You… shake. You… fear.'
A deep chuckle rumbled from his throat, thick with contempt. 'Saint… dead. No… savior.' A low growl spread among the orcs, their warriors slamming their weapons into the ground, a rhythmic beat of impending slaughter.
The humans stood frozen, they know the orcs didn't see them as enemies anymore—but as livestock. And livestock had only two choices: obey or be slaughtered.
Then the Orc King continue chattered like a priest giving a long preach, the human forces stare and listen to it carefully eventhough they didn't understood a single word, then after one final roar the Orc King swing his arm.
As the stone hurtled toward Elowen and the fallen general, Elowen closed her eyes, accepting her fate. But suddenly, a voice rang out: "Prismatic Barrier".
A shimmering hexagonal shield materialized before them, composed of intricate patterns of light. The boulder struck the barrier and disintegrated into harmless dust, carried away by the wind.
From behind the soldiers stepped Liora, one of the star on her staff glowing brilliantly as she strode forward with quiet determination.
Making way for her, the soldiers watched in stunned relief as she whispered another spell: "Golden Ray." A small pillar of light descended upon the general, reviving him gradually.
Elowen, still crouched beside the wounded man, looked up at Liora with pride and gratitude, offering a warm smile that Liora returned tenfold.