Far north of the Kingdom of Magic, within the largest of the orc war camps, Rokk Doombone sat behind a heavy iron table inside his command tent. The structure stood at the center of the encampment, surrounded by layered defenses of sharpened stakes and watchtowers built from stripped tree trunks.
The tent interior smelled of smoke, leather, and damp earth. Maps covered one side of the table. Small bone markers and carved stones marked troop movements and portal sites. Reports lay scattered in uneven stacks, most already read and dismissed.
One parchment remained in his hand.
He had read it three times already.
The report detailed events in the other orc camp. Hundreds of units wiped out. It had happened just yesterday.
The information came from his most valuable spy,a necromancer embedded among the outer clans. The spy sent messages through bound spirits. Ghosts carried the reports across great distance without being seen, whispering them directly into prepared vessels. That method ensured speed and accuracy. Rokk trusted it more than any living messenger.
That was why this report troubled him.
The tent flap shifted, and Chieftain Forcar Stoneshatter entered without ceremony. His armor bore fresh scratches, and dust clung to his boots.
"Doombone," Forcar said, his tone direct. "We must prepare immediately. The humans have changed their tactics. The two strongest among them are advancing toward our position."
Rokk did not respond at once.
Instead, he lowered the parchment and tossed it across the table. It slid to a stop in front of Forcar.
"What is this?" Forcar asked, frowning as he picked it up.
He scanned the contents quickly. As his eyes moved down the page, his jaw tightened. A flicker of anger appeared in his expression.
When he finished reading, he let out a slow breath and threw the report back onto the table.
The parchment landed among the others, but the weight of its message remained between them.
"We follow the orders given to us," Forcar said flatly. He turned and pushed through the tent flap, stepping out into the open camp.
Rokk rose at once and followed him into the cold northern air. Around them, warriors paused in the middle their tasks. The sound of hammering and sharpening steel slowed as eyes turned toward the two chieftains.
"It is our duty to protect our people, Stoneshatter," Rokk said, his voice carrying across the clearing.
Forcar did not stop walking. "It is our duty to command them," he replied. "And theirs to obey."
Their raised voices drew more attention. Orc warriors formed a loose circle at a distance, sensing conflict.
Rokk's fists clenched. "He sacrificed hundreds of our own for nothing," he shouted. "Sent void beasts into our ranks as if they were expendable."
Forcar turned then, his expression hard. "It does not matter. Thavuk leads. We follow."
"It does not matter?" Rokk repeated. His brows lowered as anger surged through him. Heat seemed to radiate from his skin.
They had already chosen a path once. When the orcs first crossed into the Land of Light, they had attempted negotiation. The human they met had been the northern prince, clever, smiling, and as treacherous as Thavuk himself. Rokk had seen through that smile too late.
He would not make the same mistake again.
Rokk pulled his axe free and drove its blade into the earth at his feet. The ground cracked on impact. A dull red glow spread from the point of contact. Soil blackened, then melted. Magma bubbled upward in thin streams, heat distorting the air around him.
"If we continue down Thavuk's path," Rokk said, his voice low but burning with conviction, "there will be no world left for orcs or humans to live in."
Forcar stared at the molten ground for several seconds. Then he reached over his shoulder and drew his own axe, the steel edge catching the firelight.
"Are you betraying the orcs, Doombone?" he asked.
Rokk lifted his gaze to meet his. "I protect my people," he answered. "If that means betraying your master, so be it… pup."
The insult landed.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. The camp fell silent. Even the wind seemed to still.
Then both chieftains charged.
Their axes collided mid swing with a thunderous crash. The impact released a shockwave that tore across the clearing, knocking nearby warriors off balance and scattering embers into the night air.
…
Bernal and Oswald flew for hours without rest. Wind cut past them as they crossed forests, broken hills, and stretches of scorched earth. The sky darkened gradually as they moved north, the air growing heavier with ash and distant smoke.
At last, the orc war camp came into view.
They remained high above it, hidden within drifting darkness. From that height, the camp spread wide across the land, rows of tents, defensive trenches, watchtowers built from thick timber, and the glow of countless fires burning through the night.
Oswald's eyes narrowed. Dark mana gathered faintly around him. He prepared to summon his undead legion and crush the camp in one overwhelming strike.
Bernal lifted a hand.
"Wait."
Oswald paused. "What is it?"
Bernal tilted his head slightly and pointed toward the center of the camp. "Look. Something interesting."
Oswald followed his gesture.
Below them, two massive orcs clashed in the open clearing at the heart of the camp. The ground around them had melted into glowing cracks. Their armor shone red-hot in places, coated with flowing magma. Each swing of their axes sent sparks and molten fragments scattering outward.
They did not fight like soldiers in formation. They fought like beasts.
"They are just fighting," Oswald said after a moment.
Bernal's lips curved faintly. "No. This isn't a simple brawl."
Oswald watched more closely. Warriors had formed a wide circle around the duel. None interfered. The tension among them felt divided rather than entertained.
"They are orcs, Bernal," Oswald said. "This is completely normal."
"Not like this," Bernal replied. "Look at the others. They're choosing sides. This is not sport. It's disagreement."
Below, one of the orcs drove his axe into the ground, sending magma bursting upward. The other answered with a strike that split the molten earth apart. The camp itself trembled from the force of their exchange.
Bernal's eyes sharpened as he observed the reactions of the surrounding warriors. Lines were forming, subtle, but clear.
"We may be able to use this," he said quietly, a plan beginning to take shape in his mind.
Oswald glanced at him. "Use what? They are violent animals. We should eliminate them while they are distracted."
"Killing every other race is not the solution," Bernal said calmly, still watching the battle below.
"Not every race," Oswald corrected. "Just them. End the orcs, and this war ends."
Bernal turned his head and met Oswald's gaze. "If you erase orcs, dwarves, and elves," he said evenly, "humans will turn on each other next. Conflict does not disappear. It changes targets."
He looked back down at the two blazing figures colliding in the center of the camp.
"Besides," he added, "the world is more interesting with other races in it."
Oswald gave a small shrug and returned his focus to the fight, though he did not release the dark mana he had gathered.
…
Rokk's gaze was locked with his opponent, the tension high.
He moved first.
Rokk ripped his axe from the molten earth and swung it in a brutal diagonal arc aimed at Forcar's ribs. The blade cut through the air, trailing sparks and droplets of burning stone. Heat rolled off the weapon in waves.
Forcar met the strike head on. His own axe crashed against Rokk's with a violent clang. The impact split the ground beneath them. Magma burst upward between their feet, splashing against their greaves and hardening into black crust.
Rokk pushed forward with raw strength. His muscles strained as he forced his axe down, trying to break through Forcar's guard. He felt the resistance in Forcar's arms, solid and unyielding.
Rokk twisted his wrist and disengaged, stepping to the side before swinging low at Forcar's legs. The blade skimmed the earth and tore open a glowing trench. Molten rock surged forward like a wave, racing toward Forcar's stance.
Forcar roared and slammed his axe into the ground. A wall of hardened magma erupted in front of him, blocking the flow. The two forces collided, spraying shards of burning stone into the surrounding circle of warriors.
Rokk did not pause.
He stomped forward, driving his heel into the cracked ground. Lava veins flared outward from beneath him, branching across the battlefield. Heat rose in thick currents, distorting the air.
Forcar charged through it, armor glowing red at the edges, axe raised high for an overhead strike meant to split skull and spine alike.
Rokk lifted his weapon to meet him again.
When their axes collided again, the explosion of heat forced the nearest warriors to stumble backward. A ring of fire rippled outward from the impact point. Sparks rained across the trampled earth, and several watching orcs shielded their faces as molten fragments scattered at their feet.
Rokk felt the vibration travel up his arms and into his chest. He grinned through bared tusks and shoved forward, driving Forcar back half a step before both disengaged.
As the two chieftains clashed again and again, the circle around them widened. Orcs abandoned their tasks and gathered to watch. What began as a confrontation had turned into something larger.
Rokk noticed it even as he fought. Warriors drifted behind him in growing numbers. Those who had questioned Thavuk in silence. They positioned themselves at his back without speaking.
Across the clearing, others formed behind Forcar. Fewer, but hardened, loyal, and unflinching.
The divide became visible. The fight intensified.
Flames surged higher around Forcar, coating his armor in a brighter blaze. His boots left burning footprints with every step. In response, a deep red aura gathered around Rokk's body. It pulsed like a living heart, thickening his muscles and sharpening his senses. The berserk state flooded his veins.
Their massive frames did not move with the quick precision of human duelists, but every swing carried crushing force. Each strike released shockwaves that rattled tents and sent loose weapons clattering to the ground. The earth cracked wider beneath them. Heat shimmered across the clearing.
Soon, no ordinary warrior stood within one hundred paces. Both sides pulled back, forming two solid lines behind their chosen chieftain.
Still, the battle showed no sign of ending.
Then Forcar broke the rhythm.
He leapt back, creating distance, and reached into his belt pouch. When his hand came out, it held a sealed scroll marked with dark sigils.
"Thavuk suspected you might betray him," Forcar called out, his voice carrying across the clearing. "He gave me this."
Rokk's eyes locked onto the parchment. He recognized the markings immediately.
"You sold your soul to the void?" he demanded.
"For power," Forcar replied without hesitation, "I will do anything."
He tore the seal and injected his mana into the scroll. The parchment disintegrated in his grip.
Void energy poured out like black smoke mixed with liquid shadow. It wrapped around Forcar's body, seeping into his armor, into his skin. The flames around him darkened, shifting from bright orange to a violent mix of black and crimson.
The air grew colder despite the fire.
Void energy poured deeper into Forcar's body.
Rokk watched as his rival's frame began to distort. Muscles swelled beyond their natural limits. Veins darkened beneath his skin, glowing faintly with violet light. The magma coating his armor shifted color, changing from burning red to an unnatural purple that pulsed like a living wound.
The transformation did not stop there. Forcar's bones cracked and stretched. His height increased rapidly, armor splitting and reforming around expanding limbs. His jaw widened, tusks lengthening. His eyes burned bright purple, empty of reason.
Then flesh tore open along his back.
Thick, writhing tentacles forced their way out, slick with void energy. They lashed in the air behind him, each one lined with jagged hooks of hardened shadow.
Within a minute, the orc chieftain was gone. In his place stood a towering void infused monster nearly twice his original size. The ground groaned under his weight.
Rokk's eyes widened, but he did not retreat. He lifted his axe and planted his feet firmly into the cracked earth, red aura surging around him.
Forcar, no, the thing that had been Forcar, looked down at him and smiled. The expression stretched too wide across his altered face.
"I can feel it," he said, his voice layered and distorted. "This power…"
He threw his head back and laughed, the sound echoing unnaturally across the camp.
"Let me show you what you chose to lose, before I kill you."
He charged. Each step cratered the ground.
Rokk tightened his grip and prepared to meet the assault…
Boom.
A deafening impact split the battlefield.
Something struck the ground in front of him with overwhelming force. The earth collapsed inward from the shockwave. Lightning burst outward in blinding arcs, crawling across the soil and flashing through the air. Tents tore loose. Warriors were thrown from their feet.
Rokk raised an arm to shield his eyes from the dust and light. When the tremor subsided and the smoke thinned, he lowered his hand.
Forcar's massive body lay embedded headfirst in a deep crater. The void tentacles twitched once, then fell still. The purple glow in his eyes faded.
He was dead. Standing above him was a human.
The man held one hand extended downward, as if he had simply pressed Forcar into the earth. His robes fluttered lightly in the lingering wind. A faint smile rested on his face, calm and almost polite.
"Hello there," the human said.
He stepped back and brushed dust from his sleeve, as if cleaning after minor work. "We are here to talk."
Before Rokk could respond, the ground on the opposite side of the camp split open with a thunderous crack.
From beneath the earth rose a massive skeleton, towering, armored in bone as thick as fortress walls. Green fire burned within its ribcage and skull, casting an eerie glow across the camp.
On top of the giant's head stood another human, dark robed and silent, looking down at the orcs as one might observe pieces on a board.
The camp had fallen completely silent.