While travelling through the green hell I found myself in, I decided to rest in a tree overlooking a road with fresh tracks indicating a merchant caravan had passed through under my perch. This caught my attention as my Devourer Senses picked up monsters, but I didn't know which ones or what circle they were.
Looks like I have some new prey.
Following that, I leapt off the branch I was crouched on and hit the ground with a thud and started sprinting through the forest until I spotted a merchant caravan surrounded by big green humanoids. This caused me to stop running, confused, as I didn't realise what these things were.
Wild orcs. I knew the stories about them raiding the kingdom thanks to all the studying I did over the last year. Yet I'd never actually seen one until now. I felt something in my chest, like a pulling feeling, pushing me toward fighting the enemy. Why am I hungry again! This is stupid!
A feral grin crossed my face as the nearest beast swung its head in my direction. Malice gleamed in its dark eyes, tusks bared in a snarl. It never got the chance to finish the expression. I exploded forward, catching the creature off guard. My claws carved through its right thigh. Skin split, muscle parted like wet rope, and then bone gave with a wet crack.
The orc's leg buckled sideways. A roar tore from its throat as three hundred pounds of rage and meat crashed to the dirt, blood pulsing in jets across the ground. One down, the grin never left my face. It's bellow cut off in a wet gurgle as I drove my claws deeper into its throat on the way down, ripping out half its windpipe for good measure.
Hot blood sprayed across my face and chest, thick, coppery, alive with the stink of fear. I didn't wipe it away as the mana was absorbed into my body. Behind me, the merchants screamed. Not battle cries. It sounded like pure terror to me, but I noticed one of their wagons had overturned; crates of spices and silk spilt across the road like spilt guts.
They'd frozen the moment the first burst from the treeline, not knowing how to react as their guards fled. Now they were statues wearing silks, eyes wide, mouths open, waiting to die as three more creatures charged, bigger than the first, hide scarred and studded with crude iron rings, war-axes already rising.
Their eyes locked on the merchants like wolves on lambs. My new body answered before my mind finished the thought. I moved. The world smeared at the edges as superhuman speed turned ten paces into a heartbeat. Dust exploded under my boots. Wind roared in my ears as I moved.
One second, I was standing over a twitching corpse; the next, I was inside the lead beast's guard. My right hand slammed palm-first into its sternum. Ribs cracked like dry twigs. I felt the heart stutter under my fingertips before I closed the fist and yanked. A wet, sucking sound.
A fist-sized hole. It stared down at the empty cavity in its chest, confused, before toppling backwards. The second enemy was already swinging a crude iron axe, edge notched and covered with old blood. Too slow, I thought, grinning.
I ducked under the arc, felt the displaced air ruffle my hair, and came up inside its reach. My left hand hooked behind its knee while my right drove upward under the jaw. Claws punched through the soft palate, through the tongue, through the roof of the mouth, and out the top of its skull with a wet pop.
The head came free with a wet tear of sinew and a fountain of blood. The body kept swinging for another half-second out of sheer momentum before it realised it was dead. The third hesitated. I didn't give it time to make a decision. I leapt, higher than any human should be able to, landing on its shoulders like a cat.
My teeth found the meat between its collarbone and throat. I bit down hard. Cartilage crunched. Hot blood flooded my mouth. I tore sideways, ripping out a fist-sized chunk of muscle. The orc roared and tried to claw me off. Too late. Its strength was already bleeding out in spurts.
I rode the collapsing body to the ground, rolled clear, and came up spitting red. Silence, except for the merchants' ragged breathing and the wet drip-drip of blood hitting dirt. Five orcs down. The sheer electric thrill screaming through every nerve got me excited to fight even more.
After that, I turned slowly toward the merchants, and they stared at me like I'd grown horns. One woman, older, silver streaking her braids, clutched a shattered crate to her chest like a shield. A young man beside her had wet himself; I could smell it. Another was on his knees, praying, hands shaking so badly the rings on his fingers rattled.
I wiped blood from my mouth with the back of my wrist. My voice came out low, rough, edged with something that hadn't been there yesterday. ''You're safe.''
They flinched at the sound. I forced the feral grin down, tried to look human. But I failed, which scared them even more. My canines were still too long, my blue eyes too bright. Claws still dripping with blood. ''Get your wagons moving," I said. "More will come. They always do."
The silver-haired woman found her voice first. It cracked like old parchment. ''What… what are you?''
I looked down at the carnage, at the limbs, the opened torsos, the steaming gore, and then back at herm, introducing myself. ''The third Prince of this fine kingdom, Arthur Verona, and I'm not entirely sure anymore,'' I said, glancing at my claws.
Then I turned toward the treeline, ears straining for the next war-horns, the next crash of branches. The merchants were frozen, but I stalked toward the treeline. My pulse thundered in my ears, not fear, not exhaustion, but raw, gnawing need. This new hunger clawed at my insides like a living thing.
Blood on my tongue wasn't enough anymore. I needed more, needed to feed my well to grow stronger. I dropped to a crouch beside the first orc I'd gutted. Its chest still heaved in shallow twitches. I drove both hands through the cracked sternum, fingers curling around something hot and pulsing.
The grey core was still glowing, like a coal buried in meat. I ripped it free with a wet suck of tissue parting. The body jerked once and went still. Next came the heart. Bigger, heavier, slick, and black-veined. I tore it out in one brutal yank, strings of flesh snapping like overstretched cord.
The scent hit me: iron, smoke, something feral. I glanced over my shoulder. The merchants hadn't moved. They were too far, too shocked, too busy clutching each other or praying. Good. I slipped behind the overturned wagon, out of their direct line of sight, and sank my teeth into the heart.
Hot, thick blood flooded my mouth. The taste was bitter and electric, like biting into a storm cloud laced with copper. I swallowed fast, then bit again, tearing chunks free until the organ was gone. The core came next, harder, crunchier, like biting into heated quartz that melted on the tongue into molten sweetness and power.
Heat exploded through my veins. My muscles twitched and swelled for a heartbeat, claws lengthening another fraction of an inch before settling. I continued eating the others, enjoying the feeling of my Mana Well filling up. While doing this, I heard branches snap from behind me.
Next came heavy feet pounding the earth. Three more orcs burst from the undergrowth, axes raised, mouths open in roars. I met the first one mid-leap. My claws punched through its throat before its feet left the ground again; I used the momentum to swing its dying body like a flail into the second orc's face. I heard bones being crushed.
Following that, I dropped the corpse, pivoted, and drove my fist straight through the third's abdomen. Claws out the other side. I twisted, yanked downward, and spilt its guts in a steaming coil. All three were dead before they hit the dirt. I ripped out their cores and hearts in quick, mechanical motions, then ducked behind a thick oak to devour them.
I felt the same rush, same fire in the blood. Stronger now. Faster. Sharper. When I stepped back into the open, licking crimson from my lips, the forest had gone quiet again. Too quiet. Then she appeared. A beautiful orc woman stepped from the shadows at the edge of the road like the darkness itself had parted for her.
She looks like She-Hulk. I mused, admiring the newcomer.
Taller than any of the merchants' guards, her skin was the rich green of wet moss, which was a mark of Veronian high blood, not wild orc savagery. I remember there are a few Orc Families in the kingdom. She had long, wild hair the colour of fresh leaves tied into a bun, shoulders clad in segmented black-and-red armour, the ceremonial plate of a general.
The metal was forged from volcanic glass from the Duchy of Dunthera in the south and demon bone, etched with the spiralling runes of old imperial legions. Curved greaves and cuisses hugged powerful thighs and wide hips; the breastplate clung to an impossibly muscled yet unmistakably feminine torso, sculpted to intimidate, the dark fabric beneath highlighting every curve.
Wow, a perfect hourglass figure, and she's gorgeous. I thought, admiring this woman as I had never seen anyone like her.
A massive, double-headed war-axe rested casually across her back, its blades longer than my forearms and polished to a mirror sheen, more parade-ground perfect than battlefield-worn, yet no less deadly for it. Her dark green eyes locked onto me, no fear, no rage, just a cool appraisal.
It was the look of someone who had already decided how many ways she could kill me and was now choosing her favourite. Full purple lips curled into something that was half smile, half promise of violence. She tilted her head, studying the carnage at my feet, then me: blood-streaked, claws still extended and dripping, chest heaving with the afterburn of fresh kills.
''General Bloodaxe,'' I greeted the orc woman, voice low, almost pleasant. ''You made good time.''
I watched the orc beauty narrow her eyes before turning to the dark-skinned woman who stepped behind her. ''Leave us, Asmara. I need to speak to the prince alone.''
The stranger nodded and left us alone before she turned to me. ''I'm Sahara Vayra, third daughter of Duke Veyra and a Fifth Circle Warrior, but the question I want to ask is, who are you really? I've heard all the rumours and seen the pictures, you're certainly not the rude slob I assumed I'd meet.''
When I heard her words, I smiled, a genuine one as she wasn't wrong. ''I'm the prince, and he is me, that's all I'll say for now, general.''
She stared at me, then nodded. ''It's good to meet you, my prince,'' she knelt. ''I look forward to serving you and seeing where you take us.''
''Where is the rest of my legion?''
''Coming up the Highroad now, Your Highness,'' she replied. ''I assume the First Cohort and Marcus are here?''
Oh, the Highroad of Aldoria, I thought. It goes from North to South, connecting most parts of the continent. Selene mentioned it a few weeks ago.
After that, I shook my head and spoke, noticing a dark-skinned woman appearing out of nowhere, standing a few feet away. ''Yes, we're camped outside Tidewater City. I'll accompany you there.''
I grinned, showing off my sharp teeth. ''I've eaten enough.''
Sahara stiffened beside me after getting up, a visible shudder running through her as her gaze locked onto the woman ahead. I couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped, partly at her reaction, partly to ease the sudden weight in the air. The general gestured between us with a smile.
''Your Highness, allow me to introduce one of my best Centurions, Asmara Dunthera, Third Circle Warrior and one of the finest blades in the legion,'' she said.
Another daughter of a Duke, why does this feel purposeful?
I noticed Asmara's grey eyes were locked onto mine, still laced with that suspicion, like she was measuring whether I was worth her time or just another lazy or scummy prince. She studied me slowly, the way a predator sizes up something that might bite back. I met her gaze without flinching.
She was breathtaking and couldn't deny it, a tall, curvy, dark-skinned goddess carved from midnight and fire. Haven't seen any black people since coming to this world.
Her rich ebony skin glowed warm under Lumira's sun, every curve catching the shadows just right, making me gulp. I loved how her long, glossy black hair was swept up into a high, tight ponytail that swung like a whip when she moved, leaving the elegant, sharp angles of her face completely exposed, no softness, only striking beauty edged with danger.
Veronian leather armour clung to her like liquid sin, moulded to every lethal inch: a tiny, cinched waist that flared dramatically into wide, lush hips and thick, sculpted thighs that flexed with power beneath the tight leather. Her full breasts strained against the fitted chest piece, the deep red accents drawing the eye exactly where they should.