1. Sarod

1

SAROD

T he roar of the crowd still echoes in my ears as I step into my sprawling mansion on the outskirts of Orcland. The zyrphix match today was brutal, but we came out on top. As team captain, the pressure weighs heavy on my shoulders, but damn if I don't live for it.

I flex my muscles, feeling the ache of victory. My green skin glistens with sweat, and I can't help but admire the scars that crisscross my body. Each one tells a story of triumph on the zyrphix pitch.

"Wine," I bark at a passing human servant within my home. I can hardly even remember their names anymore. There are so many of them scurrying about like animals, tending to my every whim. They scurry off, knowing better than to keep me waiting. Smart move on their part.

I sink into a plush chair, my massive frame dwarfing the expensive furniture. My mind drifts to Connie, that manipulative bitch. My grip tightens on the armrest, threatening to splinter the expensive wood underlying the soft fabric of the chair. The memory of her smug face as she walked out on me makes my blood boil.

The servant returns with a goblet of rich, red wine, the color reminiscent of the blood spilled on the zyrphix pitch today. I snatch it from their trembling hands, not bothering to acknowledge them as they retreat. The wine sloshes dangerously close to the rim, but I don't give a damn if it spills. What's another stain on the carpet when you're the champion of Tlouz?

"Connie," I growl, taking a long swig. Our last fight plays out in my head like a bad dream. Her sharp tongue, cutting me down despite all I've given her. My success, my fame, my fucking heart—and it wasn't enough. Nothing was enough for her.

I drain the goblet in one long gulp, memories flooding back like a tidal wave I can't escape. The way she'd cheer from the stands, her voice rising above the chaos of the zyrphix pitch. Those piercing eyes fixed on me, urging me on. The nights we'd spend celebrating my victories, her body pressed against mine, our sweat-slicked skin sliding together in the darkness. But it was all a lie, wasn't it? Just another game she was playing, and I was too blind to see it.

The wine turns bitter in my mouth, coating my tongue with the taste of betrayal. Without thinking, I hurl the empty goblet across the room, relishing the satisfying crash as it shatters against the wall. Tiny shards of crystal explode outward, glittering in the lamplight like fallen stars.

"Clean that up!" I roar, my anger boiling over, fists clenched at my sides. The servants scramble, fear etched across their faces as they rush to obey. Good. Let them be afraid. I bare my tusks in a snarl, daring anyone to challenge me. But of course, they won't. They never do.

I stand, my massive frame towering over everything in the room. "I want this place spotless by the time I get back," I snarl, stomping towards the door. "I'm going out for the night. And I'll have someone's head if my things aren't organized when I return."

The night air hits me as I step outside, but it does little to cool my rage. I need a distraction, something to take my mind off Connie and the hollow ache she's left behind.

"Fuck that," I mumble to myself, wiping the remnants of wine from my bottom lip. "If she wants to leave me, fine. That doesn't matter. I'll fine someone else to warm my bed."

Many other human women have done so since we ended our relationship for good. They adore me. They throw themselves at me, knowing what I'm capable of on the zyrphix pitch. And while humans are pathetic, lowly creatures for the most part, they make a good fuck when I'm lonely at the end of the night.

For that reason, I swagger into the dingy tavern near the more uncharitable parts of Orcland, my presence immediately drawing every eye in the room. The air's thick with smoke and the stench of cheap ale, but I don't give a shit. This place is beneath me, but it'll do for tonight. Hell, it might even be perfect for what I need —a quick fuck to forget my troubles.

"It's Sarod!" someone shouts, and a ripple of excitement runs through the crowd. Damn right it's me. I can't help but smirk, feeling the weight of their stares. They know who I am, what I can do on the zyrphix pitch. It's almost pathetic how they worship me, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it.

I make my way to the bar, shoving aside anyone too slow to move. The bartender, a scrawny human, practically trips over himself to serve me. His eyes are wide, like he can't believe I'm actually here in his shithole of an establishment.

"What'll it be, sir?" he stammers, wiping his sweaty palms on a dirty rag.

I slam my fist on the counter, making him jump. "The strongest shit you've got," I growl. "And keep 'em coming."

As I wait for my drink, I scan the room. Plenty of admirers, both male and female, orc and human. They're all eyeing me like I'm a piece of meat. Usually, I'd bask in it, but tonight it just pisses me off.

A gaggle of women catches my eye, their high-pitched giggles grating on my nerves. One of them, a plain-looking human with long blonde hair, keeps stealing glances my way. She's nothing special, but she'll scratch the itch for tonight.

I beckon her over with a lazy crook of my finger, watching as she practically stumbles over her own feet in her haste to reach me. Pathetic, but amusing.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I drawl, not giving a damn about her answer. My eyes roam over her body, assessing what she's got to offer.

"M-Mila," she stammers, her cheeks flushing a deep red. Her eyes are wide, drinking me in like I'm some kind of god. It's almost too easy.

I grab her waist roughly, yanking her close enough that I can smell the cheap perfume on her skin. "Well, Mila," I growl, my breath hot against her ear, "looks like you're the lucky girl tonight. Hope you can handle it."

As I'm about to lead Mila away to one of the rooms, another tavern girl catches my eye. She's human too, with brown hair and a face smudged with dirt. She scowls when she meets my gaze before averting her eyes, her lips curling in disgust. I can't help but chuckle at her obvious disdain.

That amuses me more than it should. Seems like the human doesn't like orcs that much, by the look of it. She frowns and shoos away the hands of every orc that tries to reach her, her movements sharp and irritated. She rolls her eyes whenever an orc whistles for her attention, muttering curses under her breath that I can barely hear over the tavern's raucous noise.

I watch her for a moment longer, intrigued by her defiance. It's refreshing, in a way, to see someone who isn't falling over themselves to please me. But I've got Mila waiting, and I'm not about to waste my time on some human who can't appreciate what's right in front of her. Still, I file away the memory of her scowl, thinking it might be fun to rile her up later if I get the chance.

I watch as another girl barks orders at her. "Josie, can you clean up those tables over there?" So that's her name. Josie. It suits her somehow, short and sharp like her attitude.

She nods quickly, all business-like, and scurries off to follow instructions. My eyes track her movements as she weaves through the crowded tavern. There's something about the way she moves - quick, efficient, purposeful. No wasted motions. It's almost mesmerizing, watching her dart between patrons and tables, her small frame easily slipping through gaps that would give me trouble. She's like a well-oiled machine, clearing plates and wiping surfaces with practiced ease.

I find myself wondering how long she's been working here, how many nights she's spent navigating this sea of drunken bodies and spilled ale. It's not often I pay this much attention to a tavern girl, but there's something different about this one. Something that keeps drawing my gaze back to her, despite my best efforts to focus on Mila and the night ahead.

Interesting little thing , I think to myself, unable to look away. She's bustling around like a good worker, serving drinks left and right and deftly avoiding the grabby hands of drunken orcs who try to clench her by the waist. I've gotta hand it to her - she's got some skills. Most of these tavern girls would be squealing and giggling at every pinch and grope, but not this one. She's all business, and I find myself oddly intrigued.

For a moment, our eyes meet across the crowded tavern. There's something in her gaze that makes me raise a brow - a defiance, maybe even a challenge. It nearly makes me want to call out to her, ask her what the fuck she thinks she's looking at. But then I remember she's just another human, not worth my time or energy. Just a tavern girl, probably hoping for a good tip from the likes of someone like me.

I turn back to Mila, pushing all of those thoughts out of my mind. Her curves are more inviting anyway, and I'm not here to waste time on some human serving wench.

"Let's get out of here," I growl, husky with anticipation. I'm already thinking about how I'll use this girl to forget my troubles, if only for a night. The alcohol's buzzing through my veins, making everything seem a bit hazier, a bit more urgent. "I've got better things to do than sit in this shithole all night."