34. Thrag

34

THRAG

M y heart thunders in my chest as the circle of orcs tightens around Vorrak and me. The snow beneath our boots is churned and bloodied from my earlier skirmish with the three orcs. The icy air cuts through the thin layer of sweat coating my skin, but the chill does nothing to cool the fire raging within me.

Vorrak swings his massive double-bladed axe first with a growl, the steel slicing through the air like a deadly whisper. I dodge, the spray of displaced snow a crisp counterpoint to the roar of battle in my ears. My muscles coil and release as I counter with a heavy swing of my own axe. The impact reverberates up my arms, a jarring clash of metal that echoes through the silent forest.

"You're slower than I remember, Vorrak," I taunt, my voice a low rumble that cuts through the din.

He snarls, his icy eyes narrowing with fury. "I'll carve that smirk off your face, Thrag," he growls.

We surge together again, a brutal ballet of fists and axes. Our roars blend with the clash of steel, the sound a primal song that speaks of survival and dominance. I feel the sting of Vorrak's blade as it grazes my side, a line of fire that only fuels my determination.

I push through the pain, my own weapon finding its mark. Vorrak grunts, staggering back as blood blossoms on his thigh. "Is that all you've got?" I challenge, circling him like the predator I am.

His lips peel back in another snarl. "I'll grind your bones to dust, traitor," he seethes.

We clash again, our axes meeting in a shower of sparks. I can feel the eyes of the Icefangs on us, their breaths held in anticipation. They see Vorrak as their champion, their hope for victory. But they don't know me. They don't know the depths of my resolve, the strength born of loss and redemption.

I drive Vorrak back with a flurry of blows, each one a declaration of my refusal to yield. "You're nothing without your clan," he spits, his voice laced with venom.

My jaw tightens, and I strike with renewed fury. "I am the clan," I roar. "I am its memory, its vengeance."

Our battle rages on, a testament to the warrior code that binds us both. We are evenly matched, our blows landing with brutal precision. Vorrak and I are locked in a dance of death, our weapons clashing with a ferocity that could shake the heavens. Each strike is evidence of our brute strength, each parry a display of our skill. This is the way of our kind—honor won through combat.

But then, a sound pierces the night, a sound that chills my very soul. Screams erupt from the cave, not the battle cries of warriors, but the terror-filled shrieks of the innocent. My heart sinks, and for a split second, my focus wavers.

Vorrak seizes that moment of distraction, barreling toward me with renewed vigor. Pain explodes across my ribs and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as Vorrak's fists pummel into me like the relentless hammering of a blacksmith. Each blow is a brutal reminder of the cost of failure, of the precious lives hanging in the balance.

But it's the thought of Claire, her warm brown eyes filled with trust and hope, that fuels my iron will to push beyond my limits. I stumble, my vision swimming with stars, but I refuse to fall. I’m suddenly overtaken by a desperate need to protect what's mine.

"Claire," I whisper, her name a sacred mantra that strengthens my resolve.

Vorrak laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that grates against my every nerve. "What's the matter, Thrag? Missing your little human pet?" he taunts.

Rage courses through me, hot and wild. No, I love Claire. The realization is as sharp and clear as the glint of Vorrak's axe in the moonlight. Love, a sentiment once foreign to my warrior's heart, now defines it, beats for it. I cannot—will not—let this be the end. Not for her. Not for us.

With a roar that tears from the depths of my being, I channel all my fear, all my love for Claire, into one final, devastating attack.

I drive my axe into Vorrak's stomach, the blade sinking deep into his flesh. His eyes widen in shock, his laughter dying in his throat as the lifeblood pours from his wound, staining the snow a deep, dark crimson. I twist the axe, pulling it free with a sickening squelch. His lips move, forming silent words, but no sound escapes. With a final, shuddering breath, Vorrak collapses, his body going limp in the snow.

The Icefang orcs watch in stunned silence as their leader falls. I stand over Vorrak's body, my chest heaving, my axe dripping with his blood. I've avenged my clan, I've protected the humans, and I've proven myself as a warrior and a leader. But as I turn to look at the cave, my victory feels hollow.

Flames lick at the cave's entrance, their fiery tongues consuming the sanctuary we've built. Smoke billows into the night sky, a dark plume that serves as a grim beacon. The screams grow louder, more desperate, and my heart shatters into a thousand pieces.

"Claire..." Her name is a prayer on my lips, a plea to any god who might be listening.

My knees buckle, and I drop to the ground, my body screaming in protest. Pain lances through me, a stark reminder of the toll this battle has taken. I can feel the warmth of my blood seeping into the snow.

I try to rise, to go to her, but my battered body refuses to cooperate. My vision blurs, the faces of the villagers swimming before my eyes. I can hear the Icefangs murmuring among themselves, their voices a low, ominous rumble. They are leaderless now, uncertain of what comes next. But their uncertainty is nothing compared to the fear gnawing at my gut.