CHAPTER 50: A WAR OF A THOUSAND CUTS

My name is Isabelle Vhagar.

My Wrecking Crew is a bizarre, monstrous family.

Reina, the Dhampir, is a silent storm of destruction.

Fenris, the Werewolf, is a loyal beast whose snarling presence is a strange comfort.

Lillith, the Lilim, is a walking, talking psychological operation.

And Stoney... Stoney 2.0, a new Living Mail created to replace the first, is our unshakeable shield.

They are my team. They will not break. They will not flee.

Our mission is not one of conquest, not yet. It is a mission of pure, calculated cruelty.

For six days, we have been a nightmare haunting the edges of Gorgon’s shopping mall domain.

On the first day, we struck the main entrance. A dozen of his Ogre guards stood watch. We did not engage them in a battle of strength.

BOOM!

Fenris and Reina exploded from the shadows, a synchronized attack.

The ground cracked as they launched themselves. The wind shrieked.

Reina’s fist, a miniature detonation, struck one Ogre in the knee, shattering it.

Fenris was a blur of black fur, his claws tearing out the throat of another.

We killed three before the alarms even sounded, then vanished back into the ruined streets before their main force could respond.

On the third day, we found their supply route, a reinforced service tunnel where goblin squads hauled crates of what looked like salted meat and crude iron.

Lillith created an illusion of a massive, terrifying treasure monster.

The goblins, true to their nature, dropped everything and fled in shrieking panic.

We destroyed the supplies and collapsed the tunnel entrance.

The attrition was working. The scouts we sent (Giant Bats loyal to our Lord) reported that Gorgon was in a constant state of fury, smashing furniture in his throne room and roaring at his subordinates.

Today is the sixth day. We are going deeper.

Our target is the parking garage, a key staging area for his patrols. We move through the dark, concrete levels like ghosts. The air is thick with the smell of oil and Orc.

We find our targets: a squad of twenty elite Orcs, clad in heavy iron armor, preparing for a patrol.

"Now," I whisper, and my team becomes a whirlwind of death.

But something is wrong. As we engage, a deafening roar echoes from the level below.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The entire parking garage trembles, the concrete floor vibrating violently.

Heavy, pounding footsteps, faster than they should be, are ascending the ramp.

"It’s a trap," I say, my voice tight. "He was waiting for us."

From the ramp emerges Gorgon himself, his ten-foot frame radiating pure rage. His warhammer, a slab of concrete on a rebar handle, is held high.

He is flanked by his twelve elite Ogre Bloodkin, their eyes glowing with red fury.

"I’VE GOT YOU NOW, RATS!" he bellows, his voice shaking the very air.

BOOM!

He charges. It is not a run, it is an avalanche of muscle and hate. The air shrieks and splits around his massive form.

"RETREAT! NOW!"

A voice echoes in my mind. It is Lord Ragnar. His command is cold, absolute. No ego. No foolish pride. Just strategy.

"You heard him! Fall back!" I command my team.

We turn to flee, but Gorgon is too fast. He is upon us, his hammer raised to obliterate Fenris.

"NO!" a voice, not of words but of pure, unshakeable will, resonates from Stoney 2.0.

The Living Mail, my silent shield, plants himself between Fenris and the Demon King. He raises his shield.

CRACK!

The sound is the end of the world. Gorgon’s warhammer connects with the shield in an apocalyptic detonation of force.

A massive, white shockwave explodes outwards, shattering the concrete pillars around them and blasting the rest of us off our feet.

The wind howls, a deafening shriek of tortured air.

Stoney 2.0 doesn’t just break. He vaporizes, the enchanted metal turning to superheated dust in an instant.

But he bought us the second we needed.

"GO!" Reina screams, grabbing Lillith and pulling her towards the exit ramp. Fenris and I cover their escape.

We burst out of the mall and into the gray daylight of the ruined city street. Behind us, we hear the triumphant roar of Gorgon and the pounding steps of his ogres as they give chase, blinded by bloodlust and overconfidence.

"He’s followed us out,"

I say, a cold, predatory smile touching my lips for the first time in days.

"He’s left his fortress. He’s on our turf now."

I spin on my heel, Dáinsleif a whisper of dark metal in my hand.

"Wrecking Crew," I command, my voice like ice. "Avenge our comrade."

The pursing ogres, caught in the open street without the tight confines of their dungeon, are suddenly clumsy and exposed. We are no longer retreating. We are hunting.

BOOM!

I move, faster than they can track. My blade meets the throat of the lead Ogre.

The impact is a sharp, final crack. A small shockwave ripples from my sword, and the hulking beast collapses.

Reina and Fenris become blurs of red and black, flanking the disorganized mob.

Lillith casts a mass confusion spell, and the powerful ogres begin stumbling, swinging their clubs at phantoms.

The battle is a brutal, one-sided reversal. Within a minute, the entire elite guard lies dead in the street.

Gorgon, seeing his best warriors slaughtered before his eyes, lets out a final, frustrated roar of pure hatred before retreating back into the safety of his mall.

We stand panting, surrounded by the bodies of our enemies.

We lost a comrade. A good soldier. But the mission was a success.

Lord Ragnar’s plan worked. It was cruel. It relied on sacrifice. But it was effective.

I look at the dark entrance to the mall, where the Tyrant now cowers. This is a new kind of war.

And I am beginning to understand its brutal, beautiful logic.

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The war of attrition against Gorgon the Tyrant was a slow, grinding, and deeply unsatisfying affair.