CHAPTER 57: THE GREAT ORC CHIEF

The small Orc stronghold of Gomora was unusually alive today. The clang of steel rang out from its crude coliseum, where two warriors clashed in a frenzy of muscle and rage. The arena shook with the roars of onlookers, eager for blood and glory.

"Cut his head off, Bahamas!" a tusked brute bellowed, foam and spit flying from his mouth. "Show him who you are!"

"You’ll drink on my cask tonight if you beat him, Sothwid!" another roared, lifting his ale high. "Split him open, and the night is yours!"

Inside the pit, swords met with bone-jarring force. Sparks leapt into the air as the two Orcs circled, their breath steaming in the dusty heat.

Far above the rabid crowd, seated apart in a raised stone dais, the Great Chief watched the fight with narrowed eyes. His massive frame was draped in wolf pelts, a crude iron crown resting upon his brow. Beside him stood Rikon, his half-burnt face twisting into a grin as the duel raged below.

"Who do you favor, Great Chief?" Rikon asked, his scarred lips curling. "Which beast takes the victory today?"

The Chief stroked his chin, his gaze sharp and steady.

"Bahamas fights like fire, wild, fearless, burning fast. But he squanders his strength, swinging to kill with every strike. He seeks a single blow to end the match." He shifted his gaze. "Sothwid, however, is ice, slower, colder, conserving his strength, waiting for the right moment to strike. Fire burns bright, but ice endures. My bet lies with Sothwid."

Rikon chuckled, his ruined face pulling into a crooked smile. "Then I’ll put my tusks on Bahamas. He’ll end it before the ice ever forms."

The Chief only smirked, shaking his head as steel clashed again below, the crowd erupting like thunder.

"Any word on Grizbarn?" the Great Chief asked at last, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder.

Rikon’s grin faltered. "Ugh! Nothing. Not a sound since he set off to track that wretched gnome."

The Chief’s heavy brow furrowed. "Three days... and still no return." He leaned forward on his throne, tusks catching the firelight. "That is unlike him. Grizbarn does not lose trails. He does not take this long. By now, the rat should’ve been cornered, his skull split open, his blood feeding the dust."

Rikon shifted uneasily. "I’ll send a warband to Kareth’Zul, Chief. They’ll sniff out what happened."

The Chief gave a slow nod, though his eyes lingered on the arena below without truly seeing it. His fingers drummed against the arm of his throne, restless.

"Do so," he growled. "But mark me, Rikon..." He paused, his gaze darkening as if he saw something beyond the coliseum walls, beyond the mountains themselves.

"...something stirs in those ruins. And if Grizbarn has fallen, it is not the gnome we should be hunting."

The Great Chief noticed the twitch in Rikon’s jaw, the way his one good eye refused to meet his. He leaned forward slowly, voice like a grinding stone.

"Something else gnaws at you, Rikon. Speak."

Rikon froze, then swallowed hard.

"Well?" the Chief pressed, his tusks bared in a grin that was not friendly.

"Ugh... you see, Great Chief..." Rikon stammered, bowing his head lower, "the warband that was patrolling the Blood River... they haven’t returned either."

The Chief stirred in his seat, the wood of his throne creaking under his weight. His deep growl rolled through the air. "What’s that?" He rose slightly forward, eyes narrowing. "And why, Rikon, am I hearing this only now?"

Rikon nearly buckled under the stare. The Great Chief’s calm voice was always worse than his roars. Calm meant restraint. And restraint meant the storm had yet to break.

"I...I only learned of it this morning, Great Chief!" Rikon bowed deeper, forehead nearly touching the dirt.

Moments ago, he had been laughing with the Chief over ale, tossing bets about blood and steel. Now his gut churned. With the Great Chief, joy could turn to terror in a blink.

"And you thought it wise..." the Chief said slowly, leaning back, "to keep such news to yourself?"

Rikon’s words tumbled out in a rush. "I feared it would sour your day, Chief! The coliseum, the cheering, it is a day of strength and revel. I...I didn’t want to weigh you down with grim tidings."

The Chief’s lip curled. "Wrong." His eyes burned into Rikon like hot coals. "This news does not spoil my mood." A cruel smile spread across his face. "But it will certainly spoil yours."

He turned back to the arena, where the clash of steel rang out like drums. His mood shifted with unnerving ease, his voice suddenly light. "For now, let us enjoy the spectacle. When the fight ends, we will see which of us has won the wager."

Rikon’s throat went dry. He said nothing, for he knew speaking would only dig his grave deeper. The only question that remained was whether he’d meet his end the moment the fight was over, unless, by some twist of fate, something else stole the Chief’s attention first.

Below, the coliseum floor shook as Bahamas swung his massive blade with a roar, sweat flying from his face. His breaths came ragged, each strike heavier than the last, more desperate than calculated. The crowd screamed his name, urging him to end it with brute strength.

But Sothwid stood like a stone in the storm, calm, measured, eyes sharp. Not a bead of sweat touched his brow. He let Bahamas burn himself out, each wild swing cutting only air.

Bahamas heaved his sword overhead for one final, reckless blow, veins bulging in his arms.

And then Sothwid moved.

A blur of precision. His foot slid forward, his wrist twisted, and with the smallest flick of motion, the hilt of his blade crashed against Bahamas’s temple with a dull, echoing crack.

Time froze.

Bahamas’s eyes rolled back, turning white, his sword slipping uselessly from his grip. For a heartbeat, he remained upright, body stiff as though the fight wasn’t yet done. Then, like a felled tree, he toppled in silence, crashing into the dirt with a thunderous boom.

The coliseum erupted. Cheers, howls, and stomps shook the stands, orcs bellowing in frenzy at the sudden, merciless end. Dust swirled over Bahamas’s fallen body as Sothwid stood tall, barely winded, blade lowered at his side like a master who had never doubted the outcome.

From above, the Great Chief’s tusked grin widened.

"Hahaha! I told you he’d win, Rikon," the Great Chief bellowed, tusks flashing as he laughed. "Brute strength is nothing if you can’t use your head."

Rikon forced a nod, his face stiff.

"Oh, don’t look so miserable," the Chief chuckled, his tone deceptively warm. "Forget all the problems. Enjoy the blood, the victory... have a great time."

He rubbed his palms together, leaning forward as Sothwid lifted his blade, soaking in the thunderous cheers of the crowd. Orc voices shook the crude wooden stands, their guttural roars echoing off the jagged cliffs that loomed above Gomora.

"Now then," the Chief said with a predator’s grin, "who’s next? Who will entertain us next?"

But before Rikon could answer.

Whhoooom!

The air split with a violent rush of wind. Something plummeted from the sky like a black comet. It smashed into the arena floor with a deafening crash, throwing up dirt and shards of rock in a choking cloud. The ground trembled beneath the impact, and all at once the cheers died.

Silence.

Even Sothwid froze, his chest rising and falling as he stared at the dust-choked crater. The only sound was the low groan of the arena walls settling after the impact.

Slowly, cautiously, he stepped forward. Each boot crunched on the dirt floor as the dust began to thin. The crowd leaned in, breathless. The Chief himself narrowed his eyes, his huge frame shifting forward on the throne, curious.

And then the haze cleared.

Sothwid’s face hardened. At the center of the crater lay the crumpled body of an orc, battered, bruised, bones bent in unnatural angles. Its eyes bulged wide and lifeless, its swollen tongue lolling grotesquely from its mouth.

The smell of blood and broken flesh wafted into the stands.

The orc champion stared down, his blade trembling slightly in his hand. "What... what just happened?" he muttered, confusion giving way to dread.

The crowd began to murmur uneasily. Something had fallen from the sky, and it wasn’t done by accident.

"Can you see what fell into the arena, Sothwid?" the Great Chief’s voice thundered from his throne, booming over the hushed crowd.

Sothwid crouched at the edge of the crater, his grip tight on his sword. "It’s... it’s an orc," he called back, disbelief in his voice. "Looks like... Fibrin."

The Great Chief’s brow darkened. "Fibrin?"

Rikon stepped forward, bowing his head. "Yes, Great Chief. He was with the war band patrolling the Blood River."

A ripple went through the Chief’s jaw as he ground his tusks. "And now he falls from the skies...?" His gaze drifted upward into the brooding clouds above Gomora.

And then he saw it.

Something, someone, was descending slowly, almost gracefully, through the stormy night air. The wind stirred as the figure drew closer, its silhouette sharp against the moonlit clouds. At first glance it carried the elegance of an Elf, but the Chief’s eyes narrowed. No... it lacked their slender arrogance, their pale aura.

This was different. Broader. Heavier. Something older, something thought long erased from the world.

The Chief’s heart thundered. Impossible...

"There!" Rikon cried, pointing with a trembling hand. "Great Chief, do you see it?"

The coliseum erupted in uneasy murmurs. The crowd that moments ago bellowed with joy now whispered with fear and wonder. Orcs jostled each other, their eyes glued to the descending figure. Some spat curses, others muttered prayers.

And then, he landed.

The figure touched the arena floor without sound, without effort, as though the world itself had lowered him down. Dust curled around his boots as he straightened, his face catching the torchlight.

It was no Elf.

It was a Human.

A being not seen in a thousand years.

The Chief leaned forward, his knuckles whitening against his throne. The crowd recoiled, some roaring in anger, others gasping in awe.

The man smiled, his expression sharp and cruel, as if the orc coliseum was nothing more than a stage set for his arrival.

"I see I’ve finally got your attention..." he said, his voice carrying across the arena like a blade drawn free of its sheath. His eyes burned with challenge as he looked up at the Chief.

"...Orc scum."