CHAPTER 58: BELANOR AND THE GREAT CHIEF

The coliseum pulsed with unease. What had once been roaring cheers dissolved into a low murmur that rippled through the crowd like restless waves.

"Is that an Elf?" one orc barked nervously.

"No...it can’t be an Elf. Doesn’t look like one."

"That thing... it fits the old tales. The description of a human."

"Bah, don’t be stupid. Humans don’t exist. They’re myths!"

But on the high throne, the Great Chief leaned forward, his massive tusks glinting in the torchlight, eyes fixed on the figure below. His gut told him the truth his people dared not believe.

"...A human," he muttered, wiping the corner of his eye as if to clear away disbelief.

Rikon looked at him in horror. "Come on, Great Chief....you can’t possibly mean that. Humans are long gone! Extinct for centuries. That thing must be some Elf trick."

But the Chief shook his head slowly, nostrils flaring as he drew in the scent of the stranger. "No. It doesn’t carry their stench. Doesn’t reek of elf." His voice grew rough with awe. "This... this is real. By the gods, I never thought I’d see one with my own eyes."

The crowd grew restless, voices clashing in confusion and fear.

Then the Great Chief stood. His massive form loomed above the coliseum, and silence crashed over the orcs like a falling axe. Thousands of eyes turned toward the throne as his booming voice rolled out.

"You!" The Chief’s arm extended, his colossal finger stabbing down at the lone figure in the arena. His voice cracked like thunder. "What creature are you?"

Belanor lifted his head. The torchlight caught his smile, a wide, razor-edged grin that did not waver. His eyes locked with the Great Chief’s as if nothing else in the world existed.

And then he spoke, his voice low yet carrying to every corner of the coliseum, cold as the grave.

"I..." He spread his arms slowly, like a dark prophet addressing his congregation. "...am death."

The Great Chief’s chest rumbled as a laugh escaped him, low at first, then swelling into a thunderous boom that echoed across the coliseum walls. Orcs exchanged uncertain glances, some forcing chuckles to mirror their leader, while Rikon let out a strained, awkward laugh that sounded more like a cough.

"You..." The Chief’s laughter tapered into a grin, tusks gleaming in the torchlight. His massive hand clenched the armrest of his throne. "You are human, aren’t you?"

Belanor’s smile did not falter. His eyes gleamed with an almost feverish light.

"Currently, yes. But soon..." he tilted his head, sweeping his gaze slowly across the sea of green faces, "...I’ll become something far greater than a mere human." His voice sharpened, cutting through the silence. "And you, every last one of you, will help me ascend to that."

The Chief’s laughter died. The coliseum seemed to shrink beneath the weight of his silence. His burning eyes locked on Belanor’s. "Did you do that to..." He snapped his fingers impatiently at Rikon. "What was his name?"

"Fibrin, Great Chief," Rikon muttered, trying to steady his voice.

"Agh, yes. Fibrin." The Chief leaned forward, resting his enormous chin on one fist. His voice rumbled like distant thunder. "Tell me, human... did you do that to him?"

Belanor glanced casually toward the crater where the broken body still lay, tongue lolling grotesquely. His grin widened as he ran his fingers back through his white hair, as if brushing away dust from some trivial task.

"I didn’t bother learning his name," he said softly. "But if you’re referring to the one I hurled from the heavens..." He gestured lazily toward the corpse with two fingers. "...then yes. That was me. His only purpose was to bring me here." His eyes narrowed, glinting like knives. "And now that I’m here, he has no purpose left."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Some orcs clutched their weapons, others shuffled uneasily. A murmur spread like fire in dry grass.

The Chief’s jaw tightened. His fingers drummed against his throne.

"If you did that to him," the Great Chief rumbled, his tusks catching the torchlight, "then you also crossed paths with his war band. Where are the others?"

Belanor tilted his head, feigning thought, then let out a quiet chuckle.

"Ah... yes. Them. Unfortunately, they suffered a minor accident." His voice lingered mockingly on the words. "The sort one doesn’t recover from."

A sharp gasp ran through the stands. Orc jaws tightened, fists clenched on axe handles.

Rikon’s eyes went wide. "No... no way. There’s no way he killed them all." He shook his head as though trying to banish the thought. "According to our history, humans were clever, yes...but weak. Fragile things. They couldn’t possibly...."

The Chief silenced him with a raised hand. His deep voice carried across the coliseum like rolling thunder.

"Or perhaps that is what they wanted us to believe." His gaze never left Belanor. "So much of our history could be lies... fragments twisted by time. Do not forget..." his voice hardened, echoing now with unmistakable authority, "....it was the humans who brought about the fall of Kareth’Zul. The ruins still burn with their shadow. That alone should tell you what they were capable of."

Rikon swallowed hard, words drying on his tongue.

The Great Chief rose slowly, his massive frame casting a long shadow across the stone. The crowd hushed instantly under the weight of his presence. His voice dropped to a growl, low but venomous.

"And now, one of them stands before us. Alive. Bold. Smiling." His hand tightened on the hilt of the colossal axe strapped to his throne. "This human..." He bared his tusks in something between awe and rage. "...could be more dangerous than even the Elves."

The orc crowd stirred uneasily. Murmurs gave way to growls. All eyes locked on Belanor.

And still, he only smiled.

"I’m glad you feel it too," Belanor said, his smile cutting like a blade. "What we call Aura in my world. Terrifying, isn’t it?"

The Great Chief grinned, tusks flashing. "Not at all, human. I have felt storms fiercer than this... Tell me, why are you here?"

Belanor’s eyes swept the coliseum, drinking in the stares. "I’m here to raise an army. To offer you a chance..." he gestured lazily at Fibrin’s broken body, "...to taste true glory. That poor fellow told me much before he died. About your wars with Elves and Gnomes. About your losses. You’re bleeding land, bleeding pride." He stepped forward, arms raised. "I can change that for you."

The Great Chief’s voice thundered, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. "You still haven’t answered me. Why are you here? And why do you need an army?"

Belanor’s smile faltered into annoyance. "I don’t enjoy being interrogated, but fine, old man. I need an army to wage war against other humans."

The coliseum roared with confusion.

Rikon blinked, stunned. "Other... humans? You mean...they’re here too?"

"That’s right," Belanor said smoothly. "Enemies of mine. Enemies of yours too, though you don’t know it yet. Luckily, I was first to arrive in your lands." His grin widened, cruel and proud. "But some of my rivals may already be in Elf or Gnome territory. Which means..." he lifted two fingers mockingly, "...you have roughly eighty-one powerful humans roaming your world. Well, seventy-nine, after I killed those two."

"Seventy....three?" Rikon stammered, unable to process. "Seven...?"

"Good, you can count," Belanor teased. "I thought you Orcs left mathematics to the Gnomes."

The Great Chief let out a low, bitter laugh. "You want us to join you? After you slaughtered my war band?" His massive hand gripped the haft of his axe. His eyes burned with contempt. "That will only happen over my dead body."

Belanor’s smirk sharpened, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper that carried across the arena.

"I wouldn’t mind granting you that dying wish."

"Careful there, human, you speak to the Great Chief!" a guard in heavy armor barked, stepping forward, his voice echoing across the arena.

Belanor barely even looked at him. He flicked a finger.

A thin crimson line shimmered across the guard’s face. For a heartbeat, the Orc stood frozen. Then, with a sickening crack, the upper half of his head slid clean off, clattering to the sand while the armored body remained standing for a moment, headless, spurting dark blood.

Gasps tore through the coliseum. Some Orcs screamed in horror, others roared in outrage. The air was thick with panic and awe, every throat vibrating with disbelief.

"Worthless scum shouldn’t dare speak to me," Belanor said coldly, his smile unfazed, his finger still lazily raised as if he were flicking dust away.

Sothwid, still in the arena, gritted his tusks and drew his massive blade. His roar shook the walls as he charged, every muscle rippling with rage.

Belanor sighed. "Another fool."

As Sothwid’s thunderous steps closed the distance, something flashed, a nearly invisible thread of red light, gleaming like a spider’s silk under moonlight. Suddenly, Sothwid’s scream split the air. His legs remained rooted where they had been, but his upper body toppled forward, severed clean at the knees. His torso slammed into the dirt, blade slipping from his hands as blood fountained violently across the sand.

The coliseum went deathly silent. The crowd’s roar died into stunned whispers, disbelief spreading like wildfire. Even the Great Chief’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched.

Belanor tilted his head mockingly, stepping around the writhing, screaming Orc. "You really should watch where you step." His eyes rose to meet the Chief’s with cruel delight.

"So, Great Chief..." Belanor’s voice dripped with venom and arrogance, carrying to every corner of the coliseum.

"...what shall it be? Will you join me....or will you fight me?"