The Battle of Evindeldan

"Evindeldan is impenetrable?" "Before the progeny of the great Gruumsh, nothing is indestructible!" Mounted atop the landwyrm, the orc raised his colossal greataxe high, roaring with furious eyes that bared massive, yellowed tusks. "Roar—" Paying no heed to the ranks of orcs crowded before him, thick veins bulging along his arms, he brought the greataxe crashing down. A bolt from the blue tore through the heavens. A bloody hurricane swept forth, sending chills of terror through everyone around. In an instant, beams of bloody light ripped the air apart. Even the orcs standing in front of him were not spared; severed limbs flew through the sky as blood splattered in every direction. Boom! Dust billowed and metal groaned. As the crimson shockwaves slammed into the gate, its intricate magical patterns flickered continuously, gradually dimming into lifelessness. With vicious malice burning in his eyes, Batu swung his greataxe again and again. Arcs of bloody light cleaved through the air, shearing everything in their path—orcs, elves, war wagons, and city walls alike—cleanly in two! Accompanied by piercing, screeching wails of metal, gouges several meters long opened across the fortress gates, their surfaces smeared with a churning slurry of gore. By now, Batu Skullsplitter's single eye had turned blood-red. Drenched in slaughter, he resembled Gruumsh incarnate. "Today, I shall shatter the walls of Evindeldan, and with them, the thousand years of our orc race's miserable fate— "Shattered together!" Leaping high from the back of his landwyrm, he soared nearly a hundred meters into the air, plunging down in a vicious leaping strike toward the towering, majestic gates of cold iron. King Ed extended his warhammer, crying out in alarm, "Stop, no—!" Yet at this moment, the dwarves and elves atop the battlements were powerless to intervene. Behind Batu Skullsplitter manifested a hazy, blood-colored figure nearly a hundred meters tall, looming in the likeness of an orc. In tandem with Batu's motion, the blood-phantom orc behind him brought its battleaxe sweeping down as well. Boom—! A colossal shockwave rippled outward, whipping up a tempest of blinding dust that set the entire rampart thundering and shuddering. The orcs below tumbled backward one after another. Even the elves and dwarves on the walls trembled beneath this horrifying display of might, their legs turning to jelly. Some, overcome by panic and the violent rocking of the ramparts, lost their footing and plunged to their deaths. In the end, those gates—reinforced with countless magical wards that even high-circle spells might fail to breach—were split wide open by a single swing from Batu! For the first time in thousands of years, the impregnable gates of Evindeldan, forged by generations of legendary dwarven master smiths, were shattered by an orc! Hoisting his battleaxe with one hand, Batu burst into wild, arrogant laughter: "Hahahaha! "My people, do you see? This is the power of the All-Father, Gruumsh! This is the power of the orcs!" "All hail Lord Batu!" "For the great All-Father, advance on Evindeldan!" The orcs roared in frenzied jubilation, jostling and scrambling toward the breach, each desperate to be the first to set foot inside Evindeldan. They yearned fiercely to be the heroes who fulfilled their race's millennia-old dream, to become blessed champions favored by Gruumsh, and to attain formidable might like Batu Skullsplitter's. Driven by this madness, they began brawling and shoving one another even in the midst of the perilous battlefield. "I was here first!" "Get out of the way!" "Move! Let me in! I will be the hero of the orcs!" Yet how could the defenders on the walls allow them to stride so easily into Evindeldan, setting foot in the homeland they had sworn their lives to defend? "Defend Evindeldan to the death!" "For Moradin!" "For dwarven glory!" "Our families and friends are inside—never let these ruthless bastards breach the city!" Dwarven warriors slid down ropes, leaping from the ramparts dozens of meters above. Landing upon their shields, they rolled across the ground to absorb the impact. Crashing directly into the orc ranks like cannonballs, they swung their warhammers and thrust their spears. Wielding superb combat prowess, they slaughtered mercilessly, cutting down over a hundred orcs before the gate in the blink of an eye. The ground was instantly heaped with orc corpses, their blood pooling and coursing like a crimson river. In the end, these dwarven warriors planted their short, stout bodies before the horde, standing atop the mound of corpses to bar the narrow breach. "No retreat, even unto death!" "Filthy bastards, don't even dream of setting foot in Evindeldan!" Those dwarves who dared venture beyond the walls at this hour were the Mountain Kingdom's elite vanguard, heroes of great renown among their people. Among them was Tarin Dragonfang, a dwarven commander who had once wrestled a mighty wasteland landwyrm, snapping off one of its dragon fangs to use as a dagger and driving it into the beast's heart to protect a dwarven fortress. For that feat, he had earned the moniker "Dragonfang" and the enduring respect of his kin. Now, this dwarven hero stood squarely in the breach, gripping a spear tipped with that very dragon fang, glaring fiercely at the orcs before him. Beside him stood nearly a hundred dwarven warriors who had leapt down from the walls—each muscular, iron-willed, and bearing illustrious battle records of their own. "They're just a handful of dwarves!" "Charge! We outnumber them! Those damned runts can't hold us!" Howling and roaring, the orcs surged against the wall, crashing toward the dwarven warriors like a churning, mottled tide. Thousands of orcs completely encircled the hundred dwarves. Yet the dwarves showed not a flicker of fear; they even took the initiative to strike. Dwarven warhammers, greatswords, and spears clattered violently. The din of clashing steel rang non-stop, mingled with the crisp sound of sharp edges tearing through flesh and bone. Instantly, blood splattered and severed limbs flew. The shrill shrieks and wails of dying orcs pierced the sky, chilling the heart. Rune strikes from eldritch knights, brutal cleaves from berserkers, divine smites from paladins... The dwarven heroes unleashed an onslaught of devastating attacks, instantly wiping out the surrounding orc rabble. A thunderous roar echoed from the sky—the voice of the gold dragon, Titus. "Repulsive abomination! You have no place in this world!" Boom! Just then, a colossal arm plummeted from the sky, crashing into the orc ranks and crushing dozens of soldiers to death on impact. Orcs, dwarves, and elves looked up to see the gold dragon roaring at the heavens, broad wings beating, his razor-sharp claws and teeth dripping with foul, black blood. Not far from him, the gargantuan orc trailing black mist had lost an entire arm, the stump spurting thick, black slime. The monstrosity known as the Orc Spirit spewed dark-green bile, its jaws working slightly. It lowered its head, calling down toward the earth in a raspy rumble: "Batu... Batu... "Quick... hurry... "Take the fortress... this is our people's last chance..." Before its voice had fully faded, the monster snapped its head back up. Every orc corpse and soul comprising its frame ignited into fuel, burning with feral fury! Black fire erupted across its massive, twisted form, spewing from hollow eye sockets to grant it the strength to ruin all before it. "For the orcs!" The Orc Spirit bellowed in blind rage, descending into utter madness. Its voice resonated in countless overlapping layers, echoing like the collective roar of hundreds of millions of orcs slain in brutal slaughter over millennia. In this moment, the ancient shaman had immolated his own flesh and soul alongside those of fallen warriors, unleashing unbelievable power. Confronted by this colossal orc enveloped in black flame, Cassius narrowed his eyes, his expression shifting slightly. Is this... chaotic flame? No, it only bears a faint abyssal aspect. Tsk, it seems the orc pantheon has ties to the Abyss after all. Before Cassius could ponder further, the giant orc closed the distance, hurling a savage fist wreathed in black flames straight at him. The gold dragon dared not hold back. Unleashing his full arsenal, a swirling vortex opened within his maw, swallowing all the flames and black mist in the surrounding air. Ninth-circle spell: Dragon Absorption! Boom! The two behemoths clashed once more. Previously, Cassius had deliberately maintained an even match between them. Now, facing an Orc Spirit that had consigned everything to the flame, the gold dragon found himself hard-pressed, temporarily driven onto the defensive. Yet anyone with discerning eyes could see that although the old shaman had grown far stronger by burning himself as fuel, such a state could not last; its defeat remained inevitable. Watching the fierce clash in the sky, Batu Skullsplitter's expression softened for a rare moment, a flash of grief and rage surfacing in his lone eye. "Brothers! The shaman of the Red Blood Tribe and the great warriors of the All-Father, Gruumsh, have given their all for our conquest! They burned flesh and soul to pin down that gold-skinned lizard! "We must not waste their sacrifice! Charge with me! Take Evindeldan!" Rallied by Batu's cry, the orcs attacked once more, throwing themselves fearlessly into encircling the dwarven heroes. Batu Skullsplitter hoisted his greataxe with one hand and plunged into the fray with a roar. The totems etched across his flesh blazed with bloody light, making him resemble a demon from the Abyss descended upon the world. Tarin Dragonfang leveled his spear, stepping into his path with proud defiance: "Filthy orc! Your foe is—" "Die!" Batu wasted no breath on words. Howling, he swept his greataxe down in a brutal arc. Tarin panicked, but it was already too late to dodge. He had no choice but to raise his spear horizontally above his head to parry. Yet as the orc struck, a howling gale swept the earth, bringing with it a sickening stench of blood. Slash! A beam of crimson light surged skyward. The greataxe severed the spear cleanly, shattered the helmet, and split the dwarf's hardened skull in two. In the end, not even the dwarf's stout, muscular body was spared, sheared through with terrifying precision. In a single exchange, before he could even mount a struggle, the dwarven champion Tarin Dragonfang—who had once grappled a landwyrm with his bare hands—was cleaved in half! Seymour and the other elven wizards raised their staves atop the battlements. Several rays of light descended at once, bestowing Iron Body, energy shields, strength enhancements, and an array of other buffs upon the dwarven warriors. Yet Seymour's eyes narrowed, his expression turning exceedingly grim. A moment later, he warned in a low voice, "A relic... "The axe in that orc's hands is a sacred relic blessed by a true god! Do not clash with it directly!" Before his words finished echoing, Batu Skullsplitter let out a fierce bark, sweeping his greataxe in a horizontal cleave. A vicious arc of crimson light surged forth, kicking up clouds of dust. "Filthy orc! "In the name of Moradin, your slaughter ends here!" A dwarven paladin stepped to the very front, left hand gripping a silver shield while his right thrust a warhammer aloft. A glimmering divine barrier expanded before him. Crack! With a brittle snap, the barrier shattered like glass. Undeterred, the crimson arc sliced through the shield and the dwarf behind it, cleaving both cleanly in two without mercy. The two dwarves flanking the paladin met the same fate, their heads lopped from their shoulders before they could mount the slightest resistance. "Damned orc!" "Evindeldan will never fall!" The dwarves surged forward once more to plug the gap, yet their efforts proved futile. With a single sweep of his axe, Batu reduced several dwarven warriors to ash and ruin. Clang! Clang! Clang! Deafening booms rang out as the axe blade danced wildly. With no room to evade, the dwarves could only scramble to parry in desperation. Just then, the "Lord of the Mountains," Ed Klein, raised his warhammer high and leaped down from the battlements dozens of meters above, his voice thundering in fury: "Wishful thinking! "Filthy orc, Evindeldan has been the capital of the Mountain Kingdom for thousands of years, the shared home of all dwarves! Even if it costs my life, I will never let you enter!" In tandem with Ed's movement, a massive warhammer condensed from solid stone materialized above the ramparts, plunging down with crushing force. Hum—! A piercing drone tore the air as Ed's warhammer collided with Batu's greataxe, unleashing a violent shockwave. Dust swept across the heavens; the howling gale showed no sign of ceasing. Batu raised his head, a grotesque grin spreading across his face. Staring at the furious dwarven king, he laughed maniacally: "Ed, is this all you've got? "With meager power like this, you hope to stand against the great All-Father, Gruumsh?" Veins bulged along the orc chieftain's torso and arms. Behind him, the savage phantom of an orc materialized, radiating immense pressure. Ed was instantly forced onto the back foot, stumbling several steps in disarray, alarm showing on his face. Right then, a sword light like a silver crescent cleaved through the air, stirring powerful ripples as it slashed directly toward Batu Skullsplitter. Rhea leaped gracefully from the battlements, carrying an irresistible momentum. With unwavering resolve burning in her eyes, she swung her silver sword at the orc chieftain. "Divine Smite!" Shing—! The crescent of light collided with the orc's axe edge. In an instant, even Batu Skullsplitter was forced back several paces. He glared at the elf, his face contorting with rage and shame. "Damned long-ears!" Yet Rhea stood poised with her blade, her expression serene. Around her materialized the spirits of countless humans, dwarves, and even orcs who had perished at the horde's hands, drenched in blood and bearing looks of fierce defiance. "Vengeance!" "I will kill you!" This was the power of a legendary paladin—the Spirits of Vengeance! In a flash, countless vengeful souls converged from all directions, joining Rhea in assailing the orc chieftain. Ed finally regained his footing as well, swinging his warhammer with flashes of bright yellow light that struck like a raging tempest. Clang! Clang! Clang! The air rang with ceaseless clashes of steel, their movements moving far too swiftly for mortal eyes to follow. Working in unison, the dwarf and elf struck at the orc from different angles—and upon the elf's back, a pair of angelic wings unfolded.