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He stepped forward, towering over the questioning Orc, his shadow long and foreboding. His voice dropped into a growl that seemed to vibrate in their very bones.

"These humans... these so-called knights and mages... they carry the bloodline of the Warlocks."

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The mere mention of the Warlocks sent a chill down their spines.

Volk let the shock settle before continuing, his voice rising with righteous fury.

"Yes! The very Warlocks who butchered our ancestors! The ones who turned Orcs into mindless beasts, who tried to enslave our bloodline in the higher realm!

"They thought they had wiped us out, leaving nothing but ashes and chains in their wake. But we are here! Their mistake was letting even a single Orc survive!"

The Orcs stirred, murmurs of anger and disbelief spreading like wildfire. "Warlocks?" one growled. "Here, in this realm?"

"They think they can run from us?" another snarled, pounding a fist against his shield.

Volk raised a hand, silencing them. His voice thundered now, resonating across the field.

"You may think these humans are weak, but they are the descendants of those who sought to destroy us.

"Their blood carries the same arrogance, the same hunger for domination! And if we let even one of them live, they will regroup, grow stronger, and once again seek to annihilate us!"

An enraged growl erupted from one of the Ogres, his massive fists slamming into the ground.

Chains rattled ominously as others joined in, their deep voices blending with the rising cries of the Orcs.

Volk's eyes blazed as he continued.

"Do you not understand? They left NOTHING of our ancestors alive in the higher realm! Not their villages, not their families, not even their children!

"They butchered us down to the last infant, turning our bloodlines into mere whispers of the past!"

The Orcs and Ogres roared in unison, fists and weapons raised high. The fury in their eyes mirrored the fire in Volk's voice.

He took another step forward, his boots crushing the soil beneath him as if to emphasize his point.

"Now, it is our turn! To repay the blood debt that has stained the very fabric of our existence! We will not just defeat them—we will erase them. Leave NOTHING alive, just as they left nothing of our ancestors!"

The crowd erupted into a frenzy.

"They will know the fury of the horde!" one Orc shouted.

"Warlocks or not, their blood will soak this earth!" another bellowed.

"Warchief!" one Ogre roared, his chains rattling as he slammed a fist into his chest. "We will crush them all! For our bloodline! For vengeance!"

Volk raised both arms, commanding their attention once more. "Do you feel that fire in your hearts? That is the spirit of our ancestors, burning brighter than ever! Their vengeance flows through our veins! Their screams of defiance echo in our war cries!"

The Orcs and Ogres stomped, roared, and clashed weapons against shields.

The ground itself seemed to tremble under their fury.

But Volk wasn't finished. He lowered his arms and took a step closer to the front lines, his voice dropping into a sinister growl that made every ear strain to listen.

"Today, we don't just fight for land or victory. We fight for our bloodline, for our honor. We fight to ensure that no human, no Warlock, ever dares to cross us again. We fight to show them that their reign of terror ends here!"

The Orcs howled in agreement, their rage boiling over.

The female Orcs hissed and growled, baring teeth, their fists clenched tightly.

The Ogres roared louder, pounding the ground with their massive hands.

Volk's grin widened, satisfied with the flames he had stoked.

"And when the last human lies broken at our feet, the ancestors will look down upon us and see that the bloodline of the Orcs is stronger than ever! Now, my horde, tell me—will you let these humans live?"

"NEVER!" they roared, their voices shaking the very forest.

"Will you show them mercy?"

"NONE!"

"Then prepare yourselves! For today, the blood of the Warlocks flows, and the vengeance of the Orcs begins!"

The horde erupted in a deafening roar, their cries of fury and agreement echoing far and wide. Weapons were raised, shields slammed together, and the very air seemed to vibrate with their bloodlust.

Volk, standing tall at the head of his horde, nodded in approval. "Then let them come," he muttered under his breath, his crimson eyes gleaming. "And let them learn the true meaning of despair."

The shadows of the human army stretched far across the land, their presence growing steadily as the figures approached.

At first, it was but a speck in the distance, barely noticeable, but soon, that speck grew larger, more imposing, and the very air seemed to vibrate with the weight of their approach.

Every footstep of the advancing army was a rumble in the earth, a testament to their numbers and strength.

The marching of hundreds, maybe thousands, of humans on foot, their armor gleaming in the fading light, created a terrifying spectacle, the clinking of their weapons and shields reverberating like the sound of an impending storm.

But it wasn't the sheer number of soldiers that made the ground feel as if it were trembling under their advance.

It was the six leading figures, far more menacing and powerful than any mere foot soldiers.

At the head of them, an old man rode upon a magical lizard, his posture straight and imposing despite his age.

The creature was massive, its scales reflecting the light with an eerie, unnatural gleam, a creature born from the depths of arcane magic itself.

The old man's robes billowed out behind him as if they were made of shadows, his face hidden beneath a dark hood, but his presence was undeniable.

At the rear of the old man, five mages rode their own terrifying mounts, each one a distinct figure, as if they had been drawn from the deepest, most forgotten corners of the magical realms.

Their beasts were as strange as their masters, each one exuding an aura of danger and power that would make even the bravest of warriors hesitate.

The first mage rode a wyvern unlike any seen before. Its wings were short and frail-looking, yet the creature moved with terrifying grace, its scales a molten red that seemed to pulse with the heat of the earth itself.

Faint trails of smoke curled from its nostrils, and its eyes burned like embers, casting a fiery glow on the landscape.

The mage seated atop it was cloaked in dark red, his hands raised as if feeling the heat of the creature's body, channeling the power of fire that burned within.

The second mage, a woman draped in silver and blue, commanded a majestic, crystalline stag.

Its form was delicate yet unyielding, with antlers made of sharp, frosty-blue crystals that seemed to glow with an otherworldly light.

The stag moved with an ethereal grace, as if it barely touched the ground, its every step leaving behind shimmering trails of frost that hung in the air like whispers of magic.

The woman's eyes were as sharp as ice, and the air around her seemed to freeze in response to her will, creating a biting chill that followed her every movement.

The third mage sat atop a serpentine creature, its body long and sinuous, twisting and coiling through the air as though it were swimming through an invisible ocean.

Its scales were deep green, but with flashes of silver light reflecting off of them, creating the illusion of water running through its body.

The mage himself was wrapped in a flowing green cloak that seemed to blend into the natural surroundings, his presence nearly as fluid as the serpent he rode.

His hands wove through the air in smooth, graceful motions, and the magical energy that surrounded him rippled like the surface of a pond disturbed by a stone.

The fourth mage rode a hulking feline beast, its body covered in dark fur and jagged black horns that curved out from its head like the twisted branches of a tree.

The creature's eyes glowed a sickly green, a supernatural light that seemed to pierce through the darkness.

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Its every step left deep impressions in the ground, and when it moved, it moved with the terrifying speed and grace of a predator stalking its prey.

The mage atop it was an enigma, his dark cloak flowing around him like a shadow, his face concealed beneath a hood, but the power that radiated from him was palpable.

The very air around him seemed to vibrate with unnatural energy, as if the ground itself was afraid of his presence.

The fifth and final mage rode upon a creature of darkness itself—a massive, pitch-black arachnid whose body was covered in chitinous armor that shimmered like ink in the moonlight.

The creature's legs were long and spindly, moving with an unsettling, jerky rhythm, and the sound of its many legs clattering across the earth was enough to make the hairs on the back of one's neck stand on end.

The mage, cloaked in black, sat atop the arachnid's back with an eerie calm, his eyes glowing faintly red beneath his hood.

The creature exuded an aura of dread, and every step it took seemed to be one closer to some dark, inevitable fate.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

As these six powerful figures drew closer, the ground beneath them seemed to pulse with a palpable tension, as if the earth itself was afraid of their approach.

The human army behind them was a sea of steel, their armor gleaming and shields raised, their weapons ready for the coming clash.

The knights, soldiers, and mages all stood ready, their faces grim and determined. But it was the magical beasts and their riders that truly stole the breath from the air.

Their magical presence was overwhelming, as if reality itself bent and twisted around them.

The air shimmered with the power they wielded, making the very atmosphere thick with energy.

The armies of Orcs and Ogres, who had been preparing for a clash with what they thought would be a simple, mundane enemy, now felt the full weight of the opposition.

The air was charged with anticipation, fear, and a sense of inevitability, as if the world itself held its breath, waiting for the moment when these two forces would collide.

The tension was unbearable, and yet, neither side moved.

The Ogres and Orcs stood firm, their weapons clenched tightly, eyes locked on the human forces ahead of them.

Their commanders, Volk among them, stood at the forefront, waiting for the right moment to give the command. But the humans, too, were at the edge of their seats, preparing to unleash their fury.

The ground trembled beneath their feet as the two armies, separated by only a few hundred yards, waited for the battle to begin.