Book One – Chapter 13

Now, as the horde hurled themselves at the massive voltera with renewed recklessness, Gorak led the charge, his grand axe raised high. Behind him, the warriors surged forward in a frenzy of violent motion, their eyes burning with battle-lust, while Nagrak was pushed to the rear, barely able to keep pace. In his deluded mind, the warriors’ indifference was not disdain but respect, a silent acknowledgment of his importance. He believed they were shielding him, protecting him until the moment when his hidden powers would finally awaken and reveal his true worth.

Nagrak knew that he could not fight until those powers manifested. He was convinced that the krag expected greatness from him, just as he did from the other orichs. Nagrak’s black eyes, wide and gleaming with nervous energy, darted frantically between Gorak and the voltera. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat amplifying his certainty.

Yes, Gorak needed him. The horde needed him. This was his moment. It needed to happen now. Today was the day his magic would manifest.

But Gorak’s attention was not on Nagrak, nor had it ever been. He was locked in a battle of life and death with the voltera. With every lunge, the beast aimed to crush the ork line and overrun their ranks. Yet each time, Gorak and Baltagar, his brother, met the beast head-on and pushed back with all that they had, their grand axes cutting through the freezing air with brutal efficiency. From underneath, the edges of their chipped weapons bit deep into the creature’s neck and chest, forcing it back with every swing.

Dodging and striking, the brothers moved as one, instinctively covering each other’s blind spots. Whenever the beast reared up, claws slashing toward Baltagar, Gorak was there, his strikes relentless, delivering a flurry of blows to keep the voltera at bay. And when the creature attempted to trample Gorak, Baltagar hurled himself forward, deflecting its massive paws and claws with sheer brute force.