Orcs, a name derived from the Italian word “orco,” meaning foul demon or beast. The game excelled at making them appear this way at first glance, especially their gray skin and balding heads as though they had rotten from the inside out. But what had thrust upon Farkas and Paulie were anything but the actions of a mindless army. It wasn’t their first encounter, but with the noise of bugles in the distance, it might as well be.
image [https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIG2.iUzQrE2otjk_zgedMCOq?dpr=3&pid=ImgDetMain]
The orcs didn’t charge at them head-on like the slimes or goblins, preferring a more efficient strategy eerily similar to traditional human warfare. On one side, Farkas steeled himself against a legion of spears in a tight row, ready to barbecue his guts out, while the rest had forced Paulie to split from their ground. With their shockingly nimble stride, they lunged at him at speeds no different from a sports car.
Now, if the game blessed you with average player physiology, like running across the field faster than sound, a dozen orcs coming your way didn’t seem that bad. Alas, the horde would never be so kind as to give them an even chance. No matter what horizon his Lupinian eyes observed, the army roared at the billions and maybe even trillions. He’d rather not know the whole estimate, but it was loud and angry.
Damn it, I hate using these again. It hurts like shit. Farkas raised his hands, bearing claws that began shining a coat of silver under the moonlight. Eventually, his teeth made way for a pair of fangs, ripping through his gums in a bloody affair on both ends. Surprisingly, the orcs halted their assault like they had realized the imminent danger of his feral aura.
The only thing left to do to complete the light transformation of his lineage was to keep in touch with his player instincts. His screen was more than ready to give him just enough strength to slaughter them in droves:
Choose an Upgrade
[Way of the Pistol]
The deadly accuracy of ancient marksmanship
+40 ATK, -30 DEF, +40 SPD
Gain super skill [Guns Akimbo]. 6-second cooldown
[Way of the Spell]
The mystical science of ancient sorcery
+70 ATK, -50 DEF, +15 SPD
Gain super skill [Hex Mirror]. 4-second cooldown
[Way of the Wind]
The sweeping destruction of ancient weather
+80 ATK, -70 DEF, +30 SPD
Gain super skill [Hurricane Sickle]. 7-second cooldown
Many months ago, Farkas wouldn’t use his innate skill when beginning a fight. The power it gave him paled to his best friend’s, made worse by its massive effect on defense in favor of a decent increase in attack. On the other hand, the speed boost wouldn’t make much of a difference in the long run, especially with these enemies. But if he learned anything over the past few days, it was to loosen his shoulders and put all his faith in the word fun.
“Wolfsjagd!” he declared, summoning a slashing tornado around his claws in a jaw-like fashion. Against the first row, the initial gust turned all their spears into extra-thin metal and wood, with tens of thousands of orc heads littering the field. Others had worse luck by getting reduced to ribbons.
The next row doubled in size, flanking Farkas into a boulder. Fortunately, the [Way of the Wind] did more than merely complement his razor-sharp combat, even if his next move was unimaginative. With the yell of a new attack named Wolfsbane, the enemy flew onto the heavens at every angle, uprooting even the grass beneath his feet.
Sprinting to another spot with a heavy breath, he reunited with Paulie, whose face showed the same madness of pure fun. “Very tough challenge, amirite, dude?”
“Oh, you bet!” Paulie agreed, spinning his ax with casual finesse against any orc dumb enough to get close. “I read about the lore section of these guys the other day. It turns out they have a taste for vegetable soup when we’re not on the menu.”
Farkas laughed at the idea that orcs enjoyed something not even his Lupinian stomach could tolerate. If only he could actually witness the little things in this game instead of more “flavor text,” as Hajime would say. He could already picture his pearly white grin across the cosmos, lucky enough to fight otherworldly NPCs that wouldn’t just disappear after the fun was over. It was sad but very much expected for the horde.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Coincidentally, they gained roughly the same kills, with Farkas only being one orc shy away from reaching level 50. It didn’t really matter since it was time for his secondary skill to gain more raw damage.
Choose an Upgrade [Smart Rounds] Bullets have a chance to home in on multiple targets with additional piercing damage [Forbidden Arts] On hit, spell attacks will lower the defense and speed of enemies in a short radius. No effect with other skills [Boreas Punishment] Enemies that get too close will be subject to a forced levitation effect. Can affect other players if seen as such
In truth, it was a no-brainer to choose the third option, even if Farkas loved the first one. Perhaps one day, he could make live ammunition out of his claws. It was probably best to keep that dream hidden in his thoughts since Paulie smirked at his face like an older brother who knew how utterly stupid it was to believe such things. Nevertheless, he jumped into the fray at the next orc wave, which now quadrupled in numbers.
It was one of the game’s more annoying mechanics, begrudgingly enough. Each wave followed a formula similar to two apples becoming eight instead of four. Eventually, those apples would become thirty-two, and thirty-two would become one hundred and twenty-eight. There was no amount of rinsing and repeating the player routine to stop any slime, goblin, or orc from multiplying into literal oceans of mass brutality. They just needed to fight harder.
That wasn’t to say players didn’t have their own brand of luck against the horde, as Farkas had delightedly shown with more fun in his soul. He was confident that a mere swipe of his claws could turn entire cities into ghost towns, something he never would’ve imagined without being its first witness. Every “tsunami” of orcs trying to end his life became little more than droplets on a leaf once he decided to use two hands.
After another howling Wolfsbane to conclude his second dose of fun, the entire field fell silent like a church on Wednesday. His heart came close to pounding out of his ribs in anticipation of the final wave, perhaps not even in a comedic manner. The screen flashing before the two players had no hilarity to give.
Boss Battle image [https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIG2.0rJG3gqfEZPyiswgKCBV?dpr=3&pid=ImgDetMain] Purandar the Terrible HP 200,000,000 ATK 50,000 DEF 60,000 SPD 20,000
Farkas knew this wasn’t their first encounter with the orcs, but he forgot to mention to Paulie that they had yet to get past the orc king’s initial assault. It was a technique not so different from his slashing gales, only somehow worse than even the depths of hell itself, so much so that his mind wouldn’t wish to remember its name. Perhaps there was no need since Purandar began to lift his sword high in the air without as much as a sound, unlike his minions.
Paulie prevented him from coming any closer, resting his ax on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
“What? How?” said Farkas with a raised eyebrow. “We’ve never gone this far without that guy killing us in a millisecond. I don’t think even Hajime or Clovis will have an easy stroll with him.”
“Oh, they will. I’ve seen the latter run circles around this boss.” Paulie gave his ax another twirl, and what appeared to be a miracle in the eyes of a Lupinian, his arm grew a subtle bulk. “Remember when people always say I’m a different breed? Well, I finally found out what made me special. You see, there was once a game in Trom that—”
Heartbreaking. Before Paulie could present his resolve in possibly the most legendary reveal Farkas would’ve witnessed all day, Purandar made a crimson stain out of him on the grass with his infamous [Dead Moon Swing]. If his claws could turn cities into ghost towns, the orc king’s blade could turn mountains into dust.
“Paulie!” He didn’t want to yell his name like a lost child in a forest. His friend had eight more lives to spare before the inevitable game over, but that only meant his Lupinian self had more than enough humanity, so to his detriment, another crescent slash of green energy befell his glance as he turned back.
Paulie… Farkas crawled on his elbows, leaving his other half behind. How inconvenient it must’ve been not to unlock the extra lives [Blessing]. Just before lights out, he noticed the orc king switching his attention to a more menacing threat, whatever it was. All he knew was that two distinct roars bombarded his senses that night, with only one of them being familiar.
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Several watchful gazes continued their favorite pastime of observing whatever player was on the field. Some gave up to do better things, disappointed that the new hero wasn’t there to entertain their boring lives, while others remained seated in sheer amazement.
“Holy moly, I’ve never seen this side of Paulie before,” said a young teenage boy, his frilly afro shaking from his excitement. “He can crush You-Know-What if he wanted to!”
An older man next to him cleaned his aviator shades for a moment until they regained their luster. “Umm, I don’t think that’s possible, meu cara. Can you imagine even that bastardo Clovis scratching that thing? He thinks he can, but we know better.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right, but maybe once I get a hold of its true power, we can finally free our reality from its grasp! It’s stupid, but a man can dream.”
“Well, why not let me fly you to its domain right now? We’re the Seven Miracles, no? You’ll become number one instead of him.”
“Meh, it’s an interesting title, but we’re not invincible. It feels pretty comfy being at number three.”
“Agreed. The real question here is, when is the other bastardo going to realize he already has a spot at number two?”
“I don’t know. Maybe when the mission’s over.”