Hogarth Steel Fist was having a terrible day.

It had been steadily growing worse over the last few months, but ever since their mysterious guests had come to stay at the orc tribe's capital, things had accelerated.

More and more often he was pulled from his alone time in the forge, to settle some dispute between his clan and another.

He was well aware that this was a responsibility that came with his position which he carried out with diligence and honor. He wouldn't even think twice about accepting the position again, but the last two months had been steadily grinding down his patience.

His clenched fist, covered in a metallic sheen, crashed into the face of an angel, caving the smug grin she wore into her brains. Shaking the mixture of bone fragments and blood from his fist, he could feel the miniscule amount of metal in the angel's lifeblood seep into his fist, slowly but surely strengthening them.

There had always been tension between the clans. That much was Hogarth sure of. It was in their nature as orcs to struggle and to fight. To prove their superiority, over their surroundings, the other mortal races and even each other. But ever since the stoneskin tribe had been destroyed and massacred almost to the last child, the nature of the struggle between the orc tribes had changed.

No longer were they striving to better themselves, to teach the best warriors, to teach the best smiths, to teach the best archers or even to rear a powerful shaman.

No, instead the tribes began to tear eachother down instead of lifting each other up in healthy competition.

Taking another look around, and especially upwards, Hogarth took a moment to observe the angels. Seeing that the way forward was as clear as it could be, he gestured to the young ones that followed behind him.

After their escape from the blood fields they had made their way slowly but surely towards the center of the city, towards the shamans tent. On the way there they had lost 4 of the young ones, mostly from the almost inescapable arrow volleys. The last one, a somewhat promising apprentice, had been skewered by one of the angels descending down on their spear.

Although he knew it was somewhat callous, Hogarth was glad that his disciple had been spared until now. The young one showed the most promise and a seemingly innate talent for metalwork. Already his mastery and progress in the [Steel Fist Art] rivaled Hogarth’s own.

Just as they could see the shamans' main tent and the defensive perimeter around it, they were stopped. They were just crossing the intersection at the lovers rock, when a squadron of angels descended in a loose circle around them.

Hogarth immediately raised his fists in the traditional [Hammer Fist] stance. One arm raised in front of him, the fist pointing skyward and his forearm guarding his left side. The other hand was positioned at the right, close to his body and ready to lash out with all the force his body could produce.

The young apprentices huddled back to back behind him, scared out of their minds. Only his protegee assumed a fighting stance. Something Hogarth would normally take enormous pride in, if it weren't for the fact that the angels would slaughter the young boy.

Most of them were about to cross the second leap, while his apprentices hadn't even crossed the first. Only the fact that Hogarth had been trying to perfect the constitution of his fists and his mastery of the [Steel Fist Art] had hindered him from crossing the second, something that not even the clan elders knew. Now he was kicking himself for not abandoning his pride and crossing the second, then he would have had a chance of affecting this battle for real.

The encircling angels continuously taunted, both Hogarth and his apprentices, while slowly but surely tightening their encirclement.

“Blasted cowards…” Hogarth spoke, more to himself than to the angels, yet they had apparently heard him as they each simultaneously froze, before a collective look of fury crossed their faces.

The leading angel, a tall man with a bald head and shining blue eyes stepped forward on his own. His face was a mask of serenity, yet his eyes spoke of a barely contained rage.

Hogarth prepared himself for a brutal fight. This angel was stronger than the others. Not only was his physical body bigger, but he could feel the incredibly pure mana the angel passively emitted. He had to be near the precipice of the third leap. The angel began to yell, in somewhat proficient orkish, about the mercy of the father and other religious drivel.

Hogarth's mind was straining between listening to the angel's “righteous tirade” and observing his surroundings, trying to find a way out of this situation. His heart drummed in his chest with loud thundering beats, overpowering Hogarths hearing as his focus narrowed to a point.

With a strained exhale, he lowered his stance by a tiny margin and was just about to seize the initiative, when his focus shattered like a frozen puddle under heavy boots.

Walking leisurely behind the angels that had cut off their route was a group of orcs, completely free of any signs of struggle. A group of seemingly combat ready orcs, equipped with full plate armor and carrying sheathed weapons at their side, were just walking by them, as if they hadn't seen Hogarth and the children.

It took a moment for hogarth to bring his mind in order, after which he immediately called out.

“Clan Fire Mountain! I require your aid!”

The group of orcs came to an immediate stop, while the bald angel grew even more furious after having been interrupted.

Out from the group stepped a figure he was sadly very familiar with. The chief of the Fire Mountain tribe was not someone Hogarth would ever call a friend, but in this moment he was incredibly glad to see him.

Just as Hogarths spirits rose, he was immediately crushed. The chief of the Fire Mountain tribe came to a stop shortly behind the bald angel, before lowering his head. The warriors of the Fire Mountain tribe stayed at a distance, seemingly ignoring the situation unfolding right before their eyes.

“What do you want?” the bald angel seethed towards the chief. “I am preoccupied as you can clearly see!”

“I was hoping to observe.” the chief responded, before continuing after a short pause. “Or contribute.”

Hogarths mind went blank at the statement. An uneasy premonition had grown in the deepest reaches of his subconscious, that he had refused to acknowledge. Yet that simple request from the chief of the Fire Mountain was more than enough evidence.

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“You have your mission, I have mine! Now be gone!” muttering under his breath, the angel added “Filthy goblin blooded-”

His muttering was interrupted as Hogarths right fist smashed into the center of his breastplate. The oddly shimmering metal was caved inwards and the angel staggered a few steps back.

Looking down at his chestplate, the angel saw the imprint of a fist left in the metal of his armor, before furiously looking back at the offender. Yet the moment he beheld Hogarth, he flinched.

The unusually short orc looked absolutely terrifying. The whites of his eyes had been completely overtaken by a deep red, his teeth were bare and viscous saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth with every exhale. The normally impressive muscles the master smith had cultivated were bulging and straining, writhing beneath his skin like snakes.

Worst of all was the blood red glow shining through his skin beneath his scars. Every burn scar or cut that littered the smith's arms glowed a deep red.

The chief of the Fire Mountain tribe scoffed. In his mind this was over. Hogarth had fallen to the red thirst. Now he would be stronger, but his mind would not be able to cope.

Just as he was about to turn away, a glowing red fist came shooting for his face. He had neither perceived nor anticipated Hogarths approach and could only watch as time seemingly slowed down. He could neither bring his guard up in time, nor could he parry this blow.

Just as the fist was centimeters from his face, a silver blur impacted its side, causing the wild swing to go wide, missing his face by a hair. Hogarth was immediately unbalanced as the force of his own blow carried him sideways.

The bald angel turned a fury filled gaze towards the chief, “Leave!” he yelled, before turning his attention back towards Hogarth, who was already approaching for another massive swing.

As the chief retreated with shaking legs, the angel twirled his halberd in a threatening display of control. A normal opponent would have been somewhat intimidated, but Hogarths mind was overflowing with rage, leaving no room for hesitation.

After dodging the impressive haymaker, the angel firmed his grip and slashed at Hogarths outstretched hand, only for the blade of his halberd to bounce off with a metallic ringing.

Now it was the angels' turn to be astonished. While that hadn't been a full power swing, his halberd should have cut through any being of the second tier without problem.

The angel's momentary lapse in attention was almost enough for Hogarth to land another attack, yet the angel dodged at the last moment, causing the strike intended for his head, to only impact his left pauldron.

Now that Hogarth was this close, he began a furious assault of punches, his arms leaving behind a pale red after image, as the glow beneath his scars intensified.

The angel was momentarily on the backfoot, trying to dodge the flurry of blows that grew tighter and tighter as the old smith's muscle memory asserted itself. The earlier wild swings were replaced by well timed and executed punches that left the angel no space to retaliate with his comparatively long weapon.

Just as the angel prepared himself to take one of the punches in hopes of escaping the deadly assault, Hogarth missed a step.

In a motion more akin to a wild beast, he turned around and smashed his fist into the side of another angel's jaw, who had just struck Hogarths unprotected backside. The almost characteristically smug smile was wiped from the angel's face as a red glowing fist tore his lower jaw from its rightful place, showering the ground next to him in a spray of golden blood, shattered teeth and bone fragments.

Another attack caused Hogarth to whirl back toward the bald angel, who had used the opening to thrust the tip of his halberd into Hogarths hip.

With two deep wounds, one on his lower back and one on his hip, Hogarth should have slowed down considerably, yet the opposite happened. A pale red haze flowed from the two wounds, instead of the blood that should have. And instead of Hogarths motions being restricted by the wounds he seemed to grow faster and more ferocious.

The angel, now wiser than he had been a few seconds ago, flapped his wings and propelled himself backwards to take advantage of his longer reach.

Now at a comfortable distance, he began to exchange lightning fast blows with Hogarth. His halberd was unable to injure the smiths arms, but it was more than capable of injuring everywhere else.

With the angel's new advantageous position, he began to dismantle Hogarth systematically. Whenever the old smith was preoccupied with parrying or overextended on a punch, another angel was there to take him unaware.

The other angels had decided to ignore the group of mostly unawakened teenagers and focused solely on the smith. Over the next few moments, Hogarth was beset on all sides by sharp weapons, looking for any opening to exploit. His back was littered in cuts, yet no single wound was immediately fatal.

A few times Hogarth managed to react in time to land a counter on one of the angels stabbing him in the back, taking out three more who now laid broken and bleeding on the reddish soil, their golden blood reflecting the sun that was still bearing down overhead.

After another such counter, which left the offending angel with his nose stuck in the back of his skull, the bald angel finally had an opening for a crippling blow.

The silvery halberd came crashing into Hogarths knee like a lumberjacks axe, immediately crippling the old orcs movement. Hogarth tried to whirl around, but he stumbled as he shifted his weight onto the injured leg. His thick leg muscles held the important bits in place, yet the knee itself was utterly destroyed, leaking a dense cloud of red mist.

The angel, in a moment of overconfidence, left the head of his halberd in reach of Hogarths hands. The old smith grabbed the silvery shaft of the weapon with blood slicked hands and pulled with all his might.

For a moment his hands slipped along the shaft, unable to properly grip due to the blood staining his palms. But a moment later, his hands caught below the axe head, giving hogarth enough leverage to pull.

Unable to expect such a desperate move the angel was pulled off balance, falling towards Hogarth who met the angel with a savage elbow strike to the nose. The strike held the entirety of the force that Hogarths battered body could produce, but it sadly wasn't enough to elicit more than a sickening crunch.

The angel was thrown onto his back, where he stayed for a moment, seemingly stunned at the fact that his nose was now as flat as the rest of his face.

Hogarth struggled to his feet and took a few limping steps towards the prone form of the angel. The wounds along his back slowly began to seep crimson liquid as the haze that had kept his blood inside slowly receded. The glow beneath Hogarths scars turned fainter and fainter, yet the red of his eyes didn't.

He took a few wobbling steps towards the angel, when a spear of golden light came shooting down from the sky, impaling Hogarth through his intact knee and nailing him to the ground.

Moments later two more spears came down, one impaling the other leg and the other nailing Hogarth firmly to the ground through his gut.

Hogarth raised his crimson eyes to the sky, his face contorting into an animalistic snarl.

A haughty, but powerful voice descended from above, dashing the hope that had been building in the frozen apprentices.

“I think that's about enough.”

The bald angel struggled to his feet, before straightening his body and saluting with his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Cugh-” a deluge of golden blood began to seep from his cratered in nose, as the angel cleared the liquid from his throat. “Commander!”

A lithe figure descended from the sky, previously hidden by the sun's radiance. Clad in the usual white armor, but with multiple golden inlays. In her hand she held a fairly broad golden claymore and from her back protruded three pairs of golden feathered wings.

“My expectations were already low, but to think you would disappoint me to such a degree. I'm ashamed to call you part of my force Captain.”

Her voice was clear and even, her tone carefully neutral, but the words seemed to have the desired effect as the bald angel averted his eyes in shame.

The commander shone with a perpetual golden light, which made it difficult to look at her from the ground. The apprentices were frozen in fear, while Hogarth struggled against the weapons that pierced his body, similar to a wounded animal.

The commander let out a sigh that would have sounded alluring to most listeners, had the situation been a different one.

“What do I even need subordinates for, if they cause more work than what they help with?”

A moment of strange calm washed throughout the gathered observers, as the question hung in the air.

Barely a moment later a golden streak shot from the sky, impacting the lovers rock, causing pieces of shrapnel and sharp rocks to spray everywhere, while a cloud of pulverized stone momentarily hindered sight.

From the crater that used to be the lovers rock, the form of the commander stepped forward, her face a mask of fury, which was somehow not directed at the terrified orcs, but the bald angel captain.

“I ASKED YOU A FUCKING QUESTION!”

The bald angel flinched back, while his mouth struggled to form proper words, clogged as it was with the blood that still spilled from the back of his throat.

“WHY THE FUCK SHOULD I KEEP YOU AROUND? ALL YOU DO IS CREATE MORE PROBLEMS!”

The angel struggled to find an answer, when the Commander suddenly froze. Her shining golden eyes narrowed to tiny points as she looked around. A feeling of bone chilling wrath was spreading throughout the intersection, but it wasn't coming from anything readily apparent.

Hogarth was still stuck to the ground, his animalistic craze not focused enough to create such an aura of anger. The commander's gaze swept across the intersection, looking at every person there, trying to figure out who was expressing their displeasure, until finally her eyes caught on a black sphere that lay a couple of meters behind her.

Confusion crossed her face as she found the source of the aura. The sphere of black stone seemed to be entirely inert, except that it was radiating hostility, which was seemingly directed at her.

The longer she stared uncomprehending at the sphere of rock, the stronger the feeling became, as if it was incensed at her audacity to continue looking at it.

Just as the commander took a step towards the sphere, a flash of fire in the distance caught her immediate attention.

The moment she turned towards the direction the flash had originated from, her eyes widened.

With barely a moment to react the commander crossed her arms in front of her face, blocking the immediate impact of a fist, which came to a stop after touching her guard.

Peeking between her arms, she saw the beaming smile of a black haired woman, whose fist had impacted her guard. Just as she loosened her guard after executing a successful block, the smile on the black haired woman's face grew ever so slightly wider.

An instant later a wave of pure force and heat exploded outwards from the woman's outstretched fist, shooting the commander away, her back impacting multiple tents and wooden carts as she shot away from the black haired woman.

The angels stood, not comprehending what just happened, not daring to believe that their commander had been overpowered that easily.

The orcs on the other hand started to feel a smidgen of hope.

A bit of clarity returned to Hogarth's eyes.

“Lady Lucifer….” he muttered.

“Thank the ancestors.”