Lucifer sat on the roof of a cart, Aindaeth laying with her head on Lucifer's lap. The sun was shining more intensely than usual. Aindaeth said it had something to do with all the mana released during the fight two weeks ago, causing the surrounding weather to grow more extreme.
As Lucifer gently scratched behind Aindaeths ear, she let her gaze slowly travel around.
All traces of the fight that had taken place just two weeks ago were gone, instead the area was overrun with orcs bearing the iconography of their clans. Every clan was represented in the masses, apart from clan Fire Mountain.
The orcs had gathered en masse around the massive central tent that denoted the center of their city. In front of the tent now stood a massive stage covered in a dizzying array of runes.
Excitement and agitation pulsed through the mass of gathered orcs like a physical wave, making Lucifer uncomfortable. Unconsciously she began to ignite the air at her fingertips, fidgeting with the tiny flame.
There was a truly staggering amount of people present. Objectively, Lucifer knew that the orc city had a large population, numbering in the millions. And not even half of them were present.
“I have not been in the presence of this many people for ages.” she said to Aindaeth, who only let out a sleepy groan.
“In my old world, if I ever revealed myself in front of this many people it would have been a disaster.”
Over the next few minutes, more and more orcs gathered, some coming from their clan strongholds outside of the city, but most from the city itself.
From the spot Lucifer occupied, she and Aindaeth had a perfect line of sight to the stage.
At the front of the stage, Lucifer could see the gathered clan leaders, one of which was Hogarth Steel Fist. The short smith had recovered very well, only sporting a few bandages along his legs and back. Even to an official event like this one, the smith refused to wear anything else except his forging apron.
Next to him stood a familiar young orc, the apprentice having luckily survived the angel attack.
Lucifer continued to let her gaze travel across the gathered mob of people, until an uproar from the front of the crowd drew her attention.
From inside the central tent, Daranturn walked out, Flanked and trailed by the ceremonial guard.
Daranturn walked with his staff, clad in a red and black robe, his hair and beard decorated with small bones and steel baubles. The ceremonial guards trailing alongside him were similarly clad, their bone armor painted in mixtures of red and black, studded with steel spikes and plates. Their helmets were left white, but were seemingly polished for the occasion.
The crowd broke into cheers as they saw the old man, not quieting down until he had ascended the wooden steps to the stage. Once the ceremonial guard had arrayed themselves behind him, one of them came forward and lit a steel brazier with the snap of a finger.
Despite containing no actual fuel, a vibrant orange flame came to life, flickering wildly.
Simultaneously, hundreds of braziers scattered throughout the crowd lit in tandem with the same orange flame.
Lucifer felt something uncomfortable from the fire, noting that every flame moved like a mirror image of the others. It felt wrong somehow. Restrained.
She felt Aindaeth shudder a tiny bit on her lap, looking downwards to see a grimace across the severe face of her humanoid form.
“I hate that feeling. Fire is supposed to be free, not chained and controlled like this. Mortals and their perversion of the natural laws.”
Lucifer looked back up again, just in time to see the synchronized flames, slowly morph into an image of Daranturn on the stage.
The crowd roared as even those too far away could now see the beloved head shaman.
Daranturn showed his characteristic grandfatherly smile while he waited for the crowd to calm down.
It took a good five minutes before the crowd calmed down again, during which Daranturn only smiled. Once the crowd was finished with their yelling, he raised his left hand, causing the masses to instantly quiet down.
“Today my children, is a day that will live on in infamy.”
Daranturn began his speech in a solemn tone.
“Our people have been living at the edges of the wasteland for generations. We have lived in harmony with the land for generations. We have guarded the mainland from the dangers of the wastes for generations. We have harvested rust grass for generations. We have been forging steel for generations. We have been Warriors for generations”
With every sentence his voice grew in intensity.
“We have been living peacefully for generations!”
Daranturns voice echoed through the city, amplified by the braziers that carried his image.
“THEY HAVE FORGOTTEN WHO WE WERE! WHO WE ARE!” he thundered.
“Just two weeks ago a force of golden colored angels launched a cowardly surprise attack on this beautiful city”
At the reminder of the attack, the crowd exploded in a furious roar that persisted for at least a minute, before Daranturn’s raised hand quieted them down again.
“Like the cowards they are, they attacked without warning. They came from above, like flying vermin, to take us by surprise. They attacked our city, burned down our homes, killed our livestock and slaughtered innocent civilians!”
“LIKE COWARDS!”
The crowd roared in tandem with Daranturn, who had spoken himself into a rage, his angry scowl being seen by the entire crowd.
“When the angels attack, the humans are not far behind. This is known.”
Daranturn smashed the butt of his staff down onto the stage and a subtle ripple flowed outwards.
“It's beginning!” Lucifer whispered to Aindaeth.
Lucifer closed her eyes for a moment, before opening hundreds of others all across her head. She tugged at the connection between her and Aindaeth’s soul.
The dragon settled herself onto Lucifer's lap, closing her eyes tightly.
A strange sensation overcame Lucifer, as Aindaeths consciousness traveled along the bond, only to end up directly next to hers. It felt like there was an extra mind inside her skull.
“Apt description, since it's mostly true.”
Aindaeths voice echoed through Lucifer’s skull.
Now with all of the eyes open, Lucifer could see as a deluge of multicolored mana began to pour from Daranturns body, only to immediately be sucked into the runes on the stage.
Multicolored lines traveled along the ground, flowing outwards from the stage, connecting each of the braziers to the stage. The lines continued to expand until they encircled the entire crowd of onlookers. At least a million orcs were inside the gargantuan ritual circle.
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Lucifer trained two of her soul-sight eyes on the stage, observing the crowd of ethereal forms behind Daranturn. The number of ethereal orcs had drastically fallen in the aftermath of the attack, many giving up the last of their consciousness to support their living descendants.
One after the other, the orc ancestors stepped up behind Daranturn, laying their hands onto his back and pouring their mana into him.
As if the mana had a mind of its own, it began to pull strings of magic from Daranturns soul. To Lucifer's many eyes it looked like a mix of karma, mana and the matter that compromised souls.
Akin to the arms of an octopus, the strings moved through the crowd. Once they came into contact with a person, they buried themselves into their body, latching onto the orcs soul. From there, new strings emerged from the orcs soul, only to repeat the process.
Lucifer watched as the strings multiplied themselves, pulling a tiny bit of mana from each orc, until after only a few breaths of time, Lucifer's sight was overwhelmed with the density of strings.
She began to close different eyes, until her sight cleared up to a sufficient level.
Now with her sight unobstructed, she could see the strain this put on the old shaman. He was trembling, but the ethereal hands of his ancestors steadied his body.
Daranturn continued his speech, as if he had not just created a massive working of magic.
“We have lived at the edge of the wasteland for generations. But that was not always the case. Every one of you knows the tales of old. Of orc war bands numbering in the millions. Of our cities made in harmony with the land. But the human kingdoms always want more. They destroy, they ravage, they pillage and then they construct their cities on our corpses.”
Lucifer observed as the flow of mana equalized across the masses. Mana being exchanged and flowing from soul to soul, until every last orc present had at least some mana in them.
A sound like the opening of a lock echoed through the city as the ritual seemed to finally settle into place. None of the orcs reacted, every eye being trained on Daranturn as they listened with rapt attention, their mind caught up in the swell of emotions the old man poured into the connections to his soul.
Like the tidal wave of emotions from earlier, only this time tightly controlled and managed as to not overwhelm.
“And this time is no different! The angels came and the humans will follow. But I ask you this: where will we go? We have no more ground to give! We have no more land to cede! Twenty years ago we lost one of our tribes and already the humans are at our borders again!”
Lucifer watched as a mixture of sadness, anger and resentment flowed through the crowd. None feeling more than they usually did, yet the strings vibrated with a strange resonance as the feelings spread.
“Will we continue to run away like cowards? Face our extinction with acceptance? Or will we do like orcs do?”
The crowd exploded into furious yells, their hoarse screams harmonizing with the unheard sound of the strings vibrating.
As if waiting for a signal, a group of eight orcs started ascending the steps to the stage. The chief of every remaining clan.
While Daranturn continued his passionate speech, Asha emerged from the Shamans tent, flanked by two of the older shamans. She was naked as the day she was born, except for a band of leather and steel that covered her eyes.
Trailing behind them were two ceremonial guards, their heads covered with large bird skulls. Between them they carried the limp form of Carborg Fire Mountain.
The previously imposing orc looked beaten, his eyes glassy and unfocused.
Yet Lucifer could feel the contained rage and indignation in his soul, even from a hundred meters away.
The two groups ascended the stage, until they came to a stop next to the old shaman.
“As orcs it is in our nature to struggle. To seek to better ourselves. We seek to dominate our surroundings so that we may live in unchallenged harmony. We struggle so that we may thrive, for our families, for our clans, for our blood.”
Carborg was dragged forward by the guards, until he knelt in front of Daranturn, his body held upright by strings of magic.
Furious yells came from the crowd as Carborg’s sorry state was broadcasted for all to see. Daranturn gestured to the traitor before continuing.
“Yet in spite of all of what makes us orcs, this one here betrayed us! He sold himself and his people to the humans and their god, intending to let us pay the price. THIS MAN IS NO ORC! HE IS A SNIVELING COWARD THAT HAS FORSAKEN OUR WAYS!”
The crowd continued to roar, as a familiar red haze began to leak from their souls, oozing along the strings.
Tiny wisps of the red thirst escaped the orc bodies, only to fall to the ground. Similar to an early morning mist, the red haze began to collect on the ground.
“AND FOR THAT HE WILL DIE!”
With that exclamation the roar grew in intensity. As Lucifer listened to the cheers, she noticed that the eyes of some orcs were growing red at the edges, as more and more of the red haze flowed from their souls.
“AS IS RIGHT, THE TRAITOR WILL PAY! AND AS THE FIRST LIVING VICTIM OF HIS TREACHERY, ASHA STONESKIN, CHIEF OF THE STONESKIN TRIBE WILL CLAIM THE BLOOD PRICE!”
Under the crowd's intoxicated roars, Asha was led forward by the ceremonial guard. Her sight remained bound behind the steel blindfold.
A large orc with the skull of a bull on his head, handed Asha an Axe.
Lucifer observed Asha with fascination. Despite the gigantic crowd, the young woman was as still as a placid lake. Her soul looked and felt like one in deep meditation.
Daranturn produced a steel bowl from the ground, while a guard handed him a tiny knife.
The old orc stood in front of the Chiefs of the different clans, handing one of them the knife. One by one, every chief cut themselves along the forearm, dripping a bit of blood into the bowl.
Once all eight of them had bled, they stepped back and Daranturn approached Asha.
From somewhere in the massive crowd, a single voice began to chant. The old orc was one of the first to truly understand the ritual being performed. While he wasn't as old as Daranturn, he nonetheless heard stories of the old ways in his childhood.
One by one, the crowd joined him in his chanting. At first it was a jumble of different voices, but through the connection they all shared, they soon found the right rhythm.
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
With every exclamation the strings that connected the crowd began to thrum, coaxing more and more of the red thirst from their souls, until the entire intricate web was dyed in a blood red haze.
The red haze grew thicker and thicker, yet it did not obscure the vision of the orcs, every last one focused on the ritual.
Daranturn stood before Asha. With meticulous movements, he dipped the blade of the knife into the mixture of blood, gently stirring it.
Once he removed the blade, a large amount of blood clung to the knife. Both due to the blade's shape, and its inherent blood magic.
Then with deft hands, Daranturn ran the blade over Ashas body, starting from her sternum. The edge of the knife slid across her skin, parting it as Daranturn moved it, the blood coating the blade sinking into the wound.
While the orcs continued to chant, Daranturn reapplied the blood to the knife, continuing with the ritual scarring.
From the sternum, down to the hips. From the top of Ashas feet, up her legs. From both her palms and the back of her hands, in spirals up her arms. Daranturn continued to cut up Ashas skin, yet no blood escaped the fresh wounds.
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
Once Daranturn was done with her legs, he moved on to her face.
A single cut ran from Asha’s sternum to her chin, ending at her bottom lip. From there it split until the cut ran beneath Ashas eyes. From there it went over the eyelids of both eyes, until finally culminating at her scalp.
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
“Blood! Steel! War!”
With every new cut, the strings that had spread between the crowd, began to extend towards Asha.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
Through the connection made in blood, they connected with her body.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
Daranturn stepped back, to examine his handiwork.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
Once the strings connected to her body, the red thirst began to be siphoned towards her.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
More and more of the red haze flooded into asha, red mist starting to leak from the fresh cuts.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
As more and more of the red mist left the wounds, they slowly closed themselves.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
Lucifer watched as Ashas soul was bathed in a torrent of red, yet it held strong, not succumbing to its rage.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
Asha gripped the axe with both hands, the red mist traveled up the blade, igniting runes along the way with a crimson light.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
Asha took a step forward and raised the axe above her head.
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
With a last thunderous exclamation from the crowd, Asha brought the axe down, splitting the head of Carborg Fire Mountain with a meaty thunk.
The crowd was utterly silent for a moment. They all observed as Asha’s muscles began to writhe beneath her skin, her veins showing through her skin as they glowed with a crimson light.
An explosion of red mist ripped itself from her body, permeating through her skin. As it left her body it pulled a cloud of foul smelling black smoke with it.
Once the red mist cleared, the crowd beheld a reborn Asha.
She stood a few centimeters taller. Her skin looked the same as before, only now her scars glowed with a faint crimson light. The cuts Daranturn had made just moments ago, were healed and replaced with thick crimson tattoos that covered her body.
Crimson light began to pulse along the tattoos in tandem with Asha’s heartbeat, as she let out a savage scream, the force of which ruffled Daranturns cloak.
The crowd beheld the apparition of a bipedal, wolf-like beast behind Asha which roared as well.
Daranturn slammed his staff down once again, catching the attention of the crowd. He raised his staff to the sky and yelled.
“WITH THE WAR CHIEF AT THE HEAD, WE WILL BEAT BACK THE HUMANS!”
The crowd joined him in an impassioned cheer.
“WE WILL TAKE BACK WHAT WAS ONCE OURS!”
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”
“BLOOD! STEEL! WAR!”