The retreat from the orc capital was nothing like the Brotherhood of the Iron Star had expected. They had come to wage war, to break the back of the savage orc tribes that had plagued the southern realms for generations. But instead, they had been broken. The orcs had anticipated their every move, fought with a ferocity that defied everything Gabriel and his comrades had known about their enemies. Their mission had turned into a desperate fight for survival.

Gabriel ran through the jagged mountains, the path ahead treacherous and slick with rain, each breath a labor as the cold night air bit into his lungs. Around him, the remnants of the once-mighty Brotherhood were reduced to a handful of bloodied, weary fighters, their armor dented, their faces hollow from exhaustion and fear. The mountain path wound through the dense forest, the shadows cast by the trees seeming to whisper their impending doom.

Beside him, Kael stumbled but managed to keep his feet under him. His bow, once a weapon of precision and death, hung useless at his side; he had no more arrows, no more strength to fight. Dorian, his friend and fellow archer, limped behind them, a makeshift bandage wrapped around his thigh where an orc blade had slashed deep. Silas, the wizard, trailed at the back, his robes torn, his face pale from the drain of magical exertion. He had cast every spell he knew, every enchantment, but it had not been enough. The orcs were relentless.

Gabriel’s heart pounded as they rounded another bend, the orc capital now far behind them, hidden by the peaks. But even though they had escaped the city’s clutches, the relentless pursuit of the orc warbands hadn’t slowed. The howls of the bloodthirsty beasts echoed in the distance, and the ground trembled beneath their heavy footfalls.

“They’re still coming,” Dorian hissed through gritted teeth, limping more with each step.

“Keep moving,” Gabriel ordered, though his voice lacked the confidence it once held. He had to be strong for them, had to keep the remaining few alive. But deep down, he knew the truth. They were running out of time. Running out of hope.

Kael shot Gabriel a look, his eyes sunken and dull. “We won’t outrun them, Gabriel. We can’t.”

“Then we fight,” Gabriel replied, jaw clenched. “When they catch up, we’ll give them hell. We still have our blades.”

Silas coughed, his hand going to his side where dark blood oozed through his fingers. “We’ll be lucky to survive the night. I’m not sure… I have any more fight left in me.”

The group pressed forward, silent now, each of them grappling with the knowledge of what lay ahead. The mountains rose higher around them, the narrow path offering little in terms of cover or advantage. The rain continued to fall, turning the ground beneath their feet into a slick, treacherous mess.

Then it happened.

A sharp, guttural cry split the air, followed by a sound Gabriel had come to dread—the thrum of an orc war horn. It echoed through the valley, shaking the very stones beneath their feet. Gabriel’s heart sank. The orcs had found them.

“They’re closer than I thought,” Kael said, his voice tight with fear. He turned, eyes scanning the rocky ridges around them, searching for a place to make a stand. “There’s no way out, Gabriel. They’ll have us pinned against the cliffs.”

Gabriel looked up at the jagged rock face beside them. Climbing would be suicide in their current state, but fighting on open ground would be just as fatal. There was no way to escape, no way to survive the night.

“There,” Gabriel pointed to a narrow outcropping of rocks to their left. “We can hold them off there.”

The group moved quickly, scrambling up the incline and positioning themselves behind the natural stone barricade. It wasn’t much, but it would give them some cover from the inevitable assault.

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As they took their positions, the sound of orc footfalls grew louder. Gabriel unsheathed his sword, the blade catching what little moonlight penetrated the stormy clouds. He looked at his comrades, each of them battered, each of them ready to give their lives in what would likely be their final stand.

“They’re coming,” Kael whispered, his bowstring drawn despite the lack of arrows.

The first orc appeared from the tree line, a massive brute with a snarling face and a crude axe in hand. It let out a roar, and as if on cue, a dozen more orcs charged into view, their eyes gleaming with savage joy.

Gabriel surged forward, meeting the first orc head-on. His sword clanged against the orc’s axe, sparks flying as the weapons collided. He fought with every ounce of strength he had left, his muscles burning, his vision blurred by rain and sweat. He struck out, slashing through the orc’s throat, the creature gurgling as it collapsed.

Beside him, Kael loosed his last arrow, taking down another orc before drawing his dagger. Dorian fought with grim determination, though his wounded leg made him slow and vulnerable. Silas, too weak for powerful spells, used what little magic he had left to hurl bolts of energy at their enemies.

But it wasn’t enough. The orcs were too many, too strong. One by one, the remaining members of the Brotherhood fell. Dorian was struck down first, an orc’s blade plunging into his chest before he had a chance to react. Kael went next, his dagger useless against the brute strength of his attacker. Silas, drained of magic and life, crumpled to the ground, his body broken.

In the end, it was only Gabriel and another—the last of the Brotherhood.

The two of them stood back-to-back, bloodied and panting, as the orcs closed in. The rain was coming down harder now, washing away the blood that soaked the ground. Gabriel’s arms ached, his legs trembled, but he refused to give in.

“This is it,” he muttered to his companion.

The figure at his back said nothing, only gripping their weapon tighter.

As the orcs prepared for their final charge, something strange happened. Gabriel felt a sharp pain in his side—no, his back. He stumbled forward, eyes wide with shock, as he realized what had happened. The last member of his team, his companion in battle, had driven their blade into his back.

Gabriel spun around, disbelief and fury in his eyes. His betrayer was Kael—Kael, his trusted friend. The man’s face was twisted with desperation, his hand still on the hilt of the dagger buried in Gabriel’s back.

“Why?” Gabriel gasped, blood bubbling in his throat.

Kael’s eyes were wild. “I have to survive, Gabriel. I have to. I’m sorry, but it’s you or me.”

Gabriel’s heart thundered in his chest. Rage, hotter than the fires of any forge, ignited within him. He wrenched Kael’s dagger from his body and, with a final, brutal motion, drove his sword into Kael’s chest.

“You coward,” Gabriel spat, watching as Kael crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide with shock.

Kael’s breath rattled in his throat, his life slipping away as quickly as the rain washed over him. “I’m… sorry…” he whispered, and then he was gone.

Gabriel stood over the bodies of his fallen comrades, the storm raging around him. His heart ached with the weight of their deaths, the betrayal cutting deeper than any wound. He looked up at the sky, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

“Is this what you wanted?” he screamed, his voice echoing off the mountains. “Is this the fate you had planned for us? For me? After everything we’ve done?”

There was no answer, only the howl of the wind and the distant rumble of thunder.

“You’ve taken everything from me!” Gabriel roared, his bloodied fists clenched. “I gave you everything, and this is what I get in return? Betrayal, death? Curse you! Curse you all!”

As if in response to his rage, the sky darkened further, the clouds churning like a living thing. Gabriel felt a strange sensation wash over him, a coldness that seeped into his bones. He fell to his knees, the weight of it overwhelming him.

Then, from the depths of the storm, a voice—a deep, booming voice that resonated in the air, in his mind.

“You curse the gods, mortal? You defy the will of the divine?”

Gabriel’s eyes widened, his heart pounding in his chest. “You have taken everything from me,” he spat. “So yes, I curse you. Every single one of you.”

There was a pause, and then the voice returned, colder than before. “Very well. You shall have your curse, Gabriel of the Iron Star. You defy the gods? Then we shall defy death for you. You will walk the earth forevermore, neither living nor dead. You shall feed on the blood of the living, your thirst unquenchable. The sun will burn you, and the night will be your only sanctuary. You, Gabriel, will be the first of a new kind—a creature of darkness, of endless hunger. You will know no peace, no rest. This is your curse.”

Gabriel screamed, a cry of pain and anguish as the curse took hold. His body convulsed, his veins burning, he was reborn as a creature of the night.