4. Glory

“What is it Tugut?”

“My spying eye sees a most dangerous thing. We must inform the Ogre council immediately.”

The Ogre council was a large body of higher Ogres. Despite their monstrously large appearance, and their brutish war clubs their system of government reflected higher ideals than mere warfare; they had a council of various clans that decided their policies. Oru, Oran, Rzo and Lra were their four clans, with a special tie breaker chosen each year among one of them in case of a lack of majority which would switch between the four clans each year; the Oru lived in the northwest, the Oran in the southwest, the Rzo in the northeast and the Lra in the southeast. Meanwhile in Oru two spies saw the commotion on the Continent of Sand, and scrambled to report it to their superiors. Three metres tall creme coloured bodies, brutishly strong and powerful creatures, with musculature that could pulverise an average man, tempered by a reconnaissance magic: ‘Magic eye’, and ‘reveal.’ The magic eye was a fast flying scout in the shape of an eye; ‘reveal’ revealed a small window into a corner of the world into the mind of the one who cast the spell. Bordered by the Orcish kingdom of the Amanites to the North, the Human kingdom of Ilar to the west, and the Elvish kingdom of Helva to the south, the Ogre abilities were extremely useful in understanding their situation, and preparing for all eventualities; they could spy on all their neighbours, and scout their troops movements with ease. The city of Ogr a central meeting place for all the clans, was tall stone and full of chimneys and blacksmiths, a magic crystal lit up in the central spire that illuminated the black brick houses that surrounded the building. The two spies immediately reported their findings.

“Yes,” a deep base voice replied to the white see through communication crystal that lit up.

“We have spotted very strange magic to the far west,” Tugut said, “very strange, and possibly dangerous.”

The council member of the Oru wore a robe that was slightly more sophisticated than his more rudimentary Ogre compatriots. He paused in silence for the words meant trouble.

“I might be the Oru clan leader and representative, but that doesn’t mean-”

“It could really be a problem,” the other Ogre scout said simply, “I understand you don’t want to.”

“I get it,” the representative said, “I will convene the council.”

“Good.” The spies said in unison.

Council member of the Oru; Iokhur marched into the large archways, smelling of broth that was made in the kitchens, the stone was smoothed out to be slippery, but to an Ogre’s feet it made little difference, their heavy flat feet easily gripping into the stonework. Two headed Ogres guarded the entrance to the hall. Guarded in plate armour and armed with maces, even experienced mages would have trouble.

“You are wanted Iokhur,” the guard said, “state your business.”

Three clan leaders already awaited Iokhur, Erig of the southwestern based ‘Oran,’ Aeruk of the northeastern based ‘Rzo,’ and Elrag of the southeastern Lra; Elrag was the largest, his arms crossed, scratching his head. The Oru which Iokhur was leader of was based in the northwest, he looked at his fellow council members, and bowed gracefully before speaking.

“Strange happenings have been reported to the west,” Iokhur began, “something on the Continent of Sand.”

Erig nodded.

“My mage scouts have spotted strange movements from the Demons, the Cahov have asked permission to use the Urir bays.”

There were lesser figures in the halls from the various clans, and they bayed at this information. Aeruk nodded and added to the conversation.

“The Necromancers wish to also invade this sand continent, some kind of strange magic is there as Iokhur rightfully said. The Orcs seem painfully unaware though.”

“What about the Elves Elrag? Did your scouts see anything?”

“All is quiet, I take it we won’t need the Rzo’s tiebreaker to make a decision.”

“We won’t,” Iokhur smirked.

The Ogre council was polite and had good decorum, the tiebreaker was an Ogre woman named Tuzur of the Rzo, the tiebreaker changed every year, on a rotation based off the cardinal directions; so for the year of 943cc it would be the Lra, and then for 944cc the Oran, in 945cc the Oru, and in 946cc it would return to the Rzo; needless to say Tuzur was smart and capable in marshalling Ogre forces to defend the northern border. The Ogres prepared for fighting with the Orcs, bigger than the Orcs, and stronger, they still feared their cunning. They fortified the border forts. An Ogre shouted from one of the communication crystals.

“The Orcs are attacking!”

“Do not engage them in open battle!” Tuzur snarled, “those Orcs need to be smashed against our walls.”

“What she says is wise,” Iokhur said, “should we hold the forts, will the central army come to reinforce the northern forts?”

All the Ogres stayed silent, wondering what the best course of action was. The central army was under control of no individual clan, it was sent according to the four clan leader’s wishes and of course the tiebreaker, if parts of it were sent to deal with the Orcs, then other threats could not be dealt with. Aeruk broke the silence.

“For the Rzo I will lead our clan into pitched battle.”

“Aeruk!” Tuzur protested.

“If I die, it will be with glory behind me. If I fail. Defend the fortresses. Gather the warriors! Today we smash Orcs!”

A raucous cacophony of shouts were heard. The Ogre banner, four black spiky clubs on the periphery of a brown flag, was immediately grabbed by one two headed Ogre, others marched alongside Aeruk. They stomped along on the ground, their marching creating reverberating thuds.

“Aeruk!” Tuzur shouted from the tower, at Aeruk below, “you do your damnest to survive or I will haunt you!”

He clenched his fist, snorted with determination and nodded, he looked at the retinue slowly gathering around him. Seeing some Ogres wearing gauntlets, others carried large studded shields.

“We put on our armour!” Aeruk shouted at them, “quickly.”

They stomped down the main streets, the citizens were told what went on as Aeruk’s Rzo soldiers marched along, resplendent in their enthusiasm.

“Men and their foolish honour…” Tuzur seethed, “give me my mace! It is a sister’s duty to look after a foolish brother.”

Iokhur smiled. He went out of the room.

“The Rzo clan wish to fight the Orcs alone. The Oru will show them how it’s done!” he said to a mage scout back in Oru, “leave enough troops to defend the forts and castles. I wish to show them true might!” He proclaimed to his retainers.

Iokhur secretly gathered his retainers and also headed north. While the world spun, 40,000 Orcs commanded by general Zarfu consisted of wolf riders, infantry and skirmishers; armed with spears, arrows, nets, and axes. Two metres tall, the Orcs were green skinned, strong beasts by any measure, but still smaller than any Ogre. The Amanite kingdom, an Orcish realm was expansionist and cruel to their enemies, but it was their strict hierarchical system, led by their warmongering king that made them such. Marching along the rocky outcrops, the Orcs immediately attempted to seize a village. An Ogre threw a boulder, and a few Orcs were immediately crushed.

“Surrender now! Or die!” An Orcish lieutenant shouted.

The fortified villages mostly stayed that way, boulders occasionally were chucked at the invaders. The Orcs encircled and waited to slaughter the locals.

“Kill these insolent wretches!”

Arrows blocked out the sun, the whooshing sound only interrupted by the crackling of flames. The Orcs were merciless, storming into the small village and impaling the women and children, suffering casualties from the Ogres who were nonetheless too disorganised to mount a proper resistance. The circular fortress village had Ogre blood running down the hillocks and down the crags. The livestock were taken, goats, cows, and even some mammoths.

“Look at this!” One Orc said as he took the lead of a mammoth, “these Ogres are ridiculous.”

“We need to eliminate them,” Zarfu said, “spare nothing! The King wants the Ogres enslaved. Another army will come after us!”

“The Amanites will conquer!” One Orc said, raising his spear, “The Orcs will conquer!”

The Orcs rode special wolves as cavalry, large wolves that could be sat on without complaint, while others herded big oxen that carried their supplies. The weather was dry, but the ground was wet with blood. The other Orcish army poured over the border, attempting to snuff out the Ogres with immediate effect. General Zarzum and Zarfu invaded the shared Ogre lands, lands not belonging to any of the clans. The Orcish axe on a red banner fluttered ominously over Ogre lands. The Orcs went to looting, their plans were quite clearly genocidal. They did not spare a single Ogre they encountered.

A day at most would pass, when Iokhur of the Oru clan and Aeruk of the Rzo led their retinues to the fight. Iokhur had 1000 men who had surreptitiously joined the clan leader, he had not made his intentions clear to the other clans but he sallied out. The Ogres unlike basically all their counterparts did not use mounts, they were large fearsome creatures, and were large enough to not need them, they ran fast with long strides that thudded along the ground, they were also probably too large for mounts. There was no sheen on the metal that Iokhur wore, nor most of his retinue. They thudded as quietly as they could (which was not quietly at all) heading to the border regions in remarkable time. Ogre roads were clean, but most of all the Ogre communication system was the best on the continent, they knew exactly where they were going and which was the shortest route; and their magic meant they knew where everything was. Aeruk marched with 2000, cheering Ogre crowds had people showing their own weapons. The Ogre honour system was unique to them, they called it ‘glory,’ they only fought when it would bring them glory, therefore their society was particularly defensive in its art of war, fighting in defence of other Ogres brought much glory, fighting in defence of the weak even more. Ogres refused coin for this service, a tally of glory was collected, the most honourable would amass the larger armies. Likewise dishonour by killing the weak, killing captives or killing other Ogres, could have one disbarred from being clan leader and have other Ogres refuse to fight alongside you.

Seeing the ways the Ogres live. Is truly enlightening, I brought 50 Ilar coins, but no one accepted them, they said it would bring more glory to feed me without coin than to feed me with. I did not understand what they were talking about. We always thought of the Ogres as unenlightened savages. Everything has great thought put into it, their society is nothing like anything else on the continent.

Kleitomachos studied their society, more like a student than a spy. He was to collect information on the Ogre society and report back to the Ilar capital on what he found out, but no Ogre seemed particularly concerned that he would learn something.

“Excuse me, what’s going on?” Kleitomachos asked.

“The Orcs have invaded, a clan leader has gone to face them, he seeks great glory,” an Ogre explained, a big smile on his big dumb face.

Kleitomachos was a dark skinned man with wooly hair, and a beard a few days unshaven, he noted in comparison that not one Ogre had facial hair, a curious detail he scribbled in his report, for no reason other than it was fascinating to him.

“Orcish invasion, that does sound bad. Do you think the Orcs would invade Ilar?”

“Ilar?” One Ogre laughed, “the fire and earth mages? Who knows, the Orcs are led by a greedy king, they fight for money, for land, maybe even for hatred and above all because their king told them to. Do you want to know why the Ogres fight?”

“Why?” Kleitomachos asked breathlessly.

“For glory!” A few other Ogres answered, before they laughed raucously.

Kleitomachos joined in their hearty laughs, never hearing something so absurd, and yet being impressed. His palms were filled with sweat and his heart beat faster.

“Can I see the fight?” He asked, covering his mouth fearing he might have said something offensive.

A raucous cheer, before two of the largest Ogres picked him up and ran to the battle site. Kleitomachos eyes popped open in shock, trying to stabilise himself, amazed by the speed of the Ogres. The Ogres were both grinning in delight at performing such an honour.

Fucking hell! Are they quick! I think horses are much slower, and they don’t even look the slightest bit tired.

Iokhur’s Ogres ran to the most obvious site of battle; there were fields of corn, with rocky outcrops and irrigation canals and of course thousands of Orcs. They were looking for plunder, Iokhur’s 1000 thundered from the west and joined up with Aeruk’s 2000, Tuzur followed close behind with some 200.

“Did I not say to fortify the castles and wait out the storm?”

“There is more glory to best these plunderers now. Send word to the other clans and to the central authorities to prepare warriors if we fail,” Aeruk said, “I don’t want them not knowing.”

“Damn right,” Tuzur said, “I will stand here and protect your rear, I have a messenger ready to inform the rest of our armies if anything befalls you.”

“The Rzo fear defeat, do they?” Iokhur joked at their expense.

“We prepare for any eventuality,” Aeruk said defensively.

“We prepare to win much glory today,” Iokhur said, “but yes, we must prepare for anything for surely the gods could give anything.”

Ogres were armed with hammers, maces, clubs, and some only gauntlets; the Oru already began their crawl forwards, there they found Zarfu marching and torching some corn fields.

“For glory we fight today!” Iokhur said, “drive them back! They will know an Ogre’s righteous fury!”

Iokhur was incredibly loud and conspicuous, but on the other hand the Oru had excellent morale, and were prepared for the fray.

That damned idiot Iokhur, my advice was for him as well. Aeruk? Brother! Brother?

Aeruk marched directly northwards but he had chosen a more direct route.

“Iokhur, I will win more glory today! Don’t leave a single Orc on our soil!” Aeruk screamed, delighting his men.

Aeruk himself held a spiked club. Charging forward, to the tutting of the women Ogres led by Tuzur who simply observed the impending battle. It was the beginning of spring, the sun beat down, but the air temperature was chilly, running to the battle site had made all sides a bit warmer, and blood would make them warmer still. Despite the running, the Ogres were not even the slightest bit tired, they were not even huffing.

“They ran all the way here?” Kleitomachos asked astounded, “how is that… possible?” Kleitomachos asked in a whisper.

The Ogres didn’t hear him, but it was a mixture of intense physical training and lean healthy diet consisting mainly of soups of various kinds.

Iokhur’s line crashed into Zarfu’s, blunt weapons maybe, but highly effective against Orcs a metre shorter. Wolf riders attempted to flank, Orcs in general attempted to flank, but the highly armoured Ogres shrugged off the spears and arrows and battered through. The smell of confused Orcs, amplified with fear and then rage, battled the most determined Ogres in the entire world.

“Where are their lines, their formations? This is a just a mess?” Kleitomachos asked, confused, “I can see from here, the Ogres are effectively duelling?” There was complete confusion in Kleitomachos’s voice.

Ogres threw Orcs to the ground, other punched, others batted and battered the Orcish invaders; but there was no cohesion, just a thunderous charge, they crashed and continuously crashed. Orcs flew upwards or across, others had split skulls, and others still tried to catch the blunt weapons to no avail. Ogre strength was not a myth, they brutally bloodied Zarfu’s men. Zarzum’s attempted to stem the Ogre’s attack, but were met with a much more blunt attack by Aeruk. Kleitomachos could not believe his eyes, each Ogre soldier was trying to outdo the other, leaping over one another to save one another.

“Damn it Uruk!” One Ogre said as he swatted an Orc down, “pay attention man!”

“What is a person from Ilar doing watching us make war,” Tuzur asked Kleitomachos.

“Spectating,” he quipped.

“Spectate well then,” Tuzur said, “you will see the true glory of Ogres.”

Kleitomachos stared at the dust that was now being kicked up, the thundering of the Ogres that smashed into the front. Zarfu tried to rally his soldiers, but found four Ogres came increasingly closer to him. His bodyguards tried to slice the Ogres. One caught the armour but found no traction on his blade, another threw himself in front of a mallet that came his way, the crunch was audible and immediately made a few Orcs wince and be stunned for a fraction of a second, enough to allow more smashing blows. Green bodies, green Orcs attempted to stem the flow, but they became red blood; an Ogre crumpled Zarfu into a mess on the floor, his retinue quickly retreating into the fields. Corn crumpled in the background, as furious Ogres smashed the bodyguard unit, the bodyguards attempted some kind of fighting retreat, but were soon themselves smashed. Zarfu’s soldiers were dropping weapons and loot, lest they become mush on the floor, some attempted to stop the rout. Zarzum screamed something in Orcish, with some overseers whipping and even stabbing people to encourage them to continue to fight. The sounds of feet, confused shouts and of ripped metal filled the air, the smell of blood was an afterthought, the taste of blood being the last sensation of many a Orc. Zarzum positioned himself behind his troops, commanding them with blocking detachments intending to fight to the last. The Orc lines stabilised, and they began reforming somewhat, albeit with shaky morale.

“Aeruk! Look at how these foul Orcs have no concept of Glory!” Iokhur boomed out onto the battlefield.

The parts of Zarfu’s men that had fled were, astonished to see that the Ogres did not even bother to catch them.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Why are they not chasing us? Surely they could.

An Ogre with gauntlets picked up a large stone and chucked it at the Orcs, Iokhur’s band smashed straight through multiple lines of infantry. There was no hint of exhaustion from the Ogres who continuously plowed through, Orcish weapons being broken in two, snapping, bending, armour crumpling and of course deaths all around. Orcs were being strewn across, impaled by their own comrades, morale shattered, but Zarzum killed retreating Orcs, sending them back into the fray. Iokhur shouted at this travesty, shouting in his best Orcish.

“They are your own soldiers!” Outrage ringing in his voice.

Iokhur was angrier than the Orcs at the injustice, 3000 Ogres smashed into 40,000 Orcs, who despite flanking attempts were being pushed back. Kleitomachos saw flanking cavalry units unhorsed, the wolves were merely pushed back with barehands, tamed in a mere instant, 10 Orcish spearmen having their spears broken, then their armour was bent effortlessly, and shortly afterwards there were dead on the ground; an Orcish axemen attempted to duel Aeruk, only to have a hammer smash his hands to a pulp, the axe clattered and the chest smashed in for a quick mercy. Aeruk and Iokhur’s men, continued with brutish efficiency.

“Fuck you Zarzum!” One man said galloping off on his special wolf mount.

Missile troops’ projectiles were dealt with like flies, a few swats and were rendered harmless. The first Ogre fell, and the Ogres suddenly moved just a tiny bit faster.

“No Ogruk… damn it! Damn it!”

Orcish legs were smashed underneath them, the attack continued for another 5 minutes, until the Orcish troops melted away leaving only a half terrified Zarzum. Zarzum tried to fight but was clubbed by three crisscrossing well timed blunt weapons, not much of him was left. Only the sound of blood dripping and Ogres’ breath were heard now. Zarfu’s men scrambled away, completely dissipating into the countryside and back across the border.

“One of their generals at least died to stop us. The other hid behind his own men,” Aeruk said interrupting the silence.

“Our Oru and your Rzo have crushed them Aeruk. We must pray for Ogruk and for our enemies.”

In total 20,000 Orcs had died, just one singular Ogre had died. They gathered the dead and cremated them with honours. They inspected the various looted villages, and captured some Orcs, who they generously let go.

“Why would you do that?” Kleitomachos asked, “surely you will take slaves to pay for their transgressions?”

“Slaves?” Tuzur questioned, “such a thing is forbidden in our land. Glory is won only in battle, and further increased by being generous and hospitable. We are not our enemies, and we shall not emulate them.”

He promptly shut up, astounded, but more than anything impressed. Kleitomachos felt like he was looking at aliens, no one not even the Elves behaved like this.

“I will go back to Ogrum if you’ll take me.”

“Of course,” the two Ogres who took him said.

Such ferrying for no fee, earned glory in another way, Kleitomachos still did not understand the society he had seen, but he had witnessed it at least. Ultimately Aeruk and Iokhur went back with full honours. The Orcs would immediately send emissaries asking for peace, and the Ogres accepted. The Ogres did not boast, instead merely returning to their communal lives, seeking glory in mundane things.

The Fire Demons of Cahov had sailed their ships quickly through the ocean currents, ignoring the spit. A day had passed, and they used flyers to locate exactly where Madakos hid from them. Madakos had spent a day not only giving Hunila and Tamura the power of Warlocks, but incorporating the Ena Shadow Elf clan into his plans. Hunila was adamant that the clan move away from the coast, and they did, to a further 50 kilometres inland. Living in a small valley, 4 constructs each one producing 10 million Zira a second, a grand total of 40 million. The Zira was transformed into water, which flowed onto the ground and the Shadow Elves gratefully produced food.

“They didn’t take much convincing to come here,” Tamura quipped.

Hunila swayed towards Madakos who stared into the distance.

“I still think I’ve made the wrong decision,” he grumbled, “I’ve put you all in danger.”

“For the first time ever, we have crops that aren’t just coconut,” one of the Shadow Elves said.

Cahov fire Demons appeared before him. Madakos erected 40 towers, turning around in panic, as fiery red Demons appeared before him. Five metre monstrosities armed with glowing red swords, two metre Demons armed with big axes, and suddenly legions of imps; their smell of sulphur was overpowering, Demon sweat was supposed to elicit fear but it elicited rage in Madakos, more rage even than what the Demons felt for him.

“Give up the war…Your unnatural magic ends here!” A Demon screamed, “you will die now!”

“Die!” Thousands screamed.

“No- you die!” Madakos screamed at the Demons, the magic fumbled, but he eviscerated them, with his next breath he screamed: “God damn it you lot! Hide!”

His towers immediately fired at the Demons who attempted to stream in, he attempted to create more, but they were promptly blown asunder. Hunila made a defensive magic barrier attempting to stop any fireballs.

“Tamura! Hunila focus on defending yourselves and the Shadow Elves. God damn it. I knew some stupid shit like this would happen…” he shouted frantically, “fuck!” He growled.

Imps, the smallest kind of Demons charged in massive clusters. Madakos was flinging his hands, sending purple fireballs, exploding nearby, then a firewall. More Demons came, he surreptitiously put more towers on the flanks. They began firing down at the ever increasing Demon host. 40 million Zira a second allowed for liberties on how he spent it. A large fireball came at him, red fiery and smelling of sulphur, he repulsed it with much more ferocity, the sender being pushed back across the sand, blown into smithereens. 80 towers shot down at the Demons while Madakos tried his hardest to push the lot of them back. They did not lessen, Tamura and Hunila were shouting something at him. He created more towers, and created meteor like projectiles that blotted out the sun. The sound was astonishing, the explosions kicked up dust, Demons were being burnt to cinders or flat out cut by shockwaves. Demons rushed at Madakos, he shot multiple purple Warlock bolts. Madakos shot through the Demon’s skull and hit other Demons behind it, that also fell promptly to the floor. Hunila stared at him knowingly and with great anger, she had protected all of them with a magic barrier.

“Thank you,” he said nodding.

“You are reckless!” She hissed.

Demons roared in the background attempting to gain ground, before they were destroyed in their multitudes. Fire arced downwards, purple fire that even the fire Demons were confused about.

“Why… is it burning and hurting us?” One large Fire Demon said, writhing on the floor.

More towers sprouted, but the Demons summoned portals around Madakos. He levelled the Demons, but he was worried about his allies.

“Get them out of here!” He said panicked, throwing his arms around evocatively.

Two Cahov arrows glided across his face, blood dripped off both cheeks. Hunila rushed to him, moving before her brain demanded it of her body.

“Tamura! Get my people to safety!” Hunila screamed with everything she had in her, “Now!”

“Huh?” Tamura said confused.

“Do it!” Hunila screamed.

Sand was being kicked up, bodies were being fried, and every now and then bodies smashed into the sand, as Demons were being thrown about.

“Damn it!” Hunila said, “look after yourself!”

She had much less Zira flowing into her, but she nonetheless defended them both flawlessly. Madakos created another firestorm, purple Warlock flames descended and eviscerated all the Demons, the newcomers eviscerated by the tower strikes.

“We have to get out of here! You have to get out of here!” Madakos panicked.

More Cahov Demons appeared, large and small. Meanwhile the ambassador talked to the Urir leadership with a magic crystal, observing the battle from safety.

“Dear High priest,” the ambassador began.

His red skin glowed with satisfaction, his eyes red, he bowed before the hologram.

“What is it ambassador?” The High Priest said, “We Earth Demons do not like our peace being disturbed.”

“We no longer need your patch of land,” the ambassador said, “we have located what we were looking for.”

“Is that so?” The High priest grinned, “well good luck in your hunt,” he said with a strong dose of sarcasm, acid in his tone.

There was a pause, the ambassador was not amused, but the conversation had not quite ended yet.

“One word of advice, if I may,” the ambassador said simply.

“Go on,” the High priest said.

“The Warlock is powerful Amalkur,” the ambassador said, “we must contain it before it get’s too much. Warlock sorcery is unnatural and downright dangerous, it must be contained.”

The High priest laughed for a good few moments.

“In my mind the Cahov fire Demons are downright dangerous, we have been preparing for war with you in case this was some elaborate ruse, but go enjoy your hunt ambassador,” Amalkur was in a better mood this time.

The call ended, the magic crystal ended the hologram.

“We will,” the ambassador muttered angrily, to nothing but himself.

The ambassador noticed the fighting up ahead.

“What happened to general Angria?”

“He’s dead… sir,” an adjutant said hesitantly.

“Right, this Warlock is clearly using his powers… damn it. The High Lords will not be pleased with this.”

Let alone the Devils. God anything but those… oh no.

It had a ghastly red aura surrounding it, the ambassador immediately prostrated before it.

“Put your head down idiot!” A voice in the background said.

Everyone was prostrating before the higher being. An arrogant loud being that wanted its will obeyed at all times, with a vicious temper. The thuds of their fiery feet were already filled with anger, their arms pulsating with the fiery chaotic energy, a distorted mana, but mana nonetheless.

“Thank you devoted worshippers. Inner hell has been worried about this ‘Warlock,’ and so I have come to investigate.”

“Of course high one,” the ambassador said.

He was not even glancing up at the Devil, hoping that it would not be vengeful. The Devil blipped away towards Madakos. It attempted to summon a massive fireball to kill Madakos, but Hunila sniped the Devil clean, the body limply fell. The Demons who pursued Madakos got mopped up, Hunila pressed her tits on his side, but with all the panic and chaos Madakos had no time to be conscious of his arousal, even though he was, even her sweat was intoxicating.

“Thank you Hunila!” He breathed only for her to hear, “that thing looked dangerous.”

“It is only possible with Zira… with being a Warlock,” she admitted.

Tamura had meanwhile evacuated the Shadow Elf Ena clan from the vicinity, braving treacherous deserts, killing large ants and Scorpion-Men, but most of all running with all their might. Tamura had one ten million Zira producing construct, a golden construct, that she lugged in her own arms smothering it in affection.

“Keep moving! Those Demons will catch up to us, and not for chatting I assure you!” Tamura screamed at them.

The Shadow Elves shuffled along, they turned around to peer at what was chased them, worried faces and lots of exhales as they ran away. Madakos made purple fire descend on the Cahov Demon reinforcements before teleporting into the sand with Hunila, his 4 constructs and Hunila’s 1 came along with them.

“Something tells me, there are many more Demons,” Hunila whispered.

“Many more.” Madakos said, “I have created towers in differing locations to fool them, they will follow a false trail.”

Hunila smirked at him, looking behind her. Madakos blipped through the sands, spending a lot of Zira in the process before they finally caught up with rest of Hunila’s fleeing clan, the Ena clan. With the entire Ena clan Madakos teleported further into the sands thousands of kilometres in fact, in a north westerly direction, arriving at another Shadow Elf clan’s domain, these other Shadow Elves stared incredulously at the sudden immigrants to their land.

“Halt and state your business!” One Shadow Elf said, bandying his knife around.

The knife was impressive by itself, a lilac purple colour handle, with a clear sheen blade that reflected the sun, it’s only real purpose was the blinding effect using the sun’s rays. Five others already had their bows out, aiming them at the newcomers.

“We need ships to flee!” Tamura said.

“Demons seek us out,” Madakos further explained.

The Shadow Elf clan they approached numbered some 15 people, and they did the arithmetic to work out more or less what was going on.

“I am a hardly a scholar, but I guess that the reason has to do with those things you’re carrying,” one of the men said, “I hazard a guess that you’re wanted for illicit magic.”

Wasting no time another clan member piped up:

“We are the Esim clan,” one of them said, “why are you here?” The words were particularly biting and delivered acidly.

“Illicit magic is a pretty good description,” Hunila said, “running from Demons and the Undead.”

The Esim were immediately flabbergasted by the words said, all their faces curled up in astonishment, some outright got their weapons out. Their eyebrows raised and their eyes twitched, the scent of fear could be smelt by anyone let alone suspicious Shadow Elves, nervous sweat on all parties.

“Demons and the Undead?” One of them nervously repeated, “the ones who can teleport anywhere and the ones who can raise the dead?”

The Ena clan, Madakos and Tamura all simply nodded.

“We have to hurry, these lands are not safe. We need boats, if you need water, we can make it, we must go and leave these lands and flee the Demons,” Hunila exhorted them.

“Water?” One of the elders repeated a bit surprised.

Madakos produced a lake, which immediately astonished the Esim clan members. A long second followed, a younger man immediately approached the newcomers.

“We will come with you! I know we will,” he said, looking behind him for affirmation, rather emphatically eyeing his clan members to agree.

The other clan members were skeptical, but bewildered, another joined in the young man.

“Perhaps it is our destiny to come with you and forge a new path.”

Madakos interrupted the agreement to disagree with the Esim clan member.

“Zira is about creating your own destiny. This is your choice. We will not force you to do anything, we can probably teleport you to where we are going, or anywhere else you wish to go.”

“You wish to go westwards?” Tamura surmised, “damn it Madakos that’s even crazier than fighting the Demons and Undead. They call that Continent of Death for a reason.”

Anger immediately swelled at him at the words.

“No one’s ever been there!” Madakos nearly caught himself shouting, “we have to escape to somewhere safer. At least until we accumulate more Zira.”

“Excuse this Humans lack of manners,” Hunila laughed, and then glared up at him.

Nonetheless, even with a glare to tell him to stop, he tingled almost with happiness.

“It is ok,” one of the Esim clan members said, “forge our own destiny, I’ll do it. For a long time, all we’ve done is fish, grow coconuts, and live peaceful but uneventful lives. We are hardly made for war, but we need to truly be in command of where we’re going…”

Madakos and Hunila nodded, growing food, cutting it; corn and wheat and coconuts stacked in two long ships, everything else was trashed by the wayside; burnt into ash, buried in the sand as if nothing ever existed there.

“I’m sorry, because of us…” Hunila said guiltily to one of the men.

“It is ok, this is a decision we made,” a man said, “there are no regrets in such a decision.”

The man extracted both blades from their sheaths tossed them in the air and put them back in, some sort of superstitious ritual, perhaps for luck, perhaps for strength, whatever it did, it certainly made the Shadow Elf feel determined.

“Let us begin.”

Korax held both scabbards, putting the blade until the very end so that it made a small clicking sound; Korax was an über muscular Shadow Elf, and defacto leader of the Esim clan. Tamura immediately was wary of the young Elf, looking at him with eager eyes and even more eager mannerisms.

“We must go,” he said simply, “you magic users, will lead us to new lands I’m sure.”

“New lands…” Madakos whispered, “yes I suppose that’s true.”

At least I hope. I don’t want to give this guy false hope, he deserves new lands. I will do everything in my power to live differently. New lands. New life. New.

The Devil that had been sniped by Hunila was revived by another Devil, the two Devils brandished glowing hot weapons as they looked around.

“Where are they?” The Sniped Devil asked to scared silence, “I asked where the fuck are they!”

“They’re… we don’t know, we were too busy dealing with these towers!”

One of the towers shot at them and then another struck the Devil that had just been revived, requiring a further revive. The fury in the surviving Devil, was that of a volcano, an angry volcano.

“You useless cunts can’t even deal with fortifications!” The Devil said, “The Ice and Earth Demons probably laugh at you!”

In this moment, two Necromancer Lords appeared in front of the Devils and Demons. The Devil scratched his big head, and sighed audibly for everyone to hear. The towers still killed Demons in the background as the Devil summoned red fire to destroy at least four of the closest towers. The towers crumpled into their footprint, before a very pernicious Undead warlord showed up. A Spectre Lord, by the name of Maras; he could teleport a kilometre a second and not spend a lick of mana doing so. He had 15 Reapers, a few regular ghost scouts, 40 Ghouls, 10 Bane and a few Spectres and some Wraiths. Reapers were armed like the grim reaper, with a scythe that had blades on both ends, wore a customary black hood that their ethereal bodies complimented; Bane could suck the life force out of the living with their hands and heal allies, luminescent blue shone from their bodies and shone even more distinctly in the act of combat; Ghouls were purple rabid beasts that scratched enemies with poison; Wraiths were outfitted in black jagged armour with throwing knives at their disposal. Spectres were armed with stabbing knives, wearing hoods and robes to hide their skeletal features. Spectres were useful for assassination and were not good at large crowds, therefore Maras in commanding other kinds of ghosts had allies who could make up for his deficiencies. Maras laughed manically at the sight of the Demons and the two Devils.

“Infernals? Fire Infernals are not welcome here!” He said simply.

“Uther!” One of the Devils screamed, “Uther, is it not your job as ambassador to talk to these scum?”

Scum huh? I’ll show you scum.

Uther merely looked; the Undead in question crossed his arms, skeletal hand in skeletal arm, and created a new Spectre. Not a Lord, so lacking agency, a mere servant of Maras’s will.

“Cause chaos on my signal…” he whispered quietly.

He had no eyebrows or alive eyes, but he scanned along the battlefield for how he would punish the Demons.

“By the order of the Fire Demon Lord get the fuck out of our way!” One Demon said armed with a pike.

“Fire Devils, Fire Demons. This is not even your world. Who invited you here? Hmmm?” Maras said, causing explosive levels of anger in the entire Demon army.

Both Devil’s blood vessels swelled, writhed like maggots on their faces with unbridled rage, swelling fists that pointed in his general direction before a booming voice said:

“Kill him!”

“Kill?” Maras mused, “ah… but I’m already dead.”

The Reapers sliced through the Demons, and the Spectre minion jumped about stabbing Demons in the back. The Ghouls dealt with thousands, Maras on the other hand jumped backwards, avoiding fireballs and feral enraged Demons. Demons were jumped out of portals as they attempted to catch the Necromancer off guard. They failed. Reapers sliced through emerging Demons, at least a few Reapers being blown up in flames, others being healed by Bane that turned Demons into prunes to heal allies. The Demons popped out of everywhere and anywhere, attempting to flood the Spectre Lord’s position, he hopped about, his ethereal beings slicing and dicing. Maras used his Wraiths as a personal bodyguard, they flanked him, and formed around him when he teleported somewhere else; they threw knives at high speed, high precision and were armoured enough to survive most Demons attacks. The Wraiths could not compare to most missile units in terms of volume shot, they were quick assassins, they lacked crowd control abilities.

“Ooh, flyers I have some too.”

The Reapers flew into the sky and began slicing the pursuing flying Demons.

“Kill that fucker! Put his head on a pike!” One of the Devil’s screamed.

“Oh but my head does not go on a pike?” Maras laughed maniacally.

Maras deftly drew his forces back, as the Demons pushed forwards determined to ‘kill’ him. Many thousands of Demons poured and Maras’s meanwhile grinned internally beneath his black hue robe.

Fools.

Skeletons and Ghouls emerged form the sand, hacking and slashing with poisonous claws at the Demon army, the ethereal beings turned around to further cement the slaughter. Maras had 500 Ghouls poisoning the Demons, which turned into a bloody maw for the Demons who did not retreat or surrender. The two Devils began resurrecting some of the Demons and sending them back, the dark mana that the Necromancer collected was still collected, but it now had to kill the same people once more. Maras stared over the massacre he so cunningly created, his ethereal beings cutting Demon after Demon to pieces, summoning more ethereal beings to fill the vacancies, and to continue the battle. Large fiery boulders were now being chucked in his general direction, with Reapers cutting many of the boulders.

“Someone is angry huh…” Maras chuckled, “well can’t blame them.”

Thousands of Demons lay dead, but the Demons continued their attack with reckless abandon, wave after wave of fiery Demon lay dead, skeletons easily felled, but Ghouls with their poison inflicted many deaths and allowed Maras to summon more Ghouls and inflict casualties in perpetuity. Fireballs, flew in his general direction, but the problem was his general direction could be anywhere depending on where he teleported. His other coup was more cunning, he summoned a Spectre which he made to pretend was him, and he slowly wheeled behind the Demon lines, the battle raged in the background; dark energy, or death mana slowly accumulated, Ghouls and skeletons appeared behind the Demons; the carnage was absolutely astonishing, there were dead everywhere, ambassador Uther survived by being next to the two Devils who blasted scorching sun hot beams of pure rage. Maras withdrew his forces, the Ghouls stayed behind to inflict casualties, while the rest of their force withdrew somewhere.

“Damn those Undead!” One Devil said smashing his foot into the ground, “the rulers of Dina must explain themselves!”

“Explain themselves?” Maras said to the two Devils, appearing right in front of their noses, “go back to your lava.”

And then he disappeared. Uther interrupted the anger of the Devils, running up to them with a small squadron of impish pikemen. The Devils were bubbling with rage, spittle escaping their mouths, their fists clenching.

“We should be chasing the Warlock!”

“We have no idea where he got to,” one of the Devil’s said, “besides I am itching for a fight.”

I think Devils technically rank higher than the Fire Demon Emperor, but still, what am I going to tell him? This Devil is sabotaging my mission for his own personal vendettas, then again, those Necromancers really fucked with us huh. But even so the Demon Lord won't be happy. Can I keep my head, if I die because of these Devils’ stupidity I hope to become a ghost and haunt them.

Maras had retreated and had rearranged Ildrid to stand in location.

“I hear you were done in by a Warlock,” Maras whispered, “the Demons are currently chasing us, so I would be wary.”

“Demons?” Ildrid said, “my skeletal armies will be torched, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Growing my power?” Maras laughed, “why not do the same.”

“Damn it Maras. Thank you for raising me from death, but I wonder what for, I am going to get absolutely torched by those…” Ildrid turned around and the ghost had disappeared, “oh you have to be kidding me…”

Ildrid crouched his entire army of skeletons and immediately went northwards in hope of avoiding the angry Demons. He failed. Miserably. The Demons not only found him, they all began attacking his forces. Imps, large Demons, regular Demon soldiers, shields, shieldless, pikes, swords, claws. Ildrid summoned skeletons to hack and kill, and summoned more skeletons afterwards, he was fighting an endless horde, and just when it seemed Ildrid would be destroyed, when it all seemed hopeless, Maras appeared. Outwitting the Demons for a third time, the Fire Demons were set upon by a horde of 1000 Ghouls, Demons writhed in agony with the onset of poison as Maras teleported around surrounding the Demons and finishing off the Devils at the same time.

“So unfortunate,” Maras whispered in a low murmur.

Wraiths protected his person, they threw knives at any Demon that got too close, but others were merely scratched or sliced into pieces.

“Ildrid?” Maras said giving him a knowing look.

The skeletal Lord threw himself into action, summoning thousands of skeletons which immediately slammed into the Demon line, Uther would have died had massive five metre Demons not arrived to save him from imminent death; the large Demons armed with giant flaming swords and spewing fire, you could see how Uther avoided becoming a corpse. The Demons fled the battle site, Uther leading them up northwards through the winding deserts trying to find where the Warlocks went. Maras did not leave them alone, instead choosing to harass them. Uther having to summon Demon reinforcements to deal with the Undead threat that tailed him