-Grab a weapon and join us, slave!

--One of them said, tossing Zarak the dead knight’s shortsword. As Zarak followed it with his gaze, he grabbed the handle by instinct. His eyes lingered on the blade, dripping with Ork and human blood. He couldn’t tell the difference, it was all red. He looked at the corpses of the three Ork children. He could hardly tell the genders of the two smaller ones apart. They were all short, stocky, muscled and ugly. He generally didn’t have a good idea of whether they were boys or girls until they got old enough to have breasts. He felt disgusted by them and these thoughts he had. By their grotesquely muscled physique. By their murderous culture. By their short and furrowed brows. It was good that they died, wasn’t it? For a moment, he thought he could still hear them screaming. However, looking up, he saw that Myzrael had approached the two spearmen from behind and stabbed the left one in the neck, finding the gap in his armour. It was his scream ringing in Zarak’s head. Before her victim fell to the ground, she stepped behind the second spearman. As the second one turned around, reacting to the blurry image in his peripheral vision, Myzrael’s dagger caught his eye. Literally, she stabbed him with it. In the eye.

-Well? Now is your chance. – She told Zarak. – I won’t try to stop you. Just escape.

-…I can’t.

-Of course you can. I saw you just now, you know. With the little ones. You watched on as the Goth men slew them.

--Zarak was silent. He felt conflicted about what he had just done, but he wasn’t the type to make excuses.

-I did, didn’t I? – He concluded, out loud, scratching the back of his head, with an awkward grin on his face, to which the origin was unknown to him.

-I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. It’s simply in your nature. All humans are evil.

-And Orks are not? – He asked, once again calm, while trying to read if there was killing intent in her cold eyes.

-Are they though? It was the humans who started all of this.

-What do you mean?

-Never mind, it’s no wonder you know nothing about it. Everybody wants to be the hero of their own story. – Myzrael chuckled.

-I’m no hero.

-Yes, you’re not. A hero wouldn’t watch children die. Or be enslaved for years. What good are you? – Myzrael’s tone inflated as she spoke.

-Weren’t you the one who told me that true strength belongs to those who know when to bare their teeth?

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-Yes, but how long should they wait!? – She cried, her eyes suddenly misty.

-…This reminds me of the first conversation we ever had. We were both gripping blades back then, too. And we spoke of the same things. My mind hasn't changed much since then. Perhaps none of us are evil. Or we all are. Ork, human, what difference does it make? Either way, we’re just nobodies on the opposite sides of a war.

-Are we?

-Are we what?

-On opposite sides?

-Your guess is as good as mine.

--As they stood across each other, their grips on their blades loosened, and an awkward silence ensued. The world around them was burning and screaming, but between them, the silence grew so thick it could be cut with a sword. This went on for several moments, until a familiar voice shattered it.

-There you are! – Igs, the Ork Knight bellowed, in Orkish of course. – I’ve been searching for the two of you. Come! We have to fall back to better ground!

--The guttural noises made no sense to Zarak, but Myzrael explained to him that they must move, and he followed. As they broke their way towards a direction only Igs knew, they fought Goth troops. Zarak’s mind and heart were ablaze with conflicting thoughts and emotions. He did not feel any guilt for battling the Goth soldiers, although it seemed he should have. He did want to leave. But he felt strongly that he could not. Perhaps he feared that leaving would cause the Orks to raid his village once more, this time finishing off what was left of his sister. Or perhaps there was another reason. It’s as if it was at the tip of his tongue, but he could not see it. He felt detest and a distant sadness, as he fought men, standing shoulder to shoulder with Orks. But most of all, it felt good to be holding a sword again.

--In the distance, he could see Kord swinging his two-hander about, swarmed with Goth knights, which dropped around him like flies.

--After what felt like an eternity of blood and steel crossing paths, Igs, Myzrael and Zarak reached a mound with several tunnel entries, leading underground. They were rather large, able to fit 4 Orks shoulder to shoulder, and a mass of Orkish civilians was gushing in. Igs hurried them inside one of the tunnels, while he remained behind with Ork warriors who guarded their rear. An Ork with a ceremonial wooden mask led them in, lighting the way with a small flame, which flickered in the palm of his hand, seemingly with no source. It just hovered barely above his palm. As they fled with the last group of Orks, they could hear sounds of combat turning into echoes behind them. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and rumbling could be heard all around them. Up ahead, they could see moonlight shining through a hole in the ceiling. It was the end of the tunnel, and they were happy to see it. While the Orks were climbing out, helped by more green hands waiting on the other side, Myzrael and Zarak waited their turn. They kept looking back, waiting to see if a slew of Goth knights was about to come charging at them from the darkness of the tunnel. Zarak gave Myzrael a hasty boost, and the Orks above pulled her up. A clanging, metallic noise could be heard approaching. As Zarak climbed up, pulled up by green hands, he stared into the dark, and he felt strangely relieved once he saw that it was Igs who came, carrying on his shoulders two wounded Ork warriors.

--Once the lot of them were outside, the Ork with the wooden mask approached the exit of the tunnel, joined by a few others with similar markings. Zarak recognized them. It was obvious from the ceremonial masks and decorations they bore that they were shamans. But these weren’t the peaceful Cloud Shamans who wore headdresses, smoked herbs and healed wounds. No, Myzrael told him before… these were Earthwalkers. She warned Zarak that these Orks are very dangerous, and not to be trusted. They formed a circle and chanted with low growls. Goth men could now be heard shouting curses, as they were approaching through the tunnel. The Earthwalkers weaved their hands through the air in a ritual. They seemed to be moving in a slow dance as the shouting got louder, closer. Finally, the Earthwalkers fell down, landing with their palms onto the dirt and hummed. The ground trembled once again, tremendously, it seemed to respond to their touch. Dust billowed outwards, from the tunnel exit, as screams echoed from within, drowned out by the rumbling of the earth.

-We are done fighting? – Zarak asked, uncertain if he should be putting away his looted sword.

-Yes, they are buried. We are done for today. – Myzrael replied as she tucked her dagger back into her waistband.

--Relieved, Zarak dropped his sword to the ground, sat down onto the dirt and leaned forward to rest on his knees, to try and catch his breath. He looked around. A new camping ground had already been set up. The Orks laughed heartily, tapped each other on the shoulder, bumped chests, and grunted with excitement. Even the air was somehow already thick with the scent of Ork cooking. If it weren’t for the wounded Orks standing in lines to be tended to by the Cloud Shamans, it would seem as though the night raid had never happened. He felt perplexed. His eyes searched the crowd. Was he the only slave to have fought alongside the Orks? Slaying men was something he had already done in the past. His conscience will never be clear of it, so it had better have been with good reason. And yet, it seemed that the other slaves were still herded like cattle, in chains. It seemed that his position was… unique. He couldn’t understand it. Any of it.