The tension in the air was palpable. I could feel it weighing down on me, pressing into my chest with every breath. I stood there, watching, knowing I couldn’t understand a word they said. The Warlock, as I’d come to think of him, was furious, his twisted body still writhing from the aftershocks of whatever dark magic he’d used. The Chieftain, the one who commanded these orcs, stood before him with a massive warhammer in hand, his eyes cold and calculating.
I couldn’t hear their words, but I could feel their meaning in the tension of their muscles, the way they squared off against each other. This wasn’t just a fight between comrades; it was something deeper. The Warlock had crossed a line—one I didn’t fully understand—and now they were at each other’s throats.
This was no ordinary fight, and whatever the Warlock had become, it was more dangerous than anything I had ever faced. And now, I was caught in the middle of it. I wasn’t sure who to fear more—the Chieftain with his massive warhammer or the Warlock, twisted by his own power into this demonic form.
They clashed with a deafening roar. The Chieftain swung his warhammer in a wide arc, the weight of the weapon evident in the way it tore through the air. The Warlock was fast—too fast for something of his size—and he ducked under the blow, his claws swiping at the Chieftain’s exposed side. Sparks flew as the Chieftain’s armor deflected the strike, but the force of the blow sent him staggering back.
The ground trembled beneath their feet as they fought, each impact of the Chieftain’s warhammer against the Warlock’s claws sending shockwaves through the room. I could feel it in my bones, the sheer force of their attacks rattling me to my core. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stay out of this fight, but I knew one thing: I had to be ready.
I watched them closely, waiting for my chance. The Warlock seemed to be fighting with reckless abandon, his demonic form giving him strength and speed beyond anything I’d seen. But there was a wildness to his attacks, a lack of control that made him vulnerable. The Chieftain, on the other hand, was measured, every strike of his warhammer calculated, deliberate.
For a moment, it seemed like the Chieftain had the upper hand. He landed a solid blow, his warhammer smashing into the Warlock’s side with a sickening crunch. The Warlock let out a roar of pain, stumbling back, black blood oozing from the wound. But instead of retreating, he lashed out with a fury that bordered on madness. His claws raked across the Chieftain’s chest, tearing through armor and flesh alike. The Chieftain grunted in pain but held his ground, refusing to give an inch.
It was clear that this fight was pushing both of them to their limits. Sweat dripped down the Chieftain’s face as he hefted his warhammer once more, his muscles straining under the weight. The Warlock, despite his monstrous form, was breathing heavily, his movements becoming more erratic.
Then, something shifted. The Warlock, his eyes glowing with that same demonic fire, threw his head back and let out a guttural roar. The ground beneath him cracked, black tendrils of energy shooting out in all directions. I could feel the magic in the air, thick and oppressive, as the Warlock began to draw on more of his dark power.
The Chieftain’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, I saw something like fear flash across his face. He knew, as I did, that the Warlock was about to unleash something terrible.
With a snarl, the Warlock thrust his hands forward, and a wave of dark energy exploded from him, engulfing the entire room. I barely had time to react before it hit me, the force of it sending me flying backward. I crashed into the wall, the impact knocking the wind out of me. Pain shot through my body, but I forced myself to stay conscious, to keep watching.
The Chieftain wasn’t so lucky. The dark energy slammed into him, sending him sprawling across the ground. His warhammer clattered to the floor beside him, and for a moment, he didn’t move. The Warlock stalked toward him, his monstrous form looming over the fallen Chieftain.
I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit here and watch them tear each other apart. Calling on the divine light it's glowing light filling my body. I could feel its power coursing through me, ready to be unleashed.
But before I could act, the Chieftain stirred. He pushed himself to his feet, blood dripping from his wounds, his face a mask of determination. He didn’t even glance at me. His focus was entirely on the Warlock.
With a roar, the Chieftain grabbed his warhammer and swung it with all his might. The Warlock, caught off guard by the Chieftain’s sudden recovery, was too slow to dodge. The warhammer connected with his chest, and the force of the blow sent him crashing to the ground.
For a moment, everything was still. The Warlock lay there, his chest heaving as he struggled to breathe, the glow in his eyes flickering. The Chieftain stood over him, his warhammer raised for the final blow.
But then, the Warlock let out a low, guttural laugh. His eyes, now glowing brighter than ever, locked onto the Chieftain’s.
Dark energy began to swirl around him once more, the air crackling with power. I could feel it, the raw, unbridled force of it, like a storm ready to tear everything apart.
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And then, with a deafening roar, the Warlock exploded.
Black energy erupted from his body, tearing the ground with such force it formed a creater. I threw up my hands, a shield of divine light forming around me just in time to block the worst of the blast. But the sheer power of it was overwhelming, and I could feel the strain as I struggled to maintain the shield.
When the explosion finally subsided, I lowered my shield and looked around. The room was in ruins, the walls cracked and crumbling, debris scattered everywhere. The Chieftain was on his knees, his warhammer lying beside him, his body covered in burns and wounds. But the Warlock… he was gone. Nothing remained of him but a smoldering crater where he had once stood.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, the Chieftain rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on the spot where the Warlock had been. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even look in my direction. He just turned and walked away, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.
I stayed where I was, my heart pounding in my chest, my mind racing. I had survived, but just barely. And now, I was left with more questions than answers.
What had just happened? What had the Warlock become? And most importantly… what did this mean for me?
As the dust settled and the place fell into an eerie silence, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over. The Warlock may have been defeated, but his dark magic still lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the power he had wielded.
- - -
“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” the Warlock rasped, his voice thick with malice. “You think you can defeat me?”
The Chieftain’s grip on his warhammer tightened, but he didn’t respond.
“You have no idea what I am capable of,” the Warlock continued, his body beginning to twitch and convulse. “I am more than this flesh. More than this body.”
Was and that said when Guldar exploded.
Ironic last words
But never the less
The Warlock was no more—his body vaporized in a final, cataclysmic explosion of his own dark power. The once fearsome orc who had served him for so long had fallen victim to his own greed for power. Doomhand had warned him, but the Warlock had refused to listen. The dark magic had consumed him, twisting his body and mind until there was nothing left of the orc he once knew.
And now, Doomhand stood alone in the open field, his warriors far off in the distance, tending to their own. His gaze, however, settled on the strange creature that had been at the center of it all: the harpy.
The harpy, though Doomhand did not know his name—stood on unsteady feet, his breathing ragged, his wings drooping at his sides. Blood and dirt stained the harpy’s feathers, and a faint glow of light still shimmered in his eyes from the divine magic he had used to protect himself during the battle. The Chieftain had watched, silently assessing, as the bird-creature had survived, barely, the Warlock’s final attack.
There was something about this harpy that intrigued Doomhand. Despite the chaos around him, despite being an outsider in a battle that wasn’t his, he had stood his ground. He had shown resilience, even if he could not understand their language or their ways.
Doomhand let out a deep breath, his large chest rising and falling with the weight of it. The harpy had survived, and though it pained him to admit it, he had earned his freedom. The Chieftain was not a creature of mercy, but nor was he without honor. There was no point in taking a life that had fought so hard to keep itself.
The orc chieftain lifted his warhammer and planted it in the ground, the motion slow and deliberate. His muscles, worn from the battle, ached, but he ignored the pain. He didn’t speak. He knew the harpy wouldn’t understand. Instead, he met the bird-creature’s gaze and gestured—his hand a slow, heavy movement—pointing away from the field, toward the distant horizon where the forest loomed.
It was a clear message: leave. You’ve earned your life. Take it and go.
The harpy hesitated, his head tilting slightly as if he didn’t understand at first. But then, the realization dawned on him. The Chieftain was sparing him. The harpy’s expression shifted, a mixture of confusion and relief crossing his bloodstained face. He glanced toward the horizon, then back at the Chieftain, as if unsure whether he could trust the gesture.
Doomhand didn’t move. His posture remained strong, unyielding, like a stone carved from the mountains. He would not repeat himself. The harpy’s fate was his own now.
For a moment, the harpy stayed still, his wings quivering as if they longed to take flight but were held back by doubt. Then, with a cautious step, he turned, his legs weak but functional, and began to move away. His wings stretched slightly, catching the wind as he walked, testing the air, though he seemed too exhausted to lift himself completely off the ground.
The Chieftain watched him go, his face unreadable. He could hear the faint murmurs of his warriors behind him, those who had been drawn close by the sounds of the battle. Some of them stirred uneasily, unsure why their Chieftain had not struck down the strange bird-creature. But none dared question him aloud.
As the harpy moved farther away, the Chieftain let his gaze drop to the spot where the Warlock had fallen. There was no sign of his body now, only the blackened earth and the faint lingering stench of dark magic. Doomhand’s hand tightened around the handle of his warhammer.
The Warlock had been a fool, driven by greed for power. His death had been a waste, and it had cost Doomhand one of his strongest assets. The Chieftain’s mind churned with thoughts of the future—his warband’s strength had been diminished, and now, the conflict with rival clans was sure to escalate. His people needed him to be strong, to lead them with iron will, but today had shown him the cost of unchecked ambition.
A low growl escaped his throat, and he raised his head once more, watching as the harpy’s form grew smaller in the distance. The Chieftain had made his decision. The harpy would live, but what came next would be on the creature’s own shoulders.
With a final grunt of effort, Doomhand lifted his warhammer and turned away from the field, walking back toward his gathered warriors. He would need to address them, to plan for the days ahead, but his mind still lingered on the harpy and the strange, glowing power he had wielded.
“Perhaps…” Doomhand muttered to himself, his voice low and gravelly turning his head to look at the harpy now leaving towards the forest. "Things are going to be chaotic soon."
And with that, the Chieftain marched off, the weight of his warhammer resting on his broad shoulders as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the field into shadow.