Oliver's ears rang with a maddening pitch, enveloping his senses as he crumbled to the ground. His narrowed eyes strained against the blistering blue expanse that consumed his vision, the sky alone filling his sight.
Clouds swirled, the sun's yellow glare scorched, and scarlet drops permeated the air, carried by the wind like a deluge of rain. His hand thrashed out, his eyes unevenly focused, as the relentless ringing drowned out all else.
"Hello..." he muttered, his voice a feeble murmur.
In that disorienting moment, a pair of hands seized him, yanking him upright. James stood by his side, his words lost amidst the clamor in Oliver's ears as his legs were dragged away.
Dozia appeared nearby, gesturing with her left hand, urging the Lost Ones to regroup. Some had fled in fear, while others trembled in place, their ranks riddled with uncertainty.
How did this happen? Oliver's thoughts raced, his azure eyes scanning the surroundings. Mere moments ago, they had reveled in their pride, certain of their imminent triumph. And now, this bleak scene lay before them.
James steadied him against the interior wall, his eyes fixating on the other members of the Lost Ones, who, without orders, improvised and coordinated a counterattack.
"What is that?" Dozia's voice pierced through the chaos, her steps quick as she rushed to check on both Oliver and James.
James frowned, his eyes narrowing. "An albino orc. They burrow underground," he muttered, disbelief coloring his words. "I thought they were extinct. Wiped out after The Dark Times."
Shaking his head in dismay, James turned to face Oliver, his posture lowered as he took a knee. The boy's bewildered gaze struck him to the core. "What's wrong with him?"
"I don't know," Dozia replied, her confusion evident as she leaned over the young commander.
James studied Oliver intently, desperately seeking a solution. But it was as if the boy were caught in a trance, his mind detached and frozen. His lips were slightly parted, yet with each word spoken, he seemed more absent, lost to the world.
Unbeknownst to them, Oliver grappled with a combat phenomenon. When the mind stretches to its limits, the psyche contorted and frayed, when stress and fatigue mount against insurmountable odds... shellshock.
The Orc's anguished cry pierced the tumultuous air, as a blazing fireball erupted from Dozia's outstretched palm, crashing into the albino orc's side. The creature crumpled to the ground, while Oliver remained transfixed, his gaze fixed on the unfolding chaos.
They had functioned as a harmonious unit, on the brink of celebrating a hard-fought victory, on the verge of securing their newfound home. And now...
A dark crimson mist hung in the air, a ghastly residue of what once comprised the squad of valiant fighters. With one mighty slash of its colossal hands, the enemy had snuffed out their existence. Poof. Gone, as if they never were. Oliver's wide blue eyes remained fixed on the spot where his comrades had stood just moments ago. They were mere children, unaware of their own abrupt demise. Reduced to mere whispers, evaporated into scarlet particles. Oliver's gaze widened, but exhaustion and agony rendered his body immobile, a statue in the face of unimaginable horror.
"What's going on?" A voice pierced through the fog in Oliver's mind, but the dizziness and disorientation kept him rooted in place. The only movement visible was the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. Then, he saw them. Rena and her surviving squad.
Their bodies bore the marks of battle, adorned with wounds and bruises. Some displayed gruesome injuries that demanded immediate attention. The number of survivors fell far short of Rena's initial contingent for this mission. But it was Rena herself who caused Oliver to recoil in shock.
Rena's form was marred by cuts and gashes, though they seemed superficial, still bleeding. Yet it was her face that made Oliver wince—a jagged scar traced the path where her eye had once been.
His gaze began to shift, barely registering the cacophony of voices that reverberated around him. Rena, James, and Dozia engaged in a furious exchange, barking orders not only at each other but also at the remaining members of their group.
Rena had accomplished her mission, that much was evident in the wounds etched across her features, and the loss of her comrades—her family. Oliver coughed, his eyes locking on the trio embroiled in argument as...
"What is going on?" Rena's voice erupted.
James swiftly briefed her, unraveling the tale of the orc onslaught and the emergence of the slumbering albino orc.
Rena's face contorted with displeasure, her gaze snapping toward Dozia and the remaining troops of the Lost Ones. Dozia's voice rang out, directing her soldiers. Spears flew through the air, impaling the creature's flesh, twisting and writhing as it ravaged the terrain.
"Let's keep this simple!" James bellowed. "All the orcs are dead."
Rena shook her head, her attention fixed on the colossal beast. "Except for that massive one."
"Well, of course," James retorted sharply.
"What are our orders?" a squadron of Lost Ones screamed, a member of Oliver's terror troops taking charge as a group converged around him.
Dozia silently admired their resilience. The remnants of Oliver's terror troops stood, visibly shaken but unyielding. Their arms trembled, yet their fingers clung tightly to their weapons. Dozia had once believed that Oliver was too harsh on them, but now she understood.
They had become warriors.
Dozia locked her gaze on the orc. Its towering presence was intimidating, but orcs were known for their dim-witted nature. It had emerged recently from the rubble and dank underground that birthed it.
Dozia possessed only a vague understanding of what orks were. She knew they were a monstrous breed that had retained their magic and their imbecility, unlike the goblins during the grand theft. Yet the human empires had purged them, wiping out the ork subspecies that surpassed the standard green orks in either advancement or strength. Remnants remained, remnants that now stood as an ancient enemy in history. But Dozia was undeterred.
Her eyes narrowed, aflame with unwavering determination, as she drew her crude sword from its scabbard. She hoisted the blade high into the air, her once-tidy ponytail undone by the chaos of battle. However, she paid it no mind. To others, she appeared as a wild red inferno of resolve. "Lost Ones, heed my words!" she screamed, her voice thunderous. "Reform your groups and keep your distance from the orks!"
The hulking figure of the albino ork swung a massive hand, yet a nimble member of the Lost Ones evaded it effortlessly. "He's a sluggish bastard!" the member shouted back.
James's mind raced, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the beast's devastation. He struggled to devise a plan, but such strategic thinking was not his forte.
The albino orks differed from their brethren. While orks came in various shades, sizes, and levels of intellect, the albino orks were remnants of a darker, bygone era. An ork tribe, a vast one, had become trapped in the harshness of the North. Many perished during that period, but those who endured the biting cold, starvation, and the solace-seeking caves underwent a transformation.
They grew dumber and slower, abandoning the use of armor and weapons. However, they became larger and stronger. While a standard ork was robust and slightly taller than an average human, the albino ork stood gargantuan. It loomed like two men stacked atop each other, its massive frame engulfed by irregular, bulging muscles. It resembled a troll more than an ork.
James slammed his eyes shut, inundated by the sounds of his tribe's cries and pleas for help. Yet his mind went blank. He was a half-elf, a warrior, lacking the strategic acumen of Dozia or Oliver. Oliver!
He snapped his head around, but Dozia had already formulated a plan. "Rick!"
"Dozia!" Rick bellowed in response.
Rick, the wolfkin, was occupied with hauling a wounded tribe member to safety. Blood seeped from his armor, and cuts marred his face. His spear had been shattered or cast aside, but he gently laid the injured comrade on the grass, his gaze turning towards Dozia.
"Remember the plan!" she snapped, her eyes scanning the other members who had gathered around her. "Remember the plan. Remember the signal. Lost Ones, our objective was to eliminate orks... and now only one remains!"
She raised her sword higher, the crude bronze blade gleaming harshly under the sun's unrelenting gaze, as the Lost Ones were swept up in a battle frenzy. "Fear not!" she bellowed. "For the Deus Imperator fights alongside us. We shall not be defeated!"
They surged forward, charging headlong into the chaos. Oliver, still grappling with the suddenness of it all, pressed his body against the fort's walls. His mind spun, struggling to comprehend and take action, but everything felt like water within a dream. He sank, deeper and deeper, as his vision dimmed and darkened.
Rick's body sprang into motion, his heart pounding as he recalled the plan the Deus Imperator had entrusted to him with utmost precision. "You're the swiftest among us, Rick," he had said. "That is why I bestow this honor upon you."
Rick's features contorted into a grimace. Back then, he had felt an immense sense of pride, but now he understood the weight of it all. Countless plans had been devised in their relentless pursuit of besieging the fortress. Oliver and the council had spent days scrutinizing every detail. Oliver, with his neurotic mind, had strived to create the perfect battle strategy to overcome the orks.
Rick's claws gripped the crude stone, scaling the walls of the fortress as he beheld the blood-soaked carnage below. He shook his head lightly, mourning the fallen comrades who had not made it. Sighing, he acknowledged that no one could have foreseen this.
His eyes fixed on Dozia, who chanted incantations, conjuring a massive ball of flame that collided with the ork's body. The beast howled in agony, the scent of charred flesh filling their nostrils. Yet Rick tore his gaze away. He had a task to fulfill.
Scaling the wall, Rick's feet landed on the other side. The expanse of the valley sprawled before him, but he swiftly refocused. Driven by a feverish determination, he flung his satchel onto the rough stone floor. His hands trembled and perspired as he extracted the concoction crafted by Rasumus. Rick's mind whirled as he assembled the crude contraption.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
The original plan, divulged to the Lost Ones, entailed Rena and her squad ambushing the ork patrol. This surprise attack would prevent any orks from reinforcing the fortress defenders. Subsequently, while the ambush unfolded, Oliver and the rest would invade, bursting into the fortress, scaling its walls, and forcing their way through the withered and dilapidated massive wooden doors. Their aim was to slaughter every monster within. Initially, the plan had proceeded smoothly, but the albino ork appeared as an intruder, a chaotic element that could spell doom for the operation.
Nevertheless, a smirk curled upon Rick's features as he reminisced about the moment when everyone had exited the room. Rasmus, Rena, and his Deus Imperator had waited for him. The smirk the Deus Imperator had bestowed upon him had surprised Rick, who had confessed his astonishment at learning that Rick excelled in scaling and freerunning through the forest.
Rick's smile widened as he secured the barrel at the base of the crumbling foundation. Grasping his flint, he struck it against the ruined stone. After a few attempts, the primitive flaregun shot forth from the foundation, soaring high into the air, casting a crimson beam of light upon them.
For a fleeting moment, everyone froze, even the albino ork was taken aback by the intense red glow. Then, they heard it. Oliver's anxious mind entertained the possibility of more orks, but Dozia suggested using them as a shock troop. If they found themselves losing the battle, the signal would be given. The weapons were still prototypes, and they still needed people to protect the caverns. But this was their last resort.
Rick scanned the area, his claws gripping the stone foundation as he listened. The whooping cries echoed, mingling with his own triumphant scream carried by the wind. "Get that fat bastard!" he shouted.
They came—the Lost Ones, led by Rasmus, clad in weathered leather armor, riding their few horses. Armed with primitive spears, they also carried something else. Rasmus's smirk etched upon his face as the squad advanced through the gates, catching sight of the orks as they heard the loading of bolts. The spider silk had been fashioned into sturdy wires to propel powerful metal bolts...
Their spears and crude wooden arrows lacked the strength to penetrate the beast's hide. But where wood and bronze failed, iron would prevail.
"Fire!" Rasmus bellowed.
The Lost Ones, following his lead, unleashed a volley of crossbow bolts. The sound of arrows whizzing through the air filled their ears as they struck the ork's flesh. The creature howled in agony, slamming its massive paws into the ground, shaking the earth and startling the horses. Still, they pressed on.
"Move!" Rasmus commanded, maneuvering his horse around the monster, with the Lost Ones close behind. However, one was not quick enough.
The monster was grievously wounded, its skin burned and now punctured by the foreign bolts. Roaring, it swung its hand in an irregular arc, slapping one of the horses. Both horse and rider were sent hurtling through the air, their bodies splattering on the ground in a gruesome spectacle.
Dozia unleashed another fireball, while the crossbows were reloaded and fired once more, some striking the creature's large, dark eyes.
Yet, it still refused to go down. "Help!"
The voice, small and childlike, resonated across the battlefield. Dozia's head snapped to the side, and there she saw him—a young boy with faint elvish features, clad in leathery armor, tears streaming down his cheeks.
The monstrous creature hurtled toward him, moving with an eerie, erratic speed as it prepared to strike. But Dozia, in a lightning-fast response, lunged forward, tackling the young boy and shoving him out of harm's way at the last possible moment. Yet, her eyes widened as she felt the Ork's hands close around her.
Her arms were pinned, her magical powers drained from her body, and panic surged within her as she desperately scanned her surroundings. Rasmus and James barked orders, their voices filled with urgency to save her, but she saw their jaws drop open. The creature's mouth was gaping wide, and she realized its intent.
"No..." She could only manage a whispered plea.
Her eyes widened, tears streaming down her face. A wild ferocity ignited within her as she fought against the Ork's grasp. She screamed, cried, kicked her legs, and exerted every ounce of strength to free herself, but it was in vain. Her eyes widened further as a sob escaped her lips. "Please, don't!" she screamed, the monster's foul breath brushing against her body. "Someone... help!"
Oliver stirred, his senses awakening as he heard Dozia's desperate pleas. In that moment, a surreal stillness washed over him, as if reality and dream had merged into one. Nothing felt quite real, as if he were trapped within a feverish hallucination. For a moment, he yearned to awaken, to go back to his normal life, to see Aidan and let this fantastical dream dissolve into nothingness.
It all seemed unreal, this journey into a strange and magical world, the encounters with these extraordinary people, and the weight of the Deus Imperator's prophecy. It felt like a bewildering reverie that he wished to shake off, to return to the familiarity of home. He longed for his grandmother's lovingly cooked meals, the comfort of doing his homework and playing video games. And when his mother returned, he craved her warm embrace...
His eyes flew open, heart pounding in his chest as the memories flooded back. He remembered it all—the accident that claimed his mother's life, the open road and the unknown cause of their car's destruction. Was it a rock they hit or a mechanical failure? He couldn't recall. All he knew was that he managed to escape, but his mother didn't. She had gazed at him as flames consumed her, her blood staining his face, scars etched across his features.
She had tousled his hair, urging him to run, while his hands desperately clung to the door, unable to save her from her fate. She had smiled. Tearfully, he listened to her final words before he fled.
And then, in an instant, she was gone. The explosion rocked the car, reducing it to a twisted wreck, and when the authorities arrived, there was barely anything left to bury. They laid an empty grave. The flowers he placed there were for the stone and soil alone.
Oliver's body moved on its own accord, his teeth clenched like a rabid dog as he forced himself upright. What would have happened if he had followed his father's teachings and tried to save her?
Would he have... could he have? His mother lay dead, and now he stood perilously close to the same fate. But as he extended his gaze, his eyes landed on Dozia, pleading for help, with the ravenous monster that had slaughtered his comrades and allies poised to devour her.
"No!" His scream reverberated through the air, his fist clenching and his heart pounding against his chest, consumed by a violent rage coursing through his veins. The power within him surged, an impostor force that sent blood trickling from his nostrils.
"Don't you dare touch her!" he bellowed.
He wondered if this was how Emilia felt, how the sons of Rome felt when they harnessed their powers. Bestowed upon them by the gods, an inherent divinity that resided within, and now he would wield it.
Oliver's hand shot forward, grasping the lifeless horse discarded and left to rot. With a force born of desperation, he hurled the carcass straight at the Ork's face, the sickening crack of bones breaking reverberating through the air as the monster's jaw snapped.
All eyes turned to Oliver, their gazes transfixed.
"I believe..." Rasmus whispered to himself, his eyes ablaze with a fervor that had taken hold of his psyche. He had harbored doubts before, a time when he had lost faith, but now he truly believed... Oliver was their Deus Imperator, their prophet, their messiah. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the man he would become, and it both terrified and exhilarated him.
Dozia scrambled free from the stunned beast's clutches, ducking and rolling as she broke away from its grip. Her eyes locked onto Oliver, a smile dancing on her lips. But her smile turned to astonishment as she felt her heart surge. "Oh, Ollie..." she murmured through tear-streaked cheeks.
The monster whirled toward Oliver, its focus entirely fixed on him, roaring through its broken jaw. It sought to intimidate him, to instill fear, but he would not be deterred, not here, not now.
All those moments of pain and anguish had led to this. And he would not falter, not here, not yet.
Oliver felt the impostor power surge within him, blood seeping from his nose, its metallic tang staining his lips. His vision grew hazy, the lure of sleep tugging at his consciousness, but he resisted, refusing to succumb.
At times, Oliver had pondered how far he could push his impostor abilities. The Witch's teachings of grand feats accomplished by impostors still resonated within his mind. But he knew he wasn't ready for that, not yet. However, this Ork, this beast... there was no time for hesitation.
He wiped the blood from his face, his eyes narrowing with unwavering resolve. He knew what had to be done now. "Rasmus!" he cried out, the dwarf snapping his attention toward him. "Your crossbow, now!"
Rasmus swiftly loaded another bolt, tossing it to Oliver, who caught it firmly with both hands. "There's only one bolt!" Rasmus exclaimed.
"That's all I need," Oliver replied with a sly grin, a crackling surge of confidence coursing through him.
With those words, he charged at the Lost Ones, their eyes widening in disbelief as shouts of protest echoed in Oliver's ears. Yet he tuned them out, drowning out the noise. He would not flee from his adversaries, not again.
His mind replayed the duel with the slaver and the Werewolf. He had faced his enemies head-on then, and he would do the same now. He would kill them.
His thoughts whirled, memories of the past and present swirling in his mind's eye. The ground beneath him seemed to shift, alternating between the grassy fortress and the concrete road, the stone walls of the castle and the charred remains of his mother's burning car. The scent of burnt Ork flesh mingled with the acrid smell of gasoline.
But amidst the chaos, there was a constant and a revelation. Oliver's blood, his mother's and father's blood, had seeped into the ground of two worlds. He was Oliver of Earth, but now he was also Oliver of Europa. He would never shy away from battle. This was his war.
The monster charged, its swing mirroring the force that had felled horses and men alike. Oliver's eyes fixated on the ground, his left hand thrusting forward as his telekinetic power connected with the earth.
Blood dribbled from his nose, and this time it wasn't the only place. He coughed, blood spilling from his mouth as a piercing headache tore through his skull. He realized he was pushing his limits, but he couldn't stop, not yet.
The ground rose, forming a makeshift barrier of hardened stone and dirt. The Ork swung, inadvertently striking the wall of earth and stone, its mangled arm impaled by this crude shield of nature. Oliver released his telekinetic hold as he prepared to fire his bolt, but...
In a sudden burst, a brilliant snap resounded in their eardrums. A crimson gleam flashed and crackled in their direction as Oliver's eyes widened, witnessing a flare slam into the creature's right eye. The beast howled and crashed onto its back.
Rick's scream pierced the air. "Now, our Deus Imperator!" he shouted, gripping the foundation of the makeshift flare gun. "Finish it, claim your kill!"
Oliver nodded, his body propelling forward as he leaped, crashing into the creature's stomach, his boots pressing against the sickly skin of the albino Ork. He moved with swift determination, the creature scrambling and shrieking as it desperately clawed at the burning flare embedded in its eyeball.
In such agony, it failed to realize that its killer was perched atop its stomach. Oliver sneered. "This is for all the Lost Ones you've slain. I'll make sure you feel every bit of it!" he roared.
Oliver firmly positioned the butt of the crossbow against his right chest and shoulder, gripping the weapon with one hand as more blood coursed from his mouth and nose. The pain was distant now, overwhelmed by the all-consuming exhaustion creeping over him.
Even as blood trickled from his ears and eyes, he didn't care. All he desired in that moment was to kill. His mind's eye flickered between the monster and the car. With a fierce cry, he lashed out, his left hand wrenching the beast's jaw downward, inflicting searing psychic agony upon himself as he unleashed his wrath.
And then, he brought it to an end.
With a furious whirl, he twisted the beast's mouth at irregular angles, witnessing the skin tear and the jaw contort. His left hand extended, exerting its psychic might to force the monster's jaws open, and then he pulled the trigger.
The bolt soared through the air, piercing the exposed, unarmored center of the creature's mouth, and drilled straight through its brain. A split second later, the arrow shot out, leaving a quarter-sized hole from the base of the creature's mouth through its brain.
A stillness settled over the Lost Ones, a silence that engulfed them. The survivors gazed at Oliver, their eyes fixed on him as he stared back at the monsters. His breath came in heavy gasps, his heart pounding against his chest as he turned toward the other survivors.
They stared at him, transfixed and motionless, each one grappling with their own shock at the ordeal. The Witch had spoken to him of Imposters and their significance in this world, how demi-humans like the Lost Ones revered them as gods and demons.
He stood there, triumphant like a hero. He was David, and this was his Goliath. He had wielded the powers of the gods to secure them a new home. With this kill, they had emerged victorious.
But Oliver, too young to fully comprehend the magnitude of what had transpired, did not see the Lost Ones seeing a mere boy. They beheld a deity, a young boy just like them who had defied the cruelty of this world.
A natural leader, destined to guide them to even greater triumphs. For he was Oliver Windsor, their Deus Imperator. Oliver's fingers slipped from the crossbow, crashing against the dirt floor as his body grew limp, collapsing like a deck of cards as he tumbled off the Ork's body.
"Oliver!"
The last sound he heard was Dozia's voice. Such a lovely voice, he mused, such a beautiful voice as he saw them rushing toward him. Their battered and weary forms filled with concern for him elicited a faint smirk on his face.
His mind's eye flickered, recalling a time much simpler. His grandfather's words echoing in a distant world. As Dozia, James, Rasmus, Rena, Rick, and the rest reached out to catch their messiah, he smiled.
He had finally found the people he was willing to die for.