Chapter 19: The Raid (Part 2)

  As I move through the village, still recovering from my grievous wound, I consider keeping the hunter's sword.

  The weight of it feels reassuring in my claws, and tool use is one of the hallmarks of intellect.

  But reluctantly I discard it. A Lizardman worker carrying a Frogman weapon would draw immediate attention, even amid this chaos. And unlike my claws, I have zero training with it. Better to remain inconspicuous until I'm safely away from here.

  A distant explosion rocks the northern perimeter, followed by shouts of alarm. The main battle is still raging, and I quickly need to find Vrazak or another way out of the village.

  Staying low, I move from shadow to shadow, avoiding open areas where I might be spotted.

  The village's layout, once familiar from days of trudging between the worker quarters and the construction site, now seems alien in the chaos of battle.

  A metallic scent of blood hangs heavy in the air, mixing with the marsh's natural decay into a nauseating cocktail that makes my stomach churn. My wound pulses with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of how close I'd come to joining the corpses littering the muddy streets.

  Proceeding further, twice I have to double back as I encounter groups of Frogmen soldiers or fleeing villagers.

  Still hidden, I even encounter a Gnoll pack, dragging terrified prisoners behind them, even an unfortunate Lizardman worker.

  And as I near the northern perimeter, I finally have my first glimpse of the Marsh Orcs.

  These massive, hulking creatures are almost twice the size of regular Frogmen, standing even more imposingly than Vrazak had described. Their bristled fur ranges from muddy brown to mossy green and curved tusks protrude from their lower jaws. Their small, fierce eyes blazes with battle lust as they wield crude but devastating weapons.

  From a sheltered vantage point, atop an abandoned storage hut, I watch as the Orcs smash through the village's defenses with impressive brutish strength.

  Their thick fur seems to absorb impacts, creating a natural armor that deflects many of the defenders' attacks. Arrows simply stick in the dense hair without penetrating deeply, and even spear thrusts struggle to do much damage against their tough hides.

  Captain Glubak is leading the Frogman's defense, his distinctive armor gleaming in the firelight as he barks orders I can't understand.

  He moves with astonishing speed, using his powerful legs to launch himself in unpredictable patterns. Every leap ends with his ornate spear finding vulnerable points in the Orcs' defenses be it throats, eyes, or joint gaps. Three massive Orcs already lie dead or writhing from his precise strikes.

  Yet for all his skill, Glubak becomes clearly outmatched when a particularly massive Orc steps through the breach in the wall.

  Carrying an enormous maul, this creature stands a full head taller than his brethren, his body covered by some sort of rigid stone armour.

  This must be an Orc Alpha.

  An almost ceremonial ring forms around the two of them, as Frogman and Orcs alike clear space for the inevitable duel between the two commanders.

  Without hesitation, Glubak launches himself in a direct charge, his spear poised to impale the invasive orc.

  A deafening impact is followed by a wave of silence.

  Yet, this seemingly unstoppable attack barely pierces the enemy's armor, failing even to draw blood. The Alpha smiles and proceeds to throw an earth shattering punch that Glubak barely avoids by jumping back.

  The massive Orc pulls the spear from his armor with deliberate slowness, examining the weapon with mock interest. Then, with a contemptuous grunt, he hurls it back toward Glubak. The spear rolls on the wooden platform, only stopping at the captain’s foot.

  "Grah'tok nul vazh," the Alpha rumbles in his guttural tongue, his tusked mouth curling into a savage grin. "Skral'moth ghezza keth." The meaning is lost on me, but the mocking tone needs no translation. The other Orcs behind him bark harsh laughter, a sound like stones grinding together.

  Glubak retrieves his spear, but I notice the change in his stance immediately. Gone is the confident aggression of his initial charge. Now he circles warily, his yellow eyes never leaving his opponent. The Captain surely realized that brute force will not win this fight.

  And like this, the battle restarts, now a dance of Glubak, using his agility and speed against the Alpha's raw power and impenetrable defenses.

  When they clash, Glubak's spear strikes leave only shallow marks on the Orc's stone-like armor, the tip scraping across the surface with a shower of stones but failing to penetrate. Yet the Alpha's massive swings connect only with air as the Captain nimbly avoids each blow with quick twists and leaps, frustrating the larger opponent.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  But the Alpha's strategy becomes clear as the fight progresses. He is not trying to land every blow, but rather to tire Glubak out, forcing the Captain into increasingly desperate evasive maneuvers.

  Each missed swing of the massive maul left crater-like dents in the wooden platform, splintering beams and weakening the structure. Glubak, for his part, began targeting the same spots repeatedly, his spearwork becoming more surgical with each exchange, probing for weaknesses in the seemingly impenetrable armor."

  For some moments, they seem evenly matched, until the Alpha brings his enormous war maul down once more, but with such force that the whole wooden platform beneath them collapses.

  Losing his footing, Glubak tumbles through the broken planks, leaving himself open to a mighty blow.

  The captain is sent flying like a broken ragdoll. The Orc Alpha roars, raising his weapon high in triumph. Other orcs match his voice in this guttural shout, while the Frogmen defenders falter, their formation wavering after witnessing their captain's fall.

  But just as the Orcs begin their advance into the crumbling defense line, a new horn sounds from the south, deeper, more resonant than the warning horn had been. The fighting seems to pause for a heartbeat as all eyes turn toward the sound.

  Through the southern gate marches a procession of armored Frogmen, their demeanor precise and intimidating. At their center, towering above his guards, is a figure I had hoped never to see again.

  Lord Vex'mor. The Red Frog has arrived.

  _____________________________________________________________________________________

  His crimson skin seems to shimmer with heat as he surveys the destruction of his village. The thorn-like protuberances covering his body have extended, forming a natural crown of spikes around his head. In one massive hand, he holds a sword that glows like metal fresh from a forge, heat waves distorting the air around the blade.

  The Orc Alpha steps forward to meet this new challenge, his imposing war maul held ready. Words are exchanged in their incomprehensible croaks and guttural snarls that I can't even start to interpret, but whose meaning is clear from their aggressive postures.

  Without hesitation, they clash, and the air ignites.

  Lord Vex'mor moves first, his burning blade cutting a horizontal arc that leaves a trail of fire hanging in the air. The Orc Alpha ducks beneath it, the flames singing the tips of his coarse fur, and brings his maul up in a devastating uppercut. But Vex'mor is already gone, having launched himself backward with inhuman grace.

  The Alpha recovers quickly, his massive frame surprisingly agile as he pivots and swings his maul in a wide arc. Vex'mor parries with his burning blade. The collision sends shockwaves through the air and Sparks cascade like falling stars as enchanted steel meets crude iron.

  Neither combatant gives ground. The Orc Alpha presses his attack, bringing his weapon down in crushing overhead strikes that would pulverize stone. Each blow Vex'mor deflects or sidesteps, his crimson form moving with fluid precision. When the maul embeds itself in the wooden platform, splintering the boards, the Red Frog seizes the opening.

  His burning sword carves upward in a searing arc, finally finding its mark. The blade bites deep, even overcoming the previously impenetrable armor. The distinct smell of charred flesh mingles with the battle smoke. The Orc roars in pain and fury, backhanding Vex'mor with enough force to send the Frogman skidding across the platform.

  But Lord Vex'mor rolls with the impact, coming up in a crouch as his opponent yanks the maul free. Despite the clear patch of burned fur where the searing blade had found purchase, the wound only seems to enrage the Orc Alpha further.

  The creature burns with renewed fury and counters by slamming his maul into the ground, which creates a wave of earth and stones spikes hurled directly towards the Red Frog.

  Vex'mor jumps out of the way and responds with a gesture, summoning steam from the flooded marshland beneath the village. The scalding vapor forms into projectiles that shoot toward the Orc with deadly precision. Most evaporate harmlessly against his armor, but others find gaps in his armour, raising blisters even on his toughened hide.

  So this is Magic! It is like the elemental demonstrations I have seen on Magba's vision, but real and terrifying in its destructive potential.

  Witnessing the clash of these titans, the full extent of my ignorance about this world becomes clear. Between my evolution and progress with Magba's training, I had felt somewhat strong, but this raw display of power profoundly recontextualized everything.

  "These two…" Suddenly, a voice spoke from behind me. "complete monsters."

  I whirl around, claws ready, only to find Vrazak crouched in the shadows behind me.

  "Where have you been?" I hissed.

  "Avoiding capture," he replies tersely. "Unlike worker, standing in the open like shhhsh target." He then gestures toward the battle below." Raid went differently than expected. Gnolls not part of the plan."

  “And why are these shhhsh Gnolls here.” I press, my gaze still fixed on the monumental combat. “Are they allies with the Marsh Orcs?”

  Vrazak's expression darkens. “Scavengers only work for themselves” He pauses, watching as we see another group of the hyena-like creatures dragging a screaming villager deeper in town. “Probably see opportunity in chaos. Many uses for slaves… besides food.”

  The implications hit me like a physical blow. It seems these raids are essential for survival in this brutal marshland, be it for worker slaves or food slaves, apparently. And while stronger races clash, there are always opportunists scrambling for their share.

  "So, what's our next move?" I ask Vrazak, having no escape plan of my own.

  After a moment of contemplation, Vrazak responds. "South gate sealed by the Red Frog's return, but east side is in chaos, maybe an opportunity to escape from village there."

  I hesitate, glancing back at the unimaginable battle raging below. "What about the others? The Lizardmen workers?"

  Vrazak's eyes harden. "Already dead or soon will be. We only look after ourselves now."

  There is a coldness to his tone that hadn't been there before. Or perhaps I am only now recognizing it for what it is, the calculation of a survivor who'd endured this harsh world for far longer than I had.

  "Lead the way," I said finally.