The warhorn’s blast shattered the uneasy peace, resonating through the Black Maw stronghold like thunder. Fires erupted along the perimeter, sending dark plumes of smoke curling ominously into the night sky. Warriors scrambled desperately to arm themselves as chaos quickly overtook the once-peaceful settlement.

  Remoran burst from his quarters, heart hammering, instantly alert as his fingers tightened around Orkinder’s hilt. He had anticipated this night but never imagined the ruthless precision with which Grimgor would strike. Mercenaries flooded into the encampment, their armor glinting menacingly beneath the flames as they cut through warriors without mercy.

  Grimgor had finally made his move.

  "To arms!" Remoran roared, rallying the scattered warriors around him. "Defend your home! Protect your kin!"

  He felt a fierce tug at his heart—Grima and their son. Turning quickly, he spotted Grima already armed, their infant son Raemok nestled protectively in her strong arms. Her expression was fierce and resolute.

  "Take Raemok deeper into the stronghold," Remoran ordered urgently. "The Shaman Rukthar will protect you both."

  Grima’s golden eyes flashed, defiant yet understanding the gravity of the moment. "I will deliver him safely, but then I will return to your side."

  Remoran touched her face gently but quickly, feeling an aching urgency. "Be careful."

  She nodded once, her eyes fierce with determination as she hurried away, Raemok cradled close.

  Turning toward the advancing mercenaries, Remoran drew Orkinder, its familiar weight a grim comfort as he charged forward into battle.

  Remoran surged forward, Orkinder humming with dark energy as it cleaved through the air. The first mercenary barely had time to raise his sword before the ancient blade sheared through armor, flesh, and bone, sending him crumpling to the ground in a spray of blood. A second attacker lunged from the side, but Remoran pivoted with unnatural speed, Orkinder’s edge catching the man’s throat in a flash of steel. The mercenary gagged, clutching at his neck as he fell.

  An orc, larger than the rest, barreled toward him, wielding a spiked maul. Remoran ducked under the crushing swing, the weapon whistling inches above his head. He rose with a roar, driving Orkinder upward in a brutal arc. The blade pierced the orc’s chest, its dark magic flaring as it tore through muscle and bone. The orc’s eyes widened in shock before he collapsed, his maul slipping from lifeless fingers.

  Three more attackers closed in, their movements coordinated but futile against Remoran’s fury. He spun, Orkinder a blur of death, its edge slicing through one mercenary’s shield as if it were parchment. The man screamed as the blade bit deep into his shoulder, severing his arm. Remoran twisted, driving the pommel into the face of another, shattering his nose and sending him reeling. The third, an orc with a jagged spear, thrust wildly, but Remoran sidestepped, grabbing the shaft and yanking it forward. The orc stumbled, and Orkinder’s blade plunged into his gut, lifting him off the ground before Remoran hurled him aside like a ragdoll.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Blood dripped from Orkinder’s edge as Remoran stood amidst the carnage, his chest heaving, eyes blazing with fury. The remaining attackers hesitated, their courage faltering as they faced the Warlord’s wrath. But Remoran gave them no time to retreat. He charged again, Orkinder singing its deadly song, each strike precise and merciless. Limbs flew, armor shattered, and the ground ran red as he carved a path through the enemy, his power and skill unmatched.

  Grima held Raemok tightly against her chest, sprinting through narrow stone corridors deeper into the heart of the stronghold. Her footsteps echoed in the darkness, the noise of battle fading behind her, replaced by an unsettling silence.

  She slowed, feeling a growing sense of unease. A low, guttural laugh sounded from the shadows ahead, freezing her in place. From the darkness, Grimgor emerged, massive, towering, his axe dripping with fresh blood.

  "I've been waiting for you," he growled menacingly, his red eyes fixed hungrily on Raemok. "The future of the clan dies tonight."

  Grima stepped back defensively, shielding her infant son with her body. "You will not touch him!"

  Grimgor charged forward, swinging his axe downward with lethal intent. Without hesitation, Grima pivoted, positioning herself directly in the path of the strike. The blade tore deeply into her side, pain exploding through her body as blood began to flow freely.

  A guttural roar echoed down the hallway as a familiar figure emerged from the shadows—Rukthar, the elder shaman, staff raised, voice resonating with ancient power. "Back, traitor!"

  The shaman moved swiftly, placing himself protectively between Grimgor and Grima. "Run! Get Raemok to safety."

  Tears blurring her vision, Grima clutched Raemok and fled deeper into the stronghold, her heart pounding with every painful step. Behind her, the sounds of combat echoed fiercely until they faded entirely.

  Remoran fought ferociously, Orkinder a dark blur in his hands as he drove through the mercenaries. Each swing brought justice, each fallen enemy deepened his rage. He was relentless, driven by desperation to return to Grima and Raemok. Yet amidst the clashing weapons and shouting, a sudden, piercing scream reached his ears.

  Grima.

  Heart lurching, Remoran fought through the chaos, pushing warriors aside as panic surged through him. He raced through the corridors, desperation fueling his steps. His breath caught in his throat as he reached the location where the scream had come from, freezing at the horrific sight before him.

  Grimgor stood towering over Rukthar’s broken form, blood dripping from his axe. The shaman lay motionless, his body a testament to the fierce battle he'd waged. The cold, triumphant grin on Grimgor's face twisted Remoran's gut painfully.

  "Where are they?" Remoran demanded, his voice raw with fury and dread. "Where is my family?"

  Grimgor’s smile widened cruelly, his eyes glinting darkly with satisfaction. "Dead," he taunted coldly. "I took their lives with my own hands. Your woman screamed so sweetly as she fell, clutching your child."

  Remoran felt the ground drop from beneath him, rage consuming him entirely. "You lie!"

  Grimgor laughed deeply, taking a step forward, axe swinging lazily at his side, its blade still slick with blood. "Go see for yourself. If there's anything left."

  Remoran’s breath shook with barely controlled fury, his grip tightening on Orkinder. The blade pulsed violently in his grasp, matching the violent rhythm of his heart. Darkness whispered promises of revenge, urging him forward.

  "You will pay," Remoran growled, stepping into the circle of bodies around them, eyes locked dangerously on Grimgor.

  Grimgor merely smiled, eyes filled with malicious anticipation. "Come then, Warlord. Let’s finish this."

  Thunder rumbled overhead, lightning illuminating the destroyed stronghold and casting harsh shadows across both combatants. The sound of intense fighting coming from all around.

  Remoran raised Orkinder slowly, its blade pulsing darkly, matching his own heartbeat, amplifying his wrath.

  "This ends tonight," Remoran said, voice low, deadly calm.

  Grimgor readied himself, grinning fiercely. "Indeed it does."

  The two warriors glared at one another, blades poised for the battle that would decide everything.