CHAPTER 125: THE VANGUARD OF BROKEN TEETH

The thunder of sixteen thousand frantic paws shook the earth before the Dire-Fang vanguard even came into sight.

Caius stood atop a sweeping ridge overlooking the Ashen Gully, a narrow, rock-ribbed canyon that cut straight through the heart of the central steppes. Behind him, the fifteen hundred veterans of the Iron-Skull and Blood-Moon clans held their breath, their knuckles white around their spears and battle-axes.

They knew what was coming. The Dire-Fang Riders were legendary across the steppes, four thousand swift, murderous cavalry mounted on giant dire-wolves that could swallow a grown orc whole.

Standing beside Caius, Shaman Vrak gripped his wolf-skull staff tightly. His milky, blind eye twitched, but his good eye remained locked on the two blindfolded hulks standing down at the mouth of the gorge. As an old soul-channeler, Vrak was uniquely sensitive to spiritual wavelengths, and what he felt coming from the constructs set his old blood on fire.

"My Lord..." Vrak rasped, his voice trembling with profound disbelief. "The puppets. Their mana signature. It isn't draining."

Vrak raised a withered, clawed finger, pointing at the blindfolded construct of Krag'gath.

"When you first summoned the Iron-Skull Grand Chieftain back at the keep, his mana signature felt like a hollow shell, fragile, powered only by the remnant energy of his dead core," Vrak stammered. "By all laws of shamanic soul-craft, sustained exertion should be grinding that core down. But now, his mana signature has condensed! It is denser! He feels stronger than when he lived!"

Caius didn't turn his head. His pale eyes remained fixed on the rising cloud of black dust on the horizon.

"A corpse decays because it is tied to rotting flesh," Caius replied coolly, his voice carrying the faint, high-pitched hum of kinetic static. "My constructs are bound by dark spatial-lightning threads anchored deep within my soul. Before animating them, I purified and compressed their native orc mana cores into a far denser state, pushing them well beyond their original warlord limits. When they fight, the kinetic impact of every strike doesn't deplete them, it compresses those purified cores even further. The violent kinetic resistance of their enemies acts as a hammer, forging their mana into an indestructible state."

Vrak swallowed hard, horror cold as ice washing over him. It was an impossible fusion of spatial weave, kinetic lightning, and soul manipulation. The puppets weren't just endless-energy constructs, they were self-refining weapons. The more violence they endured, the deadlier they became.

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"They carry momentum," Caius added flatly, looking down at the four thousand approaching wolf-riders. "I have two endlessly hardening walls."

At the mouth of the gully, the two blindfolded titans stood side-by-side in the bottleneck. On the left, Krag'gath’s shadowy waraxe hummed as the spatial-lightning threads running through its frame glowed a vibrant, neon violet. On the right, Borgath’s nine-foot frame crackled with dark crimson-and-black kinetic discharge, the purified orc mana core in its chest vibrating at a terrifying frequency.

Moments later, the Dire-Fang vanguard burst into the gully.

Five hundred heavy wolf-riders, led by Gor'muka’s bloodthirsty vanguard captain, charged forward at full leap. Their saber-toothed mounts snarled, foam dripping from four-inch fangs, while the orc riders shrieked war cries, raising spiked lances and barbed chains.

"Smash them into grease!" the vanguard captain roared, pointing his spear straight at the two blindfolded figures. "Tread them down!"

The distance closed in seconds. Fifty yards. Twenty yards. Ten.

The two puppets reacted simultaneously.

Inside their chest cavities, the condensed emerald and crimson orc mana cores flared with violent, spatial-bound energy. Dark kinetic lightning surged along their artificial nervous systems, amplifying their physical strength tenfold.

CRASH!

The collision sounded like two tectonic plates snapping together.

Instead of being trampled or knocked backward, the blindfolded construct of Krag'gath planted its foot, driving its shadowy waraxe in a terrifying, full-circle horizontal wheel strike. The condensed kinetic momentum of the blow detonated a shockwave of compressed air that shattered the front row of dire-wolves mid-air. Bone, iron, and beast-flesh exploded into a crimson mist.

At the exact same instant, the crimson construct of Borgath stepped into the charge, driving its serrated cleaver straight downward into the earth.

BOOM!

A jagged wave of spatial-lightning shockwaves tore through the canyon floor, splintering the rock beneath the wolves' feet. Dozens of mounts tumbled head over heels, snapping their necks as they crashed into one another at full speed, piling up in a horrifying jam of frantic screams and crushed armor.

As the cavalry slammed endlessly into the two wall-like constructs, Vrak watched in absolute terror as the mana radiating from both puppets surged higher. Every trampled wolf, every blocked lance, every bone-shattering blow was being absorbed and converted into denser, purer energy.

The two dead Grand Chieftains stood like an immovable dam in the narrow pass, single-handedly grinding five hundred elite wolf-riders into complete ruin, growing more terrifying with every second.

High on the ridge, Caius pulled his dark traveler's cloak closer around his shoulders.

"They aren't mere orcs," Caius corrected quietly, his eyes glowing with cold, dark satisfaction. "They are my threshold. And Gor'muka is about to cross it."