NOVGO.NET Chapter 521: Orc Tide [2]
Chapter 521: Orc Tide [2]
The orcs yelled guttural words Asher couldn’t understand, their throats straining with rage and bloodlust, but he didn’t care. Velmorne had already thundered forward into their midst, hooves pounding the earth as a drumstick did to a drum, and Asher swung Ithamar in a wide semi-circle, channeling his output.
A crimson flash erupted, so sharp it painted the air itself in red, splitting over a dozen orcs cleanly into halves. Gore sprayed in arcs as Velmorne crashed into the mass, his armored head ramming, horns goring, neck thrashing with the brute force of a living siege weapon.
From Ithamar’s edge poured a thick, wroth-choked mist, coiling around Asher like a shroud. Wherever the vapor touched, the orcs convulsed, their veins bulging as the plague of fear crawled up their arms and over their faces.
Their skin remained unbroken, but their eyes bulged, pupils dilating in sheer terror as their minds were ripped apart from within. Some dropped weapons and screamed. Others clawed at their own heads until their skulls cracked against the earth.
Right behind Asher surged the Paladins. Their spears thrust forward like the fangs of a beast, piercing the thick, bark-like hides of the orcs. With herculean strength, they lifted those impaled and flung them aside as if they were little more than ragdolls before turning seamlessly to skewer another.
The ground shook with the rhythm of their advance, every sweep and thrust carving down droves of enemies.
Meanwhile, Asher conjured an ice spear in his free hand, cold mist curling from his palm. Letting go of Velmorne’s reins without hesitation, he hurled the spear with brutal precision. It tore through the air and sliced off the arm of a towering High Orc, its red skin gleaming like fresh blood under the battle’s haze, before another spear plunged deep into its chest, freezing muscle and heart alike.
Velmorne surged forward again, and Asher swung Ithamar over his mount’s head in a gleaming arc. The blade bit through the neck of another High Orc, its thick sinews snapping as the head flew free.
A heartbeat later, the air itself detonated, ice exploding outward from Asher and Velmorne in a flower of jagged, crystalline spikes. The bloom of frozen death radiated in all directions, impaling those too slow to flee, while man and beast stood at its heart, the heart of the ice death.
….
A great roar erupted from the mouth of a man clad in thick, black armor, the plates dented and scored from countless blows, his once-pristine white cloak now torn and soaked in dark ichor and blood.
The roar was no ordinary cry, it surged like an unseen wave of force, warping the very air as it thundered outward. Dozens of orcs froze mid-step before their bodies imploded, bursting into showers of blood, shattered bone, and twisted sinew, as if crushed beneath an invisible mountain of pressure far beyond anything they had ever endured.
It was Adam.
His chest heaved, lungs burning with exertion as he planted his feet against the blood-soaked earth. Panting, he gripped his battle-worn axe and swung it with the fury of desperation. The blade slammed into the chest of a hulking High Orc, splitting muscle, cracking ribs, and cleaving straight through to its spine. A wet, sickening tear followed as Adam ripped the axe free, dark blood spraying across his battered armor.
“Hold the li—!” His words died in his throat. His brown eyes widened in horror as he beheld the unthinkable: thousands of his own men, once the stalwart wall of the Frontline Legion, now turning their blades and spears against their brothers-in-arms.
Their eyes glowed with a sickly hue, their veins crawling with black corruption as Saelix’s vile whispers coiled through their minds. Some soldiers drove their own weapons into their hearts or throats rather than become pawns of the Abyss, collapsing with gurgling screams upon the trampled ground.
Those who remained struggled against a nightmare. Orcs poured through in their thousands, a flood of green muscle and rage, tearing through broken lines. The corrupted soldiers fought beside them, slaying comrades with grim efficiency, while all the while Saelix’s insidious whispers clawed at every soldier’s thoughts, unraveling discipline and sowing madness. The once-iron formation of the Legion was shattered, reduced to chaos and slaughter.
’Oh… Adam. Don’t you see it? My domination?’ The voice slithered through Adam’s skull, silken and venomous, echoing in the marrow of his bones. He grunted, his teeth grinding hard enough to draw blood from his gums. His vision flickered and then, for an instant, the battlefield vanished.
He stood in a vision of despair: a mighty black dragon coiled upon a hilltop, its obsidian scales glistening like oil under a storm. Its eyes burned like twin furnaces, unblinking and locked on him with ancient malice.
Around it surged an endless horde, orcish armies, hulking ogres, howling goblins, towering titans, and above them, a swarm of dragons darkening the skies with wings vast as storm clouds.
’Can you compare this to your weak king?’ the voice taunted, dripping with mockery and pride.
Adam snarled, every muscle trembling as though invisible chains coiled around his limbs, dragging him toward submission. He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. ’Can’t you see what my power has done?’ Saelix whispered again.
His head snapped to the side, and there it was; the corrupted soldiers, men who had sworn their lives beside him, now mercilessly butchering the uncorrupted. Their aura, once sharp and pure, now reeked of rot and blight. It wasn’t the stench of physical decay, but something fouler, a spiritual putrescence that clawed at Adam’s soul, making his stomach churn.
’You’re a stubborn one. Your foolish loyalty blinds you to true strength… true greatness!’
“Take your strength… and perish with it!” Adam roared back, his voice broken and feral, like a dying beast that refused to bow. His vision snapped back, and suddenly, clarity surged through him. The whispers receded. His eyes cleared. His body was once again his own.
But salvation came too late. A deafening boom shattered the air, an immense hammer blurred into view, filling his sight before he could react. The strike connected with brutal finality, the force like a mountain colliding with his chest. The impact sent him hurtling across the battlefield, armor screeching against rock and earth as he tumbled and crashed, his cloak tearing free in ragged strips.
Adam lay gasping, his breath ragged, blood flecking his lips as he tried to lift his head. But the ground shook. From above, the shadow of death fell upon him. A monstrous orc, gray-skinned and towering ten feet tall, descended with the weight of an avalanche. In its hands, a massive warhammer curved downward in a crushing arc, the air screaming around it. The sheer force behind the swing promised not just death, but obliteration, enough to smash Adam’s skull like glass and scatter it across the ruined earth.