Moktark clambered over the bodies of the fallen, screaming his war cry as he pushed up the hill. The armoured giants had drawn vengeful orcs like moths to a flame, a visible symbol of the evil that they had endured so much to fight. Orcs fell and died climbing the hill, but behind every one of them were two more angry warriors.

  They slammed into the trio of giants and their retinue like a battering ram, bowling them over immediately. Moktark watched a young woman catapult herself off the shoulders of another warrior and land on top of one of the humans, bearing him to the ground with her knife in his eye, only to die a moment later to a barker’s bite.

  The humans shouted in panic as they turned to run, their towering defenders slain. Orcs picked the weapons out of hands of their fallen foes, and turned them against their makers, unleashing a thunderstorm of death on the fleeing humans. There was no thought given to mercy or leniency. The horde had completely lost themselves in bloodlust and vengeance.

  In the chaotic melee, one figure stood alone, throwing back all opposition. A single mighty giant towered above the battlefield, standing atop the blazing, twisted ruin of a siege barker. He swung a mighty hammer with one hand, crushing foes, while in his other a huge barker cracked and roared, sending flaming streaks cascading across the landscape.

  Moktark’s grip tightened on his axe. He bared his fangs, his breath clouding in front of his face. He had found his foe.

  Every memory of his imprisonment and drugging cascaded before his eyes in an instant, as though a dam had been broken and unleashed its floodwaters. He remembered this one. He had seen him before, standing over the ruins of Brittle Teeth, commanding his men to shackle orcs in cold metal. He felt the burn in his blood as the evil magics had taken hold, and taken his mind away from him.

  Moktark roared in rage. He succumbed completely to his bloodlust, his anger tinging his vision red.

  The huge orc surged forward, cutting down a terrified human warrior with a broad sweep of his axe. He barely noticed him fall, so fixated was his attention on the giant demon standing silhouetted by the flames. Other orcs parted to let him pass, their eyes following him.

  The human warrior noticed him and jerked to the side, trying to bring his barker to bear on Moktark. He was too slow. The orc launched himself into the air, axe held behind his head in a double grip. He slammed into the giant, and they both tumbled off the wreckage onto the charred grass.

  The human pushed himself to his feet with mechanical arms, and brandished his hammer. Moktark leapt to his feet just in time to avoid a blow that would have caved his skull in, the hammer slamming into the ground where he had lain. The orc returned the blow, the giant catching his axe on the haft of the hammer and turning it aside.

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  Axe and hammer clashed again and again as they fought. Moktark ducked a sweeping blow aimed at his head, and buried his axe into a joint in the giant’s side. The blade shattered instantly, spraying fragments of stone into the orcs face. The giant backed away, clutching at his armour, and metal fingers came back stained red.

  The human warrior intensified his assault, crying out in his own rage to match Moktark’s. The orc dodged and weaved, rapidly backpedaling against a flurry of blows. A root caught the back of his ankle and he stumbled, losing his balance for a moment, and a moment was all the human needed. The hammer slammed into Moktark’s left arm, and he was thrown into the air with the crack of shattered bone. Moktark collided with a heap of crates which broke under his weight, and he laid half buried in debris.

  The giant charged forward, his thundering footsteps quaking the ground under Moktark. The orc felt his hand close on something in the ruins of a crate. A barker. He raised it and held down the trigger, and a shower of sparks erupted from the charging human as the weapon kicked in his hand again and again.

  The hailstorm of bullets didn’t do much to slow the metal colossus, but it did enough, giving Moktark just enough time to pull himself clear of the crates before the monster was upon him. The orc’s arm hung limp at his side, twisted at an unnatural angle. He discarded the empty barker.

  “Moktark!” A voice called. He turned just in time to see a spear being tossed towards him, and he reached out and caught the haft in a fluid motion. There was no time to give thanks to whomever had given him his deliverance though. Moktark quickly adjusted his grip on the weapon, and threw it.

  The spear flew fast and straight, the might of orcish rage giving it the force of a thunderbolt. Whether through luck, skill, or the grace of the gods Moktark would never know, but it struck true, embedding itself into the soft underarm of the giant as he raised his hammer for another blow.

  The hammer dropped to the ground as the human cried out in pain, stumbling backwards. Moktark pressed his advantage and closed in. His fingers curled around the thick haft of the warhammer, and he swung it singlehandedly, slamming it into the chest of the giant. The massive figure toppled over like a fallen statue, colliding with the ground with a thump.

  Moktark stepped heavily onto the human’s armoured chest, and lifted the hammer for a killing blow. Suddenly the golden domed helmet slid open, revealing a face.

  The human smiled at him grimly. Blood clotted around his blunt teeth, but his sky blue eyes had a look of satisfaction that gave Moktark pause. He lowered the hammer to his side.

  “You… are… dead.” The human choked out, blood spitting from his mouth as crudely formed orcish words escaped his lips. He began to laugh with his dying breaths, coughing and choking until his voice was drowned out and he lay still.

  Moktark stumbled off him. The bloodlust began to fade from his mind as the words started to take on comprehension in his mind.

  Moktark glanced around himself. A ring of orcs surrounded him, watching him intently. The battlefield was engulfed in flame and smoke, and the ruins of Zernthod were illuminated by countless spot fires in the distance.

  His eyes travelled upwards, towards the dark sky. A drop of rain hit him in the face.