Chapter 139: Nightmare
The battlefield below the wall was a sea of fire. Black smoke curled into the night sky, thick and choking, while the screams of burning orcs filled the air. Charred bodies collapsed in heaps, armor glowing red as it warped under the flames. The first two lines of the horde were being cooked alive, their siege towers crumbling into collapsing infernos.
From atop his palanquin, the orc commander watched, tusks gnashing together so hard the muscles in his jaw quivered. His bloodshot eyes reflected the flames, rage burning hotter than the fire itself.
"WORTHLESS FILTH!" he roared, his deep voice carrying above the clash of steel and the crackle of flames. His fist slammed into the armrest of the palanquin, shattering the crude wood. "Burnin’ like pig fat! Bah! Orc blood not meant for cookin’! Orc blood meant for killin’!"
The slaves holding his palanquin flinched, trembling beneath his weight.
One of his lieutenants—an orc scarred across the face, with one ear torn away—approached, bowing low. "Warchief, da fire spread too fast. Da black water burns stronger than any torch."
"Excuses!" the commander snarled, rising to his feet. He towered over the others, muscles thick as tree trunks, his crude plate armor blackened by soot. He pointed toward the wall, toward the battlements where the defenders jeered down at the burning horde. "Them weak beasts mock us! Orcs no bow to fire! Orcs break stone, break wall, break bones!"
He raised a clawed hand, his voice booming.
"RELEASE DA BREAKERS!"
The order rippled through the ranks like thunder. Massive horns bellowed in response, deep and guttural. Chains clattered as hulking shadows emerged from behind the orc lines—mutated monsters larger than even the hulking brutes from before. These were the Breakers: towering, plated orcs clad in full armor of iron and bone, their heads encased in brutal helms studded with spikes. Each carried colossal weapons—war hammers the size of men, axes taller than a lupen knight.
The lieutenant grinned savagely. "Da Breakers hungry."
But the commander wasn’t done. He jabbed his clawed finger forward.
"3RD LINE! MOVE!"
A fresh wave of orcs surged forward—this time clad in proper armor scavenged from years of conquest. Heavy iron plates, crude but effective, gleamed in the firelight. Behind them came more siege towers, taller and reinforced, their wheels groaning as slaves pushed them toward the wall. Ladders were hoisted high, carried by packs of snarling orcs eager to climb.
"TREBUCHETS!" the commander bellowed. "KEEP FIRIN’! BREAK DAT WALL!"
In the distance, the great wooden machines groaned, hurling another volley of spiked, flaming projectiles into the sky. They arced high, then descended with a shriek toward the wall, shaking the ground on impact.
The battlefield had become a vision of hell—fire, smoke, drums, and the thunder of war.
"Incoming!"
The cry went up again, and the defenders braced themselves as more flaming projectiles smashed into the battlements. Stone cracked, shields splintered, and soldiers were thrown into the air by the force.
Rukh stumbled, clutching his spear as the wall beneath his feet shuddered. He tasted ash in his mouth, smoke stinging his eyes.
"Push the ladders! Keep them down!" a captain bellowed, dragging a recruit by the collar before he froze in panic.
Rukh joined the others, shoving against a ladder as snarling orcs climbed up. He felt the weight press back against him—the brute strength of the climbers—but with a final heave, the ladder tipped. The orcs screamed as they plummeted, their bodies smashing into the ground below.
Beside him, another recruit wasn’t so lucky. An orc leapt over the battlement before the ladder was pushed back, slamming its axe into the boy’s chest. The recruit gasped, eyes wide, before collapsing.
"Hold the wall!" a general roared. "Don’t let them through!"
The new wave of armored orcs marched forward with heavy steps, shields raised against the hail of arrows. The shield wall advanced slowly but surely, their formation protecting the weaker orcs pushing ladders behind them.
"Hold da line!" a scarred orc captain bellowed, marching alongside his troops. "Shields up! Arrows nothin’ but toothpicks!"
A javelin whistled through the air, striking an orc in the throat. The captain growled, yanking the body aside so it wouldn’t trip the others.
"Step ova da dead! Wall not stop us!"
The hulking Breakers moved behind the line, dragging their massive weapons, their guttural growls vibrating the ground. The sight of them alone made even hardened soldiers on the wall falter.
"They’ve sent the Breakers," an officer muttered grimly, lowering his spyglass. "Goddess preserve us."
Rukh swallowed hard as he saw the massive silhouettes advancing through the smoke. One of the veterans spat and tightened his grip on his blade.
"Don’t piss yourself, recruit," the veteran growled. "They may be big, but they bleed the same. Just... takes a lot more to kill ’em."
Another impact rocked the wall as trebuchet fire smashed into the battlements. Soldiers screamed as they were flung into the air, while others were buried beneath falling rubble.
Still, the generals barked orders, and the soldiers stood their ground, firing arrows, pushing ladders, and bracing spears against the next assault.
And in the distance, the sound of war drums grew louder still.
The orc commander raised his massive fist into the air and roared:
"WALL WILL FALL TONIGHT!"
The soldiers heard it, even through the clash, and a grim silence fell over the defenders for just a moment—before they braced for the incoming tide of monsters and armored orcs.
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"Faster! Get those stones up here!"
The voice of the catapult commander, a grizzled ursarok with half his muzzle scarred, carried over the grinding of gears and the frantic boots of soldiers. The crews heaved giant boulders onto the wooden arms, coating them with buckets of black oil. Some soldiers lit torches and touched the flames to the surface—soon the rocks were alight, blazing like miniature suns.
"Release!"
The arm snapped forward with a thunderous crack, hurling the flaming boulder high into the air. The crew wiped sweat from their brows as the ground shook from the recoil.
"Another one! Load it, you dogs!" the commander barked. "We ain’t runnin’ dry ’til we’re all corpses!"
The next volley launched, fire arcing through the sky before smashing into the orc lines. Burning stones crushed shield formations, igniting siege ladders, and scattering the advance.
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Buckets sloshed as recruits rushed along the walls, oil spilling over their boots. One by one, archers dipped arrowheads into the liquid, struck them against torch flames, and loosed them into the enemy ranks.
"Keep ’em lit! Don’t waste a shot!" an officer shouted, grabbing a panicked youth by the scruff and forcing his bow up. "Aim for their siege gear!"
The night sky glittered with streaks of fire as hundreds of arrows rained down. Ladders were set ablaze, shieldbearers shrieked as fire crawled over their hides, and even the armored orcs stumbled when the flames clung to weak joints in their crude plating.
Yet still they came.
Orcs scrambled up ladders that weren’t burning fast enough, snarling as they leapt over the parapets. Steel clashed as defenders met them hand-to-hand.
Baron Silverfury’s gauntlets slashed through the first intruder to reach the rampart, blades punching through helmet and skull alike. He yanked the corpse free with a wet crack, eyes glowing gold as he turned to the next.
Yulena was a storm beside him—her mane sparking with lightning, claws tearing through armored hides. She caught an orc’s wrist mid-swing, crushed the bones in her grip, then kicked the brute clear off the wall.
"You’ll not take this wall!" she roared, her voice echoing above the chaos.
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The ground shook as the new siege towers—reinforced with iron plates—slammed against the curtain wall. The ramps crashed down, and armored orcs poured out, shields raised, roaring as they clashed with ursarok defenders.
"Push them back!" bellowed a general, driving his spear into the chest of an oncoming brute. "They breach, we all die!"
But the fire hadn’t crippled these towers like the last ones. The flames licked the iron-plated frames, but they refused to catch. Slowly, relentlessly, the orcs advanced from their ramps, driving the defenders back step by step.
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Then came a horn—long and deep.
The gates thundered open, and out surged the knights of the wall. Dozens of ursarok and lupen, mounted on massive wolf-beasts clad in steel barding. Their armor gleamed even in the firelight, their banners snapping in the wind.
"FOR THE VALLEY!" their commander roared, lowering his lance.
The formation split in two, flanking wide around the burning wreckage of the first siege line. They slammed into the orcs from both sides with bone-shattering force. Lances impaled, wolf-beasts tore through flesh and bone, and knights swung heavy axes and swords, their bloodline powers crackling like unleashed storms.
The orc lines buckled, dozens crushed beneath the sudden assault.
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From the top of the wall, Baron and Yulena watched the knights carve their way into the horde. For the first time that night, their grim faces broke into fierce smiles.
"They fight like our ancestors," Baron said, golden eyes burning.
Yulena’s mane sparked brighter. "Then we should join them."
And together, they leapt.
The wall trembled as they landed amidst the chaos below. Baron’s claws carved through an armored orc, while Yulena caught a Breaker’s hammer mid-swing, sparks flying as she pushed back against the titan’s strength.
"FOR THE WALL!" she bellowed, throwing the brute aside.
The knights cheered at their arrival, morale surging.
The sound of horns echoed again, this time from the rear. Through the smoke and fire, reinforcements poured in from Tallowshade—columns of fresh soldiers, more archers, and additional supply carts carrying oil and weapons.
The defenders roared in unison, their spirits reignited.
The wall had not fallen yet.
But the orc commander, glaring from his palanquin, only raised his claw again.
"BREAK ’EM ALL! CRUSH DA WALL!"
And the third wave surged forward.
The wolf cavalry tore into the orc line like a storm. Steel met flesh, claws raked through armor, and snarls mixed with screams.
"Form on me!" shouted the knight commander, his greatsword flashing arcs of silver as his wolf-beast barreled through shield lines. The mounted warriors kept tight formation, lances braced forward, crashing into the armored orcs with bone-jarring force.
Orcs toppled like broken pins, crushed beneath charging mounts. A lupen knight swung his axe low, cleaving through an orc’s leg before wheeling his beast around for another strike. Another thrust his spear straight through a breastplate, ripping it free with a roar.
For a moment, the tide turned. The armored brutes were pushed back, their cohesion shattered by precision and speed.
But the orcs were not so easily broken.
"Hold da line!" snarled one of the orc captains, his voice like gravel. He raised a warhammer the size of a man and swung upward, catching a knight mid-charge. The weapon connected with a sickening crunch—wolf and rider alike were flung into the air, landing in a mangled heap.
The knights cursed, but tightened their lines. Formation was their lifeblood. Two ranks braced spears low while the third swung high, cutting into gaps in the orcs’ armor. The wolves harried from below, snapping at exposed throats and joints.
"Don’t scatter! Keep the wedge!" the commander barked, blood flying from his blade as he parried an axe.
Baron however moved like a shadow among the armored orcs, his golden eyes tracking weak points. He ducked beneath a massive swing, his claws flashing up to carve through the seam in a chestplate. Another came at him with a crude glaive—he caught the shaft with one claw, twisted, and drove his other hand straight through the orc’s exposed jaw.
He yanked free, gore dripping down his gauntlets.
"Too slow," he muttered, spinning to meet the next.
But numbers pressed him. Even his ferocity could be drowned beneath endless shields and axes. He darted constantly, never staying still, striking fast and retreating before the tide swallowed him whole.
Yulena’s mane crackled with lightning and fought like a storm. She caught a breaker’s hammer mid-swing, the impact shaking the ground, then shoved it aside and raked her claws through his chest. Sparks flared as steel split.
Another charged, helmet horns lowered. She ducked low, caught him by the throat, and with a roar slammed him into the dirt, shattering stone beneath.
Yet more came. Even she couldn’t hold forever. She was forced to keep moving, weaving between enemies, ripping through those who strayed too far from their formation. Each strike was a dance between survival and slaughter.
She and Baron crossed paths in the melee, backs brushing for a heartbeat.
"Still alive?" he called, grinning through blood.
"Better than these bastards," she snarled, tearing another helmet clean off.
They split again, each carving their own path.
Despite losses, the knight wedge drove deeper into the orc ranks. Discipline showed its worth—the armored orcs swung heavy, but the knights used speed and coordination. One lupen knight baited a shield wall, while his companion vaulted from his saddle, landing atop an orc’s shoulders and plunging twin daggers through its neck gap.
Even dismounted, they fought on. A fallen ursarok knight roared as his wolf was slain, pulling a massive hammer from his back and smashing it into the knees of his foe, sending the armored brute crashing down.
The cavalry wasn’t unstoppable. Wolves fell, riders were dragged into the dirt. But where one faltered, another filled the gap. Their formation bent but did not break.
Flaming arrows still streaked from the walls above, oil-coated boulders rained fire into the rear orc lines. The valley had become a furnace of smoke and screams.
Yet the orc drums still pounded. More were coming.
The knights knew it. Baron knew it. Yulena knew it.
But none stepped back.
Tonight, the wall would stand.
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The night air carried the sound of drums. From the cliffs above the valley, three figures sprinted through the forest, their gray cloaks snapping with every bound. The Lupens moved like streaks of shadow, their paws barely making a sound against the roots and rocks.
Vaunn, the squad leader, ran in front. His broad frame moved with the precision of a veteran who had seen too many wars. His voice was low and gravelly when he spoke.
"Keep moving. We cannot waste time. If that cultist’s information is true and the orcs really have Master Altan’s child, then everything we’ve bled for will crumble. If the Gryphons lose their patience with us, the wall will have no garrison left to hold it."
Behind him, Rena and Solvi exchanged worried glances but matched his pace. Rena’s voice broke the silence, soft yet trembling.
"Squad leader, how would that even matter to the other Gryphon temples? Why would one child endanger us all?"
Vaunn growled under his breath.
"Because the cultists made it worse. Their involvement tainted the whole region. I heard it myself at the temple hearing. The Temple of the Dawn’s Vice-Master Malak demanded full subjugation of the beastkin territories. He said our entire region was no better than cult sympathizers. The Order of Infernals wanted outright annihilation. Wipe us all out, they said. Only Altan stopped them."
The two women faltered for a moment at the weight of his words. Solvi’s ears flattened, her voice barely a whisper.
"So... if Master Altan gives up on us..."
Vaunn’s tone dropped even darker.
"Then the Spinebride Region burns. Every clan. Every family. Every child. The Gryphons will make sure of it. The orcs will not even need to lift a claw."
No one spoke after that. The only sound was their paws striking dirt and the distant echo of war drums.
They burst from the trees and climbed onto the high cliffs overlooking the valley. Vaunn stopped and crouched low, his golden eyes narrowing. Below them stretched a nightmare.
The plains were crawling with orc camps, bonfires burning, crude banners rising above endless rows of tents. Massive hulking breakers chained in iron roared against their handlers. These breakers were a different breed. They are twice as large as a normal breaker and much more violent, though they exhaust much easily due to their massive weight and size. Siege towers taller than the trees stood ready, their wheels braced in mud. And further in the distance loomed the Bloodtusk Fortress, a spiked wall of black stone that glowed faintly under the haze of red miasma.
Rena froze at the sight. Her hands shook as she spoke.
"Ancestor’s breath... there is no end to them."
Solvi hugged her cloak tighter. "If the cultist was right and the child is inside that fortress..."
Vaunn cut her off. "Then we are walking into the jaws of a beast. Look closer. Do you see the breakers? They only bring those forward when they are planning something larger than raids. If those are unleashed at the wall, even the iron frames will not hold."
The two women fell silent, staring at the massive orcs that pulled siege towers as if they were toys. Their throats went dry at the thought.
Rena finally spoke, hesitant. "But... the Gryphons. Would they truly go so far as to punish every beastkin? Even those with no hand in this?"
Vaunn exhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving the fortress.
"You still don’t understand. The Gryphons don’t care about innocence. They don’t care about our excuses. They care about blood for blood. They are predators who believe vengeance is the purest justice. If not for Altan’s hand shielding us, we would already be cinders."
Solvi looked down, her claws digging into her palms. "So if we fail here..."
Vaunn’s voice was heavy. "If we fail, then Altan himself will not be able to stop them. The entire region will vanish in fire."
The silence pressed heavier than the air. Only the deep drums of the orcs below reminded them that the world kept moving, and time was not their ally.
Rena’s voice cracked as she forced herself to speak again. "Where do we even begin? If Master Altan’s child is inside there, I don’t think we can even make it inside."
Vaunn finally stood tall, cloak billowing against the mountain wind. His golden eyes glowed faintly in the dark.
"We must...succeed. Then maybe Altan will see that not all beastkin have turned against him. Maybe he will hold his talons. Maybe he will give us time to survive."
Far below, a horn blared from the Bloodtusk Fortress. A column of armored orcs began to march in tight formation, their discipline unnatural for their kind.
The valley was alive with drums, a thunder that rattled the ribs and churned the earth. Smoke from pyres of bone rose in thick spirals, choking the night sky in a crimson haze.
At the foot of the Bloodtusk Fortress, trolls circled a heap of corpses stacked higher than two wagons. Their gray hides glistened with filth, tusks gnashing as they pounded their bone staves against the ground.
"Zhok grah! Zhok grah! MUUURGH!"
Their guttural chants rattled the air. The pile of flesh twitched. An arm convulsed, a beastkin’s skull rolled free only to sink back into the writhing mass.
From the shadows of the cliff, Vaunn and his squad crouched low, breath shallow.
The corpses melted into each other, bones snapping like brittle twigs. Muscles liquefied and latched onto the chained Breaker beside the pile. The monster shrieked in agony, veins bursting as its body swelled twice its size, skin tearing and reforming in grotesque seams. Its tusks doubled in length, curving like spears, its back hunched with armored ridges of bone.
"Hurhurhurhur!" one orc handler cackled. "Now dat’s a beast! Bigga! Stronga!"
Another slammed his axe against the ground. "Wall’s gonna fall! Smash it flat, ayeh!"
The newly enlarged Breaker roared so loud the cliffs shook, birds scattering from distant trees.
But it was not the end.
A second ritual began. Twenty trolls encircled an even larger mountain of corpses — hundreds of orcs, beastkin slaves, even mangled war beasts. They chanted in frenzy, eyes rolled white, blood dripping from their tusks.
"Shal’thaaaaaagh! Groh’marrrgh! THRUM’KAAH!"
The ground trembled. The chained Breaker twitched, its flesh warping into hideous growths. Its body climbed higher and higher until even the fortress spires were dwarfed. Its roar wasn’t sound but a wave of force, shoving dust and stone into the air.
The Titan Breaker had been born. Taller than the valley walls themselves, its breath misted like a storm, its eyes glowing pits of rage.
The Lupens froze in horror.
"Ancestor’s light..." Solvi whispered, her claws digging into her arms. "That thing... it could walk through the wall."
Rena whimpered, "It’s taller than the walls."
Vaunn’s face was stone, but his tail lashed violently. "And it’s only one. How many more can they make?"
The drums stopped. Silence fell.
From the fortress gates, Chief Minur appeared, carried upon a spiked palanquin borne by chained slaves. His scars glistened in the firelight, tusks carved with dark runes, and across his face, his right eye burned with an unnatural crimson glow.
Unlike the guttural roars of his kin, his voice was cold, sharp, disturbingly human-like.
"Bloodtusk kin!" His words rolled like thunder. "For years we battered against their wall. For years, they hid behind stone like cowards. Now, they shall despair. We will reclaim our old lands. We shall reclaim what once was ours!!"
He raised his axe, pointing it toward the Titan Breaker.
"Behold! Flesh of slaves, traitors, enemies — reborn in our image. The wall will fall. The valley will burn. Their whelps will scream for their mothers, and their mothers will choke on our chains."
The orc horde erupted, stomping, howling, beating their shields.
But Minur was not done.
He gestured. Another cage was dragged forward, heavy with enchanted locks. Inside, a gryphon hatchling crouched. Humanoid, golden-feathered, its wings were bound tight. Its eyes were blank, pupils gone, expression empty.
The Lupens went pale.
"No..." Solvi whispered. "They... they have it. They have Master Altan’s child."
Minur grinned wide, his tusks gleaming.
"The proud Gryphons. Watchers of the skies. Even they bend!"
He slammed his axe against the cage. "Open it!"
The hatchling shuffled forward when the locks fell. It stepped from the cage and dropped to its knees before Minur, like a trained hound.
"See!" Minur roared, his voice echoing through the valley. "Their heir kneels to me. The skies will bow, their temples will burn, and their gods will be chained! Tonight begins our conquest. The Spinebride will be ours. Then beyond. Then all!"
The orc horde’s cheer shook the heavens.
Above, Vaunn’s heart sank. "They can enslave Gryphons... This is beyond anything..."
He turned to signal retreat. But then —
Minur’s crimson eye flared. He turned his head slowly... directly toward the cliffs.
Vaunn froze. His blood turned to ice.
Minur’s voice cut the night. "Rats."
From below, demonic orcs moved. Their veins glowed red, their muscles bulged with unnatural fury. Their eyes gleamed like coals as they lifted their heads and sniffed the air. Then, in unison, they howled.
"Skahh! Find ’em! Tear ’em!"
The valley erupted with chaos as the demonic orcs charged toward the cliffs, their howls echoing like wolves, their red eyes locking on the hidden Lupens.
Vaunn’s chest clenched. "Run!"