Durgen sat nervously with the other wrestlers several feet away, all sitting in the front rows closest to the ring. He never got the chance to personally meet them and now he was too afraid to try as they all stood a head or two taller. It’s been ten minutes now and so far, none of them even batted an eye at him as they talked amongst themselves while they all waited for Grig to show up. From what Durgen could judge by everyone else’s behavior, this was a common occurrence. All he was told was to wait here in full wrestling attire at four P.M. and that everyone else would be there. He thumbed the bottom rim of his iron jaw as several people had been trickling in at this point starting from the top, some cheered to their favorite wrestlers as they climbed up. Eventually, he saw his mother, who waved at him with a forced smile. At least she was trying to show support.

The night drew darker, until all at once, several light sources from far behind him showed beams of light at the center of the ring where Warboss Grig the Gremlin Tamer stood, head slumped facing downwards, wearing a colorful display of red and blue furs. Drums began rapidly beating for several seconds and stopped instantly when Grig pulled his head upwards facing the crowd, shining a bright smile as he drew a box shaped object to his mouth.

“Iz you grots readay!” His voice boomed from everywhere around Durgen, echoing throughout the stadium, sending the crowd into a cheering frenzy. “Tonoight! We’z in dah presence of our biggest an’ dah bestest!” Then a light shown on an elevated platform on the opposite side of the ring, illuminating Dae’mon as he sat in the booth. “Dae’mon the Spirit Speaka’!” Grig announced, earning more cheers from the crowd. Far too the right, another light shown, showing a figure sitting in his own booth. Durgen thought looked familiar but couldn’t recognize him. He was a larger orc with greyish green skin and his right arm looked deformed and covered in mold with a couple little mushrooms growing from the forearm. “Urlog the Bonecruncha’” Grig continued, the crowd seemed to have different feelings towards the Warboss, they heckled and booed. Urloc stood and roared like a beast to silence them. “Den finally, ‘e’s dah biggest an’ dah greenest! WARCHIEF BOOORK!”

“Bork! Bork! Bork!'' The crowd chanted as drums started beating again, slowly growing faster with each chant. Beating thunderously, lights shown on the middle booth, revealing a massive behemoth, easily five times the size of the average orc, sending the crown into another frenzy. There he sat iron cladded in spiked armor decorated in bone and glowing blue runes that flickered like flames. The iron shoulder pads were shaped like bull skulls, completed with ivory horns. A rectangular hammer with a log handle rested by his feet, leaning on the throne of bones. Admittedly, Durgen had never actually seen the warchief before now and quite frankly, he was terrified. With a wave of Bork’s massive hand, the lights focused on Grig again in the next instant. Grig didn’t skip a beat as he continued speaking.

“Da first round we haz fur ya tonoight, e’s walkin’ on sunshoine but e’s runnin’ on moonbeams, ‘ere comes DA OVABREAKA’!” Grig announced and the following instant a light shone on one of the other wrestlers, one of them standing once his name was called. An orc with long wild hair stood up, raising both arms wide as he let out a prideful roar, earning some cheers and whistles. His face was painted white with black splotches around his eyes and was wearing black leather straps from head to toe. He strode towards the ring while a strange and broken melody played. Durgen suspected that whatever made that noise, wasn’t doing it right. “An’ on da otha’ corna’, comes ourz newcomer! Fresh from da meat pitz, ‘iz ‘unger knowz no bounds! With a mouth made of iron, He’z gonna take a bite outta any Git dat getz in ‘is way!”

Durgen couldn’t help but think that last line sounded a little too familiar as he too now bathed in a mysterious spotlight. Panic now consumed his mind as he wasn’t sure what to do next. With not much to go on, he quickly rose from the seat with a loud “Oh yeah!” Curling his arms in the air and flexing his muscles as hard as he could. The improvised display was only rewarded with a few forced cheers and whistles. Durgen then smiled and waved awkwardly at the people behind him, wondering maybe that he had to build a reputation first before he could get any fans. A new voice boomed as he approached.

“Oi lads! Look at dis puny welp! I betcha I can snap ‘em in half!” It said as laughter rang out from behind Durgen as he climbed up, seeing the Ovabreaka’ smirking towards him with that small block thing in his hand, mimicking the motion of breaking a stick over his knee. As soon as Durgen stepped in the ring, Squiggins appeared out seemingly nowhere beside him, handing him another one of those strange grey box things. It had little weight and felt smooth in his hands. Upon inspection he could see a protrusion on the side with an inscription that read “Push to talk” written in the same script as the system messages. He paused for a moment as he considered what to say. Thankfully, Squiggins told him about the old ritual of “trash talk” before a match and had him prepare a few lines. He deliberately ignored his opponent and leveled a flat hand against his brow and pretended to scan the crowd before turning to the Ovabreaka’ as if he just now noticed him.

“Aw, sorry, I’z jus’ lookin’ aroun’ to see ‘ho’s gonna finish second, afta’ I chew ya up and spit ya out!” This was rewarded with mixed feelings of boos and cheers, which Durgen expected. He knew the crowd's favor had to be earned but alteast a few appreciated his “sass” as his mother put it. The Ovabreaka’ bellowed a deep laugh before he spoke.

“Funnie wordz from an iron mouth! Letz see if yur ballz are da same!” He finished, tossing the talk box aside and getting into a wide stance with his arms raised. Durgen couldn’t help himself, he made too easy!

“Looks loike someone wantz a taste.” Durgen said, turning to the crowd. Mimicking his opponent, he handed the box back to Squiggins, who was standing by clearly holding back a chuckle. A moment later a loud bell rang out and all hell broke loose.

The Ovabreaka’ charged and leaped without hesitation, grabbing Durgen’s head with both hands as he flipped over and landed hard on the ground, taking a surprised Durgen with him, knocking the wind out of him. He glanced at his health bar, sitting at ninety-five percent and was thankful for his improved constitution. Gasping, he rolled to his stomach, trying to get on his feet as fast as he could. However, the Ovabreaka’ wasted no time and was already getting ready for a second charge. Without a second to spare, Durgen took a wide step back as his vision tinted red, activating the Sigil. Meeting the charge head on without moving an inch, Durgen took advantage of the surprise and pushed Ovabreaka’s torso down so he could grab around his waist, hefting the orc and holding him upside down while his limbs flailed uselessly. The crowd gasped as Durgen jumped straight up, lifting his legs midair before slamming Ovabreaka’s head into the ground as hard as he could.

The limp body flopped on the ground like a ragdoll after Durgen pushed him off. Still in Rage, he quickly stood back up, grabbing the rope with one hand and raising the other in a fist, roaring to the crowd in victory. The crowd roared in kind as he basked in glory for several moments, watching the Rage buff tick down to the single digits. He figured he had some time before his next match and planned on taking a nice long nap.

That was when he felt arms wrap around his waist and the odd feeling that his feet were no longer touching the ground as he started falling backwards. In a panic, Durgen kicked off the rope and tucked his legs in, using the momentum to perform an improvised backflip that he saw other wrestlers do. However, he lacked any grace and landed flat on his butt. The Ovabreaka’ looked at him with a surprised smile, as if he was unhappy with his current facial construction and Durgen was more than happy to help with that. Thinking fast, he poured all his strength into a leg sweep just before his Rage depleted, knocking his opponents legs right out from under him. Ovabreaka’ landed hard on his side and Durgen wasted no time getting on top of him, rapidly punching his face while using his body weight to help pin him down, exhaustion threatening to overtake him with every swing. Squiggins dove beside them, slamming a flat hand on the ground as he counted up. “ONE, TWO, THREE! YOU’RE OUTTA HERE!”

DING-DING

The crowd roared after the bell, going into a frenzy of boos and cheers as Squiggins prompted Durgen to the edge of the ring with no resistance, climbing up on the rope so he could raise Durgen’s hand as high as he could, declaring him tonight’s first victor. Durgen, however, only wanted a nap. Still half asleep he was almost dragged off the ring as Grig stepped back in to announce the next round. The booming voices became more muffled, and his eyes grew heavier as he felt several hands gently grab and pat him on the back. Several shadowy figures loomed over him as his consciousness slept away into the void.

Durgen stirred as he awoke, slowly prying his eyes open. When his vision cleared, he was greeted by several unique faces with concerned expressions. Once they surmised that Durgen was okay they shifted to relief. A new face appeared, bearing facial hair shaped like an upside down “U” wearing a bright yellow bandana over his long grey hair. “Oi! give da lad some space!” The new face proclaimed. Looking down, Durgen saw that he was wearing a matching bright yellow unitard and wristbands. “You’z okay, brotha’? You krumped Ovabreaka’ real good ya did!” he continued, offering a hand to him. Seeing no reason to distrust him yet, Durgen accepted, and was pulled to his feet off the ground while another hand helped brush dirt off his tunic.

“’aye tanks and yeah, happens a lot, wot I miss?” Durgen asked while looking around. He was with the other wrestlers in the front row while another pair were wrestling in the ring.

“Not much, just abou’ tah move to da next bracket afta’ dose boiz. Dare waz a tie though so one of use is gonna have tah fight someone else.” He said, gesturing to the ring with his thumb. “Names Bulk, Bulk Bogan. Youz got sum moves on ya dare, er, whatz yur name again?” He asked while stretching a hand out to introduce himself. Durgen guessed that it was more appropriate to call other wrestlers by their wrestling names.

“Ironjaw.” Durgen said simply, shaking Bulk’s outreached hand. “So wot happenz naow? I’z still new.” He asked, still not quite having a firm understanding on how the bracket system worked.

“Naow afta deez gits get done foolin’ aroun’, dare should be four winna’s, den dey pair up an’ ‘ave a go at it, see? Den da winna’s from dat go at it until dare’s one left, an’ dats da winner.” Bulk explained with ease, clearly having explained this multiple times in the past. Durgen checked the cooldown on his Sigil and winced as he still had forty-two minutes left. Looking back up to the ring he hoped that this round would buy him some time. His eyes went wide when he spotted Squiggins already raising the fist of the victor. Dread washed over him as a light shown on Grig once again, announcing something called a “thirty minute intermission.” Durgen couldn’t say for certain but judging from the crowds standing up and moving about it was fancy talk for “taking a break.” Look over he could see the other wrestlers hovering around a food cart and a goblin frantically handing out foods and drink. Durgen’s stomach rumbled, prompting him to get a bite to eat as well.

Durgen now sat awkwardly on the benches with all the other wrestlers surrounding him on all sides. Apparently earning considerable respect in the wake of his last match. All were too focused on eating to talk much aside from cracking a joke here or there, even Ovabreaka’ sat beside him to his right, happily scarfing down some goblin pie. Durgen had no idea if he should say or do anything, too scared to draw attention to himself as if they might leap at him at any moment but they never did. He tried to get his mind off the matter and focused on eating while doing some math. By the time “intermission” was over, there should still be about ten minutes left on the cooldown, meaning he was pretty much krumped. He either had to stall for time or come up with something on the spot. He chewed extra thoroughly in thought, unable to come up with anything at the moment. Time dragged on painfully slowly until two dings of an unseen drum thundered throughout the stadium as lights showed Grig standing in the center of the ring.

“Oi you lot! Are ya ready fur a propa war!?” he announced, as cries of bloodlust answered his question, especially the bigger orcs that surrounded Durgen, who were a little too close to his ears. “I can’t ‘ear you!” he egged on while hold an open hand to his ear, the crowd shouted even louder in response. He nodded, as he could understand the collective shouting of a hundred people. “Our first matchup tonoight, e’s munchin’, e’s crunchin’, an’ e’s out of sauce! Its Ironjaw!” Durgen’s heart dropped to the floor as a beam of light shined from somewhere above him, suddenly he was aware that he was now standing in one corner in the ring, facing Grig’s front left-side. His mouth hung open as he turned around, grabbing the ropes for support while the audience showed their approval with loud cheering, almost too dumbfounded to process what was happening. “Versus da terrible terra’! DA WOLFBOI!” Grig continued, another light shining down at the corner opposite from Durgen. A strange looking wolf stood on all fours before standing up on its hind legs, revealing an orcs face poking it’s head out from the wolf's throat as he howled towards the night sky. To Durgen’s horror it, it looked like he was wearing an entire wolf skin as a suit, complete with long claws and the end of his fingertips. The Wolfboi took an extra wide stance as low to the ground as he possibly could, snarling and barking at him much like his name sake.

“Where da zog did ‘e come from!?” Durgen cursed out loud, his voice climbing an octave. He had never seen this guy anywhere in the village before and his mere presence raised a lot of questions that he didn’t have right now. Two dings rang out and the strange orc was galloping towards him on all fours. Without thinking, he climbed to the top of the post and leaped over the voracious thing, landing in a roll just as Wolfboi bounced off the post and whirled around, swinging his claws in a wide arc. Now that he was in the corner instead, Durgen saw it as an opportunity to use his attack against him and charged. However, it seemed Wolfboi anticipated this and kicked off the post to spring right back at him, tackling Durgen to the ground and taking wide sweeps towards his head. Thankfully, they were just out of reach as Durgen got his legs in between them, pushing him away as hard as he could. What few blows that struck only barely scratched the surface of his iron chin as he turned away.

Durgen was losing ground fast as the beast inched ever closer with each swipe. That was when he noticed that the crowd was mostly booing and something heavy landed beside him. The Wolfboi didn’t seem to notice, content with snarling and swiping at his throat. Reaching with his left hand he padded around until he felt something hard and grabbed it before beating something wooden over Wolfboi’s head. He howled in pain as he rolled off to the side, finally giving Durgen some breathing room. Looking at what he was holding, Durgen guessed it was a leftover chair leg from a previous match. Durgen thanked the crowd's bloodlust and got up just in time to see his scowling face holding a paw to wear his ear. Durgen held the stick out with both hands, ready to strike the moment he charged. The two circled around each other for a few moments as a fitting drum line began to beat in rhythm, increasing the tension with each step. Durgen winced as he glanced at the cooldown timer as it still had nine minutes left. There was no way he could stall for that long. Despite not caring about winning, Durgen felt a strange inner need to fight for all he was worth. To fight tooth and nail until his dying breath. Was it a part of him? Or was it something more instinctual that his people shared?

The drums suddenly died and in the same instant, the pair leapt to each with vigor. Durgen thrusted the pointier den of the chair leg into the orc’s chest, pushing into him as hard as he could just before one the claws could gauge out his eyes. Wolfboi flew backwards into the rope, wrapping his arms around them to catch himself. Blood dripped from a spot right above his heart forming a growing red stain down his fur. Durgen froze as the crowd cheered, several thoughts swirled in his mind. Was he okay? Had he gone too far? Is there a way he could fix this? Just then, he slinked down the ropes, coughing up blood as he struggled to breath. The next moment he poofed into a cloud of smoke.

Durgen was now stunned in a different way as Squiggins appeared to declare him winner. He appeared back to where he had been sitting followed by congratulatory shoulder pats and slurred words. Someone thrust a drink in his hands, it tasted awful. Durgen had no idea what was going on anymore, deciding it was best to go with for now and ask Dae’mon about it later.

He sat in stunned silence surrounded by his newfound peers as they watched Bulk Bogan absolutely demolish his opponent with brutal efficiency. For an older guy, Bulk was displaying a level of power that made the other guy look like a punching bag. Durgen took mental notes as he flexed an arm around the poor grots throat, his green face slowly turning blue. It wasn’t long until Squiggins revealed himself, slamming an open palm on the floor as he counted to three. The crowd dispersed as everyone went into a ten minute intermission for a restroom break. Some were already exchanging goods and teeth for bets. For a moment, Durgen wondered what they were betting on until realization struck him: he was in the next bracket!

Stealing himself before he could panic, he reminded himself that he was, infact, incapable from dying permanently, dying still wasn’t exactly pleasant either. Ten long minutes went by as he unsuccessfully hyped himself up. His cooldown was less than a minute when Grig appeared to announce the finale match, giving an extra long introduction before Bulk appeared in one corner, the crowd going berserk as he pointed and flexed his muscles. Another long introduction came and Durgen suddenly found himself standing in the opposite corner with his arms folded. He tried to hide his surprise yelp through a fierce roar, flexing his arms as he raised them to the night sky.

The crowd laughed at the obvious attempt, but Durgen had a feeling that they weren’t really laughing so much at him, but rather with him. Something that never happened before. Bulk’s voice throughout the stage as Squiggins handed Durgen the talking box again. “I’m gonna take you down, brotha’! Da only fing dat would be left iz a green paste!” Durgen was about to return his threat when the sound of an explosion echoed from somewhere nearby. The following silence was deafening as another one announced itself, this time with a visible burst of flames in the distance Alarms soon followed, declaring that they were under attack. A deafening sound erupted a few feet from Durgen, the shockwave knocked him back into the corner post, slamming the back of his head as something warm and sticky splattered all over him.

Screams and shouting were muffled over his ringing ears as a wave of nausea swept over him, flouting in an endless sea. He kept his eyes shut tight as the spotlights seemed much brighter than before. Something grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently, and all he could do was groan in protest. Finally, a hard slap across the cheek was enough for him to come to his senses.

Forcing his sticky eyes open, he could see Dae’mon hunched over him shouting something Durgen could not hear. His mouth dropped as he glanced around the chaos that surrounded them both, taking in the scene. Everyone was carrying weapons or wounded, illuminated by fire and flames that now engulfed several areas of the village as more explosions appeared seemingly at random. That was when he spotted something in the darkness, pairs of red eyes hovered high in the air glowing through the smoke as they crept towards them, the sound of something crashing into the ground as they moved. A long hollow tube emerged from the shadows, followed by terrifyingly large claws and legs, the tube protruding from a wide, spike covered body. It’s menacing gaze now forever etched into his mind as it snapped warriors in half with a single crunch of its claw.

Durgen felt a hand to grasp his left forearm, shaking it for his attention. He turned to see his mother with tears running down her cheeks, also shouting something that he couldn’t discern. The next thing he knew, Dae’mon was pulling him to his feet, urging him down through the ropes while his mother assisted, needing constant support as his legs wobbled and shook, threatening to collapse under him at any moment. He glanced at his health bar, telling him that he was at thirty-six percent with a little icon below, focusing on it, it told him he had a level five ‘Concussion’ debuff, whatever that was. Leaning on her for support, his mother practically dragged him away as she ran alongside Dae’mon. Durgen tried to reach a hand out to him to ask him what was happening when he realized his hand was covered in red. Upon closer inspection, he furrowed his brow as he rubbed his fingers, finding the substance sticky and all over him! He turned his head back around to see smoke bellowing from a pit in the ring, particularly, where the other guy was standing. Realization struck as he saw the matching red that surrounded the crater, it was blood! His stomach lurched as bile poured out of his mouth, leaving an awful aftertaste.

Dae’mon winced at the young orc, he was only half conscious, but at least he was still alive. Sure, he could respawn, but only hours later, when everything was already in ruin and the village razed. No, he had to get these two to safety and evacuate everyone. Bork and his idiot son were already rallying the militia and bolstering defenses. He scanned the walking nightmares with his “True Sight” ability, his eyes crackling with yellow energy.

Brachyura Panzers

Rarity: Epic

Quality: Good

Vehicle-Class: Tank

Power: 96%

Passive Power Regen: Null

Armor: Heavy

Armament: (1) 175mm Main Cannon, (1) .50 Caliber Machine Gun

Crew: 5

Dae’mon paled as glanced at the sheet, dismissing the spell before it consumed too much mana, fearing that he’ll need every drop. He had no idea what the hell he was looking at or where they came from, but he knew that they must be stopped at whatever the cost, lest other civilizations suffer the same fate. His mana regeneration was null, so he always made sure that he was at least eighty percent for emergencies like this. With his larger than normal mana pool, it should be enough to last for three days if he paced himself. He casted a light heal spell on Durgen and himself to sooth his aching joints, lamenting his old age. This wouldn’t be an issue if he was just thirty years younger! If he could just get to his cabin and grab some potions he would be more useful. It was within sight now, along with several rows of bowmen firing squads defending the emergency escape route that led deep within the mountain. Several figures were already delving into the two wide corridors carrying supplies and wounded. Hope blossomed into his chest as he forced his body to move. They were almost there, just a little further!

Then, far in the distance behind him, an earth shattering boom erupted, lighting up the night sky for an instant as a powerful force of energy blasted the front side of the plateau. Rubble, boulders, and a log cabin rained down upon escapees, crushing most in a sea of red and blocking the path to salvation. “NO! NO! NO!” he shouted in disbelief. Angle, the woman running alongside him, simply slumped to her knees, and screamed in great despair. Dae’mon turned around, looking for the source of the display. High in the red night sky and through the smoke, a long, mountain-sized object loomed just below the clouds, slowly descending as a constant roar of wind grew louder as it drew closer.

Dae’mon’s mind raced, scrambling for answers, but can only find one. He turned to the wailing women clutching her only son. He held out his hands to her, about to speak but stopped, the words caught in his throat. There was nothing he could say that would console or help her nor was there time. Stealing his resolve, he strode over to her, reaching into his pouch that hung from his waist and used three fingers to pinch the sleep dust held within and flung it into her face. Her eyes rolled back before falling to her side. Next, he kneeled down and drug Durgen out from under her, his eyes were open but unfocused. His steady breath suggested he was still alive. Dae’mon laid him out flat on his back and arms to his sides. Going down on both knees, placed both hands over his heart and forehead and used a tiny ounce of his power to drive it into his spirit, the act forcing his mana channels to open. He howled in pain, muscles spasmed and twitched as a blue glow surged through his veins. He passed out moments later. When Dae’mon was finished, he pressed an ear to his chest, confirming that his heart was still beating. He sighed aloud, stealing himself for what he had to do next.

After many years, Dae’mon had accumulated pages of spells, some he used regularly and others he despised. But the one called “Life Syphon” he hated most of all. It was originally designed as a torture spell with causing as much pain as possible in mind until it evolved into one of execution. It worked by concentrating on a target to forcibly suck the mana from it and into the users mana pool, but it didn’t stop there. If the target was out or had no mana to begin with, it would drain the stamina and convert it into more mana in a one to one ratio until finally, it chews through the targets health. “I’m sorry, boi, I taught ya all I could. You must go, become as powaful as ya can be an’ stop dis invasion before it’z too late. Find yur build an’ grow!” Dae’mon ordered, his status as a Warboss adding a new quest into Durgen’s quest log. Then, be began casting the spell.

Durgen convulsed beneath him as he watched his mana bar grow. Once satisfied, he casted his True Sight once more, figuring he was gaining more mana then exhausting it, and kept a close eye on Durgen’s status bar. The green of his skin turned several shades lighter and wrinkle like a raisin, stopping when his health was at ten percent. Dae’mon checked his mana bar; ninety-two percent. He gazed at the poor youngling at his feet, his chest barely rising. He pulled out his staff from his pouch, along with a jagged kris, the wavy blade’s surface shown in the light of the flames. He gazed at the pouch and decided that for what he was about to do next, I wasn’t going to need it anymore, so instead he decided to give it to someone who will. Undoing the straps looping around his belt, and attached it to Durgen’s, finding it rather fetching. He never kept much apart from a few odds and ends. A fitting finale gift and repayment for what was to come next.

He channeled his mana outward into a perfect ring the glowed on the ground around them, its pale glowing blue illuminating the pair as the ritual began. “Ancestas! ‘ear my call! We’z gonna ‘ave a propa war!” Then he plunged the kris into Durgen’s left eye, killing him instantly as his mana bar dropped back down to thirteen percent. For a moment, all was quiet as a blue mist slowly radiated from the ground, bringing forth a faint but constant sound, as if it was far, far away, but grew louder and louder like something was coming towards them. Dae’mon stood still as the sound of battle cries became loud and clear, followed by the sounds of stomping feet and the clanging of metal on metal reached its apex as mist took multiple forms as a battalion of orc warriors, casters, bowmen and wolf riders emerged. Their transparent blue forms charging without hesitation towards the approaching crabs.

But Dae’mon wasn’t going to stop there, no, he didn’t have much time left in this world, and what orc would he be if he died in his sleep? His life was a journey, and he was going to end it with a bang! With that in mind, he triggered his Blood Magic skill, allowing him to use his health as a mana bar. “Oi! you call dat a war!? Let’s give ‘em hell boiz!” He bellowed before triggering the spell's activation sequence, a sacrifice. The ritual only required one and it didn’t care who. He used this trick a few times now, usually when he was trapped in a corner like this and had a love-hate relationship with it. The process of sacrificing oneself was never fun, it took too long, and the spell had a strange side effect of having past lives in addition to his own flash in his mind. It was overwhelming at first and came with a set of side effects of its own that tend to linger, but only for a while. Plus, the spirit kills counted towards his own so he got a fraction of the XP that would accumulate even while dead. This time however, he would not get any. Instead, he let the flashes all flow in his mind all at once as he collapsed in his final death. A welcoming void enveloping his soul.