The Orcs

Cel

At the orphanage, the rest of the orphans were waiting for Eliot and Cel impatiently. The orphanage was an unusually spacious building at 186Cmᒾ and two floors high; the first floor was split into two halves, the sleeping area and the eating area, as Cel referred to them. The sleeping area was similar to a parking garage with the cars replaced by beds, one for each orphan, excluding Cel whose bed was on the second floor. Each orphan had their meager belongings, consisting almost entirely of new clothing Cel had provided, in the space near their respective bed. The eating area stayed true to its name; it was used to eat and nothing more. It had one large table fashioned out of the same wood the floor and walls were and enough chairs for everyone, including Cel, plus a guest. The guest chair has yet to be used.

With no prior warning, space was savagely ripped apart and a portal, resembling a mirror that showed a far off location with the excess space lingering at the edges and eager to fix itself, was created. Eliot and Cel traversed said portal shortly after its creation, and the excess space’s longing was fulfilled as the tear in the fabric of space and time was repaired. All of the orphans that were younger than ten crowded around Cel and Eliot for the news, the older ones restraining themselves to clenching their fists and leaning forward in worry.

“Its ok, Travis is fine. He just needs to stay in the infirmary for a couple of days,” announced Cel. The room exploded into a cacophony of children’s voices as they all expressed some sort of childish sentiment or abruptly burst out crying, the collect sigh of the older kids completely overshadowed. Cel and Eliot spent some time on the first floor, Cel mostly playing with and convincing the younger kids to stop crying, Eliot strictly spoke to Silica and Yuri, he didn’t do well around children. Cel and Eliot went back upstairs after some time, leaving everyone else to celebrate Travis’ safety. They sat at the table and Cel made more tea

“Finish telling me what happened while I was gone,” Eliot resparked the conversation with interest. Cel continued to tell Eliot about everything that happened to him, everything except his experiences with Camie.

“We lived that close to elves this whole time, who knew?” Eliot wondered out loud after putting down his porcelain tea cup.

“I had the same thought when I first discovered the city,” agreed Cel. After some more talking, Eliot got out of his seat and thanked Cel for the tea, saying he would go visit his family, they had no idea he was even in town

“Oh! I forgot, I got you another gift,” exclaimed Eliot right before he opened the door to leave. Eliot pulled out the red and golden flintlock pistol from a portal and took it out of its holster before handing it to Cel. When Cel held the flintlock pistol, he had the same feeling he did when he was holding the daggers, as if his hands were specifically made to wield it, only he was completely clueless as to what he was holding. Cel put the barrel up to his eye and his thumb wandered dangerously close to the trigger.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” screamed Eliot, snatching the gun from him before he could shoot himself.

“This is extremely dangerous!” huffed Eliot. “Let me show you what it can do and how to use it.” Cel had no idea why Eliot was making such a big deal, the red piece of metal didn’t seem dangerous at all, he humored Eliot despite what Cel thought was an overreaction. Eliot made a portal to outside and Cel followed.

Eliot made sure Cel was paying close attention and aimed at a tree, only now realizing that he never tried firing it before and hoped that he wasn’t a bad shot. Eliot pulled the trigger and sparks spontaneously cascaded down the top of the gun, accompanied by a loud bang. Cel jumped in shock when the deafening bang resounded through the town and looked to the tree that Eliot aimed for. In the tree, there was a space in the bark eight centimeters in diameter that pierced through the entire tree.

“Holy Shit” Cel hissed through closed teeth as he saw the damage from the flintlock. Cel shuddered, he didn’t even see what made the hole. Eliot grinned at the shocked Cel and was glad Cel finally saw the flintlock as it is, a weapon of mass destruction.

Eliot made sure Cel wasn’t too shocked to listen and explained,“It shoots tiny lead balls faster than most things can see, let me show you how to use it.” Cel walked closer to Eliot, still shocked and unable to understand exactly how deadly it is. Before anything else, Eliot named all the parts of the flintlock.

“The first thing you do is half-cock it by moving the cock half way its max distance, about here, then you grab a cartridge and tear it open. Lift the frizzen and poor half of the black powder into it, poor the rest into the barrel along with the lead ball and take the ram rod on the bottom and push it down into the barrel, thoroughly. Now, all you need to do is pull back the cock to fully cock it and it’s ready to fire,” explained Eliot, gesturing and pointing to the components mentioned. “It’s a long process, but you’ll get used to it, there are even some skilled people that are able to fire five shots in under a minute.” Eliot handed the gun to Cel after his long tutorial. Cel held it in his hands and frowned, he closed his eyes and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking back to using the daggers, the lives he reaped. Cel opened his eyes in a start, cocked the gun, aimed, and fired at the same tree. An identical beam of light was filtered through a hole in the tree, only eight centimeters under the first.

“This… this is deadly,” Cel muttered grimly, “How did you get your hands on something like this?”

“It wasn’t too hard, it got it at a smith’s shop,” shrugged Eliot, “Also it has a short range, if you fire at something more than ten meters away, it loses its accuracy.” Cel was conflicted and irresolute, each time he killed something it got just a bit easier, the daggers and flintlock accelerates things faster than Cel would like, however, he also had a gut feeling that Eliot’s gifts would be invaluable in the near future.

“Thanks, Eliot, I know that you’re underplaying the cost, there is no way this thing was easy to get. So, it’s a good thing I also have a gift,” said Cel. Eliot made another portal back to the orphanage and Cel took out the grimoire. Eliot gasped when he saw what it was, his eyes trembling and his breathing quickened.

“A grimoire...? Where did you get this?” asked Eliot, mystified and in disbelief.

“That snake Verline had it hidden in a box,” answered Cel like it was nothing. Eliot had learned about grimoires on the third day of class. Grimoires were manuals written by accomplished specialized mages on their area of expertise. Grimoires held all of a specialized mage's epiphanies and experiences, learning from a grimoire cut the time for learning a spell by more than half. Obviously, Grimoires were extremely rare, only accomplished mages that were masters of their craft would dare attempt to make a Grimoire. Further more, Grimoires were usually passed down to the author's discipulus, most Grimoires would never be read by more than one person every generation.

“Thanks, Cel, this is more valuable than you know,” Eliot thanked from the bottom of his heart.

They exchanged an awkward goodbye, both thinking that the other had given a much better gift. Eliot spent the rest of the day catching up with his family, this time wisely telling them that he had learned the portal spell at the academy. Cel spent the rest of the day thinking, mulling over his morals, why he hated killing, trying to play devil's advocate, and drifting to sleep in the process.

Cel was startled awake by loud knocking; he felt groggy and his mind was overcome with crippling hebetude. Cel dragged himself out of bed and pulled the door open.

“Good morning, Silica,” groaned Cel.

“There’s trouble at the south side of the town, the guard is all there, they might need your help,” said Silica in a rush, skipping the pleasantries. Cel thanked Silica and grabbed his gifts from Eliot before making his way towards the south side of the town, trying to rouse his body from its sore rut.

The orphanage was located on a hill in the northwest side of the village, at least twelve meters from any other buildings. Cel’s eyes narrowed as he took in his surroundings, he saw people running towards the north side with a small amount of guards trying to keep order.

“Whatever’s happening, it’s more serious than Silica said,” thought Cel, completely awake now and speed walking.

“The walk ways are too crowded to use,” observed Cel as he eyed a relatively short building. He got a running start before he jumped and defied gravity for a few scant moments as he ran up the side of the building, landing on the roof. From there, he ran and leaped from roof to roof until he got to the south part of town. The whole southern part of the town is extremely flat terrain that extends into expansive green plains in the area under the town. There were twelve out of the thirty town guard present, facing off against twelve hulking, green, repulsive to the eyes, and tusked creatures. Orcs. The Crucible empire is the biggest human empire in the world, and underneath it is rural orc land. The orcs are too warmongering and strength dominated to have any big organizations, they form small tribes and usually fight amongst each other. It seems an orc tribe is trying to pick a fight against the town. Before now, all the orc tribes were too scared to go after anything human. Years ago, orc raids were a common occurrence for border settlements like the Town of Flora, however, once the new king took the throne, they marched the imperial army into orcish lands and slaughtered the ten most powerful tribes. Ever since, none of the tribes dared even look in the Crucible Empire’s direction. Unfortunately, a particular tribe seems to have failed in keeping the teaching of their ancestors and are now setting their sights on the town.

The atmosphere was extremely tense, eleven on each side formed a circle around two in the middle that seemed to be having a struggle. Cel jumped down from his building and ran over.

“What’s going on here?”

“Ah, Sir Verrus,” saluted the guard. Anyone who owned land got the title of Sir, the deed that Cel had come to own also showed that he owned the twelve meters of land around the orphanage where no buildings were standing.

“There is an orc tribe threatening to invade the Town of Flora, they offered a deal. If our strongest fighter bested theirs in a fight to the death, then they would call off the invasion. Captain Keizer took them up on their offer. But… the captain doesn’t stand a chance against that beast,” explained a guard while grimacing. Cel blanched, Keizer was Craig’s sir-name, or last name; Cel turned his attention to the two fighting in the middle. Craig was being beaten to a pulp, blood dripping from his nose down his moustache, and streaking past his chin. He was shaking from the effort of just standing, his sword sticking out of the ground from when he dropped it, and he was on the verge of losing consciousness. Craig’s opponent was a behemoth, even by orc standards. It was two hundred seventy centimeters tall with giant tusks jutting from its disgusting maw and scars decorated its whole body, from head to toe. One scar in particular spanned from the left side of its forehead all the way down to its hip, rendering one eye blind. It wielded a weird looking sharp, cube bat that was made of some metal and looked wickedly sharp.

“Craig!” shouted Cel, pushing his way past the guards and supporting Craig, deaf to the orc’s protest.

“Cel ...,” mumbled Craig weakley, “Please… pro… tect the town. I’m… sorry I… couldn’t...give regards to… my-” he went limp in Cel’s arms, unable to finish his dying words.

“Craig! NO! Don’t go!” screamed Cel in anguish, violently shaking Craig with tears welling up in his eyes. Suddenly, a guttural laugh of mockery alerted Cel to the presence of Craig’s opponent.

“Weak humans. I bested strongest in death combat!” celebrated the monster. The other guards ran forward and crowded around the body of Craig.

Cel blinked the tears away and handed Craig’s body to a guard with the message, “Do what you can.” before turning to look at the eight foot brute. His eyes burned with unadulterated malice, anger fueled him as he flexed his muscles, another cry threatening to rip from his throat.

“Be strong. For Craig. For the town,” thought Cel while taking a deep breath.

“That human wasn’t the strongest person here. I am, fight me!” Cel practically roared in challenged.

“Dumb humans don’t know who strongest,” snorted the orc. “Fight, I kill you!” The orc didn’t immediately swing its sharp bat, instead it levied its arm and punched directly for Cel’s face.

“Perfect,” thought Cel, “An enemy who underestimates their opponent is easy prey, ripe for the culling.” Cel smirked and ducked centimeters under the punch while slicing its forearm in six different places, his daggers seemingly just appeared in his hands. Blue blood gushed out of its arm and it roared in pain. Hate now present in its eyes, it swung its deadly weapon at Cel’s waist. The orc was too slow for Cel to have to worry about anything. Cel hopped over the weapon and on to its shoulder, and maneuvered around its back to its neck.

Cel reached around its neck with both daggers and seethed, “Rot in the abyss.” before slitting its throat. Its neck became a fountain of blue blood, painting the air in a blue hue of mist. It dropped to the ground with a wet thud and Cel jumped off its back. Instead of the rampaging and provoked orcs that were expected, the orc's all broke out into hysteria. After some time, the only laugh that remained was from an orc hiding behind the rest. It yelled a word that sounded like it would make any human’s throat raw from just thinking about saying it and the orcs parted to make way. This orc didn’t look anywhere near as menacing as the one Cel had just killed. It was only two hundred centimeters and it only had a small amount of scars, mainly on its arms and legs. Its tusks were huge, reaching to almost the top of its head, at least one did. The other tusk was broken, snapped in a rugged manner, it looked excruciating. Cel had no way of knowing, but in actuality, an orc like this one was far more respected than the two hundred seventy centimeter mass of muscle he just killed. The small stature and minimal scarring showed that it was more proficient in battle than even the most physically strongest of orcs.

“That pitiful scrub wasn’t the strongest of us, I am,” sneared the orc, “You puny humans are unworthy of fighting me if you can’t even kill that scrub.” Cel instantly entered high alert, its english wasn’t as broken as the others, meaning it was more intelligent, or appeared that way. The orc strutted to the dead orc’s corpse and picked up the sharp bat, gave it some practice swings, and pointed it at Cel.

“A fight to the death. If you win, my tribe will not invade.” Cel agreed, he didn't have much choice, and readied his daggers, not sure the level of threat this new challenger was on. The orc flashed forward, a kick Cel wasn’t able to react to placed itself firmly on his gut, making him cough bile. The orc didn’t let up, it attacked six more times, non lethal and without its weapon, before Cel was able to pull away. The orc stood in its place, not following, instead laughing and mocking Cel for being weak. Cel did his best to ignore the pain and entered a fighting mindset, stretching all of his senses to the maximum and pushing out all unneeded stimuli, his anger but an afterthought, he was intent on reacting to the next attack. The orc refused to attack again, however, and it stared Cel down, daring him to make the next move. Cel obliged and lunged forward, one dagger aiming for the neck and the other poised for the heart. The orc didn’t even try to move, it waited until the exact last moment and then it stopped Cel’s attack. It used its sharp bat to smack the dagger that had a trajectory for its heart and directly grabbed the hand the other dagger was in. It was showing off, showing off exactly how much stronger it was. It clamped its hand down like a vice around Cel’s and squeezed, eliciting a crunch from the hand. Pain, searing hot pain burst from Cel’s hand, most of the pain in his hand’s broken metacarpals. Cel tried to pull away, pulling with all of his might, but was still unable to escape the grip of the orc. The orc slowly raised its sharp bat and held it up for all to see, like a trophy. This was all a performance to demean Cel, it was all a performance for everyone to realize how weak they were compared to the orcs, it was all a performance to entertain the orcs. The orc gave one final insult and dropped its arm down like a guillotine. Cel struggled with every fiber of his being, his thought fixated on four things. The Town. Camie. Eliot. His family. Cel didn’t close his eyes, he watched it in its entirety, like a prisoner with hollow eyes about to be executed.

A shadow spike jutted from the orc’s arm, stopping the sharp bat from getting anywhere near Cel’s neck. Cel’s lifeless eyes reignited with a passion and he laid eyes on his saviour, Eliot.

“I’m glad to have made it on time,” smirked Eliot. Cel escaped from the orc’s suppression and entered a portal positioned under him, falling next to Eliot. The orc gaped in surprise, at first confused as to what events just transpired. Then, it grew furious, their fight to the death was interrupted and it wanted reconciliation.

“Are you ok?” Eliot asked Cel who was just lifting himself off the ground.

“Yeah, my hand is broken, but I can still fight.”

“Here let me see,” said Eliot as he took his hand and examined it. A rune formed in front of Eliot and engraved on reality, rushing into Cel’s arm and mending the bone throughout.

Cel grinned thankfully, “I would say this repays what I did with the elves in full.” Eliot only nodded dismissively, his eyes narrowed in concentration and trained on the orcs. The orcs were riled up and ready for a group attack, not caring about the battle to the death anymore.

“We have to fight,” said Cel, “the small one is mine.”

“No problem, just don’t die,” shrugged Eliot. The orcs charged and the humans stood ready to receive them. A shadow spike impaled the closest orc on its stomach. It struggled futilely to remove the spike from it mid section. Eliot laughed at the orc's pitiful attempts, and a portal engulfed the top of the spike, sending the tip into the skull of the impaled orc before the shadow spike lost form, killing the orc almost instantly. Cel let everything else fade, leaving only the small orc under a spot light in his vision. Time seemed to slow down, the small orc stood frozen in Cel’s point of view.

“It is faster and stronger than I am. How do I beat it?” pondered Cel. time continued and the orcs grew nearer with every passing second, leaving only a small period of brainstorming. Fortunately, he found his answer before him and the orc collided.

“I need to have better technique. If it’s faster than come at an angle it won’t expect. If its stronger, put it in a position where it is unable to use its strength,” answered Cel, vaguely pulling from some well of knowledge he never knew was there. When the orc was in range, Cel did just that, jumping over the orc, circling it, and sending false feints until it left an opening, any opening no matter how small. Cel darted to the orc’s side and threw his dagger, hoping to focus the orc’s attention, and dashed forward. Cel’s eyes gleamed, he saw his window of opportunity and he would not let it pass. Cel slipped past the orc’s guard by throwing his second dagger in the air, the orc didn't expect Cel to challenge it in a struggle of pure strength and its eyes were trained on the daggers, ready to parry them. Cel ducked behind the orc, pushing his arms under the orc’s, rendering its arms useless. Cel held the orc in a hold, the orc physically unable to do anything. The only hole in Cel’s plan was that he was unable to attack the orc while in this position, at least he would be if he didn’t have the perfect weapon to help him. In his left hand was the flintlock pistol, his wrist craned and directed the barrel to a clean shot. He pulled the trigger and what sounded like a God’s sneeze resounded across the plains, the orc died almost the same second Cel pulled the trigger. Every soul present turned to see where the sound came from, all of them stood perfectly still as they tried to make sense of what happened. Cel withdrew his arms, dropping the orc’s body with a hollow thump. Cel realized the physiological effect the flintlock had and used it to his advantage. There were only five orcs still standing, the humans had the numbers advantege, along with Eliot's practically sure kill spell. The guards looked weary, though, and Cel thought it best to end this.

“To make it simple enough for you savages to understand, I point this at who I want killed, my God smites them, run if you don't want to die,” threatened Cel while brandishing his flintlock. The orcs backed off with their hands raised, slowly moving at first, then transitioning into a full tilt sprint. Eliot flashed a smile at Cel, showing he approved of the bluff.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Eliot said. That was when a deep, reverberating sound spread like a tidal wave across the plains, rivaling the gun’s. One of the orcs had blown into a decorated horn and continued running for its life. Everything fell silent, no one knew what that was supposed to do.

“What?” asked one of the guards. Deep, plentiful thumps slowly rose in volume, growing in intensity with each passing second. Over the horizon peaked a green head, followed by the body of an orc. Hundreds of orcs stampeded over the horizon with the purpose of leveling the Town of Flora. Half of them rode on wargs, the others just ran, all of them screaming a guttural battle cry, but the cry was drowned out from the deafening thudding of the approaching army’s foot falls.

“Everyone is going to die,” whispered one of the guards with cession to despar. Somehow, his words were heard by everyone near and they all agreed. They stood listlessly, their bones liquid and their muscles unrousing, waiting to be trampled. All but two, Cel and Eliot. Cel had no idea what he could possibly do to prevent the Town of Flora from being reduced to ashes. Eliot’s mind was racing, flipping from possibility to possibly, idea to idea, something that would save everyone. Of course, he could escape by himself, even take the whole group with him, no problems with his portals. But, he wouldn’t allow himself, after all, he didn’t care for death. It was a release from the hardship of life, nothing bad, not really, those were his thoughts. Still, if he could, he would try and save everyone. It's true that there's nothing that can be done when some one is already dead, however, a still living life was worth putting in effort to preserve, that's how Eliot saw it . A plan, an impossible and improbable plan took root in his head. Eliot knew the mana cost for the portal spell like the back of his hand. He knew he wouldn’t have anywhere near enough mana, but he would try, a slightly maniacal smile sprouted from his lips. The portal rune formed in front of Eliot, the number for the diameter of the portal was an astronomically ginormous number, big enough to take the whole town and its residents. Eliot looked up and saw the army growing ever closer, now or never. Eliot grit his teeth, sure of death and tried to cast the spell.

A hand, warm, supportive, reassuring, and comforting patted Eliot’s shoulder, accompanied by the wise sounding voice of a sage, “Now, now, there is no need to do that, young mage. That would kill you the second you tried engraving that rune.” Eliot turned in bewilderment, the rune faded instantly when Eliot’s focus discontinued. The one who had spoken was an old man, around sixty from the wrinkles in his skin and graying hair. The hair that wasn’t gray was blonde and the man’s eyes were blue as the sky. He wore a white jacket with golden buttons embroidered up the left side with the top one unbuttoned and the excess cloth folded. He also wore blue leggings and boots with the crucible crest on the man’s chest.

“Let me deal with this, this is my territory, I am responsible for protecting it,” said the man, leisurely walking past the numb audience with his hands folded behind his back. The man had a slight hunch and bent his knees, when he reached the front of the group, he stood rigid, staring the orc army down defiantly. Cel finally came to his senses, realizing who this was, the pieces seemingly fell into place.

“Honorable noble, please flee, there is no need to die here!” pleaded Cel as he pulled at the man’s arm. Cel thought that he intended to die nobly with his territory, fitting the term noble.

The man spared a small smile in Cel’s direction and said in a soothing voice and with unfound confidence, “My, my youngsters are so rambunctious, I never said anything about dying. Don’t worry I will take care of this.” Cel still wanted to protest, not wanting this man in particular to die, but he backed off, almost mesmerized by the man’s words and grit his teeth.

The orc army was closer than ever now, in a cross bow’s range, fortunately the orcs aren’t technologically advanced enough to make those. Unfortunately, many were armed with spears that they hoisted above their heads, muscles bulgeing and ready to throw spears the second they were in range. The man eyed them with disdain and even scoffed at their offensive with a sneer plastered on his face. Red mana in a concentration so thick that it was visible to the untrained eyed billowed out of the man like water from a breached dam. From the storm of mana, an expansive pair of red wings seemed to sprout from the man’s back, made from pure mana. Being particularly mana sensitive, Eliot fell to his knees, unable to bear the pressure, and clutching his head in pain while silently screaming. The red mana started converging in front of the man like the mana was trapped in the event horizon of a black whole, all but the mana making up the wings. The unyielding mana was forced into a small space and eventually formed long lines of red symbols. No one present was able to discern if it was all one rune, or many runes, not that it really mattered. The orcs were finally in range and they threw their spears, a deadly rain descending on the group of four-teen humans.

“Do me a favor,” the man said, “Die!” and the runes were engraved on reality. Blood gushed from the human’s ears, their eardrums popping like a crushed walnut. A giant explosion, larger and deadlier than any nuke ever used ravaged the orc army, obliterating the orcs like a God of death snapped their fingers. Eliot long since lost consciousness from the pain, the other humans were holding on by a thread that was rapidly splintering. The explosion was so big and deadly that it might not have lost to even some medium sized asteroid impacts. A big explosion is always accompanied by a shock wave, this one is no different. The after effects themselves streaked across the landscape, uprooting the grass and minimal vegetation while upheaving the ground like a tsunami of obliteration, only appearing to slowly be moving towards the Town of Flora, when it was actually moving hundreds of miles an hour. The shockwave grew dangerously close, coming within inches of the old man, only being stopped by a previously invisible red force field that blazed to life, protecting the town from any harm. In fact, it did much more than just shield the town and its inhabitants like an angel covering them with their wings. It worked to heal all injuries no matter how severe, it only stopped short of bringing the dead back to life. The human audience was rejuvinated, Eliot coming to. A dozen minutes passed and the dust still had yet to settle, the few people who had witnessed the display of power from the old man started secretly wondering if he were a God in human disguise. The old man smiled at his handy work, patting himself on the back, and turned to face the audience.

“Please forgive my sudden departure, but it seems I am no longer needed here, and I have other urgent matters to attend to,” announced the man, as if he was simply doing his due diligence, and their red wings of mana, two meters across, fluttered slightly as he prepared to take off.

“Wait!” shouted Cel, his arm stretched out. The old man’s soft gaze fell on cel, silently asking him to continue. Cel had to stop himself from staring, the man’s eyes glowed the same red as his mana, when they had just been blue minutes before.

“What is your name?”

The old man gave a small chuckle, “My name?...My name is Klaus Crucible.” The man’s wings extended to their full reach and pushed down, sending Klaus soaring through the sky.