If the orcs worshipped a god, a deity or a patron, now was the time for Urganza to pray. Nothing short of a miracle would save her now. The Storm Lord stalked her through the enclosure like a spider toying with prey caught in its web; cold, emotionless and hungry. The metal claws of his gauntlets clinked loudly; each consecutive clink made an uncomfortable noise. The tips of the claws, sharp enough to slice through a ravaging stone golem, glistened menacingly. The claws themselves were wrought of ebon alloy -- as long and broad as talons of a giant mountain condor -- and accentuated perfectly, the image of feral malice. The dark vambraces encasing the upper arms held tightly like a second skin. Crimson blood dripped unceasingly from the wound at the back of his head and drenched those dark vambraces. Despite the severe loss of blood, the Storm Lord, true to his moniker of Mammoth Killer, continued to hunt Urganza unhindered. Feral froth foamed at the corners of his blood-stained tusks. He did not crave vengeance. Nor did he wish to resurrect his honour. His need was something more primal. An animalistic instinct to survive at any cost; by killing his adversary.

Urganza, considerably weakened, perspired heavily. Sweat rolled down her angular cheekbones as she slaved breathlessly under the crushing tension. She trembled on the brink of unconsciousness. The Storm Lord seemed almost immortal at this point. Retreating repeatedly, and evading lighting fast swipes, exhausted her. Beads of despair clung to her. A part of Urganza yearned to slip behind the thin curtain of eternal embrace. A lacerated smile distorted the Storm Lord's mutilated features as defeat loomed dramatically near Urganza. Still the embers of fire did not disappear from her amber eyes. Her courage bolstered other aspects of her fear. Caution.

The claws swiped the empty air, the spot where Urganza stood a heartbeat ago. Swaying side to side, she readied herself in a defensive stance, eyes glued on him and devoured every movement he could attempt. Small movement around his knee joints alerted Urganza. With cat-like reflexes, she retreated a few paces backwards avoiding another swipe. Against his unnatural celerity, the heavy dire flail was a hindrance. Her eyes darted from her adversary towards the pommel-deep buried flamberge.

A terrible premonition twitched in my gutted consciousness. My hidden instinctive intuition would pinpoint where and when Urganza would use her ability and switch weapons, yet also blinded me to the exact scenario that lay before me. Thick clouds of confusion clogged my thoughts. Frustrated bile twisted the pit of my stomach. This is all going wrong.

Beside me, a nervous faint gasp escaped from Lyria’s lips. She echoed similar thoughts. Her arms sought out mine and gripped tightly. Despite the comfort of her hold, the unease still continued to grow. We both knew that death hummed a dirge closely beside Urganza. Hope strangled within my veins, belittling any chance left for Urganza.

However, even surrounded by agony and total panic, two concepts wormed its way through the cloud of encompassing incertitude. One, was Urganza’s tenacity. Two, the unforgiving inevitability. In his present state, whichever way the duel ends, the Storm Lord has lost his hold. If my estimate was true, Urganza’s previous blow dislodged something in him. Perhaps, a fatal concussion in his brain. The orcs will fall into disarray without a strong command.

Even the perpetual din of the crowd slowly retreated to an alarming silence. Soon, only utter calm spread throughout the expanse of the gathered Stone-Cleaver orcs. None could comprehend how the Storm Lord still fought or how Urganza even managed to still cling to her life. All eyes settled on the two; contorting heads furtively peering; inquisitive eyes fixed on their immortal war leader. Slowly in a surreal moment, paralysis scurried along the lines of the crowd. Where they silently giving lip service to demons and deities alike at this moment?

Meanwhile, time slipped ominously away. Both Urganza and the Storm Lord stayed entrenched one step ahead of one another. Her tenacity overweighed her exhaustion. She still held hope on the flamberge stuck on the ground, a few paces behind the Storm Lord.

Would she be able to get past the Storm Lord and wrap her fingers around its hilt? Then again why wouldn’t he want to allow her that advantage? Orcs gained reputations on bodies that endured many shocks and weariness while still returning swift pain provoking blows even after receiving debilitating wounds. That is what the Storm Lord is, the premier of all orcs.

With the speed of a spider jumping on its prey, the Storm Lord lunged. Unexpected misstep threw Urganza off balance; so close to perishing death. Sensing that another deft swipe would lead to spilling her viscera, she rolled into an impromptu position. All she could do was an attempt to remain upright while warding off numerous strikes and sweeps delivered from the Storm Lord.

Forced on the ground and with no possibility to get back on her feet, Urganza still clung to her flight response instilled in her since birth; honed during countless skirmishes and perfected in the last few days. Thus she completed one roll -- which led to a missed thrust from the Storm Lord; his claws sunk deep into the ground. The Storm Lord tugged at the firmly stuck claws, which gave Urganza the precious few moments to complete her powerful kick to the nape of his neck. The Storm Lord staggered for a fraction of a heartbeat and then shrugged off; returned to getting his gauntleted hand free.

Urganza quickly realised the futility of her kick and quickly changed her angle of attack. With only precious moments remaining before her opponent would free the claws and continue his flurry of blows, still lying on the ground, Urganza pushed herself forward; narrowly missing the swipe from his other hand and placed herself right beneath the bent-forward form of Storm Lord. Then heaving all her might, she directed a simple, straight and rock-breaking kick towards his groin.

Eyes widened as horror gradually froze the entire audience in place. The sight and the following sound made the whole world stop within mere moments. The crunching sound of ...... well, I just heard the crushing sound. The Storm Lord -- Mammoth Killer or not -- should have definitely worn a codpiece.

Only Lyria had the audacity to joke.

“Rils, do you know in a distant land there was a game played which involves hitting a fist-sized hard wooden ball with a sturdy stick?” Her face contorted wide with mirth and she continued, “The men took to the habit of wearing codpieces, centuries before they started wearing helmets.”

“Those are wise men,” I returned her the favour.

The Storm Lord growled lying on the ground. A far deeper growl. Almost animalistic and bestial. And when he finally stood up, Urganza already clasped the flamberge tightly with both her hand and held it with its jagged tip pointed at him.

The terrifying moment was painted right before my eyes. Despite the quivering lips under the immense pressure from the mortally wounded Orc Lord, Urganza let a stone-ravaging roar and charged with unfathomable determination. The Storm Lord stood on a ground covered in a crimson carpet; mostly his own blood. His time was slipping away, yet he looked almost invigorated with bloodlust as he watched Urganza run full-throttled towards him with the brandished flamberge poised to pierce his exposed chest.

Tharkas, who stood a few paces behind Lyria, clutched an amulet shaped object that dangled from his neck. His lips moved wordlessly. A prayer to his ancestors, for Urganza, undoubtedly. Even Theko who was initially uninterested in the ordeal, now breathlessly considered the charge of Urganza.

Urganza started her attack with a valiant thrust, placing her belief on the range of the flamberge to keep her adversary at bay. With a flick of his wrist, the Storm Lord deflected the thrust like slapping a striking serpent. Clenching her teeth, she frantically held against the counterattack, each striking swipe hit against her firmly held blade. Catastrophic droplets of sweat trickled from the stretched sinewy cord of Urganza’s forearm and dripped along the flamberge. Somewhere between sprinting to fight and holding back blows from the valorously fighting Storm Lord, a warmth of clarity surged through her.

She quelled her innate instinct to respond with a counterattack. Mindful movements allowed Urganza to stave off another cycle of counters from the Storm Lord. She accomplished her stand, neither retreating nor advancing.

And I found my Shield Champion.

The Storm Lord, wary of his attack not connecting, attempted one desperate gamble. He sunk low to the blood-filled ground and charged in an attempt to wallop her across the knees. Her legs buckled underneath followed immediately by a stab of excruciating hot stabbing pains crisscrossing her. Grimacing through clenched jaws, Urganza brought down the heavy flamberge on the Storm Lord’s unprotected back as he passed, sending bone splinters flying. The serrated shark-teeth-like blade of the flamberge severed muscles, tendons and spine in equal measure. The Storm Lord rushed a few paces forward and fell face-first on the crimson carpeted ground.

Nearby, Urganza crawled with groans till she reached the Storm Lord. Fighting her rebelling muscles, she pushed the Storm Lord on his back. She let shallow breaths resisting the constant hellish convulsions that threatened to overwhelm her and managed to lock gaze with the Storm Lord. Unspoken words passed between them. She shook her head once, in acknowledgement and holding the flamberge ever so carefully like a surgeon holding a scalpel, she made a clean cut across his neck. Blood poured in voluminous rivulets and pooled majestically next to the devastated gory form that the Storm Lord wore proudly till now.

Urganza simply collapsed next to the Storm Lord, clutching the flamberge tightly and eyes shut.

Was it because of exhaustion? or was there something more profound, a rejection to watching her tormenting adversary die a glorious death? I could not speculate. If I were to ask, Urganza will deny an answer.