The moon hung high, pale and merciless, casting silver light across the killing fields.
Selvara's body blurred as she moved, her blades flashing arcs of silver edged with crackling blue. Lightning danced across her veins, sparks trailing behind her every strike. Goblins screamed as she cut them apart, their skulls split, jaws torn open, chests caved in from the force of her slashes. Every fifth strike crackled with a jolt, stunning her target just long enough for her next blade to carve through their life.
The ground was a mire of blood. The stench clung to the air, thick and choking, but Selvara barely noticed. She was inside the storm, her storm.
A goblin lunged with a chipped axe. Selvara pivoted, her body a blur of speed, her sword opening its chest in one ruthless motion. Before the corpse hit the ground, she was already on the next, driving her blade up through its ribcage until sparks leapt from the wound. The creature's body spasmed violently, then fell limp.
Dozens had fallen, then hundreds. The cave mouth, once alive with endless shrieking, was quieter now. The waves still came, but slower, thinner.
Selvara paused briefly, chest rising and falling. She wiped blood from her cheek with the back of her gauntlet, silver eyes narrowing. Her voice was low, almost a whisper.
"…fewer warriors and fewer archers."
Her gaze sharpened as she struck down another goblin with a ruthless slash across the spine. She yanked her blade free, her lips tightening.
"They're saving them," she muttered. "Holding back for later."
The thought hung in the air, sharp and cold.
She pressed on, blades never resting, until the cave's outpour slowed further. By the time she had piled another mountain of corpses at its mouth, only the weakest remained, common goblins, shrieking blindly, rushing to their deaths without support. Selvara dispatched them with ease, but her mind was already elsewhere.
"They're conserving," she thought grimly. "Someone's pulling the strings."
At last, the cave mouth went silent. The shrieks cut off. Not even a stray goblin emerged. The night was left with only the hum of insects, the faint crackle of burning corpses, and the slow, steady drip of blood soaking into earth.
Selvara stood in the silence, blades at her sides, sparks from Lightning Veins flickering faintly. Her body trembled with exhaustion, though the passive dulled the worst of it. She exhaled, then sheathed her swords.
A massive tree loomed near the clearing, its trunk wide enough for three men to wrap around. She moved toward it, boots squelching in mud thick with blood.
At its base, she sat. Her back pressed to bark, her blades resting across her lap. Her chest rose and fell with slow, steady breaths.
The moonlight filtered through the canopy, painting her pale face in shifting silver and shadow. She reached into her pouch, pulling free a small fruit she had gathered earlier. It was bitter and half-rotten, but she ate it without complaint. Her silver eyes remained fixed on the cave entrance even as she chewed.
"They're in there," she thought. "Hiding. Waiting but they haven't left."
Her lips curved in the faintest smirk.
"That means they're afraid."
She finished the fruit, licked her fingers clean of juice and blood, and settled deeper into the roots of the tree. Her eyes slid shut, though only halfway. She would rest, yes—but only as much as a predator rests. Even in sleep, she listened for footsteps.
Morning.
The forest stirred with the songs of birds, but the cave was silent.
Inside, the air was thick with heat and stench. Goblins huddled in the dark, their beady eyes glowing faintly as they whispered in guttural tones. None dared leave the mouth. They remembered the lightning woman.
Then the ground trembled.
A heavy footstep echoed through the cavern. Then another. Dust fell from the ceiling. The goblins scurried aside, bowing their heads, clearing a path.
From the darkness, a massive figure emerged.
An ork.
Eight feet tall, its frame was a wall of muscle, scarred and hardened. Shards of armor clung to its chest and shoulders, crude but effective. In its hand was a brutal weapon—an iron club studded with spikes, long as a man was tall.
Its tusked jaw clenched as it strode toward the mouth of the cave. When it reached the entrance, it frowned. The opening had collapsed in the night, leaving only a narrow gap fit for a human.
"Pathetic," the ork rumbled, voice deep and guttural.
It drew back a fist and slammed it into the rock. The cave mouth exploded outward, stones scattering like gravel. Dust clouded the air, but when it cleared, a gap wide enough for the ork's hulking frame remained.
The ork stepped outside.
Its yellow eyes swept the clearing and froze.
Bodies. Thousand of them. Goblin corpses stacked in grotesque hills, their blood soaking the ground, their faces twisted in terror. The air stank of rot and lightning-burnt flesh.
The ork's lip curled.
"Tsk… fucking worthless livestock," it growled, spitting into the dirt. "Couldn't even capture a village. I really have to save these pests from whatever's butchering them."
It stepped forward, crushing bones underfoot, scanning the trees with sharp, predatory eyes.
"Ambush," it muttered, grip tightening on its spiked weapon. "You think I'll walk blind into it? Hah."
For long minutes, the ork stood in the clearing, waiting. Its head turned slowly, yellow eyes searching for a flicker of movement, a glint of silver, a spark of lightning. But nothing came.
The ork's patience ran thin.
"Whatever," it growled. "Goblins are replaceable. Their numbers recover easily. Not worth my time."
With that, it turned and strode back into the cave.
Inside, its voice echoed off the stone. "Ork mages better fix that realm break soon. Abyssals keep pushing, they're desperate to get through. We'll expand when it's done. For now… guard the entrance."
The goblins chattered nervously.
The ork's voice rose, a roar that made the cavern quake. "Do not go outside. Do not be seen. Guard the gap with your lives. Thirty-four orks remain in this nest. That is enough. When the mages finish their work, we begin the expansion."
The goblins obeyed, trembling.
The ork turned and strode deeper into the cavern, muttering. "Worthless pests. But once the realm break is secured, the villages will fall like wheat before the scythe."
Selvara stirred beneath her tree. Her silver eyes opened slowly, her body still. She had felt the tremor when the ork smashed the rocks, had heard its voice booming faintly from the cave.
She rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her armor.
Her gaze settled on the cave entrance, newly widened. She had seen the ork emerge, seen its bulk, its scars, the sheer killing weight it carried in its presence. Her hand had gone to her sword then, but she had held back.
Her voice was a whisper. "Too risky."
If the ork marched to the village, she would strike. She would not let it slaughter innocents. But it had retreated into the cave. For now.
Selvara narrowed her eyes.
"They're waiting," she thought. "Trying to lure me inside. Trap me in the dark… going in would be suicide."
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I'll drag them out instead."
She moved silently across the clearing, her boots soft against the blood-soaked earth. Near the cave mouth, she crouched, plucking a rock from the ground. She tossed it into the air, then let it clatter loudly against stone.
The noise echoed.
From within, guttural shouts rose. A few goblins crept out cautiously, blinking into the light.
Selvara's silver eyes gleamed.
She moved like lightning. Before the goblins could react, she struck with blinding speed, her blades slamming into their heads and necks with ruthless precision. The bodies crumpled.
But she didn't kill them. Not yet. She knocked them unconscious with hilt strikes, then dragged their limp forms toward the nearest tree. She tied them there with rope scavenged from fallen goblins, binding them tightly to the trunk.
Minutes later, the three goblins stirred. They struggled, snarled, then began to shout guttural cries echoing through the clearing.
Selvara crouched in the shadows nearby, silver eyes gleaming coldly.
The cave erupted with noise. More goblins poured out, drawn by the shouts of their kin. They rushed into the clearing, eyes wild.
Selvara rose slowly, blades drawn, sparks of blue lightning crawling across her skin.
Her lips curved in the faintest smile.
"Come, then."
And when they charged, she vanished into motion, carving them down one by one as the sun rose higher over the forest.