The wind howled through the broken peaks like something alive.
It clawed at the jagged stone, screamed through the narrow passes, and carried with it a smell that didn't belong to the mountains.
Blood.
Fresh.
Hot.
And far too much of it.
A shadow moved along the ridge, slow and deliberate, each step heavy enough to grind loose stone beneath iron boots. The figure paused at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the valley below.
The carnage stretched for miles.
Trees splintered like snapped bones. Earth torn open in great gouges. And scattered across the valley floor… bodies.
Not human.
Not quite beast.
Something older.
Something rarer.
The orc inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring beneath the shadow of his hood. Then he smiled.
"Beautiful…"
Marek the Butcherer stepped forward, his massive frame silhouetted against the storm-choked sky. His armour was a grotesque mosaic—plates of metal fused with bone, stitched leather, and fragments of creatures long since reduced to trophies. Skulls hung from his waist. Claws were strapped across his shoulders like medals.
Each one earned.
Each one taken.
Behind him, something growled.
Low.
Unnatural.
A pair of chained beasts dragged themselves into view, their bodies scarred and twisted by iron restraints. Their eyes burned with fury—and fear. They strained against their bindings, muscles trembling, but the chains held firm.
They always did.
Marek didn't turn to look at them.
"They feel it," he muttered, voice gravel-thick. "Good."
His gaze fixed on the centre of the valley.
There.
Still standing.
A creature unlike the others.
It towered above the wreckage, its body carved from stone and sinew, veins glowing faintly beneath its cracked, granite-like skin. Massive horns curved from its skull, and its breath came in heavy bursts that shook the ground beneath it.
An ancient thing.
A guardian.
And wounded.
Deep gashes lined its flank. One leg dragged slightly behind the other. Blood—dark and thick—dripped steadily onto the shattered earth.
Yet it did not fall.
It waited.
Marek's grin widened.
"That's more like it…"
He stepped off the ridge.
The drop was steep—lethal to anything less than him. But Marek didn't hesitate. He descended like a falling boulder, crashing through loose rock and landing with a thunderous impact that cracked the ground beneath his boots.
The guardian beast lifted its head.
Its glowing eyes locked onto him.
For a moment, the world went still.
Wind died.
Storm held its breath.
Even the chained beasts behind Marek fell silent.
Then—
A roar.
It tore through the valley like a war cry from the bones of the world itself.
Marek laughed.
A deep, guttural sound that didn't belong to anything sane.
"Yes," he growled, rolling his shoulders as he reached behind his back. "Fight."
With a heavy scrape of metal, he pulled free his weapon.
A massive harpoon—its shaft thick as a man's arm, its tip jagged and barbed, forged not just of steel but reinforced with the bones of creatures that had once tried to kill him.
Now they served him.
Just like everything else would.
"You don't get to die quietly," Marek said, stepping forward. "Not something like you."
The beast charged.
Despite its injuries, it moved with terrifying force, each step shaking the valley floor. Stone cracked beneath its weight. Its horns lowered, aiming to crush, to impale, to end.
Marek didn't move.
Not yet.
Closer.
Closer.
Closer—
Now.
He surged forward to meet it.
The collision was deafening.
Steel met stone. Flesh met fury. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the valley, scattering debris and tearing what remained of nearby trees from the earth.
Marek was thrown back, boots carving trenches through the ground as he slid—then stopped.
Still standing.
Still smiling.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
"Good," he spat, wiping it away with the back of his hand. "You're worth something."
The beast roared again, but this time there was strain in it. Pain. Weakness creeping in.
Marek saw it.
He always did.
And once he saw it—
It was over.
The next exchange was faster.
Brutal.
Precise.
Marek moved like a predator that had done this a thousand times before. He baited the charge, sidestepped the horns, and drove the harpoon deep into the creature's wounded flank.
The beast screamed.
Marek twisted the weapon, forcing it deeper, tearing through stone-like flesh until the glow beneath its skin flickered violently.
"Down," he growled.
The chains behind him snapped taut as his captured beasts were forced forward, driven by command and fear. They lunged, adding weight, dragging, overwhelming.
The guardian fought.
Gods, it fought.
But it was tired.
Wounded.
Alone.
And Marek…
Marek was none of those things.
With one final, brutal heave, he drove the harpoon through its chest.
The glow died.
The great body trembled… then collapsed.
Silence returned to the valley.
Heavy.
Final.
Marek stood over the fallen giant, chest rising slowly, eyes burning with satisfaction.
Then he looked up.
To the sky.
To the endless stretch of clouds drifting far above the broken peaks.
His expression darkened.
"There's more of you out there," he muttered. "Stronger ones."
His grip tightened on the harpoon.
"I'll find you."
A pause.
Then a low, dangerous smile crept back across his face.
"And when I do…"
The wind picked up again, carrying his voice across the dead valley.
"…you'll belong to me."
Far above the storm.
Beyond the reach of the mountains.
Beyond the sight of any hunter.
Something drifted silently through the clouds.
A great airship, violet and midnight-blue, cutting through the sky like a whisper.
And somewhere upon it…
A different kind of orc watched the world below.
Unaware.
For now.