In a large hall with floor to ceiling glass windows at 5 meter distances away from each other on the left and right sides of the room, a long table with a capacity to seat 14 people – 6 on the left and right each, with 1 at the head of the table and another at the bottom – only 2 of the 14 seats were occupied.A Nephia and a Nephille sat at the table. The facially matured Nephia with blonde hair sat at the head of the table and the Nephille, a Nephilim that looked like he had lived for centuries, with brown beards and a blinded left eye – with a diagonal slash scar – sat opposite her at the other end.The blonde Nephia was clad in a white light weight armor with a golden eight pointed star at the middle of her chest. She was easily 12 feet tall, and the aura that flowed out of her was that of authority.The brown bearded Nephilim cleared his throat, ridding the hall of the silence. “So, Major Carthra, what have you been able to do? I heard the eastern requested a Colonel. The local hu
Feeling unsure about how to assist, the white haired lad crouched down behind the base of a scaly stalagmite.‘The shock from me being alive gave Ralel the chance to move… he moved a little. What if… what if I induce another emotion… that thing seems to work by inducing fear… horse sh*t… I’m scared too… why aren’t I frozen? Maybe… maybe the thing petrifies through focus… or attention… or eye contact… yes… if I can break the eye contact while inducing another emotion, it just might work. But wait… doing that would just give out my location… No… it won’t… would it? I mean I spoke just now… no one is attacking me… right? Oh sh*t… they don’t see me as a threat… f*cking bastards!’ the white haired lad growled angrily.Stopping himself from thinking, he shot out of hiding, hoping his anger was greater than hi
Running down the uneven terrain of the darkness shadowed forest, he jumped, slid and ducked, not slowing down for a second to look back at his pursuers, but who was he kidding.Even though they had given him a three minutes head start, he could hear them coming.Their roaring chuckles, the sound of fallen leaves being crushed under their heavy, stumping footsteps, the forest seemed to groaned in pain with each step they took.“You can’t outrun us cripple,” the thunderous, deep voice of one of his pursuers echoed.“Hah… Cripple… good one Yair,” another voice boomed.“I am so going to end pounding you into a pulp you piece of shit,” the thunderous deep voice that belonged to the one called Yair roared.“Shit! Shit! Shit! I’m so dead!” the fellow being chased exclaimed with dread.He kept running, pushing himself to break his limits, but it wasn’t working. He
CHAPTER THREEThe white haired lad, Haemier Monolith, had begun running without restrain the moment he noticed that Ralel and the Nephia – whose name he couldn’t remember – had escaped the cavern.‘The bipedals aren’t joining the chase… is this beast really that powerful?’ he thought to himself.Although he had initially tried to stop Ralel and his fellows from chasing after him by faking the tracks, the bipedals – humanoid like the Nephilim, with a pale gray skin and black dermal armor covering parts of their bodies, dermal armors that had reddish cracks on them like a volcanic mountain – found him and knocked him unconscious. Bringing him to their layer, they had decided to keep him for their ‘hatchling’ to add to its collection when it awoke. He was struggling on the cliff of unconsciousness when he had heard that, so when he regained consciousness and Ralel and his comrades entered the cavern, he had figured the beasts would rather have five Nephilims and let the Cripple go, so he
°°° Parasite °°°The shaman stood atop a hill. The tracking spell had lead him to a few dungeons across the land. The Fey-Elven Dynasty had built a system of dungeons which enabled them to keep inmates that were acquainted with each other in times past apart to prevent easy breakouts. They hand probably gotten news of his breakout and had moved the other Orc captives to this dungeon in particular.The dungeon was built in a volcanic mountain. The dungeon was constructed to keep jail breaks to a minimum. Built by fire, ice and earth magicians of the highest caliber in the construction sector of the continent, the 'Pyre' – as it was called – was virtually impenetrable and much more inescapable. A step outside the magical fields, and nothing would be left to bury. The shaman had sensed the immense magical aura the mountain gave. He figured it wasn’t only going to be heavily guarded by wards, but also manpower. “I wonder what these modernized savages are really hiding in there,” he chuc
°°° New Bondage °°°The solar flare was the last thing the shaman could remember. He had probably passed out from the impact of Deathbrand’s solar flare, or was knock out by the collapsing cave.‘Regardless, I have to escape this place,' he concluded dismissing the memory.He walked to the door and wrapped his hands around the metal bars. He muttered a spell and confirmed the cell was warded to dampen magic. He smiled happy that it wasn’t a magic negation spell. He walked to the bed provided and broke a piece of wood off of it. He ran to the door and began to draw a series of symbols. He pulled up to stone tiles whenever he ran out of drawing space. He kept scribbling, stopping at certain times of confirm that he was having the right symbols. Once the symbol was wrong, either by length with or details, the outcome would differ. This was the problem with symbol magic. It could allow one to use almost any kind of magic, provided the right symbols are used. But once the symbol is wrong,
°°° Escape-Plan °°°The lights flooded his eyes as he opened them, forcing him to shut them again. He groaned and sat up, opening his eyes, he blinking rapidly, his head bowed, to allow his eyes slowly adapt to the light.After a moment, he looked around. He was in a square-shaped chamber. Behind him was a window, a large one, oddly close to the roof, from which the rays of the sun poured in. The floor gave him the confirmatory message that he was in a dungeon. The floor was jagged, the stone tiles were missing at certain points, broken at others. This was to be considered a cell for nobles where he was from. No matter how much Elves tried to be brutal and rough, they were perfectionists to the core, so much so that the worst of dungeon cells were much comfortable than some of the best from his continent. He grunted as he shuffled around his bed for his necklace of bones. Orcs weren’t the kind that fancied comfort, but their price, that was one thing they took pride in, and for him,
°°° COUNTING THE LOSSES °°°“How is my brother doing?” the hoarse voice of Kevelar Longclaw announced him as he walked into a cave.His wet black skin glistened as lightning tore through the skies. He looked pissed, exhausted. He had come to Edgar with over four hundred Orcs, and now, nothing more than a hundred and fifty were left breathing, with more than half of that population scattered across the outskirts of Edgar.“Bartok sleeps,” a scrawny looking Orc, with a necklace of bones around his neck answered as Kevelar walked deeper into the cave. “I had to amputate the arm. It would have killed him otherwise,” the shaman informed.He walked to his brother with heavy steps and sat on a rock beside the unconscious Bartok. Bartok's right hand was gone from the elbow down. His veins bulged, threatening to burst open. In one mission his brother was defeated twice, met a near death experience, it was not going to serve their reputation well. The Longclaw bloodline had existed as warriors