Carnage

"The village.." Nyzen, who stood atop a tree branch and looked down towards the village in utter dismay. Below, in the village which was now in pandemonium and had become a battleground, blood splashed, bones cracked, sinew tore, and arrows shot about everywhere. The small area dedicated to battle was covered in blood and gore as cleaved limbs, maimed corpses, and crushed bodies covered the ground. 

The Dark Elves were at a large number disadvantage, with most of the men being out of the village for the Hunt. Nyzen assumed that many had faced an ambush like he, Fellian, and Lyron did; the thought of which caused anger to boil through him. In a fury, he scanned the battlefield intently as a bow manifested. Notching an arrow conjured of Darkness, runes shone upon him with an iridescent light as his eyes found a target. The bowstring was pulled taut as the wind howled in one fluid motion. Swoosh! The arrow instantly reached its target piercing a large Orc in the neck. It fell to the ground with a great thud as it clasped at its devastated neck. 

'There's too many, we need reinforcements...Have all of the others been killed!?' A brief sense of despair rocked Nyzen as he looked at the village. With the current state of the battle, it would merely take the death of one or two more Dark Elves for the Orcs to overwhelm the village guards completely. 'Even if I kill as many as I can, we will still lose..' Unwillingness surged through him as the thought of dying scared him. However, his gaze became firm once more as he notched another arrow, "What would Angela and the kids think if I just laid down and died? Would I really be a Warrior?" Nyzen chortled with self-mockery as an arrow flew out, killing another Orc instantly. Its eyes rolled back as the arrow in its heart erupted with devastating energy that corroded its innards. One arrow from Nyzen stood as a death sentence to any of the Orcs, who noticed his presence even amid intense battle. 

Just as he was about to descend the tree and join the battle on the ground, Nyzen caught sight of a familiar figure battling a large and robust Orc. His eyes bulged as realization hit him, "Angela!" In an unbelievably fast movement, an incredibly dense wind arrow rang out. It hissed through the air as it instant penetrated the attacking Orc's skull. The Orc warrior collapsed and died abruptly, as Angela, who was bewildered looked about. 

Nyzen leaped from the tree; quickly moving towards the injured Angela. He avoided clashes with the Orcs, deftly dodging and weaving between the battle as he soon reached her. 

… 

'I need to focus. The enemy is still overwhelming us. However, they're divided, unskilled, and dumb. The best way to handle this would be killing them from a distance, but that would take too long...' Nyzen refocused as he entered the battleground and analyzed the situation; his memories dissipating quickly. 

Tens of Orcs and Dark Elves alike fought ferociously. Exhaustion and despair surged through the Dark Eleven warriors; the only thing stopping them from conceding was the guaranteed slaughter of their families. He weaved through the loose crowd, picking up a shabby dagger from a fallen comrade. 

Bang! 

Two warriors clashed their swords; one metal the other energy, vibrated with shock. The Dark Elf warrior was pushed back by the Orc's unending, overwhelming strikes as he nearly lost balance. The Orc struck forth with a fist to the liver, noticing the Dark Elves exhaustion. It connected with a thud as the Dark Elf was sent flying to the ground, spitting out a mouth full of bile as he desperately heaved for breath. He didn't even have time to recover as the Orc came crashing towards him, a large Warhammer, the iron head bigger than his own, nearly smashed his head into bits as a glint suddenly flickered: Splurt! Blood spewed from the Orc's throat as the crashing Warhammer was simultaneously kicked away; the Orc's body collapsed heavily to the floor. 

The exhausted and half-dead Elf looked up in surprise as he saw a familiar face. "Nyzen…?" he asked in utter confoundment as Nyzen, who stood over him with two metal daggers—dried and fresh blood coating them—curtly nodded. The sun blazed on his back and formed a sinister shadow as he wordlessly dashed off. 

In just a moment he was upon another Orc. Distracted, the Orc wildly swung its axe at a Dark Elf warrior as Nyzen plunged forth. His lanky figure connected with the Orc's as two fountains of blood, one from its neck, and the other from its abdomen erupted out like a volcano. But Nyzen didn't slow down as that Orc fell, for he found himself stabbing another in the temple, then another in the throat. He felt bones break as he stomped on the neck of an immobilized Orc—thick gashes running along its legs.

Nyzen's mind felt numb. He had killed over ten orcs, all of which had been brutal deaths. Yet as he looked to the battle, their numbers seemed never-ending, energy and morale limitless. He could only keep fighting, and so, once again, he bolted forth. Now damaged blades in hand he kept killing, kept fighting, kept heaving, and kept watching as his people slowly died. 

… 

Blood and sweat covered Nyzen's clothes. All around him lay the dead bodies of what had once been his people. "Hahahaha…You bastards. I'll make sure some of you don't make it back home." He laughed and spat venomously, a tinge of insanity in his voice. For a moment, the half a dozen Orcs that surrounded him hesitated. Their warrior spirit was affected by this Dark Elf's last dying efforts. 

Nyzen, though exhausted and on his last bit of breath, stood as the sole survivor of the Dark Eleven warriors, yet over two dozen Orcs still lived. Though most were too tired to finish Nyzen off, six Orcs still charged at him.

"Rahh!" One of them roared and the rest followed suit as they all rushed in. Like a green wave, they were on Nyzen in a second. 'Move!' Nyzen roared inwardly, his muscles and body exploded with pain as he ducked under the mace of one Orc. Another was on him in an instant. Its huge green hands tried to grasp him but he sidestepped, as he pivoted on the bells of his feet and slashed out. The blade connected as blood poured from the Orc's wrist, but Nyzen had no opening as a third swung at him with a rough greatsword. The blade threatened to cut him in half as previously dim runes exploded from Nyzen's body in a radiant light. Bang! The large sword shot out of the Orc's hand as Nyzen kicked the blade's fuller. He took his opening, striking out at the Orc as skin and flesh tore. Blood poured from its throat, but before it could wail, the Orc dropped dead as a blade pierced through its eye and into its brain—killing it instantly. 

The Orcs didn't wait for him to recover as a fourth one struck out with a gauntleted fist. Hard, spiked-knuckle leather slammed against Nyzen's chest as he entrenched his feet into the ground; taking the full force of the blow, he stood taut like a sword. Blood poured from the wound and bubbled as it desperately devoured the surrounding air. Nyzen saw the world dim and felt pain explode everywhere in his body as he sliced forth with his dagger. The blade connected with flesh. It chipped upon entry as Nyzen dragged the dagger down. The Orc let out a curt wail as his chest was ripped open, exposing bone and organs as it collapsed dead—the whole altercation lasting a mere couple of seconds. 

The attacking Orcs' eyes filled with horror and hatred as they ferociously struck out. Too tired and injured to move, Nyzen accepted his fate as he thought, 'I fought well, and to my very last breath.' His world went dark, as the last thing he saw was an arrow protruding through the head of an Orc closest to him. 

… 

"Kill them! Kill them all!" A robust Dark Elven man stood at the forefront of a swarm of others. Looking at the village and carnage in front of him. Dark Elven corpses littered the ground—an overwhelming anger surged through him as he commanded the Dark Elves. 

Like a tide, the Dark Elves rushed in. Archers consecutively fired, rapid elemental arrows piercing through Orcs. Others, warriors with weapons constructed of energy charged into the Orcs. 

The battle erupted into a one-sided slaughter. Dark Elves tore through the exhausted Orcs easily. Limbs were cleaved, blood spilt, and bones were broken as the battle lasted less than three minutes. 

"Stop!" The robust Dark Elf commanded once more, his voice halting the blurry swarm of enraged Dark Elven warriors. "It's done. The battle has ended; search for any fallen or still alive comrades. Find the village chief!" The Dark Elf became a makeshift commander as he divided the men, splitting them into three groups; those to collect fallen allies, those to pile the Orcs, and those to inform the villages elderly, women and children of the concluded battle. 

It wasn't long before a small mountain of Orc corpses was piled up in the center of the battleground. Zettan, the makeshift commander, sat on a huge Orc's back, looking at the death and blood which now scarred the beautiful grass plains. "We were too careless Meical," He muttered. In front of him lay the mangled corpse of Meical, barely recognizable due to the huge split in his. 

"Sir," A Dark Elf warrior interrupted Zettan's thoughts. 

"What is it?" 

"All the bodies of our warriors—aside from the chief's, have been collected. All the villagers have been informed and have gathered in the feast hall, one Dark Elf has been found barely alive and all of those green pigs have been gathered." The Dark Elf spat with disgust at the Orcs. Zettan merely nodded as he said, "Good. Burn the green pigs, bury the corpses, and treat the injured warrior if possible. We shall inform the rest of the townspeople shortly." Zettan rose to his feet as he slowly and solemnly made his way to the town's feast hall. 

A small sigh escaped him as he thought, "What was supposed to be a great tradition and holiday has become a tragedy like never before."