Chapter 292

The planet had appeared out of nowhere. One day it wasn't there, and the next it was, just sitting in orbit between Earth and Mars. Groktok. It was hard to believe anyone had seen it coming. The scientists scrambled, trying to explain what had happened, and the governments went into overdrive, trying to make sense of it. They couldn't. Groktok didn't come from any known galaxy, it didn't belong to any known civilization. It was just… there.

The reports came in waves—strange signals, high-tech drones from the planet appearing on Earth, the appearance of massive craft in the sky. But the thing that stopped the world cold was the communication.

The creatures on Groktok weren't just aliens, they were orcs. Orcs. They had a civilization that was more advanced than humans in every way imaginable. Their war machines alone made human tech look like toys. And they didn't come to talk. They came to take.

It was almost comical at first. Earth thought, maybe we can reach a compromise. Surely, they wouldn't invade, right? But then the first strike came. And the world realized the horror of what it was dealing with. Earth stood no chance.

Eric had been on the frontlines, one of many soldiers thrown into the chaos. But the fighting… it wasn't like any war he'd been told about. It wasn't clean. It wasn't quick. There was no honor. The Groktok orcs, or whatever the hell they were, didn't fight for glory. They didn't even fight for territory. They just fought to kill. To break. To destroy everything in their path.

And they were good at it.

Eric's platoon had been stationed in one of the last standing military bases in the Midwest. It had been built to withstand just about anything, or so they'd thought. They had the weapons, the resources, everything they thought they would need.

But nothing had prepared them for the Groktok. They moved faster than anyone expected, hitting hard, hitting fast. They took no prisoners, left no survivors. It wasn't a battle. It was an execution.

Eric had witnessed it all. His friends—his comrades—ripped apart by grotesque, massive fists, their screams cut short as the orcs tore into them. He'd run. He'd been too far from the battle when the first wave hit, and he hadn't been able to save anyone. He'd hidden. He'd let them die.

Now, weeks later, Eric was alone. No more orders, no more clear directions. The world was a war zone. The cities were gone, buried beneath the wreckage of Groktok's monstrous assault. There was no rebuilding.

No coming back from this. And Eric knew it. He was alive, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the hope that something, someone, would survive. But deep down, he knew there was no salvation.

As he walked through the skeletal remains of a city, the streets were silent. But the silence was worse than noise. It was suffocating, pressing against him like the weight of the sky itself. And then came the rustle. At first, it sounded like wind, but it was too steady. Too deliberate.

He knew they were close.

Eric crouched behind a ruined building, clutching his rifle tightly, sweat beading on his forehead. He could hear their voices now—low growls and guttural laughter, not in any language he recognized. It was the language of savagery, not words. Their footsteps grew louder. They were close.

There were only three of them. Three orcs. At least, that's what Eric told himself. He didn't want to think there were more. The orcs were bigger than men, towering over him by nearly a foot, and they carried weapons that looked like they belonged in a different age. Heavy, crude, yet somehow efficient. They had seen him. They knew he was there.

He shifted quietly, hoping the ruined walls would conceal him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as the orcs circled the area, their movements methodical, like they were toying with him. Eric couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. His hands shook. He had never been so close to death before.

The orcs didn't speak. They didn't need to. They moved together, instinctively, like a pack of predators, scanning the ruins for anything that might try to fight back. Their leader was the largest, a massive beast with a scar running down his face, his eyes glowing faintly with some unnatural light.

Eric's hand tightened around the rifle. It was all he had. All that was left to him.

Then one of the orcs stopped, sniffing the air. Eric froze, not daring to move a muscle. They were so close now that he could hear the wet, sickening sound of their breaths, feel the thrum of their heavy footsteps in the cracked ground. The orc leader lifted his head, staring directly at the place where Eric crouched, as if sensing something just beyond sight.

The orc's lips curled, exposing sharp, yellowed teeth. The others followed his gaze. They saw him.

Eric didn't wait for the inevitable. He raised the rifle, took aim, and fired. Once. Twice. Three times.

The first shot hit the orc's shoulder, but it barely staggered him. The second shot landed in its chest, and the third struck its gut. The beast roared, but the wound was superficial. It wasn't enough.

With a movement too fast for Eric to follow, the orc leader swung his axe down. Eric never saw it coming. His body twisted to the side, but it was too late. The axe met his side with brutal force, sending him crashing to the ground. Pain exploded through him, a fire that spread faster than he could comprehend.

He tried to move. Tried to get up. His hand reached for the rifle, but it was too far. His vision swam, and the world around him felt like it was crumbling. Blood poured from his side, the ground cold beneath him.

The orc stood over him now, its breath heavy, its face full of that sick satisfaction only a predator could have. Eric's eyes were growing heavy. The blood loss was too much. The orc's axe hovered above him.

But then the leader stepped aside, and the other two orcs grabbed Eric. His body fought, but he had no strength left to resist. They dragged him, their grip unyielding, and forced him into a kneeling position.

Eric looked up at the leader, his vision a blurry mess. The orc's hand shot down, grabbing Eric's face, lifting it until their eyes met. The orc's lips curled once more, but this time, it wasn't a smile. It was something else. Something darker.

The leader spoke then, his voice gruff and guttural, but there was no mistaking the tone of disdain in his words.

"You will serve Groktok," he said, and Eric understood, for a fleeting moment, that there was no escape. There was no fight left in him. He had been broken before the battle even began.

The world blurred. The pain, the terror, the hopelessness—all of it came crashing in on him. And then the orc leader turned away, leaving Eric kneeling there, broken. Alone. To die in a war that was never his to fight.