Fight until our last breath

The air in Ghorrak's war tent was thick with tension. The faint glow of torches flickered against the rough fabric walls, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits. Ghorrak, the Supreme Warlord of the Orcish horde, sat on his bone-carved throne, a goblet made from a human skull clutched in his massive hand. The wine within was dark, almost black, and it swirled as he absentmindedly turned the cup in his grip.

The tent flap rustled, and one of his subordinates entered, bowing low before speaking. The Orc's voice was hesitant as if he feared the wrath of his leader.

"My lord," the subordinate began, his tone cautious, "we have tried to contact Supreme Admiral Borsk. However, we have been unable to reach him. It seems that the incident is true. Our navy has been defeated."