Embers of War

Chapter 27: Embers of War

The siege had on longer than expected. The time to depart was approaching, and only a few minutes remained. The goblin commander Grukk Thornscar, draped in crude but enchanted bloodied armour, was worried yet busy examining a spear retrieved from the corpse of a Knight Captain he had recently killed with little effort. There was nothing left of the men he killed, only broken mortal remains and blood spatters scattered across the now completely decimated room, a garrison building that Grukk Thornscar had taken into care of since the attack began. It was here that he first landed and it was here that he issued his orders. Even the damage he did to the building structure when dealt with his inordinate runt Snivrack was still fresh despite it now being well hidden amidst the chaos that ensued later when the unknown Knight Captain and his attacked him out of nowhere. His attention went to that damaged structure while examining the spear in his grasp. He had developed an appreciation for it by then, but his fleeting interest quickly waned as he recalled the mission he had assigned to Snivrack.

"Where in the pit is Snivrack?" he snarled, his jagged teeth grinding together. "That runt should have been back by now."

With a frustrated growl, Grukk slammed his mighty battle axe against the Ground, denting the already battered metal from his earlier fight. "Bah! How long does it take to squash a few stubborn gnats? and retrieve the Fragment as told." His sharp, yellowed teeth gnashed together as he turned toward his second-in-command. "Zivka! That snivelling runt should have reported back by now. What's takin' him so long?"

His second-in-command, Zivka Sharpclaw, stood at his side, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Unlike his brutish superior, Zivka was lean, and his form was built more for speed and cunning than sheer strength. He had served under Grukk long enough to know when to speak and stay silent. Now was the latter--until Grukk's irritation turned toward him.

Zivka Sharpclaw had just stepped into the scene as he was gathering the status reports from his goblin units out at large, he stood by the map table lying on the broken yet still functional table, his arms crossed as he studied their siege plans. Unlike his brash commander, Zivka was methodical, preferring precision over brute force. His flashing yellow eyes flicked toward Grukk, betraying only a flicker of annoyance at the constant pestering.

"Snivrak knows better than to disobey orders," Zivka replied, his voice smooth yet edged with impatience. "If he's not back, either he's found trouble or dead. Either way, we're due for answers."

Grukk emitted a guttural snarl. "Tch! You and your eloquent words! I merely wish to ascertain whether he is alive or if I must punish someone for their failure! After all, it was due to your actions that he was fate."

Zivka exhaled sharply through his nose. There was no point in arguing. The best way to silence his commander's grumbling was to confirm Snivrak's status. With a quick flick of his wrist, he secured his twin daggers to his belt and adjusted the reinforced leather pauldrons over his sinewy shoulders.

"Go find him!" Grukk snapped, his beady red eyes narrowing. "I want results, not excuses! If Snivrack has failed me, I'll see that his head decorates my spear."

Zivka sighed inwardly but gave a sharp nod. "Consider it done."

The commander scoffed, waving him off. "Hah! Just don't get yourself killed, Zivka. I need someone competent around here."

Zivka smirked as he strode toward the garrison buildings' still-intact exit. "And here I thought you enjoyed surrounding yourself with idiots."

Grukk's bellowing laugh echoed behind him as he stepped into the night.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the smog-filled ruins, leaving his raging commander behind.

Outside, the siege camp stretched across the valley like a festering wound. Jagged wooden fortifications formed a crude perimeter around the mass of goblin warriors preparing for yet another assault. Fires crackled in the distance, casting twisted shadows over the base's broken structures. Goblins sharpened rusted blades, repaired scavenged armour, and feasted on whatever meat they had managed to scavenge—some still dripping fresh blood.

Zivka moved swiftly, weaving through the maze of tents and war beasts. His mind was already piecing together possibilities. This was unlike Snivrack. he was one of the few goblins he knew who used their heads instead of brute strength. If not for Snivrak back then he would have let Grukk administer the punishment as was custom and it would have meant that he had one less idiot to deal with. If he had succeeded but failed to return something—or someone—was preventing him from reporting back.

Either way, Zivka would uncover the truth.

And if Snivrak had failed miserably?

Well… it wouldn't be the first time he had to clean up someone else's mess. Even from Zivkas perspective giving too many chances to promising subordinates was a waste.

With that thought, he vanished into the darkness, slipping through the maze of the battlefield like a shadow on the wind.

Azure, the commander tasked with securing the Crafter base, strode onto the battlefield, his expression grim. The eastern wall--or what little remained of it--loomed ahead, its defences shattered beyond recognition. Smoke curled into the sky, thick and suffocating, carrying the acrid stench of burning wood and charred flesh. Behind him, a disciplined line of his men retreated in formation, their armour glinting under the eerie glow of the fires consuming the outpost. Ahead lay only bloodshed and the relentless enemy pressing ever closer.

Behind him, his remaining forces moved in formation, retreating behind the defensive line just as he had ordered. Their shields were battered, their armour smeared with blood--both their own and that of the enemy alike. Yet, they still held firm, disciplined in their withdrawal.

As they advanced further the battlefield, grew worse. The heat-thick plumes of smoke billowed into the sky, ling with the acrid scent of burning wood and scorched flesh. The sky above, once clear and filled with stars, was now a swirling mass of smoke and embers, casting eerie twilight shadows upon the soaked ground The clash of weapons, the agonized screams of the wounded, and the guttural snarls the goblins created a cacophony of battle that threatened to drown out all thought. The goblins had surged through the outpost like a relentless tide, and Azure knew the worst was yet to come.

But he had no time for grief. Ahead lay chaos.

He had sent Eamon with orders for the men at the front to retreat behind the defensive line. Most complied hesitantly, conserving their strength for the next stand. Yet, as Azure advanced, the number of his warriors still engaged in combat diminished to only a few. Those who remained were the strongest, possessing either skill or unwavering determination to press forward and eliminate as many adversaries as possible.

Just as he had commanded in his battle plan.

Then, he saw them.

Two familiar figures fought with unwavering resolve.

Eamon and Aric.

Amidst the crumbling remains of the eastern wall, these two figures stood their ground.

Eamon, his robes singed and his face streaked with soot, conjured torrents of flame with masterful precision, reducing goblins to ash where they stood. His fire danced along the battlefield, hungry and wild, a reflection of the fierce determination in his eyes. His crimson robes bore scorch marks, though whether they were from his spells or the flames around him, Azure couldn't tell.

Eamon wielded fire, a tempest of blazing embers swirling around his fingertips as he incinerated goblins with precise bursts of magic. 

Beside him, Aric moved like the wind, his blades cutting down foes with ruthless precision, his magic-enhanced speed making him untouchable.

Aric was the wind to Eamon's fire--swift, precise, relentless. His movements were fluid, his wind magic slicing through enemies like an invisible blade. Where Eamon burned, Aric cut. The two fought as one, their elements entwining in a deadly dance of destruction.

But even they were beginning to falter.

Despite their skill, Azure knew they were reaching their limit. Their movements, though still swift, carried the telltale signs of fatigue. The battle had drained them, and their enemies knew it.

Fire and wind are two of the most coveted elements among combat mages. Versatile, destructive, and when combined, utterly devastating. Even as exhaustion crept into their limbs, the pair resolute, their coordinated attacks leaving the strewn with smouldering goblin corpses. The two worked in perfect tandem, fire feeding off the wind's embrace, creating a swirling inferno that left their enemies charred and lifeless.

Their breathing was laboured, and their mana reserves strained. Sweat dripped from their brows as they dealt with the last of their foes, finishing the final goblin with a combined assault--a burst of fire-wrapped wind that sent its charred remains flying.

The final goblin fell with a strangled cry, its body collapsing into a smouldering heap. Eamon exhaled heavily, wiping sweat from his brow. Aric lowered his stance, his breaths coming in measured gasps.

Victory, however, was short-lived. The air suddenly changed for the worse.

A weight heavier than the smoke settled over them, oppressive and suffocating The haze of battle halted their momentum, like a vice around their throats. A new entered the fray, and the air grew denser with mana. As the atmosphere thickened with smoke, a hulking figure emerged.

A towering figure emerged from the smoke—a goblin unlike any they had faced before. His hulking form was clad in thick, battle-worn armour, the dark metal etched with ancient runes that pulsed with elemental power. His sickly deep green skin bore deep scars, each one a testament to countless battles fought and survived.

It was Grukk Thornscar, commander of the goblin assault force.

The goblin warlord towered over the battlefield, his dark armour crackling with elemental energy--fire, wind, and earth swirling around him like a living storm. His scarred face twisted into a savage grin as he stepped forward, his jagged chipped battle axe, pulsing with raw magic, gleamed under the hellish glow of the fires.

Eamon stiffened. Aric's grip on his weapon tightened.

They knew, at that moment, they were outmatched.

His presence alone sent a ripple of unease through the battlefield. The embers in the air flickered wildly as if cowering in his presence. His eyes, burning with the unnatural glow of three elemental affinities—fire, wind, and earth—locked onto the two mages.

"Fun's over, little rats," he growled, his voice like gravel grinding against steel. Grukk didn't hesitate. He wasted no time. With a a vicious snarl in a single motion, he raised his clawed hand, With a flick, the ground trembled beneath him. The battlefield erupted in chaos. Fire erupted from the ground, swallowing the space between them. The wind howled, twisting the flames into lethal, scything tendrils. Then the earth beneath their feet trembled, jagged Molten Earth spikes of stone shooting up to impale them. Grukk wielded his magic with deadly precision.

A surge of fire roared toward Eamon and Aric, scorching the earth as they barely managed to leap aside. The wind howled in tandem with the inferno, turning flames into searing blades that lashed at them mercilessly. Before they could counter, the ground beneath them cracked and split apart, jagged Molten Earth spikes of rock shooting upward in a merciless attempt to skewer them where they stood.

Eamon let out a sharp cry as he stumbled, barely avoiding a spear of earth that tore through the ground where he had been a moment ago He managed to throw up a barrier of flame to counter the rest, but it was weak and desperate. Aric gritted his teeth Seeing his friend's barrier wouldn't stand a chance, he leapt to evade a crushing blow, his agility saving him, and he even managed to prevent Eamon from being struck by the Molten Earth spike. But it wasn't enough. Grukk was faster, stronger—the sheer force of the assault left them staggering.

And Grukk was already closing in.

This was no ordinary goblin. This was a monster.

And they were not going to survive.

Grukk descended upon them with alarming swiftness, rapidly closing the gap. His enormous Battle Axe and Silver Spear, crackling with elemental energy, struck with overwhelming force—too swift, too powerful, too deadly.

And then, just as the fatal blow was about to land, a streak of silver cut through the air.

A flash of silver intercepted the strike, and steel met steel in a deafening clash.

Azure.

His arrival was like a beacon, his sword locked against Grukk's, sparks flying from the impact. The goblin commander's eyes gleamed with intrigue, his grin widening.

Steel met steel with a deafening clash, sparks flying as Azure's blade intercepted Grukk's. The sheer force of the impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air. The goblin commander's crimson eyes gleamed with recognition.

Surprised. "Ah, the human leader finally shows himself," Grukk sneered. "Good. I was getting bored."

Azure's stance was unwavering, his silver armour catching the glow of the surrounding flames. His blade pulsed with raw mana, and the air around him charged with an unseen force. His presence alone shifted the tide of battle.

Eamon and Aric, bruised and struggling for breath looked up at their commander. A wave of relief swept over them.

Azure met Grukk's gaze, his expression cold and unyielding.

"You took your time," he muttered, tightening his grip on his sword.

Grukk bared his teeth in a savage grin. "Finally," he growled. "A real fight."

Azure's grip tightened around his sword. "Let's see if you still feel that way when this is over. Let's finish this."

And with that, the battlefield erupted once more.

***