Blood and Interrogation

Leopold knelt before the captive, but this time his breath came slower. He felt the fire against his skin—not the flames of the campfire, but something deeper. Gor'ka crouched nearby, silent, her arms crossed, watching.

The orc, tied and beaten, stared back with defiance. Leopold's hands trembled—not with fear, but conflict. He didn't speak Orcish, so Gor'ka translated, her voice flat, mechanical.

"Ask him where they are."

Leopold hesitated. The words caught in his throat. The captive smirked.

Gor'ka glanced at him, then turned to the captive. In guttural Orcish, she barked a sharp command. The prisoner sneered, said something low and mocking.

Leopold hesitated, then took a step forward, voice tight. "Where are they? How many are left?"

Gor'ka repeated the question in Orcish.

Gor'ka translated. The orc responded with a growl, and Gor'ka relayed, "He says he'll die before speaking."

Leopold felt it—the war inside him. His hands still bore the memory of blood. The meat he'd gutted earlier. The joy of strength. Of dominance. A joy that terrified him.

He'll talk, the voice murmured in his mind. Or he'll scream.

"No," he whispered to himself. "That's not who I am."

Yes, it is, the voice chuckled. You've always wanted this. You just needed the chains to come off.

Gor'ka watched him, frowning. She didn't like this. "We don't need this. We'll find them another way. You don't torture a beaten dog."

But the orc spat again, a glob of blood and saliva landing near Leopold's boot. Something inside him snapped. He surged forward, his hand clenching into a fist.

The punch landed squarely against the orc's jaw with a wet, brutal crack. The captive's head jerked sideways, his lip splitting, blood spraying from his mouth as he collapsed against the tree trunk, dazed. He groaned, spitting more blood.

Leopold's breath came hard and fast. He stared at his trembling fist.

He hadn't realized how strong he'd become.

"Where are they?" he shouted.

Gor'ka flinched. "Leopold—"

"I said, where?!"

Yes, the voice purred. Let it out.

The orc laughed, blood on his lips. "Your woman fights better than you ever will."

Leopold stepped back, chest heaving. He didn't want this. He didn't. But part of him—part of him did. Part of him reveled in the moment. In control.

Gor'ka said nothing. But in her silence, the thought was clear: they would've found the others anyway. This was unnecessary. Wasteful. Better to end it quickly.

But the voice was louder. They would burn you alive if they found you. They would drag her through the dirt. You know it's true. Do you want her taken? Do you want to lose her?

A snap of rope. A growl.

The orc had broken free—his arms lashed out with surprising force, lunging toward Gor'ka.

She moved to intercept—but her side, still tender from the fight days earlier, betrayed her. She stumbled.

Leopold didn't think.

He roared.

"YOU DARE TOUCH MY WOMAN?"

He slammed into the orc mid-motion, tackling him with brutal force. Fists rained down, wild and unchecked. Then he grabbed the orc by the hair and dragged him—grunting, kicking—toward the fire.

"You want pain? You'll have it," Leopold growled, his voice darkening. "I'll kill you. But how fast? That depends on you."

Yes, the voice inside him whispered, growing louder, sharper. Show her what we are. Show her what we can do.

With a sudden snarl, Leopold seized the orc by the jaw, forcing his head back toward the fire. He didn't hesitate. Didn't blink. He ground the orc's face into the hot ash with merciless strength. The smell of burning flesh mixed with the orc's agonized screams.

The voice roared with satisfaction. Good. Let her see you. Let her know you are not weak.

Gor'ka flinched, stunned, but didn't intervene. Her eyes widened—not with horror, but something rawer. A deep, instinctual acknowledgment.

Leopold loomed over the writhing orc. "You dared to touch what is mine. MY wife."

The captive shrieked as the ash blinded him, one eye seared shut. His screams echoed into the trees, ragged and wet.

"Talk!" Leopold snarled, pressing harder.

Yesss, the voice hissed. Let her see the fire we carry.

He forced the orc's head into the hot ash at the fire's edge, the searing embers biting into flesh. The orc shrieked in agony, thrashing wildly as smoke curled from his scorched face. Leopold didn't stop. Ash and heat blinded the orc's left eye, and still Leopold pressed. The scream rose higher, raw and broken, until at last the orc choked out, "Enough! I'll talk!"

The captive screamed. Broken. "Enough! I'll talk!"

Gor'ka stood, bruised but steady, her eyes wide. "His Woman?" The thought echoed in her head before she could speak, pulsing with a mix of astonishment and something deeper. It wasn't just the words—Leopold had claimed her. Not in jest. Not as a misunderstanding. In that moment, he had spoken as if the bond they shared was real. As if he accepted what her people would already consider sacred.

The air between them shifted. Her heart raced—not from fear, but from something closer to relief. Until now, she had doubted whether he truly understood what Zhrak'ta meant. Whether he saw her as just a companion or something more. But his words... his fury... left no doubt.

She forgot to translate. Forgot the prisoner. Her eyes were fixed on Leopold. And though the orc seemed to understand well enough—his face frozen in a mix of shock and dread—it was her breath that hitched.

He sees me, she thought. He truly sees me. As his.

Leopold let the orc slump back, still breathing, still twitching. A breath. Then he stepped forward again, looming above the wounded creature. The orc groaned, eyes darting toward Gor'ka, as if pleading. She narrowed her gaze.

In Orcish, she snapped, "Tell my husband what he wants to know."

The orc stiffened. Then—shocked into clarity—he coughed blood and spoke.

Gor'ka translated. "They camp half a day's march east, near a broken hill. Six warriors. They've taken someone—human."

Leopold's jaw tensed. He stared down at the orc, waiting for any sign of trickery. There was none.

One breath. Then he pulled his Ax.

One clean strike.

Silence fell again.

He turned to Gor'ka, suddenly aware of the wildness in his eyes. Of what she'd seen.

She stared back, unmoving.

Does she hate me now? he thought.

But then—she stepped forward. Fierce, proud. And kissed him. Deep, sure, unafraid.

"Take me," she whispered, breath hot on his ear.

Not out of fear.

Out of fire.