Warren shuddered as he stared into the eyes of the most terrifying-looking monster in his life. The Orc that took his little girl…and his wife! Or maybe it was some other of the beasts, not that it mattered though, they all looked the same to him.
But that smile, that cruel and mocking smile the beast was displaying… He could never forget it!
The man was holding a sword in his hands. A crude weapon that has seen many battles, but it now only served as a toy for these monsters.
Though his hands were shaking in fear, he held on to the blade for dear life. "Be brave, be brave…"
"This is my chance… My little Gomora… My dear wife… I'll join you soon…" His eyes turned red amidst absolute despair, and his reasoning vanished, replaced with but a single thought.
'Kill! I must kill them! Kill these monsters!'
"Wraaaagh! Dieeeeee!"
He charged forward with the sword while giving off an animalistic scream. The place turned quiet, and then…
Paff!
Warren found himself spinning and falling to the floor, his eyes catching a glimpse of that damn mocking grin.
The young Orc slapped him effortlessly and the audience erupted in maddening laughter. This was what they wanted! The struggle! The resentment! The courage! The rage!
The hope!
They wanted their opponents to give it their all! So that their eventual demise would be oh so much sweeter!
***
The memory of the fight was somewhat blurry for Warren. He remembered himself trying to stand up, only to get beaten back down.
It happened many times. When he thought he couldn't go on anymore, when he thought it was over for him… The Orc would stop. It would give him some space, some time to recover and try to stand up again, give him a ray of hope… So the beatdown would be more interesting!
Beating someone that has already given up on life? Boring!
But beating someone that is struggling to survive? Very engaging and fun! That was their philosophy.
"…"
Warren fainted somewhere after the fifth time, he figured, as his memories ended there.
He was in a cold, dark cell once again. His body was aching, his skin burning as if on fire, his joints inflamed and stiff from all those bruises…
He somehow still kept his old helmet, although it basically offered no protection. The Orcs might have found it amusing for a human to keep on struggling so dearly so they let him keep it.
Thud!
Something heavy landed in the cell beside him. Warren opened his eyes with difficulty just to see an Orc leaving with a torch.
Before the newcomer was completely consumed by shadows, Warren took a look at him.
He covered his mouth to prevent himself from screaming and shuddered. Half of the man's face was gone as if someone cleaved it off with a sword, and his right hand was missing too. It was not difficult to imagine what happened.
With a trembling hand, he reached forward and placed his fingers where the nose should be and felt…nothing.
He placed his hand on the man's chest and neck and also felt…nothing.
The man was dead. The Orcs didn't even bother to check before throwing him away. Usually the dead would get devoured by the spectators, but not this time.
Warren swallowed his dry saliva with difficulty. It has been days since he ate something, or had a drink…
A crazy thought was slowly growing in his mind.
At first, he tried to ignore it, push it away. But his mouth was dry, and his lips cracked. First signs of dehydration were already showing themselves. Migraines, difficulty focusing, nausea, increasing weakness…
His dried lips parted and a hoarse whisper left his mouth, "I need to survive…"
He kneeled beside the corpse and kowtowed to the ground. "Forgive me, brother, may your soul rest in peace in the eternal flames of Innos."
His mouth reached the pool of blood on the floor and... he drank.
'I will survive! I have to!'
***
Survive. Take revenge. That's what still kept him going.
Those empty, dead eyes, now burned with immense hate.
Orcs, the beings of darkness, invaders from another world, plaguing humanity for millennia.
Where did they come from? What was their goal? Why are they here? Why us? Why me?!
Thoughts like these were born in his mind, but…there was no answer.
He was but a simple farmer. Life was good, hard but good. He had a modest house, a good wife, a beautiful daughter…
All gone. In a single night. Lost it all.
His happiness left him, but something else had to take its place.
Anger. Boundless anger and hate.
A desire for revenge. But first…he had to survive!
He drank the blood of his fellow man. Death of one, for the life of another.
That's how life works, usually.
Not with Orcs though. They kill for fun. They find amusement in torture. Demonic beings made for war. Infinitely adaptive to any environment.
But so were humans, and so was Warren.
He was called to the ring a few more times since then. He got beaten, and he bled, but he was still alive!
Broken, but not done! The iron helm still sat on top of his head, almost as if sending a message from up high. A message of perseverance!
Down, but not defeated. His spirit grew with each passing day as he drank the blood of his people and feasted on their flesh.
But then…
RUMBLE!
There was thunder.
Thunder inside the cave… or maybe it wasn't.
Warren could hear frightened screams from his cell, amplified by the emptiness of the cavern and distorted by the loud echoes. He noticed something weird, something unusual.
The Orcs, the Hobgoblins, the little shits, they were nervous, they were on guard.
Suddenly there was a roar, a loud and powerful roar coming from somewhere. They moved. The beasts rushed forward in a sudden bloodthirsty frenzy, completely ignoring the prisoners in their cages.
RUMBLE!
There was that thunder again, it was coming closer. Then there were screams…
Warren opened his eyes wide in the dark and perked his ears up even though his body was in agony. He heard screams he never thought would be possible.
The beasts cried. They begged for mercy. He could hear sadness and pain in their voice. He stood up and opened the door, peering into the darkness. His eyes adapted to the dim light long ago and he could see…nothing.
No Orc or any other monsters to be seen anywhere.
He grabbed a broken sword in the arena, his heart beating strong and hard, like a war drum.
This was his chance to do something, to take fate by the reigns, to be a man! To do war!
It was time to fight.