Beyond the western borders of the human-controlled lands lay a chaotic expanse, untamed and unyielding—the land of ogres and orcs. Here, in the shadow of civilization, the primal laws of strength and survival reigned supreme. The ogres, towering three-meter giants brimming with black mana, dominated the hierarchy. Beside them, the orcs—shorter but no less ferocious at two meters—carved out their place with grit and cunning. Though the two species often fought alongside each other, the balance of power tilted heavily in favor of the ogres, who frequently produced champions of unparalleled might.
Decades ago, this balance had been shaken. Magnus Draykar, a Radiant-ranker of legendary repute, had slain the last Ogre King, leaving a vacuum of power in the western lands. In the absence of a Radiant champion, the strongest figure to emerge was Vorgath Ironmaw, Cult Leader of the Savage Communion, also known as the Axe King. His name was whispered with both reverence and fear.
Vorgath's lair, a sprawling fortress carved into a jagged mountain, buzzed with the sound of activity. Within its great hall, the Axe King sat slumped in his throne, surrounded by a scattered array of empty bottles. He drank with abandon, tequila dripping from his beard as he roared with laughter, the sound echoing like thunder against the stone walls.
"Bah! Another bottle!" Vorgath barked, tossing an empty flask onto the growing pile at his feet.
"Sir, drinking so much will dull your edge," his Vice-Leader said sternly, her arms crossed in disapproval. She was a sharp-featured woman with crimson tattoos that marked her as a wielder of black mana.
"Dull my edge?" Vorgath scoffed, slamming his massive fist onto the armrest of his throne. "Woman, I could fight Valen Ashbluff in my sleep and still knock his daggers from his hands!"
The Vice-Leader sighed, her patience thinning. "Your strength is unmatched, my lord, but recklessness has its price. Valen has been preparing for war. His forces—"
"Let him prepare!" Vorgath interrupted, his voice a booming declaration of arrogance. "Let him gather his armies and forge his weapons. I will cleave through them all! We will feast on their bones and drink their blood!"
The Vice-Leader opened her mouth to reply but froze as the air in the room seemed to shift. A sudden and oppressive weight pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Are you doubting my strength?" Vorgath growled, his voice low and menacing. He lifted his hand, and with it, the crushing pressure of an invisible axe seemed to hang above her, ready to strike.
"N-no, my lord!" she stammered, sweat dripping down her temple. "I only meant to suggest caution!"
"Hmph." Vorgath waved his hand, and the oppressive weight vanished. "You worry too much. Fear makes cowards of men. We will not cower like dogs."
Before the Vice-Leader could respond, Vorgath's demeanor shifted. His drunken haze evaporated in an instant as his senses sharpened. The air crackled with an unfamiliar energy. He stood abruptly, his massive frame casting a shadow over the hall as he reached for the hilt of his axe, which materialized in a swirl of black mana.
"Someone's here," he growled, his voice tinged with both suspicion and anticipation.
And then, she arrived.
The space in the room warped, and the temperature dropped as a figure materialized in a swirl of shadows and silk. Alyssara Velcroix stepped into the hall, her pink hair cascading over her shoulders and her violet eyes gleaming with amusement. She tilted her head with a sly smile, the very picture of casual menace.
"Hello, Vorgath," she purred, her voice smooth as velvet. "Miss me?"
"Alyssara Velcroix," Vorgath spat, gripping his axe tightly. "What is the meaning of this? Do you think to mock me by coming here uninvited?"
"Shh," Alyssara said, pressing a finger to her lips. The gesture seemed playful, but the effect was immediate. Vorgath's mouth snapped shut as though an invisible force had locked it in place. His Vice-Leader moved to intervene, but with a flick of Alyssara's fingers, she was hurled out of the room by a silent gust of power.
"Now, now," Alyssara said, stepping closer to Vorgath, her heels clicking against the stone floor. "Let's not be hasty. I'm not here to fight, Axe King. I'm here to offer you an opportunity."
Vorgath's jaw unlocked, and he scowled. "What kind of opportunity?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
"The kind you can't afford to refuse," Alyssara said, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey. "The humans are stirring. Valen Ashbluff is preparing for war. He thinks he can sweep the Savage Communion off the map, that he can end you."
Vorgath snorted, his breath heavy with contempt. "Let him come. Valen will find my axe waiting for him."
Alyssara tilted her head, her pink hair cascading over her shoulder like a silk ribbon. Her expression, playful and mocking, never wavered. "Your cute little axe? Vorgath, darling, you're overestimating yourself again. Or have you conveniently forgotten about Magnus Draykar?"
At the mention of that name, Vorgath's grip on his weapon tightened, his knuckles whitening. His teeth ground audibly, the name dredging up old memories he'd rather leave buried. Back then, when the Ogre King fell, Vorgath hadn't been able to help. Not because of his own weakness, but because Valen Ashbluff had made sure he couldn't.
Yet, deep down, Vorgath knew the truth. Even if he had been there—standing side by side with the Ogre King—Magnus Draykar's strength had been on an entirely different plane. It wouldn't have mattered. Not one bit.
"You think I've forgotten?" he spat, his voice a low growl. "I remember. I remember every detail. But that doesn't change anything."
"No, it doesn't," Alyssara agreed lightly, her tone sweet and casual, as if they were discussing the weather. "But it does bring us to the matter at hand. What are you willing to do to change it?"
Vorgath's golden eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering like a flame. "And what exactly are you offering, Velcroix? What's the price of your little bargain?"
Alyssara smiled, wide and unrestrained. Her grin was the kind that made lesser beings tremble—a sharp, almost predatory display of perfect teeth. "Power," she said, the single word rolling off her tongue like a song. "The kind of power you can only dream of, Vorgath. The kind of power that will make Valen Ashbluff nothing more than a footnote in your legend. You want to kill him, don't you? I will make it possible."
Vorgath's jaw tightened as he regarded her warily. He was no fool. Alyssara Velcroix was not the type to give freely without taking much more in return. "What's in this for you?" he asked, his voice low and cautious.
"Fun," she replied, her voice lilting as she spun on her heel, arms outstretched as if to embrace the chaos itself. "Oh, darling, all of this is just fun for me."
Vorgath's suspicion deepened as her laughter rang out, rich and melodic, yet utterly devoid of warmth. She didn't stop spinning, her laughter carrying like a haunting melody, weaving into the air around them.
"You find amusement in this?" he growled. "You think I'm some piece on your board? A pawn in whatever twisted game you're playing?"
Alyssara stopped abruptly, her eyes locking onto his with unnerving intensity. "A pawn? Oh no, Vorgath. Pawns are boring. You're far more interesting than that. A rook, perhaps. Solid. Strong. But with me..." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper that coiled around him like smoke. "With me, you could be the king."
Vorgath's shoulders stiffened. "And at what cost?"
"Cost?" Alyssara feigned offense, placing a delicate hand over her heart. "Oh, how little you think of me, Vorgath. I ask for nothing. No blood pacts, no strings, no chains. I simply want to see how far you can go. I want to watch you crush Valen. And when you do..." Her smile turned razor-sharp, her eyes glittering with something ancient and dangerous. "It will be glorious."
Vorgath studied her for a long moment. Her words were honeyed, enticing, but they dripped with venom. Yet, the promise she offered—the chance to destroy Valen—was almost too tempting to ignore. Almost.
"Why should I believe you?" he asked finally.
Alyssara shrugged. "You don't have to. But tell me this, mighty Vorgath: Can you afford not to?"
Her words hung in the air like a challenge, daring him to refuse. Alyssara's smile widened as she watched the turmoil play out across his face, her delight evident. She didn't need to push him further; she could already see the seeds of doubt, the flickers of anger, the growing hunger for revenge.
"Think it over," she said airily, turning away. "The offer stands. But don't take too long. The world has a way of moving on without you, darling."
And with that, she vanished, leaving Vorgath alone with his thoughts—and the echo of her laughter still lingering like a ghost in the room.
He tightened his grip on his axe, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. One thing was clear, however. Alyssara Velcroix was a dangerous ally. But perhaps, for the right reasons, even the most dangerous alliances were worth forging.
Even if it meant playing her game.