The woodland elves' palaces were not expansive above ground. In truth, their actual dwellings were complex, sprawling caves hidden beneath the forest floor. Most of the surface structures—apart from the city walls and a few defensive buildings—were purely decorative. The remaining open spaces served as flat training grounds, ideal for combat or riding.
It took Wayne and King Thranduil only three minutes of hard riding to reach the rear battlefield, but even in that brief time, they found themselves arriving just as disaster unfolded.
A deafening crash resounded as a troll clad in heavy armor slammed into the city wall, creating a large breach. Though the impact left the troll shattered and writhing on the ground, struggling futilely for several seconds, its mission was accomplished—the breach was open.
Through this gap charged six more trolls, each heavily armed and terrifyingly modified for war. Some had their arms and legs fitted with sharp blades, turning them into deadly living weapons, mowing down elven warriors with every step. Others wielded massive maces and hooked weapons, which ripped through even the finest elven armor with brutal efficiency, leaving chaos in their wake.
Both Wayne and Thranduil quickly recognized the dire situation.
"Wayne," Thranduil said without hesitation, "you must deal with the trolls. I will close the breach before Tauriel and the main force arrive."
Without waiting for a response, the elf king spurred his giant elk forward. The majestic creature let out a thunderous bellow and charged toward the orcs near the breach. Its antlers skewered six orcs simultaneously, lifting them like ragdolls into the air before Thranduil's sword flashed, decapitating them with a single sweep.
Wayne acted swiftly. Leaping off his horse with the speed of lightning, he closed in on the downed troll. With a precise strike from his sword, he ended the beast's life, driving the blade deep into its neck.
Then, he turned to face the six advancing trolls. A cold smile touched Wayne's lips as he rushed into their midst, fearless and ready to turn these beasts into the opening act of his personal war.
In a matter of minutes, two trolls lay dead at Wayne's feet. A third troll, struck by a deep slash across its throat, gushed blood, collapsing moments later. Wayne moved like a force of nature—swift, precise, and deadly.
Suddenly, a sharp cry rang out from the battlefield.
Wayne turned just in time to see Thranduil's elk impaled by an orc's spear in a cowardly sneak attack. The majestic creature crumbled to the ground, mortally wounded, throwing the elf king from its back.
Thranduil, undeterred, landed gracefully on his feet and sprang into action. His twin swords spun in a dazzling display of martial skill, cutting down orcs left and right as he fought to block the breach. But even the mighty Thranduil couldn't hold back the tide alone—more and more orcs poured in through the opening.
Wayne knew he needed to act fast. Without hesitation, he tossed a North Wind bomb into the advancing orcs. Upon detonation, icy frost engulfed them, freezing the entire wave of enemies in place.
Wayne then activated the sixth tier spell, Thundercloud Storm, using the enchanted bracelet on his wrist.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
A mass of swirling thunderclouds formed overhead, unleashing jagged bolts of lightning that rained down mercilessly. The electrified strikes reduced the frozen orcs to charred corpses in an instant.
The spell created a momentary reprieve, giving Thranduil the chance to cut down the remaining orcs around him and regain control of the breach.
The timely arrival of Tauriel and her elven reinforcements solidified their defensive position. The elves swiftly regrouped, fortifying the breach and preparing to hold the line.
Just as it seemed that the battle had swung back in their favor, a piercing cry shattered the momentary calm.
Wayne's gaze snapped toward the sound. From outside the city wall came an unearthly screech, unlike anything he had heard before.
The ground trembled beneath their feet as a colossal burrowing insect, over 200 meters in length, burst from the earth with a deafening rumble. Its body was covered in a thick carapace, impervious to ordinary weapons.
The monstrous creature slammed into the city wall with devastating force, reducing a large section of it to rubble. Then, just as quickly, it burrowed back into the ground, leaving behind a wide breach—and revealing hordes of orcs waiting behind it.
Among the orcs was a particularly fearsome figure. His grotesque face was marred by a surgical scar running across his skull, a testament to the horrors he had endured.
Mounted atop a towering warg, he barked commands to his troops, urging them forward with savage fury.
The orc commanders, carrying massive war horns and ominous banners, moved swiftly through the ranks, relaying commander's orders to every orc within earshot.
Wayne and Thranduil had no time to strategize. The moment the city wall collapsed, the orc commanders sounded the horns. The air reverberated with a deep, savage blast, a haunting call to battle.
In response, the orcs and trolls let out a chorus of monstrous roars, each more feral than the last. Fueled by bloodlust, they surged forward, charging toward the elven defenders through the gaping breach in the wall with terrifying speed and ferocity.
King Thranduil, blood-soaked and battle-hardened, stood among the fallen orcs. His face, normally composed and regal, now bore the grim seriousness of a seasoned warrior. Ignoring the blood and filth that clung to him, he turned toward his elven troops, his voice ringing across the battlefield with commanding clarity:
"Form ranks!"
"Prepare to meet the enemy!"
The words of the elven king cut through the chaos like a bell. Tauriel, the guard captain, along with the other officers, responded instantly, issuing orders to the troops without hesitation.
Despite the urgency, the elven warriors moved with calm precision, their centuries of experience guiding them. Veterans of countless battles, the elves remained cool under pressure. Within moments, their defensive formation was set.
Rows of spears and shields locked into place, creating an impenetrable barrier of steel. Their silence was unnerving—no taunts, no shouts, just the rhythmic stomp of boots as they braced for the onslaught.
Wayne, having dispatched the remaining trolls with swift precision, summoned his magic flying carpet. As more orcs surged toward him, he ascended into the sky, gaining a strategic vantage point from above.
Below him, Thranduil abandoned his fallen elk without a second thought. His gaze was resolute as he fell back into the defensive formation, rallying his troops with measured authority.
"Steady! Hold the line!" Thranduil commanded, his presence invigorating the soldiers around him.
On the battlefield, individual heroics meant little amidst the mass charge—bravery would shine brightest during the chaotic melee to come, where every moment counted and death lurked in every shadow.
With a deafening roar, the orc horde surged forward, their speed unmatched. Fueled by rage and hatred, they sprinted toward the elven ranks, eager to tear their ancient enemies apart.
Time seemed to slow.
The distance between the two armies vanished, and the centuries-old animosity between the orcs and elves came to a bloody crescendo. It was a collision born of countless battles, fueled by unending hatred.
The first lines of orc berserkers crashed into the elves' spears with the force of a tidal wave. Steel met flesh with horrifying finality. Some orcs fell instantly, impaled on elven pikes, their bodies convulsing as life slipped away. Others pushed forward, using the weight of their fallen comrades to break through the defenses.
Elves fought with practiced elegance, their swords flashing in arcs of silver, but even their skill could not prevent the brutality of war. The clash of weapons was deafening—metal against metal, bone against steel.
The front lines of both armies became a gruesome grinder of death, consuming the lives of elves and orcs alike. In the chaotic melee, neither side had time to scream or cry out. Warriors fought and fell without a sound, their lifeblood soaking the earth.
...
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