The battlefield fell silent as every pair of eyes, Orc, Ogre, and Death Knight alike, turned toward the center where their Warchief was locked in a titanic struggle against the Death Monarch.
Orcs and Ogres who had moments ago been crushed by the Death Knights' relentless attacks now stood transfixed.
Their bodies felt locked, rooted in place, as if some invisible chain held them fast, denying them even the instinct to flee. But all their eyes—every single one—were drawn to Volk.
They had always known their Warchief was strong, fierce, even unmatched. But this...this was something else.
This was a side of Volk they had never witnessed, a creature beyond any nightmare they could have imagined.
Volk's body was battered, his skin charred and sliced from the Death Monarch's spells, yet he rose again and again, each time stronger, each time fiercer.
