The forest was darker here, the canopy thick with gnarled branches that clawed at the sky.
Sunlight barely seeped through, casting the clearing in a hazy twilight.
At the center of this gloom, an Orc stood—a mountain of muscle and menace.
His skin was a mottled gray-green, scarred and rough like the bark of an ancient tree.
A jagged, broken tusk jutted from his lower jaw, and his eyes glowed faintly with a predatory gleam.
Thick cords of muscle wrapped around his arms, and his chest was bare except for a necklace of human teeth strung tightly around his neck.
In his hand, he held a cruelly forged axe, the edges darkened from countless battles.
This was Kragath, the arena gladiator.
Soon, he would prepare his massive sword and shield made of hardened wood and steel.
Kragath stood motionless, his piercing gaze locked on the group of Orcs approaching through the forest.
