Nineteen Years later.....
Years had passed, and Ragon was now nineteen. He stood in the blazing sun, the heavy chains around his wrists clinking as he worked alongside other human captives.
Ragon had grown into a strong young man, his tattered clothes were hanging loosely over his well-toned frame. His attire consisted of an old, sleeveless tunic, patched repeatedly, and faded pants torn at the knees. His boots were mismatched, one clearly larger than the other, it showed the life of improvisation and survival they were passing through.
Around his neck was a rusted chain, that was holding him bound.
Ragon was stationed near a massive orcish sculpture. They were carving the towering statue of Graknar, the orc leader, at the village square.
Ragon's hands gripped a chisel, working on the sculpture while his eyes darted toward the nearby storage unit.
*Whooop!*
The harsh crack of a whip could be heard across the village square,
"Work harder, you pathetic worms!" bellowed one of the orc guards, his voice grating like metal scraping stone
"Aaaahhh!" A sharp cry of pain could be heard. Ragon held his fists clenching as he turned to see one of the villagers being lashed by the orc overseer. The victim—was a frail man barely strong enough to lift the heavy stones he was tasked to carry as he staggered but kept moving.
Ragon, chained alongside the others, couldn't suppress his anger. He muttered under his breath, "One day, I swear I'll shove that whip where the sun doesn't shine."
Another guard sneered as he passed, eyeing the captives with disdain.
"Lazy humans. If you don't want the lash, you'd better move faster. Graknar doesn't tolerate weakness."
Ragon's attention was on the storage unit that held the bulk of food supplies the orcs seized from other villages. Barrels of grain, crates of dried meat, and sacks of fruit were piled high, carefully guarded by orcs.
"One orc at the main entrance. Two more patrolling the perimeter. And… three, four—ah, five near the rear wall." He smirked. "Five guards for one food storage? You'd think they were guarding gold."
Ragon had raided it numerous times before, each time managing to escape with a bounty of food for the villagers. Graknar, despite his fury, never executed him, a fact that puzzled everyone. Instead, the guards were doubled, and Ragon's movements were monitored more closely.
What the orcs didn't know was the faint trace of divinity in Ragon's blood had successful made Graknar to not have the ability to kill him when he was a child.
The elixir of life the old man had given him years ago had carried a sliver of godly energy from his true lineage. This energy had slowed his growth as a mortal, stalling his ascension into divine power.
Ragon muttered to himself, "If only I had even a fraction of that power left, these brutes wouldn't stand a chance."
Ragon crouched near the sculpture, pretending to adjust his chains while his eyes stayed locked on the storage unit. He had picked the lock on his chains previously, so he loosened the bolts holding his cuffs together. As the last bolt gave way, he sprang to his feet, making a dash for the storage unit.
An orc guard spotted him. "Stop that human!" he bellowed, raising the alarm. Within seconds, the village erupted in chaos. Fifty orcs were in pursuit, their massive boots pounding the dirt paths.
Ragon moved like a shadow, passing through the narrow alleys. Chains rattled from the other villagers, who watched helplessly, as they . They were all shackled, their clothes as tattered as Ragon's, their eyes dulled by years of oppression.
He reached the storage unit, shoving open the door with a grunt. Grabbing two large sacks of food, he slung them over his should beer and bolted toward the rooftops.
Ragon leaped onto a thatched roof, the brittle straw crunching beneath his feet.
"Get him!" The orcs shouted cursing him, their heavy bodies struggling to keep up.
One of the orcs hurled a spear at him. Ragon ducked just in time, the spear embedding itself in the wall behind him. "Nice aim, big guy," he called out with a grin, vaulting onto the brick roof of another building.
As he ran, he flipped over narrow gaps between houses, the sack of food bouncing against his back. "Come on, Ragon," he muttered to himself, "you're nineteen, not ninety—keep moving!"
Two orcs managed to climb onto the roofs, their massive frames causing tiles to crack and fall. Ragon paused briefly, turning to face them. "You're going to regret this," he smiled
Immediately, one of the orcs stepped on a tile and feel into a house.
"Hahahaha!" Ragon burst out laughing as the orc tumbled into the room below.
The second orc lunged at him. Ragon dropped the sacks momentarily and dodged to the side, landing a swift kick to the orc's knee. As the orc stumbled, Ragon delivered an uppercut, sending him sprawling.
Ragon grabbed the sacks again and continued his sprint. At various alleyways, his friends waited, hiding in the shadows.
"Here," Ragon whispered, tossing a bundle of food to one group. "Keep it quiet and move fast."
He repeated the process at several locations, each time avoiding the detection of the orcs. His friends smiled gratefully, their spirits briefly lifted by the treat of extra food.
Finally, Ragon had reached the edge of the village, he realized he was cornered. The orcs had regrouped, forming a semi-circle around him.
Ragon smirked, adjusting the sack over his shoulder. "Well, this is awkward," he said smiled in an awkward tone.
The orcs advanced, their weapons shining in the sunlight. Ragon's hand brushed against a rope he had rigged earlier. "You guys really need to work on your teamwork," he quipped.
With a swift tug of the rope, a barricade of heavy stones fell from above.
"What!" The orcs roared in surprise as the rocks buried them in a heap of dust and debris.
"See ya, boys," Ragon said with a grin, leaping onto the wall. He climbed to the top, turning to look at the chaos below. "Tell Graknar I said hi!"
He sprinted across the rooftops, as he disappeared into the distance.