The sound of the battering ram striking the gates echoed through the stronghold like a heartbeat, relentless and unyielding. Ashar's hands trembled slightly as he tightened his grip on his sword. The gates were holding, but he knew it wouldn't last forever. Every strike from the massive weapon seemed to chip away at their resolve, the wood groaning under the pressure.
"Ready yourselves!" Rylah's voice cut through the chaos, calm and firm. She was standing beside Ashar, her eyes scanning the battlefield. "They'll break through soon. We need to make sure we're ready for when they do."
Ashar nodded, his gaze fixed on the gates. He could feel his pulse in his throat, every muscle in his body tensed for the inevitable. The Orcs had come with everything—siege weapons, reinforcements, and a fury that seemed boundless. And yet, they hadn't broken the gates. Not yet.
"How much longer do you think we can hold?" Rylah asked, her voice quieter now, though there was an edge of concern there.
Ashar swallowed. "As long as we need to."
The words felt hollow. It wasn't just the gates that were at risk; it was everything they had fought for—the stronghold, their people, and the future they were building. If they failed here, it would be over. And Ashar couldn't let that happen.
The battering ram struck again, louder this time. The gates shuddered violently under the impact. Ashar's heart skipped a beat. He turned toward Rylah. "Get the archers to the walls. We need to thin their numbers before they get too close."
Rylah hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "On it."
She sprinted off, her boots echoing in the hall as she called out to the archers. Ashar watched her go, then turned back to the gates. He could see the Orcs forming up in front of the stronghold, their war drums pounding in rhythm. The sight sent a chill down his spine. It was now or never.
The battering ram hit again, and this time, the gates groaned, splintering under the force. Ashar's breath caught in his chest. They were going to break. He could see it in the cracks forming along the wood, hear it in the way the walls creaked in protest.
"Brace yourselves!" Ashar shouted, his voice rising over the noise. "Do not let them through!"
He charged forward, cutting through the nearest Orc that dared to come too close, his blade meeting the monster's thick armor with a resounding clang. The Orc stumbled back, but Ashar didn't wait to see if it would rise again. He was already moving toward the gates, shouting commands to his men.
The battering ram struck one last time. The gates exploded outward with a deafening crash, sending shards of wood and iron flying. Ashar's heart stopped as he saw the gap—the Orcs were rushing forward, their eyes wild with bloodlust.
But there was no time to retreat.
"Hold the line!" Ashar roared, his voice carrying over the fray. He stepped forward, his sword raised high. "We will not fall here!"
The first wave of Orcs surged through the gap in the gates. Ashar met them head-on, his blade flashing as he cut down the first attacker. The clash of metal on metal, the guttural cries of the Orcs, and the shouts of his soldiers filled the air. It was chaos, but Ashar felt the familiar surge of adrenaline as he fought, his every movement sharp and focused.
Behind him, Rylah's voice rang out, calling for the archers. Arrows flew overhead, piercing Orcs and forcing them to fall back momentarily. But they kept coming.
Ashar's eyes flicked to the rear of the battlefield. The reinforcements were still arriving, but his warriors weren't enough to hold back the tide. His chest tightened as he realized what was at stake. If they didn't secure the gates, this battle would be lost.
He fought his way through the front line, hacking through Orc after Orc with calculated precision. But the Orcs were relentless, and their numbers seemed endless. Every time Ashar cut one down, another took its place. He could see the fatigue in his soldiers' eyes, the way their movements were slowing.
And then it happened. A massive figure appeared in the distance—Drogath.
The Orc warlord was charging forward, his massive frame towering over the battlefield. His armor was stained with the blood of his fallen warriors, his eyes burning with fury. Drogath wasn't just leading the charge; he was coming for Ashar himself.
A cold dread washed over him. The moment of reckoning had arrived.
***
Ashar's heart pounded as Drogath drew closer. The Orc warlord's presence seemed to crush the very air around him, the ground shaking with each step. His giant battleaxe was raised high, and his roar could be heard over the clamor of the battle.
Ashar's grip on his sword tightened. This was it—the final test. He had faced countless Orcs, but Drogath was different. He was the embodiment of the destruction the Orcs had brought to their world. This was the man who had crushed so many of Ashar's people, who had been the face of their suffering.
Ashar took a deep breath, focusing his thoughts. The battle raged around him, but in this moment, there was only him and Drogath.
The warlord charged, his axe descending with terrifying speed. Ashar rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow, and came up swinging. His sword clashed against Drogath's massive weapon, sending sparks flying. The impact reverberated through Ashar's body, but he held his ground.
Drogath sneered down at him. "You think you can stop me, human?"
Ashar's eyes narrowed. "I don't think. I know."
With a roar, Ashar pressed forward, launching a flurry of strikes. Drogath was fast—too fast for someone his size—but Ashar's precision and agility kept him one step ahead. He dodged another swing of the axe, using the momentum to close the distance.
The battle between them was a blur of steel and fury, each blow shaking the very earth beneath them. Ashar's arm burned with the effort, his body aching from the constant strain. But he couldn't stop. Not now.
Then, in a moment of clarity, Ashar saw it—the opening. Drogath's defenses were slightly lowered after a heavy swing, and Ashar seized the opportunity.
With a swift motion, he lunged forward, his blade sinking deep into Drogath's side. The Orc warlord howled in pain, stumbling back. Blood poured from the wound, but Drogath didn't fall. Instead, he grinned through the pain.
"You're stronger than I thought," Drogath growled. "But not enough."
With a roar, Drogath swung his axe one last time, aiming for Ashar's head. Ashar barely managed to block the blow, the force nearly knocking him off his feet. He felt the ground tremble beneath him, but he stood firm, unwilling to give up.
The battle was far from over, but for the first time, Ashar could see the faintest hint of victory.