Darius stood atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the plains, his dark eyes fixed on the massive army of goblins marching toward the camp. The sight turned his stomach. This wasn't the disorganized horde he'd envisioned. The goblins were far more numerous than he had anticipated, their movements coordinated and purposeful, a tide of green bodies stretching across the horizon like a living wave.
They marched in loose formations, their crude weapons glinting in the faint sunlight. Clubs studded with jagged stones and makeshift spears clattered in their hands as they moved, their guttural growls and barks forming an eerie, chaotic rhythm. Their shields, crudely fashioned from scrap materials and scavenged wood, were decorated with crude symbols, smeared in what looked like dried blood.
And in the center of it all marched a towering figure—the goblin general.
The general was unlike the others. It stood at least a head taller than any goblin around it, its green skin a darker, almost sickly hue that gleamed with sweat and filth. Its shoulders were broad, hunched under the weight of crude but effective armor fashioned from overlapping plates of bone and jagged metal. A massive cleaver, jagged and chipped, hung at its side, its edges stained black from countless kills.
The goblin general's face was grotesque, its features twisted into a permanent sneer. Its bloodshot eyes gleamed with malice and intelligence as it surveyed the battlefield ahead. A crude crown of iron rested atop its bald, scarred head, as if to mock the concept of royalty.
Darius's throat tightened. He had underestimated the goblins, and now his miscalculation had cost them dearly.
He turned and looked down at the Katula warriors behind him. The remnants of their ambush attempt were scattered across the plain, and it was clear how devastatingly it had failed.
Injured warriors sat slumped against rocks and makeshift barricades, their wounds hastily bandaged with strips of cloth that were already soaked through with blood. Some clutched broken weapons, their faces pale and sweat-slicked from pain and exhaustion. Others lay still on the ground, their eyes glassy and lifeless, their bodies twisted where they had fallen.
The sound of groaning and quiet weeping filled the air. One young warrior pressed a trembling hand against a gaping wound in his side, his breath coming in shallow gasps. Nearby, an older woman with blood streaking down her face gritted her teeth as another warrior tried to set her broken arm.
Darius's chest tightened as he scanned the scene. These weren't just nameless soldiers. These were people—farmers, fishers, mothers, and fathers—who had fought with everything they had, and still, it hadn't been enough.
Zovar stumbled toward him, her ocean-blue eyes flashing with pain and determination. She had a deep cut across her temple, and her once-graceful armor was smeared with mud and blood. Still, she held herself upright, her hand gripping the hilt of a broken spear.
"Snap out of it," she snapped, her melodic voice sharp and commanding despite the strain in it. "Now is not the time for regret, Darius. We can't afford to waste another second."
Darius blinked, startled by her tone, but he remained frozen, his mind racing with doubt. "We've already lost so many," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "We tried to ambush them, and it didn't work. How can we possibly hold them off now? Look at them—they're too many."
Zovar's gaze followed his, landing on the goblin general. Her lips tightened into a grim line, and she exhaled sharply. "It doesn't matter how many there are," she said curtly, her voice unwavering. "We fight because we must. If we don't hold them back, the non-combatants—the children, the elderly—none of them will escape. We are their only chance."
Her words hit Darius like a physical blow. He glanced back toward the camp in the distance, where he knew the non-combatants from all three tribes were hastily packing their belongings and preparing to flee. The image of terrified children clinging to their parents flashed through his mind, and something inside him shifted.
Darius's jaw tightened, and he straightened, picking up his spear from the ground. "You're right," he said quietly, his voice growing stronger with each word. "We have to buy them time, no matter the cost."
Zovar nodded, a flicker of relief crossing her bloodied face. She turned to the warriors gathered nearby, her voice ringing out above the chaos.
"Katula! Rally!" she shouted. "We fight not for ourselves but for the future of our tribes. Hold the line, and give them everything you have!"
The warriors rallied at her call, their expressions hardening as they pushed through their pain and exhaustion. They rushed to intercept the goblins and formed a defensive line, their bronze weapons glinting in the faint sunlight. The battered and wounded joined the uninjured, their resolve stronger than their broken bodies.
The goblins drew closer, their guttural cries growing louder as the general barked commands in a harsh, guttural tongue. The ground seemed to tremble beneath their march, and the air grew thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and blood.
Darius stepped forward, his spear held tightly in his hands. "We hold them here," he said, his voice steady and resolute.
Zovar stood beside him, raising her broken spear high. "For the Great Plains Alliance!"
The warriors roared their approval, the sound echoing across the battlefield as the goblins charged.
The first wave of goblins crashed into the Katula line like a tidal wave, their guttural war cries mixing with the clash of metal and bone. The warriors braced themselves, their bronze-tipped weapons gleaming in the faint sunlight as they absorbed the brunt of the assault. The force of the impact sent a ripple through the line, shields rattling and spears straining against the weight of the enemy.
Darius stood near the center of the formation, his heart pounding as he adjusted his grip on the spear. A goblin lunged at him, its jagged club raised high, its grotesque face twisted with malice. He stepped forward and thrust his weapon with precision, the bronze tip piercing the creature's chest with a sickening squelch. The goblin let out a choking growl, black blood spilling from its mouth as it fell to the ground, writhing in its death throes.
Without hesitation, Darius ripped the spear free, spinning just in time to catch another goblin charging at him. This one carried a rusted cleaver, its edges jagged and chipped. Darius sidestepped the clumsy swing and drove the butt of his spear into the goblin's face. The impact shattered its crooked nose with a crunch, sending it sprawling backward, its weapon falling from its gnarled hand.
To Darius's left, Zovar fought with a relentless fury that defied her injuries. Her broken spear flashed in the chaos, stabbing through goblin flesh with brutal efficiency. A goblin lunged at her, its jagged spear aimed for her throat, but she twisted her body, the weapon grazing her shoulder instead of piercing her vital points.
Before the creature could pull back for another strike, Zovar stepped inside its guard and slashed her blade across its throat. The goblin gurgled, its clawed hands clawing at the open wound as it collapsed to the ground. Zovar didn't hesitate, pivoting to block an incoming strike with the jagged edge of her blade. Sparks flew as the broken spear caught a rusted axe, and with a grunt, she shoved the goblin back and drove her speartip into its gut.
Another goblin tried to flank her, but she spun and lashed out with a savage kick, her heel catching the creature in the knee. It stumbled with a shriek, and Zovar brought her blade down on its neck, severing its head in a spray of dark blood.
But the goblins were relentless. For every one that fell, two more seemed to take its place. They swarmed the Katula line, their numbers pressing in like a crushing tide. The warriors fought valiantly, their bronze weapons cutting through the enemy with precision, but the sheer weight of the assault began to take its toll.
A goblin broke through the line to Darius's right, slamming its jagged club into a warrior's shield with enough force to splinter the wood. The warrior staggered, and another goblin seized the opportunity, plunging a crude spear into his side. The man let out a strangled cry as he fell, his blood pooling beneath him.
Darius roared in frustration, stepping forward to intercept the goblin that had delivered the killing blow. His spear arced through the air, piercing the creature's chest and pinning it to the ground. He planted a foot on its corpse and wrenched his weapon free, his teeth gritted as he turned to face the next threat.
Nearby, a group of goblins swarmed a Katula warrior who had been separated from the line. The man swung his bronze axe desperately, slicing through one goblin's arm, but the others closed in. Clawed hands grabbed at him from all sides, their jagged weapons stabbing into his unprotected back. His screams were cut short as the goblins dragged him down, their teeth tearing into his flesh in a grisly display of savagery.
The line wavered under the unrelenting pressure. Goblins hurled themselves at the warriors with reckless abandon, their crude weapons clanging against bronze shields. The Katula pushed back as best they could, their bronze blades flashing as they struck down their attackers, but the goblins' sheer ferocity made every inch of ground a bloody struggle.
Darius found himself face-to-face with a particularly large goblin, its crooked teeth bared in a snarling grin. The creature swung a jagged cleaver with surprising speed, forcing Darius to duck under the strike. He jabbed upward with his spear, catching the goblin in the throat. The creature gurgled, its weapon slipping from its grasp as it fell to the ground, but even as it died, another goblin leapt over its corpse to take its place.
To his left, Zovar let out a shout of pain as a goblin's spear grazed her thigh, drawing a deep gash. She stumbled but managed to block the next strike with her broken spear, twisting her blade to disarm her attacker. With a snarl, she drove her weapon into the goblin's chest, then spun to slash another across the face.
Suddenly, the goblin general surged forward, its massive cleaver cutting through the chaos as it advanced toward the front line. Its bloodshot eyes locked onto Zovar, and it let out a guttural roar that silenced the battlefield for a heartbeat.
Darius's breath caught as he saw the creature's sheer size and strength up close. "How do we stop that?" he muttered, his grip tightening on his spear.
Zovar's gaze didn't waver. Her voice was calm but fierce. "With whatever it takes," she said. "We fight."
Encouraged by her resolve, Darius nodded. He stepped forward to meet the advancing horde, his heart pounding but his determination unshaken.