Chapter 44: Blood in Depths (Part 2)

  A roar of challenge draws my attention. Another Orc breaks from the melee, charging toward Gorvash and Kor'ik, who hold defensive positions near the platform.

  The warrior plants his feet in spite of his splintered arms, putting his body between the incoming aggressor and the terrified translator, filled with determination even as he knows he can't effectively fight.

  The Orc's sword comes down in a brutal overhead chop. Gorvash can't block or parry, so he does the only thing possible, he twists his body to take the impact on his thickened scales rather than vulnerable flesh.

  The sound is like a hammer striking an anvil. The blade bites into Gorvash's armored shoulder, drawing blood but not penetrating deep enough to cripple.

  The impact drives him to one knee, and the Orc presses his advantage.

  Strike after strike lands and Gorvash desperately struggles to defend himself. Each draws more of his blood, until he is thrown in a helpless position. The Orc raises his weapon again, this time aiming at Gorvash's exposed neck.

  "NO!" Kor'ik's scream carries a fury I've never heard from the translator.

  The Frogman's webbed hands close around something heavy, one of the iron weights that had fallen from Thrak'zul's shackles. The sphere is massive, easily thirty pounds of solid metal, but fear and adrenaline give Kor'ik strength.

  He swings it in a wild arc, putting his entire body behind the throw.

  The weight connects with the Orc's skull with a wet crunch that echoes across the platform. Not a killing blow, but devastating enough to stagger the creature, his attack interrupted mid-swing.

  Gorvash doesn't hesitate even for a moment and lunges forward with his mouth open wide.

  His powerful jaws clamp onto the Orc's throat, his sharp teeth sinking in. Like a primordial crocodile, the warrior shakes his head, ripping and destroying everything caught between his jaws.

  The Orc tries to pull free, but Gorvash's bite strength is incredible. Blood flows freely now and the Orc's struggles grow weaker.

  The massive body goes limp. Gorvash releases his grip, blood staining his teeth and dripping from his muzzle. He meets Kor'ik's eyes across the fallen corpse. The grim acknowledgment that they survived together.

  Movement to my left catches my attention. The Stalker has somehow gained the upperhand in his struggle, with the Orc he'd been fighting floats face-down, blood spreading in dark clouds from multiple cuts.

  But the Stalker is bleeding too. Deep gashes can be seen across his ribs and shoulder. As soon as he turns around and takes note of his pack's dire situation, he immediately activates his camouflage. After this, all I can see is a trail of blood moving away.

  Well, no help from him.

  Three Orcs down. Three to go.

  We're not winning. We're just losing slower than expected.

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  Hynnal fights like a cornered predator, his saber flashing in furious arcs as he tries to keep the Orc Chief at bay. But the halberd's reach advantage is telling, and each exchange pushes the pack leader further back.

  Blood soaks Hynnal's fur from a dozen wounds. His movements are growing sluggish and desperate. The gauntlet on his arm still pulses with power, but what good are magical chains against an artifact designed to obliterate them?

  The Leader presses his advance with methodical precision, systematically dismantling Hynnal's defenses.

  Another exchange. The halberd's shaft clashes with Hynnal's saber and tears it from his hand. The weapon clatters across the floor, skittering to a stop near the water's edge.

  Unarmed. Wounded. Exhausted.

  Hynnal's amber eyes gaze around the battlefield, assessing the battle. He sees his remaining warriors engaged with the other Orcs and us slaves scattered across the platform.

  Then he makes a decision.

  The Mark on my forehead erupts with searing agony that drives straight into my brain. Not the previous warning burns, but an absolute compulsion that overrides conscious thought.

  My body starts moving without my permission, legs carrying me toward the Orc Chief despite every fiber of my being screaming resistance. Beside me, Gorvash and Kor'ik are similarly compelled, our bodies turned into puppets by Hynnal's blood magic.

  As if we could let the bastard die and take us with him.

  The sensation is violating beyond description. My mind remains fully aware and conscious, but divorced from control of my own limbs. Like being trapped in a cage made of my own flesh, forced to watch as someone else pilots my body.

  Move. Attack. Protect your master.

  The commands burn through my synapses with irresistible force.

  And we are perhaps ten feet from their struggle when everything changes.

  The halberd sweeps in a horizontal arc, its gemstone flaring with brilliant light as it connects with Hynnal's extended arm.

  Hynnal's arm cleanly separates at the elbow, the severed limb still encased in the gauntlet spinning through the air.

  The pack leader's howl is inhuman, raw agony and rage mixed with shock.

  And the compulsion driving my body forward simply... stops.

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  In a single moment, it is cut off as completely as Hynnal's arm. The mental chains holding me snap, and I stumble as control of my limbs returns.

  For one blessed moment, I think it's over. The Brand's connection broke with Hynnal's maiming.

  But then the Mark begins to glow with a sickly light.

  Cold spreads from the brand across my skull, and with it comes a horrifying sensation. Something is pulling at me, drawing on the energy that fuels my core stone and the life force that keeps me breathing.

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  I can feel it draining me. Not quickly, but with inexorable certainty. Like a parasite that's lost its host and latched onto whatever's nearby to survive.

  My legs feel heavy, leaden. Each breath comes harder than the last. The wounds across my body that should be healing already with my enhanced regeneration stay open, weeping.

  Around me, the others experience the same thing. Gorvash sways on his feet, even his copper scales beginning to lose their luster. Kor'ik collapses to his knees, his throat sac contracting spasmodically.

  We're dying. Slowly but inevitably, being consumed by this cursed magic that refuses to release its grip.

  A splash announces Thrak'zul's return. The Frogman prince drags himself from the water.. Blood streams from a gash across his head, and there is a huge purple spot covering his torso.

  Somehow he survived being launched into the water by the Orc Chief's devastating blow.

  My mind races through our options even as my body weakens. Hynnal's down, the gauntlet lying there along with his severed arm and the remaining Gnolls are being slaughtered one by one.

  The Mark burns cold against my forehead, its drain accelerating and I can feel my core stone flickering. Around me, Gorvash's breathing has become ragged gasps, and Kor'ik appears ready to pass out entirely.

  We need to break this connection, but how? Hynnal is... I glance at the pack leader. He's clutching the stump of his arm, blood pumping between his fingers. The Orc Chief stalks toward him with grim purpose.

  Think. THINK.

  The untested hypothesis of the Portal has been gnawing at the back of my mind since we first discussed it. Maybe crossing that threshold into a pocket dimension can sever the Mark's effects in the same way distance weakens it.

  It's desperate. Unproven. We'd be throwing ourselves into an unknown trial while already weakened and wounded.

  But the alternative is having this damn brand drains us to empty husks.

  I lock eyes with Thrak'zul. The prince is battered, bleeding, but his gaze is still sharp. He sees it too, we're out of options.

  "RUN!" I shout to my fellow slaves, my voice cracking with urgency. "GO TO PORTAL! NOW!"

  The command shocks everyone into action.

  There's nothing we can do here. Hynnal is finished, the Gnolls are losing, and we're being drained with each passing second.

  Our only chance is through the portal and into the trial. Whatever waits beyond that archway, it can't be worse than dying here.

  I force my leaden legs to move. One step. Two. Each movement feels like wading through deep water, the Mark's drain making my limbs feel disconnected, foreign.

  Gorvash staggers beside me, using his bulk to help keep Kor'ik upright even as he struggles himself. Thrak'zul being closer to the water passage immediately dives.

  Behind us, one of the Orcs notices our escape attempt. He finishes off one of Hynnal's warriors and readily charges toward us with predatory focus.

  "Keep moving!" I gasp, though I'm not sure who I'm encouraging anymore.

  The temple entrance looms ahead.

  Gorvash reaches the edge first and plunges in with Kor'ik.

  I'm last, my transformed Razor Claws making swimming awkward. I take one final look at the carnage behind us.

  The Orc is twenty feet away, closing fast.

  So I dive.

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  The water is a nightmare. My wounded shoulder screams protest with each stroke, the spear still embedded in my shoulder creating drag that slows me catastrophically.

  Still, I keep swimming. Down through the entrance tunnel, following the distant shapes of my companions ahead. My lungs burn. Dark spots dance at the edges of my vision.

  I break the surface in the antechamber, gasping. My claws scrape against stone as I haul myself onto the platform, every muscle trembling with exhaustion.

  The others are already moving toward the portal. Its shimmering surface beckons with promises of escape, survival, or anything other than being another ghost in this flooded ruin.

  A splash behind us announces the Orc's arrival.

  The massive creature surfaces with barely a pause, his eyes locking onto our fleeing forms with a predatory gaze. He's fresher than us, stronger, faster. We'll never make it before he reaches us…

  So I pause and turn back, directly facing the brute.

  At least this way I can give the others a chance to survive.

  Suddenly a small shape launches itself from the shadows near one of the thrones.

  The Bog Goblin

  I'd thought he was gone, killed by the Chief's opening strike. But the small guy is alive. It must have hidden, playing dead while the battle raged.

  Now he throws himself at the Orc with the abandon of someone that has nothing left to lose.

  The Goblin's claws find the Orc's face, tearing at eyes and nose with frenzied determination. Its chittering screams echo through the chamber, high-pitched and defiant.

  The Orc roars, reaching up to tear the small creature away. But the Goblin clings to his face, buying precious seconds.

  "GRIB!" Kor'ik's voice breaks on a name, finally giving our small ally an identity. "NO! RUN!"

  Unfortunately there is no running from this. Grib made his decision. A last moment of courage.

  The Orc's blade punches through Grib's small chest, emerging from his back in a spray of dark blood. The chittering cuts off abruptly, replaced by a wet, gurgling sound.

  The recovering Orc tosses Grib's body aside like garbage, the small form splashing into the water. Those bulging yellow eyes find mine for just a moment before the light fades from them.

  "GO!" Thrak'zul shoves Kor'ik as they reach the portal, the frogman stumbling through the shimmering veil.

  The shout snaps me back to reality. I can’t let the little Goblin’s sacrifice be in vain.

  So I dash with everything and anything I got left.

  “MOVE DAMN IT.” I scream and Gorvash soon crosses it too, his copper bulk disappearing into light.

  Thrak'zul turns to face the approaching Orc, planting his feet despite his shattered leg.

  "Through!" I shout at him, but the bastard just stands there waiting, ready to act.

  I run, or stumble toward the portal. The Orc's roar fills the chamber as he charges.

  Ten feet...

  Five....

  The Mark's suction of my energy reaches a crescendo, a final and vicious pull that makes my vision white out entirely.

  At the same time, the Orc's blade whistles through the air behind me.

  I don't look back, not even check to see how close death is.

  I just throw myself forward, Thrak'zul's weight adding to mine, and together we tumble through the portal's surface.

  All I can think about is the brave little goblin who gave everything so we could live.

  Then once more, darkness swallows us whole.