Chapter 1

While the blinding green light consumed his entire consciousness, Neron felt something strange. For a moment, it seemed as though his feet were floating in a void, but soon after, he distinctly sensed a change in the ground beneath him. The smooth, ceramic surface he had been standing on just moments ago disappeared – replaced by something entirely different, something rough and uneven. Wooden planks, or maybe even connected sticks, creaked under his feet, creating a feeling of uncertainty. He had the impression that this floor wasn't stable, as if any step could cause it to collapse. "Where the hell am I?" flashed through his mind, but before he could think further, the green light suddenly vanished.

The shock was so intense that for a long moment, Neron couldn't open his eyes. Everything around him spun – the world shifted from a barren void into something much more chaotic. A sharp gust of fresh air hit his face, as if a window had just been opened before him, letting in the scent of nature. He sensed moisture, as if there was water nearby, and the air carried a metallic taste, similar to what he felt after a storm.

His senses were beginning to recover when suddenly, his ears were overwhelmed by a cacophony of sounds. Dozens, if not hundreds, of voices filled the space around him – loud conversations, laughter, screams, all blended into a thick hum. He tried to distinguish individual words, but the sound was too distorted, as if people were speaking in several different languages at once, and the echoes of those words bounced off the walls.

Neron's heart started to beat faster. "What is this place?" he wondered, still unable to open his eyes. Everything felt so real, yet so unfamiliar. "Is this the magical world Asmodar spoke of?"

Slowly, with difficulty, he forced his body to obey. His hands began to tremble, and his eyelids lifted slightly. However, the world before him remained blurry, as if his vision still couldn't adjust to the new environment. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. The sounds, smells, and sensations were gradually starting to make more sense.

He decided to open his eyes.

Neron slowly opened his eyes, feeling the world around him take shape. Though his senses were still dulled, he could now clearly see where he had ended up. What he saw almost took his breath away. Surrounding him was the sight of a bizarre village, as if taken straight out of a nightmare.

Tall, rough walls, built from twisted beams and haphazardly arranged pieces of wood, surrounded the area he found himself in. The wooden palisades looked as if they had been thrown together quickly, without much precision, yet they emanated a brutal, raw strength. Each building, if it could be called that, resembled more of a pile of trash than a shelter—roofs covered with scraps of metal, animal hides, and bones, while the walls, constructed from poorly hewn logs, seemed to threaten collapse at the slightest gust of wind.

In the center of the village, where he was now located, stood several wooden cages, including the one he was trapped in. He looked down and saw that the cage's floor was unevenly constructed from wooden sticks. His legs trembled slightly, feeling the structure was unstable, and the uneven planks dug into his feet. Moreover, the cage itself appeared to have been hastily made—raw wood, twisted iron bars, and spiked chains, as if this place were meant to serve not only as a prison but also as a tool for torture.

The village looked deserted, yet one could sense the presence of someone or something. Around Nero, dusty streets stretched out, filled with ruined and crumbling buildings. A few larger huts, resembling primitive shanties, loomed over the rest. Some were adorned with animal skulls and bones, while dark hides hung from others, fluttering in the wind and producing unsettling sounds.

However, the most terrifying were the massive wooden totems. Standing at the edges of the square, they resembled grotesque images of orcs—huge, deformed faces with protruding tusks and elongated foreheads. They were painted in dark shades of green and red, and eyes made of bone or metal stared vacantly into space. Nero felt a shiver run down his spine as he glanced in their direction.

Around him, numerous bonfires rose, some still smoldering, releasing the stench of burnt flesh and smoke. He felt the acrid smell of smoke invade his nostrils, causing him to cough momentarily. "This isn't some fucked-up dream..." he thought, rubbing his eyes, though he was sure it would all vanish soon. But the village, the cage, and even the eerie totems remained in place, as if everything was too real to be a figment of his imagination.

His gaze wandered further into the village. There was something wild, primal about it, as if this community existed on the edge of civilization, yet avoided it like the plague. Tall watchtowers, built from wooden logs, dominated the entire settlement. They were makeshift yet functional, erected from raw materials, as if they existed solely to observe potential enemies. Nero noticed that no one stood on them, which only added to the eerie atmosphere—the place looked prepared for battle, but now seemed abandoned.

"Where the hell am I?"—the thought raced through his mind, though there was no answer. The world around him was so foreign, so different from anything he had ever seen. His thoughts slowly began to circle back to what Asmodar had told him. A world full of magic and monsters. "So this is it…"—his heart raced, feeling unease but also something resembling excitement. On one hand, he was terrified; on the other, a part of him felt that he had just arrived at a place that pulled him out of his monotonous life.

His gaze shifted downward. He was in a wooden cage, and beside him, in similar cages, sat other people. Each of them looked exhausted, their clothes torn, faces dirty, and their gazes empty. He saw something in their eyes that he couldn't quite identify—fear? Resignation? Or perhaps simply survival?

He was not alone.

Nero, after the initial shock of the new surroundings, turned his gaze to himself. He was still naked. He wore not a single piece of clothing, and his body, though neither strong nor bulky, was now fully exposed. A cold gust of wind hit his skin, reminding him of how vulnerable he was in this situation. At that moment, the fact that he had nothing on him did not boost his confidence. "Fantastic. Naked, in a cage, in some dingy orc camp. How epic…"—he thought bitterly, but he tried to remain calm. Panic could only worsen the situation, and a cool head was now his only ally.

He glanced sideways at the neighboring cages. Inside were other people—peasants. They were mostly men, hunched and worn down by hard labor, with faces etched with wrinkles and dirt. They wore simple, rough tunics and pants, battered from long wear. Their clothes, made from cheap materials, were dirty and tattered, as if each had been wearing them for weeks without the chance to change. Some of the men had long, unkempt beards, and their faces expressed both exhaustion and uncertainty about what had befallen them.

At first glance, Nero noticed that some of them were injured. Shallow, red cuts on their bodies attested to a recent skirmish. Their skin was marred in places, where blood, though already dried, still hinted at the freshness of their wounds. The injuries weren't deep, but they were surely painful—their scars bore witness to brutal capture. Nero noticed that some of the men were trying to stem their bleeding with their hands, pressing dirty rags they tore from their own clothes against their wounds.

He also noticed two older women who were prisoners as well, though clearly weakened. Their gray hair was tied in simple braids, and their faces expressed resignation. Dressed in equally tattered and dirty dresses, they huddled in the corner of their cage, trying to avoid the gaze of the guards and other prisoners. They too bore cuts on their bodies, though they seemed more chaotic, as if the orcs showed no mercy, regardless of the victim's age.

Nero observed them from a distance, analyzing the situation. These people looked like simple peasants, and their wounds suggested they had been captured by force. "Orcs... those cuts look like they were chased down, caught, and then thrown into these cages," Nero thought, trying to logically piece together the facts.

However, these were not ordinary, random marks. The men and women must have put up a fight, tried to escape—though without success. The cuts on their bodies indicated that the orcs didn't need to exert themselves much to catch them. Perhaps these peasants were residents of some nearby village, raided by an orc horde, and now they were merely war loot, captured and tossed here to await their fate.

"What are they doing here? Trading them? Or do they plan to kill them?"—these questions swirled in Nero's mind, but he had no answers. "How the hell am I here too? I just… This can't be possible"—he tried to make sense of the chaos, but one thing was certain: the people in these cages were not here willingly.

Nero sat in his wooden cage, staring at the crowd when suddenly a movement caught his attention from one of the larger structures across the square. The machine that had become his mind in this bizarre situation tried to analyze every sound, every silhouette. A group of orcs emerged from the building—a large, compact group of beings that moved confidently and unhurriedly, as if they had nothing to fear. Their heavy footsteps and loud conversations immediately captured Nero's attention.

He caught one of the voices, particularly loud and coarse.

— "This meeting was boring as hell. We could have just eaten them."

The words pierced through the chatter, reaching Nero's ears like a strike. They were talking about the prisoners. About him and the others. For a moment, his heart raced, and a cold sweat ran down his back. "Eat us?!"—he thought, horrified at the vision of being a victim of some barbaric ritual where his body would be served up to those brutal creatures. Yet Nero clenched his jaw, trying to master the rising panic.

The orcs began to disperse across the square, and Nero focused on their appearance. Contrary to his expectations, the orcs were not as grotesque as he might have imagined. Indeed, they were powerful and rough, but something about their stature and physique evoked admiration and even fascination. They were green-skinned giants, their musculature reminiscent of the bodybuilders Nero had seen in fitness magazines. Each one was massive, with muscles that seemed taut as steel cables beneath their skin. Although most of them were bald, some had short, dark hair tied back in rough ponytails. Their faces, though harsh, were not repulsive at all—on the contrary, they had a raw attractiveness. Their protruding tusks added a wildness to them, but combined with their impressive physiques, they created an image of brutal strength and a certain kind of primal aesthetics.

Every movement of these orcs exuded confidence and power, and their presence in the square seemed to dominate everything else. The male orcs were brutal beings, but not primitive—Nero could see a glimmer of intelligence and ruthlessness in their eyes that demanded respect.

However, what caught Nero's attention the most were the women in this group. Among the crowd, he spotted two, maybe three female orcs, and their appearance stirred in him a mixture of surprise and... fascination. These women were tall, powerfully built, and their muscles were almost as impressive as those of their male counterparts. However, they were slimmer, more proportional, with figures that could embody the ideal of strength and femininity. Their green skin gleamed in the glow of the setting sun, accentuating the curves of their bodies.

Nero involuntarily began to observe one of them. Her face was harsh but oddly beautiful—she had prominent cheekbones and deep, dark eyes that seemed to scan the square with unsettling intensity. Her jet-black hair was tied in a tight braid that reached her shoulders. She wore a simple leather armor that revealed more than it concealed, emphasizing each of her impressive muscles but also the feminine shapes that Nero couldn't help but notice. Her body was like steel—strong yet incredibly alluring.

"This... is amazing," Nero thought, feeling his gaze slide over her body. She was like a warrior from his darkest fantasies. "As if a goddess of war and brutality had combined her powers with nature, creating something otherworldly beautiful in its brutality." His thoughts began to drift into dangerous territories, a light thrill mingling with unease. He knew he shouldn't be thinking about such things in this situation, but her appearance simply overwhelmed him. He couldn't stop staring at her.

Nero involuntarily sighed. "How the hell can I even think about something like this right now?"—he scolded himself in his mind, trying to break free from this strange state. But the truth was that these orc women—brutal, powerful, yet in a way beautiful—were something he couldn't ignore. It was like watching a wild predator that, though threatening, fascinated with its strength and grace.

Suddenly, his gaze was caught by one of the female orcs who began approaching the cages. Her eyes were narrowed, and her steps were confident. She was heading straight toward the prisoners, and each of her movements radiated tension. Nero felt his heart begin to race—he didn't know what to expect, but he sensed that something was about to happen that would be etched in his memory for a long time.

Nero stared at the approaching orc female, who came toward the cages with confidence and brutal grace. She was clad in armor, but that word seemed insufficient to describe what she actually wore. It was merely a leather loincloth, revealing almost her entire body—her breasts were barely covered by a piece of leather that looked like it could slip off with any sudden movement. On her back, she carried a huge iron axe that gleamed in the light, reflecting the greenish glow of the orcish sun. She looked as if she were ready to slice someone in half at any moment.

However, what really caught Nero's attention was her hairstyle—she sported a short yet distinctly styled mohawk that seemed a strange but perfectly fitting element of her appearance. The sides were shaved almost completely bald, but the mohawk itself, though small, added an extra wildness to her face. Nero couldn't help but think quickly:

"A mohawk? Seriously? As if she weren't scary enough already…"

He watched as her muscular body moved with incredible grace. She was built like a sculpture—there was no excess fat on her, just pure, raw strength. Her arms were covered with scars that seemed to testify to her numerous battles, and every step she took resonated with power, as if the ground trembled beneath her feet.

As she approached the cages, she began to examine the prisoners one by one. First, she glanced at the older women, but quickly lost interest in them. Then her gaze shifted to the men, as if assessing their potential worth. Each of her movements was slow, her looks attentive—like a hunter choosing her prey.

When she finally reached Nero's cage, she stopped. Her eyes, dark and cold as night, looked at him with a mixture of amusement and disdain. She clearly prepared to mock him.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" she sneered, looking at his naked body as if he were nothing more than a silly toy. "A little man who doesn't even have any clothes on. What happened, did you lose your clothes on the way, or is this how you look where you come from?"

Nero felt the blood rush to his face. The humiliation he felt mixed with growing frustration. He could sit quietly, ignore her words, and try not to provoke her. But he remembered Asmodar's words, the God of the Void—"Show aggression." He felt that now was the right moment to do so.

He gathered his courage, even though his heart was pounding like crazy.

"Maybe after seeing your outfit, I thought you were ready for a little... hehe... fun," he shot back, challenging her.

For a moment, silence hung in the air. The orc woman stopped smiling, her face hardened, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. Then she lunged forward, faster than Nero expected. In one swift motion, she opened the cage door and was right in front of him in the blink of an eye. Before he could do anything, he felt a powerful blow to his stomach.

Her fist, as hard as stone, drove into his body with a force he had never experienced before. Pain shot through him, and the air escaped his lungs. Nero was thrown back against the wooden bars of the cage with a dull thud. He lay curled up, feeling his body slowly refusing to obey him. The pain in his stomach was all-consuming, and each breath became more difficult.

The orc woman stood over him, looking down with an expression of amusement but also satisfaction.

"Do you have anything else to say, little man?" she asked, her voice now cold, stripped of any warm mockery.

Nero didn't respond. He struggled to catch his breath, trying to recover from the powerful blow. His body was aflame with pain, but something within him told him he had to keep fighting—at least in spirit.

Before he could gather his thoughts, the orc woman turned away from him, directing her attention to the man in the neighboring cage. Her hands confidently reached for the cage door, which she opened with ease, as if it were made of paper. Before anyone could react, she yanked one of the prisoners outside, dragging him with brutal strength. The peasant screamed, but the orc woman paid no attention. Nero, still barely catching his breath, watched in horror as she pulled the man before her, her gaze filled with cold determination.

Nero struggled to lift his head, trying to understand what would happen next. The echoes of pain still thudded in his head, and the image before him blurred from unuttered fear and agony.

Though Nero was still barely catching his breath after the brutal blow, he couldn't take his eyes off the orc woman who was forcefully pulling one of the peasants from the cage. The height and musculature of this orc woman made even the strongest man seem as helpless as a child in comparison. The peasant she had dragged outside tried to defend himself, struggling and screaming, but the orc woman was unyielding.

Nero watched as she led the man toward one of the larger tents on the other side of the square. His heart began to race when he heard a crack—like breaking bones—followed by a dull sound of splattering blood. The man's scream suddenly cut off. Nero didn't need to see what had happened; he knew the peasant had been killed.

Moments later, the orc woman reappeared, blood on her hands and legs, her indifferent face betraying no emotion. She approached a bloodied, obese orc who stood nearby the tent, licking his thick, cracked lips. This orc was different from the others. He was broad and massive, his belly hanging over a leather loincloth, and his clothes looked richer than the rest. He wore a leather jerkin adorned with bones and spikes, and his curly, greasy hair lay flat against his head. His face was scarred, and his large, protruding tusks gave him a more beastly appearance than that of a rational creature.

"Good job, Kraga," said the fat orc, grinning grotesquely as the orc woman stepped closer. "That pathetic little man was worthless."

Nero caught her name—Kraga. It suited her perfectly. Short, brutal, like her personality. Kraga regarded the fat orc with indifference, but a hint of disgust flickered in her eyes.

"And what about the rest?" she asked coldly, glancing at the bloodied weapon she held in her hands. "Is the plan for your fat ass to feast on the rest, or are we waiting for the rituals?" Her tone was icy and dismissive; she clearly had no respect for the obese orc.

The fat orc grunted and wiped his greasy fingers on his jerkin.

"The leader has other plans. Most of them will be used for ritual magic," he said, licking his lips with satisfaction. "But that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun beforehand. The leader doesn't need to know everything, right?"

Kraga scoffed with evident distaste, looking at the orc who clearly planned to eat one of the prisoners.

"Your constant eating of people is disgusting," she stated coldly. "What's the point? You have plenty of meat, and you still want more."

The fat orc laughed, guffawing until his belly shook like jelly.

"It's not just about food, Kraga. It's pleasure. And our leader doesn't need to know everything, does he?"

Kraga crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a guttural sigh of frustration.

"And what about the rest of the prisoners after the rituals?" she asked. "Do you have a plan for what to do with them?"

The fat orc shrugged, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"The leader will probably make them fight for their freedom." He grinned widely, revealing yellow, sharp teeth. "It's our tradition. Those who survive will become members of the tribe. Or they'll die at the hands of one of ours, and then eating them will just be a formality. Well, no one has ever won. It always ends in slaughter."

Kraga raised an eyebrow, as if this was particularly uninteresting to her.

"What if one of these people manages to defeat an orc?" she asked with apparent indifference, though there was a hint of malicious curiosity in her voice.

The fat orc laughed again, his laugh deep and raspy.

"Ha! If one of those pathetic humans were to defeat an orc, he'd become the tribe's new mascot. It's our tradition. He survived? That means he's strong and will bolster our ranks. But don't worry, Kraga, that never happens. Humans are too weak to defeat us."

Kraga glanced at the prisoners, then at the fat orc, and finally turned away, ready to leave. Her steps were slow and confident, as if she knew that no one dared to oppose her.

Nero, still dazed, watched this exchange of words, trying to process what he had just heard. The pain in his stomach was slowly subsiding, although he still felt a pulsing pressure from the blow. Thoughts of fighting for freedom and ritual magic swirled in his mind.

"Rituals... fighting for freedom... what are they planning?" he thought, trying to piece everything together in his head.

But one thing was certain—if he didn't find a way to escape, something far worse than a simple death awaited him.

As the pain in his stomach gradually subsided, Nero decided to examine his situation more closely. He looked at the structure of the cage he was trapped in. The wooden posts that made it up seemed solid and thick, carefully fitted together. Nero frowned, observing the joints between the beams. Though he was far from being a construction expert, he had to admit that the structure was incredibly sturdy. Even if he tried with all his strength, he wouldn't have the slightest chance of getting out without help.

"Nice work... who would've thought that orcs could build cages so well?" he thought with reluctant approval, though no sound escaped his lips.

His gaze shifted to the lock. A simple iron padlock—a straightforward mechanism, but effective enough. Nero sighed in frustration as he realized that although the lock didn't look complicated, he had no idea how to open it. In moments like these, he envied the characters in books and movies who always found a way to escape such situations. He didn't have that luxury.

He felt a wave of anxiety rising within him. Thoughts began to swirl in his head, faster and faster. "What am I going to do now? How do I get out of here? I can't die here! I can't just sit and wait for the orcs to kill me!"

Panic began to overwhelm him; his hands trembled slightly, and his breath became increasingly shallow. He knew he had to find a solution, but every escape seemed impossible. He felt powerless, and dark thoughts of inevitable death filled his mind.

And then suddenly, he remembered Asmodar's words. "Show aggression." Those two words began to circle in his mind like a mantra.

He clenched his fists, trying to catch his breath and calm the rising panic. "Show aggression..." he repeated in his thoughts, trying to understand what exactly the god of emptiness meant. Did it mean to fight? To face danger with an aggressive approach? Or was it something deeper, more internal?

"Maybe that's the key to survival..." Nero pondered, trying to find any logical sense in those words. "I can't just wait for something to happen. I have to act, I have to open myself to aggression. Maybe... maybe that's what it's about. About being more open, aggressive... as if I have to shake off my fear."

Nero, though still scared, felt a new determination rising within him. If he was to survive, he had to tap into his aggression, even though that idea felt completely foreign to him. He began to think about how he could prepare. It was clear that the orcs were powerful, and he, in his current state, wouldn't stand a chance against them. "I need to start training. My body is weak... but I can strengthen it. I have to be ready for any opportunity to use my new strength."

But that wasn't his only asset. Nero suddenly remembered his newly acquired power. The affinity for water. Though he didn't know exactly how magic worked in this world, he knew one thing—if he had a chance to survive, he had to learn to harness that power. "I can control water... I just need to learn how. I need to train... and preferably at night when no one can see me. I can't let the orcs find out about this too soon."

He felt a small glimmer of hope within him. Maybe this wasn't a hopeless situation. Maybe Asmodar was right. Maybe aggression was the key. Now he just had to start acting.

Despite that, Nero continued to sit in his cage, observing the life of the orcs that unfolded around him. He was like an invisible observer, even though he was in the village's central square. Orcs, both men and women, went about their daily tasks as if the existence of humans in cages was something entirely normal, unworthy of greater attention.

However, a few pairs of eyes occasionally glanced his way—crooked smiles, contemptuous glares, and muttered insults. Nero didn't need to understand the words to know what they meant. He was clearly just a toy here, a thing for show. Yet that did not discourage him. After all, he remembered Asmodar's words—"Show aggression."

Unlike the other people locked in cages, who seemed resigned and beaten by their fate, Nero decided to take action. He started with the simplest exercises—push-ups, squats, stretching—anything that could prepare his body for the future fight. With each passing minute, he felt his muscles working, his mind becoming more focused, and his body slowly regaining strength, even if it was only small steps toward the power he so desired.

Some orcs began to pay more attention to him. Passing by the cage, they threw him short, mocking glances. Some even laughed at his training attempts, sneering and pointing at his body, which certainly didn't compare to their own massive physiques. They were like beasts—brutal, threatening, and yet somehow alluring in their raw, primal strength.

However, Nero did not allow himself to stop his exercises. Even if their laughter rolled across the square, he remained focused on his goal. He knew that to the orcs, his actions might seem ridiculous, but for him, they were a necessary step toward survival.

He noticed that some orcs, especially the younger ones, began to watch him with greater interest. One of them threw him a sort of crude remark, perhaps even a brief acknowledgment, and another let out something that sounded like laughter, but less full of disdain than before.

"Let them laugh," Nero thought, doing another set of push-ups, feeling the burn in his arms. "This is just the beginning. They have no idea what's coming."

The last rays of the sun began to fade slowly on the horizon, and the orc village was gradually preparing for evening activities. Nero, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily, paused for a moment, looking around. Some orcs continued their tasks, ignoring him, while others still cast him furtive glances.

"Tomorrow I'll start magical training," he resolved in his mind. "But today... today I need to rest and regain my strength."

He knew that a long road lay ahead of him, but he felt a new strength within him, a new determination. He had no intention of submitting to fate—not now that he knew he had something that could save him.