Cave
The chaos seemed endless.
The roaring winds above, the screeching laughter of the harpies, and the relentless destruction crashing through the forest were an orchestra of calamity.
The horde—Ogres and Orcs alike—was caught in a storm of panic and fury, the ground trembling beneath them as trees shattered and fell like brittle bones.
Leaves swirled in violent spirals, whipped up by unseen currents, coating the ground like a carpet of decay.
Volk clenched his jaw as he surveyed the battlefield, his glowing red eyes flickering through the choking dust and debris.
His horde was faltering.
The once mighty Ogres, some already bruised and bloodied, were stumbling over toppled trunks and sinking into the disrupted earth.
The Orcs, whose confidence had been unshakable mere minutes ago, were now shouting and snarling in desperation, leaping and darting to avoid falling debris and piercing attacks from above.