The battlefield had descended into chaos.
The Brutarians and Webweavers, once confident in their defenses, now found themselves facing an unstoppable nightmare.
Gorn Ironmaul stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving as he swung his warhammer with all his might. But it wasn't enough.
The Pig Orcs, already monstrous in size, had begun to double in height and bulk.
Their tusks gleamed in the firelight, their muscles rippling grotesquely as they tore through the Brutarian defenses like they were made of paper.
CRACK!
Gorn's hammer collided with one of the Orcs, but instead of the sickening crunch of bone, there was only a dull thud.
The Orc barely flinched, a malicious grin spreading across its face before it backhanded Gorn with the force of a battering ram.
WHAM!
Gorn flew through the air, crashing into the stone wall behind him, the impact leaving a crater in the rock.