Spirit Game

The explosion engulfed the surrounding Orcs, their bodies thrown back by the force of the blast. Ten Orcs fell, their lives extinguished in an instant, but their sacrifice had bought precious time.

The shockwave reached General Frukin, momentarily disrupting her focus. She staggered but quickly regained her composure, her eyes narrowing.

"Damn Hobgoblins!" she hissed, blood trickling from her lips, a testament to the toll the battle had taken on her. But she stood tall, her resolve unshaken, and resumed her incantations.

The Hobgoblins were ready to lay down their lives for their cause. What kind of Orc would she be if she hesitated now. Even with assassins targeting her, she would not show any fear nor escape!

She would not retreat! She would not falter! She would stand her ground and fight until her last breath.

The remaining Orcs, spurred on by the loss of their comrades, redoubled their efforts to protect their shaman.

The Hobgoblin assassins, though skilled, found themselves overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity and determination of the Orcs.

Driven by their mission, the assassins were prepared to sacrifice their lives if necessary. Their eyes, cold and unfeeling, were fixed on General Frukin.

The Orcs guarding the shaman knew the stakes and the desperation of their enemies.

"Protect General Frukin!" the Orcs roared, their voices echoing across the battlefield.

In a synchronized move, the assassins detonated their bombs, creating a massive explosion that sent shockwaves through the ground. The devastating blast ripped through the air, engulfing everything in its path with a fierce, fiery inferno.

The Hobgoblins knew that no one, not even the formidable shaman, could possibly survive such utter devastation.

An explosion rocked the battlefield, shaking the earth and sending debris and dust flying in all directions. The shockwave rippled through the ranks, disorienting soldiers and creating a chaotic storm of dirt and shattered stone.

When the dust settled, a grim scene emerged. A hundred Orcs lay on the ground, their bodies burnt and broken beyond recognition, sacrificed in the desperate defense of their general.

At the center of their fallen ranks stood General Frukin, her concentration never wavering from her incantation. Blood streamed from her wounds, and her armor was scorched, but her resolve remained unbroken.

Ignoring the injuries inflicted by the explosion, she continued her spell, her voice a steady chant amid the chaos.

The sky above began to darken, turning a deep, ominous blood-red. The air crackled with arcane energy as the heavens themselves seemed to respond to her call.

With a final, powerful invocation, General Frukin completed her spell. The sky split open, and meteors descended from the heavens, blazing trails of fire across the darkened sky.

The massive flaming projectiles hurtled towards the bulk of the Hobgoblin army, unstoppable and devastating.

Enjoy new tales from m-v l\'-NovelBin.net

The ground trembled as the meteors struck with cataclysmic force. The impact obliterated more than half of the Hobgoblin forces in an instant, reducing them to smoldering ruins. The fiery devastation spread rapidly, engulfing everything in its path.

The remnants of the Hobgoblin army stared in horror at the carnage, their morale shattered by the sheer power of the shaman\'s spell.

General Morzog managed to escape using a teleportation skill, but he still suffered severe burns and injuries across half of his body. He couldn\'t believe that the shaman had taken out more than half of his army with her final spell.

"This can\'t be . . ." he muttered under his breath, cursing the shaman ten times over.

~HaaAanNkK!~

Suddenly, a loud horn sounded from all sides, signaling the end of the battle for the day.

In a way, there was an unspoken consensus between the armies: night was for rest. Both sides needed to recuperate to continue their war the next morning, and even the Hobgoblins know this rule.

The first day of war had seen heavy casualties on both sides.

The Orcs had lost General Grommash, a devastating blow to their morale. Meanwhile, the Hobgoblins had lost General Gralnok. Although General Morzog was still alive, only around 7,000 of their once 30,000-strong army remained.

In return, General Frukin was severely injured and had to be brought to the medic as soon as possible.

However, that night, General Frukin succumbed to her injuries. The life force she had poured into her final spell had taken its ultimate toll. Her body, battered and spent, lay still in the makeshift medic tent.

There was no time for the Orcs to mourn her passing or even bring back the bodies of their fallen. The harsh reality of war demanded their focus on the battles yet to come.

Under the pale light of two crescent moon, the Orc leaders gathered in a secluded corner of their camp, their faces etched with grim somber. The loss of General Frukin was a heavy blow, but there was no time for grief.

The war council convened, strategizing for the inevitable clash at dawn. Maps were spread out, plans were whispered, and every detail was scrutinized. The weight of their losses bore heavily upon them, but it also fueled their resolve to fight harder.

On the other side of the battlefield, the Hobgoblins were also nursing their wounds and counting their dead. The loss of General Gralnok had shaken them, and the devastating impact of General Frukin\'s final spell had decimated their ranks.

Yet, amidst the sorrow and the chaos, they found a grim satisfaction in knowing that the powerful Orc shaman was no more.

Both armies had suffered immense losses. The Orcs had lost their indomitable shaman, while the Hobgoblins had lost a revered general and thousands of soldiers.

Yet, in this night of sorrow and pain, both sides also found a glimmer of hope. The Hobgoblins had taken down a formidable opponent, and the Orcs knew they had weakened their enemy significantly.

The night was eerily quiet, the air heavy with the scent of blood and smoke. Fires burned low, casting flickering shadows over the weary faces of the warriors.

Despite their exhaustion, there was no rest for the leaders. They planned and prepared, knowing that the dawn would bring another day of bloodshed.