From his position near the treeline, Brett saw what Josh was doing. His friend had isolated one of the orcs, throwing himself into the fight before both could reach them. It was reckless but smart. If both orcs hit their line together, even Josh and Bhel wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Brett sucked in a breath, forcing down the surge of panic that threatened to take over. Fireballs were too risky now; one misstep, and he’d roast his own allies. He switched spells, thrusting his staff forward and channelling mana into the ground beneath the second orc’s feet.

  “Ensnare!” he shouted, his voice hoarse.

  The earth split, and thick, gnarled roots burst upward, coiling around the orc’s legs like serpents. The creature bellowed and hacked at them with one of its axes, splintering bark and tearing free chunks of root, but they kept reforming, twisting tighter with every movement.

  Brett gritted his teeth as the spell strained his focus, the orc’s sheer brute strength was testing the limits of his control. Sweat rolled down his temples. He forced more mana into the spell, ignoring the pounding in his skull.

  When the orc finally slowed, snarling in frustration, Brett changed tactics again. He pulled his focus into his hands, channelling smaller bursts of fire.

  “Fine,” he muttered. “Let’s see how you like this.”

  He began hurling firebolts, not grand explosions, but sharp, concentrated blasts of searing flame. Each one slammed into the orc’s torso or arms, leaving smoking burns and blackened flesh. The monster roared in pain, stumbling against the roots that still clung to its legs.

  Perberos’ arrows started to streak in beside the firebolts, the pair working almost in sync, fire lighting the target, arrows punching into the scorched flesh a heartbeat later.

  Brett felt his mana draining fast, the edges of his vision flickering. But he didn’t stop. Not while that thing was still moving toward Josh.

  “Stay there, you bastard,” he hissed through clenched teeth, launching another firebolt that burst across the orc’s shoulder and sent it reeling.

  For the moment, it was working. The orc was slowed, bleeding, and half-blind with rage. But Brett could feel the pressure mounting in the air again.

  —

  The orc came again, swinging its weapon swinging in a brutal arc that crashed into Josh’s shield and nearly tore it from his grip. The force shuddered through his arm; his wrist screamed in protest. Josh gritted his teeth and drove forward again, hacking low, catching the orc’s thigh. The creature snarled and retaliated with a backhanded swing, the edge of its cleaver scraping across the rim of Josh’s shield and sparking off the metal.

  A goblin lunged from the side, stabbing with a rusted spear. Josh barely had time to shift his stance before the creature’s skull exploded, Perberos’ arrow had found its mark. Another goblin tried the same a heartbeat later, only for its head to snap back, throat pierced clean through.

  Josh didn’t look, he trusted Perberos to keep his flanks clear. He pressed on, shield-bashing the orc again and again, forcing it to give ground. The beast swung wildly with its right arm, raw strength keeping it in the fight even as its movements grew slower, heavier. Every swing came with a guttural roar, every miss with a growl that shook the air.

  Josh feinted left, then drove his sword up under the orc’s guard, catching it in the ribs. The blade slid between cracked armour plates, and the orc bellowed in rage and pain, its left arm falling slack by its side. It stumbled back a step, then two, clutching at the wound with its weakened left hand. Josh didn’t give it the chance to recover. He surged forward, shoulder-first, smashing into its chest and driving it down into the dirt.

  They hit the ground hard, Josh driving his knees into the beast's chest, the air filled with dust and blood. The orc thrashed, trying to bring its cleaver around again, but Josh pinned its wrist with his shield and drove his sword down, once, twice, three times. The final strike buried itself deep in the creature’s throat. The orc twitched, gargled, and finally went still.

  Josh staggered to his feet, chest heaving, his sword slick and heavy with blood. All around, goblins still screamed and died, but the centre of the field had gone momentarily quiet. He looked down at the fallen orc, its chest a mess of blood, its eyes glassy and wide.

  “Stay down,” Josh spitted, yanking his sword free.

  Another roar echoed from deeper in the mass of goblins, louder, closer, and angrier than before. Josh turned, raising his shield again as Bhel’s laughter rolled across the field.

  “One down!” the dwarf bellowed, stomping through goblin corpses toward him. “Let’s see how the next one fares!”

  Josh nodded, catching his breath. The fight wasn’t over. Not even close.

  The ground trembled as the third orc shoved its way through the thinning ranks of goblins, sending smaller bodies flying like leaves in a storm. This one was larger than the others, its armour scorched but still intact, tusks wet with blood and foam.

  Josh tightened his grip on his shield, glancing once at Bhel. The dwarf’s eyes gleamed beneath his soot-streaked brow, and he gave a single nod. That was all the signal Josh needed.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  He took a deep breath and then sprinted forward.

  The orc bellowed and swung one massive axe in a two-handed arc. Josh ducked under it, the wind of the blow raking across his helmet, then slammed his shoulder into the creature’s gut. The impact jarred his whole body, but the momentum carried them both a step back. The orc snarled, spitting flecks of blood, and slammed his foot forward into Josh’s ribs. The air rushed out of him, pain flaring bright in his side, but he didn’t stop. He drove his sword up, catching the orc across the chest, leaving a deep, angry gash.

  The beast swung again, catching the edge of Josh’s shield and splintering part of the rim. Josh stumbled, boots skidding in the blood-soaked mud, but before the orc could follow up, a flash of steel came from the side.

  Josh turned in time to see Bhel had closed the distance, both axes raised. The dwarf let out a wordless roar and brought one axe down into the orc’s ribs, the sound like splitting wood. The orc tried to retaliate, but Brett’s next firebolt caught it square in the side of the face, turning half its head into charred ruin.

  Bhel tore his weapon free and struck again, the second axe driving deep into its chest. Bhel’s axe bit into the orc’s thigh, carving deep.

  The creature howled and turned, its attention torn away from Josh. That was all the opening Josh needed, he stepped in, raised his shield, and slammed it into the orc’s face, sending teeth and blood flying, along with the beast stumbling.

  Josh’s blade drove deep into the orc’s gut, the impact jarring his arm and rattling his teeth. The creature let out a guttural roar, hot breath washing over him as it swung its crude axe downward. Josh barely brought his shield up in time, the blow crashing into it with a bone-shaking thud that numbed his forearm. He gritted his teeth and shoved forward, booting the orc square in the chest to wrench his blade free.

  Bhel was already moving. The dwarf barreled in from the left, his axe biting into the orc’s exposed flank with a sickening crunch. The creature staggered, bellowing in pain, blackened blood pouring from the wound. It tried to bring its axe around in a wide arc, but Josh ducked low and slammed his shield into the orc’s chest again, knocking it off balance.

  The beast fell to one knee, snarling and swinging wildly, but it was finished, blood pouring out of its wounds. Bhel stepped in, planted his foot against the orc’s thigh, and hacked downward. The axe split through the collarbone and buried itself deep in the monster’s chest. The roar that followed turned into a wet gurgle before the creature toppled backward, shaking the ground as it hit.

  —

  The day had devolved into chaos.

  From somewhere deeper in the camp came a string of deafening explosions, sharp concussive blasts that sent flocks of birds scattering from the trees. The ground trembled under Carcan’s boots, the sound rolling through the forest like thunder. Flashes of red and orange tore across the treeline, followed by cheers, screams, and the wet crunch of steel meeting flesh.

  It was impossible to tell who was winning.

  Carcan’s pulse pounded in her ears as she tried to focus, but the noise was relentless, the whistling of arrows, the dull thud of impact, and the shrieks of goblins dying in the dark. She could hear her own breath hitching as she turned, scanning the treeline for movement. Every rustle of leaves made her heart jump.

  “Where the hell is that coming from?” she muttered, half to herself, trying to catch sight of another party through the trees. She caught glimpses, silhouettes moving between flashes of flame but couldn’t tell if they were allies or enemies.

  A sudden boom ripped through the camp again, closer this time. Dirt rained down from the canopy. Somewhere to the left, someone screamed, and the sound was cut off in an instant.

  Carcan’s stomach twisted.

  The chaos was getting to her. The uncertainty was worse than fear, not knowing if the others were winning or dying, if more enemies were coming, or if they were already surrounded.

  “Focus,” she hissed, forcing the word out through clenched teeth.

  Carcan squinted through the haze, the heat from Brett’s fireballs still rippling in the air. Shapes moved in the smoke, shadows twisting, blades flashing. Then she saw it: Josh, bloodied but unbowed, driving his sword up beneath the orc’s ribs as Bhel’s axe came down across its chest in a brutal, splitting arc. The beast gave one last shuddering roar before collapsing in a heap, its lifeblood soaking into the churned mud.

  For a heartbeat, there was silence in their corner of the battlefield. The last few goblins, those still shrieking and flailing, were quickly cut down. One tried to flee, its thin limbs pumping in panic, only for an arrow to whistle past Josh and bury itself in the back of its skull. It fell mid-step, twitching once before lying still. She didn’t even need to look to know whose arrow it was. Perberos.

  Her chest swelled with a fierce, exhausted pride. They’d done it. Against overwhelming odds, her party had held. The fires still crackled, the ground was littered with corpses, and her mana was nearly spent but they were alive.

  A shaky smile tugged at her lips as relief began to creep in. Then the wind shifted, and the distant sound of clashing steel, guttural roars, and panicked screams rolled through the trees. The smile faltered.

  The fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

  Carcan tightened her grip on her staff, drawing in a slow breath as she steadied herself. “We’re not done,” she whispered, half to her party and half to herself, eyes flicking toward the chaos still raging deeper in the camp.

  Carcan exhaled slowly, forcing her trembling hands to still, gripping her staff. The fear, the exhaustion, the chaos, it all pressed down on her like a mountain, but beneath it, something stronger began to stir. Determination. It wasn’t loud or fiery like Brett’s magic; it was quiet and steady, a heartbeat that refused to falter. They’d come too far to stop now.

  She glanced at her potion pouch, then pulled out her final potion. The glass was slick with grime, the liquid inside glowing faintly blue. For a moment she hesitated, she knew the risks of taking too many in a short time but then she nodded to herself, jaw tightening.

  “To the end,” she murmured, and tipped the potion back.

  The burn hit instantly. The warmth spread through her throat, then down her chest, pulsing through her limbs like liquid fire. Her fingers tingled. The haze in her mind lifted, and strength flooded back into her. Her staff felt lighter. Her breath steadier. She straightened, the weight of doubt peeling away with every heartbeat.

  When she turned, she caught sight of Brett a few paces away. He was doing the same, downing his own potion, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, face flushed from the heat and magic. Their eyes met through the smoke and the flicker of flame.

  He gave her a tired grin, and she returned it with one of her own. No words were needed between them. That look said everything: We’re not done. Not yet.

  With renewed strength, Carcan adjusted her grip on her staff and faced the burning camp once more, ready to push forward into the storm.

  Every time someone doesn’t follow, I add another cliff-hanger.

  You’ve been warned.