Rage renewed, the orc flew back into the blackened liquid, once again leaving his friends behind. Tormag and Cormac stood motionless at the shore, pondering how to act. Meanwhile, Malice was in a fit of panic due to the unrelenting horde of miniscule creatures bounding toward them. The dwarf captain was aware of them too, but for the moment his eyes were on Bear’s motionless form nearby. He had grown fond of the creature and longed to go to her aid. Unfortunately, he could not reach her, not until he assisted his allies. With a sigh, he looked at Tormag, and the dwarves simply shrugged to each other before starting to stomp, pound, and smash as many of the gnawing monsters they could.
There were so many. For each one they splattered, four took its place. A few dozen had already latched themselves to each of the seasoned warriors, drawing blood in trickles all over their bodies. Still, the pair held their ground and squished as many of the vile things as they could. Malice stepped forward to assist as well, though her thin, pale skin was not nearly as thick as the dwarves’. In no time, she was driven back from the immense pain of the tiny teeth and resorted to pounding the occasional stray.
From in the pool, Bitrayuul watched as his brother re-entered the fray, charging toward the bunovir once more, while their allies remained on the shore. From where he stood, the half-orc could not see what they were fighting. He could only hope it was more pressing than the behemoth that now stood only two paces from the mound of skulls where Bitrayuul remained.
Having unloaded nearly his entire quiver to no avail, Bitrayuul slung his bow over his shoulder and readied himself for the inevitable. Beyond, Fangdarr splashed loudly toward the monster, but the beast paid no attention. No, all its attention was focused solely on the nuisance that had released the missiles. The half-orc stood atop his heap, poised at the ready in a defensive stance, waiting for the bunovir to launch its next attack.
Fixated on the monstrous hands that still remained at the creature’s flanks, the half-orc failed to notice the frontal assault—a disgusting, slime-covered tongue that shot out to him like an elastic band and stuck to his body. Before Bitrayuul could realize his mistake, the gummy saliva adhered to his armor. Quickly, he reached his arms around the thick muscle, hoping to extract the cord, but his eyes grew wide in shock as his arms also became cemented.
Upon seeing his brother attacked, the orc chieftain slammed the edge of his greataxe into the calf, knee, and ankle of the fiend. Nothing. The bunovir’s skin was too thick. Fangdarr stomped the water in frustration. Even his massive, trust-worthy weapon had failed him. He looked up to his trapped sibling as the tongue started to retract, pulling Bitrayuul straight toward the stretched maw of the monster. No teeth could be seen—only a small pocket which must have served as a tomb for many.
In that last moment, Bitrayuul called below to his brother, “The eyes, Fangdarr! The eyes!” before vanishing behind the closed gate of the demon’s jaw.
Fangdarr froze. His mind raced after watching his only surviving kin be swallowed whole in front of him. From the shoreline, Tormag had also glanced up in that final fleeting moment, just as the son he had come to love and call his own fell victim to the horrific fate. The dwarf, like Fangdarr, ceased all movement; the world seemed to have paused its never-ending turn. All thoughts of current dangers fled Tormag. There was only that last gut-wrenching image. It played over and over in his mind painfully. His lip quivered with profound despair. The distraught commander slowly extended his hand to the monster, almost silently begging the return of his boy.
In his state, Tormag paid no attention to the growing number of parasites that had latched to his body in those few desperate moments. Meanwhile, Cormac worked furiously—smashing, squelching, bashing, stabbing—to clear the vermin-like horde.
Seeing what was happening to his entranced dwarf ally, Cormac tucked his shield-covered shoulder and charged forward. He barreled into Tormag, forcing the aggrieved commander to roll to the ground. With his concentration on Bitrayuul’s fate fortunately broken, Tormag snapped back to reality, took a final look to Fangdarr and the bunovir, then turned back to clear the last remaining creatures. With a shout of anger, the dwarf ripped the pestering monsters from his arms and legs. His hammers swung faster than before as the distracting stream of offspring still poured from the nearly consumed troll carcass.
Filled with insurmountable rage—more than had ever consumed him previously—Fangdarr bellowed in pain and monumental fury. His bulging muscles pumped with the intense swell of adrenaline. The orc replaced Driktarr in its harness before climbing the rigid skin of the monster, that was currently focused on squeezing and suffocating the prey in its mouth. Fangdarr was nearly to the creature’s shoulder when a billowing flap of skin stretched drastically at the creature’s neck. The sac spread wide as it ballooned with air. The orc stared in disgust. As he was about to resume his climb, his eye was drawn to movement beneath the cloudy, thin skin from the stretched canvas. It was a hand. Bitrayuul’s hand!
The sight of the moving hand spurred Fangdarr on. His powerful legs pushed him over the rounded shoulders, granting the enraged orc a clear vantage point to the nearest eye. Rather than become encumbered by his axe’s size, Fangdarr chose to take a crude assault. He balled a fist and sailed it the short distance to the toad-like monster’s left eye. All the orc’s fury, lust for blood, vengeance, and pain propelled that swing. The disgusting squelch that followed as his hand broke through the orb’s spongey layer was terrifying. Liquid trapped within the thin lens exploded over Fangdarr, and sickening goo flung into his open mouth filling it with bitter vile. He did not relent. He pushed deeper into the iris until, from around his fist, the bunovir released a mixture of a loud croaking and painful moaning.
Fangdarr spat out the distasteful gore directly back into the creature’s eye as he extracted his arm. He paid no mind to the filth that lined his limb; instead, he clambered onto the head of the creature to reach the other eye. The orc’s mind flickered to his lost kin for a fleeting moment. Bitrayuul had given him the strategy for this fight, he knew. His barbaric tactics would surely have ended in his death. Fangdarr growled away the thought as it created too much tumult in his mind and distracted from his necessary rage.
It would not matter. Before he managed to reach the remaining eye, a monstrous hand gripped his torso. Instantly his hands reached for anything they could grab ahold of. As the bunovir dragged him over its head, Fangdarr’s grip tightened over the nostrils of the beast. With all of his might, the orc pulled; however, despite his anger and pain, Fangdarr was losing the battle. He shouted in defiance into the creature’s face, as he hung directly over the gaping mouth of the humanoid abomination. No, no! It would not end here. It could not. Bitrayuul must be avenged. The chieftain increased his rage and pulled harder. Between the exertion and the rough grasp of the hand that clutched his torso, Fangdarr’s blood vessels started to burst one by one. Sweat poured from his body profusely, screaming to end the pain his muscles were suffering.
“Nooo!” the orc screamed as his energy could no longer sustain the hold, and the bunovir pulled Fangdarr away from its face.
For a moment, Fangdarr hung limply in his foe’s grip. It was a temporary relief to not be dangling helplessly over the same jaws that had swallowed his brother. Then again, he would not mind dying beside his kin. Memories swarmed in his mind of their past. How fitting, this would be the end of their story.
At last, the bunovir shifted the orc back over its mouth, and the chieftain felt its large fingers loosen around his torso. It was time. He closed his eyes, shutting away the glowing yellow orbs that were so often filled with the fires of rage. Not this time. His bloodlust had failed him. No fire remained beyond the lens, only acceptance for what was to come.
Back on the shore, Tormag and Cormac watched the scene in horror. They had finally managed to quell the endless torrent of parasitic monsters, but now the effort seemed in vain. Both rushed into the water, uncaring for the depth or the weight of their armor. Tears streamed
down Tormag’s face as he charged in desperation. “Not again . . . Please, Bothain . . .” he prayed as his body splashed through the shoulder-high water. Both knew it would be impossible to fight in the water. Nonetheless, they pressed on. Even Malice followed behind, for what choice did she have? With the hunter that pursued her, her death was certain anyway, so she might as well die here, of her own volition.
Though their loyalty was admirable beyond compare, it was hopeless. The bunovir’s fingers released fully, and Fangdarr’s companions watched helplessly as Fangdarr, feared chieftain of the Zharnik clan, who surpassed even his father’s great legacy and drove his kind to new heights, fell toward the waiting maw.
CHAPTER FORTY
HELL
Cormac froze in shock at the realization that his friend had been lost to the monster’s foul pit. He cared not for the cesspool he stood in, nearly as deep as the dwarf was tall. Nor for the infections he would possibly develop from the putrid liquid entering the miniscule bite wounds left by the tadpole creatures. What was the point? Cormac wondered as his tear-filled gaze could not be averted from the fiend that had swallowed Fangdarr and Bitrayuul.
Tormag, too, was immobilized in despair. Why was he being so punished? He screamed ancient dwarven curses in his mind to his god for abandoning him. Had the old dwarf angered Bothain to bring this fate on himself—to be forced to watch both of the boys he had raised as his own perish just beyond his grasp. What could have brought such a fate to his sons? A hundred dark questions shrouded his mind. Had it not been for the fetid pool nearly consuming the dwarf, he would have fallen to his knees. Instead, he hunched his head and wept.
Despite the loud, unrestrained wails of the dwarves, Malice remained silent, keeping her feelings bottled deep inside, as she had oft learned to do. For all of her might, a single tear rolled down her pale cheek. She had recently discovered her bond to the half-orc, but she had only begun to build that connection. In truth, the woman did feel remorse for Bitrayuul—though the same could not be said for Fangdarr. Nevertheless, a lifetime of pain had numbed her to most everything.
As the trio remain motionless in the pond, the bunovir turned to face them. Though a monstrous creature, it was sentient. A gurgling, croaked laugh escaped the behemoth as it watched the despair come over the faces of its victim’s companions. From within its gullet, the muscles tightened to crush and suffocate its meal.
* * * * *
Inside the mouth, Fangdarr felt the squeeze of the tight quarters drawing closer, followed by sharp pain all over the front of his body. Luckily, even in his tired form, the orc was too muscular to be crushed by the internal pocket in which he lay. However, no amount of muscle would prevent him from suffocating. His eyes turned downward to determine what was causing the continuous stinging. Something metal was cutting into Fangdarr’s torso, arms, legs, everywhere! A large hand pushed aside the bit of flexible muscle between him and the metal, revealing the cause. Bitrayuul!
His brother sat limply inside the tomb with him, covered entirely in the disgusting saliva that lined the internal tissue around them. Fangdarr shook Bitrayuul lightly to stir him. Nothing. The large orc embraced his sibling in a tight hug. If this was to be their end, he would go with his kin. The spines lining Bitrayuul’s razor-like armor bit deeper, drawing blood instantly. Fangdarr growled in frustration. All he wished was to be with his sibling in their final moments. This stupid armor was such a nuisance! Wait!
The chieftain had an idea—one he knew his tactical brother would be proud of. Slowly, in the airtight chamber that continued to constrict them, Fangdarr began shifting. With each shift, Bitrayuul’s weaponized shell sliced his scarred skin more and more. But it also cut deep into the tissue lining their living casket. Purple-tinted blood started trickling from a few dozen points where the spines had pierced. Fangdarr smiled intensely through the pain; his plan was working.
* * * * *
Another step forward. The bunovir stood only ten paces away now, progressing slowly toward the three before it. Tauntingly. It relished in the hopeless expressions of those that had intruded on its domain. The neck sac ballooned with air, followed by a long, deep croak. It almost sounded like it was trying to speak, though obviously none could understand the rotten language of its kind. Billowing with each vocalization, the bubble of stretched skin under the fiend’s chin grew larger.
While the dwarves were lost to their emotions, Malice stared down the beast. Her eyes shifted to the troll. Such a fate was not one she wished to be subjected to. However, could the bunovir truly fit another in its gullet? Two large beings of orcish heritage certainly must have filled the space. Connecting the dots, the assassin knew what that meant. The next victim would follow the fate of the deceased troll. From the shoreline, its body had been almost entirely consumed. Only bones and scraps of tattered organs remain of the carcass. The sight horrified her. It was not the decrepit corpse that vexed her, rather the thought of the monster bulging her body with a thousand eggs only to be eaten from within. Malice shuddered at the thought.
Her eyes were drawn to the approaching abomination. With each inflation of the sac, Malice noticed that more and more blood had started to fill it. Could it be from its wounded eye?
* * * * *
Fangdarr growled in agony as his flesh was rent. Muscle and skin alike were torn apart, though only to a short depth. The last of his strength was nearly spent. Blood—from the bunovir and Fangdarr each—had filled their tomb to nearly half. The air was empty, offering no relief for his tiring muscles or pounding lungs. Still, as his vision began to fade from lack of oxygen and blood, he gripped his brother’s body, once again utilizing the makeshift weapon.
* * * * *
“Look!” Malice shouted to the dwarves, who still struggled against their urge to simply fall beneath the water’s surface and embrace their own deaths. Each looked up through teary eyes, and a glimmer of hope immediately surged through both as they noticed the woman’s cause for exclamation. The sac had filled entirely with blood and the creature had started to swoon. It lumbered forward on uneasy footing until finally it toppled onto its side into the cesspool with a groan.
Tormag stared intently at the monster’s neck which had remained inflated despite the fall. “There they are!” he shouted, swimming forward as fast as his armor would allow. From within the pouch, Fangdarr’s foot could be seen pressed against the stretched skin—still moving. Cormac and Malice followed quickly, reaching the writhing monster after a short swim.
Tormag was shouting curse after curse at the monster as he clambered to the top of its sidelong skull. He raised his war hammers and pounded both simultaneously into its last remaining eye. The orb burst beneath the blow with a whimper from the victim, and gooey liquid oozed onto its face. Cormac followed suit, crawling into the monster’s limply open maw, fearless of the possibility that the monster may recover. Nothing would stop him in that moment—not with hope so close and real.
Each of the captain’s bladed shields went to work furiously, cutting away muscle, tendons, tissue, and all the other encumbering inner workings of the monster’s throat that stood in his path. His body became covered in the purplish blood of the bunovir as he sliced deeper and deeper. Outside, Malice pierced a hole into the sac, releasing a torrent of blood. The disgusting filth flew into her mouth, and the woman fought the urge to gag as she cut the stretched canvas, allowing air to re-enter the pocket.
They could hear Fangdarr’s muffled coughs as the influx of air revitalized his lungs. “We’re comin’, lad!” Cormac yelled as he continued to cut away tissue. The monster writhed in pain as it was carved from the inside. Finally, the dwarf cleared away the last layer of muscle, and his eyes refilled with tears as the bald head of the orc came into view. It was the same feeling as watching his own son come into the world all those years ago. “Fang?”
The orc, covered head to toe in gore—much his own—craned his neck to look up to his friend. A weak grin found its way to his face. How C
ormac loved that large-fanged grin. The dwarf had thought he would never see it again. His stubby arms worked to cut away more muscle in order to widen the gap. Once complete, Cormac reached down and grabbed hold of Fangdarr’s shoulders. He pulled with every fiber of his considerable strength, but he could only move him a short distance.
Thankfully, Tormag hopped down from his perch and crawled into the carved tunnel to help. With both dwarves tugging, the siblings slowly were extracted from the beast’s throat. Cormac and Tormag continued to drag the pair out of the beast and into the water. They noticed Fangdarr’s shredded body with concern, though he still clung tightly to his brother.
“Ch-check Bit,” the orc demanded weakly before rolling away. It pained him greatly to relinquish his hold, though he knew they needed room to inspect Bitrayuul. With dreadful agony, Fangdarr rose to his feet. The blackened liquid from the pool and devilish, purple blood of the bunovir spilled from inside his wounds as he stood. The proud orc swooned uneasily before steadying himself with gritted teeth. To his surprise, Malice appeared under his arm, hoisting him for support.
She allowed the chieftain to lead as they slowly waded toward his axe. It had fallen into the pond when the monster had yanked Fangdarr from its face. With luck, the blade had embedded into the earth lining the bottom of the pond, causing the pommel to glimmer just above the surface. Agony surged through Fangdarr’s body as he bent to retrieve the weapon. His mighty hand could hardly hold it due to his lack of strength. Malice pressed forward, struggling to support the orc as he grew more sluggish.
Orcblood Legacy - Honor Page 26
