Africa Leveling

The days after the siege were spent fortifying Blackfang Fortress. Though they had won the battle, the scars it left behind were deep. The walls bore the marks of the siege beasts, the ground was still stained with demon blood, and the warriors carried their wounds—both seen and unseen.

Jajwok stood atop the highest tower, watching the horizon. The war was shifting, evolving. The Demon King had retreated, but that was no mercy—it was strategy. The abyss did not accept defeat; it only adapted.

Brakzul joined him, his axe resting on his shoulder. "You've been staring at the wasteland for hours."

"They're regrouping," Jajwok said. "The Demon King wouldn't let this loss go unanswered."

Brakzul grunted. "Then we'll be ready."

But would they?

The War Council

The fortress's main hall was filled with warriors, shamans, and strategists. A large war map was spread across the stone table, its surface marked with crude carvings of mountains, rivers, and battle sites.

Urgak slammed his fist against the table. "We need to strike first. Waiting gives them the advantage."

Kragzul shook his head. "Charging blindly will only lead to slaughter. We must understand what we are facing."

Jajwok listened in silence. The orcs were powerful, but brute strength alone wouldn't win this war.

He studied the map. The abyss was like a festering wound in the land, spreading deeper with each battle. If we let it grow, it will consume everything.

His fingers traced a path along the map. "Here," he said, pointing to a canyon near the heart of the wasteland. "This is where we strike next."

Brakzul frowned. "Why there?"

"Because that's where the corruption is strongest. If we cut off its source, we weaken the Demon King's hold."

A tense silence filled the hall.

Finally, Urgak nodded. "Then we march."

The Journey Into the Abyss

The warband left Blackfang Fortress at dawn. The air was thick with an unnatural stillness, the sky heavy with storm clouds. Jajwok felt the abyss pressing against his senses, like unseen fingers clawing at his mind.

They marched for days, their path winding through desolate lands scarred by demonic influence. The ground was blackened, pulsing with an eerie glow. Trees stood twisted and lifeless, their bark etched with eldritch runes.

At night, the abyss whispered.

Jajwok barely slept. The voices grew louder the closer they came to their destination. Promises of power. Whispers of doom.

He ignored them.

But he wasn't the only one hearing them.

One of the younger warriors, Gormak, had started acting strange. He muttered to himself, his eyes shadowed and distant. Jajwok noticed him standing alone during the night, staring into the darkness.

On the fourth night, Gormak vanished.

The Corruption's Grip

They found him at dawn, kneeling before a black monolith deep in the canyon.

His skin was pale, his veins darkened. Abyssal energy curled around his fingers like smoke. His expression was empty, his lips moving in silent prayer.

Kragzul hissed. "The abyss has taken him."

Jajwok stepped forward. "Gormak. Get away from that thing."

The young orc didn't respond.

Then—his body twisted unnaturally. His eyes snapped open, glowing with eerie light. He grinned, his voice layered with something inhuman.

"Why fight the inevitable?"

Urgak swore. "He's lost."

Gormak lunged.

The orcs barely reacted in time. Jajwok deflected his attack, but the corrupted warrior moved with unnatural speed. His strength had increased, his movements erratic and unpredictable.

Brakzul swung his axe, knocking him back. "He's not Gormak anymore."

Jajwok's grip tightened on his sword. "Then let's end this."

The fight was brutal. The abyss had twisted Gormak into something monstrous, his body shifting and warping with each attack. He no longer felt pain. No longer hesitated.

In the end, Jajwok had no choice.

His golden energy flared as he drove his blade through Gormak's chest.

For a brief moment, clarity returned to the young orc's eyes. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

Then, he crumbled into ash.

A heavy silence followed.

Kragzul placed a hand on Jajwok's shoulder. "This is what we are fighting against."

Jajwok exhaled. "Then we have no choice but to win."

Brakzul turned to the others. "We move. Now."

They left the monolith behind, but its presence lingered. The abyss was growing stronger.

And time was running out.

The days after the siege were spent fortifying Blackfang Fortress. Though they had won the battle, the scars it left behind were deep. The walls bore the marks of the siege beasts, the ground was still stained with demon blood, and the warriors carried their wounds—both seen and unseen.

Jajwok stood atop the highest tower, watching the horizon. The war was shifting, evolving. The Demon King had retreated, but that was no mercy—it was strategy. The abyss did not accept defeat; it only adapted.

Brakzul joined him, his axe resting on his shoulder. "You've been staring at the wasteland for hours."

"They're regrouping," Jajwok said. "The Demon King wouldn't let this loss go unanswered."

Brakzul grunted. "Then we'll be ready."

But would they?

The War Council

The fortress's main hall was filled with warriors, shamans, and strategists. A large war map was spread across the stone table, its surface marked with crude carvings of mountains, rivers, and battle sites.

Urgak slammed his fist against the table. "We need to strike first. Waiting gives them the advantage."

Kragzul shook his head. "Charging blindly will only lead to slaughter. We must understand what we are facing."

Jajwok listened in silence. The orcs were powerful, but brute strength alone wouldn't win this war.

He studied the map. The abyss was like a festering wound in the land, spreading deeper with each battle. If we let it grow, it will consume everything.

His fingers traced a path along the map. "Here," he said, pointing to a canyon near the heart of the wasteland. "This is where we strike next."

Brakzul frowned. "Why there?"

"Because that's where the corruption is strongest. If we cut off its source, we weaken the Demon King's hold."

A tense silence filled the hall.

Finally, Urgak nodded. "Then we march."

The Journey Into the Abyss

The warband left Blackfang Fortress at dawn. The air was thick with an unnatural stillness, the sky heavy with storm clouds. Jajwok felt the abyss pressing against his senses, like unseen fingers clawing at his mind.

They marched for days, their path winding through desolate lands scarred by demonic influence. The ground was blackened, pulsing with an eerie glow. Trees stood twisted and lifeless, their bark etched with eldritch runes.

At night, the abyss whispered.

Jajwok barely slept. The voices grew louder the closer they came to their destination. Promises of power. Whispers of doom.

He ignored them.

But he wasn't the only one hearing them.

One of the younger warriors, Gormak, had started acting strange. He muttered to himself, his eyes shadowed and distant. Jajwok noticed him standing alone during the night, staring into the darkness.

On the fourth night, Gormak vanished.

The Corruption's Grip

They found him at dawn, kneeling before a black monolith deep in the canyon.

His skin was pale, his veins darkened. Abyssal energy curled around his fingers like smoke. His expression was empty, his lips moving in silent prayer.

Kragzul hissed. "The abyss has taken him."

Jajwok stepped forward. "Gormak. Get away from that thing."

The young orc didn't respond.

Then—his body twisted unnaturally. His eyes snapped open, glowing with eerie light. He grinned, his voice layered with something inhuman.

"Why fight the inevitable?"

Urgak swore. "He's lost."

Gormak lunged.

The orcs barely reacted in time. Jajwok deflected his attack, but the corrupted warrior moved with unnatural speed. His strength had increased, his movements erratic and unpredictable.

Brakzul swung his axe, knocking him back. "He's not Gormak anymore."

Jajwok's grip tightened on his sword. "Then let's end this."

The fight was brutal. The abyss had twisted Gormak into something monstrous, his body shifting and warping with each attack. He no longer felt pain. No longer hesitated.

In the end, Jajwok had no choice.

His golden energy flared as he drove his blade through Gormak's chest.

For a brief moment, clarity returned to the young orc's eyes. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came.

Then, he crumbled into ash.

A heavy silence followed.

Kragzul placed a hand on Jajwok's shoulder. "This is what we are fighting against."

Jajwok exhaled. "Then we have no choice but to win."

Brakzul turned to the others. "We move. Now."

They left the monolith behind, but its presence lingered. The abyss was growing stronger.

The Cursed Canyon

As the warband pressed forward, the landscape grew more unnatural. The very air crackled with abyssal energy, twisting reality in subtle but disturbing ways. Shadows moved where there was no light. The ground pulsed beneath their feet, as if alive.

They encountered more signs of corruption—bones fused into twisted structures, creatures that had once been orcs now reduced to malformed husks, their bodies consumed by the abyss. Some still twitched, whispering incoherent words in ancient tongues.

"We must burn them," Kragzul said grimly.

Jajwok nodded. "Do it."

The shamans set to work, conjuring emerald flames that consumed the tainted remains. The fire crackled unnaturally, casting long shadows against the canyon walls.

Urgak frowned. "We're getting close."

"How do you know?" Jajwok asked.

Urgak pointed to the sky. "Because it's watching us."

Jajwok followed his gaze—and felt his stomach tighten.

High above them, perched on a jagged cliff, was a creature unlike any they had seen before. It was massive, its body wrapped in shifting darkness, its many glowing eyes fixated on them. Its presence sent a chill through the warriors, an overwhelming sense of dread pressing down on them.

Then, it spoke.

"You have come far," it rasped. "But you will go no further."

Jajwok's eyes narrowed. "Try and stop us."

The creature spread its wings, and the canyon trembled.

The battle was about to begin.