The Chronicles of Onyx: Book 1

Chapter Fourteen

An axe chopped at the ground, Swords gilded through the air. The familiar ting of metal hitting metal echoed through the air. In the midst of the chaos, Rok's focus intensified. His senses heightened as the clash of weapons reverberated through the narrow alleyway. The acrid scent of sweat and dirt mixed with the metallic pungent tang of Orc blood filled his nostrils.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the Dwarf's axe chop at the ground, its sharp blade sinking into the earth with a resounding thud. The axe cleaved through the ground, sending a shower of dirt and gravel scattering in all directions. Rok's long, brown hair getting the brunt of it, the granules clinging to his mane. However dirt was not the only rubble the Dwarf flung, and a small, stone, projectile hit Rok's cheek bone.

"Watch it, Dwarf!" he thought angrily as he dodged a close attack. Naturally, he was left with the largest of the orcs. A towering brute who stood sturdy like an oak. Taller and burlier than even him, his muscles bulged abnormally beneath dark tan skin, and a malicious grin revealed rows of jagged teeth. Rok was merely a sapling in comparison.

"This should be fun," he regarded under his breath. His muscles tensed as he squared off, with the familiar weight of his sword in his hand, his instincts kicked in. Perhaps rage as well.

He swung his sword hard in the air, cutting through it, narrowingly missing the huge Orc. Despite his side, the Orc surprisingly moved some-what gracefully. Years of battle and duels were to blame. A roar filled the air as the orc lunged forward, a massive club raised high above his head. The sheer force of the attack sent shockwaves through the ground, and Rok danced nimbly to maintain his balance. The heavy club slammed into the ground where Rok had stood just moments before, the impact sending a shudder up his spine.

Infuriated and fueled by a surge of primal rage, Rok spun on his heel, his sword cutting through the air with deadly intent. The blade found its mark, slicing into the orc's flesh with a searing precision. A gash opened along the brute's side, eliciting a guttural grunt of pain as he staggered, his grip on his weapon faltering.

Rok's eyes blazed with triumph. He had drawn first blood, however the attack was far from over. He glanced over at Oldren's attacker, just moments before the Dwarf swung his Battle Axe—beheading the Orc. Small splatters of Blood found their way to Rok's face, sprinkling him in little droplets of Orc blood.

"Nice" he thought sarcastically right before he quickly shifted his gaze to Onyx. To his surprise she held her Orc in a choke hold. Steady, with ease, despite the orc's desperate struggles for freedom, against her strong grasp.

Rok couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the display. The thought crossed his mind that she could easily end the struggle by simply dispatching the orc, but he knew there was more to it. Onyx's actions were always purposeful, often veiled in a layer of strategy that belied her youthful appearance.

"Say," he called out with curiosity, "what's the point of struggling with that orc when you could just... well, you know, kill it?" he asked with a subtle hint of demand.

"Well–" she started, that familiar playful smile dancing on her lips as she looked at him. "We can't interrogate the dead," she retorted, her gaze shifting back to the orc struggling against her hold.

"Onyx, I'm pretty sure there's a whole lot more where these three came from," he nodded towards the fallen orcs, his tone a mixture of skepticism and concern. "And besides," he glanced at the biggest Orc, whom laid on the ground, surrounded by a small pool of blood. Ragged, shallow, labored breaths escape the Orcs lungs. "The big one is still alive, and I have a feeling he knows more."

Oldren chimed in, leaning against a wall and taking a swig from his flask, "I've got a proposal for ya. If yer capable of all these fancy powers, why don't ya use 'em to end this whole bloody war? Problem solved?"

Onyx sighed softly, a touch of weariness crossing her features. "My magic isn't a simple solution, Oldren. It's more like a dark force that resides within me, a shadow. The less I use it, the less it corrupts my soul. The less evil takes over." She held up her forearms, indicating the cuffs that adorned them. "And even if I wanted to, I couldn't. The Queen enchanted these cuffs to prevent me from using my magic against her." as Onyx explained, the Dwarf nodded his head as if he understood. Though Rok was sure the Dwarf was lost at the word, solution.

"Aye, so yer a useless necromancer... good to know" he muttered as he took another swig from his flask. A simple yet better and easier way of describing Onyx. Or so Rok thought. "I'll remember that in case Onyx makes any new allies, saving breaths"

"Well, regardless of all that, we need to get out of this village, as soon as we can," Rok's thoughts returned to the wounded orc on the ground. "And we need to figure out how to do it without drawing more attention to ourselves," he added, his gaze shifting towards Onyx.