The orcs yelled guttural words Asher couldn't understand, their throats straining with rage and bloodlust, but he didn't care. Velmorne had already thundered forward into their midst, hooves pounding the earth as a drumstick did to a drum, and Asher swung Ithamar in a wide semi-circle, channeling his output.
A crimson flash erupted, so sharp it painted the air itself in red, splitting over a dozen orcs cleanly into halves. Gore sprayed in arcs as Velmorne crashed into the mass, his armored head ramming, horns goring, neck thrashing with the brute force of a living siege weapon.
From Ithamar's edge poured a thick, wroth-choked mist, coiling around Asher like a shroud. Wherever the vapor touched, the orcs convulsed, their veins bulging as the plague of fear crawled up their arms and over their faces.
