The acrid smoke curled in lazy spirals, choking the bitter cold air of the frozen battlefield.
The orc village was mostly destroyed as their building was wrecked, smoke leaving their crumbled form.
Gorrmash body lay kneeling, a grotesque sculpture of blackened flesh and ashen bone, smoldering softly where the fire had burnt away his form.
His chest heaved once, then twice, till finally it stilled, he drew his last breathe.
Adam's eyes blink as he watched the faintest flicker stirring above the ruin, a dark ember, or orb uncoiling from the ruin of the orc's corpse.
It was his soul.
The black sphere rise, from the damage vessel.
The soul wavered, hesitant, as if reluctant to leave the body it had clung to for so long.
A lifetime of battle, pain, and stubborn survival, now unraveling in moments of silence.
But for the sake of survival this was the only way.
Adam's gaze sharpen at the sight.
As the soul of the defeated moved like quickly to it's chosen vessel.
