In the midst of the incessant chaos of screams and gunshots, on the roof of the police station, there was one person who seemed not to belong.
With his rifle resting precisely on a sandbag, Jhon breathed with an icy calm. His world had been reduced to the reticle of his scope.
Wiston's orders, the guttural cries of the goblins, the roar of Carlos's truck charging toward the horde... none of it registered in his mind.
His pulse was slow, methodical. He wasn't a soldier, but he understood violence. And he understood Astrad's plan, if that madness could even be called a plan.
It wasn't about winning, or even about leveling the playing field. It was about letting all the dogs loose at once, about turning the warlord's army into an anarchic mob that would devour itself. A chaos planned with chilling precision.
[Ahhh…] —he exhaled with a practiced pause, the vapor leaving his mouth. His finger squeezed the trigger.
"BANG!"
The sound of the shot was lost in the symphony of battle, but its destination was of vital importance.
"Clank!"
In a place where no one could hear it anymore, or rather, where no one cared, the chain of one of the sacrifices broke.
It wasn't the tiger; it was too close to the warlord's throne. It wasn't time for that yet.
It was the chain that bound the only grayish-skinned goblin among the sacrifices. Of course, the most surprised one was the goblin himself. But his was not a species known for sharp calculation.
["GRIAAAAAAA!"]
He shouted, another howl amidst the bedlam. But his faction recognized him. A group of goblins near the rearguard hesitated, seeing their captured leader now free. The seed of rebellion had been planted.
[Remember, you must prioritize the strongest factions. We need to lower their numbers and balance the factions so they'll be willing to fight each other.] - Wiston reminded them, and everyone nodded.
Everyone except Jhon. His gaze was already on the next target.
[Ahhh…] —another controlled breath.
"BANG!"
Another precise shot.
["GRAAAAAAA!"]
Another sacrifice freed. A beast with the appearance of a boar, which immediately charged at the nearest goblin.
This action was repeated again and again.
In the midst of the chaos, the blinding smoke, and the wild adrenaline, those who were once sacrifices rose up in search of their last hope.
And most importantly, the goblins weren't uniting against them.
Whether due to indifference in the midst of the adrenaline, or because they thought it was part of their macabre celebration, or because their presence was lost in the confusion and riots, there wasn't the slightest sign that anyone wanted to regain control.
The confusion became a plague. Goblins who had been cheering for the warlord were now forced to fight a liberated monster that was tearing them apart. The gray goblin's faction saw its opportunity and began to attack the warlord's goblin guards.
The horde was eating itself.
And the key piece in all this, the sniper on the rooftop, continued to exhale calmly, one shot at a time.
As if to remind the world that the most uncontrollable chaos is that which was planned with an icy precision.
Finally, only one remained. The grand prize. A gigantic cat, tied with extreme care right next to the throne.
Jhon centered his scope on the piled-up chains that imprisoned the creature. The smoke swirled, sometimes giving him a clear silhouette, sometimes hiding everything.
[Ahhh…]
He exhaled again, but did not fire. He knew. The orc warlord could block the bullet. It wasn't just prior knowledge; it was a sixth sense, a subconscious warning screaming at him that he was being watched by a superior predator.
So he waited. His world was reduced to the orc's breathing, the movement of the smoke, the chain. He thought of nothing else. His eye fixed on the target. His finger resting on the trigger. Waiting for just the right moment.
And then, Astrad gave it to him.
["GRAAAA!"]
The orc chief roared, not in warning, but in pure joy, and leaped from his throne towards Astrad's truck, like a child pouncing on his favorite toy.
[Ahhh…]
"BANG!"
It all happened in an instant.
The orc chief impacted the truck. Astrad was thrown out the window. Jhon's bullet crossed the plaza and shattered the chains.
While everyone held their breath, the cat stood up.
It didn't growl. It didn't threaten. It just stood up and pounced, a blur of fury moving at a speed that made no sense.
"BOM!"
......…..
(This is bad) —Astrad knew it from the first moment.
As soon as his finger brushed the red button, every fiber of his body shuddered with a sharp alert.
He didn't know why, but he had clearly miscalculated something.
Should I have gotten further from the explosion? Maybe.
Was there time?
Astrad looked at the petulant smile of the orc chief semi-buried in the truck and knew it was impossible.
[Let's all go to hell, you sons of bitches!] —he said, not as a threat or a taunt, but with the cold certainty that this was where the game ended.
Even so, he protected himself from the explosion with his shield.
"BOM!"
The roar of the C4 drowned out all other sounds. The deafening silence was pierced only by a high-pitched ringing in his ears, accompanied by the searing heat that threatened to burn his bones.
Then, the force. A kick from a god that tore him from the air, throwing him backwards like a rag doll. He saw, in a surreal fraction of a second, the orc chief being enveloped by the same fireball, his smile still intact. No, even more pronounced.
But Astrad had no time to worry about that. He had already noticed where the problem was.
The momentum was too powerful. So much so that he couldn't even maneuver his body to lessen the impact with the shield. He would survive the explosion only to die crushed against the concrete meters away.
And as his mind galloped at full capacity in search of a solution.
Behind him, a blurry shadow appeared in the air.
["GRRRR!"]
The tiger whimpered in pain as Astrad's back impacted its side with the force of a projectile.
[KUG…?] —Astrad let out a choked grunt. He had no time to think.
Both were sent flying, crashing through the glass door of a nearby hotel. They slid across the lobby, destroying mahogany tables, plush sofas, and decorative ferns, until they crashed with a final thud against the marble reception counter at the far end.
For an indeterminate amount of time, the world seemed to have gone mute.
Screams, gunshots, growls.
Nothing could be heard, as if a royal decree of silence had been manifested in the world.
[Kohoug… all… according… to plan…] —Astrad said, his voice a broken croak. He tried to move and a sharp pain shot through his chest.
In the end, he ended up coughing up blood as he pushed some debris off himself, his back still leaning against the cat behind him.
["Grrr…"]
The wounded beast complained, but it struggled to its feet, helping Astrad do the same.
[This is going to hurt tomorrow… The rat kid concludes] —Astrad said as he staggered. With fractured ribs, splintered bones, and burns on his body.
If he hadn't applied Kiti's numbing ointment before leaving, he wouldn't even be able to move.
["Grrr."]
The tiger growled, using its massive body to support the staggering Astrad. Its empty sockets were aimed at the hotel entrance. Astrad showed no resistance, his trembling hand resting on the tiger's back.
[Tsk, you ugly son of a bitch] —he cursed, his gaze also directed at the entrance, where a huge figure was rising from the smoke. His crimson eyes looked at the duo with an indescribable longing.
On the rooftop, Wiston also noticed the huge figure rising from the devastation and felt his blood run cold.
[DAMN IT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? OPEN FIRE, NOOOOOOOOOOOOW!]
He roared and, immediately, a rain of bullets fell upon the orc chief.
Of course, the attacks were useless, but Wiston was just hoping to get his attention.
["GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"]
As if wanting to be faithful to Wiston's expectations, the orc charged towards the hotel.
He smelled of burnt flesh and overheated metal. His skin was a canvas of destruction: some parts black and cracked like dry bark, exuding a greenish liquid where the fire had kissed it.
Twisted pieces of the truck, still red hot from the explosion, were impaled in his body, sunk so deep that the flesh hissed and bubbled around them as if cooking from the inside.
In the most open wounds, the yellowish, splintered bone peeked out obscenely.
A translucent, pulsating membrane crept over the injuries, weaving new flesh at a grotesque speed, like a living mold feeding on the damage itself, closing the wounds not with healthy skin, but with scar tissue that seethed and writhed.
But the orc chief didn't seem angry. He seemed ecstatic.
Although his speed had decreased due to his shattered legs, he lunged with dizzying speed.
"CRACK!"
The walls broke as he burst in with an unstoppable momentum. The screams of savage violence had once again taken over the plaza. His orcs were dead. The goblin factions had rebelled and were now killing each other for dominance.
["Guhuhuu."]
But none of that mattered to the orc chief.
[Your laugh is more hideous than you are] —Astrad cursed.
And the orc chief only became happier.
With brutal indifference, he grabbed one of the lobby's marble columns and pushed it. With a chilling crunch, a large piece broke off and shot towards Astrad and the cat.
Astrad clicked his tongue as he and the cat moved to the side.
[Follow me!] — he told the cat as he ran without thinking towards the stairs on the side of the lobby.
["GRAAA!"]
The orc chief, without hesitation, also lunged.
[NOT YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!]
["GRAAA!"]
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