-?Deja de correr, cobarde!

  Con pasos pesados ??que hacían temblar la tierra, una figura colosal irrumpió en un campo de batalla corrompido por la muerte. Cadáveres aún calientes, lodo espeso y escombros dispersos cubrían el suelo bajo sus pies. Con casi tres metros de altura, su cuerpo estaba envuelto en una armadura ósea de color marrón rojizo. Sobre su cabeza, el cráneo de una bestia desconocida ocultaba su rostro, revelando solo destellos de piel amarillenta.

  Sus potentes rugidos resonaban en el aire mientras perseguía desesperadamente a su escurridizo enemigo. Sin embargo, antes de que pudiera acercarse, un disparo certero le atravesó la cintura, obligándolo a caer de rodillas.

  Esa no fue su primera herida, ni la peor; su tosca armadura estaba llena de agujeros, pero este último ataque puso a prueba su regeneración. Gru?endo de dolor, se apretó el abdomen sangrante con una mano mientras agarraba su pesada maza con la otra, sabiendo que soltarse significaría una muerte segura.

  Aun así, su postura defensiva no logró disuadir a su implacable perseguidor. Al ver a la criatura desplomarse, el sujeto se giró con la firme determinación de rematarlo.

  El contraste entre ambos era innegable. Uno tenía los rasgos monstruosos de los orcos de los cuentos infantiles, mientras que el otro no era más que un hombre, sin nada destacable salvo por su estatura superior a la media.

  Vestía ropa azul hecha de un material sintético similar al nailon, ahora manchada de sangre y polvo. Su cabello corto, negro azabache, brillaba, cubierto de sudor tras horas de incesante movimiento. Su rostro pálido era la única zona expuesta de su piel arrugada, ya a pesar de su complexión delgada, los músculos tensos de sus brazos y piernas insinuaban su fuerza latente. En sus manos sostenía un inusual rifle negro, que pronto cambió por una peculiar espada que había permanecido envainada en su espalda hasta entonces.

  Con una destreza envidiable, el humano esquivó el torpedo y desesperado ataque del gigante. Luego, desatando su abrumadora fuerza, se montó en sus hombros y llevó a cabo una masacre despiadada.

  Mientras esto sucedía, un susurro bajo se escapó de sus labios agrietados.

  —No... —apretó los dientes—. Esto no es suficiente.

  Mientras pronunciaba esas palabras, llena de frustración, la hoja de su espada quedó envuelta en una fina capa de luz gris parpadeante, salpicada de peque?os puntos negros que bailaban en sincronía con sus golpes.

  A partir de ese momento, tardó menos de un minuto en reducir el cuerpo del orco a una masa de carne irreconocible que poco a poco dejó de moverse. Los gritos agonizantes y llenos de odio se desvanecieron, pero la expresión fruncida del hombre delataba su descontento.

  "?Maldita mar! ?Débil! ?Demasiado débil!"

  Se había estado repitiendo a sí mismo mientras envainaba su arma y se preparaba para saltar lejos del cuerpo debajo de él.

  Al mismo tiempo, la fugaz vida del orco se le escapó de las manos callosas. Pero antes de que la luz se apagara por completo en sus ojos inyectados en sangre, pronunció sus últimas palabras.

  "Human... Human... Damn you and all your kind... You'll pay, you’ll see... Listen! God, the... the lord Badr will avenge us... Ha, ha, ha... He will avenge me."

  And with that, it died.

  A display of faith. A vow of vengeance. Such was the fate of one who had given his life at his sovereign’s command, yet his final testament fell on deaf ears.

  Dismissing the threat as nothing more than a tired echo—after all, it was the fifth time he’d heard the same words in less than twenty-four hours—the man stepped onto the muddy ground. Then, with a mechanical motion, he tried to rid himself of the sticky black blood that had splattered onto him.

  The sensation clinging to his bare skin was truly repulsive. So, instead of wiping it off with his sleeve, he pulled out a canteen from a pocket near his waist and poured half its contents over his forehead, feeling the cold liquid wash away some of the filth. Afterwards, he grabbed an energy bar from the same spot and began devouring it, alternating bites with small sips of water to help it go down.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Amidst that mundane action, the mature and alluring voice of a woman echoed in his mind.

  [Congratulations, you have defeated a Low-Rank Orc Warrior. You have obtained 127 Valor Points. You have obtained a Straight Machete made of 1055 Steel. You have obtained 2 AM-23 Magazines. Remember to claim your rewards at the headquarters of your choice.]

  "Low rank, huh..."

  Shaking his head from side to side, the man sighed as he scratched his chin with his thumb.

  Even though he had emerged victorious from that brief yet deadly encounter, he felt no satisfaction with the outcome. How could he, when the course of that battle completely disregarded his decades of struggle and training?

  Likewise, what impact could the defeat of someone so weak have on the war of immeasurable proportions that still raged around him? It was nothing more than a speck of dust amid the chaos—insignificant compared to the monarchs, those terrifying and ruthless entities looming as a constant threat over humanity in this foreign land.

  Once his thoughts drifted to that point, the man cast his gaze into the distance, ignoring the millions of combatants clashing across that wretched land, heavy with the stench of death: iron, smoke, and filth.

  Several hundred kilometers away, massive silhouettes loomed above the clouds, like relentless deities imposing their dominion over fragile mortals.

  To the south was the closest threat: an ancient, imposing tree whose immense ebony trunk split the sky in two. Its abundant leaves shimmered with a tempting glow, a deadly trap designed to ensnare and shatter the minds of its feeble aggressors.

  A beautiful yet crude ruse, woven by the elves, haughty beings who not only prided themselves on their beauty but also clung to the belief that their morality stood above that of humans.

  Hidden within that illusory manifestation was a diminutive figure of regal bearing: the elven queen and goddess, Myrrans. With her amputated fingers, she commanded the countless branches and roots sprouting from her vast green mane, as if conducting an orchestra. A grim symphony that claimed the lives of hundreds, even thousands, with each movement.

  Nevertheless, even though most humans were insignificant before the power she wielded, there were a few exceptions who dared to halt her advance. Five fearless warriors stood against her divine presence, unleashing terrifying explosions of searing fire with their assaults, like they were ballistic missiles. While their efforts seemed insufficient to vanquish the queen, they managed to prolong the war—one that had seemed lost from the start—offering a fleeting glimpse of hope that the tides might yet turn.

  Of course, that confrontation was not the only one shaking the battlefield.

  A little further east, a titan composed of a fierce crimson aura stood. Upon his head rested a magnificent crown adorned with sharp thorns, from which emerged countless golden chains, firmly encircling his neck, torso, and limbs. However, contrary to what might be expected from his repressed appearance, these did not limit him in the least; they only amplified his vast power.

  His muscular arms tore through the sky with every punch, and his powerful legs cracked the mountain range beneath him, crushing everything in his path.

  As if that wasn’t enough, the man watching those unrealistic feats from a distance still vividly remembered the nightmare he experienced during the most recent battle at the desert border of the Alliance. Thanks to that memory, he knew all too well that this quadrupedal form did not represent the limits of the creature known as the King of Orcs' abilities.

  Fortunately for him, that being was unable to approach the allied army because his eternal rival would not allow it. General Lira, along with her loyal followers, fought on the edge of death, using every aspect of her surroundings to her advantage in pursuit of a certain victory.

  Perhaps she was the only one aiming to defeat one of the monarchs. In the end, not all confrontations against them favored humanity; among those beings was one that even the most talented could not intercept.

  The wolf Velkara, mother and guardian of her numerous offspring, was a relentless hunter who roamed the plains unbound at unfathomable speeds.

  Her white-furred presence was nothing more than a fleeting shadow in the man's eyes, but the echo of her devastating actions sent chills down his spine. Wherever she appeared, waves of spectral fire danced with terrifying intensity, driving those they touched into oblivion.

  Por eso los oficiales más rápidos de la Alianza la persiguieron sin tregua, temerosos de que su violento ataque rompiera el frágil equilibrio de la guerra, que apenas se había mantenido hasta ese momento.

  A causa de esa persecución incesante, los combatientes de ambos bandos temblaban cada vez que el aire caliente rozaba su piel: una fugaz presagio de muerte que se precipitaba hacia ellos.

  ?Muerán! ?Mueran, miserables hijos de puta!

  "?Humanos! ?Bastardos que deben ser purgados!"

  ?Insensatos! ?Suelten sus armas ahora mismo, y quizás los dioses se apiaden de ustedes!

  "?Sí, sí, sí, sí...!"

  "No, por favor, no quiero..."

  "..."

  Cerrando los ojos y apretando la mandíbula, el hombre luchó por calmar su corazón acelerado. El hedor a analizado le quemó la nariz. Los gritos le resonaron en el cráneo. La suciedad se le adherirá al cuerpo, arrastrándolo al borde del pánico.

  Tras unos segundos, se dio cuenta de que permanecer pasivo no le traería paz. Así que se llevó el pu?o derecho al pecho, lo tocó ligeramente y susurró suavemente un nombre que había sido su pilar espiritual durante décadas.

  “Diane…”

  Como por arte de magia, el temblor cesó, junto con el sudor frío que le corría por la frente y la espalda. Había recuperado la voluntad de luchar; Una vez más, estaba listo para matar.

  En cuanto abrió los ojos, vislumbró dos muros de luz y oscuridad que se alzaban en el norte. ángeles y demonios habían unido fuerzas para acabar con sus creadores. Aun así, dejó de lado la inquietud que crecía en su interior, asegurándose de que no tenía sentido preocuparse por lo que escapaba a su control.

  En lugar de eso, decidió centrar toda su atención en su próximo oponente: un elfo masculino, uno de los pocos de su especie, que estaba a punto de quitarle la vida a un soldado humano.