Page 41 of Scoring the Orc

My teammates are a row of storm clouds ready to burst. Rogar's jaw is set. Borka is a mountain, immovable, his chest heaving with each deep breath. Kraag and Krodash have their heads bowed, whispering last-minute strategies, their voices lost beneath the call of the crowd. Kyleb’s eyes are wide, taking it all in, the raw energy fueling his youthful fire.

Across the field, Gargash’s team mirrors our resolve. They huddle close, their muttered tactics a low hum against the clamor. Gargash stands tall among them, trying to project confidence, but I catch the occasional glance he shoots my way—each one betraying a sliver of doubt.

The atmosphere is a living entity, pulsating with each chant, each shout from the crowd. It feeds our spirits, injects our veins with fire. I feel it in my bones, this electric pulse of impending battle, tightening my muscles, sharpening my senses.

Hrogun approaches me again, a reassuring force amidst the calamity that encapsulates us. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than I’ve ever felt,” I say swiftly. “Because I know that we’re going to win.”

“Your confidence always amazes me,” he says, staring at Gargash from across the field. He rests his hands on his hips. “Even in the face of intense obstacles, you’re still cocky.”

And I’ll never change, I almost reply.

The air around me vibrates with the imminent clash, each breath I draw laced with the charged anticipation of battle.

I glance towards where Emilia watches, and I can barely see her expression. Her face is a mask of concern and hope intermingled. Losing her is unthinkable. She’s not just a face in the crowd; she’s my heart laid bare, vulnerable and beating wildly outside my chest. Today, for us, I cannot afford anything less than total victory.

The ground beneath my feet feels like the only stable thing in a world spinning towards chaos. I shift my weight, feeling the ground firm and responsive under my feet, grounding me. My gaze sweeps across my teammates, each one radiating the same fierce determination that fuels me. We nod to each other, a silent pact forged in the crucible of our shared resolve.

Rogar claps me on the back, his touch a bolstering force. "For glory, brother," he says, his voice almost drowned by the roar of the crowd. I nod, the words unnecessary. We know what's at stake. We've sweated and bled together; now, we fight as one.

As I turn my gaze back to the field, I see Gargash rallying his team, his voice booming even from a distance. The sight stokes the fire in my belly, turning simmering rage into a blazing inferno. I'm a coiled spring, tension honed to a fine point. My mind sharpens, thoughts narrowing to a single point of focus—the victory that must be ours.

Because if we don’t win, that means Emilia will belong to him. His disgusting hands will trail her body. His vile eyes will explore the places only I have seen.

I heave a deep breath, bracing myself. When I get the chance, I’m tearing his team apart. I won’t stop until I’ve destroyed every single one of them.

And when I’m done, I know the victory will feel euphoric.

27

EMILIA

With bated breath, I stare at the referee as the ball magically descends into the ground. In a few moments, the match will begin. And I can hardly think straight.

Around me, the screams and yells of the fans are loud enough to deafen me, and even still, I can hear the beat of my own heart. As much as I want to cover my eyes and shield myself from the game’s outcome, I can’t tear my eyes away.

Once the ball erupts out of the ground, the game begins. Jurto’s Bloodcrushers clash against Gargash’s Stonebreakers in a mess for possession over the ball. One of the Stonebreakers elbows a Bloodcrusher square in the face, eliciting stunned gasps from the crowd.

With every strong hit, I flinch from the intensity. Jurto roars as he flings off an orc from off his back, sending the player crashing into the ground as the crowd yells their approval.

“Jurto,” I whisper, clasping my hands together. “Please be careful.”

The Stonebreakers are relentless today. Perhaps, they’ve been training as hard as Jurto and his team, too. Their tactics are dirtier than the ground under our feet. Each elbow jab and concealed hit echoes a brutal intent that stirs up a rage in me. As they rain down illegal blows upon the Bloodcrushers, the air fills with the sharp scent of aggression and the raw shouts of pain. Yet, amidst this chaos, the Bloodcrushers—my Jurto's team—hold their ground with a fierce valor that swells my heart with pride.

Jurto is a tempest in the center of the storm. He moves with an animalistic grace, a warrior dance that is both terrifying and awe-inspiring. His commands cut through the noise of the crowd, sharp and clear, guiding his teammates with the precision of a seasoned general. As he dodges a sweeping arm, his body twists with such power, muscles rippling under his sweat-slicked skin, a testament to the countless hours of grueling training.

I can't tear my eyes away from him; he's magnetic. Each time he plows through an opponent, my pulse quickens, mirroring the frantic beats of the drums that some enthusiastic fans pound on in the stands. The ground seems to quake with each collision, each grunt and groan from the players mixing with the roars of the crowd.

"Jurto!" I find myself whispering over and over again, my hands clasped so tightly that my knuckles turn white. But he doesn't need my pleas; he's a force of nature, unstoppable.

As the game intensifies, so does my anxiety. The Stonebreakers, frustrated by their inability to dominate, escalate their aggression. I wince as one of them delivers a particularly vicious elbow to a Bloodcrusher's side, the sound of impact a sickening thud that draws a collective gasp from the spectators. The referee seems blind to these infractions, keeping the play moving instead of pausing for the bleeding player on the ground.

No external force can stop a play once it’s in motion. Only the players can.

Yet, Jurto doesn’t falter. He’s everywhere at once—defending, attacking, a relentless leader who inspires his team to push past their limits. With every move, he seems to grow larger, his presence dominating the field.

"Fight on!" he bellows, his voice booming over the chaos. The Bloodcrushers rally to his call, their movements synchronized in a swarm of bruised flesh and determined spirits. They are warriors, every last one of them, driven by a shared will to overcome, to win.

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