Page 43 of Scoring the Orc

“That was nasty,” Rogar whispers, shaking his head. “But Krodash and Borka managed to stop their offense. The next play is about to start soon.”

Hrogun sends me an uneasy glance as I take a few steps forward.

I won’t fail Emilia. Not today. Not ever.

I shove the dizziness to the back of my mind. My muscles scream in protest, but there's no time for pain—not now. I see the ball burst from the ground, a geyser of dirt and magic, and I'm moving before I fully register my actions.

"I'm with you, Jurto!" Kraag bellows from behind, his voice a war drum that fuels my legs.

I charge forward, the ground beneath my feet a blur of dust and grass. The opposing players, the Stonebreakers, line up like boulders in my path. I lower my shoulder, my body an unstoppable force that not even Gargash can take down. The first opponent tries to sidestep, but I'm faster, more desperate. Our bodies collide with a thud that echoes in my chest, his grunt of surprise lost in the roar of the crowd.

Borka is on my flank, a steadfast giant whose presence alone parts the sea of enemies. He throws a block that sends an orc tumbling. "Go, Jurto!" he roars.

I don't look back. Krodash and Rogar weave through their assignments, creating a path for me, their movements precise and deadly. We've played together for years, and in moments like this, we're less a team and more a single entity, pushing toward victory.

The field is chaos, a storm of bodies clashing under the harsh glare of the sun. Every shove, every tackle is a brushstroke in this brutal art we play. Hrogun slips through the defenders like a dagger, quick and sharp. He meets a blocker head-on, and for a moment, I fear for him, but he's up and moving again, relentless.

Ahead, the goal shifts, its magic pulsing as it relocates to the east end of the field. It's a small window, a fleeting chance. My lungs burn, and the pain from Gargash's hit is a distant thunder, urging me on.

"Jurto, left!" Rogar's voice cuts through the muddle of noise, and I instinctively veer left, dodging a sweeping tackle. The goal is in sight now, a shimmering hoop of light that dances teasingly at the edge of my vision.

With a roar, I wind my arm back and let go of the ball. It arcs through the air, a streak of hope, and crashes through the goal with a resounding clang that feels like it shakes the very ground beneath my feet. The scoreboard flickers and changes. We're up by one, but this game's far from over.

I stand for a moment, the din of the crowd swelling around me like a storm surge. The cheers, the stomps, the clashing of horns—it's a cacophony that tries to invade my focus, but I push it all to the background. There's only the game, only this precarious lead we must defend with everything we've got.

Blood drips from a split lip, a warm, salty reminder of the game's cost. I swipe it away with the back of my hand, the tang mixing with the dust in the air. My body aches, every bruise and scrape a badge of the day's battles, but there's no time for pain now. I lock eyes with Rogar, who nods sharply, his expression as hardened as mine. We know what's at stake.

"Stay sharp, brothers," I growl as we huddle quickly. Kraag's heavy hand lands on my shoulder, gripping it tight.

"We hold them now, and we win this," he says, his voice a low rumble of thunder. “They’re going to play dirty from here on out.”

"Defense!" Borka barks out, a giant ready to anchor our line.

It's as if a switch flips in us. Our formation tightens, every player a link in a chain that cannot—and will not—break. We move as one, a phalanx bearing down on the advancing Stonebreakers who come on like a tide, desperate and dangerous.

The ball bursts forth anew, a gleaming orb of chaos that both teams surge toward. I throw myself into the fray, my body screaming in protest as I slam into a Stonebreaker. The impact is a jolt, adrenaline firing through my veins, but I shove past the pain, pushing him back.

Krodash is beside me, his presence a force of nature as he wrestles another orc to the ground, his grunt of effort a battle cry. Hrogun darts past, snagging the ball with a deft move that speaks of countless hours on this field.

"Cover him!" I shout, my voice hoarse. We form a protective ring around Hrogun as he charges forward, the Stonebreakers snapping at our heels like furious batlaz.

It's a maelstrom of movement—pushing, shoving, grappling. The goal shifts again, elusive as a shadow, and the tension is a palpable thing, thick in the air we gasp down. Hrogun weaves through a narrow gap, his eyes fixed on the shifting target, every muscle coiled.

The crowd rises, a wave of sound crashing down upon us, but in my ears, there's only the thud of my heart, the heavy breaths of my teammates, the grunt of our exertions. This is zyrphix at its rawest, at its most real.

As Hrogun makes a break for the goal, we guard his back with the ferocity of guardians, each step, each block a testament to our resolve. The goal is in sight, the end of the match a breath away.

"Push!" I roar, the field narrowing to just these final, crucial moments.

Gargash's shadow looms large as he barrels towards Hrogun, his eyes alight with a fierce determination that borders on reckless. I recognize that look—it's the same one he had before he blindsided me earlier. This time, though, I'm ready for him. My body still aches from the previous clashes, but my resolve hardens into steel.

As Gargash raises his arm, likely aiming for another of his infamous cheap shots, I intercept him with a shoulder charge that's more like slamming a door shut in a storm. Our bodies collide with a force that sends shivers up my spine, but I stand firm, denying him the hit.

"Not today, bastard," I grunt, pushing him off balance. Gargash stumbles, his moment lost, his eyes burning with the sting of defeat.

Hrogun, now with a clear path, nods to me, a silent thank you etched in his quick smile, then turns his focus back to the game. He darts forward, the ball clutched tightly as he navigates through the maze of players with a dancer's grace.

Behind me, Gargash recovers, his pride bruised more than his body. He hesitates, knowing he's taken his best shot and missed, the taste of failure bitter in his mouth.

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