With a gaze as penetrating as the chill of her breath, Ivory, a skeletal dragon, surveyed the land. Below, a throng of weakened Orcs stumbled.

  "How the mighty have fallen." She soared above the clouds. Her wings beat the air with powerful strokes. Her chilling breath, once a weapon of beauty and death, was forever bound to the whims of Crimson Ruby.

  The Orc throng marched on bleeding feet, paralleling a raging river. The Orc's strength waned, and their bodies faltered. A fierce determination surged through them.

  Under the relentless blaze of the summer sun, Ivory watched a young Orc fall. "Do you think the heat is your enemy?"

  Ivory circled above, her dead eyes scanning the Orcs as they huddled. "Feast while you can.

  The Orc throng paused for their midday meal. Ivory's spirit burned within her skeletal chest, an unwavering flame flowing through her bones. She descended lower, savoring their oblivious contentment. Soon, little lambs.

  Ivory caught sight of two small Orcs, each astride a giant hummingbird. "Freedom." Her icy breath itched to break free. But the magic that bound her silenced its deadly song. "My will is not my own."

  "Such grace," Ivory sneered, the irony of captivity piercing her undead heart.

  "Lieutenant, there is another throng of Orcs," the small Orc blurted, pointing. "They are to the North, marching this way. Much sicker, weaker," he reported.

  The Lieutenant pointed north. "Healers to the weakened throng!" The healers, a whirlwind, gathered potions and herbs. "Our brothers to the north falter. We will not stand idly by."

  Ivory watched. Grudging admiration. Familiar disdain. Neither willing to yield.

  "Secure the perimeter, set guards," ordered the Lieutenant as day bled into twilight. Orcs scrambled, gathering water and prepping the camp for their weakened kin.

  "Gather what you can," one grunted, dividing the last of their supplies, meager comforts for the ailing throng soon to arrive.

  The Orcs labored, fashioning crude but earnest resting places. "Here they will find rest," the Lieutenant said, surveying their work.

  The night swallowed the light, ushering in an eerie calm before the storm. Above, a quarter moon peeked through wispy clouds, casting a ghostly glow.

  The air chilled to the bone. A silent warning. Danger moved in the shadows, unseen. Until it pounced.

  Amid the dimming twilight, the hummingbird riders crashed into the camp's clearing. "Gather your weapons," the small Orc yelled to the Lieutenant. "Our dead Orc brothers, they are now among the walking dead. They sprint this way." Foreboding moans of the undead approached.

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  "In the skies, we battled, yet our healers...they are gone. We could not shield them."

  Shadows danced as the moon fled behind clouds, and silence shattered. The orcish zombis, a grotesque army, lumbered forward.

  Their decaying forms and mottled skin. The thick stink of rot and death overwhelmed the camp.

  In the moonlight and chaos, an Orc female froze. She knew that face. She gasped and raced toward him, heart thundering.

  "I never believed a dragon could kill you, my love," she said, tears falling with joy.

  Amid the chaos, the zombie paused, its blue eyes locking with the Orc woman. "Why? Why you?" Something in it remembered her, just for a moment, before unyielding instincts took over. Its teeth sank into her flesh and shredded into her. Her cry was cut short.

  Orcish zombis crashed into the living with a hunger sharp as winter frost. The Orc camp, engulfed by the relentless wave of zombi assailants, retaliated with desperate bravery.

  Yet, each swing and strike struggled in vain against the relentless tide.

  MurDuel led the charge, his axe cleaving Orcs. "Forward, my undead legion!" His laughter, a dark melody amidst the clash of steel, echoed.

  With every swing of his mighty axe, MurDuel painted the ground red.

  "Hold the line!" The Lieutenant's voice was a beacon amidst despair. The Orcs, tired and poisoned, rallied, and the throng stood firm.

  The enemy advanced, familiar faces, brothers faced sisters twisted by magic's cruel touch. The air was thick with betrayal and bloodlust.

  "No mercy, for they show none!" The Lieutenant declared, locking blades with a childhood friend. "For the children’s survival!" His cry rallied the weary.

  Above the fray, the small Orcs, astride their buzzing hummingbird mounts, hurled their boomerangs. The curved missiles struck the zombis, diverting them from their targets.

  Each boomerang returned to the thrower's hand, ready to strike again.

  The night air exploded with the cries of the fallen. MarDuel signaled the second wave of undead. "We are the night's fury!"

  The zombis surged forward, and a tide of despair met the Orc defenders. Their decayed bodies, child against warrior crashing into the Orc ranks with relentless hunger.

  "The line breaks! Retreat!" the Lieutenant bellowed, blood painting his face in scarlet streaks. "Back! To the river!"

  The living turned. Desperation fueled their limbs. The orcish ranks crumbled, beleaguered hearts breaking. Ivory drank it in.

  The tiny warriors atop their winged steeds executed their final gambit. Javelins turning into bolts of vengeance.

  Lightning danced, devouring flesh and bone. Zombies reeled back. This momentary upheaval, a gift of time, allowed the retreating Orcs to vanish into the river's maw.

  "For those who fall, swim for your lives!" the Lieutenant cried. "Swim! Downstream," he roared, fending off a zombie attack and pushing the living toward fleeting hope.

  The water turned crimson as they plunged in, a desperate escape from a fratricidal nightmare.

  Vardan soared into the fray on Shadowmane. Hours earlier, the winged stallion had returned in the darkness before dawn. Relief had flooded through Vardan when familiar hoofbeats approached his camp. Shadowmane had appeared riderless but unharmed. "Did that coin-flipping fool hurt you?" he had whispered, pressing his forehead to the horse's neck. "My brave, clever boy."

  Now, high above the carnage, Vardan hurled a fireball. "Burn!" The sphere exploded among fleeing Orcs, leaving only charred remains and silenced screams.

  The inferno ensnared a hummingbird and its rider. They fell, a fiery comet, into the river's cold fury.

  Ivory watched, a grin spreading across her face.

  Vardan landed and leaped from Shadowmane, knelt beside a fallen Orc child. "Your sacrifice will not be in vain," he declared, reaching into the Orc's torn flesh.

  Screams pierced the night. Vardan's glowing fingers closed around the Pulse Fire Nodule, extracting it. Blood-soaked Vardan's arm as he claimed his prize.

  Vardan fixed his gaze on another Orc, magic dancing at his fingertips. "Stand strong, warrior. Your battle is not yet over."

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  Breach of Balance ---