They fell together, still grappling, both fighters too wounded to stand but too stubborn to stop fighting.

On the ground, Urgak’s hands found Vras’s throat, squeezing with strength that could crush stone.

Vras’s hands found his dropped mace, swung it awkwardly at Urgak’s head from prone position.

The mace connected with Urgak’s skull. The blessed weapon’s holy energy burned through orc flesh. Urgak’s skull fractured.

But Urgak’s hands were already squeezing Vras’s throat. The orc’s death-grip didn’t release even as his skull cracked.

Vras’s windpipe collapsed. He couldn’t breathe.

Both fighters died within seconds of each other—Urgak from catastrophic head trauma, Vras from crushed throat and suffocation.

Northern Sector Duel Result:

Colonel Vras: KILLED (throat crushed, suffocated)Urgak: KILLED (skull crushed by blessed mace)Mutual elimination through mutual killing blows

But Urgak’s son Gruk had been watching. Had seen his father die in honorable combat against a human champion.

And Gruk’s orc battle-rage erupted like a volcano.

Northern Sector: Commander Deren vs. Gruk

Commander Deren was a cavalry officer—fast, mobile, trained in hit-and-run tactics. At thirty-six years old, he’d commanded mounted units for fourteen years.

He dismounted to face Gruk, drawing his cavalry saber—a curved blade designed for slashing attacks from horseback, lighter and faster than standard infantry swords.

Gruk stood and right now was consumed by berserk rage over his father’s death.

"YOU KILLED URGAK!" Gruk roared, his voice breaking with grief and fury. "MY FATHER! I WILL RIP YOUR HEAD FROM YOUR BODY!"

Deren realized immediately he was facing an opponent who’d abandoned all tactical sense in favor of pure rage. That made Gruk both more dangerous—unpredictable, unnaturally strong—and more vulnerable—no defensive consideration, no self-preservation.

"Your father fought with honor," Deren said, trying to defuse the rage. "He died well. You don’t need to die avenging him."

"I DIE IF I MUST! BUT FIRST YOU DIE!"

Gruk charged with his father’s war axe, the massive weapon swinging in wild arcs.

Deren used cavalry tactics—mobility, dodging, attacking from angles. He sidestepped Gruk’s charge, his saber slashing across the orc’s back as Gruk passed.

Blood flowed. Gruk didn’t even slow.

The axe came around in a backhanded swing. Deren ducked, feeling the weapon whistle over his head close enough to ruffle his hair.

He counter-attacked with a thrust aimed at Gruk’s leg, trying to cripple mobility.

His blade stabbed into Gruk’s thigh, penetrating deep.

Gruk roared and brought his axe down in an overhead chop with enough force to split Deren in half.

Deren rolled, the axe striking ground where he’d been standing, the impact creating a small crater.

They circled, Gruk bleeding from back and thigh, Deren breathing hard from exertion.

"You’re wounded," Deren said. "Two serious cuts. You’re losing blood. Surrender."

"ORCS DON’T SURRENDER WHILE HUMANS WHO KILLED OUR KING, LEADER AND ALSO MY FATHER STILL BREATHE!"

Another charge. Another exchange.

Deren’s saber opened a cut across Gruk’s chest. Gruk’s axe caught Deren’s shoulder, not a deep cut but painful.

They separated. Gruk was bleeding from four wounds now—back, thigh, chest, and a shallow cut on his arm. But orc constitution and berserk rage were keeping him fighting through injuries that would drop a human.

Deren was bleeding from one shoulder wound, his cavalry armor providing good protection but his stamina draining from constant dodging and movement.

The battle continued with brutal repetition.

Gruk swung his massive axe with abandon, each strike capable of ending the fight if it connected, but his wounded leg slowing him slightly, his blood loss mounting.

Deren cut and dodged, opening more wounds on the berserk orc, trying to bleed him out, but recognizing that Gruk’s rage was sustaining him beyond normal limits.

Five minutes into the fight, Gruk had twelve serious wounds and countless minor cuts. He was covered in blood, his leather armor hanging in tatters, his green skin pale from blood loss.

But he was still fighting, still swinging his axe, still consumed by rage.

Deren had taken three hits now—shoulder, ribs, and a grazing cut to his thigh. His armor had prevented worse damage, but he was tiring rapidly.

"You should be dead," Deren gasped, genuinely shocked. "How are you still standing?"

"RAGE!" Gruk roared, his voice weaker now but still furious. "VENGEANCE! FATHER!"

Deren recognized the truth—Gruk wasn’t going to stop until he died or killed Deren. There would be no surrender, no tactical withdrawal. This was fight to the death.

He adjusted tactics. No more wearing Gruk down. Committed killing blow, accepting the risk.

Deren feinted left, then lunged right, his saber aimed at Gruk’s heart with full commitment.

The blade struck true, penetrating through leather armor, between ribs, piercing Gruk’s heart.

A mortal wound. Fatal. No healing could save Gruk now.

But Gruk had one final attack.

As Deren’s saber pierced his heart, Gruk dropped his axe and grabbed Deren with both hands. His massive arms wrapped around the human commander in a crushing bear hug.

Then Gruk brought his head forward in a devastating headbutt.

The orc’s tusked face struck Deren’s with catastrophic force. Deren’s nose shattered. His cheekbone broke. His jaw dislocated.

Gruk headbutted again. And again. And again.

Deren’s face was being destroyed, his skull fracturing from repeated impacts.

On the fourth headbutt, Gruk’s strength finally gave out. His heart, pierced by Deren’s saber, had been pumping blood into his chest cavity. His brain was losing oxygen.

He fell, releasing Deren, collapsing to the ground.

Deren fell too, his face a ruined mess of broken bones and blood.

Gruk lay dying, his heart pierced, blood pooling beneath him. But he wasn’t dead yet. His orc constitution was keeping him alive for precious seconds longer.

He looked at Deren—also collapsed, face destroyed, but still breathing.

With his last strength, Gruk reached for his dropped war axe. His fingers found the handle. He lifted it with dying strength.

And brought it down on Deren’s head.

The axe split Deren’s skull in half.

Commander Deren died instantly.

Gruk collapsed back, his hand releasing the axe, his eyes seeing the sky above.