Orcs call their armies orchestras for a reason. They make music with each other. They're not cooperating; they're just filling in the gaps. Make no mistake, every orc is a soloist. They play to their own beat, to their own tune. They have their own skills. They don't coordinate about how they develop, how they grow. There is no overall planning section. They don't have non-commissioned officers. They don't have commanders they effectively listen to.
What they do is discuss, observe, and adapt to what's happening on the battlefield, what's happening with the others. Only after watching do they strike. That's why their breakthroughs seem so spontaneous to us. Because they are. They're simply exploiting what another orc is doing, and they're all present.
When their counter-battery creates an opening, their frontliners will move, but at the same time they're moving, their Shadows, Assassins, Thieves, and more are ripping through our backline. Because they understand the simple fact that if the frontliners breach our lines and force the fight into the trenches, that's fewer eyes on them, which means more fun for them, which means more breathing room for their counter-batteries to move and fire again.
They’re playing in accordance with each other’s tunes. They’re just not working together. Hells, they might tear each other apart on a whim if they don’t like what another orc is doing.
I'm going to use an analogy that some of you might not understand. But they're all like jazz musicians. Yeah, the ancient style of music. They're all constantly improvising. But they're improvising on the basis that they already know tactics, they already have strategies in their mind, they already have skills related to both tactics and strategy, and they are trained. They're not untrained. Never forget this. Never, never forget this.
They've served in countless dimensions, on countless worlds, in countless forces. They probably know how we fight better than we do from all the lives they lived. This is not an improvisation born because they're just naturally perfect, naturally good at war. No, there's another layer to this. They're used to this.
So when you're fighting an orchestra, you can't just expect them to crack. Which is why we need to adapt to chaos. We need to break their coordination. Command, we cannot trade with them. Listen to me. Hear what I'm saying. We cannot keep trading with them. They're going to figure us out soon. We need to make them break cohesion. We need to make them botch the music.
-Hero-Ranger Morgan Munny
123 (I)
Minions [III]
Lucian Gabriels never wanted to be a vampire, but when his genius Cryomancer of a sister got recruited, he came as a package deal. Now, Lucian was one of the worst vampires in existence, or at least that was how it felt for him most days. Especially with the way the other vampires treated him.
The first problem came with the elder who embraced him. Lucian’s Lineage Core came from a 20th-generation elder or something. A 20th elder was practically a new spawn in their own right, so all that benefit of super stable biology and blood magic stuff was separated 20 times over from Lucian.
This meant Lucian got to experience fun things like regeneration lag, in which parts of his body healed slower than others when he got hurt. Also, he randomly coughed out lumps of cancer from within. Moreover, the elder who embraced him was kind of an asshole. He was the kind of asshole who gave Lucian a mop during a freak rainstorm and told him to not stop until the floor was dry. With the floor being a muddy pit outside.
His thoughts were briefly interrupted by something wet and slick smacking into the back of his head. Lucian sighed as he heard the other vampires laugh. Lucian looked down and saw a dead rodent sliding off his body, leaving a smear along his white leather armor. A set of bite marks lined the three-eyed rodent’s ribs, and it looked practically deflated of blood.
Behind Lucian, the other vampires in his group sneered at him.
“Oh, sorry, farmer, I didn’t see you there,” a particularly tall elven vampire chuckled. “But the smear looks good on you. A little bit of red on a patch of white. Yes, indeed, I think you should thank me for this offering to your lacking aesthetic.”
Lucian stared at the elven vampire and just sighed. Calum Gowain was better at being a vampire than Lucian, in practically every way. He towered over Lucian by at least two heads. Had a jaw that most people could envy. A jaw that could break granite. His eyes were the palest blue, his hair was a flying tuft of blonde curls, and he took to being a vampire easily. He even had the elder’s favor. Which placed him on the opposite side of the totem pole within the newspawn hierarchy.
It was the reason why Calum got to stand at the center of the group while Lucian had to wrangle the Blood Horrors in the front. Because Calum was a proper vampire, and Lucian needed to put his Husbandry
Skill to use. Because what other use was an Adept-Tier Spore-Farmer among a group of blood-drinking predators?Not much was the answer.
Earlier, they had been tasked with checking in at a local observation post in the area. Usually, an observation post going silent was normal. The posts were connected to the local Fortress-City of Ur-Abathur by arteries, but there were plenty of underground lifeforms in the area. Sometimes, their tissues just got cut, and most vampires weren’t the most punctual at fixing problems unless they were trying to impress someone above them. But recently, after an entire army vanished into Gate Theborn and never came back out, and then a Court Leviathan that brought over said army vanished into Gate Theborn and never came back out, the local Elders of the First Blood were getting a little nervous about more things potentially vanishing inside Gate Theborn and never coming out.
Or worse, something coming out of Gate Theborn and butchering everyone here.
Thus, a Third Elder told a Fourth Elder and so on until finally they reached Lucian’s sire, and now he and the others were off doing a stupid task, for a stupid cause, because some other vampire wanted to fight a stupid war.
"I can't believe I left the spore farm for this shit," Lucian muttered to himself.
“For once, we’re in agreement,” Calum called from the back. “Why your sister strained so hard to bring you with her, I will never understand. But then again, how good can a Farmer’s sister be? It’s not like Cryomancy is rare. Could it be that she had other skills that attracted Elder Miana?”
Lucian kept his eyes ahead. They were moving through a forested path, and it was his job to make sure none of the Blood Horrors wandered off to attack a skaldeer or something. He counted the Blood Horrors with them again to distract himself from the other vampires. Fifty-two. Fifty-two in a bubble formation around his group of six vampires. It seemed a bit much to Lucian, but he wasn’t going to complain. He wasn’t much of a fighter at all, even with all the training the other vampires put him through.
Having Adept-Tier Toughness just made you better at taking damage. The fighting part was still a strange and terrifying mystery to him.
“So you agree, then?” Calum continued, egging Lucian on. “You agree your sister must have some other kinds of skills to lure out the favors of the elders? To suckle all that favor free?”
Lucian knew what the other vampire was doing, and he despised Calum for it. But Lucian knew better than to react. Calum was favored by Elder Wignaut, and he could do almost anything aside from killing Lucian without consequence. Lucian had tried to fight for his sister’s honor a few times before.
The crippling beating Calum gave him didn’t break his will, but getting impaled on a pike for a day and then forgotten over an open flame left scars deeper than the flesh. Lucian learned a few things about being a vampire. He learned that despite all this talk of family, he was on his own. And despite his sister’s promise, reaching out to ask her for aid was poison. Because she was embraced by another, and when different Bloodlines clashed, things could get very ugly indeed.
Especially for someone who was seen as a traitor to his line.
I just have to take it, Lucian told himself. I just need to stay as boring as possible. There will be more newspawn soon. He’ll fixate on them. Just like he always does.
“Oh, Lucian, you’re no fun anymore. What happened to you? Did me nearly drowning you in all that cave biter dung break something?” Calum yawned.
Yes. Yes, it did. Lucian never had much of a high opinion of himself, but suffocating in shit and being made to beg for breath and kiss Calum’s boots drew him deep into the embrace of self-loathing. It also made him envy his sister. She was more like Calum. More than Calum. When she came around, Calum knew to keep quiet. But her presence cowed Lucian as well.
She clearly thought of him still as family, but—
“Shit in our veins, what is that? Is that fire?” another high vampire in the group called out. “Ur-Abathur didn’t say anything about a fire when they cast those commands at me.”
Lucian lifted his head, and his eyes widened. As he inhaled, the taste of burning flesh and ash flooded his nostrils. The winds washed through the woods, and the whistling breeze masked a chorus of faint screams. And through the thicket of vein-coated trees—trees twisted by the First Blood’s Biomancy—he could see distant flickers where the observation post was supposed to be.
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The Blood Horrors grew restless and agitated. Some snarled and hissed, while others began to trail off.
“No! Focus! Go straight!” Lucian cried out. He pulled at them with his feeble Biomancy and barely managed to keep them on track. Some of them turned and tried to flee, but Lucian let out a cry and forced them back into the horde.
What in the Great One’s name is wrong with them? Lucian wondered. And why is there fire? Is the observation post burning?
A cold chunk of ice formed in Lucian’s gut. He hoped it was just an accident. He wasn’t a warrior. Not even a little bit, and if there was going to be fighting, he would do anything he could to avoid active combat—to make sure Calum and the others were the ones that had to do any of the fighting.
Lucian didn’t want to die. But more importantly, he didn’t want to die fighting beside assholes.
And just as he had that thought, fingers as strong as iron bands clamped around the back of his neck. He could feel Calum shaping his digits into claws, feel how they were slicing into his flesh. “Keep walking, farmer,” Calum said, pushing Lucian like he was a meat shield. “Don’t flee now. We still need you hale and ready to guide the flock.”
Lucian clenched his teeth but didn’t respond. Because what was he supposed to do? What power did he have over his own life at all?
The smell of burning flesh grew stronger, but there were no more screams. As they emerged from the woodland path, Lucian’s jaw dropped as he stared at the blazing remains of the observation post.
Where the post was once an edifice of Biomancy—a massive pillar of flesh lined with many eyes and manned by vampires—now, it was a burning column. Its crackling brightness cast light on the walled compound at its base. But upon the walls were pikes. Pikes with heads and planted on them. And over the walls swayed the flayed skins of Blood Horrors and high vampires, flapping like bedsheets set to dry upon railings.
“By the Firstbloods,” Calum whispered.
Lucian didn’t say anything. He just stared at the carnage. At the brutality. Lucian had seen things—had been forced to do things as a high vampire. But this… This was a scene from a nightmare. Who could do such a thing to an outpost of vampires? And how could they get this far inside First Blood territory without being noticed? There were patrols in the—They had wardings and more. Psychomancers, Biomancers. How?
“There mus—there must be a few hundred heads on those walls,” Lucian breathed. He didn’t even notice when Calum released him.
The tall, elven vampire’s jaw was hanging open. The flames were reflected in his blood-red eyes, and for the first time, Lucian learned what it was like to see his tormentor terrified. But as Lucian looked past Calum, his eyes grew even wider, and his stomach plunged into a bottomless abyss.
“C-Calum,” Lucian breathed. “They’re gone.”
“What?” Calum said, his expression confused. Lucian pointed behind him, and Calum turned around. The rest of their group was gone. The other high vampires. The Blood Horrors guarding their sides and rear. All gone. Vanished. “What?” Calum’s head whipped about. He took a step away from Lucian—
And a crushing pressure briefly passed over Lucian. It was the same kind of pressure as teleportation, but subtler and softer, and a static veil of Dimensionality washed over Lucian. It became a barrier between him and Calum. Before Lucian could call out to the other vampire, a large hand wrapped around his head and held him still.
“Ah, ah,” a low, rumbling voice whispered beside him. A massive hand extended along the periphery of Lucian’s vision, and in the enemy's other fist was a chain of Lineage Cores all bundled together by detached tissues and blood vessels. Gore dripped from the cores, and Lucian struggled not to heave as he tasted the scent of the blood.
Those belonged to the others in his group. He knew their stench—he knew it from all the months he spent beside him.
Lucian kicked and screamed, but Calum never heard him. It was like the—
“Stealth and Dimensionality make for a strange marriage,” the terrifying stranger said. “But a very amusing one. Would you not agree, little parasite?”
Lucian wailed. He struggled even harder—to no avail. He was plucked off his feet and made to stare at his captor. A massive, three-meter-tall figure held him like he was little more than a kitten. The monster wore scintillating robes of midnight, and Lucian’s eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the creature's gray face under the hood.
Orc! Lucian screamed on the inside.
“Sarah! Moore?” Calum kept calling, looking everywhere but behind. Not even when Lucian’s muffled screams rose an octave.
“There is no point to this,” the orc said, his voice a somber, soothing tone. “Within this domain, nothing that is said or done will be seen or heard by those beyond it. That’s why you didn’t notice all your friends screaming.” The orc held up the chain of cores and wiggled them. Then, he frowned. “Oh. Not your friends, then. What a muted response. But I should have guessed from how poorly they treated you.”
Finally, Calum turned, but though he looked directly at Lucian, he didn’t seem to see anything.
“Poor fool.” The orc sighed. “No Awareness. But also no clue. And if I had to guess, no hope of survival. Tell me—Do you want him to live? Blink once for yes. Blink twice for no.”
Lucian stared at the orc for a long second, but closed his eyes twice immediately thereafter. There wasn’t even any thought put into the action. He saw the opportunity to see Calum suffer, and he took it.
“Ah. I thought so.”
“Farmer?” Calum called out. “Farmer? Where the hells did you—”
The orc flicked his hand at Calum. Lucian couldn’t follow what happened next. There was a blur, and then Calum was pinned to a tree—with a massive blade protruding from his chest. The tall vampire’s jaw dropped as he started to scream—only for the orc’s Dimensional boundary to pass over him as well. Finally, Calum laid eyes on the orc—and Lucian swaying in the beast’s grip. His breath hitched. He extended his left hand and tried to cast a Biomancy spell.
But the orc flung something at Calum first, and the high vampire’s left arm vanished into bloody mist.
Calum’s screams were guttural and wonderful. Despite the all-consuming terror, Lucian tasted satisfaction at watching his abuser suffer. Then, over the orc’s shoulder came an arcing flame, and it crashed down somewhere beyond another stretch of trees. Somewhere beyond Lucian’s sight. A massive blast lit up part of the Umbral Wilderness thereafter, but the orc didn’t seem to care. No. He was advancing upon Calum, and he had a dagger in his hand now.
A blade he pressed into Lucian’s hand after releasing the poor ex-farmer. Lucian bounced on his feet as he stared up at the orc. Nearby, Calum writhed and whimpered.
“Carve out his Lineage Core,” the orc said. The statement was spoken too casually for such a brutal command. “Take it out for me. I would be most appreciative.”
“Nuh–No!” Calum roared. He arched his back as he tried to pull himself off the tree. “Farmer—kill the bastard! Pull the blade out—” The orc reached out and pinched Calum’s lower jaw. He kept squeezing until Calum’s chin folded in half along the base and burst apart in a scattering of bone and teeth.
“No,” the orc breathed as Calum screamed. “Peace and quiet. Somewhat. Enough for you to make your own choice. Cut his heart out, friend. Please.”
And despite shivering in terror, Lucian felt a warmth as the orc spoke to him. He felt an urge to please the orc—to make him happy. That, and the repressed hate Lucian held toward Calum, was enough to force his hand. His eyes met Calum’s as the other vampire briefly stopped struggling and stared.
He tried calling out to Lucian, but his jaw was little more than a lump of hanging meat. Lucian clenched his teeth. “Call me farmer again. Do it?”
Calum shook his head violently.
“I said, do it!” Lucian cried. He stepped forward and held the blade in both hands. Tears began to roll down Calum’s face as he writhed and struggled. “I hate you. I fucking despise you. All you’ve ever done is hurt me and insult my sister. I—I have dreamed of this. I prayed for this when you drowned me in shit.”
Lucian drew in a harsh breath as his body teetered on the brink. He was trembling as he felt himself tearing on the inside. He knew there would be no going back for him in some ways if he did this. But in a few other ways, he wanted this. He wanted this more than he wanted anything in his life. Lucian hated being a vampire; he hated what the System forced on him, but he hated Calum the most.
Even if the orc was going to kill him, Lucian could… I can live with it.
“Hey, Calum,” Lucian hissed. The other vampire stopped struggling again just long enough to give him a final, desperate look as he whimpered for mercy. “What was it you said to me when you forced me into the cave biter’s waste? Oh, yeah: eat shit.”
And he drove his blade into Calum’s body. The blade bounced off bone, but Lucian just gritted his teeth and thrust harder. Calum howled, but the orc covered his face with a large hand. “Keep going,” the orc said encouragingly. “Cut around. Slice and glide. Don’t saw.”
Against his natural instincts, Lucian listened. He respected the orc. He wanted the orc to respect him too. Slowly, he hewed through dense tissue and dug around bone to peel away the outer layer of Calum’s chest. And then, finally, he pulled it down as he gagged at all the overflowing blood. Before him, the Lineage Core trembled with crimson mana and ceaseless, flowing blood. Even now, patches of flesh grew out of it, its regeneration strong, unceasing.
Lucian dropped the orc’s blade as he swallowed back sour spit. He grasped the Lineage Core in shaking hands and turned to the orc. The towering brute nodded, and Lucian pulled with all of his might. With a resounding snap, the arteries and biomass connecting Calum’s core to his body broke. Lucian looked down at the heart of his hated rival, and his shell-shocked expression turned into that of a sneer as he spat on it before offering the core to the orc.
The orc just smiled. “Nicely done. Was that your first?”
“I—Yes. Yes.” Lucian felt like he was drifting inside. Part of him wanted to flee, but another part commanded him to remain in place. Speaking to the orc filled him with warmth and a need to impress. It was more respect than any vampire had ever given him. “Did I… Did I do good?”
“Very nice,” the orc hummed.
Lucian swallowed and nodded. “So… Are you going to…”
The orc eyed him for a moment, and a cruel intellect gleamed in those yellow eyes. The orc turned away from him and looked up. “Psychomancer. I have a request. And a potential rat we can plant among the vampires. Come take a look at this one. Maybe he’s more acceptable.”
Another presence slipped into Lucian’s mind. A subtle but insidious sensation filled him, but the orc shushed him before he could panic. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t let fear grip you. Pain and death are passing things. Just be present now. Root yourself in place. Your thoughts will betray you otherwise.”
Lucian stopped shaking. There was something hypnotic about the orc's words, and Lucian wanted to hear more—He wanted to do anything to get the orc’s approval. “I’m sorry.”
The orc laughed. “Why?”
“Because… because…” Someone was rooting around in Lucian’s mind, but all he could think about was why he felt bad.
The orc smiled. “Hm. I know why. Better than you. Perhaps it is easier for me to admit. You say sorry so the world will stop hurting you. So the other vampires will stop hurting you. It is the only thing that has protected you. More than your skills. You are so used to being pathetic even as a high vampire that it is the only comfort you know.”
The rawness of the truth made Lucian dry-heave. He—
“Empty your mind,” the orc interrupted. “Do not poison yourself with thoughts. For your thoughts are poison. They cannot be anything but after a lifetime of poison. This will take time to cure. Time you might yet still have.”