From the crest of a snow-covered hill, Gunt peered down at the frozen ke below, his yellowed eyes narrowed in scrutiny. The bitter wind tugged at his fur-lined armor, but the chill was a distant . His focus was solely on the human camp sprawled along the icy shoreline, smoke curling zily from makeshift eys.

  "So it is indeed a human camp here..." Gunt mumbled, his voice a low rumble. His breath steamed in the frigid air as he assessed the se below.

  From the looks of it, the humans had beeled there for quite some time. The fortifications—though crude—were telling. Sharpened poles and logs formed a spiked wall around the perimeter, hastily structed yet sturdy enough to ward off wildlife and lesser threats.

  Beside him, a shaman crouched low, gnarled firag symbols into the snow as he uned with distant spirits. Gunt's gaze remained fixed on the camp, but his voice held a note of impatience.

  "And what is the final decision from the chieftain?" he asked, the words a growl in his throat.

  The shaman's eyes gzed over for a moment, milky and unfocused, before he blinked and respohe e to the unication spell fading.

  "Assess their threat level," the shaman intoned. "If it is nothing worth, just keep an eye on them for now."

  Gunt snorted, a disdainful sound that puffed white in the cold air. Threat? These humans, a threat? The notion was almost ughable. Even a siroll from his team could ftten the camp with ease, tearing through their defenses and scattering the survivors like frightened deer. If the humans used the same pitiful ons as the ohey'd sin before, there was nothing to worry about.

  And he wasn't alone in this belief. His team sisted of the best hunters and warriors the tribe had to ht in total, including the shaman. Each troll bore ons fashioned from iron and bone, lethal aed in tless battles.

  His gaze narrowed further as he watched the humans move within the camp. white fur coats adorned with skulls as hoods, they moved swiftly, as if something had disturbed them. Figures darted betwees, a sense en their stride.

  Then, from the rgest tent, a figure emerged—taller thahers, broad-shouldered and anding. The leader, perhaps. Another followed close behind, shorter but with an aura that set Gunt's teeth on edge. Even from this distance, something about the smaller huma... wrong. Dangerous.

  They spoke briefly, words carried away by the wind, before the shorter one suddenly looked up. Gunt's breath caught, his pulse a dull thud in his ears as he realized those eyes—cold and unblinking—were fixed directly on him.

  "Impossible..." Gunt muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. Humans shouldn't be able to see this far—especially not while the trolls were cloaked in camoufge, their forms blended seamlessly into the snow and rock.

  But there was no mistaking it. The shorter human's gaze was locked onto him with eerie precision, and as if in respohe camp below stirred. Figures moved with purpose, ons fshing in the winter sun.

  "Ready for battle," Gunt snapped, his voice a harsh bark that broke the silehe other trolls moved at once, eight warriors rising from the snow, ons gripped tight in anticipation. The shaman's eyes glimmered with are light, fingers weaving spells in preparation.

  "Shouldn't we retreat? The chieftain emphasized the importance of avoiding flict," the shaman urged, his voice low and tense. His gnarled fingers wove intricate patterns through the frigid air, yers of protective spells settling over the trolls like a shimmering veil.

  "It's too te," Gunt growled, his eyes never leaving the rapidly approag figures. "They seem to have a shaman of their oable of deteg us. And that leader of theirs—he feels like a threat I 't ignore."

  With a grunt, Gunt unslung his spiked mace, the iron head gleaming dully in the pale winter sun. His other hand gripped a kite shield fashioned from thick bos surface etched with crude yet sturdy patterns. He could feel the weight of the ons, f and familiar, as he prepared for the csh.

  To his uhe humans acted fast—too fast. They moved over the snow with unnatural speed, barely sinking into the drifts as they charged up the hill, wild and reckless. Their movements were almost a blur, white cloaks billowing like ghostly wings behind them.

  "Slow them down, shaman! Thin their numbers if you , but save your power in case the enemy shaman decides to engage," Gunt anded, his tone harsh and unyielding. He took the lead, shield raised. "Get the bows ready! Shoot as soon as they're in range."

  A troll archer nearby he massive bow creaking under his grip. Troll bows were brutal things—crude but powerful, with arrows that could easily double as spears for humans. The archer pulled one such arrow from the quiver, each bolt as thick as a human's wrist and tipped with jagged iron. Muscles bunched beh gray skin as he drew back, aiming down the snowy slope.

  With a whispering twang, the arrow was loosed. It cut through the air with a deadly hiss, a dark blur against the white expahe target—a human at the forefront—didn't even have time to react. The spear-like bolt punched through his torso, lifting him off his feet and pinning him to the frozen ground behind. The man died without a sound, blood steaming in the snow.

  But what uled Gunt was the utter ck of rea from the others. Not a pause, not a flicker of hesitation. They charged on with wild roars and unholy ughter, eyes glinting with savage zeal. Their movements were erratid uling, as if madness or some darker force drove them.

  To Gunt's surprise, the humans began weaving side to side with uny agility after the first strike, avoiding the arrows with instinctive precision. The troll archer mao fell only two more before the rest closed the distance—far faster than Gunt had anticipated.

  A chill, far colder thaing wind, crept down Gunt's spihese were not ordinary humans.

  But there was no time to resider. They were already within melee range, close enough that Gunt could see the froth at the ers of their mouths, the gssy shine in their eyes. His grip tightened on his mace.

  "Glory to Khon'su!" Gunt bellowed, the war cry ripping from his throat as he charged. The other trolls roared in unison, their voices a thunderous echo that rolled across the hillside.

  The first humans to meet Gunt's charge were smashed aside like rag dolls, bones splinterih the force of his mace. Oruck his shield with a rusted sword, the bde sparking harmlessly off the reinforced bone. Gunt responded with a brutal bad swing, g iacker’s chest and sending him flying into the snow.

  But even as the bodies fell, the rest of the humans pressed forward, heedless of their dead. Their eyes burned with a fervor that sent a flicker of uainty through Gunt's gut. There was no fear in them—only a fanatical hunger for violence.

  And somewhere at the back of the horde, the tall leader watched with an eerie stillness, his gaze never leaving Gunt. Beside him, the shure raised a hand, fingers weaving in a pattern that made the air hum with dark i.

  Magic.

  Gunt's eyes narrowed.

  Gunt snarled as he raised his shield just in time to deflect a spear thrust aimed for his chest. The impact reverberated through his arm, but he held firm, shoving the attacker back with a grunt of effort.

  "Shaman! Enemy magiing—be ready!" he bellowed over the chaoti of battle.

  The troll shaman nodded sharply, eyes narrowed with focus. With a guttural t, he thrust his staff forward, a jagged nce of iing at its tip. The spell shot out with a crag hiss, impaling an oning human through the chest and pinning him to the ground, his blood steaming against the frozeh. Even as the shaman prepared another spell, he could feel the surge of hostile magi the air, thid oppressive.

  Gunt’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the enemy shaman further down the slope, hands weaving through plex gestures. Tendrils of dark energy radiated from the shure, seeping into the human warriors who rushed forward with frenzied abandon. The ge was instantaneous and horrifying.

  The charging men vulsed with guttural roars, fur-cd bodies shuddering as if their very flesh were tearing. Their white coats and skull hoods seemed to fuse with their forms, bones crag and reshaping with siing pops. Flesh darkened and rippled, muscles bulging grotesquely as they doubled in size—taller and broader, almost matg a small troll's stature.

  Their eyes gleamed with savage madness, irises slitted like a beast's. Cws extended from what were once fingers, and fangs jutted from mouths twisted iial snarls. The half-beasts uhemselves forward with terrifying speed, leaving deep gouges in the snow with each lunge.

  "What kind of magic is this?!" Gunt roared, disbelief and rage g his voice. These were not the brittle humans he had fought before. The sheer power radiating off them was enough to make even a seasoned warrior like him hesitate.

  One of the transformed beasts reached him in a blur, cwed hand swinging with brutal force. Gunt barely mao brace his shield in time, the impact sending a bone-jarring shock through his arm. The strength behind the blow was monstrous—several times what a human could muster. His boots scraped against the ice as he was forced back a step, breath hissiween ched teeth.

  Gritting his fangs, Gunt shed out with his mace, muscles straining. The spiked head ected with a siing ch, smming into the half-beast's torso and flinging it back with enough force to shatter bones. For a brief moment, he thought it was over.

  But the creature only staggered, cws digging into the snow for purchase. It shook its head with a snarl, the dent in its chest already knitting together, steam rising from the wound. Its eyes fixed on Gunt with renewed ferocity, and it unched fain with a roar that reverberated across the battlefield.

  Gunt's blood ran cold. Whatever this magic was, it wasn't just about raw strength—it was twisting them into something far worse.

  "Keep them back!" he shouted, swinging his ma a brutal arc to force the beasts to maintain their distance. "Shaman, we need something stronger!"

  The troll shaman grimaced, sweat beading on his brow despite the bitter cold. "W on it!" he snapped, cwed fingers already weaving a more powerful intation. The air around him crackled with frigid mana, snowfkes twisting into jagged shards that hung, quivering, in the air.

  But for every half-beast that fell, two more seemed to take its pce, their howls blending into a nightmarish chorus. The enemy shaman's eyes glinted from the rear of the battlefield, calm and watchful, fingers still weaving dark patterns.

  Gunt's grip tightened around his mace. If they didn't find a way to break through soon, this skirmish would turn into a sughter.

  Gunt snarled as he swatted aside an ining cw swipe with his shield, the force of the impact rattling his arm. Without missing a beat, he swung his mace down in a brutal arc, spikes first. The on ected with a siing ch, g in the half-beast's skull with a single, decisive blow. Blood and bone fragments spttered across the snow as the twisted creature crumpled lifelessly at his feet.

  But there was no time to breathe. All around him, the other trolls were struggling to hold the lihe enemy's relentless assault ushing them back step by step, and even the shaman was hard-pressed to keep weaving his spells uhe stant threat of attack. Though protected by the others, the shaman’s focus was fractured, each spell taking loo cast as he ducked and twisted to avoid lunges and arrows.

  A guttural roar of pain snapped Gunt's attention to the side. One of the troll warriors fell with a snarl, his leg snared by the cws of a half-beast. Before he could wrench himself free, three more swarmed him, cws and fangs fshing. Blue blood sprayed across the snow, steaming in the icy air.

  Gunt growled in frustration, preparing to charge to his fallen rade's aid, but a massive arrow whistled past his ear, impaling one of the half-beasts through the chest. The creature howled, staggering bad freeing the wouroll for a brief moment. But the damage was already dohe warrior's leg was shredded, his breathing ragged, and it was clear he was out of the fight.

  Gunt’s eyes flicked across the battlefield, assessing the situation with grim precision.‘Ten of them still standing, and only six of us left who still fight,’ he calcuted, grip tightening around his mace. ‘The lohis drags on, the worse our odds get.’

  The half-beasts could be killed—he’d proven that much—but it took more strength and effort than it should have. Every swing had to t, every movement precise, or they’d be overwhelmed.

  A sudden flurry of bck lireaked past Gunt, dark and fast as shadows. He gnced back just in time to see the shaman, staff raised and eyes bzing with tration. It was his spell—dark feathers twisted with crag mana, eae glinting like obsidian bdes as they sliced through the air. The deadly projectiles struck with ruthless efficy, pung through flesh and bohree of the half-beasts dropped mid-charge, shredded and motionless.

  A flicker of hope sparked in Gunt's chest, but it was quickly snuffed out as he caught sight of movement from the rear of the enemy ranks.

  Another half-beast lu him, cws aiming for his throat. Gunt snarled, sidestepping and bringing his mace around in a wide arc. The spiked head ected with the beast's torso, ribs shattering with the impact as it was flung bato the snow, twitg weakly. But before he could press the advantage, a new sound ripped through the chaos—a roar deeper and more anding thahers, rolling across the battlefield like thunder.

  Gunt’s gaze snapped up, and his blood ran cold. The enemy leader was on the move.

  The man stalked forward with a measured pace, snow g beh heavy boots. Uhe others, he hadn’t transformed, but there was something in his stride—in the calm fidehat radiated from him—that screamed dahe fur-lined cloak billowed behind him, and his eyes, dark and unblinking, locked onto Gunt with the cold focus of a predator.

  For a heartbeat, the battlefield seemed to fall into an eerie silence. Even the half-beasts hesitated, snarling and snapping but not advang. Gunt tightened his grip on his mace, shoulders squaring as he met that gaze head-on. Whatever foul magic had twisted the others, this one was the source.

  And if they didn’t bring him down soon, none of them would leave this pce alive.

  "Stay sharp!" Gunt barked, his voice carrying above the cmor. "Form up and keep yuard! That one's mine."

  The remaining trolls shifted instinctively, drawing closer to form a tighter defensive lihe shaman’s eyes flickered with uainty but nodded, beginning another intation as mana fred bright and bitterly cold around him.

  The enemy leader stopped just a few paces away, a cruel smile tugging at the er of his mouth. His fingers flexed, dark energy swirliween them, casting twisted shadows on the snow.

  "e the," the man called, his voice smooth and taunting. "Show me asses for ce among your kind."

  Gunt's snarl deepened, fangs bared. If this was to be their end, he would make damn sure it cost the enemy dearly. With a roar that shook the air, he charged forward, mace raised high and murder in his eyes.

  The enemy leader snarled, baring elongated fangs, before lunging forward with a speed that belied his size. The other half-beasts had already withdrawn, f a loose circle around the battlefield, their eyes glinting with savage intelligence as they left the space open for the two leaders to csh.

  Gunt gritted his teeth, pnting his feet firmly in the blood-soaked snow as he raised his shield to intercept the charge. The enemy’s movements were deceptively simple—no wasted fir, just brutal efficy. Mid-swing, the leader’s muscles bulged unnaturally, veins darkening with some twisted power as his cws came down in a vicious arc.

  The impact was explosive, crashing into Gunt's bone-fed shield with the force of a thunderbolt. The sheer power behind the strike sent a shockwave rippling through the air, pushing Gunt back a few steps despite his bulk. His arm throbbed with a stinging pain, muscles protesting uhe strain, but he didn’t falter.

  Before the enemy could press the advantage, Gunt snarled aaliated, swinging his ma a brutal terattack. The spiked head whistled through the air, aiming to crush ribs and splinter bone, but the enemy leader’s reflexes were just as sharp. He brought his arm up to block, cws catg the blow with a dull g, muscles abs the force with an ease that set Gunt’s teeth on edge.

  Blow for blow, they cshed—steel and bone, d mace. Each strike was met with a ter, each opening closed in a heartbeat. Snow ed beh their feet, stained crimson and scattered with splintered ice as they fought. Sparks fshed where cws met armor, and the air was thick with the st of iron and ozone.

  Despite the enemy's brutal strength and speed, Gunt began to sense an advantage. His natural troll resilience was turning the tide, eag blow and shallow cut healing rapidly even as the battle raged. The leader’s strikes, while powerful, were starting to grow more erratic—fueled by mounting frustration rather than precision.

  Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, until finally, with a guttural growl of frustration, the enemy leader disengaged. He shed out with a savage kick, boot smming into Gunt’s shield with enough force to send a dull tremor up his arm. Gunt slid back a step, brag against the blow, but the enemy had already retreated a few paces, eyes narrowed ahing with barely restrained rage.

  They stood a few strides apart, breaths misting in the frigid air, eyes locked in a battle of wills. Gunt’s chest heaved, but his gre was steady, unyielding. The leader’s lip curled back, revealing elongated es slick with saliva and blood.

  "Enough pying," the leader snarled, his tone harsh and ated, a voiused to sharing ands. His eyes gleamed with a dark promise as he thrust a cwed hand skyward, fingers spread wide.

  Power crackled in the air, sudden and suffog, as the leader's voied with authority."I call upon thee, storm's power!"

  A deafening crack split the air, and the battlefield was momentarily drowned in a burst of searing light. Gunt squinted against the gre, brag behind his shield as the temperature plummeted, the stench of ozoinging his nostrils. Mana swirled violently around the leader, densing into jagged arcs of lightning that danced between his cws, snapping and snarling like living serpents.

  Befunt’s eyes, the enemy's body began to . Muscles expanded grotesquely beh the skin, sinew and flesh twisting with raw power. White fur erupted in a wave across his body, shredding cloth and armor alike as his frame surged taller, broader—almost matg Gunt’s height and raw mass. His face elongated into a savage maw, eyes burning with electric blue as his hands morphed into massive, lightning-wreathed cws.

  The transformation was brutal and swift, leaving no trace of humanity in the creature's eyes—only a beast’s hunger and a warrior’s wrath. The air hummed with barely tained energy, and each breath the leader took came out in a low, rumbling growl, lips peeled back to reveal dagger-like fangs.

  Lightning crackled with every movement, illuminating the snow in eerie blue-white fshes. The ground hissed where stray bolts touched, searing bed scars into the ice. Gunt's grip tightened instinctively around his mad shield, muscles coiling in preparation.

  The leader—no, the beast—rolled his shoulders, cws flexing with a sound like crag ice. His growl deepened, reverberating through the air with enough force to stir the snow at their feet.This wasn’t just a fight anymore—it was a stiven flesh and fury.

  "Now, die!" the beast roared, voice guttural and ed, as he charged forward with lightning streaming from his cws.

  Gunt snarled back, raising his shield with a defiant roar of his own, brag to meet the enemy head-on.

  The transformed leader charged fast tunt, his cws crag with lightning. Dropping down on all fours, he barreled forward like a maddened beast, eyes wild and unseeing. As he he leader reared up, raising both massive arms high, ready to sm down with enough force to shatter stone and bone alike.

  Gunt barely mao twist aside, the cws missing him by ihe ground exploded where the leader's strike nded, snow and dirt shooting up in a thick cloud with a deafening boom. The shockwave sent Gunt stumbling back, ears ringing, vision blurred. But even through the chaos, a fsh of movement caught his eye—an arm cutting through the cloud with lethal precision.

  There was no time to dodge. The cws struck his shield with a brutal force, shattering it instantly. Splinters and shards scattered in the air, and the impact sent Gunt skidding back across the snow. Pain fred hot and sharp up his arm, where the blow had seared flesh and bone alike. His fiwitched, half-numb, half-burning, but he forced them to tighten around the hilt of his mace.

  The leader lunged again, cws whistling through the air. Gunt ducked low, the strike sweeping over his head with a crackle of lightning and raw power. He retaliated instantly, swinging his mato the leader’s thigh with a desperate growl. The strike ected, but the beast's hide was thick—too thick. The blow barely made the leader flinch.

  Gunt gritted his teeth, sweat mixing with blood as it dripped down his brow. His breaths came ragged and hot in the frigid air. The leader’s attacks were powerful—overwhelming even. But there was something else, too. A pattern. For all his speed and ferocity, the leader's strikes were wild, almost animalistic. Simple. Predictable. The challenge wasn’t uanding them—it was avoiding them.

  Gunt’s eyes narrowed. If he couldn’t overpower the beast, he’d outst him.

  He shifted his stance, closing the distao stay in the leader's blind spots, striking at joints and unprotected flesh betweehick yers of fur. Each blow was quid precise, crag bone and tearing flesh in small, but accumuting wounds. The leader howled in rage, lightning crag violently along his cws with every missed strike. But even as Gunt pressed his advantage, he couldn’t avoid everything. Cws sliced into flesh, hot and searing, leaving wounds that wept dark crimson. Blood soaked into the snow, painting it in streaks of red and blue.

  His vision blurred at the edges, muscles screamed with exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop—wouldn’t stop. The leader's rage only grew, lightning arg erratically from his cws, scorg the earth and air alike. But Gunt could see it now—the subtle stagger in the leader’s step, the bored breaths beh the growls. He was slowing.

  Unbeknownst to Gunt, something else stirred—dark veins spreadih his blue skin, pulsing with unnatural power. Each breath came quicker, eaent sharper, almost a blur amidst the snow and chaos. His eyes gleamed darker, foarrowing to a deadly point. He didn’t feel the cold anymore—only the heat, the blood, the pounding of his owbeat like a war drum.

  A strike caught the leader across the face, splitting skin and drawing a snarl of pain. But the beast recovered fast, cws swinging down with deadly precision, straight funt’s head.

  Time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to the lethal arc of those cws. But in that heartbeat, Gunt's form flickered—like mist swept by wind. The cws passed through air, and Gunt reappeared an instant ter, at the leader’s blind spot, mace already arg downward.

  The strike was brutal—both hands gripping tight, all his weight and momentum behind it. The mace came down on the leader’s skull with a siing ch. Bone shattered, flesh gave way, and blood burst out in a grotesque spray. The leader’s body crumpled, momentum carrying it forward even as life fled.

  A red flower bloomed on the snow, stark against the white.

  Silence fell abruptly, broken only by the howling wind. Blood dripped sluggishly from Gunt’s mace, staining the snow in dark crimson. His breaths came ragged, eahale a struggle against the pain radiating from tless wounds. The dark veins slowly receded, leaving his skin tingling and numb.

  The leader's corpse began to shrink, steam hissing as fur and muscle melted away, leaving behind a broken human form—headless and sprawled at Gunt’s feet. Gunt stared down, eyes dark and cold, as if waiting for the body to move again. But it didn’t.

  Movement at the edge of his vision drew his gaze. The remaining half-beasts stood frozen, eyes wide with terror, staring at the headless corpse of their leader and the blood-soaked troll still standing amidst it all. Their eyes met Gunt’s—bloodstained and unblinking—and one by ohey broke. ons cttered to the snow as they turned, fleeing into the trees with panicked cries, stumbling over each other in their desperation to escape.

  “Cowards,” Gunt muttered, voice rough and hoarse. He spat blood, the metallic taste sharp on his tongue, and staggered slightly, knees nearly bug.

  The camp y in shambles—tents torn, fires sm, snoled and stained dark. The surviving trolls moved sluggishly, dragging the wounded into a makeshift defensive circle. The shaman, barely standing, leaned heavily on his staff, pale green light weaving through the air to close wounds and stop bleeding.

  “Gunt!” one of the trolls called out, voice cracked with relief. “You’re still standing, eh? Figured you’d be too stubborn to die.”

  Gunt she sou and painful. “Not yet. Need more than an rowo finish me.” He grimaced, clutg at a wound in his side as fresh blood seeped between his fingers. “Damn… That st hit almost did, though.”

  The shaman’s eyes flickered with , gaze lingering on the faint marks of dark veins still reg beh Gunt’s skin. “That power…” he murmured, voice wary. “Where did—”

  “Not now,” Gunt cut him off, voice harsh. “Talk ter. We o move. They’ll be back with more.”

  The shamaated but urning to rally the others. The surviving trolls gathered quickly, seg what supplies they could. The dead were given a swift, silent farewell—no time for proper rites, not with enemy reinforts looming.

  Gunt leaned heavily on his mace, eyes fixed on the dark tree line where the half-beasts had vanished. His grip tightened unsciously, knuckles bone-white.

  That power… the dark veins, the sudden burst of speed—it had e unbidden, raw and untamed. Not the shaman’s magiot his own. Something else. Something buried deep.

  He shook his head, grimag. No time to dwell on it now. Survival first.

  “Move out!” Gunt barked, voice carrying over the howling wind. “We’re not dying here!”

  The trolls moved, battered but alive, their steps heavy but determined. As they trudged through the snow, leaving the desecrated camp behind, Gunt cast o g the leader’s corpse—at the shattered skull and blood-soaked snow.

  Whatever power that was, it had saved his life.

  His eyes narrowed, a dark glint flickering in their depths.

  Answers could wait. For now, they o return.

  vicky1919