Chapter 12: The Engines of War
The drums of war thundered louder than any storm—this was the reckoning the dark lords had prepared for…
The valley of Blackmaw Ridge churned with fire and iron. The Horde had gathered—Orcs, Goblins, Ogres, and the unholy Chios demons. Above all, something darker stirred… For the enemy had evolved.
⚔️ Dark Reflections of the Dirty Dozen
Whispers spread among the war-camps: new champions had emerged from the pits of torment, creatures shaped by blood magic to counter Sir Salty’s elite women warriors.
Each of these twisted foes was created to reflect the powers and style of one of Salty’s Dirty Dozen:
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Isabella, the sniper with divine aim, now faced a Chios demoness called Naxxira, who could fire bolts of shadow faster than any mortal eye could follow. Her arrows sapped the will to fight.
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Sierra the flame-witch, mistress of fire magic, would battle Morgak the Ash-Eater, an Orc shaman who wore a crown of embered bone and spat black fire hotter than dragon breath.
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Ravenna the blade-dancer, whose grace killed faster than thought, now had a rival in Skreel the Gore-Spiral, a goblin rogue infused with demon speed and wielding twin poisoned scimitars.
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Thessaly the mindbender, capable of illusions and telepathy, would meet her match in Varnaxis himself, who could shatter minds with a whisper and command lesser minds like puppets.
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Brida the Stormcaller, whose command over lightning was unmatched, had already been marked by the Chios warlock Zhur the Hollow, who controlled winds of despair and black frost, a chilling counter to her rage.
These dark reflections had been chosen, trained, and twisted to hunt and kill the Dirty Dozen, one by one.
“Let the man have his women,” sneered Gralsh. “We’ve bred their nightmares.”
🪓 Orc Warbands & Their Brutal Might
Orcs in their thousands beat weapons on shields, eyes burning yellow with bloodlust. Gralsh the Red-Eye stood taller now—he wore Hellforged Steel, enchanted by Chios sorcerers to resist magic and bend flames.
At his right, Bogrot the Biter grinned through broken teeth. His warband, the Gravegnashers, were armoured in stitched human flesh and plated bone. Their axes could shear through plate and bone alike.
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They carried great cleavers, barbed pikes, and chain-flails soaked in venom.
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Others wore shadow-veils, cursed cloaks that concealed them even in daylight.
🐺 Goblins on Wolfback, Now With Dark Magic
The Goblins had grown more fearsome. Mounted on wolves with red-glowing eyes and spiked collars, they now rode in packs infused with hexes. Their warlocks rode with them, casting spells of blindness and panic on their enemies.
Their new leader, Slickgut the Slimer, had drank Chios blood. His voice now echoed with double tones—one goblin, one something far older.
“We bite and run. We sniff and kill. Salty’s women’ll scream when we gnaw their eyes,” he cackled.
🪨 Ogres of Dreadstone & Siege Horrors
The Ogres, hulking terrors of muscle and malice, now wielded enchanted weapons: maces that exploded on impact, clubs crackling with cursed lightning, and nets woven from sinew that drained the strength from anyone caught.
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Mordak Bonejaw wore a full set of armour hammered from a fallen giant’s bones.
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Siege-beasts dragged flaming catapults, while Ironbacks—Ogres chained to wheeled platforms—smashed forward like living battering rams.
😈 The Chios Convergence
Above all, the Chios demons gathered power from their Infernal Obelisks, erected around the battlefield to warp reality. These monoliths would strengthen demon spells, weaken human will, and make night fall early.
Varnaxis, their leader, now prepared the Hellflood, a spell so destructive it would split the sky and tear open the fabric of reality. But it could only be cast if the blood of three royals was spilled… and he had his eye on Queens Sarah and Michelle.
“Soon, Virellia will burn in twilight,” he hissed. “The man Salty will scream as his lovers fall.”
🔥 The Final Preparations
Across the blasted land, banners unfurled, drums pounded, and the final rites were made. The mirrored champions of darkness were ready. Salty and his women would not face nameless monsters.
They would face themselves, twisted.
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