“Warchief!” Cried out Flannik.

He and his daughter both snap up from their musings over a map that they were looking over.

“What is it Shaman?” He addressed his friend by his title with a no nonsense tone of voice. Acknowledging that he focused on what he was saying.

“Our scouts have finally reported back from the front! I now know why my scrying has failed thus far my Warchief: it would seem that the goblins have built themselves a wall up the final slope of the pass to the mountain summit.”

“They what?! They built a wall?” He asked with incredulousness in his voice.

His friend and Shaman only nodded in affirmation of his warchief’s words.

“I am afraid this is accurate my Warchief. I have since done a scrying on the scouts that stayed near the wall, from what I was able to see, they have indeed built a wall of sort; but as you know, I could not get a clear picture of it, because it was so far outside the vicinity of my vision of the scouts: they dared not get closer without alerting the goblins, my warchief.”

After he finished his explanation, the Warchief rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully.

“This is totally unexpected. But this also explains the lack of goblins in the area: the Demon Lord must have found out about our advance on their territory, then pulled as many goblins to defend against us as possible.“

“Those were my thoughts as well Warchief.” Flannik agreed.

“How tall is this wall? What did it look like? How fortified was it?” The General asked. His little Lirania always being a step ahead of him.

“I could not perceive it that well, I could only confirm it with my scrying. But from the scout’s report that returned; it is about fifteen yalms tall and it spans the length of pathway, leading into the mountains.”

Both Lirania and her father’s eyes widened at this revelation.

“F-Fifteen?! The entire length?! How in blazes did they build a wall that large in only a few months?!” The Warchief demands to no one.

“I-... I cannot say my Warchief. I only have speculations.”

“Do you believe it’s some sort of magic?” Questioned his niece, Lirania.

Flannik nodded his head.

“I do. It really is the only explanation. I cannot think of another way that the Demon Lord would have been capable to craft a wall this size in only three months.”

The Warchief then slammed the side if his fist into the stump that they were using as an impromptu table. With a sicking crack, the stump split in half, embedding his fist into the crack of the stump. The loud noise caused both Lirania and Flannik to start.

“Damn it all!” The Warchief growled. “How?! How the hell is this possible?! Nothing is going to plan!”

Lirania and Flannik understood their warchief’s frustrations. Not only had they had almost no encounters with goblins; the only ones they did, were lone groups of them. Not a full tribe of hundreds. They wouldn’t even make for sport to chase after.

On top of that, the news that their surprise attack was somehow reported to the Demon Lord, who has, as a result; built up a sizable fortified defense.

Lirania turned back to her uncle.

“But what of the wall itself? Fifteen yalms is a tall, but what of the structure itself? How fortified was it?” She asked again.

“That is the only good news... if you could call it that.”

“Explain!” The warchief demanded.

“From what the scouts reported, the wall itself must have been extremely thick, for it had no outside supports, despite being as tall as it is, while also being partially on the slope itself...”

Lirania sensed his hesitation.

“Is there more Shaman?” She questioned.

“... Yes. But only my speculation and the scouts word. They reported that the wall was smooth.

“Smooth?!” Both the general and the warchief questioned in disbelief at the same time.

“Smooth, like the surface was all one stone piece.”

“But thats-“ Lirania started.

“Impossible without magic.” Flannik finished for her. “Which helps to support my theory, That someone, most likely the Demon Lord, is an incredibly powerful magic user.”

“ARGH!” Roared their Warchief, which startled them again. He reached down and grabbed hold of one half of the stump. His fingers dug and embedded into the wood of the stump.

“UGH!” He growled and grunted as he pulled with his monstrous strength, there were groaning, rumbling and snapping sounds as he started to pull the stump from the ground.

The Alstaria gave way as the ground split from where the roots of the stump lay buried. The split other half of the stump flopped away from where it used to be attached to its other half, now only joined at the roots themselves; which were now being pulled free.

As the Warchief pulled and twisted the stump free. He lifted it Over his head, roots and bits of Alstaria falling free of the roots they clung to. He then twisted and threw the stump end-over-end the opposite direction, towards some unsuspecting soldiers, who were enjoying a meal around a camp fire.

“WATCH OUT!” Lirania cried out.

The men eating around the fire had just enough time to hear her cry, then try to scramble away, they ran and dove from flying tree stump that was hurtling towards them.

They had all just made it out of the way as It crashed into the fire that proceeded to shower the area with sparks and smoke. The smothered fire released a smoke pillar as high as twenty yalms. Which rained ash over the camp. All the soldiers around the camp at this point were staring and watching as their warchief went into a blood frenzy.

“WARCHIEF! You need to calm down-“ Lirania ordered her father.

“YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP! YOU DO NOT ORDER ME-“ But he was also interrupted as he received a gut shot to his solar plexus.

Lirania struck her Warchief with a punch tightly pulled into the side her body, that she shot out from with her bent elbow, aiming up towards his solar plexus, in an uppercutting motion.

The Warchief recovered quickly. He then threw a wide punch with all his strength, which Lirania took advantage of and bent backwards and towards the side of his punch. She then wrapped her arms around his, putting it over her shoulder, she then stepped into his gate, while outstretching her other foot for stability. She then hefted, throwing her Warchief, much like he had with the stump. He went end-over-end, landing on his back with a  loud thump.

“UGH!” He groaned as he hit the ground hard. “UFF!” He did another exhalation of breath as his general dropped her knee into his solar plexus.

“Knock your shit off Warchief! Calm down! Surrender!” She demanded.

He opened his eyes to stare at her’s. Her eyes having a little red haze to them.

She stared back at his; which were completely red.

“NEVER!”

He then grabbed a hold of her by her leg and calf. Her eyes went wide as she was then lifted off of him, then thrown through the air. She went about two yalms high, landing about three and a half yalms away from her Warchief.

He jumped up to his feet then let out a ear piecing roar.

“AARRGGHH!!”

He charged, heading straight for his General, who was sprawled on the ground. When he was about half a yalm from her, he lept through the air towards her prone figure.

She saw her opportunity, she laid her hands behind her backwards, rolling back on her shoulds. She lifted her rear off the ground, legs curled into her stomach.

The Warchief’s eyes started to lose their haze as he realized his mistake. As he was flying through the air, getting closer to her, she extended her greave covered feet, kicking out towards him. Her kick landing right into his solar plexus once again, just as she intended.

“OOF!” The air was completely knocked out of his lungs. He flew backwards about a yalm from where he was kick, landing on his back with another thud.

He clenched just above his stomach. Gasping for breath.

He laid there coughing and gasping. Trying to get his breathing back under control.

“She keeps kicking me in the guts!? *COUGH*”  He questioned to no one through a coughing fit. “Why?! Why does she keep kicking me in the guts?! *COUGH*“

Flannik came up, to then smile down at his Warchief.

“You know brother, you could always just not-“

“If you say: not fight my daughter. I swear to the Evil God, I will kick you in the guts! *COUGH*”

The Shaman quickly hid his lips behind his teeth to hide his laughing smile.

Lirania came up to also look down at her father, breathing a little heavily.

“Had *PANT* enough? *PANT* Father?” She asked as she got her own breathing under control. calming down from her own minor blood haze.

“Hmm... It is always a strange feeling. Having pride in defeats against you. *COUGH* But it is also over shadowed by this unyielding need to get revenge and kick your ass! *COUGH* *COUGH*“ He shouted as he started having another coughing fit again.

She gave him a toothy grin.

“Anytime old man.”

“...” He glared at her comment. “Wipe that disgusting grin off your face soldier!” Even though he barked his order at her. He couldn’t help but smile at her.

This only caused her smile back at him more widely.

“Help your poor apa up won’t you?” The Warchief asked his daughter.

“Yes apa,” she said, as she reached down for his hand.

As he reached his up to take hers proffered one, she said.

“And don’t even think about throwing me to the ground, or I will break your arm.” She warned him.

His extending hand hesitated for a second. He looked into her eyes to judge if she was serious.

She was. He knew it.

He gave a sigh at having been caught. He decided to forgo pulling reversal on his daughter.

As he was help up standing he gave a little grunt, which made his daughter squint.

“How many?” She asked him.

He stiffened at her words.

“How many, what?” He asked back, despite knowing very well what she was asking.

She rolled eyes.

“How many ribs are broken, Warchief?” She asks him by over emphasizing his title.

“I said I am fine GeneraAaallll!-“ The Warchief nearly screeches as his daughter smacks his chest armor with the back of her gauntleted hand.

“Yeah, fine...” She retorts in a mocking tone.

“I said I was FINE, so I am!” He growls through gritted teeth. His face a grimace of pain.

Once again, Lirania rolled her eyes at her father’s stubbornness. She walks behind him and proceeds to capture him from behind, locking her arms around his, while linking her fingers behind his head.

“Gotcha!”

“Gaaah! That hurt you bitch! Let me go!” Her father screams in outrage. “I can’t believe you put me in a Viron lock! What are you?! Ten summers old?!”

She smiles at him.

“Says the Warchief that refuses to let others check him out when he is injured.” She shoots back.

“I am not injured! I am fi-eeeee!” He screams as she pulls him up just a little straighter, forcing his ribs more apart.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of a recruit bitching over a few broken ribs.”

“God fucking damn it! That hurts!”

“So you admit it hurts then?”

“Yes!” The Warchief exclaims. “Now stop stretching me and let go!”

“Sorry, no can do.” She looks towards her uncle. “Shaman? Can you come cure this big baby recruit’s ouchie?”

“I’ll give you a fucking ou-AAAA!” The warchief screams as he is stretched once more.

As Flannik approaches, his Warchief starts to growl at him.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” He screams.

“Will you stop being so stubborn and let uncle heal you? The sooner you’re better, the sooner you can challenge me to a rematch.” She suggests as a means to coerce him into behaving.

“...” He goes quiet, then relaxes his posture, Letting himself be held by his daughter.

Flannik preforms a few gestures with his hands, then his hands start to glow a greenish-white light. He then places his splayed hands over his Warchief’s armor, just above his rib cage.

A floating green, luminescent circle, appears between the Warchief’s chest plate and the Shaman’s hands. There are strange symbols at the inner circumference of the circle, with an inner circle, that separates the Shaman’s hands from the symbols and the outer circle.

The greenish light penetrated through the armor, suffusing a the glow all over his abdomen. It penetrated deeper into his body, towards his broken ribs.

The hairline fractures across three of his ribs began knitting together. Fusing back righting themselves. Weeks of recovering was done in the matter of minutes.

It was always a strange feeling for the warchief to experience his shaman’s healing. Not painful, but the stretching, forming, growing, was uncomfortable at most. Weeks, maybe even moons of full healing, was done in the blink of an eye. It was never a feeling he relished experiencing. Because he didn’t like the fact that if at any moment, that instead of healing him, this power could be turned to instead to crush his organs.

He knew he was being irrational, that his brother and friend would never harm or betray him like that. But every time he felt that power crawl over his skin, it sent a revolting shiver up his spine.

Soon, the green light started to fade. When it was fully extinguished, the shaman lifted his hands from his Warchief’s abdomen.

“There, all better.” He straightened his stance, making eye contact with his brother. “As you know, you’ll be sore and bruised for a couple more days. But that is the extent healing can go, without it being harmful.”

The Warchief merely rolled his eyes.

“I know, so let us skip the lecture and the prognosis...” He then did his best to try and shake loose from his daughter’s grasp, but to no avail. “Will you fucking let go of me?!”

“Let go of you what?~” Lirania asked in a singsong tone.

“Now!” He demanded in a shout.

She clicked her tongue, but promptly let her father go.

He stumbled a couple steps from her before her righted himself into a more relaxed and dignified stance.

He coughed to clear his throat, also to try to fruitlessly hide his embarrassment.

“...Now then... where were we?” He asks his officers.

The General and the Shaman share a look between themselves. The latter shakes his head, the former just drops her head with a sigh. They knew nothing was ever going to change their warchief.

“We were, talking about how it was possible for the goblins to have erected their wall so fast; and the possibility of the Demon Lord being a magic user.” Lirania reminded her father.

The Warchief’s face morphs back into a serious expression.

“Right... I don’t like the idea of the Demon Lord being this powerful,”

“Apparently!” His daughter and General makes a snide comment. He throws a glare her direction, to which she stands up confidently with her head held high and her chest out. Her arms resting behind her back; her stance relaxed, feet apart.

He makes a grunt towards her, that was also mixed with a sort of a growl.

“As I was saying. I don’t like the idea of the Demon Lord being this powerful, or being this adept at using magic; especially magic of this scale: it would mean that our army would be virtually worthless in this fight.”

Both his Shaman and General nod their heads in agreement.

“We’re likely going to be walking into the mouth of the beast,” He looked between both of his officers. “I hope you both realize that this is going to be an up hill battle, both figuratively and literally, do you understand?”

“Yes sir!” They acknowledged.

“The goblins are for sure to know we’re coming; there can be no doubt about that fact. The two questions that we need to know are.” He said while holding up to fingers for emphasis. “How powerful is the Demon Lord with magic; and are we going to be walking into a trap. The latter of which I am almost entirely certain that we are.”

“What makes you say that warchief?” Asked his General. To which he just shrugged.

“Call it instinct, or what have you. But for some reason. This whole thing strikes me as odd.” He then let a rueful smile play across his face. He held up one hand and pointed at a finger with his other hand. “Let us list what we know: there have been no goblins in the immediate area all along the route up the mountain.” He said and ticked off, then switched to point at his next finger. “We know that this Demon Lord should be the one of prophecy; we know that they have somehow constructed a wall that spans fifteen yalms high and almost ten yalms across. This is a solid defense that could prove fatal, since we did not expect to run into this kind of resistance; and we don’t have any sort of siege weaponry, nor were we planning on a long campaign.” The warchief looked between his general and shaman. “What are your thoughts officers?”

Lirania looked to her uncle first.

“Shaman,” She called him and addressed him by his proper title. “What are your estimates on how large a goblin force would we be dealing with?” She needed this fact before she gave her opinion to her Warchief.

The Shaman scratches his head as he thought on this.

“If I would have to make a guess; basing it on our previous report of  the area and the goblin settlements know around here... that we’re looking at about fifty thousand goblins. And that only includes the ones leading up into the mountain. Not any more in the surrounding regions, if they have also contacted them or engulfed them into their tribe.”

“...” Lirania was quiet as she processed this. “Warchief?”

“General?”

“With this information that we have, I think we should proceed.“ She told him.

“Explain your reasoning soldier.” Her Warchief commanded.

“From how I see it: We will have just enough men to cover for their numbers, but even if didn’t, it is unlikely that the Demon Lord will send out the entirety of their populous. Because no matter how fast a goblin can mature or grow, they still wouldn’t risk their entire tribe or species: as it stands. The goblins will most likely attack us with a force of about ten thousand. With our troops, that should be more than enough to clear through their numbers, no matter what kind of plan or defense they have set up.”

The Warchief was nodding along to her entire laid out thought process.

“I concur. While it would more wise to call in reinforcements, and have siege weapons delivered, it would take another couple of months to get them to where we are now, not only that; then we will have to fortify our position here and wait for them to arrive, while maintaining out troops out here in the wilds: all the while giving the goblins more chances to fortify themselves and grow a larger force.” The Warchief was already shaking his head before he finished talking.

“No, I don’t see anyway that getting and waiting for reinforcements and weapons will help up. Even if we did, we will also be letting the Demon Lord have more time to get used to their powers, one of the reasons which we made this hastily put together army of elites to go and kill the Demon Lord. If we let them carry on to long, they might be to powerful to handle later on. So more over, I am of the opinion that the goblins need to be attacked now, while they are still not truly ready for us. This is the only time where we will have the largest advantage.” The Warchief looked to his Shaman.

“Thoughts old man?” He called out to his older brother. Despite the fact that they were close in age. Flannik, it seemed, aged almost five times faster than him in appearance. Even if that was not true, it seemed like it to the warchief; who just attributed this to his shaman‘s training, which made him seem older.

“Tough call honestly... Because you’re right. We will have our best shot going now and taking them be surprise... despite the fact they now know we’re coming: But on the other hand. If we waited, we gain more troops and the better ability to deal with anything they might throw at us... but then they gain those advantages as well by getting more time to prepare.” He shook his head as well.

“No... Warchief, General. Despite my miss givings on this, I truly agree that there is only one course of action for us. We must dive head first into danger and overwhelm them. This is the only way.”

“Spring the trap you mean?” The General asked, already knowing the answer they were about to give.

“Yes... Spring the trap. Catching them in their own trap.” The Shaman explained unnecessarily.

The Warchief nodded his head.

“Then it is decided. We march forward. Nothing has change. We will just be more cautious and move our troops in tighter formations: guarding each other’s backs.”

His officers nodded their agreement.

“Then general. Go notify the soldiers: Tell them that we are moving out. Also tell them what our plans are and about the situation.”

“Sir, yes sir!” She saluted with her right hand, touching her left shoulder: her arm stretched across the front of her chest. She then turned and ran off to complete her task.

With the Shaman and the Warchief left alone, the Shaman took this opportunity to talk with his brother.

“This is it Warchief: Soon you will be The new Demon Lord... excited?” He asks him.

His brother lets out a snort of air through his nose.

“Of course I am! But I am also excited for this up coming battle. It has been so long since we’ve had a good fight.” He gave a sideways glance to his brother. “You can’t tell me you aren’t also excited, can you?

The Shaman let a slow smile creep across his face.

“Of course I am; am an orc as well. And fiery fury races through my blood, just as much as yours.”

“*HMPH* you never let it show though.” The Warchief teasingly accuses.

This just produces a chuckle out of his older brother. “You’re right. I don’t let it show very often. It can mess up my spell-crafting. Which is why I used to cast a calming spell on myself before any sort of fighting begins.”

“Ha! I knew it! You’ve been cheating this whole time!” The Warchief accuses him with laughter in his voice and a smile on his face.

Flannik gives a dry chuckle.

“I said I USED to. I have since mastered the feeling the calm spell does to my state of mind. So now I can just mentally keep myself calm without the spell.” Flannik explains to his younger brother.

The Warchief stares with a look of awe on his face towards his brother.

“What?” Flannik asks when the staring goes on to long.

This time, it was the Warchief turn to give a dry chuckle.

“Nothing. Just realizing that even though I am about to become a Demon Lord, I still have a lot to learn and a long way to go.” He said with a rueful. His expression changed to a serious one.

“What do feel our chances are? Honestly?”

“Honestly?” Flannik asked back rhetorically. “I feel we have about even odds, with the goblins having the Demon Lord on their side.”

The warchief nodded his head at his assessment.

“... However... I want to also say, I’m not sure why... but I feel... that everything is going to work out fine in the end.”

The warchief snorted at this.

“A vision?” He asked his Shaman brother.

Flannik shook his head.

“Just a hunch... I cannot explain it... It doesn’t feel like we’re going into a final battle brother... more like... we’re about to be... I don’t know... Like we’ll come out of this so much more than what we go in with.” Flannik shrugged. “Like I said: I can’t explain why I have that feeling.”

“No, that makes senses to me. In a way, we are. We’re about to be the single most power race and force in all of Alstaria. Then, once we have the goblins also in our forces, we can move on to force alliances with the other dark races. Then move on to either conquer, or force the Allied races to surrender to us.”

Flannik nodded and clasped his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll see it done, Warchief.”

They stared into the tree line, where just beyond was the border to the path that lead up the mountain. Then it was only about two more days until they came to the wall.

 

---

Exactly two days later, they were there. Staring up at the enormous wall constructed by the will of the Demon Lord.

”By the Evil God! It is enormous! I can’t believe that the Demon Lord built a wall or structure like this!” The General said in awe as they all stared at it from about twenty alms away.

”No... They didn’t.”

The Warchief and the General looked towards the Shaman.

”What do you mean?” Lirania asked her uncle.

”There is no traces of aura anywhere on that structure.”

both of their eyes widened at this.

”Are you seriously trying to tell me; that a bunch of large eyed, sharp teeth, freaks made that wall by hand?! There is no way! Goblins can barely hunt their own food, let alone build a wall! For Astaria’s sake! You’ve seen their pathetic abandoned huts and structures we’ve passed. How would you explain any of this without magic?!”

But Flannik just shakes his head. It shouldn't be possible. I don’t understand?...” He says with confusion in his voice, as he speaks mostly to himself at this point.

The Warchief and the General looked at each with concern at how the Shaman was acting.

The Warchief just gave a sigh and said to the group.

“Well, we’ll never learn anything by just standing around. We’ll find out more once we’re closer.” He turned back to his General. “Sound the order: we’re moving out.”

“Yes Warchief!” Lirania responded to her father. She face the troops and shouted. “SOLDIERS! MOVE OUT!”

It was about four hours later, that they got close enough to the large wall to notice there was a small gate at the front it. There were two goblins sitting in front of the gate.

As soon as they approached close enough for the goblins to spot them, they could here them scream out in terror.

“They are here! Get inside! Lock the gate! Inform the Demon Lord!”

They did just that; they ran in through the really shoddy log entrance way before slamming it  shut.

The Warchief couldn’t help but laugh at the theatrical way the goblins behaved at the sight of their army.

“Pathetic! Did you see the look on those two’s faces?! HA! Also, look at that gate!” He pointed to the entrance through wall. “I think if I push on it really hard, I can just knock it over! Hahaha!” He started laughing almost uncontrollably.

“...” The General and the Shaman we’re both quiet while their leader laughed. Because they were to busy pondering over there own set of troubling thoughts. They both were thinking of two different problems, but both equally concerning to each of them.

The General spoke first.

“Warchief?” She called out to her father.

“Huh? What is it?”

“I... I don’t like any of this...”

“Huh?! What are trying you say?”

“It’s... Why was there only two goblins out here on sentry duty. Why does the wall look impressive, but the gate look like shit? Nothing is making sense here?”

“EXACTLY!” Flannik shouted in frustration. Startling both his brother and niece.

“Flannik for the love of Alstaria, please do shout all of a sudden. You nearly gave me a heart attack.” The Warchief scolded. “Now What “exactly” is it that has excited?”

The Shaman pointed.

“Look! Those two end sections of the wall on either side! They look like towers! But there are no windows, nor is there anyone manning the top! They should have noticed are approach hours ago!”

The other two looked to confirm what the Shaman had just told them; and sure enough, everything he said was true.

They were all quiet as looked on is speculation and suspicion.

“I guess we won’t know until we get a closer look. We’re moving forward.” The Warchief told his officers.

They then moved forward, towards the great goblin wall. As the stood in front of it, inspecting it. All three of the commanding officers; the Warchief, the General, and the Shaman, along with a few other, began to inspect the wall.

“Impressive. It looks like they have somehow combined clay and another substance with small rocks to spread it around large boulders. Then stacked them on top of one another to build the wall, then covered it with that same substance, to give the wall it’s smooth appearance. Fascinating!” Lirania was actually impressed with what she saw: Idea and technique would revolutionize modern building for years to come if they acquired this technology from the goblins. But that begged the question in her mind.

“How is it that the goblins have this kind of technological building prowess? I always thought that, or at least assumed, that they just above animal thoughts?”

“THEY ARE!” Shouted the Shaman again. “I don’t know how, or who did this! But this is not magic! There is no magical signs or signals, anywhere within this wall! On top of that! There is, to my knowledge, nothing like this in the world! Mortar comes close! But not even to this level! This is solid stone!” He said as he punched the wall.

Not a dent was left in the surface of the wall, which just frustrated the Shaman; even more so with his hand throbbing in pain. It also frustrated him, because he could still not give an answer to what it was that he was seeing right in front of him.

The Warchief waved away their curiosities and concerns.

“It doesn’t matter if they are good at building, or anything. I highly doubt they are: look!” He gestured with his hand towards the gate, which was more like an over sized door. “That is just a bunch of logs glued and tied together with vines and the stone resin.” A name which the Warchief off handedly gives to the smooth wall texture. “The wall itself, must be the work of the Demon Lord in some way or another, we just don’t know how they’ve done it. This door proves that they must have, acquired some sort of way, possibly from some other race, that lets them fortify stone with this, stone resin; which is why it is on the door as well. But with how shoddy this door looks, without their resin, I doubt they would have been able to make this wall at all.”

His daughter nodded along with him.

“I agree, but I do hope we get a chance to get our own hands on this building technology. This would make housing better for the tribe.”

“Hmm... you’re right... But enough about that for now! Send a couple men to knock down that door!” He ordered.

“Yes sir!” She went off to order a couple of men to complete the task.

The Shaman grabbed his brother by the forearm.

“Brother please! Listen to me! I don’t know what it is, but I have a bad feeling about this!” Flannik pleaded.

This got the Warchief to raise an eye brow at his brother. He was not one to be a worrier; and for him to just brazenly grab his arm like that. It did put the Warchief a little on edge.

He turned and grabbed his brother by his shoulder. He looked him dead in the eyes.

“What is it Flannik? Something has got you scared the moment we came into this area, since the last alm of this climb and walk, what happened? I know the wall concerns you, but it is not just the wall, is it?”

Flannik looked down, away from his younger brother and Warchief.

“I am sorry brother... I- I can’t help myself... I... ever since a few alms ago, I have been sensing an aura from the mountain... it’s been putting me on edge.  It was only when the wall came into sight that I got a good feel and sense for the aura I was feeling.” He explained his fears to his Warchief.

The Warchief’s eyes widened at this.

“Do you think-“

“It is. I know it is. This is the Demon Lord.” Flannik told him as he looked back up at his brother. “I couldn’t feel anything in the walls, but that is also because of the aura leaking out from the mountain. It is so strong, that I could hardly sense anything other then the Demon Lord. It stretches for alms brother! ALMS!” He said in a slightly panicked voice. “We need to turn back and retrieve reinforcements!” He strongly suggested to his Warchief.

But the Warchief just scoffed at his brother’s suggestion.

“I understand your concern, but have you honestly gone mad from this aura that you said has been floating around? We can’t turn back now! Maybe a month ago: but we are literally at, the door of the Demon Lord. There is no turning back now brother: it is either we win; or we die.” He told him.

“Then we die, brother.” The Shaman laid it out plainly for his brother. “I have never felt anything like this before. The prophecy is true brother! This Demon Lord! It must be the literal incarnation of the Dark God! There is no other explanation for this wall or this aura!”

The Warchief was about to refute his brother, when they were both startled by a huge crashing sound. They turned to see that the door was literally pushed over, inwards from entrance way. Both the soldiers and the General were standing there with their eyes wide.

“What happened?” The Warchief called out to his daughter.

She looked to him and gave a shake of her head.

“I- I don’t know... Frotog hit the door once and... it fell over.”

Both the Warchief and the Shaman looked at each other. Flannik had a pleading look in his eyes. But the Warchief shook his head. He turned back to his General and said to her.

“Get everyone in position; single file behind you, Flannik and I.” He ordered.

“Sir yes, sir!” She went about giving orders after that.

The Warchief turned to his brother.

“It is time brother, destiny waits.” With that, he moved to the entrance way and waited for his officers to catch up.

It was time.