Mist rolled across the swamp, thick and heavy, curling around twisted roots and stagnant pools. From the shadows, a colossal figure emerged: the Orc Lord, its grotesque frame heaving with unnatural strength, its eyes burning with endless hunger. This was the monster that had destroyed the Ogre homeland.
The Kijin saw it and roared, rage fueling their charge. Shion's claws ripped the air like black lightning. Benimaru's twin blades cut arcs of scarlet through the fog. Hakuro's movements were sharp and unrelenting, each strike landing with deadly precision, while Kaijin's warhammer shattered entire clusters of Orcs in bone-crushing waves.
Atem stood tall on the rise, his cloak brushing against the mist, his gaze fixed on the battlefield below. He didn't flinch, didn't panic—his dark eyes were sharp, calm, and unyielding. He watched as the Kijin unleashed their fury upon the Orc Lord.
But even with all their combined might, it wasn't enough.
The Orc Lord swatted their attacks aside as if batting away insects. Shion's claws tore flesh, but the wounds closed as quickly as they were made. Benimaru's blades cut deep, but the monster only staggered, its roar shaking the swamp like thunder.
The ground quaked beneath every step the beast took, the marsh itself seeming to recoil from its presence.
Atem narrowed his eyes.
"This… is worse than I thought. Their strength alone won't bring it down."
Far away, in a hidden lair, Gelmund—the Clayman General—glared into his shimmering orb. His face twisted with fury as he watched the Kijin stand their ground.
"They dare interfere with my plan?!" Gelmund's voice cracked with venom. "Geld—you were supposed to devour everything! You were supposed to become a Demon Lord by now! Why are you struggling like a weakling?!"
The orb flickered, showing Gabil rallying his Lizardmen, still learning, still fighting. Gelmund's anger grew hotter.
"And you, Gabil! You worthless lizard! You were supposed to throw yourself to the Orc Lord, not try to be a leader!"
Unable to contain his rage, Gelmund rose into the air, dark magic crackling around him. He shot through the skies like a storm and minutes later descended onto the battlefield.
A sudden shadow fell across the swamp. The air thickened, charged with a cruel, oppressive energy. Then came a flash of dark light, and Gelmund landed like a thunderclap, his aura spreading over the battlefield like poison.
"ENOUGH!" his voice boomed. His presence alone sent shivers through the goblins and even rattled the wolves.
He turned first on Gabil, his eyes blazing.
"Why are you not doing your job, Gabil?! Why haven't you let yourself be devoured like I commanded?!"
Then his fury turned to the towering Orc Lord itself.
"And YOU! Why haven't you devoured everything in your path?! Why are you not yet a Demon Lord? Do you dare defy ME?!"
Every shout struck like a whip, shaking the morale of the troops. Confusion spread among the Orcs, and even the Kijin hesitated for a heartbeat. Gelmund's voice thundered through the mist, his arrogance and wrath infecting the battlefield.
From the rise, Atem's eyes narrowed. He understood now. This wasn't random chaos—this was engineered. Gelmund was the puppeteer pulling the strings, fueling the Orc Lord, manipulating Gabil, trying to turn the marsh into a slaughterhouse.
Atem stepped forward, his cloak sweeping the mist aside. With a single leap, he dropped from the rise and landed softly in the swamp below. The ground trembled at his arrival, the fog parting as though forced back by his will alone.
Every gaze turned to him. Goblins, Kijin, Orcs—all felt the shift in presence.
Gelmund froze, his eyes widening as he saw the figure before him. Still, arrogance twisted his face.
"And who do you think you are, stepping into my plan?!" Gelmund snarled.
Atem's dark eyes locked on him, sharp and unyielding. His voice came low, carrying through the chaos like a blade of steel.
"You're the one behind all this death. You've spread this chaos. You've made fools of them all… but it ends here."
Gelmund bared his teeth, fury flaring.
"You DARE—"
But he never finished the sentence.
Atem moved with lightning speed. His hand swept forward, and from it surged a radiant wave of energy, sharpened like a blade, forged from his will and fury.
The swamp seemed to still for an instant. Then—
The energy tore through the air, cutting across the battlefield with unrelenting precision. Gelmund had no time to react. His eyes went wide, his scream caught in his throat.
In one instant, the Clayman General was obliterated. His arrogant voice, his poisonous commands, his schemes—all were silenced.
The swamp echoed only with the fading hum of Atem's strike.
Gelmund's shriek ended in a heartbeat. Atem had cut through him cleanly, silencing his arrogance forever. The Clayman General's body crumpled like ash in the wind, lifeless, stripped of authority and pride.
The corpse fell heavily into the swamp—right at the feet of the Orc Lord.
The grotesque giant stirred, his body twitching. The scent of magic, flesh, and power drifted from Gelmund's remains. Hunger overtook reason. With a guttural snarl, the Orc Lord seized the body in his jaws and swallowed it whole.
The swamp went silent.
Then—
[The conditions for evolution have been met.]
The words echoed inside the Orc Lord, not heard but felt. His massive frame convulsed, and waves of raw power rippled outward, sending shock through the battlefield.
Atem's eyes sharpened. His voice was low, steady.
"So it begins… the true disaster."
The Orc Lord screamed, his cry splitting the swamp like thunder. Black energy coiled around him, warping flesh, reshaping bone, filling his hollow hunger with monstrous clarity. In that cursed instant, the Orc Lord ceased to exist.
What remained was the Orc Disaster—a calamity given form. His gaze, once dull with animal hunger, now burned with malice and certainty.
"Food… all… shall be mine!" he roared, his voice carrying like a plague across the marsh.
The Kijin, who had fought with fury, now faltered, even if for a heartbeat. Their blades suddenly felt heavy. Their vengeance burned, but terror crept into their bones at the sight of his new form.
Gabil's pride shattered. His golden eyes widened in pure horror as the truth hit him—his arrogance had fed this nightmare.
The Orc Army roared as one, invigorated by their leader's evolution, their numbers pressing in with renewed frenzy.
Atem stood unmoving in the mist, his cloak rippling in the waves of corrupted energy. His presence cut through the chaos like a still blade. His face was calm, but the storm in his eyes spoke of the weight of command.
<
Atem closed his eyes for the briefest moment, breathing deep, then spoke aloud.
"I see it. His hunger is endless… his existence itself is a plague. Then there is no choice. We end this here."
The Oracle's voice carried softly, yet with an unshakable weight.
<
Atem's hand gripped his weapon, his resolve like iron. The mist swirled around him, parting as if the marsh itself recognized who stood upon it. His gaze locked onto the Orc Disaster, unshaken.
"This ends tonight. No more lives lost to his hunger."
The first true clash between Atem and the Orc Disaster was about to begin.