Page 9 of Scoring the Orc
The ball, which explodes out from the ground underneath us with each new play, is held by the orc referee at the center of the arena. He beckons me over, and he does the same to Aleryn. Clenching my jaw, I keep an indifferent expression for the dark elf bastard.
I can feel the heat from the sun above and the heated breaths of my teammates beside me, all of us primed for the chaos that's about to erupt.
"Remember, brothers," I shout over the noise, gesturing towards them as I walk towards the center. "Hold nothing back! And defend your brothers like your lives depend on it!"
Hrogun and Borka lift their fists up and let out roars of approval, continuing to rile up our side of the crowd with their enthusiastic gestures.
As the initial chaos of our entrance settles, Aleryn and I advance toward midfield, the traditional ground of truce before the storm of the game. The ground crunches under my heavy steps, a stark contrast to his lighter, almost noiseless tread. The sun beats down, casting sharp shadows that slice across the dry earth, mirroring the sharp divisions between our teams.
Aleryn's lip curls into a haughty smile as we near each other, his eyes gleaming with disdain and challenge. He's always had a way of looking at the world as if it owes him something more. I keep my face stoic, my gaze steady, sizing up this elf who I've come to know so well on the field—too well, perhaps. Every scar and sneer on his face tells a story of our past encounters.
We stop less than an arm's length apart, the customary handshake pending like a silent battleground itself. His hand meets mine, the grip firm but slippery, like grasping a snake.
"Jurto," he says, his voice smooth, almost silky. "Ready to taste defeat once again?"
I tighten my grip slightly, feeling the coarse dirt beneath my feet. "Aleryn, your arrogance remains unmatched. But it will be your downfall, as always."
His eyes narrow slightly, the smile never wavering. "We shall see. Perhaps this time you'll finally understand that brute strength can't match precision."
I let out a low chuckle, feeling the tension rise like a wave between us. "And maybe you'll learn that all the precision in the world can't save you when real power comes crashing down."
We release our hands, stepping back with mutual reluctance, the air thick with unspoken threats and remembered pain. As we turn to head back to our respective sides, Aleryn calls over his shoulder. "Don't hold back, Jurto. I wouldn't want your defeat to have any excuses."
"I never do," I reply, the words thrown like a spear. "Watch closely today. It might teach you something about real strength."
A flash of anger crosses his sharp features, which elicits in me a deep satisfaction.
Aleryn's gaze attempts to pierce through me, sharp and calculating. I meet it without flinching, my resolve as hard as the sun-baked earth underfoot. In this moment, the air between us crackles, charged with the history of our rivalry and the anticipation of the clash to come. His team, sleek and confident, stands behind him like shadows mirroring his arrogance. Mine, robust and resolute, forms a solid wall of determination at my back.
The referee, a neutral figure amid the swirling emotions, steps forward. His hand lifts, a silent herald of the impending storm. Time seems to slow, the crowd's roar dimming to a distant rumble, and my focus narrows to the immediate task at hand. With the gravity of a general leading his troops, I turn and stride towards my team, every step planting deeper the seeds of impending victory.
"We know what we're up against," I speak low, my voice steady, reaching each of my teammates as they gather around. Their nods and clenched fists fuel my spirit. "We've trained for this. We've bled for this. Today, every drop of sweat pays off."
Their responses, a chorus of grunts and determined looks, forge our resolve into something unbreakable. We line up, our formation as tight as the bonds that hold us together. I glance once more across the field, catching Aleryn's smug expression, a silent promise of the challenge he brings.
The moment stretches, each second a drawn-out battle of wills across the dusty expanse between us. The referee scans the field, ensuring every rule is met, every player in place. The crowd holds its breath, the collective anticipation palpable in the air.
The referee mumbles an incantation, which sends the ball into the ground underneath us. It will emerge suddenly once the play begins. We must be ready to take possession of it.
This pause, this deep breath before the plunge, sharpens everything—the colors of our uniforms, the distant shouts of the crowd, the very air seems charged with electricity. I tighten my grip on my resolve, my eyes never leaving the ball, the prize that awaits our contest.
Today, we stand on the brink. Today, the battle is set, the lines drawn. The whistle will sound, the game will start, but at this moment, we are already warriors, already champions in our hearts. Victory calls, and we are ready to answer.
7
EMILIA
Around me, screaming fanatics and jeering fans are loud enough to make my ears ring. My eyes can’t tear away from the field. Orcs and dark elves, only clad in leather shorts and nothing else, pound their chests and make the crowd go wild.
The nerves have already made me bite off all of my fingernails by this point. While Aleryn and his team look confident, the orcs… the Bloodcrushers… They’re different beasts altogether.
My gaze lands on the orc captain, tall with broad shoulders and green skin lined with scars. A long diagonal scar etches across his chest. He keeps his dark black hair out of his face with a small braid that reaches his nape.
I swallow hard, wringing my hands continuously while the crowd anticipates the starts of the match.
If the orcs win, will he be my new master?
“Gods, I hope not,” I mumble, shaking my head slightly. “I’ll be worse off. I can tell.”