Hatred and Corruption

The eastern sky was illuminated by a dazzling golden light. As the Trolls patrolling the border of Tor'watha prepared to tighten their defenses, an arrow emerged from deep within the woods and pierced the chest of a Troll in the watchtower.

"Enemy attack!"

"It's the Elves!"

Seeing countless small figures appear in the distant forest, the Troll whose heart had been pierced by the arrow used the last of his strength to sound the horn.

The low, drawn-out blast cut through the jungle and echoed across the mountains. The Farstriders' main force surged forward like a golden-red tide, instantly breaking through the border defenses.

With an overwhelming numerical advantage, the Troll Headhunters were powerless to resist. The nimble rangers were like sharp swords, racing toward Tor'watha, deep in the mountains.

"Madness, pure madness!" Verien and several other mages were concealed among the main force. Watching the rangers ignore the fleeing Troll Headhunters and charge straight ahead, he couldn't help but widen his eyes.

"This isn't what we planned! Where's your captain?" Destroying an enemy and storming a fortified position were entirely different things. Although this was Verien's first time marching to war, that didn't mean he was ignorant of its dangers.

Focusing fire on spellcasters and commanders was a fast way to win a battle. Every Troll they let escape made Verien feel more uneasy.

"The commander is waiting for us at the target location. We must breach Tor'watha before the Trolls can organize their defenses. Mage, pick up the pace!"

"No, this is a trick! That's not what we discussed yesterday! This isn't our mission!"

"Mage, you need to adapt to the changing circumstances of war. If you want to disobey orders, I'll be happy to execute you first and report it later."

"Weren't you supposed to negotiate?!" The old Witch Doctor stared at the blood-soaked Troll before him and roared in disbelief. "How did things end up like this?"

"The Elves... are here..." As the Troll spoke, blood poured uncontrollably from his mouth. He let out one last breath, shuddered, and fell stiffly into the pool of blood.

"Damn it, they don't care about this useless prisoner at all. Those heartless bastards!" The young Witch Doctor spat in Lor'themar's direction, then grabbed the hand axe at his waist and started forward.

The old Witch Doctor grabbed his impulsive son and stopped him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to kill him, skin that useless prisoner, and show those Elves what happens when you act recklessly!"

"No. This Elf is still useful. We have to use him to buy time."

"Father, don't you understand yet? That bastard Zumalosh has already abandoned us! We're just bait! Pawns sacrificed to draw in those Elf rangers!"

The old Witch Doctor froze. Seeing his child glaring at him, he couldn't help but feel the last trace of hope in his heart begin to waver.

Whoosh!

A swift arrow tore through the air. With a sound like fabric ripping, a bloodied arrowhead burst out from the center of the Witch Doctor's forehead.

Before the old Troll could react, the groove running from the arrowhead to the base of its feathers blazed with dazzling orange-yellow light.

"No!" Seeing flames burst from the arrow that had pierced his child, the old Witch Doctor let out a heart-wrenching howl. The next moment, fire instantly engulfed the wooden mask on the young Witch Doctor's face. As the heat scorched him, the Witch Doctor struck by the flaming arrow screamed and fell to the ground.

In moments, the Troll's life force turned to ash.

His long, awkward arms reached forward faster than they ever had before. The old Witch Doctor caught the young Troll's body. The force of his movement knocked his mask to the ground, revealing an old face nearly split in two by a scar.

Two lithe figures came into clear focus in his dark brown eyes.

Lanlos hurled the six Arcane Missiles in his hands forward in rapid succession. With a series of sharp cracks, a Troll who had just turned around had every bone in his body crushed.

A flash of light passed, and the Windrunner Blade easily took his head. Bathed in blood, Lanlos's breathing grew heavy once more. The crimson gleam in his eyes seemed to deepen.

Elsewhere, Halduron drove back the Troll guards with a volley of arrows, drew his curved blade, and slashed across Lor'themar's body.

"Ha!" With a low growl, Lor'themar strained with all his might and broke free. He flipped over and landed steadily on his feet. Snatching up his longbow, he nocked an arrow and fired in one smooth motion.

"My captain, looking a little worse for wear—need a hand?" Halduron killed the Troll in front of him with one stroke, then came up behind Lor'themar. The two stood back to back, perfectly in sync.

"Cough, cough. Those Trolls caught me off guard with their voodoo magic. The mist clouded my mind and judgment..."

"Never mind. You'd better go help that mage." Lor'themar grabbed a long spear dropped by a Troll and sprinted forward.

Halduron looked over at Lanlos. The latter was constantly being driven backward by the Troll warriors' attacks. Despite his increased attack speed, his strength and agility were too low. Against enemies with such a size advantage, Lanlos was at a severe disadvantage.

Berserking affected more than Lanlos's body. More importantly, it affected his emotions.

Damn bastards!

The passive effect made Lanlos's fury surge higher. He pushed off hard with his right foot, and the Elf mage leaped back to create some distance. A glimmer of green surfaced in his blood-red eyes.

Fel Combustion!

Roar—

The hoarse growl brimmed with primal power. Halduron, who had been about to rush over and help, stopped in his tracks.

With a flash, there came a wet, squelching sound. A long arm flew high into the air, along with a large piece of the Troll's shoulder.

Before the Troll could even cry out, the Windrunner Blade carved a terrifying arc through the air. Another headless corpse crumpled to the ground.

"Whoa, brother, you've got great form and power behind that swing. Why be a mage? Why not join the Farstriders?" Halduron casually rested his blade on his shoulder, his intrigued gaze wandering over Lanlos.

"Not interested." Lanlos shook the blood from the Windrunner Blade, ignored Halduron beside him, and charged toward the enemy with the blade in hand.

"Hey, didn't you say we'd pull out once we'd rescued them?"

"The plan changed." Lanlos crushed a Troll's toes beneath his foot, then used the leverage to launch himself high into the air. As his opponent threw his head back with a pained howl, the Windrunner Blade easily left a crimson line across his throat. "Our mission now is..."

"Kill every last Troll!" Blood gushed like a downpour all around him, and Lanlos was soaked in its stench. The savage aura about him made Halduron's heart skip a beat.

"Beast..." The old Troll clutched the young Witch Doctor's body, never once looking away from his son's twisted, charred face. Only when Troll blood spattered onto the back of his hand did he finally look at the three Elves, who were still fighting with ease despite being surrounded.

"I'll make you pay with your lives..."

"You're all going to die!"

The blood that had landed on the back of his hand suddenly began to sizzle as if boiling. A rising current of air swirled around the old Troll. The next moment, it dimmed, and black energy quickly gathered before him.

"Cackle, cackle. A wise choice." Two shriveled hands made of chaotic energy slowly pulled apart in opposite directions. The air seemed to tear like cloth, and a pitch-black portal gradually appeared in the sky.

"Everyone's souls but my son's are yours to use." The old Troll's murky eyes held no emotion. Only when he looked at the Elves did they show the slightest flicker.

Hatred. Boundless hatred!

"I only want them dead!"

Leather briefs, a skimpy bandeau, and an extremely revealing outfit left large swaths of pale, tender skin exposed. A pair of small black wings fluttered gently, while curved horns and hoof-like legs gave her a bizarre appearance. Yet she radiated an allure that made it impossible to look away.

A Succubus...

For the sake of revenge, the old Witch Doctor had chosen to bow before a power once despised by both him and his gods.

"As you wish." She drew a pitch-black whip from her waist. Its sharp crack split the sky, and pallid energy rose from the battlefield's corpses, gathering around the Succubus. Two brownish-green vortices quickly appeared at her sides.

Roar—!

A beastly howl shook the air. Two hideous, four-legged creatures burst out of the portal.

Felhounds!

Though Berserking usually left Lanlos with little capacity to think about anything besides fighting his enemies, the thick, acrid stench of Fel somehow brought the young Elf back to his senses.

"Rip them apart!"

At the Succubus's command, the two Felhounds growled and charged at the three Elves.