The battlefield fell silent, so silent that only the low chanting of the High Elf Mage Corps could be heard. Dirtilas gave the Orcs Remnants time to consider, but not much.
"Orcs will never be slaves!"
A sudden roar rang across the entire battlefield, laden with anger, defiance, and an elusive, tragic grandeur. It was the final cry of the tall, one-armed orc.
He stood straight, raising his battle-axe skyward with his remaining arm, and roared at the heavens. His voice was already hoarse and broken, yet it seemed to strike an invisible wall and rebound again and again, echoing long across the silent battlefield.
"Orcs will never be slaves!"
"Orcs will never be slaves!"
"Orcs will never be slaves!"
Soon, that furious cry spread from one orc to two, then ten, until it became the collective shout of the Orcs Remnants.
Expressionless, Dirtilas lowered his hand, and the Mage Corps' chanting changed. The air abruptly grew thick, as though even light had been dragged to a crawl. A moment later, muffled thunder exploded within the dark clouds pressing down over the Orcs Remnants, and lightning leaped wildly.
At the same time.
"Charge! Charge! Charge!" The Orcs Remnants sounded the call for their final charge.
The orcs moved, and so did the thunder above. Countless ice shards plunged from the sky, and calamity descended once more.
The orcs no longer defended themselves or battered aside the countless enormous ice shards crashing down upon them. Charge! Charge forward! They charged at full speed with everything they had. The dense rain of giant ice shards obscured the imposing High Elf formation opposite them; even the light reflected from those magnificent red-and-yellow suits of armor was blurred. Still, they swung their great axes furiously, smashing everything in their path-anything that barred their advance.