Chapter II: Time (Part II)

The days carried on in repetitious tandem, solidifying my heart in a case of rotting hatred. Waking up in my dismal lodging (a luxury compared to sleeping on the open ground as the other slaves did), I got up from my cot, washing my face in the basin, and taking my cudgel and whip with me as I walked out the door.

The next few hours would consist of overseeing the slaves as they mined the ore deposits, occasionally cracking the whip in the air to foster fear and renewed energy in the air. However, I rarely ever flogged a slave, much less beat them as mercilessly as I did on that fateful day.

This was one of the perks from my newfound authority, aside from the better living conditions; I could determine how harsh or lenient punishments and work days could be for them. Not once did I feel pleasure in the power I had (quite the opposite), and so I decided to utilize this position to ensure the other slaves could have ease of mind in their awful daily routines. Whenever Orks or Snaggi would walk by, I would show momentary force of threat, then drop the act once they passed.

And yet, despite this effort to ameliorate the situation of the slaves, they never showed forgiveness in the slightest; After caving in Malte's head, they had lost all trust and held vitriolic contempt for me in its place, refusing to look me in the eyes or even share a word of passing conversation. I couldn't blame them by any measure, nor find any solution to fixing this relationship.

And so, I was stuck in this perpetual loop of sadistic torment.

Whenever I wasn't overseeing the slaves, I was permitted to walk around the camp (to my own risk) and see what other activities went on. In the first weeks, I didn't dare stride outside of my routine from the pit to my humble shack, too terrified to even think of walking around those man-eating brutes and monsters.

Still, after enough weeks passed by, the boredom and monotony of my day was far too oppressive for my curious thoughts; I eventually worked up the courage to stray down into the rest of the camp, albeit with my cudgel clutched in my hand- There was not a damn way I was going to be killed by these mongrel brutes.

Oddly enough, I didn't get the fearful reaction I had expected- that being the Orks just shouting and threatening me the moment they saw me. Perhaps it was because I had spent weeks here, and they might have adjusted to my presence as merely another function of the camp- If that was the case, there was at least some inherent safety in my well-being. I wondered if Snaggi had told the other Orks to keep their hands off me, but I definitely was not going to test out that theory.

I slinked between dingy stalls and craftsman's work areas, observing the lifestyle of the Greenskins; I was surprised to see the goblins working effortlessly to hammer out new weapons and armor, using furnaces to make the metal malleable and cooling them in buckets of water. It was like they had done it all their life.

And yet, who was teaching them? From the quasi-society I could see of this camp hierarchy, there seemed very little contributing to education. Were there learned tradesmen and merchants that passed their wisdom and knowledge down to younger generations? That did not seem the case in this every-man-for-himself societal structure.

I learned about the Gretchins and Snotlings, the lowest subspecies of the Orks and Goblins that served as day-to-day menial labor, helping carry supplies or building or whatever other tasks the Orks were too lazy to get involved in besides warmaking. It was both fascinating and disturbing to see this hierarchy of power, and how the distribution of labor-

"OI, PINKSKIN!"

SHIT!

I knew it was too good to be true!

Filled with rising anxiety and terror, I turned around to see a sizable Ork stomping up to me, cracking his knuckles and gritting his oversized fangs. His eyes shined brightly with vicious delight.

Okay, I thought to calm myself. Maybe he just wants to ask a favor, or is switching me out for guard duty-

"FOIGHT ME!"

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK-

My mind nearly seized in panic as the Ork edged ever closer, looking me over as he noticed the club in my hand; His mouth erupting into a giant toothy grin.

"YOOS DUN GOHT DA BASHY FA FOIGHTIN' ALREADY!"

"N-No, this is for protection-"

It was then that I noticed the other nearby Greenskins, including other Orks, watching the conflict with vile glee, as if they were already preparing for a street fight- That I was no doubt going to be slaughtered in.

I quickly assessed my options- Even if I did take on this Ork and somehow win, I could tell just from the nature of the other Orks that they would immediately start getting in line to take me on. Diplomacy obviously wouldn't work with these mindless war beasts…

My eyes suddenly caught a glance of someone, and a terrible, awful, evil last resort popped into my mind.

"Th-There's no point in fighting me right now!" I spouted out, loud enough to be heard over the raucous cheering of the forming crowd; I was incredibly irritated by my stuttering, and quelled my terror to speak. "I'm just a little, pathetic boy right now! You'll get no satisfaction from fighting me!"

"NO TALKIN, JUS' FOIGHTIN'!" The Ork bellowed uncompromisingly, almost within arm's reach to dismember me. In a last ditch effort, I pointed intensely at another slave a few meters away.

"FIGHT HIM!" I shouted at the Ork, wearing a face of defiance and tenacity. "HE'S BIGGA, AND BETTA THAN I AM!"

Somehow, miraculously, the dumb-fuck Ork directed its attention towards the direction of where I pointed- A tall, muscular male slave with black hair and a stoic face was unloading stacks of wood from a cart onto a stockpile. The Ork looked between me, then the other slave for a moment, before another toothy grin overtook its features.

"ROIGHT, NOW DAT'S A PROPA KRUMPIN'!"

(Music: "Twisted", by MISSIO)

"OI, YOO GIT!"

The slave turned around in shock, horror beginning to line his features as he saw the Ork stomping up towards him in that same menacing manner. I felt a vile shadow hang over me like a malicious spirit as I watched the interaction.

"Wh-What?" The slave sputtered, seeing the Ork trudging up to him. "What are you-"

SMACK!

The Ork slammed the slave across the jaw, sending teeth flying out of his mouth. The sight shocked me, despite me having dreaded what was going to happen. From this point, I could only witness in somber silence as the Ork taunted the slave to fight back.

The slave, now disoriented and heavily injured, still managed to throw a hard-hitting punch that decked the Ork across the jaw, causing it to stumble back; And yet, it quickly recovered, roaring in violent laughter as it charged forth with a roar, swinging its fists wildly.

The slave dodged the Ork's easily-telegraphed swings, landing punches in succession, and sending the Ork falling back into the dirt. It seemed as if the slave had the upper hand, but once the Ork got up without showing even the slightest hint of pain or regret, I quickly realized this match was doomed from the start.

CRACK!

The slave's guard was already dropped from his injuries, and an unseen swing from the Ork into the man's chest sent him flying into the dirt, coughing up blood as the sound of fractured ribs could be heard. The Ork spit out blood from its maw, then grinned once more as it stood over the struggling slave, before launching a flurry of blows into the man's face.

CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

CRACK! CRACK!

All that remained were blood and bones; His face had been completely caved in, and I restrained myself from vomiting as I gleamed my eyes over the sight.

Evil.

I was evil.

Shaking uncontrollably across my body, I stumbled up from the ground and slinked away from the roaring crowd of Orks, heading back to my shelter with desperate haste.

Evil.

There was nothing to justify that act.

It was… pure evil.

Even despite that day, I had failed to escape my own fair share of beatings; It was only through submission and groveling that I managed to escape the clutches of death many times over. And still, each day I went back to my shelter, I was bruised, bloodied, and occasionally had fractured or broken bones.

After only a few more weeks of this kind of treatment, I could sense my death was lingering closer. Half my body was bruised and battered, with welts and bloody marks protruding from most of my torso, legs and head. The slaves under my purview were even more antagonistic as they saw my wounds; Speaking ill of me and making jokes in my presence alluding to my broken state.

By some point, I had enough. Even in my infuriated state, I would not dare strike out at them for such petty reasons. I was a fiend, a hellish beast molded by this cursed atmosphere. And for the few villagers I knew left, I couldn't bear to see them suffer anymore.

And so, whenever I was given free time, I would walk outside the camp, finding some isolated overhang with a view of the vast expanse of drylands. I would sit and contemplate, or simply idle in agony as my body ached from the multitude of wounds that burdened me.

Days passed, and this isolation became… serene. Away from the cacophonous sounds of the camp, it was quiet, and peaceful. In time, it became far better than any conversation to be had. Here, I could contemplate, ponder, and think without feeling burdened by immeasurable guilt or worrying over my own survival.

And then, one day, as the evening sun set over the rocky mountains…

"OOooooohhhH! Whooooozat?"

My fears heightened once more as I heard the familiar sounds of an Ork speaking; Turning around, I was taken aback by the Ork before me.

He was dressed in tribal wear, with a big mask of a cartoonish skull sitting over his face. In one hand he carried a stick with a large stone affixed to the top of it, which faintly emanated a magical bluish-green aura. Despite my initial fears, I did not feel as in-danger around him as I did the other Orks- their aggression radiated from their bodies like an odor, and so it was glaringly obvious to see it.

But this Ork radiated nothing like that- He didn't radiate much of anything, really, aside from that crude magical staff he waved around. Cautiously, I gave a greeting.

"...Hello."

The Ork did an odd jig as his eyes peered at me through the holes in his mask.

"Yooz an 'umie! Oooooh, oi neva seenz an 'umie before!"

I adjusted my seated position so that I was facing the Ork; I felt intrigued by his presence, and decided to amuse myself with conversation.

"Uh, yes… I'm Enos. I am here because of… indentured servitude. Who are *gh* you?"

I was still aching from my bodily wounds, and so couldn't help but occasionally grunt and groan in pain during the conversation. The odd Ork did another little jig as it placed its free hand on its chest.

"Oi'm Azur Wurzlag, an' oi loOoOove magic! Oi come out here 'ta do da magic, cuz da Boyz don' loike wen oi do my magic in da camp! Sez it's not Orky!"

"Well, fuck 'em." I muttered. "You can do whatever you like out here."

The Ork seemed to erupt into jubilancy after what I'd said, doing a happy jig as it waved its wand around.

"YES, YEEES! DATZ WUT OI SAID 'TA THEM, SOZ I WUNNA DO MY MAGIC OUT 'ERE!"

"Go crazy." I said, grunting in pain once more; The bruises and cuts I could take, but with broken bones I was basically a wounded animal waiting to be put down. I had to figure out something to-

"Oi, yooz look realz bashed there!" The Ork said, and began waving his wand around. I sighed, nodding exhaustedly.

"Yeah… life's a bit hard in the-"

"Soz oi can fix em up, den!"

"Wha-"

In that moment, an otherworldly wonder filled my mind, as I watched Azur begin to chant and wave his wand in a different fashion- His movements became more fluid, more rhythmic and rehearsed.

He began chanting in a language entirely unfamiliar to me, and as he did so, I felt an alien feeling enter my body; Like a tangent energy that was filling my body on a different plane of existence.

(Music: "Misfit Lunatic", by MISSIO)

It was such a pervading and violating feeling that I nearly lost grasp of my sense of self; The sudden energy that coursed through me had jarred murky memories loose-

GILDED- BUILDINGS- SCRAPING THE -SKIES-

FLYING- BEASTS OF- METAL AND STEAM-

MASSIVE- ARCHIVES OF- STORED KNOWLEDGE-

WONDER-! WONDER-!

"GHHHHHHHHHHH!"

I could only grit my teeth and gasp for air as a tremendous secondary presence pervaded my mind, peering through my memories; How utterly horrifying it was to bear this kind of existential terror!

CHOSEN-

YOU ARE-

CHOSEN.

And just as quickly as it'd arrived, the overwhelming presence disappeared. Moments passed as I sat in horrified silence, unable to comprehend the ethereal event that had just occurred.

"Allz betta!"

As Azur declared that proudly, I frantically patted my body for wounds- and found none. The aching had not passed, but it was almost completely gone. Even my days-long exhaustion had disappeared entirely, leaving me with a sense of renewed energy.

Amazing, I thought in excitement and wonder. Amazing, amazing, AMAZING.

That was... magic. Real, honest-to-God MAGIC! The mundanity and terror of this world had almost made me forget about this fantastical property of it!

I looked to the tribal Ork doing a happy dance a few feet away, peering at me in curiosity- wondering how an Ork like this was still alive in this kind of society; And eventually surmised it to be his use as a healer.

This was… amazing.

Not only did I feel renewed… but I felt stronger. EXCEPTIONALLY stronger.

In curiosity, I got up from the ground, walking over to a nearby boulder and throwing a punch.

Crack!

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH-FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK!"

I wasn't sure what I was thinking in that moment, but my hand bruised itself against the rock, sending pain through my arm. I clutched my hand and groaned in frustrated pain, looking up at the rock.

"Huh!"

…And seeing a large crack in the middle of the boulder, where I had punched. A twisted glee filled every pore of my body; I looked back at Azur with renewed affection.

"FROM THIS DAY ON, YOU'RE GONNA BE MY BEST FRIEND, AZUR!"

"OI DUNNO WHAT 'FREND' MEANZ BUT OKAAAAYY! HEH HEH!"