"Right side! They're flanking!" Damra howled as he headed to the right side of the battle, a group of red orcs were rushing in to collapse on Ludwig's army, and pinch them from the fight. Damra took several ogres with him while Ludwig's allied orcs held the dazed ones in place.
The field had stopped looking like a field a while ago. It was churned into a slick, uneven mess, mud mixed with blood, trampled reeds, broken darts, snapped spear shafts, and bodies that still twitched because the tower loved making death feel like a negotiation.
The Red King's bulk sat in the distance like a malignant landmark, chewing and swallowing with obscene patience, and every second he did it the air seemed to thicken, as if the world resented having to make room for more of him.
Damra moved like a blade finally given permission. He didn't posture, he didn't shout for glory, he just went, dragging six ogres with him in a wedge that aimed for the incoming flank before it could become a pinch.
