Nineteen Years later.....
Years had passed, and Ragon was now nineteen. He stood in the blazing sun, the heavy chains around his wrists clinking as he worked alongside other human captives.
For nineteen years, Ragon had been unconscious after since the incident. Alaric now had full control of his body all the time and was now accustomed to the name Ragon.
Meanwhile, the orcs were never meant to stay this long. The orders from the higher authorities that sent him were clear: strike, secure, and wait for reinforcements from beyond the portal.
Those reinforcements never came. What began as a short hold turned into nineteen long years. But, Graknar adapted as he spread spies across human lands, watching their kings, their armies, their weaknesses.
For nearly two decades he gathered knowledge, turning the village into the eye and ear of his people inside the human realm.
Ragon had grown into a strong young man, his tattered clothes were hanging loosely over his well-toned frame.
His attire consisted of an old, sleeveless tunic, patched repeatedly, and faded pants torn at the knees. His boots were mismatched, one clearly larger than the other, it showed the life of improvisation and survival they were passing through.
Around his neck was a rusted chain, that was holding him bound.
Ragon was stationed near a massive orcish sculpture. They were carving the towering statue of Graknar, the orc leader, at the village square.
Ragon's hands gripped a chisel, working on the sculpture while his eyes darted toward the nearby storage unit.
"Whop!" The harsh crack of a whip could be heard across the village square,
"Work harder, you pathetic worms!" bellowed one of the orc guards, his voice grating like metal scraping stone.
A sharp cry of pain could be heard. Ragon held his fists clenching as he turned to see one of the villagers being lashed by the orc overseer. The victim was a frail man barely strong enough to lift the heavy stones he was tasked to carry as he staggered but kept moving.
Ragon, chained alongside the others, couldn't suppress his anger. He muttered under his breath,
"One day, I swear I'll shove that whip up your ass." Another guard sneered as he passed while he eyed the captives with disdain.
"Lazy humans. If you don't want the lash, you'd better move faster. Graknar doesn't tolerate weakness."
Ragon's attention was on the storage unit that held the bulk of food supplies the orcs seized from other villages. Barrels of grain, crates of dried meat, and sacks of fruit were piled high, carefully guarded by orcs.
"One orc at the main entrance. Two more patrolling the perimeter. And… three, four—ah, five near the rear wall." He smirked. "Five guards for one food storage? You'd think they were guarding gold."
Ragon had raided it numerous times before, each time managing to escape with a bounty of food for the villagers. Graknar, despite his fury, never executed him, a fact that puzzled everyone. Instead, the guards were doubled, and Ragon's movements were monitored more closely.
Ragon muttered to himself, "If only I had even a fraction of that power left, these brutes wouldn't stand a chance."
Ragon crouched near the sculpture, pretending to adjust his chains while his eyes stayed locked on the storage unit. He had picked the lock on his chains previously, so he loosened the bolts holding his cuffs together.
As the last bolt gave way, he sprang to his feet, making a dash for the storage unit.
The alarm went up the second Ragon burst into a run.
"After him!"
Boots thundered as spears were lifted and bows creaked as many Orcs were in pursuit of Ragon.
A spear was shot towards him as he ducked low as a spear flew past his head. It buried itself into a cart in front of him, the wood shattering. He didn't slow. He spinned sideways over the cart, tucked his knees to his chest, and rolled over the other side, landing on his feet.
Another orc swung a club from the left. Ragon slid under it, the club smashing the ground where his head had been. Dust sprayed into his face, but he kept moving, coughing as he dashed forward.
Three more orcs rushed him. Ragon leapt, his foot landing against the wall of a house, and used it to spring sideways over their heads. He twisted in the air, landed behind them, and sprinted before they could turn.
"Shoot him!"
Arrows hissed through the air. Ragon zigzagged across the square, the shafts biting into the dirt behind his heels. One arrow clipped his sleeve, ripping the cloth. He tore it free and kept running.
Another orc blocked his way, swinging a blade downward. Ragon planted one hand on the ground, kicked his legs up, and flipped backward. The blade slammed into the dirt inches from his face. As the orc struggled to lift it free, Ragon lashed out with a kick to his jaw, knocking him sideways.
He bolted for the storage hut, shoulders tight, heart pounding. A spear whistled past and grazed his ribs, burning like fire. He grunted but didn't stop. He grabbed the door, jammed his metal shard into the lock, twisted.
Click.
The door swung open. He grabbed two sacks of food, slung them over his back, and sprinted out again.
The chase didn't stop. Orcs were all around now. One swung an axe from above. Ragon rolled forward, felt the axe smash into the dirt behind him, and came up running.
He threw a sack to the side, straight into another orc's face. The brute staggered blinding him.
An arrow came straight for his chest. Ragon snatched a wooden tray from the ground and lifted it just in time. The arrow punched through it, the impact numbing his arm. He tossed it aside and vaulted a water barrel, sending it crashing behind him to trip his pursuers.
More orcs closed in, pushing him toward a wall. Ragon sprinted harder, leapt, and caught the roof's edge. His arms strained, but he hauled himself up, legs kicking. A spear jabbed upward, missing him by an inch.
He rolled onto the roof, sprinted across, and dove as arrows slammed into the tiles around him. One shattered beside his head, splinters stinging his cheek.
At the roof's end, he didn't slow. He jumped, twisting midair as an arrow passed under him. He landed crouched on the next roof, tiles cracking beneath his boots. He looked back, panting, grinning despite the blood on his side.
The orcs were still coming. Ragon sprinted across the rooftops, breath tearing from his lungs. The sacks were heavy, but he knew where to go.
He leapt down into an alley, tucking his body and rolling to soften the fall. Dust kicked up around him as he landed near the old stone well. Without slowing, he yanked one sack from his shoulder and shoved it behind the loose stones where his friends had agreed to check later.
Shouts rose behind him. "He went that way!"
Ragon darted left, then ducked into a narrow passage barely wide enough for his shoulders. Spears scraped the walls as the orcs tried to jab him, but they couldn't reach. He grinned, sprinted out the other side, and hurled another sack into a rain barrel covered with planks.
He kept moving, then a trio of orcs cut him off at the corner with their axes raised.
"End of the line, rat!"
Ragon didn't flinch. He dashed forward, dropped low, slid across the dirt between their legs, then sprang up behind them. Before they turned, he tossed the last sack onto a hidden rooftop ledge where his people would find it.
Only one bag left on his back. Enough for him.
Ragon grabbed a loose roof beam sticking out from a ruined house, and used it like a pole to vault himself high into the air. The orcs roared in frustration as he landed on the last rooftop, their spears and blades clattering uselessly below.
Standing tall, chest heaving, Ragon turned to face them.
"Not bad for an old man, eh?" he shouted, waving the final sack. "But I've got places to be!"
An arrow shot toward him as he sidestepped, letting it whistle past. He gave them a mock salute.
"See ya, fellows!" With that, he leapt from the roof into the tree line beyond the village, vanishing into the shadows as the orcs bellowed in rage.