Cassius Lange

Midnight Bounties 4 - Chapter 35

Added 2025-08-14 15:00:06 +0000 UTC

I rounded a corner and reeled Wolf in so I’d stay hidden and let out a long, calm breath as I took in the scene.

There was something strangely serene about the sight of orcs in battle with the First. The stretch of bridge leading to the White Castle offered barely a hundred soldiers to bash each other’s skulls in. The silver of the First held on fiercely against the vicious, black-plated orcs of the Seven Tips. Priests and mages stood behind the Steelheart soldiers casting spells and trying to stem the rage of the war-hungry green boys, and though they did well, there were ten thousand orcs more waiting right behind them.

The fate of the First Army was pretty much sealed.

I grinned, seeing the old rivals beheading each other. It reminded me of a simpler time when orc warlords wanted to rule and no demons, gods, or religious fanatics tried to torture, burn, sacrifice, and do away with all life as we knew it.

“Frank walks.”

The words startled me, and I looked behind me to see Castelian’s sycophants. Their black robes fluttered in the wind as they chanted that annoying saying. Well, I guess they were my sycophants now.

“Go away, there’s going to be bloodshed here,” I said. “You’ll get hurt.”

“It is our purpose,” the same guy who spoke last time said.

“What’s your name anyway?”

He looked up at me with horror in his eyes.

“This one has no name,” he said almost pleadingly.

I rolled my eyes and tsked and turned my gaze back to the battle. I had no idea how they managed to follow me, why they followed me, or who the hell they even were, but none of those questions bothered me right then.

The gate leading to the White Castle was destroyed either by siege equipment or magic. There was no hiding from Nergat. The First was strong, the men at the gates were some of our best, Kipper Company it was called and led by a slater captain known only as Bloodeye. The fish-man was in the first line swinging his two swords masterfully, hacking down orcs big and small in a flurry of lightning-fast attacks. It was a great last stand. Brutal and heroic but most of all pointless.

Thousands of orcs were boiling with battle-lust and getting angrier with each drop of blood spilled at the gate. Nergat was patient. That was the main difference between him and his kind. It was the reason he was so successful in the first place.

He towered over his troops on a horned Magmadon, a blue four-legged lizard behemoth that could trample anyone beneath its tree-trunk feet. Nergat sat on a throne of wood, steel, and twisting bones that was large enough to house a family of gnomes. His trusted advisor, the Grand Shaman Grimjon Stormeater, sat to his side on a smaller chair channeling a protective shield as the orcs of the Seven Tips paved the way to the throne with the blood of the First.

Murgar, Targa, and another orc commander flanked him on black armored dire wolves almost the size of my deviltail. Bannners of the Green Tide flapped proudly across the sea of green. Between the formations of orcs of different clans were great carriages pulled by lemophants, the same gentle giants the dock workers used to move large cargo. But instead of wine and spices from Shat’ar, they pulled along tall platforms on which shamans stood chanting large protective shields doming the army.

I glanced over the river where the rest of his army stood. Just below the stone bank the shaky tents of the Borough’s kids spread like a sad circus. They were empty, the kids and Papa probably hiding somewhere further west towards the docks.

Why me? he had asked, that grumpy old son of a bitch. Papa knew how to do two things really well: hand out beatings, and fuck with one’s confidence.

My gaze wandered back to Nergat and I grinned. He knew all along what would happen if I went to see the King. It wouldn’t have been too far-fetched to think that some of the nobles advocating for leaving the city were on his payroll.

I shook my head. He played me at every step. Maybe he truly was the only commander who could defend the city, but at what price?

“Kill?” Wolf said into my mind.

“Try not to,” I said and tightened my grip on the reins.

I rode closer to the battle letting the orcs see me approach. I heard my name called throughout the Green Tide followed by thumping chests and loud grunts.

Orcs. My history with that race began with a brawl just outside the Bluejay Estate. I tried to stop a group of orc kids who stole a goose from the market. My mother cried when she saw me walk back into the house that day. I was beaten black and blue and grinning like an idiot proud I hooked one of them in the nose. A decade and then some later I was fighting a war against the green bastards, another decade later…well, everything changed.

I enjoyed the respect of every orc in the Kingdom and here I was again, facing down another Green Tide, the circle finally complete and yet they weren’t my enemy anymore. Not all of them, at least. There was only one orc I wanted dead.

Bloodeye caught an orc axe to his side and staggered backwards into his line. His men caught him before he could fall over. A swirl of green magic encased him as one of the druids cast a healing spell on the captain. It was time to make my move.

Nergat’s gaze followed me carefully as I rode up to the gate. His expression emotionless as ever. I’d change that soon enough.

“Frank walks,” the chants continued, and somehow they rose above the battle as if they had abilities that amplified their voices. I glanced at my sycophants one more time then focused on a spot in the battle on the bridge, leading up to the gate.

I used (Rift Walk) to teleport directly between the orcs of the Seven Tips and the First fighting at the gate.

I reappeared with a bang and the blast wave sent warriors of both camps flying in opposite directions, some landed their asses on the hard stone, others flew into the river. I let Wolf roar and stomp his feet, causing those that remained to freeze in confusion. One of the Seven Tips orcs slid his sword out the guts of a First soldier who collapsed on the ground and looked up at me.

“Enough!” I roared, my voice booming.

“Frank boss?” the orcs mumbled unsure of what to do.

“The king slayer,” a few voices in the First muttered.

You could cut the tension in the air with a dull knife. The orcs didn’t like to be interrupted while fighting, they’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time. Whatever favor I had gathered with them could evaporate with a single wrong move. Only the murmur of the Green Tide and the flapping of their banners followed my shout.

“Green Tide!” I yelled, not wanting to address Nergat at all. “This is not your war! The enemy is behind the wall, a hundred thousand of them and you’re here fighting for scraps!”

“But Frank boss,” Fusha said, standing in the first line with a group of the Loco Bruego Clan. She wore the same black plate most other orcs had and her face was covered in blue warpaint.

I locked eyes with her and smiled, but she didn’t smile back. Fusha was eager for blood and so was Duvok and his best mate Slarg, Quickhog, and Jagga and so many others from the Loco Bruego who frequented the club.

“Frank boss!” Targa yelled from his plated dire wolf riding next to Nergat who stared me down coldly. “You have great respect from orcs!” He turned to the legions of soldiers. “Orcs, show respect for Frank Boss!” A cacophony of stomps, thumps, and loud roars echoed across the city as they shouted my name.

“But this is Green Tide!” Targa continued, his voice booming through the ranks. “And we war now!”

I expected no less from them. Once on the move, there was nothing but death that could stop the orcs and I wasn’t going to deliver that. There was only one orc that needed to die and it was Nergat. I needed to do it carefully, without hurting the others. The Green Tide was our only hope against the Quinta and he was using them to kill off the rest of the First. How he planned on defending the city with what remained was beyond me. Perhaps I overestimated his military prowess or underestimated his greed.

“And war you will have!” I yelled. “Against a true enemy, the Quinta!”

“Don’t try to stop us, Frank Boss!” Targa roared. “You are not orc enemy, but if you—”

“Frank,” Nergat said. his voice blanketing Targa’s and everything else. The leader of the Loco Bruego looked to his warlord and swallowed his words. “You finally show your true colors, human. Here you stand against the Green Tide once more making demands and defending our enemy.”

“Orcs are not my enemy,” I shot back.

“Then join us! Show your allegiance! This is your chance to finally prove yourself!”

Clever bastard. I knew I couldn’t talk my way out of the situation. Orcs didn’t respond to prolonged conversations, they responded to strength and loyalty and now it looked like I was dearly missing one of the two.

“My loyalty is to the Green Tide!” I bellowed, causing an eruption of cheers to fill the streets of Sankta Varath and a quizzical eyebrow to suddenly shoot up on Nergat’s face.

You didn’t expect that you piece of shit, now did you?

“King slayer!”

“Traitor!” the soldiers of the First yelled behind my back.

I kept my eyes on the Warlord and grinned.

“Yes, I’m loyal to the orcs, but not to you, Nergat! I challenge you for the leadership of the Green Tide!”

Silence washed over the army and the Steelheart soldiers behind me. Now that was a slap to his face he hadn’t ever imagined.

“A Warlord cannot be challenged once the Green Tide is on the march!” the Grand Shaman Grimjon Stormeater claimed.

Nergat grinned as if those words would somehow protect him from me. Truth was, it complicated things. I had no idea how they picked a new warlord, and had thought killing the old one was enough.

“I don’t care! You’ll die today, Nergat,” I yelled, steeling my voice.

“You hear this, brothers and sisters?” the large, dark-skinned ruler of the orcs said. “No respect for our kind, our tradition, or for orckind!”

Some angry groans and cursed echoed across the army.

“Frank Boss,” Fusha began, her face as serious as death. “Don’t.”

I figured I was real smart when I thought of the idea of challenging Nergat, but now it bit me in the ass. I jumped off Wolf, unsheathed my swords, and rammed them into the stone of the bridge.

“So you would run from a fight, you coward? Hide behind your army? Fuck the rules, let’s fight!” I yelled. “Let’s see who has the strength to lead the orcs?”

The Loco Bruego Clan suddenly cheered thumping their chests.

“Come on you big fucking cunt!”

Nergat stared me down coldly as more and more orcs seemed to warm up to the idea.

“A human,” the Warlord said. “A traitorous human would lead the Green Tide? You’re a fool to think orcs would follow you! Enough of this! Bring war upon our enemy, orcs! There he stands!”

War horns bellowed across Sankta Varath and for the first time ever I saw the Green Tide hesitate. Nergat, the Grand Shaman, and the rest of the commanders noticed it too.

Even so, a glimpse of doubt came and passed, and ten thousand orcs finally marched ahead against a single man. Me, good ol’ Frank.

“Ugh, fuck me,” I muttered. pulling my swords out the stone. I raised Mercy, pointing at Nergat as the Loco Bruego stormed towards me, all of them, even Fusha.

“I only have one enemy!” I roared and before they could bash into me, I used (Rift Walk) to jump the first line and appear in another company of orcs to blast them away.

Nobody died, good.

I turned on my (Demon Skin) and (Rift Walked) into the air above, then another time until I was flying over Nergat and his Magmadon mount. All the other orcs could do was watch me spearing down towards their warlord with both weapons drawn. I would make it quick so they could all see how weak he truly was.

The Grand Shaman raised his twisted staff and so did all the others across the large platforms pulled by the lemophants. White blue energies streamed into the shield around Nergat from across the army. The dome shimmered and crackled, reinforced by a hundred shamans of the Green Tide.

I slammed into it, and the dome screamed with arcane power, flinging me away, blue lightning crackling across my body. I landed in a company of orcs, tearing into the cobble and sending several plated warriors flying. Before I could pull up, a dozen orcs were on me. Axes, swords, spears, and hammers landing hits all over me. All I could do was defend, parry, duck, but mostly eat the attacks. Luckily my (Demon Skin) absorbed most of it. I couldn’t fight back, I didn’t want to, but the orcs…damn, each and every one hungered for the honor of having killed Frank Boss.

I used another charge of (Rift Walk) to get closer to the shield, shattering their dreams. As the purple mist settled, I reappeared in the midst of Ragebrick’s Ragekids. Now these heavily armored fuckers gave me a proper beating. Captain Ragebrick himself smacked a warhammer against the side of my skull that almost sent me off my feet. On his second swing, I had to duck and punch the captain in the chest, flinging him off his feet and into another company.

“Fucking…I don’t want to fight you!” I roared, trying to reach their warlord. I had to be smart with my teleports, with only two charges left any miscalculation would leave me stranded in a mountain of orcs that I couldn’t even kill.

I used (Rift Walk) one more time to appear just next to the dome. A large axe flew at my face and I managed to pull up Traitor just fast enough not to eat it. Another blade found my side and I winced, feeling it push through my (Demon Skin).

“Stop it!” I roared, bashing my fist into the nearest orc and shattering his helmeted face. I couldn’t tell if he’d survive, but hell, it was difficult to stay measured.

I realized I was surrounded by Nergat’s personal guard, the Black Fangs. Super heavy armored infantry filled with veteran orcs from different clans. Each of them was worth a company of orcs and it showed.

“So we finally meet on the field!” the familiar growl of Tiran came from my left as I parried a halberd that almost buried itself in my shoulder. My old nemesis was grinning from ear to ear as he made his way through the company pushing away large orcs like they were nothing.

“Tiran,” I hissed through my teeth.

The rest of the Black Fangs made room for their captain as he challenged me to a duel. I had no time for that shit. Tiran had caused me plenty of nightmares back in the day, but after Hell, the skulls around his neck and hip, his giant cleaver, and that stupidly angry face only mildly annoyed me.

“I have sacrificed to the orc Gods for this moment! It is time to—”

His words ended in a painful gurgle as I pushed Mercy through his mouth and out the other end. Tiran, that was one orc I didn’t mind killing. I looked at the shocked faces of the Black Fang company then swung Traitor at their captain. It crit, and Tiran exploded like a sack of blood covering his company in entrails and shattered bone. The Black Fangs stood there with gaping mouths and pieces of their captain sliding off their armor. Finally, one of them raised his axe.

“Frank Boss!” he cheered and all the others followed.

Before they could remind themselves of their warlord’s orders, I dashed away towards the shield. I activated (Morgefah’s Favor) and a blast of radiant purple energy surrounded me as I charged the shield with all the power I could muster. My blades connected with it and shattered it like glass all around me.

I looked up at the Magmadon and Nergat sitting atop it. He wasn’t expecting any of this to happen, I could read it on his face.

“Kill him!” the Warlord roared. I used my last charge of (Rift Walk) to jump on the giant mount facing Nergat down.

“Now you die!” I yelled, and just as I was about to push my swords into his eyes, Grimjon Stormeater blasted me with lightning and made me lose my footing.

I slid down the Magmadon but managed to drive my blades into its side to stop myself from falling to the cobbles below. The giant beast roared and stomped its feet while I carved a long bloody gash into its side. Targa and the other commanders had to dash away on their mounts as the Magmadon crashed to the ground and took Nergat and the Grand Shaman with him.

The Warlord shot up quickly, roaring as green power gathered around him in a twister. He pointed his axe at me.

“Shamans, wyrdspeakers, warlocks! Finish him!” he yelled and almost instantly, a barrage of lightning, fire, and boulders of sharp stone rained down on me. The combined power of the Green Tide was nothing to laugh at. I was pinned down holding my swords protectively over my head and trying to weather the attacks. I could feel my (Demon Skin) even with its upgraded powers slowly giving way.

Explosions rocked the city as the elements thundered down onto me. Storms, flames, and shards of shattering rock dug a crater into the road around me.

When the onslaught finished, I was on one knee breathing hard. Smoke was coming off my armor and I had cuts, burns, and bruises all over, but I stood to the gasps of thousands of orcs. I wiped the soot from my face and pointed Mercy at the Warlord.

“Nergat,” I hissed through my teeth.

“Warlord,” Targa suddenly said, riding up to his master. “This is not orc way.”

“Shut your mouth, warchief,” Nergat snapped, not even gracing him with a look.

“This is not strength! One man fighting all of Green Tide! This is not orc way!”

“Tradition must be respected, Warchief Targa,” Grimjon the Grand Shaman said, leaning on his twisted staff.

I locked eyes with Hezzak for a moment as he was slowly making his way towards us.

“Nergat, you fight Frank!” Targa insisted.

I didn’t expect that from the leader of the Loco Bruego or from any orc for that matter.

“Show strength!” Murgar of the Morkin Watch demanded, thumping his chest. “Fight Frank Boss, show strength of Green Tide, Warlord.”

Nergat growled like an angry animal as more clan leaders surrounded him and equally demanded he took care of me in person.

“Enough! Once I’m done with this dog, all of you will face me!” he yelled. “Destroy him!” the Warlord ordered and another barrage of elements filled the sky above and came flying at me.

“Fuck! Off!” I roared as the first spells exploded against me.

It was time to end it, casualties or not, Nergat’s forces were draining me.

I activated (Final Contract) and a blastwave rocked the ground around me, sending flags and banners flapping and smaller orcs staggering. Horns shot through my forehead as wings opened on my back. The familiar crunch of extending bones and twisting flesh now almost felt good. I flapped my wings and shot upwards, leaving a trail of fire behind me. The shamans, the wyrdspeakers, warlocks, all the different clans of orcs watched me rise through the smoke of their arcane powers. Nothing in the Green Tide could stop me now and Nergat knew it. He was gazing at me as a man did into the abyss on his deathbed.

“Now you die, Nergat!” I bellowed, filling the city with my demonic voice.

But I was too late.

The green protective layer around Nergat suddenly exploded and the Warlord doubled over. Targa’s axe was stuck in his stomach. Nergat’s own axe dropped to the ground as Targa pulled his head back and shoved the Star Wraith into his throat. A gush of blood sprayed out. In came Hezzak and bore his Jaggadar tooth into the Warlord’s neck. Nergat swung for the hobgoblin with one hand, but he was slow and there was no power behind the attack. Finally, Murgar walked up to him and just as he was about to stick his Jaggadar tooth into Nergat, the ruler of the orcs fell face-first onto the ground.

The entire Green Tide froze in shock.

I landed next to the bleeding corpse of Nergat and looked down at the three. Targa wiped the blood from his Star Wraith.

“Better warlord dies by orc. It shame he dies by human.”

I nodded, still unsure of what had happened and looked to the hobgoblin for an explanation.

“I just really wanted to stab him,” Hezzak said with a shrug.

“Too late. Me always late,” Murgar grunted, shaking his head angrily that he didn’t get to stab the warlord while he was still somewhat alive.

“What have you done? Orga and Korga will destroy us for this!” Grimjon cried, kneeling next to Nergat.

“No,” Targa said. “We killed weakness. Now only strength in Green Tide.”

“You young fool!” Grimjon snapped. “You made a deal with a demon!”

The old shaman looked up at me.

“This?” I said. “Yeah, I guess I am a bit of a demon now.”

I rubbed my chin, realizing I wouldn’t transform any time soon unless I killed something.