Becoming the Orc Chieftain (First Orcish Era Book 1)

by E. M. Hardy

  It was time for Urgan to claim his legend, and it would start by taking the head of the Overchief for his own.

  Chapter 29

  Isiah knew that all the sex was a big thing in orcish society. He didn’t realize how big it was until Borba dropped that bombshell on him.

  And now Kurdan was a complete mess. He was on his knees, shocked into a daze by the revelation that his penis wasn’t as magical as he thought it would be.

  It was bad enough that Kurdan was effectively turning into an old wreck, his body reflecting his state of mind. He could have gently coaxed the orc out of his funk given enough time, especially if he focused on the good that Kurdan did for his tribe and orckind as a whole. So what if he couldn’t stuff a bun into an oven? He could still lead his people to greatness, especially if he pushed through with his plans to establish a school and merge both humans and orcs into one society.

  Except that he didn’t have time.

  That weasel Urgan had always been a pain in the ass, but he had fallen from Kurdan’s radar ever since he got in line and stopped challenging his authority every chance he could. It all proved to be a ruse, however, considering he now stood before the kneeling Kurdan, ready to plunge a dagger into an eye socket.

  There was no time. Isiah shoved Kurdan out of his own mindspace, an easy task considering the state of his mind. Isiah soon found himself in control of the orc’s body, which was a lot weaker than he was normally used to while riding around in Kurdan’s head.

  However, it was in far better shape than the last time he had taken control, which was during Kurdan’s duel with Gnadug. Kurdan’s muscles and bones may have been atrophied, but they weren’t beaten to a bloody pulp by an orc that was far stronger and more capable than he was.

  Isiah rolled Kurdan’s body, deftly avoiding Urgan’s killing blow. The orc, surprised, only stumbled slightly before correcting himself and slicing downward with his knife. Isiah took the opportunity to jab out, sending a fist crashing into Urgan’s abdomen. He was hoping to capitalize on a moment of pain, to get out of the way and create more space for himself. Urgan barely registered the blow as he drove the dagger into Kurdan’s shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.

  Isiah was quick to react, however, and surged forward. Urgan braced himself to take the tackle, extending one foot to catch and overpower his weakened opponent. He did not expect Kurdan to drop down and lash out with a foot, smashing into Urgan’s ankle and sending the orc sprawling to the ground while causing him to lose his grip on his dagger. It was a testament to the weakness of Kurdan’s body that the dagger lodged itself into his flesh in the first place. On a normal day, such a weak slash should have skidded off Kurdan’s leathery skin. Instead, it had dug a few inches into his shoulder.

  Right, Isiah thought to himself as he stood up. Orcs are tough little buggers; it’s no use trying to injure them. Gotta go for the killing blow. He focused on healing the injury to Kurdan’s shoulder as Urgan recovered from his fall, bloody vengeance written all over his face.

  Urgan bellowed in rage, frustration, and just a hint of fear as he realized his opponent was not as vulnerable as he first thought. Isiah saw the beginnings of bloodlust in Urgan’s body, given away by the flush of blood on his face and the sudden swelling of his muscles. Isiah called upon the same bloodlust, willing the rage and anger to bubble up and give him strength he needed.

  It didn’t come.

  Isiah was still trying to summon the bloodlust when Urgan barreled into him, whaling away with his fists in unbridled fury. Isiah pulled his arms in front of his face, covering it as he took the blows that rained down upon him. Kurdan’s weakened muscles groaned in protest, the bones creaking dangerously as they absorbed the pummeling Urgan was giving him. Isiah was thankful that the orc was so deep in the bloodlust that he was hitting him on the forearms instead of punching around them, but he couldn’t keep this up for long. Relief washed over him as Urgan paused his relentless attack, giving Isiah time to think of some way to get out of this ground-pounding he was taking.

  Isiah cried out in pain as two sharp and pointed objects burrowed into his arms. He realized too late that Urgan had not only managed to retrieve his dagger, he had also snuck a hand down into Kurdan’s belt and unlatched the dagger that hung there. Urgan’s eyes sparkled with unholy glee as he pulled the daggers out of Kurdan’s arms, lifting them high up before bringing them back down again. Isiah screamed out once more as the daggers impaled his arms yet again. His blood—Kurdan’s blood—flowed freely as Urgan continued impaling his arms over and over again. He wasn’t even going for the kill; he was basking in the glory of dominating the orc that had lorded over him for as long as he could remember.

  Isiah’s growing tolerance for pain as well as Kurdan’s own weakened but still-formidable physique helped him keep his wits during Urgan’s assault. He tried bucking Urgan off, shifting his hips to the sides. The orc’s knees, however, were locked too tightly on Kurdan’s abdomen. Isiah tried snapping a jab, hoping to distract Urgan with the force. Urgan laughed at the feeble attempt, as Kurdan’s arms were too emaciated to help. The simple truth was that Kurdan’s despair was too strong, too thoroughly engrained within his soul, that his orcish body could do nothing but reflect his despair. All Isiah could do was keep pulling his blood back into his body, trying desperately to draw out as much strength as he could while preventing himself from bleeding out.

  That was when Isiah stumbled upon the idea. In desperation, Isiah gambled on one last trick: he willed his blood to pour out of his body.

  Lines of blood snaked up from the freely bleeding wounds on his arms, wrapping themselves around Urgan’s face. The startled orc reared back, taken by surprise at all the blood inserting itself into every orifice it could burrow into. Urgan’s screams turned into wet gargles as Isiah poured more and more blood into his mouth and nose. Isiah’s focus swam as he pushed his reserves of blood deeper into Urgan’s nose, traveling up the passageways leading into his brain.

  Urgan finally realized what his opponent was doing and willed the invading blood back, pushing with every ounce of focus he could muster. It was his own body, and he roared in fury at the audacity of the attack. He had survived injuries far worse than this, and he had pulled himself back from the brink of death using the power of his own blood. He would not succumb to such a feeble attempt to invade his body!

  But that’s not how things went down.

  Though Kurdan had gifted Isiah with the ability to control his blood, the young boy was still only human. He only had a single heart to pump all the blood in his body, which was contained in delicate sacks and frail tunnels. It was far too easy for veins, organs, and blood vessels to rupture, even during something as simple as training. All the broken bones he regularly suffered while pushing his body to the limit, the torn ligaments and ruptured tendons—they gave him far more opportunities to refine his control over his own blood. It was that human weakness, that human frailty, that had pushed him to master his control over his own blood.

  Unfortunately for Urgan, he couldn’t say the same as he relied too heavily on his brawn and natural capabilities.

  The orc pushed out with his blood with every ounce of will he could, going so far as to rip a few muscles in one of his hearts with the amount of pressure he demanded from it. His control, however, paled in comparison to Isiah’s. Isiah’s blood held fast at the veins, blocking Urgan’s blood from breaking through and regaining control. Besides, Isiah wasn’t aiming for anything fancy. All he needed to do was follow the arteries, veins, and capillaries leading to Urgan’s brain.

  Once there, he commanded his blood to push with everything he had. The blood ran rampant inside the softness hidden within Urgan’s skull, tearing through brain matter in a hyper-pressurized spray. Urgan shuddered once, twice, and collapsed bonelessly as Isiah’s blood reduced the orc’s brain into a pile of sloppy mush.

  Still, both Isiah and Kurdan were not out of the woods yet.

&nb
sp; Kurdan’s already-weakened body could not last long against the abuse it suffered. Not only were the puncture wounds on his arms and legs bleeding out, but most of the blood within Kurdan’s body was trapped within Urgan’s body. One of his hearts had already ceased beating since there wasn’t enough blood for it to pump in the first place. Isiah himself was exhausted, thoroughly drained by the focus needed to draw blood out of Kurdan, not to mention fighting off Urgan as he struggled to push out Isiah’s blood from his body.

  Isiah collapsed, bringing Kurdan’s body down with him. He panted openly, his thick tongue lolling against the tusks jutting out of his mouth. He let his head hang to the side, savoring the coolness of the wood boards even as he felt the life leave his body.

  No, Isiah thought to himself as he fought off the sleep that tried to draw him down into death. Gotta do something about this… gotta fix up Kurdan’s body. No way… no way am I going to let things end like this, not after what I went through. After all we went through together!

  He rolled his head to the other side, locking his eyes upon Urgan’s still-twitching body. His brain may be dead, his higher functions shot to hell, but he still had plenty of hot blood just sitting around in his corpse. Isiah crawled toward Urgan’s body, one torturous arm after another. He got close to Urgan and spotted the daggers resting beside him, abandoned as the orc attempted to claw away the blood covering his face.

  Isiah reached out, grabbed one of the daggers, and pulled himself even closer to Urgan. He raised one shaking arm, fighting with every ounce of will he could, and slammed it into the dead orc’s heart. Without Urgan’s will to seal up the injury, steaming hot blood poured out of the wound and into the floor.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Isiah plunged Kurdan’s face into the wound and drank—deeply and desperately.

  Isiah felt it the moment Urgan’s blood touched Kurdan’s tongue and went down his throat. The blood recognized Kurdan as its new master, and Isiah felt the thrill of life course once more through Kurdan’s body. He willed the blood to clean itself, purging it of impurities which he hocked up as quickly as he could before he plunged his face back into Urgan’s wound.

  Strength regained, Isiah bit down savagely into the heart, burying his face deeper into Urgan’s chest cavity. He slurped for everything he was worth until he had drawn all the blood he could from the heart and its surrounding arteries. Once he could pull no more, he plunged another dagger down into the other heart and immediately slammed his face down into the wound.

  Only when Urgan’s twin hearts were completely drained of blood did he raise his head, gasping for air and savoring the rush of energy that coursed through his body. He felt the life go back into Kurdan’s weakened muscles, overpowering Kurdan’s despair and filling him with renewed vigor.

  Only when he was done feasting did Isiah notice the orcs that had barged into Kurdan’s cabin. Gnadug led the front, his arms hanging limply on his side as they weakly clutched his dagger and club. Borba and Urul were close behind as they wielded weapons of their own. All three orcs stood gob smacked as they took in the sight before them. There lay Urgan dead on the floor, his chest an absolute wreck of blood and gore. What truly transfixed them, however, was their Overchief.

  Borba had rushed to find Gnadug and Urul, Kurdan’s most trusted lieutenants. She had urged them to follow her, hurriedly explaining Urgan’s plot to the Axe and the Bloodletter Shaman when she had pulled them far away enough from the other orcs. Once they had been brought up to speed, they had immediately picked up their weapons and all but run toward the Overchief’s cabin.

  They had expected to see their Overchief dead, a victorious Urgan gloating over his body. Gnadug had expected to assume the mantle of Overchief after demolishing Urgan, to reign in the changes that Kurdan had made and bring back the old ways where the humans were put in their proper place. Urul had expected to stab Gnadug in the back after he had finished dealing with Urgan, to assume the mantle of Overchief and commune with Cagros the Bloodletter for the wisdom and strength to lead the tribes. Borba had expected that the two orcs would arrive in time to aid Kurdan, and that Kurdan would miraculously regain control of the situation once they had dealt with Urgan.

  None of the orcs, however, had expected to find their thoroughly-bloodied Overchief hunched over Urgan’s shriveled corpse, drinking the blood from his burst chest.

  They almost didn’t recognize Kurdan with how thin and frail he looked. His limbs were sunken, containing almost none of the thick, ropy musculature that made Kurdan so imposing in the eyes of the orcs. His once-blazing eyes were hollow and lifeless, yet they possessed keen intellect as they swiveled toward the three orcs barging into the cabin. Kurdan shuffled, faced the three of them, and smiled.

  “Took you long enough.”

  ***

  “You’re being a grade-A coward, you know,” Isiah thought to Kurdan as he sighed, the big orc’s shoulders slumping in fatigue. He sat alone in his cabin once more, staring at the faint bloodstains on the wood. The orcs had been pretty fast at cleaning up Urgan’s body, though they had kept throwing curious—oftentimes fearful—glances at him as he watched them work. He didn’t care what they thought. He had taken a gamble playing vampire, and it had worked: he had gotten the blood he needed to keep Kurdan alive.

  Not that the orc was being grateful about it or anything.

  The last time he had assumed control of Kurdan’s body was when he got knocked unconscious by Gnadug in their duel. Back then, Kurdan was raring to get back in control after the bout was done. He was so eager to regain control that he would have kicked Isiah out of his body if he could. Now though, Kurdan simply brooded in a quiet corner of his own mind, content to let Isiah do what he wanted to do with his body.

  “You don’t understand,” Kurdan finally replied after a long period of silence, every thought filled with grief and self-loathing. “You’re just a stupid manling living comfortably in your stupid human society overflowing with humans. Your penis probably functions properly, and you would fill the bellies of the she-men around you with offspring if you set your mind on it. That’s why you don’t know what it means to be an orc whose seed is sterile. It is… it is unforgiveable. My kind, the defectives, we are immediately culled from the tribe. Weakness can be bled, beaten, and battered out of one’s body. Yet this defect, there is nothing I can do about it.”

  Isiah sighed, shaking his head. “Can’t you fix it? I mean, you orcs have complete mastery over your own bodies. You can practically regrow a limb if you keep at it long enough. What’s the problem with tweaking your junk so that you can pump out juice that works?”

  “Orcish blood magic is all about restoring our bodies as we know it. I don’t know how to fix my ‘junk’ because it is the only ‘junk’ I have ever known!”

  Isiah winced at the prospect of having to spend the entire night consoling Kurdan—big, bad, sex-machine Kurdan—about how his genitals aren’t working as they should.

  “What’s worse, however, is that the other orcs would never follow a defective orc like myself. You saw it yourself; one whiff of weakness, and Urgan pounced on me with the intent of taking my position. I would not be able to hold onto the mantle of Overchief even if I wanted to. Not that I want to… not anymore.”

  Isiah groaned out loud. Not in exasperation, not in frustration, but in utter disgust. He seethed with contempt as he tapped his leg on the ground, moving it up and down as he listened to Kurdan’s thoughts.

  “Are you even listening to yourself? For crying out loud, you sound like a weak, pathetic baby bawling for his mama’s milk!” A spark of annoyance flittered through Isiah’s connection with Kurdan. Not for long though, as it was quickly smothered by shame and despair—something that only inflamed Isiah’s anger.

  “You are freakin’ Kurdan of the Boneseeker tribe! You forced me to work for you, forced me to study up on so much crap, even get me to hop into your body when you find yourself somehow knocked out—and I agre
ed to help because I saw that you had a greater vision not just for yourself but for your people as a whole. You blew down the old ways of your tribe and pushed it ahead through sheer force of will. You’re the one that took control of a no-name tribe that was supposed to be gobbled up by the bigger tribes and turned it around on its head. You ended up knocking down those big tribes while uniting the rest of the tribes. You led the first successful attack on a settlement that everyone thought you couldn’t take down, and you’re well on your way to setting up a solid foundation for the future of your people!”

  Isiah’s thoughts halted for a bit before he sighed and shook his head. “Okay, fine, you’re still a slaving piece of crap, but it’s a heck of a lot better than torturing the humans you capture for kicks and giggles. You also got solid plans for my people that doesn’t involve reducing them to slave labor in the long run, so you’ve still got my support on that field. And you’re telling me that something as little, as insignificant, as a broken set of balls is going to put you down!?”

  Isiah was huffing in anger by the time he finished his mental tirade. He was up and about, pacing around the now-smoldering firepit as he threw every ounce of scorn he could at the orc hiding inside his mind.

  “You… have a point.” Kurdan inhaled deeply within his mindspace, letting it all out in a huff. “Thanks. I… I guess I needed that.”

  Isiah smirked, revealing yellowed teeth and tusks. He pushed himself up from the desk he sat behind and craned his neck left and right—clearing out the cricks with two loud pops while doing so.

  “Good. Ready to go kick some ass and show everyone who’s the boss?”

  Kurdan laughed. The first few moments were forced, strained, but the laugh grew increasingly genuine as he continued. By the time Kurdan regained full control of his body, his laughter was hearty, full-throated, and just a touch arrogant.