Chapter 55 The Cries of the Dying

As the hours dragged on, the pain in our bodies began to ease slightly, replaced by a numbing ache that settled into our bones. But our relief was short-lived. Just as a sliver of hope began to creep into my heart, the orc returned with a wide, sadistic grin plastered on his face.

"Well, I was out for a while! Did you two shits miss me?! Time for some more punishment, you shitty slaves," he barked, his voice dripping with malicious glee.

Kaka's body was already a canvas of suffering, each bruise and cut a testament to the orc's cruelty. The wounds on his back were deep, some still oozing blood, others crusted over with dried gore. His legs, twisted and scrawny, bore the marks of countless kicks and stomps. His ribs jutted out at odd angles, evidence of the brutal beatings he had endured through his hard life. The torch stuck in his butt wagged like a tail of a suffering puppy with each shudder of his body. Every breath he took was a ragged, painful effort, each inhales a reminder of the agony that never truly left him.

The orc approached Kaka first, grabbing him by the loose skin and yanking his head back. Kaka's eyes, swollen and bloodshot, rolled in their sockets as he tried to focus on his tormentor. The orc's fist slammed into Kaka's face with a sickening crunch, blood spraying from his nose and mouth. Kaka's body convulsed in pain, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips.

"Please... no... no... no more..." Kaka whispered. But the orc only laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that sent chills down my spine.

"You think you can beg for mercy, torch tail? You think that will stop me?" The orc sneered, delivering another punishing blow to Kaka's midsection. The force of the punch lifted Kaka off the ground, his body folding in on itself as he gasped for air.

The orc didn't stop there. He grabbed his whip, its leather cords frayed and stained with old blood. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the whip cracking through the air, the sharp tip slicing into Kaka's back. Kaka's scream was a raw, primal sound, filled with unimaginable pain and despair. Each lash of the whip tore into his flesh, leaving long, bloody welts that intersected with the old scars and bruises.

He leaned in close to Kaka, his breath hot and foul against Kaka's ear.

"Take a little rest while I play with your shity runt! But know this! This is just the beginning, torch tail. There's plenty more where that came from."

With that, he turned his attention to me, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. I braced myself for the onslaught, knowing that my turn was coming. But even as I prepared to face the pain, my thoughts remained with Kaka. His broken body hung limply from the pole, blood dripping from his wounds and pooling below his feet. His eyes, once filled with hope, were now glazed over with pain and exhaustion.

Just as the orc was about to deliver lashes to my back, an explosion thundered through the breeding farm, its deafening roar echoing across the field. The sheer force of the blast was overwhelming, sending shockwaves that rattled the very foundations of the farm. Guards and slaves alike were stunned and dazed, some collapsing to the ground in shock. The main gates of the breeding farm were obliterated, reduced to splinters and a massive cloud of dust and dirt that billowed into the air.

In the wake of the explosion, massive rock spikes erupted from the ground, piercing everything in their path with violent force. These jagged monoliths shot up unpredictably, skewering goblin slaves and guards who had been caught too close to the blast. The scene was one of utter devastation, with bodies impaled and debris scattered everywhere. The sheer force of the blast had sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, toppling goblins and orcs alike. Within the rubble, limbs, and bodies were strewn about, some barely recognizable, crushed, or severed by the violent upheaval.

The aftermath of the spike explosion at the goblin breeding farm was a scene of unimaginable horror and chaos. The ground, once hard-packed dirt, was now a jagged carpet of colossal rock spikes that had erupted violently, tearing through everything in their path. The explosion had not only decimated the main gates but also ripped through the slave sheds and surrounding structures, leaving destruction and death in its wake.

Goblin bodies, twisted and mangled, lay scattered across the farm. Some were impaled on the towering spikes, their lifeless forms hanging grotesquely from the stone. Others were crushed under debris, limbs splayed at unnatural angles. The cries of the dying and the wails of the injured mingled with the distant sounds of battle.

Goblin hatchlings, tiny and fragile, were strewn about like broken dolls. Their small, malformed bodies were torn apart by the force of the explosion and the spikes. Some lay in pools of their blood, their wide, innocent eyes staring blankly at the sky, their once vibrant green skin now a pallid shade of death. 

Others were partially buried under rubble, their feeble cries silenced by the chaos. Body parts lay scattered across the breeding farm, limbs severed by the violent eruption of rock spikes. The ground was slick with a mixture of blood and bodily fluids, making every step a slippery, treacherous ordeal. The sheer vulnerability of their tiny forms, no bigger than a goblin’s fist, was heart-wrenching. These hatchlings, who had barely begun their miserable existence, were now lifeless or dying, their brief moments of life ending in unimaginable horror.

Slaves who had survived the initial blast were now frantically scuttling about, their eyes wide with terror. Their once meager shelters had been obliterated, leaving them exposed to the elements and the violence around them. Many were grievously injured, dragging broken limbs or clutching at gaping wounds as they tried to find some semblance of safety. The few that still had some strength left were attempting to help the wounded, but their efforts were hampered by the sheer scale of the devastation.

 Goblin guards, once brutal enforcers, now scrambled in terror, their screams mingling with the high-pitched wails of the slaves. The rock spikes, some as tall as trees, impaled many unfortunate souls who happened to be in their path. Bodies dangled grotesquely from the spikes, blood pouring down in rivulets and pooling on the ground below. 

The air was filled with anguished cries and panicked shouts. Wounded goblins lay on the ground, writhing in pain, their cries adding to the sound of chaos. Some tried to crawl away from the spikes, leaving trails of blood in their wake. Others lay still, their eyes glassy and lifeless. The once orderly, although oppressive, structure of the breeding farm had been reduced to a nightmarish battlefield.

In this pandemonium, goblin slaves scuttled in all directions, seeking refuge from the onslaught. They darted between the spikes, their eyes wide with fear and desperation. The camp had turned into a deadly maze, with no safe passage in sight. The ground beneath them continued to tremble as if the earth itself was groaning in agony.

The orc who had been poised to whip me, just a moment ago, stood there, whip in hand. His once face twisted into a mask of rage and sadistic glee now contorted in fear. As the explosion ripped through the air, his expression changed in an instant. His eyes widened in shock, and his mouth hung open, momentarily paralyzed by the chaos erupting around him. The deafening roar of the explosion left him stunned, the whip slipping from his grasp and falling to the ground with a soft thud.

For a few heartbeats, the orc stood frozen, his brain struggling to process the sudden shift from brutal control to utter chaos. The main gates of the breeding farm had been reduced to splinters, a cloud of dirt and debris filling the air.

The orc quickly snapped out of his stupor, his survival instincts kicking in.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” he roared, his voice echoing above the din. 

 “WHO DARES?!”

The whip forgotten on the ground, he bared his tusks in a snarl, veins bulging in his thick arms as he clenched his fists. Spittle flew from his mouth as he bellowed in rage, “I’ll kill whoever’s responsible! I’LL RIP THEIR SPINES OUT AND WEAR IT AROUND MY NECK!”

 His eyes darted around, taking in the disarray. He turned and rushed toward the goblin master, Shakar, who was already barking orders to the remaining goblin guards and warriors. The orc joined the growing throng around Shakar.

Shakar's voice cut through the chaos, commanding his forces to take formation.

"Form up, you useless vermin! Stop running like headless roaches and defend the damned gates! Go in groups, you idiots! Stop running in circles and fight! Get into formation, or I’ll rip your spines out myself!" he roared, his authority unshaken even in the face of this unexpected assault. 

With Shakar leading the charge, they ran toward the shattered main gates, determined to repel whatever force had breached their stronghold. But the ground betrayed them. It started to shake and groan, and with a thunderous cry, the earth itself seemed to rebel. A massive carpet of colossal sharp rock spikes surged forth, impaling everyone who dared to approach the gates. 

Shakar and his orc guards were skewered where they stood, their bodies lifted and suspended grotesquely on the spikes. The scene was one of devastation, bodies skewered and lifeless, their charge halted in an instant. Their bodies were a gruesome sight, impaled on multiple spikes, their flesh torn and shredded. Shakar's lifeless eyes were wide open, a look of shock and disbelief was frozen on his face. His once imposing figure was now just another mangled corpse within the wreckage.

The scene was a nightmare. Goblin guards and warriors who had been so confident moments before now lay in broken heaps, their blood soaking the ground. Those who survived the initial onslaught fell into a panicked frenzy, running in all directions without any formation or purpose. The slaves, sensing an opportunity, scuttled around the camp, desperately seeking a safe corner to hide.