Eros

At Last, You Die - 88

The Warspawn needed little sleep, and the Deathstriders, apparently needed even less. Gurak took the best of every clan with him, and made them ride day and night. They ate without stopping, and slept only from when the sun started to blue the dusty skies, moving on as soon as it shined bright enough to awake Gurak.

On the morning of the fifth day, there was a black rising in the horizon of the endless, barren plain. Magmarocks. Their ridge wasn't as tall as the mountain Gurak climbed to reach the oracle, but was wide beyond the eye could see. It was said that they're a sad remain for the Colossal Mountains after the Blight made them burst with fire.

A Deadeye led the way, riding at the front with him and Isia.

"If half the stories they tell of the Behemoth are true, he will never bend knee before you." She said, voice raised over the wind.

"I would be disappointed if he does." Gurak answered.

"He's so old they say he fought alongside Brasgar, and the Colossals never stop growing."

"Your point?" He growled at her.

"How do you plan to defeat him?"

"I make no plans."

Her lip curled. "Is that wise, Warbringer."

Gurak turned his gaze to her. "Wiser than your foolish questions."

She shut up, but her eyes lingered on him, the weight of their stare growing by the moment. He turned away for a while, and when he looked back, he frowned to find her staring still, awaiting unwavering patience. Gurak grunted.

"I will know when I see him."

"Very well, Warbringer." Isia returned her gaze towards Magmarocks. He thought he saw a shadow of a smile at the side of her lips.

The sun blazed in the high noon, clearing the shadow of the looming Magmarocks, revealing a huge cove in them. Gurak couldn't help but to grin at the sight of the Colossals. He was too far to see them clear, but that didn't matter. Their size alone, was the answer. Brasgar gave the Warspawn a solution to every problem with their varying types.

The Colossals had the size to break down the cowards' walls. They were on a rush outside as they arrived, gathering to face them in front of the cove. About a dozen of them stood ground, more coming. The males with necks thicker than trunks, shoulders broad enough to drape several Warspawn in shadows, and squat, massive jaws. The females were no less tall, but with less muscle to their lighter build, waist wide, legs long and powerful.

Even the younger of them were giants, the shortest of them thrice as tall as Gurak. The mature ones made them look like children. Gurak stopped a short distance before them, his warriors behind him. He didn't need to say a thing. The piked Warchief heads and the Deathstriders they rode made enough of a statement.

The Colossals growled towards him, the larger males quaking the ground with pounds of their immense fists. Neither he nor Zarak budged. His obsidian eyes rested on the cove. He didn't have to wait long.

If ten Shield-bearers stood atop one another, they might have reached his height. He was even taller and broader than the gigantic elders. Every footfall hit the dry earth like a rock off an avalanche, cracking and shuddering the earth. The Colossals parted from his path to the front.

His clear obsidian eyes set down on them through the matted curtain of his pale hair.

"I am Gurak Bloodhowl, Warchief of the clans and the Deathstriders, the Bringer of War."

"Leave, Gurak." The Behemoth's voice was like a force of nature, awe-inspiring in depth and volume.

"Stories say you fought in Brasgar's war before. As the Warbringer, I call for you to fight again."