Tormund, God of Death approached the front gates of the base. Orcs stood by the top of the wall stared at him and blew into a hollowed-out tusk as a warning. More orcs climbed up with heavy bows. They spoke in a rough, hoarse voice. "Back away, human. Come any closer, and we'll kill you." One cried out. The man kept approaching. One fired off their large, black bolt at the man.

  He swiftly held the arrow and gave the orcs a stare that would terrify even the most powerful beings. "Let me in." A voice called out in their head and then used it as a mantra in each orcs' head. "Open the gates!" One said, terrified of that voice in his head. The gates slowly opened. The man kept approaching. Out of fear, another orc fired their arrow. The man swiftly disappeared, and the orc that took the shot now stood headless, the orc's head now held by Tormund, the head pouring crimson blood. "Do you think it's best to try me?" Tormund said.

  The orcs backed away in fear, looking at him in awe, and terror. "Where is your leader?" Tormund asked. Only one could speak but stuttered. "H-He's there..." His arm shivering as it pointed towards a somewhat tall building, the foundation built from large and small rocks, but a wooden spiral stair led up to the top. "He's up there... On h-his throne, made of skulls from the great b-beasts he's slain..." The orc stuttered, trying to make the leader of the base threatening, but Tormund did not care. He leaped down to the ground and walked up the small tower. There stood a large orc, with an incredibly muscular physique. He wore an iron face mask, his large horns stuck out of it on the sides, and he had three thick slits in the front, shaped like a snout to breath, his eyes glowed a menacing red.

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  "Mazgora the Wretched, I ask of you to work under me, so that I may have an established army for my future plans." Tormund spoke, giving Mazgora a death glance. Mazgora sat there unentertained. "What makes you think I will help?" Mazgora asked. "If you don't help, I'll just kill everyone here and use my abilities to control you all as my puppets. If you agree to work under me, you will be alive, and have actual free will, otherwise you'll be a soulless, mindless puppet under my control." Tormund spoke, his glare more frightening.

  "I see." Mazgora said. He whispered to one of his guards, wielding a heavy halberd. "Get one of our prisoners. He will prove his abilities." Mazgora muttered. The guard nodded and walked past Tormund, who did not pay any mind. "I hope you do not mind, mysterious human, but I'd like for you to prove yourself. The age of magic is dead." Mazgora said. "Please, call me, Tormund. I am the God of Death, if you haven't realized. I use no magic. This body is a vessel." Tormund spoke.

  The guard returned with a prisoner. His skin was pale, and he was covered in dirt and dust. His clothes were tattered, and he was skinny, his bones clearly outlined under his skin. His eyes were bagged. "Now, prove your ability." Mazgora said, "And I shall work for you." Tormund nodded. "I understand." Tormund spoke. In a mere instant, the prisoner was stabbed by Tormund's blade and died. Tormund watched as the body dropped to the floor and bled out. He held his hand up, and spoke something in an ancient dialect, which was discernible. A purple light illuminated from the corpse, as the wound healed, and it stood up.

  Mazgora sat there, marveled by the action he just witnessed. "So, it shall be. My army and myself are under your control." Mazgora spoke. "Thank you, Mazgora." Tormund said. "For now, remain here. I will come back soon when I tell you the next course of action. I sense something will happen in a day or two here, so stay alert." Tormund spoke.

  Tormund walked out of the fort, as the masses of orcs watched him depart, with an unchanging face. His skin had large, thick cracks, which underneath was pure black. Then, Tormund disappeared into the forest.