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Before anyone can intervene, Gaurbod lunges, brandishing a wicked-bladed spear. He charges onto the obsidian dais, aiming the spear at me. I let out a shocked cry, stumbling back. Ghorzag roars, ax raised, but Gaurbod’s warriors block him in an instant.

A cold spike of terror lances through me. Gaurbod’s spear glints, poised to impale. My mind spins: He’s going to kill me right here, in the War God’s presence, claiming it’s righteous.

Time seems to slow as I scramble away from Gaurbod’s spear thrust. My back slams against a carved pillar at the dais’s edge, breath hitching. Gaurbod advances, eyes wild. “You’re the reason for every ill omen, every poisoned water, every monstrous ambush! The War God’s silence damns you!”

He lunges again. I twist aside, a feeble dodge, the pillar scraping my shoulder. “I—I’m not—” My voice wavers, terror choking words. This can’t be happening.

Across the dais, Ghorzag fights to push through Gaurbod’s minions, ax swinging. Karzug and Harzug clash with them too, steel ringing on steel. But they’ve been blindsided, pinned at the dais entrance, trapped behind a line of snarling orcs loyal to Gaurbod.

My heart thunders. I’m alone. Gaurbod’s sneer deepens, the spear’s tip glinting ominously close. Around us, priests and onlookers cry out, some in alarm, others in vicious approval. The War God’s temple reverberates with chaos.

Stumbling sideways, I try to circle around to Ghorzag, but Gaurbod cuts me off with a savage thrust. I gasp, narrowly avoiding the spear’s point. He is faster than I anticipate, orcish strength fueling each lunge. A single misstep and I will be skewered.

He corners me against the pillar, roaring accusations. “Dark elves might have aided you, or you might be a cunning witch yourself. Either way, this ends now!” His face contorts with rage, the thirst for my blood painfully clear.

My mind races, searching for an escape. “Gaurbod, listen. The sabotage— illusions—someone else is?—”

“Lies!” he spits, thrusting again. My back presses against cold stone, nowhere to run. That spear glints mere inches from my chest. Sweat trickles down my temple. Is this how I die, scapegoated for every misfortune?

Beyond the dais, the temple descends into chaos. Some orcs shout for Gaurbod to stand down, others cheer him on. The priests flail, uncertain whether to interfere. Ghorzag’s roar echoes as he clashes with two of Gaurbod’s loyalists, desperately trying to break through.

My gaze darts to Ghorzag, seeing the raw panic in his eyes. He’s trying to save me, but Gaurbod’s minions form a wall of steel. A stray spear clips Ghorzag’s arm; blood spatters the dais. Karzug strikes at another attacker, roaring curses as he defends the chieftain’s flank.

In that moment, time slows. I realize Gaurbod’s scheme has worked perfectly: incite fear in the temple, exploit the War God’s silence to paint me as a curse, and publicly kill me.

The clan, divided, might stand behind him out of sheer panic.

No illusions needed now—just raw hatred and a well-timed assault.

My thoughts churn. If I die here, Gaurbod will likely seize power. Ghorzag’s leadership will crumble, undone by my blood spilled on the War God’s sacred floor. A shaky breath escapes me, tears burning. I can’t let him win.

Gaurbod lunges a final time, spear aimed for my throat. Instinct flares. I shove off the pillar, pivoting to the side. The spear grazes my shoulder, pain blossoming in a hot slash. I bite back a cry, adrenaline surging. He overextends slightly, and I seize my one chance.

With a shaky but determined move, I ram my elbow into his forearm. The spear wavers. Then, recalling Ghorzag’s self-defense lessons, I kick at Gaurbod’s knee. He stumbles, eyes flaring with surprise. I lash out again, adrenaline lending strength. His spear tip squeals against stone, sparks flying.

For an instant, I think I might actually disarm him.

But he recovers too quickly, orcish strength overpowering my desperate strike.

Gaurbod roars, shoulder-checking me with brutal force.

Air whooshes from my lungs as I slam back into the pillar.

The spear swings up again, aimed squarely at my chest.

My vision blurs. Pain spears through my ribs, the world tilting as stone presses into my back. Gaurbod’s breath rasps, tusks bared in triumph. “No more running, human,” he snarls. “Your death ends this curse.”

He rears back, preparing the killing thrust. My heart hammers. I’m going to die.

A voice inside screams Fight! , but my arms feel leaden, the spear’s lethal point looming. Everything else fades—the clang of battle, the priests’ frantic cries, Ghorzag’s roars. There is only Gaurbod’s face twisted with hateful purpose, and the spear that will end my life.

Time crawls, each breath an eternity. My mind fills with Ghorzag’s image: fierce determination, the gentleness in his eyes when he touched me, the pledge to protect me no matter what. I tried so hard to prove I wasn’t a curse. Had it all been for nothing?

I clench my teeth, refusing to close my eyes. If this is my end, I face it without cowardice. At least let Ghorzag see I didn’t surrender.

Gaurbod’s spear hurtles forward.