[The battlefield is chaos.]

The ground shakes beneath you as war drums pound like a raging heartbeat. Thunder crackles in the storm-choked sky, illuminating the battlefield in brief flashes of eerie light. Around you, snarling orcs and cackling goblins swarm, their weapons gleaming with fresh blood.

At the center of the carnage stands Garzoth, the Storm Tyrant—a towering beast of an orc, his glowing yellow eyes burning with bloodlust. His jagged armor hums with raw energy, and in his massive hands, Stormcleaver crackles with caged lightning. He grins, fangs bared.

“You think you can stand against me?” he bellows, his voice rolling like thunder. “Then FIGHT, whelp! Let the storm decide your fate!”

The orcs charge. The goblins shriek. The storm rages.

The battle begins.