The arm twirled high over orcs heads which were falling, one after another, after every slash.

Iro was invincible, that blade could have defeated a giant. But giants are rough and not that smart. On the contrary, the orcs’ chief was a fearsome warrior, forged by the fire of a thousand battles.

Every strike was parried and rejected from the enormous ax while the one who wielded it was grinning behind the long and sharp fangs coming out from his jaw. A crooked jaw, like the rest of his greenish face.

BAM!

One of the other orcs fell against Iro who, distracted, received a treacherous hit. The sword slipped from the hands and flew in the air while the blood thirsty enemy was ready for the coup de grace.

The gigantic and smelly arm raised, the ax shined against the cavern ceiling while the veins throbbed almost to burst. It was over.

ZAC!
The last breath was exhaled while the head, now dead, was rolling in the center of the battlefield. Everything was still. Everything was calm.

Iro stood up, gathering the sword stuck on the body after the apparently fortuitous execution.

The orcs are now on the run.