Last Bastion: Reincarnated Prince of Stormwatch

"Steel may break. But as long as the bell tolls, we fight."

—Jag, Commander of Stormwatch

Location: Thornwake Bellfront – Southern Ridgeline, 11 Hours Before Contact

The sun hadn't risen yet, but Thornwake's towers already hummed with faint, rhythmic pulses—Choir bells syncing tone by tone. A cold wind cut across the ridge, stirring banners and stirring hearts.

Jag stood with his arms crossed, observing the valley below through a telescope made of refined Choir glass. Far out in the wastes, dark shapes writhed—orcish siege divisions, cresting toward them like a storm tide.

Behind him, lines of tower guards tightened their grip on shields. Steel plate clanked. Spears scraped against cobblestone. Mages whispered incantations into glyph-lined gauntlets.

"Ashglass Gorge will be our threshold," Jag said, lowering the lens.

"Let them cross it. Then we burn them down to bone."

Location: Ashglass Gorge – 3 Hours Later

The gorge itself was narrow—a funnel carved into the earth, its jagged cliffs rising on both sides like waiting jaws.

Thirty firelancers lay prone across the upper ridges, camouflaged by ash-draped cloaks. Their weapons were crude pipes bound with molten cores—pressurized flame cannons that fired superheated bursts of alchemical oil.

Captain Lero, a grizzled veteran with a half-metal jaw, tapped his rune-chime.

"Contact in thirty. Hold your nerves."

Down below, orc drums thundered—deep, bellowing beats echoing across stone.

Combat Begins: Orc Vanguard Charge

Eight hundred orcs roared as they surged into the gorge.

Frontlines bore tower shields—slabs of slag iron reinforced with flame-ward sigils.

Behind them came the siege boars—hulking beasts strapped with furnace plate and battering horns, snorting smoke with every stomp.

And at their rear, firehowlers, shaman-warriors with molten maces and incantations carved into their tusks, chanted in guttural unison.

"Raise! FIRE!!"

WHOOSH—BOOM!

The firelancers let loose.

A cascade of flame poured from the cliffs like liquid sunlight—engulfing the frontlines in a fiery deluge. Orcs screamed, twisted, and fell, armor glowing red-hot. The fire burned with chemical ferocity, clinging to flesh and plate alike.

But still, they charged.

Close-Combat: Skirmish at the Relay Outpost

Gravak Ironborn led the second line—a personal warband of fifty elite orcs wielding dual war cleavers.

Their bodies were wide, scarred from dozens of campaigns, each swing driven with raw muscle and practiced hatred.

They met Stormwatch's front guard at the relay line, and the valley turned red.

CLANG!

Steel met steel.

Tower Guard Eland deflected an axe blow with his tower shield, boots skidding back through gravel. He stepped in low, drove his short spear beneath the orc's chin—SHUNK—blood gushed, and the body dropped.

Another guard—Tamus—gripped a halberd with both hands. He pivoted low, swinging in a tight arc. His blade sheared through the ankle of a siege beast—CRACK!—sending it collapsing into its own unit.

"Hold line!" a commander shouted.

"Form pike wedges, force them into the blast zone!"

Behind them, sappers worked frantically around an array of sigil mines built into the relay's foundation. Choir script glowed white-hot.

The order came: "Evacuate. Detonation in thirty seconds!"

Scene: Inside the Relay – The Sacrificial Defense

Eight volunteers remained inside, each manning the arcane conduits that would direct the blast downward instead of outward.

The youngest, barely more than sixteen, clutched a rune-inscribed trigger stone.

His hands trembled as Gravak's forces stormed the gates, cleavers howling through the air.

"You did well," said the eldest volunteer beside him.

"Sound the requiem."

The boy nodded.

He pressed the trigger.

BOOOOOOM!!

The ground didn't just shatter—it collapsed.

A chain-reaction of pressure mines ruptured beneath the entire gorge. Stone cracked. Screams echoed as fire and steel were swallowed by the earth. The orc siege line vanished in a tidal wave of dust, smoke, and crumbling gorge walls.

Shockwaves flared up Thornwake's walls.

Scene: Thornwake Tower – Jag Watches the Aftermath

Ashra approached Jag, her cheek still bloodied from a collapsed wall.

"The gorge is gone. So are our relay guards."

Jag said nothing.

Rain joined them, blood running from her lip. "Our casualties are at minimum. Theirs—almost complete loss."

He still said nothing.

Only after the silence rang too loud did he finally whisper, "Not bad for our first scream."

Scene: Orc Encampment – Aftermath POV from Ghrol Skullborne

The orc warlord sat in silence.

Gravak's shattered armor lay at his feet—blackened, melted.

His lieutenants bellowed for vengeance, demanded blood.

Ghrol raised one hand, silencing them.

"They've stopped defending like children."

He looked southward.

"Now they bleed like adults."

Scene: Jag's War Room – Tactical Adjustments Begin

New maps were laid across the table—marked in red, ash, and spilled blood.

Jag's fingers traced each front: the goblin sabotage raids, the Blackthorn slow push, the southern orc recovery.

Ashra set down a vial of black moss. "Elven spore scouts were found within the western barrier roots."

Rain grimaced. "They're testing tower responses. Quietly."

Jag didn't hesitate.

"Good. Let them in."

Ashra blinked. "You're serious?"

"Yes. We've spilled blood. Time to spill lies."

He slammed a new formation layout onto the map.

"We'll give them the illusion of collapse."

"And when they think Stormwatch is cracking…"

He raised his eyes.

"…we'll drown their kings in the toll of their own arrogance."