21st Century Orc Page 15

  Gore and Debbie whipped around at Gore’s brother as he entered the garage, snorting a mountain of pixie dust from his forearm. Slapping her forehead with her palm, Gore sighed. Blight, could Bones even stay sober for one night?

  No. Bones couldn’t.

  “Wait, why would a gang leader want to recruit someone planning to help bring down the sex slave industry?” asked Debbie as she stepped away from Gore. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Like I told Gore, Momma G’s gonna change things around here. She’s a new wave that’ll break the balance of power… But enough about that. So sorry to interrupt you two lovebirds but Aunt Iron Tusk’s here,” growled Bones, jerking a hand outside of the garage and signaling Aunt Iron Tusk’s truck in the shadows. He sniffed the air and then smiled. “You ready?”

  Gore exchanged a glance with Debbie.

  The dwarf nodded.

  “Let’s go to war.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Toretto Trials

  “Mmm… this is some good soup,” murmured Bones as he took another sip from his thermos. He slid his headphones off and paused his scryer. “What did Fin put in it? I’m tasting agitato and sopranos.”

  Opening another thermos, Debbie shrugged and muttered “I don’t know. Fin’s definitely on the secretive side with his ingredients. If I knew how to make food this good, I’d probably be fifty pounds heavier though. So there’s that plus side.”

  “Hm… I’m detecting some Dwarvish seven spices in here,” murmured Gore. She licked her lips and savored the steam wafting from her thermos as she turned her gaze to the abandoned highway below the three racers. Hundreds of lights flickered in the darkness, thousands of shadowed figures surging towards the starting line. “Mm…”

  “Didn’t know you were into cooking. Definitely didn’t showcase that talent when we were in the dorms freshman year. Ugh, could’ve used something other than dorm food,” grimaced Debbie as a horn echoed from the crowd below.

  At the signal, Aunt Iron Tusk stepped out of her tow truck and lowered the Magnum Orcus onto the highway. The old orc ran her hands over the silver elchite, wiping it down with a rag for one last polish.

  “Didn’t have the time. Nor the energy. Not that there’s many options for an orc chef,” growled Gore, setting her thermos down and jumping onto the road. She strode over to Iron Tusk.

  “You ready?” asked Aunt Iron Tusk, placing a hand on Gore’s shoulder. Then the old orc smiled and growled, “Kakore. You’re ready. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Have that much faith in us?” asked Gore as she hopped into the Magnum Orcus’s driver seat. She keyed the ignition.

  The Magnum Orcus rumbled to life, embers and smoke spilling out of the emission pipes.

  Gore smiled and pat the Magnum Orcus’s wheel, claws lingering on the symbol at the center.

  “I know it in my ngakau, irāmutu. I don’t need faith. Especially with our broken gods,” growled Aunt Iron Tusk, jerking her head to the Blight. “Go make me proud. Make my sister proud.”

  “Make us all proud,” burped Bones as the orc staggered to the Magnum Orcus. He still sipped from his thermos as he flopped onto the back of the Magnum Orcus. “Hehehe…”

  Gore rolled her eyes and turned back to Iron Tusk, pleading, “You sure you don’t want to replace my brother?”

  “Nah. I’m too old for this shit. This… this is about as close as I’m willing to get to that time again. That time of fury and primal clash of wills… Whahairaka… besides, I don’t think your car could take much more weight,” chuckled Iron Tusk as she leaned on the Magnum Orcus’s window.

  “I think you underestimate the Magnum Orcus,” scoffed Gore as she clutched the wheel. She closed her eyes. “Even without the blood gem…”

  “And I think you need to trust in yourself more,” interjected Iron Tusk. Her words pierced Gore like a sniper’s swallow-arrow. “You are always searching for that extra edge, no matter the cost because you—”

  “Don’t you have children to lecture?” asked Gore, her voice sharper than a drygder’s scimitar. She blinked. That came out harsher than she intended.

  Her eyes turning black, the old orc went silent, waiting for Debbie to jump onto the back of the Magnum Orcus. Then Iron Tusk sighed and walked away, murmuring, “Good luck with your race.’’

  “I— um…” gasped Gore, reaching out to Iron Tusk. What did she do… Then she shook her head and set her hand back down onto the wheel.

  As if she could smell Gore’s brain melting, Debbie leaned over the side and growled, “Gore…”

  “Ugh. Fine…” After Debbie jumped onto the trunk of the Magnum Orcus, Gore popped her out just as Aunt Iron Tusk jumped into her tow truck, “Thanks! For everything!”

  “Heh,” chuckled Iron Tusk, opening one of Fin’s thermoses. Though she avoided looking at Gore, she smiled and shouted, “Wairo te raiza. Thank me if you win!”

  “Once I win,” growled Gore as she pressed down on the accelerator and eased the Magnum Orcus forward to the starting line.

  The Magnum Orcus growled and surged forward, biting at Gore’s attempts to reign her in, itching to show off her new power.

  “Easy there, girl,” murmured Gore. She smiled, rubbing the wheel. “Well show them. We’ll show them all…”

  “You talking to the Magnum Orcus?” asked Debbie as the click of a pistol rang through the air.

  “Who else is gonna offer me any meaningful conversations?” Gore shot back. She chuckled and looked back to see Debbie holding a pistol in her hands. Gleaming aluminum cut through the darkness at Gore’s eyes.

  Gore bit her lip. The sight of Debbie holding a pistol made Gore’s guts twist into a nest of centipedes. In her head, Gore knew she needed all the firepower she could get but in her heart… best not to think about it, Gore said to herself.

  To Debbie, Gore growled, “You sure you can handle that pistol?”

  “I’ve been practicing all week. I should be fine.” Debbie stuffed the pistol back into a holster at her side.

  “That’s not how… never mind. Just make sure to keep the barrel pointed at the enemy.”

  “Or at their vehicles. I don’t plan to kill anyone.”

  “Huh. Good luck with that.” Gore rolled her eyes as she took the Magnum Orcus down to ground floor. Fighting without killing was something that only happened in stories. Never in real life.

  “Both of you. It might be good to keep quiet for a while,” muttered Bones around his pipe. He pulled out his scryer and waved it in the air.

  Once another light flickered in the darkness, a dozen dark figures hopping around the pinprick of light, Gore nodded and eased the Magnum Orcus forward through the broken highway, around massive breaks in the road and slabs of reinforced concrete jutting out of the ground. Another pinprick of light blinked into existence. Gore angled the Magnum Orcus to follow that one. Then the next, avoiding bits of jagged glass and barbed wire glinting in the starlight, waiting to shred anyone who stepped an inch off the beaten track.

  And those weren’t the only deterrents to intruders. Gang members dressed in almost military style clothing hid behind the rocks with assault rifles aimed at Gore. Embers flickered in the air, cast off from their exposed arms. Across their chest, roared a cackling skull with nuts and bolts jabbing through the bone.

  She gulped as she recognized the criminals. No just regular Warboyz. These were the Warchief’s personal attack squad. That meant only one thing.

  The Warchief was here. The strongest and most terrifying criminal boss on the continent was here.

  Gore’s hands trembled.

  After an hour of navigating through the maze, Gore at last emerged onto the start of a long stretch of highway, the asphalt disappearing into the desert crags and brush. Hundreds of gangs surrounded the Magnum Orcus, milling around twenty different vehicles. Give or take a few. The Squirrels on their bikes. The Iron Breakers on five of their Battle Rams. And several minor gangs in their most powerful mus
cle cars. But Gore’s eyes were drawn to the largest and most impressive vehicle of all.

  Forged from an military truck with several tons of steel strapped to it —as if the beast needed more armor, Gore thought— the vehicle rivaled even the largest Battle Rams in sheer size. Spears jutted out of the vehicle’s back as if it had escaped centuries of hunting. And someone had the bright idea of strapping a few drums to the top of the vehicle. Gore gulped, trying to still herself as she watched the mechanical beast lumbered forward. Smoke filled the air in its wake, swirling around a cloaked figure on the top of the truck.

  The Blight-krieg. The Warchief’s personal vehicle.

  The Magnum Orcus rumbled at the sight, jumping forward, growling as if asking, begging Gore to let her loose. To fight against the Blight-krieg for supremacy in the world of asphalt and steel.

  Gore knew the result of such a war, memories imbedded in her bones as she pressed on the brakes, halting the Magnum Orcus before she could take another lunge. She faced another soul-forged vehicle. The same as the Magnum Orcus. A demon, the soul of an orc lurked within the Blight-krieg. And it turned to the Magnum Orcus, seeking kin in this strange land.

  The Blight-krieg rumbled to life, engine tearing through the night. A wave of dust rippled out from beneath the massive vehicle, smashing into Gore’s nose. A few Warboyz squealed. The massive figure on the top of the Blight-krieg smiled.

  “Calm down, girl… not yet… we’ll show them what we got soon enough,” crooned Gore as she rubbed the wheel. She gulped down her fears once more as the Blight-krieg thundered to the starting line. Then Gore popped her head out the window and yelled at Bones, “We all good? Do I just go up to the starting line?”

  “Yeah. Just go to the left. Our starting block is marked red,” barked Bones just as a orc jumped onto the roof of the Magnum Orcus. Two orcs.

  “Hi, Gore! Nice to see ya! You looking mighty fine this evening,” yelped Butt-monkey before Asshole tossed him back off the Magnum Orcus.

  “Get back to work, runt,” growled the older brother.

  Debbie yelping and drawing her pistol, Gore sighed and growled, “Nice to see you, Asshole.”

  “It is always a pleasure, Gore,” murmured Asshole, ignoring Debbie’s drawn pistol as he marched toward Bones across the roof. “Seems you’ve come after all, Bones. But your luck ends today.”

  “What you here for?” asked Bones through a burp of Blight bug.

  Rubbing his temple and settling against one of the Magnum Orcus’s handholds, Asshole sighed, “Well, first I need you to put down a couple hundred slivers as your entry fee…”

  “Blight, Bones! You didn’t give him the entry fee yet?” demanded Gore, hands wrapping around her concealed pistol. She almost shot her brother right then and there.

  “I was busy,” whined Bones as he reached into his jacket and pulled out a fat block of something Gore preferred not to think about. “You know, helping you out!”

  “That’s what you call it? Lounging about smoking Blight bug all day while the rest of us actually trained and upgraded the Magnum Orcus?” Gore smacked her hand against her forehead.

  “Well…”

  “Either way, you two siblings will have to work through your differences later,” growled Asshole as he snatched the package from Bones’s hands. He took a long and deep sniff. “Mmm… smells like the batch the old Medicine-Man used to make before he got nabbed by the Fuzz. Good job, Bones. You’re clear to enter the race.”

  “Thanks. Always good doing business with our local economy,” laughed Bones before he leaned in to whisper, “Hey, if possible, I added in a little extra to cover for my sister’s rent. You okay with that?”

  Gore raised an eyebrow, eyes flashing black.

  Asshole laughed, “More than okay. This’ll satiate the bosses for quite awhile.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now if you don’t mind, we have a race to win,” barked Gore, revving up the motor as the Magnum Orcus burst through the shadowed crowd and onto the start line. Asphalt crunched under the wheels. Gore’s hands flew across the control panel, making minute adjustments to optimize the Magnum Orcus’s performance.

  “If you can win it,” countered Asshole, his smile gleaming in the starlight. “The gangs have brought out their best for this race. Not like those two-bit chumps in Roomenya. The Squirrels are using their direwolf pack, led by Arianel the Greenleaf. Bitch almost cut my eyes out last time we met. Must have been cause I was screwing her sisters.”

  Taking her gaze off the control panel for a split second, Gore turned to her right, where a pack of ten Squirrels lounged on their bikes. One particular elf caught Gore’s eyes. Smaller than the rest yet glowing with a inner light, she could almost be described as beautiful. If not for the blood smeared across her face.

  “Meanwhile the Iron Breakers have brought their five baddest Battle Rams. The Furnace Five. Each stolen from the city years ago and built into almost unstoppable behemoths. Hehehe… I remember boarding one of them last year. Broke my bass-axe trying ta bust open the hull. ”

  Further down the line, Gore watched fires spilled out from the ram horns as the dwarves swarmed the battlements. Bronze gleamed under the flame’s light. Gore glanced at the closest driver’s seat for the Battle Ram, noting how much more armor the repurposed garbage truck had compared to the one she had faced in Roomenya. Comparing the two vehicles would have been like comparing a drake to a dragon.

  “And last but not least, some of our Warboyz are gonna be gunning for this race as well.”

  Gore cursed and snapped her gaze at Asshole.

  “The Warchief’s in this one?” gasped Bones, eyes flashing so white with fear Gore raised her hand to shield her own eyes. Her own eyes flashed white as well though Gore gripped the Magnum Orcus’s wheel and pulled in confidence from her faith in the vehicle.

  Even so, her hands shook.

  “Nah,” laughed Asshole, arching his head back to the moon. “He only participates in the Grand Prix, to crush the best of the best on our sacred grounds and feed the gods. Yeah, he’s… Blight.” Asshole shook his head. “I gotta go. You guys, get ready! The race is about to start!”

  “What the… wait, what was he talking about?” gasped Debbie as she snapped out of her daze. “What did he mean? Where he going?”

  “I have a feeling that the answer lies right in front of us,” growled Bones before taking a long draught from his pipe. “Blight…”

  “Blight…” agreed Gore, gripping the wheel hard enough for her bones to shine white through her green skin.

  Two figures stepped out in front of the starting line. One was Asshole. The other…

  “WELCOME TO THE TORETTO TRIALS!” boomed a massive voice from an equally massive orc.

  The ground shook.

  “Jagd, the man’s loud,” muttered Gore through clattering teeth and her fear.

  Dressed in scraps of ancient battle armor mixed with military style fatigues and bulletproof vests, the orc stood twice as tall as Gore with a shoulder span almost as wide. A literal mountain of scarred green-muscle that could and did take on entire armies by himself. Red eyes burned through the night through a mass of dreadlocks.

  The Warchief, ruler of the underground. The most feared being on the Western Continent and the most powerful orc in all of Valerian. The leader of a hundred thousand orcs, rumored descendant of the ancient orc shamans. A dragon slayer. A murderer. A monster.

  Gore almost pissed her pants at the mere sight of him.

  “Shit… he’s really here. He’s here. He’s here. Jagd. He’s here,” whispered Bones as he ducked back below the Magnum Orcus, “He’s jagding here!”

  “I see that,” hissed Gore, hands trembled on the wheel as her foot hovered over the accelerator. She needed to run now. She needed to get the jagd as far away from this place as possible.

  Why did they ever decide to join the races? Why?

  Gore breathed in deep as she shook her head and tried to focus on what lay beyond the Warch
ief, her eyes grey. The prize. She needed to focus on the prize. Focus on what she wanted. Nothing else.

  She still shivered.

  “Well,” coughed the Warchief, punching his own chest and coughing out a ball of dust. Gore might have laughed were she not so jagding terrified of the old orc. “Before we can begin the fun stuff, we need to go over some… some jagding logistics. My subordinate will handle that.”

  Asshole stepped forward, coughing as he pulled up his scryer and read out, “The Warchief would formally like to thank all the generous and not-so-generous contributors to this night’s prize. A grand total of a hundred and eleven products, handpicked by our best men to suit your particular needs. About thirty dwarves. Twenty halflings. Fifty orcs. And… eleven elven girls…”

  The crowds cackled, licking their lips at the chance to taste elvish flesh.

  Her eyes narrowing, flashing red, Gore growled, “Jagding degenerates. All of them…”

  “While we don’t have these products on display today, be assured that they are contained in a secure location in Tao Ein,” continued Asshole, chuckling as if he told a joke. The rest of the crowd agreed. “Whoever wins first tonight will receive a dead drop to that location. All one hundred and eleven products will be yours to do with as you will.”

  “Gore,” whispered Debbie, leaning over the side of the Magnum Orcus. “We need to get first place. Free those girls.”

  “As if I needed more motivation,” growled Gore as she glanced about at the gang members gathered around them. Her eyes hardened to iron. There was no possible way she could let any girls fall into their hands.

  “It’s not gonna be that simple,” burped Bones, crawling up to where Debbie was. “We need to focus on survival more than anything. Focus on the small victories. Focus on getting into the Grand Prix. If we get first, we’re just gonna draw more attention to ourselves.”

  “I thought you liked being in the spotlight,” deadpanned Gore, hand itching to smack her brother. How dare he tell her what to focus on?

  Though Gore couldn’t be surprised by his choice. Not after what he did.