Orc and 400 Maniacs: Day 1, Still Day 1
Still day one with the orc and his four hundred lunatics. Before we knew it, the human alliance had swarmed like ants, blackening the foot of the mountain and surrounding us without a single gap.
We weren't budging, and after a brief scout, they didn't make any bold moves either—just watched our every twitch.
"Hey, you monster fucks! Go live off clouds!"
"You're all mountain-sized but such pussies—bet my kid's pinky dick is bigger than yours!"
"Wahahahahaha!!!"
They weren't coming up, just holding the base solid, trying to starve us out or whittle our numbers by provoking us to come down, hurling hoarse taunts and curses like "Come on down!"
"…"
Ugh, just seeing the kids' faces told me we were already in trouble. Humans or monsters, nobody likes getting shit-talked. But the most infuriating? Those noobs from that one AOS game who win off team carry, then spam 'gg ez' right before endgame—total dogshit who crumple if I flick 'em once, yet they yap without knowing their place.
My minions were grinding their teeth, faces twitching like crazy. Not a metaphor—their jaws were literally clenching so hard I thought volcanoes were walking around.
"Boss!"
They shot me resentful glares like How can you hold back?! But what could I do? To sell that we're not the helpless dogshit who can't even descend under this provocation, we had to endure.
"Look at these summit-hugging cowards—your boss must have a mouse dick too!"
"Wooohahahahaha!"
No, you crazy bastards, why laugh at that?
I could stomach them insulting me from below, even trash-talking my crew. But mocking me? Unforgivable. Second to the rage, it pissed me off that my own guys might laugh. I fired back one line at the assholes below.
I'm Demon King army—no need to play human polite. Plus, reincarnation's a godsend for moments like this.
"Hey, you motherfucking cumstain shits! Do you even know why your dads died after your moms passed?! Nah, you don't! Your dads are long dead, and your moms are sucking my cock right now!"
Ka~ ka~ ka~ …
The pad rips echoed through the mountains, silencing my cackling minions who'd been roasting me, and the human alliance trash-talkers below.
"If they curse you, curse back together—what're you standing there like idiots? On a picnic?"
What kinda Demon King army can't even trash-talk? I coolly swung back into the hammock I'd used for my nap earlier and lay down. My guys stared at me weird, whispering.
"Man, even for the boss, that's too far."
"Even the Demon King, king of evil, doesn't diss parents like that…"
"Felt it from the first punch, but the boss ain't orc material…"
"W-We gonna get lightning-struck or what?"
Their battle spirit, unbreakable even under my fists, shattered from one pad rip. Ugh, you morons. What Demon King army? Just quit and go play Teletubbies on toddler hill. That four-headed ogre with split personalities? You be purple Tinky Winky, Nana Po, or whatever.
Tsk-tsking, I rocked in the swaying hammock, eyes drifting shut—
"Come down, you fucker!!"
"Come down! Or I'll come up?!"
"Daring to curse the parents who birthed your speechless ass?!"
The humans below were howling. Curse all you want—let me sleep in peace.
"Hahaha! Look at these trash humans! No wonder your moms get it—their level's obvious! How'd your dads even fuck your moms?!"
"Just checking on your dearly departed moms—why curse? Be grateful!"
You crazy fucks were calling me extreme just now? Worried I'd get zapped, but now you're learning evil faster than anyone. Now you're Demon King material.
Yeah, keep cursing each other out. This nostalgic PC bang vibe, like bros trash-talking—this lullaby sent me drifting off.
Meanwhile, at the human alliance camp below—command center.
Bam—!
"How can anyone born with a heated iron mask spew such filth?! Are those things even living beings of this world?!"
"They ain't human to begin with—no iron mask needed."
"That's not the point! I wanna wash my ears right now!"
The staff and knights, faces beet-red, weren't hiding their fury as they vented. Even the few elves in the unit looked ready to demand purging those demons!
Of course, yelling loud in front of the top brass, Sylvia Isis, was rude—but even she couldn't stomach the gut-twist.
Her dad died before she was born, so that was whatever. But her mom? No way.
How dare they…! How dare they…!
Lowly monsters who couldn't match a human toe, insulting her mother?!
If anyone peeked into Sylvia's heart, they'd be shocked. Sylvia—who'd smile faintly at an enemy commander's dirty talk before decapitating him without blinking, ice-calm as a serene lake—losing her cool over mere words?
To understand, we need the Isis family background.
The Isis house, symbolized by the silver lily, is a deep-rooted knight lineage passing the swordswoman role for generations. Nobles who call themselves soldiers, warriors—not aristocrats—with sky-high pride.
Traits: silver hair across gens, and women so stunning they're "nation-toppling beauties."
But the real kicker? The family head's always a woman. Not rare in nobility for women in key roles, but Isis takes it extreme—from founder Isis on, every head for centuries was female, up to current head and Sylvia's mom, Veronica Isis.
And Veronica Isis? She crushed rivals as a woman to claim "kingdom's strongest knight." Daughter Sylvia swelled with blood pride, vowing to match—or surpass—her legendary mom someday.
But… whether human or noble elf, she'd tear 'em to shreds. A mere monster dragging her mom into it?!
Grinding her teeth, Sylvia desperately hid her rage from those around her. But tears slipped unbidden from sheer fury—unlike her, the knights saw dew on a lily, projecting noble knight pride.
Ah… She's the most pissed, following her mom Veronica…
…Hiding it from us…
Acting fine on the outside…
Even lecherous staffers, usually eyeing her slyly, could only gape at her purity now.
In the false silence, Sylvia regained composure, awkwardly addressing her staring minions.
"I showed unbecoming conduct."
"No! We're furious too!"
"Demons borrowing devil tongues, as expected!"
Fueled by unheard humiliation and rage at the flesh-monsters insulting living parents, Sylvia and her crew burned to slaughter any intruder miserably.
And as the alliance glared unprecedented hate up the peak—what were the orc and minions doing?
Ah, they won't charge just 'cause I asked after their moms, right? Not yet.
This post-apoc failure-turned-Demon King orc, unfazed by mounting karma, scratched his ass indifferently, pondering tomorrow's time-kill.