Arthas, the new Lich King sat on the Frozen Throne, looking over the world through the many minds of his faithful servants. He observed as the scourge spread through the plaguelands he now almost completely controlled, but for the small rebellion centered in the Light's Hope chapel. He saw his Undercity, now taken by the traitor Sylvanas and her pet demon. He also studied the men of Stormwind, the orcs of Orgrimmar and other "free" races, through the eyes of his spies all around Azeroth. Victory was near, he mused, and yet so far away.

His most trusted servant, Kel'Thuzad, was not able to crush the Argent Dawn yet, not to mention retrieving the last part of Atiesh, the legendary staff of Medivh, the last Guardian. The Legion was spreading as well, thanks to the Burning Blade and the Shadow Council. They would strike at any moment, but he was yet to discover from where…

I need more leaders, he thought, Kel'Thuzad will not manage alone in all this…

True, another voice within his head answered, But where will you find allies? You can gather as many undead as you wish, but they will be nothing but mindless slaves… We need someone with more will and mind. Someone close to Thuzad, whom we could trust with such a task.

I know that, orc… Arthas replied, annoyed. Ner'zuhl often commented and criticized his actions, always in a very annoying way, But I fail to see how that will help me. There is no one in the scourge I can trust more or as much as I trust Kel'Thuzad, except myself. The Deathknights are intelligent enough to take care of minor tasks, but they're still too ignorant.

Yes… Ner'zuhl replied, the only one we may trust is the one we had to resurrect… interesting, do you not think so?

Arthas scolded himself for not thinking about it sooner and allowing the lich to make fun of him like that. Of course, if he could not appoint any of his existing servants to be his harbringer, he would simply had to make one.

Who would you suggest, Lich? He asked.

In return he received visions. Memories, from Draenor.

A young orc, leading his clan to battle. His incredible skill, ruthlessness and cruelty in combat. His clear mind and excellent tactics, that always led his people to victory. The incredible way of gaining loyality from his clan, despite his young age, the respect he quickly gained from other chieftains and the power… the demonic power he so willingly accepted… And the great demon lord that fell under his one, single strike.

Arthas smirked and nodded. Yes. He would make a great ally, should he be reborn…

Grom Hellscream… Indeed…

The orc's soul hovered within the nether, unable to even float anymore. The pain was unbareable but there was nothing he could do with it… He could not even see what was around him anymore, not the faces of the many demons laughing at him, nor the demon lord that came every once in a while to ask him the same question over and over…

'Will you not give in..? If you releas the power within you, we will let you go.'

'I will never cooperate with a demon again… you should have expected that…'

'If you do not give us back Mannoroth's power willingly, we shall force it out of you, Hellscream.'

The orc laughed quietly, 'I have slain the demon to free my people… you think I will let you enslave them once more? No, Kil'Jaeden, I will not return him to you.'

'So be it,' the demon lord replied, 'If that be your choice I shall do with you what I have with Ner'zuhl. Eternal torment, or the power.'

And thus it was. Pain beond anything he could have ever imagined. Each day, Kil'Jaeden would come and ask him again if he would surrender and every day he refused… in the beginning because of his own heroic needs and honour, later, because he just wanted to annoy the demon in return for all the pain. Now… now it became a routine.

He tried to remember anyone… anything that could help him endure this, but in vain. He sometimes would call out to Thrall, praying the shaman will hear him, but it was no use. He could, at times, almost feel the Warchief's mind close to his, but never no help… not from anyone, not even his most trusted friend… his own brother…

He cursed himself for how weak we was… he would surrender… if not now, then the next time… he would, in the end… He was almost praying for the demon to arrive and ask him again, even if it would result in his complete destruction. It was better than this. It had to be.

He could feel someone approach him. Finally… Took him long, it did. He looked up, trying to focus and see Kil'Jaeden, to at least look into those demonic eyes when he surrendered… But the eyes were bright blue. Thrall, he thought at first, but then realized it was a cold, icy soulless blue, not the calm sky-blue of his brother's.

The newcomer raised a hand… a rather thin one from what Grom was able to see, and the orc felt something grasp him, as if pulling him away. He tried to fight it but he was too weak, and he found himself falling into oblivion. The pain increased. He wanted to scream but could not. If he had a body, he would have cried…