Howdy everybody. I'm saddened to say that I will end this story after the next chapter. I'm going to have to take a break because of complications from school. But have no fear all my fans, I will write at least one more sequel to this.

Chapter 10

Orcs, as a race, weren't usually fond of fishing. There was no battle involved, no blood to spill, and no Alliance vermin to rid the lands. In truth, Cerberus only carried his rifle and axe out of habit. Then there was the patience involved. It could take hours of waiting before a fish decided to nibble on the hook. Few of any race were willing to wait that long.

Nevertheless, fishing was an enjoyable experience for the tongueless orc. A way from the industrialized city of a sentient race, Cerberus was able to get ever so much close to nature. The aroma of grass replaced the smell of forges, while the only sound was the chirp of birds. If not for the dull pain in his arm, and a throbbing headache he had since leaving Brill, everything would be perfect.

The orc had been calmly walking for a time, trying to ignore the dull pain in his arm from where the Scarlet had cut him, before at last he came to his fishing spot. The waters of the Plaguelands had been first to be cured of their plight, so now bustling schools of fish swam through the lakes. Cerberus set his rifle and axe down, and removed his helm. Then he sat down and cast out with his fishing pole. He looked about for Pluto, but could not find his pet. He shrugged, assuming the wolf had broken off to patrol his territories and hunt his game.

He sat, and waited, and thought as he often did. He thought about his life, and how as a whole, life was good. And, inevitably, he thought of darker times: his life in the camps of those damn humans, his life as a slave. And with time, he remembered how he'd lost his tongue.

When the young Warchief Thrall came forth with a vision of freedom, it seemed as though the ancestors had finally smiled upon the scarred orc race. At once they turned on their captors and broke free of their bondage, and founded a new home in Durotar.

Cerberus had fought against the Burning Legion, bitterly joining with the humans only by order of Thrall. When the strained pact between the Horde and the Alliance was formed on the victory of the war, Cerberus was assigned as a guard to a lumber mill. He was happy with his work, and was content to let the Alliance be as long as they remained behind their borders. The night elves weren't as tolerant.

One night, as the moon hid behind the clouds, as if it were unwilling to witness the atrocities that would be committed, the Sentinel army attacked with a force of a hundred strong. The orcs fought bravely, but were quickly overwhelmed by the elves on their armored jungle cats. Cerberus was captured and imprisoned.

This time it was worse. As a slave to the humans, the orcs were for the most part left alone. Whether the humans feared the orcs or felt such great discontent they didn't wish to associate, Cerberus didn't care. He simply worked his labor, and associated with his own kind. But the night elves were cruel and sadistic creatures, even more so than his own race when under the corruption of the Burning Legion. They tortured him in the name of nature, claiming the orcs were responsible for ravaging the Ashenvale forests.

For a month, he stayed in the night elves' hold, tortured daily. Others of the Alliance came and went, each dealing their own kind of persecution. Some demanded information from him: locations of bases, estimates of the growing Horde's strength, anything that may be useful. Cerberus was strong. He would reveal nothing to the vermin.

Then one day, a particularly sadistic and fanatical druid came into his cell. Cerberus remembered much about him, his looks were burned into the orcs mind. Physically, the night elf was like every other: tall, slim, with purple skin, dark green hair, and glowing eyes. But it was his voice that was engrained in the tongueless orc's thoughts. A cool, calm tone that never once broke even as he tortured Cerberus in everyway.

For this night elf, breaking Cerberus had become less of a duty and more a challenge. None before had held out as long as the orc, the night elf began to grow impatient.

On that day, he strolled into the cell, carrying only a knife. Cerberus's arms were shackled to the walls, and the night elf danced just out of his reach. The druid then called out in his own tongue and a fellow soldier ushered a child, a troll girl, into the cell. The night elf smiled in his sadistic way.

He threw the knife before Cerberus and said in common, "Do something, anything. Surprise me. And if I like it, perhaps I'll let this child live. He'll serve as a slave, but be alive."

And Cerberus slowly picked up the knife from the floor and drove deep cuts into his skin until his arm was slicked with his own blood. The night elf was unimpressed, "Come now, I've done worse than that. You have to do something permanent, something brutal, or the child will die."

The orc looked sadly at his reflection in the glistening steel. Slowly, painfully, he pulled his tongue out with one hand and held it tightly between two fingers. With the other, he drove the knife into the thick muscle. The salty taste of his own blood suddenly flooded his mouth and oozed down his throat as the cold steel pushed farther and farther. Cerberus couldn't stand but to grunt and cry in pain, but a while to save the child forced him to continue, until with one final burst of blood, he ripped his tongue out and offered it to the druid.

"Not bad," the night elf taunted. "Not bad at all." One of his slim fingers brushed through the young troll's hair. His other hand positioned beneath the child's head. Cerberus realized what was happening too late. The night elf wretched the troll's head from her body with a sickening snap.

And then, something broke inside of Cerberus, something that had been suppressed since his freeing from the Burning Legion. Perhaps all orcs have within them a rage, a blood fury. The shackles seemed like nothing, and with a pull, they yielded as if they were paper. Cerberus was upon the night elf in moment, punching and beating his all too perfect lavender skin. Somehow in the violence, the orc found the knife, stained with his own blood, and thrust it into the druid's eye. The night elf screamed in pain, alerting the guards. But Cerberus, fueled by that craze, tore through them like a wolf does a fawn.

It was not a day that Cerberus was proud of, so he never spoke of it to his peers. To do so, to reveal he'd given into the corruption, if merely out of necessity and only for a day, would forsake him from his orc brethren.

A tug on the fishing line broke Cerberus deep thoughts. He pulled the reel, and a fine catfish came forth from the water. The orc examined it closely, petted its gills, and was about to throw it back when he heard the sound of a gunshot.

He looked down at his shoulder, confused by the bleeding hole. There was no pain though. That scarred him. There was no pain.

Another shot broke his trance. Instinct took over. He darted to the cover of a broad tree as another shot was heard.

He was bleeding, but no pain. The bullet had broken through the orc's chain mail, embed itself deep beneath green skin. But there was no pain. How could there be no pain?

Something was familiar about this: no pain and so much anger. He didn't want it to happen again. No, he didn't want it. No, he begged the ancestors. Not again…

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When he woke next, he didn't know what had happened. His fingers were sticky and his skin slicked, and now he felt a throbbing pain not only in his shoulder, but in his thigh and chest as well. He slowly stood up, using his rifle as a crutch.

A few feet away: a ghastly sight. What had once been a human female had been reduced to something barely recognizable. Humans were the enemy. Humans were responsible for terrible things done to the orc race. Humans should be slaughtered by the drove.

But Cerberus fell to his knees and begged the ancestors for forgiveness. Killing in the heat of battle, or to protect his honor or race was one thing. But that corruption inside of him had gotten lose, and that's what killed the human. It wasn't for honor or anything so crucial. It was a lust for blood.

There was only one way to correct this. The orc tucked the barrel of his rifle beneath his chin. He couldn't allow this to happen again. Not again. Never again.

Something bit into his arm and drug him to the ground before he could pull the trigger. Something powerful dragged him and held him down, forcing his grip on the rifle to fail.

Pluto?

Pluto had returned. The wolf released his jaws and slowly approached his master, no longer fearful of the corruption. And Pluto moved between the orc and the rifle. The orc patted the wolf's head, Pluto licked Cerberus's hand. He slowly stood up. They both began the painful trip back to Brill.