Yarn of Time

Omake Series of Canon Patchworking with Uchiha Ren

World of Warcraft The Movie Crossover

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This chapter has been beta'd for you by hestia8693.

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They had come here to find a new home - instead, they found hell, filled with devils unwilling to share.

Or so Durotan would be tempted to say, if it weren't for the fact that it was them who had invaded and attacked without provocation. At first, they – Blackhand, mostly – were disappointed at the lack of opposition, of warriors to fight.

But then warriors came, and with them – complete, utter defeat.

They are smaller, much more lithe than Orcs, each and every one of them. But the speed and strength they possess are unmatched by even the greatest of warriors. They wield deadly weapons of all shapes and sizes and use magic that is not magic. Some of them breathed fire, some called upon winds so strong they tore trees out of the ground. Some parted the earth with a mere gesture, some could make water do their bidding, and some brought down the wrath of heaven itself, deadly lightning carrying the song of a thousand birds.

They are war-honed monsters. Men and women, young and old. None of them hesitated to cut down an enemy, as if death was all they knew.

Now it is all said and done – what remains of the Horde are rounded and bound, those who would still fight suddenly finding themselves with no means to move. A boy, a child still, really, with hair of molten gold and a smile brighter than the sun had paint complicated runes on their skin and suddenly they couldn't move, couldn't speak. All the while the boy is laughing with his companion, a pale-skinned, dark-haired youth, barely older than him, with clothes drenched in orc blood, hand on the handle of the blade that had claimed too many of Durotan's kin tonight. The Pale Raven, as Chieftain came to call him, is wearing a small, fond smile as he speaks to his companion, as if he did not cut through many, many lives not so long ago.

They are soon joined – and scolded – by a girl with short, obnoxiously pink hair. Normally, she would be overlooked by all, but Durotan knows better. He had seen her shatter the beginning of the portal Gul'dan had them build, with just one punch. He watches as she grabs the Raven by the ear and suddenly her hands flicker green, like Fel but brighter, and the cut on the boy's face closes the second the light touches it.

It's definitely not Fel. Fel kills all it comes in contact with, and this power here is a power used to mend wounds and, by all means, restore life. He had caught glimpses of it before, when people dressed differently than the others, in pale, open coats, herded the few wounded to the side, and their hands glowed green, too. Those people who were herded away soon came back, the only signs of their wounds being the cuts in their clothes.

One of them had had his hand chopped off. Now he is walking around, sleeve missing but hand attached and functioning. It's a miracle, if Durotan had ever seen one.

But, despite them all being warriors, there is one person that would be burned into Durotan's memories forevermore.

A demon. A wicked beast.

A mane of short, black, absolutely untamed hair, eyes wild, red, and monstrous, crying tears of blood and breathing fire. Blade clutched in hand, clothes drenched in orc blood and monsters even his worst nightmares couldn't concoct by her side, she had cut through the Horde with a frightening, single-minded focus, calling upon fire, wind and the lightning.

She cut Blackhand down like a rabid dog before he even took a full swing at her, his head, face eternally frozen in shock, rolling off his shoulders.

Durotan, who has never believed in the devil, found himself rectifying his views.

Now her eyes are black like a void as she stands next to a man with blue skin and a giant, wrapped sword on his back, both facing Garona and speaking with her. It's always impressive, how she can learn any language around her within just a few weeks. And now, she is the only one who could communicate with these people.

Judging by their expressions, they did not like what they were hearing.

Blue Man says, or rather spits, something in their tongue, and nods at Gul'dan. The wizard is still alive, somehow, bound with the same runes the golden-haired boy drew on the others. Devil-Woman looks at the wizard, too, her eyes narrowing, and then she says something back to the Blue Man, who smiles, showing off rows of uncomfortably sharp teeth. Durotan doesn't know what the man is – he isn't sure he wants to know, especially when he unhooks the massive, wrapped sword from his back, walks to Gul'dan and places it on the wizard's back. For a second nothing happens, but then Durotan can't help but flinch when razor-sharp spikes cut through both the wraps and Gul'dan's skin.

It must do something, because the wizard suddenly can move-

But all he does is scream. It's a shrill, piercing sound that an animal makes, as the Monster-Sword eats through his skin, muscle, and bone. No warrior pays the scene more attention than a quick glance before resuming whatever their tasks were. One of the monsters Devil-Woman called upon comes running, clicking something in their tongue, and she only raises an eyebrow at the bright blue spider that's easily at her eye level. Beside him, Draka shifts uncomfortably, clutching Go'el closer to her chest. Spiders of such size are bound to make anyone nervous.

Anyone except for Devil-Woman and Blue Man, apparently, as they both chuckle at something the monster says, completely ignoring the agony-induced screams of the pile of flesh that had once been Gul'dan. The monster is followed, at a much slower pace, by a tall, dark-haired person with eerie, yellow eyes that has Durotan baffled. Is this a man? Or a woman? He doesn't know, but even from here he can sense that this person is dangerous. Perhaps even more so than the Devil-Woman, who inches closer to them and snakes an arm around their waist with a smile.

The eerie person says something that makes Garona stiffen, before her eyes harden and she nods, and walks away. Towards Durotan.

She stops by them, sighs heavily and sits on the ground, looking towards what's left of Gul'dan. Blue Man grabs the hilt of the monster sword and yanks it upwards, maybe a bit too forcefully. The sword absorbs what remaining flesh it came out with before returning to its previous state – except now its wraps are shredded and bloodied.

Durotan pointedly turns his attention to Garona.

"They're not happy with us," she says and turns to look at him. "But they're also not willing to slaughter us all. At least not their leaders. There have been... votes."

"Votes?" Draka asks, raising an eyebrow, and Garona nods.

"Some of their elders are wholeheartedly supporting just cutting us all out. Thankfully Ren, the one with the giant spider," Garona points at the Devil-Woman, "is against it, and she has enough backing to shut the elders up. Something about executing a meddling old fool before. She didn't go into detail. It doesn't matter – what matters is she's willing to give us a chance. A chance to settle down and live. But for that, we need a leader to negotiate with them."

"And you came to me?" Durotan asks, stealing a glance at where Devil-Woman – Ren, apparently – and her eerie partner are standing. They're unabashedly staring right back at them while talking in their tongue.

"Yes," Garona hisses, getting his attention. "Not only because you're Chieftain – but because you're calm, logical, and not as war-driven as the others. You saw what happened to Blackhand! Our people need you now, more than anyone we've ever needed. Gul'dan put us in this mess, and you must pull us out. It's either that or death. Ren might seem against bloodshed since she's standing up for us, but she certainly wouldn't mind it if push comes to shove. You are open to talking. So talk."

"There is no other way, is there?" he asks with a sigh, and Garona shakes her head.

"They are Nation honed and made for killing. They start training their children in this art when they learn to walk. They are born to kill, most of them," she says, looking at Ren, who is now leaning against the giant blue spider, hands laced together with her eerie friend.

"Who is that?" Durotan asks. "The person next to this Ren."

"That is Orochimaru," Garona says. "A War Hero. Powerful, but not quite sane. None of them are, but he is even less so. I heard him saying he'd love to cut one of us open to see how we work. Given how Ren looks at him, she might just allow it."

"Is she their leader?"

"No," Garona shakes her head. "She's just well-liked, apparently, and people listen to her. She's also surprisingly level-headed and will listen to us. If we go to her, she'll go to their leader. If she thinks our offer is acceptable."

"Okay then," he sighs, heaving himself up before helping Draka to her feet, and turns towards Garona. "Let's go and talk."

Up close Ren turns out to be even more formidable than from afar. Bigger than he estimated among other things, and along with that – the giant spider she's leaning on is also bigger. The foreign energy he feels in the air he can sense from her, too – it's much stronger than the wisps in the air but hers is also much more volatile, like an inferno raging right under her skin. Orochimaru's energy next to her is very calm, but also a very sinister, somewhat suffocating aura. It's not reassuring.

Ren also turns out to be much younger than he had first estimated her to be. She can't be much older than two decades.

She raises an eyebrow at them, and then turns to Garona, speaking.

Not much happens, really. Garona already explained why they were here, and it turns out all that's left is rounding up the survivors and leading them to the settlement, and their leader.

Maybe not all is lost yet.

Their leader is a woman of rather petite form compared to nearly everyone around her, and mistakenly indicating weakness. Durotan, who has learned to read the strange energy of this land, can sense her power, steady as a mountain and deadly like raging waters. The man behind her is both easier and harder to read – he's tall, the second person he has encountered who can actually match the massive posture of Blue Man, whom he learns is Kisame, aside from a very loud and obnoxious man named Guy. He has stitches across his arms and hard, unnatural eyes that make Durotan shiver – but the energy around him is different, somewhat unnatural and constantly shifting.

The woman is tired and the odd table she sits by is loaded with stacks of thin paper, therefore Durotan keeps it short and prays for a miracle.

There aren't many orcs left from those who had come through the portal before its destruction at the punch of the unassuming pinkette, and with the death of Gul'dan there is no hope of bringing more. Durotan can only hope that without Fel their world would be reborn, for the sake of those who stayed. Those who came and still lived quickly agreed that Durotan take the leadership over them.

Mainly because Ren had made it clear she wouldn't listen to anyone but Garona, the only one who spoke their language, and Garona was adamant that she would take only Durotan's word into consideration. Garona overall seemed to stop caring about what others might possibly think, given that she is easily accepted into the fold of Ren's acquaintances. Ren likes oddities, apparently, if Orochimaru, Kisame, and now Garona are any indication – but it doesn't really matter. What matters is that Garona has taked to these people – Shinobi, they call themselves – like fish to water. When one of the hardier orcs threw himself at Garona fully bent on ending her life, Orochimaru stepped in and off-handedly beheaded him with the wickedly sharp sword he carried and didn't even skip a beat in continuing his conversation – like he'd just swatted a fly. He didn't even really twitch.

That man is frightening. Not to mention the snake coiled around his shoulders. That thing is dangerous.

But then again, Ren has two massive spiders wandering all over her face and head and doesn't seem to mind them the slightest – neither does anyone else, really.

The negotiations are tedious. Not only because Garona has to translate everything back and forth, but also because the Orcs have nothing to contribute, really. They have no real useful skills except for hunting, which is long since out of practice due to animal farms, and fighting – but, let's face the facts, they really aren't the supreme fighters at all. Ren so 'kindly' explained that the only one they could actually stand against is a 'genin' – which is basically the equivalent of a child right out of school, and even then they would have issues.

Therefore, they don't particularly have anything to contribute at all. In fact, even from a cultural point of view, they are quite barbaric.

In the end, however, they come to an agreement – they have three years to learn the language and craft to contribute, and law to not pose even an unintentional threat. If they fail, there would be use found for them otherwise, and Durotan could easily conclude that that way of contributing would most likely be hard physical labor.

Draka sighs, tapping a finger on her leather belt, looking rather impatiently at the road. Durotan can't help but smile as he walks over to her, placing an arm around her waist. Over the years she had developed a particular fondness for kimono shirts and loose ninja pants made from reinforced material, much more comfortable than what they wore before. The shirt, colorful with its koi pattern, suits her.

It wasn't easy, but they managed it. They found their place in this new, strange world, with whoever that wished to. Many did, but many also didn't – some of those who didn't ended up in prison. Some died of the injuries sustained fighting for whatever reason, some were simply killed for challenging the shinobi.

Draka found her calling in sewing, oddly enough, but the pay was good where she was employed, and the brand highly praised. Durotan tried many things in this new life, before eventually settling for smithing along with Ogrim. The physical labor was something they both knew and, in a ninja village, there was always a need for more and more weapons. Garona, surprisingly, took well to healing and was slowly but surely climbing the hospital hierarchy ladder.

And as for Go'el...

"Mother, father!" Draka tenses and then relaxes, smiling slightly as a green-and-gray blur bounds towards them with an impossible speed only to skid to a stop right before their porch. Go'el grins, eyes wide and sparkling, and he jumps in place pointing excitedly at his forehead. There's a cloth with a rectangular, carved metal attached to it, a swirling symbol Durotan had come to recognize very well.

"Congratulations, son," Draka smiles, and Go'el's smile only widens, and Durotan smiles too, as their son starts to happily chatter about team selections tomorrow. But, really, all he cares about right now is that his son is the first Orc to ever become a shinobi, and it makes him more proud than he has ever felt.