Chapter 30 - The Blood of Mannoroth

Things were looking good for the night elves.

They really were like an unstoppable tide. One after another, they completely eradicated the Warsong bases. Nature itself rose to help the guardians of the forest in their struggle to fight back the invaders, all this while Cenarius' great voice carried over the battlefield like soaring thunder: "Who dares defile this ancient land? Who dares the wrath of Cenarius and the Night Elves?"

The orcs did their best to fight back. As word of the attack spread, they hurried to form a desperate defense at the riverbank, with Grommash himself leading from the frontlines. For a moment, Dalrus feared the worst, as he watched scores of elven rangers fall before Gorehowl. Alas, for every elf that fell, many more were there to take their place. Cenarius continued to make his healing rain pour down his troops, on top of summoning more of those treants and making deadly spike-covered roots rise from the ground to entangle and pierce the orcs.

Born-natural fighters the Warsong may be, but the elves were simply too many, and had the full power of a demigod aiding them in battle. Dalrus even heard one or grunt scream: "Their numbers are too great! We must fall back to the other side of the river!" Dalrus had half expected Grommash to hack down the coward where he stood, but to his surprise, the orcs really did retreat to their main base as arrows and glaives rained down at them from behind.

The interesting thing is, just as soon as the orc buildings were destroyed, the elves would instantly begin to reclaim their land. Dalrus saw those mighty ancients take root over the ruins of the Warsong's constructions and begin to mend the scorched earth and the fallen trees, little by little. Trees of Life were planted, and the elven priests dedicated themselves to make them grow all the faster. Before the moon was high in the sky, all trace of the Warsong orcs from that side of the riverbank was completely erased by the Night Elves.

As for Grommash's final bastion, it was proving harder to break through than imagined. His last base was very well fortified, and the watchtowers were doing a fine job keeping their attackers at bay... For the moment. It wouldn't be too long before Cenarius and his troops had finished cleansing the forest on their side and dedicated his full focus into ending the orc presence in Ashenvale once and for all.

And yet, despite all of this, Dalrus couldn't rid himself of that dark, grim worry that squeezed his heart. He couldn't forget what he saw earlier that day... He couldn't forget the demonic presence and what they had done to that fountain. He assumed Cenarius would first purge the orcs before switching his attention to that fountain - they did present a more immediate threat, after all. But what if the orcs found it first? What would happen? What would they do? And those satyrs...

The unease was very unsettling. Dalrus rubbed his eyes. Was there truly nothing left for him to do now? Cenarius had ordered him to leave his forest... But where would he go? How would he return to his people? To the Human Expedition? To his brother? He didn't even know where to go... The young rogue was beginning to feel very lost now. And very worried about what his next step would be.

And that was when he saw that raven again.

There was something about that bird that was just... Eye catching. Somehow, the moment he saw that black spot soaring over the battle between orcs and elves, he instantly knew it was the same one he had seen in the first elf camp the orcs had destroyed. Dalrus' eyes were glued to the raven, and he watched, unblinking, as it took a full turn over the battlefield before it suddenly took a dive and flew down... Straight at where he was.

At the last moment, the bird spread its wings once more and flew past over his head, a strong gust of wind making him close his eyes and cover his face. When he looked back up again, the raven was standing on a tree branch, staring straight at him. Its dark eyes watched him with some strange, unnatural interest, it's head snapping from side to side a couple times to get a better look at the boy. And then, it spread its wings, let out a loud 'caw' and flew off again, only to land once more at another tree further into the forest.

'What is with that bird?' Dalrus thought to himself. Curiosity took over, and before he knew it, he was chasing after the raven. As soon as he reached the tree the bird was perched on, however, it immediately opened its wings once more and flew to another tree. When Dalrus approached it again... The same thing happened. 'How does it know where I am? I am stealthed!' Dalrus recalled his masters saying that usually, animals had keener senses than humans. But for this dumb bird to see right through his stealth like he were clear as an apple in an orange field? This couldn't be an ordinary bird. Again, Dalrus approached its tree, and the bird simply flew to another one.

Now he was starting to get angry over it. Gritting his teeth, Dalrus climbed one tree and attempted to jump to one branch before shadowstepping closer to the bird. But, somehow, it felt like the bird already knew what he was going to do, because the moment he performed his technique, it was already beating its wings above his head, another loud 'caw' echoing through the forest that surrounded them.

"OK, what is your deal?" He said out loud, staring angrily at the raven. Instead of cawing back at him, the bird simply turned and began to fly deeper into the forest, a couple meters above the ground.

'Oh, no you don't!' He thought, furious to be made a fool by a bloody bird. Leaping off the tree, Dalrus broke into a sprint after the raven.

It was a very... Strange run. Dalrus was certain he was running straight after the raven, but he never felt like he was getting any closer, or any farther. The trees felt as if they were zooming past his body, the ground under his feet soft and uneasy like a cloud. It felt more like he was running in a dream, where no feeling was certain, no law was absolute. The ground was just... Giving way under him. The air was heavy and dense, but he didn't feel tired. All he could look at, all he could think about was that strange bird that flew so infuriatingly close to his grasp, but just a little bit out of it, as if guiding him...

Dalrus blinked. When had he stopped?

He looked around. He was standing up, fully still. He was still in the forest... Wasn't he? There were trees surrounding him. But something about this new place he was at felt... Familiar.

A dark... Sinister presence in the air...

The tall stones he and Lyaera had been using as their hiding spot for a few days as the friendly furbolgs aided them...

He was back at the corrupted fountain.

The raven was perched atop one of the stones that were hiding the fountain from his sight. It was staring at him once more. Then it turned its black head around to peer at the fountain instead. Then back to Dalrus. The message was clear.

'Why the bloody hell am I taking orders from a bird?'

Slowly, Dalrus walked around the stone, careful not to make any noise.

Those creatures... The satyrs were still there. Now that he had seen so many of the Night Elves, he couldn't help but notice further similarities between them and these satyrs. They looked more like an evil, demonic version of an elf. The thought sent a shiver up his spine.

The fountain was just as dark and corrupted as before. Its once clear waters filled with that red, oozing liquid from being mixed with the demon's blood... The ground surrounding the fountain was completely dead, dry and cracked. Fel energies seemed to emanate from it, and Dalrus wondered what twisted creatures these Satyrs must be if they could remain in this place without being affected by it.

But... That wasn't what the raven wanted him to see. No, it was...

'Bloody hell, how long was I chasing this stupid bird?'

Coming from a trail down through the south was a small group of the Warsong clan, led by none other than Hellscream himself. To his side was a troll shaman, pointing his long staff at the satyrs and their corrupted fountain. "That be it, mon! The dark energies that I sense come from the pool!"

The satyrs grew agitated. They all gathered in front of the fountain, many armed with wicked curved blades. "Foul orcs!" One of them said. "The burning masters charged us with protecting this well. You are unworthy of drinking from these dark waters!"

Grommash stepped forward, Gorehowl in hand. His dark eyes looked at the satyr up and down, as if examining the creature. Then, with a snicker, he lifted his weapon and held it with both arms. "I don't know what you are or who you serve, but no one bars my way!"

Dalrus held his breath. With a mighty warcry that represented his name, Hellscream charged and brought Gorehowl down at the nearest satyr. The creature never stood a chance. It's lifeless, maimed body collapsed to the ground, dark blood spraying everywhere. What came next was pure chaos and carnage. The orcs and trolls attacked the satyrs like savage beasts. Somehow they managed to make an even bigger mess than when the demons had slaughtered the furbolgs earlier. The battle was fast and decisive. Not a single one of the satyrs were left alive.

The troll, whom Dalrus assumed by his robes and staff must have been a shaman, approached the corrupted fountain. His face suddenly twisted in disgust, and he spat at the ground. "The pool emanates great power, but I smell the stench of a demon curse about it!"

Dalrus watched as the hopelessness filled the Warsong's faces, many of them looking tired and lowering their gazes. Grommash, however, walked over to where the troll was, his head held high. "I am cursed already! If I must drink from these waters to defeat Cenarius, then I will."

Shock and horror now took over their expressions. One orc grunt even stepped up, and said: "No! That goes against everything the warchief teaches us! We can't let rage overcome us again!"

Grommash suddenly turned around, his hand squeezing Gorehowl's hand so tightly his knuckles were growing white. For a moment, Dalrus was certain he'd carve the grunt in two where he stood. But to his surprise, Grommash took in a deep breath, then turned back to the tainted pool. "No, warrior... We must embrace it as never before! We must become the vessels of destruction that we were meant to be!"

And so, the hidden rogue could only bear witness as Grommash Hellscream laid his weapon against the pool's dark stones and sank both his hands into its depths. He brought them up in a conch, filled to the brim with that crimson fluid. 'No... Don't do it...' He desperately thought, but it was as if his body were paralyzed. There was nothing he could do to stop this.

Grommash brought his hands to his lips, and swallowed down those dark waters.

The warchief let out a sharp grunt of pain, then fell to one knee, his fist slamming the ground to break his fall. His body was... Changing. Dalrus saw the orc's already prodigious muscles bulge out and swell even further, making him look even bigger than he already was. Not only that... But his emerald skin began to shift color. It grew darker, and darker, that once proud shade of green turning into a deep, crimson red. Slowly, Grommash lifted his head... And Dalrus saw his eyes were glowing, almost like that demon whose blood had corrupted the pool.

"Chieftain?" One grunt hesitantly said as he approached his leader. "How do you feel? Do you need assistance?"

"How I feel...?" Grommash whispered, then slowly got up to his feet. He peered down at his own hands, inspecting his new skin color, and the other changes to his body... Then he closed down his hands into fists, threw his head back and let out a rumbling laughter. "Yes! I feel the power once again, coursing through my veins! You ask how I feel? I feel better than ever in my life!" He then turned around to face his troops. "Come, my warriors! Drink from the dark waters and you will be reborn!"

Hesitantly at first, one by one... The orcs stepped forward to drink from the fountain. Just like their chieftain... They all underwent that terrible transformation. Their bodies grew bigger, their skin became red, and their eyes were filled with greater bloodlust and killing intent than ever before.

There was one, however, who refused. An old orc wearing a wolf hood over his face. On one arm, he wore a peculiar weapon. It looked like two sharp claws coming from his wrist. Dalrus could feel this one had a similar feel to Thrall. Not just him, but the troll who led the orcs to this place was also keeping his distance.

Grommash noticed this. "Well, shamans?" Hellscream grunted as he stepped forward to confront them. "What are you waiting for? Drink from the fountain and embrace the demonic powers that once made us strong once more!"

Dalrus saw the troll look at the orc shaman, then up at the Warchief. Hesitantly, he approached the fountain, where he brought one hand down, then back up to his lips. He collapsed to the ground, gasping. A dark green aura seemed to envelop his body, and when he raised his face once more, Dalrus could see he was smiling. "Such powah... Incredible! This be the power of fel, mon!"

Curiously, the troll's body didn't change much, aside from his eyes developing that crazed, savage glow the other orcs had. He stood up straight, then walked back to Grommash's side. "Hehehe... This be better than even what the spirits offer, mon. With this, the Warsong will be invincible!"

With a satisfied smirk, Grom then turned to face the orc shaman, who had remained completely still the whole time. "Now you, Krek'thar. It's time to reclaim your lineage!"

The shaman's hooded face lifted to stare at Grommash's face. "No."

That one, simple word seemed to make everyone in that place go quiet.

Grommash's eyes narrowed. "You dare disobey my orders, shaman?"

Despite being overshadowed by a very angry looking Grommash Hellscream infused with the dark power of demons, the shaman did not look phased. "I refuse to let myself become a slave to demons again, Grommash. And I am disappointed that you'd become one so willingly."

Grommash spread his arms, threw his head back and roared. If Dalrus thought his voice was powerful before, now it was so ferocious the rogue had to cover his ears, and he could see birds in the distance fly away in fear. "You dare call me a slave, Krek'thar? We are not slaves! We are free! Free to use this great power as we see fit!"

Still, however, the shaman was not intimidated. "Yes, I remember the promises we were made long ago. I remember it too well, Grommash. I remember the days when we eagerly accepted Mannoroth's gift. The days when we gave in to your bloodlust and mercilessly slaughtered all the draenei we could find in our homeland of Draenor. I remember the days when Gul'Dan and his Shadow Council would decide the fate of the Horde." Then, the shaman brought his hands up to his hood and pulled it back. It was definitely the oldest orc Dalrus had ever seen. His head did not have a single hair to it, but his face was covered in wrinkles. His left eye was missing, with a big gash over it. "And I will never forget the day when the elements abandoned us, shamans. This is what killed Draenor, Grommash. This is what sealed the fate of the orcs."

Grommash huffed... Then he turned around, walked back to the fountain and picked up Gorehowl. "This is your final warning, shaman. Utter one more word, and I don't care if you are one of Thrall's favorites. I will gut you where you stand and leave your carcass here to rot!"

To this, the old orc merely scoffed. "I care not. If this is where I meet my end, so be it. If I die... I shall die a free orc. Unlike you, and the rest of the Warsong." The shaman then closed his eyes and lifted his head. "I thought I'd never hear the spirits again, and accepted my cursed fate in the hands of the Legion. When the Horde was defeated, and we had to go into hiding like maggots in the earth... I thought that was our just punishment for our crime against the spirits. But then Thrall appeared... And he offered us hope. He offered us redemption. He broke our shackles, and let us rise once more as proud, free orcs! And for the first time... I could hear them again. Feel them again! He gave us a second chance, and by my blood and honor, I would rather die than become a servant to demons once more!"

"ENOUGH!" Grommash screamed, then stomped over to where the shaman was, his mighty war axe raised high above his head. "If you desire to be with your spirits so much, then I shall allow you to join them!"

As the axe came down, Dalrus saw the orc open it's one good eye one final time...

And never in his life had he seen so much sorrow in an orc's gaze.

Gorehowl split the shaman's chest right open. Blood gushed out like a spray, and with a cry of pain, Krek'thar fell to his back.

With a snicker of disgust, Grommash looked back at the fountain, then down at the dying shaman, a sadistic grin twisting his features. "Looks like I couldn't kill you right away... Don't worry, shaman. I shall be merciful. If you wish to live, then crawl over to the fountain, and drink. The rest of you! Come with me... We shall escort the back of our troops to this place, and spread the power among the rest of the Warsong!"

Krek'thar lifted his head off the ground. "Gora... Ogar..." Was all he managed to say before he coughed, and his chin was covered in blood.

Grommash stared at the fatally wounded shaman with disdain in his eyes. "Honor... Pah. There's no room for honor. Only victory." And with that, the chieftain and his warriors left, leaving the dying orc behind them.

Dalrus waited until they were gone, then immediately hurried over to Krek'thar's side.

"OK, hang in there... I have some bandages with me, and medicine, I should be able to stop the bleeding, and-" His words were suddenly interrupted when the orc grabbed his wrist. Shocked, Dalrus looked down... But Krek'thar's eyes were still closed. And his grip... Was very weak.

"Human..." He whispered, his face struggling to lift from the ground. Alas, his head fell back down, a short, painful grunt escaping him. "The spirits... They told me you were here. Fate... Has brought you to this place..." He coughed again, and more blood covered his mouth.

"OK, that's dandy and all, but please, don't talk, alright? I-I can help you out here. I just have to close this wound..." Dalrus frantically searched for bandages in his bag... But he knew he wouldn't find any there. He knew the herbs and leaves he had gathered with Lyaera wouldn't be sufficient for this.

He knew this orc would die no matter what he did.

Unless...

"Listen to me." Too weak to lift his head, Krek'thar simply let it rest against the floor, his eyes closed as his blood poured from the gaping wound across his chest. "I saw... You, and my Warchief... Your fate... I saw your destiny. You can save Hellscream... And the rest of the Warsong. There is still hope... You must help... Thrall... And... Grom..."

The orc's grip felt weaker, and weaker...

And then it was gone.

Dalrus felt his eyes burning. He closed them, took in a deep breath, and tried to steady himself. 'Save him? Help Thrall? What's that supposed to mean? What am I supposed to do?'

With a long, sad sigh, Dalrus stood up, then turned around.

Standing right before him was a tall, hooded man wearing a cloak adorned with raven feathers.

For a few moments, all Dalrus could do was stare at that old face. It was just as wrinkled as the orc's, except this one had a short, white beard covering his chin. He could have sworn he had seen those dark eyes staring into his somewhere...

As if by instinct, Dalrus cleared his throat and said: "Well, hello there. Terrible weather today, eh?"

The hooded man chuckled. Those thin lips reminded Dalrus of his uncle. "Do you always utilize humor when you don't know what else to say, young one?"

It took a moment for Dalrus to fully register what this man had just said. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

The man's smile grew even wider. "Oh, yes. Our fates have indeed crossed before. I was quite curious what one so out of place as you were doing in this stage for a tragedy. A young, human boy, so far away from his home... And yet, not once, but twice, you did not hesitate to risk your life for the sake of others who are not even a part of your... Shall we say, alliances."

Dalrus looked back down before him at the corpse of Krek'thar, then up at this man once more. He had half expected him to vanish the moment he looked away, but no... He was still there. "Were you... Watching me? Who the bloody hell are you?"

"Who, indeed? A good question, one I've asked myself a few times before as well." The man brought one hand up to his chin to idly stroke his beard as he pondered. His hands were encased in thick, leather gloves. "You could say... I was once a guardian of this world. And now I'm trying to make amends for my mistakes. And what about you, young one? Who are you, and why are you here?"

Dalrus blinked a few times, feeling very confused. Was this all a hallucination? Was he maybe still chasing the bird, then somehow tripped and hit his head? "I'm... Dalrus. Dalrus Plaguefang. I'm from Gilneas."

But the man was shaking his finger. "No, that is not the answer I'm looking for. Tell me again, Dalrus Plaguefang; who are you?"

Lowering this head, the young rogue thought about it. "I'm... A rogue. I left my city because I wanted to help defend it... I wanted to protect everyone back home. I want them to be safe from these demons and orcs."

"Aaah, now we come closer to a true answer, but I feel we are not quite there yet." Dalrus looked up once more, and somehow, now the man was holding a staff. He took a few steps towards Dalrus, then lowered his head until he was at the same level with the boy. "You are someone who is trying to take matters in his own hands, but also losing sight of what his true objective is. You are trying to make a difference on your own, but you are fumbling blindly in the darkness. You wish to help... But first, I think... You should help yourself."

Dalrus took a step back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The stranger's dark eyes felt like they were piercing Dalrus' blue ones and peering straight down his very soul. "You thought you could make use of this power for a greater good... But you are mistaken. You are only rushing to a terrible end of your own. Because you still don't understand who you are. You still don't realize what you must do. But even so... There is a noble heart in you. That orc spoke the truth. A grand fate awaits you." The stranger lifted his staff. Dalrus couldn't help but notice its tip was adorned with a wooden raven carving. "But you are not yet prepared for it. You need to understand, Dalrus Plaguefang. Understand the threat of the Burning Legion, and the terror they will bring to this land unless they are fought back. In their folly, the Night Elves, much like you, believe they can stop this threat on their own. Bear witness, young one. Witness the fate of those who stand alone. And once you understand..." The man stood straight up once more, and slammed his staff against the ground. "We shall meet again. And your fate will unravel." And with that, the man began to shrink. His robes fell over his body, and a dark mist surrounded him. There was a bright glow of light... And where the man once stood, now stood the raven Dalrus had been chasing all this time.

The bird opened his dark beak, releasing a loud 'cawk!' before it began to beat its wings and fly away, leaving a very confused rogue behind.

What came next... Was pure horror.

Empowered by the demon's blood, the Warsong were nigh unstoppable. Grommash made sure every last one of his warriors drank from the fountain. Those who didn't were put to the axe where they stood. Not many did, however. The bloody remains of the shaman, Krek'thar, served as a grim example to what would happen to those who did not embrace this power once more.

When the Night Elves launched their next attack against the Warsong, they were faced with a terrible surprise. Grommash opened the gates to his fortress, and the orcs poured out to meet their foes.

Despite their greater numbers and the blessings from their god, the Night Elves were pushed back. Their front line was eradicated by the sheer savagery of the fel orcs. It looked as if they no longer felt pain anymore. Even covered in arrows and missing limbs, they would still fight to their last breath, taking down more than their fair share of enemies with them.

The worst of all, however, was the rise of a new class of warrior amongst the Warsong orcs. The shamans were no more. Just like Krek'thar had said... The moment the dark waters touched their lips, the spirits abandoned them. To take their place, however, chaos warlocks stepped forward. Wielding dark, demonic powers, these warlocks could make dark fire rain from the skies, hex their enemies with terrible curses and bolster their allies with blinding rage, turning them into unstoppable juggernauts.

With the might of his fel orcs and the warlocks, Grommash began to gain ground. After repelling the first attack, the orcs crossed the river and engaged the first elven base.

It was safe to say, this was a completely unexpected tactic for the previous attackers. The Night Elves had come here to cleanse the orcs, not be fought back by them. Their bases had little defenses, as all their efforts had been focused into restoring the land and attacking the invaders.

Once again, Dalrus bore witness to the atrocities of the Warsong. But if they were fierce and savage before... Now they were truly beasts. He did not even want to think about the things he saw them do to the Night Elves and their beloved forests.

He did his best to help. Even if Cenarius wouldn't allow him to step foot on their bases, Dalrus could still do something on his own. He'd sneak into the orc bases, sabotage their supplies and war machines, poison their drinks and their food, and at one point he even managed to assassinate an orc captain. Alas, all he managed to do was slow them down. Even a single one of the fel orcs had the strength and ferocity of ten Night Elf rangers.

And then, there was Grommash.

The orc was like a force of nature. Utterly unstoppable in battle, a maelstrom of death and destruction, like a crimson typhoon. Wounds did nothing to him. His axe would leave gory and bloody trails in his wake, along with dozens of elven corpses wherever he decided to tread. The second elf base took longer to be brought down... But ultimately, it was. And still, there was no sign of Cenarius.

It was only after the third and final one was put to the torch, and the last Night Elf warrior slaughtered, that finally Dalrus saw the demigod step out of the woods once more.

Dalrus was hiding at the edges of the forest. He had hoped he could try to find survivors, and guide them to safety like he had done with Lyaera... But just like with their first two bases, there had been no escape to the Night Elves this time. They really did commit to fighting to the end this time around. His only solace in all this was that he hadn't seen Lyaera amongst the corpses so far.

He watched as Cenarius trotted before Grommash and his warriors, his golden eyes taking in the carnage before him. "The demons did their job well. You creatures are as reckless and bloodthirsty as they ever were!"

Grommash spat. "We orcs are free, demigod!"

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Cenarius stomped the ground with his hooves in his rage. "Despite what you may believe, you are no better than the malignant bile that flows through your veins."

And for a moment, Dalrus saw the shadow of doubt cross over Grommash's face, only for it to be almost immediately replaced with pure rage. Lifting Gorehowl with both hands, he charged at Cenarius. "Damn you! RAGH!"

Lifting his wooden claw-like arm towards his foe, Cenarius summoned several roots from deep underground. They wrapped themselves around Grommash's arms and legs, then around his torso and neck to bring down the mighty fel orc. "And I see even your intelligence has decayed as well. You truly are nothing more than a wild beast, blindly charging at whatever stands in front of you."

Grommash roared once more, making Dalrus wince. "You think your pathetic sorcery can stop me, demigod!? I am Grom Hellscream! Your puny plants are nothing to me! Nothing!" With another roar, this even louder than the previous one, Grommash strained every muscle in his body... And to Dalrus' absolute horror, he stood up, the roots that attempted to bind him snapping and tearing from his brute strength alone. Now free to move once more, Grommash slammed his chest and resumed his charge against Cenarius. "LOK'TAR OGAR!"

It was clear the demigod was not expecting his prison to be broken so easily. Cenarius lifted himself to his hindlegs to prevent them from being cut clean off by Grommash's axe, then raised both his arms towards the sky, shouting: "Ana'doreini talah!"

Then, Dalrus had to leap back, as the tree he was hiding on began to move under him. And, he noticed, several others lifted their roots from the ground, their branches lowering and twisting themselves into arms so they could approach Grommash from all sides, surrounding the orc entirely.

"Pah! Is this your tactic, you coward? Bringing help because you are too weak to face me alone?" Grommash spat towards Cenarius, then turned his back to the god, Gorehowl raised high above his head with both hands. "Watch then, as I chop your beloved forest to splinters, and know you are next, demigod!"

Cenarius was constantly chanting, his eyes now emitting a strong green glow. Dalrus counted no less than a dozen treants advancing against the defiant orc chieftain. As powerful as Cenarius may be, summoning so many minions at once must have been taxing, even for him. The first one brought it's trunk-like arms towards Hellscream, who nimbly dodged to one side before bringing Gorehowl against the treant's torso - or maybe that was a trunk too?

With a loud noise of cracking wood, Grommash almost split the treant entirely in half with a single blow. The wooden creature fell to its side, and stopped moving.

Grommash then climbed on top of the treant's carcass and shouted to his troops: "WARRIORS! TO ME! THESE CREATURES ARE AS FEEBLE AS ANY TREE! CUT THEM DOWN TO THE LAST!" With warcries of their own, the rest of the Warsong joined the battle against the treants as Grom turned to face Cenarius once more.

The demigod had stopped his chanting. His golden eyes met Grommash's with deep scorn and hatred. "Are there no depths to which you will not sink, demonspawn?"

Grommash snickered. "Bark all you want, demigod. In the end, you will still die. And your beloved forest will fall with you." This time, Grommash's approach was more weary. His knees were bent, ready to jump out of harm's way if Cenarius attempted to summon his roots yet again. The demigod raised his wooden claw, and Dalrus saw the skies above darken. The winds suddenly grew stronger, and a draft so powerful that Dalrus was pushed against his back fell upon the battlefield.

Covering his face with one hand, Dalrus attempted to watch between his fingers. The new tree he was hiding behind now did little to protect him from those mighty gusts that knocked even the orcs off their feet. Grommash was on his knees on the ground, Gorehowl's blade buried into the ground so he could use it as a lever to steady himself. "Is this all you have, demigod!? Plants and wind?"

This time, Cenarius didn't bother answering. Instead, he raised his wooden arm even further. It looked as if he was unfazed by the winds he himself had summoned against the orcs. His treants were also unaffected, although, Dalrus noticed, there were less than half a dozen left now. A bright orb of golden light formed between Cenarius' wooden claws over his palm, then he hurled it towards the orc. "Nature's wrath upon you, hellspawn!"

Instead of dodging, Grommash simply roared in challenge and raised Gorehowl before him. The axe met the full force of Cenarius' spell. There was an explosion of energy so bright, Dalrus was dazzled and had to close his eyes again for a moment.

'What's going on? Where's Cenarius?' He desperately thought to himself, blinking as hard as he could to try and clear his sight faster.

He heard the distinct sound of metal hitting wood... Then, metal hitting flesh.

There was a painful cry of agony that seemed to echo throughout the entire forest around him.

The wind suddenly stopped.

Something large and heavy hit the ground.

And then... Grommash was roaring again.

"The Demigod has fallen, the Warsong is supreme!"