Karp
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Chapter 124
🕑 Added 2024-12-10 20:53:21 +0000 UTC(Sometime before Syra set off)
Grom Hellscream, leader of the Warsong Clan, and Champion of the Horde brought his axe down again in a fury.
His weapon met the golden hue of an enchanted weapons again and again until he knocked it from the tiny redheaded Elves grasp.
Kicking forward, he knocked the woman to the ground, forcing her to tumble and churn up a thick layer of dirt.
“Pick it up!” Grom snarled as he flicked the discarded sword towards his opponent.
The girl had a fire in her eyes, and called the weapon to her.
“Fae'shallah.” The woman hissed in her flute-sounding tongue, and rose to meet him.
Grom didn't need to know the meaning behind the words to know it was an insult.
“Good! I would hate for one so skilled to be weak of will!” Grom savagely grinned, then ran at her once more.
The little Elf raised her shield, and slammed it on the ground, sending a shockwave of Holy Light towards him.
Grom performed a summersault flip over the attack, and swung his axe forward with a great deal of force.
In response, the Elf created a barrier of Light, which blocked one, two, three of his strikes.
However, upon the fourth hit, Grom put all his warrior's rage into this attack. As a result, the barrier suddenly cracked like an egg striking the pavement.
The Elf seemed not to expect this sudden development, and was caught on the back foot, trying to interpose her sword or shield in front of his axe.
It looked as if he wasn't going to make it!
The damned Elf smirked at him, and for a moment, Grom imagined the figure of that Elf. An old scar on his inner rib ached from the thought of her.
At that moment, an apocalyptic rage took ahold of him as he recalled the unresolved animosity of that day.
Suddenly, the Orcs dying around him to the Elves all seemed like Warsong clan members. That what he did must be done to achieve victory!
“Uuuuu-aaaaarghhhh! FOR THE HORDE!” Grom roared, his voice boomed across the battlefield, boosting moral, and at the same time, acted as a sonic attack, overwhelming the Elve's sensitive ears.
Willing his axe to move faster, Grom felt the rage flow through his body as if he were its avatar.
His opponent's ears twitched, causing her to flinch backward. Her eyes then widened in shock as Grom slipped his weapon underneath her defenses, and struck a rending blow into her armor.
Metal shrieked, and enchantments burst as the full fury power attack of Gorehowl plunged into her breast, and feasted upon the sweet nectar of flesh.
As she lay on the dirt, desperately trying to heal herself, and gasping as blood poured from her chest, Grom slowly stepped forth.
The sound of his boots crunching upon the gravel seemed to break the Elf from her concentration, and her healing spell fizzled out into nothing.
“Weak. You are nothing like her.” Grom scowled in disappointment.
Whether that was towards himself, or the girl, he knew not.
But what he did know, is that this duel was unsatisfying. He needed something more challenging. He needed to find that blonde she-devil, and avenge his honor.
Raising his axe high, Grom brought it down, only for the sound of flapped wings to drae his attention away.
Looking up, a Dragon appeared, and a new barrier to intercept his attack sprang into place.
“What. Is the meaning of this?” Grom slowly drawled, and voiced his displeasure in a deep bass.
“Liadrin is necessary for the future timeline. Apologies, Hellscream, I cannot allow you slay her.” The Dragon bowed his head, then scooped her up, and began to fly away.
“Allow? Allow? Since when did the Horde bow down to overgrown lizards?” Grom pointed his axe at the Dragon, and then lunged at the beast with the intent to kill.
“Grom!” Thrall barked, and battered him aside with his hammer.
“Why did you get in the way of my duel, brother?” Grom said with some bitterness as he eyed the fleeing Dragon hatefully.
“They are our allies, Grom. Without their help, there is no Horde.” Thrall placed a shoulder on Grom's shoulder, and patiently explained.
Grom's chest was heaving as the battle rage somewhat subsided.
As he looked around, and watched the Trolls, and Tauren fighting alongside the Orcs, he didn't know what to make of it.
This was not his Horde.
Placing his hand over where Mannoroth's blade was about to strike before he was sent here, Grom clenched his fists.
And this was not his Thrall!
He had grown beyond being used by Gul'dan, by the Burning Legion. Destroying Mannoroth was his ultimate redemption, to break the chains that bound their race.
But here they were, fighting in some alternate timeline at the behest of Dragons! Creatures that snatched him away from an honorable death no less!
The more he thought about it, the angrier he got!
“Grom, brother. I need you to stay focused. We are about to punch a hole in their defenses. It would be my honor if you lead the Champions of Azeroth, and save the Horde.” Thrall squeezed Grom’s shoulder, and looked at him with entreating eyes.
Grom softly growled, yet the look of this Thrall so much resembled that of his own. Both were hopeful, and yearned for the Horde to succeed.
“I will go.” Grom shook off Thrall’s hand, then turned towards the center of the island.
“Blood and thunder. They will be with you shortly after I inform them of their mission.” Thrall saluted, then left to rejoin the battle.
Grom took a moment to let the so-called Champions catch up, and took a breather.
Analyzing the state of the battlefield, Grom recognized that a narrow gap had formed in the Elven line, and he had a straight shot at the heart of the enemy.
However, a casual glance around told him of the heavy toll the Horde had paid to achieve this beachhead.
Thousands of warriors lay dead on the ground, as almost half of their initial number had been slain.
The Elves were killing the Horde forces in large thanks to their magic, bows, artillery, and floating islands. Most of the soldiers couldn't even close with the enemy.
It disgusted him.
Grom spat to the side, disgusted with their cowardly ways. The only true method to do battle, was with a melee weapon in hand, and the subtle tickle of wind on your bare flesh.
This is what any true Orc wished for. Fair combat decided by ones own courage and skill. Not from some fancy armor or magic trick. If one were to wear an enchanted artifact, then let it be taken from the flesh or bone of a powerful enemy. To clad oneself in metal was the height of cowardice.
“Grom Hellscream, we are reporting as per Thrall’s orders!” An Orc fully encased in glowing enchanted plate armor nodded.
Following behind the leader were a mish-mash of uncoordinated adventurers dressed in similar attire.
“That's Warchief Thrall to you.” Grom growled.
He may not care for this future-Thrall, but he still deserved some respect. Especially coming from a coward like the Orc in front of him. With weaklings like this amongst the so-called Champions of Azeroth, Grom wondered if the plate wearing Orc was really a Peon underneath all that metal.
“You didn't know? Well that makes sense, since you died so long ago. Thrall hasn't been Warchief for years. He gave up the post a while back to your son, but after he killed that traitor, he-”
Grom halted the adventure by reaching his hand out, and clamping it tightly around his throat.
“My. Son?” Grom calmly questioned.
“He's stronger than he looks! He grabbed the Captain so easily!” One adventurer laughed.
“He's not so tough. We killed Ragnaros, right? Why don't we loot him? Gorehowl is a legendary weapon.” Another spoke up.
“I already have Gorehowl, and so does La'Gash. The Bronze Dragons are pretty good with getting loot from across the timelines. Garrosh was strong, but we got the traitor in the end, right?” Another Orc boasted.
Grom saw that several of the Champions were wielding his axe, and something inside him snapped.
‘Thrall, what have you done to the Horde!?’ Grom internally howled.
He was about to execute the Captain in front of him in a blind fury, but his ears twitched, and he lifted the adventurer up, and used him as a shield.
A powerful bolt of magic struck the armored Orc in the back, and drilled a smoking hole in his enchanted armor.
Emerging from the gap in the Elven line, five Heroes flanked by 200 Elites began to advance towards them.
Grom narrowed his eyes, as he recognized those Heroes. They were the one who always followed-
Reacting on instinct, Grom slashed behind his back, and met a giant sword in a mighty collision.
His mouth widened into an impossibly wide grin. This was it. This is the enemy he had most wanted to face other than Mannoroth. Who cared about the pathetic nature of the Horde adventurers when the subject of his rage was before him?
Powerful purple and golden lights poured out of her blade, and pressed him back.
He felt that if any of that purple energy touched his skin, he would turn into a mummified husk. Furthermore, this girl was faster than he had ever imagined.
“Mak'gora! I challenge you, Syra Greathollow” Grom shouted, making his intentions clear to the surrounding Horde adventurers that this duel was not to be interrupted.
Surprisingly, the Elf responded in kind, and shouted out “Mak'gora” too!
Grom felt excitement in his heart as he faced her oncoming attacks.
Her sword cleaved by his face, and barely missed his tusks. Grom felt the whoosh of air on his face due to the extreme speeds of her sword, and could taste death on the edge of his tongue.
How exciting!
This. This is what he lived for!
“You have learned new tricks since we last met 20 years ago, hah ha hah. So have I.” Grom chuckled coldly.
His muscles began to swell, sweat exploded out all his pours, and a red aura coated his form.
“RAGE!” Grom screamed to the heavens.
His axe glowed brightly as he channeled all the energy in his body outward, and he brought it down upon her sword with a mighty overhead crunch.
“Hahahahaha!” Grom joyously laughed as their blades collided again and again.
He saw a somewhat similar mad expression on her face, and he knew he had met with a kindred spirit.
So many Orcs claimed to live for battle, but few of them had the mettle to match weapons with him!
As for the Elves, he stomped almost every one of them he met into the grounds few dared to meet him in melee.
But this girl! This blonde lady had been the only one to score a blow on him in all his time on Azeroth! How he relished this rematch.
Cutting diagonally, his axe went beyond her defenses, and cut into her golden shield, feeding his rage. At the same time, she also went all out on offense, and the purple of her sword ate away at his aura, and diminished it greatly.
Every clash, the safety nets surrounding them were diminishing second by second. Soon, neither of them would be able to rely on their respective shields, and it would come down to who could outskill the other!
Grom and Syra had repeatedly clashed, all the while, the screams and shouts of dying warriors resounded all around them.
He was in the middle of an empowered charge, when a nearby Troll shot magical arrows at Syra, forcing her to block.
Snarling in rage, he altered the target of his charge, and came up to the Troll at super speeds.
The blue-skinned man could only widen his eyes as Grom rammed his skull into the Troll's head.
“Ouch, watchu do that for mon?!” The Troll complained, and spat out a mouthful of blood.
“Mak'gora. Even the Elves understand the sanctity of the duel.” Grom snarled.
“Yeah, whatever mon, da fate of da Horde is on da line. We gotz to kill Vandacross before he restores the Sunwell.” The Troll pushed Grom back, and snapped a crooked tusk back in place.
“I am the Champion of the Horde, show some respect.” Grom shoulder bumped the Troll to the ground.
“Yeah yeah mon, big Hero. Yousa gonna go be a big Hero when you return to the past. The name Hellscream has a good legacy.” The Troll muttered under his breath and chuckled.
Grom saw red, and decapitated the Troll.
“If you're done disciplining the trash, then raise your axe.” Syra spoke from a distance away.
“Your Orcish isn't half bad, girl. But I care only for the language of blades.” Grom huffed, and charged once more.
Syra smiled at him in a smug, superior way that drove Grom's bloodlust to new heights.
By the spirits he couldn't wait to tear her head from her spine!
Comments
Michael DiVelbiss
Ah~ at last one of the manipulated breaks free of his masters and has the moral strength to decide things for himself. This is peak Grom.
