As soon as he stepped out of the cave entrance, the icy winds began striking Zaros's armor once again. But his resolve was as solid as the stone he had just left behind. The three Shadow Hounds before him were no longer calm—their growls were turning into sharp cries, a clear sign that the prey was near. The faint black energy emanating from their paws didn't melt the snow; instead, it dried it out and reduced it to ash.
Zaros placed his hand on the hilt of his massive sword and moved swiftly down the slope. His eyes carried that gleam a hunter gets when he knows his prey is wounded and has lost the strength to escape. "The more that boy suffers, the clearer his energy will echo," he muttered from behind his helmet.
On the way, he came across a place where large craters had formed in the snow. These were the footprints of Grommash. Zaros crouched down and examined one carefully. "An orc… and he's carrying a heavy burden on his shoulder. The boy cannot walk on his own." There was a cruel satisfaction in Zaros's voice. He knew that no matter how strong an orc might be, carrying a dying human through the steep climbs of Whispering Pass would eventually slow him down.
Just then, the leading hound let out a sharp cry and stopped near a frozen bush. Zaros reached the spot and scanned the snow. There, a few purple droplets had frozen onto the surface. This wasn't dew, nor ordinary blood—it was the 'corruption' leaking from Kyle's body. Zaros touched one drop with his glove and brought it close to his nose. The scent shook him to his core; for a moment, his mind went blank.
That smell disturbed him deeply. It was bitter—like rotting corpses mixed with the ash of an ancient volcano. For a moment, Zaros's Level 26 body trembled. It was fear—because he realized that if the source of such blood stood before him at full power, he wouldn't stand a chance… even at Level 26. It was a warrior's instinct recognizing an ancient threat.
"This boy isn't just Malakor's 'vessel'… he is destruction itself, capable of bringing death in the blink of an eye," he thought.
The fog began to thicken again, but it posed no obstacle for the Shadow Hounds. They could follow the thread of that scent even through darkness. They were now turning toward a narrow valley. Zaros increased his pace. The sound of his heavy boots changed—from crunching snow to a deep thudding impact. From afar, he heard a faint echo—perhaps the clash of a heavy axe against stone… or the footsteps of something massive.
"The more you hide, the closer death comes," Zaros narrowed his eyes. He now estimated that the prey was less than a mile away. He activated his communication crystal once again and sent a final signal to Malakor: "Enemy located. They are exhausted. Initiating encirclement."
The hounds doubled their speed. They moved across the snow like shadows—completely silent and deadly. Zaros partially drew his sword from its sheath. The sharp metallic sound echoed through the frozen silence like a warning. He could now faintly smell them—the sweat of the orc and the sweet magical scent of the healer. The hunter was now breathing down his prey's neck.
The snow covering the slopes of Whispering Pass was no longer red, but had turned purple due to the corruption leaking from Kyle's wounds. The air was so cold it cut through the lungs like a blade.
Grommash moved forward, carrying Kyle on his back, each step sinking deep into the snow. Steam rose from his body, and his heavy breaths broke the silence.
Suddenly, Grommash stopped. His ears twitched, and his orc instincts immediately sensed an unseen danger. He didn't turn his head, but his pupils narrowed. He could feel the scent of "rotting death" approaching from behind—the magical energy of the Umra Conclave, like a mixture of decayed flesh and burning sulfur.
From within the fog behind them came the slow, terrifying growls of the Shadow Hounds—sounds that could make bones tremble just by echoing through the air. Grommash understood—the hunters had reached the prey's throat.
"Grommash? Why did you stop?" Lyra's voice trembled. She turned back and saw the fog behind them growing darker. Arin tightened her grip on her magical bow, her fingers turning blue from the cold, yet her aim remained steady.
Grommash didn't reply. He slowly lowered Kyle from his back and passed him toward Arin. Kyle was half-conscious, his eyes half-open, his face pale like a corpse. He tried to speak—his lips moved—but only a faint groan escaped his throat.
"Take him," Grommash's voice rumbled like grinding stone. "Run from here… and don't look back."
Arin caught Kyle, disbelief in her eyes. "But Grommash, there are too many of them! We can fight together—"
"No!" Grommash roared, silencing her instantly. "That boy is Umra's 'vessel.' If they reach here, Malakor will drag him to the depths. You two can save him… I will hold them here."
Grommash drove his massive axe into the snow, the impact cracking the stone beneath. He tightened his grip on the handle with his rough, scarred hands. The fierce glow returned to his eyes—the kind that appears in an orc warrior when he prepares for his final battle.
Tears streamed down Lyra's face, freezing as they fell. "We can't leave you here alone…"
Grommash gave her a cold smile. "A warrior is never alone, little healer. My axe… and the spirits of my ancestors are with me. Now go! If I don't return… tell Kyle that an orc has paid the price of his freedom."
Arin lifted Kyle onto her back. She knew the time for argument was over. Grabbing Lyra's hand, she pulled her into the dark, dense fog. As they left, Kyle's fading gaze remained fixed on Grommash's massive back—standing like an unbreakable wall. Inside, Kyle was screaming, trying to reach out—but his body had become as heavy as stone.
Grommash stood alone. He took a deep breath, expanded his chest, and turned toward the fog. His Level 28 energy began forming an invisible aura around him. He swung his axe through the air and let out a roar that echoed through Whispering Pass like a volcanic eruption.
"Come… dogs of Umra!"
As Arin and Lyra disappeared into the fog with Kyle, the air of Whispering Pass froze still. Grommash stood alone, his massive axe embedded in the snow, steam rising from his breath like an engine. Then, within the white fog ahead, three pairs of red embers began to glow.
The Shadow Hounds.
They crept forward silently across the snow. Wherever their drool fell, smoke began to rise.
Behind them came a heavy metallic thud.
A massive figure emerged through the fog.
Commander Zaros.
His Level 26 heavy armor glistened with moisture, and the hilt of his enormous sword cast a terrifying shadow behind him. From behind his helmet, Zaros cast a cold gaze upon Grommash.
"An orc?" Zaros's voice echoed mechanically. "How dare you stand in the path of the Umra Conclave? I want the 'vessel' you just hid."
Grommash pulled his axe from the ground and swung it once through the air. The force scattered the surrounding snow. "You and your pet dogs… if you want to reach that boy, you'll have to taste my steel first!" he roared.
At that moment, a golden-red aura burst around Grommash. His Level 28 was fully activated. For an orc warrior, when he abandons fear of death, his strength surpasses its limits. Zaros saw that the orc's level exceeded his own—but instead of fear, a cruel smile appeared on his face.
"Level 28… impressive," Zaros said as he drew his massive black sword. "But you forget—you are fighting a 'human' force. And I… belong to Umra, which has already conquered death itself."
Without warning, Zaros swung his blade. A wave of black energy shot forward, slicing through the snow toward Grommash. Grommash raised his axe like a shield. The moment the energy collided with it, a powerful explosion erupted. His feet slid backward through the snow, but he held his ground with all his strength.
The hounds leaped at him simultaneously, moving with lightning speed. Grommash swung his axe handle and struck one hound's head with crushing force, shattering its jaw—but it felt no pain and sank its teeth into his shoulder. Grommash's roar echoed through the pass. He grabbed the hound and hurled it away before charging toward Zaros.
"No one leaves here alive today!" Grommash roared, gripping his axe with both hands and delivering a deadly strike toward Zaros's head.
Zaros blocked it with his sword. The clash of their weapons produced a shockwave that shook the mountains, loosening snow like an avalanche. The two warriors locked eyes—on one side, an orc fighting for freedom and friendship; on the other, a cold hunter driven only by his master's command.
The air filled with sparks and black smoke. Grommash's breathing grew heavier—he could feel that Zaros's attacks were not just cutting him, but spreading decay through his veins.
Cliffhanger
The wall of fog split open, and before him stood death itself—Commander Zaros. The red glow in the eyes of his Shadow Hounds stared at Grommash like hungry wolves.
Grommash tightened his grip on his axe—but can an orc's iron will stand against a Level 26 magical warrior and his deadly hunting beasts?
Arin and Lyra are running with Kyle… but Zaros's cold laughter beh
ind them makes one thing clear—The game has just begun.
Is this Grommash's final battle?