Eight years had passed since Thrall's sreturn to Draenor. During that time, his days and nights were spent alongside Aggra and Grandmother Geyah, immersed in the ancient ways of the shaman. Living in such close proximity, their bond had deepened, transcending the typical dynamic between senior and junior disciples. While Thrall still possessed a certain naivete, Aggra, being his elder and a woman, possessed a more mature understanding of her own heart. Therefore, the sight of Thrall being violently thrown aside filled her with intense anxiety.
However, swift as her reaction was, another was even faster. A radiant beam of holy light descended upon the fallen Thrall, bolstering him, allowing him to rise once more. It was Aragorn who had intervened. Galen offered Aggra a reassuring nod, silently urging her to remain focused. Matters of the heart could wait; the immediate priority was the formidable Mannoroth.
...(Thrall or Go'el? I prefer Thrall)
Ordinarily, with Galen's demigod-level power leading the charge, confronting this abyss lord would have been a relatively straightforward affair. Even Tichondrius's peculiar Fel magic necessitated only the strategic use of invincibility potions. But Mannoroth, brimming with arrogant confidence in his raw power, preferred direct, head-on confrontations. These lumbering, straightforward brutes were Galen's preferred opponents – mindless aggression that could be countered with equally mindless, yet overwhelming, force. However, this Demon Slaughtering Battle held a deeper significance for the orcs. This abyss lord was a nightmare etched into their collective psyche. His continued existence represented the lingering curse of the demon blood. For the sake of their honor, their redemption, the orcs had unanimously requested to face this demon themselves. Galen and his elite heroes were relegated to a support role, providing healing and strategic buffs.
To their credit, the five veteran orc warriors displayed incredible bravery. Grom, Orgrim, Blademaster Dar, Eitrigg, and Varok, emboldened by Aragorn's potent Holy Light spells, charged relentlessly, heedless of their own safety, only to be swatted aside by Mannoroth's brutal attacks. Orgrim, in particular, bore the heaviest wounds. The former warchief's hatred for Mannoroth was a deep-seated inferno. Despite his unwavering determination, his age and refusal to embrace the Lightforged path had diminished his once formidable strength. He was sent hurtling through the air like a discarded projectile, effectively removed from the battle. Had Aragorn not reacted swiftly with a life-saving Holy Light spell, Orgrim would have surely perished.
Grom and Varok, however, fought with a primal ferocity. These two powerful orcs, seeking early purification from the lingering demon blood, had embraced the Lightforged Glory, their axes inflicting significant damage upon Mannoroth's thick hide. Even after Grom's transformation, Gorehowl, the Warsong clan's ancestral artifact, channeled the Holy Light's power with surprising efficacy. Galen mused on the incongruity of the orcs, with their relatively primitive technology, forging weapons of such potent magical affinity as Gorehowl and Doomhammer. Blessed by the Holy Light, the golden heavy axe slammed into Mannoroth's armored belly, the sharp, searing blade piercing the abyss lord's defenses. Thick, dark blood oozed from the wound. Just as Mannoroth prepared to retaliate against Grom, Blademaster Dar appeared in a blur of motion, delivering a leaping strike to the abyss lord's thigh, tearing open another gruesome gash.
"Insects! You have roused my fury!" Mannoroth roared, a wave of oppressive power erupting from his massive form. Dar's spirit faltered, caught in the sudden surge of demonic energy, leaving him momentarily paralyzed. The abyss lord's double-headed glaive descended with the force of a thunderbolt. Had it connected, the blademaster would have been reduced to a pulpy mess. But Eitrigg and Varok, positioned nearby, seized the opportunity. With perfect synchronization, they invoked Intervention, instantly appearing at Dar's side. Varok braced his battle-axe before him, while Eitrigg held his twin axes aloft. Together, they strained against the descending glaive. Boom! The violent collision was deafening, kicking up a cloud of dust. Aggra summoned a gust of wind, clearing the air to reveal Eitrigg and Varok, their feet already sinking into the cracked earth, like nails hammered into the ground.
Mannoroth raised his massive forelimbs high, then brought them crashing down. The three orcs beside him crumpled to the ground, unconscious. A cruel smile stretched across the abyss lord's face as he prepared to deliver the killing blow. But Galen, Thura, and Jorin, who had been patiently awaiting their opportunity, finally acted. They leaped into the air simultaneously, their weapons aimed at Mannoroth's head, wreathed in malevolent Fel flames.
"Not so fast, Demon!" Galen roared.
"Hmph! Arrogant whelps!" Mannoroth swatted his massive wing, sending Galen tumbling through the air. His long, whip-like tail lashed out, striking Jorin with brutal force. Finally, his left hand shot out, snatching Thura from the air. The scene triggered a fleeting memory in Galen's mind – Guanyin Bodhisattva capturing Sun Wukong in A Chinese Odyssey. To protect Thura from being crushed, Galen swiftly cast Hand of Protection upon her. Sure enough, the next second, Mannoroth's fist clenched with bone-jarring force, but the expected explosion of blood never occurred. A deep frustration welled within Mannoroth. He was accustomed to his overwhelming strength crushing all resistance, but today, he was met with defiance at every turn.
"You will all perish! You will all perish!" he bellowed.
"The only one who will perish is you, Demon!" A furious roar echoed through the canyon. It was Grom, having recovered and risen once more. "ORCS!" he bellowed "WILL!" his voice filled with righteous fury. "NEVER BE SLAVES!" His hair stood on end, a faint, blood-red aura enveloping his body as he surged into Bloodrage. With a guttural cry, he dodged Mannoroth's clumsy glaive strike, then leaped high, channeling all his rage and strength into Gorehowl. The ancestral axe of the Warsong clan slammed directly into Mannoroth's chest, the abyss lord unable to retract in time. "Aaugh! ! !" Struck in a vital spot, Mannoroth unleashed a piercing, agonizing shriek that echoed through the canyon, yet still, the light of life did not leave his eyes.