A cool breeze blew through the trees dotting the hills and grassy plains of Nagrand. To those who could not commune with the elements, it might almost have seemed peaceful. For the green figure standing atop a hill overlooking the Horde encampment of Wor'var, however… things were anything but. The spirits of this alien, alternate Draenor had been whispering to Thrall since he arrived, and the voices of the ancient elemental spirits were strongest here in Nagrand. And even though the spirits did not answer the orcish shaman's call in quite the same manner as they did on Azeroth, Thrall was absolutely certain of one thing:

The spirits were restless.

Their behavior was chaotic and erratic, agitated by the turmoil and strife that had engulfed this world, thanks to the Iron Horde… and when they came in contact with Thrall, the chaos only got worse. He was deep in thought, standing on this hill overlooking the landscape, and his heart was stirring with the violence of a raging tempest. The emotions of the former Warchief of the Horde were mirrored by the torrential outcry of the Draenor spirits, until even those without The Gift could sense that something was amiss.

"The spirits rage around you, Go'el," Aggra appeared from behind Thrall, placing a hand on his broad shoulders. "They sense your anguish… your grief. Tell me, my love, what can I do to bring peace to the storm raging in your heart?"

Thrall didn't answer immediately. He was somewhere else… somewhere far away. His thoughts carried him to a place and time where his oldest friend, Grom Hellscream, had fallen to the madness of bloodlust. That day, so long ago now, Cairne Bloodhoof had said the exact same words to Thrall. That was the first time Thrall had been forced to fight his own people. But it was not to be the last.

Cairne... I could truly use your aid now...

Reflexively, Thrall's grip on the Doomhammer tightened.

"Aggra…" Thrall glanced over his shoulder at her, and reached up to grasp his mate's hand. "It's… uh… it's nothing." Thrall could feel her eyes boring into the back of his shaved head.

"You are a terrible liar. You know this," Aggra smirked. Thrall chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head.

"I know. I'm sorry, Aggra, I just… I don't want to worry you." Thrall sighed. "I've been thinking about the news we received." Aggra nodded, finally understanding.

"Hellscream," she said simply.

"The Horde has been chasing the Warsong up and down Nagrand ever since we arrived. We finally have them cornered in Grommashar. And it's only now that the Shadow Hunters uncover the name of their chieftan." Thrall snorted. "Garrosh. All this time, and we've still been chasing down Garrosh…"

"He has nowhere left to run. Justice can finally be done." Aggra leaned around, trying to get a look at Thrall's face. "This is what has been bothering you?" Thrall just kept looking out across the landscape. His expression was practically carved from granite.

"Varian should have let me crush his skull in the tunnels beneath Orgrimmar. The more time that passes, the more… I just…" Thrall paused, inhaling deeply. "I feel responsible. Every war crime. Every atrocity. Every life he took. All of it… it's my fault, Aggra. If I had just named Vol'jin Warchief from the start…"

"We've had this conversation many times before, my love," Aggra gripped Thrall's shoulder tighter. "Azeroth was on the cusp of the Cataclysm. The Horde needed a strong warrior to see them through the storm, while you strived to undo the damage caused by Deathwing. You could not have known the depths of his ambition and ruthlessness, my love"

"But, I –" Thrall began, but Aggra shushed him, placing a single finger against his mouth.

"What you did was give him every chance to succeed." Thrall snorted, turning away.

"Did I?" he asked, more to himself. He recalled the sorry state the Horde was in before the Cataclysm. After the war against the Lich King, the Horde had nearly depleted itself of resources. The Darkspear had spread themselves thin, in their campaign to reclaim the Echo Isles. The tauren were constantly under attack by centaur and quillboar. And both the Forsaken and Blood Elves – allies more to each other than the rest of the Horde – were half a world away. Even Garrosh had questioned Thrall's decision, for at the time, he didn't feel he was ready.

Every time he looked back to those days, Thrall asked himself: had he given Garrosh an impossible task? Had he set him up to fail from the very start?

"You cannot take responsibility for the choices of others," Aggra continued, gripping Thrall's shoulder. "Especially not those made by a grown man who is two decades older than you. He chose to ignore the counsel of those you left behind to aid him. He chose to challenge Cairne to Mak'gora. He chose to drag the Horde back to the self-destructive ways of old. He chose to enslave the elements, bomb Theramore, and tamper with the power of the Old Gods. And if he had the chance, he would do so again – without hesitation. His trial in Pandaria made that fact abundantly clear."

Thrall nodded grimly. Again, his mind whisked him away, this time to the Temple of the White Tiger:

"And now, here at this moment, when I am free to speak my mind and heart, I tell you true: I regret…"

Garrosh's laughter rang through the arena.

"Nothing!"

The crowd burst into a calamitous uproar, and all Thrall could do was sigh. Taran Zhu struck the gong futilely, calling for order. Thrall locked eyes with Varian on the other side of the chamber, motioning with his head to the door; he wanted to talk to the Alliance leader… and he didn't want to hear any more.

But Garrosh, it seemed, had only begun. As Thrall made his way to the exit, Garrosh lifted his shackled arms and bellowed: "Yes! Yes! I would destroy a thousand Theramores, if it would bring the Alliance to its knees! I would hunt down every night elf whelp that bleats on the face of this world and silence their mewling forever! I would banish every troll, every tauren, every simpering blood elf and greedy goblin and shambling walking corpse if it were within my power—and it almost was! The only 'atrocities' I regret are the ones I did not perform! The only thing that preys on me is that I was stopped before I could see the true Horde live again!"

Thrall shut his eyes as tightly as he could manage. This is what he had to focus on. Not his own guilt, but the complete absence of guilt in Garrosh. The contempt in his voice. The hatred in his soul. The constant denial he did anything wrong. Garrosh had slipped away far too many times already, and needed to answer for his crimes. One way or another, Thrall would put an end to Garrosh's story before nightfall.

And yet, despite all he told himself, trying to convince him that he was doing the right thing... a tiny specter of doubt remained, scratching at the back of Thrall's mind.

The elements around him shuddered. The wind howled, the grass and dirt beneath his feet trembled…

"Go'el?" Aggra asked, setting a hand against Thrall's arm. Again, his grip on the Doomhammer tightened. "My love? Are you..." She trailed off when she realized the tremors were settling down. Thrall snorted loudly once more and opened his eyes.

"Ready the Horde," Thrall turned in place, and locked eyes with his mate; a fierce fire burned in his eyes, from deep within his soul. "Let's put an end to this once and for all."

The rolling green hills of Nagrand were no longer quiet. The ground shook with the calamitous march of thousands of boots, the tramp of hooves, and the rolling thunder of heavy siege weapons. War drums beat, keeping the many races and myriad forces of the Horde in step, as all the banners of the Horde's factions fluttered in the breeze. Thrall, Aggra, Durotan and Draka all rode at the fore of the Horde's advance, each riding on the back of their respective dire wolves.

A single raven circled in the air overhead.

"Durotan?" Aggra turned to the Frostwolf chieftan, urging her wolf to hang back a bit. "May I speak with you in private?" Durotan raised an eyebrow, but gave a snort and a nod in agreement. The two of them moved just out of earshot.

"Is there a problem?" Durotan asked, clearly concerned.

"No, no, not at all..." Aggra cleared her throat. "There's just something I... I think you need... to..."

Aggra paused, suddenly unsure of herself. There was something she desperately wanted to say to Durotan. Something she had wanted to say for some time, ever since stepping foot on this alien, alternate Draenor. She wanted to tell him who Thrall really was, the history of everything that happened, and Durotan's legacy in the other world. Durotan was being kept in the dark about so much...

There were, of course, reasons for that. There were forces at work here beyond even the comprehension of someone like Khadgar. Time travel, alternate universes, parallel worlds... even a small, seemingly insignificant, change could have drastic repercussions. This is why Thrall insisted Durotan be kept in the dark, lest anything more about this world be changed. He didn't even want Aggra to use his real name – Go'el – except in private, because that might give too much away on its own.

Despite everything... Aggra needed to say something.

"Durotan..." Aggra cleared he throat, and started again. "Thrall and I have not known you long. But your actions and heroism have moved both of us, dearly. He has come to think of you like a father, and we are both honored to have fought by your side."

Durotan regarded Aggra carefully for a moment, before he started to chuckle.

"Indeed?" He said, cracking a toothy smile. "I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense. He is, after all, Thrall... son of Durotan."

Aggra's eyes went wide. She struggled not to fall off the back of her wolf entirely.

"You... you already know?" she stammered out. Durotan nodded curtly. "H-how?" The frostwolf chieftan shrugged.

"If there is one thing that seems to remain constant between our two worlds, it's this: soldiers like to talk," Durotan laughed again, and Aggra joined in, albeit a bit more nervously than him. "I don't claim to understand everything, but so many strange things have happened these last few months... that I suppose I can accept your people coming from the future, as well as another world."

"I'm sorry we kept it from you for so long. We didn't... we didn't know what might happen..." Aggra half-smiled, half-grimaced. At least she didn't have to worry about it anymore. Durotan shook his head.

"Don't apologize. You merely did what you thought was best. And, really, I don't need to know any more details. I'd rather discover my fate on my own," Durotan sighed, and looked over to Thrall, still riding at the head of the advance and scanning the horizon. "Still... it is heartening to know what kind of man my son will be." He paused, thinking about that, and then corrected himself: "Or... might be. Could be."

The two of them started laughing, but didn't get far. On of the scouts was returning, and the voice caught their attention.

"Warchief!" an orcish voice echoed out over the distance, and a wolfrider crested the hill ahead of them. At first, Thrall looked around, confused – had Vol'jin arrived without him knowing? But then, after a second look, he recognized the scout: his name was Ukarg. He was one of the older wolfriders trained by Nazgrim, and had been one of the first to scout out Stonetalon Peak. He'd been loyal to the Horde – and Thrall, in particular – for years. Old habits are hard to break.

"What's wrong?" Thrall asked, riding ahead to meet the scout halfway. "Has the Warsong spotted our approach?"

"No, Warchief!" the graying wolfrider shook his head. "It's the Alliance!"

"The Alliance?" Durotan asked; he, Draka, and Aggra had all managed to catch up with Thrall. "What could they be after?"

Silently, Thrall cursed his luck. This was the sort of thing that he definitely didn't need right now.

"How large is their force?" Draka asked. "Are they coming for us?"

"I don't know where they're headed, but they're ready for war," Ukarg said. "They're coming from Telaari Station to the west... and it's big. Infantry, cavalry, armor... even a few pieces of heavy artillery. The combined arms force seems to mirror the composition of our own."

This always seemed to happen – every time – without fail. He had done all in his power to try and keep the peace between the Horde and Alliance, and every time it was never enough! He couldn't understand it. He'd seen enough of the Alliance over the years to recognize that they were not so different from the Horde...

Maybe that was the problem.

"Your orders, Warchief?" Ukarg asked. Thrall snorted.

"We can't allow them to distract us," Thrall said forcefully, gripping at the reins of Snowsong. "Too much is at stake. We cannot allow the Alliance to jeopardize all we've worked to accomplish, so the plan remains unchanged. We make for Grommashar – but stay alert. Send word down the line that the Alliance has been spotted. If they truly want a fight, then the Horde will oblige."

However foolish that might be, he didn't say out loud.

Before long, Thrall's fears were realized. He and the others at the head of the Horde's advance crested a hill, and were the first to see the Alliance on the march in the valley below. Sure enough, the army appeared to be an even match for the Horde. Thrall tried to order his forces to stay behind the hell, to keep the Alliance from noticing them, but it was too late. Within moments, the huge mass of soldiers and tanks shifted in its course, and seemed to aim itself straight at the Horde.

The next few minutes were almost unbearable. Though it was clear the Alliance were prepared to defend themselves, they made no move to attack; likewise, the Horde remained firmly on the high ground, ready to beat back the Alliance... but just as unwilling to go down to meet them. There was an almost electric tension in the air, as both sides knew conflict was all but inevitable... but neither was willing to make the first move. War drums beat. Trumpets sounded. Feet stamped and soldiers bellowed.

A single gunshot echoed across the valley.

It was impossible to tell from the sound which side fired it, but after a single, agonizing second, it didn't really matter. Both armies unleashed bellowing war cries that shook the ground below their feet and charged. The distance between the two armies shrank into almost nothing...

But before either side could reach each other, disaster was averted. The sky split open with a blast of magical energy, and a cluster of clouds – that had not been there a moment before – vomited an arm of blueish-purple arcane lightning. It struck the ground between the two charging armies with a thunderous roar, bringing both sides to a halt and knocking those in the front of the charge flat. At the center of the crackling miasma of arcane power, a single raven dived for the ground, and when it landed, it grew in size and stature. There was a blinding flash, followed by another explosion of magical force.

Archmage Khadgar appeared between the two armies, holding aloft Atiesh, Greatstaff of the Guardian, like a bright, blinding beacon.

"Stop this nonsense at once!" Khadgar's voice – amplified by magic – bellowed across the valley. "Can you not see? You have both set out today with the same goal! You're both heading towards Grommashar!" The myriad soldiers of the two armies looked to each other uncertainly, and Khadgar continued.

"Have none of you wondered why it's been so easy to rout the Iron Horde all across Nagrand? It's because you've both been attacking the problem from different angles! The Alliance attacked Ironfist Harbor, while the Horde attacked Mok'gol! When the Alliance attacked Lok-rath, the Horde assaulted Hallvalor! The Warsong have been fighting a war on two fronts, but now that you have them cornered in Grommashar, you're going to undo all your hard work by fighting each other?" Khadgar pointed at the cliffs to the south with his raven-topped staff, and the air crackled with energy. "Garrosh waits for you all, sitting atop a crude mockery of his former throne in Orgrimmar. Alone, neither side has the strength to defeat his army, and fighting each other will only make the survivors weaker still! But if you join forces together, setting aside the old hatreds and petty rivalries, we will win the day... and finally bring Garrosh to justice! So come together! Stand as one! Not for the Alliance! Not for the Horde! But for Azeroth! For Draenor! Fight together for our two worlds, united as one!"

Khadgar slammed the base of his staff against the ground, sending another wave of arcane energy crackling through the air.

"Well put, Archmage," Yrel said, finally pushing her way through the ranks of infantry that had been blocking her. "I could not have said it better myself." The female draenei Vindicator strode toward Khadgar confidently, Justicar armor gleaming in the midday sun, Maraad's hammer in hand, and her shield attached to her back. Following swiftly behind her was Rangari D'kaan, still holding his bow at the ready, and regarding the orcs ahead of him with narrow, distrustful eyes.

As the two of them approached the Archmage, there was a commotion from the Horde's lines as their leaders emerged from the crowd. Yrel's eyes lit up, and she rushed forward with a broad smile and open arms.

"Durotan! Draka!" Before either of them knew what was happening, the two orcs were drawn into a bear hug by the excited draenei girl. "It is wonderful to see you again, my friends!" The two orcs looked to one another awkwardly; while they appreciated the affection from the youthful, energetic draenei, neither of them had the heart to tell her that 'hugging' is one of those things that orcs don't really do and aren't overly fond of.

"Uh, it's... it's nice to see you as well, Yrel," Durotan said, gently prying her away and gently patting her on the shoulder. Yrel beamed, oblivious to the odd looks she was getting from both the nearby Horde and Alliance infantry. As Yrel caught up with the two orcs she hadn't seen since the battle for Shattrath, Thrall, made his way quietly over to Khadgar.

"Your timing is impeccable, as always, Khadgar," Thrall said quietly, as the two of them watched both armies hesitantly and begrudgingly sheathe their weapons. "Thank you." Khadgar nodded.

"I know how much you've wanted peace over the years, my friend. And there's too much at stake to let things fall to pieces now." Thrall nodded with a grunt, but Khadgar sighed heavily. "They're like children sometimes, aren't they?" Thrall looked at the Archmage curiously, who quickly explained: "The Alliance and the Horde, I mean. Both sides mean well, but too often they lose sight of the bigger picture. They'll veer off course and start killing each other unless someone gives them a stern talking-to."

"And possibly a good spanking, as well," Thrall agreed with a smirk.

The Archmage threw his head back and laughed.

The gates of Grommashar loomed ahead of the approaching armies, cutting an imposing shadow from within the mouth of the canyon. The gates and towers were covered in spikes, glowing from within by lit braziers, and the stone had been reinforced with Blackrock Iron; it was like the wide-open maw of a giant beast, waiting for dinner.

And then the arrows started flying. Like all Warsong weapons, the arrows had been designed to whistle loudly in flight, so they screamed through the air – literally – and left trails of fire in the air that began to fall like burning rain.

"Shields up!" Yrel shouted, struggling to be heard over the cacophony of screaming arrows. Many of the infantry in front – both Horde and Alliance – did exactly that, without actually realizing what she meant. So most of them were confused when they looked up, and saw the fiery arrows bounce harmlessly of a golden barrier, cast by several Auchenai Soulpriests at the rear of the lines working in tandem.

Yrel turned to Durotan with a smile and nod, gesturing to the gates. "Shall we?" Durotan nodded back with a grunt.

"Demolishers!" Aggra yelled from behind them. "Open fire!"

"Siege engines! Blow open the gates!" D'kaan yelled, not wishing to be outdone.

If the Warsong thought the volley of fiery arrows would dissuade their attackers, they were sorely mistaken – and must have felt pretty inadequate when the Horde responded by sending dozens of fiery boulders screaming through the air. The dwarven siege engines and draenei ballistae fired a second later, tearing up the walls and the gate with explosives and volatile crystals. Within seconds, the barrier had been reduced to flaming splinters.

Durotan drew his axes, raising them to the sky, and bellowed with a mighty roar that could be heard even over the sound of explosions and Warsong arrows:

"ADVANCE!"

The combined might of the Horde and Alliance fell into the breech like a flood of water rushing through a broken dam. The Warsong orcs met them without fear and were practically crushed beneath an avalanche of feet, fists, swords, shields, axes, and magic. It was an impressive sight, really. All of these many disparate races who, on any other day, would be mortal enemies all fighting alongside one another.

Yrel and Durotan may have started in the middle of this giant mass of soldiers, but they soon overtook most of the infantry. Durotan was busy splitting skulls, while Yrel smashed through the Warsong lines with her massive crystal-topped hammer. Before long, they found themselves at another barricade, and the advance came to a halt. Yrel looked behind her after summoning another protective barrier of holy light above her head; the siege weapons in the back of the advance were moving, but nearly fast enough for her liking. Durotan snarled, and started slashing at the wall, like he was trying to chop it down singlehandedly.

"We can't hold here!" Draka yelled, grabbing hold of a Warsong wolf rider trying to strike at her from behind and burying her axe in his face.

"I can keep us protected from the archers for a few moments," Yrel said, holding a hand over her head to maintain the barrier. "But we can't knock down this wall until the demolishers get here!"

"Don't worry!" Thrall swung the Doomhammer in a wide arc, sending out sheets of lightning arcing through some of the advancing Warsong wolfriders. "I'll lead a force and flank to the west – give Garrosh a nice juicy target! We'll buy you the time you need!"

"Oh, no you don't! Not without me!" Aggra yelled. Thrall smiled and nodded, and the pair of them rushed off to the wolf dens to the west, followed swiftly by a loose collection of soldiers and a pair of summoned ghost wolves.

Several soulpriests appeared at Yrel's side, and helped her maintain the barrier. More and more soldiers rushed in, taking cover beneath it. The arrows started to thin out, and even from her spot taking cover behind the wall, Yrel could see that the Warsong forces seemed to be taking the bait. And just in time, too: the demolishers and siege weapons had finally come in range.

"Make some room!" Yrel shouted, dropping the shield and diving for cover. The soldiers scattered, and ran for whatever cover they could find. A pair of dwarven siege engines rolled forward into point-blank range, firing with every gun they had. The wall evaporated in a cloud of smoke and fire, and the massive tanks moved inexorably forward, providing decent cover for the infantry moving into the breach behind it.

Yrel covered her face, trying not to breathe in the smoke and ash as she ran through the wreckage. She burst into the open air, and looked up just in time to see a figure standing at the top of the mountain, carrying an axe whose silhouette was unmistakable, even from this distance: Gorehowl.

"Leap from your caves, my wolves!" Garrosh bellowed, his voice echoing on the canyon walls. Before she knew what was happening, D'kaan had taken aim and fired single arrow at the Warsong chieftan; it flew through the air like a missile... and was knocked casually aside by Garrosh before it could strike. The massive orc laughed contemptuously and turned away, disappearing behind the wall.

"D'kaan, we need to get up there!" Yrel swung her hammer, knocking a wolfrider off his mount, and straight into Durotan's waiting axes. "Can you scout up ahe –" Yrel paused when she looked around, and realized the rangari captain had suddenly disappeared. "D'kaan?"

"He's already gone girl," Draka shouted over the commotion. "But I still have your back!" To punctuate the point, she swung her axes and chopped the head off an orc trying to get the drop on Yrel. Suddenly, the sound of Warsong horns echoed, letting them know another wave was on its way.

"Form up!" Durotan bellowed, grabbing a nearby Warsong archer, and kicking him off the side of the wall. The advancing enemy orcs were rushing up the hill to the west, yelling and whooping and waving their weapons. The nearest Horde and Alliance soldiers managed to create a living wall of shields and axes, but it wasn't actually needed. When the ground below the orcs split open from a burst of powerful shaman magic, and they were tossed aside like ragdolls, it soon became clear they were running away, not advancing.

"Sorry I took so long," Thrall said with a grin, walking over the broken, molten ground without worry. "We had to deal with a particularly troublesome Packmaster." Aggra was leading the group of soldiers behind him, as the ground quickly settled and cooled.

"Vindicator!" D'kann yelled, drawing everyone's attention. He hopped down off a nearby wall, still carrying a severed Warsong head. "My rangari and I have finished scouting up ahead... but I don't think you're going to like it."

"Like it or not, we need to keep moving," Yrel nodded, urging the troops around her to press forward. "What's the situation?"

"There are members of the Thunderlord clan here, Vindicator," D'kaan said grimly, tossing the head aside. Durtan sighed, knowing all too well what the Thunderlord clan was best at.

"They have an enslaved Gronn, with them, don't they?" Durotan grunted out, his voice thick with exasperation. He'd had to deal with far too many enslaved Gronn in Frostfire...

"Not just any Gronn," the rangari said darkly. "Durn the Hungerer." Durotan and Draka both swore under their breath, and even Yrel went pale.

"There's no other option. We'll have to go through the beast to get to Garrosh..." She was about to order her forces to advance, but was distracted by an earth-shaking roar, and the sight of an orc attached to a long chain flying over everyone's head.

"HA HA HA HAAA!" Garrosh's voice echoed through the canyon. "LOOSE THE HUNGERER!" As if on cue, one of the towers up ahead crumbled, and the massive one-eyed Gronn lumbered forward, swinging his arms wildly and smashing everything in his path indiscriminately.

"Go!" Thrall yelled, stepping forward with the Doomhammer at the ready. "Get to Garrosh! I'll deal with this one!" He placed himself between the massive monster and the rest of the army, and raised the hammer to the sky. Storm clouds materialized in the air above him, and a spear of blue lightning lanced down, pouring bright energy into the massive stone warhammer.

Yrel and Durotan charged forward, rushing up the hill in front of the advance. She cast one last glance over her shoulder, and the last thing she saw before they disappeared behind a raging storm cloud and the rolling thunder of an earthquake was Thrall sending a bolt of lightning straight at Durn's roaring face.

After pushing through another wave of Warsong troops, the Horde and Alliance had finally reached the final gates: the last obstacle before reaching Garrosh's throne.

"This is it," Durotan grunted. "This is the moment it's all been building toward."

"Give the order," Yrel nodded at the Frostwolf chieftan. Durotan nodded, turning to Draka and Aggra. As she watched, D'kaan appeared from behind her and put a hand on Yrel's shoulder.

"Whatever happens, Yrel," the rangari captain said softly. "Remember: Maraad would be proud of you." The female draenei smiled.

"Thank you," she nodded, turning to the siege weapons on either side of her, and raising her hammer to the sky. "Blow open the gates!"

The ground was rocked by several explosions, and the armies of the Horde and Alliance charged forward with a yell... but were brought to a swift stop by the sound of deep, guttural laughter.

"Fools..." Garrosh bellowed, standing in front of his throne, gripping Gorehowl with his heavily bandaged hands. "You're all fools to come here! You think, after everything, you can kill ME?!" The remaining Warsong forces flanked him on either side, but made no move to attack. Only Garrosh walked forward, as if he was planning to take on the combined forces of the Horde and Alliance singlehanded... again.

"We will bring you to justice, monster," Yrel said, defiantly standing her ground. Durotan moved to her side, nodding. Garrosh threw his head back and laughed.

"Justice? HAH! You don't know the meaning of the word!" With that, he charged forward, as did the rest of the Warsong. The Horde and Alliance forces ran at them as well, like a pair of waves crashing against each other.

The melee didn't last long for the Warsong forces; they'd already been depleted, and the Horde and Alliance – even after the casualties they'd taken to get this far – still outnumbered them at least three to one. But Yrel and Durotan's fight against Garrosh was a strange sort of inverse of the chaos taking place all around them. However hard they attacked, they couldn't seem to bring him down. Yrel hit him with spells and hammer strikes that she'd used to bring down ogron, yet Garrosh didn't even seem to notice. Durotan tried slashing at him with his axes, but it was like he was just giving Garrosh papercuts.

"Taste Gorehowl's steel!" Garrosh yelled, bringing the massive axe down like the blade of a guillotine, smashing the ground and sending Durotan and Yrel flying in opposite directions. The draenei girl was dazed, and wasn't able to get back up before Garrosh grabbed her by the neck and lifted her up off the ground. She reached up trying to pull away the orc's massive muscular sausage fingers away from her windpipe, while her legs flailed uselessly beneath her. Garrosh stared at her with eyes burning with hatred, and let out a laugh that was practically dripping with malevolence.

"I cannot be defeated, draenei witch!" he snarled, tossing her aside like a ragdoll. She cried out in pain; she couldn't tell what, but something had just broken, and she wasn't able to get back on her feet. Her shield and hammer were nowhere in sight. She tried to summon the strength to cast Lay on Hands, but an armored boot kicked her in the stomach, breaking her concentration. Garrosh loomed over Yrel, keeping her pinned against the ground with a massive armored boot, and raised Gorehowl high over his head.

"Now... you die," he growled. But before he brought down the axe, a voice cut through the noise and commotion, bringing everything to a halt.

"GARROSH!" Thrall bellowed. The Warsong chieftan looked perplexed for half a second.

"Thrall..." He stepped off Yrel with a laugh; the draenei squealed in pain. "You're too late, old friend." He spat out the words, seemingly oblivious that his army was all but defeated and he was the last man standing.

"No," Thrall growled, scowling and advancing on Garrosh. "No more. I challenge you... to Mak'gora!"

"Thrall!" Durotan looked up in horror as he helped Yrel get back on her feet. "No!" Garrosh, instead, just laughed once more.

"Very well... shaman," Garrosh spat. "We shall finish things between us. Where it all began... at the Stones of Prophecy."

The sun was hanging low on the horizon, partially obscured by darkened storm clouds. Garrosh and Thrall started to slowly approach each other, the wind swirling around them. Waves of motion were sent rippling across the long grass on the hill. In another time, in another universe, this would've been the location of Garadar, the home ground of the Mag'har. But in this world... it was just an empty plain.

The air around them was crackling with energy. Soft, barely audible whispers wound their way into Thrall's ears. The elements were trying to say something, but he was too focused on Garrosh to concentrate properly.

The two of them stood opposite each other, several feet away. The electric crackle in the air seemed to get stronger.

"You must answer for your crimes, Garrosh," Thrall growled. Garrosh grit his teeth, and let loose a fierce war cry. He ran at Thrall, raising up Gorehowl with both hands, and swung; Thrall deflected the strike with the Doomhammer. In a single motion, Thrall swung the hammer over his head and brought it crashing down. Garrosh leapt backward, and the Doomhammer hit the ground with the force of an avalanche.

Before Thrall could attack again, Garrosh surged forward, smashing his hugely muscled shoulders into the shaman and knocking him off balance. He swung Gorehowl again, intent on cleaving Thrall's skull in half, but he was blocked by the Doomhammer yet again. Thrall pushed both weapons to the side, and kicked up with an armored boot, smashing Garrosh across the jaw and sending him staggering back several feet.

By the time Thrall got up, Garrosh was on him again, swinging Gorehowl wildly at around neck-height, but managed to duck out of the way. Garrosh tried swinging his axe a third time, but again Thrall blocked it. A bolt of lightning flashed in the sky. Thrall managed to get two good hits in with the Doomhammer, sending Garrosh's face one way, then another, and closed his armored hand into a fist, ready to strike.

Garrosh grabbed Thrall's punch mid-swing, and leaned in to snarl in Thrall's face.

"All I did..." he growled, kicking Thrall in the chest and shoving him back. "I DID!" The air rang as Gorehowl was deflected by the Doomhammer again. "FOR THE HORDE!" Thrall ducked out of the way of the second swing, and reached up, grabbing Garrosh by the throat and throwing him aside. Unlike Thrall, Garrosh landed on his feet, kicking off the ground and ready to go again.

"You failed the Horde!" Thrall yelled, trying to ignore the voices in his head.

You failed the Horde first, Thrall...

Thrall rushed forward, and Garrosh swung; he was too early and missed Thrall entirely. The Doomhammer smashed Garrosh in the face, sending him staggering back and spinning. Garrosh shook his head, trying to clear his vision, and looked at Thrall with an expression of pure hatred.

You failed to save Grom, the voice scratched at the back of Thrall's mind. You failed to save his son.

Garrosh screamed, and lifted up Gorehowl again... but instead of running at Thrall like he was expecting, Garrosh merely threw the massive axe, sending it spinning. Almost on reflex, Thrall deflected the flying axe, and looked at it, perplexed, as it embedded itself in the soil for just long enough to distract him.

"YAAAAAARRRGGHHHH!" Garrosh bellowed. Thrall looked up in time to see a fist slam into his face. It was like he'd been hit with a demolisher. He crashed to the ground, and felt a hand lift him up by his shaman beads.

"You made me Warchief!" Garrosh yelled. Thrall was hit with another punch, and felt the necklace break, and the Doomhammer flew out of his hands as he was sent tumbling again.

"You left me!" Thrall tried to get up, but was met with a kick that knocked him back down again. "TO PICK UP! YOUR! PIECES!" With every word, Garrosh landed punch after punch square in Thrall's face, like it was punctuation. Thrall was dazed, and could feel blood start to pool out of his nose and mouth. Before he could pick himself up, Garrosh grabbed hold of his armor and lifted Thrall high above his head. "YOU! FAILED! ME!"

With that final word, Garrosh threw Thrall to the ground, with every ounce of strength he could muster. Thrall crashed against the ground, bloody and bruised, and was unable to find the strength to get up.

Everything he's saying is true, Thrall heard his own voice mocking him. His own guilt. You failed Garrosh. You failed the Horde. You failed them all.

And then, Thrall heard another voice in his head. He could finally hear the voices of the elements clearly:

Fate was twisted when He arrived, they seemed to say. He should not be. He does not belong.

Thrall tried to lift his head, but his body would not respond.

We will help you set Right what has been Wrong. He should not be.

"You never..." Garrosh growled through ragged breaths. "... had the strength... of a true warrior!" Another bolt of lightning arced across the sky, echoing all around.

Elements, hear me, Thrall's mind cried out; the air around the two of them thrummed with energy. I will set things right. I ask only for the strength to stand...

The answer came to him stronger than any time he had called on the Elements before – even stronger than when he called on the elements within Azeroth. They poured into him the strength to stand... and the power to end the one who Does Not Belong.

"I do not rely on strength alone, Garrosh..." Thrall said, slowly getting back up and closing his eyes. "My power... is all around you." When he opened them again, they were alight with elemental fire, and he felt his limbs moving with the strength of all the combined powers of the Elements.

Magical fire swirled around Thrall. The wind howled around the two orcs with the strength of a hurricane, and rain started to fall from the sky in sheets. Blasts of molten rock surged from Thrall's outstretched hands, and slammed into Garrosh, sending him flying into the air. Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and the hurricane winds focused on Garrosh, slamming him into the ground.

Thrall was breaking ancient laws by doing this. Mak'gora was an ancient orcish test of martial skill. Any kind of magic – like the elemental magic wielded by the shaman – was strictly forbidden. He was cheating by doing this, and Thrall knew that this would forever remain a black stain on his honor...

And he didn't care. Garrosh had done too much for Thrall to let him escape yet again. All the lives he had taken. All the chaos he had sown. Today, Thrall would put an end to the one who had destroyed so much.

The ground underneath Garrosh opened up, and a giant, molten hand rose out of the ground. The two fingers and thumb closed around the orc, pinning him in place; he struggled, and practically started frothing at the mouth trying to get free, but it was no use. The Elements of Draenor wanted to end the one that Does Not Belong. And they were going to get their wish.

"THRAAAALL!" Garrosh bellowed, still straining against the molten hand; more lightning arced in the sky all around them. "You made me what I am!"

Thrall hesitated. He looked up at Garrosh with sad eyes, the words cutting through to the shaman's heart like a knife. Thrall had been telling himself the very same thing for so long...

"I regret…"

Garrosh's laughter rang through the arena.

"Nothing!"

"... no," Thrall said softly, slowly shaking his head as a mountain of regret started welling up inside him. "You chose your own destiny."

The fury of the Elements swirled around them.

With a single bolt of lightning, the fury was finally brought to bear.

It took several minutes for the magical storm to calm back down to normal. The Elements were satisfied.

Thrall slowly walked away. He passed Gorehowl, still embedded in the soil. He plucked the Doomhammer up from the spot where it had flown. A single thought kept roaming through Thrall's mind:

I failed him.

Thrall made his way back down the hill in sullen silence.