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(A/N: Chapter 66: Broken Links will soon be released on Patreon.)
Alastor could say, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was starting to really hate Orks—or at least one Ork in particular.
After his first battle with Grimgor and his horde, the Light-damned Ork came back to attack again with an entirely new horde, looking as good as new almost a week later.
Even worse, this wasn't a one-time occurrence, or even a twice-timed one. By now, Grimgor had attacked Fort Clover multiple times with his army and had fought Alastor personally on several occasions.
Almost every week after the last battle, he would return to fight them once again.
Each bloody time, Alastor had to devise new plans and tactics to counter Grimgor's own. And every time Grimgor attacked, Alastor had to quickly seek him out himself to fight him.
Why every time?
Because Alastor knew that aside from himself, there was no one who could go toe to toe with Grimgor—not even Anduin. And if Grimgor were left to his own devices, he would butcher his way through Alastor's soldiers just to reach him.
And Alastor, being who he was, refused to see his men needlessly killed. So he decided to face the problem head-on and give the Ork exactly what he wanted.
Shortly after each battle began, Alastor would command his army only briefly before handing control over to Anduin and heading out to fight Grimgor himself.
And as if that weren't bad enough, the blasted Ork was all but immune to magic due to the dense WAAAGH! energy surrounding him like a cloak. He even tanked most of Alastor's pure psionic attacks as well.
It made Alastor realize that if he wanted to kill him, it would have to be done up close and personal—through melee combat.
Which was far easier said than done.
Not only did Grimgor possess monstrous strength even by the standards of Black Orks, along with extreme vitality, durability, and endurance, but his combat instincts were superb as well.
Every pattern and plan of attack Alastor used against him was quickly adapted to by Grimgor, forcing Alastor to constantly change his approach. Otherwise, Grimgor would begin predicting his moves with frightening accuracy and countering them even more effectively.
But while Alastor was frustrated and continuously trying to find ways to kill him, Grimgor felt the exact opposite.
Oh, he was trying to kill Alastor as well—but regardless, the Black Ork Warlord couldn't remember the last time he'd been this happy.
Grimgor had already been pleased when they fought the first time, thinking Gork and Mork had heard his pleas and finally given him a worthy opponent.
But oh, how wrong he had been.
Gork and Mork—or was it Mork and Gork?—had given him something even better.
A rival.
Not only was this human durable, but he could actually fight him toe to toe. Grimgor could feel his attacks hurt when they landed, and the humie krumped just as well as he did.
Not to mention, Grimgor had seen this human—Alastor!—use the same kind of power his Weirdboyz did, only stronger and better, even if it didn't work on him due to the dense WAAAGH! he coated himself in.
And it only got better.
Not only could Grimgor test his brutality against Alastor, but he could also test his cunning against Alastor's plans.
Due to his legend and feats, many forgot that while Grimgor favored the brutality of Gork, he also possessed the cunning of Mork.
In fact, this was something he actively used.
Anyone who had heard of Grimgor—or faced him in battle—tended to assume he was like many other Warbosses: cunning, yes, but ultimately favoring brutal, straightforward violence.
They never realized they had already fallen into his schemes until it was far too late, when their forces were picked apart and destroyed, with only the truly lucky escaping—usually with massive casualties.
Before Alastor's arrival, Grimgor had personally laid the trap that led Anduin Lothar to launch a decapitation strike against his second-in-command, Borgut, believing him to be the true Warlord.
While a team of Stormboyz and Kommandos eliminated Anduin's second in command, Grimgor himself fought the strong human, injuring him so badly that he was put into a coma.
Grimgor had to admit that the human was strong—far stronger than most of the so-called heroes he had killed in the past.
It was just that Grimgor preferred straightforward brutality and violence over "taktiks," especially since there were so few opponents who could face him head-on, let alone handle his cunning as well.
But Alastor was different.
Not only could he fight Grimgor toe to toe, but his plans matched Grimgor's and countered them more than once, forcing Grimgor to actually put effort into making better "taktiks" himself.
Someone who could fight him head-on and challenge his cunning?
'SHOULD'VE KNOWN GORK AN' MORK AIN'T LEFT ME FER SCRAP!'
Grimgor was a very happy Ork.
In fact, in a rare moment of contemplation, Grimgor even wondered if Alastor really was a "humie" at all. He'd fought and killed countless humans in his time—even eaten quite a few—and not even their champions were as strong or as skilled as Alastor.
Bah! It didn't matter. All that mattered was enjoying himself and killing Alastor, just like Gul'dan said.
Now, if only someone could answer his latest question.
"Oi, who da zoggin' git painted da sky PURPLE?!"
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It had been one full day since the end of the latest attack on Fort Clover when the sky turned an ominous shade of purple, much to the confusion of most of the fortress personnel.
Alastor, however, frowned as he watched the drastic change.
His supernatural senses felt the sudden presence of chaotic Warp energy permeating the world. It wasn't immediately dangerous—especially since most of it seemed "suppressed" in some way—but its mere appearance meant one thing.
Something major had happened.
And if it involved Chaos, it was never good.
Alastor immediately had his communications officer contact Stormwind City to request additional information, only to discover that long-range communications were experiencing severe disruptions due to chaotic energy interference. Even magical communications had been affected.
Alastor did not like that news.
He dispatched teams to rear settlements to check whether their communications were functioning and to see if they had managed to gather any information instead.
He reasoned that perhaps the chaotic interference was especially intense in their area, causing their communications issues—and that farther settlements might be unaffected.
He would have liked to go personally, but he feared that Grimgor would attack in his absence, which would result in massive losses on their side. So he heeded his advisors' suggestions and sent teams instead.
The ongoing war against Grimgor, combined with this sudden ominous development, did Alastor no favors in terms of his mood. His mind was constantly running—thoughts, strategies, countermeasures—and now worries he couldn't resolve without concrete information.
Thankfully, Anduin was always by his side, offering comforting words and sound advice. Loretta was there as well, whom Alastor was seriously beginning to see as a friend rather than just a capable (and amusing) subordinate.
There was also Alleria, who not only offered the same support and advice but also—ahem—helped him de-stress after each long day.
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Three days later, something surprising happened at the fortress.
"My Lord! Sensors have picked up an incoming object at the edge of our current effective range, and it's moving fast toward us."
A communications officer quickly reported in the war room, where Alastor stood between Anduin and Alleria.
"Do we have a visual?" Alastor asked.
"None so far, sir. But we should once it comes a bit closer—close enough for our cameras to pick it up."
Alleria frowned. "Is it the Orks?"
Anduin shook his head. "No. Too few—and too quiet."
Anduin had fought many different beings in his life and possessed a strong understanding of most of them. Orks, by their very nature, did not do things quietly. Even their famed Kommandos only stayed silent for so long before detonating something or sabotaging a key objective.
Not to mention, the more Boyz involved, the more violent and explosive the fight became—exactly how Orks liked it.
Soon, the holo-table displayed an image as the "object" entered visual range. Suffice to say, everyone was either surprised or outright shocked.
"Is that a dragon!?" Loretta asked incredulously, considering how rare dragons were in the current age.
"Not just a dragon," Alleria replied, her tone filled with surprise. "A member of the Red Dragonflight—and not a normal one either."
Having lived for centuries and traveled much of the known world, Alleria was perhaps the most knowledgeable person in the room. Even from the initial images, she could confidently tell that the approaching dragon was a high-ranking member of its flight.
Even at this distance, it was clear that the creature stood at least twenty meters tall and was far longer in length.
Anduin and the others frowned thoughtfully as they looked to Alastor for orders.
Alastor frowned as well, honestly unsure whether this was a friend, a foe, or someone neutral.
He had studied the Dragon Aspects and their respective dragonflights in his early years growing up in Stormwind. He knew that aside from Deathwing and the Black Dragonflight, the others were generally regarded as guardians of Azeroth since ancient times.
Yet Alastor had always felt conflicted about them.
As a child in Stormwind, he had viewed them as arrogant—or even hypocritical—so-called guardians, given how rarely they were seen. Despite wielding power rivalling demigods and bearing the duty to protect Azeroth, they had still allowed threats like Orks, black mages, Beastkin, and other horrors to infest the world and endanger its people.
In fact, it had been Emperor Thoradin who united the human tribes and initiated the ancient war that pushed back these threats, allowing the Arathor Empire—and the kingdoms of other races—to consolidate and endure.
As Alastor grew older, however, and experienced the world and its conflicts firsthand, his perspective shifted.
Now, if anything, he preferred that such beings interfere as little as possible. The mortal races—especially humanity—were powerful enough to face and overcome their own challenges.
In short, Alastor's view of the dragons was neutral, tempered with a healthy amount of skepticism. Unlike many others, he had never truly interacted with them and did not know whether they understood mortal races or what truly drove them.
Alastor rose and made his way toward the spacious inner courtyard, followed closely by Anduin, Alleria, and Loretta.
He would give their visitor the benefit of the doubt—his usual approach when dealing with the unknown—but he would keep his guard up regardless, ready for any unpleasant surprises.
And if proven hostile?
Then he would make sure their visitor did not leave this place alive.
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The massive red dragon flew at high speed toward Fort Clover. As it neared, it slowed and hovered well within range of the fortress's defenses, clearly showing that it meant no harm and had come in peace.
Alastor sensed no hostility from the creature and nodded to Loretta, who ordered the soldiers and mages to stand down.
Seeing the gesture, the dragon descended into the courtyard, where Alastor, Anduin, Alleria, and Loretta stood surrounded by a contingent of royal knights.
"Well met, noble dragon," Alastor greeted respectfully. "May I ask what brings you to Fort Clover, especially in the middle of a war?"
This was Alastor's preferred approach when meeting strangers: noble but approachable, respectful yet ready to respond if the other party proved hostile or discourteous.
"It is good to see you as well, Alastor," the dragon replied. "I only wish this visit had been a social one."
Alastor's eyes widened—not because the dragon could speak, which he already knew was possible, but because he recognized the voice.
A red aura enveloped the dragon as its massive form began to shrink. When the glow dissipated, it revealed a familiar figure.
"Krasus!? You're a dragon!?"
Alastor wasn't the only one shocked. No one had expected that one of Dalaran's foremost Archmages was not a High Elf—but a dragon.
"Indeed," Krasus said calmly. "Among my kind, a dragon who gains sufficient mastery over themselves and their power can assume a more 'mortal' form."
"The High Elf Archmage Krasus was the identity I used when interacting with the mortal races. My true name is Korialstrasz, second-in-command of the Red Dragonflight."
Alastor paused.
"…I'm still calling you Krasus. The other name is too much of a mouthful."
While the others—aside from Anduin and Alleria—stood awed in the presence of such an important figure from a legendary dragonflight, Alastor was far more focused on the absurdly long name.
Krasus laughed. "Thank you. I truly needed that after everything that's been happening."
"Then I'm glad I could help," Alastor replied. "Come inside, Krasus. Let us talk. I have a feeling you have information I've been wanting—and something tells me it won't exactly be pleasant news."
"My friend," Krasus said solemnly, "you don't know the half of it."
And truly, Alastor would not like the things Krasus was about to tell him.
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