Chapter 16 Chapter Sixteen

Thrall felt neither.The impact he felt was far softer than stone, and although it didn't stop his fall, the impact slowed his fall.A moment later, when he finally did stop, he felt a cold dampness all over him.He could see nothing and could barely breathe.Then he understood: he had not landed on stones, but in snow, which had interrupted his fall.He is still alive.His body trembled, his whole body creaked, and his lungs were struggling to breathe...but he was still alive.He closed his eyes to escape reality. This scene came to his mind, on the top of a stone peak, he was sitting side by side with a beautiful but broken woman.Alexstrasza looked at him, intense grief and helpless despair radiating from his whole body.

You don't see it, she told him. What am I not seeing, Alexstrasza? It doesn't matter.all of them.It doesn't matter whether everything is connected or not.It doesn't matter how long this has been going on.It doesn't even matter whether we can stop it. The children died.Cleostrasz is dead.All my thoughts were lost, only my physical body was left, and I didn't live long.hopeless.Not everything.It doesn't matter. He didn't see it, he didn't see it then.After freeing Nozdormu, his heart was full of hope.The optimistic, positive, and kind-hearted Kalek also encouraged Thrall to continue to struggle, persevere, and fight to the end against the gradually eroding Twilight.

But Alexstrasza was right.It doesn't matter. Given that the hideous creature had repelled the blue dragon's onslaught as well as the stings of so many angry insects, Kalecgos might well have been defeated by it by this point.The cultists of the Twilight's Hammer will prevail.They will enslave and bring destruction. What did it matter if he could still breathe?What does the Earthen Ring do with all the hard work, attention, and learning to understand how to heal the world?Nothing makes sense. Except... In his heart, the delicate face of the life-binder before him became another.It was a more serious and lean face, with dark skin and sharp teeth.But his heart suddenly began to beat painfully, as if he was about to wake up.

Perhaps the world will eventually be destroyed by cults.Maybe the shamans of the Earthen Ring are really just deluding themselves, wanting to lend a helping hand, only to watch the world end. But amid all the desolation, despair and darkness, Thrall knew one thing. Cleostrasz is dead, Alexstrasza had said.She would never see her mate again, her companion, her friend and warrior, never again could touch his face lovingly or see his smile. But Agra is not dead yet.Surprisingly, after his fall, Thrall, did not die either. The throes of the return of the senses made Thrall gasp.His cold lips moved, whispering her name. "Agra..."

She had encouraged him to keep going--in truth, that blunt encouragement was actually an order, but behind that "order" was a deep love that only he could fully understand.She didn't want Sal to leave because of herself.Not just for her, but for him, and his world.He remembered how her sharp tongue had irritated him once.When she had a thought, when she felt something, she would tell him.He remembered the protection and guidance she gave him when he was looking for vision, which was the tenderness he couldn't find; he also remembered the tenderness and wildness when the two were combined.

He wants to see him again.before it all ends. Besides, he was different from Alexstrasza.Fragmented, she was alone in a desolate place, surrounded by a pale nothingness, reflecting her broken heart...but he could still see his lover again. He was numb from the cold, but the thought of being with Agra—so alive, so warm—brought him up.Thrall forced his lungs to inhale the bitter air as deeply as possible, trying to absorb the spirit of life that was dormant inside him. The spirit of life allows the shaman to connect with the elementals, with others, and with himself.All living beings have a spirit; it's just that shamans can use it because they understand it.For a moment Thrall feared he would fail.He was defeated by this step in the maelstrom before.Thrall thus failed the rest of the Earthen Ring: he was too distracted to dive deep within himself, to lead that deep and profound understanding.

But he is not the careless self he used to be.He gripped the face of Agra before him, as if holding a torch in the darkness of an unknown future.He closed his eyes and saw the playfulness in her golden eyes, her smile and her outstretched hands. The mighty hand is in yours— Oh how he wanted it.The scene seemed right to him.This trivial extravagance now transcends any fear of death or destruction in his heart. Just as he opened his heart to her and the spirit of life within him, another image appeared. This vision has nothing to do with Agra, or with his life.Like an act from a stage play played out in the mind: heroes and villains, surprising twists, tragedies and misunderstandings.His heart is full of longing and longing for Agra, and what makes his heart ache is not sympathy, but the sympathy born of shared experiences.

Knowing this... Alexstrasza... "She has to know," he whispered. “I had to find her and tell her.” In the end, those relationships were what mattered.In the end, that's all that really matters.They are the creative fount of song and art, the driving force of those who die in battle: patriotism, or culture, an ideal, or an individual.It is this feeling that makes the heartbeat continue, the mountains change, and the world takes shape.And Thrall knew that, in both visions, he and the other sad man were truly loved—for who they were, not for what they could do, nor for their titles or is the power to have.

What Agra loves is the real him in Saar's heart, and his love for her is the same. Alexstrasza was the same, she just needed someone to remind her.Sal knew, he knew in his bones, and only he could make her realize it. The Spirit of life was opened to him.Spiritual energy flowed in his body, so warm, so comfortable, so powerful.The snowdrift above had sunk deep, and his almost frozen limbs were filled with energy, and he began to claw his way upward with his hands.He moves at the rhythm of his own breathing, resting as he inhales and moving as he exhales.He was at peace, his mind was clearer than ever, and he was full of new discoveries that needed to be shared.

It was difficult, but the Spirit of Life supported him.Its energy was strong but not strong, and eventually he crawled out of the hole and sat panting.He stood up slowly, considering his next move. His robe was soaked through.He needed a fire to keep him warm, and get rid of the soaked clothes before he froze to death—in this weather, it really would, and not for long.He looked about for dragons that might be hunting him, but the only clouds in the sky were the occasional bird.He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious; the battle was clearly over—either you or me. Find shelter first, and regenerate the fire.He looks for any possible location.Over there—there seemed to be a cave, or at least a gap between the rocks, like a black spot on a grey.

It wasn't his senses that saved his life a moment later, but his focus and clarity. With the Doom Hammer ready to go, he turned around and just managed to block the attack. The enemy was the shadow that had entangled him for a long time. Blackmore! The plate armor parts Blackmoore is wearing are all recognized by Thrall now. He wields a flashing broadsword that is almost bigger than the user, constantly advancing attacks, and the power is almost beyond the reach of humans. but it is not the truth. Thrall was caught off guard when the Dark Assassin first emerged from the shadows, striking and decapitating Desharin completely out of the blue.When Blackmoore followed him through the timeline, revealing his brutal plan to slaughter baby Thrall, the Orc was disturbed.And when he discovered the true identity of the mysterious assassin, he was devastated. The fact that Blackmoore not only survived, but gained such power shakes Thrall's belief in everything he's done.Thrall's past, everything he's accomplished, and his future are clouded by it. But now, Thrall gritted his teeth, not letting fear weaken him.His body had recovered, but he was still deep in the cold, and he knew he couldn't move fast enough to protect himself without help. Spirit of life, help me, help me defeat this enemy who shouldn't exist, and let me bring your illusion to people who should know! The warmth swept across his body, soft but strong, filling his limbs with vitality and flexibility.Thrall was vaguely aware that somehow even his own clothes were dry.At the same time sharp and soothing energy gives him strength.He didn't question it, just accepted it gratefully.Thrall struck without thinking, letting battle-hardened experience guide his hands, blow after blow to the armor that Blackmoore had stolen and was so bold enough to wear.The terrified human leaped back, curled up in a defensive position, greatsword in hand. "I know why I want to train you," Blackmoore sneered, a voice Thrall recognized even with his helmet on. "You're amazing...for a greenskin." "Your death was doomed once when you decided to train me, Aedelas Blackmoore, and it is the same now. You cannot defeat fate." Blackmoore laughed, and there was genuine pleasure in the loud laugh. "You fell from an almost impossible height, Orc. You were wounded and not far from death. I guess fate was that you died in this northern tundra, not me. But you have good spirits. I Will gladly break your will, but I'm afraid I have other things to do. The Flesh Ripper hasn't harvested life for a while. I'll make it quick." He specially emphasized the name of the sword, as if he wanted to scare Thrall.Instead, the orc smiled.Blackmoore frowned. "What made you so happy when you were dying?" "It's you," Thrall said. "The name you gave your sword made me laugh." "Made you laugh? You shouldn't. It did cut through the bodies I killed!" "Oh, of course," Thrall said. "But it's too blunt—too brutal, too simple. Just like you, inside of you. Like what you've tried so hard to change." An enraged Blackmoore charged again, and Thrall, scarred from the near-death fall, parried and began to fight back. Blackmoore said when he was about to die that Thrall was brought up by him, Blackmoore.That statement made the orc commit evil—it was hard to think of having even the slightest relationship to this man.Drek'Thar had taught him how to look at this as objectively as possible, but now, as the weapons snapped and sparked, Thrall realized he had never really escaped Blackmoore's vile grasp. The man before him who brandished his broadsword with mighty arms and deadly determination was the dark side of his heart.Once, under his control, Thrall had tasted the taste of complete powerlessness, and he spent most of his life just to no longer taste such a helpless feeling.The clarity and insight that the double vision brought him also made Thrall realize that Blackmoore represented everything Thrall was fighting for—everything inside him. "I used to fear you," Thrall growled.He held the Doomhammer in one strong green hand, and the other was raised, fingers stretched.He opened his mouth and let out a roar, the righteous anger resounding through the bitter air.A whirlwind rose in response, bringing up frozen white snow, like a hurricane made of ice.Thrall's hand moved quickly and precisely, and the whirlwind fell toward Blackmoore, lifting him, higher and higher, until Thrall made another gesture and the whirlwind flung him to the ground.He lay there motionless, one hand folded over his chest, and Thrall quickly closed the distance between them. He looked at the body that couldn't move an inch, and narrowed his eyes.As he spoke, he raised the Doomhammer above his head for the final blow. "You're everything I hate...weak but blessed with power. You make me see myself in the way I hate the most, the way—" Blackmoore braced himself on his knees, stabbing the Flesh Ripper into Thrall's naked body.Thrall jumped back, but the point of the sword had already struck.Two inches of steel pierced his abdomen, and Thrall knelt on the snow with a hiss. "Say what will make it easier for you, Orc," said Blackmoore, "but you will soon join the ranks of your ancestors." His voice was weaker, and his attacks were not as violent as before.Thrall must have hurt Blackmoore deeper than he first thought. Thrall roared, swinging the Doomhammer at the foe's legs.Blackmoore had expected him to struggle to his feet, but he hadn't expected him to attack from this angle, and he yelled as Doomhammer fell on top of him.Although the armor absorbed most of the impact, the attack was enough to make Blackmoore untenable. He is not a giant among ordinary people.Even in the tainted timeline, Theresa is still the real her, and Blackmoore is no exception.Maybe he wasn't drinking heavily, or wasting his energy on relying on other people's strengths.But he was still Aedelas Blackmoore—a villain, a villain who rose to power through treachery and calculation. Thrall was still himself. Perhaps Blackmoore had terrorized Thrall when he was a child, disturbing him when he reappeared as a seemingly stronger individual.But though Thrall wore only the robe, he had new armor; though he wielded the familiar Doomhammer, he had new weapons.He felt his love for Agra burning in his soul.That doesn't make him double, the ashes are the steady calm, the unchanging reality - better than the one who rolled wildly in the snow, trying to get two injured legs to stand, with the already weak and soon became useless The hatred of a man with a long sword raised in his arm is more real.Agra's love is like armor, like a weapon, protecting him from harm and allowing him to express himself best on the battlefield. This is not only about the body, but also about the state of mind. Thrall knew, in a way he had never known before, that those moments when Blackmoore had triumphed, when Blackmoore had threatened Thrall, discredited his resolve, made him no longer believe in himself—those moments were past. . Those pasts are irrelevant.Thrall is fearless in this moment, in this moment. In this moment, Blackmoore will not win. It's time to end all of this.Return Blackmoore to his destiny: death at the hands of Thrall.Let all doubts, insecurities and fears go back to where they belong: really, forever, back to the past. His wound was bleeding, and the warmth of his dark red blood soaked his skirt.Pain helps him focus.Like his true self as a master weapon, Thrall began to swing the Doomhammer as Blackmoore staggered to his feet.The warhammer knocked the Flesh Ripper aside, Blackmoore's weak hands could no longer swing the two-handed weapon properly.At the same time, with the swing of the great weapon, Thrall lifted one hand from the hammer handle and held it in the air.Suddenly there was a crackling sound. A huge icicle hanging from a rock broke free.It flew like Blackmoore like a dagger thrown by a deft hand.It's just condensed water; it can't penetrate armor. But it can - and it does - knock humans down like a giant fist.Blackmoore dropped to his knees in the snow and uttered a cry of pain and alarm.Unarmed and nearly unconscious, Blackmoore raised his hands imploringly to Thrall. "Please..." The piercing voice was very weak, but Thrall could still hear him in the clear sky. "Please, forgive me..." Thrall was not without empathy.But more important than sympathy in his heart is the balance and justice he needs-whether in the warped time and space where this Aedelas Blackmoore was born, or in Thrall's own timeline, and this human is not belong there. Thrall raised the weapon above his head.It wasn't the gesture of supplication that caught his gaze, but the glimmer of light on the plate armor that Orgrim Doomhammer had once worn.This plate armor was also once owned by Thrall, and he took it off reverently. Snakes shed their skin.The soul will become purer and stronger.It seems that the process of shedding your past self will last a lifetime.Now, Thrall was ready to shed whatever influence the human had left on him. He shook his head.He felt at peace.There was no joy or vengeance in him, for he did not enjoy the act.But he felt free, and released. "No," Thrall said. "You shouldn't be here, Blackmoore. You shouldn't be anywhere. This blow from me will fix that." He brought down the Doomhammer hard.The hammer crushed the iron helmet and the head inside.Blackmoore fell to the ground, and he was already dead. Thrall has killed his shadow.