Gul’dan was so excited he could hardly contain himself. He had looked forward to this moment ever since Kil’jaeden had first spoken of it. He had wanted to move forward even faster than his master did, but Kil’jaeden had chuckled and counseled patience.
“I have seen them, and they are not quite ready yet. Timing is everything, Gul’dan. The same blow delivered too early or too late does not kill, only wounds.”
Gul’dan thought it an odd metaphor, but understood what Kil’jaeden meant by it. But now, at last, Kil’jaeden thought the orcs ready for the final step.
The Black Temple had a central courtyard open to the night sky When the temple belonged to the draenei, this area had been a lush garden, with a rectangular pool at the center. The conquerors had drunk their fill of the sweet, pure water over the last few weeks with no care about replenishing it, and now the pool was nothing more than an empty space of stone and tiles. The trees and flowering plants that had surrounded it had long since died, withering with astonishing speed. At Kil’jaeden’s request, Ner’zhul and Gul’dan now stood beside that empty pool. Neither of them knew what to expect.
For long hours they stood in utter silence. Gul’dan wondered if perhaps he had displeased his lord in some way. The thought made him break out in a cold sweat, and he glanced nervously at Ner’zhul. He wondered if perhaps tonight the defiant shaman was going to be slain for his disobedience, and he perked up a bit at the thought. His mind was wandering, considering various torments that might be imposed upon Ner’zhul, when a sudden loud crack of thunder made them both gasp aloud. Gul’dan looked up at the sky. Where there had hitherto been a host of stars, now there was only a black emptiness. He swallowed hard, his eyes riveted on the darkness.
Suddenly the darkness began to churn. It looked like a thunderhcad, black and pulsing. Then it began to swirl in a spiral. The spiraling picked up speed. A wind lifted Gul’dan’s hair and stirred his robes, gently at first, then more fiercely, until he felt the wind scouring his skin. The earth beneath his feet rumbled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ner’zhul’s lips move, but he could not hear what if anything was said. The wind was too loud, the trembling of the earth beneath his increasingly unsteady feet too intense.
The sky cracked open.
Something bright and blazing screamed to earth directly in front of Gul’dan and Ner’zhul. It struck the ground so hard that Gul’dan was knocked off his feet. For a long, terrifying minute, he could not breathe; he simply lay on the earth and gasped like a fish until finally his lungs remembered how to function and he inhaled a great surge of air.
He got to his feet, his body shaking uncontrollably, and lost his breath again at what he beheld.
It towered over him. Chunks of earth flew as it shook four legs that ended in hooves and flapped large, leathery wings in annoyance. Its hair was more of a mane, flowing in green tendrils over its neck and down its back. Green eyes glittered like fiery stars and its swooping tusks caught the dim light as it opened its mouth. It seemed to have row after row of sharp teeth, and its bellow made Gul’dan want to drop to the earth and weep in utter terror. Somehow, he remained standing and silent before the monstrosity. It raised its clenched fists and shook them fiercely, then lowered its head and looked around at the huddled, quaking orcs.
What is that thing? Gul’dan screamed silently.
Suddenly. Kil’jaeden appeared, looking down at Gul’dan and grinning fiercely.
“Behold my lieutenant, Mannoroth. Well has he served me and well shall he continue to serve. On other worlds, they call him the Destructor. But here, he is the savior. Gul’dan,” purred Kil’jaeden, and suddenly Gul’dan felt weak and sick again. “You know what I am offering your people.”
Gul’dan swallowed hard. He did not dare glance at Ner’zhul, whose gaze he felt boring into his back.
Yes, he knew well what Kil’jaeden was offering. Power beyond imagining … and slavery for eternity. Kil’jaeden had offered the former to Ner’zhul in exchange for the latter, and Ner’zhul, the coward, had balked. He had not wanted to doom his people.
Gul’dan was untroubled by such scruples. All he could think of was the reward Kil’jaeden had promised. “I do know. Great One,” Gul’dan said, surprised by the strength and steadiness of his voice, “I know, and I accept my lord’s most generous offer.”
Kil’jaeden smiled. “Excellent,” he said. “You are wiser than your predecessor.”
Confident and elated, Gul’dan turned to gloat at Ner’zhul. The elder shaman stared at his former apprentice imploringly He did not dare to speak, of course, but he did not need to. Even in the dim light of the stars, his expression was plain to read.
Gul’dan’s lips curled around his tusks, and he turned back to regard Mannoroth. He was still terribly imposing, but Gul’dan’s fear had retreated in the face of his overwhelming desire for power. He gazed at the being, knowing that it, like he himself, was highly regarded by the one they both served. They were brothers in arms.
“Only a special blade can do what I ask of you, Gul’dan,” rumbled Kil’jaeden. He extended his hand. The dagger seemed tiny in comparison to the huge palm upon which it rested, but it was quite large when Gul’dan curled his own fingers around it.
“This has been forged in the fires of the mountain in the distance,” Kil’jaeden said, pointing to the smoking mountain. “My servants have worked long and hard to craft it. You know what to do, Mannoroth.”
The creature nodded its huge head. Its tail moving to balance its bulk, it knelt on its front two feet and extended an arm. It turned its hand upward, exposing the comparatively softer flesh of its wrist.
For a heartbeat, Gul’dan hesitated. What if this was some sort of trick, or a test? What if Kil’jaeden really didn’t want him to do this? What if he failed?
What if Ner’zhul was right?
“Gul’dan,” said Kil’jaeden, “Mannoroth is known for many things. Patience is not among them.”
Mannoroth growled softly and his green eyes glinted. “I am eager to see what will happen. All of your people … Do it!”
Gul’dan swallowed hard, lifted the blade, aimed its gleaming edge toward the flesh of Mannoroth’s exposed wrist, and brought the knife down as hard as he could.
And flew backward from the force of Mannoroth’s blow as the creature bellowed in pain. Dazed, he lifted his head and blinked, trying to clear his vision.
Liquid fire spouted from the wound, glowing a sickly greenish yellow as it pumped into the pool of the draenei priests. The injury was tiny compared to the vastness of Mannoroth’s body, but the blood flowed steadily as if from a waterfall. Faintly, Gul’dan was aware that Ner’zhul, the weakling, was crying. Gul’dan could not tear his eyes from the sight of the unholy blood pouring, pouring without ceasing, from the creature who continued to roar and thrash in pain. He got to his feet and walked over to the edge of the pool, being very, very careful not to come into contact with the fluid spewing from the wound he himself had made. “Behold the blood of the Destructor,” gloated Kil’jaeden. “It burns away all that will not serve you, Gul’dan. It cleanses all thoughts of hesitation, confusion, or uncertainty. It creates a hunger that can be directed any way you choose. Your little puppet thinks he rules die Horde, but he is wrong. The Shadow Council thinks they rule the Horde, but they are wrong.”
Gul’dan lifted his eyes from the pool of glowing green liquid that continued to pump from Mannoroth’s injured arm to gaze raptly at Kil’jaeden.
“Gul’dan … it will soon be you who rules the Horde. They are ready They thirst for what you will give diem.”
Gul’dan again turned to look at the flowing liquid.
“Call them to you. Quench that thirst … and what their hunger.”