The Horde's Warchief, Vol'jin, is most skilled in cooking, especially when it comes to preparing Tauren.
Then there was his extensive Herbalism and his powerful Alchemy, which enabled him to concoct all sorts of magical medicines, especially some aphrodisiacs for use in bed, which were most popular with the Horde leaders.
Finally, there was his mystical knowledge, his communication with various ancient gods of the Trolls, but it seemed that few of them were particularly powerful; most were just weaklings who couldn't be brought to the forefront.
As for combat prowess, none of the Horde's warriors ever took Vol'jin seriously, not even Sylvanas Vol'jin, a woman.
This is why Vol'jin became the Horde of the Warchief: weak, harmless, and even if he had ambitions, he was powerless to realize them—the most suitable puppet.
Even the mighty Garrosh Hellscream was powerless against Thrall's Invincible Demons form, becoming Thrall prey. Yet Vol'jin dared to challenge Thrall.
Saurfang the Great shook his head, devoid of hope; he thought Vol'jin had gone mad.
Thrall was quite surprised. In his eyes, Vol'jin was a loyal henchman, a good cook, hardworking and never complaining. When the Orcs entered Kalimdor and were most helpless, it was Vol'jin's Darkspear Horde that was the first to lend a helping hand. Thrall would always remember this kindness.
Thrall and Vol'jin have a lot in common, especially when it comes to food. They once swore to taste all the creatures of Azeroth, including the mysterious Elune.
Deep down, Thrall still didn't want to lose such a good friend. He still remembered the days when the two of them cooked Cairne Bloodhoof together, watching the strong Tauren Chieftain get cooked to a pulp, and laughing heartily together.
"Vol'jin, I'm giving you a chance. Watch your words and actions, and be aware of your place." Thrall issued a thunderous warning, deciding to give Vol'jin a chance to retract his impolite words.
Vol'jin bowed gracefully to Thrall, standing up straight like a gentleman.
"Thrall, true friendship is built on equality, and you have never respected me. I have been listening to the voice of all spirits, and today is your death day, old friend. I am happy to send you on your way home."
Thrall brandished his massive pincers, somewhat amused and exasperated. "Vol'jin, since you're determined to die, I'll grant your wish. Luckily, your cooking skills aren't the best in the Darkspear Horde."
"Ha ha!"
Vol'jin laughed so hard he almost fell over. Suddenly, he narrowed his eyes and muttered something to himself:
The night is long, and the soul is restless.
A mysterious being protects us; all spirits submit to him; the power of the Legion is utterly insignificant before him; the Titans are only fit to carry his shoes; Void Lords are his doorstep dogs.
Ah! Great master, I offer my humble soul so that mortals may see who the Warchief of the Horde is.
When the time is right, death will come, and he will take one of us; no one can stop him.
Unfortunately, that person is you, Thrall.
Thrall loathed Vol'jin's ramblings, but out of respect for his old friend, he patiently listened until the end. He was about to extend his massive pincers and smash this pretentious old Troll to pieces.
Suddenly, a force left Thrall, a huge gray shadow.
Then, Thrall coughed up green blood, mixed with countless pieces of flesh and blood.
Those were his internal organs.
Thrall looked on incredulously, struggling to point a finger at Vol'jin, but no sound came out.
After continuously spitting out blood and flesh, the Fel energy that maintained Thrall's enormous size finally collapsed.
Thrall's body continued to shrink, the demonic horns hovering above his head, the jet-black wings on his back, and his massive body, like that of Pit Lord, all disappeared. Thrall collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, his power gone, like an old dog waiting for death, on its last breath.
"Vol'jin, what have you done?" Thrall's voice was very soft, and he didn't even have the strength to speak.
His body alternated between cold and heat, a burning sensation spreading throughout his body, followed by occasional numbness and weakness. He coughed up mouthful after mouthful of blood, even spitting out bones.
"That powerful being protects the Darkspear Horde, and I will become the true Horde the Warchief. Thrall, you were merely a pitiful sacrifice offered to our great master; I accept your lowly soul."
Vol'jin continued chanting incantations as he stepped forward, his blade flashing as he easily severed Thrall's head.
Holding Thrall's head high, as if waving a victory flag, Vol'jin roared arrogantly:
"Now tell me, who is the real Warchief?"
Saurfang the Great, Agna, Eitrigg were all stunned. The once invincible Demons Thrall had been defeated so easily, seemingly without breaking a sweat. Just what powerful dark entity had protected Vol'jin, causing the Legion's power to vanish into thin air?
Eitrigg was the first to react, quickly crawling forward a few steps and kneeling in submission to Vol'jin.
Saurfang the Great Agna exchanged a glance and then knelt down to worship Vol'jin.
Vol'jin felt an unparalleled sense of exhilaration; he had never tasted power so fully in his life.
"It's a pity I'm too late. I couldn't save Garrosh. Our cooperation with the Iron Horde will have to be reconsidered." Vol'jin shrugged and said regretfully.
Saurfang the Great quickly offered a suggestion. "Great Warchief Vol'jin, all spirits revere you. I can introduce you to an old friend named Gul'dan, who is willing to pledge his loyalty to the Horde."
Vol'jin nodded, his small eyes suddenly narrowing as he sneered, "Saurfang the Great, I must tell you, you are not the one who cooperates with the Iron Horde. Go with Thrall."
"What?"
A dazzling light flashed behind him as a greatsword slashed across Saurfang the Great's back, cleaving him in two at the waist. Saurfang, the King of Ambush, had ambushed many generals throughout his life, but in the end, he himself fell victim to an ambush.
Saurfang the Great struggled to turn around and saw a young Orcs wielding a blood-dripping greatsword, almost a carbon copy of himself, only younger and stronger.
Vol'jin laughed heartily and said smugly:
"This is the Wind Blademaster Sargeras, who grew up in the Darkspear tribe. You've probably forgotten this bastard; you don't even know who his mother is, poor High Overlord Saurfang."
"You!"
Saurfang the Great was covered in blood, his intestines spilling out. He glanced at the calm Agna beside him and realized he had also been part of the scheme. Vol'jin, his plot succeeding, grinned and sneered:
"From now on, Sagulos will be Saurfang the Great. You two are so alike! All I need to do is dye your beards and hair white, add some wrinkles, oh! Oh! What a perfect plan! It's been worth planning this for over a decade."
Vol'jin couldn't help but break into a joyful dance, expressing his inner elation. His years of scheming had finally paid off, and he was about to watch Saurfang the Great bleed to death.
Agna walked up to Vol'jin and bowed respectfully.
"Great Vol'jin, the Horde needs a Savior. Without Savior's Thrall, the Orcs will become even more frenzied and difficult to control. Therefore, we must have a Thrall."
Vol'jin stroked his fangs and said in a booming voice, "Of course, we still have to give Queen Doras face. Is your lover, Queen Doras's brother Zotus, ready?"
Agna quickly replied, "It's guaranteed to be perfect, without any flaws. Even Thrall's own mother wouldn't be able to tell the difference. However, Zotus will never receive a response from the elements."
Vol'jin looked troubled, glanced around, and muttered, "The great Savior Thrall has lost his Elemental Power. What should we do? We must find a convincing excuse."