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The bloodthirsty battle axe gave a piercing whistle as its master swung it, gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. Its wielder laughed wildly, opening his black-tattooed jaw impossibly wide. That roar was the very source of his name.
His long black hair streamed behind his head as he moved, his red eyes flashing as he hacked again and again at the enemies he imagined before him. This was how he honed himself, so that on a real battlefield he could cut down his enemies as easily as carving meat. Though this was only his daily training, his superb skill and immense strength were already plain to see.
Grommash Hellscream heard someone calling his name. He grunted and turned, forcing himself out of his thirst for blood.
Sunlight flowed brilliantly like watery musical notes, soaking through a different kind of alluring sorrow.
A golden sun hung in the blue vault of the sky, and a white cloud drifted through the clear heavens like a lone sail on an azure sea.
The pale blue sky resembled a pristine sheet of velvet edged in gold.
Just as he turned around, the sky suddenly dimmed. Grom tilted his head back and looked up.
His tusks jutted forward, and his bloodthirsty eyes fixed on the sky.
A black fissure appeared in the pale blue heavens.
Grom did not know how to describe it. In his understanding of the world, it was like Gorehowl slicing through an enemy's skin, leaving a gash behind.
The black opening resembled an abyss. Its interior was pitch-dark, with nothing visible within.
The fissure kept widening, blotting out the brilliant