Yrel did not understand what the human meant. After thanking him again, she prepared to leave and continue her assassination mission—plainly speaking, to go die.
According to the original Worldline, Ner'zhul's second invasion had failed, and Turalyon and Khadgar had pushed back from Azeroth all the way to Draenor. The Orc shaman had been driven into a corner there and, in desperation, summoned Sargeras, who tore Draenor apart into Outland.
Yrel had not existed on that Timeline, which meant she had died long ago.
Yet she existed in this Parallel World that had returned to Draenor. She had been one of the slaves captured and forced to mine in Tanaan Jungle. When she encountered the Alliance Expedition, her waist had still been wrapped in bandages inside the mine.
It was as though she had been destined to injure her stomach.
The little Gnome Chromie had done a fine job. No wonder Deathstroke had told her so much before leaving last time—the timing had been perfect.
"Don't rush off, Yrel. You can act with us. I can help you kill Ner'zhul, along with the Orcs and the demon Legion." She was a good girl filled with hatred for Orcs, perfect for indoctrinating Jaina.
At those words, Yrel stopped. Her glowing pale-blue eyes swept over the human, as though assessing his strength.
Then she shook her head and politely refused. "No. I can't let you come with me to die. You're not even as thick as one arm of a Felguard. An Orc could bite your head off in a single mouthful."
"Like this?"
Deathstroke's figure blurred in place. Before Yrel could even see what had happened, an Orc appeared in his hand, clutched by the throat and kicking wildly.
The Orc was probably a rogue, dressed all in black. The dagger