Too fast! Zuluhed had no time to react before his throat was seized.
Even the most powerful shaman could not fight with his neck at risk of being snapped. Especially when his opponent was Grom Hellscream.
And so, a one-sided attempt at persuasion turned into an interrogation.
"After all these years, you're still just as powerful," Zuluhed flattered him.
Grom said nothing. He pressed his forehead against Zuluhed's and tightened his right hand.
Zuluhed was close to suffocating, the veins bulging across his face.
"Cough, cough-Grom, Gul'dan and Blackhand are both dead. We're no longer under the demons' control. Now, you and I must fight for the fate of the orcs!" Zuluhed strained with all his strength to push down Grom's stick-thin wrist.
Grom eased his grip a little, his gaze resolute. "Fate? Gul'dan used that excuse too, and we all became weapons and tools!"
"Times have changed, Grom." Zuluhed struggled free, gulping down air as he did his best to persuade Grom.
The Warsong Clan's chieftain was still living in the past.
The moment he drank demon blood in pursuit of power, Grom Hellscream had personally trampled the honor the Warsong Clan once believed in.
Gul'dan had used the fate of the orcs as an excuse to rally them. And Grom had been his first follower.
The price of twisting their honor had been the destruction of the traditions and beliefs of the entire clan-and even the Horde.
"If I'd listened to Durotan before drinking demon blood, perhaps the age of the orcs would have remained on Draenor forever. The Horde has abandoned its traditions now. Even if it comes together again, it'll still be a pack of beasts whose desires are ruled by bloodlust and slaughter." Grom's eyes dimmed. He withdrew his right hand and sat quietly in