Judgment

Garrosh had been utterly defeated. He lay sprawled on the ground, breathing unevenly, without even the strength to stand.

Nathanos stepped down from the Warchief's throne. The first to approach him was not Sylvanas, but Taran Zhu.

The Pandaren was clearly surprised by his transformation. "You appear to be filled with negative emotions, yet you carry none of the Sha's scent. Where is Y'sharrj?"

"Sharp nose, Master. I was only a step away from falling completely." The Forsaken leader spoke in a teasing tone. "That Old God is gone."

The Pandaren's gaze shifted to Nathanos's demonized left hand. What kind of power was it? And how would the Witherer use it?

"Tell me, Nathanos. Can you still tell friend from foe?"

"Ha!" Nathanos laughed, thinking Taran Zhu's concern unnecessary, though understandable. His current appearance was bound to unsettle people.

The Witherer's gaze swept over Thrall. The Orc had walked up to Garrosh, seemed to have said something, and then raised Doomhammer.

No, that's my trophy.

Nathanos strode forward and, just before Doomhammer fell, used his newly acquired warblade to block Thrall's fatal blow at Garrosh. The Orc shaman looked at him with bewilderment and faint anger.

"If we're talking guilt, you're not free of it either. Don't forget who put him in the Warchief's seat." Nathanos saw pain and remorse surface in Thrall's eyes. The force behind Doomhammer vanished as well.

More footsteps approached. The remaining leaders of the Alliance and Horde had all arrived.

Nathanos noticed only Varian and Alleria. The former merely exchanged a glance with him, surprise flickering across his face before he turned all his attention to Garrosh. Alleria's expression changed far more dramatically. The moment she saw him, her entire body trembled.

They had arrived at just the right time. Nathanos exchanged a look with