While the orcs celebrated the end of the cycle, feasting on at and fresh ale, and dancing at the rhythm of the drums, Adam sat across from Grum'Thal.
The air between them thickened, the festivities strangled in deadly silence. Answers, and their prices. What would they cost? He didn't know yet. But one thing was sure: he wouldn't take a losing deal today. Or ever, in fact.
He pressed his elbows on the smooth leather covering the broad table. The lights from the braziers cast shadows across his face as he leaned forward. "A nice performance out there. Your political skills were impressive, truly. I'd be lying if I said it didn't piss off to the highest degree to be your pawn." His eyes narrowed into slits. "So, no more gas. What do you want?"
Grum'Thal leaned his staff against the table. The empty eye sockets of the demonic skull seed to glare at Adam with ancient malice. Not Grum'Thal's red eyes. They were soft, almost as if he were studying a new friend.
"Not a pawn," he whispered, tucking a finger where his chin should be inside the darkness of his hood. "The result of an equation I failed to account for. You talk about gas; you've stepped onto an ancient chessboard."
"Let guess. You're the king on this chessboard?" Adam leaned his head over his hands with a scoff.
"Hahaha. I wish I were. No, Adomash, or do you prefer Adam? I'm a re pawn, soone not worth much in the grand sche of the players. You know who the king is, right?"
Adam understood instantly. Haldris had to be the king. No one else could be. But if Haldris was the king, who moved the pieces?
Grum'Thal extended his palm. "What I want is your help." He retracted his hand, his deep voice lowering to a complex murmur. "But Leoric Caelmorne and Cordelia de Caligo's chaotic dance of death… legacies you have touched but should not know. The life force you bend to your will as if born to this realm—she foresaw none of it."
He leaned back, the soft red embers of his eyes flickering. "So I ask you, Adam: are you the piece I need? Or are you a new rule entirely? I'll put my hopes on the first. Promise you'll help the orcs shatter the chains of fate like the friend I see in you, and I'll tell you about the dark age, the sacrifices I had to make, and on which side of the board I stand."
Adam cupped his hand over his lips, a deep furrow creasing his brow. Eventually, he let out a heavy sigh. "You've figured out a lot, but keep things vague. Let be blunt with you. Even though I burn to know, I'd rather not if Haldris stands on the other side of your little board. I need sothing concrete."
"I'd rather not fight the hero of the war, either. That's not it." Grum'Thal gripped the top of his hood firmly. "Very well. I'll show you."
The leather hood fell back on Grum'Thal's robes. A drop of icy sweat ran down Adam's spine. He didn't see the face of an orc. Rather, a face so twisted that it made his stomach churn and bones vibrate with disgust.
On his shoulder, Bao shrieked. Yet her paws froze before she could cover her eyes from this nightmare. The grooves shimring with suppressed green fire that crisscrossed Grum'Thal's face, his fangs sharper than knives, and the protrusions trying to pierce the top of his bald head paralysed her.
Adam took her off his shoulder. He pressed her against his drumming chest, murmuring not to look.
But he did. He locked his gaze with Grum'Thal's red eyes. "You're half demonised."
Grum'Thal nodded. "But I survived."
"That's not what you pay when demonic essence contaminates you." Adam's voice turned solemn. The price was violence. Madness. And he had learned that nothing was scarier than madness draped in calmness, especially when it looked at him dead in the eyes.
"It's not." Grum'Thal's voice echoed with tangible pain. "What I paid was much worse. Back when my skin shone a light brown under the sun, right after the demons annihilated our tribes and turned our fields and forests to ashes, they took in chains with our warriors. They contaminated us with their essence, made fathers kill their sons, then mothers eat their still-warm flesh.
A silence stretched, thick with the mory of screams. Grum'Thal's red eyes seed to stare through Adam, into that past.
"They called it... entertainnt. I can still see it clearly each ti I close my eyes. It was madness, pure and brutal. I pleaded with the ancestors and elents to shield my sanity as I endured. Before I knew it, I was the last one remaining, the last orc of Sryl'vara. After we escaped, I was a broken shell teetering on the blurred line of who I was and the monster trying to break free."
He threw his staff on the table. "Even killing my torntor did nothing to fix ." He massaged his eyes, letting out a long sigh.
"I asked her to end , Adam. Do you know what it ans? I had no hope, no future. Yet she refused. She had a thod to let live, one that relied on a powerful entity not even demons dared to go against. You know who I'm talking about."
Adam didn't answer. He couldn't. Just hearing a fraction of what Grum'Thal experienced made his chest ache. No one deserved to suffer so much. As for the entity... he didn't want to think about it. Not that he didn't know the answer. It could only be the one revered by the orcs.
"Yes, the one you call the netherworld overseer, the guardian of souls: Grash'Thul." Grum'Thal clenched his jaw, the flas beneath his skin flaring for a heartbeat. "We struck a deal—a hideous one—one I've never talked about. But I had to survive, to keep my sanity... to rebuild our culture. Grash'Thul suppressed the demonic essence, turning my skin green and more resistant to mana. But the elents knew the truth. They cursed . Mana cursed , too. Because... I switched demonic masters for Grash'Thul. Not now, not just . All the orcs will serve him in death until the end of ti."
He extended his hand again. "What I truly want... the only thing I truly wanted was to shatter this deal. Will you help ?"
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