Hellscream

Grom Hellscream is a force of nature, majestic and utterly domineering.

Whether it's his signature, earth-shattering roar, his boundless courage that borders on insanity, or his supreme, brutal attack power, he's a one-orc wrecking crew.

Words like "tearing a lion apart alive" and "having gone through countless battles without ever being defeated" are not enough to describe the sheer, terrifying dominance of Grom, who Duke, in his pre-time travel days, had affectionately dubbed "Hellscream."

If I have to describe Grom's fighting power in one sentence, it would be this: he can dismantle a Gundam with his bare hands! And probably use the pieces to build a bigger, meaner Gundam.

This story, however, begins with Grom's father, the original Grom Hellscream, whom Duke, with a respectful shudder, calls "Grandpa Hellscream."

Grandpa Hellscream was the chieftain of the Warsong Clan, a powerful warrior in his lifetime, known far and wide as the Giantslayer. There were few orcs like him who were both respected by his own people and feared by his enemies, a true legend in his own time.

During one of their outings, a routine hunting trip, Grom and his people encountered a truly colossal Gronn, a beast that made ogres look like house cats. A fierce, bloody battle ensued, a clash of titans.

What is a Gronn, you ask? A Gronn is a one-eyed, terrifying monster that is two or three times taller than an ogre, a walking mountain of muscle and malice.

Duke believes that only the Cyclops from ancient Greece, before his time travel, is the true prototype of this monstrous creature called Goron. They're basically the same, just with a different name.

In the fierce battle, Grandpa Hellscream was accidentally caught by Goron, his body crushed in the monster's massive maw. When his body was being squeezed and pulverized by Goron's big mouth like a guillotine, Grandpa Hellscream, enduring unimaginable pain, used his last, desperate strength to chop his legendary battle axe, Gorehowl, into Goron's single, malevolent eye before he died. When they both fell, it was the Goron who died first, a testament to Grandpa Hellscream's indomitable will.

After this epic battle, Gorehowl became instantly famous, a blade steeped in legend, and became the revered symbol of the Warsong Clan Chieftain.

And the Hellscream family, thanks to Grandpa Hellscream's final, glorious act, eventually earned their fearsome name, a moniker that struck terror into the hearts of their enemies.

The Hellscreams, it seems, are also pretty good at fighting huge things. It runs in the family.

For example, this time, such a large warship was dismantled by Grom in just a few moves, torn apart like a child's toy.

Are the heroes of the Horde really all monsters? Duke wondered, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.

Although Duke really wanted to push out Lothar, who had the highest combat power on his side, and Uther, who had just arrived last night, to fight with Howler for three hundred rounds, a glorious, epic duel, the problem was that this was a naval battle. A messy, chaotic, watery brawl.

Can Lothar and Uther win in full plate armor, sinking like stones?

Don't be ridiculous. Duke would never be able to forgive himself if he drowned two future great men for this reason, two titans of the Alliance, just for a bit of glory. He'd never live it down.

Just as Uther, his face set with a fearless spirit of sacrifice, was about to step out and offer his services, Duke spoke up, his voice cutting through the tension: "Hey, Alleria, Sylvanas, do you hear me?"

There was an immediate echo in the wind, two distinct voices, one eager, one sarcastic.

"Alleria, wait for the deputy commander's order."

"Hey, is there finally something exciting? I was starting to grow roots."

Duke cleared his throat, a small, nervous cough, and said, "I want you two sisters to deal with the orc chieftain with the onion-haired hairstyle who just dismantled our warship. Yes, the guy with the blood-red hook-nosed axe. His name is Grom Hellscream, and he is a super strong man in the Horde. Don't be careless! He's a force of nature."

"Make sure to kill him," Alleria replied, her voice calm, utterly devoid of emotion, as if discussing the weather.

"Hey, sister, let's not compete in killing enemies. Those moving targets are nothing special, just target practice. Let's compete to see who can kill more chiefs, right?" Sylvanas's voice, laced with a dry wit, was heard only by Duke. Duke felt a great pressure from Sylvanas, who was so out of touch with reality, so utterly focused on the kill count.

Uther couldn't help it, his chivalrous spirit chafing. He stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his hammer, and said: "Deputy Commander, Uther and his Silver Hand request to go into battle. We are ready to serve."

Duke glanced at Uther, who was much older than him, a seasoned warrior. "I know your chivalry cannot tolerate a woman fighting on your behalf, Uther. It's a noble sentiment. But I want to tell you – first, don't treat them as weaklings; they'll eat you for breakfast. Second, unless you are very good at swimming in full plate armor, you should leave this particular dance to the two sisters. They're built for it."

Uther was choked by Duke's blunt assessment, but as a noble Paladin, he knew very well that Duke did not target him or look down on his Silver Hand. It was just that Uther and the other generals had the same puzzlement, a nagging question in the back of their minds: how come Duke seemed to know their abilities and specialties so intimately?

From the very beginning of the battle in Southshore, Duke's deployment of troops had been flawless, without a single misstep or problem. Not only did he predict the enemy's fate with uncanny accuracy, but he also knew his own people very well, their strengths and weaknesses, their hidden talents.

The problem, of course, was that Duke had never even visited their troops! He hadn't inspected a single one of them!

Duke naturally didn't have time to explain to them, or perhaps Duke simply couldn't explain it. He arranged it according to which one was more powerful in history, who was destined for greatness...

In any case, the destructive power of heroic beings is astonishing, a force that defies logic.

As a hero with the same template, a true force of nature, when the Windrunner sisters arrived, Grom had already used Gorehowl to destroy five warships of various sizes, tearing them apart like paper. He was a one-orc demolition crew.

Looking at the two beautiful elven rangers who were almost flying towards him, their movements impossibly swift, Grom did not relax his vigilance at all just because there were two delicate-looking women in front of him. He wasn't born yesterday.

On the contrary, Grom was very nervous because of his instinctive sense of the strong, a primal warning system that screamed "danger!"

The skill of jumping over transport ships and even over debris floating on the sea as if a dragonfly skimming the water was beyond Grom's wildest imagination. It was like watching a magic trick.

This level of agility was truly unheard of, defying all logic and physics.

Grom Hellscream felt an instinctive wave of disgust wash over him. He recoiled.

This was the orcs' unique aesthetic sense at work. The Windrunner sisters, who were as beautiful as goddesses in the eyes of humans, were just weaklings who could not give birth to strong babies in the eyes of orcs, who liked broad shoulders, thick waists, and huge buttocks. They were just too… slender.

The contemptuous look of Grom, his sneer of disdain, made the great devil Alleria unhappy, her eyes narrowing dangerously, and Sylvanas even more unhappy, a cold fury simmering beneath her calm exterior.

"Hmph!" Six nostrils, three heroes, actually made the same cold snort, a synchronized expression of utter contempt.

This has to be said to be a bizarre misunderstanding, a clash of cultures and aesthetics.

It doesn't matter. Only dead enemies are the best enemies. This principle is applicable in every world, in every battle. Since they don't speak the same language and don't need to greet each other, the Windrunner sisters and Hellscream directly confronted each other, no pleasantries exchanged.

Walking on the waves, their figures were so fast that the naked eye could hardly keep up. They were blurs of motion. The Windrunner sisters were on the left and right, firing arrows in succession and approaching Hellscream at high speed, a deadly pincer movement.

Grom, with a guttural roar, grabbed a stack of shields hanging on the railings by the side of the ship and easily tore the ropes that bound the shields apart with his great force, snapping them like twigs. Originally, these were used by humans for boarding battles, but when Hellscream pulled them up, five or six shields turned into flying discs that were strong enough to cut a human body in half and were thrown out with terrifying force.

Of course, this kind of rough throw, a wild, untamed heave, would not hit the target. It was more about intimidation than accuracy.

Sylvanas, with an almost disdainful elegance, actually stretched out her slender legs, stepped on the shields flying in the air, using them as stepping stones, and flew over, a graceful leap.

In just ten seconds, Grom was hit by at least thirty arrows, a veritable pincushion of green fletching.

Although it looked bloody and miserable, a gruesome sight, the Windrunner sisters found that none of the arrows actually penetrated Grom's muscles or entered his internal organs. The arrows that were shot at Grom's fatal parts were either blocked by Gorehowl, deflected by the massive axe, or dodged with surprising agility.

Just as the Windrunner sisters closed within five meters of Grom, he fought back, unleashing his true power.

A deafening roar spread like a shock wave around the sinking ship, a primal scream that vibrated through the very air. It was obvious that both sisters were trembling all over, their bodies reacting instinctively to the raw power.

The next moment, the wooden boards under Grom's feet turned into powder, exploding outwards, and he jumped, a terrifying leap, and slashed towards Sylvanas with incredible swiftness, his axe a crimson blur.