To Fell the Fel [Great]

[Kakashi Hatake]

“Lak’tuk! Our Chieftain demand flesh, kill invaders!”

Tagar Spinebreaker sat upon his rough-hewn throne in his personal quarters, staring down at a piece of paper he had recently acquired: a detailed map of the forest he had found himself in not long ago. A savage grin spread across the warlord’s face as he heard the frenzied cries of his minions making battle with what few Elvish scum had survived their last attack. He made no move to assist his underlings; it didn’t matter much to him, no matter who the battle claimed, there would be fresh meat tonight.

Tagar’s attention was drawn away from the diagram as one of his many peons entered. “Chieftain Spinebreaker,” the Fel orc croaked, dragging a large club in his wake.

“What you want?!” the Chieftain snarled, leaning forward in his throne aggressively. At nearly four hundred pounds and 8 feet tall, he dwarfed the underling.

“We find other elves,” the smaller orc replied, eying the dirt at his feet. “We kill?”

The Fel orc chief rose from his throne, his heavy frame barely contained by the small hut. “KILL!” the leader roared, slamming his fist on the arm of his throne. Spinebreaker was not known for his kindness.

It had been nearly a month since he and his battalion had arrived in this realm from their home in Outland. Since then, they had commenced doing what they did best: killing and destroying. The blood curse that warped their minds and augmented their abilities seemed to have only grown stronger since leaving Draenor. The bloodlust the orcs normally felt seemed nearly insatiable in this locale. Tagar vaguely remembered his Warchief telling him that their strength came from the fountain in the Hellfire peninsula; the orc wondered why the separation from the fount had stirred such rage in his body.

Presently the warlord returned to his seat on the now-splintered throne, spreading the map over his knees. Before he could return his dim mind to puzzling through what the elvish lettering meant, his attention was drawn to a slim silhouette darkening his doorway. The figure bore spiky silver hair behind a porcelain mask. “Who you?!” Tagar growled, getting to his feet.

The man did not respond, instead dashing toward the battle-ready orc. The warlord’s meaty paw fell to his side, gripping the familiar handle of his massive battleaxe. He swung the blade horizontally toward the newcomer, bloodlust pounding in his head as the blade glided through the air unimpeded. The orc growled as the man avoided his attack, ducking low to avoid the implement.

“I ASK WHO YOU ARE, ELF SCUM!” The warlord bounded forward, his massive thigh muscles propelling him forward with unreal speed. He heaved his weapon high over his head, bringing the blade down toward the interloper. Again he was met with the heavy thud of his blade meeting something non-fleshy, this time the dense forest soil. His opponent seemed to have vanished. “I kill you, I eat your flesh!” Tagar roared at nothingness, pulling his ax free from the dirt. With a snarl of frustration he began frantically scanning the small hut, attempting to locate the elf. He finally leveled his burning gaze on the intruder in time to see a fist flying toward his face.

“Grah!” the Fel orc groaned as the strike impacted, the figure’s small frame belying the strength of his blows. Rage tore through the warlord’s veins as he shook off the impact, lifting his battleaxe once more. Without a second thought he leapt forward toward the masked man, bringing the ax down with all of his might. His silver-haired foe was taken aback by the orc’s sudden recovery, hesitating for just a moment too long. Tagar cackled with glee as the blade made contact with his foe, cleaving him at the shoulder and slamming into the ground.

“I eat your bones!” Spinebreaker roared, glancing upon the fallen corpse of his foe. He let go of his ax, striding forward to better examine his kill. Before he could make a reasonable assessment, the body vanished in a puff of smoke. His tusked jaw fell agape as the smoke cleared, blinking purposefully in an attempt to make sense of what he had seen. As he leaned forward to examine the dirt where the body had lain, a blade pierced his back.

“I love a good Shadow Clone,” Kakashi muttered lazily from behind the behemoth, his sword buried in the orc’s muscled back. “No one ever sees it coming,” he said, forcing the blade through the warlord. His foe made a retching noise as the sharingan-wielder's chokuto slid through the other side.

“YOU-” Tagar snarled, his meaty hands wrapping around the shinobi’s blade. The tainted orc ignored the piercing pain, holding tight to the instrument. Roaring with rage, he clamored to his feet and turned to face the ninja. As his hand made to grasp his battle axe, the man once more vanished. The warlord heard the words and felt the excruciating pain in the same instant as the blade was wrenched from the crimson flesh.

“You really should have seen that coming,” Kakashi muttered darkly from behind his mask. Larea’s pleading eyes appeared in the shinobi’s mind as he stared at the demonic humanoid. As the orc turned once more to meet him, the copy ninja brought the saber across the beast’s throat.