Of course, Vorgath held back against me.
If he hadn't, I would have obviously died no questions asked. There wouldn't have been enough of me left to fill a thimble, just a fine red mist and perhaps one boot sailing through the air in a tragically comical arc.
I was too weak to hope to withstand him. The gap between us wasn't just a gap—it was a canyon so wide you couldn't see the other side through the clouds. Like comparing a kitchen match to a supernova. A paper cut to the Grand Canyon. A—well, you get the idea.
So why did I?
Well, it was logical.
Vorgath Ironmaw was the least rational of all the Five Popes.
This made him both the most and least dangerous of them. His unpredictability was a weapon in itself—no model could predict what someone would do when their decision tree looked like it had been drawn by a toddler during an earthquake.
In the end, he moved according to his base desires.
