The Sundering

Nine

The pain was a pleasure to Neltharion, for each bolt hammered into his scaled hide meant one step closer to godhood. With the armor and the disk, he would be invulnerable to any threat…

“Hurry!” the dragon demanded again. “Hurry!”

The goblins almost had the hammer machine in place. Meklo clung to the device, directing the last adjustments before the new strike —

And then a sound that the Earth Warder thought never to hear resounded through the caverns, a sound that so horrified the leviathan that he kicked out without thinking, sending the machine, Meklo, and the rest of the goblin crew flying.

“My disk! My Dragon Soul! Someone tries to steal it!” He let out a fearsome roar that sent the rest of the goblins retreating from the massive work chamber.

Neltharion rose. Only partially secured, the third of his metal plates dangled back and forth as he spun toward the passage. The black giant’s feet and tail sent tables, forges, and molds scattering across the cavern. Fires broke out and one furnace exploded, bombarding everything with burning missiles.

To Neltharion, none of the chaos and destruction mattered. Someone had dared attempt to take that which was most precious to him. He would not permit it! They would be caught and they would be slain… but slowly, agonizingly. It was the least that they deserved for such an affront.

That any intruder had gotten past all his various traps, guardians, and spells utterly outraged the Earth Warder. This had been a concerted effort and one that had to have been attempted by the other dragon flights. He would make them all suffer, as he had done to the blues.

Roaring again, the dragon hurried into the tunnel.

He comes! Krasus warned needlessly. He comes!

Then, the link between the pair was unexpectedly severed. Malfurion feared that something had happened to Krasus, but he knew that he could not concern himself with his friend. What mattered most was to escape with the Demon Soul.

“Druid! Come! Hurry!”

He slipped the disk into a pouch, the light fading as Malfurion sealed the bag. Climbing out, he saw Brox waiting anxiously by the nearest edge of the first troll’s cave. Moving swiftly, the night elf made his way to the other opening. Brox pulled him inside. Allowing Malfurion no time to catch his breath, the orc dragged his companion deeper into the cave.

“May be a way out! Wind may mean exit.”

The troll’s lair lay littered with bones and refuse. Malfurion tried not to look at the former, even if they were likely from goblins.

But their hopes for a path to freedom were quickly dashed. The two other chambers that they found led nowhere and the air current that Brox had felt came from small cracks.

“It would make sense that the dragon wouldn’t leave such a route open even to his enslaved trolls,” the night elf muttered. “We’re trapped…”

They heard heavy footsteps outside, but not the kind that a dragon would make. Malfurion peered around the edge of the chamber and made out the hulking form of the stone golem as it passed.

“Deathwing can’t be far behind…” No other title suited the black dragon anymore, not after what the druid had witnessed.

“We stand and fight, then,” Brox replied stoically. “Let them see we have no fear.”

The disk… use the disk…

Malfurion started. The voice vanished so quickly that he had no time to identify it, but it obviously had to be that of Krasus. The night elf still hesitated, though, aware of the dark powers of the Demon Soul. He had seen what wielding the disk had done to the dragon; might it not affect him in some similar manner?

A roar shook the cave. Rocks fell from the ceiling, some of them large enough to cave in a night elf’s skull. There was no more time left to think…

“Druid, what do you plan?” Brox asked anxiously as he saw Malfurion bring out the Demon Soul. Its light filled the chamber and, unfortunately, spread well beyond. If the golem did not know where they were before, certainly it knew now… and so, very soon, would Deathwing.

“It’s our only hope…” Malfurion raised the disk toward the largest of the air passages. He had no idea how the Demon Soul functioned, so he simply tried to imagine it creating for them an opening large enough for the pair to escape.

Nothing happened.

You must meld with it… let it be you and you it…

Again, the link vanished, but at least now the night elf had a clue. Focusing on the disk, Malfurion delved into it with his thoughts.

Immediately, he felt its unnerving nature. This was not an object that belonged of the mortal plane. The forces that Deathwing had summoned came in great part from elsewhere. The druid almost withdrew, but knew that he dared not.

Meld with it, Krasus had said. Malfurion tried to open himself up to the Demon Soul, let its power touch his own.

And just like that… he succeeded. The strength flowing through the night elf filled him with such confidence that it was all he could do to keep from marching out to confront Deathwing, the golem, and every other dragon in the lair. Only the knowledge that his own death would surely mean the end of hope for those he cared about prevented Malfurion from doing that.

The orc studied him warily. “Druid… are you well?”

“I’m fine,” he nearly snapped. Taking a deep breath, Malfurion gave Brox an apologetic look, then refocused the Demon Soul on the air passage.

“Open the way…” the night elf whispered.

The glow around the disk brightened… and suddenly the rock above melted away to vapor. It left no rubble, no trace whatsoever. The Demon Soul burned away stone and earth without any effort. Although they could not see the magical forces in play, the duo marveled at the effects. Further and further up went the new tunnel, disappearing from sight.

“It’ll continue until the path is completely cleared,” Malfurion said, although how he knew that, he could not say. “We should start up.”

What felt like thunder shook their tiny cave. Brox quickly looked around the corner. “The stone one’s trying to dig in!”

They wasted no more time. Malfurion leapt up into the magically-created passage, with Brox at his heels. The mountain continued to quake from the malevolent guardian’s efforts.

Worse, the two had only managed a few steps when they heard the dragon’s rumbling voice. “Where are they? I will peel the flesh from their bones, drive pins through ever nerve! Away!”

The last word was followed by a tremendous crash, which Malfurion could only assume was the golem being shoved aside by its master.

“This mountain will be your tomb!” Deathwing bellowed into the cavern.

There was a great sound — like a geyser that a younger Malfurion had once seen erupting — followed by a horrific increase in the temperature.

“Get in front of me!” the druid cried. As Brox leapt past, he pointed the Demon Soul behind them and threw his entire will into the sinister disk.

A savage gust of icy air shot down the tunnel… meeting only a short distance away a fiery flood of molten earth racing up. The monstrous flow slowed to a crawl… then halted less than a yard from Malfurion.

Gasping, the night elf scrambled back. Brox, eyes wide, carefully helped Malfurion up the path. The orc appeared overawed by the forces his comrade had wielded, overawed and not a little concerned.

“Be careful with that, druid. I trust not such might in so misleading a form.”

“I — I agree wholeheartedly.” And yet, it had felt exhilarating unleashing such power. Perhaps Malfurion had been wrong; perhaps he should have turned back to face the black dragon. Had he defeated Deathwing, one of the major threats to Kalimdor would have been removed. After that, the Burning Legion would hardly have seemed like so terrible a danger. With the Demon Soul, Deathwing had handled them quite easily.

The magicks of the disk continued to amaze them as they climbed. All along the way, they found the ground beneath them molded for proper footing. Thanks to that, the pair more than doubled their earlier pace.

“I feel wind,” Brox uttered carefully. “Stronger wind.”

Their hopes raised, they pushed on harder. Malfurion heard a sound which he at first took for hissing, but then realized was the very wind the orc had mentioned.

“There!” the night elf rasped. “The opening!”

Indeed, the Demon Soul had done exactly as asked. They emerged on the sloping edge of the mountain, a cool yet welcome breeze greeting their exit from the hellish lair.

They were not safe, yet, however. Sooner or later, Deathwing would realize that they had gotten outside. He and his flight would come in pursuit.

“Best put that away again,” the aging warrior suggested. “The glow will be seen.”

Malfurion did not bother to mention that Deathwing might be able to sense the disk even when it was in the pouch. Still, at least putting it away would give them a little better chance. His fingers reluctantly bidding the Demon Soul farewell, the druid tied the pouch tight.

Once more, it was Brox who led the way. The orc tested each step down the snowy slope, more than once finding spots where they would have ended up tumbling to their deaths. For now, Brox kept his ax secured. One stumble could cost him the valuable weapon.

Fortunately, the need for the dragon’s metalwork had meant that Deathwing had made use of caverns located lower in the mountain. While the way was dangerous, they at least did not have to try to descend an entire peak. Malfurion had hopes that they would reach the bottom well before first light.

But their luck seemed to again sour when a great form high above swooped past. Brox and Malfurion immediately fell into the snow, trying to cover themselves up as the dragon flew by.

It was indeed Deathwing and perhaps the only thing that had saved the two was the dragon’s own madness. Deathwing searched the area in a manic anger, disgorging massive shots of molten earth at the various peaks as he passed. Each struck with such force that whole parts of mountains went flying off, huge chunks raining down on the landscape. He did not seem to be probing the area with his magical senses or else surely he would have noticed them by now.

Malfurion raised his head. “I think he’s flying to the — ”

Deathwing abruptly veered, coming back their direction.

“Move!” growled Brox.

They leapt up from their hiding places, making for a large outcropping ahead. Over his shoulder, the night elf saw the rapidly-growing form of the huge black. It was impossible to tell from the dragon’s expression whether or not he had seen the pair, but he was certainly coming far too close for comfort.

As they leapt around the outcropping, the druid heard the same horrific sound that presaged each of the molten blasts.

“Here!” The orc pointed at an overhang. A lip on one side gave them some protection, but would it be enough?

The mountainside exploded.

The outcropping vanished utterly, the fragments everywhere. The temperature rose so high that snow melted. Great chunks of ancient ice slid off, crashing below. Sizzling puddles dotted the side of the peak.

Deathwing fluttered above the area, eyeing the devastation. The great beast moved in closer, then snorted in disgust. With a savage roar, he turned around and headed away again, this time winding around the mountain that housed his lair.

Behind what remained of the lip and half-buried in dirt and wet snow, Malfurion and Brox dug themselves free. The night elf coughed several times, then immediately checked the pouch. When his fingers touched the familiar shape of the disk, he sighed in relief.

Brox was not so cheery. “Deathwing’ll be back, druid. Must be away from here before then.”

Shaking off residual mud, they started down again. Every so often, they heard the dragon’s outraged roar, but the black leviathan did not make a reappearance. Nevertheless, the pair did not lessen their pace.

As they neared the bottom, the night elf peered into the valley below. “I don’t recognize where we are. I think we’re far from Krasus.” He closed his eyes. “I can’t sense him, either.”

“The elder one may be shielding self, with the black one out and angry.”

“But we have to find him, somehow.”

They agreed to wait until they were at the mountain’s base before worrying any more about it. Krasus was likely better off than they were.

The valley was a place of perpetual dark, the tall peaks keeping it in shadow. The night elf led the way, but Brox kept close. They were near enough to Deathwing’s domain to have to be concerned about goblins.

They needed to wind around to the left to reach where they had separated from Krasus, but after only a few yards that direction, the duo found themselves confronted by the edge of an overlapping mountain. Malfurion considered using the Demon Soul, but suspected that such a spell would certainly attract Deathwing’s attention. Besides, each time the druid used the disk, it proved harder to put it away again.

“It looks like if we head around the other way, it might just lead us all the way around,” suggested Malfurion.

“Agreed.”

Their new path forced them to climb over some of the rubble left by the dragon’s fury, but, fortunately, there were gaps here and there that worked to their advantage.

Another roar warned them of Deathwing’s return. Malfurion and the orc pressed themselves against the mountain base, watching as the giant flew directly overhead. Deathwing scanned the region carefully, but still missed them. They remained hidden until the dragon was well out of sight.

“Odd that we’ve only seen him. Where are all the other dragons?”

Brox had an answer immediately. “They find the disk; they may try to become leader.”

So it was the black’s paranoia that now served the two fleeing figures. Deathwing did not dare let another of his flight find the Demon Soul first. Even from what little Malfurion knew of its power, it might have very well been enough for a lesser dragon to defeat the powerful creature.

They quickly moved on, but again the path played tricks with them. Despite their best efforts, the night elf and the orc were forced farther away from their goal.

The druid grew frustrated. “I should just use the damn thing to bring us to Krasus!”

“And the black one will come right behind.”

“I know… it’s just — ”

A monstrous, armored figure collided with the orc.

At the same time, a lupine creature the size of a night saber leapt at the druid. From its back thrust a pair of vicious, wriggling suckers that immediately sought for the spellcaster’s chest.

A felbeast.

The clang of weapons quickly informed Malfurion that Brox would be of no immediate assistance to him. The druid struggled as the horrific demon atop him tried to snap off his head. Malfurion nearly choked, so overwhelming was the stench of the felbeast’s breath.

Row upon row of yellow fangs filled the night elf’s gaze. Drool from the monster splattered him, each drop burning like acid. Malfurion used one hand to keep the full weight of the creature off of him, while with the second he batted away at the two hungry suckers.

One, however, finally slipped past his defenses. With the sharp teeth lining the inside of the sucker, it adhered to his flesh.

Malfurion cried out as he felt it begin to drain him of his power. It mattered not whether a spellcaster was a sorcerer, wizard, or druid, the magic that they used quickly became a part of them. By draining it out of its victims, the felbeast also devoured their life force. Given time to finish its unholy meal, the felbeast would leave only a dried husk.

The night elf had no time to consider spells. Even as the pain multiplied, he fumbled for a pouch — any pouch.

Taking advantage of his distraction, the demon managed to get the second sucker adhered. Malfurion nearly blacked out, but knew that doing so would mean his terrible demise.

His fingers grazed one bag — the disk’s bag — and voices began whispering in his head.

Take it, use it, wield it… they said. Your only hope, your only chance… take the disk… the disk…

One of them reminded him of the voice that he had earlier thought to be Krasus. Malfurion desperately gripped the pouch, squeezing the Demon Soul out into his hand.

Immediately, he felt his confidence grow. The night elf glared at the fiendish visage above him.

“You want magic — I’ll give you magic!”

He touched the Demon Soul to one of the tentacles.

The felbeast’s eyes bulged. Its body swelled like a sack suddenly filled to bursting. In desperation, it removed the suckers from Malfurion’s chest.

A moment later, it exploded.

Gobbets of demon flesh splattered Malfurion, but he scarcely noticed. Rising to his feet, the druid used the disk’s power to instantly clean away the filth. He looked around and saw Brox still in combat against not one, but two Fel Guard. One was wounded, but clearly the orc was still at a disadvantage.

Malfurion casually pointed the Demon Soul at the one he could most clearly see.

A streak of golden light shot out, enveloping the demon warrior. He roared — then dissolved into a pile of dust.

The other Fel Guard hesitated. That was all the opening that Brox needed. The orc’s enchanted ax cut deep into the demon’s chest, armor and all.

As the second attacker fell, Brox spun about. Malfurion, a very satisfied smile on his face, started toward his companion.

“That went well,” he commented.

But Brox did not look so pleased. His eyes shifted to the disk.

The gaze filled Malfurion with sudden distrust. The voices returned, stronger than ever.

He covets the disk… he would have it for himself… it belongs to you… only you can use it to put the world in order…

“Druid,” the orc said. “You shouldn’t use that anymore. Evil, it is.”

“It saved both our lives just now!”

“Druid — ”

Malfurion stepped back, holding up the Demon Soul. “You want its power! You want to take it!”

“Me?” Brox shook his head. “I want nothing from it.”

“You lie!” The voices urged him on, telling him what to say. “You want to take over the Burning Legion from Archimonde and his master! You want them to conquer Kalimdor for you! I won’t let that happen! I’ll see the world in flames before I let you do that!”

“Druid! Do you hear yourself? Your words… there is no reason to them…”

“I won’t let you have it!” He pointed the disk at the orc.

He must be destroyed… they all must be destroyed… any who would desire the disk… who would take it from you…

Brox stood steadfast. He did not charge the night elf, did not even raise his ax in attack or defense. He simply watched and waited, leaving his fate in Malfurion’s hands.

And, at last, the druid realized what he had been about to do. He had been about to slay Brox just to keep the Demon Soul.

In disgust, Malfurion dropped the sinister disk and backed away from it. He looked again at his companion, seeking some manner by which to properly apologize to Brox for what had nearly happened.

The graying warrior shook his head, indicating that he placed no blame on the night elf.

“The disk,” he growled. “It is the disk.”

Malfurion did not like the notion of touching it again, but they had to take it with them. Krasus would surely know how best to handle the black dragon’s monstrous creation. All they needed to do was find him.

Locating a loose piece of cloth, Malfurion bent down to retrieve the Demon Soul. He knew in his heart that the cloth was no true protection against its enticements, but it was all he could do. To fight it — and the insidious voices that seemed to follow the disk — the night elf tried to concentrate on those dearest to him. If he fell victim to the Demon Soul, they would all pay with their lives. First and foremost, Tyrande, already a victim, appeared in his mind. Malfurion doubted very much that wielding the Demon Soul would somehow save her. Instead, it was more likely that the druid would end up slaying her as he nearly had Brox.

He gave thanks to Cenarius, whose wise, gentle teachings had helped give him the strength to turn from the voices. The Demon Soul was an abomination to the natural world and, therefore, an abomination to the druidic path.

“We’ve got to flee this place, Brox,” he said, straightening. “There’s no telling just how many more demons might be in this area — ”

His eyes widened as grotesque hands formed from the hard ground at his feet. With astounding speed, they seized Malfurion’s ankles, pinning him in place.

The orc let out a growl and started forward to help him. Brox, however, barely took a step before his own feet were similarly grabbed. Undaunted, he swung at one hand holding him, shattering it. That, though, gave him only a single step before two new ones resecured his freed limb.

Meanwhile, Malfurion found himself caught between using the Demon Soul — which still lay wrapped in his palm — and calling upon the natural forces which Cenarius had taught him to use. That hesitation cost him, for a veil of darkness abruptly covered his eyes and what felt like an iron clamp bound his mouth shut. The Demon Soul slipped from his startled grasp, clattering on the ground.

He heard Brox roar with outrage and the sound of the ax beating at stone. Then, there was harsh thump and the orc grew frighteningly silent.

A heavy breathing that Malfurion recognized as that of night sabers first warned the druid that their attackers drew near. The Burning Legion, though, did not use the panthers. As far as he recalled, only his own people did.

Someone from the palace?

“You let them live. Why?” asked a voice that was indeed that of a night elf, but had the emotion of a demon.

“These two will be of great interest to our lord…

” Malfurion started at the second voice. Could it be?

He heard something land lightly on the ground, followed by footsteps coming toward him. There was a scraping sound as the nearby figure picked up what could only be the dragon’s foul creation.

“Not much to look at,” the one standing near Malfurion commented. Almost as an afterthought came the words that verified the druid’s worst fears. “Hello, brother…”