The Sundering

Fifteen

Above the center of the Well of Eternity, the Demon Soul flared bright. Within the abyss formed by the Sargeras’s spell, forces set in play by both the Soul and the Well churned, slowly building up into the creation of a stable portal. From his monstrous realm, the lord of the Legion prepared for his entrance into this latest prize. Soon, so very soon, he would eradicate all life, all existence, from it… and then he would go on to the next ripe world.

But there were others waiting in growing expectation, others with dire dreams far older than even that of the demon lord. They had waited for so very long for the means to escape, the means to reclaim what had once been theirs. Each step of success by Sargeras toward strengthening his portal was a step of success for them. With the Well, with the Demon Soul, and with the lord of the Legion’s might, they would instead open up a window into their eternal prison.

And once open, there would be no sealing it again.

The Old Gods waited. They had done so for so very long, they could wait a little longer.

But only a little…

And with the entrance of Sargeras surely imminent, Archimonde threw everything into the battle. He stripped warriors from all other directions, knowing that the defeat of the host would be the defeat of the world.

The host, in turn, fought because it had no choice but to fight. Night elves, tauren, and others knew only that to give in meant to bend their necks to demon blades. Fall they might, but not without giving everything they could.

Malfurion struggled to do his part. His spells summoned whirlwinds that carried aloft warriors and beasts, then dropped them from deathly heights. Seeds cast by him into those winds sprouted full-grown in the demon bellies, ripping their hosts to shreds. The lifeless corpses then dropped down upon the Legion, causing further havoc.

Deep below the earth, Malfurion found the burrowers, the worms and such, who had managed so far to hide from the evil. Urged on by him, they churned away at the ground, making it unstable. Tusked warriors suddenly sank beneath as if in quicksand, while others, bogged down, fell easy prey to archers and lancers.

In the sky, the demons held sway, but they held it with much cost. Jarod had archers almost fully concentrating on the Doomguard and their like. Whatever the carnage caused by the winged furies, many paid for it with bolts bristling out of their necks.

The Moon Guard fought valiantly against the Eredar, the Infernals, and, worse, the Dreadlords. The night elves were strengthened not only by Rhonin and Krasus, but also the shamans of the tauren and furbolgs. The shamans worked in much more subtle manners, but their results were proven by warlocks who fell over dead or simply vanished.

And yet, there were always more demons to replace those who perished.

Brox stood at the forefront with Jarod and Kalimdor’s legendary guardians, the orc seeming as astounding a creature as the beings by whose side he fought. Brox laughed as he had not since that day of battle when he and his comrades had expected to die valiantly. Indeed, the graying warrior expected to die now, but still his ax proved the superior, cutting through foe after foe as if it hungered for demon flesh. It was not merely the magic instilled in the weapon that caused such damage to the enemy, but the skill with which the orc wielded it. Brox was a master of his art, which was why his chieftain, Thrall, had chosen him in the first place.

Then, a pack of felbeasts caught one of the bears by surprise, leaping atop their victim and quickly bringing down the giant. Before their gargantuan adversary even hit the ground, a score more joined the first pack. Their suckers immediately adhered to the furred body and the monsters drank lustily of the guardian’s inherent magic… and, thus, life.

The fallen one’s twin roared angrily when he saw what had happened. Pummeling aside Fel Guard, he threw himself upon the horrific leeches. One by one, the demigod tore them away from the unmoving form, ripping off heads and breaking backs in the process.

But when he had reached his twin, it was immediately evident that rescue had come too late.

Raising his head high, the forest guardian roared his pain, then turned on the ranks of demons and began rampaging through their lines as if they were made of paper. Despite lances and other weapons constantly pincushioning him, he dug deeper into the Burning Legion, swiftly leaving behind his other companions until he could no longer even be seen. Brox and Jarod, closest to the front, heard his last, unrepentant roar… and then noted grimly the silence that followed.

Bodies lay littered for as far as the eye could see and it was not uncommon for combatants to duel one another standing atop the corpses of their predecessors. Demigods fought besides night elves who fought beside tauren who fought beside furbolgs, Earthen, and more and all wore the same grim expressions.

It was Cenarius who still led Kalimdor’s epic guardians and he tore at the demons with a violence that shocked even Rhonin and Krasus. His gnarled talons stripped through armor and flesh, spilling the monstrous warriors’ innards upon the field. The forest lord fought as if one possessed and with the death of each fellow guardian, his efforts grew more terrifying, more relentless. He seemed determined to make up for all those who had fallen, no matter the cost to himself.

And fall they continued to do. With Fel Guard clutching him like hounds worrying their prey, the great boar, Agamaggan, finally teetered. He rammed into several felbeasts, tossing them up or goring them with his tusks, but then, at last, the weight of so many demons proved too much. The demigod dropped to his knees, where his tenacious adversaries began chopping in earnest at his torso. The huge beast shook off some of those clinging to him, but that proved his last effort. Blood dripping from a hundred deep wounds, he groaned… and then stilled. Even after, the savage attacks on his body did not cease, the demons so caught up in their butchery that they did not yet realize that they had slain him.

This latest death spurred Cenarius yet further. He fell upon the demons hacking away at the boar’s mangled corpse, crushing their throats or impaling them on the other demigod’s thorny mane. Such was his fury that at last he became the prime focus of the Burning Legion’s onslaught. The invisible hand of Archimonde guided the most powerful of demons toward the forest lord.

Already battling for their own survival, there was nothing Krasus or any of the others could do. More and more the fearsome warriors surrounded Malfurion’s mentor until even Cenarius’s antlers could barely be seen.

Then… just as it seemed he, too, would fall, there was again the flash of white once seen by Rhonin. A gargantuan, four-legged form struck the swarm of demons head on. A rack several times more massive than that of the forest lord threw fiery warriors by the score from the faltering Cenarius. Huge hooves crushed in hard skulls or caved in armored chests. Teeth snapped off limbs or ripped open throats.

And only at last did the astounding creature come into focus. There, towering over the weakened Cenarius, a magnificent, pure white stag held the demons at bay. So much did his coat gleam that the minions of the Burning Legion were half-blinded, making them easy prey for the massive animal.

Again and again, the stag used his antlers to clear the bloody field before him of foes. Nothing, not even Infernals, could slow his efforts. He cleared the Burning Legion not only from the area of the fallen forest lord, but even from that of other defenders nearby.

Brox and Jarod suddenly found themselves under the overwhelming gaze of the stag. Words did not pass from the gigantic creature to them, yet, somehow they knew that they were to drag Cenarius back from the battle. This they did even as a new wave of horror charged forward. Yet, before the stag, nothing long stood. Row upon row of demon rushed up with weapons drawn, only to be torn to shreds moments later.

But if the Legion’s blades could not bring down this new champion, the horde had other, more sinister tools at their disposal. From the sky there abruptly came black lightning, which burnt and baked the ground around the stag. In the lightning’s wake erupted dark, green fires that scorched the pristine coat of the demigod. Charred earth rose up and, forming clawed hands, seized the four legs tight.

Then, the ranks of demons parted… and through the ominous gap strode Archimonde himself.

With each step toward the stag, Archimode swelled in size until he stood as tall as his adversary. In contrast to his manic warriors, the demonic commander remained stone-faced, almost analytical. He held no weapon, but his clenched fists radiated the same monstrous fire that burned around the stag.

The demigod shook, breaking away the earthy claws. Then, with a challenging snort, the demigod lowered his antlers and met the archdemon.

Their collision was marked by thunder and a tremor that toppled fighters for some distance around. Demons and night elves alike fled the awesome fury of their duel. Where the stag’s hooves struck the harsh ground, sparks flew up into the heavens. Archimonde’s own feet dug deep, creating ravines and tossing up new hills taller than his warriors.

Bloody scars traced the paths of the demon’s claws in the stag’s hide. Sharp, glistening dots from which burst green fire showed where antlers had pierced Archimonde’s seemingly impervious skin. Demon and demigod wrestled and no other living creature dared come in their path.

Further back, Jarod and Brox, joined midway by Dungard the Earthen, brought the stricken Cenarius to where Krasus stood. Risking an attack by the Eredar, Krasus pulled himself from the battle to investigate the forest lord’s condition.

“ ’Tis some bad wounds he’s suffered,” muttered Dungard, taking out his pipe.

“He is badly struck,” the mage agreed after running his hands across Cenarius’s chest. “The poison that is a part of all demons affects him much more than most, possibly because of his affinity to Kalimdor itself.” Krasus grimaced. “Still, I think he will live…”

At that moment, the demigod muttered something. Only Krasus knelt close enough to hear his words properly and when the robed figure looked up, he wore an expression of sorrow.

“What is it?” asked Jarod.

But before Krasus could answer, from the battlefield came a terrible cry. As they all turned toward its source, they witnessed Archimonde with one arm around the giant stag’s neck, his other hand twisting his foe’s muzzle to the side. Already the stag’s head turned at an awful angle, hence the cry.

Krasus leapt to his feet. “No! He must not!”

It was already too late. The demon, his expression still indifferent, tightened his hold further.

A tremendous cracking sound echoed through the region, one that, for just a brief moment, caused all other noises to cease.

And in Archimonde’s grip, Cenarius’s valiant rescuer fell limp and lifeless.

With an almost flagrant detachment, the archdemon tossed aside his adversary as one might discard a piece of refuse. He then wiped his hands and gazed at the stunned defenders.

Suddenly, creeping vines rushed up from the otherwise lifeless soil, seizing Archimonde’s limbs and squeezing tight. Undaunted, Archimonde tore off one set of vines, but as he attempted to throw them away, they instead wrapped around his wrist. At the same time, others grew to take the place of those removed.

Malfurion Stormrage stepped forward, facing the distant demon with eyes as dead as when he had first told the others of Tyrande’s kidnapping. A static aura surrounded him and he constantly muttered over a small piece of what Krasus was the first to recognize as a leaf similar to those of the vines.

Archimonde’s expression never shifted, but his movements became more frantic. The vines now covered three-quarters of his immense body and appeared all but certain to drape the rest imminently.

Perhaps realizing this, the archdemon ceased his attempts to remove the strangling plants. Instead, eyes narrowed, he freed his arms enough to bring his hands together.

And as Archimonde clasped his fingers… the Legion’s terrifying commander vanished in a blaze of green flame.

Malfurion gasped. The druid went down on one knee, shaking his head.

“I’ve failed him…” Brox and the mage heard him mutter. “Failed my shan’do when I most shouldn’t have…”

The orc and the Earthen looked to Krasus for some explanation. The robed figure pursed his lips for a moment, then, quietly explained, “The great Green Dragon, the Aspect called Ysera, is the mother of Cenarius, the forest lord.”

Dungard, who had been puffing on his pipe, furrowed his brow, then said, “My people always thought it to be Elune who birthed the forest lord…”

“The true tale is quite complicated,” replied Krasus.

Brox still said nothing, aware that there was more to come.

“His father…” the mage continued, “his father is the ancient woodland spirit, Malorne…”

After a moment, the orc finally asked, “And so?”

“Malorne… also called the White Stag.”

Dungard almost dropped his pipe. A sharp intake of breath marked Brox’s sudden understanding. He looked out to where the huge, torn body of the beast lay sprawled ignominiously among the other dead. The father had come to save the son at cost of his own life, something any orc easily understood.

“I failed him…” Malfurion repeated, forcing himself up. He glanced at Krasus. “From you, I learned that Ysera was my shan’do’s mother — which was surprise enough — but I already knew the truth concerning Malorne. Cenarius made it known to me during my studies that he was seed of the White Stag…” The night elf clenched his fist. “And when I saw what Archimonde had done to the father of he who’s been like a parent to me, I wanted nothing more than to squeeze the life out of the fiend.”

Krasus put a comforting hand on the druid’s shoulder. “Have heart, young one. You have briefly driven Archimonde from the battle, no light thing…” The mage’s eyes narrowed as he glanced past his companion to the field of carnage. “It at least buys us time…”

Malfurion shook himself from his sorrow. “We’re losing, aren’t we?”

“I fear so. With all we throw against them, the demons still prove too strong. I had been certain — had thought — ” Krasus spat. “I dared turn Time on its head, did everything despite my own warnings… and the results are nothing but calamity after calamity!”

“I don’t understand…”

“You need understand only this — unless the dragons come and come soon, we shall fall, if not by the blades of the Burning Legion, than by a darker, more ancient evil that manipulates even the dread Sargeras! You know of that which I speak! You felt their awful presence! You know what they would wish of this world! They — ”

A howl erupted from Krasus.

“What — ” began the druid.

Krasus bent low to the ground. The others watched in horror as his limbs began to turn to stone.

“Eredar!” shouted Malfurion. He felt his own limbs begin to contort in what he knew presaged the same dire fate as that striking the mage. “Brox! Seek out Rhonin — ”

But the orc was in no better state than the night elf. Wounded though Archimonde had to be, it was clear to all that he had orchestrated this insidious spell that struck only them. Sargeras’s lieutenant knew well that to slay Krasus and his band would be to put an end to the last major hurdle preventing the Burning Legion’s victory. Even Jarod lay stricken.

Then, just as each felt the growing stone constrict their lungs and force out their last breath, they heard in their minds a feminine voice that both comforted and steeled them. Fear not, it said, and breathe easy…

As one, Krasus, Malfurion, Brox, and Jarod gratefully inhaled. At the same time, they noticed the rising of the wind and the tremendous shadow passing overhead.

“She has come!” roared Krasus, lifting his hands to the heavens. “They have come!”

The sky filled with dragons.

They were red, green, and bronze, the flights of Alexstrasza, Ysera, and the absent Nozdormu. The two Aspects dominated the array, their tremendous wings alone spanning distances several times that of the dragons next nearest in size.

As one, the leviathans dove down toward the demons, who were still focused on their earthbound foes.

“Jarod!” called Krasus, spinning on the host’s commander. “Get those horns roaring so loud and so long that there will be no mistaking their intent! The day can still be ours!”

Jarod seized the nearest night saber and rode off. As he vanished in the distance, the dragons began their attack in earnest.

A line of crimson giants opened their mighty maws and unleashed an inferno. Fire swept over the Legion’s front lines, several hundred demons burnt to ash in the blink of an eye.

Bronze dragons swept over the demon ranks… and as they passed, the monstrous warriors moved in reverse. Yet, while Time had turned about for them, it had not for those behind. Chaos ensued as a collision of titanic proportions created utter mayhem among Archimonde’s fighters.

One of the bronzes fell — twisted beyond recognition — as the Eredar and Nathrezim sought to hold back this imposing attack. But their spells faltered and their focus turned on one another as the flight of Ysera hovered above. The closed, dreaming eyes of the green dragons put nightmares into the minds of the susceptible spellcasters. Warlocks looked at one another and saw only the enemy about them.

They reacted accordingly. Eredar slew Eredar and Nathrezim gladly joined in the slaughter. Trapped in the dark daydreams created by the greens, the demons were merciless against their own kind and even Archimonde could not rouse them from their lethal mistake.

Back behind the mayhem, Alexstrasza descended to where Krasus and the others awaited her. Ysera began to do the same — but then, to the astonishment of those who knew of her, the Aspect’s eyes opened wide at the horrific sight that lay in the midst of the battlefield. Beautiful, glistening, jade orbs drank in the vision of the white, antlered corpse.

Malorne’s corpse.

The dragon let out a wail — not a roar, but a very pitiful wail — and flew to where the giant stag lay. The demons still in the area fell victim to her immediate outrage. Ysera snapped up several, crushed others, and sent the rest flying with a slap of one massive wing.

When there was no one else upon which to vent her sorrows, She of the Dreaming descended next to the stag and rested her chin upon his broken head. Her body shook from what could only be sobs.

“We had known we would be late…” Alexstrasza managed, eyeing her counterpart with much understanding. “But not so late as this…”

“Cenarius still lives,” Krasus pointed out. “She must be made aware of that.”

With a nod, the Aspect of Life momentarily shut her eyes. A moment later, Ysera lifted her head and looked their way. The two giants gazed at one another, then Ysera fluttered up from Malorne’s body.

The others stepped back as she landed next to the unconscious Cenarius. With remarkable delicacy, Ysera took the prone forest lord into her forepaws.

“They will suffer such nightmares that whatever they have for hearts will explode…” she grated. “I will bring upon them demons of their own, who will drive them mad until all they can think about is death… but I will not permit them to wake long enough to achieve it…”

She would have gone on — and also made good her promise — but Krasus dared interrupt. “Render onto the Legion what fate it deserves, She of the Dreaming, but recall that the fate of Kalimdor — that which Malorne and Cenarius fought well for — still hangs in the balance! Sargeras seeks entrance into the mortal plane… and the Old Gods seek to manipulate the demon lord for their own escape!”

“And well aware we are of this,” Alexstrasza interjected before a still-distraught Ysera could snap back at the mage. “What is it that must be done?”

“The struggle must go on here, but it also must come to Zin-Azshari… and the Well. It will take both dragon and mortal, for there are many elements to confront there.”

“Tell us what you plan.” Ysera almost objected to her sister’s acquiescence, but Alexstrasza would brook no delay from even her. “You know him! You have but to see within him to understand that he must be listened to!”

The emerald dragon finally bowed her head. “So long as the demons suffer.”

“We will all suffer,” the cowled mage went on. “If we do not stop the portal from reaching full bloom…” Krasus faced the direction of far-off Zin-Azshari. “A thing that cannot be too far-off, if what I sense means anything…”

Sargeras felt Archimonde’s hidden dismay. The demon lord was disappointed with his most trusted servant — who had never failed before — but there would be time to punish Archimonde later. The portal was nearly finished. Sargeras wondered why it had taken so long for him to consider this plan. It had all proven so simple.

Still, in the long run, such things did not matter. All that did was that soon he would step into Kalimdor and when that happened, not all the dragons in that world would be able to save it from him…

They felt the nearness of their freedom quickly approaching. How ironic that it would be one who had once been one of the hated Titans who would prove the instrument of their release! It had taken the combined might of many Titans to even force them into captivity; after their triumphant return, there would be little effort needed to eradicate this single, arrogant creature and turn his warriors to serving their cause.

The portal strengthened. The time when to usurp it fast approached. Most amusing, the pathetic little beings who fought the fallen Titan’s warriors thought that they could take back the disk. Even now, the imprisoned entities could sense the dragons — the Titans’ hounds — approaching the Well.

They would be in for a very fatal surprise.