The Sundering

Sixteen

A storm raged over the Well, one that from even such a far distance Malfurion could detect all too easily. It was no normal storm, not even in the sense of those that frequented the mystical waters. This one touched upon powers that were not a part of the mortal plane, powers all too akin to those unleashed by the Burning Legion.

The Burning Legion… and something more.

The druid did not quite understand just who or what the Three were even after having been touched by their ancient evil. In truth, Malfurion did not want to know more. What had insinuated itself into his mind during the quest into Deathwing’s lair had been enough to make him determined that such beings could never be allowed to enter Kalimdor… if that was any more possible to achieve than stopping the entrance of the lord of the Legion.

He glanced up and around him at the hope of his world. A dozen dragons, Alexstrasza and Ysera at their head. Another female who represented the bronzes followed close behind. Three others of each flight flew in their wake, all of them consorts of one of the Aspects, including this Nozdormu spoken of earlier by Krasus.

The mage himself rode astride the giant red’s shoulders, seeming to drink in the wind as they sailed. Knowing him for what he was, Malfurion suspected that Krasus tried to imagine himself as one of the dozen leviathans, his own wings sending him coursing through the heavens.

Brox rode the bronze leader and Rhonin one of Alexstrasza’s mates. The red Aspect’s senior consort — Tyranastrasz — oversaw the dragon efforts against Archimonde, but the rest were with her, save the stricken Korialstrasz. As for Malfurion, the night elf had the honor to have as his mount Ysera. She had, in fact, insisted upon his being the one she carried.

“You are his pride,” she had told the druid, speaking of Cenarius, “and for what you sought to do for him and Malorne, I owe you this…”

Unable to articulate any worthy reply, Malfurion had simply bowed before her, then climbed up near her shoulders.

And off they had flown, as simple as all that, to face the terrible might of the demon lord and those manipulating him.

As simple as that… all knowing that they might very well perish.

Yet, for Malfurion, it was even more complex than that. At this point, he had little fear concerning his own death — any sacrifice he made worth it to stop such menace — but there were others on his mind as well. Somewhere near their destination, somewhere near or within vast Zin-Azshari, he hoped to find Tyrande and Illidan.

He still could not forgive himself for what had befallen Tyrande and could not blame her if she could not find it in her heart to forgive him, either. He had let her fall into the Legion’s clutches, a most unthinkable fate. No, if, as he hoped, Tyrande lived, Malfurion expected nothing but hatred and contempt from his childhood friend.

What he expected from himself if he came across his brother, the druid could not even imagine, but something would have to be done about Illidan.

Something…

“Illidan, please! You must listen to me!” Tyrande blurted as the sorcerer dragged her along with him. It was not her first such outburst, but she hoped that this time he might heed her words. “This is not the path you should take! Think! By embracing the power of the Legion, you more and more draw yourself toward their evil!”

“Don’t talk nonsense! I’m going to save Kalimdor! I’ll be its beloved hero!” He turned on her. “Don’t you understand? Nothing else has worked! We fought and fought and the Legion just keeps coming! I finally came to realize that the only way to deal with demons was to understand them as only they can understand themselves! We must use what they were against them! That’s why I came here and pretended to join their ranks! I even fooled their lord into granting me his greatest gifts — ”

“Gifts? You call what he did to your eyes gifts?”

Malfurion’s brother loomed over her, looking at that moment more like one of the demons than any night elf. “If you could see as I do, you’d know how amazing the powers are he gave me…” With an unnerving smile, Illidan allowed her again to see the pits where once his eyes had been. He paid no mind when Tyrande, just as she had upon her first view of the horror wrought upon him, involuntarily pulled back. Replacing the scarf, he concluded, “Yes, the greatest gifts imaginable… and the greatest weapons against the Burning Legion…”

The sorcerer pulled her along again and although it was within the priestess’s power to struggle free of him, in truth, Tyrande did not exactly wish to leave Illidan. She feared for him, feared for his heart and mind and wanted to do what she could to try to save the misguided spellcaster. The teachings of Elune only in part guided her; Tyrande Whisperwind still recalled vividly the younger Illidan, the Illidan full of dreams, hope, and goodness.

She only prayed that some part of that younger Illidan still existed within this more jaded, highly-ambitious figure eagerly dragging her through a demon-benighted land.

Thinking of the armored horrors she had already fought, Tyrande glanced around as they wended their way through the fallen city. Each moment, the priestess expected one of the monstrous warriors to pop up from among the ruins and attack. Surely, Mannoroth knew of Illidan’s treachery by now.

Perhaps noticing her glances or even reading her thoughts, the black-clad sorcerer slyly informed Tyrande, “The spellwork over the Well has Mannoroth’s full attention and he thinks little of me as it is. I’ve cast the illusion that I’ve returned to my quarters and am meditating.” He grinned wide. “Besides that, the flight of several of the Highborne — the priestess of Elune with them — has also taken their focus elsewhere.”

In the distance, they heard Legion horns again sounding the chase. Tyrande prayed to Elune to watch over Dath’Remar and his comrades. They had a long, long way to ride and so many demons to fight through.

Oblivious to her concern for the Highborne, Illidan grinned and added, “Yes, this should give me just enough time for what I planned!”

“And what is that?” Even as she asked, Tyrande saw in the distance the black, foreboding waters. “Why are we headed toward the Well?”

“Because I intend to turn Sargeras’s portal into a full-fledged maelstrom, one that will suck the demons back out of Kalimdor and into their nether world! I’ll utterly reverse the effect of the dragon’s disk! Think of it! With one spell, I’ll save not only our people, but everything!”

His expression shifted, now almost seeming hopeful of her approval. However, when Tyrande did not immediately show such emotion, Illidan quickly became his harsher self again.

“You don’t believe I can do it! Maybe if I was your precious Malfurion, you’d be jumping up and down, clapping your hands at my cleverness!”

“It isn’t that at all, Illidan! I just — ”

“Never mind!” He peered around the stormy landscape, seeking something. His monstrous gaze alighted on a fallen tree home. The angle of the dead oak meant that they could climb inside and get a perfect view of the Well of Eternity. “Just Perfect! Get in there!”

Practically tossed forward, the priestess wended her way into the ruined domicile. The sorcerer followed right behind, all but shoving her as they went.

As she climbed into the overturned structure, Tyrande’s foot kicked something.

A skull.

She found herself standing amidst a pile of bones from at least five or six figures. No skeleton was complete and most of the bones had long, telling scratches and gouges in them. Tyrande shuddered, hoping that the felbeasts had feasted on dead carcasses, not living, helpless victims, but from experience fearing the worst.

“You can pray over them once I’ve saved all of us,” Illidan remarked disdainfully. “Just ahead looks like the best — ”

A monstrously-familiar form leapt out of the shadows.

It took down Malfurion’s twin before he could react. Tyrande screamed, then immediately called upon the power of Elune.

But before she could do anything, the felbeast, its tentacles already seeking Illidan’s chest, howled painfully. The demon hound writhed as the sorcerer calmly rose. Illidan’s right hand held both suckers together.

“I could use the magic you’ve been gorging yourself on…” he commented almost blithely to the creature.

The night elf planted his left palm against the suckers. However, unlike times past, this felbeast showed no interest in trying to drink from its intended victim. Instead, it fought — however futilely — to pull its vile appendages back.

Illidan’s left hand glowed an eerie green that Tyrande recognized as the same color as the horrific flames surrounding the demons. Malfurion’s twin inhaled — and Tyrande watched in horror as the demon literally crumbled to dust from end to front, whining to the last. Its very essence was sucked into the sorcerer’s palm.

As the horrific vision unfolded, Illidan’s aspect became something frightening to behold. Even though he had replaced the scarf over his eye sockets, she could see the terrible fires burning within. The sorcerer wore a wide, almost drunken grin and around him flared green flames as potent as those surrounding any demon. Illidan seemed to swell —

Then, the flames abruptly died away and the sorcerer instantly returned to his normal appearance. He wiped clean his hand, then kicked a little at the ash that was all that remained of the felbeast. Smoothing his hair, Illidan gave Tyrande another confident smile. “Well! Shall we proceed?”

The priestess hid her shock as best she could. This was no longer the Illidan with whom she had grown up. This figure reveled in carnage as much as the demons themselves did. Worse, that he could so eagerly accept into his body the taint of the Legion stirred within her a disgust that Tyrande had never experienced.

Mother Moon, guide me in this! Tell me what to do! Can I still save him?

“Up here,” her companion ordered. “I can focus on the center of the Well from that point on the roof.”

Moving past the bones, they climbed up to what had once been an elegant roof terrace. Broken rails originally shaped from living wood lay scattered on the ground below and a pearl statue of Azshara — still amazingly whole — lay tangled in the dead foliage of the tree that had supported the house.

Illidan propped himself against what had once been the mosaic floor. Bits of the forest pageantry that decorated it still remained, revealing bits of fanciful animals, bucolic scenery, and lush trees.

Queen Azshara’s beatific countenance still made up the center. Malfurion’s brother rested his head against her full, if now cracked, lips.

“Nearly time,” he murmured, speaking to himself more than her. From a pouch on his belt, Illidan removed a long, narrow vial. Although the crimson glass hid exactly what was within, Tyrande sensed just enough about its contents to feel her anxiety rise.

“Illidan… what’s in that bottle?”

His shrouded gaze did not shift from the container. “Just a bit of the Well itself.”

“What?” His words, said so lightly expressed, shook her to the core. Illidan had dared take from the night elves’ source of power? “But — no one — it’s forbidden — even the Highborne would never think — ”

The sorcerer nodded. “No… even they wouldn’t. That is so interesting about our people, wouldn’t you say, Tyrande? Surely, though, the notion occurred to someone before me… perhaps that’s where our legends of our greatest spellcasters comes from. Maybe they secretly borrowed from the Well for a special casting or two! Probably did.” Illidan shrugged, his countenance stiffening again. “But even if no one else ever did, I don’t see any reason why I should hold back. It just came to me, as if out of the blue. Take some of the Well for myself and there will be nothing too great for me to achieve!”

“But the Well — even a drop of it — ” Tyrande had to make him see sense! Dabbling with the waters of the Well in such a way courted disaster on par with his acceptance of the Legion’s dark magic.

“Yes… imagine what forces this entire vial contains…” Had Illidan still had true eyes, they would have lit up with anticipation of the results he expected. “Should be enough to enable me to save the world!”

But the priestess was not so convinced. As an acolyte of Elune, Tyrande was far more aware of the Well’s legends and history than Illidan could possibly be. “Illidan… to use the Well against itself in such a way… you could be opening the doors to utter chaos! Remember the tale of Aru-Talis…”

“Aru-Talis is only that. A myth.”

“And is the gaping crater, so many generations overgrown now by new life, also a myth?”

He waved off her warning. “No one knows what happened to that city or even if it really existed! Spare me your stories of wisdom and fear…”

“Illidan — ”

The scarved face contorted in growing anger. “I want you to be quiet… now.”

“ — ” No sound escaped Tyrande’s mouth despite her best attempt to create even the slightest noise. Even when she coughed, it was in utter silence.

Standing again, Illidan eyed the center of the Well. The storm had grown so intense that the ruined tree home now shook from the rising winds. Over the waters, unsettling, almost ghostly lights flashed.

The priestess shook her head. It bothered her that, despite Illidan’s own confidence in his abilities, they had not been noticed. Surely Mannoroth was not so blind as Malfurion’s twin believed. Yet, other than the hound, they had come across no demons save a pair of Fel Guard early on that Illidan had misdirected with a simple wave of his hand.

Illidan touched a finger to the stopper, which only now Tyrande saw was a tiny, crystalline facsimile of the queen from head to foot. Azshara spun around three times as if dancing for the sorcerer, then the stopper popped off. Illidan caught it with ease.

“Watch, Tyrande… watch while I do what your precious Malfurion could not…”

And he promptly poured the contents over himself.

But the waters of the Well did not act like normal waters, at least not where Illidan was concerned. They did not drench him and, in fact, only momentarily even made him damp. More ominous, wherever the waters touched Malfurion’s twin, he briefly shimmered an intense black. Then, the unsettling aura sank within the sorcerer, filling him much as the felbeast’s stolen energies had earlier.

“By the gods…” he whispered. “I knew I would feel something… but this… this is wonderful.”

The priestess vehemently shook her head, but her silent protest was lost on Illidan. She started toward him, only to discover that he had also sealed her feet in place.

Mother Moon! she thought. Can you not help me?

But there was no sign that Elune responded and Tyrande could only continue to watch Illidan.

He stretched his arms toward the Well and began muttering under his breath. Now the black aura returned, concentrating itself in his hands and intensifying more with each second.

Beneath the scarf, his eye sockets glowed like fire. The material even looked as if it had begun to singe.

But as Illidan began his spell, Tyrande’s own highly-attuned senses felt another presence stir. The priestess sought again to give warning, but Illidan faced away from her.

She felt the invisible presence enshroud the unsuspecting sorcerer and, as it did, Tyrande realized it was not the touch of one being, but rather several.

And as that awful knowledge sank in, so, too, did the sensation that the entities were of a nature as dark as — no! — darker than even that she had felt when touched by the foul mind of Sargeras.

It astounded her that Illidan did not also sense them. Tyrande, certain that somehow this was yet another vile element of the Burning Legion, waited for Malfurion’s brother to be horribly struck down.

But, instead, she noted in amazement that the mysterious entities now augmented Illidan’s spell, transforming it into something far more formidable than it would have been. The sorcerer laughed as his work drew near to fruition, Illidan clearly certain that all the effort was his and his alone.

The priestess suddenly understood that the lack of encounters along the way to the Well had not been entirely due to Illidan’s cunning.

More frantic now, she prayed over and over to Elune for aid. Illidan had to be warned that he was being duped. She was certain that his grand spell would somehow only trigger a worse disaster.

Mother Moon! Hear my pleas!

A blessed warmth filled Tyrande. She felt the spell that Illidan had put on her suddenly fade away. Her hopes rose anew.

“Illidan!” the priestess immediately cried out. “Illidan! Beware — ”

But even as he started to look her way, the sorcerer brought his palms together… and a beam of black light burst forth, racing out into the storm-rocked heavens above the Well of Eternity.

Tyrande felt the presences withdraw. Worse, as they faded away, she also sensed their immense satisfaction.

Her warning had come too late.

Sargeras felt the last vestiges of resistance suddenly fall away. The portal that he desired began to fully form. Soon, he would gain entrance into this life-befouled world…

Krasus jolted.

“What is it?” called Alexstrasza.

The cowled figure eyed the tiny vision of Zin-Azshari lying far ahead… and the colossal tempest spreading out over the Well of Eternity. He shuddered. “I fear we have even less time than I calculated…”

“Then, we must make even greater speed!” With that, the huge red dragon beat her wings harder yet, her muscles straining from effort.

Peering behind them, Krasus saw the other dragons follow suit. Everyone sensed that, more than ever, time was against them. The mage silently swore. This should not have happened. Even his own kind had taken far too long to debate the merits of what should have been obvious. If they had only listened…

Yet, Krasus could also not help thinking that, if he and his comrades failed, the doom befalling not only the night elves but unborn generations ahead would be in tremendous part his fault. He himself had hesitated to toy with Time, then, when the decision had finally been made to do so, he it was who had suggested attempting no pursuit of Illidan’s band. Of all who had crossed its path, Krasus knew most the cursed way of the Demon Soul. If he had tried to track down those who had taken it from Malfurion, then perhaps there would have still been a chance to retrieve the disk.

But that was neither here nor there. What mattered now was to make amends, to still return history to its former course.

“We must be prepared!” he called out to Alexstrasza. “Even though we will bypass the palace, neither the High-borne nor Mannoroth can be taken lightly, even by our ancient line! They will attack from Azshara’s stronghold! Nor must we forget what else seeks use of the portal the Well and the Soul create! They will also do everything within their power to keep us from the disk.”

“If sacrifice ourselves we must to save Kalimdor, then we but fulfill our sacred duty!” she responded back.

Krasus gritted his teeth. The future he knew so well was still a possible thing, but just as likely was one — supposing that they succeeded — where any or all of them perished here. For himself, that was something he could accept. To see his beloved queen die, though…

No! She will not! The mage prepared himself. Whatever it took, he would do his best to see that Alexstrasza lived… even if without him.

The dragons came upon the outskirts of Zin-Azshari and Krasus, who had expected the carnage wrought by the Burning Legion’s initial entrance into the mortal plane, was still highly repelled by all he saw. Memories of that second war, when Dalaran and other nations had fallen before the demons and their dread allies, stirred.

Below, endless ranks of demons looked up at their coming and roared challenge. The dragons ignored most, the Fel Guard and their like bound to the ground and, therefore, of little threat. Of more interest were the Doomguard, who came up in great numbers, fiery lances and blades at the ready.

Alexstrasza watched a massive group converge on them, then, pulling her head back, she released a fount of flame.

Cries arose and burning Doomguard plummeted. With that single breath, the crimson leviathan had cleared the sky of almost a hundred demons.

“Gnats…” she muttered. “Nothing but gnats…”

Then, one of the green dragons in the back roared in surprise as he was pummeled by several huge, round missiles. Krasus did not have to see them close to know that they were Infernals. Even the scales of a huge dragon were not entirely impervious. The wounds the green suffered were superficial, but repeated strikes would eventually take their toll.

“Let us make some use of these foul creatures!” Ysera hissed. She focused her closed eyes upon the next wave.

The new band of Infernals slowed. They continued to descend, but far from their intended targets. Krasus calculated their new path and smiled grimly. The palace was about to learn firsthand of the sort of devastation that they had permitted into Kalimdor.

But Krasus’s earlier warning of the dangers that both the Highborne and Mannoroth represented proved all too prophetic in the moments following, for suddenly the stormy sky unleashed a barrage of horrific, black bolts. Caught in the center, the dragons and their riders were forced to break formation just in the hopes of surviving.

Not all did. Perhaps slowed by the earlier barrage of Infernals, the green male hesitated. More than a dozen bolts struck him hard. Lightning scorched through his left wing, then seared him horribly in his tail and chest.

But although the lightning ceased, the worst was yet to come. Each of the wounds burned bright, and, as Krasus watched, their damage rapidly spread along the dragon’s body. Weakened further, the green made an all too easy target for more of the Highborne’s lightning. Six more bolts caught the male as he fought to stay aloft. The dragon roared in agony, his death knell echoing in Krasus’s ears.

The green dropped from the sky.

His huge form hit the Well’s dark waters hard. Yet, even for so gigantic a creature, the dragon’s collision was as a pebble to the swirling maelstrom. Barely a ripple marked the green as he sank into the foreboding lake.

A foreboding rumble filled their ears.

“Hold on tight!” commanded Alexstrasza, turning.

A new, frenzied attack swarmed the dragons. Black lightning shot down everywhere and, this time, no dragon survived unscathed. Even Alexstrasza shook as one bolt caught her on the right hip.

“It does not burn!” she exclaimed. “It is so very cold! It chills to the bone!”

“I will see what I can do for it!”

“No!” She glanced back at him. “We must preserve our strength for attack — !”

The Aspect of Life abruptly banked, barely avoiding a pair of bolts that would have struck not only her dead-on, but Krasus as well. All over the heavens, dragons twisted about in a macabre ballet. Krasus looked about and saw that all his companions still held tight. He had feared that the necessity of avoiding the magical lightning might make it impossible for the dragons to keep their riders aloft, but even under such circumstances, the ancient leviathans kept watch over their charges.

But this could not go on forever. Eyes narrowed, Krasus peered toward the center of the Well. Yes… he could detect the Demon Soul. He could also sense that the portal was nearly complete.

“To the center!” the cowled spellcaster shouted. “We have little time!”

Alexstrasza immediately veered that direction. Krasus leaned forward. As vast as the Well of Eternity was, it still proved only a few beats of Alexstrasza’s vast wings to bring them within sight of their objective.

Sure enough, there, high above the gaping maw of the maelstrom, the Demon Soul floated almost serenely. Surrounded by an unholy black aura, it was unaffected by the fearsome magical storm.

“It will be protected!” Krasus reminded her.

“Ysera and I will work in conjunction with Nozdormu’s prime consort!”

He nodded. “Rhonin and I will watch for reaction from Sargeras or the Old Gods!”

The riderless dragons withdrew to watch for attack from Zin-Azshari. The three female dragons encircled the sinister disk, their previous encounter with it making all extremely wary. Alexstrasza looked once at her counterparts, then nodded.

From each burst forth a golden light.

Their spells touched the Demon Soul simultaneously, enveloping it. The foul aura about it was smothered by their power. The disk began to tremble…

Without warning, their spells were suddenly repelled. The backlash was so terrible that all three dragons were tossed backward for some distance. It was all that their riders could do to maintain hold.

Barely clinging to his queen, Krasus shouted, “What is it? What happened?”

Alexstrasza managed to right herself. Her eyes stared wide at the Demon Soul, now some distance off. “The Old Gods! I felt them! But from within the disk! The Demon Soul not only bears a part of our existence, but theirs as well!”

The news did not entirely surprise Krasus. Yet, clearly their addition to the disk’s creation did not hinder the Elder Gods as it did the dragons. They obviously hoped to wield it, something that the other dragons could not do. Deathwing had evidently crafted it differently where they were concerned… if he had even realized their intrusion.

“Can you penetrate their spellwork?”

“I do not know… I honestly do not know!”

Krasus swore. Once again, he had underestimated the Three.

He saw Rhonin trying to signal him. The wizard pointed in the direction of Zin-Azshari. Krasus turned his gaze toward the fabled city —

— And watched as more than a score of shadowy abominations, each as large as a dragon, soared toward them.