The Sundering wwotat-3

by Richard A. Knaak

“It is mine!” he roared in triumph. “Mine!”

  His paw wrapped around the Demon Soul.

  “It must be now!” Krasus warned Alexstrasza. “It must be now, if we are to — ”

  The world exploded.

  Or so, at least, it seemed to the cowled figure. A mad cornucopia of colors overwhelmed Krasus. He heard Alexstrasza roar in surprise and agony. A tremendous force buffeted the two. Krasus tried to hold onto his queen, but it was too much of a strain for the mortal form he wore.

  He was thrown.

  Things hurtled past him. A squealing, charred shadow bat. A small form that might have been its rider or one of his own comrades. Several pieces of dragon scale, their own color burnt away.

  Krasus rolled over and over, unable to slow his momentum despite attempted spells.

  We have lost! he managed to think. Surely, this is the end of all!

  Then, a huge paw scooped him up and he heard Alexstrasza’s hoarse voice cry out, “He has done it! He has done it!”

  Through his tears, the mage managed to peer at Deathwing and the Demon Soul.

  The black dragon roared at the top of his lungs as he ripped the disk free of the spell. Deathwing’s body blazed and it amazed Krasus that even a being as powerful as the Aspect could survive such damage. The leviathan raised his creation high, laughing triumphantly despite his clear agony.

  And then, from the depths of the Well, a black force shot out and struck Deathwing head-on.

  It threw the dragon back, hitting him with such ferocity that he was hurtled far, far beyond the vast Well. Far beyond even the shore. A tumbling Deathwing flew from sight into the clouds…

  In his wake, the Demon Soul — lost from his grip — plunged toward the whirlpool.

  “We must seize control before either Sargeras or the Old Gods can restore it to the portal’s matrix! I think that, despite Deathwing’s spell on it, I can hold it, at least long enough for our purposes! But we must reach it first!”

  “I will try my best…” gasped Alexstrasza.

  Only then did Krasus see how much his queen had been burnt by the forces unleashed by Deathwing’s mad actions. The Aspect of Life could barely keep aloft.

  But another massive dragon suddenly flew past them, a familiar green leviathan with a most unique night elf astride.

  “Malfurion…” Krasus murmured, eyeing the druid, who now sported a small pair of antlers akin to those of his teacher. “Yes, it has to be he who attempts it…”

  Yet, that did not preclude any effort by the others. Alexstrasza did not slow despite her wounds and from Krasus’s right flew Rhonin and Brox on the red male. The bronze female also followed, but without a rider, she could not do anything but watch over the others.

  Malfurion’s dragon moved in on the plummeting disk, the Demon Soul leaving a bright, golden trail as it dropped. Krasus watched as the druid opened his palm… then unerringly caught the foul piece. The night elf clutched it to his chest.

  And from within the portal came a monstrous roar that shook the dragon mage’s very soul. He peered down, staring in dismay at a horrific green storm brewing in the center.

  Sargeras was trying to cross through the nearly-completed gateway.

  As a warrior, Brox knew well his limits. This was now a time of wizards and sorcerers. There were no foes with blades and axes up here, not anymore.

  Malfurion gazed at the dread device, his eyes wide and unblinking. Brox understood the disk’s seductive power and quickly shouted past Rhonin, “Druid! You must not trust it so! It is evil!”

  The night elf glanced up, then gave his comrade a determined nod. Brox exhaled in relief — an exhalation that became a choking sound as he, like the rest, heard the fiendish cry erupting from the Well. It was the cry of an angered god.

  The cry of Sargeras, lord of the Burning Legion.

  “The demon lord seeks to enter Kalimdor!” the crimson male roared. “The portal is all but complete! He may be able to succeed… and, if he does, we are all lost!”

  Brox stared at the green tempest below. It was contracting, coalescing into a smaller, almost perfectly octagonal gap. “What happens? The gateway shrinks, not grows!”

  “Sargeras must further seek to strengthen his chances by localizing the spell! Once through, he will have no trouble stretching it wide again. If anything, he has his chance of success more likely!”

  Horrified, the orc pulled his gaze from the monstrous storm… and saw that their situation was even more dire. From Zin-Azshari there now rose hundreds, perhaps, thousands, of winged forms. “Look! There!”

  The demon Mannoroth had allowed Captain Varo’then and his soldiers to attack the party when all it had seemed was needed had been a delaying tactic. Now, though, with what the black dragon had done, the plan had clearly changed. Mannoroth surely realized that there was a true danger to the Legion. He had therefore summoned every Doomguard and other winged demon available to deal with the world’s defenders.

  Brox itched to sink his ax into the oncoming swarm, but he knew his efforts would be laughable compared to those of Rhonin and Krasus. True, he could ride along as the red male and the wizard fought them, but what good would that do?

  Alexstrasza and Krasus, being further back, had already turned to confront the horde of aerial demons. The red male began arcing away from the center of the Well. That left the wielding of the Demon Soul and the sealing of the portal to Malfurion… providing that he was somehow given the time needed. Even Brox could sense the sinister energies building up within the condensed portal. Sargeras had nearly succeeded…

  The orc could think of only one thing to do. A part of him spoke called it madness, yet, another part insisted it had to be done.

  “Farewell, wizard!” he roared. “It is my honor to have fought beside you and the rest!”

  Rhonin glanced back at him. “What’re you planning to — ”

  Brox leapt.

  The red dragon attempted to snatch Brox, but the giant’s astonishment made him react far too slowly. The orc fell past his claws, dropping relentlessly toward the center of the Well of Eternity… and the blazing storm now reaching its peak.

  Howling with anticipation, Brox felt the wind tear at his face as he descended. His grip on his ax so tight that his knuckles had turned white. He grinned just as he had that day when he and his comrades had stood ready to protect the pass at cost of their lives.

  As Brox neared the portal, his perspective shifted. He saw movement within. Ranks and ranks of demons, all preparing to follow their lord into the mortal plane. Demons stretching into Forever. Of Sargeras himself, Brox saw no sign, but he knew that the demons’ fearsome master had to be very, very near.

  And then… the orc passed through the gateway.

  Nineteen

  Malfurion did not see Brox leap, the night elf already consumed by what lay before him. Now that he had the disk, it occurred to the druid just how daunting his task was. Malfurion had hoped one of the others, especially Krasus, would be the one to seize the Demon Soul, but their underestimation of the spell and the black dragon’s shocking intrusion into events had turned everything upside down. Now, it was all up to him and he had no idea exactly what to do.

  At that moment, he sensed Tyrande in his thoughts again. Instinctively reaching out, Malfurion sensed with horror that she was in danger.

  Tyrande! What — ?

  Malfurion! There are demons everywhere! Illidan and I believe that Mannoroth is trying to get you through us!

  He quickly sought the link that he still shared with his twin. His initial contact with Illidan shocked Malfurion, so full of bloodlust was it. Through his brother, the druid felt Illidan strike out at the Burning Legion, the bodies of fiery warriors piled high before the black-clad spellcaster.

  Illidan suddenly became aware of his presence. Brother?

  Illidan! Can you flee?

  We are surrounded and Mannoroth no doubt eagerly awaits my use of a spell to spirit us to safety! He would quickly
usurp it, bringing us to his loving arms…

  Malfurion shuddered. I’m coming! I’ll help you!

  But even as he said it, the druid knew that he could not leave the Well. The portal had to be destroyed, even if it meant sacrificing his twin and Tyrande.

  How Malfurion prayed for a return to the old days, before the Legion. The days when he and his brother would have fought side by side. When they had been youths, he and Illidan had been able to overcome all obstacles because they had been as one.

  Would that it could be so one more time, the druid desperately thought. Would that I could stand next to Illidan and he next to me and together we dealt with this evil…

  Only too late, did Malfurion notice the Demon Soul flare.

  A peculiar feeling of displacement hit him. His eyes momentarily lost focus. Groaning, Malfurion shook his head… and discovered that he now stood next to Illidan in the ruins of Zin-Azshari.

  “Malfurion?” gasped Tyrande. She reached out to touch him, but her hand went through the druid.

  Yet, when Malfurion put out a hand toward his twin, he felt solid flesh. Illidan flinched, startled.

  Malfurion blinked… and once again he rode above the Well of Eternity.

  Only, this time… Illidan sat beside him.

  The sorcerer gazed at Malfurion from behind his scarf with both suspicion and barely-concealed awe. “What’ve you done, brother?”

  The druid eyed the Demon Soul and recalled his desire. The foul disk had granted it.

  He and Illidan were in both places simultaneously.

  So be it. Whatever its evil, the Demon Soul had given him the chance he needed. “Stand with me, Illidan!” Malfurion challenged. “Stand with me here — ” The scene shifted back to Zin-Azshari. “ — and here!”

  To his credit — and with an old, familiar grin — Malfurion’s twin immediately nodded.

  In the mist-befouled city, the brothers stood shoulder-to-shoulder as the demons poured over the rubble trying to reach them. Scores perished as Illidan created yard-long swords from black energy and Malfurion channeled the forces of nature into a storm whose raindrops melted armor and demon flesh. Tyrande stood with them, the priestess of Elune calling upon the pure light of her mistress to blind, even burn, the approaching monsters.

  And all while this happened, Malfurion and Illidan also sat astride Ysera, struggling with the spell holding the portal together. That Sargeras had not yet stepped forth puzzled both, but they did not question their momentary reprieve.

  Yet, even with the Demon Soul, they accomplished nothing. Already the sky was filled with Doomguard, all seeking those who would keep their master from Kalimdor. Krasus, Rhonin, and the dragons destroyed them by the dozens, but still their numbers appeared undiminished. Of Brox, there was no sign, but the druid could not truly concern himself with the orc just now.

  Ysera deflected attack after attack, but Malfurion understood that she could not defend them forever. Yet, despite both his and Illidan’s attempts to use the Demon Soul against the portal, they continued to fail.

  Then, the answer came to him. Malfurion looked into his brother’s shrouded eye sockets. “We’re doing this all wrong! We’re using the disk to enhance our spells!”

  “Of course!” snapped Illidan. The scene around them momentarily shifted back to Zin-Azshari, with the sorcerer gutting a Fel Guard. “How else to wield it?”

  Their surroundings again became the Well and the demon-filled sky. The druid looked at Deathwing’s unholy creation. He loathed what he was about to suggest. “The Demon Soul is still part of the spellwork! Instead of drawing from disk, we should be giving to it! We should be working through the disk, not treating it like a sword or ax!”

  Illidan opened his mouth to argue, then shut it immediately. He saw the sense in his twin’s words.

  Again, Malfurion’s view became Zin-Azshari. He immediately sensed a new force among the demons in the city, one moving with dire purpose toward the ruins where the brothers and Tyrande sheltered. It had a familiar taint… and stench.

  “Satyrs!”

  The goat creatures bounded over the other demons, each of the former night elves already preparing spells. They laughed madly and some even bleated.

  But as the abominations converged on the trio, Malfurion once more found himself astride Ysera. The constant shifting distracted him and he suspected that, one way or another, he and his brother’s ability to be in two places would soon cease.

  “Join with me, Illidan! Do it!”

  Despite their enmities, the sorcerer did not hesitate. Their minds linked, fusing almost completely. Malfurion sensed his twin’s ill-conceived plans to make himself the hero of Kalimdor and recognized immediately how the sinister forces that had almost seduced the druid into claiming the disk for his own had used Illidan’s arrogance to add their own spells into the mix.

  He had forgotten the Old Gods, as Krasus called them. So, they had not abandoned their efforts; Sargeras’s portal still held the key to their freedom. More than ever, the druid understood that he had to use the Demon Soul if they were to destroy the gateway.

  Be ready! he commanded Illidan.

  Malfurion called upon the inherent energies of Kalimdor, the same forces that had helped him cast out the venomous Captain Varo’then. Now, he would have to demand of them a far greater sacrifice. This would take more than that he had used to save a dragon from death, as the druid had naively done for Krasus and Korialstrasz. In asking of his precious world such power, there was a chance that the druid might bring upon his home the very fate the Burning Legion had planned for it.

  As he called upon Kalimdor and asked it to grant him its strength once more, he felt Illidan draw upon the energies of the Well itself. Once both had achieved their desire, the brothers bound the two forces together — making them one — and fed the results into the Demon Soul.

  Both Malfurion and Illidan jerked as their magicks melded with that within the disk. The druid momentarily returned to Zin-Azshari… just as a satyr leapt upon Tyrande. Without regard for himself, the druid slashed at the horned creature with a sword created from a jagged leaf. The satyr’s head went rolling —

  And, once again, Malfurion’s focus shifted back to his position over the Well. Gritting his teeth, he forced his senses back into the Demon Soul.

  He and Illidan became a part of the disk. They were the Demon Soul…

  They flowed toward him, an endless river of utter evil seeking his death.

  “Come!” roared Brox, kicking aside the severed limb of another demon foolish enough to get within reach of his ax. He stood atop a mound of dead flesh, his many kills. The orc’s body was awash in his own blood, but a strength such as he had not felt in years filled the graying warrior.

  A chaotic fury surrounded the lone guardian, the madness of the realm of the Burning Legion. There seemed no ground, no sky, only an insane swirl of fiery colors and untamed energies. Had he not been so completely focused upon his adversaries, the orc suspected that he surely would have been driven insane by now.

  Behind him, the portal burned with evil purpose. The green flames danced as if demons themselves and seemed to draw the Burning Legion like the proverbial moth. Brox had expected that he would be overcome immediately, but not only had he so far survived, he had kept not even a single demon from reaching the gateway.

  How much longer he could last, the aged warrior did not know. For as long as the portal existed, he hoped. The enchanted ax gave him an edge, one that Brox had utilized to good advantage, but the weapon was only as good for as long as his strength lasted.

  A movement of black at his right caught the orc’s attention. Instinctively, he shifted to meet it —

  And was battered horribly by a force that made the might of the demons before him seem as nothing. Brox’s shoulder cracked and he felt several of his ribs collapse into his organs. Sharp, agonizing pains ripped through him.

  He tried to rise, but again the veteran warrior was battered rel
entlessly. His legs were crushed and his jaw broken on the right. Brox tasted his own blood, a not unfamiliar thing. One eye was bruised beyond opening and it was all the orc could do just to breathe.

  But his one remaining hand still gripped the ax. Overcoming everything, Brox swung, hoping to hit his attacker.

  The blade encountered an obstruction, and, at first, Brox’s hopes rose. However, the squeal that immediately followed informed the badly-injured orc that he had only caught an eager felbeast trying to close in on easy prey.

  Such a pity…

  Despite the words, there was certainly no pity in the terrible voice thundering in his head. A vast shadow blanketed the orc.

  Such a pity to waste such a delicious ability for carnage…

  With a strained roar, Brox managed to right himself. The ax came spinning around.

  This time, he knew that it was no mere demon hound he hit.

  A resounding bellow of outrage deafened the injured warrior. Through what remained of his good eye, Brox caught sight of a titanic, horned figure in molten black armor whose thick mane and beard appeared to be composed of wildly dancing flames. The orc could not make out the giant’s features well enough, yet somehow knew them to be both wondrously perfect and terribly awful at the same time.

  Then, the titan raised one arm and in it Brox beheld a long, wicked sword the upper half of whose blade had been broken off. What remained was jagged and still very capable of slaying.

  Through broken teeth, the orc began a death chant.

  The jagged tip impaled him, bursting through his spine. Brox’s body quivered uncontrollably and the light in his eyes dimmed. The ax slipped from his limp fingers.

  With a sigh, the orc at last joined his comrades from the past.

  * * *

  “There’re too many of them!” Rhonin shouted.

  “We must do what we can! Malfurion must be given time!” Krasus responded from Alexstrasza’s back.

  “Can he do anything?”

  “He is a part of Kalimdor itself! He must be able to! He stands the best chance! Believe it!”