Author's Note: We all know Kel'thuzad isn't dead. WE DIDN'T DESTROY HIS PHYLACTERY! So where is it? WHAT is it? This is what I think. I mean, why ELSE would KT be so enraged when you do a certain something? Obviously his FIRST phylactery was used to give him a new body by that moronic priest, Inigo. However, why wouldn't someone as clever as KT make himself ANOTHER phylactery so he can be revived? After all, Blizz confirmed in a post somewhere that KT survived TWO lich kings. Meaning he survived the "loss" of Ner'zhul and the death of Arthas. So KT is still out there, possibly just waiting for someone opportunistic enough to give him his body back again. This is my story on Kel's third resurrection. This will be my only WoW story that DOESN'T ignore the Deathwing/no Aspects patch. I have used some terms from Simon Green's Nightside series and Chrono Trigger, but you don't have to know anything about those to understand this, especially if you have read the recent Warcraft novels. I own nothing. Several bits of implied slash. Tirion/Darion, one-sided KT/Arthas (wait, isn't that canon?) but nothing graphic. Morally ambiguous bronze dragons, but we all know that is actually CANON!
Soul Jars and Timelines
In the Caverns of Time, the bronze dragons watched ages pass, time fade, things grow anew, people live and die...so many different timeways and universes. One dragon saw things he didn't want to see. The timeways were slowly converging into one, almost certain, timeline. One where things didn't end up the way they should have been.
One with...outside interference. Only bronze dragons could interfere with the timeline. Only one bronze dragon could interfere so directly. The young bronze dragon, Anachronos, son and heir of Aspect of Time, Nozdormu, wanted to stop this.
The timeline he was seeing...Aspects didn't exist. The factions warred upon each other. A new race chose sides, causing the war to get even bigger. The Horde rebelled against its own warchief. Anachronos shuddered.
No, this timeline couldn't come to pass. He HAD to stop it. No doubt it was his father's doing. Without the Aspects, it would leave alternate universe Nozdormu (or Murozond, as he called himself in that universe) to basically be one of the most powerful beings in Azeroth. Murozond, his dear father, would have full reign when the factions were more focused on each other than on any outside threats.
The other race, an old race of peace-loving Pandaren, were almost forced into the war. Such a gentle race should not be subject to war. They had powerful fighters, surely, but they should not be forced to war against one another. Anachronos would stop this.
When had the factions last been united? What, at long last, had caused an almost-cease fire between them? The Scourge, of course. With the evil Lich King dead and an Alliance-aligned Lich King in his place, the Scourge was no longer a threat, at least not to the Alliance.
The Horde seemed to be forming their own Scourge. Lady Sylvanas had even taken the Valkyr under her dark banner and used them to raise new undead. However, the bronze dragon knew he couldn't use her, because of her close ties with Silvermoon and Thrall's (misplaced) trust in her. In another alternate timeline, the Dark Queen was the death of the powerful shaman/Earth Warder that Thrall had become. The elements could not protect him from the full power of a new Lich Queen with a great army under her command.
No, he needed someone the undead of the true Scourge knew and remembered. A leader that wasn't all talk and no action like the current Lich King or faction-focused like the Lich Queen pretender. The only one he could think of off hand was Kel'thuzad, former Archmage of the magic city of Dalaran and member of the Council of Six of the Kirin Tor. He had turned into a necromancer, delving so deep into dark magic that he literally came out unrecognizable in the end. He kept his name, however, perhaps as a mockery of Dalaran.
Telling the mages that not even their precious Council was safe from the wicked power of necromancy. The Dark Magic of raising the dead that true mages never even dabbled in. Kel'thuzad had been a master. Such a master that he had died THREE TIMES and still had one left. That is, a soul jar. A phylactery. The lich had been smart this time. He hadn't kept it in a brilliant, glowing jar on his person. He'd placed where one would least suspect.
The dragon snorted as he watched that timeline. How stupid to place your soul inside a living creature, one that might die at the hands of a small child with rocks or even of natural causes. Of course, there was the possibility that having the soul of the most powerful dark mage of all time inside you made you immune to such things. Perhaps it was brilliant, not stupid.
Anachronos watched the small Birman housecat pace the empty halls of Naxxramas, as if awaiting something. Kel'thuzad couldn't give himself a new body without outside help. Entrusting his soul, his life, inside of his precious pet, his beloved Mr. Bigglesworth, had been ingenious.
The cat had some necromantic power of its own, now that the dragon looked closer. When the Alliance had stormed Naxxramas and destroyed Kel'thuzad's body a third time, they had also, for some reason, felt compelled to kill the small cat.
However...the cat itself wasn't quite mortal. It would fall to any spell or sword that took it down, but it would be there, giving the confused allies something of a cat-sneer. Always, somehow, Mr. Bigglesworth survived any attack and came back. Anachronos had to guess that that was because of the portion of Kel'thuzad's soul it contained.
As long as Kel'thuzad's body was intact, nothing could destroy his phylactery, except perhaps the Ashbringer. That is, Tirion Fordring and his magnificent sword. It could destroy anything undead, perhaps even the soul jar of an incredibly powerful Lich. The Order of the Silver Hand would use their influence to unite the factions once more and try to stop Kel'thuzad, if he knew Tirion. And he did. Tirion's honor and faith in the Light were absolute.
If a new evil arose that threatened Azeroth, Tirion would be there, Ashbringer in hand, ready and willing to give his life, and even those around him, knowing the paladin, because what were two or three lives compared to thousands? He had even realized that his own wife and son's deaths were fate. King Varian would rally the races of the Alliance once more. Garrosh would have no choice but to stop the dark deals he was currently involved in to mobilize the Horde against the new threat. The Pandaren would never be faced with fighting one another.
Despite their mutual hatred, perhaps Garrosh and Varian could indeed learn to work together. He knew that Tirion, Light-aligned more than anything and anyone, was more than willing to work with former Death Knight Highlord Darion Mograine to achieve his ends (work with and more, if the dragon was seeing things correctly through the time portal, and he always did). The dragon gave a soft chuckle as he watched the paladin and Death Knight locked in a passionate embrace.
Either way, the only way to prevent the inevitable future in which the peaceful Pandaren were forced to make war upon themselves and his father became an irredeemable monster seemed to be to either revive the might of the Scourge or perhaps the Burning Legion. The Burning Legion seemed like a really bad idea. The mortals had burned that bridge when they had sent Kil'jaeden packing in the Sunwell, with Anveena, Blue Aspect Kalec's beloved human.
Anveena had allowed herself to be killed to protect the mortals and all the dragonflights, along with Kil'jaeden's 'brother' Velen and Lady Liadrin. Anveena was someone Anachronos would have saved if he could have. Her noble spirit and self-sacrifice had saved them all from the demon lord.
No one would think twice if Kel'thuzad reappeared again. He doubted even the silly mortals really thought the lich was gone for good. Really, if someone had died three times (or more, the dragon wasn't sure exactly how many times Kel'thuzad had really been killed) and came back, no one would be shocked if he revamped Naxxramas and once again took the citadel on a killing spree through the Plaguelands or Icecrown or whatever.
Of course, the same could be said for Kil'jaeden. His 'brother', Velen, remained in the Exodar as the draenei leader. Velen and Kil'jaeden were nearly on similar power levels, just different power. Except now. After the defeat of Sargeras, Kil'jaeden was leader of the Burning Legion and had even more power than Velen at his disposal. Of course, Velen was a prophet.
A godlike being, a Naaru, went willingly into tortuous enslavement simply because a prophecy said so. Lady Liadrin of the Bloodknights had joined with Shattrath simply because the prophecy said so. Anachronos sighed. Prophecies were irritating. It seemed like his choice was made for him. The Scourge it was. The dragon leaped into a nearby portal, to the Dragonblight's Bronze Shrine.
Once there, he flew to the damaged Naxxramas and assumed the form of a high elf, entering the floating citadel. It was a testament to the lich's undying power that the citadel had not fallen with him. The empty halls echoed every footfall, every freezing breath from his lips. He glanced around, looking for Kel'thuzad. That is, the cat he was currently using.
The dragon took a few steps upwards, heading to Kel'thuzad's throne room. He passed through the icy room where another dragon, the blue Sapphiron, had fallen to the undead. He still felt its aura there, and mourned his fallen companion silently. Padding softly through the room, avoiding the icy mists still in the room, he finally entered the lich's throne room. There was nothing in the room that resembled a phylactery. So it HAD to be the cat.
He risked calling out to Kel'thuzad, using the cat's name, Mr. Bigglesworth. Sure enough a small housecat emerged from behind the throne, its tail flickering curiously. It eyed Anachronos with large, ice blue eyes. A hissing voice entered the dragon's skull.
Dragon...bronze dragon...what is it you seek, here in this fallen place? There was a mocking, ethereal laughter in the dragon's head.
"To revive you, lich. Unless you want to stay inside that cat for all eternity." Anachronos sneered at him.
More laughter. Now why would a dragon do that? I thought you all were opposed to the undead.
"You and I both know that the current Lich King is no more than a figurehead. And that Lady Sylvanas is a poor Lich Queen. Or rather, that she is part of the Horde and has far too close of ties to Silvermoon, and may have been affected by speaking with the Ashbringer, making a not-much-effective leader of the 'new' Scourge." Anachronos told the cat/lich.
I do not seek to be the Lich King. I never have. I seek only to SERVE the Lich King. I am a follower, not a leader. And Arthas is dead. I lived to serve ONLY Arthas. The lich cackled, which sounded odd coming from a cat, but also sounded almost mournful that Arthas had fallen.
"The Scourge would rally around you. You don't have to wear the helm or wield the sword to rule the Scourge. After all, you kept command of your own army here in Northrend, and the Plaguelands, did you not?"
Hmm. Surely you wouldn't want me revived and defiling your precious Dragonblight again, would you?
"The Dragonblight will be more than defiled if what I have seen comes to pass. You do not have to trust me, lich, but I offer you revival. I offer you Naxxramas back. That is all I will say. No, you do not get to know my motivations or reasons. Simply revival or you get to stay in the body of a small feline for eternity."
The dragon tilted his elf's head to the side slightly. He wouldn't tell Kel'thuzad that he was simply reviving him as a force to unite the Horde and Alliance once again. To prevent the future he had foreseen from coming to pass. Kel'thuzad would simply be bait to lure the factions back to Northrend. Perhaps even back to the Argent Tourney grounds, where a cease-fire had been adamantly enforced by the Ashbringer himself and his loyal followers/lackeys.
The Horde and Alliance had literally had a friendship going on at the Wrath Gate. The young Saurfang and Bolvar had indeed been friends, if the dragon's observations of that particular timeline were correct. The witty banter, the back-to-back fighting of the undead in the middle..even their confronting the Lich King together. Perhaps things could have been different had the young Saurfang not been put in the path of the heroes to get to the Lich King.
He had no doubt Bolvar would have likely rekindled his friendship with the young orc warrior, Death Knight or no. Bolvar was honorable, and more a king than that hard-headed, brash Varian was. It was a true pity that he was beyond revival. Not even the Queen of Life herself could restore him to life. Anyway, Bolvar HAD to take the mantel of Lich King. No other could.
Anachronos had looked down an alternate timeway, a...timeslip he called them, where Bolvar had NOT taken the mantel and it had been disastrous. The Helm had rejected Tirion entirely when the paladin had attempted to place it on his head. It had fallen to pieces the minute it had touched his head, so full of Light the paladin was. Nothing of the Lich King's could remain 'living' in the presence of someone so far aligned with the Light. The Scourge had triumphed in that timeline. They had ravaged the land. No Horde, no Alliance, no survivors except...them. The dragon shuddered.
He could still see the tentacles, the thousand maws, the eyes, all laughing at him, all of them. The Old Gods had triumphed in that timeline. All the dragon Aspects were dead, as well as replacement-Earth Warder Thrall. Thrall had been killed by his own nightmares, brought on by N'zoth. The others...well, Yogg-Saron had never died, not really.
He remembered the tentacles, covered in teeth and laughing, piercing the hides of his brothers and sisters, and his father. He remembered his father's dying cry of pain, and more. His father telling him that it could be prevented, that it had to be stopped, that he knew a way.
His father's way was worse, almost. He would twist his flight, turn it into something unheard of, except by Deathwing, and even Deathwing hadn't transformed his children. His children were still all black dragons. Nozdormu's children were monsters. Silver-black monsters that crackled with Infinite energy and played with time as if they were children in a sand box.
Nozdormu, in a way, became far more corrupt than Deathwing. His intentions were so pure to begin with that he could not contemplate anything he would do as being evil or corrupt. He saw everything he did as a way of saving his flight from the inevitable future that he believed was coming.
A raspy hiss brought his attention back to Kel'thuzad. Well, dragon? What do you intend to do? If I am revived, I must have orders or I will act on my own. The Cult of the Damned is not all extinguished. Some still long for the old order. Another laugh. Perhaps I can talk this new Lich King, or even Lady Windrunner, into returning the Scourge to its old glory. What do you think, dragon?
"I don't care what you do once you have a body again. You can appeal to Bolvar or Sylvanas, or no one at all and simply do as you like. As long as it involves reforming the Scourge into a threat again."
More mad cackling. A threat, you say? I see what you're up to. Don't think you can lie to me, the master of lies! The only reason you seek to revive me is to get the two stupid factions to work together again. Against me. Your flight may be...opportunistic...but no dragon would revive a Scourge leader without good reason. The lich made a coughing sound that was likely a cat-laugh.
The laughter stopped cold, as if turned off by a switch. Regardless, bronze dragon, I accept your offer. The human and orc kings will not know what hit them. You think I intend to stay here or in the Plaguelands? No, you want to revive me? Do so with the knowledge that the first place I will attack will NOT be empty wastelands!
Anachronos tensed. Was this the right thing to do, then? Hadn't the lich just now declared outright war on Stormwind and Orgrimmar? But...wasn't that the dragon's ENTIRE goal? To get them to face real threats rather than each other? The dragon closed his eyes and hoped he was making the right decision. He grabbed the cat by the scruff of his neck and pulled him through a time portal he had conjured.
In all its glory, gleaming before him, stood the mighty Well of Eternity. If the lich were to be revived, the dragon wanted him as strong as possible. Whatever his lackey had used to revive him had been so weak that ten mortals were capable of destroying his body. The lich revived by the Sunwell, in the Plaguelands, had been so powerful that even forty mortals had been devastated before finally destroying his body and then delivering his soul jar to the traitor agent, Inigo.
There was a whispery, hissing voice in his head. Anachronos? I had thought you were elsewhere, my son...what are you doing here? Azshara does not like interruptionsss...
The dragon jumped, still in his high elf form. Father. Damn. Nothing, father. I do not seek to interrupt her...I'm just looking at the Well...
A disparaging sound, something like a snort, went off in his head. Nozdormu withdrew, his presence gone. Anachronos breathed a sigh of relief, and tossed the cat head-first into the Well. Kel'thuzad hissed indignantly before coming into contact with the Well, a burst of ice blue light shimmering where he had landed. Nozdormu, at least, had been wrong.
There were no guards of any kind near the Well, and Azshara was not there today, for some reason. The bronze dragon pulled on the timeway where Kel'thuzad had been resurrected by Arthas, trying to see how he had done it.
The bronze dragon sighed. There had to be some blood involved. When was there not, when it came to the Scourge? He held his right hand up, transforming partially so that the nails were now claws. He leaned over the Well and sliced the middle of his left hand with his clawed right hand. Blood poured easily from the wound. The bronze dragon's blood seemed to ignite the Well, which glowed with a sickly green light now. Green was the color of decay, death...at least the Well seemed to know his intentions.
He glanced at his hand, which was bleeding profusely. It would be naught but a scratch...to a dragon, at least, when he took his true form again. The green light pulsed, turning back to ice blue. A flash, and the towering form of the lich, Kel'thuzad, master of necromancy, stood before him.
The lich flexed his bony fingers, examined his body. It was crackling with the energies of the Well of Eternity. More powerful was this resurrection than even the one he had received from Arthas. The blood of a dragon Aspect's son and the power of the Well of Eternity. The lich would indeed be a force to be reckoned with.
A chill down the dragon's spine made him wonder, once again, if he had done the right thing. The lich turned his ice blue sockets on the dragon.
"I thank you, Anachronos, son of Nozdormu. I am more powerful than ever before, but...I do have unfinished business. Even should the stupid mortals fall to my power, it is still smart to have a back up plan. Since you deprived me of my dear cat, my precious final phylactery...perhaps you would consent to...helping me find a new one?" The lich's voice was still ethereal, but instead of hissing it was now raspy. The cat's body was no where to be found. It had likely died in the Well when the lich had returned to unlife.
"My help was only to get you your body and your citadel back. I care naught about helping you create another one of those abominations." Anachronos hissed. The lich was powerful, very powerful,now and would definitely be of great help to unite the factions. Anachronos drew on his power as a bronze dragon and pulled at the strings of time, to take himself and the lich back to Naxxramas.
"I think not, dragon," the lich laughed, and waved a hand, cutting off the spell Anachronos had been weaving, "You revived me using pure magic. Pure power. This is power that even the dragonflights cannot truly comprehend. I am more powerful than you, now. Perhaps I should make YOU into a jar for my soul?" Kel'thuzad's empty, ice blue sockets bored into the dragon.
"Stupid lich, don't you want to return to Naxxramas? Stop playing with me. I gave you a body, the least you can do is be thankful!" The dragon began to redo the time spell.
Kel'thuzad merely waited and watched this time, allowing the dragon to pull them forward in time, to the present. Kel'thuzad let out an almost joyful laugh at the sight of his throne room in his precious citadel. He ran his bony hands over the throne, a moan of ecstasy escaping him.
He tilted his head toward the dragon/high elf. "This power is intoxicating. Almost as intoxicating as the presence of my Arthas...my cat is well and truly dead now, as is my dear Arthas." The lich seemed to smile.
"I have no mortal ties to this world anymore. To anything on it. I am grateful for your help, dragon, but I do not need it anymore. Begone!" The lich waved a hand, sending the dragon flying. He hit the cold wall with a crack. If he were mortal, the throw would have injured him. As it was, he was only aching.
"Go, dragon! The Scourge shall indeed ravage the world again. Naxxramas will rise again. Icecrown Citadel will no longer be the stronghold of the Scourge. My citadel will. Bolvar and Sylvanas can pretend, but they will not be Arthas. Not MY Arthas, never. I will gain power like never before. And then...I will come for you. The Caverns of Time will not be safe from the Scourge. I can think of a great many things I can do with time travel."
Anachronos turned and fled the citadel, teleporting back to the Caverns. The other bronze dragons gazed at him, but said nothing, assuming he was having another episode. At least, episode was what they called it when Anachronos became agitated over something most considered silly.
In Naxxramas, Kel'thuzad was still reveling in his new body and powers. He wasn't the lich king. He wasn't the Banshee Queen. He was more, and less. At least, he was less than Arthas was. He always would be. Arthas was a true king. He spread his bony hand before him, forming a staff out of pure ice. The lich floated through the halls of Naxxramas, coming first to room where Sapphiron had fallen. The lich raised his staff. A roar of pain filled the room.
The undead blue dragon looked at his master with renewed hate, but unfailing loyalty. Sapphiron sank to his haunches and bowed before the master of necromancy. The power of Naxxramas would be revived. He would kill the leaders of the horde and the alliance, and then he would come for the bronze dragons. He wouldn't kill them. He needed them to keep his body, otherwise a timeloop would result or he would simply lose his body again.
He would travel back in time. He would kill them. Kill them all. The mortals. Before they killed his beloved king. Arthas would rise again, and there was nothing the mortals could do to stop it.
R/R. Partially meant as humor and to show the moral ambiguity of the bronze flight and KT's dedication and love of Arthas (which I do believe to be canon).