Chapter III: Of Dragons and Darkness

Malygos pounded at the air with his massive wings. He wasn't inclined to fly often anymore these days; somehow he found that life underground was more...peaceful. He sighed. After Deathwing's disappearance, he had been hoping to get a century or so of rest, as did the other aspects. And so he had retreated to a dark, cool cavern where he could listen to the prayers of his children in peace. There, for maybe a decade he remained, cool water dripping from the stalactites onto his brow, then dropping to the floor to make a melodious, soothing noise that resounded throughout the cavern.

Occasionally his children brought news of the world, and once the Dragonspawn of Northrend had given him tidings of this new horror known as the Lich King. The news was disturbing indeed to Malygos; the Lich King had defiled the great dragonblight, showing the ultimate disrespect to the Blue Dragonflight. But Malygos was not easily roused now in his old age, none of the Aspects save perhaps Alexstraza was. Evils, he decided, came and went. And so the god of the blue dragons had merely ordered his children to do what they could.

But then the Dragonspawn had contacted him again, and this time brought news more disturbing to the Malygos than news of Deathwing himself. The evils that had came ages ago and had not left with their time were stirring again in the crypts below Azjol-Nerub.

The Forgotten Ones, the beings that Malygos among few creatures of the world knew as the Old Gods, had escaped. Freed by the foolishness of this Lich King. Malygos scowled; if he had not been so lazy perhaps it might have been avoided. But it was too late now; right now it was vital that the Old Gods be stopped before they spread from Northrend.

Malygos knew little of the Old Gods, save that they were an ancient evil whose powers were beyond comprehension of all creatures of Azeroth. He knew that they drew their powers from the devotion of their worshippers, and that obviously, as their presence spread so would their power. The Lich king had been one thing...but these horrors older than Malygos himself and with the potential to become tenfold as powerful, was something else. This he could not ignore.

And so, without even bothering to consult the other Aspects, Malygos again took to the skies for the first time since he fought Deathwing. Heeding the call of their god, hundreds of blue dragons of all ages flocked to the Spellweaver, and as their vast shadow passed over the cold oceans, Malygos only hoped that he would be in time to stop the Old Gods before they consumed the world.

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Victory has sweeter taste than the finest delicacy.

Our only true opposition on Northrend was dead. Our Nerubian pawn, Ra'Anum, had proved himself to be a powerful and competent commander. About a third of the army that was launched against the Lich King was lost; all in all, about one million Faceless were killed. Minimal.

For the first time in so long, we Gods of Old were masters rather than prisoners. With the only serious threat to our power eliminated, there was no reason for us to remain festering in our tombs. Our Faceless, acting under our psychic commands, would move is into the heart of what used to be a symbol of opposition: we would now reside within the very heart of the Icecrown glacier.

Still, we felt a lingering threat hanging over us. Zeraph, the god of sight, had visions of an airborne enemy approaching. Enormous scaled beasts that fly amongst the clouds and rain destruction upon their foes. We could not put a name to these creatures...until the Nerubians told our servants tales of great leviathans that cut through the air like water, each one with the power of two hundred Faceless. "Dragons", they called them. Tools of the Titans empowered to guard this world from danger–both internal and external.

And we were an internal danger.

The Nerubians feared the dragons, for many a reckless soldier had been lost to their crushing jaws and freezing breath over the years. We spoke of this to Ra'Anum the seer; there was no doubt in his mind that these Dragons would make a move to stop us, even if it was with minimal forces. According to the Nerubian, the dragons were divided into smaller sects called "flights". Each flight was ruled by an incredibly powerful being, called an Aspect. The Aspect's powers bordered on godhood itself, the seer had said. The flight dominant in Northrend was the Blue; therefore, it was likely that their "god" would attempt an assault upon us, most probably when we were most vulnerable.

This worried us greatly; although our powers had grown stronger through Nerubian worship, we still did not, even among all of us, have enough to stop a being with such power, if what the seer said was true. Our Faceless, though more than a match for any ground-based threat, could do nothing to stop the winged creatures Ra'Anum had described. The Nerubians, due to their arachnid features, could ensnare flying beasts with their webs, but the spiders were both too few in number and too frail to be any sort of serious threat to the dragons.

As the Faceless under my control began to pry me from the cold, metallic ground and prepared to begin their mindless trek towards Icecrown, I mulled over the question. How could we defeat the dragons? There was no easy answer, especially if Malygos himself decided to lead the attack. We could not have come this far to be defeated by the fact that our enemies had wings! There had to be a way, had to be…

My immediate answer was simply to gain more followers, but of course, time is a very precious commodity of which we had little. There simply wasn't enough time to seek out a susceptible race, convert them, and reap the benefits of their worship before the dragons arrived.  Of course, we had always intended to gain more servants, but never did we dream that a second threat would present itself so soon after the first's demise. There had to be some way to quickly gain an aerial defense. And to find something quickly, you needed a swift mind. And for a swift mind, I needed—

Azrael, I sent out my telepathic words. Azrael, what intelligence to you sense here? Is there something—anything—we can use against the dragons?

My fellow god responded almost instantly.

I sense many minds here, he said in his hissing, snakelike speech, I sense the intelligent, almost equal with that of Ner'Zhul himself, a few primitives, worshipping gods under a religion called "Voodoo," and  the almost nonexistent, consisting primarily of instinct. What do you need?

Look into their minds. Find me something--anything--that flies.

There was a pause for a moment as Azrael performed the monumental task faster than any mortal could imagine.

I have it, he said abruptly, They are animals Ner'Zhul imbued with life. Barely anything to look into. It's all hunger with them. If you promise them food, I have no doubt that they will serve you. It's a curiosity they didn't get themselves killed off in the first fortnight without the Lich King's guidance.

Perfect, I responded, what are these creatures called?

Gargoyles. That's what Ner'Zhul called them: gargoyles.

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Narath kept running through the snow, ran though he did not know why. He felt...dry, shriveled up; a great void had opened inside his head, one that could not be filled. Even when the Lich King neglected to speak to him, Narath had always felt his presence. Oh how he had taken that presence for granted. Now he was hardly aware of what he did or why, but he did know that he was a failure. A coward. He had heard the cry of his master, and had known that all was lost. His whole life, it's meaning, lost.

And now he ran, ran as fast as he could, from the Frozen Throne, ran though his throat burned and his chest heaved with exhaustion and grief. As his eyes burned with either the sting of the Northrend air, or the salt of his own tears, Narath thought of nothing else but his failure. All of Ner'Zhul's loyal servants had died in the defense of their king. They had fallen, fought to the last...

As Narath ran, ran like a coward as his master lay dead. There was nothing left to the necromancer but to run. He had abandoned survival itself. His reason shattered, Narath kept running up the steep slopes of the mountains, never even noticing the small undead encampment until he found himself facing the wall of a small Necropolis. Looking around confused, Narath saw other Scourge remnants, more necromancers and acolytes, approaching him hesitantly.

Narath panicked. He couldn't stay here! They must also know of his failure! He turned to run back down the icy slopes, but paused for a moment, for reasons he could not fathom. Just then, a fellow necromancer behind him spoke timidly.

"Master? What is going on? We all felt it, but..."

Narath stood there, not listening to the rest of the necromancer's speech. Master? As if the world were in complete silence, Narath turned around, hushing the voices of guilt in his mind. Managing to get some sort of a grip on himself, he studied the younger necromancer in front of him. Noticing the color of the speaker's robes and the staff that he bore, Narath realized something. Looking around at the other humans, he saw that it was true of all of them.

"You are adepts?" Narath asked, the raspy words forcing themselves out of his parched throat.

At this the younger necromancer, and most of his company as well, bowed their heads.

"Yes master. We fought in the battle with our masters and commanders, but it was a complete rout. Only our company, which was placed relatively close to these peaks, managed to survive, and even then only those who were not forced into the fray..."

At this the junior necromancer trailed off, his voice choking with emotion. The heads of his fellows bowed even lower. Then Narath realized; they too had run. They too had done all they could. They felt the same shame he had, yet only he knew what had happened and why. Straightening up, Narath placed his hand on his younger colleagues' shoulder. The necromancer looked up with haunted, bloodshot eyes. Knowing that those eyes mirrored his own, Narath spoke aloud what he had just realized himself.

"My friend, you have fought valiantly and done all you could. There is no shame in retreating after having done that. You deserve to know at least, the truth. My friends." Narath paused, wondering if he could even bring himself to acknowledge it aloud, then plunged on. "My friends, the Lich King has fallen."

At this the necromancers gasped, and the acolytes stared in dumb disbelief. They had known it in their hearts, yet would not bring themselves to admit it. To them the Lich King had represented the highest pinnacle of power, and to imagine that it was gone shook their world at its core. Even if they were not as devoted as Narath, they at least knew that they had all depended on the Lich King. Without him, they were–

No! Narath thought. They are not doomed. I will not have it!

"Servants of Ner'Zhul!" Narath shouted. Looking around, he saw to his satisfaction that all heads were turned towards him. "We all swore loyalty to the Lich King, and that oath still binds us! We will not lay down and die, we will not let the murderers who killed our master go unpunished! As long as we can move our limbs or cast a spell, the Scourge lives!"

The necromancers and acolytes around him stared, and then began to cheer. An acolyte stepped forward and bowed to Narath.

"Master, I was with Baron Perenold's company, near the front lines. Perenold was cut down, as were all the other commanders of Northrend."

The other survivors nodded grimly. This news shocked Narath; he had not expected, despite the suddenness and severity of the attack, for all of the Lich King's champions to have fallen. Before the full import of the disaster could sink in, the acolyte continued.

"Master, I believe that you are the highest ranking servant of Ner'Zhul remaining on Northrend. From now on I will serve you and the spirit of Ner'Zhul!"

One by one the other remnants of the Scourge offered their allegiance to Narath, and as the master Necromancer thanked each of them in turn, he brooded on that he, who had not too long ago been assigned to a lonely, trivial post, was the highest ranking servant of Ner'Zhul that remained alive in Northrend. As the final necromancer bowed, the one whom Narath had spoken to first, he asked an important question.

"Master, whom do we serve?"

"I am known as Narath Arcanis."

The young man nodded. "Within the mageocracy of Dalaran, those of high rank are known as ArchMages. So be it, ArchNecromancer Narath."

"ArchNecromancer." Narath murmured, and hoped only that he would live up to the title.

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Sil'Kan stalked through the bare trees with unnatural, almost feline grace. Normally one would not associate a troll with stealth, but prey had become more and more scarce on Northrend, making any catch you could get very important. In fact, Sil'Kan wasn't even a trapper, rather, a priest, but in this time of need, his village had employed him to hunt. Troll villages were something of a rarity, as they (particularly of the Ice variety,) were solitary creatures, living perhaps with their families and no one else. Even now there was talk among the elders of disbanding the village because there were too many mouths to feed. And so here Sil'Kan was, a voodoo priest, out hunting.

The forest itself was naked, bare of any needles or other semblance of life. Once these had been grandiose pines, providing shelter to many woodland creatures. However, the Undead's blight had rotted and corrupted them, pulling their essence away and leaving them little more than somber reminders of the life that had once flourished there. Oddly though, in recent days the blight seemed to be creeping back towards its source, almost as if the Scourge's taint was being dispelled.

Sil'Kan studied the fresh snow beneath him. There were footprints there, pawed, probably belonging to a polar bear. Although the young priest knew he was no match for a bear in direct combat, he surmised he might be able to fell one if he had the element of surprise. Crouching low and being careful not to make the snow crunch, Sil'Kan slithered along the path that he hoped would lead to fresh meat.

Eventually he heard the steps of an animal in front of him, much heavier and careless. Every few minutes they would stop and there would be a snuffling sound, as though the animal were sniffing at something, but then they would start up again. At one of these intervals, Sil'Kan took the opportunity to creep forward and spy on his prey. It was, as he guessed, a bear, but it was behaving in a most peculiar manner. It was standing perfectly still, although swaying slightly in the night wind, and sniffing the air purposefully as though searching out some particular scent. Suddenly snapping out of its trance-like state, the bear began to move through the snow at a fast trot. Fearing he might lose his quarry, Sil'Kan set off after it.

Suddenly the narrow path opened up into an icy meadow that was bathed in light; where such light was coming from during the midnight hours was a mystery to the young priest. His view into the meadow was blocked by the bear, which stood in the entrance for many minutes. Finally the troll simply slithered to a nearby tree and climbed into its upper boughs. The sight that awaited him was one he would never forget—hundreds of beasts were congregated in the clearing, covered in the golden glow. None of them attacked each other, strangely, as many of the beasts preyed on others present.

But the beasts were not immediately what caught Sil'Kan's eye. No, what did that was something horrible and grotesque, terribly out of place in this scene of serenity. It was a massive, pulsating purple hill of flesh, covered in scales and hundreds of blinking red eyes. At its top was a horrible, circular mouth rimmed with serrated, foot-long teeth. It seemed to heave with every breath, as though it was struggling to exist. Also, strangely, its form seemed faded, as if it were shifting in and out of existence with every shuddering intake of air. Still, its appearance belied the strong voice that suddenly echoed in Sil'Kan's mind.

Come out, come out... wherever you are.

The troll's heart froze at the sound of that voice, which wasn't really sound at all. It filled every crevice of his mind, obliterating any sane thoughts of escape. All he could do now was wait until it spoke again. And speak it did.

Come now, little creature. I won't hurt you.

All Sil'Kan could think to do was obey; carefully he slid down the tree and moved through the entrance to the meadow, now vacated by his earlier prey. As he walked into the clearing, the beasts formed a perfectly straight line in front of the mound of flesh, each one staring at him with the dull look of a mind lacking sentience.

I know what it is you seek, the voice said, food. Your tribe is in a time of famine, yes? I can give you all the food your people would ever want to have and so much more.

Finding his tongue for the first time since the hunt began, Sil'Kan rasped out, "In return for what?" If what this creature said was true, the young priest would be the hero of his village. But at what price would it come?

The oppressive, overbearing voice laughed.

Yes, even you, poor, confused creature, know that there is no such thing as a free meal. Very well, here is what I ask of you. Gather the finest axe-throwers in your village. Gather them, and bring them to the Icecrown glacier. I trust you know where that is? —Sil'Kan nodded— Good. Ah, but now you wonder why I want axe throwers, don't you? Very well, I'll tell you. The beasts suddenly blinked as one. It was unnerving.

We have a great enemy that cuts through the skies on wings of frost. Our own forces, while adept at overwhelming and crushing land-borne foes, are useless against those that can fly. Ah, but again, doubt fills your mind. What enemies are these, you say? Why, the ones you mortals call "dragons".

Sil'Kan stared in disbelief. These creatures hoped to stand against the dragons? This being couldn't be serious.

Ah, but I am, it said, in fact, I will show you just how serious I am.

Many things happened at once, then; suddenly, massive rope nets appeared all around the meadow. The animals, who had up until now stood silent and still, suddenly burst forth from their pelts; the meat below the skin ripped itself away, and bones separated, and before his eyes, crafted themselves into fine, pure-white axes that glittered in the moonlight. All these things gathered together in the air above Sil'Kan's head and then descended into the nets, which promptly bundled themselves and rose into the air once again. In awe of this display, Sil'Kan suddenly dropped to his knees, staring at the nets in wonderment.

You don't want to worship the voodoo gods any more, do you?

Sil'Kan shook his head.

You want to worship us, don't you?

Now the priest nodded.

You don't want the other trolls to worship the voodoo gods either, do you?

Shake.

In fact, I think voodoo is rather silly, don't you?

Nod.

Now, take all this back to your village and spread the gift of your faith to all your fellows.

Nod.

Good.

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Somehow, in Northrend, the roof of the world, the moons of Azeroth shone especially brightly. Hanging in the sky like globes of brilliant ice, they cast a pale blue glow over the world, and under their gaze all seemed silent and serene. It was not difficult to imagine the Night Elves worshipping a moon, and as Malygos and his kin came to rest lightly on the snow, the aspect lifted his gaze to the heavens. The sky was unusually clear; every twinkling gem of light was clearly visible in the heavens, shining with thousands of their kindred.

They reminded Malygos of his kin before Neltharion betrayed the aspects and became Deathwing. Before, wielding the powers of the Demon's Soul, Deathwing drove the blue dragons nearly to the point of extinction. The aspects had managed to defeat Deathwing, and thought him gone forever. Malygos had spent those dark millennia sealed in a secluded cavern of Northrend. He had hoped to forget and be forgotten by the world. Looking back, Malygos thought that then he had been driven nearly to the point of insanity, left alone to dwell on Deathwing's betrayal. Loneliness got to everyone; even the aspects.

Then Deathwing returned, and Malygos, memories of betrayal and thoughts of vengeance the only things he had to dwell on during his long isolation, had again banded with the other aspects to defeat him. Deathwing had fled, gone into hiding once again, and Malygos' flight began to make a comeback. Over the years his children had recovered, but had never returned to their former glory.

Malygos shook his head and turned his thoughts to the present. All around him, blue dragons were landing by the hundreds. They covered the land in a carpet of sapphire scales, shifting here and there like some mystical flock of birds. As they mulled about, they sent restless glances towards him. Malygos knew that the situation had to be handled carefully; the only way even an Aspect, granted immortality by the Titans themselves, could defeat the Old Gods was with surprise and good fortune.

With a simple spell, Malygos had determined that what he had feared and expected had at the same time had come to pass; the Old Gods had destroyed the Lich King. Left nearly unopposed in Northrend, the Old Gods would have ample time to prepare before overrunning the world...but they had not taken Malygos into consideration. 

Sending a silent message to his kin, Malygos resumed his silent flight and began stealthily moving towards Icecrown glacier. As he skimmed over the shimmering ice, he noticed something that he was not sure how to react to. Below him, resting on the ground haplessly, were a number of frost wyrms. Malygos frowned; he had detested the creation of their kind, as the ancient dragons deserved their rest, and should never have been used as tools of evil. The other blue dragons, spotting the frost wyrms, halted and stared down at the Lich King's creations. Mixed expressions of curiosity and disgust were clearly visible on their faces.

Malygos pondered the mindless creatures below. They had once been his kindred as well, and had flown and fought with him. They had been perverted into engines of destruction by the Lich King, but now apparently, without his guidance, they were left unintelligible and meaningless. Malygos mulled over his options; he could give the dragons the rest they so deserved, or they could aid the blue dragonflight once again. The aspect frowned; in the upcoming attack, he would need every dragon he could get.

The blue dragonflight was bound to its leader, and nothing changed after death. Without the commands of the Lich King to contradict Malygos' will, the leader of the blue dragonflight reached out to and touched the empty minds of the frost wryms. Immediately they reacted, rising to the air upon thin, decayed wings. Some of the living dragons shot questioning or doubtful glances at Malygos, but none dared oppose the aspect. Gesturing to continue the ascent, the blue dragonflight, both live and dead, proceeded towards Icecrown.

As Malygos and his kin landed again, this time upon a snowy mount just beyond which Icecrown Glacier lay wide open, the Spell-weaver listened carefully. A simple spell could have shown him what he now had to listen for, but sorcery, he knew, could be detected...and fooled. But as the other dragons landed lightly onto the snow around him, Malygos heard only the distant crunch crunch of the Faceless moving about, along with a strange clicking and hissing sounds. The aspect smiled grimly; he had anticipated the Old Gods exactly. Of course, having vanquished the Lich King, they would be eager to escape the confines of their prison. Never expecting an attack in the lands they thought they had just claimed as their own, the Old Gods were now moving out in the open, utterly unprotected from an airborne attack.

Knowing that such an opportunity would never come again, Malygos the Spell-weaver, leader of the blue dragonflight, lifted into the air and charged into battle. Behind him, letting out one great roar that shattered the ice beneath them, one thousand dragons followed, pearly bone accompanying sapphire scales.

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Sil'Kan watched, both terrified and enthralled, as the dragons emerged from the mountains, just like the gods had said they would. Like magical creatures of dreams, the airborne reptiles, their gleaming scales reflecting the bright moonlight, gracefully flew above the glacier. Sil'Kan gazed upwards in wonder, as did nearly every other creature standing there on the snow. Just then his jaw dropped as he laid his eyes upon a massive blue dragon, so huge that he dwarfed any two of his companions. His form conveyed both majesty and power, and for one short moment the silence of the night prevailed.

Then the mighty dragon, the one that had so awed his enemies, let out a surprised growl, which quickly turned into a roar of rage. He had been deceived. Below him, two thousand trolls stood glaring up at the skies, all of them brandishing axes of bone; gifts of the Old Gods. From all over Northrend they came, for there had been others like Sil'Kan who had heard the summons. Next to them, five thousand Nerubians hissed in wonder at the sight of the dragons. Not all of them were apt warriors, but rather the most skilled webspinners remaining in Azjol-Nerub. They were lead by their seer, Ra'Anum, who himself was stunned by the sight both beautiful and terrible to behold in the skies.

And in their midst, a few hundred Faceless calmly marched unaware and unimpressed by the dragons, for on their shoulders they bore the Old Gods. Their masses of tentacles writhed in anticipation, and seeing that his foes were present, Malygos abandoned doubt and roared his challenge. In response, hisses and clicks resounded from the forms of the Old Gods, meaningless to the normal ear...but to their worshippers the message was very clear.

KILL THE BIG ONE!

Suddenly the silence shattered, and in unison the dragons unleashed a volley of freezing breath upon the creatures below. A brilliant blue hue lit up the skies, throwing the Glacier into sharp relief. Shaking themselves from their awe-struck state, the trolls seized their axes, both sharp and light, and hurled them into the sky...right before many of them were struck down as the dragons' wrath exploded amongst them. A frosty haze rose from the bodies of the trolls, just as their axes pierced the beautiful scales of the dragons, and their victims cried out in rage and pain.

Ra'Anum watched as the bodies of a few dragons fell to the earth, and waved his claw in an unspoken command to his people. Webspinning was a highly refined art among the Nerubians, and the seer himself was no good at it. However, five thousand long, silky strands of web shot into the sky, each glimmering like a thread of glass in the moonlight. Immediately, several threads stuck to the dragons, and more soon followed. A few dragons, completely tangled by the webspinners' snare, fell to the earth, shattering the ice beneath them. Brilliant shards sprayed into the air, glimmering like diamonds before falling to the cold earth.

Watching from a hill with his kin, Malgeron thought the display beautiful, each attack carried out gracefully, and each death heralded majestically. Though his heart pained with every dragon that fell, and his blood throbbed at the sight of battle, Malygos had ordered the dragonspawn to keep out of it. Their forces, numbering only one thousand, would be cut down with ease, and though Malgeron did not like it he kept still, his eyes darting across the glacier, hungry for every detail.

Malygos himself cut through the air above the glacier, sending blast after blast of frost raining down upon his foes. The energies crashed to the earth, and immediately shaped themselves into massive golems of ice. These gleaming servants of the Spell-weaver strode among the clusters of webspinners, pounding at them mercilessly with their icy fists. The few, feeble swarms the Nerubians managed to conjure did little against the solid frames of their foes.

Paying little attention to the chaos below and around him, Malygos swooped down upon the fell procession of the Old Gods.  Obliterating the straggling Faceless at the back, the Aspect ignored the axes that bounced harmlessly off his scales and open his jaws wide, preparing to wipe out the entire convoy with one massive attack. Just then, the Old God at the back of the procession began wriggling its tentacles in excitement...and from the air in front of Malygos suddenly burst, as if from nowhere, a dozen swift, winged creatures that shrieked their hunger for all to hear. Unbelievably quickly, they dove at the aspect and began tearing at him with their talons. As the Aspect began to flail at the attackers, others landed on his wings, and began slashing at them with every sharp limb they possessed.

Forgetting about the Old Gods, Maylgos roared in rage. From his body issued forth a blast of freezing wind that knocked out the horrid creatures, and seeing more Nerubians and Trolls flocked to the God's defense Malygos returned to the skies. At a command from the Old Gods, from the surrounding mountains more swarms of the creatures poured. They flew into the air, intent only on carnage. Hunting down and diving at the dragons fearlessly, the savage beings slashed at their foes whenever they could get close enough, their sharp claws rending the tough hide. When they failed to get close enough to their enemies, they fired instead ill-aimed bolts of malicious energy that melted scale and burned flesh.

Soon the skies above were filled with thousands of globs of light that crisscrossed the night sky.

Malygos realized that his kin could not concentrate on both battling the winged creatures and evading the axes and webs from below. He called to his kin to follow him, and darted high into the sky, far out of reach for those bound to the earth. The gargoyles pursued, but at least now the fight would be on even terms. As Malygos dodged bolts of energy, he cast enchanted shards of ice into the air. As gargoyles passed, the shards darted at them at nearly imperceptible speeds and impaled them, dropping with their lifeless bodies to the ground far below.

More dragons fell, and as Malygos spared a look around, his heart fell too. The gargoyles moved too quickly to bit hit, and the large, slower dragons were easy prey for them. They were fighting a losing battle, one that was perhaps doomed from the start. Still not ready to give up, Malygos poured forth his energies into the air and cast one last spell that could destroy the Gods and end the madness.

An enormous, white storm cloud blossomed in the sky, all at once turned bright and ominous by the intense moonlight. Within the thick haze, both dragons and gargoyles vanished from sight, visible only as vague shadows even by each other. Flashes of lightning further illuminated the clouds, and very solemnly, huge spears of ice began raining from the sky.

The blizzard engulfed all of Icecrown Glacier, as the hail massacred the creatures below. The Old Gods, now approaching the shelter of the Lich King's former abode, erected a small shield around themselves which the ice crashed against harmlessly. Malygos meanwhile, was occupied and had no idea that his last hope to destroy the Gods had failed.

Ten gargoyles, heeding the command of their new masters, spiraled after the Aspect, firing bolts and flailing talons. Malygos evaded them as best he could, though occasionally he could feel the unpleasant sensation of a bolt melting into his hide. As the aerial dancers flew, Malygos sensed electricity forming nearby. Leading the gargoyles towards it, he was pleased to hear the lightening sizzle and smell the burning flesh of his foes as he passed.

Then suddenly a bolt of pure malice arced up into the sky and struck Malygos. Utterly unprepared for the sudden assault, Malygos' head spun with the Old God's hatred. It was only when he emerged from the cover of the storm clouds that Malygos realized that he was falling. He flapped his wings weakly...

As a hundred axes imbedded themselves in his maimed hide. Roaring in pain, the aspect flew, barely dodging another blast from the Old Gods, and barely noticing the ice that continued to fall from the clouds, crashing against his already weakened body. As Malygos felt his breath grow haggard and his muscles go limp, he realized that he was dying. He, who was entrusted to defend the world by the Titans, he who was never supposed to die. He, who was the embodiment of sorcery, had been beaten by a still greater power.

Malygos' weary mind felt regret at having to leave his job unfinished, the world in peril... yet perhaps now he could finally rest. The aspect flew from the glacier, finally landing in the cold snow of the mountains. Hearing the cries of his kin, he sent them one last message.

Flee. He told them, then shut his eyes and died.            

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As the Blue dragons broke and fled from the hail of axes and talons, the Great Blue Leviathan streaked off into the midnight sky. We heard a final roar, and the massive, almost explosive sound of thousands of pounds of flesh crashing into rock. Azrael, hissing in victory, reported feeling the dragon god's mind shudder and disappear forever.

We were eternal.

We were invincible.

The magical storm brought on by the aspect dissipated, leaving us bathed in moonlight. Our new troll servants let out an almost lupine howl as one. Though we had only heard their voices a few times, there was no mistaking what they meant.

Victory.

The trolls had proved to be easy to convert, and without them, our legacy might have perished that night beneath the full, Northrend moon. But now, do to the fact that they craved a commodity so simple we could create it from nothing, we had gained a group of worshippers five times greater than what we already possessed. Were it not for their last minute conversion, we would not have been able to lash out against the Aspect itself.

The gargoyles, our other newfound servants, descended upon the carnage of the battlefield and feasted upon the rare delicacy of dragon hide and meat. Soon they were turned blood red in the moonlight, shrieking in the ecstasy of their morbid feast.

They were great assets to us. The gargoyles granted us an armada of air warriors, and soon we would breach the confines of that continent, Northrend. It had become like our tomb in a way, though much more vast. But now, unlike before, we could make our own way out. We were not buried, left to rot and slip from the minds of mortals.

No longer would we be forgotten.

Now, this world would fear to forget us.  

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Malygos stirred. The first thing his clouded mind registered was that he felt...strange. He couldn't quite place the feeling. Then it hit him. What was going on? He was dead! He shouldn't be stirring. Slowly the fallen aspect heaved his body upright. He could hear bone creaking, but strangely he couldn't feel them. Malygos' mind still felt strangely suppressed, what was wrong with him?

Slowly and not without effort, Malygos opened his eyes. There was a figure standing in front of him. Quite suddenly, his vision cleared, and with a wrenching sensation he saw who it was.

It was a necromancer.

Malygos' cry of rage resounded throughout Azeroth.

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Authors' Notes:

ShadowedLight: Hi everybody! Out of habit I'll be doing reviewer acknowledgements this time around...lets see...wow...31 reviews. Thank you very much people! We always appreciate reviews. (I'm not as great at expressing thanks as Eternity is _) Anyways, on to the acknowledgements...

Queen of the Harpies, Sorry that we had to kill off the Lich King! Don't worry, I'm sure that after a while you won't even notice. Yeah, Eternity's insect/god section was really cool. Thanks as always for your always...emotional reviews.

demon_bright, More apologies for Arthas's death. That move wasn't popular obviously _ Oh well, this fic is all about being unorthodox. ^_^ Hey hey! My battle scene was better than the books? Why thank you! As for Link in Azeroth, I don't think I'll be able to get back to that in a while, what with this fic and Tears of the Legion (apologizes to those who follow LiA. It will be updated sometime). Anyhow, many thanks.

Lancer Davion, You happened to come along right after we posted the new chapter, so ff.net didn't have a chance to update it. Anyway, glad to see you're interested!

rabid fan, I'm running out of words to express our thanks for these reviews, so I'll just say thank you, thank you!

Kellendros, glad you liked the chapter! Hope you enjoyed this one too. Eternity is probably very happy that you liked his awesome gods and insects scene too. And yeah, Ra'Anum is cool. ^_^

Rowan Seven, Thank you thank you! Hope you enjoyed the blue dragons in this chapter...and about the Lich King, you must keep in mind that the Old Gods once took on the TITANS. Granted, they're not as strong now, but when they all pool their power together, it should be enough…we think. _ Anyhow, thank you for the sites! (if you can spare the info, we would much appreciate it if you could email us the information about what ended up happening in Kalimdor one year after the world tree battle.)

RandoM-TerroR, Hm. My, you are observant. Well, I suppose I screwed up with the ghoul count, but whatever. Anyway, about the Lich King, we still believe that it's Ner'Zhul's spirit and mind that dictates his actions, and his servants still know him as Ner'Zhul. After all, it is hard to change the name of a god. About the fear...well...it's a fic. We can do whatever we want. :D And about the Lich King's death, 2000 worshippers is enough to give each God substantial power. They pooled that power together in a temporal surge (which, by the way, is how Ra'Anum killed Anub'Arak) in order to disable the Lich King.

And now for the big K. Kendrakthos, I've decided to actually dignify your review by breaking it down before responding. So, lets look this over shall we?

"Alright. Alright. I tried to be proper and civilized about this." Really? Well, for all your attempted use of big words, I don't know just WHERE you learned the definitions of "proper" and "civilized", but wherever that was, you'd best look it up again. In the past, you have stated that certain persons were "morons", "ignorant, uneducated, worthless" and had "something akin to a third grade education". Not too civilized in my opinion, but that might just be me.

"Really, I did." Nope, don't think so.

"I tried to warn all of you pathetic buffoons out there to stop with the idiotic reviews." Hmm, actually the only truly idiotic reviews we've received were yours. And by the way, I don't think the other reviewers appreciate being called pathetic buffoons.

"I am trying to help you guys here, to be honest." You have an extremely rude way of going about it, that's for sure.

"But how do you repay me?" With well-deserved criticism instead of the good beating you've earned from a number of reviewers.

"With insults?" Actually, I was under the impression that "pompous hypocrite" was a very apt description, and kinder than most that you've probably received.

"With schoolyard taunting?" If this were a schoolyard, I would think of something better to say than "pompous hypocrite". I was trying to be proper and civilized with you Kendrakthos, but apparently you've been too busy having fun with Bill Clinton to realize that.

"All that is missing now are the uninteligable racial slurs!" Well, since uninteligable is not a word, I'll just have to assume you mean unintelligible. Anyhow, in my mind, the phrases "pompous hypocrite" and "racial slurs" fail to link themselves. Of course this doesn't necessarily mean you're insane, just...special, like your mom reminds you every day.

"Let me put it in yet a simpler way:" Well, nothing you've said has made much sense thus far, so I welcome the change. Whoops! Capital letters don't make anything clearer Kendrakthos. Just cause it's bigger doesn't mean it's better (kinda like your ego).

"BRING IT ON!" Someone needs anger management.

"THIS WILL BE MY LAST REVIEW FOR THIS FIC!" Very glad to hear it. We'll even help you out; any further reviews you accidentally submit will be removed.

"LET'S SEE HOW LONG YOU INGRATE CHIPMUNKS LAST WITHOUT ME!" *laughs* Big language won't save you here, kiddo. *laughs again*

"CAN YOU LIVE A DAY BEFORE YOU COME CRAWLING BACK TO ME ON YOUR KNEES?" *looks at watch* Well, we've lasted a bit longer than a day Mr. K. Try again next millennia and we might all be inclined to bow down and worship you...or not.

"A WEEK?" Nope, wanna use a lifeline? We've got 50/50, ask the audience, call a friend...oops don't have any eh?

"A FORTNIGHT?" Is that your final answer?

"I COULD TAKE ANY FIVE OF YOU SCRAWNY WRETCHES AT FISTICUFFS!" Okay, I have no idea what fisticuffs are, but if it's a catfight with scrawny wretches that you want, you'd best look elsewhere.

"BRING IT ON!" Someone sure enjoys pointless repetition. You know Kendrakthos, some people may, just may, get the impression that you talk big just to hear yourself speak.

Eternity And A Half: *humming quietly* FEEELINGS...oh, um hi! didn't see you there! *turns slightly pink*

Oh well, enough of my nonsense. I'd just like to thank all our readers for...um...reading. This chapter took a LOT of effort, and considering it took 3 days, I think it should be good. Unfortunately, I'm gonna be gone for the weekend, so no updates till this upcoming Tuesday or Wednesday. Sorry everybody!

Anyway, I'd just like to commend my co-author for his fantastic battle scenes. Don'tcha all just love em? Well, if you do, say something! And please, please, please keep reading. And keep reviewing. 31 reviews for 3 chapters? Sweeeet. Well, anyways, I think I've babbled about nothing for long enough. See y'all on monday! ^_~