Chapter 6:

A sharp pain cut through the Draenai and the true weight of her plate armor hit her like a 5 tonne weight.

Around her the crowd of 50 or so remaining Deathknights dropped like weighted stones in unison. There was a moment of peaceful silence in which the Defenders, the Argent Dawn - indeed the world - held its breath.

Then the wailing began.

Such loneliness... terrifying solitude swept over them like a black wave of panic. The reassuring presence of the Collective Mind stretched and snapped, bringing horrifying sounds from the mouths of the Deathknights. They writhed and convulsed on the ground; some lying still after only a moment - having surrendered to the final death than to live in solitude. Others surveyed themselves with wide-eyed and horrified expressions, repulsed by the realization of what they were... what they had become.

The Draenai was floating in a black ocean. Numbness began to set into her body. Her body? Her body. Self-awareness hit her like a blow to the gut, ripping the ground from underneath her and bringing a choked gasp from her lips. She heard others spiral into the madness of such abrupt severance from the power they'd known for so long. With trembling arms, she drew to her knees and lifted her head groggily to survey the pandemonium - her eyes swimming with tears of pain.

"Monster!"

"WHAT AM I!?"

"The others..."

"Gone! It's all gone!"

"My eyes! Oh god, my EYES!"

"Who did this?!"

"So alone..."

Some Lich were screaming uncontrollably, quivering on the grass, crying out in a multitude of languages. Others were merely sobbing; great heaving sobs that shook their bodies violently. A Troll male cried out in terror, catching the reflection of himself in the blade of a discarded sword. He clawed at his glowing blue eyes, ripped at his skin until they were a bloody mess.

The Draenai turned her eyes from him, feeling her stomach boil. A fresh wave of icy pain lanced through her, sucking at her strength until her trembling arms folded and she collapsed on the ground. She drew shallow breaths, allowing calm blackness to creep over her. She started to feel lighter, the weight of her armor fading from her skin as she tried to die.

Get up!

The order sent a shocking jolt shot through her body and she flinched. Slowly, her limbs began to tense - attempting to obey. She swept a hand across the bloody grass; a sudden sense of feeling smashed into her. The dry brittle blades of grass beneath her fingertips, the hot stickiness of spilt blood that was cooling in the afternoon sun... it all felt wonderful.

Get up!

The order cracked through her mind like a whip, sending another jolt of electricity through her bones. It was like being shocked back to life! A small stone of reluctance remained in her, making her body just too heavy to drag to herself feet.

Open your eyes...

Where was this voice coming from? The Draenai opened her eyes, eyelashes fluttering lightly. Light flooded her vision, making her flinch and clap a hand to her eyes with a sound of pain. She rolled to her back, opening her eyes to slits to allow them to adjust. Adjust? Her eyes widened as they drunk in the burnt orange tint of the sky. Had the sky always been this colour? Wasn't it meant to be... blue?

Sunset.

She agreed with the voice. The battle must have lasted all day. It was strange - she remembered very little of the fighting. In fact she remembered very little of anything other than the droning voice of the scourge and the monotonous black and white world she'd inhabited like a ghost. How long? How long had she been dead? What was her name?

Deathere.

Her breath caught in her throat, forming a lump. Her name... her name! It had been given to her by... by...

The High Commander.

A brief memory of a tall Night Elf with a billowing red cloak and blackened armor flashed before her eyes. He had named her barely a day ago. Had he survived? Had anyone from her unit survived?

There are sure to be some like us.

Us? The shock of realization hit her mind, already battered from the experience of the Severing. The voice in her head... it was her! She could feel it, swimming around inside her like a fish in a glass bowl. It hadn't found exactly where to settle yet. She pushed herself up with her hands, feeling the movement shake the fragile presence of her self drifting inside that glass bowl. She took a moment to steady herself, drawing a deep breath and letting the person inside her settle like a bird settling into its nest...

...then she stood.

The sight left the Argent Defenders agape in wonder. What had happened? The unconscious and - one could assume - dead forms of Deathknights littered the ground. They had dropped like sacks of grain to the floor. They had burst into heaving sobs, screams of pain and gone mad - even tearing at their own skin. Now all was silent once more. The night air was permeated only by the sound of labored breathing and shifting armor.

Commander Dawnbringer kept a firm grip on his weapon as the Deathknights at his feet trembled. The looks of terror were fading from their undead faces, replaced with wonder... and something harder. Steely determination, fierce anger burned in the identical blue flames that passed as eyes on their faces.

They began to stand.

Well at first, just one. The body of Darion Mograine gasped sharply. He shuddered then pushed himself to his feet, seemingly drained of all strength. He pulled off his helm weakly and cast it aside; it bounced and rolled down the hill. He looked over the rest of the bodies of the Deathknights and his gaze became hard.

"On your feet, Deathknights!" He snapped.

A chorus of gasps answered him - identical to the one he had emitted himself barely a minute before. Bodies trembled. A lone Deathknight stood - its knees shaking from the effort. Two slender horns wove out of its helm - a Draenai. It picked up the sword by its side, swung it onto its back and took an uncertain step towards Highlord Fordring. He was standing beside Dawnbringer and instantly the Paladin commander and four Argent Defenders leapt to his side, swords drawn. He dismissed them with a wave,

"Stand down soldiers."

They gave him incredulous looks, but obeyed him. Dawnbringer lingered a moment longer.

"Sir, it's armed."

"Something of great mention is about to be witnessed, Eligor."

The older man's eyes sparkled with joyous anticipation. What did he see when he surveyed what had happened to the scourge before them? Eligor bowed and stepped back, though still within reach if needed. The Deathknights steps began to become more certain, stronger as it approached. He eyed it with distrust - how many of his men had it cleaved in two with that monstrous sword strapped across its back? It wove through the bodies of the fallen on the grass.

"Deathknights... rise!" Came another bellowing order from Mograine. To the amazement of the Argent Defenders, another 20-30 undead shuddered and stood shakily.

"By the light!" Dawnbringer murmured. Fordring half-smiled.

"Even from the gates of the final death... they answer the call of their commander." He said sagely.

The Draenai Deathknight passed two more bodies on the ground. They rose and joined it, falling into step beside it. Dawnbringer narrowed his eyes at one of them, noticing its cloak depicted a high rank.

When they had approached the Highlord they halted, looking at each other. Both sides were still.

The first Deathknight raised an arm to its neck. The Argent Defenders lept forward once more, swords at the throats of the lich. Neither three of them flinched from the blades, they were deathly still.

"I said stand down!" Fordring bellowed. Dawnbringer shot him a look and nodded to him men. They drew back again. Fordring turned to address his Paladins.

"We have all been witness to a terrible tragedy. The blood of good men has been shed upon this soil." He gestured to the surviving Argent Defenders, almost three-quarters of their men had been slain.

"Honorable knights, slain defending their lives - our lives! And while such things can never be forgotten, we must remain vigilant in our cause." Fordring gestured to the bodies that littered the ground, "The Lich King must answer for what he has done and must not be allowed to cause further destruction to our world!"

This was met with murmurs of agreement in the ranks of Argent Defenders. Dawnbringer was still uncertain - what was Tirion planning to do with the remaining scourge?

"I make a promise to you now, brothers and sisters: The Lich King will be defeated! On this day, I call for a union. The Argent Dawn and the Order of the Silver Hand will come together as one! We will succeed where so many before us have failed!" Fordring lifted a fist to the north. "We will take the fight to Arthas and tear down the walls of Icecrown!" He boomed. The Argent Dawn cheered and beat their weapons against each other.

When the noise had died down a deep voice cut through the silence.

"You will not be alone!"

Mograine - surrendered to the fact that a majority of his Knights would never rise again - began to move towards Fordring, taking his place in front of the Deathknights. Fordring extended Ashbringer to him, its blade still shining like a beacon in the sunset. Mograine bowed his head and plunged it into the ground - dropping to one knee before the Paladin.

The other three Deathknights, who had remained silent throughout the entire speech, removed their own helms. The Draenai shook knotted silver hair from the plate helm, her bloodstained skin the colour of a summer sky underneath the grime of battle. The two others beside her were a flame-haired female Human and a pale Nightelf. The three of them drew their own swords and stuck them in the ground in unison, kneeling behind Mograine. Dawnbringer gaped as Mograine continued,

"While our kind has no place in your world, we will fight to bring an end to the Lich King. This I vow!" He finished harshly. "We pledge our swords to your cause, Tirion."

With resonating scrapes of steel on steel, every remaining Deathknight drew their sword and plunged it into the ground. They each fell to their knees in a rippling wave.

A strong hand took Mograines shoulder firmly, making him look up sharply.

"Stand, Darion." Fordring sternly. Mograine stood, the other Deathknights remained where they were. The old Paladins face opened to a wide smile,

"It will be good to fight by your side once more!"

They clasped hands firmly. Fordring called to the heavens,

"The Argent Crusade comes for you, Arthas!"

"So too do the Knights of the Ebon Blade... you will pay for your crimes, betrayer!" Mograine brandished Ashbringer in the setting sun, the light shining from the legendary sword.

Dawnbringer fell back from the crowd, sickened.

He had spent the last 10 hours fighting the scourge monstrosities... now they knelt and pledged themselves to destroy the very one that they had served! The very same scourge that had ripped his men to shreds, impaled them, beheaded them... reveled in the shower of blood! How could Fordring even entertain the notion of trusting them? With a sudden rush of fury he balled his fist and slammed it into the table that sat in the middle of the chapel. It emitted a sharp crack and split, sagging in the middle.

He drew a jagged breath, ignoring the burning from his bleeding knuckles. He would have loved to have executed each one, right this moment, but knew that now that they had pledged allegiance to the Argent Crusade they would be protected.

He looked back out of the chapel door, seeing Mograine and Fordring embrace like brothers. A keeling scourge - the Draenai monstrocity - caught his eyes with its own fiery blue gaze. He spat on the floor and turned away from it. He can wait; Northrend supplied endless opportunities for the self-sacrificing Deathknights to mysteriously 'disappear'. He smiled.

Yes, he could wait.