-Chapter 12-
"Kolark, what the hell were you thinking?!" Gunther scolded, the ten-foot giant of a tauren oblivious to his words.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" he replied, the words muffled by the food stuffed in his mouth. "Come on, cut me some slack! There's nothing to eat at base except cactus apples, which I do honestly enjoy, but a guy like me needs to keep up his weight."
"So you go for the emergency food storage on board our zeppelin?" Katreda asked in an inquisitive tone, her hands on her waist. Ignoring the question, he quickly glanced around.
"Hey, w-where are we?" Kolark quivered slightly as he took in the outside surroundings from a nearby window. He finally left the ship and took in the view of the looming prison he once broke out of. "Not this place again!"
"You never mentioned being imprisoned in one of the Alliance's greatest military jails," Jedo mentioned with much suspicion. "Why would a merchant be that threatening to the Alliance anyway?"
"Um . . ."
It was Katreda who broke in, much to Kolark's dismay. He eased up, though, when he realized she was clueless.
"Well, you see, from what I've read in some of Azeroth's many libraries, Fort Watertight had originally been built to throw away just those ordinary aristocrats who might seem like a threat to running political figures. The fort was first in construction during the second war and completed only months after the war ended. Since then, they realized that the location and geography made it an ideal prison for just about all of the Alliance's enemies, so they modified it into a general one that housed any of the most troublesome of people. These unlucky guys and gals are exterminated, not, of course, before being stripped of their secrets."
"You're one well-informed captain," Jedo said, his eyebrows raised.
"That is why I was chosen to come along, although I can attest Kolark, here, will be of more help."
The tauren turned to see the entire group eying him warily. Apparently, they suspected something about his past, but did they actually know about his true purpose with them? Thinking about it made Kolark realize just how long this plight was taking him. Sylvanas was likely ripping out her ghostly hair by this point, wondering just where in Azeroth he was. She did mention failure wasn't an option. He cleared his throat and spoke softer, yet shakily.
"Well, I suppose I could lead you in. I mean, I didn't exactly break out like most made it seem. I just happened to 'sneak' out without the guards looking."
"A tauren 'sneaking' out . . . ?" said Kamrik in disbelief.
"Whatever . . . can we just go?" Gunther urged while tapping his foot impatiently, for he alone found the story uninteresting.
"Right," said the blonde-haired captain, her hand on the hilt of her sword, "lead the way."
Kolark sighed and did as he was told, gun in hand. This was the price he had to pay for eating just a little more than his usual; back into the prison from hell. He tried to suppress those dismal memories, the days when he first laid eyes on Azeroth. He was indeed one of the few tauren, if not the only one, who ever landed then. It wasn't that enthralling, but the trip was one he'd remember, or so he thought. It wasn't surprising that his own brethren would exile him, thus sewing the threads of hate he soon began to embrace. It wasn't easy traveling alone, learning the lay of the land, facing the Maelstrom; bounty hunting was all he had known since.
"Alright, here's the plan," he began in a whisper, "I blast the nearest guards with itching bullets, and then we make a run for it inside."
"That's suicide!" Troi blurted out.
"Then what after? Distract them with your special tauren jig?" Kolark merely shrugged at Gunther's last remark, appearing hopeless and depressed.
"What does it matter? We're just gonna end up in the slammer."
"For Berthe's sake, just follow me!" Katreda spat, sword now in hand. The band carefully followed the agile captain around the stony obstacles surrounding the tower prison, all but Troi managing with ease; although he had taken off some of the heavy armor he wore before leaving the zeppelin, the task still resulted in some close calls. They paused to allow Troi to catch up, taking mental snapshots of the gigantic layout of the base. Judging by the defenses, going through the front door was like waving hello to a clan of rabid Doomguards. The section with the least scouting towers, the back entrance, had the most soldiers patrolling due to the lack of the structures, naturally. To make matters worse, the scouting towers also blocked access to several small side entrances as well. However, human error was much more probable than technical difficulties. That said, they finally decided to edge around back toward the patrols. Using the trenches and the tall, overgrown grass for cover, they went unseen through the majority of the outdoor complex, following their skilled captain to the best of their abilities.
The group came to an abrupt halt when the giant steel doors came into view, the back entrance seeming quite pregnable - and yet, guarded by several very well-equipped knights and mages. Luckily, the intruders were still far from their sight and hopefully far enough from the mages' sentry detection. But when the guards began whispering amongst each other and splitting up, wary looks playing on their obscure faces as they spread out, Katreda and the rest found themselves feeling a full jolt of adrenaline.
"This is it, we're doomed," muttered Kolark miserably. "These guys are elite guards, and now they've detected our presence!"
Just as the others were about to lose hope along with him, a miracle dawned on them yet again. The soldiers began rushing toward the other side of the fort, alarmed for some unknown reason. The mages hovered after them, apparently concerned about something more potentially dangerous than an odd noise in the thickets.
"Now's our chance," Kamrik whispered to his comrades, his daggers unsheathed at this point. They hurried toward the complex's heavy doors like mice skittering toward a baited mousetrap, stopping short when they spotted two leftover soldiers armed with swords safeguarding it. Gunther chuckled as they eyed the armored guardsmen, which could only mean he had something up his sleeve.
"Looks like you all need my help." He took out a small leather pouch from somewhere on his belt and revealed a tiny glass jar filled with a purplish liquid. He deftly pulled out two arrows from his quiver and dipped their heads into the noxious fluid. He put the jar away and took aim, pulling the string, aiming, and landing one hit after another. By the time the two guards realized something struck them in the arm, they collapsed, falling into what seemed a deep slumber. "You are all very welcome," he told them with quite a sarcastic tone.
"Hurry," Katreda told them, "Troi, Jedo, get that door open. Kamrik, Gunther, and I will enter within and attack any immediate soldier in sight. Kolark, you just stay back and blast anything that gets past us."
The swiftly-devised plan unfolded in a blur of a moment, the team cooperating without much of a hassle. Meanwhile, Kolark kept a leery eye out in the distance, where sounds of panic stirred.
"Man, whatever's going on in the other side sounds intense. Wonder what happened?"
"Just keep up with us, cowman," Gunther growled.
"Yeah, we need you to lead us inside," Jedo added.
The team met within the walls of Fort Watertight, yet none came to greet them. Something big was going on at the fort's front entrance. Nevertheless, they needed to take advantage of the distraction. The only problem was, they didn't have any leads at the moment, rendering the tauren's navigational skill useless; in other words, they were lost. Then, like the answer to a prayer, Pala's voice entered through their minds again, her voice a soothing calmness in their time of distress.
"Do not be startled, but I've been able to see through your eyes and noticed you've all made it inside. This is excellent news. Head to the 30th floor to the solitary confinement cells, where they keep all their greatest threats before execution."
"All the way up there?!" Troi scoffed.
"Easier said than done," Kamrik added.
"The tactician is definitely there?" It was Katreda's swift determination that took Pala's attention.
"Yes. Hurry, though. She might not have much time. With all the commotion, they may slay her where she stands for fear of the enemy getting to her first."
"Before you, er, go," Troi blurted out suddenly, "do you have any idea what distracted the guards up front?"
"I'll look into it, but don't expect an answer too soon. Just hurry."
The gang raced through the spacious first floor halls, cautious not to accidentally run into some soldiers in all the chaos. They heard the fort's security team scampering about toward the site of great concern, which luckily was the opposite direction, glad in a way that it happened, yet anxious all the same. The strange part of it all was that for all the rumpus going on there was no sound of attacks, just irate yelling and the clamoring of steel armor. They wasted no time, instead treading onward through the stone-walled corridor. Nothing but candles decorated the militaristic labyrinthian hall, which was just as well; less things to distract the lofty tauren. However, they soon began to believe their horned guide was getting them lost.
"No, not there!" Kolark instructed after wandering haphazardly, "This way! This way!"
Kolark rammed the locked double-doors he pointed to, somewhere still on floor number one, knocking the wooden planks off their hinges as though they were mere cardboard chunks. Three very terrified soldiers, not even armed or equipped yet, saw the hulking tauren and ran the other way, screaming and scurrying about like helpless murlocs. The sight would have been delightful under other circumstances, but the group could only feel relieved. They were led upstairs soon enough, only to the second floor. As soon as they touched that floor, voices began to flood from below.
"There's some scoundrel upstairs!" they were able to make out through the shouts.
"Damn!" Katreda cursed. "Kolark, do you remember where they kept you? The woman must have been placed in the same spot you were. After all, you weren't placed in the P.O.W. jails, right? You'd be with the political threats, I think."
"Um, sure, of course I wouldn't wind up in P.O.W. jail. Hehe, why would a merchant end up there?"
The so-called merchant led them around in circles, until they heard more guards yelling from behind. "Get the mages! Rally the others! Intruder inside the base!"
That's right, the guards took me up to my cell using teleporters . . .
Reeling with excitement, Kolark began speaking rapidly and loudly. "Teleporters, there are some teleporting mechanisms on the floor that look like regular tiles, only it shined bright. But if I remember correctly, the tiles led to random areas, depending on the location the tile is found."
The others didn't question it any further; there was no way they could climb up twenty-nine floors by foot and save the woman in time. They turned to Kolark to lead the way, the uneasy lot hoping they could get through without too much trouble.
"Do you remember any nearby landmarks?" The captain didn't realize how pointless the question was since the second floor appeared to be an exact replica of the first floor to them.
"A-ha!" came a muffled voice from somewhere around the echoing gray walls. "There's actually six of you, what looks like five humans and a tauren. Mercenaries hired by the Horde, no doubt!"
The man approached from behind them, completely suited up in shining steel armor and accompanied by two lower-ranking officers. The man's helm was made to look like some horrific wyrm's face, the long pointed teeth surrounding where the eyes and mouth would be and horns spiraling around behind him. A wide crest around the top of the helm gave him the look of a dragoon of lore. A long, blood-red cape wavered behind him as he took each stride gracefully. His pale gold armor clattering loudly was muted by the sound of a ridiculously long, thin katana being unsheathed from his side.
"Today, these halls will rain blood! How dare you think you can intrude these halls without receiving divine punishment!"
He charged immediately, his soldiers close to his side. The first thing the ambushed gang could do was draw their weapons, was the only thing they could do as their pursuer closed in on them. The knight's katana, a peculiar weapon, swiped down with a whining scream, cleaving the very air in front of the closest person, Jedo, who in turn could only back away. He hit the wall rather hard, his still-healing arm knocking painfully against tough bricks, and the sudden realization that he barely had any armor to protect him making him feel sick with dread; one clean strike and it would be all over. The long blade his adversary carried allowed him to strike and stay at a safe distance, rendering the others too cautious to strike in the crowded hall, especially with two lackeys at his side.
Troi seemed to adhere to that fact and used the range of his spear to keep the dragoon knight busy for the moment. Meanwhile, Katreda and Gunther made quick work of the minor soldiers, whose meek rapiers made for a poor challenge against sword and arrows. Katreda dispatched the last lackey and cast upon the party a blessing that would protect them against physical trauma, giving them more of a chance against the fiendishly agile armored man.
"You still persist in taking me on?" questioned the man, and although his face was hidden behind the helm, Jedo could clearly tell he was smiling, enjoying the thrill of the kill. "Do you not understand your fate?"
As he became surrounded on all sides, he quickly lowered himself in the split second they gave him and brought his weapon up and around. The swirling blade appeared to be just a white streak surrounding him, sending his attackers reeling backward, weapons all parried, even managing to chop Troi's spear cleanly in half. Following his super fast strike, he thrust his foot forward, knocking the astounded boy and his halved spear down onto the ground. Meanwhile, with one hand firmly pressed against Jedo, he shoved him against the wall and brought the sword an inch from his chest. Jedo expected the needle-like katana to pierce through leather and skin, and then muscle and bone. However, a voice broke through the few seconds it took for all of it to happen.
"I found the teleporter!" shouted Kamrik, who had somehow snuck away from the battle scene and searched for a way out. The dragoon knight looked away, looked straight at the boy who nettled him so by locating the device he so badly wanted to keep away from them in the first place and snarled.
"Impudent boy-,"
It was the distraction Jedo needed to use a holy smiting spell to repel him and the weapon away, the man wincing from the blinding light. It also provided the cover needed for the others to scramble off with Jedo. As they neared the corner Kamrik stood, Gunther paused and held out his bow.
"I'll cover, step through!"
Katreda knew that with a ranged weapon, Gunther would make for a perfect stall; she was ready to ask Kolark to assist, but he was the first one scurrying into the magical device. It seemed he may have known that armored man . . .
Gunther fired three carefully aimed shots one after the other, but found his confidence shattered when the hulking knight slashed each one with his weapon, not even needing to parry or dodge them. He hated to give that smug bucket-headed bastard the satisfaction, but gawking in awe was all he could do before hurrying off with the others into the portal. He soon found himself with the rest of them, finding the young thief setting off the deactivation tile for the teleporter.
"Neat trick, huh?" Kamrik laughed, but the others weren't so much in the mood to join him.
"What floor are we on?" Jedo spoke aloud, his tone more serious after the near-death situation.
"Ack, this is . . ."
The tauren trailed off, glancing around at the rusting jail cells and grimy floor. The others soon realized the rust all around them wasn't rust at all, but blood, dried after many years of having been shed. The room was a torture room, the myriad number of sharp, pointed objects in the room mind-numbing. Chunks of flesh and bone was still left on some of the mechanisms, as if kept there for the inquisitors' enjoyment and relishing of past anguish. Surprisingly, all but Katreda grimaced in fear and disgust, the fiery captain merely wearing a stern, angered look.
"We need to get the hell out of here," she said bluntly, running past tables with limb cuffs stained a dark red. More horrifying serrated gizmos decorated the ceiling above, but none cared to examine them too closely. They found the door leading out, hoping they wouldn't have to enter another room so gruesome and let their tension dissipate as they saw a clear, quiet corridor. To their left was a narrow strip through the wall of open sky, the outdoors clearly in view. From the scene outside, they figured they had to be high up on an upper floor. The room, likely designed for archers to fire from a protected slit in the wall, went around in a half-circle, the other end hidden, but silent.
"I don't see any armies coming, or soldiers or Horde members," Troi said with his eyes training the perimeter of the island.
"Then they're probably on to us," Katreda replied with a frown, "we'd better hurry. Besides, that gold-armored man may still be on our trail."
They marched around the hall, their boots clattering loud enough through the thick silence the mini balcony harbored. The next door was metallic and very heavy, but to their surprise led to a stairway. Empty as well, it spiraled up several floors, with the number of the current floor etched neatly on a nearby wall reading "26".
"Ah, floor thirty must be further up," Kolark said, relieved.
After an unnerving climb up the stairs to their targeted destination, they were relieved when the door to floor thirty opened, the hall in front of them just as silent as the last. They immediately entered to see two rows of empty identical cells, both to their left and right sides. The hall continued straight down until yet another row of cells, this time with thick steel doors, lined the room's walls. Names were tagged onto these doors as if the prisoners were just simple test animals.
"Good," Pala chimed in once more, "you made it. Now, look for the tag that reads 'Lucrecia'."
They all stopped short when they saw the name-plate that read "Lucrecia Miller." Katreda signaled Kamrik to pick the lock to her cell. The expert thief prodigy lifted all the tumbles in five seconds flat, leaving the others in awe; they expected the locks of Fort Watertight to be topnotch. However, they had no time to gawk, instead rushing inside only to see a woman sitting down content on a rather lavish couch. And she still sat there, expectantly, her flowing robe neat and perfectly set, the purple rims around the white fabric especially exquisite and very expensive. She had long, straight blonde hair tied back save for a single strand that ran in front of her face. She was young and very beautiful, her eyes shining a deep ocean blue. The woman held near her a large tome and a small bag probably with her belongings. When she finally stood up, she spoke first.
"Ah, I assume you're here to release me, right?"
"H-How did you know?" Kamrik asked in surprise.
"Trust me, I know," she said with a smile. "An intruder in a fort as well-fortified as this would want someone very important. Who more important than I?"
"That's a bit cock-sure, if I may say so," Gunther said. "What if we were here to kill you?"
"Then you would have done so already," she replied simply.
"You think you know everything, huh?" Gunther ranted on.
"Yet, I am correct, aren't I?"
Katreda nodded, taking one last look outside the small cell. "Damn, they'll be here soon! You are Lucrecia, aren't you?"
"Oh, yes, that's right. I am Lucrecia Miller, daughter of a well-known tactician in Palatinus."
"Really?" Kamrik said with much interest.
"No time for chitchat," Troi interrupted. "They're gonna gain on us soon!"
"There they are!" came a shout from the one-way exit of the hall. Down raced several knights, their armor and weaponry much more intimidating than those from before. Luckily, the gold-armored knight didn't make a second appearance, probably busy with the other "intruder". They would have been just ten feet away, until suddenly they stopped short in their tracks. Crimson blood dripped down in front of them as they slowly crumpled to the ground all at once, eight bodies slumped over . . . except for one.
"What's going on?" Jedo asked in a sudden state of shock.
As the shadows began to fade, yet another man was revealed, one clad in mere leather armor. He had golden hair down to his shoulders and a sword most unique. It was none other than the general of Stormwind, Xadek.
"Father!" Jedo shouted, his voice muffled out of surprise. He imagined he was here to rescue them, but something wasn't exactly reassuring of that. His stance was still hostile-looking, and he had a daunting sparkle in his eyes. As they locked eyes, Jedo had to ask himself: was it really him? What had he been doing all this time? And why follow them into Fort Watertight? One thing was certain, he sought something of great importance to come through here . . .
"Longtime no see, Jedo."
-Outskirts of Naxxramas, moments before the attack . . .
"Are the preparations set?" asked the vampiric Lestat.
"Yes, master, all is in place," replied a male specter, his tattered robes just as ethereal as his floating body.
"Excellent. Miss Windrunner is in for a very rude awakening."
Seconds later, Nathanos strode up to meet Lestat and his forces. Fresh troops followed after him. Nathanos gave the smiling undead ruler a firm nod and spoke, breaking the cool silence of the land.
"I trust all is well with your branch here."
"But of course. All will commence by the Dark Lady's word."
"It is time to prove where your true loyalties lie, 'vampire'," Nathanos added blandly. An even wider smile spread across Lestat's fragile features. And like the next cue to his deathly play, Sylvanas marches forth behind the troops, pompous and maniacal as always.
"Ah, but now your loyalties will all become uniform, united with a higher entity!"
At Lestats words, Sylvanas' general turned his stead toward the floating vampire, a grave look barely plastered onto his dead face. Lestat lifted up a strange object, something like a fruit. And out materialized several magi ghosts, hovering above and chanting around the peculiar fruit. Runes appeared instantly, brightly under the treacherous traitors. Dumbstruck, it was much too late for Sylvanas, or even Nathanos for that matter, to react on time.
"Now, you shall all work for my 'dark lady'!"
PSSSHHH!
From the dark woods flew an arrow at lightning speed, so quick, Lestat had not realized it pierced the item in his hand until it smashed against a tree, pinned perfectly by the arrow. Desperation filled his fiendish mind as his hand felt nothing but empty air. He quickly averted his gaze toward the woods and saw Sylvanas, her bow being plucked again. This time, the arrow struck home, directly into Lestat's gut. He clutched it as if in pain, even though he knew he'd never feel such a cursed sensation. He turned to the "false" Sylvanas and watched as the ordinary banshee became herself again, his plan for expansion foiled. He turned to face the true banshee queen, seemingly unhurt.
"Hmm, hmm, hmm . . . Ha, ha, ha! Sylvanas, it intrigues me how you saw right through my plan, but today you and your brethren shall join Lady Zeda!"
Sylvanas only smiled back. And just when Lestat thought he heard her actually chuckle, for the first time in centuries, he experienced pain again. Filled with horrible anguish, he finally became aware that the arrow was still plunged inside of him. As he pulled, he nearly keeled over in the outright pain it generated.
"Hmm, I was going to save this for Arthas, but I see I've made the right choice." Sylvanas' words were calm and biting at this point, even more so to the downed vampire. "Let me guess, this Zeda is in league with him . . . isn't she?"
Just as the pain began to settle in, Lestat had the chance to actually retort, fury in his very tone.
"Worthless wretch! What makes you think I shall reveal a thing to you! Ahhhhh!"
Sylvanas walked down toward the pitiful creature, the magi specters yielding in shame and reverence. "Little vampire, that was a no-no. you see, I've implanted a rather unique parasite within you. Fused with dark magic, the arrow I struck you with contained the spores of potent new specimen. The sporophyte probably set its roots deep throughout your whole withered body by now. And because it is psionically linked to me, I can instruct it to squirm within every inch of your dross flesh. The chemicals it releases then allows you to actually feel pain and suffering. At least now, as my slave, you can experience half of what I must endure each passing day."
"That can't be possible! Zeda will dispel it, you shall see!"
"Not if I kill her first," Sylvanas responded in the coldest possible tone.
"How? How did you realize what I've been plotting? You were still with your forces in Stratholme when I gave the orders. You should be under Zeda's spell right now!"
Without saying a word, Sylvanas crossed her arms, and behind her, in front of her, all around both of them, forms began to appear. The Dark Lady's rogues littered the entire forest grounds, astonishing the once-ruler-of-the-undead.
"Spies . . . all undetected?!"
"Don't ever test me again, and maybe I won't continue to torment you."
Sylvanas strode off to Nathanos, no longer focusing on the now feeble vampire. Her thoughts lay solely on the matter at hand, and now with the lord of the dead adhering to her every whim, she had full control of the battle instead of relying on an "ally". It appeared she would've done what she planned regardless of his loyalty, but she was counting on his treachery and found herself correct in her judgement anyway.
"Formation is established, my lady," Nathanos spoke, standing at her side. "Shall I?"
"Of course. Assuming Arthas hasn't supplied the reinforcements yet, victory should be ours."
The flag-bearer, a slim Forsaken undead, blew the horn, a sound so chilling in the desolate Plaguelands. The vicious undead let out warcries as they charged on forward. Sylvanas' warriors rode their steeds down toward the floating citadel that was Naxxramas, the black edifice getting closer and closer. Rogues disappeared from sight, making their way downward unseen. Priests rode their own undead horses to follow up behind the band of armored kin and archers. Lestat watched in deep contemplation as the mages she deployed headed off a different direction, using teleportation to mass transport more troops and meatwagons.
"Curious, vampire?" Sylvanas called out, looking out at the field rather than at him. Lestat merely smiled, replying in kind.
"As much as I am loyal to my Lady, I am eager to hear how you shall gain a victory against a giant hovering structure such as that."
"Hmph, just watch."
As her forces reached the premises of the looming necropolis, the mages materialized somewhere off to the west of the others and remained immobile for the moment. Meanwhile, the main bulk of the army, led by Nathanos himself, were met by whatever forces Kel'Thuzad had. Sylvanas was surprised to see the lich out in the open as well, causing her to smile wickedly. Were their numbers lacking that badly? Then, like a means to crush her aspirations, at least thirty meat wagons emerged from due north, all of them in a perfect row. She knew what he had intended as soon as she saw those wagons.
"Take out those wagons!" she shrieked, so loud that perhaps both forces could hear her. She didn't care. Those wagons were carrying corpses Kel'Thuzad had stored especially for such an occasion. But it was too late; Nathanos' men met with the remnants of the lich's, which included mindless ghouls, abominations, and the occasional Nerubian. The meat wagons stood in the background, unloading white and reddish masses onto the field. Ghouls tossed them out onto the ground, and even as they continued unloading, two purple summoning circles appeared, one above Kel'Thuzad and the other beneath him and the wagons. His hands wavered in the air as he chanted his spell.
"Haha, this should get interesting," Lestat laughed, watching intently.
"Quit your babbling and assist me!" she called out, willing the parasite to afflict him gravely.
"Y-yes, right away," he stuttered, flying out to the field. As he flew through, he made careful observations, watching for what the banshee queen had in store for his ex-comrades. He barely reached the battlefield when the lucid lich completed his necromantic spell, raising all the corpses from their rotting slumber. They all rose as skeletal warriors and sorcerers, their eyes glowing menacingly as they immediately staggered toward their undead opponents. In a matter of seconds, Sylvanas' forces were outnumbered one-to-six, making the vampire quite hesitant at that moment.
"Come forth, my brethren!" he called out, but not a single loyal ghost or lich heeded his call. "What is this?"
Behind him, Sylvanas made her way into the midst of battle mounted on her personal steed, bow in hand. When Lestat realized it was his fellow undead following her, he only frowned in disbelief.
"My apologies, Lestat, but I knew I would have need of your people, so I stole them." How she managed to infect his forces with the plague right under his nose was yet another mystery, but . . .
"Arthas!" he spat. How could he have been so easily spent. Now more than ever, he felt used and helpless. There was no Zeda, no way out of this mess; he would have to place his loyalties on Sylvanas. She wasn't just lucky, after all. The woman had something his other masters didn't. Whether it would be enough was questionable, but he would teach her the ropes, tell her more. As much as he hated to admit it, she deserved some merit.
Lestat unwinded his crackling whip and dove right above where the battle was, careful not to get plunged with additional arrows. With a mighty crack of his whip, an arc of flames incinerated at least a dozen summoned skeletons. However, for every dozen he did decimate, twice that much would charge in. He watched as the warriors held on to their second lives, the fight now becoming a defensive one. With only warriors in the front to hold off the marauding undead, archers to pick off the bulkier abominations and skeletal casters, and priests struggling to heal, the army would fall apart as soon as the healers ran dry. However, the queen suddenly made her appearance.
"Now!" she cried, and out came her stealthed rogues from each direction, firing their own arrows and knives, shredding their counterparts with lethal daggers. The shadowy specters emerged seemingly out of nowhere, cursing their foes and mesmerizing others. Lestat's liches began casting their own potent evocations of darkness, eliminating hundreds in one volley. It wasn't until Sylvanas herself paused from where she currently rode that Lestat paid extra attention, even as she shot an arrow up high. It landed straight down onto where Kel'Thuzad hovered, the wary lich placing a shield of ice around him in anticipation. The arrow barely nicked the barrier, landing, instead, onto the ground, arrowhead down. Sylvanas smirked at the lich, and she could sense the impending feeling he bore, the same feeling one felt when he knew he was screwed.
The arrow unleashed a light-red electrical field that radiated around the lich, and in that moment, the spell-casting leader of the cult was unable to cast. With his practically ceaselessly growing army cut off, it was Sylvanas' time to strike. Strike for revenge.
Kel'Thuzad could not even whisper a single arcane word as he watched his forces dwindle by the hands of Sylvanas and his wayward accomplice. It appeared the wily banshee queen was regaining her talents from her old life. No matter, he began to think. Arthas was sending him reinforcements, plus the magical field wouldn't, couldn't last too long. He would be resurrecting undead within minutes. She'd never pull it off; Naxxramas will remain and always would.
"Greeting, Kel'Thuzad." In shock, Kel'Thuzad turned to the meet face-to-face with Sylvanas herself. She wore a repulsively complacent look, as if she had already won the battle. He could only gaze at her in astonishment, still watching her even as an explosion from behind her annihilated a good portion of his falling pawns. He was at a checkmate.
"Sylvanas, you seemed to have finally climbed up the rungs of the ladder to success. However, even should I fall here, you would never comprehend the Lich King's great agenda. He shall press onward, to places you could never imagine. He shall find out that he and he alone possesses the ability to shape Azeroth in the palm of his hands."
"Oh? I believe I've shaped Azeroth in many ways. As your pitiful master sat on his mighty Frozen Throne, I've organized my people, rebuilt us a sanctuary, downed hundreds of thousands from the Alliance, and made some worthy allies. Hmm, I think I've outdone Arthas, wouldn't you think?"
"Foolish cretin! That's just what I mean. Still clueless. Arthas was not chosen to be lich king for the hell of it. There is a reason behind everything that happens in the Scourge. Whether Naxxramas falls tonight matters not. What matters now is that this day shall be your last. Are you not relieved, Sylvanas, that Arthas shall allow you eternal rest?"
"I believe I'm not done in this world just yet, lich- ,"
As quickly as she spoke, Kel'Thuzad finished mumbling something, his hands raised, and even quicker, Sylvanas shot an arrow, one with an usual tip. It struck the sternum of the lich's chest, paralyzing him in an instant. The spell he was to cast fizzled in mids-stride, rendering it a useless waste of mana.
"W-What is this . . . ?"
"It's the same arrow I used on Arthas all those years ago, the one that would have killed him. But you had to interfere! A most fitting end for Arthas' lapdog, wouldn't you agree?" Sylvanas edged closer to the necromancer, lost in her pleasure, imagining him being Arthas, thinking of what she could do to him. However, overconfidence had led the greatest leaders to tragedy. On that note, she waited a moment.
Suddenly, the sound of arcane magic being channeled reverberated all around them. To his great dismay, Kel'Thuzad watched in horror as several dozens of mages stood beneath, casting a mass spell together. With all the arcane magic they could muster, they literally ensnared the massive floating necropolis with pure arcane aether. With this grip did they teeter Naxxramas, tilting it downward into the ground beneath it. It crashed with a thundering roar, festering soil flying every which way. Sylvanas' own wagons bombarded the downed citadel as the mages continued to drain all energy from the once most notorious citadel in the Lordaeron region.
"So, where are the rest of your men?"
Sylvanas' question took Kel'Thuzad by surprise; how had she known? Or maybe she didn't and was trying to find out more before killing him.
"You would love for me to tell you, now would you, Sylvanas?"
"No matter, I'll have my reconnaissance team have a look-see. Now what to do with you . . ."
Before he could make a single other word, he knew what she had clutched in her hand; a Soul Stone. She intended for him a fate worse than eternal death. But any suffering would be worth it, as long as he could assure Arthas victory in some way. With all the energy he had left in his waning corpse-of-a-body, he fought off the paralysis and waved one arm at Naxxramas. Before his soul, his very being, slipped into the violet stone, the necropolis that was Naxxramas was unsummoned - back to Northrend.
