Lͨ̔͂̐ͤ̓ͤi̊ͫͨ̑͛ͨ͑fe̔̃ ͮ̽͒is̿ͧ ͬ̋̋a͊͗̋ͭ̊̑ ̊̒͆́dr̃ͩ͒ͭea̅̉mͤ̍ͭ̃ͯ̏. ̾W̔̈́ͪ̐̃̈́eͭͩ ͫ̃̽̂ͨ͆̎ãlͭ̏̅͊ͪ̀̚l̆̊ͣ̄ͮ ̉m̊̒̈̒̑uͬͫ̏̊̌̇ͥs͋̀̿̃̐t̑̐̏̿ ͛̇ͥ̋̀̚ẇ̈́a̒̆̑̓ͫ̊k̽́ͮͧ̔̂̎e̽̊̈̓ͯ.ͧ͐̏́̊̆̉ ͥ͗ͮͨͩ̂T͋̑iͧ̊̍̈mͪͩ̍eͫ̇̌̾̋̔̀ ͭiͮ̐̐̆s̋̔̏̌̿͐ ͥ̉̑͐̅̃ͥan ͗͂ͫ̑̽ill̅̃͑͒̒̇̚u͌sͥ̂̌̇͌̚ȉ̏̊͐͛͋ͨo͂̏̈́n̉ͬ̓.̏ͣ̂̾ ̍ͨ͗̋ͯ̏W̑̾͂̐͐̊̍ë́͊ ̈́̈́͒͗ͩ̾͑ȃͯͦ̒͌̅lͬ̂͑̄̏ͧ̆lͬͪ͐̌̅͊ ͂m͆ͥ̏̏uͪ̒̄̑̆ͯ̎sͫ̃ͨtͣ̔̀ͬͦ̍͐ s̓͆̉͐ĕeͤ̅. ͤ̈̀͌T̏̇̚h̅e ̀̀s̃̾ͨ́̏an̄d̅͑ͪͨ ̒r͌͊̿͗͐̃u͋nsͫ͑̆̾̍̾͌ ͂ͩͮ͊oͬ͐ͯ̇̌̌u̐͆ͤt̒̓̐̅,̈́̏ ̐ͣ̓theͯͩͭ ͑ͥ̌ͣ̽̑͐sͥͬ̎͛lèe͐̒̊́̍̚pe͗̇͌ͭr ͬ̄ͯ̓̓̚s̾ͬ̒͗̚t͑ͩ̓ͭȉͪ͂ͪ̚rͤ̈ͥ͛͑̃s̾ͣ.ͩ
̏ͧͮͤ̉
̈͋ͦ̏̄ͨͭC̈́͑̔ͧ̚o̾̃̾͊ͬm̎̎͆̚eͭͪͪ̐̅̓š̅̌̃͗͐̽ ͬ̆̋̔ͭ̓̚t͂ͮ̐̆̾̈́͗h̆ͥ̉̓̃̆e̍̾̃͊̊͒ ͌ͬ̎͌ͫ̃go̐ͣ̽͌͒̏d̐͂̑̅.̏ ̓ͪͦͭͨͦͯYͩo͋gͦ̋̄̎̍g ͐͆ͮ͋̔S̓̀ͥ̀̍ͬ̀ǎ̈́r̅ͮ̐ͭo̐ńͪͨ.̊
͋͂̿̓͂̏
Despite the pressing need for haste, everyone retreated from the sealed chamber to rest and recover for the night. The Watchers took everyone to a peaceful garden tended by Freya, where there was a spring of clear water, and the trees bore fruits of every kind. The orcs and dwarves grumbled about the lack of meat, but one look from Freya at the mention of killing some of the animals that lived within the garden quelled the mutters.
"A great battle lies ahead of us," Midna said to Thorim. "Are there any weapons or relics we could use in the coming battle? We have heard of the might of Val'anyr, the Hammer of Kings. Could we wield it against the Old God?"
"Val'anyr?" Thorim nodded slowly. "Yes, the weapon I gifted to the Frostborn many years ago. I have it, here, in the armory. But I must warn you: it is not what it once was."
Thorim took several members of the group to the Titan armory, where racks of weapons great and small hung.
"Many of these were forged by Mimiron and my father," Thorim said, fingering a sword larger than a full grown ogre. "They are imbued with the power of creation itself. Weapons worthy of great champions."
Garrosh looked around, a hungry look in his eyes. "Are these weapons great enough to slay a god?"
Thorim chuckled, shaking his head. "If any weapon is, it would be these. They were crafted to fight the Old Gods and their void minions."
"Good." Garrosh walked over to a massive axe that was easily eight feet tall, taller even than the giant orc. "Than I shall take this one." He tossed the crystalline axe to Midna, lifting the new weapon in his hands. Its blade glowed with inner fire, as lightning crackled along the haft. Garrosh lifted the axe in the air, grinning ferociously.
"That is Worldcarver, forged by my father for one of his valarjar kings," Thorim said, a note of sorrow in his tone. "Take it, and wield it with strength, warrior."
"Who was your father?" Ron asked, eyeing the weapons uncertainty. "Was his the broken throne?"
"Yes," Thorim said, but did not elaborate. He walked over to large chest up against a far wall, and opened it, lifting out what appeared to be a tiny hammer in his hands, but was actually a large and elaborate war hammer.
"This is Val'anyr, Hammer of Kings," Thorim said. "Or what remains of it."
Rosalind took the hammer from Thorim, turning it over in her hands. It was in two parts, the head and haft, both made of strange golden metal. "Broken...it cannot be…" Rosalind whispered. "Without the hammer, how can we hope to prevail?"
Midna put a comforting hand on her companions shoulder. "It will be alright. Trust in the light." She looked up at Thorim. "Surely this hammer can be reforged?"
Thorim shook his head. "It was made by my father. No other hand has the skill or material to reforge it. Crafted out of the blood of the Old God. Only with that could it be remade."
Rosalind hissed and held the hammer away from her. "Surely if it was made from that cursed thing, this too is corrupted."
Thorim bent down, taking the hammer in his hands. "No. It was purified by the hand of the Prime Designate. Nothing is so tainted it cannot be restored. If the hammer were once more dipped in the blood of an Old God, perhaps I could remake it."
"Then that is what must be done," Midna said firmly. "With this hammer renewed, we could reforge fate itself."
Ron frowned at Midna. "What are ye goin' on about? Why exactly do you need to reforge fate?"
Midna hesitated, then smiled at Ron. "For the future of your family."
Ron reached for the hammer in Thorim's hands, looking to Midna. "You need this, to save my family?"
"For Earth to be preserved and your line to endure, fate must be changed, Ronald Weasley. With Val'anyr, I will attempt to do just that," Rosalind said.
Ron shook his head. "I don't know what ye mean by that, but by the Aerie if that's what we need for me to get home and back to my family, then that's what we'll do." He looked back at the wall of weapons, frowning. "Ye got anymore o' them godslayin' weapons layin' about do ye?"
"I have one, Bane of Loken," Thorim said. He pointed to a mace hanging from the wall at head height for Ron. "Aesuga, Hand of the Ardent. Forged by my boon-brother Mimiron, in the days of his youth. It is the mightiest weapon ever made by his hand."
Ron walked over to the mace and lifted it. As soon as it was in his hands, he felt growing connection to the spirits of the earth and storm. He lifted the mace, examining the crystal at the center that two studs slowly orbited. "A powerful weapon. One to call upon the strength of the earth and the might o' the storm."
"Indeed. Bear it well, champion. You shall need such strength when we face the Old God."
They rested that night in the garden of Freya, warded by spells cast by the three shaman and by Rosalind and Midna, as well as the Watchers. Ron's sleep was dreamless, and he woke rested, though his heart was still heavy with dread. They supped upon a final meal, Freya presenting them with meat and mead.
"It pains me to take any life," the watcher said, her expression weary and worn. "But you shall need your strength in the coming battle. Let not this little one's sacrifice be in vain, Champions of Azeroth."
The meal was taken in silence, and though it should have been delicious, it tasted like ash in Ron's mouth. Then they girded themselves for battle, strapping on armor, taking up weapons, and casting spells of strength and warding upon each other. They went to the exit of the garden, where the four watchers waited for them.
"Come, mortals. Now we descend into the Maw of Madness," Thorim told them.
They followed the watchers back out the sealed chamber, then down a long hallway that twisted back in upon itself. The light bent in strange ways, and shadows seemed to first vanish, then become unnaturally long. The air was thick and heavy, full of dampess and heavy with the scent of death.
En'othk uulg'shuul. Mh'za uulwi skshgn kar.
"What was that?" Ron said, jerking around. The air seemed to hum with unheard whispers, and his eyes darted back and forth.
"Do not heed the voices," Hodir rumbled. "Listening to them leads only to madness."
Resting his hand on the haft of his hammer, Thorim peered down the hall. "We are close. I sense the presence of the void ahead."
The corridor itself decayed as they went on, broken pillars and masonry, fragments of stone and earth floating in the air, and twisting shadows at the edge of Ron's vision.
Sk'yahf qi'magg luk sshoq anagg'qen.
Ahead of the group, the watchers halted.
"Hmmm. hmmm. The faceless are loose," Mimiron muttered. "This not good."
Ron pressed forward, peering around the legs of the watchers. They stood at the head of a broken and shattered staircase, looking down up a room that had clearly once been a thing of beauty, with stained glass windows and a fountain from which clear water had run. Now the glass was distorted, showing not images of beauty, but reflections of a twisted world where nothing remained but death. The waters of the fountain were fouled and stank, bubbling out in lethargic spurts.
Worse of all though, were the beings that swayed back and forth in an endless circuit of the room. They had no faces, only a long tentacle with glowing points of malevolent light. Their arms and legs were covered in suctions cups, and they had neither feet nor hands, only tendrils that split off from the main truck, then merged back into it, only to reform elsewhere like waving strands of hair. They whispered and muttered, and though it was in a language Ron could not have spoken and did not understand, he knew what they said.
È̴͡v̛͞͝e҉͞n͟͞ d̶̕e̢̕ath҉ ̢͡m̴͢͡á́y͢͡͞ ̡̢ḑ̕i̛͞e͏̶.̢͜
̷̀҉A̕ll̷̵ ̢̧p̶̀͡l͜ac͏ę̵̢s҉̀̕, ̵͜à̴̡l͞l ̧t͢h̸i͝͞n͘͡g͟s̀̀ ̶h͞av͏e̢͟͢ ̴s̵ou͠l̴҉̴s͏̕. ̢À͏̛l̷l ̴so̸ul͘s̛͘͞ c͘a̧͏͞n b́ę ̢d̢̛e҉v̢o̡͏́u̸͘͢re̕͝d́.͏̵́
̶̧̀
́Ĺ̡͞o̶̵o̸̵k̛͝ ̶͠ar҉̢̕o̵ù̧n͟d̴҉́. ̡̕The̢ý̢̢ ̨̕w̡͝ì̵͝l̸l̸̢ ̛̀a̡͜l̶̷͘ļ͢ ̸́bè̴̵t͘r͜͡͡a͟y҉ ͝҉̵you͠.͟ ̵F̀͢l̢ęe̢͟͠ ́͡ś̷c̛͜͝rea͏̨͟m̴ìn̸g͢͞ ̸̧i̴̡n҉͝t͠o͜͜ ̢͠t̢h͢͞e̵̛̕ ̡͜͜b̵͡l̀͠a̧҉͜c͞ḱ͘ ͟͢fo҉͞r͏̴̧e̷ś͞t̷͜.́
͜
͘I̴̢͞ţ͢ i҉s̕ ͠s̕͞ta̵n̨d̛͞i͏n̢͠g̶ r̡̛͞íg̨҉h̢t͏ ͠b̴̢e̛h̷͏ind̵͜͡ y͞ò͜ư͘.̡ ̷͝D̶͝o̶͜͟ ̴no͘t̴ ̶͜m̸o̕v̡e.̸̢͢ D̶̛ò͏͝ ҉̕n̕҉҉o̷̡̢t͜ ͠҉bre̢͡͞áth҉è̢͡.̛
̡̀
"We have to stop it," Ron moaned, clutching at his head and sinking to his knees.
"Be strong, lad," Myrla said, trying to help Ron up. Her grip was clammy, and her face was drenched in sweat, her teeth chattering despite the heat.
"Servants of evil! Your time has come!" Thorim boomed. "This world will be cleansed, the work of the Titans will never be undone!"
With a roar, all four watchers leapt down, their weapons crackling with power. Thorim bashed in the head of one faceless with his hammer, while Hodir's mace beat one to the floor. Vines and leafy plants eveloped two more at Freya's gesture, dragging down their victims. Mimiron produced a massive gun with four rotating barrels seemingly from nowhere, laughing maniacally as he gunned down more faceless.
"Blood and thunder!" Garrosh roared, and lept upon one faceless, Worldrender slicing it in half.
Ron shouted a desperate battlecry and jumped down as well, using Aesuga to call upon the earth, which bucked and trembled beneath the faceless, stunning them as Mylra hurled lightning down upon them.
In a minute, it was over, the faceless slain, icor staining the fouled floor.
"That's...that's it?" Ron panted, looking around. "Well, that wasn't so bad. Where's their boss?"
The room suddenly titled wildly, the ground seeming to slide out from under Ron's feet. He shouted and feel, but instead of falling down, he fell sideways to one of the walls, where he stuck as if it were the ground, despite still feeling the pull of the earth in another direction. The others fell as well, some onto the wall, others to the ceiling or the opposite side.
H͡ERE͢ ̶̡̨T̴H̷E̷̡R̢̕҉E͘͡ I̷̢S ́͢N̢͢Ó͞͞ ͞R̵EA͢͏҉S̶̴͘ON.͝ WIT̶͠͡H͏I̴̢N̵̷ ̡̛MY̸͏̢ ̴͢RE͏̷A̶̧L̡̛Ḿ̵,̵̀ ̡THE̶R͜͢͞È̸͘ I͢S̸ O̷̶̷N̡Ĺ͝Ý ̶̛M̀͞A̴͘͞DǸ͜͠ES͞Ś͠.̸͢
Ron clutched his head, peering wild eyed through the shattered doorway at the end of the chamber. Though the voice had no sound, he could hear it coming from there, just beyond what his ears could discern.
"That, lad, would be the boss," Brann said, his voice weary.
"Good. Perhaps it will be more of a challenge," Garrosh declared. He strode forward, in step with the watchers as they pushed through the rotted remains of the door.
Ron stumbled after them, the direction his feet were pulled seeming to change at every step. He found himself on the ceiling, then the wall again, then the floor. If his stomach had not been tempered by flying a gryphon for years, he would have lost his breakfast. Several orcs and one of the frostborn did, falling to their knees trembling and babbling madly. Grimacing, Ron pressed on through the doorway.
"Oh, you are here!"
Ron blinked. Where was he? He looked around, baffled.
"Please, you have to help me, they are coming!"
Forcing himself to focus, Ron found himself in a dark forest, black trees stretching endlessly around him as branches clawed at the sky overhead. Before him stood a little girl, her face streaked with tears. She wore a simple brown dress, her dark hair pulled back in two pigtails by pink ribbons.
"Oh, oh they are coming. Please! Save me, save me!"
"I will, don't worry," Ron vowed. He drew his axe...his axe? He frowned, and the axe became his mace. Gripping Aesuga, Ron raised it as dark shapes came out of the forest. He brought his mace down on one hard, and gazed down at-
"Dad?!" Ron asked in astonishment, staring at the bloody face of Arthur Weasley.
"They're after me, help, please, help!"
Ron turned and saw a shape looming over the little girl, and ran forward, sending out a shock of flames. The figure fell, turning so he could see the face of Isla Forgelight. He stumbled back, then clutched his head as a splitting headache struck him. Laughter echoed in the woods, and dark whispers tickled the back of his mind.
"No, oh no, help!"
Ron whirled, another looming over the cowering girl. He shook his head. Something wasn't right. The spirits were all wrong. He closed his eyes, clutching onto Reth's totem and Aesuga. When he opened his eyes, he saw the frightened face of his eldest brother Bill. The girl wasn't cowering, her eyes were glowing with dark fire, and she was drawing Bill towards her.
"You're not real!" Ron shouted, and he pointed his mace at the girl. A fireball erupted from the tip, slamming into the girl.
"What are you doing!" the girl hissed, glaring at Ron. "Help me! They will destroy you!"
"They're my family!" Ron said, looking around. Fred and George, Douglas and Sharpbeak, Mylra and Ginny, they were all his family. "You're the one who doesn't belong!"
"Love is a weakness! It will drag you down, bring you to your death!" the girl roared, and dark flames sprang from her hands towards Ron.
He dodged to the side, unleashing a bolt of lightning then bringing his mace down on the girls head. She vanished like smoke, and the world spun about, the branches of the trees bending down and lashing at Ron. One tree picked him up, and threw him through the air. He screamed and-
Ron tumbled to the ground, looking about wildly. The forest was gone, but trees still surrounded him. Except they were not trees, but tentacles that sprouted from the earth. Ron roared in pain and rage, hurling fire and lightning as he lashed out with Aesuga, battering back the tentacles and freeing himself from their grasp. He stumbled forward, and gasped in shock.
Before him, the watchers were battling with a...thing. It was one large mouth, with a row of what should have been eyes above it, except instead of eyes there were only more mouths, each more full of teeth than the last. Tentacles grew from the base and top of the thing, slamming into the watchers and hurling frostborn and orcs about as they cried out in terror. Garrosh stood back to back with Fengar, battling tentacles as he roared in anger and rage.
"Ron! You're free of the madness?" Midna asked, coming over steadying Ron on his feet.
"I...I can see what's happening," Ron managed. "What...what was that?"
"Madness," Midna said, turning back and raising her sword. "Madness and lies! We fight on!"
Ron nodded, racing forward to aide the watchers, hurling lightning and fire at tentacles and trying to make sense of it all.
Y̡̕O͠UR̡͢ ̧̕͟S̶̛T̕R͞͡U̴G̸̕GL̸̛E̷ ͏̨͜I͜S͠ M̛͢E͠AN̕҉͞ĮN̴G͢͞L̡È̶̕SS.̀͡ Á͘̕L̡R̀E҉A͝͠D̡̀̕Ý͜͝ ̷͘Y̵͡O͠Ų̛ ͡H̡Á̢VE҉ S͟͡LA͜I̢͏N͜͡ ͘̕̕F͜A͟͜T͢͡E!̧̨̀ ͟N͢O̢͟Ẁ ̡T̕͠͝H̵E̡̧ ͟W͜O̷R̷̶̕LD HA̵̛͝S̴͡ ͞N̶̨҉Ǫ ̴͞S͜͞҉T̡͢R̨͠IN̵̨͡G̵̶S͏̕҉, A̢̢͘ND ̸͞T̨͠H̵͞È ҉͡SA͟͜Ń̵D̕S͝͝ ̶O̧͘̕F ̀T̵Ì̸ME̡ ̷̨͢B͢L̡O̵͡W ̴̸I͡N̵̛ TH̕̕͠E͡ ̷́W͞I̡͟͞N͜͠D͜҉ W̷̧I̢͝TH̢ ͢T̨HĘ̸ ̛͠W̡A̷̢I͢͞L͡I҉N̴̷̛G͘̕ ̨͟Ǫ̶͜F̴ ̡L̕Ớ̧S̢̧T ̷͠͡S̢͢͏ƠUĹ̛S̶̀.͞
Just as Ron was reaching the monster, twin tentacles erupted from the ground under his feet, grabbing both him and Midna. The draenei screamed, blasting at the tentacles with a surge of holy magic as Ron bashed with his mace. The tentacles dropped them, but instead of hitting the floor, they feel down, down, into blackness. A green portal appeared below them, and both fell through onto a set of dusty stairs.
"Stay strong," Midna groaned, standing up and holding her sword in a warding stance.
"I know this place," Ron said, reaching towards the portal. "This the Dark Portal. I remember seeing it, when I-"
Midna flung out a hand towards Ron, shouting, "No, don't!"
But Ron touched the portal, and suddenly they were through it. Ron blinked, looking around them. A stream of people were going by, dusty and worn from travel. Most were human, though there were orcs, dwarves, tauren, draenei, all the peoples of Azeroth, streaming into the Dark Portal. They all seemed seemed terrified, shouting and pushing forward to get through the portal. To the sides of the portal stood guards, some in the uniform of the Alliance, others bearing the tabard of the Horde. Most of the guards were wounded and ragged, bleeding from various wounds.
A red haired woman in dark leathers with a red bandana around her neck rode up on a horse, reining in next to a human in an officer's uniform. "Captain! Where is my daughter?"
"Through the portal, my queen," the captain declared. "Had to drag her in kicking and screaming they did. Most of this lot are already through. You can see the vanguard, there."
The guard pointed, and Ron followed his finger. The collom of people was hurrying forward, with soldiers at the end, fighting off a vast army of the undead. Actually, that was the wrong way to put it. It was a tidal wave, a storm, the very earth itself crawled with endless ranks of undead. Some were ghouls, others skeletons, some abominations, others simple corpses raised to shamble forward. Above gryphons and wyverns battled frost wyrms and gargoyles.
The soldiers encircled the portal, and they fought and died. They were members of the Alliance and Horde both, and even odd races Ron had never seen before. All fought as one against the oncoming tide of the undead.
BEHOL̀D̨ ͏T͢HE ͞DOÒM OF̡ TH̨IS ͘WOŖLD̶. T҉HIS ̴I҉S̷ ̵THE F͞AT͜E O͡F҉ ͢H̶ARR͞Y̧ PO͝T̡T͡ER͝.̡ SE͡É YOUR CHA҉M҉P̴I͟ON̡ OF҉ T͟HE LIGH͏T͜ ͜F̶A̵LL.
"No!" Midna cried, falling to her knees and clutching her head. "No, this isn't real!"
Ron's gaze swept the soldiers, and his jaw dropped. There, right where the fighting was fiercest before the portal, stood a human man in full crystal plate with a lightning bolt scar upon his forehead. In his hands was a sword marked with runes that blazed with light, and where that sword struck, the undead became as ash. At his side battled a draenei shaman who danced with the winds and called healing rains down upon the heads of the defenders.
"For Argus!" Harry Potter roared. "For the Argent Crusade!"
Harry struck down wave after wave of undead with his holy might, standing like a stone that the waves of the ocean would break against.
"That's the last of them!" the woman upon the horse shouted as the last refugee made their way through the portal. She turned and waved. "Come on Harry, bring the last of our soldiers through! I'll see you on the other side!" With that the queen herself vanished through the portal, leaving behind an ever shrinking circle of defenders.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, panting as he struck down an abomination. "Not this time."
"I won't leave you, Harry," the draenei shaman said. "I cannot abandon you to this."
"Go, Impa! Our daughter needs you," Harry pleaded. "Our people need you! Make your stand upon Draeneor. Find a way to end this!"
Before Impa could protest further, the ranks of the Scourge parted, and great skeleton in silken robes with a crown upon its forehead floated forward.
"Potter. I knew this day would come," the Lich hissed. "I will slay you and claim this portal. Nothing can escape the grasp of the Scourge."
Harry nodded wearily, backing up to the steps of the Dark Portal. "Voldemort. I should have known."
What few soldiers still lived backed up to the edge of the portal. Impa looked pleadingly at Harry, but he shook his head. "I will end this. Go." He handed his sword to Impa, taking up the blade of a fallen Stormwind guard. "Go!"
Tears in her eyes, Impa fled through the portal. A handful of paladins stayed behind with Harry, blocking the path to the portal at his side.
"I has been an honor, Harry Potter," a blood elf paladin in blood red armor said. She spat into the dust. "Let us make our end here."
"There is no end in the Light, Lady Liadrin," Harry said calmly. "In the end, evil will never prevail."
"Foolish words, Potter. Nothing you can do can change fate!" Voldemort laughed.
"No, please," Midna whispered. "Not this. Fate has to change."
With a cry, Harry and the other paladins lept at Voldemort. The lich spread his hands, and chains of ice slammed into them. Several paladins were killed immediately, but Harry and Liandrin dodged the ice, their blades glowing with holy power. Voldmort hissed, breathing out a cloud of toxic green fog. The paladins shielded themselves with the Light, but both coughed and stumbled. Voldemort roared in triumph, conjuring spears of ice and hurling them forward. Harry slashed one aside and LIandrin caught the spike on her metal shield. Both paladins raced forward, slashing at Voldemort with their blades. The lich fell back with a cry, and the battle continued.
Ron watched in growing horror, then raised his hands and threw fire and lightning at the lich. They passed through Voldemort with no effect, and neither Harry nor Liandrin seemed to notice anything had happened either.
"I can't do anything!" Ron said in frustration. "This isn't real! We have to stop this somehow!"
Slowly, Midna got to her feet. Numbly, she nodded. "Yes. This is nearly over. We have to stop...this. Somehow."
Ron looked back at the battle to see Harry and Liandrin standing over a prone Voldemort.
"This...changes...nothing…" Voldemort rasped. "I will return again and again! You cannot slay me here!"
"We never planned to," Harry said calmly. He threw down his weapons, and held out his gauntleted hand to Liandrin as the Scourge closed in. "Let us end this."
Closing her eyes, Liandrin took Harry's hand. Together the two paladins lifted their clasped hands to the sky. Suddenly, the sun flared, and a shaft of burning fire came down from the heavens. The surging light obliterated Voldemort and all the Scourge for a hundred yards. Ron shielded his eyes, then spun about when he heard a cracking sound. He watched as the Dark Portal collapsed and melted to slag, the green gateway at the center vanishing with a snap. When the Light faded, there was nothing left of the two paladins, or of Voldemort. Where the portal had been, a little girl danced, her braids bouncing as she laughed madly.
H̴IS̵ DEATH͘ ̀HA͝S ͡A̕L̀R͟E̶ADY ͢BEEN O̧R̷DAIN͝E̸D̨. Y̕OU͝ C̕ANNOT͢ ͠CH͟AN̢G̷E TH̴IS. ̛THI͜S ͟WORLD ẀI͘L̕L B͟E͠ ̶CO̴ŅS̢U̧MĘD҉.̛ THE ̢S̵A͞ŅD̕S͠ ̢ÒF T̛IM҉E W͝IL͡L̴ SP̕ILL͡ OUT҉ ̡LI̵KE ̷B̸L̶O͜OD̡ ̴ĄN͏D I S͠HALL DE̴V͠O̢UR ̶THE͡ SO̕U͘L҉Ś OF A͟L͟L͘.́
Ron snarled, turning to Midna. "There, that's Yogg Saron! Hit it with all you've got!"
Midna let out a wordless cry of pain and agony, striking at the girl with her sword, the runes upon it blazing like those on Harry's blade earlier. Ron channeled fire and lightning, and there was a bellow of pain and rage.
Suddenly everything vanished, and Ron found himself on the floor of the chamber again. He picked himself up, looking around. More faceless had arrived, and were doing battle with Brann, Muradin and Mylra, who along with the remaining Frostborn were holding the line. Ron picked himself up, looking back at the creature. The watchers still attacked it, and it was oozing from several wounds, but still it struck with tentacles and dark bolts of void magic.
"Ron, Midna, what happened!" Rosalind said, coming over and laying a hand on Ron. He felt a surge of healing magic go through him.
"A vision, a nightmare," Ron gasped. "An impossible future."
"It won't happen," Rosalind vowed. She ran forward to the keepers, grabbing the broken hammer from Thorim's belt and bending down to a dark pool of the old gods blood and plunging it in.
"Draenei! I need your aide!" Garrosh shouted. Ron saw him battling a venerable forest of tentacles, slicing away with Worldcarver in one hand and the crystalline axe in the other, scything down tentacles like they were dry reeds.
Midna shouted a battle cry and ran to Garrosh's aid. Ron saw Rosalind struggling to lift the hammer from the pool, and rushed to her side to pull it free
I̵T IS ͢H͏O̴P̴ELE͏SŚ.̧ YO͟Ù ͢CAN ̵DÓ ͡N͝OTHI̶N͡G̡. I ̕HAVE ̸AL͟R͏EA̷DY WO͜N͞.
Ron tried to scream as bolts of void magic enveloped Rosalind and Ron, but instead of dying he found himself falling into nothingness again. A moment later his vision cleared, and he found himself inside of the Temple of Light in Shattrath city. He blinked, looking around in confusion.
"I've been here before too," Ron muttered. "What crazy thing are you going to show me now?"
"Oh no," Rosalind whimpered. She raised her sword. "Not this. I can't...not, not again!"
Ron heard voices, and hurried forward to investigate. He found a darkened room with a red skinned eredar male in it, standing with his arms folded over his chest, looking at the back of a winged female demon with horns coming out of the sides of her head. "Listen, toots, we gots to do somethin'. The Scourge is still out there. The Legion is closin' in. We're gonna get crushed, like we was imps or somethin'."
"I know, Pizyap."
Ron's jaw dropped. "No…"
The female demon turned around. She had frizzy brown hair, and buck teeth. Though her skin was now the color of old blood and her eyes glowed with fel power, Ron recognized her all the same.
"Hermione, what did you do?"
"It is not her, Ron," Rosalind rasped. Her face was streaked with tears, and the hammer shook in her hands like a leaf in the wind. "This is all lies. This is not the fate we choose."
"We have to save our friends, even if they don't think of themselves as such any longer," Hermione sniffed. She tapped long taloned nails on her arm, then nodded. "I have conducted a great deal of research into the undead. More than anyone else here. Undeath is not so bad. We both know this. Why, our former friend Lady Sylvanas lived quite a fulfilling life for many years as an undead. If I hadn't used demon blood instead, becoming undead would have been quite the attractive option."
"Yeah, well, that might have been easier on me," Pizyap muttered.
Ron frowned. "This can't be real. He's actually an imp."
"It is not real," Rosalind repeated, more firmly this time. Her hands started to steady. "We make our own fates."
"So, you gonna try and contact the Lich Bitch?" Pizyap the eredar asked. "I'm all for it. Just as long as we make it out in one piece."
"I shall stipulate that the girl gets to live. She has more potential as a test subject alive, for now," Hermione said. Then she nodded. "I shall summon Voldemort's spirit. Even if he has become corporeal again, he will come at my call. He has the ear of their ruler. Yes, with his aide, we can safely convert all of Outland to the Undead, and proceed with our research in peace."
"You want we should use the Thought Outsourcer, make Queenie and her friends go along with this?" Pizyap asked.
Hermione shook her head. "No, no, that has too many risks. They know what the thought outsourcer is. Best if we plant a knife in their back instead. After all, if I claim those souls, they shall be my friends for all eternity. They will have no choice."
"This not real!" Rosalind shouted, and swung at Hermione and Pizyap with Val'anyr. Their images rippled, and the illusion dissolved. Ron turned to see the little girl standing behind him, grinning wickedly up at him.
TH͝E FU̢TU͏RE ̸H͡AS͜ B͠EE͜N R͞E͠VEĄL̕E͏D ͏TÒ ͠M͠E͟.͏ ̵Y̨O̕UŔ FR̵I͢E͢ND̵S ̕WI͟L͘L BȨT̨RAÝ ͝Y̛ÓU. IT͝ ͞IS ̛H̢OPE͝ĹES͢S. GIV̧E̡ ͠I̡N TO ME.̵ ̷NO̶W͏ OR͞ ̀L͢ATE͘R.́ ͢I̵T̀ ͢W͠ILL͠ NOT MAT͟TER WH̶EN T̸IME ͠ITSEL̨F ͘IS SĻAIN̕.͏
"I'll slay you instead!" Ron screamed, and ran forward at the same time as Midna. He planted his axe in the girls forehead, and once more reality rippled.
Back in the chamber, Yogg Saron bellowed in pain and rage, spewing forth a stream of black bile. Ron saw Rosalind desperately lifting up Val'anyr, the two halves joined once more, but black bile still coating the thing.
"There, she can end it!" Midna cried, and sprang forward. Ron reached down, and together they helped Rosalind, lifting the hammer up. Ron channeled as much healing water as he could, as the two women cast holy spells.
NO!̧ NOTH͟ING̢ CAN̢ S̕T͝OP ̀D́ÈA͡T͠H̢! ̶T̡H͟AT ̷W҉HICH D͢OE̶S ̷ŃO̵T ̡LĮV҉E C̡AN͡N͜ƠT͞ ̶D̛I͡E̡! ̨YOU ̴HAVE FAIL͘E̶D̢, ҉ÀND ҉WILL̀ FAI͢L̢ A҉G̨AI͠N͡ A҉ND͠ A͘G͘AI͞N ͢U̷NTIL̀ TI̕M͘E͝ R҉U̧N͞S ̡OU̡T!͏
The mouth of the beast opened once more, and a rain of black bile coated all three of them.
Once more, Ron blinked. Rosalind stood to his left, bearing the hammer, whole and glowing with power. Midna was to his right, her sword raised once more. He looked before him, and saw the little girl, floating in mid air and grinning at him. He flinched. Her eyes had been replaced with endless black holes filled with teeth.
T͖̦͎͉́h̸̳̻̞̟̯͎̥e͕̰͢ ̪̹͙̘͓ͅḍ̜͈̠͓e҉͓͕̗̻̰͍a̡̪t͓͈̝̻̮́ͅͅh̴͚̩ͅ ͇͢o̰̘̯̝̗̹̝f̨̯̠͚̥ ̸͈̹̟̬̙y̫̯͙͔o̝̝̹͔̗̮̩͠u̡̩͔̰̲r̪̼̼̳̘ ͍̻͜c̠̖̹̟̘̖l̝̭̭̥o̸̳s̰es̮t ̞f̜͈̩̹͍̠r͚̫̻͎͡ì͎̗ȩ̜̩̪͓̩͔̦n̜̯̠d ̻̹̬̀y̘̯̫͓͍͖o̠͠u͏͙̟͇̩̻ ͔͖̭h̦a҉͔̤̯̻̠̯̺v̪̥̙͎e̻͘ ͕̻͙͓̳̯͠s̙̬͙̲͕̹e҉̰͙͎͍̩͎e̯̭n̖̲̫.̪̖̬ ̫̼̠͚̕T̸͙̟̜h͔̻͟ͅe̴̥̼̦̺̥͓ ̠̣͚̣b҉̭͓̘͓̭e̙̥͙̟̺̞͎țr͙̜̺̘͜a͈͚̭̘̣̗̜͟y̙͖̖̣̯̝͟a͉̠͔̫l̵̖̗ ̹̰̻̖̥ǫ͎̙̗̪̲̘̖f̹ ̨̳͍͓̳̞̜ơ̳̬̦̜ͅne̷̖͖͖̖̮̦̥ ̖̰͖y̵̥̭͇̹͔̗o̞̼̹͕u͢ ̜͍̦͔̤̘̟͟w̧̹͍̪̮̮̻͔ơ͈͇̱̲u̲̬̕l̨̬d ̴̲̹̼̹h̷͇̮a̷ve̪ ̝̖̩̟l̵̳̺͕ov̻̜̲ͅe͈͝d̠̹͎͙̦ ̢̪m̥̺̬͖͈o̴̺͕͙̜̝̪s͇̩͞t̸ ̪̙̀y̞̩̩o̥̘̱̫u̟̭̪̘̗̼͡ ͓̕h̴̼̼̖͙a̱̲̘̭̼̝v͏͓̰͕̺e̷͇͚̠͎̥͚ ҉̺̬w̱͢i҉͉t͏̹͓̬̥̲ͅn͢e͏̬̥sse̺̯͉̼d͞.͍̦̼̳ ̙̠̦̠̻͈N̬̰͉̻̫͉o̬̼͔̗̻w͏̖̲̠͔ ̻̪̩͔y̜̭̫͢o̬̞̞̠̩̳̲u ̩͙́s̫͎ę̩͚̝e̦̼͎̲ ̫̜͎̤͎͓̹y̞̲̬̲̕o̗̣ͅu̱̬̠ͅͅr̦̥̲͘ ̝͎͇͙͔͎̕o̺̤̘w̻̼̗̼̘n͙̗͈̭ ͡ḏ̦̭͔̹̰e͏͇͇͕a̯͈͉̘̦͙̣t̞̠̘̟h.̧̻ͅ
The girl vanished, and Ron looked around. They were flying, high above the clouds. Before him flew a man on the back of a gryphon, wild red hair in long braids streaming behind him, his beard whipping in the wind. Suddenly he dived, and Ron was falling along with the man. Then they were on the ground, on the steps of a golden pagoda.
"What happened here?" Ron muttered, looking around. Below the pagada, the landscape was corrupted, black and white stains maring the landscape as if a great fire had raged through it. The trees were shrunken and twisted, and the air stank of decay.
The man in front of Ron petted the gryphon, then walked down the steps to where a bear-man was kneeling.
"Chen, this had best be good. I was to take me little ones fishin' while their mum goes wit' yer niece to tame wind serpents," the man said.
The bear man turned, smiling. "Ah, Ron, it is good to see you again. Yes, yes, you will get back to your wife and children soon enough. It is just, you were in Northrend, yes?"
"That's me?" Ron asked, astonished.
Next to him, Midna sighed. "That is not you. It is only the future Yogg Saron wishes to force us to. It is not our fate. We can choose another path."
Rosalind looked at Ron and Midna. "You saw Harry. And I, Hermione. Was it bad?"
Midna sighed. "What I saw was bad enough, yes."
"I don't understand any of this," Ron said grimly. "But this is all just smoke and mirrors. How is this supposed to frighten me?"
Ron turned back to the bear man and his supposed future self.
"-can't possibly be. Arthas is long defeated," not-Ron was saying. "But we'd best check it out, all the same."
Reluctantly, Ron followed after the two, Midna and Rosalind at his side. After a few minutes of walking, the illusions dropped to the ground and belly crawled forward to the edge of a cliff.
"They appeared two days ago," Chen whispered. "A strange pyramid like thing floated out of the corrupted pools. The Shado-Pan agents sent to investigate never returned. And more arrive all the time. We are preparing an attack to drive them back."
"Those are Scourge," not-Ron whispered back. "But how did they get here, in Pandaria? What is going on? We've got to warn the Horde and the Alliance. Vol'jin will listen to sense, and Varian was always-"
There was a roar, and Ron looked up. A frost wyrm was dropping out of the clouds straight at the two spies. He grimaced as battle was joined, not-Ron even calling upon Reth.
"This is all a load of bollocks," Ron growled. He looked around. "I know you're here, little girl, Yogg Saron, whatever you are! Show yourself! I will slay you and be done with this!"
TH̢IS ͝I̴S̢ WH̀ÀT W̴ILL ̨HAP̢PEN̡. ̶HA͜S̀ A͠L͝RE̡AD̵Y ͡H̶AP͞PȨN̷ED. ͟WI̴LL H̵AP̡PE͡N͡ ҉A͜GAIN̨, A̴ND͠ ̸A͞G҉AIN̨, AǸD ̡AGAIN.͠ ͟Y̴O͠U͝ CAN̵NOT͘ ͘S̡T̀O̧P ̕IŢ. IT͜ IS ̢YOU͢Ŗ D͜E̕S̛T̵I̛NY.͜
Behind him, Ron heard Sharpbeak's scream as it joined the battle. There were more bellows, and more frost wryms descended. Soon, Chen was dead, and not-Ron and Sharpbeak tried to fly away, pursued by frost wryms. They got away, but more undead pursued them.
Suddenly, Ron spotted the little girl, floating over a black pool. He shouted and let loose a wave of flames. The little girl screamed, and the illusion vanished once more.
"No more!" Rosalind snarled. "No more lies! No more fate! Our destiny is our own!" she raised Val'anyr, and a wave of radiant light surged out of her, banishing all shadows in the room. Yogg Saron screamed in pain, shying away from the brilliant light.
Seeing their chance, all four watchers struck at once. Thorim's thunder boomed, Mimiron's guns barked, Freya's vines coated the beast, and Hodir's mace fell like a landslide. With a final gurgle, Yogg Saron slumped over, dead. The tentacles dissolve to black, and the faceless ones cowered in confusion and fear, easy pray for Muradin and Brann.
Ron sank to his knees, panting for breath. "Is it over?"
"No." Rosalind slung Val'anyr on her back. "We have only just begun."
"That was it?"
All eyes turned to Garrosh, who was standing over the corpse of the dead god, his two axes upon his back. "That was all this thing had to offer? Illusions and tentacles? That was all there was?"
"Garrosh, no," Midna cried, stretching out her hand.
Garrosh ignored everyone, reaching in to the corpse and pulling out a pulsing brain from the beast.
Freya shook her head. "Leave that, mortal. It can only corrupt. It will give you nothing!"
"Great power," Garrosh mused. "Only take, and eat. Those words have been spoken before."
"No Garrosh!" Rosalind cried, drawing Val'anyr. "Remember the fate of your father!"
"I remember." Garrosh cast the brain upon the ground, and stomped on it, splattering the floor with ichor. "And you must all remember this day. Once more, a Hellscream has freed the world from bondage. For the Horde!"
A few of the orcs and Fi'ra raised a ragged cheer, but no one felt much like celebrating. They made their way back up the stairs to Freya's garden, where they collapsed, exhausted. They had been gone only a short time, and it was not yet noon, but Ron fell into a deep sleep.
Some hours later, Ron awoke to relieve himself. After coming out from behind a tree, he found Midna and Rosalind sitting by a pool, talking quietly. He walked over, sitting down on a stump.
"Those visions we saw," he said. "What do you think they meant? I saw strange things there. Meself, but older, and Harry and Hermione. That sword Harry had...it looks like yours, Midna."
The draenei touched the cloth her blade was once more wrapped in. "This is...one of the High Blades. Forged by the Dragon Aspects and gifted to the elves, it has long opposed evil. First the Burning Legion, and then the Scourge. There are others, Quel'Serrar is one such."
Ron accepted this with a nod. "Is that why you hunt dragons with it?"
"Part of it, yes," Midna agreed.
"Alright. But what about you, Rosalind. You're a demon. How would a human turn into a demoness herself? I saw my friend Hermione, and she looked an awful lot like you."
Rosalind shifted uncomfortably. "There are...rituals. They require the consumption of souls, and partaking of demon blood. Your friend could do such."
"Aye. And that sounds like the sort of thing Hermione would try," Ron mused. "I suppose I'd best warn her about that. Or maybe not. Might sound like a good idea to her."
Rosalind licked her lips, her fangs jutting out. "Perhaps...perhaps she just needs a friend. People do odd things when they are lonely and isolated. She may turn away from the darkness if she is shown another path."
Ron grunted and didn't say anything. He had been anything but friendly at their last meeting. After a short time, he stood and wandered away, trying to think. As he walked through the garden, lost in thought, Ron nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice spoke to him.
"You seem restless, Bane of Loken. What troubles you?"
Ron looked up, shocked to see Freya kneeling in the soul, tending for several saplings. She smiled kindly at him, her face gentle despite the fact that it was nearly bigger than Ron was.
"Just thinking," Ron admitted. "I was sent here to put the sleeper back to sleep. I think that was to kill Yogg Saron."
Ron waited for the whispers to start again, but nothing happened. He breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps the dark god was dead. "And also to find the hidden king. I suppose that was Muradin, but, well, I don't know what I've accomplished."
"The hidden king," Freya mused. She dusted off her hands and leaned towards Ron, a wrinkle creasing her stone brow. "Perhaps that does mean young Stormheart, though he is only a regent. But it could also refer to the Prime Designate."
"The Prime Designate?" Ron asked, confused.
Freya nodded. "The Broken Throne. Once, that was where my brother Odyn sat, the father of Thorim and Loken. But he has been lost to us for an age."
Ron blinked. "Odyn? He was some sort of king?"
"He was our leader," Freya agreed. "And he called himself the King of The Valarjar. When the Titans empowered the Dragon Aspects to guard Azeroth, he took it as a personal insult. He left, along with many of the Titan's most powerful constructs, and his mantel fell to Loken. Loken told us that Odyn had fallen to madness not long ago, and that he and Helya had sealed away Odyn in his halls in a distant land."
"The Hidden King," Ron mused. "Perhaps he knows of a way to get me home. Tell me, do the Titans know of other worlds?"
Freya laughed. "Of course! It is the Titans who finished the work left undone by the Creator. They sowed life throughout the universe, ordering worlds and locking away the Old Gods and their void minions."
"Have you ever heard of a world called Earth?" Ron asked eagerly.
Freya frowned, then shrugged. "I was created here, on Azeroth. Though I know of other worlds, I have never visited them. But I am not as old nor as wise as Odyn was. He would know, if he is still alive. The only others who would know are long dead, or driven to madness."
"Thank you, Freya," Ron said excitedly. "I have to talk to Brann about this."
Ron found Brann studying an ancient titan script, muttering to himself as he transcribed it into a journal.
"Brann, do you know of the watcher known as Odyn?" Ron asked eagerly.
"Aye, I've seen mention o' him in the Disks of Norgannon and other places lad," Brann said, looking up from work.
Ron grinned. "Where could I find him?"
"Now that I don't know," Brann admitted. "I suppose I could find out though. Why?"
"Because I think he may be the key to me finding my way home," Ron said.
Brann's eyes lit up with interest. "A path to other worlds...Aye lad, I'll look into it. But I must warn ye, it may take years for me to figure out his location. I've crossed the world investigating Titan ruins. Ulduar is a treasure trove, but even the Watchers don't seem to know where their lost leader is."
"I've waited this long. I can wait a wee bit longer. Besides, I still need to figure out who else is here," Ron said. And in the back of his mind, he remember the visions he had seen. He couldn't let them come to pass, even if he didn't understand them yet.
Authors Note:
And so the dark god dreams once again. The next arc, Ginny Weasley and the Lions of Stormwind, won't start for a while as I'm away from the internet for 10 days.