HELLOOO to all! I have finally updated! Work is so crazy at the hospital, and i thank everyone for coming back to continue reading! Enjoy!

Book Thirteen, Part One

Champion

The next morning Zen woke me up extra early, encouraged me to put on my Northrend layers, and lead me once again through Stormwind. I groaned as we arrived in the grassy, landscaped area, the flowers lively despite the nip of winter time. "Come on, Zen; Mage Quarters?"

"We're here for our portal."

"The Mage quarters?"

"Yes. To see a warlock."

We climbed the spiral stairs leading up to a tower. "Well, he better be good."

"She." Zen knocked on the door dismissively, though I had time to shoot him a nasty glare.

"So not a warlock. A witch."

The door swung open before Zen could muster a reply. "Zen!" The brunette jumped through the door's opening with a huge grin, her hood falling off and revealing a golden headband as she wrapped her arms around Zen. I nearly gagged, but I managed to conceal it with an obnoxious cough as she continued to giggle in Zen's arms.

"Heaven, good to see you again."

Heaven? Really? "Perfect," I grumbled.

"Zen, you don't come around any more!"

Zen cleared his throat. "Heaven, this is Grace."

"Oh. Hello."

I nodded curtly, taking note of her well-groomed nails and shiny jewelry. Zen leaned in a moment to recapture Heaven's attention. "Heaven, I need a huge favor."

She smiled wider than needed. "Anything for you."

Zen had to of felt my aura darken, but he didn't acknowledge it. "Well, Grace needs a portal to Northrend. Valiance Keep."

"Northrend?"

"I'm a rogue. Stationed there," I explained shortly.

"I see. Well," Heaven perked, "any friend of Zen's is a friend of mine! Come in!"

I grumbled inaudibly as I followed Zen's shuffle into the dorm.

The circular room was decorated in pinks and reds, with a mass of pillows along the couch and bed and frilled curtains along the walls.

I had a feeling this wasn't the first time Zen had seen the outrageous indoor décor. Begrudgingly I watched as Heaven rolled up her sleeves and raised her hands like a magician. "Okay, Gracie, I'm going to conjure this portal and you'll have plenty of time to enter. Just walk in slowly. Oh, and make sure you're prepared for the landing!"

"It's Grace. My name is Grace."

"Here we go!" Heaven began to chant something ridiculous, and I was so irritated that I didn't even bother glancing over at Zen. Eventually the bluish ball of light that had formed in Heaven's hands grew larger and left her hands to settle on the floor. It morphed and stretched until eventually I could see the wintery image of m destination.

"Okay, Grace," Zen announced.

I nodded, momentarily tearing my eyes off the portal to look at Zen. "When are you coming?"

"A week or two. It won't be long."

Nodding again, I took a confident step forward and kissed Zen firmly on his lips. "Goodbye," I whispered after pulling away.

"Farewell…Grace." The kiss had clearly surprised Zen, and Heaven watched with irritation as I finally stepped into her creation.

Once I had passed through the strange, tunneled pathway, I was in Northrend, all right. Except my first step in Northrend was onto air. I yelped in surprise as I tumbled forward, my body falling through nothingness until I finally landed with a crunch into the cold, cold snow.

The fall must have been three times my height. I cursed loudly, my arms pulling my now ice-capped body up and out of the wet snow. "Stupid!" I growled. "She is not very heavenly! He couldn't find a male warlock?" I stood up, the snow falling off my pants and cloak as I brushed them off. "And portals don't belong fifteen feet in the air!" I exclaimed loudly, as if I was actually complaining to someone. "Wait 'til he gets back. Just wait."

At least I was in the right place, I thought bitterly. Up past this incline was the banner of the crusade that matched my tabard, was our old base. Sighing, I made sure my weapons were intact and my pack on my belt before I trudged up the slope.

Now that I was back, the cold was chilling again, my arms drawing into my body in an attempt to stay warm.

And that wasn't the only difference. Now that I was here, my migraine had valiantly returned. I couldn't recall the tension in my forehead being this strong—I had made it to the base, but the struggle had finally caused me to close my eyes.

Gregor's lessons had to prevail. I felt like my skull was fragile and ready to cave in to the Lich King's presence. Perhaps I had slacked off in going to Stormwind.

I thought of nothing at first except girding myself from the Lich King's wrath. Once I felt prepared, I prayed to the Light and wished for its protection. The tension eased enough so that I could as least focus on what I was doing. Carefully I massaged my temples as if it would help. It wouldn't.

I pinpointed Taellor's location and stalked to it, still fuming over Heaven's little antic. I was also going to give Taellor a stern talking to for convincing me that Zen was taking me to the Argent Tournament.

He deserved a good lecture. Taellor purposefully set Zen up…

But when I arrived, Taellor greeted me with a friendly smile; either he was a very, very good clever rogue, or a friend.

So I didn't bring my qualms up.

Fordring had left with a few other officers to begin his tournament preparations, and Kae and Vii had left with Graystone to spread the word of the championship across Northrend.

The next few days were slow. The weather was clear so Taellor helped me train a bit on form and swiftness. At night I slept in Taellor's tent. Perhaps part of me was fearful of a Lich King attack inside of my mind. I didn't want to be alone should that happen.

Funny how things had changed, I thought one night in my makeshift bed as Taellor's aura drifted off to sleep. When I first came about with this 'ailment,' I had reacted and fled. I didn't want help, because it was my issue. My responsibility. And now I relied on my friends more than ever.

I still hadn't decided if it was for better or for worse yet.

Training was going well—I hadn't been truly conditioned since being inducted as a rogue. Everything was great with Taellor until day nine, when training had me exhausted. I was panting, the sweat glazed over my neck and back and sending shivers up to my shoulders. Maybe I was pushing too hard this time—but I wasn't thinking that as I dodged a swipe of Taellor's dagger.

I barely even sensed it. My mental status changed as the rush of pressure increased across my entire skull. The tension, paired with my exhaustion, must have brought me to my knees, because my legs throbbed now from impact.

It was cold. Colder than a harsh training session in Northrend, I realized. My eyes had cinched shut, but the blue backdrop I had managed to avoid so long had returned.

Somewhere within my soul was a form of panic; but I was no longer myself.

My strength has no match.

I couldn't even see him. It was like a fog. Usually I saw what he saw, usually these feelings of bloodlust and remorselessness was in conjunction with a visual—

Humans are mortal, weak little things…

Was he even aware of my presence? A part of me was afraid; after all, this crossover was one of the strongest, even after Gregor's training. But my other part, the dominate part, full of his hatred and cruelty, begged to be a part of this vision.

Your weapons are my weapons.

Your body is mine to control.

His eyes, ablaze
with ice, were there. Just his piercing eyes gazed at me, looking right through me. And then my will to leave this crossover flared and the blackness settling in my heart was detectable even in my weakened state.

I didn't like this feeling. I didn't want this feeling. I wanted my body back.

You are mine.

I was sucked out of the world, and immediately I could register that my own body's soreness and exhaustion had returned.

I blinked just once. Hard. And suddenly Taellor was right in front of me, his Night Elf eyes watching me with a concern I had never seen before. My mouth opened to ask Taellor what was wrong, but then my eyes drifted to what was so horrifying.

It was my hand holding my dagger to Taellor's throat; only after visibly seeing Taellor's hand did I realize he had a firm grip on my hand near his neck. The pressure his fist was putting on my dagger's grip lightened and I took a step back, fingers releasing my blade like it had scalded my skin. "By the Light…" I whispered, voice cracking as my dagger clinked to the gravel below.

"Grace…" Taellor stepped gently toward me as if afraid to startle me back into attack mode.

"N-no!" I stated, arms jutting out to keep Taellor at bay. My hands were trembling in front of me—I realized it was my whole body shaking. "Don't get closer…I d-didn't…I didn't know-"

Taellor was too swift. His body was then before me, my arms unable to keep him back. Softly his long arms wrapped around me in protectiveness. "It's okay. It's okay now-"

"Taellor, he was in my head, he was making me…I'm too dangerous."

"Your eyes aren't glowing anymore, you're safe."

"You're not safe!" I sputtered, pushing the Night Elf so he was an arm's length away again. Panic worsened my shakiness as I fumbled backward in disbelief of myself. "It's getting worse," I whispered to myself. "He made me…made me push you off that cliff, now I know. And he's getting better…this is why…this is why I left Zen, left everyone-"

"You're not leaving," Taellor announced firmly.

"Taellor."

"Grace." He was a nose away again, his hand moving to cup my cheek and lift my eyes to look at him. "You run off because you think you're a danger. You wander off and his puppets find you, take you, have their way with you and change you into one of them. Is that what you want?"

Although the conditioning was over, I was still panting. "No," I whispered.

"You're staying."

"Taellor, I tried to kill you!"

"No, the Lich King did. To try and prove his control over you."

"That's twice I've nearly killed you."

"I'm still breathing. Now come on, we need to find Gregor."

Of course we found him in little time. His eyebrows drew in concern as Taellor explained my new symptom. "He didn't spy this time, it seems," Gregor thought out loud. "He definitely made a tactical change. He caught you off guard with a new move."

"He controlled me again."

"He's powerful, Grace. He wants you to submit to him, but you're a challenge. He revels in challenges."

"So what do I do?"

"We train harder."

There was a pause as I clenched my jaw. A bothersome pit had settled into my stomach. Gregor looked at me with question until I finally exhaled. "I don't think I'll be strong enough…next time."

"You were weakened this time. If anyone is capable of resisting, it's you," Gregor mentioned.

I'm just one rogue in this mess, I wanted to scream. I held my tongue instead.

There was a lot of meditation. I focused a lot on the Light, after all, Gregor would explain, what bigger adversary does the Lich King have than the Light?

For five days Gregor worked with me, conditioning my mind. After nearly two weeks of only training, eating, and sleeping, I felt girded at last. Everything had calmed down within me, most distractions momentarily set aside.

My next challenge was before me. The Argent Tournament only days away. The only thing I waited for was my escort. Zen.

I didn't realize how much I had actually missed him until I felt his aura arrive at our base once again.

Maybe his girlfriend Heaven in Stormwind sent him back here, I thought bitterly.

It was just after supper as I stalked toward where I sensed his aura. He was atop a Stormwind griffin, who gracefully landed before me with a few effortless beats of his snow-white wings. Besides a reddened nose, Zen looked himself. "How did you…?"

Zen dismounted the griffin in one fluid motion as a stablemaster took the bird away. "Borrowed it," he answered.

I smiled faintly. "From your little mistress, Heaven?"

The male rogue visibly grimaced as if he was expecting her name to pop into conversation. "Grace, I told you, she's just a friend."

I growled in disbelief, my arms thrown up as I turned and made my way to my old tent. "A friend," I repeated, mumbling to myself but doing it loudly should Zen be close enough to pick up. "Like I couldn't see the way she gazed at you! Like you were the best she'd ever had!" I growled over my shoulder.

"Grace, we might have had a past history, okay, but-"

"I knew it," I sneered, nearly at my tent. "You couldn't get a male warlock, you had to find the prettiest witch to help you!"

"Grace," Zen growled, his patience thinning. I had a certain talent for pushing Zen's buttons. I turned around as I made it to my tent's entrance.

"She did so well in bed with you before that you thought you'd get another taste? Is that how you paid her for her helpful service? In bed?"

"By the Light, Grace!" Zen exclaimed in a low rumble, his body moving forward so that I reeled backward into the tent. Zen's hands moved to my neck, his eyes in slits as he gazed into my own eyes. The male rogue's lips crushed against my own, the contact taking me by surprise as Zen's hands pulled me in closer so his hips moved against mine. His tongue explored my mouth a few moments before the rogue drew back, his teeth managing a quick nip at my lower lip before he pulled away completely. "I never… 'bedded' her. We fooled around awhile ago. We flirted maybe. But I would never have sex with Heaven. Not then and not now. I'm waiting for you, Grace. For us. You're the only one I-"

I pulled Zen into an embrace, the breath in my lungs exiting in a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry," I mumbled. "I missed you."

Zen's arms firmly wrapped around me, his nose nestled into my neck. After a while in each other's arms, Zen finally cleared his throat. "Are you ready for the championship?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

He pulled away. "Your aura…it's not as detectable…did something…?"

"That's a long story."

"I have all night."

With one small sigh I wet my lips. "I almost killed Taellor."

Zen paused, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Well, I've had that compulsion a few times now…"

I fought against the urge to push Zen so I could explain further. "The Lich King. He used a different strategy so I'd let my guard down for him. He controlled me and I nearly killed Taellor." As Zen's aura grew with worry, I rushed to try to reassure him. "I—I was training hard with Taellor, I was completely fatigued…it must have weakened me so much I-"

"Taellor pushed you too hard?" Zen asked with a clip in his tone.

Caught off guard, I sighed in exasperation. "Zen, no—no, he didn't…I was training. Taellor wasn't pushing too hard, so leave it alone!"

"Did you…did Taellor tell…"

"We explained it to Gregor. He worked with me constantly for almost a week. That's probably why my aura's…more controlled," I explained. "I'm stronger now."

His hand caressed my cheek, other hand twining its fingers in my hair. "Grace," he began rather gently for how brazen he had acted previously. "It's getting worse for you. And if you make it through Fordring's tournament and you storm the Lich King's lair…"

"I will die before I let him control me again," I promised solidly, already understanding where Zen's concern was leading to.

Zen's face twisted at the thought, his body tensed as he embraced me yet again. His actions and aura said what he couldn't: "I won't let you die."

Because not even Zen, my true guardian and savior, could give me a promise such as that and be perfectly certain of its truth.

Before our departure, I managed to sneak away in the hopes of convincing Taellor to come along. When I mentioned the possibility to the Night Elf, he sighed. "Grace, I'm not going there to compete."

I felt my forehead wrinkle up. "But you're part of this, part of the crusade…"

"I know."

My lips pursed. "Taellor, I-"

"I'll be there, to help Fordring. I'm under his command. I'll be there to aid him."

A smile wouldn't stop forming as I exhaled with excitement. "So you'll be there!"

"Of course."

I hugged Taellor, his surprise appearing in his aura. Before exiting, I faced Taellor once more. "Really, Taellor…it wouldn't be the same without you."

The Night Elf smiled, perhaps in amusement as I finally took my leave.

Zen was waiting for me at the stables, and to my concern, I realized he was holding the harness to the white griffin he had arrived on. "Really?" I asked apprehensively, dropping my heavy pack and readjusting my full geared outfit.

"On good old Justice here, a week-long trip on a horse will only be half a day."

"You want me…to get on that thing?"

"His name is Justice. And the answer is yes."

"Are two people going to fit...?"

"Get on, Grace, before I change my mind and leave you here!"

Grumbling, I picked up my bag, tightened it across my shoulder, and carefully mounted the beast with Zen's help.

The lift off was the worst part. Not that flying miles and miles above frozen land and mountain ranges wasn't slightly terrifying. I felt Justice's body strain with every beat of his wings, and unwilling to watch should he tire and plunge us to our death, I tucked my face into the fabric of Zen's cloak. Undead fledglings I could defeat. Hordes of Horde I could face without a bat of the eye. But flying…

We only made a couple of stops for rest, and my patience was beginning to thin until Zen called my name over his shoulder and pointed down. "The tournament grounds," I barely heard over the whistling wind.

Numerous tents dotted a large, rectangular entrance. Dots that I assumed to be bodies populated the area. "It looks like a carnival in the middle of Northrend," I commented. Zen chuckled lightly as he led Justice to circle around for a landing.

Oh, and the part about taking off being scariest—the landing was just as terrifying. I only exhaled after we came to a complete stop. Now I could pay more attention to the melting pot of auras surrounding me.

Even the smelly ones.

I scrunched my nose. "There's a lot of Horde," I commented.

"A very good turnout, I'd say."

A Human female approached us in mage robes, her smile distracting me momentarily from the Orc parade. "Good evening! Members of the Alliance can register at the Silver Convenant pavilion," she instructed, painting the way with an even bigger smile.

Zen bowed in thanks and the greeter left to continue giving instructions to more new arrivals.

We didn't head in the direction of the Alliance tent, I noted as Zen guided me through the crowds. Some races and classes I wasn't as acquainted with, such as Trolls and Orcs, shamans and druids, were now hustling by only a grab away from me. Blood Elf paladins kept watchful eyes on Zen and me, reminding me of the battle of the Plaguelands where a paladin consecration had nearly singed me.

Now it felt odd—wrong, even—to be simply passing by announced enemies of the Alliance. But the necessity of unity was seemingly so prominent now. What had Taellor said? You could have twice the enemies or twice the allies?

Still, it wasn't the most comfortable situation. I stopped, befuddled as Zen and I made it before Fordring, King Wrynn, and Jaina.

"…I'm enlightened your court could make it to attend, King Wrynn," Fordring said.

"I wouldn't miss this tournament. The Lich King must end before his army attacks us once again. And succeeds in wiping out the living."

Keeping my aura in check, I tried to forget the fact that I had tried convincing our king of that very concept months ago. A few more lines of conversation went back and forth between Fordring and Wrynn. Zen and I waited (for what, I was uncertain) until the king and Jaina left.

"Lieutenant Ashthorn! Miss Fulstorm!"

Zen greeted our superior with a bow and I followed suite, still lingering on why we hadn't already registered. Maybe Zen changed his mind about me entering the tournament after all.

"Are you settling in comfortably?"

Maybe I could somehow sneak away, maybe use my vanishing powder, create a distraction…

"We're just about to register for your tournament, Highlord."

Or I could wait.

"It's Fordring, Lieutenant. You and Grace are two of my own; I would be foolish to make you prove your worthiness to this cause again." My eyebrow perked again in curiosity. A free pass from the man who created the tournament? "Follow me."

And we did. Now we arrived at our Alliance tent, a few Alliance members greeting us—well, Fordring, I suppose—with bows. "Highlord Fordring!"

"Taelist, I have a special request for these two crusaders. They have far excelled the skills needed to become champions of their cities."

Zen peered over, shock evident on his face although his aura concealed surprise fairly well. "Fordring," Zen began. "That's not nec-"

Tirion's hand rose, effectively cutting Zen off. "The assistance I've gained in the crusade should be rewarded. I'll give you a break—but you still have to compete at the end of the tournament."

"The hardest part," I surmised. Fordring smiled confidently, though I was unsure if he was confident in the challenge or in our abilities.

Then I decided I didn't have to know.

"Of course, I still suggest you practice. Especially with your champion equipment."

Champion equipment? The Alliance officials seemed to register the pair of words as slowly as I had; with a slight delay the female perked in response. "Yes, the rogues…" She rustled through trunks behind her. I don't think they were expecting any champions any time soon. "As a champion of Stormwind, you are to wear the gear of a champion."

There were new daggers, even set in their own fine, silver case. We also received new gear—a chest piece, helmet, and shoulderpads.

The chest piece was very finely woven leather, lightweight and breathable but much more durable than my own. The shoulders were a bit heavier, but very protective and more stylish.

I could even tolerate the headpiece, if I pulled my hair back into a loose bun. It wasn't perfect—my head of hair never really fit properly in helmets—but I could fight.

Zen and I would room together in a tent much like the one we had left at our base. It was there I admired the handiwork of this new pair of daggers. Utilizing this new piece of equipment would be the most difficult. "They're nice daggers," Zen commented, already sharpening his new blades.

I couldn't call them mine. "They're nice." Zen paused a moment, eyes looking over to ask me to continue. "I just…my daggers are special. They've been at my side since I was initiated."

"These
daggers are lighter and swifter-"

"Mine were a gift from the rogue who trained me into what I am," I argued softly.

Zen smiled, though his eyes gleamed with a pain I didn't want to pinpoint. Maybe Zen was reminiscing of our memories together, too.

There may not be any more memories after the battle.

I later learned that there would be a week before the real tests—at Crusader's Coliseum, the huge stadium everything was settled around. For the week, the others had to perform menial tasks to gain crusader tokens that would signify their completion of quests.

As champions, we had to become crusaders. This meant defeating three other champions of other cities, and killing Undead. Two of my specialties. And it wasn't difficult. Finding Undead around Northrend was like finding a Dwarf at a tavern. Without the awkward accents. And defeating three champions? Well, we didn't have very many to challenge for a few days, but when we did, I was happy to defeat an Undead from the Undercity, an Orc from Orgimmar, and a Blood Elf from Silvermoon.

It wasn't easy. Not in the least. But bloodshed and pain were minimal—only because duels at the tournament were heavily subdued with rules and regulations, and slathered with healing and mana potions.

The officials decided when a duel ended. Sometimes matches were close. Sometimes they were landslides.

I won my first three. Needless to say, so did Zen. In four days I was a crusader—Zen, who always excelled, even now, was titled crusader in three.

The day of the beginning of final tests arrived, appropriately called the Trial of the Champion. Fordring explained it to all of us, his voice booming as his paladin gear glowed golden. Two sections. Ten of us will go in, since the number of crusaders was large. Some could be seriously injured. Some could die. And Tirion would decide when to call a battle, and who would move on in a match. I hoped it would be called before anyone did die.

We had friends here now. Everyone from Northrend, including Vii and Kae and Taellor, who had wished me luck before our battle; and even Cole and Robert—though I wasn't sure if Robert was competing, I knew Cole wouldn't turn down an opportunity to fight.

Three groups of ten had already gone. Horde, Alliance, Horde. In some miraculous (or purposeful) occurrence, Zen and I were in the same group. We were so used to fighting alongside each other; I saw it as a blessing and advantage.

Before we entered the battleground, I looked over our group of ten Alliance members. None talked as we waited for our gate to open; the ongoing cheers outside drowned out the pounding of our heartbeats.

It was an interesting mix. Including me, three females—though the others were a Gnome mage and a Night Elf druid. A Druid shaman, who was already chanting some magical words, shifted his weight in front of me, his tail swishing in anticipation behind him. Our tank, a Dwarf paladin, was stretching his arms, and I prayed he was sober.

A Night Elf hunter had his feline friend at his side. Wincing, I was reminded of Taellor, although the hunter's skin wasn't a pretty blue, but a more sickly green color. The female druid, also a Night Elf, was almost too beautiful, her blue hair pulled back as her many elven jewels caught what little light we had. Her limbs were long, jaw line perfectly etched as she gazed onward with her brilliant eyes.

She was perfect for Taellor.

I winced again.

Some earlier crusaders had to be carried out of the coliseum or resuscitated on the spot. I had heard about it, I hadn't watched myself. Zen and I had been distanced recently. Not of choice; the tournament had us constantly moving and training and fighting. Right now, Zen's gloved hand quietly reached for my own and squeezed. When I looked over, Zen's eyes met mine and we shared a final quiet moment together.

The nervousness and fear of what-ifs and the thought of loss was subdued at the moment. A battle lingered before us, and my rogue instincts had quelled most other emotions. Like Zen had taught me to.

A breath hitched in my lungs, my hands suddenly quivering noticeably. So not all of my nervousness was controlled after all.

A low crunching, grating noise erupted before us, but it was quickly drowned out by the crescendo of cheers. I exhaled, watching patiently with the others as the iron gate lifted; Zen's hand left my own, my hands reaching the hilt of my daggers for comfort.

The first step toward our fate was the hardest. Some parts were unknown. Who we were fighting, how long, how we'd do it…but we knew that what was before us now would define our own—and everyone else's—future.

We walked into the arena as a group, our arrival welcomed by waves of applause. Up in the front rows of seats, right in front of us, was Fordring. Taellor was near him, though I couldn't make out his expression. To our right, the Horde leader, Thrall, decorated with his officials and their blood-red banners with the symbol of the Horde. Across from that, King Varian Wrynn and the Alliance banner that symbolized so much to me.

Fordring said a few words I probably should have listened to, but I was too preoccupied with watching the gate opposite us. Our opponents' gate.

"Crusaders, prepare! Mount up your steed!"

Steed?

The familiar grating noise met my ears, the hair on my arms rising in anticipation. I blinked, finally snapping to attention and sprawling for a horse. Zen and I had practiced jousting during the week, but now, as I settled onto the brown horse and gripped my javelin, doubt clouded my mind.

Our enemies arrived, and to my surprise, the enemy was Horde soldiers, in the tabards and everything.

For a moment I hesitated—how was this going to promote our unity? But we were natural enemies, and fighting was natural.

So we charged. Surprisingly, the Horde wasn't very difficult. Sure, it was a challenge, but in little time we had them injured and unable to fight. I looked around, to the others, who were just as wary as I. We had similar thoughts. Too easy.

Then it grew silent as three more figures stepped through. The auras were much stronger and emanated power.

More Horde, but this was serious; this was the real fight. As if I needed prompting, Fordring advised us to dismount. Tossing my javelin aside, I stood straight and looked over our new opponents. One was a rogue. An Undead, whose skeletal, horned helmet reflected how the rest of his body looked. His daggers were slick and sharper than his horns.

A huge, bulky Orc held an axe that grinned at us. His shield hid most of his torso as he rolled his shoulders back in preparation. Lastly, there stood a Tauren with dark fur and his own pair of horns, whose staff pounded into the hardened ground.

"Crusaders, your opponents! The Grand Champions of the Horde! Deathstalker Visceri, Makra the Skullcrusher, and Runak Wildmane!"

And he was a skull crusher. The Orc warrior was rushing immediately, his steps thundering as he approached. My heart must have stopped.

"He's mine!"

Our tank, the Dwarf paladin, drew his own axe and met Makra in the middle, a consecration and a blast of Light flashing past my eyesight.

The hunter's tiger was charging Makra as well, and already an arrow was lodged into the enemy's shield.

Our Dwarf mage was casting spells next to me, but my focus was on the rogue whose attention was drawn to me.

I cursed, my daggers out in a flash as Visceri's own blades swung at my face. I sidestepped, my blade meeting his momentarily as I weakly parried.

"I've got it."

Our little gnome warrior had come to my assistance, his shield much larger than it should be for his body size. But his aggression erupted in a loud, tantalizing shout. Visceri seemed to hiss, a grin on his face as he targeted the little warrior. He distracted the rogue well for a while, as I also slashed away and managed a few good cuts into the Undead's arms and torso.

"Take the rogue down fast!"

Zen must have been at the warrior. Or at the shaman, who was healing too rapidly for us to catch up to.

Visceri's daggers had attracted the attention of our beautiful Night Elf druid, who was now in cat form and trying to sink her teeth into Visceri's legs. Someone, somewhere was healing our Gnome warrior, although even with the help of the Light, he was slowing down.

Our Undead enemy was agitated now. With a gurgle he jumped back, a vial of green ichor now in his clawed hands. "Damn! Get ba-"

I was cut off by the sound of breaking glass, the poison immediately rising and meeting our senses. My eyes stung, and I reeled backward as my vision blurred. Eyes watering, I steadied myself even though my throat burned and felt swollen shut. A hoarse cough escaped my lungs, but when I exhaled, air wouldn't enter.

My heart rate must have climbed to the sky. I fell to my hands and knees, air escaping my chest but not re-entering to soothe my panic. I was trapped.

"Shaman! The poison!"

Was that Zen's voice?

I reached out blindly—I had dropped my daggers in my panic, how could I be so clumsy—but without clear vision, it was useless. Warm blood was rushing to my head in a last attempt to keep me conscious.

"I've got the Orc…"

"Druid, distract the rogue!"

I heard a feral growl, a sick tearing noise, and finally, I could inhale, my senses less and less clouded until I could finally see well enough to grab my daggers. The shaman had placed a totem. Visceri wanted to destroy it, but the druid's claws were keeping him too occupied. And now that the poison was neutralized, the enemy rogue had the warrior, a hunter, Zen, and the druid to worry about.

Obviously Visceri was too big of a threat—we worked on finishing him. Our effort was proving worthwhile. The enemy panted, shoulders sagging as he slashed away. I was back at attacking him, though my throat was sore like I had been caught in a Northrend blizzard for three days.

It must have been Visceri's last attempt at doing real damage. The rogue reached into a pocket, revealing numerous knives that he gripped tightly. "Grace, move-"

He unleashed the little blades; they fanned out around him. I meant to dodge—I think I had stepped back, even—but I was one move behind. One knife grazed my breastplate, but the leather did its job. Another lodged into my skin just under my collarbone.

The pain hit first, followed by shock. Immediately the blood pooled around the silver weapon, the smell of copper hitting my nose as my right hand gently reached over to touch the end of the blade. I grew nauseous at the sight of torn skin and crimson blood. If I wanted to fight, though, the blade had to come out. Carefully I grasped the protruding part of the knife, and numbly I found myself wishing I had Zen to pull it out.

Of course, Zen was busy fighting. Everyone was. My grip tightened, muscles in my jaw clenched as I held my breath. And tugged.

The tensing didn't help. I cried out in pain, my body shuddering as more blood slipped from the throbbing gape. At first, I wanted to cover it with my hand—but too much time had passed and I had to fight.

My bloody hand I scrubbed on the dirt floor below me, and now I could continue our fight with Visceri. Or at least try to.

It didn't take much longer. One more arrow lodged into Visceri's armor, and he stumbled back, onto a knee; his arms reached out to break his impending fall.

"Visceri is finished!" A voice boomed. Within that moment the Horde rogue was in a paladin shield, and medics rushed onto the scene with a stretcher.

The druid turned her attention first. She sat on her hind legs and ran at full speed, her slick body colliding into the enemy shaman. The rest focused on Maruk, our warrior enemy—the Dwarf mage was doing well distracting the shaman at just the right distance, and now the druid was running circles around the bulky Tauren, her teeth nipping when she caught an opportunity.

Our healers were going strong—a mana totem was probably up near their station.

Before I could reach my new target, he began spinning, faster and faster so that one single blow would surely be game over. "He has a mean bladestorm!" the warrior Gnome announced as if we couldn't tell.

Everyone approached Maruk again, intent on a swift end—but once I had managed to get close, the Orc's axe slammed into the earth, the force shaking the ground and effectively knocking back everyone close enough to feel the wave.

My rear end padded my fall, but the skid backwards was painful and I knew I would feel it in the morning. I exhaled. Being tossed around was wearing me out. And this wound…I looked over, swallowing hard as I inspected the gape in my skin and forced my gaze to shift to Maruk.

Quickly I pulled myself up. I couldn't linger on the thoughts right now; it only made me hesitate during the fight. The tank bounced back first. Our Dwarf paladin facing off against the obnoxiously large Orc would have been comical, if our lives weren't on the line.

He was strong, but he had the same handful of moves. The mage and druid had finally knocked out Runak, the healer, and it made the kill so much easier.

Our druid had possession of the final blow; her paw struck Makra across the chest, a splash of crimson in its wake as the warrior finally fell to his knees.

Fordring and Thrall both stood, and almost as immediately as the signal was given, the protective shield was glowing around Makra, his heavy body collapsing in the dirt. Flashes of Light kept Makra alive until someone could get to him; Fordring's voice boomed that the match was over.

"Crusaders, prepare for your second fight."

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