Disclaimer:I do not own Warcraft or its sequels. Blizzard does.

Huge thanks to dharak for being my beta!

Chapter published 2/27/13

Selriona

"Ow," I whined, still leaning against Pallasion from where we laid. "Ow. Ow."

"Relax," he said from my left. "Don't move your wing."

"I'm not," I complained. "It's hurting on its own." Another lance of pain flared up along my left wing. "Ow. Ow."

I leaned my head back and rotated it, cracking my neck comfortably. We were in Grim Batol. Finally, finally. While Verthelion went to go speak with Alexstrasza about what had happened, and Amanthe returned to her mate in Stormwind, Pallasion and I retired to a cavern within the underground city so that he could keep watch over me. The cave was quite large. As opposed to most rooms, which were rectangular and patterned, it was irregular stone, as if the dwarves had simply blown up a lot of rock and never bothered to do anything else. It suited us just fine.

"Want me to heal it again?" he asked, stroking my back with the wing he'd draped over me.

I nodded. "Yes, please." Chilling warmth began to flow through my wing joints, soothing the aches on my left wing. I still couldn't use magic, ever since my mana had been drained beyond empty on Argus. I had a mana void to make up for, and a sizable one at that. The first thing I did upon Verthelion bringing me to their stores of water was drain two flasks. When I returned to Azeroth I went to the nearest river and drank until I couldn't feel my throat, before devouring as much prey as I could.

I sighed, relaxing against Pallasion. "Thank you."

"No problem. Do you want to get up, move around? Get your blood moving?"

"Yeah, that might be a good idea." I got to my paws, my legs shaking, wincing as I pulled on the lines criss-crossing my body where the chains had scraped off my scales, the sealed wounds where they'd been staked into me. I glanced over my back and fought back a sob when I saw the injury. My left wing was shredded, half of its webbing torn away when the Legion's mortal puppets ripped me out of the sky. Normally, webbing grew back. Along our wing-bones are roots that regrow lost webbing, similar to how mortal nails regrow out of their fingers when cut. But the metal lance went deeper than my purplish webbing, it actually tore the roots themselves out of my body. The webbing wouldn't regrow without them. It was like cutting off a mortal's leg; I would never fly again.

Then the reminder of what else had happened on Argus besides my permanent grounding came up, and I fought back a tear. Ialion, my poor son. I'd lost children before. Sickness, keeping our charge, storms over the ocean. It was natural, as a dragon. If we didn't lose a sizable portion of our offspring, we would rapidly overpopulate. I'd never lost an entire brood, thank the Titans, but every child lost still... still burned. Especially when they died to take my place as a necessary sacrifice.

I looked down from my wing, scraping a claw along the earth. "How... how will I get up to the surface?" I asked.

"I'll help you," Pallasion said, getting up as well. "There's a path I like to take, but I'll show you the tunnels the dragonspawn use. It's safer; my way involves jumping along ledges over the lava pit."

"Thank you." I followed him out of the cavern, wincing with every step. My legs had been broken for a long time, and even with their healing spells, I still limped on my left foreleg. Alexstrasza herself had healed me, which went so very, very far. But as corrupted as she was, with part of her soul burned out to stop the taint, she wasn't able to heal me as much as she could've in her prime. And so I limped, for another month was the guess.

Pallasion took a right and headed away from the central spire into the deep of Grim Batol. He kept his pace slow, stopping when I paused to catch my breath now and again. I thought for sure that we were lost, walking up and down stairs, past groups of drakes and dragonspawn and drakonids, but before too long we were at the gateway, the guards letting us pass with respectful nods.

The valley was warm, touched gently by the sun, warming my blood comfortably despite the fact that Grim Batol was already heated by liquid rock. Fluffy white clouds hung in the sky, creating streaking golden rays along the ground. I gazed out at the Twilight Highlands from where we were on the mountain. I took it slowly, my body still all sorts of shaken. I looked up and saw a pair of red drakes from the nearby Vermillion Redoubt playing in the air, talon tag from the looks of it. I bit back a sob and looked down.

"I can never fly again," I repeated dumbly. It didn't seem possible. I knew it, but didn't quite accept it. Much the same way I knew there was a giant mass of ice on the planet's southern pole, or how a Dark Titan with a serious vendetta against our world had a physical form again. I knew those were facts, but I was also unable to quite wrap my head around it. Flight. I could never fly again. Not even the Dragonqueen could heal dismemberment; why else was she unable to restore the fingers on Korialstrasz's mortal form after he lost them? It was just too much. It went above and beyond what could be done. What healing spells actually did was accelerate the speed at which one's body regenerated to incredible levels. Things that would heal over months healed in seconds, over decades in minutes, but things that would never heal on their own never healed at all. And membrane roots simply did not grow back once shredded.

Pallasion placed his wing over my back. "I'm going to be so groundsick," I whispered. "You've never been groundsick. It's awful. I - I don't want to go through that."

"It's okay, Selriona," he murmured. "It's okay. We'll help you. We'll help you through it. It won't last forever, I promise you."

I breathed in sharply through my nostrils, thanking him. Still, those words repeated in my head over and over again. I'm grounded. I'm grounded. I'm grounded. I'd lost such a vital part of myself. Pallasion took no joy in flight, thanks to his acrophobia, but I loved it. I loved doing flips and rolls, dives and rises. I would never be able to do that again, never feel the thermals beneath me wings, the wind along my tail or the tingle of gravity as I dove. And I'd lost not only my wings, but also a son...

I bit back another sob, tears stinging my eyes and flowing down my face. I flicked out my tusks briefly to send them flying off.

"Just don't think about it, alright?" he said. "Look, it's a beautiful day. The sun is shining, the air is warm, and there's a group of stag nearby. Can't you smell them?"

I inhaled deeply, tasting the air and understanding what he meant. "Yes but... how can I hunt without flying over them?"

"You're faster than them," he said. "You have your claws and fangs, and your fire. Come on, I'll help you. Find a nice plump stag to bury your fangs in, it'll make you feel better." He raised his head and inhaled deeply, turning his head down the slope. "That way," he said. "Behind the little hill." He looked down at my forelegs. "Think you can do it?" he asked with a hint of challenge in his voice.

I growled and flared out both my wings, instantly regretting it when pain blossomed along the shredded one, forcing me to pull them both back. "Just watch," I snarled, setting off towards the hill he'd motioned towards, as fast as my limp could carry me. Pallasion jogged beside me, his wings, connected to his tail like a bat's, tight against his back. The ground shook beneath our weight, and in mere moments I saw the family of stag. They saw us, too, and instantly turned tail to run, scattering in all directions. Pallasion was to my left, so he went left, while I went right after a particularly meaty-looking male.

Pallasion was right. Even with my limp, and without my wings, I was far faster than the stag was, and soon found myself pinning it down with my good forepaw. I looked down at it happily, watching it thrash desperately for a moment. I ended its struggles by placing more weight on the paw holding it down, crushing its bones and driving my claws in. Its struggles weakened, and then stopped.

I looked to my left, Pallasion approaching with a female clamped in his jaws, striding towards me and dropping the carcass. I smiled. "Looks like I can hunt like this." I froze, depression washing over me. "I - I'll have no choice anymore. I have to. Oh Titans..."

"Eat," he commanded.

"Right," I said, shaking my head. I lowered my head to the stag I'd caught and dug in, my fangs cutting and slicing and ripping its flesh. I wagged my tail happily as I devoured it, the delectable muscles and organs tumbling into my body, drinking the bodily fluids to relieve the omnipresent thirst, snapping the bones like twigs in my maw. Before too long, there was nothing left of the animal but a bloodstain. I looked over, licking some of the blood off my muzzle. Pallasion had done much the same to his prey, a red smear around the indigo scales of his jaws. I sighed contently, idly flicking the gore off my claws.

"You were right. I feel so much better." I dipped my head. "Thanks, Pallasion." I stepped forwards to him, but stumbled on my bad leg. I cursed as Pallasion ran over, supporting me as I got my balance back.

"Come on, let's walk. Don't worry about Sargeras or the meeting or anything else for now. Focus on getting better and enjoying the day." He didn't need to add the unspoken sentence. You'll need every bit of happiness the coming weeks.

Verthelion

I groaned, sharing an exasperated look with Kalecgos next to me. The half-elf shaped dragon also shook his head, crossing his arms.

"They've been at it for fifteen minutes," I whispered to him in Draconic, standing from the chair I'd been given.

He scoffed. "Tell me about it. This is no way to figure out a plan, by bickering like whelplings!"

"Let them get it out of their systems," Ysera said. "If I'm right, they should be calming themselves down soon."

Sure enough, the assembled mortals began to calm down, their voices lowering from shouts to exasperated speaking. There was Malfurion Stormrage, leader of the Cenarion Circle, by far the calmest of the assembled mortals. Even so, his amber yellow eyes blazed with intensity, as they had been ever since I dropped the news of Sargeras.

There was Gorrog, the current leader of the Earthen Ring, descendant of Go'el, and every bit of powerful. His olive green skin was covered in perspiration, which attributed heavily to the volume at which he had been roaring during the mortals', ehem, 'discussion'. Next to the current Earth-warder was King Terenas III, a silvery crown around his head, fitting well with the steely gray garments he'd picked for the meeting. Next to him was Warchief Toron. The tauren stood tall and proud, with wooden decorations adorning her shoulders. Like everyone else, she'd brought no weapon, leaving the spiked glaive of her predecessor, a weapon as tall as her, back in Orgrimmar.

The final two members, Verela and Tariun, were of the Kirin Tor and the Argent Crusade respectively. Verela was the current leader of the Six, the blood elf adorned with shimmering violet/gold robes that seemed to shift as she moved, almost copying Ysera's eyes, her fox-colored hair tied in a bun. Tariun wore his golden armor, passed down through the centuries among the leaders of the Crusade, though the dwarf had to stand on an elevated platform so that he could get the proper attention someone of his station deserved. The Ashbringer was left in Hearthglen, under the Argents' strictest security.

I looked to my left. There stood Kalecgos, followed by Ysera, then Nozdormu. Alexstrasza, however, had not attended. She, thinking past her steadily declining corruption, came to the conclusion she was in no fit state to make these sort of decisions and allowed her current Prime to attend in her stead, giving him her blessing to make decisions in her name. So there stood Vonrastrasz in his human form. He'd elected to pick a form with red eyes, of course, but dirty blonde hair that fell into a tail-shape behind his head.

I sighed, before stepping forwards. "Alright, enough!" I shouted, making all the mortals stop their arguments and fall into instant silence. "Bickering relentlessly is not going to get any of us anywhere! The first thing we must do is predict the Legion's next course of action, and then come up with a plan to counter them!" I hesitated for a moment. "Calmly," I added.

"Well what do ya suggest?" Tariun shouted. So much for calmly. "I don't know if ya've grasped this, but this is Sargeras we're talking about!" I growled, letting the glow of my eyes flicker. "Um, no disrespect, Aspect. But with him on the loose, what exactly can we do? Ya know that if he steps foot on this world, there's nothin' that we can do about him!"

"Not necessarily," Verela interjected, looking my way. "You said he's in the body of an iron vrykul, right?"

I nodded. "Correct."

"Then he won't be at his full power. Won't be a pushover either, but we could stand a chance at killing him. Only problem will be how."

"Our main problem won't be Sargeras," Toron said, nudging the subject away from the Titan. "What I'm more worried about are the armies he commands, that would sweep over this world like a tidal wave. We must decide on how to prepare for such a battle. How would they even reach our world in the first place? They would need portals."

I placed a hand under my chin. "The Legion will build up one of its outposts, either on Outland or Azeroth, and open enormous portals there to reach our world. They'd form bases quickly, knowing that we can destroy them. That's the thing with this invasion." I looked across at the mortals. "The demons have learned not to underestimate us. They know that we can beat them, which is why they'll be cautious." I paused for a moment. "Have been cautious. Each time they moved their plan forward, it's typically been around eight decades. Once they got the magic amplifier, they waited eighty years to kidnap the priests and paladins. After another eighty years, they revived Sargeras. They're waiting like this so that we'll forget their threat in the time lapse. So that we'll grow complacent."

"If that is so, Verthelion," Malfurion said, gazing at me across the table with his glowing eyes. Irritation boiled in me at the challenge in his gaze, and I stared back. "Then there is nothing we can do to prevent a second invasion. They'll just wait, and wait, until we have lowered our guard, and then swarm us. Unless, we make them believe we have grown complacent, while still preparing ourselves. We must ready our forces, prepare them, slowly, gradually, over the decades. The next invasion will likely be in eighty years, if what you say is true. If we pull this off, in that much time, when the Legion attacks, we will be prepared."

"Eighty years is a lot of time for most mortals," Kalecgos said, looking at the leaders of the Horde, Alliance, and Argent Crusade. "You will need to pass on this information to your successors." He paused, looking uneasy, then shook it off. "In related news, my Flight has found a reliable means to permanently kill demons of all kinds. In Outland, deep in Blade's Edge mountains, grow a unique brand of crystals. These Apexis crystals emanate an aura that steadily, over years, increases the intelligence of nearby beings, such as the ogres residing there. That, however, is not why they are intriguing. These crystals can be used to power banishing crystals. Ones that kill demons permanently. I plan to begin collecting those crystals in secret and transporting them back to the Nexus to study them. We may, potentially, find a way to infuse mortal weaponry with banishment abilities."

"This is indeed good news, Spellweaver," said Vonrastrasz. "Now, as for the preparations the Red Dragonflight will undertake..."

The next few minutes were spent discussing various ways to increase our military powers in secret, specific areas of militarization so that we could compensate for the gaps left by others. We dragons decided unanimously to take our members into our homes - The Nexus, the Emerald Dream, so on - and train in utmost secrecy there in aerial combat. I, however, added another thing. "There is something else that my Flight can offer. Sargeras himself must be dealt with. Problem is, he will be throwing his weight around. We must do the same thing."

"Verthelion," Ysera said, looking at me intently with her shimmering, shifting eyes, easily deciphering my intentions. "It is too much of a risk for us to take the front lines. We die, our Flights our left leaderless."

I sighed. Here it came. "As much as I loathe to say it, we may need to take a page out of Neltharion's book."

"What are you saying?" Malfurion snapped, looking at me with all the trust a stag does a bear.

"Grim Batol is filled with a high amount of precious metals. We can use the metal to create... to create armor for we Aspects, and leftovers can be used for any other purposes. Helping your weaponizing efforts, armoring other dragons, the likes. We have already created talon sheathes - that is, metal that can fit over our claws to aid in shredding - and a fair bit at that. Enough to arm several hundred drakes and dragons from each Flight." I shook my head. "But that's not the point!" I looked over at my fellow Aspects. "If we armor ourselves, we will be much more powerful. We have to use our powers in the next invasion. Sargeras will, and he is an engine of destruction. We will need everything we can get to balance out the scales. This armor will let us take to the skies - not neccesarily the front lines - with next to no risk."

A tense, awkward silence descended. Everyone looked at me, and I grimaced at their stares. "Look, I don't like the idea," I said. "Especially given who was the previous one to use it, but it will be necessary. You have to see that."

Slowly, Nozdormu nodded. "Yes, I suppose it will be. Go ahead with your armoring plan."

I nodded. "I shall."

The Timeless One looked at the Warchief of the Horde and the King of the Alliance. "Commune with the Alliance and the Horde to decide what to do with spare metal. They do, after all, have the toughest military forces out of all mortals."

"Speaking of which," the King said. "I believe I had a way to make sure our two armies grow stronger without letting the Legion know."

"Oh?" asked Toron, crossing her arms and looking down suspiciously at the human beside her. "What would that be?"

"Arms race. Even after our factions signed a peace treaty seventy years ago, we've been on rocky terms. It wouldn't be too hard to believe we are engaged in an arms race against each other, when really our purpose is to fortify ourselves against the Legion's imminent attack. The civilians will believe it's an arms race, everyone except us will think it is one."

"A cold war," she said, nodding. "Excellent idea. The Legion will never suspect a thing. We should wait a few years to start it, though. They may become suspicious if we all start militarizing the very moment they have revived Sargeras."

"Oh?" asked Gorrog. "And what's to stop the Legion from invading now? To just march upon Azeroth at this very moment?"

"They're being very cautious," I reminded him. "They don't want to just charge after us, and they know that we know. They'd have to be stupid not to, since I fought Kil'jaeden. They'll wait a few decades, then when they think our guard's down, launch the assault. But we'll be ready, and repel them once more."

Tariun laughed heartily. "Yeah, that's right, Aspect! I'll start training my priest 'n paladins as soon as this meeting ends. They shall not know the true meaning, of course. I'll come up with somethin'." He looked around at us, suddenly nervous. "Whatever was spoken in this room can not leave it. Of course, I'm not speaking for the Aspects. But we can't rule out the possibility of members of our own factions being corrupted by the Legion, telling them, and ruining everything! Not to mention the fact that we'll have to pass on this information to those who succeed our positions, so we much choose carefully."

It didn't take long for the mortal leaders to leave the brownish-red tent the meeting was held in. They emerged into the the open air of the Howling Fjord and went their separate ways, however we five stayed back.

Kalecgos looked at me warily. "Are you certain of this plan, Verthelion?"

I nodded. "Yes. Sargeras will be taking the front lines, it is imperative that we do the same to balance out the odds. I'm not saying we should go paw-to-paw with the Titan himself, just to wreak havoc on his armies as much as he will on ours. We should also practice our abilities. Maybe meet once a week or month somewhere - Wyrmrest perhaps - and spar."

"Although I am curious," Ysera said. "Exactly why have you been making talon sheathes? And why have you not told us?"

I shrugged nervously, my skin prickling. "Well, I was saving them for an event that warranted using them. Like this. I didn't think they were important otherwise. Nobody's used one of them beyond testing purposes; when we distribute the talon sheathes, they'll be good as new." I frowned. "Don't look at me like that, it's a good idea!"

"Indeed it is," said the Dragonqueen's Prime. "Shall we reconvene every two decades atop Wyrmrest for an update?" he asked.

"Indeed," the other four of us said simultaneously.

After a few more minutes of exchanging pleasantries and farewells, the meeting ended. I teleported myself back to Grim Batol, and let out a sigh. There was a lot to do.

A few days earlier

Sargeras

It felt good to be back.

The iron vrykul's body was puny, limited, and weak. Fragile to the extreme, slow, small, and all around inadequate for one of my cosmic stature. Still, it would suffice. It held far more holding ability than Medivh had, had nothing to resist my control, and it was relaxing to be in a body of metal again, as I should be. It was good to be in a body period.

I flexed my arms, my red hot fingers opening and closing rhythmically. All around me, my loyal army knelt in reverence. The air touching me shimmered, the black stone beneath my feet glowed with the heat I transferred into it. Shattered pieces of stone laid around the area from where I'd blown out the building shortly after draining the reptile's life essence to complete the resurrection spell.

Summoned by the thought, my soul ached. How I loathed having the Light used on me. Still, it gave me a form once more. Kil'jaeden had done well; this more than made up for his failure in the Sunwell. Where was he, anyway?

A shimmer of red light proceeded his arrival, just outside the floor of the revival chamber. He had compressed his form to accommodate my new stature, and dissolved his wings. His red skin was covered in black marks, and a long scar that hadn't been there before ran down his side. He seemed drowsy, and I could see through him that his mana was low. He knelt just like all the others.

"My Lord."

I calculated, then tensed my legs and pushed my strength through them. I sailed through the air and landed next to Kil'jaeden in a single bound. At least that was one advantage of the iron vrykul; with my strength in it, I was deceptively nimble.

"Rise, Kil'jaeden." He did so. "You have done exceptionally well with your plot to return me to physical form. You have outdone yourself. Tell me, did your plan extend beyond?"

"Somewhat, but not far," he admitted. "I had planned for the next and final invasion of Azeroth to take place eighty-six of their years from today. The wait is for any one of them who discovered our plot to fade from memory, leaving them wholly unprepared. Of course, you may edit this plan to your favor, Lord Sargeras."

"Why the wait? Do not tell me you are afraid of Azeroth, Deceiver."

He paused. "We have had a zero percentage rate of success in our invasions there," he reasoned, looking down in the beginnings of fear. "Every time we have attempted, their defenders pushed us back. As of late, they have grown increasingly skilled in doing so. And with the appointment of the Twilight Dragonflight - "

"Twilight Dragonflight?"

"Ah, my apologies, Lord Sargeras. They did not exist in your time as Medivh."

"Yes, I'm honestly surprised I learned of your assault on the Sunwell in the first place. Do inform me."

"Slightly over an Argusian century ago, the Old Gods that infest that wretched world created a race of corrupt dragons to do their bidding, to replace the other Dragonflights. It was a good plan. They were powerful, brainwashed into obeying them, and their shadowy fire was devastating to other dragons. Unfortunately for the Old Gods, and for us, they defected, and have taken the place of the extinct Blacks, allied with the other Flights. They keep watch over Azeroth for any corrupting measures, and either contain, purify, or purge them as needed. We know from our few surviving satellites that the Red Aspect has recently been corrupted by an earthquake shifting the mineral Saronite closer to her home. The Twilights caught note of this and are rehabilitating her, and will likely discover the cause and move the Saronite elsewhere. They have been doing very well at keeping us suppressed. Our void lord plan, the fel cannon march. Of course, I planted enough false starts to keep their focus away from my true plan."

This was... interesting news. A new race of dragons. "Such as the one I drained."

"Indeed. We had..." Kil'jaeden faltered. That meant he'd messed up. "We had originally captured a female, but several of its allies came and rescued it. The male stayed behind, since they could not leave without you returning."

"And WHY did I not see them?" I asked hotly, pebbles starting to float around me.

"The Twilight dragons are able to shift into another plane of existence, and bring those they want with them. Only they can control this realm, so it grants them nigh-infinite safety. We had erected a field around this area to deny them access to this realm, however your return must've damaged it, allowing all but one of them to escape once you have stabilized. Apologies, my Lord. An oversight on my part."

I let the pebbles drop. "An unforeseen consequence, bound to happen in any chaotic system. So. These dragons will have returned to Azeroth and told the rest of the Flights. Interesting." Dragons had long memories. They'd likely know of my return for centuries yet. Mortals, however... "If memory serves, the dragons often operate separate of the mortal races, yes?"

"Correct. They are usually aloof, however, your return to the physical plane may alarm them enough into speaking with them."

I waved a hand. "Then we shall wait. You have been doing that, yes? We have waited to destroy this pitiful world for ten thousand of its years. What's a few more? Order what camps we have to send up more satellites into moderate-height geosynchronous orbit around Azeroth. I want them watching every corner of Azeroth, sending information via high-efficiency teleportation back here. I want to be able to see every stone, every twig, every ocean wave. I don't care if you have to build them here and haul them to Azeroth. Get it done."

"Weaponized or not?"

I pondered it for a moment. "Have weaponized ones over each of the mortal faction cities, but otherwise spare the resources. They are not to be used until our actual invasion."

"Wyrmrest?"

"I'll handle Wyrmrest myself when the time comes. I want our regiments training around the clock, every second. No stopping, at all. Order the gan'arg and mo'arg to produce weapons in high concentrations. Field-deployed fel-cannons, one fel-reaver for every hundred of those, and prepared Forge Camps. I want them to be able to take the materials through a portal and set up a fully operational Forge Camp in no more than one hour. And I want the Orod'in gan'arg to work nonstop on improvements to our weapons. Sharper axes, tougher reaver armor, the works." I looked around at the assembled demons around me, still kneeling. "GO!" No further word was needed, and the area around us was vacated immediately.

"If you do not mind waiting a moment, my Lord, I have something for you you may be delighted to see."

I raised a metallic eyebrow. "Oh? Do so, Kil'jaeden."

He bowed. "Of course." There was a shimmer of red light, and he was gone. A few moments later and Kil'jaeden returned, full size, with a weapon in each hand. He placed them down and contracted back into a form my size. I was stunned, looking at the weapon he'd held in his left.

I approached it. "Is that - "

"Yes, it is."

Without hesitation I grasped the hilt of the enormous sword. It reacted to my touch, knowing its master. It shrunk, and shrunk, and shrunk, until it was a proper size for my new and temporary form. I raised it before me, giving experimental swings, the muscle memory coming back as easily as magic and movement had. A decorative hilt, with a slitted red eye in the middle, surrounded by hardened, cracked lava. The sword's top half was broken off, creating wicked, jagged edges that were more than capable of carnage. Its metal was dark red, inscribed with blazing red runes that created an aura of fire around the entire thing, smoke rising into the air to mix with Argus's clouds.

"Gorribal," I said quietly, tracing a finger along the flat of my weapon. "It has been far, far too long since I have held this sword." I brought my left hand to clasp the hilt as well, and raised the sword into the sky. Fire surged upwards, a pillar of flame streaking through the sky and into the clouds, flickering ruby light dancing along the stone around us. After a few minutes I stopped the display of power, swinging Gorribal down to my right side. "And what is this other weapon you have brought me, Kil'jaeden?" I asked, looking over to it.

It was already my size, which was curious. A bit too small, in fact, as if a human or an orc had held it. But I recognized it all the same.

"My scepter," I said with wicked glee. I extended a hand and pictured the rod flying into my hand. The vision became reality, my scepter telekinetically pulled to me. It doubled in size to fit the vrykul body. A black metal rod, with white bands, shimmering white and black crystals adorning the head. I frowned upon holding it, and Kil'jaeden appeared to notice my displeasure.

"Apologies, my Lord. It was last used by the traitorous orc Ner'zhul. He overcharged its powers, and while I recovered it from him, I have not been able to restore its former power."

"It is of no consequence. The power it once held is such that I would need to be at my full strength to reinvigorate it. It will still be more than enough." I tossed my jeweled scepter into the air, opening a dimensional rift around it and sealing it into a nether pocket, to be recalled at my command. I looked over to the floor of black stone, a still, indigo figure within it. I walked over to it, Kil'jaeden respectfully following to my right, behind me. I looked over at the... what was it? Ah yes, Twilight dragon.

"What do you suggest I do with this dragon?" I asked.

"It is your choice, my Lord."

"I want to hear your suggestion. You know the recent status of Azeroth far better than I."

He paused, considering this. "The Alliance and the New Horde have built a fleet of formidable aircraft. In combination with the five Dragonflights, we will be sorely without air superiority."

"And how might this dragon aid in fixing that?"

"During my attempted invasion at the Sunwell, a blue wyrm fought Brutallus."

"Ah yes, Brutallus. A perfect example of his race. What has become of him?"

"He died," my right hand said bluntly. "Not by the blue wyrm, though. He killed it quite easily, in fact. Mortals killed him after - I shall have to fill you in on these 'Kingslayers' later, among other things that have transpired - but when they did, his blood spilled. It resurrected the dragon as a skeletal Fel Wyrm, utterly bent to our will."

I chuckled. "I do believe I know where you are headed with this." Green lightning crackled up and down my right arm, into Gorribal. I raised the broken sword and pointed it at the dragon, fel energy surging outwards in ropes of lightning and into the dragon.

As if it gained new life, the Twilight dragon began to struggle in agony. It screeched, thrashed, contorted in ways that looked outright painful. It hissed and howled, roared, keened for mercy as I effortlessly sustained the energy.

Its flesh sizzled and bubbled, scales melting, flesh vaporizing as it continued to fight the no-doubt agonizing transformation. The shouts for me to 'Stop stop please stop!' turned into wet gurgles as its throat melted away. It heart, brains, eyes, everything dissolved, until all that was left was a skeletal cadaver. Its spiked tail-club was gone, replaced by a single green orb. Its horns moved downward with sickening cracks, making it howl, until they jutted forwards, forming a sort of ring around its head. The horns that formed its crest were intact, and the dissolving of flesh had created fel-green webbing between them, like fish fins going down its neck. Its now-tattered wing membranes had, similarly, been tainted with my magic, turned a sickly emerald. Green mist filled its chest cavity, the occasional flash of dark blue lightning arcing between its ribs, and a purple light shone from its eye sockets. It rose shakily, standing on all fours, and looked my way.

It recoiled as if in pain.

"Rise," I told it. "You have been reborn into service of the Legion. You will be the ruler of my fel-wyrms, which shall be created en-mass when I next visit your world. You will be granted with the strength to rule them, to lead them into battle against Azeroth's air forces, but above all, you will serve me. Is this understood?"

The fel wyrm struggled. It stumbled over words, trying to fight my dominion. "Argh! N-nev-ye-ngh!" It looked down, then slowly back up. "N - nonngh! N-ne. N-n-neve..."

Then the purple glow of its eyes snapped to green, and it stood straight up on all fours, towering over me but infinitely below me.

"Yes, my Lord."

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Next up is Section 5.