Yes, one more chapter.

Chapter 36: Have a Little Pain

Pain coursed through his entire body, again. While for others it had been a year of rebuilding, for Dethrox it had been a year of torture, of pain unimaginable. He hung in the air, arced all the way back under the effects of the torturous magic unleashed by Kil'jaeden. The muscles in his back strained so hard that they were starting to tear themselves apart. It had been hours, but now the pain faded away suddenly, however it never completely vanished. The strain vanished as well, leaving his entire body slack. The only thing keeping him up was Kil'jaeden himself. He had grabbed Dethrox by one wing and kept him aloft.

During this small pause, Dethrox looked back on how he had gotten himself in this mess. The Legion had descended into chaos when Archimonde blew up. Nearly all semblance of leadership had vanished, only the few dreadlords remaining and a few eredar could maintain control over small parts of the Legion. The undead could not be controlled, nor could most of the demons. Only infernals, easily influenced by those who knew how, and doomguard, far more intelligent than most demons, allowed themselves to be controlled.

Using those few doomguard and infernals, a group of dreadlords and eredar had tried to keep the rest of the Legion at bay while they figured out a way to get themselves out of there. They cared not what the consequences would be, they just cared about getting out of there, alive, for there was no reason for them to stay. And it had been Dethrox who had found a way out.

Archimonde, or rather Archimonde's power. Archimonde had already been drawing enormous amounts of energy from the World Tree when he exploded. And all of the power Archimonde had already usurped had been spread over the land along with his inherent power. In time the power would find it's way back, but that was not what concerned Dethrox. The plan had been to create a portal of this world, either to another world or into the Twisting Nether, the realm of the Legion, but they did not have the insane amounts of power required to do so. But even though all of Archimonde's power was spread over the land, that which they could gather was still more than enough to create a small portal large enough just for them.

Thus they performed an act that, if Archimonde had been alive to witness, would have meant their death, for what they were doing was essentially usurping the power of Archimonde, no matter their reasons. But the demon lord wasn't there, so they felt confident enough to do it. Dethrox even found himself gathering some of the power for himself, something none of the others dared to do. There was so much of it he just couldn't resist, even though he'd never be able to put it to good use with his relatively pathetic talents at the arcane arts, compared to Archimonde.

The portal had formed and was just large enough and lasted just long enough for them to pass through. The doomguard and infernals they left behind, for what were they, but a few out of the many, manymore that remained in the Twisting Nether.

But Kil'jaeden had not agreed with their actions upon finding out. He had found it outrageous that they had retreated like cowards, but he had been even more outraged to find out how they had performed that retreat. And as such, every time Kil'jaeden had the time to do so, he tortured them. And Dethrox could not, in all honesty, disagree, for it was the way of the Legion. Kil'jaeden seemed especially wrathful with Dethrox, for it had been him who had come up with the plan. And any time the demon lord did not have time, he had minions do the torturing for him. But even all this time, Dethrox had managed to keep that power he had taken on Azeroth hidden, even from Kil'jaeden.

Dethrox knew very well that Kil'jaeden was very forgiving, especially for a demon. He often gave second, even third, chances to those who had failed him. And the fact that Dethrox had been spared an ultimate demise so far, probably meant such a chance might be very possible.

He had had many second chances. In recent time one from Mannoroth, after failing to kill or capture the orc warchief at the Warsong clan village, and then one from Archimonde, who was generally not the forgiving type, after failing to destroy the Alliance/Horde outpost in the Barrens. Although the latter had not let getting that chance been easy.

But none of the pain Archimonde had caused him then was even remotely comparable to what Kil'jaeden had put him through now. Spells had prevented him from going unconscious because of the pain, while other spells had prevented Dethrox from 'adjusting' to the pain, so he felt everything in full force, every single time. Many times Kil'jaeden had killed him, only to bring him back and kill him again.

Suddenly Kil'jaeden let go of him. He fell to the ground, from a height of several dozen feet, and landed on his face. For the thousandth time he became aware of the red cracked stones that made up the ground. Within the cracks glowed red light, betraying a fire that raged below the surface. The stones were searing hot and burned his knees and hands, and because of the spells put on him, even this relatively minor pain felt as if he was being skinned alive with a hot jagged knife that had been dipped in acid.

Both of his broken wings touched the ground, yet he did not have the strength to lift them high enough. If he could look back he might have seen that the leathery fabric of the wings had actually caught on fire when a stream of fire had burst from in between the cracked rocks.

Then even this pain faded. Kil'jaeden had grabbed his neck and had lifted him of the ground. Dethrox could not keep his eyes fixed upon the demon lord, but that wasn't a problem for what Kil'jaeden had planned. While keeping Dethrox up with his left, the demon lord rose his right in preparation, fingers and thumb pointing towards Dethrox's head. A spell, the effects of which Dethrox could only guess at, was cast. Then, under the influence of another spell, Kil'jaeden's right hand suddenly shrunk. What had been a hand large enough to encompass Dethrox's entire head, was now smaller than Dethrox's own hand.

The hand moved towards Dethrox's head. All of a sudden Kil'jaeden's intentions became eerily clear. Weariness forgotten, his gaze fixed upon the approaching hand. With all his remaining strength and even some he didn't know he had, Dethrox tried to wiggle out of Kil'jaeden's iron grip. But it was no use, Kil'jaeden was to strong. For a moment he considered using the power he had gathered on Azeroth right now, but that would ruin what he had planned to use it for. So, no matter how much it pained him even before Kil'jaeden had started, he had to endure.

The hand halted just in front of Dethrox's face, the left side of his face, his left eye. Then, without warning, the hand shot forth. The sharp nails dug into the soft tissue around Dethrox's eye. The fingers, the nails, dug deeper and deeper, impossibly deep. An insane pain coursed through Dethrox. He screamed his lungs out, literally almost. But neither the pain in his lungs nor the one in his throat could even begin to compare to that in his left eye.

He could feel the hand grab his eye, tearing through even more tissue. If Dethrox had been able to see such things, he would have seen Kil'jaeden's hand flaring up with black energy. It burned madly, searing the tissue around the eye. Then a sharp pain, undoubtedly enhanced by spells, so intense that he nearly blacked out despite the spells put on him, coursed through his head. It was only seconds later that the tug registered on him. The tug that had signalled Kil'jaeden tearing the eye from Dethrox's head.

But strangely, the eye was still intact, and lay upon Kil'jaeden's open palm, turned towards Dethrox. And even more strangely, and most likely impossibly, he could still see through the eye, see himself. While pain still wrecked his head, he found himself fascinated by the hole in his own head. An intense blackness it was. The bone, the brow ridge and cheekbone, around the wound had been torn to pieces and were only held somewhat in place by bits of skin and torn muscle.

Then a new spell impacted Dethrox, impacted the socket where the eye should have been. When he found himself capable of registering anything again, Dethrox saw that the bone had gone back in place and had healed. Only a gaping black hole, and thick scars that seemed to glow with black energy, remained where the eye had been.

Then, Kil'jaeden suddenly dropped him. "You are in luck. . . I have things to attend to. . ." Some minion must have signalled something to the demon lord telepathically.

Dethrox looked up, Kil'jaeden beamed a wrathful gaze back. It was clear the demon lord would much rather continue, but the Legion needed to be lead. Kil'jaeden turned around and started towards a newly formed portal that would no doubt take him away from this wasteland that was only there for Dethrox's torture.

Enough! I have had enough! Dethrox roared mentally, knowing the demon lord would notice. Kil'jaeden had indeed noticed and was already turning around. Dethrox had planned this almost since the moment his torture had begun, perhaps even before. He had used what little time he had during the small pauses in between sessions of torture to find the necessary spells. Dethrox's first doubts in the Legion had started long ago, before the first invasion of the Legion of Azeroth even. But recently, not in small part thanks to that pesky orc Talgrun, those doubts had increased greatly.

I will not serve any longer! "Is that so?" Kil'jaeden rumbled, but then his face changed to intense surprise upon figuring out Dethrox's plan, and even more so upon feeling the power Dethrox was now using. He was using what he took from Archimonde. And part of that power was part of the world of Azeroth, the place he intended to go. The power that had once belonged to the World Tree acted like a guiding wire. He knew exactly how to perform the spell as effectively as possible, and thus, even though he had far less power to work with than when he had travelled from Azeroth to the Twisting Nether, he succeeded in creating a stable portal for a single second, but he would not have enough power to change his mind and go back to the Nether or a different world. The last thing he saw before fading out of the Nether was Kil'jaeden squashing his eye along with the look of ultimate surprise and anger upon the demon lord's face. The sudden burst of pain had nearly collapsed his spell, but he managed to keep it intact.

A moment of blackness followed.

But then he suddenly found himself in a familiar place. A barren location, but a familiar and far better one than the one where he had been but moments before.

But for a while longer he couldn't care less where he was exactly. He remained tense, waiting for something to happen. Something that would indicate Kil'jaeden striking him down from within the Nether, or having created a portal himself. But there were no such things. Everything remained quiet. Serenely quiet. Either the demon lord had been unwilling, or incapable of coming after him. It was most likely the latter, for Kil'jaeden would not have the same advantages of a 'guiding wire', immense amounts of power to draw on and knowledge of where he was going as Dethrox had.

He let out an immense sigh of relief and only then started to take real notice of his surrounding.

Sand grinded underneath his hooves, a feeling he had never imagined could feel so very good. A slight breeze grazed his broken skin. The sun shone down on him. He let out another sigh, but instead of relief as before, it was a sigh of joy, and looked around. There were trees here and there, but mostly there were just barren plains. He was standing on a slight hill. On one side there was something of interest. Ruins they were. Ruins of both stone structures and wooden structures, but they had been abandoned for a while now, some of them were even burned down.

It took him a while to recognise it, but then he did find a mental image of what it been like when all the buildings had still been intact. An immense encampment of both the Horde and the Alliance in the northern Barrens, an encampment he had nearly razed to the ground. It seemed the ruins were not completely abandoned though. He could see small groups of shambling undead as well as other small groups, up to five a piece, that were evidently hunting the undead for whatever purpose. Every time a group of undead died, the hunters would approach to search for valuables.

I must not end up like those undead. . . He told himself. Hunted like some beast. He sighed as he witnessed one of the groups, his eyes were sharp enough to see the individuals clearly, engaging a group of undead, creatures he had once commanded. The group of five made short work of the somewhat larger group of undead. His train of thought eventually lead him towards that pesky orc named Talgrun that had both directly and indirectly been the cause of his current condition as well as his troubles. He had fought many opponents before he had even laid eyes upon that orc, any orc for that matter, yet Talgrun had managed to survive, even hurt him, each time. Spells that would normally have torn an enemy apart, the orc merely shrugged of.

The train of thought inevitably lead to a curiosity, or rather a question. How had that orc survived all those times? He could remember that the orc had something about him, something old and powerful. Something magical, yet the orc himself had never displayed any such abilities. An amulet or artefact then? Perhaps that was what gave the orc the strength to shrug of attacks that killed most enemies. But then again, he had not noticed this aura the first time they had met. And even then the orc had survived. But that does not take away that whatever it was he had with him might be something very powerful. . . If I'm to be stuck on this world, I might keep myself busy by finding out what it was he had.

He looked down on his own body, or rather what was left of his body. Now that the spells Kil'jaeden had put on him were gone, he felt great, even though he shouldn't judging by the state of his body. Pieces of skin were hanging loose, while bones showed through wounds in other places, yet he hardly felt anything. The memory of other, far more painful, experiences were still fresh, fresh enough to remind him that these wounds were nothing compared to those he had before, although he knew well enough that if he didn't do something about them soon they could very well be fatal. His hand went up to the empty left eye socket. It would take a very long time to repair all the damage, and even then it might not be possible to replace the eye, Kil'jaeden had most likely made sure of that. But when I am ready. . . I have an or--

His train of thought was rudely interrupted by a shout. "By the Light!" He heard someone shout in common. "It's UGLY!" The tone of the voice as if what had been said had been a mixture of something extremely serious as well as something extremely funny. The exclamation was followed by laughter from several others.

It was not so much anger at the insult, he knew well enough he did not make for a pretty picture in his current state, but irritation at the interruption that made Dethrox turn around in anger. Before him stood a group much like those that were hunting the undead in the ruined encampment below. There were two dwarves, two humans and even a night-elf. None of them he recalled having seen before. All looked young and full of confidence, and they obviously had no idea what they were getting themselves into. These were obviously not soldiers, more like adventurers looking for fame and glory. Their equipment seemed to be of decent quality though, so perhaps they were more experienced then had seemed at first glance.

One of them, a dwarf in full plate armour, stepped forward and taunted, "Come, scarface! I'm sure your horn will ge--" A single swipe of Dethrox's hand and the armour was torn of the dwarf, along with the skin and muscles. The broken husk dropped to the ground instantly when the spell had passed. The others looked at the dwarf in surprise. None moved a muscle out of fear. Their mistake! A trio of spells later the others were down on the ground as well, either dead or dying quickly.

The spells had taxed him far more than they normally would have, but he had managed quite easily nonetheless, leaving him free to complete his earlier thoughts. But when I am ready. . . I have an orc to visit. . . I just hope he hasn't died of old age when that time comes.

End!

Phew. . . The egg has been laid in it's entirety! That took quite a while. It has taken over one year and to many freakin' pages to count (actually, it's around 375 pages in my complete file)! And if you're reading this, it means you most likely read through it all (Assuming nobody just skipped to the end to find out how it ends) and for that I thank you. And, considering you read through it all, you most likely liked it as well, which I'll thank you for as well. I kindly ask you to leave a message whether you really did like it (or perhaps a bit of criticism to help me in the future as well?).

Looking back, I realize that when I begun, I had planned (most) of the general story line, but some things just happened naturally while I was writing. For example, the whole Talgrun/Xani thing, I hadn't planned that in the beginning, I thought I would never be able to pull it of convincingly. I think I did okay, though. Dethrox is another example of it, as well as Gar, Zarius and the Broxigar cameo, amongst others which refuse to come to mind so quickly.

Anyway, plans for future stories are underway. Many of them in fact, ranging from crossovers to sequels to prequels to new stuff all together.

Anyhoo, I'd be glad to hear from you, and it doesn't matter if you have anything constructive to say or not (although constructive is always good).

See you when I see you.