Chapter 4: After the Storm
Khadgar
A flash of light…
An explosion…
Pitch black.
The moment he regained his consciousness, his eyes noticed the border of the roof getting smaller every second, and the great walls of the tower rapidly going up… No. They weren't moving up; HE was falling down. His eyes opened in shock, but at least he was now conscious.
He quickly started shapeshifting, his human body becoming that of an eagle in a couple seconds. Turning around, his back now facing the skies instead of the floor, he extended his wings. His falling speed quickly decreasing, he flapped them to start his ascension towards the tower's ceiling.
As he flew up, rain soaking his feathers, making it more difficult to fly, he recalled what had just happened. The spells… whatever the Lich King had casted, it had been enough to equal his Supernova. Given the circumstances, it was a miracle he regained his consciousness before hitting the floor.
After a minute, he arrived at the ceiling, shifting back into a human as he landed. But the moment his feet contacted the ground, Khadgar fell, twitching in pain. He looked at himself, not having the chance before: his robes had been, mostly, obliterated, and blood poured from cuts both in his arms and chest. He could also feel the warmth of liquid pouring through his back; probably wounds made by crashing into debris after the explosion.
He looked up, his eyes searching for his enemy. Arthas stood many feet away from him, a black smoke-covered gate behind him. He was still holding Frostmourne, but Khadgar could notice that the Lich King's grip on the sword had loosened. His eyes met those of the Lich King; blue, shining… dead.
"Hahahahahaha…" Arthas' laugh mixed with the sound of the raindrops crashing on his armor. He had seen him as well. "You amuse me, mage. It's been a while since I've had such an… entertaining encounter." He turned around, preparing to enter his portal. "I shall spare your life, as a reward for this amusing duel…" He turned his head back to look at Khadgar one last time. "I recognize your potential, archmage. I'll be eagerly awaiting you in the cold wastes of Icecrown…"
As he crossed the gate, Khadgar yelled towards the Lich King, not mattering if he would hear it or not, "This is not over, Arthas! Whatever you've done, be sure that we will stop you!" He could hear one last chuckle coming from the portal before it closed, the gate losing its form and the smoke dissipating under the rain.
"At last… he's gone." He turned around, biting his lips to retain a pain roar, and laid on his back. With the Lich King out of the picture, he now had to attend to his wounds. Besides the ones he'd already noticed, blood poured from above his left eye, right below his eyebrow. Using his right arm as support, he tried standing up, only to fall once again. Apparently, he'd also broken a couple bones.
As he laid upon his back, thinking what to do now, he noticed the now decreasing amount of rain falling on his face. At least the rain would stop. He'd wasted too much mana in his encounter against Arthas, his Twin Dragons and Supernova spells wasting a great chunk just by themselves. Besides, he'd also received quite some damage from the attacks the Lich King did manage to land, and that's without considering the huge explosion which ended the battle.
After some minutes, the rain finally stopped. The black clouds that had covered the skies during the fight started drifting to other directions, leaving a now clear, dark sky for Khadgar to see. Besides the Blue Child and the White Lady shining through the Great Dark Beyond, lots of other, smaller stars possessed their own light, reaching towards the lands of Azeroth.
With this last, beautiful sight, Khadgar started feeling his mind slowly drift away. He could feel that he was about to faint, the loss of both mana and blood taking its toll on the mage. Using his last energies, he started gathering arcane magic into his left hand, barely being able to feel his right one. As the energy in his hand grew brighter, two arcane guardians appeared before Khadgar. They shined purple, ethereal light, their bodies resembling those of lesser elementals.
Pointing at one, he mustered, "Write a note to King Varian Wrynn to come to Karazhan as soon as he can. Also…" He coughed some blood, before continuing with his indications, "Write for him to bring some medical aid." The first guardian quickly turned around and left towards the giant hole that led from the roof to the insides of the tower.
Then, he pointed towards the second guardian, and with his last forces, whispered, "You… take me to my chambers." With those last words, the archmage of the Kirin Tor passed out.
The Lich King
A black gate, covered in smoke, opened inside the Halls of Reflection. From it, the Lich King stepped out, weakly walking towards the altar. After a couple of steps, he lost his balance, falling into his left knee. He put his right hand on the ground, and after catching his breath, stood up.
Slowly, he started walking towards the altar at the center of the hall. Although Arthas preferred Frostmourne to stay at his side, he usually left the blade resting here whenever he wondered through the Citadel. Right now, he could afford leaving it. Unsheathing his sword, he loosened his grip over it, watching as the runeblade slowly hovered above its altar, eventually reaching its resting position.
Frostmourne. He never stopped marveling at the magnificence of his weapon. Since his fateful encounter with the sword in that frozen cave, he knew he was destined to possess it; to use it to change the world into his very image. He imagined himself stabbing that miserable paladin through his heart, claiming his soul for the Scourge. Or the mage…
The mage. He was extremely powerful, Arthas had to recognize it. Long had it been since he had such a difficult battle; since he fought such experienced combatant. He hadn't left the duel unscathed; without his armor, he would surely be more than dead by now. Even with it, his sheer power managed to leave some damage on Arthas.
Besides, not only had he used lots of mana, especially on his last spell, but being so far from the Frozen Throne always weakened him. He was at his strongest here, atop the Frozen Glacier, from where he stood watch over his continent. Karazhan was at the other side of the world, hundreds of miles away. Just like it had been on Light's Hope Chapel…
What Arthas didn't want to admit, though, is that he was still somewhat affected after the incident at the Wrathgate. Whatever Sylvanas and her damned Forsaken managed to pull with that Plague of hers, it had greatly weakened the Lich King's power. He mentally noted to tell Putricide to continue searching for a way to reverse this.
As he looked at Frostmourne, gloriously resting over its altar, his mind drifted to that moment minutes ago…
"Supernova!"
"Apocalypse!"
Both spells quickly approached one another, each of them under the order of their caster. Just as the mage's pulsating energy orb quickly advanced towards Arthas, his own Apocalypse spell, focused into a black magic sphere, flew to meet the attack.
The moment they touched, a big flash of light, nor white nor black but something in between, illuminated the whole sky above Deadwind Pass. Instantly, a huge pulse combusted against the combatants. It had been as if a huge energy bomb exploded just in front of them.
If it hadn't been for the Armor of the Damned, Arthas would've lost his consciousness immediately. As he was being strongly pushed outside of the tower, he managed to catch, for a split second, the body of the archmage being pushed out of the tower's ceiling. But he wouldn't share the same fate.
Quickly reacting, Frostmourne still on his grip, he focused all the strength and energy he could gather in such a small timeframe into his hand. Then, he struck his blade against the floor. The blade sliced through the ceiling as if it was butter, half of it inside the ceiling in a fraction of a second. Arthas gripped his blade with all the strength he could, even using both of his hands, to reduce his speed before falling out of the tower.
He glimpsed at the energies dancing above the tower; arcane, shadow and fire streams of magic danced towards multiple directions, clashing onto each other and releasing even more energy. His speed started reducing increasingly; after some seconds, he stopped being pushed. He was mere centimeters away from the ledge; a bit more and he would've fallen into the abyss.
After stopping, he pulled Frostmourne out of the ground. The magic streams around were starting to grow weak. In just moments, they would be gone. He started looking for the mage; he was nowhere to be seen. But something inside told him he was not dead yet; if he was to escape, now was the chance.
He tried linking his optical nerves to the smoke spheres in the library, but he roared in pain. He was more damaged than he thought. He decided to take some seconds to rest before checking on his little summons. He noticed that rain was still falling, but not as much as before; it would soon cease. Then, his sight fixated on the roof. It was almost unscathed. There was no way it could resist such power clash so well; it surely had spells to protect it, but even then…
He stopped drifting into such useless thoughts. After feeling he could use magic again without pain, he linked his nerves into the orbs. He could see a big pile of books gathered inside the rune he had made. Now was the time to leave this cursed tower.
Channeling necrotic energy into his hand and directing it towards the rune's direction, he could feel as all the writings started being surrounded by energy, disappearing in a puff of black smoke after some seconds. The orbs had made their job; it was now time for them to cease existing. Focusing his will into his minions, one by one they lost their shape, becoming no more than little clouds of smoke.
He had achieved his first goal. He had collected information regarding the Old Gods. He could finally return to his throne. Once again, he channeled his black magic, now into the form of a portal, his mind recreating the image of the Halls of Reflection. Enduring a sudden pain in his arm, he finished channeling, the usual black smoke gate appearing in front of him.
He turned again one last time. He saw the lying, wounded figure of the archmage. He couldn't help but laugh after the image. So much willpower, so much strength, so much potential…
As he approached his destination, he chuckled at the idea of the mage becoming one of his champions. Truth was, he almost turned around to cleave his opponent with his blade and claim his soul. But not only was he still weak from that last spell clash; he also feared for more unexpected visitors to arrive after such huge explosion. Thus, he decided to spare the mage. The secrecy of his plans was more important.
He arrived at a strange room, full of pipes and bottles filled with green and orange liquids. At each side of the room, giant, round-shaped vials hanged over the walls; one with green ooze at the right, and one filled with orange ooze at the left. At the end of the room, opposite from the entrance, stood a table filled with multiple vials and instruments, and a man working on it.
Professor Putricide had been working hard, it seemed. He was mixing many of the different liquids on his vials, taking notes after each try. Besides him, a big pile of books was lying over his desk; Arthas had achieved it. Now, he would make his minions find what he needed.
"Putricide…" The scientist turned around, surprised at the powerful voice of his king.
"Milord! I'm so sorry… I was so focused on my work that I didn't feel your presence..." He kneeled before his king, showing his respect before the Jailor of the Damned. "I received your…documents, if you will, but truth is... I-I don't really know what they are for."
Arthas looked at his chief scientist. "I took these documents from the ancient library of Karazhan, in the Eastern Kingdoms. They contain information that should prove valuable for your research."
"Thank you so much, my king! They su-surely will be!" He stood up, preparing to call for his lead scientists to start reading the books, but Arthas talked once more.
"You're to send to the Frozen Throne any books regarding the history of Azeroth, Putricide. Also… send me any books mentioning the Old Gods. I will read through them personally."
Putricide's curiosity kicked in, wanting to ask why his lord would be searching for such information. But he was no one to ask; he settled with responding to his king, "I'll ma-make sure they arrive as swiftly as po-possible, my king." With that, Arthas turned around to leave the room.
The first part of his plan was ready; he would probably take a day or two in reading through whatever books were delivered to him. Now, the next step was to find information about Ulduar and its infrastructure. Even if he was probably going to find mentions of the Titan Complex in the books he'd taken from Karazhan, he doubted he'd find something that would help him guide himself through the prison.
But he knew he wouldn't need that; he just the needed the memories of someone who did. Knowing exactly who to put in charge of such task, and now less exhausted after the fight with the mage, he charged energy into his hand. Forming his now usual smoke portal, he stepped through.
This room was much more circular than Putricide's main lab room, red curtains hanging from the walls instead of the orange and green ooze-filled vials. The floor and walls were coated in the same black metal that the rest of the Citadel possessed, thus giving the room the same cold, lifeless feeling. Two round staircases surrounded the room, leading to the lower levels.
He could feel the many undead elves roaming the hall kneeling in respect, but he was only interested in the one in front of him. A grey skinned, tall woman had kneeled after his presence. Her long, black hair, tied in a ponytail, fell besides her, contrasting with her red eyes. She was wearing short crimson robes, showing her curvy body. At her back, two giant, bat-like wings protruded, resting on the floor as she kneeled.
"My lord. It's an honor to receive you in my quarters." Her smooth voice had a weak echo to it; some would even describe it as charming to the ear.
"Lana'thel, I've come to give you a task." Without looking up, she answered. "Of course, my king. Whatever task you give us, the San'layn will accomplish." He paused for a second before continuing. "Tell me, Lana'thel… What do you know about Dalaran?"
Hi again! Just wanted to say I've been visiting the older chapters and doing some QoL changes to make them more readable. Since English is not my native language, I make more mistakes than I should jajaja Hope you liked this chapter! Although not as action-filled as last one, it's building up to something great! ;)
