Author's Note: Geez, I haven't updated in a century! Sorry for the long wait! Finals were killing me and I somewhat got hooked onto B.net… But here's thanks to all of you reviewers!
Xelfan12: Thanks! I promise, updating won't take this long in the future, so you will get the full story!
Prince of all Saiyans:Thanks a lot for the review! Once again, I'm sorry that I could not have updated any sooner!
darth: Yes, you're correct in saying that the capital would be Stormwind, only, and I'll mention this now, since it got cut out, This fanfic is pure Reign of Chaos. So, since Stormwind was not introduced to us in RoC, I decided to make up my own name for the capital.
Silversnow: Thanks!
Now, onto Chapter 2!
HUMANS
Chapter 2: The Battle for AzerothGraïch Meadow
The Undead advanced over the hills and halted before the moat, just out of an arrow's reach. Before them emerged their leader, a larger-than-life dreadlord.
He was Ankhanaden, the new leader of the Burning Legion. The arch lord was wreathed in whitish-blue flames emitting from a massive black cloak. Chains crossed over his chest, and bound each of his legs. Black armor, studded with skulls, covered his body and made him appear larger than he really stood. His skin was far from smooth; it looked a deep tinge of blue, bumpy, and rather reptile-like. Gauntlets clad his fists, with menacing spikes protruding outwards.
As he stood alone before the Undead army, Ankhanaden could, without effort, size up the human forces awaiting him at the castle.
'The pathetic fools!' Ankhanaden smiled to himself unnoticeably. It was not in the dreadlord's nature to show any hint of emotion whatsoever, especially when it dealt with his own pleasure. If he were to keep order amongst his troops, then he would have to appear merciless-as it was an Undead general's task to do so.
The human troops looked disheveled as they struggled to organize themselves in front of the Undead force. Years of training had still resulted in messy organization. At attack on Azeroth had not been predicted soon; if it had, the evidence had led King Lyon to suspect an attack in about half a year. Clearly, the humans had all been deceived and outwitted by Ankhanaden.
And weak did the Azerans look in Ankhanaden's eyes. However, there was something else in the eyes of the warriors that he failed to notice.
It was the heart of a warrior that kindled in the depths of their eyes. Undeterred loyalty was what drove them to protect their king by any means, to whatever end.
It was also courage that emitted from these warrior hearts that gave them strength to face the burning Legion. Although they were greatly outnumbered, the Azerans believed that they could at least unite in the path of evil and vanquish it.
Ankhanaden displayed a smug smile as he stepped out to challenge the kingdom Azeroth.
"Azeroth stands before me now, huddled behind its own mother's walls. I see now that you wish to be cramped within them, as your offense is clearly lacking.
"However, I will offer you a pact. In order to stop wasting our time, I will allow you to surrender to the army that stands behind me and myself, in exchanged for making your deaths only slow and painful."
The ghouls broke into a fit of sniggering after hearing this last statement, while the frost wyrms bellowed mightily. Spirit and morale soared as banshees sustained their cries full of anguish.
"I will give you five minutes to consider my agreement," continued Ankhanaden. "Hurry up and tell that old fool of yours that you call your king!"
Inside the castle walls…Every soldier had heard it. The announcement of Ankhanaden's offer rang out clearly in their ears.
They were outnumbered at least four to one. Even worse, the necromancers could change the tide of battle with their ability to summon warriors from corpses.
The soldiers were all uneasy. Some were thinking of their families, beautiful faces appearing before their eyes. In order to save them, they would have to bide time by sacrificing their own lives.
A soldier on the embattlements quicky dashed down to the center of they surrounded city. However, he lost his sense of direction as he approached the king's castle.
A guard standing by the entrance to the castle noticed the lost soldier blundering about. As the soldier approached, the guard saw a fearful expression on his face.
"What is it?" The guard questioned the soldier.
"The Undead are standing just outside the city walls! Their leader has given the king five minutes to try and negotiate a truce with him!"
"You idiot!" The guard snapped back. "Do you seriously believe the words of that foul-mouthed bastard? He wishes to take over the world, not to have us living as his slaves!"
"Let me just see the king," the soldier pleaded. "He's still in charge of the battle at least!"
The guard dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I've had enough of your thoughts for today. Grenich, show this man where the king is at."
A guard on the balcony stepped forward and signaled for the soldier to follow him. As the solider passed down several hallways and flights of stairs, he noticed that all of the windows were boarded up, with light only steaming in through few stained glass windows. If it were not for the magnificent stained glass windows, the king's castle could have been mistaken for an abandoned house.
Finally, the guard halted in front of a wooden door. He knocked thrice, and waited patiently.
"What is it?" The king's voice was recognized at once.
"There is a visitor for you, milord," the guard responded.
"Who cares who it is," the king cut in hastily. "I wouldn't be surprised at anyone wanting to visit me nowadays."
Footsteps could be heard, and the door was flung open. Inside stood King Lyon, donned with gleaming brass armor.
The guard bowed to his King, and retreated back to his post, making the soldier along once again.
"So you wanted to see me…" King Lyon began.
"Yes, milord… their leader wishes to see whether or not you will negotiate with them."
"Really, now?" The king's voice was packed with sarcasm. "It's usually not like them to actually waste time on something as delicate as a negotiation… they must be losing their touch.
"No matter, you can tell him that I agree to nothing that he offers, and that he'll have to come searching for me!"
"Right away, your majesty." The soldier bowed and returned to the embattlements.
"What took you so long?" Asked a fellow soldier as the weary soldier returned.
"Didn't know where the king was." The soldier panted heavily and leaned against a wall.
"It's been more than five minutes, anyhow," the fellow soldier answered. "They may as well attack us any moment now."
"They will… the king's doing nothing to stop it."
Both the soldiers' dismay was suddenly interrupted by Ankhanaden's voice.
"So that old fool of yours has finally given up! He doesn't even send a message? Ha! Just as I had expected!
"As if I would have heeded any of that idiot's words! Now, I will show you how to truly tremble!"
As Ankhanaden raised his arm into the air, a mystical chanting could be heard coming from the necromancers as a deep war cry arose from Ankhanaden. Not only did the land beneath their feet turn into Blight, but also the ghouls and crypt fiends began to glow with clouds of gray dust surrounding their bodies.
But before any units rushed forward to begin the onslaught, thirty rickety meat wagons reeled themselves in front of the Undead ranks. At once, they hurled diseased corpses that had been loaded onto their hinges at the human towers and troops on the embattlements.
As soon as the corpses hit their targets, mayhem began, and chaos broke out. Soldiers who had not been killed by the force of the corpses had been severely wounded, and disease clouds emitting from the corpses spread like wildfire. Archers desperately attempted to hit the distant mea wagons, but to no avail. Soldiers, in their own panic, scrambled about and trampled fellow comrades.
As the human towers fell, frost wyrms and gargoyles appeared near the front ranks as the meat wagons destroyed the front gate and retreated.
As soon as the frost wyrms and gargoyles flew by overheard, the entire Burning Legion army lurched forward and began the assault.
With the front ranks of their army composed of ghouls, crypt fiends, and abominations, and their anterior ranks including necromancers and banshees, the Burning Legion was a formidable sight.
The waves of the pounding feet on the meadow were nearly deafening. However, the humans added their own war cries to the commotion.
"For Azeroth!"
"For the great king!"
"Frreeedom!"
The footmen and knights of the human army clashed violently with the ghouls and abominations of the Burning Legion. Hooked limbs passed by as humans evaded abominations' attacks.
Swish! Thock!
The sounds of arrows piercing their targets resounded as they severed the front ranks of the Burning Legion. However, as soon as allies or foes had fallen, the necromancers moved in to use their Raise Dead spell. Soon, the battlefield was clear of corpses and replaced with living skeleton warriors.
Ankhanaden boldly stepped forward to the front ranks. As he raised his hand in the air, it began to glow with a deep green fire. A few moments later, a swarm of carrion beetles emerged from the fire and rushed out forward, immediately engulfing any human soldiers. Shrieks of pain let out as an instant later, the soldiers fell down to the ground, as skeletons as glistening beetles scuttled away from them.
The melee units of Azeroth began to question why they so willingly threw their lives away in front of the Undead commander.
As the Undead advanced closer to breaching the walls of Dernier, it became evident to King Lyon that the Azeran defensive advantage would soon crumble, just as the gate had.
And yet the soldiers continued to fight. Hope still gleamed in the eyes of most of the warriors.
But what hope was there now? No morsel of hope, no last drop of it to savor existed in the king's mind.
Will you let them fight alone? A voice in King Lyon's head rang clearly, speaking out.
We are alone in this fight. The Elves of the North, the Dwarves, even Lordaeron… all of them too far of a distance to ask for assistance now!
Then if your heart allows it, be true to yourself. Be true to the promise you made to your son. As the sentence completed, the voice faded away, until it finally dissipated.
Athlan! Where was he now? The king's mind was fretful as he entered the great battle, immediately engaging with an enemy on his left.
A mere several yards away from his father, Athlan had disobeyed him.
The battle had already been deemed hopeless. But what use was there in idling around and being a witness to the slaughter?
As these thoughts interrupted the young prince's mind, a hooked arm swung by overhead, grazing his hair.
Athlan dealt with the abomination quickly by issuing a sharp stab to its stomach. The creature moaned as it swung its hook-arms wildly in its death dance before coming to rest at Athlan's feet.
Across from the moat, Khaj'Aden had noticed the fighting King Lyon. For a frail-looking old man, the king shone as a warrior in the heat of battle.
He's fighting. The Lich uttered these words into his mind, as if waiting for a reply.
The fool, I knew it. Show me… Ankhanaden's voice was heard instantly in the mind chasms of the Lich.
Khaj'Aden raised a skeletal hand into the air, whereupon the floating image of a skull surrounded by black fire materialized across the sky.
Serving as a beacon to Ankhanaden, the symbol came into view several hundred feet away from him. The Undead leader took but one glance in its direction before it disappeared and Ankhanaden went with all haste to the Lich.
Muttering an ancient chant, Khaj'Aden commenced with a formidable spell: Death and Decay.
The air within the spell's vicinity began to thicken with the stench of corpses. The ground, it seemed, transformed into liquid as soldiers sank waist-deep into the Earth.
However, it would not be the sinking motion that frightened the warriors. No, it would be the appearance of hundreds of fiendish hands appearing through the muck, claming onto any enemy limbs that were within reach. These hands, the underworld spirits that were commanded by the Lich, sought only to annihilate the enemy- the humans.
Just the sight of these forearms, splattered with blood and decaying flesh, was enough to make the soldiers flee to the inner castle.
If only they could.
Movement was what triggered the response of the vile hands. Once attached onto a target, they would not latch free. Instead, they were parasites- absorbing the energy from the soldiers while it nourished them and allowed them to grow.
So doom had met numerous soldiers. The once pure meadow now became stained with the spilled blood of the soldiers as they collapsed into the liquid ground.
It was only until nothing living stood anymore that the spell ceased. The undead hands swayed and slithered back into the earth, awaiting their master's next beckoning.
Along with dealing serious damage to the troops of Azeroth, the spell had bided time for the Burning Legion as well. By the time the spell had ended, Ankhanaden had reached the Lich's side already.
"Good work with that magic of yours, Lich…" Ankhanaden began. "That old fool is nearly fighting alone now!"
Both the general and the commander peered across the moat at the pitiful remaining soldiers of the human army. Nearly all of them were engaged in combat; being heavily outnumbered on all sides. From a distance, there appeared to be only one hundred soldiers remaining.
It was like prey being trapped in a cage surrounded by its enemy… only the prey was fresh.
As Ankhanaden approached him, King Lyon could sense his comrades falling, being slain at his side until there was a gap to his right. It was at this time that he noticed Athlan.
"Athlan! What're you doing here?!" Although the king's voice was sharp, it was not filled with the expected anger.
"Father! This is insane! I can't let you just run off into a hopeless battle!" Athlan shielded himself from a blow and hacked the arm off of a ghoul.
"You should've listened to your father, fool…" Ankhanaden interrupted. "Or else you would not have to witness this!"
With one swift swoop, Ankhanaden reached out his hand and clamped it around the king. In the blink of an eye, he threw the king against an outer wall.
The resounding crunch rang in the ears of the Azerans. Athlan could only stare in disbelief once the impact occurred and watched his father's crippled body slide down the masonry.
"Father!" Athlan dashed over to his father's limp body. He was lost for words as he checked for a pulse when he knew that there wasn't one.
As he stared fearfully back at the Burning Legion force, Athlan shouted out to the wall archers, "Retreat!"
Every soldier filed his way into the inner wall before the Burning Legion's victory over Azeroth had been assured.
Well, this chapter was a bit shorter than the previous one. I plan on having my next chapter from the Night Elf perspective, but I'm also interested in knowing which race you guys would like to hear from next! As always, please review! It makes my day!