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Gosh, I've missed these two in action. So how about another update, yes?

Book Fourteen, Part Two

Icecrown

We paced through the halls, a hunter's tiger comfortably trotting alongside me. The animal was reasonably easy-going—I didn't sense any threatening auras in our proximity, either.

Once we were through the first vast, dark hallway, we reached a circular opening—it had once been an eerily beautiful room, with ornate molding and domineering pillars. But evidence of a battle had marred the room's façade. Pillars had been demolished, their remains strewn across the marble floor. Char marks saturated many surfaces, and dark dashes of a thick liquid splashed numbers of tiles and pillars. The coppery scent it carried hinted that perhaps it was spilled blood.

And of course, the bodies. Two dead Horde soldiers—though the others, it seemed, had taken the time to straighten the bodies out into respectful, laying positions. The wounds, however, they couldn't hide—deep, bloody gashes that had mortally wounded—if not killed—the lost Horde.

There was one more body, though it wasn't really a normal body. Undead in origin, but with large, sharp bat-like wings I had seen only on dragons. Four skulls, not one, extended from its ribcage.

I was almost glad the Horde had been here first. To protect the dead bodies, seals and prayer beads were strewn across the carcasses.

We stepped over the debris, one by one, the scene increasing our awareness. Zen, still walking beside me, shot me a glance or two as we traveled through into another room.

It was in roughly the same shape. Another Horde body. An unknown female body. I curled my lip. The bodies were hardly recognizable here.

We reached the end of the second circular room. Carefully we took a strange elevator, floating along with the help of magic. Above us, a large boom erupted. I looked up, trying to ignore Zen's grasp on my arm as our platform shuddered. The movement was dizzying as the elevator continued onward. Two ships floated above us, caught in a battle. Once we drew closer to our destination, our slab of rock allowing us to drop off to another outer platform, a Human Alliance member waved us over. "Orgim's Hammer has already left! Quickly now, to the Skybreaker! If you leave now, you may be able to catch them!"

Confusion wanted to control my response, but then a mage donned in similar gear dashed over. "This ought to help!" With a big poof, the mage conjured a ship large enough to transport our huge group. Quickly we were on our way, sailing the evening sky to reach our Alliance ship.

"This is our chance to stop them!" the Human tank announced. "This is where we claim victory for the Alliance!"

My fists were clammy as we approached, the wind chilling my sweaty neck. The eerie calm was soon destroyed once our boat approached the Skybreaker, where soldiers were shuffling about, listening to orders and preparing.

"Ah, reinforcements!" the Dwarf, who I assumed to be captain, approached with a wobble. "The Horde…we're gaining. Go to the ship mechanic, starboard side. Grab a jetpack, and with the signal, you'll jump on board the Hammer."

Others were eagerly reaching for jet packs, but I stayed back. "Grace?"

"This isn't right."

Zen looked away knowingly. "We'll stay behind. On the Skybreaker. For defense."

I nodded in agreement.

Once we were close enough, the captain hollered to attack, and the noise of cannons caused my ears to ring. Many of our own large cannons made contact with the Hammer's hull, the burst causing splintered wood to rip through the air.

The masts above us were mangled and useless as the Horde finally made their advancement onto our ship. My daggers were free once they made an approach; a Blood Elf female rogue, to my amusement, came toward me with her daggers swirling.

Damn.

It was the Blood Elf that attacked first. Her hand arched gracefully, and so quickly I barely dodged it. Her lean body was so much more swift than my own—I was still busy dodging the first when another arm swung across, cutting a superficial slash into my cheek.

I knew something was wrong when she smiled wickedly, knowlingly—then the tingling across my cheek began, the sensation evolving into a burn that made me hiss. "We shouldn't be fighting," I growled in my discomfort. "We're supposed to be allies."

"Filthy Common language," she spat in perfect Common. My patience—and pain tolerance—had enough. I tore through the air with my own daggers, unfettered as I slashed at the elf one after another. Finally she broke focus, a huge boom to her left causing her to flinch, and I seized the opportunity to land a stab below her collar bone.

The Blood Elf paddled backwards, tripping over a loose floorboard before falling backwards onto her backside. Her dagger was effectively knocked away. "Go," I hissed. The Horde female faltered a moment in hesitation, but as I made a step toward her she struggled onto her feet and fled.

Both ships looked injured, the flags struggling to function as such due to artillery damage and singe marks. One of the Hammer's sails had caught fire, the heat easily felt from my position on the edge of our own ship. "Look ou-"

Boom.

The explosion that ruptured to my right and had demolished the upper deck distracted me enough to make me swing my head. The impact's force stung against my cheek, my hair swept back.

Another force had me throttling sideways, my hip crashing into the side of the ship as my arms uselessly fell over to the side, taking my body with it. Panic had my lips sealed as my armored hands gripped the edge of the ship, which now rocked with a strange creak. My muscles were immediately strained, my heart feeling like it had lodged into my throat during the flip.

"All hands on deck!"

I rolled my eyes, unable to avoid the irony despite my predicament. The ship's mass was still creaking in places it shouldn't be, and our masts weren't exactly functional. But despite the chaos around me, I hoisted my body up with trembling arms and managed to get the upper half of my body back onto the ship.

Then two strong arms were on my back, pulling me completely into our ship to safety. "Now's not the time for sight-seeing, Grace, we're trying to get to the Lich King…"

Zen pulled me back onto my feet, a bulky jetpack now hooked to his back. The Horde ship was in far worse condition than our own, and now that I was momentarily safe I realized the Hammer was starting to drift downwards, its nose dropping as an orange fire consumed the front half of the ship's frame. A large, boring hole decorated its front starboard side.

"I hope everyone made it off Orgim's Hammer," Zen breathed, his skin already ashen.

"You weren't supposed to go over there," I growled. "You could have been retained as a prisoner…"

"The point is, I'm okay. We're all okay," Zen stated.

"Okay," I growled sarcastically.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya, scoundrels! Onward, brothers and sisters!" Our little captain hollered, his sword pointed onward. "Let's dock! For the Alliance!"

Zen must have caught my curious gaze, because he leaned in and whispered, "that's Bronzebeard. Captain of the Skybreaker. Ever since Jaina brushed with Arthas here and barely escaped-"

"Jaina?" I knew that name. "Going after Arthas alone?"

"Of course not. But…she and Arthas have a past. She thought she could save him. But Arthas isn't Arthas. He's the Lich King now."

Jaina, feelings for Arthas? The only Jaina I had ever seen was strong-willed and tactical, decisive. To go after the Lich King without assistance…

Maybe Jaina and I were more alike than different.

Bronzebeard and a handful of his Dwarven guards stepped off our dock and onto part of the Spire. The citadel was a towering, formidable piece of work—I looked down from our perch and gulped—we were high in the air, on a stoned platform that lead to stairs and a harrowing wooden doorway.

The chilling cold was expected, but I shivered none-the-less. It wasn't just the temperature that was cold. Bronzebeard was already up the steps as the rest of us gathered onto the platform, our numbers almost crowding its stoned form.

Two Dwarves were already pulling at the doors, their smaller bodies heaving with effort as Bronzebeard turned to us and motioned onward. "Let's get a move on, then! Move ou…"

Something felt wrong even as I stepped forward. Then the blue, glowing eyes were decipherable through the darkness behind the door, and a large figure's silhouette formed. "For every Horde soldier that you killed—for every Alliance dog that fell, the Lich King's army grew," growled a raspy voice. My hands were already at my daggers, but now I was very aware of how hard I was gripping the smooth handles. "Even now the Val'kyr work to raise your fallen as Scourge." My heart clenched at the thought—a quiet death wasn't an option against the Lich King.

The large being stepped through into the chilling daytime to expose his orcish appearance and glowing, runed weapon that could only belong to a Death Knight. His skin, once a vibrant earthen green, had chilled into the familiar pale blue of death. "Things are about to get much worse. Come, taste the power that the Lich King has bestowed upon me!"

Bronzebeard hooted. "A lone Orc against the might of the Alliance? Charge!" The soldiers listened, swords and axes out as they closed in on the Knight.

"Dwarves," the Orc spat, and with a wave of his hand, the Dwarves and Bronzebeard were frozen in place, perhaps to be finished off last.

I suddenly felt very anxious. Already our very Human tank was rushing toward the Orc, his consecration almost blinding as it lit the blackened stairwell. Then it was his weapon glaring against the runeblade, the sickening grind muffled by shouts and blasts of spells.

The close-up melee—warriors, rogues, and paladins—were beginning to charge, and I realized I should probably do the same, even as a low-flying fireball launched past my head.

I had one foot on the step when a strange rumbling sensation had me pausing; the Undead Orc had one hand extended, his blade momentarily incapacitating our paladin.

"The Undead are unstoppable," he announced. Dark auras were arriving behind me, and when I looked behind us a strange hissing erupted.

Three animals—clearly Undead now—had risen from the ground. Two front arms were equipped with claws that I surely didn't want to see up close. Despite their shadowy, sinewy bodies, the monsters growled through pearly white fangs. Lastly, the beast's jagged scales ran down its entire back, stopping at the base of a long tail reminisce of a dragon's.

I looked on in dark curiosity, even as the thing, without hind legs, skittered across the stone like a snake.

"Don't let them near the casters!"

Already our healers were distracted, their bodies reeling back as the Undead beasts squirmed toward the most vulnerable champions. I ran for one of the beasts, cursing out loud as it lunged and clawed at one of our Draenei priests. With only his staff, the priest could only ward off a bite from the creature until a set of claws managed to tear into his chest. The deep red blood was instantly soaking into the priest's white robes.

I reached the pair as the Draenei clubbed it in the head, its teeth in a snarl. Then you're not going to like this, I thought vehemently, my right dagger coming down and striking into the animal's thrashing tail. With a lack of balance I still managed to pull down on my dagger, the stab becoming a heavy slash down the beast's tail that expectedly gushed dark brown blood. I was expecting a sort of horrific cry from my enemy, but it merely snarled more dangerously as its deadly teeth were now reared at me.

A curse would have passed my lips, but my focus was now set on sidestepping a lurch of the animal. A feeling of warmth was covering me, and I knew the priest, with his flashing spells, was somehow trying to protect me.

"Grace!" It must have been Zen's voice, but between the fight at hand, the urgent screams now meeting my ears, and the Death Knight's cackles, it was hard to presume.

"I'm a bit busy," I hollered anyway, even as the stupid lizard-dog managed to catch me off balanced; I turned away with my shoulder.

It still managed to get a hold of my left shoulder. Even the hardened pauldron was no good as a gnarly set of teeth punched into my shoulder.

The force may have smashed my left collar bone into pieces, I thought off handedly. I took a step toward my priest, my right dagger slashing and miraculously making a bloody gash across the beast's face that for a moment dazed him.

"Grace, move-"

The Death Knight must have casted something; I was facing the Draenei, minding the enemy between us when the Draenei's chest wound—momentarily forgotten—gushed and squirted crimson unnaturally.

At first, I felt only the warm liquid. Most of it splashed across my chest piece, but some did manage to reach all the way up to my neck. Then it was the identifiable smell and now, a terrifying, unexpected pain, seizing my newest injury and delving into my old scar that made me gasp.

Some sort of Death Knight magic, I knew, but it didn't matter at the moment. Right now, I clawed at the infliction, hearing it sizzle as if I was being branded; my new lizard-dog friend was coming back for his retaliation. I was having a hard time swallowing, but my hands were at my daggers and with one more jab the thing was motionless, my daggers ran through its neck.

I gasped, pulling my daggers out of the carcass before the pain floored me, my eyes watering as my hand reached for the burn. Burn was the closest word I could conjure—the skin was hot and fragile; I could imagine how scalded the strip of skin was.

"Here, quickly." The Draenei approached, his hands already aglow when they gently grasped my neck. The warmth became almost unnerving, but in no time the heat subsided and I could swallow without feeling choked.

"Thanks," I said simply.

"Now, stay away from me," he said with a wink. I nodded, turning my attention to the Death Knight. Things seemed momentarily in our favor. The Undead Death Knight was tired, his shoulders slumped as he evaded the tank's advances sluggishly.

Our tank needed an opening. Nodding, I hustled around the action—it wasn't difficult given our numbers—my steps silent as I sidled behind the dwarves' icy bodies.

I didn't hesitate—this could very well get me killed, but so could a fall if one fell just right. My dagger dove into his back, right beneath his shoulder blade where Zen had instructed me long ago that armor was weakest. He howled, his anger knocking my friends back momentarily so he could turn to his new aggressor. "You…" he growled.

"You're just another ugly Orc," I hissed. And for effort, I spat at his feet. He was quick; with brutal force the butt of his weapon swooped down and made contact with my jaw. The pain was instantaneous; liquid filled my mouth as I flew back an arm's throw away.

It hurt to even open my eyes, but I did so anyway; I would watch my death. I would hope my stupidity wasn't in vain. Don't make me tag 'stupid' onto that list, I remember Vii warning me. I was glad he wouldn't witness this.

The Orc laughed haggardly, big body taking another full step as my jaw continued to throb. His arm outstretched to cast something. Something deadly, I was sure. "The floor…will run red with your blood, girl," he announced.

I must have closed my eyes, because everything went black. But death never came. To be sure, I opened my eyes, only seeing the Knight collapsing to the ground, an axe protruding from his back. "I am…released…" he gasped with his final breath. Everything was silent, as if we expected him to rise again.

Then a very audible gasp erupted to my right, and I turned to see Bronzebeard and his soldiers back to normal, but a little blue in the lips. "That was Saurfang's boy—the Horde commander at the Wrath Gate. Such a tragic end…"

Another brief silence as we remembered the Wrath Gate. We had heard of the massacre, of the unbelievable amount of death and suffering that occurred…I shuddered.

"What in the…" Bronzebeard muttered. Then his hand rose, pointing off the platform. "There! In the distance!"

I didn't recognize the style of the ship, but the prominent burnt-orange flags alerted me of the danger we were about to face. "Horde," I whispered. In moments Zen was at my side, arm in front of me as if he could stop anything from harming me.

"Soldiers, fall in!" our captain yelled. "Looks like the Horde are comin' to take another shot!" And then Bronzebeard was moving as well, stalking across the platform to meet the single orcish figure now stepping off the ship. Bronzebeard walked right up to the aged figure, fingers curled into a fist. "Don't force me hand, Orc. We can't let ye pass."

The prominent Orc gazed steadily at Bronzebeard. "Behind you lies the body of my only son. Nothing will keep me from him."

The Dwarf was already retorting, but now what had my attention was the portal forming behind the Orc's body, the purple tendrils of the portal mystifying. I expected danger. A Horde attack. What I didn't expect was our King, with Jaina, to walk out as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

"Stand down, Muradin. Let a grieving father pass," ordered King Wrynn. Perhaps in surprise, Bronzebeard listened. Saurfang reached his son, kneeling gently as a hand hovered over the lifeless body. It must have been a prayer, or a goodbye that the father whispered in orchish, and then his son was in his arms.

"I will not forget this…kindness. I thank you, Highness."

"I…I was not at the Wrath Gate, but the soldiers who survived told me much of what happened. Your son fought with honor. He died a hero's death. He deserves a hero's burial."

My breath was caught somewhere, the sudden urge to cry causing me to quickly wipe away any moisture under my eyes as Saurfang took his leave. Finally, some unity, some hint at peace…

Jaina was crying too, though her sobs were a bit more remarkable. Varian turned, a bit caught off guard. "Jaina? Why are you crying?"

"It was nothing, your majesty," she clipped, using her palm to rid the tears. "Just…I am proud of my king."

"Bah!" Wrynn exclaimed, and suddenly everyone had slipped back into war mode. He turned angrily toward our captain. "Muradin, secure the deck and prepare our soldiers for an assault on the upper citadel. I'll send out another regiment from Stormwind."

"Right away, your majesty!"

Bronzebeard was instantly shuffling about, hopping back onto the ship with the others. I turned to the King who nodded in approval to the rest of us before turning back into the portal.

I followed the others closely as we continued inside to mend wounds and prepare for another fight, but I felt much calmer and convinced that we would be okay. Death or otherwise, I was ready. We were not alone, as I thought we were. We had the Ashen Verdict, we had the Alliance, and we had the king behind us.

The only thing missing was Fordring.

The architecture inside was unchanged, the air still wet and cool. But now, I felt the strong auras awaiting us. Auras that belonged to beings that wanted us dead.

A healer patched up my face enough that I could function. The pain wasn't unbearable, and I'd probably have a bruise, but at least my bones were intact. We moved on, boots sending ripples of noise up the walls and onto the high ceiling. "Go left," a hunter near me muttered. Others followed the order, and I had a feeling I knew why—the auras lurking straight ahead were more powerful. Going left would be easier. For now.

Surprisingly, we had minimal casualties this far. One healer, and a mage were dead after Saurfang's fight. But we would make do. Zen was uptight as he walked beside me; I'm sure his irritated aura was because of my recklessness.

Three hallways. Strong auras radiating from each. "We can split. Flank the right and left halls. The middle fight we can reunite and fight together."

This wasn't the first time doubt entered my mind, but now I chose to verbalize it. "Maybe we should wait for Fordring," I insisted. "He organized us, we owe him-"

"Don't get mushy and emotional on us," the Human tank instructed. I squinted my eyes, convinced it was a stab at me being a girl.

"Please," I growled. "You're the reason Humans get called stubborn and brash. Hardheaded and stupid…"

"Stupid rogue…"

"Oh, as if warriors-"

"We can split," Zen announced loudly. "Fordring is not far behind, he'll find us soon. But for now, we can push forward."

The arguing, which had managed to snowball and include a good portion of our eighteen, ceased as we silently agreed. I nodded assent as well. No point in arguing with Zen, he was already angry at me.

I was going right, and Zen made a point to be in my group. For now our tank was a Dwarf warrior. We were stalking down the hall when a foul stench was beginning to make my nose crinkle. "Stupid," I muttered. "Fordring could take these things down with a swoop and we don't have the respect to…"

"Grace, just look at is as a way to protect Fordring. If he were to die, our cause is lost."

I was going to retort, but the stench had gotten so horrid that my attention had turned to our destination.

Before we could properly arrive into the next room, we came across a dirty, very alert hound. Its ears perked at our arrival, teeth bared, and without provocation it lunged for our Dwarf. Caught by surprise, our warrior hit the floor, sword sprawling away.

I didn't have time to react, and really, I had no need. The Night Elf hunter's arrow was already soaring with a swiftness that momentarily reminded me of Kae's skills.

The arrow had enough force to kick the canine off our Dwarf—and before it had time to recover, the hunter's pet tiger was launching, his fangs locking into the hyena's throat and putting it on its back. The hound eventually stopped resisting, body limp as the Dwarf stood back up and gathered his sword. "Thanks," he grinned.

We must have taken five steps, into the lip of the room, when the voice boomed. "What? Precious? Nooo!"

The being came from our right, and it was huge—its steps stirred the floor beneath us. The word being was stretching it; the thing was one of those creatures—abominations, I think Taellor said—its body a mural of different parts and flesh sutured together. Its arms jutted out at incorrect areas, eyes disproportioned and clearly not from similar species.

Undead skins put together. Greens, browns, yellows. And the stench—rotting flesh and putrid vomit—nearly caused me to lose my breakfast.

The thing didn't move easily. Its two unequal legs allowed it to hobble forward as it hollered. "Rotface kill! Rotface make daddy proud!"

Daddy?

Already the thing was swinging, trying to knock some of us to our backs. Miraculously everyone managed to jump back and avoid the hit; but this must have been part of the monster's plan—its mouth opened, sending a stream of green slime toward us. It covered the once pretty floor, splashing and bubbling as it sizzled into its place.

This time I gagged, the smell so acidic it made me swoon. Now the green ooze painting the floor was a barrier—no one dared touch the substance that would most likely burn our skin down to the bone.

Of course our ranged soldiers were picking up the slack—our Night Elf hunter shot sparkling arrows, a warlock and her pet threw fireballs that would have floored anything smaller than Rotface. A dark priest was smothering the mutation with shadow damage.

Rotface may have tolerated the damage well, but it was quickly getting impatient and confused.

Spouts around the walls were spewing green ooze as well, behind the abomination. I figured the fountains behind us would soon be doing the same.

And of course I was helping the ranged melee. I had a bow and a set of arrows. My arrows stuck into its deep fat tissue, and it probably wasn't much, but a little damage was better than none.

Others meant for close combat were trying to find an opening, dancing around the lakes of green that kept us from really hurting the monster. But now there were blobs of ooze, sliding about like giant snails, and the paladins that were capable of taking heavy damage were distracting them from the rest of us.

Maybe it was because I was closest, or I looked most vulnerable, or maybe the Lich King hadn't forgotten about me and had me targeted—but now the abomination was looking right at me, and before it could register, the green, disgusting froth was spiraling towards me.

I could briefly imagine the gore of it all—my face seared past recognition, my face bones peering through scorched and melted flesh. Hopefully I would be dead before the pain settled in…

I felt the air get knocked out of my lungs as I was throttled sideways, my neck straining with the power. As soon as I landed I recognized the arms around my waist, and the face turned away so it wouldn't collide with my head. "Zen," I mumbled.

"You're still a bit slow, I'm beginning to second guess your initiation."

"Thanks." I pushed him off. "For the saving part, not the unnecessary remark."

"You're welcome. To both."

I didn't retort. I was rummaging through ideas, trying to figure out how to finish this fight.

The monster was fat, but it was also slow and stupid. If we could just busy it enough, the ooze would dissipate and our tank and the others could actually do their part. The slime pit was lengthy, but if I could get a running start…

"I've got it," I announced. "Zen, get as close to the ooze before him as you can. You can kneel on one knee, and I'll run and get a good jump over."

"No," Zen snapped. "We'll get someone else…the Dwarf, or…"

"Please," I snarled. "There's no time to instruct, the slime is coming from everywhere including the walls and I'm the lightest in size and armor," I explained. "And I've got the rogue skills." Zen was shaking his head, but I could sense his begrudged agreement. "Good," I snipped, slightly surprised at the ease of winning the argument. "Get ready."

One of our own—a male Night Elf priest—was now screaming in agony, body writhing in pain as the ooze ate away at his robes and destroyed his blue skin.

I stood well into the mouth of the hallway, my opening across the floor limited as electric green smothered the marble. The action never faltered. Zen watched carefully, minding the oozes and blobs, but I got his attention, and with a nod I pulled out my vanishing powder and began my sprint. I had never run this fast; not when playing tag with Dennis and Lucas, and certainly not in training. Just before I reached Zen's stooped figure, I threw the powder at Rotface's feet, the effect immediate as the monster was engulfed in my thick fog.

But I could sense just fine, and now my daggers were out as I leapt off Zen's steady back. I held my breath, lungs immobile as I soared across the green liquid. I'll make it, I chanted. And when I drew close enough, I slashed.

I definitely made contact, and when the fog lifted enough, I saw the damage—a clean cut through the neck, though it wasn't deep enough for death. Rotface gurgled, his attention now on me. I wasn't expecting his arm so soon, but when he made contact across my stomach I flew further than I had leapt.

At least his back is to them, I thought. The force into my stomach was so strong that I threw up the bile that had threatened earlier.

"You hurt Rotface! You die!"

I tried scooting away, away from Rotface and, consequently, the champions; but my feet wouldn't coordinate below me. Rotface opened his mouth, but this time, a green gas erupted instead of vomit. It hit my nose and mouth, causing me to cough, choke, gag, and blink through burning tears. "Wee!" it exclaimed, its feet pounding in entertainment.

"I'm not dead yet!" I growled, attempting to stand once more. Three more stomps met my ears, but at the moment all I could focus on was my breathing, and please, please let this be worth it.

Crunch. A growl. And I knew that for the moment the tiger had leapt and covered my ass.

My vision was blurred, but it was good enough. I stood, minding the ooze. Now my bones ached and it hurt to even think about moving…

The Dwarf was now on the abomination, axe unmatched against the slow, lumbering body of Rotface. Slashes and fireballs and arrows finally incapacitated our enemy.

"Bad news, daddy!" It swayed before slumping to the floor with a boom.

"Terrible news, everyone! Rotface is dead! But great news, he left plenty of ooze for me to use! What's this? I'm a poet and I didn't even know it!"

"Who…?" someone asked.

"Daddy," I grunted, finally trying to pull myself up. The ooze had vanished and I was feeling better, so I returned to the group as they healed, bandaged, and used special potions.

"Your abdomen, is it…?" It was my Draenei priest. I hadn't realized I had been cradling my stomach.

"Just a bruise. Save your mana."

We rambled down our hallway to return to the meeting place. The others weren't quite finished, but things seemed very calm down the hall. Probably healing after their own fight.

"You have a death wish."

"Zen, I'm using what skills I have…"

"Well, don't."

Zen. I had it with his hovering. I spun around quickly away from Zen and reeled back to land a good elbow into his abdomen. He gasped audibly, surprise the likely reason. It wasn't a hard blow.

"You are not my father," I began, "You're not my guardian. And you're not even my master anymore. Stop trying to keep me away from the fight."

"I swore to protect you."

"What, have you taken up a code of chivalry now?" I growled. "You have no duty here anymore!" I seethed, patience virtually gone. Zen stepped in even closer.

"This isn't about duty anymore, Grace. This is about-"

"What took ye so long?" Our Dwarf paladin bantered, hurling his axe onto his shoulder as the other group finally arrived.

"Technical difficulties," the other tank grumbled.

"Casualties?" called Zen. He must have dismissed our argument at the arrival of the group. I did a head count.

"Two. A healer and a warlock."

That left fifteen. But we had to push forward. As a single unit we trudged down the hallway. This aura was stronger. We snuck into the circular room relatively silently. The enemy had his back to us, a white lab coat unable to muffle the crazy, erratic purple hair on his head. And on the table before him, vials and vials of potions; beakers, mixers, bottles.

It was my confrontation with Clad that fell upon my mind, and I had to really focus on my breathing as the new enemy turned around, grin of entertainment painting his face. "Let's begin!" Quickly we were on our feet as two vials slid and skittered across the marble like chattering teeth; when they exploded, two familiar piles of ooze were covering the floor, bubbling and almost alive.

He dodged an arrow, and when the Human tank charged forward, the professor waved a hand, pulling a short bottle out of a breast pocket. "Nu-uh," he berated childishly. "Playtime's over!" he exclaimed, throwing the vial to our left. It crashed against the floor, causing me to flinch. And then it must have summoned the ooze now forming on our side—it grew and grew distractedly until it exploded, the force throwing everyone across the room.

My shoulder hit a pillar, the crunch audible even as I hollered in pain. It shot down my left arm, and I probably wouldn't be able to use it properly, but I carefully stood anyway. The others…

Shaking my dizziness away, I glanced over my comrades. Others were recovering already, shaken but intact. Zen was okay…but our tank was motionless just steps away.

Great. Great, great…

"'Ey, is he…?" The Dwarf tank. I huffed, stepping quickly over to the motionless Human. My cold fingers searched his neck for a pulse.

"He's alive. But you're going to have to take over momentarily."

The Dwarf grinned. "My pleasure."

I nodded. I looked down at the warrior, his face eerily docile. I should be fighting, helping the greater good. But with a groan I huddled over his body, turning him onto his back. A small gargle of a groan escaped his lips as I tugged off his helmet. "There's the scowl I know," I muttered as I attempted to shake him awake.

"The sun's not even up yet," the man grumbled.

"How hard did you smack your head," I asked rhetorically. Naturally, I got no sensible response. Something above his right shoulder was sizzling; I looked to see his sword, forgotten, its handle getting chewed up by a green puddle. I grabbed it carefully by its blade, flinging it in the opposite direction. "Come on."

The healers were too far. And distracted—our melee was having trouble getting in range to lift a finger, and the explosions and puddles were dealing enough damage. But our ranged melee was once again pulling through.

I should have been a mage.

I looked down, ready to attend to the warrior again when I furrowed and eyebrow. The green puddle was now sidling closer, only a flick away from us. "It moves." Of course it moves. In fact, it was expanding.

Quickly I grabbed his arms, dead weight as I tried pulling the burly Human out of the way. He moved maybe a step. "Damn it," I growled, hitting his chest. "Too much mail!"

"Mail from momma…"

"Oh by the Light…"

I looked up, searching for help, but Putricide (he so called himself) had other plans. "Not so fast everyone!"

The room filled too quickly, the orange fog creeping into my lungs and smothering me. I coughed, hoping I would clear the gas but fresh, clean air wouldn't reenter my lungs. The agony took me back; now my scar was on fire, my throat closed up. Through an orange, opaque lens I saw the tank's body, finally reacting, and I thought he's my last memory, the last image before I die…

But the tortue wouldn't end. My heart was pounding through my rib cage, each surge of blood ripping at my scar, tunneling my vision.

The first breath was unfathomable. Like new life; except I was still at the throne, still fighting, still hovering over this dumb warrior. But now he was coughing, trying to sit up. Groggily I helped, nearly flopping over myself. "What'd I miss," he slurred, trying to wet his lips.

"Just a good fight," I grumbled. Glancing back, I found Putricide's figure—only now, he had two spider-like arms protruding from his chest. "Whoa!" I announced, grimacing as more bottles broke, more puddles formed. "I have to go. I have to help…"

"I'm coming." The man tried detaching himself from the floor. I pushed him back down.

"No. You rest. You…you guard the pillar. And don't touch the green puddles!" I instructed.

He should be fine. The puddles were a good distance away now. For the moment I focused on skipping around green blobs. I reached Zen first. "Any progress?" I asked.

"He's got some powerful potions, but the Dwarf and the pally are hacking away pretty good at him. It's progess." I went to reach for my daggers, but Zen grabbed my arm. "Why don't you go help our tank?"

"Ridiculous," I hissed. "Zen, I'm not going to avoid-"

"I know, but right now the warrior is making friends with the toxins over there."

I glanced over, already annoyed when I spotted the Human slipping off his pillar. "Damn it!" I wanted to throw something or kick a rock, but I made it to the warrior instead. "Okay, warrior-boy, let's go." I grabbed an arm and together we walked away from the growing puddles. Once we reached a wall, the male leaned against it and blinked. "How are you feeling?" I asked, the heavy sword of his unnatural in my hands.

"My head hurts."

I nodded. "Stay put. Here," I gave him a healing potion. I wasn't sure how effective it would be for headaches, but he took it graciously anyway.

"Thank you…rogue."

"It's Grace."

"Grace?"

"My name. It's Grace Fulstorm."

"Fulstorm, huh? Then Lucas…"

I gave the warrior a sideways glance, my attention in him perking. "Lucas is my brother."

He gave a knowing smile. "We trained together. You're like him." Suddenly I found myself mulling over the tank in a new perspective. Now we had a bond outside of this hell. "You're both strong willed. And good natured."

I smiled, minding how the blasts behind us were a safe distance away. "Lucas was my best friend."

"I take back what I said earlier. You're not a stupid rogue. You fight well." I made a move to thank him, but he waved it away. "My name is Micah."

"I'm glad we're now on a first name basis," I joked.

Micah shrugged. "You better get out there."

Nodding, I watched as Micah popped the cork off of my healing potion and finished the liquid in two gulps.

I must have taken only two steps when Putricide gasped, and in curiosity I looked up to see his body falling onto a consecration, an axe protruding from his chest.

My lips tightened, fists clenched as the paladin yanked his axe out of the now lifeless Putricide. Seriously? "I missed the whole fight?"

"The tank needed you," Zen tried reconciling. We were further away from our group, who was now concerned with Micah. My aura was still heated, I could feel it in my cheeks, but Zen wrapped his arms around me gently—a gesture I surely wasn't expected. Now his voice was soft and desperate as he whispered. "Grace, I'm begging you. You can turn back. We can get along without you."

His embrace felt nice, after all of the fighting and pain, but I pulled away enough to see his face. "I can't. I can't leave you and the others to let you fight without me."

Now his hand, usually so lethal, was around my cheek, sending a cooling chill through my face. "We would be fine…"

"Zen, no," I answered. "I told you, I wanted to be at your side. Just because we're getting closer to…to the end," I gulped audibly, "doesn't mean I changed my mind."

His lips caught my own; another surprise while we were amongst the other Alliance members. It was deep and solid, and it made me feel so vulnerable in his arms now. Like so much was possible between us, but really nothing was possible at all…not here. Not at the heart of the citadel. Not when our lives were on the line.

"You're killing me," he whispered as he pulled away.

I knew what he meant. Sort of. Zen wasn't used to caring, feeling when he was fighting. Now that I was around, it was hard to separate emotions from the battlefield; the feat he long trained me to execute. When you care about something, death doesn't seem like an option anymore.

And that's where a rogue's duty and his feelings collide and fight for power. A rogue's life was about danger and death. It was part of life now.

"Ay, rogues! We move out!" our Dwarf hollered. Zen audibly exhaled, his body heat pulling away from me. But he stayed beside me as we walked, his gaze forced ahead of him while his aura cooled down. I drew in a shaky breathe, my steps falling in line with Zen's.

It didn't take long to find our next fight. To the left, and into a darker, colder sanctum. I pulled my arms into my chest, looking down and realizing with a crunch that the marble floors had been replaced by bones and skulls. Three Blood Elves stood silently in front of us, chins up as they gazed at us in animosity.

"Foolish mortals," a voice boomed. It tore through the room, echoes of the feminine voice causing my head to pound. "You thought you defeated us that easily? The San'layn are the Lich King's immortal slaves! Now you should face their might combined! Rise up, brothers, and destroy our enemies!"

All elves attacked at once. Of course our two tanks had chosen two targets. The two outside Blood Elves had strange, murky auras, visible as a sparkling, nearly invisible shield of red.

Shield?

Even at the thought I watched as a Dwarf's blows clashed against the barrier, the spark creating gasps of confusion. But I knew. The middle laid wide open, no sparkles to protect him. I stalked toward my target, drawing my arrow. Time to test the theory out. "Mine," I growled, straining my poison-tipping arrow and letting it soar.

As promised, the tip delved into the elf's breastplate, the force perplexing him until he caught glimpse of my bow. In little time, though, I was three steps away, bow put away and daggers drawn.

I slashed, but Valanar dodged. "The other two are protected!" I growled.

A sneer had peeled at the corner of the elf's lip, and in an instant he was two steps too far, palms flexing to the ground. "Bow down, girl."

Swirls of electricity were jumping from the ground, leaping away from the Undead's pale hands and crushing into my chest. I remember flying back, legs and arms paralyzed as I struggled to merely breathe. Has my heart stopped beating?

Then a blunt feeling of pain poured over the right side of my head, and there was blackness.

Oh, Grace. You always know how to act as recklessly as possible =]