[insert standard disclaimer; Blizz made this up, they own it all, I'm not selling anything, blah blah]

Nekros Skullcrusher, who had done nothing to disguise his disapproval at the sight of Gul'dan and his death knights riding into Grim Batol, was now shaking his head at the warlock's request to examine the Demon Soul.

Gul'dan decided that a small history lesson was in order. "Need I remind you that it was my doing that Blackhand the Destroyer of the Blackrock clan was made Warchief?"

"Blackhand has been dead for many years," Nekros said stoically. "The Dragonmaw clan serves Warchief Doomhammer now."

"As do I," Gul'dan replied. He had seen the flicker of emotion in the crippled old soldier's eyes, but more to the point, he had never forgotten that Nekros had declined to join the Shadow Council. "To refuse my request is to refuse our Warchief."

"I will not hand it over to you," Nekros said stubbornly. "It is of no use for anything but controlling the dragons."

"And only for one who has mastered that ability." Gul'dan let that statement sink in. Nekros' master Zuluhed had not been able to access the Demon Soul's power, but Nekros had. Of course, Gul'dan suspected that the artifact had far more potential than this fool Nekros had been able to access, but until he had it in his hands he could not be sure – and he would be sure. He intended to bring anything that might be of use with him on the search for Sargeras' tomb. "Demonstrate its use to me. Perhaps I can help you unlock more of its power."

Nekros wasn't entirely a fool: he wasn't as easily led as Blackhand had been. Gul'dan could easily imagine his thoughts: He's using me, but I might reap a benefit as well. "Come with me then. I will show you the power of the Demon Soul."

The dragons were held the center of the fortress – literally. A space had been made by knocking out floors and walls. The two sleeping reds – collared and shackled to the floor and walls by massive iron work, their deadly jaws muzzled – were crouching side by side, and Gul'dan could see that there was just enough slack in the chain to allow the larger of the two to move sideways and mount the smaller. The tails of both dragons were pierced through with rods attached to chains in the ceiling that held the tails aloft, something that likely made retrieving eggs and shoveling dragon scat less dangerous. "Clever," he told Nekros. "Show me this power."

Nekros shrugged. "You behold it. They mate and provide spawn for the glory of the Horde."

The male dragon's eyelid quivered and then opened just enough for Gul'dan to see the golden eye. There was vast power and utter disdain in the gaze, and Gul'dan felt a thrill at the prospect of crushing it. "I don't believe you," he said to Nekros, "I think they do as they please, and you take credit."

Predictably, Nekros bristled. "They follow my commands!"

"Prove it," Gul'dan said. Both dragons were now awake. "Force them to mate."

Shrugging, Nekros replied, "If the male is not – "

Gul'dan waved his hand, and the larger dragon shuddered. "I think you will find it is." There was no need to mention that this particular engorgement spell had come in very handy for distracting Blackhand, who had spent far more time rutting than tending to his duties as Warchief.

"Dragons!" Nekros said, holding up a golden medallion. "Obey me!"

Gul'dan chuckled as the dragons stirred just enough to sway their chains. "Oh yes. Very obedient."

"Obey me!" Nekros shouted again.

The larger dragon's body jerked, and with a snort he pushed himself to his feet, carefully spreading the wing next to the female up and between and around the chains.

"Their wings are not bound?" Gul'dan asked.

"It was too difficult." Nekros shrugged. "The tails were far more fatal – we lost almost two hundred by the time the chains were installed."

Gul'dan's eyes narrowed as he realized that the male was planning to shield the mating from their sight, but he waited until the red – who was clearly ailing – had painstakingly moved his huge wing into place before telling Nekros, "I want him to keep his wing up so that I have a clear view."

The female made an angry sound.

"They must need an inventive to obey you," Gul'dan said coldly. "Bring me six eggs to smash."

Nekros started, "Six? But – "

Gul'dan folded his arms. "You, you dare to question me? Me, who could boil your blood in your veins without moving a finger?"

Nekros shook his head, and clapped his hands. When a grunt appeared, he said, "Go to the hatchery and bring six eggs – "

There was sudden movement from the dragons. The male, straining, held his wings high, lifted his nearer leg – in the process displaying his thick spear – to straddle the female's tail, and then hunkered back down.

"No," Gul'dan said. "I want to see the cauldron of the Dragonmaw's might. I want the Dragon Queen to display her treasure to me." He paused a moment. "Or I will destroy one dozen of her eggs."

Nekros started to protest, but his words died as the male moved off the female. The female stood, twisting the back of her body as much as she could in their direction, then took a submissive position, her head and front paws against the floor, her hindquarters raised high.

Gul'dan chuckled and walked around to look, summoning a green flame in the palm of his hand. "Raise your tail more," he said, and when she had done so he said disdainfully. "What a dirty, stinking hole. Just like that of any other bitch in heat."

A tremor ran through both of the dragons, but neither moved. Gul'dan could feel the waves of rage and hatred rippling from the male dragon, but he reveled in it: to him it was like the warmth of the sun on his face in this dank dwarven prison.

He wanted more.

The grunt returned, pulling a small straw-lined cart of dragon eggs. The two dragons re-positioned themselves and began to mate, the male holding his wings high and resting his forepaws on the female's back as his haunches moved with purposeful determination.

Gul'dan folded his arms. "I have changed my mind," he said to Nekros. "These dragons are clearly enjoying themselves, and thus their rutting proves nothing about your puny trinket. It is like ordering a warrior to spill blood, or a glutton to eat."

Nekros looked surprised. "What then?" His face grew sly. "I could show you what I used to make her do for Warchief Blackhand."

Gul'dan had a good idea what that might have been: it was a wonder that the red dragon had produced any eggs at all when Blackhand was alive, as her womb must have constantly been awash with his seed. "Oh?"

"She is not unattractive in her alternate form. And far more tractable than our own women."

Gul'dan knew the dragons were listening; he saw how the male surreptitiously pressed against the female as if to reassure her. Oh, so she was fearful at the idea of leaving the safety of her dragonskin, was she? "How is she controlled without chains?"

"Beneath her iron collar is a binding of obedience." Nekros grinned unpleasantly. "It is quite effective."

"Hm." Gul'dan locked stares with the male dragon, and said loudly, "Show me."

The female dragon sank to the floor, dissolving into a red mist. When the mist cleared an elf-like female clad in filmy red and gold garments stood inside the ring of the huge iron collar that had confined her dragon self. "It is nothing, my love," she said unexpectedly, addressing her red dragon mate as she ran her hands over his massive body. "They take nothing from us." Her voice was weary, but still far too regal. She tilted her head back to look him in the eye, then turned and walked toward Gul'dan and Nekros.

Nekros had not exaggerated: though not as sturdily formed as an orc, her alternate form had a proud bearing, seemingly unaffected by her long and humiliating captivity.

Good. This too would he crush. He almost smiled, noticing the extra sway she was putting in her full hips. He had no interest in her himself – such feeble distractions had been left behind long ago – but he supposed that Blackhand must have found it difficult to pull himself from between her thighs.

And he was not Blackhand. She did not know that yet, but she would soon learn.

"I did not give you permission to speak," he said as she came near. He flicked his eyes at Nekros, who clutched the medallion. "Punish the male."

As she whirled to see the red dragon's body spasming in pain, Gul'dan said coldly, "Undress, so that I may see the full glory of the Red Dragonflight."

Her face was angry as she turned back to him, but she removed her clothing, standing without shame. Though her hair and eyes were an unnatural red, her skin was almost the honest brown of a Mag'har.

Gul'dan tapped the side of the cart of eggs with his staff. "I did say your full glory, Your Highness. Display your wantonness as you did for Blackhand."

Her eyes downcast now, she did as she was told, sitting on the edge of the cart, then lying back, her knees splayed wide, her upper arms pressing her full breasts together like an offering, her hands holding her nether lips open. Her inner folds were swollen and slick, and Gul'dan was amused to see the way Nekros and the grunt began to sweat and look elsewhere to avoid the sight.

The palpable waves of outrage coming from the male dragon prickled his skin in a most enjoyable way, and he wished to drink in more of it. "I had no idea the so-called Lifebinder was such a whore," he said to Nekros. "Where did Blackhand have her?"

"Have?" Nekros asked, then understood. He pointed to a door on the far side of the echoing chamber.

Of course. Blackhand would have been afraid to bed her within sight of her mate – not to mention that the sight of a dragon's pulsing shaft likely made him feel inadequate. Gul'dan had no such insecurities. "Move the cart around to the front of the dragon. And bring more torches – I want him to have a good view."

Her eyes went wide. "No!" She closed her legs, and put her her arms over her breasts.

"I told you not to speak," Gul'dan said ominously, and he saw a flash of fear.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'll do anything you want."

"Of course you will." Gul'dan casually picked up an egg, and saw her flinch. "But you've spoken without permission twice now. Shall I punish your spawn or your mate?"

The male began to struggle, and she closed her eyes. "Tyran … " she whispered, then opened her eyes and with an anguished expression told Gul'dan. "My egg."

As he crushed it tears ran from her eyes, while behind her the red dragon strained at his chains.

"Now you will be silent," Gul'dan told her, dropping the remains of the egg to the floor, "and he will watch. If either of you disobeys another will die." He turned to Nekros. "Send in eleven of my death knights."

"Eleven?' Nekros asked.

"Yes," Gul'dan said, turning back to the Dragon Queen. "Eleven. One for each egg."

It would not be enough, Gul'dan decided, for the red male she called Tyran to see her violated: no, he wanted to burn the red's eyes with the sight of rotting hands squeezing and twisting his beloved's soft breasts, of engorged undead flesh violating her loins: even more, Gul'dan wanted the red dragon to see the moment when his mate's back, against her will, would arch with pleasure from the repeated assault of the shadow-magic that would give his uncaring death knight's bodies the semblance of lust. He was going to take such pleasure in knowing that the dragon would hear every shameful animal cry she would make, every time she climaxed, because it would prove that the power of the Red Flight was nothing compared to the power of Gul'dan.