Malles glanced out the window. Most of what he saw was darkness. Since the city was under attack, no one was around to light the lampposts lining the streets and roads. Malles couldn't understand that. If his town were under assault, he'd make sure everything was well lit, so the defenders could see where they were going.

Then again, the darkness meant that the enemy could not see what they were doing, either. What Malles was seeing as shoddy planning could in fact be a brilliant ruse.

Whatever works, I guess.

He laid his bow and quiver next to the window and went to check on his mother and sister for the umpteenth time. Marley, intending to wait through the night for her husband's return, had fallen asleep. She was seated in a chair in the master bedroom, head leaning against the wall and loosely holding a small family portrait in her lap.

Jensine, however, was wide awake. She was on her knees in another chair. Jensine was short for her age, so in order to see out of the high window she had pulled over a chair to boost herself with. When she noticed Malles she got off the chair and looked at him. "I told you to stay away from the windows," Malles said.

Jen looked at him. "I wanted to see Papa."

Malles sat on the bed. Jen mimicked him and slid next to her brother, laying her head on his shoulder. Malles threw his arm around her. "It'll be alright, Jenny."

Jensine was drawing patterns on Malles' thigh. "Papa looked really worried, though. Like when Mama got sick."

Malles looked down at her. Their eyes locked, and Malles found himself sinking into her bright green eyes. They were watering slightly. Jen whispered into his ear. "I'm scared."

Malles squeezed her tight. "I know."

Bobby swung his axe and cleaved the ghoul in two. It was almost immediately replaced by another. Bobby hacked away at that one was well, cutting the unfortunate soul into three pieces.

With the betrayal of Rak, Prince Arthas and his men had taken charge of defending Hearthglen. Towers were hastily constructed behind and around some of the outlying farms, but the undead had attacked while they were being converted into suitable guard towers. A group of men had been pulled away from the main town to defend them but another group of undead had attacked the northwestern corner of the wall. Arthas and the king's men were beating them back, but they just kept coming.

There were far more undead than the group Bobby had seen leave town barely hours before. Hours? It felt like several darkened days. All Bobby remembered was swinging his axe into his former neighbors and customers, wishing he could be with his family. The family he had locked inside a house with bread made from diseased grain that could turn them into the very monsters he was now killing.

Bobby gritted his teeth as he turned to face a new wave of undead. But this wave was different. They had brought out some sort of artillery. Only instead of firing mortars, it was firing…bodies. Bodies green with mold and obviously festering with disease. Bobby covered his face with a dirty cloth to avoid breathing in the mess and went on the offensive. His axe went through zombie after zombie until he had reached the infernal contraption. Strangely, there was no one manning it as it fired corpses into the men behind him. But that just made it easier to cleave through the main firing arm, disabling the catapult.

Behind him the ghouls were wiped out. Arthas had appointed some of his own soldiers to lead the undertrained militia. Their leader, a man named Searcy, rallied the militia back to him. "Began fortifying those towers!" he yelled. "We'll need archers and rifleman up above the Scourge if we want to win this battle!"

It was a good idea. There were plenty of building materials around them, and with a squad of fighters defending those towers the ranged defenders could do enough damage to effectively stop the undead from advancing past this point. Bobby began gathering rubble from the destroyed farmhouse and ran to where other workers were setting a foundation.

Standing amidst the rubble was a bearded man holding a pitchfork. He looked around at the ruins of his farmhouse, then at the still-standing tower. He started yelling angrily, not at the approaching swarm of undead, but at Searcy."Stupid Alliance army!" he screamed. "Just had to build your tower right behind my farm, didn't you!"

"Topper," Bobby growled, "Shut up and help."

Malles and Jensine both jerked in surprise as there was a loud hammering at the door. Malles shoved Jen aside and ran for the bedroom door, only pausing to grab his bow and nock and arrow. The moment he was gone Jensine was back at the window, trying to see who was at the door.

"Help!" It was a woman. Her high-pitched shrieks were somewhat muffled by the thick wooden door, but that did not make it any less obvious to Malles that this lady needed his help. But instead of opening the door he immediately dropped the bow and arrow and ran into the kitchen to grab a long, sharp butcher's knife. All the while the woman banged away at the door, still screaming for help. Malles was at the door latch in an instant, quickly undoing it and turning the door handle.

The woman let out one ear-piercing scream before something heavy slammed into the door, hitting it hard enough to nearly push it open. But Malles was able to set his feet enough so the door was only cracked open. The moment the opening formed a hand shot through it, the woman's hand, flailing about as she tried desperately to grab on to something to pull herself through. She found Malles' wrist, and immediately clamped her hand around it. And while all this was going on, she screamed and screamed and screamed.

Malles felt his bare hand being covered in something wet and sticky. He yelled out as he saw blood run down the woman's wrist and onto his own. With a sudden tug Malles felt himself pulled forward, pressing against the door as it slammed into the door frame. The moment Malles felt it shut he secured the latch and jumped away from the door, brandishing his knife. Out on the street he heard the women screech one last time, a scream that was silenced by a loud gurgling roar that made the door vibrate.

There was another scream behind him. Long, loud, and piercing, like those of the unfortunate lady outside. Malles whirled around and saw Jensine, standing in the kitchen and staring at the door, wide-eyed and screaming. He ran to her and embraced her, hugging her close and clamping a hand over her mouth. She buried her face into his shoulder. As Malles turned her away from the door he could see the blood covering the floor underneath it, spilling out from the women's severed hand. Revolted, he felt bile rise up in his throat and strained to keep from throwing up.

Jensine began screaming for her father, making herself clearly heard even through his hand. As something else hit the door and more horrified yells sounded from outside, Malles found himself agreeing with her. He pulled Jensine with him into the bedroom. Marley, awakened by Jensine's screech, gasped when she saw Malles covered in blood.

"What happened?" she asked. "Malles, what's going on?"

Malles shook his head. He had about as many answers as she did. He ran to the window and threw the curtains inward, blocking their view of the outside. Malles wasn't even sure if he wanted to know what was out there.

Whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn't orcs.

The towers were built. Barricades were constructed. The men were armed and ready, set to lay down their lives in defense of their home and fellow humans. And the undead kept coming, more than ready to tear those defenders limb from limb.

Bobby's arms were growing tired. His world was rotting cadavers and yelling soldiers. The undead poured over the barricades. They piled against the walls and climbed over each other to get at the human meat behind it. They were aided by actual humans, wearing similar robes to the set Rak had worn, runes glowing faintly as they cast their necromancy on the dead bodies of the defenders. It pained Bobby every time he recognized an enemy face. This man had bought a hammer from him. That man had died next to him not minutes ago.

A mighty roar pierced the night air as a lumbering monstrosity charged from the back of the undead ranks. Huge and bloated, and at least ten feet tall, the monster was covered in stitches as big and long as Bobby's forearm, with three arms, one of which jutted over its shoulder wildly swinging a rusty broadsword. In its main hands were two large butcher cleavers. The abomination slapped aside the ghouls before it and kicked the makeshift wall, blowing clean through it.

"Breach!" Bobby yelled. "Breach!"

Like magic a knight of Lordaeron appeared next to him. The man took one look at the monster and whistled loudly. A Lordaeron riflemen, a dwarf, ran up and ducked his head, using his small form to barrel through and under the legs of the ghouls. He disappeared into the crowd for a moment, then reappeared next to the abomination. In his hand was a grenade. The rifleman cocked his arm back and threw it, straight into an open stitch in the abomination's side, and dove to the ground. The grenade went off, blasting the monster in half and knocking it back over the wall, straight on top of a group of necromancers.

But the damage had been done. The ghouls swarmed through the hole like angry bees emerging from a hive. And from behind them Bobby could hear the cackling laugh of the lich, Coldskull.

For the past several minutes Malles had been trying to ignore the howls and screams he heard coming from outside. When the noises had started Marley had grabbed Jensine and hugged her close, covering her ears with her hands. Occasionally something heavy would hit the side of the house, usually followed by more shouting and a couple moans and snarls. It sounded like there were wild animals outside.

It sounded like they were feeding.

It seemed hard to believe that earlier that afternoon he had been playing a child's game, a game of good triumphing over evil. When he was younger he would often sit at his father's feet and pester him for stories about the Second War, about how the paladins of the Silver Hand had driven the orcs back through the Dark Portal and into whatever hell they came from. Sometimes Bobby would entertain his son, but he mostly just got annoyed and gave Malles a quick swat before giving him chores to do. Until today, Malles had never understood why his father had refused to share his experiences with him.

There was another loud crash from the front of the house. This one, however, was much louder than the others, and punctured somewhat by the clatter of splintered wood hitting the kitchen floor and the screech of rusted metal bending. Something had busted down the front door. Malles was up in a flash, running to the bedroom door and slamming it shut. There was a deadbolt near the top of the door. He fumbled with the latch and locked it into place. Only then did he realize he had left his bow by the front door.

Jensine burrowed deeper into her mother's arms, while Marley just stared at Malles. She was pale, but calm. Still thinking clearly, something Malles was barely managing to do. "What was that?" she mouthed.

Malles shook his head, jumping slightly as he heard footsteps moving through the kitchen. Soft groans came through the door as whatever had broken in did whatever it had broken in to do. Or prepared to. Malles felt he would learn the secret of flight before he figured out what the hell was going on tonight. He carefully crept towards Marley, but she pointed emphatically at the door. "Go see," she mouthed again.

Malles shook his head. Yesterday he would have pictured himself being brave and courageous in a battle. Today he was scared out of his wits. No way was he opening that door. Not until Bobby got back. If he got back.

Marley pointed towards a wall to her right. Set into the wall was a small fireplace, complete with a couple of logs and a tall basket full of pokers. And inside the basket was Bobby's hunting rifle. The rifle was dwarven made, as all good firearms were, with an oak stock and a mithril barrel. It had been issued out to Bobby when he enlisted, but somehow he was able to keep it and had used it to hunt ever since. Next to it was a box of shot and a small jar of blasting powder, a location Marley swore up and down would bring about the end of them all.

Malles looked at it like it was water and he was in the desert. He made sure the door was securely latched before he took his weight off if it and began stepping quietly towards the rifle. He knew how to load and shoot it; he'd seen his father use it often enough. After fumbling clumsily with the ammunition and spilling powder everywhere, Malles found himself holding a deadly weapon in his hands. Marley smiled at him as he went back to the door. The sight bolstered his resolve. He reached up and unlatched the door. It creaked softly as he opened it, sounding all too much like the woman who had left her hand inside their front door.

The house beyond was dark and gloomy, lit only by a flickering red light shining from a nearby window. Damn. Someone's house is on fire. Now Malles was forced to find out what was prowling through his house, and make sure it wasn't a threat so he could get Marley and Jensine out and away from the fire. He knew how fast a fire could spread. The Mikkal's neighbor's cat once knocked over a lantern, and the resulting inferno had taken out a third of the town.

There was a loud clattering sound from the kitchen. Something had knocked something over, possibly the stack of dirty dishes from dinner. Malles propped the rifle against his shoulder, but it was heavy, and he didn't keep it there for long. Like he was stalking a deer, he crouched slightly and did a quick run down the short hallway to the doorway leading to the kitchen. He propped up the rifle again, took a deep breath, and peeked around the wall.

Staring right back at Malles was the ugliest, dirtiest, and smelliest man he had ever had the misfortune to encounter. His skin was pale, his fingernails were almost as long as his fingers, and his eyes had a sick, yellow color in them. He moaned and stretched his arms towards Malles. Malles had never liked the idea of killing another human, but this man was so sickening to look at Malles fired off the rifle before he even realized he was aiming. The round hit the man in the stomach, folding him in half and sending him flying against the kitchen cabinets. Malles stood, confidant the man was dead, but the moment he hit the ground the man dropped on all fours and raced at Malles, actually roaring and stretching his mouth open to bite him.

Malles swung the rifle like a club, which saved his life. The jaws snapped shut just past his left ear, but the undead's weight drove him to the floor. Malles pushed against the man, trying to shove him off. The man was going berserk, pushing back against the rifle and snapping wildly at Malles' face. Malles got a good long look at his jagged teeth, and winced as he felt drool drip on his face.

But the worst was yet to come. To his left he heard his mother yell his name, and at that exact moment the man was off of him and running down the hall at Marley. Malles rolled to his feet, already knowing he was too late, that all he would be able to do was to watch his mother be torn apart –

He yelled out as a white flash filled the hall, blinding him. Malles dropped the rifle and clamped his hands over his eyes, seeing nothing but angry red dots through his eyelids. Everything was a blur. He could only hear. Hear his mother scream louder, hear the angry snarling of the dirty man, smell the sickening smell of burning flesh. He knew that smell. His father had once burned his hand badly while smelting a hammer. If a priest hadn't been staying at the Rooster at the time, Bobby would have lost his hand, and his job. It was the worst thing Malles had ever smelled, and believe he would ever smell.

Finally, his vision cleared. But he kept his eyes closed, dreading what he would find if he opened them. The house was eerily quiet. Quiet like a tomb. The analogy did not help reassure him in the slightest. But eventually he did open his eyes. Of the crazy man, there was no sign. Marley was sitting just outside her and Bobby's room, holding Jensine in her arms. Malles rushed to them, afraid Jen might have been hurt. But there wasn't a mark on either her or Marley. In fact…Jen was glowing.

"What – "

"Jensine!" Marley went to check on her daughter as Jensine collapsed against the wall. She smiled faintly. Malles hesitated for a moment, then ran to her side. He threw Jen's arm around his shoulders and lifted her to her feet."

"Mom, the houses are burning, we need to go!"

They were beaten.

The defenders of Hearthglen were literally engaged in a fighting retreat. The undead wave had hit the wall hard, of course, but still proved to be manageable. But then they were suddenly attacked from behind. In the haste of battle, Arthas had forgotten that though the town guards were safely deprived of bread, the civilians in their homes still had their loaves. And many, many a housewife knew of the calming effect full bellies had on frightened children and nervous husbands.

Bobby only remembered turning around to find the rotten half-eaten corpse of a four year old boy trying to gnaw through his leather shin guards. It had all gone downhill from there. Lordaeron soldiers and Hearthglen guards alike were surrounded on all sides. Bobby fought on, no longer seeking to save the town, but to get to his family and escape this hell. He would plow a hole through the ring of undead around them, and flee with his wife and children to Stratholme or Darrowshire. A plan that he knew had absolutely no chance of succeeding. He feared that the next undead face he saw would be Jensine, or Marley, or Malles…

"Light! Give me strength!"

The undead before him was briefly illuminated as behind him Arthas cut loose with holy magic. Burning bolts of Light struck the zombies around them, sometimes blasting through them and hitting the undead further back. Close to a couple hundred undead were taken down by a single spell. Bobby stopped to look at the carnage. The Lordaeron soldiers cheered and rained praises down on the prince as he dropped to a knee to catch his breath.

"Nicely done. My turn."

From the sky dropped a giant icicle, shattering as it landed on one poor, unfortunate dwarf. The ice shards drove themselves directly into whatever exposed flesh they could find. Bobby could only watch as an elven priest died in the midst of casting a spell of healing on himself. A loud cackle filled the air. Bobby whirled around and there was Rak Coldskull, perched up on the ruins of the outer wall.

His hand's glowed as he launched bolts of ice on the men, dwarves, and elves under him. And from around him streamed even more undead. And not just ghouls. Bobby saw more of the kind of…things that had knocked down the wall to begin with. Backing them up were more cultists, wearing the same robes as Rak.

A strange fury gripped Bobby at that moment. This was the mage who had destroyed his home, who had attacked the kingdom Bobby had fought so hard to defend in the past. Whatever happened tonight, Bobby would make sure of one thing. The lich would die before morning.

"TO ME!"

Several ran with him as Bobby charged the necromancers. They never saw him coming, so Bobby was able to cleave straight through one before they became aware of him and his group. But they were ready. Balls of dark magic sailed into them. Bobby ducked under one and cringed as the man behind him screamed. Bobby lashed out and cut the legs out from under another spellcaster.

One of Bobby's new friends vaulted over his crouched form and scissor-kicked another necromancer away from him. The young woman was holding a spear that glowed like Arthas' hammer, white with Light as she impaled a third necromancer through the chest. The necromancer screamed as the Light entered him and rolled off the spear, clutching at a burning wound.

Another paladin, obviously from Arthas' group. Bobby climbed to his feet and took out a necromancer behind her. The woman turned, saw him, and grinned. "Thanks!"

A ball of ice slammed into her body, sending her rolling away. Bobby leaped aside as Coldskull aimed for him, barely dodging the spell. The paladin took a running jump at the lich, spear aimed right at this head. Coldskull caught the weapon in mid-strike and held it and its wielder off the ground. A long streak of frost went right up the weapon and froze it to the woman's palms. She shrieked in pain and kicked out at Coldskull. The lich laughed and dropped her. She rolled to her feet a small distance away, grimacing as she held the spear awkwardly at her side.

We're done, Bobby thought. He set himself into a fighter's stance and prepared to die.

"For Lordaeron! For the King!"

A wall of human cavalry appeared from nowhere and slammed into the undead army. The knights kept right going through, trampling and goring the monsters on spears and lances. At their head rode a grizzled old man wielding a mace nearly as big as he was. The mace glowed white-hot as he laid waste to any undead in reach. Bobby recognized him at once. Every veteran of the Second War knew Uther the Lightbringer.

Uther was unstoppable. The paladin spotted Coldskull and wheeled his charger and knights around to engage him. But another wave of ghouls attacked them, pulling knights from their mounts and stalling Uther. Bobby yelled out and went to join them, but suddenly Coldskull appeared in front of him.

Bobby didn't hesitate. His hatchet went up through Coldskull's cloak and cleaved through two of his ribs. The lich screamed and slapped Bobby away. The paladin began chanting, trying to free her hands and get back into the fight to help him. But Bobby knew he was on his own. Just like with the death knight. Bobby roared and charged at the lich, coming from the right side this time. But Coldskull slapped the axe away and gripped Bobby around the neck.

Cold. The deepest chill any human being could feel burned through Bobby's body. Bobby stared into Coldskull's grinning face as the female paladin screamed…