XVI
Neltharion slowly opened his eyes. His head throbbed as if there was a sledgehammer slamming against his skull. He moaned as he stirred, the attempt to move his right forepaw sent a shocking strike of pain and he grimaced. The Dragon Aspect laid in the surf. He could feel the waves crashing upon his body and taste the salt upon his tongue as the foamy water splashing into his mouth. His eyes were clouded, blinded by the flash of the bomb that exploded in his face.
He could not remember much after the flash. Each movement of his body, a bulge of his muscles, a twitch of his wings only brought more pain. Neltharion growled as he attempted to rise. His joints ached. He felt puffy, swollen. Neltharion's body was painfully heavy. It almost felt like it did when he first awoke after ten thousands of years of being trapped by Deathwing. His head dropped down, the weight of the elementium plates holding it down.
Neltharion rolled over, rocking himself to his unsteady feet. He wobbled as if he was drunk. His beard was tangled, the braids ripped loose from the explosion. The purple colored wraps that bound them were torn, dangling in rags between the locks. The feathers were tattered. He pulled them loose and letting the symbols of his shamanism, the connection he had with Thrall, fall into the ocean. He turned his head towards Theramore, but he could not see through the dense fog.
The Earth-Warder could not recall how long he had been out. The only thing he remembered was the blinding white light from the bomb and nothing else. Even the dream he had, he could not recall what it was about and his head kept pounding. Neltharion began his long walk back to the shore. He spied an idle flash of purple white through the dense gray fog. He heard the sound of wood and metal creek as he pushed his way through the frothy sea. He felt something bump up against his chest. Neltharion paused and reached out to touch it. It was the steel bow of a dreadnaught. He heard the sound of tattered flags flapping in the wind. A flash of gold and blue, the proud lion of Stormwind now nothing more than a torn piece of cloth dangling on the wire it once hung proudly on. Smoke stacks half submerged in the gray water were all that was left of the 7th Legion, the best of the best Varian Wrynn promised to Jaina Proudmoore. Whiff of purple energy clung to the exposed mangled bits of the ships. Neltharion pushed them away and continued his walk back to his home, or whatever was left of it. He paused, feeling of dread creeping across his back like clammy spider fingers walking up his spine. He shuddered, cold kept seeping in between the plates that protected his back. Not even his great heat could protect him from this cold. Neltharion stopped, touching something odd on the bottom of the sea. The water became shallow, he was coming close to the shore. He felt a dip in the seafloor. The Black Dragon's heart began to thump in his chest. An explosion of adrenaline and he felt a burst of energy racing into his wings. Neltharion's lip curled and he leapt from the water, spreading his wings wide. In a spray of water, the Black Dragon spun in the air, causing a torrent of wind cycling across his body. A funnel form, circling around him, drawing the fog into it like pulling a sheet away from the bed. He rose higher and higher taking the fog with him.
As Neltharion looked down, dispersing the fog, he expected to find the island of Theramore, maybe a bit damaged from the blast, but still something remaining. It was foolish of him to think that there would not be any damage. What he saw stole his breath from his lungs.
Neltharion's eyes widened and his heart fell into the pit of his stomach. He felt ill. His eyes became moist. The island of Theramore was gone. All that remained was a thin line, a small sandbar ringing the outline of the shape of the island, looking more like an atoll than what it used to be. Right at the center was a deep blue hole nearly 10 miles in diameter and hundreds if not thousands of feet deep. The crater was filled in by the sea. Clouds boiled and churned and lightning flashed purple through them. Strange blotches winked in and out, showing visions of far away lands, other realities, planets, moons, stars, galaxies, and colorful flashes of red, orange and purple flecked the crater.
They were no bodies he could see right away. Though he saw a strange film over the eerily calm sea. Neltharion flew down and landed upon the shore. As he landed, he watched the trees crumble into lavender sand and blow away in the wind from his wings. Then, he stood right at the edge, between the atoll and the deep pit in the center.
Neltharion dared himself to go in and he dove down into the keep blue pit. He did not need to hold his breath, he could dive in not suffer the asphyxiation of drowning. He could easily swim through it and not be bothered by the pressure either. His great weight sank him down into the crater. It was much larger than he was and he finally submerged himself, diving down into the teal deep blue abyss.
Neltharion's keen eyes could see through the dark as the light above faded the deeper he went. It was too deep. He passed the sea level the first stroke he took when he dove down. His throat clinched and he coughed bubbles, his breath escaping his mouth. His head turned as the crater opened up into a large familiar chamber. Being submerged in water, he felt some of the heaviness of his own weight relieved.
The floor of the crater had collapsed and the ocean above filled the vast cavernous system he built for himself and his flight beneath the stone of Theramore. The ceiling collapsed in, letting the ocean through. He swam deeper, allowing the current to guide him. Neltharion spread his wings, pumping them to help propel himself along. He came to the ledge that wound into the tunnels. He landed upon the ground, his weight keeping him down flat against the rock. The dragon walked slowly across the floor, his eyes sifting through the darkness. There were no floating bodies of drown Theramore citizens or even members of his flight that protected them here. He found a blanket floating idly over his scaly eye ridge. Strips of wood from crates hovered, shifted around in the current. And there it was again, the strange dust reflecting of the light from his eyes. The dust was everywhere. Neltharion leaned down to touch the dust with the tip of his claw. He spied a hand, human, laying out in the opening of a small crawl space. The dragon shrank down smaller, small enough to reach out to touch the hand. As he touched the finger, the hand crumbled to dust.
Neltharion snatched his claw back, his startled breath escaped in the bubbles. The dragon flapped his wings as he jerked himself away from the mound of dust clouds of the strange sparkling debris billowing everywhere. The bodies of innocent mortals of Theramore––they became nothing more than a pile of sand.
He continued his search, slowly walking through the mirky blue water. He came upon a small nest of eggs, his own. Neltharion reached out for the eggs to feel their surface. He feared the chill of the sea and his eggs had been affected. Then, just as he reached to gently caress the black splotched and lavender, spiky shell. The color was not natural for black dragon eggs. It looked more like the color of twilight dragon eggs. At the gentle touch of his talon, the egg collapsed inward, imploding upon itself and releasing that strange dust. The egg continued to dissolve away, folding upon itself, hallow. Inside, he saw only a broken piece of a skull of a tiny whelpling. Neltharion came to his knees, the rays of filtered light shined down from above. The dragon curled up, bubbles of air escaping as he started a soft sob, his heart breaking with each whimper. He laid to his side, looking sadly upon the dead eggs. A lock of his black beard flowed out around him. Then, he caught a flash from one of his locks, a shine of moonlight white. Neltharion took hold of one of his locks and held it under the light. The bundle was not black like the rest of his beard, it was white. He grabbed more long locks of his beard and noted the many stripe chunks of silvery white spaced within the black. His beard had changed from the blast of the mana bomb.
The Black Dragon left the nest, floating around to find a mirror that one of the humans had brought down with them. He sift through the sand. Neltharion paused, seeing the light from above shine down upon a twisted and broken shambled of a building all crumpled over at the side. He swallowed as he swam closer and closer to the building. The Black Dragon's eyes lit up. This was the longhouse, his longhouse. Neltharion landed upon the broken, toppled roof. He gripped the edges of the roof and snapped a few of the beams. He widened the hole and lowered down into what was left of the main living room. Nothing seemed recognizable. Every room was collapsed, the bedroom was in a wreck. He found a hand mirror on the floor, part of the surface cracked straight from one corner to the other. He took hold of the mirror and gazed into it. Even in the dim light and the mirky water, he could see the change. Several stripes of silver boldly contrasted against the black sea of his beard. A stray lock of silver roes up towards his eye and he pulled it away. That was not all that had changed. Neltharion's eyes were no longer the color of polished emeralds. They were the color of moonstones. Flecks of arcane blue-white wisps leaking upward from the corners of his eyes. The only reason he could surmise as to why it was that––his eyes had absorbed some of the energy from the blast.
The Black Dragon leaned against the rocky wall, letting the mirror drop. Finally, he decided to break the silence within his mind.
Malygos, he mentally projected Malygos? Arthas?
Silence.
Neltharion shivered, slowly folding his wings up, his body slightly swaying in the current.
Malygos! He projected louder. Ruthian! Serinar! Calia!
He trained his wife on how to speak to him mentally if they were in range of each other. Now, he hoped desperately she was listening.
Calia! Please answer me. Calia! Malygos!
Neltharion curled up as he felt the shudder of a sob grip his shoulders.
Help me, Cali! He called. Help me, big brother!
Still, no one replied to his calls. He reached out to touch the hearts and minds of his family, but they did not answer back. Neltharion whimpered but the noise was muffled by the water.
Malygos! Calia!
Still there was no reply. The silence made his heart sink lower. He sat in the cloud of remains of Theramore, citizens and the members of his flight that stayed with them to protect them if the Horde came in. There was no way to discern the difference between the scattered sand that once made up the mortals or the dragons in his flight. They were all mixed together. Neltharion wanted acceptance and togetherness between mortal and dragon, but this was not what he had in mind.
He laid there in the remains of his home, in the piles and piles of dust remains of the people who died, people who finally were able to call him 'neighbor' instead of 'monster'. These people he had gotten to know, assisted the local healer in care of the sick and injured. This was his last hope of recreating a flight finally free of the corruption of the Old Gods and he could reconnect with the mortals of the world. Now, all of that gone in a flash. Calia was gone too. He could not feel her.
He reached out again out again to his wife. Again, there was no answer. He felt nothing more than frigid silence. He could not touch any mind, not even Rhonin's, not Jaina's, no one. And not Calia. Especially not Calia.
Malygos and Arthas were gone too. Neltharion curled up upon the tattered remains of the bed he shared with his wife––where he heard finally the first beating of the tiny heart of his now unborn child. He even tried to touch the developing mind of the child his wife carried. Still, nothing. The Black Dragon whimpered softly, closing his eyes as he folded his wings around his body, covering his head and curling his tail around his legs.
Malygos, Calia! Answer me, please, help me. Help me. I need you! I need you! Why won't you answer me?
And you tried so hard to save them, Neltharion, said a voice that reached out to the Aspect.
Neltharion curled, his stomach churned at the sound of a familiar, but sickening voice in his head.
Don't talk to me, the dragon said. Leave me alone.
Aw, the poor whelp has lost everything dear to him, the voice continued. Failed to save them. I knew it, I always knew it. You. Are. A. Failure. Always have been, always will be.
Neltharion sobbed, though the seawater masked his tears.
She is gone, they are gone, and it's all your fault, Neltharion.
The Black Aspect wagged his head. His heart quivered.
Don't deny it, the voice chided on. It is your fault.
No. I'm not the one who killed these people. I didn't destroyed Theramore. I tried to save it!
You didn't stop it.
I tried! This isn't my fault.
Who else could it be if not yours, Neltharion?
Garrosh! Neltharion gasped, releasing the pent up anger. The cavern started to quake. It's all his fault! It's all his fault!
Neltharion stood upon his all fours and roared, the sound escaping from his mouth in a torrent of bubbles. The horrible rage radiated out of his body, boiling the water around him. His children were murdered, his family was destroyed, his unborn children––be they in egg shells, or in his wife womb, murdered by that savage orc. The dragon roared again and the sound of the rock walls cracked echoing in the submerged caverns.
They are all dead.
The stone cracked and splintered, exposing the glowing molten magma underneath. The temperature of the water increased and it started to boil all around him. Neltharion slammed his claw into the rock wall, shards coming loose. The echo of the vibration raced forth and he caught the black, white, and gray image of a familiar weapon. It laid in the dried mud of the marsh. It was a gun with a very long muzzle, a sniper rifle, but not just any sniper––it was Calia's. Laying on the ground were a few spent sniper rounds. There were bodies of orcs around the rifle, dead, but no Calia. The rifle looked mangled much like the metal on the ships looked. Then, Neltharion withdrew.
She never leaves without it.
The Black Dragon shivered. He could not stand the silence.
She is dead, Neltharion, the voice said. Dead. It is all your fault.
No! Neltharion said. I tried to stop the bomb. This is Garrosh's fault. He did this.
The rocks continued to splinter and crack, the water becoming hotter and hotter. The frozen statues of sand began to break and crumble to the floor. Deep crimson glowed through the cracks in the rocks and bubbles of gas erupted from the edges. The floor of the caverns began to rise, the rock buckling as the magma chamber below Theramore swelled. Once it was used to help the people of Theramore, fueling the electric power, now it served as a fount to fuel the Earth-Warder's rage.
What do you think Calia would do, Neltharion? Do you think she would wallow away in some underwater hole, crying like an infant? Is this how you honor your wife's memory?
Calia would kill those who are responsible! Neltharion replied.
Then, take up her charge, said the voice.
No! I will not listen to you, ever, N'Zoth!
Am I asking you to destroy the world? I admit defeat, Neltharion. You have won. Now I just want to see a little chaos. You've tried it Thrall's way, now do it yours. You've made a mistake by showing inaction with Zin Azshari until it was too late. Don't make that mistake now. Don't be a whelp, Neltharion.
The floor of the caverns continued to swell. Finally the rocks broke and the chambers began to feel with erupting, heavily viscous lava. Neltharion grew to his full size, and followed the explosion upward. The ridge surrounding the marsh quaked and thundered. Birds scattered and animals fled. Suddenly, a vent opened up, spewing forth ash and black smoke, the glow of the magma inside billowing out through the smoke. Fire and lava ebbed forth as Neltharion let go of a powerful bellowing roar. A thunder crack and another vent opened up right beside the first, spewing forth more ash and smoke. Lightning struck the cloud as it grew and grew, swallowing the day and turning all to night. Neltharion bellowed again and another vent opened along the ridge. The ridge was unzipping, revealing more and more vents, defining the caldera, one the largest volcanoes in Azeroth––and responsible for much extinction of life. The Great Black belched fire and smoke with the vents, streaking up to into the sky. With his flight, he guided the ash cloud north, letting it ignite his wings in a fury of pyroclastic surge. He sniffed Garrosh out, catching the scent of the orc's boastful heart across the stretching Southern Barrens, past Northwatch Hold.
"You've made a big mistake destroying my home, Hellscream!" Neltharion roared forth as he flew through the ash cloud.
Lava bombs rained down from the cloud, setting the dry brush, twisted thorny vines, and trees ablaze. As pelted wetly upon the ground, covering it in a blanket of sickly gray snow. Neltharion's eyes still beamed with blue white despite his rage and the heat. His mouth filled with molten, liquid rock and it dripped out from the corners of his lips. The Earth-Warder trumpeted his charge, trembling the ashy ground below. The mountains quaked over the ridge in Mulgore. The ash spread out over the mountains and rained down the slopes. But he kept guiding it north, following the trek of the Horde. Ash clouds spread over the sky, blotting out the sun the north and turning the noonday sun into midnight darkness. The fiery, angry flashes of lightning and ash announced his arrival to the weary Horde army still marching back to Orgrimmar.
§§§
Nearly two weeks had passed since his great triumph over Theramore. Now it was time to return back to Orgrimmar for celebration, but Garrosh knew this was long from over. Theramore was merely a stepping stone. Though the Focusing Iris had turned up missing, there were other plans to be made for his enemies. His ships maintained the blockade which barred any Alliance ships from lending aid to Teldrassil or Feathermoon Hold, or any other Alliance stronghold still remaining in Kalimdor. However, the new plans was not the reason why Garrosh was in a good mood.
No.
It was because he slew Deathwing the Destroyer!
Garrosh was giddy, beaming. He could barely sleep on the way because of his excitement. He was the one who killed Deathwing. His father Grom Hellscream slew Mannoroth the demon pitlord who controlled the orcs through the blood haze that turned their skin green, and now he has done something greater. He slew the dragon who was partially responsible for the destruction of his home world Draenor. He knew he had done his father proud. He had gotten rid of the only other who could ruin his plans. He destroyed the Alliance main launching point and the one who was responsible for the Cataclysm.
"Now, we shall never have anything to fear from Deathwing!" Garrosh announced.
He heard the cheers of his warriors and his chest swelled even more with pride.
"They will sing songs of this day, Warchief," said Malkorok said. The Black Rock orc lifted his axe in the air. "For ages to come!"
Garrosh was brimming from ear to ear.
"All hail Garrosh Hellscream: Slayer of Deathwing and Destroyer of Theramore!" Malkorok continued.
"Hail," Garrosh heard his troops call. "Hail!"
"Yes," began a somber voice and Garrosh's smile waned. "Hail, the one who will doom us all."
Garrosh's amber eyes burned as he stiffly turned to the voice who denied him his glory. Walking up beside him was High Chieftain Baine Bloodhoof and his tauren brethren. Beside the tauren was Vol'jin and Archdruid Hamuul. Neither of them shared the joy of what they just witnessed as the Horde's cheep victory upon Theramore.
"How dare you steal the glory of victory away from our honorable Warchief!" Malkorok said, gritting his fangs, preparing to drive his knife into the Tauren's neck.
"You are mistaken," said Baine.
"Why would we take credit for that massacre you call a victory, mon?" Vol'jin asked. "You can have it!"
"Then why do you speak of doom?" Garrosh asked.
"A warning again," said Baine. "And this time, I want you to listen to me. You think you can wield that power, his power, and master it? And then you so foolishly think he could be by your hand and there would no consequence for that crater which used to be an island? Are you mad, Hellscream?"
"Mad?" asked Garrosh. "Far from it."
"Before dhe Earth-Warder flew off to stop your plan of total annihilation of dhat island," said Vol'jin. "Before he dove down to save home and family. He reminded you want we all knew. Learn dhe lesson of your father. What I saw back there, I did not see dhat you have."
"And you think he perished?" said Baine.
"I will hear no more of this," said Garrosh.
"If you wish our future to continue to be bright," said Baine. "You will listen to us!"
Garrosh spun upon the Tauren, his eyes alight with fury.
"I have heard enough!" he barked. "A lot more than you think. And I know what you have been doing behind my back, Baine. Secret meetings with Deathwing himself!"
Baine felt his heart clench up. Vol'jin looked to his friend, his eyes wide.
"Planning my demise, hoping that he will leave your people alone no matter what I did back there," said Garrosh.
"No, not your demise, Warchief," said Baine. "But I will not deny meeting with the Worldmender. I did it to ask him to leave Theramore. We all were thinking it, it has been in our minds. The Earth-Warder would crush us! And that tiny army we were marching in. You had no plan for us to even advance on Theramore."
"Of course not."
"Let the secret weapon do the work for you," said Baine. "Neltharion told me what yo stole from the Blue Dragonflight to make such a weapon."
"What did he steal?" asked Vol'jin.
"The Focusing Iris," said Baine. "And now not only will the Alliance retaliate for this atrocity, but so will the Blue Dragonflight!"
Garrosh grinned, setting back upon his saddle.
"The Blue Dragonflight is nearly extinct," said Garrosh. "They don't have the numbers for a retaliation."
"Dhey can get dhe numbers," said Vol'jin. "Dhey both now have a shared enemy in us. And your actions has made another enemy dhe Horde does not need." He looked to his Trolls. "And they be pointin' the fingers at us all, at dhe Horde! What ever will happen, what retaliation that the Horde shall receive from this, I'll know one thing. It all be your fault, Garrosh Hellscream. And you better hope dhe Earth-Warder be dead, mon. You better hope and pray to whatever you hold most holy dhat he be dead."
"And if he is not," began Baine. "There will be nothing between him and your demise. The Horde will suffer because of your foolish actions! Taken on Theramore was a mistake––"
"In a long sad history of stupid mistakes," said Hamuul. "Ysera, the sister to Neltharion, Aspect of Dreams will call. She loved him, she rejoiced when she got hm back. I know that she will not allow this tragedy to go unpunished."
"I shall look upon you, Garrosh," began Baine. "When such punishments come."
"We can discus this later," said Garrosh with a sneer. "Back at Orgrimmar."
"We're not returning to Orgrimmar," said Baine. "I cannot take part in celebrating a victory that was never warranted."
Then both Baine and Vol'jin and their tauren and trolls began to back away from the rest of the Horde, taking their silent leave. Garrosh's face bunched, still fuming over the warning of Baine and Vol'jin. The Troll regarded Baine with some caution though after learning the news.
"You actually spoke to dhe Earth-Warder?" he asked.
"He presented a way for me to return a gift I felt no longer worth of bearing," said Baine. "Not after all that I contributed to."
"Dhe mace given by Prince Anduin?"
"Yes," he said. "Then, because of that action, because I told him that I did not agree of Garrosh's new ideas of conquest––or his methods." Baine smiled. "He told understood my worries––and he promised that if I ever needed help, I could rely on him. Even when he was nothing more than a little statue, I could sense his offer was genuine."
"Thrall called him brother," said Vol'jin. "I don't trust dhe dragon that much to do the same––but maybe far enough to call him cousin."
As they withdrew, the ground began to quake and buckle. A large crack splintered through the ranks, widening as it started to separate Baine, Vol'jin and their loyal warriors from Garrosh and the rest of the Horde. The crack widened, fire spilling out from its mouth. Then slabs of bedrock from the ground rose up higher and higher as it heaved open. Soldiers lost their footing as the ground that once was stable come to life with horrible vibrations and stumbled into the expanding crevasse. Garrosh fought against his wolf's sudden madden terror, gripping hold of the reigns tightly and then kicked the shaggy furred animal in the sides, causing to lunge forward. Malkorok raced off with him followed by the Kor'kron.
Soldiers spilled into the chasm as it opened up under. Mages and priest were already doing what they could to shield and protect the soldiers from the heat of the spewing lava and molten rock shards.
Baine caught a glimpse of what was coming for them. Down south, there was an enormous black cloud laced with a glow of dull orange. Lighting forked through billowing black cloud as it ominously devoured the hazy blue sky. As the cloud surged overhead, it started to snow. Baine reached out with his hand as a flake of this snow slowly floated down into its palm. More and more of this strange snow fell. Baine caught each one of them, touching them, feeling the sharp, scratchy particles.
"What is that?" Vol'jin asked. "Gray snow?"
"No," said Baine. "It's not snow." He gazed skyward. "It's ash. It's volcanic ash."
"An ash cloud," said Hamuul.
"But from what volcano?" asked Baine.
"It comes from the south," said Vol'jin. "Didn't Garrosh say that Dustwallow Marsh held a volcano hidden under its surface?"
"Yes."
"But even I have seen volcanoes erupt," said Hamuul. "None I've seen ever produced such an ash cloud. We are leagues away from Theramore. We're nearly to Northwatch. No ash cloud could stretch that far even if it came from Theramore. And even then, this cloud is going the wrong way. The trade winds flow from east to west below the crater. This cloud is moving straight north with a slight easterly angle."
"Durotar," said Vol'jin.
Baine huffed and called out for Garrosh.
"Enlighten me, Warchief," he said. "Are you certain that the Worldmender is dead?"
Garrosh growled, looking south were the ash cloud came from. Lightning continued to flash in the cloud. The ground clapped with another break of the rock. Trees toppled as a piece of the once stable ground slid off into the deep chasm.
"Shaman," he called. "Construct a bridge over this chasm. We must make for solid ground."
The shaman thrusted their fists up and sledges slide over the gaping wound forming around them. Another explosion of hot rock sprayed out from the fissures while the ground buckled. Horde soldiers trampled across the rock bridges and Garrosh followed. Then, he paused when upon a horrible roar in the ash cloud trumpeted. He heard the beats of enormous leathery wings.
"I have let you live long enough, Garrosh Hellscream!" a powerful bellowing voice called down from the ash cloud.
"The Worldmender," said Baine.
"And he sounds pissed," Vol'jin said.
"Yah think?"
"I gave you clemency!" the voice said. "This never would have happened if you surrendered."
A hot stream of lava spewed out from the cloud, catching the troops under its flow, burning them. Garrosh could smell the stench of brimstone and heard the sound of his warriors crying out in agony as the lava reached them. Some did not even cry out at all, silenced by the searing heat. Then, Baine dared a look to the sky just as a black mass dipped below the clouds with wings ignited in fire, ash, and soot.
"Neltharion," he said.
The dragon's change was apparent. The Aspect's long, tangled beard was streaked with bold stripes of silvery white and his eyes glowed with strange, blue-white energy and tears flowed from his cheeks. Baine gasped. The Worldmender was weeping as he flew over the Horde, catching them in cloud of his wings. He knew that look very well, knew the emotions that Neltharion felt. Anguish, grief, pain, and vengeance for he too attested to such melancholy as well. Neltharion spat glowing lobs of boulder-sized lava bombs upon the scattering army. Bombs impacted, forming craters, cracking the land, and flattening stalled tanks and frozen soldiers. The ground continued to swell and break, swallowing up the fleeing masses.
"Fight him!" Garrosh called. "Stand your ground and fight him!"
One tank swiveled its gun and fire upon the dragon, though the shell was nothing more than a nuisance. Neltharion lobbed another lava bomb upon the tank it crumbled under the weight and heat of the molted rock. The wind rose at the clap of the Black Dragon's wings, forming into a spinning cyclonic demon that drew in the debris into itself.
"Stand your ground!" said Garrosh. "Stand your ground!"
"Yes, stand your ground and face your death with whatever honor you have left after you spat upon it back in Theramore," said Neltharion. "Die with dignity."
He swiftly sailed across the newly formed, fiery chasm.
"Do you honestly think you could have the power to destroy me?" he asked. "And even if you couldn't what makes you think that any of you could wield such power?"
Baine breathed heavily, his heart pounding painfully into his chest, thumping in his ears. He could not hear Vol'jin call his name, urging him to run. His eyes were locked to the carnage.
"Let's go!" Vol'jin called. "Baine! Baine!"
The tauren snapped out of his terror-struck enthrall gaze, his shoulders shivered.
"Don't be foolish!" said Vol'jin.
Amid the destruction, Neltharion caught sight of the fleeing Baine and Vol'jin, followed by their own and a few mixed gaggle of undead and blood elves. Once more, Baine marked the pain in the Aspect's eyes and he knew what this attack was. This was not Neltharion trying to be Deathwing, though many could mistake it as such. Was Neltharion attacking innocents? Citizens? No, he was attacking warriors, soldiers, people who were aided Garrosh in his flight to Theramore. It was silly of him to think there would not be some form of retribution for the devastation of his home and the slaughter of his family and friends, especially after Neltharion attempted to use a peaceful means to prevent it. He saw that anguish in Neltharion's eyes and Baine knew that Theramore could have been avoided if Garrosh gave himself up.
The Dragon circled closer to them for a brief moment and Baine almost thought he was going to attack them. Though, he took note that the ground he stood upon had not cracked yet.
"Go!" Neltharion said. "Go! While you have the chance, go! I keep my promise to you, High Chieftain, now go!"
"He's giving us an opening, mon," said Vol'jin. "He's letting us go."
"His vengeance is not for us," said Baine.
"If he permits us to leave," said Hamuul. "Then, let us leave."
"To leave Garrosh to his fate?" Baine asked.
"I see it dhis way," said Vol'jin. "If it is true dhat the Earth-Warder almost ate Garrosh, but spat him out––I hope dhis time he chews his food before swallowing."
"But if Garrosh survives," said Baine. "Our troubles will never see an end. He will believe that we sent Neltharion to kill him for us."
"Baine, if we attack dhe dragon, dhen Garrosh's fate will be ours!" said Vol'jin. "Dhat is the last creature I wish never to betray!"
Neltharion banked off, continuing his attack.
"I will not attack the Worldmender to save Garrosh Hellscream," said Baine. "But I will not flee either, not until I see this to the end."
Garrosh looked up as the dragon dove for him, claws outstretched. He leered upon the Aspect's anger and then rounded upon a mage.
"Build a portal large enough and lead me back to Orgrimmar!"
The mage nodded and began his casting. Another mage followed the same motion, joined by two more. A great portal opened up, surrounded by blue-white light and filled with a curtain of stars.
"No!" Neltharion called. "I will not let you escape!"
Several mages behind Baine and Vol'jin started their chanting and their portals combined with the main portal. Neltharion became flanked by portals all around him. Then, each portal collapsed upon the Horde, and they vanished in a thunderclap. The Black Dragon roared as the wind rushed in to fill the empty space vacated by Garrosh and his horde. He glanced back, noticing that even Baine and Vol'jin and their warriors had also vanished. The ground quietened and a few of the fissures formed sealed up as he landed.
"No!" he said. "Garrosh, it doesn't matter where you go, I will find you. You and your Horde of degenerates. You cannot run far. There is nowhere you can go that I would not be able to reach you. I will make you suffer for the lives you stole! Even if I have to break your city for the city you destroyed. This is only a prelude for what will come. Durotar has seen its final summer!"
Then, he took off into the sky, bounding back into the ash cloud.