Thx to those who faithfully been reviewing every chapter as they come out. The consistent encouragement has been extremely helpful as my schedule has been tightening, making it harder to write as frequently as consistently as I used to. Please enjoy the next chapter! ~F

Chapter 162

Battle of the Undercity

Varian felt the anticipation grow as the Skybreaker had sailed northward, flying well over all held territory.

Surprisingly, the gunship had been extremely smooth, as well as fast, in its trek from Ironforge to just within sight of Lordaeron's fallen Capital City. Tirisfald Glades had seemed an enchanting place when Varian was a child, brought here by Anduin Lothar to escape the ravaging of Stormwind by the Old Horde, but now it was a shadow of that distant memory.

The slightest rustle of cloth was all the warning he needed, and the High King nodded his accent for Matthias Shaw to approach.

"My King," the leader of SI:7 said, "We have found an alternative route into the depths of the undercity that bypasses their heaviest perimeter guard."

"Excellent, Matthias," Varian said. If they could reach the demon before the Horde or Dark Horde, they would be able to capture him and extract whatever information they could before ending its miserable life on their world for good.

"There is also the matter of what to do with the ruins of Lordaeron after we clear it of the demon and his undead minions," the spymaster continued, "If the Kingdom of Lordaeron could be restored…"

"Setting a great number of wrongs to right," Varian finished, having heard this line of reason before from others of the nobility of Stormwind, those who had fled south when the plague of undeath had swept the northern kingdom.

There were problems with that course, naturally, as the Forsaken were after a manner of speaking the true owners of the land, being the raised populace of the former human capital, but that would only matter to those who actually cared about the differences between the Forsaken and the Scourge.

There had been many that had followed the heretical faction, the Scarlet Crusade, on their northward assault to try and rid Lordaeron of all undead, and the last that had been heard of them was that they had fled from the Eastern Kingdoms on another great crusade against the Scourge in Northrend.

Reports had also come from those icy lands that the crusaders had gone mostly insane in the frozen north, attacking anyone on sight, living or undead, and becoming a great nuisance to logistics in the Dragonblight as the unified forces mustered to assault the Wrathgate.

But that was irrelevant now. Varian would consider what to do once they liberated the Undercity from the demon's control. He was not of the opinion of returning it to the control of the Horde, but the Alliance clearly lacked the manpower and resources to occupy it themselves, as well as start restoring the land to healthy life once again.

Skybreaker came to a halt over the crossing from the glades into the Silverpine Forest, where a massive wall had been erected, of an architecture that Varian could only describe as being truly made by the Forsaken.

"There," Shaw said, pointing to a mountainside near to an old watchtower, overgrown with brambles and rotting ivy, "hidden there is a tunnel that leads into the old sewer system of Capital City, and where we can enter undetected."

Drawing Shalamayne, Varian was the first to step toward the ropes that would take the assembled force of countless adventurers of the Alliance down to the ground. Many had answered the call, allowing Varian to leave their armies in Northrend to support Bolvar in fortifying their strongholds and preparing to assault Icecrown by another route than the Wrathgate.

"Heroes of the Alliance, your King calls!" Varian bellowed, calling all attention to him, and rousing even the drowsiest of the assembled forces, "Hidden inside this defiled city is the wretch responsible for murdering our brothers and sisters at the Wrathgate! The demon must be brought to justice!"

A cry rang out in response, the adventurers drawing their own weapons. "The hour of our redemption is at hand!" Varian cried, taking the first rope and preparing to leap over the side of the airship, "the march upon the Undercity begins now! Follow me, heroes! Glory to the Alliance!"

Swinging out to the side, Varian allowed the rope to side carefully through his gauntleted hand, controlling his decent to the ground far below. The ropes were only just barely too short, forcing him to freefall the last few feet, and the High King landed in a crouch.

Many booted feet slammed into the ground around him as he rose, and more were drifting down via rope, magic, or gnomish devise to join them as Varian led the way toward the hidden sewer entrance.

Once the yawning opening was in sight, Varian pulled his weapon into the twin blades once more, setting his jaw against what horrors awaited them inside the foul crypt. "Onward, brothers and sisters!" he ordered, "Destiny awaits!"

As he passed into the gloom, vaguely Varian heard the war horns of the Horde somewhere to the east and knew that the race was on between themselves and Thrall's forces.

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Thrall looked on at the great gates of the ruined Capital City with pity and sorrow. The pain and death that had swept across this land, most of it not of the Forsaken's doing, still clung to the ground like a sickening mist.

But they were here not to heal the land, but avenge the fallen of the Horde, and for that cause Thrall set aside his misgivings and stepped to the front of his assembled army of Horde adventurers. The command had gone out, and the summons had been answered in great numbers, even as those who carried the might of the Horde far and wide came to their Warchief's side.

"Heroes of the Horde, your Warchief calls!" Thrall bellowed, raising the Doomhammer high and signaling for his forces to listen. "We fight on this day for our fallen brothers and sisters! Mourn them not, for they all died with honor in their hearts! Though we face great conflict, our might combined shall obliterate those who would oppose us! The grave injustices committed against the Horde will be met by an unstoppable force of reckoning!"

He had prepared himself carefully for this moment. There was much he wanted to say, but only so long that he had to speak before action was demanded, and for the briefest of moments Thrall wished that Garrosh was at his side now, rather than leading their forces in Northrend to dig themselves in and await the arrival of reinforcements; all of which were delayed here.

"I call to you great spirits!" he continued, letting the elements flow to him in this hour of need, "Grant the Horde your blessing! For on this day our cause is righteous and just!"

Feeling the rustle of the elements in response to his call, Thrall pressed on, hoping for all the aid that they might give his warriors, "Spirits of Wind, carry to Saurfang the Younger the song of war! May ALL of our fallen brethren be vindicated by this battle! Champions of the Horde, be empowered by the might of your Warchief!"

The rage of the elements, as well as the blood thundering in their veins, struck like a resounding gong, sweeping through the assembled forces and causing them to roar with renewed vigor and strength. "Sound the horns of war!" Thrall ordered, and was answered with the great blaring, "The battle for the Undercity begins now! Onward!"

And he sprinted forward, with every Orc, Elf, Troll, and Tauren chasing behind him as they surged for the gate of the city.

A greenish mist clogged the entrance of the Undercity, some manner of dire trap set by their enemies, but Thrall was undaunted, "Great wind brother, clear our path!" he beckoned, and the winds congregated, blasting the noxious fumes away and permitting them passage to the inner courtyard of the old city.

There, standing beside a ruined statue of some ancient human hero, was the Dreadlord himself. "You must answer the elements, demon!" Thrall challenged, stepping forward and readying the Doomhammer for a devastating blow.

Uncaring of the words, the demon spoke causally, "Welcome to my kingdom of darkness…" he said, almost jubilantly. "Did you enjoy my minion's terrible creation? Potent, was it not?"

The assembled force rallied behind Thrall, and started to encircle the demon's location, but the Nathrezim remained unmoved. "Enough prattling… You wish to reclaim your city?" he asked, almost bored at the thought. "Come then, heroes! Your souls will fuel the host! You will have this place back in pieces!"

At the Dreadlord's call, a host of mindless undead surged from the ground of the courtyard, coated in the green slime of the blight, and began to rush their assembled forces.

"Attack!" Thrall shouted, slamming the Doomhammer into the nearest enemy, shattering bone and spewing the vile slime in all directions. "Great water spirit," he called, "wash away this corruption!"

Heeding his plea, a torrential downpour started, great drops of water striking the ground with enough force to leave small divots in the rotten soil. The abrasive slime coating the mindless horde was stripped away rapidly, allowing the force of adventurers and heroes crash through without risk of infection from the potent poison.

As they slowly pushed their way across the courtyard, more undead joined the fight, until with a rumbling crash, a massive flesh giant rose out of the slimy moat that separated the inner chambers from the courtyard. The aberration shambled forward blindly, swinging a massive metal encased fist, or else stabbing with the blight-filled injector affixed to the other.

It seemed that they might be forced back by the hulking creature, but Thrall felt more than heard the moment that Sylvanas started to sing, bolstering their forces with the power of a banshee's song.

He had known from experience with Scourge banshees that their voices were powerful weapons for destruction and debilitation, but he had not expected that the same power could be used to aid allies in battle. Nevertheless, their momentum was renewed, and together the Horde drove the massive creature of blight to its final demise, securing the courtyard and allowing them access to the inner chambers of the Undercity.

Through the throne room of the old kingdom, and around the crypt of the last king of Lordaeron, the pathway split into several passages that led to elevators down into the Undercity. There was just one problem.

"Hold!" Thrall commanded, looking into the empty shaft of the nearest passage, "They've destroyed the elevators!"

Sylvanas joined him, inspecting the seemingly empty shaft, "It is trapped, Warchief," she said, "A fall would mean certain death."

But the shaman had an answer for that problem. "Great air spirit, hear my call once more!" Thrall intoned, asking for cyclones of air to lower their forces safely to the bottom of the elevators. The wind answered, howling into the narrow passages and swirling to cushioning any who would jump or fall into the narrow vertical passage.

"The spirits of air have heard my call," he informed the Banshee Queen, "Cyclones will lower us to safety. Now we jump!" he led by example, allowing the air to take him and lower his body to the ground without injury. Many of the adventurers wasted no time in following their Warchief, while others took their time to descend by other means of magic.

Entering the central district of the Undercity, Thrall commanded his force to attack any who resisted their presence, "We have breached the inner sanctum, heroes! We press on!"

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Nobu'tan watched the advance of the other factions on the Undercity via remote eyes of Kil'rogg. Apparently, both were making more than enough noise to cover any further attempt to infiltrate the city, which meant that the time to make their move had come.

The Dark Horde forces, including the Blightbringer clan, Fel Veela, and Drakkari Trolls, had assembled in the Werewolf stronghold on Fenris Isle, just south of the Capital City ruins. The wide, shallow lake was all that barred them from the walls, and Nobu'tan had initially thought about how it must have been for Ogrim Doomhammer, possible standing at the same spot the warlock stood now, to watch that city as the Old Horde marched on its walls.

If only he had been there, things might have been drastically different than how events played out, but he could not wallow in 'what ifs.

"There are only two known entrances for the Undercity," Voldemort informed him, standing off to the side from Nobu'tan and giving the ruined city a withering glare. "Our entrance would be blocked by either faction of we attempted to follow behind them."

"Then we will make our own, third entrance," Nobu'tan replied, smirking. Goblins of the Stormreaver clan brought up a canister of glowing purple light. Based on what they had gleaned from the Blood Elves' mana bomb, and combined with their resources, Nobu'tan had created this devise. A lattice of soul shards was carefully layered within the structure, and would shatter with great force when ruptured, such as when propelled by siege engine or magic into a barrier of some sort.

Channeling the Fel, Nobu'tan's grin widened as the shards resonated with the magic, glowing as the fragile orb lifted into the air. Carefully, we wove the arcane around the Fel-bomb, wrapping it in a dart of ice to pierce into stonework, and lashed with as much Felflame as he dared, to propel it swifter into its target.

"Are our forces in place?" he asked, glancing up at Voldemort as he worked.

"Yes, Nobu'tan," the Death Knight replied, eager to see what the Grand Warlock was planning.

"Then we will begin upon my signal," Nobu'tan said, leveraging the newly constructed missile over the side of the parapet upon which they stood, and taking aim at the walls of the fallen city.

"If we hit the base at just the right angle, we ought to blast open a path straight into the depths without any of the Dreadlord's forces being able to prepare." He murmured, taking aim at the nearest section of cliff that Capital City stood upon.

"There," he said, seeing both through his own vision and an eye of Kil'rogg that his aim was straight on target for a direct line into the underground crypt. With a small exertion, he forced as must Fel magic into the missile, causing a chain reaction the caused it to rocket forward on a stream of Felflame, diving straight for the Cliffside under the city.

There was a deafening explosion, even as the missile tore through stone until it encountered something harder and ruptured, blasting a large tunnel into the depths.

Nobu'tan waited several moments, and launched a gout of fire into the air, signaling the attack. Warriors of the Stormreaver clan bellowed war cries and surged across the shallow water to the newly created entrance.

"Shall we?" he asked, turning to Voldemort, who drew his blades in response, "For vengeance, and to end this charade of an alliance between us and them," the Death Knight said, and Nobu'tan opened a nether portal to the front of their forces, who had just arrived at the new tunnel.

"Ah, the little warlock appears at last," the flowery voice of the Nathrezim sounded from the depths, "I had not forgotten about you, and while your entrance is surprising, it is not unexpected."

The voice faded away, replaced by the shrieks and howls as some enemy force started surging up from below.

"Prepare!" Nobu'tan called, even as Voldemort positioned himself between the unknown threat and Nobu'tan. Fel magic crackled to life around him as the Warlock readied himself for battle.

Felbats, countless winged horrors of the Legion, started to scramble out of the entrance of the Dark Horde's tunnel, scrambling over each other in their haste to escape to the open air and tear mortal flesh apart.

The Fel Veela launched into the air as well, to keep their ground forces protected from above, and Nobu'tan release a wave of Felfire toward the tunnel, hoping to funnel the bats into the waiting blades of his warriors.

For a moment, it was effective, before the smaller Felhounds intermixed with the bats started to devour the magic keeping the fires going and plunge into the midst of his warriors.

"It seems that this will not be as simple as we had hoped it to be," Voldemort said, cleaving a lunging Dreadstalker in two as it leapt for the Death Knight's throat.

"Perhaps," Nobu'tan said, thinking quickly, "and then again, perhaps not so much."

Stepping forward, the Grand warlock drew a torrent of Felfire through himself, projecting it forward as twin destructive beams from his hands. Anything ahead of him was incinerated immediately, the concentrated rays unhindered by the demonic flesh or armor of their varied assailants.

Stepping forward with great effort, Nobu'tan fought the propulsion of the jets of flame shooting in front of him, edging closer to the mouth of the tunnel, and boxing in everything trying to emerge and fight.

Soon enough, other warlocks joined in his effort, converging from different angles with their own beams of destructive flame, although many could manage only a single devastating torrent, they were able to shut down the flow of enemies, and turn the tunnel into a kill zone for the demons unleashed against them.

"Press forward," Nobu'tan urged, stepping into the tunnel, and continuing to blast anything in front of him. They would be slow, but it would decimate anything that dared get in their way as they pressed through into the city. Hopefully they would catch the summoners bringing in the swarm as well, closing the rifts and ending the tide of demons trying to block their path.

Not the way he had envisioned their grand entrance into the Undercity, but it would work for their purposes nevertheless.

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Jaina staggered as the explosion rocked the entire sewer system. Something had struck the entire Cliffside that supported the ruined capital, and while she had her guesses as to the cause, there was no knowing if friend or foe had caused it.

"Jaina, lend us your strength," Varian requested, also propping himself up on the wall of the sewer as the shaking of the ground ceased.

"Right away," Jaina agreed, allowing the arcane to flow freely from her into those around, creating a zone of free mana that would energize every adventurer that accompanied them into the depths.

And it wasn't a moment too soon, as once they reached the end of the long tunnel from the surface, a horde of undead minions rose from the sludge-like goo and attacked.

"What is this!?" Varian cried, even as the blight pool before them started churning with the bodies exploding out of it to fight them, "Stand your ground! Do not give them an inch!"

Jaina joined with the other casters toward the middle of the group, blacking the waves with bolts of frost and flurries of ice, working to hinder those before they reached the frontline of their formation.

But it seemed the warriors there, with heavy shields and plate mail, were more than accustomed to taking the brunt of an enemy's onslaught. The strength of the adventurers of the Alliance was something that the Sorceress had marveled at over the years. As widely varied and diverse as their force seemed to be, they were the most adaptive of the Alliance armies, and quickly formed into a coherent unit, dividing their skills and talents to the task, something that would have been challenging for the formal armies of the Alliance.

She suspected that the two Hordes were very much the same, with their champions and soldiers being on completely different levels of skill and prowess in battle.

"Aid me!" she called to the mages nearest to her, as she saw the ooze-covered enemy started to swell, the noxious slime starting to coat the ground and hiss as it ate through stone and metal.

Twisting the arcane around her, Jaina started to feed cold air and shards of ice into the swirling vortex of magic, whipping up a cyclone of frozen wind. The other mages caught on to her plan, and added their own power, swelling the tornado and causing the area around them to start to frost over with the drastic drop in temperature.

Thrusting her hands forward, Jaina sent the whirling vortex down the tunnel, where it slammed into the ranks of undead, congealing the slime and frosting over the shambling corpses, slowing them for the warriors and other fighters to shatter.

The surface of the ooze-filled pool started to freeze, but then erupted as a massive, vile green worm surged out of its depths. Varian led a charge, cleaving through the last stragglers of the undead horde and assaulting the base of the worm, his Elven blades biting deep into the slime-covered carapace.

Switching tactics, Jaina invoked the attributes of fire, launching blasts of superheated magic at the head of the massive worm, keeping it distracted and unable to struggle against the forces attacking its lower segments.

As it turned out, the blighted slime was highly flammable. Within moments, the worm was writhing in agony as its entire body caught alight. It remained on fire until the killing blow was struck, and it fell back into the blazing ooze from where it had erupted.

"Soldiers, fall in!" Varian called, rallying their warriors as the beast collapsed, "Guard the halls!"

Then turning to shout into the dim gloom of the seemingly vacant Undercity, "Your aberrations are no match for the Alliance, Demon! We're coming for you!"

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Sylvanas gritted her teeth at the depravity that the Horde found upon entering the trade district. Countless forsaken had been slain, their bodies hung for all to see from the ledges and chains that hung from the vaulted ceiling.

"What have they done to my beautiful city!" she bemoaned, hatred stirring inside her. She had known of the possible losses that she would sustain from allowing the coup, but she had not factored in the depravity of the demon in slaughtering those innocents that had remained.

Thrall clearly did not agree with her assessment of the undercity, if his face was anything to speak of, but he did not comment.

"The only redemption for the traitors responsible for this will be an agonizing death. My vengeance will be swift and without mercy." She seethed, feeling the taunt sinew of her bowstring cutting into her fingers. Varimathras had crossed a line, probably to goad her specifically, but the demon did not know what he was tempting with angering her to this point.

Countering powerful factions like the Dark Horde when they aroused her anger may have been beyond her, for the time being, but destroying the demon would be well within her capabilities, motivated by denying the other factions even an ounce of what the demon could tell them. That was the worst possibly outcome of this retaliatory event. If Varimathras was captured, he would willingly spill every secret of the Forsaken that he possessed, which were many, in order to spare his miserable hide.

"Lead the way, Dark Lady." Thrall urged, gesturing into the darkness of the lower levels, where the deeper passages connected to the central trade district. "We will follow."

Cooling herself, and steeling her anger for the appropriate time, Sylvanas nodded, "Very well, Warchief. The Royal Quarter is this way. Stay on guard. There's no telling what Varimathras has left in store for us."

Taking the swiftest route, that led to the Apothicarium, Sylvanas halted as the entire Uncersity shook with a tremendous blast from somewhere far above them. "What in the…" Thrall questioned, but the Banshee Queen had no doubts that it was some devilry of the Dark Horde.

"We must press on, if we are to reach Varimathras first," Sylvanas urged, leading them to the outer ring of chambers and starting toward the bridge across the moat of blight that circled the entire Undercity.

That was until she sensed the Fel magic of the Nathrezim, and froze in her tracks, "Hold!" she called, stopping the rest of the Horde force, "I sense dark magic. Demon magic… Stand ready!"

"Clever girl…" Varimathras taunted, appearing across the bridge, near the entrance of the Royal Quarter. "My brothers have grown hungry. Your souls will sate their appetites."

A lightning-fast gesture tore open a demon portal, and a hulking Doom Lord stepped through, barely fitting into the high ceilings of the Apothicarium.

The Nathrezim laughed as he disappeared down the corridor of the Royal Quarter, and the towering demonic warrior bellowed, wading toward them through the moat of blight, hooves sending the green ooze splashing with each step.

Thrall raised his hammer, signaling the Horde to attack, and Sylvanas notched an arrow to her bow. This fight wouldn't last long, as they had all fought demons before, and knew their weaknesses.

Immediately the adventurers split into three groups. The first, consisting of the heaviest melee fighters and the ones with the toughest armor charged forward, taking the beast's attention, while a second circled around, the more agile members sprinting for the rear to attack the demon while its back was turned. Finally, the ranged attackers spread in a wide arc to pepper the Doom Lord with arrows, thrown weapons, and spells.

It was with this third group that the Dark Lady found herself, surrounded by casters and other archers of the various races. Thrall had taken to the front, the Doomhammer crackling with lightning as he swung it, the elements of wind singing through the melee and hastening their weapons.

Try as the demon might, its strength was insufficient to overcome them all together. Even if it managed to fell one or more of their members, the priests, shaman, and druids among them would turn and quickly mend any wound, even restoring some that had perished back to fighting form and allowing them to press the attack.

It was without any surprise that the beast quickly fell to their weapons, crashing backward and leaving a massive indention in one of the supporting walls of the quarter. But there would be time to worry about architecture and safety measures later, when Varimathras was destroyed, and her city secured.

"Is that all, demon? Have you nothing left to throw at us?" Thrall taunted, turning his attention back to the Royal Quarter, "We come for you! Prepare yourself!"

"The Royal Quarter is just up ahead, Warchief," Sylvanas said, even as they led the way across the bridge to the side tunnel from the Apothicarium.

"Bring down the halls! NOW!" Varimathras rumbled from far within, and Sylvanas was pleased to hear the trace of panic in his voice. The fact that nothing he had could stop them was clear, and the Banshee Queen doubted that either other faction had been delayed any more than the Horde.

A large section of the stone ceiling blocked their way, covering the entrance to the Royal Quarter with boulders, but she did not even care, even as Thrall laughed. "COWARD!" he taunted, "You think to stop the Warchief of the Horde with pebbles? I will show you the true power of the elements!"

Lifting the hammer once more, he chanted, "Great spirit of the earth, help us un our hour of need!"

Slamming the weapon onto the boulders, Thrall shattered the rocks to powder, "Let's go! Quickly!" Thrall commanded, leading the way and clearing what other boulders were strewn in their path.

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Varian was the first to exit the sewer shaft and see the carnage that awaited them in the Undercity proper. The massive body of a Doom Lord, still fresh and bleeding, lay across the wall to the left of their location.

"What happened here?" Jaina asked, also appearing at the head of their forces.

Varian didn't have to guess. If the explosion from earlier was any indication of the Dark Horde's location, then there was only one option left for a force entering from that direction. "Horde," he said, "By the looks of the struggle, they are here in force—somewhere."

Turning to look back at the Alliance assault force, he gave more orders, "Stay alert and on guard. There's no telling what horrors await us." Then, leaping down the nearby short stairs to the ground level of the Undercity, he advanced, "Onward!"

Unfortunately, despite the Horde having just cleared through the area, there were more enemies arriving from the opposite end as the Alliance force followed the wake of destruction. A host of abominations, their putrid flesh curling even Varian's strong fortitude, charged from the sides of the Apothicarium, swinging their weapons with abandon and trying to wreck as much damage as possible.

Blighted apothecaries and other Forsaken also appeared, herded forward by a small group of Dreadlords, although none of them seemed to be the infamous Varimathras that was orchestrating this coup in the former Alliance city. Canisters and vials of the toxic plague were hurled at their forces, but blast of magic kept the worst of the effects at bay, long enough for Varian and the other melee fighters to bring their weapons to bear against the attacking undead and their demon masters.

They would be delayed from following the Horde to the demon, but not by much, Varian thought, even as he cut down one of the hulking abominations.

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Varimathras wasn't sure how all this had happened so poorly. All his plans had been carefully laid, the coup with Putress so perfectly constructed, all a ploy to use the hate-filled undead as a distraction while he unleashed destruction upon the Forsaken for the humiliation he had suffered.

But the blasted plan went awry, and Putress hadn't even the good sense to stay alive to be used as a scapegoat and smokescreen for the Dreadlord to disappear behind.

The tunnel that the Dark Horde had cleaved into the Cliffside opened right up into the Royal Quarter itself, and with their warlocks burning their way behind him and the Banshee and her Warchief bang on his front, with the Alliance hot on their heels, Varimathras knew he was trapped.

But he would not go down without a fight, and thus, from the moment they factions had started their attacks, he had been opening demon portal after demon portal, allowing scores of lesser demons through to clog the way when his enemies reached this place.

In addition to that, under command from the Lord of the Legion, he was pouring magical energy, siphoned from the madness and demise of the Blue Dragon Aspect, in order to open a gateway large enough for an Avatar of Sargaras to enter Azeroth once more.

It had been countless years, well before the Guardian Medievh was even born, that an Avatar of the Legion Lord walked this world and later was defeated by the Magna, locked away in the depth of the sea. The mortals wouldn't stand a chance when Varimathras succeeded.

"What is this?" came the gruff voice of the Orcish Warchief.

The Horde being the first to arrive, but with three separate demon portals funneling hapless minions into the Dark Horde's tunnel, it was expected. The Nathrezim turned to face the Shaman, "Welcome to your future—what little there is left of it…" he said, even as more portals appeared to disgorge Fel stalkers, wild imps, and brutish felguards for the orc and his guard to battle.

"To battle!" the Warchief cried, even as the dogs of his army started in futility to breach the imposing wall of demons that Varimathras summoned.

Magic rushed through the demon's form, delicious in its sensation, even as he corrupted it into Fel and channeled it into stabilizing and widening a gateway for the Avatar. "Such power!" he exclaimed, relishing the surge, "Can you not feel it, mortals? Cease this foolishness and join me!"

"I think not, Nathrezim," another voice from the tunnel behind the dais said, and while Varimathras was too far into the throes of his spell to look, he knew that Nobu'tan and the Dark Horde had arrived at last.

"I've tasted the power you are savoring, and I know the price that comes with it. Never again will I allow the Legion to decimate another world under my watch!" the Warlock declared, blasted through demons as he advanced on Varimathras.

"Yes, need we remind your "allies" that you and I are not too dissimilar, warlock," Varmathras taunted, pushing buttons that he knew would incite the warlock to anger. If the options were death or imprisonment, he would gladly take the release back into the nether and return to his brothers' side to continue their many folded plot for the entirety of reality.

"I am nothing like you, monster," Nobu'tan replied, leveling a hand glowing with Fel energy at the demon portal that the Dreadlord was struggling to keep open.

The weight of the mortal's magic was astounding he had to admit. Commanding more demons to attack, Varimathras fought to keep the tear open, but he could not manage to widen it even an inch. "I need more time…" he breathed, "The Master is near…"

"You master will not come through this day, or any other," Nobu'tan declared, and the weight of his mastery over the Fel grew, shocking even the Nathrezim. He had greatly underestimated just how strong with the Legion's magic that the man had grown, and he started to rapidly lose ground on his portal.

"I cannot hold… Destabilizing!" he muttered, fighting for all he was worth.

"YOU HAVE FAILED ME, VARIMATHRAS!" boomed the voice of Sargaras from the collapsing portal, even as the tear through the nether was snuffed out by the weight of the warlock Nobu'tan.

"A thousand-thousand pardons, Master," Varimathras said, releasing the magic and flexing his claws, "I will deal with these intruders myself!"

He lunged; wings splayed as he slashed at the impudent whelp that had sought to defy the Legion with their own magic.

Only to meet an equally strong, demonic claw of the warlock's own. Nobu'tan had changed, his form melting into a demonic-mortal hybrid, much as the former demon hunter Illidan Stormrage had become toward his latter end.

"Well, well," Varimathras said, dodging back, even as he sensed his rearguard defeated by the Forces of Thrall and Sylvanas, "I can say that this is unexpected…"

"You will be answering a great many questions, demon," the warped voice of the Dark Horde's leader stated, even as he started to bend Fel magic in an attempt to capture the Dreadlord in bonds of subjugation.

"We shall see," Varimathras said, already stepping to the side as a black-feathered arrow zipped past him, sent by the Banshee Queen.