Keeping somewhat ahead of the line of my chapters, even as we near the encounter with the Lich King himself.

Chapter 176

The Upper Chambers

Blaise fumed as he slashed through another festering ghoul.

Leaving it to bloody Nobu'tan to enter the citadel of yet another world ending threat, and only take a small handful of his loyal followers. On top of that, to do this while surrounded by those of other factions, some of whom in Blaise's opinion were just as likely to betray them as fight alongside them. It galled the assassin, but he was still in no position to make demands of the Grand Warlock, as Lucius or Draco could.

Therefore, he did the only thing that he could, and took out the frustration on the rotting undead that continued to try to retake the entrance of the citadel from the united force of the various world-factions. Fel flames leaped off his blades as he dodged rotting limbs and grasping claws, but defeating the mindless minions was not a viable solution to maintaining their hold on the gates long-term.

They needed something more permanent, either a ward to keep the undead at bay for a time, or else more firepower to give the force the breathing room they needed. The problem was, they needed time to think of something to achieve that.

Just then, a thunderous roar sounded from outside the Horror Gate. A fresh wave of undead warriors poured inside, elite death knights among them. Following in their wake were powerful necromancers, eager to animate the scores of dead and dying from both sides.

Sighing in exasperation, Blaise gathered his magic again, knowing that the others would be hampered by the Death Knights and therefore unable to reach the necromancers as quickly as he could to stop their vile magic from corrupting their fallen. The problem was that this new unit seemed well aware of their capabilities, and thrust into the weakest part of their line starting to break them apart, right where the two Hordes linked, trying to drive a wedge between them and force their forces through to the steps of the citadel.

For a frozen moment, Blaise could only watch as the lead riders made their way to the base of the steps, before something changed. The constant whine of the Dark Horde's bagpipes, droning on and on with the steady beat of Scotland the Brave, taken from their homeworld so long ago, stopped.

A new song started to play, one that Blaise did not know. A fast-paced beat of drums was followed by high and wild piping from the young banner units, kept so far from the fighting that they could only be seen by the flags of the various clans and units that they represented. For the longest time, Blaise had put little thought or attention to the young orcs, trolls, and ogres who had made up the musical unit, thinking them little more than a luxury for morale to those that wavered in their devotion to the cause, or else as an indulgence mixed with useful need for communication.

But now, with this song, something not made of earth, but pure and new from Azeroth, Blaise felt his own heart start to beat with the thrum of the drums, and understood something from when he was still a child.

He remembered all the way back in Hogwarts, when as eleven-year-old first years, he and the other Slytherins had scoffed at the stupid Hogwarts song that Dumbledore had made them sing, and again every year afterward. However, greater still were the words that the old man had said very year, "Music, a magic beyond all we do here."

The music united them, it pounded within them, stronger than any Fel-empowered bloodlust from an ogre mage or shaman. And so long as that music played, they would fight on. Answering the change of tune came a baleful howl, and a multitude of silver-white forms leapt from the highest steps, claws and fangs flashing as Fenrir Greyback and his pack charged into the fight.

The undead had no chance against the maddened werewolves of the Dark Horde, and soon the tops of the steps were crowded with every musician in the Dark Horde, stamping and pounding their feet along with their wild music, inspiring every warrior of Horde, Dark Horde, and Alliance to battle.

Blaise shook himself at last from his stupor, and sprinted into the thick of the fray, weaving nimbly through arms, hooves, blade, and claw toward his prey. The necromancers thought they would break the spirit of Azoerht's defenders.

They thought wrong.

Blaise had never uttered words in orcish before, under the power of his own voice, relying on Nobu'tan translation charms to do the work needed. But here, with the heat of battle and the pounding of his own heart, he felt the moment press upon him as he leapt from the din at the first of the necromancers.

"LOK'TAR OGAR!" he screamed, feeling like his voice would tear asunder itself.

The undead human turned in horror at the sudden closeness of the assassin, and fell backward, trying in vain to escape the blades that found his rotten flesh.

The other whirled, only to rear back as a blade punched through his sternum. A troll, pale blue with white ash masking his face, rose up from behind the necromancer. "For da Darkspear…" the troll muttered to his victim, withdrawing his weapon gracefully and glancing calculatingly at Blaise.

Blaise had heard of this troll, the leader of the tribe that following Warchief Thrall… This was Vol'jin of the Darkspear, a troll as crafty as he was fast. He was among the last people that Blaise had ever wanted to meet on any battlefield where they stood against each other.

But another great explosion drew their attention away, even as a gout of flame blossomed up from one of the many ramparts on the citadel. From the Fel Green hue of the fire, there could be no doubt that Nobu'tan was there, among the others of the assault group, making their progress up the citadel toward where the Lich King resided.

"We need ta be givin' dem as much time as we dare…" Vol'jin said, and Blaise could only nod in agreement, before the pair started back into the thick of the fighting, picking out the strongest targets to eliminate before they could inflict too much damage on their defensive force.

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Jaina looked down over the battle in the inner courtyard of Icecrown. Their forces has swiftly clear the area of the first row of battlements around the teleporter exit, and were slowly working their way around the parapet, but the battle below kept drawing her attention.

At first, it had seemed as though the Scourge was about to gain ground, but something about the energy of the defenders had changed, and they were holding their own. Giving a sidelong glance at Nobu'tan, Jaina saw that the part-demon was also watching the conflict below as they circled the battlements. If she was confident in her guess, the Sorceress wouldn't be surprised if the warlock wanted to throw himself from the citadel and envelope the Scourge forces on the ground in a singular burst of Felflame, protecting their rearguard on his own.

In a way, she could see the noble heart that this former human held, despite all outward changes. "The line will hold behind us," she said, hoping to reassure him, and the eyes glowing with demonfire turned to look at her.

"I know," he said, the longing palpable in his voice, "but I cannot lose a single one of them, not if there is something I could do to prevent it."

"You are doing all you can," Jaina affirmed, "Stopping Arthas will end the threat, I'm certain of that."

As though summoned by the name of their master, a baleful shriek sounded above, and a torrent of winged horrors descended on their forces at that moment.

The explosion of demonic magic that reacted almost sent Jaina from her feet, but Draco was at her side, and she was able to grab him to steady herself.

The rage pouring from the Grand Warlock at the undead was shuddering, and the magic would be able to be felt by every warrior below, and for many miles from this place.

"Fight on Brothers!" bellowed Highlord Fordragon, charging at their grounded foes with Varrok Saurfang and the orcish paladin of the Dark Horde at his side.

"FOR THE HORDE!" roared Hellscream, his cry ringing in the wake of the other lights and sounds, his axes a whirling dervish as he bit at the heels of the first wave of their warriors.

Jaina only took a moment to register that their voices and spells were clearly visible to those on the ground, and they knew that their fight was not in vain, so she added her own voice, to boost the morale of those left behind, "For the Alliance!"

Blasting through the next wave of the enemy, Jaina spotted fighting ahead of their force, where a mix of Horde and Alliance were battling to clear the way toward them. Farseers and Sorceress were pitted against a group of the nerubian spiders, their magic blasting off the hardened carapaces of their enemies.

"Thank goodness you arrived when you did," one of the paladin vindicators of the Skybreaker brigade said, turning to them as they pushed through and slaughtered the nerubians. "The ships are just ahead, if you hurry you can make it before this area is overrun again."

Just ahead there was another knot of mixed warriors, guarding the ramps to the two massive airships of the Horde and Alliance. "Aka'Magosh, brave warriors," a Kor'kron guard said, slapping his chest as Overlord Saurfang approached him, "Make haste, we will secure the area until you are ready for take-off."

Jaina instinctively turned toward the Alliance ship, following after Muradin as the captain of the ship saluted the dwarf lord. It seemed that the Horde was going to take their own ship, leaving the Dark Horde to divide between them both to fill the extra places.

Draco, Nobu'tan, the Frost Troll Warlord, and the hulking ogre came with them to the Skybreaker, while the Death Knight, his undead associate, and the Paladin orc followed Saurfang and the Horde delegation to Ogrim's Hammer.

"Fire up the engines!" Muradin bellowed, "We got a meetin' with destiny, lads!"

"How are you faring, Muradin," Jaina asked, feeling the weight of something around the old dwarf. She knew that the warrior brother of the three Bronzebeard lords was very close to Arthas in his youth.

"The old wounds still linger, lass," he said looking at her mournfully, "I can feel 'em in me bones, even now. Aye, I got a score to settle with Arthas and ye can believe I'm gonna give that boy a beatin' I shoulda given 'im when he was a wee lad. Always knew there was something wrong with 'im."

Somehow, Jaina wasn't sure that was the truth, but she understood the pain etched in Muradin's voice. However, she was certain that the old dwarf would not easily get the chance he hoped for. Among their number, there was a long line of individuals with a grudge against the Lich King for actions both in life and after his fall into undeath.

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Sylvanas paused to glance over at the old orc veteran, Varrok Saurfang, as he started to bellow orders to the crew of Ogrim's Hammer. "Rise up, sons and daughters of the Horde! Today we battle a hated enemy of the Horde! LOK'TAR OGAR! Kor'kron, take us out, follow the Skybreaker to the upper reaches!"

The old warrior was something of a mystery at times to the Banshee Queen. She understood well enough the presence of many of those who were part of this battle, but aside from aide to the fledgling Garrosh Hellscream, Saurfang seemed out of place among their assault team.

As though sensing her gaze, Varrok turned toward her, and a cold steel filled his eyes, the likes of which she had not expected to see. "You wonder why I am here," he said, piercing through to the heart of her thoughts, and setting the Banshee of edge with his wisdom. "I had heard tale of my boy being here," Varrok said, turning to look at the citadel as the ship ascended, "That he's now a powerful death knight in the service of the Lich King. If this is true, then it must be me that ends the bloodline."

And that was the answer. Sylvanas had no response to give, as she knew that anything would sound hollow and empty for her to say. Saurfang would never outright say it, possibly not even truly believed it, but in his heart, he blamed Sylvanas for his son's death at the Wrath Gate.

Well, she thought snidely, he was right. While the death of any member of the Horde was not strictly part of her agenda, the opportunity to destroy the Lich King had presented itself, and any and all sacrifices had to be made to weaken him. All that it meant now is that she wanted to keep this wily veteran as close to her as possible, to make sure that he never learned the full truth of the matter, as his pull with the orcs of the Horde, and even the Dark Horde, was immense.

Suddenly the orc whirled, and Sylvanas heard the beating of wings coming in as he shouted the warning. "Frost Wyrms!"

The chilling roar sounded far overhead, and more of the flying horrors of the Scourge dropped from the cloud covering the highest reaches of the citadel. Ahead of them, the Skybreaker's weapons flashed and went wild, spewing projectiles in all directions.

Hissing an enchantment, Sylvanas loosed a quick trio of arrows, downing some of the smaller gargoyles that escorted the massive undead dragons down upon their position.

It seemed as though they would be sitting ducks, as the Scourge minions were far more mobile than their ships, when a blast of green flame surged upward from below the ships.

The Dark Horde's dragonriders, breathing the demonic flames from their maws, surged up and around them, even as a massive creature soared in their midst. "Creatures of death, witness the flames that will extinguish you!" roared a full-grown Fel Dragon, its eyeless sockets ablaze with Felfire. "I am Atramedes, first of the Fel Flight, and you will be reduced to ashes!"

Under the sudden onset of a draconic war around them, Ogrim's Hammer slipped out of the conflict and circled the tower, ascending quickly to find a place to unload them all. Glancing at the other members of the Dark Horde, Sylvanas could see the smirk playing about the Death Knight's minion. Their faction grew more dangerous with every passing moment.

Saurfang was the first to leap down the plank as soon as they found where the Skybreaker had stopped. "Kor'kron, move out!" he ordered, taking command of securing their landing site.

"Let's get a move on then!" the dwarf lord of the Alliance shouted, organizing the Alliance warriors, "Move ou…"

However, their progress was halted as the gateway into the Citadel opened, and a single orc emerged, clad in black plate mail and carrying an axe that echoed with soul magic.

"Join me, father…" the undead form of the younger Saurfang said, stepping forward and glaring with the cold blue eyes of the Scourge-bound at the High Overlord. "Join me and we will crush this world in the name of the Scourge… for the glory of the Lich King!"

"My boy died at the Wrath Gate. I am here only to collect his body." Saurfang said, his voice downright icy with how suppressed his emotions were.

"Stubborn and old. What chance do you have? I am stronger, and more powerful than you ever were." The death knight retorted, but Sylvanas was surprised to note the uncertainty in the undead. The High Overlord seemed uncaring, and it was actually intimidating the raised warrior.

"We named him Dranosh. It meant "Heart of Draenor" in orcish. I would not let the warlocks take him. My boy would be safe, hidden away by the elders of Garadar." Saurfang continued, steadying himself to fight the body of his son by disassociating him from the young orc who had died. "I made a promise to his mother before she died; that I would cross the Dark Portal alone – whether I lived or died, my son would be safe. Untainted…"

The steel returned to Varok's words as he suddenly hefted his weapon and started forward with purpose, "Today, I fulfill that promise."

"BY THE MIGHT OF THE LICH KING!" the death knight shouted, rushing to meet his father in battle, even as the others charged in to support the Horde hero.

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Garrosh was aghast at the corpse of his friend and fellow commander of the Horde, so strung up and controlled by their sworn enemy. Much as his beliefs for what future the Horde needed conflicted with both Saurfangs, he would not shrink away at the task before them. Old Varrok had every right to claim the bodt of his son, and by his honor as Hellscream, Garrosh would see it done.

Gorehowl sang through the air as he sprinted after the old veteran of the early wars of the horde on Azeroth, feeling the blood thrum in his veins as he let the rage of battle overtake him. The Death Knight may have been prepared for his former father's attack, but Garrosh fell upon him with a fury that rivaled all others.

Together, the two orc commanders unleashed the pent up emotions of an entire campaign, as well as a grieving father and friend, onto the monster that wore the skin of son and friend. Garrosh was blind to the movements of the rest of the attack force, but he was partially aware of other forces they were contending with, lost behind his rage and determination to put the soul of Saurfang the Younger to rest.

Blocking a nasty swing that was mean for Varrok, Garrosh threw the Death Knight back a step, opening his midsection for the arcanite reaper of his father, the legendary axe biting deeply into the blackened armor of the Scourge. Gorehowl screamed in answer, and together the two orcs leveraged the undead off his feet and sent him crashing to the stone ground of the landing.

"The ground runs red with your blood!" the Death Knight bellowed, trying to use his necromancy on them, and despite a multitude of cuts ripping open across his body, Garrosh felt nothing, even as he planted a gauntleted fist into the face of his former rival and friend.

Blood ruptured from the mouth of Saurfang the Younger, even as he coughed and wheezed.

"It is finished," Garrosh said, feeling his battle rage dissipating. The undead would not survive, and a grieving father would be able to take his son for burial, back on their homeworld.

"I…am…released…" Dranosh said, the blue of undead fading from his eyes for a brief moment as he looked upon both Garrosh and Varrok. For his part, Garrosh thought he saw something like gratitude in those eyes, but they dimmed just as quickly.

Varrok gathered the body of his son to him, and after a shuddering cough, started to weep, his emotions pouring over. Placing a hand on the shoulder of the older orc, Garrosh offered what comfort he could, "I cannot say I was the closest friend to Dranosh, but I swear to you, I will make sure his memory is honored in every action that the Horde takes this day forward."

But Saurfang had no words for Garrosh, focused completely on the face of his son, "You will have a proper ceremony in Nagrand next to the pyres of your mother and ancestors."

Effortlessly, Varrok lifted the body of his son into his arms, the Scourge weapon falling with a clatter to the stones. Turning slowly, Saurfang pierced Garrosh with a steely gaze, "Honor, young Hellscream… no matter how dire the battle… never forget it."

The words stabbed deep in Garrosh's very soul. He knew, deep down, there were many things that he had said and done that flew in the face of what was honorable, especially related to Thrall and the warchief's handling of the Horde. He hadn't trusted that the older orc had wisdom enough to lead effectively, in times of relative peace and truce.

Perhaps… perhaps he needed to reevaluate the meaning of honor, and take more of the actions of Dranosh Saurfang upon himself.

He would start here, with something simple, yet profound. Taking up the Scourge axe that Saurfang the Younger had wielded against them, Garrosh's eye sought out the Dark Horde Death Knight, who had inadvertently returned the weapon of his father to Garrosh.

Striding up to the undead corpse, he offered the Scourge weapon. "You graciously gifted me a weapon in the midst of battle, when need was dire, and perhaps unknowingly returned a family's weapon of to its rightful bearer. As I cannot part with Gorehowl upon matters of honor, returning a weapon of equal worth and power is what duty calls for. Accept this in its place…"

The Death Knight said nothing, looking calculatingly at Garrosh with the intense red eyes, but the Mag'har stood his ground, refusing to allow even a bead of annoyance cross his face. This was honor, and he would endure whatever scorn was thrown at him, for the sake of the memory of Dranosh.

"I take this gift as it was offered," the Death Knight wheezed, cold hands grasping the shaft of the axe, and tucking it away where Gorehowl had once rested on his back. "And recognize the debt repaid with every merit of honor to you, your lineage, and your race."

Garrosh nodded, understanding the acceptance for what it was, and turned away. He did still greatly detest undead, and all their vile magic, but he would force himself to learn tolerance for those who were different, so long as they dealt honorable with him and those under his command.

"The pathway is open! Only the Dragon matriarch, Sindragosa, stands between the Lich King and us…" said the human paladin, Tirion Fordring, "Justice comes soon…"

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Lucius looked over the inner courtyard with a critical eye. The newest push against their lines didn't sit right with him. It had been too simple for them to throw back the attacks of the Scourge so far, and it may have been his paranoia, or else battle senses from the old days back on Terra, but Lucius felt as though the real attack was still forthcoming.

Therefore, he refused to let any of the Dark Horde warriors relax, but they could fall back to a support role for the other factions as the skeleton and ghoul waves started to ebb away.

The frostwyrms and gargoyles were caught up high above them fighting with the Feldrakes and their leader, and that left them with a strange and disjointed lull in direct conflict.

"What do you sense," Blaise Zabini said, the young man appearing at Lucius' side.

"they cannot reach us on ground or by air," Lucius said slowly, thinking swiftly with what information he knew of the forces of the Lich King, "That leaves them one major avenue to try and surprise us."

"The spider tunnels…" Blaise affirmed, even as the ground started to hum and rumble.

With a roar of cracking ice, the ground erupted all around the lower portions of the courtyard, unleashing a torrent of the undead spiders and their scarab minions. "Feel the venom of Nerub!" bellowed a massively built Crypt Lord.

"Anub'arak…" Blaise said, catching Lucius' ear, "The undead king of the crypt fiends."

"There is no doubt that he is the leader of this counterassault," Lucius replied, "We will focus out long range on him specifically, and let those on the front lines weather the storm of his minions."

"It won't be that easy…" Blaise argued, shaking his head, "this one is crafty, and not likely to fall for another deception like the one we had to use when we passed from Dragonblight to here."

"You've faced this monster before, then," Lucius commented. "Good, you'll be useful bait to keep him still while we annihilate him."

"Rise, minions," Anub'arak commanded, sending up another surge of undead spiderlings, "Devour!"

The assassin darted off, presumably to enter the melee at a point of advantage, leaving Lucius to organize the Ogre Magi and the other warlocks of the Black Harvest to bombard the courtyard with Felfire.

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Nobu'tan felt the visible chill wash over him as the assault force proceeded onward, without Varrok Saurfang. The old orc warrior had chosen to take the body of his son back to the Horde encampment in their gunship, leaving only the Alliance one to extract the rest of them when they confronted the Lich King.

Entering the upper second of the tower, the Grand Warlock could see the flow of magic running up and down the hollow central shaft, like the power core of some goblin machine, while the path ahead split into three separate sections of the upper citadel.

"We have a plethora of threats ahead of us," Fordring stated, his eyes glowing with the Holy Light as he scanned the paths ahead. "Each of them hold a piece of the final seal that bars our way to Arthas, and we cannot allow any of them to bolster their defenses once they learn that they are under siege."

Nobu'tan narrowed his eyes. He didn't like where this idea was going, but nothing that the Paladin said was false.

"So be it," he said at last, stepping forward and toward the right pathway around the spire, where he sensed some warped version of the arcane, which of the three paths intrigued him the most. Unsurprisingly, Teg'Ramm and Sirius Black immediately followed suit, the pair of them almost hovering in their desire to protect Nobu'tan specifically. Amaryllis Parkinson also joined them, the steel in her eyes unnerving as they stood in the halls of the undead, who were responsible for the death of her daughter.

The Scarlet Crusade Commander, one of the stranger members of their force, followed Black instinctively, like a moth being led about by a flickering flame. Curious of all was the Banshee Queen stepping forward to join them, alongside a Blood Elf Magister, and the High Elven Ranger General from the Alliance.

Strangely enough, the pair of elven females seemed distinctly similar, despite the fact that Sylvanas was undead. Clearly, they were known to each other, as the living Elf's eyes were unmoving from the undead one, albeit the Queen of the Forsaken spared not even a moment of time for the other archer.

While their force started away, Nobu'tan glanced back to see the rest circling to the left. They probably were still planning who would continue to the far side, and which members would divert to the first section that they would pass.

He was forced to give up his momentary curiosity as they entered the side chamber, and the source of the strange arcane magic was revealed.

It was blood magic.

Several undead elves, faces gaunt and pale, stood around an orb of floating blood, draining and enchanting the glob as other undead hovered around them, as though guarding their instruction as a minor lich oversaw their ritual.

"Bring them down quickly, before they sound the alarm," Sylvanas called, already firing an arrow into the floating orb of blood. The magic ruptured, drenching the surrounding undead and causing some of them to start to burn.

Seizing the opportunity, Nobu'tan launched a blast of Felfire, setting the blood ablaze, and letting green flames spread in a wide circle around the chamber.

The others charged in amid the chaos that the sudden assault caused, not letting the Scourge forces recover from the disrupted ritual, and cut them all down within moments.

"I sense them…" Madam Parkinson said, stepping forward and extending her wand, a flash of light indicating a revelio charm, "The vile creatures that led the assault on Stormwind, and threatened our people…"

"These things…" Sylvanas said, kicking one of the dead elves, "Are called the San'layn… undead Blood Elves that the Lich King took when he defeated Kael'thas and Illidan here long ago…"

Nobu'tan glanced at the Banshee Queen, raising an eyebrow at the unsolicited explanation. It was also interesting that she, not having contact with the Scourge at that time, would know this level of detail.

"I would ask, Dark Lady, where you procured that information, but it does not change the fact that we will be facing more of them shortly…" he said, allowing the chill in the air accompany his voice to her, before nodding at Teg'Ramm and Black to lead the way.

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Draco was not eager to face off against a Frost Wyrm so soon after their mad dash in the air from below, so he eagerly volunteered to detour off to fight the abomination works at the first opportunity. Jaina stepping forward to join him was a welcome addition, as Draco didn't think the Sorceress' frost magic would work well on the Queen of the ice dragons…

Less welcome was the Kalimdor Horde's leader, Garrosh Hellscream, who had huffed as he stepped forward, gripping the two-handed axe tightly as he surveyed the undead massed before them. Lord Maxwell and another Paladin of the Ardent Crusade joined them, in addition to the Chieftain of the Dawn's Hammer, Bannok Grimaxe.

Bolvar Fordragon also opted to join them, and shaking his head, the Dwarf Muradin Bronzebeard stepped forward. "Can' let Lady Proudmoore outta me sight," he said with a shrug, "she above all needs protecting in these halls." He said when questioned about his choice.

Draco was inclined to agree, but he wasn't sure about their overall configuration. With one two orcs, and one of them potentially volatile against humans as well as their enemies, it was dangerous for so many of the Alliance to be present. But, even as he kept his eyes on the Kalmidor Horde warrior, Draco sensed that something about the orc was different than before. While the anger and pride were still present, he was channeling a great amount of control and restraint, ever since the old orc departed their company with his dead son.

Still, they had a job to do, and questioning each other of their motives was unproductive. They marched forward into the green glowing corridor, but halted when a voice sounded far ahead, almost gleeful in its melodic dancing, "Good news, everyone! I think I've perfected a plague that will destroy all life on Azeroth!"

The notion was chilling, and even as hulking abominations started forward against them from the direction of the voice, Draco felt the need for urgency against the declaration. As if they needed yet another threat against their world in this place…

Their melee fighters, orc, dwarf, and human alike, charged forward to contend with the flailing hooks and cleavers of their enemies, while Draco and Jaina sent up a surge of magic to hinder and maim the undead from afar.

However, the situation only grew worse as they entered the main intersection of the area. With baying howls, two massive, stitched hounds pounded down either side at their group, forcing a quit shift of their formation to intercept the undead creatures on two fronts.

Turning instinctively to the right first, Draco released a blast of shadow magic, leveling curses designed to devour undead flesh and waste away the enchantments keeping the beast functional. The spells took immediate effect, the corroded flesh starting to melt away and fall in droves to the ground.

Several solid strikes from the axe of the brown-skinned orc, and the beast collapsed in a festering mess, electing a roar of pain from farther down the passage. "What? Precious? Nooooo!"

A shattering crash behind them told Draco, without needing to look, that Jaina had helped in bringing down the other hound. "Nooo! You kill Stinky! You pay!" shouted a halting voice from beyond that side, and from both ends of the corridor another pair of stitched abominations lumbered into view. Clearly, these, things, were the owners of the misshapen hounds, the perverted children of this mad scientist that served the Lich King.

Clearly, they had the minds of little children, which made them all the more heinous to even exist. Nevertheless, the two of them charged forward gleefully, and the force of Azeroth had to deal with them quickly. The one in front of Draco was dripping thick, green ooze from its mouth, as though drooling, while behind she could smell a horrendous stench above the normal death and decay that permeated these halls.

Switching tactics, and although he was not nearly as proficient with it as Nobu'tan or others of the Black Harvest, Draco called upon the flames of the Fel, sending them blasting forward, hoping that the ooze was flammable.

The horrid wailing and intense smell of charring flesh was his reward, and proof that his theory about the ooze was true. "Bad news daddy…" the creature said childishly, even as it fell in a flaming heap.

"Terrible news, everyone, Rotface is dead!" the insidious voice said, before perking up as though nothing of consequence had occurred. "But great news everyone, he left behind plenty of ooze for me to use!"

Drowning out the inane babble, Draco turned his attention to the other giant abomination, trying to figure out how he could help bring it down. Felfire was out of the question, as the noxious gasses it was emitting would incinerate their own forces as well.

The answer came in the form of a short, irritated dwarf launching himself at the creature as if a miniature boulder fired from a trebuchet. "For Khaz Modan!" he bellowed, his hammer and axe crackling with lightning as he forced the lumbering form backward and, as a byproduct, neutralizing the gas as the electric discharge ionized the air around the dwarf.

In a whirl of steel the abomination was chopped into pieces, without even managaging to get a full word of warning out to its creator. Not that it needed to, apparently, as the mad voice sang out again as it fell, "Oh Festergut. You were always my favorite. Next to Rotface. The good news is you left behind so much gas, I can practically taste it!"

Already sick and tired of this madman, Draco turned toward the central passage, which tilted upward in a steep incline to some kind of overlook, which smelled much like Snape's old classroom from so long ago.

"Let's end this," Bolvar said, leading the way as they pushed past the last undead blocking their way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bellatrix practically sang with magic at her Lord's side, as they marched with purpose toward the final passed, with the paladins, death knights, and old orc warrior around them.

"Sindragosa is the key of the Lich King's aerial dominance of Icecrown," Tirion Fordring explained, "Destroying her will allow more of our forces to take wing and help the battle below to keep out way out clear."

"Ready your arms," the other Death Knight, an orc, said, even as the way ahead filled with more of the hulking human-like undead, "The Vrykul will protect the Frost Queen with their lives.

From behind the lines of these speedbumps, Bellatrix could see another of her new form, a Valkyr, decend from above, using magic to bolster the rows of undead arrayed against them. "You may have once fought beside me, Crok, but now you are nothing more than a traitor. Come, your second death approaches!"

Predictably, the irrational sense of orcs erupted with the bestial roar of their kind, and both the Death Knight and his living counterpart hurtled straight into the ranks of their enemies. Bellatrix barely managed to roll her eyes before she set off with her Lord and the others, cleaving a way through the undead ranks to reach the far side, and the other Valkyr that barred them passage.

"Come Scourgebane, I'll show the Lich King which one of us is truly worth of the title, champion!" the winged undead taunted, and Bella had to give it to her, she knew exactly how to goad the rampaging creatures onward. A pity that she would not survive.

The Dark Lord cleaved his way to the front, both of his blades humming as they devoured the remaining life essence that lingered in the bodies of his victims.

Bellatrix supported as she could, her own magic washing over their allies and erupting in bursts of shadow across their enemies, faltering their lines and revealing gaps and weaknesses that the paladins with their vaunted Light could exploit. Twice the other valkyr tried to hurl a deadly spear into their ranks, but Bella blocked it with her own magic, until at last they reached her on the little dais she floated over. Them the real fun began as they surrounded her.