It feels very strange, so have my chapter updates be so far apart these days. But seeing how long it has taken just to push ahead by one chapter written, I can understand why others lag so heavily on their scheduling, in light of real life and all its demands. I am hoping that I am starting to return to a more workable writing segment of life, thanks in no small part to Spring Break giving me time that was sorely needed, but we shall see for the time being. Patiences my readers, all will come as it needs to. Enjoy the next chapter! ~F
Chapter 170
The God of Death
Sylvanas was quite amused that little Proudmoore had been the one to track down her team of dark rangers as they made their way into the shadow of Icecrown Citadel. According to her spies in the Horde's ranks, there was a weakness here, that could allow access into the innermost chambers of the Lich King's private retreat, and she hoped to find a perfect location to set up an ambush, and eliminate the head of this beast before any of the major fighting even started.
Once that was accomplished, the Forsaken could slowly withdraw from the battle with the mindless Scourge, and return to their own lands to start the next phase of her long plan. But at the same time, she was hesitant. Sylvanas was not sure what would happen once the Lich King was dead at her feet. All her motivation over the years since her awakening as this hideous creature had been fueled by vengeance, and she could not see what lay beyond that if she was to succeed.
Perhaps she felt that she would fail at the critical moment, just as she had before the gates of Silvermoon, and fall to the accursed blade once more, just to open the way for Arthas' defeat at another's hands…
Furthermore, perhaps that was why the presence of the Sorceress was comforting to her, as another to carry the hope of her revenge forward if she failed.
However, before any of that could even hope to be decided, they had to reach the Halls of Reflection; they had to draw the attention of the defenders away. That in turn had led them to this place, called the Forge of Souls, where the lives harvested by the necromancers of the Cult of the Damned were deposited to fuel the fowl purposes of the Scourge, and inhabit their contraptions and constructs.
"One of the Lich King's most trusted necromancers guards this place," Sylvanas said, more for the benefit of Proudmoore than her own warriors; they knew why they were here, and would obey her commands without question.
"In order to have access, and destroy this vile place, he will have to be slain." Sylvanas watched the young woman's eye as she informer her of this, but the icy demeanor did not falter. That was good, Sylvanas thought. It would serve her best to encase all her feelings in that same ice for when the time came to strike down Arthas.
The Banshee Queen had little knowledge of the goings on of those servants of the Lich King in Northrend, as she had broken free before Arthas had returned here, but the haughty arrogance of the robed human told her all she needed to know. This man relished his power over the souls he was consigning to damnation, and eliminating him would only benefit the world inevitably.
The circular platform held no high ground for them to strike from, which unfortunately meant that the Forsaken assault team had to make their presence known before engaging the necromancer, who was extremely quick to notice them and move to engage, "Finally, a captive audience!" he said, sounding sickeningly pleased.
Sylvanas and her rangers scattered, avoiding the blasts of shadow magic that the necromancer flung at them in torrents. Proudmoore took a different approach, raising a wall of ice to block the way of the spells, where they blasted chunks of frozen water in all directions.
Arrows flew from all sides of the room, and while the necromancer had no armor to speak of, it seemed he had already reinforced himself with his vile magic, and was still able to move and fight even though the black tipped arrows protruded from him like pins.
"I will sever the soul from your body!" he shouted, already starting to walk shakily, like the corpses that he created. The next blast of power struck several of the Dark Rangers, but Sylvanas dodged behind a pillar of ice that Proudmoore created.
Those who were hit screamed and crumpled as fragments of themselves were wrenched from their bodies, forming into a crystal the quickly started to approach the necromancer.
Charging a dark arrow with her own brand of shadow magic, Sylvanas threw herself back into the open and took aim. A blast of shadow struck her, but she gritted her teeth and loosed the arrow, shattering the crystal and freeing her warrior's spirits to return to their bodies.
Quickly taking cover once more, as another barrage of shadow crashed against the expanding ice from Proudmoore, Sylvanas took a moment to inspect the damage to herself. Her armor was blackened, and there was a bit of superficial damage to bone and flesh, but nothing that could not mend with time and some attention from the shadow priests of the Forsaken.
Leaping upward to gain advantage from height, Sylvanas released several more arrows at their opponent, striking the necromancer heavily in the torso. The man staggered backward, but still refused to drop. "Windrunner," he said, identifying her, "My Lord will be pleased when I give him your head…"
"Not likely, wretch," Sylvanas spat back, adding another arrow to the rest in the man's body.
"Ha," he laughed, spitting blood, "The vortes of the harvested calls to you! Give in and join them!"
The necromancer slammed his staff into the ground, released a storm of howling souls from the engine far below. The tormented spirits whirled about violently, tearing at anything and anyone that were unprotected.
"Hold on!" Proudmoore shouted over the generated wind, even as she allowed an explosion of icy wind to erupt from around her, countering the slashing souls and sending them scattering back into the trapped hellscape in the engine.
The necromancer at last was staggered back from the colliding vortexes, and Sylvanas was able to take a proper moment to aim her next arrow. The black feathered shift flew true, and spiked through the man's skull, ending him outright and causing the engine below to shudder as the will keeping it going ceased.
"The way is cleared," Proudmoore said, letting her control over the battlements of ice that had shielded Sylvanas' forces, "We can push forward to find a Scourge teleporter deeper into the citadel."
"Yes, we shall," the Banshee Queen said, glancing down into the grinding machinery of the Lich King's torture chamber and forge for the weaponry of his most powerful servants, "But before we go, there is one thing that is needful here."
Pulling out several small explosives, specially prepared from the remnants of the new plague that Putriss had masterfully created.
"That's…" Proudmoore started to say, but Sylvanas did not reply as she tossed the grenades into the twisted labyrinth of metal and death.
The plumbs of green fog spread swiftly through the lower portion of the forge, banishing the tormented souls and slaughtering the undead slaves that worked the forges.
"That will cause enough chaos to distract the Scourge's guard and allow us to slip into the inner chambers without too much trouble." Sylvanas said, gesturing for her Dark Rangers to move out to the next chamber.
The Sorceress brought up the rear, and lingered to watch as the plague swept through the underbelly of the Soul Grinder. Sylvanas watched her as Proudmoore tore her eyes away and met hers, challenging her to say something.
If the Sorceress of Theramore had qualms about this destruction of the Scourge's Soulforge, then she did not have the courage to voice it, and pressed on in the wake of the Dark Rangers.
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Nobu'tan snarled as he incinerated another of the mad followers of the Old Gods and their Void masters. The fact that the Twilight Hammer Cult had infiltrated even this far into an abandoned facility only enraged Nobu'tan more.
"Push through them, crush these traitors!" he commanded, and hurled a destructive bolt of chaos and arcane energy, which caused the unstable missile to explode at the slightest contact. Unfortunately, he had released the spell too soon in his eagerness to punish those who had turned away from the Horde, and the spell struck the far door, shattering it completely, and showering the fighting forces with shrapnel.
Still, the distraction was enough that many of the cultists were slaughtered by his more focused warriors, and the entry to the lower prison was cleared in short order.
Following in the wake of this new push forward, Nobu'tan felt the shift of the ambient magic in the air from the moment they passed through the now destroyed doorway. This place had been saturated with void magic for so long that it was starting to warp reality around them as they entered.
Whether the floating rubble and strange, shifting shadows were real or illusions; however, even he could not tell. That was the reason he had filled the ranks of this assault force with the strongest undead in the Dark Horde. Their minds could not be as readily affected by such deceptions, and the iron will to persist after death would be needed to be able to slay whatever avatar or beast was imprisoned here.
However, it seemed that mortal allies of these vile creatures had managed to penetrate even farther into the chamber. A large force of Twilight cultists waited for them in the next chamber, easily seen from the shattered ramp that the Dark Horde had to follow down from the upper sections of the Titan facility.
The ancient abominations were the major threat; however, especially the towering overlord that seemed to be guarding the rear chamber, and was clearly the one in command of the others.
Sending his ground forces forward to engage the cultists on the ground, Nobu'tan led his warlocks in a barrage of the Fel, seeking to purge the entire room of the countless years of shadow taint that threatened to warp their very minds against them.
"Your destruction will herald a new age of suffering!" the towering abomination bellowed, sending in his hulking guards to enter the fray, and forcing Nobu'tan to choose between sheltering his forces and taking down the massive, gibbering creatures.
One of the creatures went down quickly, a surprise barrage of arcane and fel slamming into it from their spell casters, toppling the massive being so that the melee forces could finish it. Unfortunately, the other was nearly out of range for even Nobu'tan, and had time to avoid the missiles and spells thrown at it, and started to slam its wriggling tendrils into the Blightbringer and Shadowmoon fighters that had taken to the front lines.
The hardiness of the undead was not to be underestimated, however, and Nobu'tan had to trust in the prowess of Teron Gorefiend and Voldemort as he ushered his Stormreavers forward, compressing the region of the battlefield that they controlled but bringing their firepower into range for the rest of this conflict.
The leader of their foes seemed content to wait and watch as his other lieutenant was slaughtered, the undead tearing the mass of flesh and madness to pieces, leaving him alone to protect the way forward for the Dark Horde.
"Behold, now! Terror, absolute!" he roared, as a surge of void magic erupted from the door behind the towering abomination, strengthening the being and making the stink of delirious magic even stronger around the servant of the Old Gods.
"Dark Horde, attack!" Nobu'tan commanded, coiling Fel power around him like a whip, and releasing a torrent of emerald green lightning at the charging behemoth, the raw Fel burning the air as it cut through above his forces.
Even as he did so, Nobu'tan felt magical strength leave him, unable to return because of the dreadful presence that they fought, and he knew that their ability to bolster their attack with raw magic would wane if they prolonged too much. "It's draining our mana away!" he shouted to the other casters, warning them to be extremely conservative with their spells, and willed his humanoid illusion to melt away. It was an unneeded waste of magic when it was limited, and his fighting ability would be heightened in his now natural, part-demonic form.
Wings fanned out, and Nobu'tan leapt into the air, the Glaive of Magtheridon manifesting in hand as he tore toward their foe, batting aside whipping tendrils and dodging the oversized claws of the monstrous, somewhat aquatic beast.
"Come now, puny mortal…" the beast said, its wordless voice piercing into Nobu'tan's mind, despite all training that Lucius had put him through in the wizarding arts of mental defense, "You surely don't think destroying the avatar of C'thun was enough to dissuade a prophecy thousands of years in the making? You will herald the onslaught of our Black Empire, and whether it be C'thun, Yogg-Saron, or even N'zoth leading it, it matters not…"
"Then I will spend every ounce of my being unraveling your precious prophecy until none of your wretched beings remain!" Nobu'tan shouted, driving the Fel-infused blade into the hardened carapace of the creature.
The beast laughed, its voice booming through Nobu'tan mind, even as one of the claws finally found him, swatting him through the air to crash roughly against one of the far walls. "We are inevitable, mortal… You cannot hope to destroy us all, unless like your precious Legion you are willing to destroy all of creation itself!"
"I do not believe it," Nobu'tan said, rising and grasping the charged Fel weapon to support himself. A priest of the Shadowmoon clan rushed over to heal him, but the Grand Warlock waved him off. The mana was better used on those without as much resilience as himself. "I will not…"
The hulking abomination seemed to consider his resolve for a moment, and Nobu'tan sensed, more than saw, a flicker of genuine concern flash through it, as though it feared that perhaps Nobu'tan might indeed succeed in what he threatened. However, after a moment it was gone, and the massive beast was back to fighting with the hordes of Death Knights that had come from the two undead-oriented clans of the Dark Horde.
Scanning the creature quickly, Nobu'tan found the point where he had first harmed it. The armor-like shell was cracked and weakened, the Fel alone seeming to inflict most damage to it over even the death magic of the Blightbringers and Shadowmoon clans.
It was apparently, if you know what you were looking at, that the creature was aware of this dire injury, and was moving to protect that entire side from the attacking undead all around it, which meant that they had to strike hard and fast at that point if they wanted to down the beast and proceed.
Dismissing the Glaive, Nobu'tan drew forth the Fel Scpeter he had taken from the hand of Kil'jaeden, and called for the mages and warlocks to gather around him. "Join your powers with mine, and focus it here. He end this now!" he commanded, summoning a large amount of power out o the Nether to the head of the scepter, so that it gleamed with glowing Fel energy.
The arcane and Fel bursts of power surged to join his own magic, and Nobu'tan used the focus of the implement to shape the writing magic, a torrential orb of clashing power, formed of creating order and destroying chaos.
This target was far too large to dodge easily, and distracted as it was, the brute would never see the approaching doom bolt before it was too late.
It took all his control to funnel magic slowly into the orb, so that he did not become exhausted in the draining aura of their enemy, but as soon as he felt that the orb would not handle any more without rupturing prematurely he began the final preparations. Quickly, useing the innate power of the staff, Nobu'tan sent the orb of power through a Fel portal into the Nether itself, rocketing through planes unknown toward a second rift that he tore directly over the abomination blocking their way.
The melee fighters saw the spell coming, and leapt back as it came thundering down upon the towering beast. The echoing screech was wholly unnatural, and explained to Nobu'tan why the beasts spoke telepathically as much as possible, but it did swiftly perish. The body was rendered down to a fine ash from the power of the Fel and Arcane bearing down on it.
As the creature vanished, the dreadful aura of draining power lifted, and mana rushed back into Nobu'tan from the world around him, refreshing him and lifting what felt like weighted limbs.
The door beyond, with the power keeping it barred now gone, swung wide to reveal the final chamber, where the miasma of Void magic congealed like a thick mist along the ground. A single figure stood within, beckoning toward Nobu'tan to come to her. But the Grand Warlock was no fool, and knew that anything he saw at this point may be some form of illusion.
"The time to strike at the head of the beast will soon be upon us! Focus your anger and hatred upon his minions!" the woman cried, even as the clouds of Void-touched mist manifested themselves as more of the writhing horrors.
With his magic returned to him, however, Nobu'tan was not willing to play the games of some mind-warping creature. "No," he said, releasing a wave of Felfire to incinerate all the creatures, as well as burn away the gaseous magic of the Void, allowing them to enter without succumbing to the illusions of the Old God. "We will not fall for your tricks any longer!" he declared.
"It would be better for you, in the end…" the woman said, stilling herself completely, unnaturally. "Because I am the lucid dream… the monster in your nightmares… the fiend of a thousand faces!"
The voice warped, and within moment the woman melted away, as a hideous head, bulging eyes dotting the entirely to the fleshy blob, and a mouth wide and filled with razor sharp fangs. "Cower before my true form! BOW DOWN BEFORE THE GOD OF DEATH!"
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Narcissa watched from afar, pride welling up inside of her, as little Aurora went through the motions of learning the druid's magical power over nature. Despite being a mere four, nearly five, years old, the youngest Malfoy was dedicatedly serious about anything related to these lessons in magic.
"Now little one," the tall Night Elf trainer said, "focus yourself and lend strength to these suffering plants."
The little girl was sticking out her tongue in concentration, even as little wisps of green life energy flowing off her hands and swirling around the bed of wilting flowers and ferns. The small garden, unkempt because of the residents being part of the Northrend campaign, quickly started surging back to life, as though watered freshly on a regular schedule for months.
"Your ability over the healing arts of druidism are profound, for one of your age and race," the Druid said, smiling down at little Aurora, who beamed at the praise.
"Mommy, mommy, did you see?!" her child said, turning and sprinting happily to Narcissa, "I made the flowers all happy again!"
"Yes, sweetie, I saw," Narcissa replied, bending down to hug the excited little girl.
"Your daughter is extremely powerful and talented," the Night Elf said, approaching gracefully, "It would behoove her training to spend some time among the greatest of the Archdruids in Darnassius. There is only so much we can teacher her here…"
"In time perhaps, but there is little opportunity to so easily depart for such a far destination," Narcissa said gently. She had no desire to go to this place, at least not without her entire family to ensure their safety during the voyage.
Taking Aurora by the hand, they bid the Druids farewell, and set off to return home. As they passed through the canals, however, there was a pulse of magic off toward the Cathderal District, which would not have been out of place if not for the deep darkness that the magic pulse contained.
"Mommy, what is it?" Aurora said, just as concerned as Narcissa had become.
"I don't think we want to find out," she said, leading her daughter away. A muttered spell sent her patronus off toward the Keep, to warn Draco of what they had sensed, should he have been preoccupied.
As soon as they arrived back at home, Narcissa raised the wards around the building. She had had bad feelings about the church of the Light for quite a while, but could never place the exact reason why. A burst of shadow magic, however, would certainly explain her uneasiness around the leader of the church, Archbishop Benedictus.
She was not afraid of such potential, and unconfirmed, threats, but when it came to those who had shown a great deal of interest in her daughter, a certain level of caution was not out of the question.
Thankfully, Aurora was oblivious to the situation, and happily playing in the den with some of her things, allowing Narcissa to maintain an appearance of normality while still shuttering them both behind a small portion of their protections. Once she received an all clear from Draco regarding the magic she had sensed, then she would lower the wards and it would be as if nothing had happened out of the ordinary.
Bringing out a snack for Aurora, Narcissa sat in her chair and started going through the small stack of reports about the conclusion of the massive clothing project that all of Stormwind, as well as the surrounding towns and the Alliance's allies, had undertaken for their fighting men on the fozen continent far to the north.
There was also a package containing the many countless thank-you notes and letters from the fathers and sons fighting the undead Scourge that she had to arrange for delivery. At least this bout of downtime would give Narcissa the opportunity to prepare all of the letters, so that they could be spread throughout the lands of Stormwind, by region, making delivery as simple as possible.
Still, as she started sorting the letters and notes into different piles, a strange thought struck her. The burst of shadow magic she had sensed had been somewhat familiar, which was why she had felt disturbed by it so heavily. It was not anyone's magical signature whom they had encountered here on Azeroth she had sensed; the magic of those who were not from their world all felt relatively the same, with small variance.
No, the magic she had sensed was of someone back from their homeworld, and that was what had felt so jarring to her. But how the magical signature of Severus Snape had arrived here in Stormwind Narcissa did not know, nor did she want to find out on her own, because of the differing sides of the old conflict that they had found themselves on. True, she and Severus had always been cordial, because of the connection through Lucius, but ever since their family had joined forced with Nobu'tan the old Potions Master had broken off all contact. If anything, Severus had simple cleaved further to Dumbledore, which Narcissa had always found extremely unfortunately, as if the man had also ceased supporting Voldemort he ought to have had no reasons not to join them as well.
She would have desired to go find the man, if it was actually him, but Narcissa's priority had to be Aurora, and her safety. She would allow Draco to do any investigating of the cathedral once he received her message. Should it prove to be some kind of trap, Narcissa might have to consider the open invitation to take her daughter and travel to one of the allied cities of the Alliance. If they decided to go to the home of the Night Elves, they would also be near the island of the Draenei, who also practiced the magic of the Light that Aurora was also working on developing skills in wielding.
It would not be terrible to see more of this world either, but Narcissa would much prefer to have Lucius at least at her side of they were to take such an extended leave of absence.
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Voldemort cleaved another thrashing tentacle, even as the forces of the Dark Horde quickly swarmed around the writhing mass of flesh and darkness that was the form of the Old God, Yogg-Saron.
The creature oozed vile darkness, far blacker than even the worst spells he had researched in life, and if he had any physical sensation left that wasn't dulled through undeath, Voldemort was certain that even he would be shaken to the core to be facing such a creature.
It was no doubt the wisest choice that Nobu'tan had made to bring the clans of Death Knights to fight this creature, as the hulking beast had no whispers sent to Voldemort's mind. They were immune to the persuasions of the void-based creature, and therefore could fight unhindered while any of the living had to push through the tormenting madness that such a creature threw off as its primary weapon.
"Tremble, mortals, before the coming of the end!" the strange, feminine voice of the Old God's false manifestation said, even as more tendrils surged upward from the pool of blackened blood that was flowing over the stone of the chamber.
Dodging as one of the larger tentacles slammed where he had just stood, Blightbringer sliced through the warped flesh with a deft stroke. Voldemort and his clan would fight on, until this creature was destroyed, and they could return to claiming more of this world for their own purposes.
Soon enough the ground was littered with the severed tentacles, even as the massive head twisted and turned, trying to find living figures to drive mad with its mental powers. "MADNESS WILL CONSUME YOU!" the beast bellowed, even as the world shifted around Voldemort and some of his forces. He was momentarily surprised, having thought that they wouldn't be affected by anything mentally that the creature had to use against them, but the vision that appeared before them seemed real enough.
"Prepare for battle all you want… warriors of the Light…" a voice said, and Voldemort turned to see the armored form of the Lich King. The undead lord paid those viewing the vision no attention, but looked out across the wastes of Icecrown toward where Voldemort knew that the Argent Crusade had set out their encampment.
"You pitiful little band will not stand against the devastation that I will unleash against you…" the Lich King continued, as though speaking to someone unseen.
"Yrr n'lyeth… shuul anag!" a booming voice rang through the strange upper chamber that they had appeared in, even as small skeletons started toward Voldemort and his warriors that had been taken with him.
Cutting them down swiftly, he blinked as the minor undead transformed into small tentacles that evaporated into pure shadows.
"He will learn… no king rules forever; only death is eternal!" the booming voice of Yogg-Saron continued, even as a door to the rear opened, revealing some massive glowing structure that hovered in the air.
Stepping through swiftly, Voldemort found that there was another door beyond, and the Stormreaver Chieftain entering from it, looking somewhat shaken at what he had seen in another vision.
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Nobu'tan had known that the Old God would exert as much of his energy to try and warp the vision of the Grand Warlock, but he had not prepared for pure visions to be forced upon him as well.
He found himself in the throne room of Stormwind, but clearly in a time before he had known in reality. The man standing before the throne was unknown to him, albeit similar in appearance to Varian. "So this must be King Llane…" he said, observing as Garona appeared in the throne room, bypassing the guards and kneeling momentarily before the king.
"Bad news, sire. The clans are united under Blackhand in this assault. They will stand together until Stormwind has fallen."
Llane approached and bid for the assassin to rise, which puzzled Nobu'tan. This was not part of what he had been told regarding the fall of Stormwind. "Gul'dan is bringing up his warlocks by nightfall. Until then, the Blackrock clan will be trying to take the Eastern Wall."
"A thousand deaths… or one murder…" the voice of the Old God said sinisterly in Nobu'tan's ear.
"We will hold until the reinforcements come," King Llane said, unable to heard the voice of the Old God, "As long as men with stout hearts are manning the walls and the throne, Stormwind will hold."
Nobu'tan spotted the glazing over of Garona's eyes well before the human king did, but the latter was too slow to react as the assassin planted both of her dagger into his chest, piercing his armor effortlessly, "The orc leaders agree with your assessment…" she said in her possessed state.
"Your petty quarrels only make me stronger," the Old God said, laughing as the hallucinations of the Stormwind guards around the chamber started to converge, not on Garona, but on Nobu'tan himself.
After the momentary start that the illusion suddenly ceased to ignore him, Nobu'tan released a wave of Felfire, scorching them all and revealing the true forms of the blighted tendrils of the Old God's physical form. They shriveled away, destroyed by the cursed flames that were designed to kill their kind by the demons eons ago.
The doors to the chamber slowly opened behind Nobu'tan and his warlocks, revealing the hovering mass of blue power in the room beyond. As they entered, another set of figures appeared at the other end, clearly exiting a different vision.
Nobu'tan was surprised to find that even undead like Voldemort were susceptible to this level of mind-warping magic, and had to reorient how powerful he had presumed this being to be.
Gathering his wits, the Grand Warlock quickly looked for some manner of exit, but found none. The only thing of importance in this place seemed to be the hovering mass of energy above them, with tendrils of magic funneling into all sides of the chamber.
"Nothing for it but to just cause of damage to the illusion, and shatter Yogg-Saron's power to keep us here," Nobu'tan guessed, which seemed to be enough for the Death Knight to begin. Death and Fel magic soared in every direction from the pair of them, withering and incinerating the blue tentacles of magic that emanated from the blue mass in the middle fo the room.
Deep from within the chambers, a bellowing roar of pain and rage sounded as they started to target the tendrils specifically, severing one after another in rapid succession.
Soon enough, there was a flash of light and power, and Nobu'tan found them all back nit the chamber of Ulduar, with the hideous face of the Old God's avatar whirling to face them.
"Look upon the true face of death, and know that your end comes soon!" Yogg-Saron cried, rearing up slightly to try and outright consume them.
Withdrawing from the countless razor-like fangs, Nobu'tan took up a supportive role once more, leveling his magic against the countless eyes that tried ceaselessly to drive his forces into insanity and control them.
The Death Knights took to the front, keeping the tentacles and the cavernous maw at bay while the casters worked to strike them down as quickly as they erupted from the stony floor.
However, even though their strategy wall falling together perfectly, the raging beast before them seemed to be far too strong to defeat. Yogg-Saron was laughing as it continued to spawn more thrashing tendrils of its own flesh, as though enjoying the sensation of pain as each were severed in turn.
There had to be something that Nobu'tan to end this creature, its toughened hide stopping even the empowered weapons of the undead warriors. Spells seemed to splash off the beast as well, aside from the small scorches from the intense fire of the Fel.
Nobu'tan knew of only one weapon in their entire arsenal that would pierce that creature easily, and summoned the Pitlord's Glaive in a flash. Channeling every ounce of the Fel he could stand into the weapon, the Grand Warlock felt Magtheridon's Glaive flare with power, crackling with the green lightning of the chaotic magic.
"Your fates are sealed! The end of days is finally upon you ALL who inhabit this miserable little seedling!" Yogg-Saron declared, turning in his pool of noxious swill to face Nobu'tan, even as the warlock turned the double-ended spear upon him.
"I reject your future, your whispers, everything you think or say," Nobu'tan said, letting his own rage and anger pool into the weapon, feeling the rushing calm wash over him as the glaive greedily devoured every ounce of emotion and magic he gave it. "May this blade be your end; and may you never blight this place with your madness again!" he said. Hauling back, Nobu'tan hurled the overcharged glaive forward, aimed with sinister purpose directly for the open maw of Yogg-Saron.
The Glaive flew true, impaling deep within the cavernous maw of Yogg-Saron, and detonated with an explosion of pure chaos, forcing the Old God to rear back in surprise and pain. "Uulwi ifis halahs gag erh'ongg w'ssh…" it muttered, the vile language of the mad creature lost to those around it as it perished.
Yogg-Saron slumped, the eyes growing dim as it settled into the churned and filthy pool of its own blood.
Nobu'tan felt the loss of power now that the Glaive was destroyed; eliminating one of his strongest weapons, but the price had been worth it to end this creature forever. "The Old God is no more!" he called, and the Dark Horde roared in victory.
With this ultimate threat defeated, now there only remained one problem in this facility to deal with before they could return to the war against the Lich King.
As soon as they were healed from the fight that had just waged, Nobu'tan led the way back to the rest of the Keepers, all of who looked upon the Dark Horde warriors with newfound respect.
"Heroes, your victory is absolute against the Old God," the lightning Keeper, Thorim, said.
"However, Algalon still comes to reoriginate our world," Nobu'tan said, "We must have the sigils to stop him and preserve our lives."
"Take them, with our blessings," the life magic Keeper, Freya, said, "Fight for the entirety of our world."
"Thank you, Keepers," Nobu'tan said, turning to make their way back to the Archivum, where Brann Bronzebeard waited for them.
By the time they reached the intersection, however, the dwarf was already running to meet them. "We've got to hurry, Algalon will arrive any moment, and with the Sigils the way is open! Let's go!"
Together they darted to the eastern passage, where the Keeper guardians stood aside for them to pass. Apparently, Mimiron or one of the others had sent word that they were to be trusted rather than hindered, which Nobu'tan appreciated.
The final chamber was seemingly empty, but held a fully magical display of the planet, complete with red blotches across the world, presumable where Void corruption was located.
"We did it, lads!" Brann said excitedly,. "We got here before Algalon's arrival. Maybe we can rig the systems to interfere with his analysis…"
But the dwarf was cut off as a blinding flash of light filled the room, revealing a towering figure made of star-like lights arranged in a constellation.
"Translocation complete," the being said, "Commencing planetary analysis of Azeroth…"
Knowing that this must be Algalon, Nobu'tan signaled for the Dark Horde to rush the platform.
"Stand back, mortals," Algalon instructed, "I'm not here to fight you."
Turning back its attention to the display of the world, Algalon continued his scan, "It is in the universe's best interest to re-originate this planet should my analysis find systemic corruption. Do not interfere…"
"We'll have no choice but to fight him to stop this," Nobu'tan said to Brann, and the dwarf nodded in agreement.
"I'll head back to the Archivum and see if I can jam his signal. I might be able to buy us some time while you take care of him."
The Bronzebeard dwarf darted from the room, even as the Dark Horde prepared their weapons.