It feels like it has been much longer than the month it has been. Work has resumed for a new school year, and therefore my time is somewhat more constrained again. Nevertheless, we press on, trying to boost every scrap of writing I can squeeze out of my tired mind, keeping afloat more on stubbornness than anything else... But i digress, the next chapter awaits!
Chapter 175
Footsteps of the Citadel
Garrosh roared as he led the Horde into battle before the final wall separating the armies of the various factions from the citadel of the Lich King. In the mad rush to push into and through the hole that the Dark Horde warlock punched through the wall, their forces had been effectively dispersed through the other armies, and Garrosh had found himself and his elite warriors fighting shoulder to shoulder with Alliance and Dark Horde warriors.
As much as he distrusted and disliked the other factions, against a foe as universal as the Scourge, Garrosh was willing to put aside his hatred for the time and turn his axes only against those undead that threatened the whole of their world.
He would show these weak dogs and pretenders the honor and strength of the true Horde, and in such a fashion to make them fear to approach the gates of Orgrimmar. Smashing through every opponent that dared to face him, Garrosh was suddenly surprised when his left-hand axe was sudden caught, the axe head biting deep into the armor of a rotten husk for a warrior.
The undead being twisted sharply, ripping the weapon free from the Mag'har's grip, and brought its own sword to bear. The others of his guard were contending with their own foes and unable to leap to Garrosh's aid and he fended off the creature with his remaining weapon, until it shattered under an overpowering strike from the Death Knight.
Pummeling the helmeted head with his fists, Garrosh prepared to go down fighting, as a true orc warrior should, when the undead suddenly reared back in surprise as a weapon struck its exposed side. The creature fell at Garrosh's feet, a massive, two-handed axe protruding from where it had been thrown.
The Dark Horde's pet Death Knight stood a way off, seemingly uncaring about the chaos surrounding him as he turned back to other foes with his own runeblade, leaving the axe for Garrosh to take up.
The orc did so, suddenly fascinated with the weapon as he gripped the all-too-familiar handle and hefted it. The blade wrenched free, seeming to gleam with the delight of new opponents. Garrosh's eyes widened as he recognized his father's weapon: Gorehowl. This was the relic of the Hellscreams, thought lost when it was used by his father to kill the mighty Manneroth so long ago.
Where and how this Dark Horde Death Knight had recovered the presumed destroyed axe was a mystery, but one that Garrosh might actually take the time to learn later. For now however, he would use his father's weapon to rally the forces of Warsong Hold, and spur them onward with the battlecry of the Hellscream.
The ear-piercing scream rang out, matching the whirling song of his father's weapon as Garrosh felt fresh fire run through his veins. The Warsong were complete with their artifact returned to its rightful wielder, and they would spearhead the Horde's advance into the thick of the fight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Voldemort did not know, nor wish to know, why the orc was so stirred up by the axe he had used to save the creature's life, chalking it up to some obscure fact about the weapon he had claimed from the demon of Karazhan so long ago. It was not as though he was attached to the axe in any way, and parting with it was almost a benefit, as it opened space for him to secure a new potential tool for his arsenal.
Albeit, compared to his runeblades Blightbringer or Apocalypse, anything else was significantly lesser for him to wield. The Death Knight allowed himself to be carried along with the united front of warriors, passing through the gaping hole in the Horror Gate. Front the sounds beyond; it was clear that the Scourge were in disarray, and being driven back by the sudden assault from all four factions of warriors.
The newest, now led by some Paladin that Voldemort thought he recognized from somewhere in the distant past, were comprised of the fanatical legions of the Scarlet Onslaught. While the former Dark Lord had little care for this remnant of old foes he had slaughtered in droves years ago, it was somewhat amusing that like insects they had persisted in their defiant act of surviving against multiple factions of undead.
The glares that he received from the nearest members of the faction indicated that they would be more than happy to turn on him like those members of the Scourge, but their new leader held their blades for only those denizens of Icecrown. So long as the leadership of the Dark Horde tolerated their presence, so too would Voldemort.
Their warriors tore through the final ranks of the undead guarding the step of the citadel like a roaring tide, scattering ghouls, skeletons, and even mounted Death Knights like chaff in the icy wind, mounting the stairs and beginning the daunting task of ascending to the chief entryway to the upper reaches.
The fleetest of foot, Elves from both the Alliance and Horde, as well as Amani, Drakkari, and some other tribe of trolls from the Kalimdor Horde, sped to the front, their agility shining over the other races as they raced ahead. Despite the animosity that these races supposedly had for each other, it seemed to be momentarily forgotten as they shunted every rotting defender aside, or cleaved them down with barrages of arrows and axes.
Once the lower courtyard was claimed, siege engines were brought within the Horror Gate, and ordinance was hurled without restraint at the walls of the citadel, even as the Argent Crusade brought up a large battering ram, carrying it in pieces up the quickly clearing stairway.
Voldemort almost scoffed as the ogres of the Balefire clan took up the ram, the thing looking far smaller in their hulking hands as a trio of their brutes used it to smash down the main gate of the fortress, even as the paladins watched on and their leader rallied them to the front.
"Rise up, Argent Crusaders!" Fordring shouted, raising his holy weapon high overhead, "The hour of justice has come!"
"For the Horde!" roared the brown brute that Voldemort had saved, to the cheers and echoes of his people.
"For Lordaeron! For the Alliance!" mirrored the human Highlord, to the support of those clad in the blues and teals of the human nations.
"For Vengeance! For Honor!" rang out the brutish ogre lord of the Balefire Clan, the leaders of the Dark Horde joining the rest of those assembled behind the battering ram. Nobu'tan was silent, looking up and around the undead-infested citadel with a critical gaze, and Voldemort wondered if the younger man was using his magic to pierce through the walls with his vision.
With a shuddering groan, the metal and stone of the gate broke away after the fifth strike of the ram, and the ogres let it fall to the ground, the way inside now opened to them all.
However, now that their path was open, the chill of what lay ahead sent a wave of silence radiating through the assembled warriors. The Death Knight sensed that there was a silent power play going on between the leaders of the assembled factions. They all wanted to take charge in the assault into the fortress, as they would then have the prized pick of champions to send, and the glory of defeating their enemies within.
It was no surprise to Voldemort then, when as he stepped forward to take command of the stall, Nobu'tan, the brown Kalimdor Orc, the human leader of the Alliance, and the Paladin leader all stepped forward as well.
"As the Tournament was never officially finished, gather your champions and greatest warriors, while the rest of our united front should start encircling the citadel. Nothing gets in or out without our say and challenge." Fordring commanded, and the others nodded.
Voldemort sent a knowing glance at Bella. They were certain to be among those who would enter the citadel, as their command over the undead would be crucial to see them through to the Lord of the Scourge.
Catching movement as others joined them at the smashed gate, Voldemort spotted the crimson eyes of the Banshee Queen, even as the undead elf eyed the fortress around them. There was something… seeking, in the way that she was intently looking, and it was something that the former Dark Lord did not trust.
She was one to keep an eye on, or two if they could be spared, as they ascended. Very quickly, their forces were arranged, with Lucius appearing to take command of those that would await their return from within the dreadful citadel.
Unsprisingly, Nobu'tan would take charge of the Dark Horde's forces that entered the fortress. Alongside Voldemort and Bellatrix, the burly Teg'Ramm would join them, as well as Bannok Grimaxe; the orc paladin, and strangely of all the Drakkari Troll King; Malakk.
Joining the undead Elf and the brown orc leader were a pair of old orcish veterans, both of which seemed to command intense respect from all members of their race present, regardless of faction. Finally, a living elf mage appeared, alongside the human sorceress that flitted between both Kalimdor Horde and Alliance, and Malfoy's son.
The latter two would be joining the Alliance group, as well as an elven ranger who had features similar to the Banshee, and a dwarf of all races. The short one wore a face filled with fierce determination, and fingered his weapons as though spurring for a fight with any challengers.
Joining the Argent Crusade leader were a trio of his fellow paladins, and a pair of undead Death Knights, rebels from the Scourge that had be redeemed of their control by the Lich King before this conflict started, all the way back at Light's Hope.
The leader of the Scarlet Onslaught, the only one left alive, stepped forward, and at her side was the man that Voldemort only now realized was the impudent Sirius Black. How and when the man had reappeared from the depths of their ruined world, Voldemort couldn't be sure, but the fact that he had unceremoniously taken command of these rogue paladins was not something to be lightly ignored.
The final member was also of their mutual home world, but a woman that Voldemort had not dealt with in life. "Lady Parkinson," Nobu'tan said, nodding as she approached, all the haughty flaunt of an angry Pureblood as she scanned the assembled force.
"I will see these monsters routed, for the peace of mind for all those back at Stormwind, and as a final act of vengeance for a grieving mother." She said, drawing her wand, which crackled with suppressed rage.
Voldemort had heard something about a prominent member of their civilians perishing violently during one of the earlier Scourge attacks, but beyond that, he had not concerned himself.
Together, the group of twenty-five started into the icy chill of the Citadel, all on high alert for any chance of ambush or trap.
"This is our final stand." The Highlord of the Argent Crusade stated as they stepped inside, "What happens here will echo through the ages. Regardless of outcome, they will know that we fought with honor. That we fought for the freedom and safety of our people!"
"Remember," the paladin warned, "fear is your greatest enemy in these befouled halls. Steel your hearts and your soul will shine brighter than a thousand suns. The enemy will falter at the sight of you. They will fall as the light of righteousness envelops them!"
"Our march upon Icecrown Citadel begins now!" he said, his voice booming over the gloom and eerie silence of the entrance hall.
The chilling voice that broke the silence next was not of any of their allies, but seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves. "You stand upon the hallowed ground of the Scourge. The Light won't protect you here, paladin. Nothing will protect you…"
"ARTHAS!" Fordring bellowed, identifying the voice, "I swore that I would see you dead and the Scourge dismantled! I'm going to finish what I started at Light's Hope!"
"You could have been my greatest champion, Fordring," the Lich King answered, "A force of darkness that would wash over this world and deliver it into a new age of strife…"
"In the end, you will all serve me…" the final words drifted away, even as the corridor ahead stirred with a great movement of bones and flesh. Ranks of undead started to pour from ahead, eager to destroy them all and press their forces away from the interior of the citadel.
"Our mission is clear: The Lich King will answer for his crimes!" one of the orcish veterans shouted, signaling outside for their warriors to attention. "Kor'kron, prepare Orgrim's Hammer for its final voyage! Our gunship will find a point to dock on the upper reaches of the citadel, and await us!"
"Aye, and the Skybreaker as well!" the dwarf added, even as he hurled his hammer into the throng ahead of them, striking a ghoul with the force of a thunderbolt.
Spurred onward by the leaders of the various factions, the mixed force of champions pushed forward, keeping a tight formation as they cleared each chamber of the festering undead that poured from ahead to face them.
"These are champions of the Alliance, from years ago," Proudmoore mentioned, looking down at some of the faces as they stepped through the corpses of their foes.
"Aye, Lady Jaina," the Dwarf replied, "Many that followed Arthas to this cursed place never returned."
"Perhaps they can help us defeat the madman once and for all, as one last act of atonement…" Nobu'tan suggested, glancing at Voldemort, and the Death Knight knew what was being requested.
"Bella, do it…" he commanded, and his most faithful raised her arms high, chanting in the language of dead that she had pulled from the mind of the Valkyr, drawing the spirits of the departed back to their bodies once more and binding them to her will.
Skeletal warriors and mages arose; the cold blue of their eyes erased in a flash of shimmering purple, and turned on their former allies, supporting the attacking heroes as they stormed through to the next chamber.
Colossal skeletons of giants awaited them, and Voldemort leapt forward, his twin runeblades slicing cleanly through the brittle marrow of the nearest giant, sending the creature collapsing where the others could more deftly defeat it.
Nerubians, the undead spiders of Northrend, skittered down from their strands of silk, adding the horrid locus they commanded to the battle, and a hailstorm of ranges weapons met their arrival from the Banshee Queen and Frost King.
Despite the Death Knight refusing to trust either of these figures, he had to admit that they wer able to quickly tear down the overgrown spiders and keep the momentum of the united strike force moving forward toward the end of the initial corridor of the citadel.
Soon, the end drew into sight, and a hulking skeletal form appeared, seeming to bar their way any further into the fortress of the Scourge. "This is the beginning AND the end, mortals." The creature bellowed, its voice echoing down the corridor to them. "None may enter the master's sanctum!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucius knew that from the moment that their main leadership and champions departed for the deepest reaches of the dreadful citadel, the fighting outside would grow only direr.
Without the iron will of their leaders, the factions did not have the cohesion that they needed to stand and fight as one, as they had in the initial push.
"Lord Terrath, what are your orders?" the commanders of the Dark Horde said, turning to him with banner bearers and other logistical advisors at their side.
"We set up a perimeter, and follow the instructions given to us, to the letter," Lucius ordered, gesturing at the demolished gatehouse that had once kept them from this final courtyard. "I want our siege engines laid out to prevent any attempt to take back this place, scorpions at the front, with others aimed skyward. We cannot let our drakes take on all their air support while the gunships are aiding those inside."
"As you command," the commander acknowledged, signaling drummers and pipers to begin arranging their forces. Blightbringers fell to the rear, where their powers over death itself would be used to bolsiter their forces with the copious piles of ancient corpses that littered this place. Meanwhile, the Dawn's Hammer joined the other Light-wielding factions at the front, their stalwart faith shining in the dim light of the overcast glacier.
Slowly, the other factions followed their lead, arranging themselves to hold their position until their leaders returned, or else they were overrun.
On a whim, Lucius thought of those other forces holding their strongholds on the continent, and the added advantage that they could bring to this fight. "I want a portal back to our landing point in the east. The Grimfang are needed here at the front. Their hide and curse makes them impervious to the powers of these undead."
"It will be done, Lord Terrath," a warlock said, dashing off with others of his rank to start channeling the nether portals to bring their reinforcements.
'Not a moment too soon,' Lucius thought, even as he heard the roar of the undead's first major attempt to retake the front of their citadel. Like a flood of rotten bodies, they poured from every nook and cranny around the shattered wall, before falling upon the wall of defenders.
The power of the light magic that the paladins wielded flashed as they counterattacked, and the deadly bolts of the scorpions flew out several times as larger foes tried to smash through their ranks.
Gargoyles swarmed down from the loft parapets of the citadel, and their other weapons, bolt throwers and other ballista filled the air with deadly projectiles, sending many of the creatures plummeting to the ground long before they became a threat to those on the ground.
For the rest, the roar of the Feldrakes was the only warning they had before the flames of the demon-empowered dragons tore through them, reducing them to less than charred stone.
Lucius smiled to himself. They would hold as long as Nobu'tan and the others needed, and if they had to withdraw into the fortress, they would choke the halls with the dead until nothing could follow them inside.
"You summoned us…" snarled the voice of Fenrir Greyback.
"Yes," Lucius said, turning to face the Grimfang Alpha, "Your specialty is needed here, to hunt down the leaders of these undead and eliminate them, so that our position here is secured."
Greyback gruffed, but reared back to howl his command to his pack, and they tore off, many of those with pelts like their leader almost melding into the misty white of the packed snow.
Settling into the role, and their position here, Lucius started to feel a touch at ease with their situation, as all things stood presently. The eerie silence from the gaping maw of the entrance however, was the one thing that unnerved even his normally icy demeanor. There was something wholly unnatural about this fortress, and the fact that no word, or even sound escape the fortress to betray where their forces were was unsettling.
To ease his mind, Lucius set a guard to watch the entrance, just in case more enemies came from that direction, which would warn them well in advance if their assault force had been pushed back, or worse.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The Scourge will wash over this world as a swarm of death and destruction!" the massive construct of bone and necromancy bellowed as it advanced on them.
Sylvanas watched as their heaviest armored warriors leapt into to halt the creatures approach. Even as Varrok stood beside the stocky form of Muradin Bronzebeard to weather the storm of bone and steel, the Banshee Queen darted to the side. In her wake, she sensed others also taking up a flanking maneuver, including to her annoyance her youngest sister Vereesa, alongside the Frost Troll King and a spellcaster woman that she did not recognize.
Her only living kin, to her knowledge and aside from her half-human nephew, Sylvanas had had no thoughts to what she would do or saw if reunited with her only remaining sister. Their relationship had been strained when Veressa had departed after her lover, the red-haired human mage she had aided soon after the second war. Sylvanasat the same time had been tasked with taking up Alleria's post as Ranger General, meaning that she had no way to leave Quel'thalas from the end of the Second War until she fell at the blade of the Lich King, her feelings about her sister's abrupt departure notwithstanding.
Ducking under a storm of spikes that the creature flung wildly at them, Sylvanas lined up a shot, aiming for the catalysts of magic that held the separate bones together in a manner like joints. Feeding shadow magic into the arrow, she loosed it, watching it strike true and devour a small amount of the magic sustaining the hulking undead abomination.
Following her lead, the others that separated with her followed suit, spells, arrows, and axes flying after her initial shot like a tide of devastation. The storm was brief, before they had to dodge out of the way of the massive bone-handled scythe as the amalgamation of bone and soul swung it heavily in their direction. The rune-enchanted weapon sailed through the air, deadly blade humming as it whirled.
More Scourge warriors tried to flood down from the passage beyond, tried to catch their melee fighters from behind as they tried to encircle the hulking mass guarding the chamber.
However, before Sylvanas could turn and reload her bow, a series of explosions splashed across the rear part of the chamber. The strange woman had one of the wooden wands of Terran design, fire and jets of colored magic blasting from it in droves. But what truly interested Sylvanas was the look in the woman's eyes.
The Queen of the Forsaken understood the depths of her hatred against Arthas and the Scourge, but she had never seen it manifested before in a look, having had years for her hatred to run cold and burn as a frozen flame. The rage and anger she saw in the other woman's eyes kindled old feelings, ones that Sylvanas had thought long dead and buried. The torment in her voice as she chanted her spells spoke of lost love, and a deep, unending agony that tore at the very soul. Even just witnessing it Sylvanas felt a momentary jolt of unease at the thought of that rage directed at her. The feeling passed, as most feelings did, but the thought remained.
Unfortunately, even the rage of this one mad caster was not enough to keep the unending lines of the Scourge at bay for long, and soon Sylvanas had targets and to spare for her arrows.
"The only escape is death!" the guardian creature bellowed, even as a hailstorm of razor-sharp bone fragments exploded outward from its form.
Grabbing a nearby ghoul, Sylvanas used the rotting creature as a shield, the body absorbing multiple piercing strikes before coming apart in her hand. Quickly glancing around the chamber as she evaded the next attacking undead, the Banshee knew that their group was not going to survive another barrage like the previous.
Those that had devoted themselves to healing were already taxed to their limit, and they needed to take down the skeletal hulk before it attacked in that manner again.
"Take it down!" she bellowed across the chamber, hoping that the casters of the Dark Horde would be capable of something to turn the fight around and prevent them from failing before their assault of the Lich King's fortress really began.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco heard the call from the leader of the Forsaken, and spared a single glance at the oncoming tide of reinforcements. There was little that he would be able to do about that many enemies, and so he had to focus where his debilitating and corrupting magic would be most effective. The hulking abomination of bone and soul was a far more suitable target for his talents.
Weaving curses alongside his wizarding magic, Draco hurriedly started to draw on the conglomeration of souls that had been forcefully welded together to make the bladed monster blocking their progress forward. The creature reacted violently to the siphon of the energies giving it a semblance of life, rearing back and trying to sever the connection of magic that Draco had with it.
Seeing what he was doing, the others worked in tandem to herd the creature, keeping it from withdrawing too far or lashing out at those spellcasters that were keeping their forces in fighting condition. Burley Teg'Ramm was among those working desperately to manage the overlarge bone scythe that the creature wielded.
All the while, Draco kept on draining away the soul magic that fed the abomination, feeling the specialized bag he had been given as one of the Order of the Black Harvest grow heavier as the siphoned souls crystallized and clinked one after another into it.
Between Draco weakening the creature, the melee fighters hemming it in, and the other spellcasters hammering away at its physical form, the ghastly construct didn't last much longer before it shattered into a torrent of bone shards, even as the glowing core of undeath slammed to the stone floor with a resounding crash.
With the construct defeated, the entire force could turn on the attempted surge of reinforcements and drive them back, ascending the ramps at the far side of the chamber and pushing forward to the chamber beyond.
Once they were through, the path overlooked a church-like chamber. Down in the main floor, rows of beings from a myriad of races knelt as they listened to a Lich, the female voice of the undead horror preaching at them in the mix of their devoted calls.
"You have found your way here, because you are among the few gifted with true vision in a world cursed with blindness." The Lich said, "You can see through the fog that hangs over this world like a shroud, and grasp where true power lies."
The living elf female among their number started to take aim at the Lich, but Draco spotted something, and gently pushed the bow aside as he indicated what he had spotted. The shimmer of magic around the Lich was faint, but was indicative of a magical shield around the creature.
"Fix your eyes upon your crude hands: the sinew, the soft meat, the dark blood coursing within.
It is a weakness; a crippling flaw... A joke played by the Creators upon their own creations." The Lich continued, spouting dark and twisted words to warp the minds of any who listened to her lies, "The sooner you come to accept your condition as a defect, the sooner you will find yourselves in a position to transcend it."
Glancing over at Nobu'tan, Draco saw the Grand Warlock already conversing with the leaders of the other major factions about their strategy for tackling the chamber and eliminating the Lich.
"Through our Master, all things are possible. His power is without limit, and his will unbending.
Those who oppose him will be destroyed utterly, and those who serve - who serve wholly, unquestioningly, with utter devotion of mind and soul - elevated to heights beyond your ken." The Lich continued, only to halt as the assembled forces of Azeroth started down into the chamber.
"What is this disturbance? You dare trespass upon this hallowed ground? This shall be your final resting place!" the Lich shrieked, even as the devotees of the Lich King rose to defend her.
The warriors and paladins engaged the mortal sycophants, even as Nobu'tan, Jaina and Draco hurled spells across the chamber at the Lich. The splash of their spells confirmed the magical shield surrounding the floating skeletal form, but so long as the Lich had to maintain its defenses, it would be limited on what support could be given to the mortal followers.
Still, it was not enough to hinder the powerful necromancer from turning its magic on their freshly killed foes. "Arise, and exult in your pure form!" the Lich cried, even as those freshly slain of her devote followers staggered back to their feet, flesh disappearing in a flash of magic, revealing them as skeletal warriors and mages. These surged back into the fray, trying to overwhelm the attacking forces of Azeroth even as more mortal servants poured in from side chambers.
"We need the shield down, immediately," Nobu'tan said, and Draco concentrated. The power around the Lich had ebbed when she leveled her power over the minions that were throwing themselves on the other warriors, and he had an idea that only the Grand Warlock would agree with.
"Change of tactic," he advised nonetheless, "get her to focus entirely on her servants, and pour out her magic on their fruitless attacks, then pounce when she is at her weakest."
Nobu'tan nodded, rising to his full height and turning his power on the battlefield as a whole. "Fury of fire, come at my call!" he intoned, raising the jeweled scepter in his hand and beckoning down a torrent of Fel-green fire, which tore through a portal opened at the ceiling over their enemies.
Face with the overwhelming command of the Legion's magic from Nobu'tan, the Lich had no choice but to level her own power to fortify her minions. "I release you from the curse of flesh!" she chanted, changing the next wave of servants directly into their skeletal forms, but nothing seemed to be able to withstand the demonic flames that the Grand Warlock sent in droves down upon them.
The battle continued, the Lich growing more desperate to try and push their forces out of her chapel, but the longer she fought, the weaker her shield became, and soon their trap sprung itself. Nobu'tan cancelled the torrent of flames and hurled another barrage of chaotic magic at the Lich directly, shattering the remaining mana shield around her and finally making her vulnerable.
"Enough!" the Lich bellowed, scattering her minions like ragdolls as she floated into the conflict, "I see I must take matters into my own hands!"
Ice and frost sprayed liberally from the Lich as she converged on their forces, which because of Nobu'tan's actions had been able to rest a moment and recuperate their strength, and came against the Lich with fresh energy. The Lich was not prepared for the martial combat, so eager to match her magic with the likes of Nobu'tan, that she was caught unaware when the first bit of enchanted metal bit into the bone and cloth of her form.
Draco watched alongside Nobu'tan and their other casters, none of them willing to risk their allies to launch another magical attack at the Lich, but their aid was not needed, and soon the creature was defeated, soul collapsing as the physical form was shattered and reduced to dust.
"All part of the Master's plan… Your end in inevitable…" the Lich threatened, even as her soul was snuffed out and vanished forever.
The central dais of the chamber shuddered as the Lich passed, and started to glow with a ring of transportation magic. It seemed, to Draco, that it was the way forward. At the same time, however, it seemed all too easy for them to have passed through this initial gauntlet.
"Does it not seem a bit, off, to anyone that we've pushing into the Citadel far too quickly…" he said aloud, and both Jaina and Nobu'tan glanced back at him.
"Of course we are being lured in too deep," Nobu'tan said, "What else would be the plan of someone knowing that our combined forces are too much to confront directly?"
"The question remaining is when will the path ahead force us to separate? That will be when the hardest minions appear…" Jaina added, looking solemn.
"Sooner than we'd like, I expect," Nobu'tan agreed, starting forward toward the teleportation rune, "Nevertheless we need to press on, and prove this Lich King that he has sorely underestimated us all."
Draco had to admit, despite his misgivings, there was no better argument than that, and followed behind as their entire force started forward in silence. There was nothing worth celebrating with only two low ranked minions defeated and the Lich King himself awaiting them at the summit of the citadel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Line Break ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anduin could not help but feel worried.
Despite being in the gardens of Stormwind Keep, keeping Aurora Malfoy blissfully unaware of the troubles that gripped the Keep, and the entire city, the young Prince's thoughts joined the adults in the frosty north of their world.
Draco had been called to join the Alliance vanguard assaulting the Lich King's fortress, joining others that Anduin cared for, including Bolvar Fordragon. From what Anduin had been told, they were in terrible danger, as they would likely face off against the lord of the Scourge himself.
"Look-it…" Aurora said, toddling over to him.
Smiling at the younger child, Anduin looked at the small stone held in her hand. Within a moment of having his attention, she squeezed her eyes shut in concentration, and the stone started to shine with light, as though something inside of it was trying to break free.
Smiling, Anduin understood that the younger girl was trying to cheer him up. Aurora was inherently aware of the feelings of those around her, no matter how well they tried to hide it, and it was clear that she sensed the nervous energy that nearly everyone in the Keep gave off.
Still, the show of magical ability was not enough to raise the spirits of the Prince of Stormwind, and little Aurora knew it. She frowned, even as the light diminished in her stone, before looking thoughtfully at Anduin's face.
"Dray safe…," she said firmly. It was not a question, but rather an innocent statement of fact, and the innocent surety of the knowledge was enough to make Anduin smile.
But, even as he allowed the younger girl to reassume control of the flow of their time together, he thought on the wisdom within her words. Her brother was a powerful spellcaster in his own right, better by far than any of the Stormwind Mages that Anduin knew personally, and that was before factoring in the warlock magic that he also wielded alongside his Terran wizardry, as Lord and Lady Narcissa had called their brand of the Arcane.
And it was not as though either Draco or Bolvar were alone in their fight. They had the heroes of the Alliance, as well as the might of the Horde, and the dark strength of the Dark Horde to protect them.
It still weighed on him, because Anduin cared for both of them dearly, but he slowly was able to set aside the worry and entertain Aurora, basking in the light and joy that the little girl emitted in droves.
That was something else he had noticed. The magic of this little child was infectious, even to the point that the guards of the Keep, already accustomed to the coming and going of Lady Narcissa, had transformed to adoration of the little daughter of House Malfoy. Privately, even Varian had commented that after himself and Anduin, he was certain that the soldiers of Stormwind would lay down their lives for Aurora without a second thought.
Anduin made a mental note to ask his father about the progress of the battle at Icecrown when Lady Malfoy returned to take Aurora, although personally he suspected that that would be a significant time before that happened.
Likely that was a tactic agree upon between the adults, to not only spare Aurora seeing their worry and fears, but keeping Anduin from needlessly worrying while watching the battle unfold. Granted, Anduin didn't think that he would be able to see much outside large scale troop maneuvers with whatever viewpoint they could possibly have without attracting unwanted attention from Northrend.
Shaking himself, Anduin buried those thoughts for the time being, as Aurora was already looking at him concernedly again, lost within his musings. He smiled at her, and that was enough to encourage the small child to continue their tottering game around the gardens.
Truthfully, Anduin had no idea what the rules or objective was, but according to Aurora, he was doing supremely well at the game, as she cheered and clapped whenever he did what she requested of him.
So he threw himself into the tasks, and allowed the silliness of the game carry him far away from his worries, for the time being, and allowed himself to be content with knowing he would learn of the outcome of the conflict in due time.
He had to have faith that those he cared about were as skilled as he believed them to be.