Thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoy. If you REALLY like it, I have a P-a-t-r-e-o-n, under the same name, where you can read 5 chapters ahead.
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It was tempting to head back into the tunnel and see if he couldn't find Fairspring's body or something. Guy deserved better than rotting down there with the other corpses after his last stand.
But like so many things at that time, it would have to wait.
The Princess was already on her feet before Daerion and was moving towards the stairs that led up to an old, unremarkable wooden door, which was open a tad, a small beam of flickering light shining through. Hurrying, he just managed to catch up to her as she reached the door and gestured for her to move behind him. Her lips pressed together, and she narrowed her eyes at him, seeming to be getting quite fed up with being ordered around, but she did as he suggested regardless.
Putting his ear next to the crack, he focused. Screams and general panic were clearly audible; however, none of them seemed to be around the door. Getting a firm nod from Calia when he looked at her, Daerion took a deep breath and swung the door the rest of the way open, and stepped out spear first-
-a half-eaten face lunged at him, tattered brown robe torn around the mutilated body. A horrible wet gurgle rattled from his throat, getting cut off as the spear hit him square in the chest.
1033 Damage! (0/125)
Another one followed right behind it, blood-matted blonde hair sticking to her face, mouth wide open with stringy pieces of flesh stuck between her teeth. Grabbing the spear by the middle, Daerion spun it as hard as he could, the first zombie still stuck on the blade, and struck the female Ghoul in the face with the weighted end, making her fall to the ground. She was quick to scramble to her feet, yet when she looked up for another bite, the newly freed spear blade caught her in the throat.
20 Damage! (90/110)
1033 Damage! (0/110)
1 to Skill: Spear! (9/100)
The second Ghoul collapsed while Daerion scanned left and right. They had emerged in a blind side alley, the left path barred by a brick wall. To the right, the chaos was readily apparent, terrified people sprinting past the opening. Pressing himself against the wall, Daerion shimmied along it all the way to the end and peeked out.
Fire.
The clean and neat buildings that lined the main street were engulfed in flames. The flower pots were cracked and blackened, the few plants that were not turned to ash withering in the heat. Soot-covered bodies lined the cobblestone, orange embers dancing merrily on their corpses, Scourge and Lordaeronians alike. Hands with torn nails scratched against the cobblestone, some bodies still driven to crawl forward either by necromantic magic or desperation.
Screams.
Peasants screamed as the ever faithful guards that had watched over them chased them down the streets, bloodstained weapons held high and eyes burning balefully. Mothers cried in fear and sorrow as their children and toddlers grasped onto them with clawed fingers and gnawing teeth, fathers watching with lifeless eyes as their families tore their intestines from their bellies, devouring them with hungry chomps, kids with tears streaming down their cheeks as their parents ripped them limb from limb. The few surviving guards fought with the desperation of men who knew they were dead before even taking a wound, grown men who had looked death in the face time and time again, sobbing in fear as urine dripped down between metal plates.
Death.
Everywhere they emerged. Naked beggars, with scraps of clothing that did nothing to hide their hideous wounds, ran down screaming men and women and jumped on them to bring them to the ground. Warriors with rent open armor cleaving through entire crowds with careless swings of their weapons, all the skill they had in life lost in death. Blood ran in thick rivers in the cracks between the stones, dripping down into the sunken path in the middle of the street. Hints of pink peeked through red, the edges of rose petals still unstained, clinging to the dying.
Daerion pulled back and took another deep breath.
Okay. That was a lot. How the fuck were they gonna get through that?
There were no other ways out of the alley, and there was nothing to distract the fuckers either. There was no other choice but to go and hope.
Which was a shit plan. Especially if those notifications were gonna keep popping up in the middle of his vision.
Would you like to turn notifications off during combat?
Jerking at the sudden text, Daerion cursed under his breath as he read it, before blinking. Was the Game listening to him? Was it alive?
Regardless, as annoying as it was, the notifications could also be helpful. Not the level-up stuff, but he knew that curses, or something similar, were a thing in Warcraft. So, he'd keep them, for now.
Uhhh, no. Could you just move them to the corner and make them smaller?
Notifications moved to the bottom left of the display and minimised.
Great. Now he just had to make his way through a city under siege by the undead, with a civilian.
Awesome. Excellent, even.
Looking for the Princess, he found her right next to him, having crept up alongside him. Her face was pale, cold sweat dripping from her brow, yet as their eyes met, Daerion could physically see her pull herself together and give him a firm nod.
He returned it, impressed. What a tough cookie.
"Okay," he whispered, "on my mark, we run out and sprint to the right. You'll be in front, while I keep anything following us off our backs. Make for the walls, the watchtower. I don't care if we break our legs jumping from the fucking thing; it's still better than this shit. Okay?"
She clearly had reservations about the barebones plan, yet she kept it to herself and merely nodded again.
"Right. Shit, fuck. Here we go. Three. Two. One…" Daerion could feel Calia tense next to him, like a spring being compressed. He kept his gaze on one of the rampaging undead that was vaguely looking in their direction, and waited for it to be distracted by the chaos around it. The half-ruined face, skull caved in from a heavy blow, and baleful blue eye dangling from its optic nerve barely had time to turn before he was yanking the Princess out onto the road and pushing her ahead of him. "NOW! GO GO GO!"
The last Menethil hiked up the skirt of her expensive dress, stained as it was with the blood and gore that flooded the streets, and hauled ass. As he tried to find the pace to keep up without overtaking her, Daerion took a brief moment to be thankful that Lordaeron fashion didn't include high heels. The flat-bottomed silk slippers were hardly suitable for the sort of work they were being put through, yet Calia stayed on her feet as she pushed herself harder than she might ever have.
That was also the only thing for which to be thankful. Whatever head start they had gained from waiting was measured in milliseconds. Every undead that they passed turned their head from their downed victims and howled as they hurled past. He didn't dare look, but within seconds the sounds of dozens of feet pounded behind them, wet squelching echoing as intestines dragged behind the horde and bloody stumps hit the pavement.
A little form leaped at them from the left as they passed. The young girl's hair might once have been light brown, based on the few untouched locks. Now it was nearly black from blood and ichor, plastered to her pale face as a high-pitched scream erupted from her mouth, meat strands hanging from her teeth. The head of Daerion's spear caught her in the middle of her chest, puncturing the once sky-blue dress, and he used the momentum to swing her around and away from their path. Yet the child had barely left the weapon before he had to bring it around like a club and smack a tall corpse that was reaching for Calia, using the blunt end to jab a woman in the face as she came for him at the same time.
There was no end to them. Citizens cried out for help as they saw Daerion and the Princess rush past, reaching out with torn-off limbs as they choked on their own blood, left to bleed out as their attackers abandoned them to chase the new prey. A glance told him that the horde had grown to over a hundred, with more and more joining every second.
Quest updated!
Long live the King.
Bonus objective: Kill (17/25) Undead!
He didn't have an exact estimate of how big Lordaeron was, even with the memories of past Daerion, yet it seemed to stretch for miles as they ran, the spear swinging like a pendulum to keep the Scourge off them as they kept coming. The only indication that they were making progress was the pit, which was growing deeper and deeper down to the sunken main road on their left. Which was good because it limited the number of directions the undead could come from, but bad as they didn't have much room to maneuver.
SP - 90/195
His dwindling SP worried him as the decapitated head of another zombie flew through the air, and he dodged the grasping fingers of the still-moving carcass. He didn't feel out of breath or anything, but he got the feeling that would change if he hit zero.
And more worrisome, Calia was slowing down.
The lingering effects of Fairspring's suicide move had kept her sprinting way longer than she should have been capable of, yet as it wore off, her labored breathing got louder and louder. The previously sure-footed steps became more and more precarious as she reverted to what she actually was.
A sheltered Princess who probably hadn't exercised more than a couple of times in her life. A civilian who had lost her family and was surrounded by the zombies of her people ,trying to rip her apart and eat her.
The walls were finally in sight when things went wrong. Calia was as aware as Daerion that she was slowing, and panic corroded the resolve she had managed to gather. Her path became erratic, flinching from the lunging enemies and trying to move around them instead of leaving them to Daerion, causing him to drop back a little, the mob snapping at his heels.
Literally, in some cases.
The watchtower came into view, and he let out a sigh of relief. They just had to get up onto the walls, he thought to himself right as Calia slammed on the brakes and came to a halt in front of him.
It wasn't hard to see why. A group of seven guards had been exemplarily dedicated to their posts and had gone down to guard one of the few ways out of the city.
Unfortunately, they hadn't stayed down.
The Princess backed up, head swerving left and right as they got sandwiched between the undead. There wasn't any time to think or scream in rage as he truly wanted. Shifting his spear to his left hand, he called out while lowering his shoulder.
If he were in a fantasy universe, then he should be capable of fantasy shit, right?
Right?
"CALIA!"
She turned at his shout, fear and desperation clear on her face for all of a second before it shifted into shock as Daerion's shoulder hit her in the sternum. The air left her lungs like her feet left the ground as she folded over, spittle flying from her mouth. Before she could fall over him, his hand, clutching the spear, caught her by the knees as he kept running, throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes without skipping a beat. His other hand came up to point at the guards.
Alert!
You are over-encumbered! SP consumption doubled!
1 END!
1 STR!
He really fucking hoped that it worked like he thought it would.
"Arcane Push!"
MP - 179.5/337.5!
235 x 7 Damage!
The damage was honestly secondary. A wall of force leapt from his hand and bowled over the reanimated guards like bowling pins. Despite the situation, a grin threatened to overtake his lips as he rushed past the downed enemies and up the short staircase towards the door that led up into the watchtower and from there out onto the walls.
Holy fuck. That was fucking awesome.
Putting on one final burst of speed, he lowered his frame to ram the door the same way he had earlier in the tunnel-
WHAM!
-and bounced right off.
Calia screamed when Daerion almost fell over as the thick, reinforced wood threw him back. Steadying himself, he rushed back up and tried to force it open while the sounds of the horde grew ever closer.
It was no use, though. It was barricaded from the inside.
Bro, he was so fucking cool for a second.
"DAERION!"
Whipping back around and placing Calia behind him, Daerion knew that they were fucked. The only way out was through the mass of hundreds of ravenous undead, or dropping down the 30 feet to the gate, which was also crawling with living corpses. In fact, even as he glanced down at them, he could see them standing on top of each other like a tower of gore and bones, trying to reach up to the letch and join in on the slaughter.
Fuck. He had just been reborn, and he was already going to die. Why the fuck would he say Hard Start? Such a fucking dumbass.
But he wasn't going out like a bitch.
"Stay behind me."
"DAERION!"
"STAY BEHIND ME!"
Those were the only words there was time for.
The staircase acted somewhat like a funnel as the Scourge came at them like a wave. Only somewhat, though, as the wave analogy was accurate. The zombies had gathered in such numbers and with such momentum that they were less like a group of separate individuals and more like a liquid, constantly pushed forward by the force of the ones behind them. The others carried half of them, arms reaching forward with mindless hunger, only to fall to the ground as the ones holding fell themselves. They, in turn, got picked up by the next one, and the process repeated, creating an undulating mass of snapping jaws and death. A trail of blood, body parts, and limbless torsos was left in their wake as they crashed into Daerion, the force pushing half of them down into the ant hill below.
"Arcane Push!"
MP - 139.5/337.5!
The blast threw the worst of them back as Daerion did his best to hold back the tide. The spear blurred as he hacked and slashed, bodies quickly piling up and forming somewhat of a barricade that forced the rest to crawl over the corpses of their fellows. They spilled over, still pushed forward, and the immaculately forged blade bit deep into their craniums before they got to their feet.
1 to Skill: Spear! (10/100)
But it wasn't enough.
Over the sides, they came as the pile grew big enough. Calia screamed and kicked as one grabbed her by the ankle, empty eye sockets lit by an unholy facsimile of life. A pair of Arcane Pushes to either side cleared the stairs for a moment, yet more and more took their place.
MP - 59.5/337.5!
1 to Spell: Arcane Push! (4/100)
It wasn't sustainable. A thrust went slightly askew, scraping along a skull rather than penetrating. Before Daerion could recover, a hand grasped the shaft of the spear and pulled. Overextended as he was, all he could do was to let go of his weapon and throw himself the other way so that he fell backwards onto the stairs instead of forwards into the ravenous horde.
They were on him in the blink of an eye. He could vaguely hear Calia screaming, yet couldn't spare her any attention as the Ghouls latched onto his legs. He kicked and cursed, but for every one he dislodged, three more took their place. The stench of blood, shit, and piss from the dead, yet moving, bodies was overwhelming, and his view of the orange-tinted sky faded as they piled on him.
-20 HP!
-15 HP!
-18 HP!
-22 HP!
-8 HP!
-25 HP!
-20 HP!
He could feel torn fingernails digging into his flesh, and as several pairs of jaws clamped onto him and started biting down, all Daerion could do was throw his hands up and try to cast a Spell. It wasn't a proper Spell; he was too new to magic to do so subconsciously. Though dying while trying to save an innocent wasn't a bad death, he wasn't done. He grasped his magic, commanded it, and forced it forward with sheer willpower, the raw form of his new internal energy pulsing in his chest being pushed outward.
This wasn't where he died.
He refused.
C-CRACK!
The stairs shook beneath him as something shot out through it, the stone cracking and exploding. His outstretched hands protected his face as tiny pebbles shot out like shrapnel from a grenade, cutting thin groves into his palms and arms. The blurs slammed into the Ghouls, lifting them from the ground. The burrowing fingers and gnashing teeth were ripped away from him with force, leaving more wounds behind. The half-elf barely noticed the chunk of flesh torn from his shin, his eyes widening.
Mutilated faces clacked their teeth impotently above him, bloody fingers reaching for him to continue their attack, yet falling short. Arm-thick greenish-brown wooden spikes had emerged from the cobblestone, shattering it as they broke through, and impaled the nearest living dead, lifting them several feet in the air. Dozens of them formed a half circle of intertwining wood, roots he noted, like a fence that held back the tide.
Several screens popped up as he tried to understand what had just happened.
New Affinity discovered!
Nature Affinity- level 25/100:
Reduces cost of Nature Spells by 12.5%. Increases the effectiveness of Nature Spells by 12.5%.
New Spell discovered!
Root Spikes - level 1/100
Create wooden spikes from the ground. Range: Medium. Damage: INT Nature. Cost: 22 per spike (25 base).
22.5(67.5) x 18 Damage!
New Skill discovered!
Adrenaline Surge - level 1/100
Twice a day, increase all Stats, HP, MP, and SP by 20% for 10 seconds. Cost: 10 SP.
All that was very interesting for another time, but even as he gazed upon his unexpected work, Daerion could see the roots bend and start to splinter from the weight of the impaled and the push from the others. One by one, they broke, each snapping sound like a countdown to their end. Scrambling to his feet, he pressed Calia up against the door with his back, trying his best to shield her with his body. It wouldn't do much, but if they had to die, there was no fucking way she was dying first, he affirmed to himself, hands held in a loose boxing stance.
One by one, the Ghouls broke through the barricade, streaming up towards them. Some still had pieces of wood stuck in them and seemed slower for it, the cold glow of their eyes a little duller.
Not that it would help much. If anything, being torn apart slowly sounded worse than being torn apart quickly. His spear was gone, and a glance informed him that his MP was literally at zero. He had a decent amount of training in hand-to-hand, yet punching a horde of zombies seemed like the worst idea he'd ever had.
There was no way out. Despite all the ass pulls and close calls, in the end, it didn't even matter. They had-
-something fell from the sky.
BOOOOOM!
In a flash, a golden glow fell from the heavens like a comet, hitting the ground like a missile. A blast wave of air, dust, and Light blasted out from the point of impact like a bomb had gone off. Closing his eyes, Daerion barely managed to turn his head before the wave hit them. His body still shielded Calia, yet the force caused him to smash her against the door and drive the air from her lungs.
Coughing out the inhaled bits of dirt and gravel, Daerion tried to squint through the mess. Dust hung heavy in the air, mixing with the smoke of the burning city to effectively obscure the view, yet rays of golden Light shone through, refusing to be smothered. The glow seeped into his body, soothing the aches and pain from his wounds, revitalizing and filling him with energy. The cloying thoughts of defeat, of hopelessness, evaporated like rain in the sun, and feelings of safety, of faith, replaced them.
A deep, gravelly voice rang out, effortlessly cutting through the chaos.
"Oooh… you poor things…"
A shadow rose within the cloud, tall and broad. The Light strengthened with every inch.
"I am so sorry. We have failed you. But worry not. Your suffering is at an end…"
A violent motion sent the smokescreen spiraling in all directions, and a man stood in its place. Well over six feet tall, his height was only surpassed by the immense width of his frame, back wide and straight. Shoulder-length brown hair streaked with grey rested gently atop a light green cloak, both billowing in the turbulence from his landing. Giant steel pauldrons clad his boulder-like shoulders, matching his breast plate and greaves, a silver circle with the emblem of a closed fist engraved on every piece. Each piece of armor glinted like a star, obviously of higher quality than even that of the King's Guards.
And in his hand, held out at his side from where he swung to disperse his cover, shone a sun. Five feet of leather-wrapped handle was topped by an enormous square of what seemed to be solid Light, nearly as large as Calia's torso. The hammer head shifted and twisted, the energy so intense that it appeared liquid. Light poured from the man in truly mind-boggling amounts. It was similar to Fairspring's last stand, yet even that suicide bombing was so much less.
"... I, Halahk Lifebringer, shall grant you rest."
[Sir Halahk the Lifebringer, Level ?]
HP - ?
"Awesome…"
It wasn't until he felt Calia twitch behind him and noticed the boyish grin on his face that Daerion realised that he was the one to say it. He was a little too mentally old and had been through too much shit to feel embarrassed about it, but it wasn't the best look to be caught fanboying while in a life and death situation.
Though that guy definitely deserved to be fanboyed about.
The Scourge disagreed. The Ghouls that hadn't been blown to pieces or disintegrated were getting back to their feet from where they'd been thrown, while more and more came running, screeching their hatred. A hand missing several fingers latching on to the edge of the drop told Daerion that the ones below had finally stacked high enough as well.
Not that Halahk seemed too worried. His steps were calm and collected as he moved towards his enemy, hammer held at his side. As the distance between the two sides decreased, he lifted the weapon high above his head, gripping the shaft with both hands. A loud "HAAAH!" burst from his mouth as he brought the mass hurling towards the ground, cratering the rock upon impact, and sending fissures spreading beneath the feet of the undead, dozens of feet long. Light shone from the cracks, brighter and brighter, and even as The Lifebringer turned to the Ghouls at his side, the Light exploded upwards, consuming the whole area in a golden blast. The hammer lifted again at its new targets, another warcry echoing out-
-the door behind them was flung open, and they dumped backwards into the watchtower. The ceiling shook, dust drifting down, as another massive bang came from the outside.
"UP! UP!"
Hands grabbed Daerion under the armpits and dragged him to his feet. He barely had time to register the armor and Menethil colors of the surviving guards before they were shoving him towards a spiral staircase, Calia's grime-covered slippers already taking the steps two at a time.
"GET TO THE TOP!"
They sprinted upward, their feet pounding and their hearts racing. Muffled screams and explosions vibrated the tower, regaining their deafening volumes as they reached the open door near the summit and emerged onto the outer wall. That high up, they had a brief moment to gaze out over the entire city.
It was ridiculous to think that less than an hour ago, the Capital had been filled with joy and laughter, flowers raining from the sky in jubilation. Now, dark, almost pitch black smoke hung heavy over Lordaeron, mixing with the ominous clouds to blanket the area in darkness. Orange flames flickered, their illumination useless even as they consumed whole buildings, ancient stone monuments that had stood for centuries reduced to cinders in the blink of an eye. The streets were flooded with the Scourge, tiny ghostly blue dots stretching to the horizon. Their numbers were beyond counting as they relentlessly pursued whatever stragglers evaded them. Squinting his eyes, Daerion could make out a few places where survivors had tried to make makeshift barricades of whatever they could find, spears and swords and Light hacking and stabbing and purifying in an endless flurry. Yet, even as he watched, they were overwhelmed, drowned beneath the waves of undead.
Hundreds of thousands had called Lordaeron City home, and hundreds of thousands of corpses now stalked its streets.
For some reason, he couldn't help but imagine how sad the sight would have made Fairspring.
Then they were pushed on, the guards herding them forward.
"To the next tower! There's a way out! We'll get you to the others and they'll take you-SHIT!"
It wasn't hard to see what the guard was worried about. The door to the tower they were headed towards had burst open, and from the overfilled opening spilled yet more Ghouls, whatever defenses Halahk's group had set up having fallen. The outer walls were ten feet thick, more than enough for defense and archers, but not designed for a flood of zombies. For every one that stayed on, five more dropped like rocks, pushed off by their fellows, and yet the walkway was filled in seconds anyway.
What did thousands lost matter when your numbers were uncountable?
"Fuck! FUCK! You're gonna have to jump!"
"WHAT!?"
Not needing to be told twice, Daerion scooped the Princess up in his arms again before the protest finished, leaving her mouth, though in a princess carry rather than over the shoulder. Walking to the edge, he gave it a quick once-over. The undead that had fallen were clawing at the walls, trying to stack on top of each other for greater height. Well, 'trying' implied thoughts, so more by accident.
Beyond that, there was nothing near the walls, no foliage or other shit to soften the fall.
The only thing off in the distance was a wooden building of some sort. It was too big and well-maintained just to be a shack, but it wasn't until he saw the booths that his heart skipped a beat in joy.
A stable.
"HOLD ON!"
"DAERION NO-AHHHHHHH!"
He really hoped the fantasy bullshit wouldn't fail him now.
The 40-foot drop made his stomach do somersaults, the adrenaline pumping through his veins like fucking lightning. He felt so fucking alive.
Though judging by Calia's screams, she wasn't enjoying it quite as much.
THUMP!
-30 HP!
The landing was jarring, something popping in his left knee, sensing pain shooting up his spine, yet it wasn't anything near what he'd expected. Fuck, he even managed to keep hold of Calia!
Giving himself a mental pat on the back, he immediately started sprinting for the building that he hoped would have a way to get away from the doomed city. Another outburst came from the woman as she looked over his shoulder, yet he didn't need the warning.
The screeches and hammering, scrambling feet behind them were more than enough.
SP - 35/195
Alert!
You are over-encumbered! SP consumption doubled!
Where the fuck was that message the first time he was carrying her?
He had underestimated the distance to the stables, and as his SP dipped below 30, he finally felt the exhaustion setting in. His legs burned, knees feeling like it was being stabbed with every step.
SP - 20/195
His breathing got heavier and heavier, each inhale a struggle, and every exhale too fast.
SP - 15/195
"THEY'RE COMING! DAERION!"
"Adrenaline Surge!"
All Stats, HP, MP, and SP increased by 20% for 10 seconds!
His speed rose, yet the zombies behind them only seemed to be getting closer.
SP - 44/195
1 to Skill: Running! (8/100)
Please let there be a horse, please let there be a horse!
SP - 42/195
Adrenaline Surge has worn off!
Sp - 2/195
Reaching the stables, he almost fell over with relief at the most beautiful sound and sight he had ever heard.
A large, gorgeous white stallion was tied up in one of the outermost booths. The horse strained against its restraints, standing on its hind legs and smashing its forelegs into the wood the rope was tied to as it neighed with panic, which only increased as Daerion and Calia came running, being chased by a horde of murderous undead. Its eyes were wild and panicked, rolling in its skull and lashing out with kicks, nearly hitting Daerion in the face as he threw Calia on top of the white steed. Hopping up himself, he was just in time to free the rope as the Ghouls reached them.
The stallion took off like a rocket, smashing through the zombies and trampling them under its hooves. The horse was much too riled up to properly listen as Calia took charge and tried to guide it by the mane, but she managed to corral it enough to head for the woods.
Panting behind her, drenched in sweat and with every inch of his body screaming from exertion, Daerion couldn't quite stifle the laugh that bubbled out of him. He looked back, towards the Ghouls fading into the distance, the towering walls that contained the acrid, gore-filled, horror show that the oldest human kingdom on Azeroth still standing had become, and let out a whoop of excitement.
"WHOOOOOOO!"
What a fucking day. What a fucking start to his new life. What a fucking world he found himself in.
He was going to die within a week, but holy fuck was it gonna be a ride.
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I'm enjoying writing this story. Daerion is quite different from Peri, and that's a fun time.
Thank you for reading. Hopefully you enjoyed. If you REALLY liked it, I have a P-a-t-r-e-o-n, under the same name, where you can read 5 chapters ahead.