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(A/N: Chapter 95 will soon be on Patreon!)
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(Now back to the story!)
As soon as Alastor and his army reached the borders of Alterac, they began facing powerful daemons, undead, and beastkin in every major engagement.
From the border alone, they fought through three major battles—one at the frontier and two more deep within enemy territory before finally reaching the capital.
What made these battles different was not merely the sheer number of enemies, nor the increasingly oppressive influence of Chaos the closer they drew to the focal point of the incursion.
No—
It was the presence of mortal Champions of Chaos, along with high-ranking daemons—mostly Daemon Princes and, even worse, Greater Daemons.
And after reaching Alterac's borders, Alastor once again encountered Arthas, who was leading the Scourge forces alongside Kel'Thuzad and his high-ranking undead commanders.
Suffice it to say, Brann looked positively murderous—alongside many of the other dwarves—while Magni had nearly charged headlong into battle in his Titan form the moment he saw Muradin's "killer."
Thankfully, one of the Elders, Brontes, managed to restrain and calm him…
For now.
The forces of Lordaeron, who had once loved and respected Arthas, now looked upon their former prince with nothing but loathing and contempt for what he had done to their kingdom.
Uther especially looked ready to charge straight at him, his eyes never leaving the "monster" he had once considered his greatest pride.
Across all three major battles, it was as though an unspoken agreement had formed among the Alliance Heroes regarding who would face whom.
The Liches, Death Knights, Minotaurs, Beastlords, Champions of Chaos, Daemon Princes, and Greater Daemons were all intercepted by the Alliance's strongest members and Heroes.
Jaina, Alleria, and Rhonin were among them, fighting alongside the others to bring down as many enemy champions as possible.
This task was made easier by one simple fact:
Unlike the Alliance, the Beastkin, Scourge, and Chaos forces may have been "allies," but trust and coordination clearly were not in their vocabulary.
Arthas himself constantly found his path blocked by Alastor, who would make a direct beeline toward him while cutting down anything foolish enough to stand in his way with his flaming sword.
Worse still, not far behind the Holy fire-wielding Primarch were Magni Bronzebeard and Uther Lightbringer.
It was already bad enough contending with Alastor, who relentlessly wielded those terrifying flames against him.
But adding the murderous Dwarf King—who could transform into a giant of overwhelming strength—and his former mentor into the mix only made things worse.
Normally, Arthas no longer feared the Holy Light. Its effects on him had become almost negligible, especially after the tremendous increase in power he gained following the fall of Lordaeron.
Unfortunately for him…
There was one exception.
Saints.
Not only was Uther a Saint of the Light, but his mastery over it was second only to Alonsus Faol's—not even accounting for his own formidable combat skill.
Because of this, despite his newfound strength, Arthas repeatedly found himself quickly suppressed in battle far more often than he cared to admit due to the combination of these three.
Kel'Thuzad who should have normally been able to help him found himself preoccupied in his own predicament.
Lets just say after what happened last time in Dalaran where he was able to teleport Arthas and himself away.
As well as the fact that he was directly responsible for Dalaran being attacked that put Jaina, Rhonin, Antonidas and many of his friends in danger.
Alastor felt particularly vindictive over the Arch-Lich and in a "strategic" (petty) move had Aegwynn be the one to face him in battle.
Which in actual terms meant that the female Guardian proceeded to see how much punishment from her extensive repertoire of spells the Archmage turned Lich could handle before trying desperately to escape.
Due to this and most of his other more powerful "allies" being occupied in their own battles, Arthas much to his humiliation and fury, was forced to retreat time and time again lest he lose his life.
And every time he escaped, Alastor's fury only grew stronger.
Whenever that happened, the Primarch would turn his wrath toward the enemies around him—
much to their initial glee for finally drawing his attention away from Arthas.
That relief, however, quickly transformed into terror once they realized his attention was now focused on them.
Suffice it to say, whenever Arthas fled, his Chaos-aligned "allies" and Undead subordinates found themselves on the receiving end of devastating magic and overwhelming Holy Light attacks.
And if not that…
Then they were likely about to witness a flaming-clad Primarch descending upon them like a vengeful angel of war with wings of fire.
At this point, many of the "invaders" (AKA The Daemons.) were beginning to question why they'd been so eager to come to this cursed world in the first place!?
Sure, Azeroth had seemed like a grand prize, its mortals regarded as exceptional prey.
But after arriving here, these unfortunate fools had come to realize just how absurd the Azerothians truly were—and the unknown powers different groups of them possessed!
At best, their physical forms would be destroyed and they would be banished back to the Warp.
Humiliating, certainly—and likely to earn punishment from their "masters" if they attracted the wrong kind of attention from them.
At worst….....
They would die permanently and face oblivion.
Still, there was at least one silver lining.
The enemy armies were so massive that the Alliance forces were almost always outnumbered.
Which meant there were plenty of enemies for every Alliance Hero to slaughter—
even for Alastor.
And that meant the Alliance's strongest champions could vent all their rage, frustration, and hatred upon them to their hearts' content.
Hmm?
What?
I said there was good news.
Just not for them.
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Finally, they were here.
The capital city of Alterac—like every other human capital in Azeroth, save for the elven kingdoms—bore the same name as the kingdom itself, symbolizing its status as the nation's "heart" and center of it's culture, influence, and power.
While Alterac lacked the military might of many of its neighboring kingdoms, it possessed something else entirely:
A formidable network of spies and rogues.
Due to the kingdom's relatively small size, Alterac had historically favored small-scale skirmishes, sabotage, espionage, and precision strikes over direct warfare.
Over time, those practices became ingrained into the kingdom's culture and daily life, resulting in an abundance of people skilled in stealth, intelligence gathering, and subterfuge.
That was likely one of the reasons why, before the war, organizations such as the Church and the Kirin Tor had only ever possessed suspicions regarding Alterac.
They were never able to uncover concrete evidence significant enough to prove deeper involvement.
In fact, most of the clues and trails they uncovered regarding the Black mages originated from Lordaeron's territories and merely pointed toward Alterac rather than emerging from Alterac itself.
Whenever the subject of Alterac's rogues and intelligence network came up, Mathias—Stormwind's own spymaster and head of SI:7—always spoke with a certain degree of respect.
Particularly when referring to his counterpart in Alterac:
Mario Auditore.
In Mathias's own words, the man hardly looked like someone involved in espionage and secrecy at first glance.
He appeared more like a boisterous, confident, and charismatic warrior than a master spy/rogue/assassin.
Yet when the situation demanded it, few people were more reliable than him.
Not only was he highly skilled in combat, but he also possessed remarkable strategic acumen.
A pragmatic yet compassionate leader, beloved by both his subordinates and the common people alike.
It was something Alastor found deeply admirable, especially since it aligned somewhat with his own ideals.
When Alastor later asked Mathias about Mario's current status, the spymaster explained that Mario had apparently uncovered—or at least strongly suspected—what was happening within Alterac long before the kingdom's fall.
Mario and Aiden Perenolde had never been close.
Mario was loyal to Alterac and its people, but he had long since grown disillusioned with Aiden, whom he viewed as weak, cowardly, and utterly unfit to rule.
Likewise, Aiden both feared and hated Mario.
After all, Mario was one of the few men in the kingdom genuinely loved and respected by the people—something Aiden himself could never claim.
The king constantly feared that one day Mario might attempt to overthrow him.
Honestly, by Mathias's own admission, if Mario had crowned himself king, not only would the people of Alterac have rejoiced, but many of the other rulers of Azeroth would likely have breathed a sigh of relief as well.
Once his suspicions first arose, Mario had instructed his brother Giovanni—also one of his most trusted lieutenants—to secretly escort their family and a significant portion of the population out of Alterac and toward safer settlements beyond the kingdom's borders.
Mario had this prepared and facilitated after calling in quite a few favours from the nobles of the neighbouring kingdoms who owed him quite a bit.
When Mario eventually concluded that the chances of Aiden collaborating with the Black Mages were extremely high, he initiated a coup and even attempted to have both Aiden and Malak assassinated.
Sadly, the coup failed.
Mario himself was severely injured and only survived due to the sacrifice of another of his top lieutenants:
Niccolò Machiavelli.
Niccolò and a group of loyal rogues gave their lives to ensure the majority of their comrades could retreat safely alongside their wounded leader.
Afterward, Mario and his remaining forces fled north until they eventually reached Stratholme, where he urgently contacted Giovanni and ordered him to abandon all secrecy and accelerate the evacuation efforts.
One month later, the grand ritual of Chaos was enacted.
The vast majority of Alterac's remaining population was used as fuel for the ritual, alongside the vast "resources" already invested by the Black Mages.
Still…
There had been one silver lining.
The survivors who escaped the ritual's effects were safely escorted by Mario's forces into fortified settlements across the other Allied kingdoms.
Despite saving countless lives and preventing his people from being completely annihilated—or reduced to a dying remnant—Mario was consumed with guilt.
He blamed himself for failing to stop Aiden and the Black Mages.
And so he swore that neither he nor his forces would cease fighting until their homeland was cleansed of traitors and heretics!
Since the beginning of the war, the loyalist forces of Alterac, led by Mario and his brother Giovanni Auditore, had worked closely alongside the Scarlet Crusade in Stratholme.
But now, with the siege of Alterac drawing near, Mario had personally accompanied Turalyon's army with a large contingent of his men in order to eventually link up with the eastern Alliance force led by Alexandros.
They would not remain absent during the liberation of their homeland.
Nor would they allow others to deny them the right to slaughter as many of their traitorous kin as possible.
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Alastor's army stood atop the cliffs, and in the distance lay Alterac City.
Everyone present had gone solemn at the sight before them—and at the knowledge of the great battle that awaited.
"That's a big-ass portal," Rhonin commented as he peered through a pair of binoculars at the city—
—or rather, what remained of it.
Alterac City and the surrounding land were saturated with Warp energy that twisted and mutated everything it touched.
The veil between reality and the Aether had grown dangerously thin, allowing corrupted energies to seep through the cracks and spread their rot across the land.
Large sections of the city walls now appeared to be made of pulsating flesh adorned with countless eyes and mouths filled with sharpened teeth.
Some chanted in blasphemous tongues, while others roared with a grotesque mixture of rage, ecstasy, and maddened glee.
The buildings had suffered similar corruption—
though many had also sprouted entirely new and deeply disturbing "appendages."
At the center of the city, visible even from this distance, loomed a massive Warp rift that continuously disgorged daemons and corrupted energies from the Realms of Chaos into Azeroth.
Smaller Warp gates had also been erected throughout the city around the central rift, either summoning additional daemons or serving as teleportation points.
As for the number of enemies…
There were many.
Many.
Outside the city walls alone, there were at least hundreds of thousands of undead, daemons, and beastkin.
Alongside them stood countless specialized units—Daemon Engines, Ghorgons, Liches, and worse.
Each group was commanded by powerful high-ranking entities that acted as battlefield leaders.
And this was only their front.
The other two Alliance armies were undoubtedly facing equally horrifying odds from their own positions.
Worse still, there was no telling how many more enemies waited within the city itself—or how many were still being summoned.
Since the Alliance launched its counteroffensive, every battle against the heretic forces had forced them to confront hordes equal to—or greater than—their own numbers.
The only reason they had made it this far achieving continuous great victories with far fewer casualties than expected was because of the presence of multiple capable commanders and heroes skilled in warfare and strategy.
As well as the planning, preparation, and countermeasures devised by Alastor himself.
Through superior logistics, intelligence, technology, battlefield coordination, and careful use of terrain, the Alliance had managed to maximize the strengths of every group under its command.
But only a blind fool would believe the coming battle would resemble the previous ones.
They had a plan.
Or rather—
Alastor had a plan.
The problem was that he already knew the cost.
Even with everything they had prepared, the upcoming battle and siege would claim more lives than all their previous engagements combined.
He'd tried to revise the strategy countless times, searching for alternatives—anything that might reduce the losses.
But every path led back to the same conclusion.
Given the circumstances, their current forces and whatever else he had….....
This was the best option available.
"You can say that again," Alastor replied dryly as he stared toward the distant city beside Rhonin.
Already in his Primarch form and clad in his light grey power armor, Dawn rested at his side.
"That's a big-ass portal."
Alastor really tried.
He truly did.
But despite the oppressive atmosphere, he couldn't stop the snort that escaped him as his lips twitched at his best friend's remark.
Rhonin lowered the binoculars.
As Alastor's closest friend—his brother from another mother—he immediately recognized the burden weighing on him.
And he knew exactly what to do.
"Hey."
Alastor glanced at him curiously as Rhonin offered him a calm smile.
"Stressed?"
"…Very."
Alastor took a moment before answering.
Rhonin simply patted his armored forearm and gave him a grin, already knowing why.
"Hey, Al…" Rhonin said quietly. "Let's make every death worth it."
Alastor's eyes widened slightly.
Then his expression hardened once more with renewed determination.
He gave Rhonin a firm nod as the two of them turned and began walking back toward the camp for one final preparation before the coming battle.
"Let's."
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