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(A/N: Chapter 110 will soon be on Patreon!)
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(Now back to the story!)
Sylvanas did not know how long she had been fighting. Eventually, the battle and its relentless tempo seemed to put her into a trance, her body moving almost on instinct—slashing or shooting the enemy in front of her before moving on to the next target.
In a way, she supposed she had to remove all other distractions from her mind, considering the kind of assault she was trying to defend against.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead as she frowned at her defensive line being pushed back by the enemy horde.
The outer wall was already lost, forcing her to order a retreat to the second defensive line within the city. Despite the pressure, they seemed to be holding far better than she had expected, thanks to how fiercely her soldiers were fighting, their familiarity with the city, and the traps they had prepared beforehand.
She quickly vaulted onto the roof of a building to gain a better vantage point and drew Thas'dorah once more. The legendary bow instantly formed energy arrows as she pulled back the string.
With her masterful skill, she unleashed a barrage of high-speed arrows, sniping beastkin and daemons alike. Whether they were on the streets, in the air, or atop buildings like herself, none were safe from her aim.
She especially targeted those who looked like commanders and leaders around whom the enemy forces tended to rally.
Just then, three shadows revealed themselves to be daemonettes as they vaulted onto the rooftop and attacked Sylvanas simultaneously.
Sylvanas immediately disengaged, dodging their attacks while creating distance.
These daemonettes seemed different from the ones she had slain before. For one, they were in a constant state of motion.
"Such a pretty little eldar. A fine offering to the Prince."
"Such beauty. I want to see if her insides are just as pretty!"
"Dance with us, little elf!"
The three attacked in perfect coordination.
Unfortunately for them, the one they faced was anything but a normal elf.
"Fuck off!"
Sylvanas had already drawn her twin enchanted short swords, one held in a reverse grip and the other normally. Rather than defend, she attacked, weaving through their strikes while launching her own counters.
The four blurred as they fought, but Sylvanas quickly adapted to their rhythm. She severed one daemonette's arm and then her head before dispatching the other two in rapid succession.
Afterward, she wasted no time and sprinted across the rooftops until she spotted one of the primary chokepoints her defenders had established within the city.
The position was being led by Halduron.
She silently thanked Isha that she had arrived when she did, as she immediately spotted several dead High Elves—victims of another daemonette.
This one, however, was clearly something else entirely.
The daemonette wore a multi-faced golden mask and possessed the signature androgynous build of her kind. Six arms extended from her body, the upper pair ending in razor-sharp crab-like claws. Her legs were elongated, and she wore form-fitting segmented Slaaneshi armor adorned with trailing ribbons and silk sashes.
Like all daemons of Slaanesh, her beauty was an illusion, making her appear divine and flawless while concealing the grotesque, chitinous monstrosity beneath.
Her aura was also far stronger than most daemons Sylvanas had faced.
That fact became painfully obvious when she saw the daemonette overwhelming Halduron in combat. The daemon looked entirely unthreatened while Halduron struggled simply to defend himself.
Sylvanas did not hesitate.
Drawing Thas'dorah once more, she loosed several mana arrows at the daemonette.
To her shock, the daemon dodged them effortlessly, moving as though she were dancing rather than evading.
"Oh my!"
The daemon looked up at Sylvanas without ever interrupting her graceful movements.
"I would normally find it quite rude when someone interrupts my performance, but seeing as it's my chosen dance partner, I shall gladly make an exception."
Sylvanas frowned as she landed in front of Halduron.
A quick glance confirmed he was wounded and exhausted but not in immediate danger. Behind him, the remaining High Elf defenders continued holding the line.
"Halduron, can you still stand?"
"I can, but General, you need to be careful. This daemon is different from the others we've fought. She butchered most of my personal team without breaking a sweat and was clearly toying with me the entire time."
Even while speaking, Halduron never took his eyes off the daemon.
The daemonette merely laughed as she continued her dance.
"I am the Masque of Slaanesh, Herald of my Prince and leader of the Accursed Troupe."
She performed a flourishing bow.
"An honor to meet one of the eldar whom the Prince of Pleasure has taken an interest in. A pity. I thought I would get the chance to meet your sister Alleria first, considering all that I've heard from my sisters."
Sylvanas's eyes hardened as her grip on her twin swords tightened.
"I don't like your tone. Just for that, I'm going to gut you and send you back to the pit you crawled out of in pieces."
The Masque laughed.
"Don't threaten me with a good time, mon amour."
Then, in a burst of impossible speed, she closed the distance.
Blades and claws struck from multiple angles at once.
Sylvanas responded with equal skill, weaving through the attacks with minimal movement before launching counters of her own.
Their battle began in earnest.
"HAHAHAHA! Dance until you have no strength left in your flesh, eldar!"
"No thanks—and fuck off!"
The Masque was fast.
Incredibly fast.
She was also absurdly skilled.
Sylvanas had to give the fight her full concentration as she dodged, weaved, and counterattacked, all while making sure not to fall into her opponent's rhythm.
This was the kind of battle where even the smallest lapse in focus could prove fatal.
A single mistake.
A single opening.
At best, she would be gravely wounded.
At worst, she would die.
Behind them, Halduron and the remaining defenders could only watch.
It was not that they did not want to help.
They simply couldn't!
Sylvanas and the Masque were fighting too close together and moving at speeds that were difficult even for veteran High Elves to track.
Halduron kept his plasma bow ready, hoping to provide support and create an opening for Sylvanas.
Yet he could do nothing.
And honestly, he was not surprised.
He had known Sylvanas since they were children and understood just how exceptionally talented she truly was.
Aside from her mother, Lireesa, the only High Elf who could currently match Sylvanas's martial prowess, archery skills, and tactical brilliance was her elder sister, Alleria.
That only made it more terrifying to witness a daemonette capable of matching their Ranger General blow for blow.
The other High Elves could only watch the terrifying yet undeniably magnificent display of skill unfolding before them.
The Masque was absolutely thrilled with the duel she was having.
She had faced many mortals whenever she had the chance to enter the Materium, but the woman she was currently facing was without a doubt one of the finest dance partners she had ever had the pleasure of crossing blades with.
"Won't you join us?" the Masque asked in a silken, sweet tone, even as she tried to take her opponent's head with a vicious swipe of her crab-like claws.
"The Dark Prince hungers for Eldar souls, but he places far more emphasis on heart and passion—both of which you possess in abundance. His blessings can drive your talents to new and maddening heights. You need only surrender yourself to excess."
The only answer she received was a vicious slash from Sylvanas that carved a bloody trail across the daemon's chest.
"I'll pass!" Sylvanas spat.
"You can tell your prince he can shove his offer so far up his ass that it'll hopefully leave him constipated!"
"Even after he's shown you such interest?!" the Masque shrieked, genuinely flabbergasted.
Sylvanas flashed her a look of pure disgust.
"I'd sooner kiss an Ork! Besides, I already fancy someone—someone who thankfully doesn't have a countless number of fetishes that would make me puke."
For the briefest moment, Sylvanas's thoughts drifted toward a certain heroic idiot she had come to know and those unfairly seductive purple eyes of his.
The Masque's expression twisted into genuine fury.
To her, the very idea of rejecting Slaanesh was utterly inconceivable.
Anyone who refused the Prince's favor was either insane—which was rich coming from her—or a fool who deserved to become a plaything for her kin.
"I will torture every inhabitant of this city of yours," the Masque hissed, venom dripping from every word.
"I will raze it to the ground, take my sweet time with you, elf, and personally deliver your soul to the Prince so you may enjoy his "tender" mercies."
"You talk too much."
Sylvanas snarled as she dodged a slash that missed her throat by mere inches before severing the same hand cleanly from the daemon's arm.
"Let's see if your dancing matches your mouth!"
As their duel continued, multiple roars echoed across the city.
Sylvanas glanced upward and grimaced as she spotted several Black Dragons entering through the breaches that had been torn into Silvermoon's shields.
The dragons unleashed torrents of molten lava that spread fire rapidly throughout multiple districts of the city while attacking key defensive positions held by her soldiers.
The sudden appearance of the dragons and the devastation they unleashed caused Sylvanas's concentration to falter for a split second.
The Masque immediately capitalized on the opening and moved to deliver a killing blow.
Only to be forced to disengage.
Several plasma arrows streaked toward her.
Halduron had finally found an opportunity to intervene.
His shots forced the daemon to abandon the opening she had been about to exploit.
Already enraged, the Masque turned her attention toward Halduron.
Sylvanas's eyes widened in horror.
"Halduron, run!"
The Masque became a literal purple blur as she crossed the distance between herself and the Ranger-Captain.
Three of her swords lashed out simultaneously.
Only Sylvanas's warning and Halduron's own skill saved him.
Using every ounce of his strength, he raised his bow as an improvised guard and deflected one strike.
His free hand drew his short sword and managed to turn aside another.
But he could not stop the third.
The blade sliced across his abdomen, drawing a spray of blood and sending a wave of agony through his body.
The Masque smiled and leapt backward more than ten meters, effortlessly avoiding the follow-up attack from an enraged Sylvanas.
"Halduron!?"
"I'm... I'm fine..." Halduron grunted through clenched teeth.
"Just a scratch...!"
His subordinates quickly dragged him back and began administering what little healing magic and first aid they could without a dedicated combat healer present.
The Masque deliberately licked the blood from her blade.
The act only further enraged both Sylvanas and the watching High Elves.
"That is a good look for you," the daemon purred.
"You should have accepted my offer."
She gestured broadly toward the destruction surrounding them.
"Look around."
Death.
Fire.
Ruin.
The city burned from multiple directions as beastkin, daemons, and Black Dragons continued their assault.
With the arrival of the dragons, morale had taken a severe blow.
The current defensive line had finally collapsed, forcing the surviving High Elves to retreat deeper into Silvermoon.
For the first time since the battle had begun, the enemy had broken through completely.
"I told you, didn't I? Your city will be razed."
"I knew..." Sylvanas said with a dark look. Not only she, but every High Elf present behind her and those retreating toward the inner city wore similar expressions.
"I always knew we would die here, but what YOU don't realize is how petty I can be!"
"You want my head? Then come and take it, you rejected fashion statement! I'm not gonna die before I gut you like I said and take as many of your blasted kin with me!"
Sylvanas's gaze was pure spite and pettiness, and not only her, but every High Elf behind her and throughout the city felt the same hateful defiance.
We'll die today? FINE! But don't expect us to make it easy for you, daemon filth!
Suddenly, they all heard the sound of something cutting through the air and instinctively readied themselves. Even the Masque looked upward, thinking a Black Dragon was closing in on them.
Unfortunately, they could barely see anything through the thick black smoke rising from the fires and burning buildings.
Several large blasts of powerful fire shot out from the black cloud of smoke overhead.
But then everyone paused.
The giant fireballs didn't hit them or any other High Elf.
Instead, they fell directly onto the daemons and beastkin already inside the city and fighting.
Sylvanas looked genuinely confused, and even the Masque's smile faltered.
"What?"
Halduron perfectly articulated what everyone was feeling.
But the shock wasn't over.
Multiple plasma bolts suddenly shot toward the Masque, forcing her to quickly dodge, while Sylvanas stared in disbelief as two very familiar figures vaulted down from a burning building.
"Alleria!? Vereesa!?"
It was indeed her older and younger sisters, who quickly moved to her side.
"Are you well, Lady Moon?" Alleria asked Sylvanas as a bit of playful energy seeped into her voice.
"Sister, we made it here as soon as we could." Vereesa, on the other hand, was simply relieved to see her alive and expressed her concern more openly.
"Frak that! WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING HERE!?"
Sylvanas, on the other hand, was far more worried about the fact that her sisters had arrived in what was effectively a final stand for her and her army.
Alleria and Vereesa kept their eyes on the Masque as they smiled and drew their own enchanted short swords.
"Sister, don't worry. You've already done enough."
Alleria nodded at Vereesa's words, her smile turning sharp.
"Besides, we never said we came alone."
As if on cue, a thunderous crescendo echoed through the battlefield as several squadrons of fighter jets, most bearing the markings of Kul Tiras and Aerie Peak, tore through the skies and immediately unleashed hell in the form of missiles and bombs upon the gathering of daemons and beastkin occupying the outer walls and the territory beyond.
Roars echoed throughout the city as Red Dragons descended from the heavens, engaging Black Dragons in aerial combat or tearing through daemons and mutants alike.
Alongside them came massive bipedal war machines—Armored Cores over ten meters tall—that landed upon rooftops and streets before turning their weapons on the enemy as well.
"WHAT!?"
The Masque was horrified, shocked, and enraged as she witnessed these sudden arrivals.
Sylvanas herself was momentarily struck dumb by the abrupt turn of events before her mind reached the only logical conclusion.
A wry smile appeared on her face.
"Alastor?"
She spoke only a single word.
Her sisters answered with one of their own.
"Alastor."
<--------------------------------------->
The army of the Alliance stood solemnly atop the hills as they looked upon Quel'Thalas and the devastation inflicted upon it and the surrounding lands.
"Quel'Thalas stands alone," Antonidas said from beside Alastor.
"Not alone," Alastor replied as he drew Dawn. The lower portion of his helmet locked into place, covering the lower half of his face.
"Alliance!"
At the call of their Supreme Commander, knights drew their swords, soldiers primed their weapons, mana gathered around the staffs and hands of mages, and nature magic surged through the druids, among countless others.
"The time has come!" Alastor bellowed, his voice carrying throughout the entire army.
"The time of wrath!" the Worgen growled alongside the dragons.
"The time for vengeance!" Knights, dwarves, and paladins answered by slamming their fists against their armor.
"Today we end this once and for all!"
Mana, nature magic, Holy Light, and countless other powers gathered around the weapons and bodies of their wielders.
"Today we fight as one to defy the fel gods and show them and their blasted servants that this is OUR world!"
"FOR AZEROTH!"
Alastor roared with all his rage, determination, and conviction.
His pupils blazed with sacred fire, and behind him, his flaming wings manifested and unfurled in all their glory.
The response he received was equally deafening.
Every soldier and hero of the Alliance bellowed with the same passion and defiance.
"FOR AZEROTH!!!"
Smiling beneath his helmet, Alastor took to the skies as the Alliance army charged down the hills toward the daemons and beastkin.
Seeing the massive force suddenly descending upon them, the servants of Chaos quickly turned to face the approaching threat.
(A/N: I took inspiration from Lord of the Rings the Two towers when Rohirram came to the rescue with Gandalf in the final battle.)
But then, to their horror, the very space above the charging Alliance army tore open.
From within emerged floating geometric entities of pure light.
Completely devoid of biological form, they consisted of brilliant crystalline shards drifting symmetrically around central cores of blinding holy radiance.
The Naaru.
The moment they appeared, many projected powerful shields over the advancing Alliance forces, protecting them from incoming ranged attacks from the forces of Chaos.
Others unleashed beams of concentrated Holy Light that instantly obliterated entire formations of daemons and beastkin!
Their mere presence also suppressed feelings of fear, despair, and pain in a manner somewhat similar to Alastor's battle meditation technique.
Despite the sudden development, the charging army never slowed.
They slammed into the forces of Chaos with unstoppable momentum and immediately began showing them exactly why they should have stayed off their world.
Roars, laughter, and battle cries echoed across the battlefield as blood was spilled and battle lines shattered.
Yet, shockingly enough, it was not the side of Chaos from which the sounds came from.
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