I decided to conduct the equipment check and the search for errors in the seals' operation at my own base, in the unfinished generator hall. More precisely, a partially excavated one. The thirty-by-thirty room is about half-ready; the main work is currently being carried out on the floor below. When we finish, the reactor will be located there, and here—the control devices. But nothing so important, because this hall is the last line of defense. In the event of the reactor going out of control, the floor will be collapsed, burying the entire structure beneath it. And that means there must be enough material here to quench the plasma and cool the heat of a runaway machine.
But all that will be later; for now, it's just me here. In the silence of the metal-lined room, there is nothing but a stone transmuted altar covered in runes. Much like the one I formed in the Karazhan tower while creating the gauntlets. And a lone lamp on the ceiling, creating just enough light for the sensitive eyes of an Elf to see everything necessary.
It's gloomy, no doubt. But very few races are capable of seeing in complete, absolute darkness. And darkness, in this case, hides golems, mines, and deactivated hacks. Protection that certainly won't be superfluous. And though I'm a bit nervous because of the long shadows, numerous dark corners, and almost deafening silence, I don't want to risk discovery. The situation is extremely delicate; figuring it out is the most important thing.
The operation to deliver the ship was completed successfully. The ship was brought in, the cargo returned, and the bodies that were found as well. The Druid was handed over to Jaina, who was quite surprised to see a Night Elf. I was also surprised when Alastir kept looking at me, but he didn't tell anyone about what happened. And he didn't point out the strange skin color. Moreover, he forbade Stan from mentioning it, looking at the guy in a way that made him shrink, fiercely expressing his agreement to remain silent. No one noticed the blue skin or the veins glowing purple.
What saved me, among other things, was that the "field" clothing in my wardrobe is closed-off—gloves on my hands, a helmet on my head; noticing the problem isn't that easy. So I managed to turn in the quest, hand the Druid over to the sorceresses, and quickly beat it to dig the dungeon. More accurately, my Billy is digging it, while I secluded myself in a room, created an altar, and began urgently dismantling my gloves. I need to find out what happened. And whether I'll start mutating uncontrollably from the Void infection. I'd rather not.
The glove lies on the altar, disassembled. I didn't bother taking off the second one; they are almost mirror images anyway. A unique device covering the entire arm up to the shoulder. At first glance, a standard plate construction, albeit somewhat ornate and decorated. In fact, it's much more complex.
Magic bags are, in a sense, a masterpiece of Artifactоrics. A simple pouch—essentially a coin purse hanging from a belt—can easily have five liters of internal volume. Moreover, those five liters will have almost no effect on the center of gravity. Just twenty-five silver, and wear it to your heart's content. This is why almost no one in Azeroth carries classic bags. Simply put, why bother? And if you really need something large, take several small ones, or a backpack that can fit thirty to fifty liters. The limitations here are mostly regarding the durability of the bag's material, not the volume. After all, the load remains in a certain sense, even if the material bears it. That's why, while small bags are very cheap, large ones cost hundreds or even thousands of gold. But they allow you to haul an indecent amount of cargo.
In the case of the glove, there is no such problem; it is entirely metal. The mass is compensated by magic. Except that for maintenance, it has to be completely disassembled, the blocks extracted, studied, and reassembled. And yes, the internal volume of my "Contact Pair"—a good name—is many times larger than the external. Frankly speaking, if you cut off the hand, the fingers simply wouldn't be there. They are hidden behind so much metal that even under rubble that would squash me, my hands would survive.
If you extract everything inside the glove and lay it out, you get an analysis module positioned around the arm, and magic converters. On top of that is a drum with attached devices. A Force Hammer, Uomo Universale, a shotgun, a magic cutter, a welding machine, knives of various configurations, claws, vampiric claws, a mana storage module, injectors, a flashlight, a monitor, a player looping "Yegor Letov, 'To Kill' 10 hours," magic crystals. And a bunch of other stuff. Plus the mechanism that rotates the drum at the right moment, extracts the necessary modules from the "bag," and installs them onto the glove. The flaps open, and a machine many times larger than the arm itself extends from the small glove. But it works.
"Alright, let's look at the seals."
The seals themselves are located on rings over the forearm, and to get to them, you have to disassemble the drum. They feed mana directly into the system, so they must be accessible at all times, regardless of the module. Holy, Shadow, Void, Necromancy, Nature. Only Arcane is missing, simply because I am a Mage and create the required type of mana myself. At the moment of activation, the machine rotates the drums, connecting them to my mana and coloring it into the desired form, filling the spell seals. The result is quite... destructive, as we've discovered. And effective.
In practice, it works, but... there's a problem. The coloring... I examined my hands only to notice that around the Void seal, the arm is much more bluish than even the rest of the skin; the veins literally burn and glow with the Void, and it feels as if something is crawling under the skin. Gross! But there's nothing there; I checked.
"The impact is much stronger than it should be in theory. Why?"
While a paleness and a certain blue-violet color of the veins—which, by the way, glows slightly in the dark—has spread across my whole body, here at the point of contact, everything is much worse. And I wear them almost constantly, simply because they are bound to me. If I take the "contact pair" off, I feel discomfort, a loss of something important, an anxiety bordering on paranoia. The consequences of binding a piece of one's soul to a weapon. Unpleasant, but I knew what I was getting into, and I regret nothing.
"Tsk. Not good."
I also disassembled the glove itself, checking the general state of the systems. It's better here. The materials from Medivh's tower held up under the load; replace a couple of crystals and it'll be fine. Or perhaps the poisoning was intentionally diverted elsewhere.
The quiet ringing in my ears is also irritating. Or is it... a voice? Just what I needed, voices in my head. Hmm, is someone here? Nearby? Quiet. No, it's just noise in my head.
"What am I to do with you, hmm?"
I cannot give up a weapon of such power. But I can't ignore the possible consequences either. A problem.
"May I come in?"
The reaction was instantaneous. I spun around, raising a mana shield and ready to attack. I ducked behind the altar, using it as cover, and switched the second, non-disassembled glove into combat mode. An enemy? There, in the passage, but without entering the room, stands the Druid. He is watching, ignoring the Manhacks buzzing in front of him. And the mine hanging over the door. And the two on either side of the door. Maybe he didn't notice. Still, the fact that he found me so easily is unsettling. I mean, I understand the infrastructure isn't ready yet—there aren't even basic doors for the most part, let alone defensive systems—but still.
"I don't recall expecting guests, Alastir."
The man nodded.
"I understand. And yet, we have things to discuss, Davilinia. To voluntarily take the darkness into yourself... I insist on a conversation."
Great, just great. I assumed Jaina and Mom and the others would keep him busy longer. He is, after all, a representative not just of one of the indigenous peoples, but of a state that occupies the entire north of the continent. Exactly where we are all heading as a collective group. And I thought no one would bother me, since the Druid decided not to tell anyone about what happened. But here he is. To attack, or...
"You found my base. I thought they would delay you longer, Druid. Still, what are you doing here? Since we are gathered here, you and I."
There's always time to blast him with the force hammer. I didn't use it in front of him; he doesn't know I can do such things. The man spread his hands, continuing to watch calmly with glowing yellow eyes.
"There is not much I can do to help the Expedition. Alas, I have not been in the forests of Ashenvale for a long time," the Druid flicked away an overly curious Manhack like a bee, "regarding the situation, hmm. I am concerned about what happened to you. You do not look like a cultist of the Old Ones. And the fact that your loved ones do not know about this. How long can you hide from them? How long will your strength last to restrain the darkness gnawing at you from within?"
If I don't think of something, then not long; violet glowing veins are very noticeable. Not to mention that after the very first meeting, Dartaola will sound the alarm. That is precisely why I ended up here, not putting off the search for a solution until later, ignoring my fatigue and ready to sit here until morning if necessary to find a way out. And also because I remember how you tore those blighted golems apart. You, your Druidship, clearly don't like dark magic. Basically, it looks like we have a conflict.
"Long enough to think of a solution to my problem, I suppose. This was intended to be a secret base. And those who weren't invited shouldn't be able to enter so easily."
Get lost, will you? And yet I know he won't leave. And our acquaintance was so brief... The Druid, predictably, did not back down.
"Alas, no. The fact that you might lose control over yourself requires observation. You have told much, but you have not told your story, child. I am not your enemy, but I still demand answers. This is all more than serious. I can help."
Yeah, right.
"And why would I do that?" I'll hit him with mines, with heavier magic, "I don't know you. Why should I trust you?"
I'm under a shield; the power should be enough. The gloves are equivalent, I have plenty of mana, and there are potions on my belt. In a duel, I should be able to win on raw power. The Druid didn't even flinch; he just stands and watches. Is he confident, or does he think I won't fire? His natural powers have nothing to work with here; the walls are stone and metal, this room is already paneled.
"I can help," Alastir repeated calmly, "you have no reason to trust me, but you want to find a solution. And I can help you with that. I wish no harm, and I do not wish to kill a child consumed by darkness."
I don't think so, I don't believe it.
"No offense, but you don't look like someone who understands magimechanics. Or are you going to try to convince me to give them up?" I snapped the fingers of my armored hand, extending the claws.
Right now, it's deployed as a force hammer, which in a confined space would mean demolishing everything within a radius of a meter and a half and about five meters in length. Absolutely everything, living or otherwise. Alastir looked into my eyes and said:
"I have seen many mages consumed by the thirst for power, child. And the foremost among them is Azshara, Queen of the Nagas. Our great ruler, who in her thirst for power turned to the fel of demons. Because of her, the single continent is now shattered. Because of her unrestrained greed, so many elves died, and mages fell into disgrace. Because of her pride and greed, the great Empire fell. And it would be sad if such a fate befell... hmm."
The Druid slowly turned his head toward Venidan, who was holding a long knife to his neck. The Rogue was visibly angry. Of course, I had seen her, but I hadn't let on. Moreover, she had intentionally tripped a mine to signal her presence, unlike the cat. She jerked her chin toward the room.
"Get inside. And I was wondering where you went," she didn't even look at me, keeping her eyes on her opponent, "Davi, step aside. Help has arrived."
"Good," I'm damn glad to see you.
I have absolutely no desire to blast away with siege pulses and risk bringing the ceiling down on my own head. And the glove needs to be switched to something more precise; right now, a "hammer" strike would take out the Rogue too. The Druid, ignoring the mines and Manhacks scurrying around him, calmly walked into the room, allowing himself to be led. I moved to the wall; Billy, whom I had also summoned here, blocked the door. Venidan nodded to Alastir toward the altar.
"Sit," he obeyed, "now tell us what that was all about. Preferably in a way that I'll believe. Because the way you sneaked into our little one's favorite dungeon doesn't look good. Not good at all. I've heard a lot about your kind, and I don't want to think about what you were planning to do there, you horny tomcat."
The Druid sighed. It seemed he hadn't been accused of such a thing before. I don't feel sorry for him.
"Look at her and you will have your answers. I wish no harm, but I wish to understand."
Venidan cast a skeptical glance in my direction. Then another, longer one. And cursed.
"What have you done to yourself this time? Little one, seriously, you were left alone for a couple of days, and you look even worse than before."
I shrugged.
"Nothing new. Just the consequences of active glove use. Remember on the island when I snapped a bit? The same thing happened, only stronger this time. The analysis protocol found a solution for the most effective Havoc of the Murlocs—boiling their brains. In the process, the transformation went further than intended and I lost control."
Venidan snorted, still watching the Druid. He alone was as calm as a boa constrictor.
"Lost control? Have you seen yourself? You weren't this mangled even during the poisoning of the Sunwell! You know, I almost understand this guy now. You look like Undead, you go into a dark dungeon, you perform strange rituals. I'd be worried too."
I didn't have time to object.
"She has fallen under the influence of a Void entity," the Druid interjected, "the Void is..."
"I know," the Rogue cut him off sharply, "we have an element map hanging on the whole wall. Davi, is it true?"
I nodded. No point lying to my own.
"Like I said, I lost control. I came here to find the reason. I found it. The mana transformation goes both ways. The seal influences the user as well. And I connected my own mana to the gloves, effectively isolating a part of my soul. This is the result. We consume Arcane, so these are temporary difficulties. It will fade over time."
Venidan irritably countered:
"Unless we crawl somewhere where you use the Void seal again. Seriously, Dartaola is right—you need to look after yourself at least a little. And use less magic that turns you into... this."
I shook my head.
"I don't plan on using the seal anytime soon. Orcs can be burned with Arcane too. And demons with Holy. Unless the Troll Loa..."
The Druid, who had been listening all this time, decided to intervene.
"Perhaps I could help. As a Druid. Obviously, while I lack technical skills, I possess certain magical knowledge. Ultimately, I managed to tear you away from the subjugation."
And I owe you my life, yeah. I had to tell them more, especially since Veni wanted to know too. About the time loop set up by the Bronze Dragonflight. I decided not to mention the Infinite One; the trap was from the Bronze Dragonflight after all. And about the tower of the Mage whose knowledge helped solve the problem. And that I wasn't going to give up the power because it's too convenient a tool, including against demons. A tool that must be turned against them. No, I'm not backing down.
Veni, having heard everything, supported me.
"The little one is an inventor. She'll find a solution. She always does. Besides, if the demons arrive, it's better to meet them with a weapon than without."
The Druid listened, sighed, expressing hopelessness with his whole demeanor, and said:
"Children should not live like this. Should not think like this. What a mistake we have made... I offer you my services."
Wait, what? How did you come to that, pointy-ears? Venidan looked at him even more suspiciously.
"A mercenary?"
The elf nodded.
"As a mercenary. I wish to become better acquainted with the culture of the children of Dath'Remar (From the co-author: 'Darth Revan, he-he-he =)'). If you intend to fight demons, I am ready to help. Including helping you not to lose yourself."
That is... actually an interesting offer. Given the limited magic schools, having a Druid on the team would be genuinely useful. And dealing with the Night Elves would be easier. Though it's not a given; this cat clearly walks by himself and doesn't sleep when he's supposed to.
On the other hand, I have no idea who this character is or what thoughts are swirling in his head. Yes, he helped, being in the right place at the right time. But was it a coincidence, or was he there intentionally? Too many questions and too few answers. Apparently, Venidan thought so too. And she ordered:
"We have heard your offer and will consider it. Now, out. You were clearly not invited here, Mr. Druid."
Alastir left, and a disgruntled Veni remained. I sent Billy back to continue digging. Too much still needs to be done, and time is limited. We sat on the altar, the golems returned to their positions, and Veni decided to inspect my body more closely. Frowning, running her hand over the glowing veins and swearing under her breath.
"So what am I to do with you, Little One? Leave you for a moment and you get into another mess," my objections were cut off by a hand over my mouth, "I know you come out stronger and more experienced than before. Every time. But what if you overdo it? I don't want to fulfill that promise, you know."
She was talking about the fact that if I change too much, I won't want to stop myself.
"I understand, I don't want it to end like that either, Veni. But this isn't quite that case, Veni. I'd like to act differently, but... But alas, time is limited, you know yourself. The demons won't wait. And there's still much to do. Specifically, the base needs a component: a guardian spirit. And I have a suitable candidate."
I told Venidan about the brother. She grumbled, of course, but ultimately agreed: snatching a prisoner from a Troll Loa is definitely a positive and noble deed. With friends—even better. And if he wishes to stay and become the guardian of the underground complex—well, it'll be good payment for the rescue. Though I have a feeling Veni is worried and agreed just so I wouldn't do anything stupid. I don't mind. Especially since the Pepelats is in the city; I can't manage alone. Which means we will visit the Echo Isles in a quick raid, together.
"The plan is simple. Phase one—we fly into the Echo Isles. These are aboriginal Trolls; there won't be a proper anti-air system as a matter of fact. We'll arrive and make some noise. We'll bring full holds of mines and Manhacks. With their Troll regeneration, it'll keep them busy long enough, but won't leave too many corpses. I'll add a nature's storm to make it even more fun."
Veni nodded.
"Agreed. Your foresight again, hmm? Alright, don't pout, Davi, you're not a prophet, just smart," and she ruffled my hair, the tease, "But we're not going out just the two of us against an entire tribe? That's too much, even for us."
I shook my head. The Rogue is worried about me; I can see it in her eyes. And her gaze keeps drifting to the glowing veins. Not good.
"No, of course not. A diversion, nothing more. Golems, a nature's storm, and the gunship—Pepelats—soaring over the islands and firing in all directions. That'll be enough for them. And while you entertain them, I'll use the altar to capture the Loa and steal the prisoners. From what I've managed to decode from the Troll masks, they belonged to the Gurubashi Empire, to the tiger-loa Shirvalla. They were likely sacrificed to her too. And as it happens, the Darkspear tribe are also former Gurubashi and also worship this overgrown cat. I'll have to use a couple of interesting rituals, but I should manage. If anything, you'll cover me from the air."
Veni immediately clarified:
"And we can't just swipe the altar and use it in a safe place? That would be much less risky."
I have no idea.
"If I knew how, I would have done that. But we work with what we have. And what we have is a theory written by Warlocks. They took control of spiritual entities that Shamans dealt with, like ancestor spirits. Or just ghosts. Anyway, I roughly know what to do. I have plenty of mana; I'll improvise."
Venidan sighed with resignation.
"Fine, I'll help. I understand how important this is to you. But try not to get yourself killed, okay? You need to recover."
I nodded. I agree, I can't get caught. Which means before the operation, I need to prepare well to screw everyone over.
Preparation wasn't easy. Yes, I have a stock of golems, but it's not particularly large. And I have to entertain an entire tribe, with warriors and magic. Not a few Trolls, but dozens and hundreds. They must believe they have come under a full-scale, sudden, dangerous attack. They must go on the defensive, protect and hide their young. There is great hope that the warriors are currently wandering the Barrens with Thrall, and that will give us an opening.
Another chance is provided by the general weakness of the Darkspear tribe. At the time of their rescue by Thrall, they had been sitting on their islands for years, fighting Murlocs. And not just fighting, but losing. The Murlocs were crushing them with numbers, sacrificing Trolls and their chieftains to the Nagas. Yes, a Troll is stronger and has regeneration. But Murlocs can field dozens of individuals against one Troll. A ten-to-one trade is worse for the Trolls than for the Murlocs. And the Trolls didn't even have proper technology—just bone and wood; basically, they were on almost the same level.
Having settled on the Echo Isles, the Trolls have fattened up, and the Orcs are helping them. In ten years, such a raid would be extremely dangerous. Now—there's every chance to resolve the issue quickly and surely. If we act boldly enough.
The problem is different: to do everything with minimal consequences for the tribe. Right now, we and the Orcs, Trolls, and the rest are enemies. If our raid on the Echo Isles—to which I paved the way with the mechanical bird—were exposed, there would be plenty of people wanting to wipe out the tribe. Both among humans and elves. But if the Theramore troops slaughter the Troll young, there will be no more talk of uniting against Archimonde. We won't set ourselves up that stupidly.
Plus, I am formally still punished; I have obligations, as does Venidan. And we need to quietly and discreetly load the Pepelats. Without attracting the attention of the orderlies, including one Druid. Alastir has practically taken up residence in Theramore, looking everywhere, sniffing around, listening. And he gets in the way of work with his attention.
And it's not like he's useless. Mom showed him the hydroponics blueprints, which were deemed useless without someone capable of working with plants. As usual, they weren't just blueprints. A whole presentation was written for the city rulers to convince the conservatives why planting in water is cooler than planting in soil. Even in conditions where the surrounding jungle is full of predators and the workers need to be guarded so they don't get eaten. Well, the ones making the decisions won't be the ones doing the planting.
Anyway, the Druid read it, thought about it, looked at the data, and organized a harvest in about two weeks. He planted, accelerated growth with magic to see how it would work. Adjusted, accelerated growth, checked. With Druid skills, you can grow something very quickly—hours, days. And he even held a lecture at my request. The essence is simple, but damn it, it makes sense:
"Nature is not only life. Nature is also death. For a beast to grow, it must eat. Plants, animals. For a plant to grow, it needs fertilizer, which will be not only waste products but also dead animals and other plants, which will be consumed by fungi, insects, and many others. All are part of the cycle of life and death, part of nature. This cycle regulates itself perfectly. If food supplies are consumed too quickly, they will run out. Famine will come. The excess beasts will die off, becoming the difference that gives new life. And the cycle will begin again."
The thought is clear: the cycle of life and death.
"And what if people cut down the forest for firewood and destroy the animals?"
The Druid smiled, stroking his beard. The parasite demanded that I take off my helmet during my lessons with him. To observe my condition, you see. I don't argue; I really do feel better. I'm still a bit pale, but my veins no longer glow. I still look worse than before, but I wouldn't be taken for a Void adept anymore. Almost, if you don't look too closely.
"As long as the destruction is not mindless, as long as it does not disrupt the natural cycle, I see nothing wrong. Hydroponics, hmm. It allows one to achieve the desired result without disrupting another ecosystem. Naturally, I do not object. Especially since it corrects the problem of soil depletion. Because it does not use soil."
In short, the Druid liked hydroponics. The higher-ups liked the possibility of placing farms within city limits, right on the roofs, building greenhouses there and not extending structures into the danger zone. The workshops received new orders. The farmers wailed because now they have to—oh my god—LEARN. Because growing food the way their grandfathers did doesn't work. Though they were glad they wouldn't have to risk being eaten.
And no, grain can't be grown like that yet, but the Druid promised to think about that too. That's why he bothers me; he's just too positive. He hangs around too much. I don't feel the usual mercantile interest, and that bothers me. But thanks for helping with the hydroponics, of course. I probably would never have finished that project myself, precisely due to a lack of knowledge. And here the Druid can find dosages for fertilizers and nutrients, and test them. If only the peasants weren't so hesitant.
Venidan, who traditionally relaxes where there is alcohol, shared these conversations with a laugh. There were even those who decided that hydroponics was needed to poison us all and turn us away from faith in the Holy. And that they are lying to Jaina so the kind Lady wouldn't stop people from being introduced to dark sorcery. Like...
"What?" I admit, I didn't believe such nonsense.
Venidan, doubled over with laughter, nodded fiercely, clearly seeing my culture shock.
"I'm shocked too, Davi. Imagine, they were discussing how food takes strength from the earth, and here there is no earth, the seeds are soaked in water. Then some powder is poured into the water, and that is definitely something fiendish and wrong, because the plant starts to grow, and very quickly too. And it's being done by the wrong kind of elf, because he's purple..." she laughed outright.
They're mocking us. No, I'm almost certain they're mocking us! I even scraped my claws in indignation. And not because I feel sorry for the Druid. He can handle himself; he's a big boy. But because after recent events, I could be counted among the purple elves.
"Were they put in their place?"
Venidan snorted.
"You're overcomplicating everything. It's just drunken rambling. Seriously, Davi, what's the point?"
An interesting question. The answer was also found.
"I don't like that they are trying to ridicule a clearly useful project. Fine, maybe it's an overreaction. I just thought about how they are calling me a purple elf that way."
The Rogue chuckled and ruffled my hair. I don't object; after all, Veni is not just a friend, but also older.
"Just ignore them. They'll get used to it or be left behind. What's the point of getting distracted by those who stayed behind but don't want to catch up, hmm?"
"You're right."
Fortunately, it didn't go beyond talk; people grumbled, but when it became clear this was here to stay, they started learning. And we still have more important things to do. In my spare time, I fly the bird over the Echo Isles, quietly and discreetly mapping the territory so as not to act blindly. We are gradually loading the Pepelats between reconnaissance flights. The golem digs out room after room; the workshop is running.
In a sense, it's a rhythm, which was broken by the news: the road through the jungle is complete. Troops are being sent to the front lines due to skirmishes with the Orcs of the Warsong Clan. Grommash Hellscream has made his presence known. No longer with scout parties, but with full-scale armies. The Orcs are also moving toward the mountain, and there is a chance they will block it, which is undesirable.
And I also got a chewing out from my parents. It's quite logical that they finally noticed I had problems with my body... yeah. Mom was first in a panic, then in a rage. Damn, that didn't go well. I was promised a whipping if I ever pulled something like that again. Alas, I'll have to get to it faster than it might seem.
Sorry, Mom, but the task requires no delay. Your daughter is strong and has thought everything through. I won't lose. You'll see. And you'll be proud. Of course, I have to work for speed, but who has it easy now? Once the Third War is over, I promise myself to take care of myself and be more modest. But for now...
"We start tonight. We can't wait any longer."
I'll have to take stimulants to last through the night after a long day, but alas, time waits for no one. Upon my return, I'll have to assemble the reactor; fortunately, the hall for it is almost excavated. And all of this—absolutely secret. It seems I've already gotten used to the race against time. All in the name of the result. We will win, I'm sure. The plan doesn't account for everything, but it accounts for much. More simply cannot be achieved in these conditions.
At sunset of another day, the Pepelats took off for the north, into the lands of the Horde. Not exactly in a straight line—that would be too bold; I wouldn't be surprised if the Troll sentinels are still looking south.
And the cloaking system is also on, so as not to attract attention. We will approach the islands from the east, from the ocean, making a detour. We have a map, we have a plan; we just need to implement the element of surprise. And manage to return by dawn; for this, we'll have to push the ship to full speed. This will be interesting.
I put on my helmet and gloves, mentally listening to the sensations from the seals. Am I okay? Seems normal; no voices in my head, the image isn't blurring, concentration is fine. On my belt are vials of mana potions, healing, stimulants. Of course, the healer forbade me from drinking them, but they might come in handy in the upcoming operation. I won't take the armor; it's too heavy and clunky; my opponent is different, and that should be taken into account. I managed to learn and remember quite a bit, but also not that much.
Shirvalla is a tiger-loa. Very sharp, fast, strong, impulsive. Patroness of warriors, of raw pressure, of overwhelming force. But also of cunning, of attacks from ambush. A very versatile creature; in short, there's a reason she's valued among the Trolls. And I'm going to face her head-on, hah. Naturally, it's not that simple; we have a plan, even several. So head-on, but through the back of the head!
I'll have to start by luring her out. The simplest way is to trample on her pride. Especially considering the "prey" mark her forces put on me. If I mess with her altar enough, and do it as the bearer of the mark, the cat will almost certainly show up. And then... we have a plan, even several, for different situations.
"Ten minutes to arrival, Davi. Don't fall asleep there," came over the intercom.
Understood, so it's time. After one last check to make sure I took everything I needed, I headed to the bridge.
Venidan will be the pilot. In the three months we've been here, she has already gained experience, including in aerial combat against wyverns, and even has a team of Theramore scouts who usually use the Pepelats with her. It's a bit of a shame, but they need the ship more than I do. And I'll build myself a new dreadnought. But I'll still miss this one.
"Veni, what have we got?"
The Rogue, without turning her helmeted head, chuckled. The cockpit shutters are down; you can look either through the tactical table or through the pilot's helmet. There is no light in the cockpit, except for the illusions glowing slightly, making the hall resemble a bridge from Star Wars. I regret nothing.
"Peace and quiet. Grave-like," I tapped a metal finger on my helmet, "yes, I remember not to overdo it. And I remember why. But we fought these beasts for decades, and you have a clear plan of their village here. I'd just give the rockets the coordinates, burn the houses, kill everyone possible. I won't do it, Davi. I promise, for your sake. Even if I want to."
I couldn't quite exhale. Но I understand her. And I understand why the Alliance and the Horde couldn't come to peace for a long time. The legacy of many wars is like that. Elves and Trolls have been cutting each other for hundreds of years. How low the Blood Elves have fallen to stand in the same rank with them.
"I believe you, Venidan. I'm going down; need to start the fun."
"Yeah. We'll make them afraid, Davilinia," she immediately added a caveat, "but without Void magic and boiling brains; good old-fashioned violence."
And even though there was no question, I know she wants confirmation too. She is stepping over herself and expects control from me.
"I have no intention of letting go of control, Venidan. Only elemental magic. And a little bit of necromancy for the ritual. Everything as we planned."
By the time I got downstairs, we had already arrived. I stopped at the outer airlock, above which a red lamp is lit. Well, let's begin. The red light changed to yellow, then green; the ramp lowered. I scooped up a generous amount of mana, pulling the strings at the edge of my radius.
"Nature's storm. Let's see how you like a sudden change in climate."
It's not so much about dealing damage as it is about reducing visibility to absolute zero. And it worked. The sky darkened; icy winds and snow were born from nowhere, the howling quickly becoming almost deafening. But even so, the roar of the rocket launcher, the bright beam of the Death Lazor, and the magical flashes of the turrets illuminated the night sky, further blinding the targets below.
"Golems away."
I stepped aside from the doors as the wheel-golems fell merrily clattering from the airlock down onto the sand, followed by mines. With the roar of very angry bees, a literal swarm of Manhacks headed down to seek out targets for the other golems. Another volley from the rocket launcher wailed; a flash of the Lazor. Venidan is hammering away with all guns to maximize the trolls' panic. Several burning troll huts flashed by beneath us; magical bursts knocked over a few trolls, but Veni was in no hurry to finish them off. Another warrior was struggling with the golems when a mine jumped onto his back. Fragmentation, but no poison. He should survive, in theory.
Manhacks cut through a leaf-covered hut window and flew inside. Noise, clattering, and crashing erupted. I smiled; after all, it's almost impossible to feel sympathy for the trolls. I'm more upset by the hissing of another broken golem than by what we've staged here. Perhaps I'm not entirely sane. Oh well, there are no psychologists in Azeroth anyway. And if that's the case, long live the madness! I fired a couple of spells downward, just blindly, to add a bit more chaos.
Finally, the ship hovered by the altar—or rather, above it. A crude thing made of scavenged materials, depicting a tiger encased in armor and adorned with feathers. The sand was beneath us, just a meter from the ramp.
"Go, Midget, go-go-go! Give her hell!"
I leaped onto the sand, dodging to the side to let more wheel-golems pass. A storm howls around us; flashes of spells are visible. The polarization from the Lazor triggered again. Veni hits frequently but not hard, more to blind them in the night darkness than to destroy. Everything is going according to plan. I won't let you down either, I promise.
I moved toward the altar myself, pulling a necromancer's dagger from my belt. We have plenty of this junk lying around for the Umformer, and here it would serve the cause. The dagger and necromancer hearts, five of them. And a jar of sacrificial blood obtained from the hunters in Theramore; we slaughtered a lizard with this very sacrificial knife. All of this was to seize and hold a spiritual essence. Oh right, and murloc guts, pickled. I had to endure it for the sake of the result.
Approaching the prayer book, I surveyed the field of work. The altar is quite functional; besides the image of Shirvalla, there is a sacrificial stone and skulls—human, murloc, ogre, judging by the size. Hearts on pikes. Our trolls are a parody of Aztecs, so sacrifices of enemies and trophies are part of the entourage. Now we're going to work with all of this. A pentagram! A circle of guts, five hearts, dig a trench in the sand and pour blood there, inscriptions according to the paper. Even acolytes can do this; how am I any worse? I don't think I am. Like this, and like that—now you shall see a masterpiece of modern art.
"Who are you supposed to be?" lisped a priest, seeing me waving my dagger.
Except he did nothing else; a frost wave froze him to the ground. And a larger frost wave fixed him in place.
"How fortunate, priest. Now don't interfere with the work. I need to prepare."
As practice shows, Loa have very different attitudes toward the undead. And if you sacrifice necromancer hearts, they will react differently. And if instead of a sacrifice, you set up a pentagram on the altar. And then slaughter a priest of that very same Loa on it, with jokes carved into his chest about where I took that Loa's mother. Take my mark of sacrifice. And do all of this with a necromantic dagger... in short, the patient will most likely fly into a rage and come down for a reckoning.
And to make sure the kitty doesn't run away, we'll organize a leash for him.
"Domain Expansion! Build the altar!" — complete with chains and other BDSM attributes. In short, a trap.
The troll seemed to catch a scent, because he said with curiosity:
"You are a sacrifice. A sacrifice, coming to the altar herself. Overconfident."
I nodded. This was also part of the plan.
"And I intend to challenge your mistress, troll," I showed him the knife, then began carving new signs into the shaman's chest, "and you will deliver my challenge as quickly as possible. And then we'll see who is better—the predator or the hunter."
The troll seemed to realize something.
"All of this, just for this? All these deaths?"
I snorted, applying inscriptions to the troll's chest. Because of the necromantic dagger, regeneration didn't close them immediately, but I still had to hurry. When I copied the sacrifice mark onto his chest, the troll hissed, but otherwise endured the process in silence, looking on with curiosity rather than anger. As for me, I felt like talking.
"Deaths? Don't make me laugh. We're making noise, blowing things up, scaring people. But with your regeneration, there won't be that many deaths. Accidental ones, for the most part. Bold, aggressive," I finished applying the inscriptions, making sure the seals around the altar were positioned correctly and glowing, "I won't say I like killing. I won't say I wanted to. But my brother is more important than you. For my brother's sake, die, please. Die for me."
Having finished speaking, I plunged the dagger into the troll's chest with minimal delay, then with a sharp swing, sprinkled blood onto the altar; it lit up. The troll jerked; regeneration was clearly closing the wound, but slowly.
"Carry this thought to your mistress. I am waiting for her."
That I had been heard became clear the moment the world around me changed. Instead of the night-shrouded, snowstorm-swept Echo Isles—sunlight, an arena, sand, and heat. Around me were stone walls covered in inscriptions and banners. Likely, this is an arena for duels. Ironic, considering that it's specifically victims who are sent here. I would say it's hypocritical, in a sense.
And also, standing opposite me is a tiger. A huge, damn tiger, three meters at the shoulder, a striped, armor-clad tiger. Except... this arena, all of this is clearly an illusion. I still feel the strings of the seal beneath my feet and around me. The pentagram is here; it is performing its function.
The shaman with the dagger in his chest looks at me with mockery, then at the tiger with respect. He cannot move; the icy pedestal around his body remains. The Loa, with one surge and a furious growl, pounced on her subordinate, sinking teeth into the offered neck, crushing the ice just in passing. It seemed she growled "weakling" as she bit off the troll's head and continued to stare at me. The head flew to the wall; the body sprayed the ice with blood.
"Raaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrr!" — the roar was deafening; I even flinched.
But the fear vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Magical influence?
"Is that all?" I demonstratively switched my gauntlet to power hammer mode and extended the claws, mimicking the tiger with its paw, "I was almost scared. Almost."
And I took a stance with gauntlets ready, mana shield up, and prepared to pull the magical circle. The tigress shattered the block of ice with a paw strike, clearing both it and the priest's corpse to the wall. Impressive; it didn't feel like she exerted herself at all.
"An arrogant sacrifice has come of her own accord. Decided to issue a challenge? Nonsense! Rrrrraaaarrrr!"
With those words, the tigress set into motion. Very fast, like a blurred shadow, kicking up fountains of sand with her paws. With one bound she leaped forward, baring her teeth, growling fiercely and extending her claws. But I was ready. Gauntlet in power hammer mode; there are no allies here, I won't hit anyone I shouldn't. Let's play.
"Thunderfist! Ice spears!"
A shockwave tore away following a right hook, throwing the tiger back with the same force as the beast's lunge. However, a fraction of a second later, she ignored physics and was back on her feet, slowly circling the arena. The tigress dodged the ice spears almost incidentally. The blow that had leveled a wall in the Karazhan laboratory left no visible damage at all. I won't say I didn't expect it, but it's still unpleasant. A fast and very tough opponent. The beast remarked in a hollow female voice:
"You have claws and teeth, even if they are made of metal; curious. And you are so mad as to come here and challenge me. Why?" the tigress sniffed the air, then laughed gutturally, "Blood. Kindred blood. I feel it. One prey has come to avenge another."
A lunge. This time the cat dodged to the side, clearly hoping to evade the pulse. Except I have two gauntlets, and Thunderfist is mechanics, not a magical skill. So...
"Frost wave! Thunderfist! Thunderfist! Fireball!"
Freeze and strike. Strike and detonate. Dodge that! Ahem, she dodged.
"Too slow!" her opponent tossed back mockingly.
The Loa-tigress's speed became such that she turned into a blurred silhouette. The ice shattered, unable to stop her; the wave passed behind, and next I could watch as a mighty paw slammed into the mana shield, scraping it with claws. Again and again. I felt mana being spent with every blow, absorbing and compensating for the physical impact. A short command, and built-in injectors began administering a mana potion. There's no time to drink, and the helmet is sealed.
"Thunderfist! Burning!"
"Slow!" the tigress growled with superiority, dodging the strike and beginning to circle me again at a distance of twenty meters. At a range where she could reach me in two leaps. She ignored the Burning as if she had taken no damage at all.
That's why I haven't used the trap yet; she'd break free. Too fast; I need to hold her in one place for about a second. Magical arrows? The beast took them to the chest, closing in rapidly and delivering a series of blows. And dodging when I tried to give a frost wave and pulse again. Fast bitch. Very fast. If not for the mana shield and a massive reserve of mana, I would have been torn apart already. But, everything is going according to plan.
Apparently, the tiger realized this too.
"A mage, not a warrior. Predictable. Slow and weak," the tigress growled, performing another lunge.
But it was a feint; she dodged the shockwave, as well as the icicles and the second shockwave. And I went airborne from a powerful slap. The next attack was the same. A paw strike to the ground created an earthquake, but I am levitating above the floor. The fireball didn't deal enough damage; she acts as if she's invulnerable and flaunts it.
The tigress moves in bursts, dodging my attacks, landing a couple of blows on the shield, evading a pulse at point-blank range, breaking distance. She wants to win by attrition, drain my mana, and finish off the defenseless mage. And she might succeed; the main downside of a mana shield is precisely the colossal mana consumption for processing physical damage. The tigress knows this; she can simply burn through my mana, leaving me completely defenseless. Or rather, she thinks she can.
"How have you lived so many years, food? So weak."
I snorted.
"You'll see! You're just a stupid animal, incapable of understanding."
Another strike, another exchange of spells; several tapestries were blown away, the sand partially covered in frost. We broke distance again, looking into each other's eyes. The tigress growled low, dodging a frost wave and closing in...
"Billy!"
And she flew back from an earth elemental's strike to the torso. A mighty fist weighing half a ton proved to be enough of an argument to knock the tiger off her trajectory with brute force. She rose a moment later, just as whole; the tigress growled furiously, shaking the air. But I remained standing, covered not only by the shield but also by the mighty, broad-shouldered figure of my elemental, who stood to the side, shielding my left flank with his massive torso and the top with raised arms.
"A new toy? Grrrr! I shall crush it!"
A lunge, but not toward me—to the right, under the pulse, to the left, then behind Billy. He is strong, but much slower than the opponent, so she easily slipped under his swing and tore off a limb with a paw strike, which flew into my forehead, knocking us both back with its own mass. The tigress was immediately on top, pinning my gauntleted hands to the sand—the extinguished shield didn't stop her. Now I won't be able to attack her with spells or pulses from my hands, pinned down like I'm under a steamroller. And she growled in my face, clearly demonstrating superiority, preening over the defeated.
"Good for a mage. Too weak for a hunter; you are powerless to change your fate, sacrifice..." she bared her teeth right in my face, showing teeth capable of biting off my head without particularly worrying about the helmet. And she already prepared to execute her intent...
I snapped my fingers.
The tigress was knocked off me by purple chains striking from the ground, covered in blue icy runes. That very trap; I just had to make Shirvalla slow down. It didn't work in direct combat; she crushed ice just in passing. I had to expose myself, pretending my mana had run out. Of course, as soon as the chains struck, the shield returned to its place. Trap!
The chains stretched out of the ground with a nasty screech, more and more of them, stabbing and entangling the target, closing around her like shackles, immobilizing her, causing pain, draining energy. And from above, the one-armed Billy delivered a blow, forcing the beast to sink slightly for a second, pressed to the ground. The chains immediately tightened, fixing Shirvalla in the new position, and the elemental raised his hand for another strike. The beast didn't protest or even speak.
The tigress silently and very quickly struck the stone figure's leg, tearing it off and toppling the golem face-down. Only to deliver a finishing blow from above with her paw, splitting the entire upper part of my fighter. The strings straightened; the golem was destroyed. But that's not all; nothing is over yet. New chains fly out of the ground, shackling the beast, but she jerked, biting through one with a snap, tearing a second with her claws.
"These pathetic little chains won't hold me! Run, stupid cub. Run and tremble; the predator is coming for you!"
And I don't need long. The gauntlet changed modes again. And I, dropping to one knee, pointed my hand at the struggling beast. Mechanisms rearranged, opening numerous drums, releasing seals and sequences. Analysis module launched. A short pulse scanned the target; the drums moved again. The seals took their positions; mana charging began, making me feel slightly lightheaded—the stimulants are taking their toll. But I held my hand steady, continuing the charge and aiming. Necromancy and... Arcana. Good. An energy sphere began to form in my hand, gray-purple in color. First layer, second, third...
The tigress roared, suddenly increasing in size, and began tearing at the chains much, much more actively. No longer a hunter, but a wild, mad beast, tearing chains like they were paper. But there were too many of them. I smiled.
Shirvalla and I locked eyes. And though my eyes are hidden by the visor, we both understood what was about to happen. You lost the moment you didn't kill me instantly. You shouldn't have played with your food. Not that it would have helped you; I had another shield.
"And though I know you're a replica, I don't care! Uomo Universale!" — the sphere tore from the fingers of my open palm and flew into the tiger's face, who at the last second stopped struggling, proudly puffing out her chest.
It blew up with soul. As soon as the sphere reached the frozen tigress, the world filled with the crackle of energy and light. The chains snapped, all at once; the seal evaporated, ending the predator's containment. For a fraction of a second, I was even afraid the weapon had aimed at the chains instead of Shirvalla... But the flash passed, and no one tried to eat me. And it became possible to assess the damage.
Shirvalla survived. The entourage of her arena lost its color and integrity, becoming mere fragments of an illusion—crude, gray, and low-poly, twitching and unstable. The tiger herself was found lying by the wall, or rather, her lower half. Paws, belly, and part of the head—specifically bones with rare bits of burnt meat remaining. The rest had flaked away, and now the Loa looks more like a shadow, a ghost. She lies there but moves, trying to stand, even though she can't. The armor, previously covered in feathers and richly painted, was burnt and cracked. The priest, by the way, was nowhere to be found; nothing remained of him, nor of his ice cage.
And also, importantly, in the far part of the arena, a distinct thread of power is visible, leading from Shirvalla. The entrance to her domain? It seems we're going there. And there's also a feeling that there's something more. A lair? We'll find out later; time is short. First, the patient needs to be fixed.
When I approached closer, the cat tried to stand, tried to strike with a paw. Slowly; even I dodged that without trouble.
"No, you're not leaving, tiger."
And pulling out another necromancer heart covered in runes, I impaled it on the knife, plunged it into the Loa's shadow, and she let out an outright groan as several more chains grew from the ground, using the knife as an epicenter. I don't think you'll be able to pull it out of yourself.
"So you don't run away. I won, and I'll take what's mine."
The tiger's shadow jerked but remained silent. Fine, not my business. I should hurry. There were no gates at the far end, only a tunnel transitioning into a large stone room with a sleeping area located on an elevation in the far corner of the great hall. Clearly a room for audiences. A rather rich room, only gloomy and unnaturally quiet. And behind the sleeping area, there is a passage further. Into rooms where, instead of tapestries, victims are hung on the walls. Elves, orcs, goblins, trolls, ogres—everyone is here. Looks like a stock of food and souls for the tiger. What had been sacrificed to her.
"Tsk, there are a lot of you here. What am I supposed to do?"
An urge arose to wreck everything here, release the souls, free everyone. Especially since this thread seems to feed the sleeping area, and from there it stretches to the tiger. Perhaps for others it looks different. Maybe Shirvalla herself showed where to go, I don't know. In any case, Veni is stalling for time out there; I need to hurry. And who knows, she might die if left without nourishment. Fine then, I'm being kind today.
So I extended the blades on my claws and went to the elves. They didn't even flinch, didn't look when I approached. They stare into space with a vacant gaze, ignoring everything around them. Shadows of varying degrees of torn-ness and transparency. The thought occurred that she had defeated them in battle to have power by right of the strong and take what she wanted. Fine, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter anymore.
Flying up, I cut the chains the first elf was hanging from. They gave way; the elf slumped to the ground like a sack. And only upon being freed did the shadow begin to look around, as if seeing this room for the first time in his life, becoming self-aware. I managed to free two more when the first asked:
"Is this... freedom? You... freed me?"
He was a man, translucent and very sad. Didn't look like a warrior, more like one of the civilians. I nodded.
"Yes, freedom. It's time for you to go, kinsman. Farewell."
The shadow smiled and dissolved. After him the second, the third. The fourth. The fifth, the tenth. Until another ghost I was about to free from its bonds raised its eyes, peering into the helmet's visor. I jerked, recognizing that look in the blue eyes, that face.
"DaVi? Is that you?"
My hand trembled. It really was him. My brother. Emotions flooded in but were suppressed by chemistry. Now is not the time, not the time at all. Time is, in fact, very short.
"It's me, brother. It's me. The tiger is defeated; I'm taking you home. Wait a little; soon we'll be home."
The elf looked bad. He was a warrior and clearly had resisted. A torn neck and chest, damaged, broken arms remaining even on the ghost. How can this hang there and remain conscious? Apparently, it's because he's already dead. To me, all these shadows possess different degrees of transparency. This one... is medium-transparent.
"Home..." the brother said softly, "a good word, home. DaVi, what do you think..."
I had to interrupt him.
"No time, brother, our rescue is in full swing. There's a bunch of very angry trolls outside, and if we don't hurry, there will be problems. Sorry, but later."
The elf smiled and spoke softly.
"You've grown so much... Of course, you're right. First, let's get to a safe place."
The ghost was quietly pulled into the soul stone prepared for him, which I had won from Jaina on a bet. For the speed of learning a spell. I quietly hung the stone on my belt and continued freeing the elves. Soon three more stones took their place beside the first. DaVi's friends. Mine... I'm not sure. But I'll give them a chance too.
A few minutes later, my brother and I left Shirvalla's space. Much as I was tempted to leave her shackled or wreck the shelter, I decided to let her go for the future. I'll solve the problem later if needed. We've already stepped heavily on the trolls as it is. As soon as the dagger left the tiger, she bolted into the shelter, and the arena dissolved, giving way to the battlefield on the Echo Isles. Burning, roaring, chaotic.
Outside, complete chaos continued to unfold. Veni is having a blast. Engines roar, the storm roars, rocket engines roar, mines explode, blades clatter, huts burn and crackle.
"She really went all out here. Alright, enough fun," I launched a crimson magical flare into the sky, signaling that I was done.
Veni oriented herself quickly, and seeing the magical flash, parked the Pepelats, allowing me to jump in, which immediately took off toward the ocean. Of course, to turn on the cloak and head home unnoticed. And it's not unnecessary; as soon as the storm dissipated, wyvern riders appeared on the horizon. Naturally, they don't want to let us go. But we have a cloaking system here, so good luck.
And I went up to the bridge to lock eyes with the curious rogue.
"How did it go?"
I pulled the helmet off my head and, smiling broadly, showed the crystals.
"According to plan, Veni. According to the third plan. The enemy was nasty and tough, but we've handled worse. I didn't talk long; he didn't look good, but they're with us now. We'll sleep it off tomorrow, and we'll talk."
Veni laughed, but then her face became concerned.
"Well, that's grand. Tired? Right, you go rest now, and we'll talk tomorrow. I expect a detailed story from you on how you wiped the floor with that wannabe-cat. I need to unwind; I could have finished off so many trolls!"
I nodded with understanding.
"I promise."
A good idea, especially since a long and difficult fight is indeed exhausting, and the stims don't exactly add to one's health. And I almost stumbled into the living block, still alert enough but ready to fall and not get up for the next twenty hours or so. Only to find a gnome sitting on the bed. A familiar gnome in gold, white, and yellow clothes, with her braids twisted into two circles. Claws extended almost reflexively; attacking with anything heavier in the room was undesirable. I'll gut you!
"Chronormu!"
My palm struck the gnome's chest, but she blocked the blow with her palm... a dragon's paw, instantly changing to her dragon form. This could have been considered romantic if on one side there wasn't a massive clawed dragon paw and on the other—my claws crackling with magic. And it also became very bright and hot.
Why didn't I squeeze my hand? The smell of scorched sand hit my nose; heat flared on my skin; the hot summer sun beat down, warming exposed areas of skin. We are no longer aboard the Pepelats; we are in a desert. The dragoness, from her height of three meters, tilted her head.
"Shall we talk or fight? We can do it here; there's plenty of space. And the view is excellent, what do you think?"
She gestured with her other paw, and I allowed myself to look to the side. After which I released her paw from my grip. I must admit, I was genuinely bewildered by what I saw. Но a second later I realized there was no point in fighting anyway.
In any case, I'm not going anywhere without this arrogant bronze chicken. How did I realize this? Besides the desert illuminated by the setting sun to the horizon, there are two other interesting things present. First—two figures about a hundred meters from us. Nothing special; I don't know them.
Second—A MOTHERFUCKING HUGE SWORD, plunged into the ground almost to the hilt. It feels like this giant shiv goes up for about two kilometers, by the moooost modest estimates. It is larger and wider than the largest and widest building. It is enormous, blocking out a piece of the sky, a monumental black wall occupying a solid part of the surrounding landscape. At the junction of the hilt and the blade is a crimson sphere, from which crimson threads flow down into the ground. The sand at the point of impact has fused into the state of cracked stone.
We are at a decent distance, and this sword is still so colossal that I feel like an ant. No, much smaller. A microbe against the backdrop of Excalibur. How huge. And I know it.
"Sargeras' Sword... Chronormu, why did you bring me here?"
Here, meaning about twenty years into the future, if not more. That's why I need her; I'm not getting out of here on my own. Not to mention that first I'd have to actually get out of the desert, and it's everywhere here. The dragoness, meanwhile, brazenly lay down nearby.
"Do you know why the dragon aspects were created? Why we exist?"
I nodded.
"The Titans gave your elders particles of power and told them to watch over Azeroth. But the Aspects gave up their power during the Cataclysm. And overall, they did a mediocre job. Malygos, Neltharion, in the future—Nozdormu. They got Ysera too. Just like Alexstrasza, who helped the orcs in the second war."
Chronormu chuckled, eyeing the colossal blade.
"True, and yet Azeroth is alive and quite whole. Where the Aspects failed—mortals succeeded. But when this happened—we could do nothing," seeing my skeptical look, she added, "without conflict with Alexstrasza. The Red Dragons were far too involved in this whole situation. And not just them; the bronze ones too, alas."
I snorted. Dragons... they far too often become the source of problems. But I was clearly brought here for more than a history lesson.
"And why am I here, Chronormu?"
"You can call me Chromie, I don't mind," she replied, lowering her snout to my level, "the elders decided that in exchange for... say, us continuing not to notice your actions, you will help us. I could have shot down the bird, warned the trolls in that venture, or disrupted it otherwise. That's technology; there are no restrictions on it. We played along with you, helped save your brother, even covered you a bit."
Not that I believe her, but I see where she's going.
"Suppose. And what do you want?"
Chromie giggled.
"The elders told me to pass this on: if you help with this blade, it will continue to be so. Ultimately, we must protect Azeroth. And this will definitely be her protection, you understand?"
I see. Another super-powerful bastard who doesn't want to exert themselves but is looking for someone to do the work for them. In such conditions, you start to really respect Khadgar: the man wasn't afraid to get his hands dirty at any age. I'll have to carve his portrait on the dreadnought's armor and call it "Khadgar's Unyielding Will." Or "Khadgar's Mighty Staff." Oh, "Khadgar's Unyielding Staff." Hmm, I'll do just that.
"I don't think I can stop Sargeras, you know," I pointed at the blade, "the wielder of such a weapon is just a tiny bit too big for me."
Chromie laughed.
"You don't need to. Ultimately, think about how it all began. Find the point of impact and act! I believe in you."
Riiiiight, okay, I'll think. Sargeras and his knife—became the result of the Legion Invasion of Azeroth. The Legion came at the tip-off from Gul'dan. The alternative one, from Draenor. Who contacted Azeroth according to Wrathion's plan, who sent Garrosh into the past so he would destroy the Systems Alliance and thus unite all the forces of the world as one. And the ears of the Red Dragons stick out of this, as they purified the lizard.
And a psycho from among the bronze ones, who wasn't stopped by his own for the heresy he staged. After all, their "powers are lost." This with their ability to simply come from the future and solve the problem preemptively, which they didn't do. If the bronze ones step in—they'll interfere with restoring the black flight, and the red ones will suffer too. And their own. And mortals kill dragons quite regularly. I don't like this idea. At. All!
At my retelling, Chromie nodded.
"Yes, that's all correct. Come up with a solution, and you are a friend of the Bronze Dragonflight. And you will enjoy the favor of the Aspect, for the protection of the Titan Azeroth. You'll have enough time; you have a decade and a half. You can do it!"
Fine, but there's a small problem. Besides the fact that I've had it with such assignments.
"Wrathion is arrogant, overconfident, brazen, stubborn, and won't listen to mortals. I'm not even an adult myself; I need upbringing. I can't handle him alone."
The dragoness replied with a chuckle. Given the lizard's size, the chuckle was quite resonant.
"I know. And yet... look at the sword. Look closely."
I looked; the giant shiv in the middle of the desert still occupied a solid chunk of the view. The crimson sphere in the hilt. Not that? What then, magical vision?
I recoiled. The world changed. While the desert remained the same, except for the addition of weak strings, the sword... It changed. What had been just a crimson energy sphere became something resembling a flow of blood. A flow of blood from the sword into the sand? Unclear.
As soon as I turned around, Chronormu offered her paw.
"Hold on. Let's take a closer look," of course, she knew.
And she won't give me a ride, alas. But it's better to fly with the wind than to trudge several kilometers through hot sand. I'm already too tired for that. Fortunately, Chromie was careful enough, clasping me with her front paws.
Up close, the sword is even more colossal. Words fail to describe this truly enormous creation. And it's not just how it looks. But how it feels. Dark metal, down which, like drops of blood, "flow" crimson spheres of energy, vanishing into the fused sand. We stopped about half a kilometer away, and it looks terrifying. You don't want to get any closer; it's like being near a very hot fire, but instead of a wave of heat—a wave of heat. Transcendent cold. You have to outright force yourself to take even one more step.
"It's not worth getting any closer," the dragoness noted, "just a couple of those flowing 'spheres' and our corrupted bodies and black souls will carry Sargeras's will to the masses."
But that's no longer important. Because from here, you can see everything that isn't visible from a great distance. It's the first time I've seen fel magic in this vision in such concentration. This isn't my seal; this is much bigger and much worse. Necromancy resembles slimy tentacles. The Darkness—it's like it pulls, drags you into itself, integrates, replaces. Fel—is like living blood. Burning living blood that flows down the blade and seems to squeeze somewhere downward.
Considering that the crimson energy doesn't accumulate, it really does go down, somewhere beneath the thickness of the sand. And yes, the concentration is simply off the charts. I have no idea how one can interact with such a thing and survive. And why one can still be in this desert without going mad instantly. It means there is a target being poisoned by this blade, and it is taking everything upon itself. This. This entire monstrously sized sphere of energy. Of course, the outcome is unknown to me, but then "the heroes of Azeroth" never lose. And yet, looking at this sphere, at the flowing energy...
"They'll purify it, right? If all this fel breaks out, demons will be able to live here like they're at home."
Chromie looked at the sword, then at me. At the sword.
"They will cleanse it. In some timelines. In others, they don't make it in time, and then the Titan dies; its corrupted blood and the blade's energy infect the entire surrounding area so severely that even the Old Gods struggle to process the demonic energy. To say nothing of the rest, like you or me. Even if the cleansing is successful, the blade remains in the wound. The lost energy is—lost. The Titan's blood spreads across the world, causing many disasters and giving rise to new monsters."
I'm not surprised. Given what I'm seeing—I'm not surprised. In magical terms, this "shiv" is pure power. A cursed sun spewing rivers of sentient blood onto the body of a child… I'm getting a bit poetic here. One thing I can say for certain:
"I don't like the idea of being on the same planet as that thing."
"Neither do I," I glanced at Chronormu, "I feel that energy too. And I see in the probabilities what it could lead to."
I understand. It's one thing to hurl warheads that tear apart the Sunwell and an Army of Undead to boot. It's another to realize that this bomb is stuck in the planet, and there's no getting off. I'm not at all pleased by even the possibility of having to deploy my Chaldea over Azeroth just to guarantee this giga-shiv is defused. Or perhaps even intervening directly…
No, it's best not to let things reach that point. Chromie is right—something needs to be done about Wrathion and his "progressive ideas." While something could potentially be squeezed out of the Iron Horde, the subsequent Legion Invasion is a problem of a different magnitude.
"I see you've already realized the scale of the problems," Chromie ignored my disgruntled look, "regardless of how we feel about each other, we all have to live on Azeroth. All of us."
After that, this lizard sent me back to the Pepelats in a state of extreme contemplation. I'm no fan of dragons and their tricks, that's true. But Sargeras' Sword… that is a danger common to everyone. A bloody, cursed sun that has no place here; there are enough other dangers as it is.
Sargeras is a Titan of planetary scale, one who should be kept away from the planet for as long as possible. If we need to deal with Wrathion so that Sargeras doesn't find a path to the planet—we'll deal with him. I'll figure out how later. Right now, I have far more pressing problems. It's just that this particular one is now on the list for the relatively distant future.
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