Richard Knaak - The Sundering

How Varo’then had managed to snag hold of Ysera as his burning mount had dropped, Malfurion did not know, but once again he had underestimated the officer. He kicked again as hard as he could, but the captain easily avoided his foot. While it was all Malfurion could do to hold on as Ysera fought, the more battle-hardened Varo’then moved with practiced skill toward his foe. His narrowed eyes sized up Malfurion like a fat animal ready for the slaughter…

The druid reached for a pouch — and, at the same time, Varo’then’s left hand came up.

“Aaugh!” A crimson flash blinded Malfurion. Too late he recalled that the captain had some minor talent with sorcery. Not enough to be a true threat in that manner, but certainly enough to put his enemy off-guard while the officer moved in for the kill.

Malfurion put up his free hand, an act which likely kept him from being slain. A heavy, metallic form fell upon him — Varo’then’s armored body — and the druid felt the other night elf’s hot breath in his face.

“The Light of Lights will reward me greatly for this!” the captain uttered maniacally. “Mannoroth fell afoul of you! Archimonde fell afoul of you! Such an insipid creature and you outwitted them both! Lord Sargeras’s grand commanders! Ha! I’ll not only again be her favored for this, but his as well! Me! Lord Varo’then!”

“Sargeras means to destroy Kalimdor, not remake it!” Malfurion blurted, trying to make his foe see sense.

“Of course! I realized that long ago! Pfah! What do I care for this little patch of dirt? So long as I can serve the queen and command warriors in her name, I care not where I do it! Who knows, perhaps for this Sargeras will make me his supreme commander! For that and the adoration of Azshara, I’ll gladly see Kalimdor a cinder!”

Varo’then’s madness truly consumed him. Malfurion suddenly grew outraged that one of his own kind could so blithely speak of the end of all things, especially the cherished world that had birthed their kind. It went against everything Cenarius had taught him and what Malfurion had always believed.

“Kalimdor is our blood, our breath, our very existence!” the druid shouted, his fury rising. “We are as much a part of it as the trees, the rivers, and the very rocks! We are its children! You would be slaying the mother that birthed us!” His forehead started to burn.

“You are pathetic! We live upon a tiny rock that’s one of many rocks! Kalimdor is nothing! Through the Legion and my queen, I will cross a thousand worlds, all of whom will be crushed under our feet! Power, druid! Power is my blood, my breath, do you understand?” Captain Varo’then twisted his dagger-wielding hand out of Malfurion’s grasp. “But if the coming death of Kalimdor troubles you so, I’ll grant you the favor of sending you to the afterlife to be there to welcome its shade firsthand!”

But Malfurion’s anger had reached its limits. Eyes on fire, he stared into Varo’then’s own. “You want power? Feel the power of the world you would betray, captain!”

It flowed through the druid as naturally as his blood. He felt it rush from its source… Kalimdor. The world itself was not sentient, but it was a living thing, nonetheless and, through Malfurion, it at last struck back.

From the druid erupted a soft, blue light that hit Varo’then full in the chest.

With a cry, Malfurion’s attacker was battered from his mount. Dagger knocked from his flailing grip, the captain helplessly soared up high over the Well of Eternity. The light not only now bathed Varo’then, it burned right through him. His flesh, his sinew, his organs, and his skeleton were all visible beneath his glowing armor. The officer’s screaming head was a skull under transparent skin.

Varo’then had rejected everything about Kalimdor… and now, through Malfurion, Kalimdor rejected everything about him. Still enveloping the captain, the light made an arc over the center of the Well, then descended sharply toward the gullet of the whirlpool. As it did, it suddenly faded.

Like an Infernal dropping upon the victims of Suramar, what was left of Captain Varo’then plummeted into the solidifying portal.

As suddenly as it had come, the power surging through Malfurion ceased. He felt a loss and yet, at the same time, a comfort that the world had not yet become entirely defenseless. Still dangling from Ysera’s back, he eyed Varo’then’s ultimate destination.

“Let us see if the lord of the Legion still rewards you after this, captain…”

A jolt nearly sent him falling after Varo’then. Ysera had a bat in each forepaw and although the dragon had just ripped out the throat of one, the second had torn through her wing.

Malfurion struggled to a more stable position, then took from another pouch a tiny bit of salve he had earlier mixed. The salve had been made from selected herbs, but although the druid had tested it on the battlefield, he was not at all certain that it would be strong enough to aid such a giant as Ysera.

Yet, from the moment Malfurion rubbed it on the base of her wing, the results prove far more than he could have anticipated. The tiny amount of salve spread beyond where he touched, quickly covering the entire appendage. The rips in Ysera’s wing quickly and completely mended, not even scars remaining to mark the savage wounds.

“I feel invigorated!” roared She of the Dreaming as she tore apart the second of the creatures. Ysera turned her head to Malfurion. Despite the shut lids, he felt the intensity of her gaze. “Cenarius has taught you well — ” She suddenly stopped. Her eyes flickered open, if just for a second. “But perhaps much of the credit must still go to your natural tie to that which you wield. Yes, much, indeed…”

The druid realized that her brief glimpse had been focused at the top of his head. He reached up… and discovered that the nubs now thrust out a good three inches.

He had begun to grow antlers just like those of his shan’do.

Before this newest revelation could take hold in his mind, a fearsome roar shook the area, drowning out even the storm.

Out of the storm clouds dropped Deathwing.

The black leviathan hurtled himself once more at the impenetrable spells. His body erupted continually where plates had not yet sealed the tears in his hide. His eyes were wide with utter rage. He flew toward the Demon Soul with a swiftness that took Malfurion’s breath away.

The air around the disk abruptly crackled, flashes of yellow and red giving warning as to the power bound to the dragon’s stolen creation. Malfurion sensed new forces at play, power instilled into the spell matrix in order to amplify its hold on the Demon Soul.

Deathwing struck the matrix head-on. The sky around him exploded with raw energy that should have seared the insane Aspect to death, but, although his flesh and scales clearly burned, Deathwing nevertheless pushed forward. He roared defiantly at the mighty forces set in array against him. His mouth twisted into an insane, reptilian grin that grew with each push closer to his goal.

“There are no boundaries to his obsession…” Ysera said, marveling at the other Aspect.

“Do you think he might actually make it?”

“The true question is… do we wish him to?”

Scales tore from the black’s already savaged body. The crackling bolts now focused fully on the giant, scorching him again and again. Yet, although he would now and then flinch under their intensity, Deathwing did not slow.

A red dragon flew past Malfurion and he saw both Rhonin and Brox astride. In a voice amplified by a spell, the wizard called, “Krasus warns that we have to be prepared! He thinks that Deathwing may yet manage to break the spell! We have to be ready to take on the black the moment that happens!”