Richard Knaak - The Sundering

“Deathwing…” Ysera muttered. “Seeing him now, how true that name rings…” To Rhonin, she roared, “We shall be ready!”

They would have to strike immediately and in concert. It was the only chance they had… and only a slightly better one than attempting to take the disk from the spell themselves. The night elf did not like their chances, but he would summon whatever he could of Kalimdor into him.

Aware that this might be the last hope for everything he loved, his heart instinctively went to Tyrande. Not Illidan, but Tyrande. He wanted to speak to her one last time, to know that she might live… even if he did not.

Malfurion?

The druid nearly slipped from Ysera’s back. At first he believed the voice in his head only illusion or perhaps some sinister ploy by the dark powers against which they fought, but, in truth, Malfurion sensed that this could be none other than Tyrande who contacted him now.

He recalled how she had been the one who had helped summon him back when he been unable to return to his body. Her link to the druid was far greater than he could have ever imagined and in the instant that he thought that, Malfurion sensed that she had noticed it, also.

Malfurion! she repeated with more hope. Oh, Malfurion! It is you!

Tyrande! You live! Are you — have they —

The priestess was quick to reassure him. The Mother Moon watched over me, praise be, and I was aided by Highborne seeking return to our people! I know that you did what you had to do! But listen! Your brother —

My brother… No sooner did she mention Illidan, then the druid sensed that presence once so much like his own very near Tyrande. So near, in fact, that they had to be touching.

Brother — began Illidan.

You! Something surged within Malfurion, something that he realized he had to check immediately. Yet, despite his best efforts, the druid was not completely successful.

Malfurion! came Tyrande’s plaintive call. Cease! You’ll kill him!

He had no idea exactly what it was he was doing to Illidan, but Malfurion concentrated, trying to draw back what he had released. To his relief, he felt Illidan recover quickly.

Never… never knew you had that in you… brother… While the tone held consistent with Illidan’s usual condescension, there lay in his mind a more stunned knowledge that the sibling he had felt weak was not.

You’ve much to answer for, Illidan!

If we all live, I will face my accusations…

His words held merit. What use was there to condemn Illidan if they were all to perish? Besides, Malfurion realized he wasted valuable power on his brother.

Putting thought of Illidan aside, the druid touched Tyrande again. You’re well? He’s done nothing to you?

Nothing, Malfurion. I swear by Elune… but we hide now in the ruins near the Well and dare not even attempt to cast a spell! The demon Mannoroth has warriors everywhere! I think they suspect where we are despite both Illidan’s sorcery and my prayers…

He wanted to go to her, but, once again, that was not possible. Malfurion swore. If we can succeed in —

But before he could relay more, Deathwing unleashed a horrific bellow. The raw emotions in the dragon’s cry shattered the links with Tyrande and Illidan and erased from Malfurion’s thoughts any other matter.

He found himself looking upon a dragon tortured beyond comprehension but yet who was so obsessed with what he sought that no pain could daunt him. Some of the plates sealed to the black were nearly slag and several portions of his body had been stripped clear of scale. Revealed underneath was raw flesh burnt or ripped away. The leviathan’s wings were torn in several places and it amazed Malfurion that the mad Earth Warder could still fly. Deathwing’s claws were gnarled and ruined, as if he had been scratching at some impervious object.

Then, Malfurion saw how near the black hovered from his prize.

“By the creators!” Ysera roared. “He will let nothing stop him!”

The druid silently nodded, then realized how dire her words truly were. It looked as if, at any moment, Deathwing would do the impossible… and then it would be up to those hoping to steal the disk from him to do the same.

Away… away… demanded the voices that had once encouraged the dragon in everything he did. Now, they, like all the others, had proven themselves to be treacherous. Truly, there was no one Neltharion could trust but himself.

“I will have it! The Soul is mine! No one else’s!”

He sensed their outrage that he would not obey them. They savagely attacked his mind even as through other means they fueled the Burning Legion’s spells that also battled him. Never had the black dragon suffered so, but it would all be worth it. Even though he only inched forward, he still made progress. The disk was almost within his grasp.

Away… they repeated. Away…

Under their outrage, however, Neltharion also noted growing anxiety, even fear. The voices, too, saw that he had almost reached the his creation. Perhaps they understood that when it came back into his possession, he would punish them along with all the rest.

Then, another factor came more into play. The demon lord reached out from his own realm, magnifying the horrific forces already bound into the spell matrix. Neltharion bellowed again as the torture he had suffered previous proved but a fraction of what he now felt.

But, if anything, it only drove him on. Mouth stretched back in a dragon’s version of a death grin, the leviathan laughed loud at all those who would deny him his right. He laughed and pushed the final few yards to the disk.

“It is mine!” he roared in triumph. “Mine!”

His paw wrapped around the Demon Soul.

“It must be now!” Krasus warned Alexstrasza. “It must be now, if we are to — ”

The world exploded.

Or so, at least, it seemed to the cowled figure. A mad cornucopia of colors overwhelmed Krasus. He heard Alexstrasza roar in surprise and agony. A tremendous force buffeted the two. Krasus tried to hold onto his queen, but it was too much of a strain for the mortal form he wore.

He was thrown.

Things hurtled past him. A squealing, charred shadow bat. A small form that might have been its rider or one of his own comrades. Several pieces of dragon scale, their own color burnt away.

Krasus rolled over and over, unable to slow his momentum despite attempted spells.

We have lost! he managed to think. Surely, this is the end of all!

Then, a huge paw scooped him up and he heard Alexstrasza’s hoarse voice cry out, “He has done it! He has done it!”

Through his tears, the mage managed to peer at Deathwing and the Demon Soul.

The black dragon roared at the top of his lungs as he ripped the disk free of the spell. Deathwing’s body blazed and it amazed Krasus that even a being as powerful as the Aspect could survive such damage. The leviathan raised his creation high, laughing triumphantly despite his clear agony.

And then, from the depths of the Well, a black force shot out and struck Deathwing head-on.

It threw the dragon back, hitting him with such ferocity that he was hurtled far, far beyond the vast Well. Far beyond even the shore. A tumbling Deathwing flew from sight into the clouds…

In his wake, the Demon Soul — lost from his grip — plunged toward the whirlpool.

“We must seize control before either Sargeras or the Old Gods can restore it to the portal’s matrix! I think that, despite Deathwing’s spell on it, I can hold it, at least long enough for our purposes! But we must reach it first!”

“I will try my best…” gasped Alexstrasza.

Only then did Krasus see how much his queen had been burnt by the forces unleashed by Deathwing’s mad actions. The Aspect of Life could barely keep aloft.