The Demon Soul (warcraft)

by Richard A. Knaak

  Again Korialstrasz tried to rise, but his body still would not obey him. He gazed up hopefully at the murky heavens, but of his people, of his Alexstrasza, the injured red saw no sign. A fear coursed through him, the fear that they had suffered a fate akin to that of Malygos’s flight. Imagining his queen limp and lifeless atop some harsh mountain, a sizzling tear slipped from his eye. Yet, try as he might, even such images failed to enable Korialstrasz to rise.

  Rest…I must rest…I will find Krasus, then…he will know what to do…

  The red giant let his head fall back. All he needed was a few minutes. Then he could take to the air again.

  But it was at that moment that a new and harsh sound assailed his sharp hearing. It took Korialstrasz only a second to recognize it.

  The sound of battle.

  The demons were attacking again.

  A nightmare. Krasus found himself in the midst of a terrible nightmare. He and Malfurion had reached a point that, while it had not given them a view of the battle, it had at least allowed the pair to witness what took place up in the sky.

  And so Krasus had watched as his kind fell to one insane creature.

  He had seen his younger self bravely—if foolishly—attempting to confront an Aspect. The struggle had gone as the mage had expected, even though his memories of the time were all but gone. A chill had coursed through him when Korialstrasz had finally fallen, but although Krasus felt his pain, he also felt that the red lived…a minor victory at this point.

  But worse to him, worse even than the knowledge that so many night elves had perished at Neltharion’s hand, was what had happened to the other dragons. With Malygos’s flight virtually decimated, now the spellweaver would begin to slip into his own madness as his kind became all but extinct. Gone would be the merry giant, and in his place would loom the ominous, reclusive beast.

  And beyond that, the attack that had sent all the others tumbling far over the horizon rattled Krasus to his core. He kept telling himself that Alexstrasza would be all right, that most of the dragons would survive the epic winds that threw them half a world away. History told him so, but his heart kept insisting otherwise.

  He tore ahead of Malfurion, trying in desperation to transform. He was older, wiser, and more skilled than his younger self; Krasus could have taken on Neltharion with better hope of success. The dragon mage struggled to change, to become what he should be…

  In the end, however, he only succeeded in first stumbling, then falling. Krasus dropped face first into the earth, where he lay for a moment, all of his failures rising up to overwhelm him.

  “Master Krasus?” Malfurion lifted him up.

  Ashamed of his display, the mage buried his emotions under the mask he generally wore. “I am fine, druid.”

  The young night elf nodded. “I understand some of what you’re going through.”

  Krasus almost snapped that the druid could not possibly understand, but realized almost immediately how harsh and stupid such a caustic remark would have been. Of course Malfurion understood; at this very moment, his people, possibly those he cared for, were dying.

  Suddenly, his companion looked up. “Praise Cenarius! We’re in luck!”

  Luck? Following his gaze, Krasus spied a welcome sight. Tyrande rode toward them, two other sisters accompanying her. She also led along a pair of extra mounts, obviously for the two spellcasters.

  Pulling up, she leapt from the night saber and hugged Malfurion without any sense of shame. The other sisters politely looked down; Krasus noted that they seemed very respectful of Tyrande despite clearly being elder.

  “Thank the Mother Moon!” she gasped. “With all that happened and Korialstrasz appearing like that, I feared that you—”

  “As did I, you,” the druid replied.

  Krasus felt a slight ache in his heart that had nothing to do with either his or Korialstrasz’s condition. In the place of the two night elves, he imagined himself and another.

  But that would never come to pass unless they stopped both the Burning Legion and Neltharion.

  “We must move on,” he told them. “We must stop the demons if we have even a hope of stopping the Earth Warder.”

  With some reluctance, Malfurion and Tyrande separated. When everyone had mounted, the band turned back, heading toward the site of the struggle.

  They heard the cries and shouts long before they saw the first bloodshed. The battle had shifted position entirely, even surprising Tyrande and the sisters, who had just left it.

  “It should not be this close!” blurted one of the latter. “The lines are collapsing completely!”

  The other nodded, then turned to Tyrande. “Mistress, we need to find another path. The one we took is overrun.”

  Both Krasus and Malfurion noted the term used, but neither understood what it meant. Tyrande added to the mystery by accepting the suggestion in a manner befitting one in command: “Lead on where you think best.”

  They rode on, seeking another way to the host. A path opened up before them, but it brought the group precariously near the fighting. Still, it seemed their only route left unless they wanted to ride completely behind Ravencrest’s army, which would add wasted hours to their trek.

  As the party rode, Krasus eyed the battle nearby. The demons fought as if they still intended to take the world for their lord when they were, in fact, as likely to be wiped out by Neltharion as the night elves. Archimonde could only be assuming that he would somehow gain the upper hand quickly and then take on the black dragon. How he hoped to accomplish that, Krasus could not determine, but he put nothing past the demon commander. The future was no longer assured; anything could happen.

  “Down this way!” called the priestess in the lead. She steered her mount around a descending trail, then vanished briefly around the edge of a hill that they had been skirting.

  The others followed suit, aware that each second counted. But as they came around the hill, Malfurion shouted, “Look out!”

  Coming seemingly out of nowhere, the battle flowed into them. Desperate soldiers fell back as grinning demons chopped into their weakening lines. The riders just barely missed colliding with the former. Worse, the fluidity of the line brought them face-to-face with the enemy.

  The sister in the lead tried to deflect the burning blade of a demon, but she moved too slowly. The monstrous sword ripped through her shoulder and neck and she dropped like a stone. Her mount tore into the demon immediately after the attack, but there was nothing that could be done for its rider.

  “Mistress!” the remaining sister shouted. “Get back!” She shared blows with a Fel Guard, beating him away from Tyrande.

  Malfurion’s childhood friend did not shirk from the battle, though. With a fierceness that reminded Krasus of one of his own, she came to her companion’s aid, driving her blade under the demon’s armor. The Fel Guard crumpled and briefly the defenders’ line reformed.

  “We need to reach Rhonin and Lord Ravencrest!” Krasus urged.

  Yet, despite their best efforts, they found themselves pushed back by the sea of bodies. Krasus cast a spell that sent the fallen weapons of other demons flying into those monstrous warriors in the forefront. Beset by both the night elves and the enchanted blades, many demons died.

  The effort pushed Krasus more than he had expected. Again, Korialstrasz’s weakness affected him, too. His younger self had expended himself against Neltharion, and the link between the two had evidently even let him draw from Krasus.

  Malfurion proved more effective. He whipped up a dust storm that blinded only the Burning Legion, forcing the demons to swing recklessly in the hopes of finding some target. Soldiers picked off the confused warriors with ease.

  Focused on the encroaching invaders, Krasus paid no attention to the sky; thanks to Neltharion, he saw no reason why anyone would need to look up anymore.

  But when he heard the screaming sound and noted the growing shadow, Krasus finally did look up, just in time to curse his failing.

&n
bsp; The two Infernals struck…and chaos overwhelmed all.

  The hurtling demons hit the ground with devastating results. A tremendous quake overwhelmed everyone. Soldiers were sent flying. Others screamed as huge chunks of stone and earth—tossed up by the Infernals’ landing—crushed them.

  Tyrande’s mount was struck by one such missile and fell, tossing the priestess into the fray. The other sister reached for her, but a fiery blade caught her through the heart. Malfurion, too, attempted to grab Tyrande, but one of the Infernals rose from the pit it created and barreled into his night saber.

  He received no aid from Krasus. The dragon mage hung half-conscious in the saddle, the side of his head bruised by what must have been a huge rock. Worse, Krasus’s mount, panicked by the tremors, ran off with the stricken figure.

  The druid finally leapt from his night saber. The Infernal ran past him, the brutish demon interested only in general carnage.

  Fighting through the mob of disheartened soldiers, Malfurion caught sight of Tyrande. One hand pressed against her head, she half-knelt in the mayhem. Her helmet lay at her feet, one part severely dented. The druid marveled that she was alive.

  “Tyrande!” he cried, stretching a hand out to her. She stared blankly at it a moment before taking it. Malfurion dragged her back from the worst of the fighting.

  With Tyrande leaning on him, the druid headed for somewhere to momentarily hide. All he cared about was getting her away from this area. Malfurion felt guilty for having asked her to come, even though there was likely no part of the battle where anyone could be considered safe.

  He half-dragged her up the hillside. Even up here, it was not so safe, for night elves and demons already fought at the base. At the moment, however, it was the only possible choice.

  A few green plants still hung to life on the hill. The druid touched one and begged of the plant its moisture. He brought the green leaves to Tyrande’s lips, letting precious water drip into her mouth.

  She moaned. He readjusted her position, letting her head rest in the crook of his arm. “Easy, Tyrande. Easy.”

  “M-Malfurion…the others…”

  “They’re all right,” he lied. “Take a minute to clear your head. You struck it when you fell.”

  “Hel’jara! She—it went right through her!”

  Malfurion quietly swore; if she recalled the one sister’s death, then she would soon recall too much more. “Try to relax.”

  But even as he asked that of her, Malfurion himself tensed. He felt certain that someone watched them.

  Quickly peering behind him, the druid thought that he caught sight of a shadow. One hand immediately twisted into a fist. Had one of the attackers slipped through?

  “Tyrande,” he whispered. “I’m going to talk to Krasus. He’s not far. You rest more.”

  She gazed at him with an expression that indicated she found something wrong with what he said, but could not identify just what. Hoping that her mind would not clear too quickly and make her remember that the mage had become separated from them, Malfurion gently let her rest against the hill, then slipped away.

  As he cautiously wended his way toward where he thought he had seen the shadow, the druid focused on spells utilizing what existed around him. The land here would be only too eager to aid him if he sought to destroy a Fel Guard or other demon.

  Someone or something had been here. He saw a slight depression in one area, but it was smaller than he would have imagined from one of the fearsome warriors. The print indicated either a very short figure or some animal, though he could not say which. There also seemed to have been more than one creature.

  Pushing past a tree, he halted. Ahead came the sound of something scraping against rock. Malfurion rushed ahead, already prepared to attack.

  However, as he came around another tree, he saw not a demon, but a slighter, more familiar figure. Another night elf.

  She scrambled out of sight, slipping away too fast for him to follow without leaving Tyrande dangerously alone. The young female had not been wearing armor or robes of the temple, but rather garments such as many of the refugees wore. In one hand, she had been carrying something long and wooden, but his brief glimpse had not given him enough of an image to guess just what.

  It was not so surprising to find a refugee wandering about. The ordinary people were now likely scattering in fear. The host was being decisively beaten back, and nothing seemed capable of saving the night elves this time.

  Malfurion turned and hurried back toward where he had left Tyrande. She was all that mattered to him now. He could do nothing for any young refugee who had gotten so far from the rest.

  The druid scrambled among the trees, eyes already searching for Tyrande. Malfurion had wasted precious time chasing after the young figure; he had to get Tyrande and himself away from here quickly, before the fight rose to where she lay.

  As he came around the last of the trees, Malfurion gave a sigh of relief. The sounds of combat were still some distance away. Tyrande would be safe—

  He stopped dead as he came upon the prone figure of his childhood friend…and an ominous figure hovering over her.

  It should have been impossible for the creature to hear him, but it turned to Malfurion nonetheless. Hooves kicked at the rocky earth as the goatlike figure confronted him. The upper half resembled one of his own kind, save for the wicked horns curling high above. The all-too-night-elven face leered at the druid as the newcomer’s taloned fingers stretched in anticipation.

  But what was most terrible, even more so than finding this creature looming above his Tyrande, was the fiend’s face.

  Malfurion knew that face. He had told no one, but it haunted his dreams. Even though there were some changes in the features, he could never have forgotten the eyes…the black and crimson crystal eyes.

  Lord Xavius had risen from the dead.

  Twenty-Two

  The lines of the night elves proved so fluid now that everyone’s position shifted continuously. That notwithstanding, Lord Ravencrest did what he could to keep order, to keep morale. For all that he had argued with the noble in the past, Rhonin now felt thankful that the master of Black Rook Hold had the sway over his soldiers that he did. The wizard could not imagine someone like Desdel Stareye doing the same.

  Ravencrest finally caught sight of the human. Riding toward him, he shouted, “Wizard! I need you up there, not back here!”

  “One of us should remain near you, my lord!” In truth, Rhonin wanted to stay nearby to hear any reports that might come, but protecting the commander of the host had also become a priority with him.

  “I’d rather you be up by the Moon Guard and Illidan!” For the first time, Ravencrest betrayed a secret. “I’d feel much better if you took the lead at this moment! The lad’s good, but we need control now, not mayhem! If you’d please!”

  Pointed out like that, Rhonin could hardly argue. Already he had sensed Illidan drawing ever more wildly from both his comrades and the Well itself. After witnessing the madness of the black dragon, Rhonin could easily imagine Illidan becoming likewise the more he freely immersed himself in his magic.

  “As you say, my lord!” Urging his mount forward, the wizard looked for Illidan. It was not hard to locate the young sorcerer. Like a beacon of silver light, Illidan stood out among the defenders. The aura he wore about him nearly blinded those closest, but of course, Malfurion’s twin was too blinded by his own might to realize how he affected the rest.

  Even as Rhonin neared, the black-garbed figure unleashed a series of explosive bolts at the oncoming horde. Demons were tossed everywhere, scorched body parts even raining down near the wizard. Unfortunately, a few soldiers, also caught in the fringe of the spell, perished in the same horrible manner.

  One of the Moon Guard collapsed. Illidan snarled at the rest and the much more experienced spellcasters sheepishly realigned themselves so as to remove the fallen one from their magical matrix.

  What does he think he’s doing? thought Rhonin
to himself. At this rate, they and everyone around him will be dead!

  Illidan started casting, then noticed the wizard. The night elf grinned at Rhonin, so pleased with his work that he failed to notice that the rest of the army was collapsing.

  “Master Rhonin! Did you see—”

  “I’ve seen everything! Illidan! Ravencrest wants me to take over! We need to coordinate our attack and bring back some semblance of order!”

  “Take over?” A dangerous look flashed across the night elf ’s expression. “From me?”

  “Yes!” Rhonin saw no reason to placate Malfurion’s brother; the fate of an entire people—an entire world—might very well hang in their hands.

  With clear bitterness, Illidan acquiesced, then asked, “What do we do?”

  The mage had already thought that out. For the time being, he wanted to remove Illidan from the matrix completely, giving the Moon Guard the opportunity to recuperate. With Rhonin at their head, they would be able to assist while still recovering.

  “I’ve tried contacting Krasus, but to no avail! So much magic might be making it difficult! Your link to your twin should be stronger, more inherent! I need you to find the two of them for us! We need their aid in this, too!”

  The sorcerer’s eyes narrowed, a clear sign that he recognized what Rhonin was doing. Nonetheless, he nodded again. “I’ll find my brother. We wouldn’t want to be without his powers, would we?”

  Illidan moved away before Rhonin could say anything. The wizard frowned, but knew that he could expect no better understanding from the hot-headed youth.

  A few of the Moon Guard looked almost relieved when Rhonin joined their efforts. They no longer cared that he was an outsider; they just knew that he would lead them well.