Death Never Dies

by Milton Garby

  She had to sleep on it. Sara flopped onto her bed, buried her face into her pillow, and screamed, trying to put the delicious images out of her head.

  Ellemayne

  She crept forward, bow in her grip, and cautiously peered around the corner.

  Nothing.

  Ellemayne waved her free arm forward, signaling the rest of her party that the way was clear.

  The caves were damp and dark, save for the occasional growth of brightly colored elemental crystals. Rotten wood posts littered the ground, and slimy fungal mats clung to the pools of water. She'd never been in Maraudon before, even after it had been cleared out by Paradox, but she knew it wasn't supposed to be this quiet. There were supposed to be demons here.

  But there weren't.

  They scoured Maraudon's caves high and low. From the oozing upper levels, to the giant waterfall, to what had once been the throne of Princess Theradras. And there was not a trace of Burning Legion activity. No portals, no fel cannons, no eredar lords, no nathrezim, not even a damn imp. There was, however, plenty of evidence of former Legion activity. Scraps of fel iron. The stench of fel magic, overpowering the pungent aromas of Maraudon. It was like the Legion had known ahead of time they were coming, and had evacuated. Either there was a spy amidst their ranks, or they were simply being led on like fools.

  Neither possibility really appealed to the huntress.

  All the same, with the way clear their melee crept forward, searching actively. Their rogues slunk through the shadows, looking for any demons hiding in kind, and the warlocks they'd brought along had enchanted everyone to see through any invisibility charms. Ellemayne took up her place near the end, where she wouldn't be in range of clashing axes and swords. Not that it seemed there would be any.

  Time passed. They ate, they camped, they moved. Eventually they circled back to the grassy meadow once inhabited by the daughter of the elemental lord Therazane. The raised platform of grass was surrounded on all sides by an enormous drop into the subterranean lakes of Maraudon, and waterfalls roared over the cliff faces around them. There was no trace of Princess Theradras's body except for a few stray boulders, and absolutely no evidence of demons, present or former.

  "That settles it," Turaniles said. The older kaldorei woman sighed. "Maraudon is a ghost town. Lana, can we get a portal to Orgrimmar? Vol'jin has an assignment for us and I need to get to Ratchet from there."

  "On it," the forsaken mage said, stepping into the middle of the clearing and summoning her arcane magic. In no time, a gaping wound in reality tore open, and revealed the dusty roads of Orgrimmar across it. Her guild filed through one at a time. There was no pushing or shoving as they went through, and before long Ellemayne stood before the portal. She took a step into it, calmly enduring as a surge of arcane power rushed around her, and caught herself elegantly when she landed in Orgrimmar.

  The Horde capital had, thankfully, heavily militarized since the Legion had invaded, even more so than it already had been. Representatives filled the streets, shouting in Orcish for anyone who could to give up various materials such as gold or briarthorn for the war effort. Even from the Western Earthshrine they'd arrived at, Ellemayne could see Orgrimmar's wall, and by Elune had it been built up. The giant construct of spikes and plates had recently taken a battering from a fel reaver, not that she could tell because it was unscathed.

  There was no small amount of commotion when they appeared, since Orgrimmar was the capitol of the Horde and their guild did include races primarily associated with the Alliance. After the same song and dance they went through each time, Turaniles was leading them towards Grommash Hold, where Warchief Vol'jin would supposedly give them a new assignment.

  Hopefully it'd go better than their wasted days in Maraudon.

  Fardol Brighthammer

  "Rah!" he grunted, raising his shield and buckling as the mo'arg's mechanical hammer came down on it. "C'mon, is that it?!" he taunted, before summoning the Light to cast its searing, painful, distracting judgement upon the demon. Lances of fire and ice soared above his head, smashing into the demon engineer and sending the blasted thing back to the Nether, where it belonged. With that demon down, he turned to the next, a felguard that was making a line for their healers, and called again to the Holy Light. A hammer made of the golden magic formed and struck the unfortunate demon's spiked head, sending him to his knees. While the felguard was stunned he was swiftly cut down, allowing Fardol to focus on the main threat.

  An eredar lord.

  The massive demon was probably ten times Fardol's size, so he was glad he wasn't the one keeping his attention. That job went to Selnek, a kaldorei warrior. The red skinned eredar's hands shone with brilliant orange fire, which struck around the armored man in the form of whips, spikes, and slashing claws, while simultaneously sending sparks to bombard the rest of their ten-strong group. But with the last of the additional demons dead, they could focus their efforts on the eredar.

  The air was filled with shouts and cries as they poured their firepower onto the eredar, driving him back through Wintergrasp Keep as his magical shields slowly crumbled. The shelter was warm, filling him with toasty heat and reassurance. Fardol was confident they were going to finally get a clean sweep. And then...

  The eredar ran from their melee towards the colossal orange Titan orb hovering in the middle of the keep.

  "Stop him!" Minnah shouted, sending a spiraling arcane barrage at the demon's bare chest. But it was too late. The eredar places both his taloned hands on the pulsing metal sphere, and sent a blast of fel magic into it.

  WHUM!

  A nova of lightning washed over the ten of them, throwing them back into the keep's walls. Fardol's muscles spasmed as the electricity shot through his plate armor, and by the time he'd recovered the eredar was casting spells of shadow and flame left and right with the desperation of the nearly dead.

  Nearly dead was correct. After few spells from their casters, thrown weapons from the other melee, and a hammer-shaped embodiment of the Light's wrath, the eredar was dead and they had successfully secured Wintergrasp Keep from the Burning Legion.

  "Oy!" he shouted, sitting down and taking uneasy breaths as his muscles kept quivery. "Never knew that big ball could do that!" he exclaimed.

  "I don't think any of us did," Selnek said as he knelt by the body of the eredar. It wasn't dissolving back to the Nether, which meant that the demon was dead forever. "But what matters is that it's dead now. Minnah!" he shouted, getting the attention of the gnomish mage. "Do you think you and some other engineers can figure out how to control that electrical pulse?"

  "Pfft," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Piece of cake, gimme a day or two. On a separate note, good work everyone! Selnek, take the others outside and help the Darnassus army secure the border. Except you Fardol, I need to talk with you."

  He gulped. That was rarely good. But dutifully, he followed Minnah into a corner of the Titan-sized room, his boots clanking deafeningly on the titanium floor. "So what'dya need?" he asked.

  "It's about your 'Old God'," she said, even making air quotes. "I've been keeping up to date. So, she was in Nethergarde right? Yeah, that place is toast. Dreadmaul too. Demons swept in, apparently they're knocking on Darkshire's doorstep."

  "She's dead?" he asked cautiously. If Sara died, then it was both good and bad. Good because now she couldn't rain hell within a few years, bad because, well. If Yogg-Saron had endured the first time it died, who was to say it wouldn't endure this time? The Old God of Death would vanish once again for a few decades before resurfacing. Nothing had actually changed. "Interestin'. And body, or... ?"

  "None I'm afraid, so I'm keeping my ears to the ground. So far there have been no survivors from either Nethergarde or Dreadmaul, but if she's anything like you say she is she could've gotten away without raising any attention. I doubt it, but hey. Gotta consider it."

  "So right now the lass's gone dark?" he asked. "Don't like it. She could be anywhere."

  "If
she got away, Fardol. Nethergarde was smashed pretty hard. But I meant what I said. If on the off chance you're right, we really need to deal with her. Anyway, I just wanted to catch you up quick so you know how the situation's evolved. Now get out there and start searching for any stragglers."

  He gave a sharp salute. "Roger, Minnah." He turned around and started the long trek out of Wintergrasp Keep.

  Fardol wasn't entirely sure how to feel about Sara Smithers's disappearance. On the one hand, she was out of the picture and he could focus entirely on the war. It wasn't going well but they were making some progress. The Wyrmrest Accord had reclaimed Dragonblight. Their guild, in conjunction with the sentinels of Darnassus, had taken over Wintergrasp. The story on other continents was grim, but it was a start.

  On the other hand, he doubted that the Old God was dead. If anyone could weasel a way out of a demon invasion, it was her. And that meant she was still out there, running amok with her dark powers and disregard for the lives of others. The thought of that twisted his gut. Who knew what she was up to? What poor innocents had fallen to her whims, robbed of everything they possessed and everything they were? He was a paladin, damn it! It was his duty to stop things like her from doing just that. But there was nothing he could do. She was gone, and even if she did show up Fardol severely doubted he could confront her.

  Blast it all, it might be years before he found the time to track her down.

  Tichondrius

  As ruler of the nathrezim, Tichondrius was beholden to certain standards. The standards his people had developed ever since selling their souls to - and then eradicating - the original demons. The standards they had developed over long years as mortals with a proud summoning heritage. The standards they had developed over their longer years of service to the Burning Legion.

  He was never to kill a fellow nathrezim, re-materialization or not. He was expected to be a master of manipulation, and the countless mortal races who had torn themselves to shreds at nothing but his command was proof of that. He was expected to command the armies of the Legion from relative safety, only taking the field when absolutely necessary. He was not to get his claws and fangs dirty, and let the lesser rabble do that instead. Especially not on a world that had a history of killing the Legion's commanding officers.

  But alas, sometimes these things simply couldn't be helped.

  His hand snapped out and grabbed the charging insect's head. With a fluid motion Tichondrius crushed its skull. He tossed the limp body to the side with enough force to leave a bloody crater in the wall, then pointed his left hand at an approaching kunchong. Furious shadow magic blasted its mind and the insect collapsed, slid a short distance to him while bleeding from in between the plates of its exoskeleton, then remained still. "Secure the eastern and western exits," he commanded the flanking wrathguards as his hooves clip-clopped on the amber floor. "Leave the empress no escape."

  They gave confirmations in Demonic, leaving Tichondrius to approach the massive, magically sealed gates of the Mantid Empress with a phalanx of felguards at his back. He paused, and held out his left hand while flaring his wings. Tichondrius's demon magic flowed down his left arm, and he extended it at the wall. Between him and the felguards they had more than enough muscle to bash it down, but he felt they'd need that strength very, very soon. Finesse was the blatantly correct choice.

  In scarcely two minutes, he'd disassembled the wards on the gates. He brought his hands to his chest and then thrust them outward. A swarm of carrion insects appeared in his palms, covered in a ghostly green aura, and surged over the heavily reinforced gates, blowing them inward to reveal the throne of the current Mantid empress.

  Empress Ver'makux had prepared for them, since she couldn't escape. The mantid was brutally tall, he had to admit, standing at twice even Tichondrius's height on four long, spindly yellow legs. Her ceremonial gown appeared to be filled with several enchantments - anti-demon enchantments, how quaint - and her arms, all fours of them, were ready to rend and tear while her mandibles twitched.

  The moment she saw them her mandibles opened wide, and a low, droning sound burst forth from them. Tichondrius charged with the felguards at his back, but flapped his wings and dodged to the side at the last moment before a wall of sound burst from the empress's maw.

  The wave of noise crashed into his demons, throwing them into disarray, but Tichondrius was already casting his magic. His vampiric aura was in place, so he simply loaded up the mantid with his selection of curses, afflictions, and shadow words, then began his work.

  The mantid empress was a vicious opponent, and the nathrezim had to admit she probably would have killed him were he on his own. But a dreadlord was rarely alone. The sheer weight of his minions hacking at her and weighing down her long, graspable limbs kept her more or less in one place, letting him stay at distance and flay her mind with his magic, or drop infernals two at a time into the area. He couldn't drop them onto her, sadly. His felguards would still have some use as they pulled the mortal insect into the dirt where she belonged.

  Not to say she didn't hurt them badly. Her screeches made his eardrums burst and blood dribbled from his ears. Her compound eyes seemed to burn into his dark soul with some strange compulsion spell, forcing Tichondrius to avoid looking at her directly. Some of his minions didn't fare so well though, and turned on their brethren before being cut down by his reinforcements. Pulsing fields of antimagic burst with such a clamor that Tichondrius was thrown into the walls, breaking his wings. The mantid's talons and claws ripped through armor like it was wet paper, rending and tearing demon flesh with alarming ease.

  But there was no escape for her. After a short but unbelievably bloody and feral struggle she was brought down to the ground, her limbs broken or torn off. The empress screeched for her minions to aid her, but nobody came. She thrashed and cast wildly like the cornered animal she was, but eventually her struggles died down under their onslaught until, with a final anguished cry, she went still.

  Tichondrius panted, a hand on each of his ears as he wove shadowy mending spells onto his form. "Spread out," he commanded his felguards and infernals once he was done. "Secure the perimeter. None but I are to enter this chamber." The rabble saluted - except for the moronic infernals - and moved outside of the throne room.

  Now that Tichondrius wasn't fighting for his life against an enraged bug descended from Old God minions, he could properly take in the scenery of the throne room. He had to admit, he was impressed. The ground was made of dull, dark purple stones, each shaped like circle arcs of varying dimensions and woven together to give the impression of flowing waves. The ceiling was tall and designed similarly, and the room had two wings off to the side where reinforcements for the empress were supposed to arrive. Guard rails had glowing red stones to make their faces, and golden steps rose to the throne of the empress. The throne itself wasn't actually anything, just a raised piece of ground with round, ornate bronze pillars to either side, but it still gave him the impression of majesty.

  So naturally, he was going to defile it.

  He strode to the two pillars and wrapped his wings around himself in a cocoon, muttered in the vile language of his people. His murmurs grew louder and more extravagant as he cast his magic, and in moments a window opened between the two pillars, pushing past the nether winds radiating from Argus, all the way to the capitol Mac'Aree. And there, his lord looked back at him.

  "Tichondrius," Kil'jaeden growled. "I take it you have succeeded?"

  He was already kneeling. "Of course, Deceiver. Both the pandaren and mogu strongholds are dust, and the mantid empire is in ruins. All that remains of those races are the fragments that escaped to other continents. Pandaria is ours."

  The eredar lord nodded, a wicked smile on his face. "Excellent, Tichondrius. Begin reinforcing the shores of Pandaria and disable any portal routs you can find. Once this is done to your satisfaction, contact me again. Until then, continue as competently as you were."

  "Of course, my Lord."
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  Then Kil'jaeden waved a massive hand, and the communication window winked out of existence. The ornate pillars he had used as a frame were tarnished black and green now, with none of the glamour they once held.

  Tichondrius left, ignoring them like the useless scraps they were. He needed to wash his claws. Mantid blood was revolting.

  Leira

  Leira was up early that day. She ate an early breakfast, did an early workout, and just ran through her entire morning schedule early. This was no accident either, because she knew they were going on another mission today. Once she was done with her routine, she made her way through one of her guild hall's passages to the room she knew Sara resided in. Leira came to a stop in front of the wooden door and rapped her knuckles on it sharply.

  Nothing.

  She knocked again, harder, and was rewarded with a surprised thump from inside.

  "Mh'aulg!" came Sara's voice from inside, and Leira had to blink. What did she just say?

  A few moments passed, during which Leira could hear the human frantically getting dressed. Then the door opened, revealing Sara with her hair all over her face, her eyes half closed, and in her favorite brown shirt/brown dress. "Hmm, aq shn'an?" she growled, her mouth contorting hideously as she forced out the revolting, gut-churning sounds. "An'qyzz."

  Leira stared at Sara, horrified. "Sara, what?!"

  The shorter human stared back at her for a moment, but then her eyes went wide and she shook her head. That, at least, got her hair mostly back into place. "Oh, um, sorry. I was practicing the language before bed. So what is it? It's really early."