Death Never Dies

by Milton Garby

  The dreadlord roared as she got a good chop on his right shoulder, bringing him that much closer to death. She was close, Leira could sense it. The demon's armor was cracked and falling apart, his natural weapons were broken, and black blood dribbled down his body like a fountain. But then he grabbed her with his left hand - his claws were still gone - and tossed her into a wall hard enough that she saw stars.

  But before she could get her bearings, and before Varimathras could follow up, Sara's corpse released a blinding flash of green light. When Leira could see again, the human was floating. Her eyes were glowing too: the sclera were flourescent orange, and both her irises and her pupils had melted together into brown disks, like dried mud. Her betentacled staff clattered to the ground. The dreadlord wheeled around and faced her in shock. "What?!"

  "Death and I," Sara intoned in a black voice. "We have an understanding."

  Leira's blood ran cold and she slumped onto a pile of dwarven hammers. Without even a hand gesture, Sara shielded herself. Instantly, the air was saturated with Old God magic, slimy and gross and oh so wrong against her skin.

  A carrion swarm burst over Sara, but did nothing to even budge the hovering human. Instead, Sara brought her hands together and close to her body. They started glowing bright green, more and more, and then with a shout she thrust her hands at Varimathras.

  The dreadlord teleported behind her, but to Leira's confusion no magic shot from Sara. Instead, she pivoted around in mid-air and pointed a finger at Varimathras. This time her magic was released, a colossal cone of purple and black and green. It crashed over the dreadlord before he even had a chance to realize he'd been tricked. A portion of the magic wrapped around his head and reverberated back to Sara, but otherwise the demon was completely overwhelmed. He leaned backwards, with one hand out to protect himself, and froze in that spot.

  His body shattered like glass, not even dissolving into bats. Where he'd been there a green outline in the same pose, almost invisible in the torrent of magic, but then that too shattered and the dreadlord was gone forever.

  The magic died, and Sara stopped floating. She fell to the ground like a sack.

  Leira shook off her shock and ran towards her. She knelt beside the human and inspected her. There was a trickle of blood oozing from the back of her head, and while the gargantuan wound from earlier was gone her robes were still drenched in blood. Once she was satisfied Sara was still breathing, Leira fished out one of her health potions and held it to Sara's mouth. It took some effort to make the unconscious human drink it, but sure enough the red liquid disappeared down her throat. A moment later Sara's head stopped bleeding, she coughed violently, and her eyes shot open. "Wha?" she stammered.

  "Holy shit!" she shouted, wrapping her arms around the human. "Sara don't do that, I thought you were dead!"

  "Choking," Sara croaked.

  Leira let go, only for Sara to fall back onto the ground. "Sorry. Think you can stand?" she asked, offering a hand.

  "Yeah, yeah just give me a moment." Sara took the offered hand and Leira hoisted her up. The human swayed uneasily. "I actually was dead, you know. I wasn't joking when I said Yogg-Saron could revive itself." Her eyes went wide all of a sudden. "Oh no, I'm out of mana. I don't have any magic. I-If I die now it's gonna be for real and - "

  "Hey hey," Leira insisted. "Calm down. We did it, right? We can hearthstone out, wait for you to get your magic back, and then you can revive them. What matters is we blew up the Legion and you erased Varimathras." She took off her damaged helmet and felt around. Leira had suffered a few wounds too, now that she could focus on it. There was a bleeding cut on her cheek, and it felt like her forehead would be sprouting a bump. The news elsewhere on her body would likely be the same, since her armor was practically torn to ribbons.

  "Wouldn't have been able to without you," Sara said. "I was watching while trying to revive myself, you beat the shit out of him. I basically just stole your - " She cut herself off. "Wait, no. We've been had!" Sara suddenly exclaimed.

  "Huh? What do you mean?"

  Sara clenched her fists. "I read the dreadlord's mind before killing him. It wasn't Varimathras and Grim Batol isn't the Legion's main base here. They just moved a bunch of guys here to throw us off, and the dreadlord was just pretending to be Varimathras. He was some nobody dreadlord called Lorthiras. The whole purpose was to draw someone out here while the Legion's actual force struck at the Red Dragonflight. Leira we've gotta get outta here," she insisted, sounding strained.

  Leira nodded grimly. "Damn it. Alright, gather them up together. Make sure all of them are holding you and then hearthstone out. Hmm, no. I'll take Barab and Saynna, you just take Tarod. Let's get the hell out of here before they send any more demons. And hey." Under her helmet, she smiled at her. "Thanks for coming back. I was worried."

  Sara smiled back. "No problem. I'm not staying dead if I can help it. Now let's get outta here."

  In no time they'd gathered up the bodies and Leira fished out her hearthstone. Her head was starting to buzz and the world gently spun, so she probably needed to see a medic. But they'd done it. Despite what Sara said, Leira was confident this was a victory. They'd sent so many demons back to the nether and permanently killed a dreadlord, right? The red dragons could hold.

  They were going to win this war.

  Talgath the Inexorable

  He strode into Darkshire atop a wave of darkness. The town's defenders were in disarray, which meant it was the perfect time for him to go in and finish them with minimal risk to himself.

  Talgath arrived on the hill overlooking the small town. It'd been fortified heavily by the Alliance and had been a challenge worthy of his skills, but its fate was written in stone. The gryphon roost was in splinters, the walls were crumbled, and even though the defenders had forced Argolash to retreat, destroyed his imps, his wrathguards, his shivarra and his infernals... they had yet to destroy him.

  His defenses were in place, and a duo of manaburn shards floated by his head. He stepped through a hole in the brick wall and eyed the defenders.

  They were ready for him. A phalanx in front. Archers in the back, and spell casters off to the sides, spread out. Even a few ballistae aimed toward him. Those would be the first to go.

  A score of arrows and spells fell upon him but bounced off his chest thanks to his ironskin enchantment, and already his manaburn shards were frying the casters. Talgath brought his hands up to his right and swirled fire magic inside for a moment, and then he unleashed the flames of doom from his left hand. A quartet of incineration fires snaked through the air, blue at the front, and then smashed into all four of the ballistae, reducing them to splinters before they could fire their first shot at him. The mortals operating them dove for cover.

  He unleashed his next spell, a curse of unbound agony, on one of the archers. He screamed in pain as the bright purple glow ate away at his life. His allies decursed him in moments... and as a result, the curse spread to another two mortals. Then when they either died or were decursed, it would spread to four, then eight...

  But he wasn't going to wait. He prepared another fire spell, bringing his hands to both of his sides as though juggling fireballs, then tossed his right hand into the air. From the cloudy sky, fireballs began streaking down and crashed into Darkshire. There wasn't much force behind them, but that wasn't the point. It forced the mortals to dance, and it caught fire to every single building that wasn't yet ash. Even if they extinguished the blaze, the fire would keep raining.

  His left manaburn shard was destroyed by archers, and the phalanx was tossing arrows at him and charging to engage him in melee. He resummoned the shard and brought his right hand up. Darkness pooled around it, and then he slammed that hand into the dirt. A colossal shadow nova washed over the mortals, pushing them back and outright killing the ones closer to him.

  His curse of agony was spread to sixteen by now. Those afflicted could do little against him, wracked with pain as they were. However there were still plen
ty functioning mortals, so Talgath continued the onslaught of his finely-honed battle magic.

  It took Talgath little more than a minute to decimate the ranks of Darkshire's army. Smoke poured into the air, and bodies littered the ground. Before long there was one single mortal left, a paladin man dressed up in brilliant golden armor. "Back!" the human shouted bravely, charging at Talgath. "Back, foul creature!"

  There was a shimmering barrier around the mortal, a divine shield that signified the Light's blessing to protect him from all harm. Nothing could get past that shield until it expired...

  ... well, not quite nothing. There was one spell Talgath knew that would pierce that shield for certain. His hands came up and colossal darkness began to pool between them. It was a spell he was well versed in, though not as well as the greater eredar lords. Lord Kil'jaeden - and before his death, Lord Archimonde - could cast this spell with naught but a second's preparation, and they would not have to wait five minutes in between casting it. He was nowhere near as adept, but within five seconds Talgath finished casting.

  He pointed a single finger at the human, and the world turned blood red. The sky, the earth, everything. From his finger a thick beam of pure red death magic burst forth. It crashed hatefully upon the paladin, killing any creatures in the air between him and the mortal. It pierced through the shield like it did not even exist, striking the paladin, his children, and his children's children with the deadliest spell known to Talgath. The finger of death.

  The mortal dropped dead where he stood.

  Talgath could sense no more life within Darkshire. He sent out a telepathic order to his minions to begin moving in.

  Domana had yet to regenerate from her failed attempt at recruiting the mortal, and he'd heard that Lorthiras died permanently up in Grim Batol on some distraction mission. But that mattered not.

  With Darkshire fallen, the way to Stormwind City was clear.

  Sara

  Once they hearthstoned back to Ironforge, it took a few hours to be both debriefed, and for Sara to get enough mana to resurrect the others. The three had, of course, showered her in praise for bringing them back to life and she'd preened under the attention, even while despair ate away at her gut.

  She failed. Sara had failed. For starters she'd died and if it hadn't been for her enchanted gear she simply would not have had enough power to resurrect herself. She should've been happy she managed to do it, and to finish off the dreadlord, but after being debriefed by the guild's leaders Sara just wanted to retire to her room and sleep.

  But sleep didn't help her much. Like every day since touching Yogg-Saron's corpse, she dreamed of her past life, of her days as an Old God. Like every day, the dreams served only to make the burning urge in her gut hotter, tempting her stronger and stronger to run off to Ulduar and become what she was supposed to be, to fulfill the reason for her existence.

  It was all the worse because she couldn't even claim she was being magically influenced or such, her desires were simply wearing down her willpower.

  And after she woke up from a dream of solving a magical puzzle given to her by N'Zoth, she could only think about what had happened in Grim Batol. She'd done well. Astoundingly well, better than she could have hoped. She hadn't been able to use her erasing spell, she needed to conserve her mana, but even without that she'd decimated the Legion. Psychosis spells flayed demons apart, mind maladies bounced between them. Brain links forced them to maneuver and death rays turned them to ash, all while she sat safely behind her death barrier. She'd nearly run herself ragged keeping up with Leira's squad, but she'd done it.

  But... that dreadlord that had appeared in the forge. The same one that had killed her, which she then killed herself. It had spoken to her about the same things the succubus had. It wanted her to join them. It reiterated the sayaad's arguments and supplied some of its own, going straight for what Sara wanted. He spoke of how she wanted to kill people, how she liked to hurt people, and how she could have all that she wanted and more. She would fit right in with the demons. But before he could tempt her more, she heard the others be discovered and then she blasted the demon, only to have him teleport away.

  But while he was gone for good, she couldn't get his words out of her head. She couldn't get the succubus's words out of her head, nor could she ignore the images she saw of her old life.

  Sara groaned, and stood from her bed. The moment she got on her feet she nearly collapsed because fire shot through her legs, so bright and hot she could barely stand. Even once she laid on the ground and put no pressure on them, they continued to churn painfully. She had over channeled in Grim Batol, and her recent over channelings were finally catching up to her. Her legs, once broken in Ahn'Qiraj and subjected to far more magic than her body could handle, were failing her.

  Her body was falling apart. Didn't that mean it was time to get a new one?

  She pulled herself onto her chair and fished out a piece of paper. Sara laid it across her desk and fetched a pencil. Once done, she began scribbling, if for no other reason than to solidify the idea in her mind.

  Lines and runes appeared. She had to cross reference with books on the density of arcanite powder, or the magic storage of sha crystals, or even just refer to the Old God knowledge in her brain, but the spell matrix began to take form. After an hour of nonstop work, she paused and inspected the circular form she'd drawn.

  If she did it, it would be without a doubt the most complex spell she had ever undertaken. In fact, it was hopeless for her to cast it on her own. There were just so many parts to it. She hadn't even completed it yet; the spell in the form it was now would simply drain her of her mana and then kill her. But if she finished it, then gathered the materials, then gathered assistants, and cast it...

  ... she would be Yogg-Saron again.

  Sara caught herself. "Damn it!" she shouted. She grabbed the paper and tore it in half, then the halves in half, then the quarters in half, and tossed the eight shreds onto the floor behind her. "Damn it damn it damn it!"

  "Damn what?" someone asked through the door.

  She sighed. "It's open, come in Leira."

  The door swung in and Leira clip-clopped inside, closing it behind her. "I heard you shouting, is everything alright?"

  "No," she moaned miserably. "Everything sucks, Leira. We're going to lose this war."

  Sara didn't look at Leira, instead opting to rest her forehead on the desk. Still, she heard the draenei sit on her bed. "We're not going to lose this war."

  "Yes we are!" she protested. "Everything's going wrong. We haven't pushed the Legion back an inch! We have no idea where their central portals are, or where their leadership is, and we keep losing ground!"

  "It's always been like that Sara. Remember when we learned about the War of the Ancients? Or the Battle for Hyjal? We always lose a lot of ground, but it lets us buy enough time to trap the Legion and force them off world."

  "So what?" The words of the succubus came to mind. "Just because we've always won that way doesn't mean we always will. It's like saying that nothing's killed you yet, so you're immortal."

  "You are," Leira pointed out.

  "That's not the point!" she nearly shouted. "Unless someone does something drastic, we're all going to die." Sara felt sick, like she was standing over a canyon and about to fall in. "Kil'jaeden isn't even on Azeroth yet, who knows how bad things will get once he arrives? I kinda doubt he'll fall for the whole 'Wisps at the World Tree' shtick like Archimonde. But - " She cut herself off.

  "But what?" Leira asked worriedly.

  "But I can beat them," she breathed. Sara sat up and looked behind her, at the torn up prototype ritual. "I'd just need some ingredients, some servants, and passage to Ulduar. I'll turn back into Yogg-Saron, rise from Northrend, and kill every single demon on the planet. I wouldn't have to destroy the world. I could keep myself under control. I could, I could - " she stammered.

  "Whoa, hold up," Leira said. "Let's pause on the Old God plan alright? Didn't you say t
here was a chance that you'd be, I don't know, consumed or something if you become an Old God again?"

  "There's a chance," Sara admitted. "But if that doesn't happen then it'd be me piloting the powers of an Old God, and the alternative is everyone dying, and nothing interesting will ever happen again because this planet's going to become a sterile rock, so I have to at least try!"

  "And not that I don't trust you, but I don't like the sound of that," Leira pointed out, raising her hands calmly. Sara could tell she was putting in great effort to remain calm. "I mean okay, let's say you change back and kill the Legion. And with your power, you keep anyone else from killing you, and you control yourself enough not to kill them, and you explain the situation to them, and they believe you, and they stand down. Then what?"

  "I don't know. I guess I just keep my body someplace it won't bother anyone and make an avatar to live my life."

  "Alright, so you have an avatar and you keep yourself under control for a few years. What about the years after that? Or the decades after those? The centuries? The millennia?" Leira paused. "What about when your parents are dead? When I'm dead? Are you still going to hold back then?" Sara didn't answer. Instead she looked at the ground in shame, because she and Leira both knew the answer. "Hey, look. If it looks like we have absolutely no other choice, and literally everyone is about to die? Go Old God and make them pay," she snarled, clenching her fists. Then the warrior softened. "But please, give it some more time. Have faith in the Alliance. Have faith in us, okay? No need to self destruct the world yet."

  "Leira, I - " But how did she say 'But I don't know if I'd even want to hold back'? And why should she? Because it was the right thing to do... from the mortal perspective? She sighed shakily. "Alright. I'll hold on to this. We can still win normally," she told herself. After all, they only needed to stall until they found the Legion's entryway. Then they could focus everything on that point and then they'd win. There was no reason for her to go back.