Hell. The Ashenheart Domain.
The pale sky was choked with thick mist, and the bitter wind ground gravel and loose stone together in a steady, grating crunch. With his heavy cloak dragging behind him, Arthas crunched his way up the Ossuary Trail, stepping into the cavern that led directly to the core of the Ever-Burning Volcano.
Inside, a sharp creak echoed—like the lid of an old tomb being forced open—as something ancient slowly stirred.
"Ugh, that wretched stench of burning sulfur again." Leonidas's demigod phantom awoke from its slumber. The moment he spotted his old friend, the complaining began. "Arthas, for the love of the gods, can't you cast a ward or something to clear out this brimstone and rot?"
Arthas merely cast a sidelong glance at Leonidas, entirely ignoring his whining. A moment later, the sharp ring of a drawn blade filled the cavern as a sword-shaped phantom coalesced beside the Spartan.
