"Prophet, Prophet? Prophet!"
Xal'atath's cry roused Velen from his brief daze. He said apologetically, "I'm sorry... some dusty old memories made me a bit absent-minded."
"You seemed quite surprised when you saw Kil'jaeden, Prophet?"
Xal'atath didn't comment much on Velen's state; she was just curious about why Velen had made such an incredulous expression upon seeing Kil'jaeden.
Velen shook his head. "I was only surprised that he would appear outside the fortress... From what I know of him, he should be commanding from the rear, meticulously planning everything... No, I can also understand why he chose to come in person."
Such contradictory words from the Prophet were rare for him. This wise old man seldom showed such a loss of composure; he was always steady and calm, never wavering even in the direst moments.
"Regardless of any personal grievances between you, Prophet, we must prepare a countermeasure. Kil'jaeden is absolutely the most powerful demon we have ever seen. Even those pests on Azeroth disguised as demon gods might not be stronger than him."
Compared to Velen, Xal'atath was more concerned about the threat Kil'jaeden's power posed to them.
A heavy warship personally led by a demon lord – that alone was enough to put Xal'atath on high alert. The Burning Legion understood how to conduct such space warfare far better than the Azeroth Allied Forces. Even with the assistance of Draenei engineers and the Naaru, she wasn't sure if they could gain an advantage in a direct ship-to-ship confrontation.
That's why they risked a stealthy approach to destroy Argus's port and armory, to ensure they had a sufficient advantage.
But Kil'jaeden's appearance shattered the aerial superiority they had so painstakingly established. If Kil'jaeden and his warship couldn't be dealt with, then the soldiers who would later land on Argus via the warp gate would be fighting alone without warship cover.
"Arthas will need some time to return. We must face Kil'jaeden alone now."
Kalesh was a certain distance from Argus, and Arthas was undoubtedly still cleaning up the mess after the battle with Dimensius. It was unlikely they would receive Arthas's support anytime soon.
Xal'atath's voice entered the minds of several Alliance commanders, "Who is willing to lead a team to attack Kil'jaeden and his ship?"
Destroying a warship commanded by a demon lord with only ship cannons was unrealistic. Boarding the enemy ship and attempting to disable its power system and crew was a more feasible approach.
As for killing Kil'jaeden... Xal'atath didn't have such thoughts for now. Destroying the warship he commanded was a more realistic goal than killing the Burning Legion's commander.
She knew that an opponent like Kil'jaeden couldn't be dealt with by sheer numbers. Even if Azeroth had enough power to defeat a demon lord, Xal'atath didn't want to use a method that would result in such immense sacrifices.
Without much prompting from Xal'atath, enthusiastic voices filled the Azeroth Allied Forces' communication channel. Soon, several fully armed small craft rapidly launched towards Kil'jaeden's heavy warship under everyone's gaze. After one small craft was shot down by enemy artillery, the remaining ones successfully approached the enemy ship.
However, the communication channel soon fell silent.
Through observational magic like Scrying, they saw the small craft that had boarded the Burning Legion warship successfully deploy their attack formation and attempt to sabotage the Burning Legion warship's systems.
But they had underestimated the security of the ship. Even though these brave warriors were elite veterans, they faced enemies who had endured more battles and possessed more cruel and brutal methods: Kil'jaeden's elite guards.
These veteran demons, who stood out even within the Burning Legion, displayed combat capabilities and discipline far exceeding those of ordinary demon soldiers. Their tactical methods even surpassed everyone's expectations. The Azeroth boarding heroes paid the heavy price of total sacrifice, yet only managed to eliminate one of the enemy's squads. They didn't even see the door to the ship's core power room, let alone assassinate Kil'jaeden, who was commanding from the ship's top level.
In the final scene, a red Eredar general used the fel blade in her hand to impale the last Azeroth hero and cruelly threw him into a nearby Soul Furnace.
Turalyon, on the ground frontline, also witnessed the tragic sacrifice above. He spoke in a low voice on the communication channel, "Give me some time. I will select the strongest champions from the Lightforged elites, and I will lead the team personally—"
"No, High Exarch, you have a more important duty."
A steady voice echoed in the communication channel, startling all the leaders listening.
Velen grabbed the communicator and, with a swift yet calm pace, laid out his plan. "Marshal Maarad and I will personally lead the team. There are some matters I must settle myself."
Xal'atath raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure, Prophet? Although you are powerful, on Argus, the Light may not continue to favor you."
"This is not a question of power, madam."
The Prophet's staff gently tapped the ground a few times, and Velen's eyes regained their usual tranquility. "Kil'jaeden and I still have a score to settle. If one of us is destined to die, then dying on the soil of Argus might be the best end."
He was now certain that Kil'jaeden was coming for him. That terrifying demon must have somehow confirmed his presence on the ship, and the demon lord would not stop until he had completely killed him, or until he himself perished by the blades of Azeroth's champions.
With Velen's command, Marshal Maarad had already selected the personnel for the mission from the Draenei's elite warriors. These burly, well-equipped Draenei were almost all the earliest followers of Velen, or their descendants.
These people had never forgotten Argus, and when they returned to their homeland after ten thousand years of wandering, only to see the hellish landscape before them, the anger in their hearts was already on the verge of bursting from their chests.
However, Maarad had some doubts. He considered himself not the most excellent Draenei warrior; he had always thought of himself as an unremarkable marshal. If not for his comrades risking their lives to save him, he would have died long ago in the purgatory-like city of Shattrath.
But he did not voice his inner doubts. He simply followed behind Velen, silently reciting scriptures.
---
Fel artillery carved dense, rain-like cracks through space. Kil'jaeden's flagship, equipped with firepower and magical technology far superior to ordinary Legion warships, forced even the Azeroth, which had been repeatedly modified and upgraded by Azeroth's engineers, to raise its protective barriers, defending against enemy fire while retaliating.
However, the Azeroth's artillery was not focused on damaging Kil'jaeden's warship; its primary purpose was to draw the enemy's attention, providing support and cover for Velen and his vanguard.
Even so, the crew members aboard the small assault craft still felt violent tremors and shaking from the ship.
Even without direct hits, the intense vibrations left by fel cannons tearing through space and the energy Impact generated when some energy beams collided and annihilated in space still posed a serious threat to the small vessels. A slight misstep by an operator could lead to the ship's downfall.
Yet, despite the constant danger of death, the combat personnel showed no fear. Their sole objective was to prevent Kil'jaeden from threatening their main ship.
Although the previous group of heroes had sacrificed themselves, they had managed to transmit partial structural diagrams of Kil'jaeden's warship. Based on this information, they had a greater chance of posing a threat to Kil'jaeden and his forces.
Sitting in his seat, Maraad silently flipped through the Holy Tome in his hand. Each time he read its scriptures and doctrines, he could tangibly deepen his understanding of the Light. He had maintained this habit since he was a recruit.
As a paladin, aside from possessing prodigious talent in the path of the Light like Arthas, enhancing one's resonance with the Light through such methods was the most common approach.
Even temporary recitations and blessings could boost one's combat effectiveness. The battle-hardened Exarch knew well that for the upcoming battle, every ounce of strength gained would increase the chances of mission success.
"But doubt still lingers in your heart, Maraad."
Velen's voice sounded beside Maraad. Maraad looked up, stopping his prayer, and organized his thoughts. "I'm just… uneasy."
"Uneasy?" Velen chuckled softly, raising a hand to pat Maraad's broad shoulder. "You are the most devout warrior. I presume you aren't uneasy because you face a powerful enemy… But you needn't blame yourself for it, for I, too, feel uneasy."
"Prophet?"
Maraad was somewhat surprised. Velen had never shown such emotions in front of his people. For a race oppressed by the Burning Legion for ten thousand years, they needed an unyielding leader whose will could not be broken, and Velen, bearing such a responsibility, was destined not to show even a hint of wavering.
"My child, you needn't be surprised."
Velen's low voice at this moment suppressed certain emotions, reminding Maraad of heavy dark clouds over the sea outside Shattrath on a cloudy day long ago. No one knew whether a clap of thunder or a dazzling flash of lightning was hidden within them.
"Since Argus, we have been in constant flight, and countless brethren have fallen on this bloody path. The emergence of Draenor gave us a moment of respite, allowing us to rebuild our home and continue our ancient traditions. At that time, I even thought that if we could just keep going like this, it would be worth it, even if we never saw the lights and night sky of Argus again."
"...But running away doesn't solve problems. When the Burning Legion incited the orcs, once again bringing bloody slaughter upon our brethren; when the flesh and souls of our brethren were used by Gul'dan and his lackeys as fuel for war; when their corpses and skulls paved the orcs' so-called 'Path of Glory,' my fury and despair never ceased to burn."
"The Draenei are too fragile. Too many of our people, friends, and mentors have sacrificed themselves before me—and the root cause of it all is… him."
Velen's gaze seemed to pierce through endless star-seas and time, and he saw that figure, heard his voice.
"Velen, if you wish to end all this, come to my side."
Kil'jaeden's fel-burning eyes watched Velen indifferently, just as he had indifferently watched Archimonde, who first summoned demons to Argus.
It was then that Velen felt a stranger to the friend he had known for most of his life.
"Kil'jaeden…"
Maraad whispered the terrible name, "the Deceiver, the origin of all our race's misfortunes."
"Yes, so I've had enough, Maraad," Velen's voice remained calm, yet beneath this calm surface, what turbulent undercurrents did he hide? "I've had enough of our people being displaced and massacred. The Light gave me enlightenment, helping me suppress the fires of vengeance, but the Light also represents righteous retribution. One day this fury will pour forth, and I believe, that day is today."
---
"Lord Kil'jaeden, more invaders have arrived! Please allow me to crush them with my own hands!"
On the ship's command platform, Kil'jaeden's most capable lieutenants and confidants, some Eredar who had followed him since the Golden Age, knelt before him.
The Eredar who fanatically pleaded with Kil'jaeden had numerous scars and wounds crisscrossing his scarlet skin, but upon closer inspection, those injuries did not appear to be from battle.
"Rakish, prepare your soldiers. Let the blood of these invaders show those who still live that their so-called hope has long since vanished."
A playful smile appeared on Kil'jaeden's face. He assigned this fanatical executioner to the front lines of the ship's operations, not only because of his excellent abilities but also because of his special identity.
Perhaps Rakish's qualifications and abilities were unremarkable within the entire Burning Legion, but Kil'jaeden believed that Rakish was absolutely the best choice to welcome the new wave of invaders.
Or rather… the best choice to welcome his old friend home.
"Velen, have you finally given in? I thought the Light had tamed you into a gentle Talbuk."
Others might be oblivious, but as the supreme commander of the Burning Legion, Kil'jaeden had long since noticed Velen's almost undisguised will of the Light, and what pleased him even more was the fury and hatred burning within that will.
Such a discovery filled Kil'jaeden with an inexplicable joy—for too long, Velen had been like a stubborn, unyielding rock. No matter what methods Kil'jaeden employed, Velen always maintained his composure and made the most correct choices and judgments.
Perhaps in the first thousand years… even Kil'jaeden himself couldn't quite remember, but in those initial days, he could still feel a hint of satisfaction from such a game of wits. However, when your opponent is always flawless and unresponsive, even the greatest anger and hatred gradually turn to boredom and annoyance.
So when Kil'jaeden once again orchestrated the destruction of the Draenei civilization on Draenor, allowing the orcs to trample all Draenei dignity with the bloodiest methods, yet still failed to elicit a single trace of hatred from Velen, Kil'jaeden had become utterly impatient.
What he wanted to see was Velen regretting the choices he had made, not, as now, walking ever more steadfastly on the path he believed in, even straying further and further.
However, all grievances will be settled here, on Argus, the place where everything began and where everything will end.
A loud bang erupted on the Burning Legion's warship; the Lightcraft, in an almost suicidal maneuver, crashed directly into the ship's deck. Not even the Burning Legion's Demons had anticipated such a resolute entry from their opponents.
Although the size difference between the Lightcraft and the warship meant the collision couldn't cause substantial damage to the warship, the sudden acceleration in the final moments, instead of using teleportation to bypass the warship's shield, resulted in a massive impact that instantly annihilated the Demons on the deck as the Lightcraft landed.
Several Demon sorcerers responsible for maintaining the warship's shield also suffered considerable mental trauma due to the backlash from the shield's damage. This single Lightcraft, upon landing, inflicted greater losses on the Demons than the Azeroth champions who had previously attempted to board the warship and fought to their last breath.
But that was all. The Demon Guard showed no fear. They indifferently cast aside the scattered remains of their comrades, watching them turn to ash in the storms outside Argus, yet their cleavers were already raised high, poised and ready to confront the Draenei who had landed.
"Take the invaders' heads!"
Rakish's shout echoed through the entire guard. The Demons on the deck moved at his command, cautiously approaching the Lightcraft, which had been rendered immobile by the impact.
Fifty meters, twenty meters, five meters—even as they closed in to the final meter of the assault craft, the occupants of the Lightcraft still showed no intention of counterattacking. The Demon soldier at the very front even thought, somewhat absurdly, "Could these invaders also have been killed by the shock of the collision?"
Just as he raised his massive axe, preparing to smash open the hatch to investigate, the already twisted and deformed metal hatch exploded open with a boom, directly sending the unlucky Demon flying.
The hard metal hatch, empowered by immense force, pierced through several Demon Guard bodies like a cannonball before being caught by a larger Demon Tyrant behind them.
The giant, crimson Demon stumbled from the impact of the twisted metal plate. Feeling the sticky sensation on his hand, he furiously hurled the metal panel off the ship and, with a roar, charged towards the Lightcraft.
At that moment, a dazzling Holy Light suddenly erupted. The nearby Demon Guard had no time to react; their weapons hadn't even been swung before they were incinerated by the Holy Light.
A strange sight appeared on the Burning Legion's flagship deck: a massive, hemispherical Holy Light barrier rose from the ground, purifying all the surrounding defilement.
The reacting Demon Guard began to advance, their fel blades and spells flying in unison towards the Holy Light barrier, creating intense ripples as they collided.
Xal'atath, observing the outbreak of battle from her own ship with her unique vision, remarked, "It seems it has begun, Prophet. I hope you can hold out a little longer."
Velen was certainly not going to his death; he and the Draenei were merely a vanguard force to open the situation and attempt to gain a foothold on Kil'jaeden's warship.
They had realized that breaking through a warship defended by Kil'jaeden and his elite forces was akin to conquering a Burning Legion Demon fortress. And on the Azeroth, the only one who could be immediately mobilized and stand his ground against Kil'jaeden in a short time was Velen.
However, Velen's power alone was insufficient. On Argus, a world almost entirely saturated with fel and darkness, the power of the Holy Light itself would be greatly repelled. Even Velen couldn't maintain his strength indefinitely under such conditions. During the time the Prophet bought them to open the situation, Xal'atath's task was to organize a force capable of completely defeating Kil'jaeden and his retinue.
But the personnel on their ship were no longer enough; they needed to gather more support from Azeroth during the time the Prophet bought them.
"How are the teleportation devices coming along, Rommel?"
Xal'atath withdrew her attention from the battlefield and turned to ask the Draenei technician who was busily inspecting the equipment nearby.
Arch-Technician Rommel handed his tools to the other technicians beside him, wiped the sweat from his brow, and said, "It will take a little more time to bring stronger forces from Azeroth to Argus!"
Although they had made many contingency plans, the actual harsh environment of Argus still exceeded their imagination. The devices originally estimated to support most long-range teleportation almost all failed after entering Argus's airspace.
Despite the technician team starting urgent repairs very early, they had only managed to fix the channels that could sustain normal personnel teleportation.
It is well known that the more powerful a being is, the more stringent the conditions are for it to cross space and arrive in another world. Otherwise, the Burning Legion's Demons wouldn't go to such great lengths to open portals on Azeroth.
They were now facing the same problem, but Argus's complex fel environment made the issue even more intractable.
"Don't waste the time the Prophet has bought us." Xal'atath said no more; she knew these engineers were so anxious their hair was practically falling out. But equipment problems couldn't be solved by just being anxious; they still needed to expend a great deal of effort to debug and ensure these precise instruments would function.
Rommel responded and then rejoined the urgent repair work. In addition to dealing with malfunctioning magical technology, they also had to ensure the entire ship's normal operation. The recent engagement with the Burning Legion's warship was no laughing matter; a moment's inattention, and those deadly bombardments could claim the lives of everyone on board.
"Lady Xal'atath, there's a communication request coming in," the operator's voice announced.
"Allow it."
"*Static*—This is Thrall, Intendant, can you hear me?" A deep voice came through the comms.
"Warchief? What is it?"
"The ship's regular teleportation technology should be functional now. We hope to send personnel to assist the Prophet and his group."
Thrall's request surprised Xal'atath somewhat. "It can indeed be used, but you should know what that implies."
The landing craft that crashed into the Burning Legion's warship also had a teleportation device, and the collision, though seemingly brutal, was actually the result of the airship pilot's meticulous calculations. They caused some damage to the Burning Legion's structure, and while it rendered their own airship's propulsion system defunct, most of its other functions were still operating normally.
The pilot's maneuver embedded the airship like a nail into the Burning Legion's warship, ensuring that the Burning Legion couldn't eliminate the Lightcraft's presence in a short time. This small airship would remain until all combat personnel were fallen.
Thrall replied decisively, "Of course I know, but we also have the same reasons as the Prophet."
Thrall's answer made Xal'atath look slightly askance.
She was well aware of the history of the Orc race; as pawns driven by the Burning Legion's schemes, most orcs were unknowingly bound to a war machine that would not stop until it was destroyed.
The culprits responsible for this situation either had no complete corpse left, buried in the abyss by the dark secrets of fel, their skulls turned into magical artifacts in the hands of others; or they personally destroyed an entire planet but could not escape the clutches of the Burning Legion, consumed by Kil'jaeden and even more terrifying entities, meeting their end in endless regret and fear.
Oh, and one of them was even, arguably, personally dealt with by Arthas.
And besides the culprits within the Orc race, Kil'jaeden's name is unavoidable.
It was Kil'jaeden who granted Ner'zhul and Gul'dan insatiable ambition and power, allowing the fel fire to completely engulf Draenor, and even bringing this wicked flame all the way to Azeroth.
The Orc race is by no means innocent; they brought endless suffering and sorrow to Azeroth, but they themselves were also victims of this meticulously woven web of lies.
Thrall would not forget this point; besides the Draenei, the orcs also had a score to settle with Kil'jaeden.
"Your request is granted, Warchief. The portal will be opened for you. Please be mindful of your landing position to avoid being deeply entrenched in enemy lines."
Without much thought, Xal'atath gave Thrall an affirmative answer. She understood that most orcs held a deep-seated resentment; it was the demons who transformed them from a noble race full of honor into despicable executioners, and this anger would also bring these orcs strength and determination.
"Thank you, Lady Xal'atath. We will never forget this kindness."
"For Azeroth."
After a brief reply, Xal'atath hung up the communication with Thrall, while not forgetting to send a new message to the Prophet far away on the enemy ship.
Velen, who was supporting the Light barrier and allowing the vindicators to gradually advance the front line, quickly received the communication from Xal'atath. Her unique psychic magic could accurately pinpoint even in such a chaotic space.
"Prophet, reinforcements are arriving soon. Please watch your flanks."
Under Xal'atath's guidance, Velen instinctively cast his gaze to one side of their front line, where a teleportation spell, anchored by an assault skiff, suddenly unfolded.
The demons were stunned by the sudden flash of teleportation light. In the blink of an eye, a furious battle cry came from the other side of the light curtain. A white-haired Orc, wielding a battle-axe, practically flew out of the light curtain. The exaggerated great axe spun like a windmill in his hand, and several Demon Guards fell beneath its blade in a single encounter.
Green fel blood splattered on the ground. Saurfang charged into the demon army, his great axe parrying left and right, plowing through the enemy lines like a war chariot.
Following closely behind Saurfang were countless Orc warriors. Their faces and bodies were adorned with ancient, primitive patterns outlined with ash and paint, symbols of their respective tribal totems or runes passed down by their ancestors.
Only when an Orc was preparing for a battle in which he was determined to give his all would he use this solemn method to 'send off' himself or his comrades.
War is cruel and terrifying. Even the most valiant orcs are not guaranteed to see the flora and fauna of their homeland every time. That is why they transform everything from their homeland into paint or ash, smearing it on their bodies. From the moment they step onto the battlefield, they no longer have any attachments; their only expectation is an honorable battle.
"For the Horde! For Azeroth!"
Saurfang's battle cry, even across the demon army's lines, reached the ears of the Draenei on the other side.
Maraad instinctively tightened his grip on the crystal warhammer in his hand, even momentarily forgetting the threat of the demon in front of him, until a comrade beside him helped block the demon's incoming blade.
After striking down the demon, the High Vindicator beside Maraad thundered, "Maraad?! Concentrate! This is not like you at all!"
At his comrade's shout, Maraad snapped back to attention. He silently recited a prayer to the Light, and a golden halo appeared above his head, sliding down to bless his entire body. Under the blessing of the Light, his warhammer was invincible, sweeping fiercely across the demon in front of him.
The head of this Demon Guard, along with its helmet, separated from its body. The headless demon's body twitched a few times, then slumped to the ground.
"You're right, I need to concentrate." Maraad took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was in a dangerous battlefield, and a moment's inattention could cost him his life.
The High Vindicator glanced at Maraad, a deep sense of helplessness in his eyes. He, of course, knew what had happened in Shattrath, and he knew even more clearly how Maraad had climbed out of that pile of corpses.
The appearance of the orcs was indeed unexpected, and the old Orc who often distracted Maraad even in the midst of fierce battle was someone he would never forget in his lifetime.
Unpleasant memories resurfaced in his mind, yet they only made Maraad's warhammer swing with more resolve and brutality. This Draenei Vindicator possessed exquisite martial arts, but at this moment, he seemed to be venting, slaughtering the surging demons in the most direct and crude manner.
Amidst the wave of demons, two different teams advanced separately, leaving behind a large number of corpses in their wake, both demon and their own.
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Velen's Light, however, impartially protected all warriors fighting the demons. As long as they did not suffer immediately fatal injuries, the Light would quickly heal their wounds, allowing them to confront wave after wave of demon attacks in their best possible state.
Under the pressure of the Demon Guard, the two different teams eventually converged, yet they remained like two distinct rivers, not interfering with each other.
Two sturdy figures collided while blocking the demon's advance. They stood back to back, and after a brief stalemate with their respective opponents, they almost simultaneously exerted force to slay them.
Comrades beside them filled their gaps, earning them precious moments to catch their breath. Maraad's eyes, still filled with killing intent and hatred, turned to the person he had collided with.
His body instinctively tensed, ready to swing his hammer and attack, but his clenched fingers relaxed. Maraad merely glared coldly at Saurfang, then silently rejoined the ranks fighting the demons.
Saurfang watched Maraad's retreating back, his hand on the axe handle, adjusting his grip to make the axe feel more comfortable.
"Father! Are you alright!"
Young Saurfang rushed to his father's side. He also saw Maraad walking away, but noticed his father seemed somewhat quiet, so he asked, "What's wrong, Father? Do you know that Draenei Vindicator?"
"No... I don't know him."
Saurfang grumbled his reply, then continued to focus on slaughtering every demon he saw, as if doing so would make him feel better.
Saurfang did not recognize Maraad, but what truly stunned him was Maraad's standard issue Shattrath Guard armor.
Even after leaving the hell of Shattrath, Maraad had never changed out of this armor. Time had left many marks on it, but most had been meticulously repaired by the most skilled craftsmen Maraad could find.
As for Saurfang, he could never forget that armor in his lifetime. He had personally slain countless Shattrath Guards, and that bloody history made even this iron-willed veteran momentarily lose focus in battle.
He almost thought he had stepped back into that hell stained with blood and corpses, until Dranosh's shouts brought him back to reality.
Saurfang was well aware of the innocent blood on his hands; these terrible sins could never be washed away. His only solace was that he had kept his son far from it all.
Dranosh noticed his father's distracted state. He stood by his father, a little worried, wanting to help him share some of the pressure.
Father and son supported each other as they advanced on the battlefield, until the demons on the deck finally began to be overwhelmed, because the second wave of reinforcements from the Azeroth had arrived.
With the Draenei Guards and Orc warriors supporting the front line, a large number of spellcasters began to emerge from the teleportation devices. They started to wrest control of the deck from the Demon Warlocks, and in the clash of magic, the Demon Warlocks were ultimately defeated.
Rakeesh was somewhat enraged that the tide of battle had turned due to the intervention of the orcs, and he also feared punishment from Kil'jaeden if he failed. This Eredar general would not abandon the defensive line on the deck no matter what.
"We must get rid of that damned traitor Velen! It is his Light magic that protects these mortals; otherwise, they wouldn't have survived this long!"
Rakeesh now understood the source of the shift in the battlefield. Velen's Holy Light provided too much support to these mortals, allowing them to fight the demon soldiers without fear of pain. After being weakened by the Holy Light barrier, the demons' attacks had little power left and were easily countered by the equally battle-hardened Guards and Orc warriors.
These barriers even suppressed the demons' power. Weaker soldiers couldn't last long in Velen's Holy Light domain before being burned by the Light. With this ebb and flow, Rakeesh's forces surprisingly showed signs of weakness first.
However, Rakeesh was confident that as long as the Prophet was dealt with, the Azeroth Allied Forces' resistance would be greatly reduced, and he could complete the task Kil'jaeden had given him without too much effort.
Thinking this, a fanatic glint flashed in Rakeesh's eyes. Without hesitation, he raised the fel warhammer in his hand to the sky. This time, he was not arrogantly issuing commands to his subordinates, but gathering fel energy in the hammerhead. The dense fel energy gradually permeated the surrounding space, forming a dark green fel storm shaped like a black cloud.
"Annihilator! Clear a path for me!"
With a loud shout from Rakeesh, a gigantic fel mecha tore through space from the fel storm and crashed heavily onto the deck. Even the Allied Forces' warriors on the other side of the warship felt the tremor.
Maraad looked up at the towering fel Annihilator. Its raised mecha arm already revealed a cannon muzzle pointed at them, and the rapidly gathering fel energy made his pupils suddenly contract.
"Take cover!"
After a loud shout to warn his teammates, Maraad pulled the nearest comrade and dove to the side. Just a second before their bodies flew out, a green fel laser pierced through most of the deck, melting a grotesque gully into the hard steel deck.
Molten metal solution splattered everywhere. The Holy Light on the Allied Forces' warriors who couldn't dodge in time couldn't even protect them. After a brief resistance, everyone who failed to avoid the fel beam was decomposed into scattered ashes by the scorching fel energy.
The fel Annihilator's single attack curbed the Allied Forces' momentum, and the fel beam not only caused casualties but also shook the Holy Light barrier that Velen tried his best to maintain.
The deck, pierced by the fel beam, emitted a large amount of fel energy, creating a straight line of high-concentration fel environment that isolated the Holy Light elements. Velen's barrier thus developed a "gap."
The only good news was that after firing this shot, the fel Annihilator also went silent. The metal arm that fired the beam turned red from overload, and even the muzzle showed signs of melting. Clearly, for such a war machine, such an attack could not be unleashed at will.
Maraad stood up, covered in dust from the fel shockwave. He was not seriously injured. His early detection of the fel Annihilator's attack intent, coupled with the actively cast Holy Light shield, allowed him to completely avoid any potential damage. Although he looked a bit disheveled, his combat ability was completely unaffected.
But when he observed the battle again, he realized that the previous attack actually showed signs of reversing the situation—the demons, using the passage opened by the Annihilator, began to try to cut the Allied Forces into two parts and devour them piece by piece.
The previous chaos had disrupted the formations of the orcs and Draenei. They were now mixed together, no longer having the steady, orderly advance formation they had before. The incoordination in combat skills and cooperation made it difficult for them to organize a force against the demons.
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And as the Allied Forces' combat power declined, Rakeesh seized their weakness. He led his elite guard, charging headfirst along the path plowed by the Annihilator, deep into their formation, and continued to push towards the rear.
"Not good! Their target is the Prophet!"
Maraad immediately understood what the red Eredar general wanted to do. If his advance was unopposed, he would eventually get close to Velen's location.
He would never let the Draenei's Prophet fall into such danger. Maraad grabbed the Hammer of the Naaru nearby and rushed with all his might towards Rakeesh's direction. He had to stop Rakeesh before he could assault Velen.
While running and knocking down demons in his way, Maraad's mind was still rapidly thinking—that Eredar was clearly the leader of this force, and the attack from the fel mecha was most likely orchestrated by Rakeesh. This cunning Eredar wanted to directly threaten Velen to allow the Burning Legion to regain the upper hand.
At this moment, Velen, who was at the rear of the army, felt a sudden jolt. Although the Annihilator's bombardment wouldn't harm him, the Holy Light barrier had suffered such a heavy blow that even he would experience some backlash. The most direct manifestation was his current difficulty in concentrating, making him unable to restore the scale of his previous spellcasting for a time.
However, Velen was still unclear about what was happening at the very front. He only saw the highly threatening fel mecha and tried to resist its bombardment, but the war machines meticulously crafted by the Burning Legion were not easy to deal with. To protect more people, Velen was forced to endure the Annihilator's attacks head-on.
And this gave Rakeesh an opportunity—as Kil'jaeden's carefully trained executioner, this ferocious demon was already close to reaching Velen.