Saurfang's mounting fury was rudely interrupted before he could unleash it, and he naturally looked at the person. But when he clearly saw whose Holy Light spell had struck him and pushed him away, the old Orc veteran's heart was once again filled with dissatisfaction and questions.
"Are you mad, Prophet?"
Dranosh also stared blankly at Velen, who had suddenly acted to push his father away. Everything had happened in a flash. He came back to his senses, not even bothering to adjust his crooked helmet, and rushed to Saurfang's side, soothing him, "Father, I'm fine."
This sudden turn of events plunged most people into confusion. Fortunately, Velen maintained basic rationality; he had only used a spell to push Saurfang away and had not harmed him. Otherwise, it would be highly unlikely for them to be standing there talking.
There was already a deep rift of trust between the orcs and the Draenei. Even though the experience of fighting side-by-side could mend it somewhat, any minor change could cause the wound to reopen, perhaps even more deeply than before.
Even Maraad, who harbored hatred for the orcs, was stunned by Velen's actions, because he could understand any Draenei stopping an Orc out of a desire for revenge, but in his imagination, that person would absolutely not be Velen.
However, his duty as a Vindicator made him immediately grab his hammer and stand between Velen and Saurfang. The current situation was too unique; he had to ensure that the conflict between the two sides did not cross any red lines, and for the Draenei, the Prophet's safety could not be threatened.
Saurfang looked at the surrounding orcs and Draenei, knowing this was not the best time to get to the bottom of things. And after his anger, stemming from Dranosh almost dying due to the enemy's treacherous sneak attack, temporarily subsided, he told Dranosh to leave first, to lead his soldiers back on track, while he remained where he was.
"I need an explanation, Prophet."
After a long pause for thought, Saurfang still asked the question. Although he felt guilt towards the Draenei as a race, what had just happened could very well become a hidden danger in their temporary alliance, and as a commander, Saurfang could not ignore it.
Maraad had intended to stop Saurfang, who was walking towards Velen, but a voice made Maraad halt his movements.
"It's alright, Maraad, let him come... it's all my fault..."
Velen's voice had aged considerably. He was half-kneeling on the ground, his Staff of the Naaru, which had been with him for over ten thousand years and never left his hand, was carelessly tossed aside. In his arms lay the dying Rakeesh.
Saurfang walked up to Velen, "You... what is your relationship with this demon?"
"He is my son."
Such a brief sentence, yet it left both Saurfang and Maraad stunned.
The Prophet's... son?
This seemed like an utterly absurd joke: the son of the Draenei Prophet, revered as the embodiment of Holy Light, respected and loved by countless people, was a demon officer whose hands were stained with blood, a ruthless killer, and cunningly treacherous?
All of Saurfang's grievances and anger instantly turned into a mix of confusion and shock, unsure what to say. After a silence of over ten seconds, he finally asked, "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"
Velen's gaunt fingers brushed across Rakeesh's face. This towering Prophet, who had never bowed to any demon, now stooped like a helpless old man.
Holy Light could heal sickness and injuries, but Rakeesh was a demon infused with fel energy. Velen's Holy Light simply could not heal him; even the gentlest healing spell would burn the demon's evil like flames.
Velen knew he could not save Rakeesh before him. His exhaustion at this moment far surpassed that of maintaining the Holy Light barrier that protected the entire army. This lonely old man now silently gazed at the planet beneath their feet.
"Draenei... is originally Ancient Eredar for 'Exiled Ones'. A long time ago, Sargeras came to our world, bringing lies and darkness. More than half of the Eredar chose to submit to him, and a dark and cruel rule began to spread across our homeland from that moment on."
"I was powerless to stop Sargeras, but I could not watch my people descend into an irreversible abyss step by step. With the help of the Naaru, I led a portion of our people who refused to bow to the dark power of the Burning Legion, and we fled Argus."
"But at that time, my wife and son were unable to leave with us."
Velen's voice was filled with sorrow and helplessness. From the moment he left Argus, he knew he might never see his loved ones again, but his responsibility and mission did not allow him to turn back. He had to forever carry the hope of the Eredar race and wander the boundless cosmos.
The Prophet looked at Rakeesh in his arms, "I once saw a vision, where I was crying while holding a dying, red-skinned Eredar, his body covered in fel pustules and scars... At the time, I didn't understand what it meant."
"Until today."
Saurfang's heart felt heavy. His own life had been full of misfortune, and he too was a father, but he was far luckier than Velen. He had kept his son away from the corruption of the Old Horde, at least giving his son a stable and healthy environment.
Although Nagrand was already shattered, it was still far better than this land beneath their feet, which was rife with demonic corruption.
Dranosh had grown up successfully and returned to his side. He watched his young son gradually mature into a reliable Orc, a sense of satisfaction that nothing else could compare to.
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However, this also meant that Velen's grief at this moment was equally unparalleled.
"You are also a father, Saurfang, tell me, what would you think when your long-unseen son becomes a fallen beast, a bloodthirsty monster, branded with the derogatory title of 'Butcher', sent to kill his own father, yet is then killed by the very people protecting his father?"
Velen's voice was hoarse, yet it revealed an unprecedented determination. The knots of frustration and hatred in his heart almost, at this moment, overshadowed his reverence for the Holy Light and his awe of fate.
Sorrow and powerlessness were like vicious venomous insects, gnawing at his scarred heart.
"I would seek revenge, Prophet," Saurfang answered without hesitation, "I would make the wretch who did all this pay the most terrible price. I would personally shatter every one of his bones and use his head to honor my child's spirit in the afterlife."
Velen closed Rakeesh's eyes with his hand, "I will do the same, right here, right now."
----
"Faster! Faster, you slowpokes, you scum!"
Ishkar berated his laborers, low-ranking Demon laborers who gathered in groups on the ground, tirelessly repairing the Burning Legion's fortifications day and night.
As the Legion's Chief Engineer, Ishkar originally didn't need to do such low-level supervisory work, but Kil'jaeden ordered him to take full responsibility for the reconstruction of the ground fortifications. After much thought, he decided it was best to personally oversee the progress of the repairs.
Ishkar had people rebuild defensive fortifications around several Demon camps outside the Burning Throne. Although most of the anti-air firepower at the port and its surroundings had been reduced to ashes in the explosion some time ago, they still had some usable artillery in these outer camps.
However, these cannons were not designed to attack objects in planetary orbit. Ishkar had to modify these fire points to meet Kil'jaeden's requirements.
Using the Burning Legion's locators, they had already pinpointed the location of the Azeroth spaceship, but they currently had no means to threaten it.
In addition, the attack by the Azeroth Anti-Demon Alliance brought them immense pressure. Warriors engaged in brutal tug-of-war battles with Demons on multiple fronts, causing control of these camps to change hands repeatedly. As soon as the Anti-Demon Alliance occupied a camp, they would immediately destroy the fortifications built by the Demons.
To compensate for the lost fire points, Ishkar could only squeeze the labor of these low-level Demons as much as possible, making them quickly build more cannons capable of threatening the spaceship above.
Kil'jaeden's personal expedition had already relieved Ishkar of immense pressure. He knew very well that most of Azeroth's energy and forces should be attracted by Kil'jaeden, and they now had to resist the Deceiver's power.
However, Turalyon, the Alliance's front-line commander, had long seen through Ishkar's intentions. When he discovered that the Burning Legion's Demons were holding their positions stubbornly and constantly trying to build more fortifications, he had already guessed the Demons' tactics.
"It's no use, High Exarch, our front-line troops have suffered heavy casualties, but we still can't break through the highland defenses!"
Reports from his subordinate officers converged on Turalyon. The High Exarch's gaze scanned the two highlands flanking the Gates of Antorus, searching for a way to break the deadlock.
A thousand years of struggle against the Burning Legion made him well aware of the Demons' methods. They were not barbarians who fought solely with magic and brute force; in fact, some of the Burning Legion's technology exceeded his imagination. When Turalyon saw the prototypes of cannons rising from the ground, he immediately realized that the Burning Legion was preparing to use those cannons to strike the Azeroth spaceship.
"I don't want your casualty reports, I only want control of the highlands!" Turalyon declared decisively to the front, "This is the Demons' last artillery position, and also the last line of defense before Antorus. We must take it, otherwise our comrades on the ship will be in danger at any moment!"
"Yes, High Exarch!"
After Turalyon spoke, the front-line Alliance officers could only grit their teeth and respond. They, of course, also understood the importance of the highlands, but the Demons' defense here was far more stringent than previous positions. Every charge they organized was repelled by increasingly intense fel waves.
At the same time, these soldiers also noticed that the types of Demons participating in the defense were becoming more and more diverse. At first, there were only the most basic Demon Guards, but as the battle progressed, Demon races with all sorts of strange abilities appeared one by one, putting immense pressure on them.
But Turalyon felt this was a good sign. The appearance of these Demons on the front line indicated that the Burning Legion was already mobilizing all the forces they could. His only concern was that there should be a Burning Legion teleportation hub within Antorus. If that wasn't cut off, the Legion could still receive a small but continuous stream of reinforcements.
At this moment, Turalyon had already given it some thought. Their troop transport had temporarily reached its limit. After all, they had to resist the Burning Legion's ground forces while also trying to hinder Kil'jaeden on the spaceship above.
And Kil'jaeden put immense pressure on the Alliance, so much so that most of their energy was now focused on the other side. The forces Turalyon could mobilize were truly limited.
However, this did not mean that Turalyon was out of options. Not to mention that Azeroth's support was far from being exhausted, they still held other trump cards that had not yet been used.
Turalyon originally believed that these forces should be reserved for more intense battles later, but the current situation was too critical. He began to consider whether he needed to use these forces prematurely to open a breakthrough in the current situation.
Just as Turalyon was pondering the feasibility of this plan, a green arc suddenly flashed in the sky. He looked up and saw a Burning Legion warship hovering above them.
This discovery made Turalyon's face turn ashen. Although the appearance of the warship piloted by Kil'jaeden indicated that the Burning Legion might still have some residual aerial power, when it was actually hanging directly above everyone, the feeling was not good.
Without Turalyon needing to say more, the prepared Alliance mages had already activated mana shields at various positions, hoping to preserve more of the teleportation beacons from potential artillery strikes.
Just as the mana shields had just formed, the ship's cannons also let out a terrifying roar.
However, when Turalyon discovered the direction of the artillery fire, his expression instantly became incredibly complex.
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"This—this ship is attacking the Demon's positions?" Turalyon muttered to himself, somewhat incredulously.
The warship's fel beam was like a sharp blade piercing the earth, easily tearing apart the troublesome Demon defenses on the highlands. Chaotic energy surged wildly through space, and the caught-off-guard Demons suffered countless casualties in a brief instant.
Not only was Turalyon dumbfounded, but Chief Engineer Ishkar, who was commanding the battle on the highlands, was equally shocked. It wasn't until the warship's bombardment had finished, leaving behind a devastated defense line, that he realized this ship seemed to be the one that had gone missing from the fleet not long ago.
"Damn it, it's those annoying flies!"
Ishkar immediately understood. This was not a Legion warship at all, but a vessel the Illidari had stolen from them. Although he desperately didn't want to admit it, it had happened right under their noses.
Not only had they failed to eliminate the Illidari on Argus, but they had also allowed them to steal a warship. And now, these Demon Hunters even dared to use their ship to attack their camp.
The Demons attacked by the ship's cannons also understood that the ship above was an enemy, not a friend. They immediately organized a counterattack. Although the long-range fel cannons had not yet been fully set up, the existing fel cannons in the camp and the mages' spells were already enough to threaten the warship at its current altitude.
When Turalyon saw that most of the Demons' attention on the highlands was drawn to the warship in the sky, he realized that a golden opportunity was before him and gave the order without hesitation.
"Now! Take the highlands in one fell swoop!"
The longsword in Turalyon's hand carved a dance of steel through the demon horde, its Light-infused blade cutting through them like a hot knife through butter; the demons that stood before the High Exarch of Light were hardly a match for him.
"Keep attacking!"
Under the cover of fel cannon fire, the brilliant Light was like a guiding beacon, illuminating the path forward for the champions of the Allied Forces, and even with the sky-darkening Mephit above, these brave warriors fighting for Azeroth showed no signs of retreat.
Their longswords and magic were extensions of their will, and the most elite champions carved a path through this demon-infested hell, leading straight to the high ground.
The heavy defenses set up by the Legion were breached by the cannon fire from the warships overhead, and through the gaps created by the warships, Turalyon was able to lead his troops to break through this stubborn defensive line; the surrounding demon fortifications burned with green flames, emitting an nauseating smell of char.
"Watch out for those gases, get your protection ready, the target is in sight."
Turalyon summoned the Light to dispel the green mist in front of him; these fumes, produced by burning demon corpses and unknown Burning Legion strategic materials, were intensely poisonous.
He had personally witnessed Lightforged soldiers who hadn't taken proper precautions suffocate and die from poisoning in these fumes.
Through the smoke, he could already see the fortress, guarded by demons, and the tall Eredar commanding operations there.
"Chief Engineer Ishkar..." Turalyon frowned slightly; this dangerous Eredar had provided the Burning Legion with countless deadly technologies, and these demon technologies in the Legion's hands had taken countless lives, even some worlds themselves would be utterly destroyed by these demon technologies.
Although Ishkar himself rarely appeared on the front lines, the lives indirectly lost by his hand might far exceed those lost by the other two commanders of the Legion War Council.
Moreover, Ishkar regarded life as experimental material that could be consumed at will; almost every piece of Legion technology created by him or maintained by him represented the demise of countless lives and souls.
For such a demon, Turalyon wished he could kill him quickly, but as stated at the beginning, this Chief Engineer rarely appeared in combat, so the Lightforged only had fragmented information, and even Turalyon was seeing him in battle for the first time.
"Alleria, we must—"
Turalyon instinctively wanted to call for Alleria's help to decapitate this Eredar demon, but halfway through his sentence, he realized that his beloved, who had been with him day and night, was not by his side.
The emptiness and loss in his heart vanished in an instant, and Turalyon immediately called for other support, "Sylvanas, can you hear me?"
"Of course, Turalyon."
As a member of the Azeroth Allied Forces, Sylvanas, like her elder sister, also commanded an elite sniper unit; these sharpshooters, who could hit targets a hundred paces away, provided precise sniper support for the reinforcements.
Since the start of the war, countless demon officers and mages had fallen by their hands.
"That Eredar on the fortress wall is the Legion's Chief Engineer; I suspect he is the supreme commander of this war camp," Turalyon shared the intelligence he knew with Sylvanas.
Sylvanas immediately understood, "We will make him a key target, but to increase our success rate, we need the front-line troops to attract enough attention for us."
The strength of Legion commander-level demons should not be underestimated; although Ishkar was not as powerful as Kil'jaeden and Archimonde in terms of absolute strength, with his superb magical skill and Legion demon technology beyond mortal comprehension, a normal sniper attack would hardly pose a threat to him.
This was also why he dared to stand on the city wall and command the demons in battle; he didn't even care about the cannon fire from the warship in the sky, let alone the weak arrows and bullets of mortals in his eyes.
Ishkar didn't even pay attention to the defensive line that Turalyon's team had broken through; he had always maintained control over the battlefield situation.
As long as the warship in the sky was shot down, the demons could immediately rely on the fortifications in the camp to slaughter these mortals.
However, Turalyon and his group did cause some obstruction to their counterattack.
Ishkar frowned, and upon seeing his demons being doubly suppressed by cannon fire and troops, he decided to intervene to salvage the situation.
This brilliant technician and mage looked towards the position of the warship in the sky, seemingly waiting for something.
When the Illidari warship chose to descend to a lower altitude to better bombard the demons, Ishkar pointed indifferently to the sky, and violent spatial fluctuations suddenly unfolded in the sky above the warship.
With further injection of magic power, that point of spatial fluctuation immediately boiled into a complete spatial rift, and several fire meteors, pulled from another dimension by a summoning spell, roared down, colliding violently with the warship's shield.
Kael'thas, the Demon Hunter commanding the warship, was almost thrown to the ground by the sudden violent tremor of the warship.
Fortunately, the Demon Hunter's excellent balance helped him steady himself during the shaking.
He braced himself on the command console in front of him and roared, "What's happening?!"
The Illidari quickly reacted, "It's an enemy spell, attacking our warship!"
"Ascend! Ascend! Increase altitude!" Kael'thas immediately made the correct decision; they had underestimated the demons' counterattack capability too much.
They hadn't expected that under such cannon fire suppression, the opponent would still have a mage who could threaten the safety of the warship.
Although Kael'thas was not entirely clear about the intelligence of the enemy's supreme commander, at this moment he also understood that there should be a high-ranking Burning Legion commander in this fortress; only a demon of this level could shake a warship's shield from such a distant range.
The fiery meteors almost rained down densely in the sky, and the collisions and explosions quickly caused noticeable ripples in the warship's shield.
Although it couldn't truly threaten the hull itself for a while, if such attacks continued, the warship's shield certainly wouldn't last much longer.
However, because Kael'thas reacted quickly, the Illidari warship, after a brief initial panic, quickly moved out of the range of Ishkar's spell.
But they didn't know that the warship's ascent was entirely within Ishkar's calculations; he merely wanted to force the warship away, to temporarily deprive the ground forces, previously covered by the warship, of aerial fire support.
Soon, Kael'thas saw that among the fiery meteors in the spatial rift they had left below, several metal spheres emitting an eerie glow had been mixed in.
His spectral vision detected intense fel fluctuations from them.
"No... that's not ordinary fire meteors." Kael'thas squeezed the fel energy within him, injecting it into his eyes, trying to make his vision clearer.
When his gaze penetrated the metal casing burning with fel flames, Kael'thas was shocked to discover what was hidden inside those metal spheres—a fully armed fel mecha, ready to bare its fangs at any moment!
Ishkar's Hellfire magic, like a sky overturned, still roiled in Argus's thin atmosphere, and Caine could only watch helplessly as the steel meteors of the fel mechs plummeted to the ground.
He desperately wanted to stop the ship and intercept these falling constructs with artillery fire, but Ishkar had already anticipated this possibility and used magic to force the warship away.
The fel mechs reached the ground in this brief window, and as soon as they landed, these heavy metal monsters unleashed a 'wave' across the Antoran Wastes' exposed, rugged rock surface; countless tons of rock and soil were violently churned up by the impact, and the hard ground, at that moment, raised waves like sea spray.
These constructs fell indiscriminately all around the camp, destroying both the Alliance's positions and the demons' own structures with equal prejudice, and amidst the roar of fel engines, one towering mech after another emitted a chilling hum, rising from the ruins and craters.
Turalyon's troops were not spared; they were knocked to the ground by the roaring wave of rocks, but fortunately, every veteran participant had enough experience to know how to protect themselves to the greatest extent when the battlefield environment was as harsh as a natural disaster.
After a brief dizziness and daze from the shock, Turalyon violently shook his head, casting the discomfort from his mind, and stared solemnly at the Legion's war machines.
The destructive and defensive power of the fel mechs was astonishing, especially for their vanguard units, which lacked heavy firepower and magical support; it usually required an extremely heavy price to destroy a single fel mech.
Moreover, the topographical changes caused by the mech's aerial deployment had already cut off their retreat, and heavy firepower support from the rear would likely not arrive for a while.
While Turalyon was still contemplating a countermeasure, several Lightforged light mechs had already charged forward, drawing the attention of the fel mechs, but given the disparity in size and firepower between the two sides, the Lightforged's small mechs would likely not be able to delay them for too long.
This meant that the troops on the high ground had to quickly devise a solution, otherwise, before the fel mechs surrounded them, if they still hadn't received enough firepower support to destroy the mechs, the troops on the high ground would eventually be wiped out by the demons.
The fel mechs, dozens of meters tall, were quite conspicuous on the battlefield; not only the Illidari in the sky and the Alliance on the ground, but even Sylvanas, far away on the flank's cliff, saw them.
Sylvanas adjusted the quiver on her back, her expression slightly serious, "It seems there's some trouble on the front line."
Accompanying Sylvanas were her sister Vereesa and the Kirin Tor's battle mage unit; under the cover of magic, they were able to penetrate the demons defending the cliff path and avoid the vigilance of the demon bats in the sky.
"Those fel mechs... I've seen similar constructs in the Outlands; there are countless raging creatures on Hellfire Peninsula, but they are all utterly fragile ants before the fel mechs."
In Vereesa's memory of that red, barren land, every step the Burning Legion's mechs took caused the surrounding ground to tremble violently, as if the earth itself could not support these ultimate weapons of war.
And now, the Alliance's champions would face multiple, even more advanced and dangerous constructs, which made Vereesa genuinely worried for them.
She didn't want her eldest sister, after escaping with her life, to find Turalyon dead on the front line; their family had finally reunited with great difficulty, and Vereesa didn't want to experience the feeling of losing a loved one again.
"The view from this spot is excellent; it perfectly overlooks the watchtower outside the fortress—that Eredar engineer is directing the battle from there." Sylvanas's gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, accurately pinpointing Ishkar's position even across hundreds of meters.
At the same time, she also sensed that a massive magical fluctuation emanated from Ishkar, who was clearly maintaining an extremely powerful spell.
Sylvanas looked up at the sky and saw that the warship that had been assisting the Alliance earlier had been forced back to a farther position by spatial tremors, and she then understood that Ishkar was the source of it all.
"Give me the bow, Vereesa."
Sylvanas reached out to Vereesa for something, and Vereesa immediately understood, carefully took down the longbow she was carrying, and handed it to Sylvanas.
thas'dorah, the Windrunner family's ancestral longbow, after many twists and turns, finally returned to the hands of the Windrunner family.
After Arthas found the longbow on that prison planet, he returned it to Alleria, but Alleria, due to her Void Power, worried that continued use of thas'dorah would corrupt the weapon, so she hid it and no longer used it.
It wasn't until returning to Azeroth that Alleria chose to entrust the bow to her sister—besides her, it was unlikely anyone else in this world was better suited to wield this weapon than Sylvanas and Vereesa.
When Sylvanas gripped thas'dorah's bowstring, even on Argus, this world filled with resentment and wails, she could feel warmth and peace; it was the blessing given to them by the High Elf's sacred tree, and this peace and tranquility would make a ranger like Sylvanas the most deadly hunter when concealed.
The elven ranger took a deep breath, her fingers gently caressing thas'dorah's bowstring, not like a hunter gripping a weapon, but more like a Silvermoon City court musician holding a string, with such elegance.
She gazed at the longbow in her hand, closed her eyes, and softly chanted in ancient salas, a prayer and a blessing.
"May the light of the Sunwell forever protect us, may the forest's breeze always accompany us."
Sylvanas opened her eyes, and blue Arcane light ignited within them; she skillfully took a special arrow from her quiver. This arrow was made from the same material as thas'dorah, a branch that had fallen from the sacred tree Thrall'alah, then steeped in the Sunwell, and inscribed by the most skilled enchanters.
She nocked the arrow to the bowstring, her arm and back muscles slowly tensing and straightening with her even breaths, and her slender waist twisted into a graceful curve, her eyes fixed on only one target: the Eredar who was commanding the demon army in battle.
Vereesa stood beside her sister, watching her sister draw thas'dorah, momentarily lost in a trance, as if she had returned to that afternoon many years ago, when their mother led the three sisters in drawing longbows to a full moon on the archery range.
Gentle breezes and the scent of flowers filled her memory; those were the most beautiful years of Vereesa's life.
Suddenly, Vereesa belatedly realized, "Is the wind picking up?"
Argus's climate had long become an extreme Hellfire; either the stagnant sulfurous air made her nostrils burn and sting, or howling storms could carve even rocks into needles; there was no way such a gentle breeze could exist here.
But it would be there by the Windrunner's side; when Sylvanas drew thas'dorah's bowstring, an invisible breeze began to swirl around her, caressing the arrow, outlining a seamless stream around Sylvanas's wrist.
Ishkar on the fortress wall was observing the allied forces struggling against the onslaught of the Annihilator mechs; he was quite satisfied with the effectiveness of these mechs, as the tide of victory began to shift towards the Legion from the moment they entered the battlefield.
These mechs were new creations of the Burning Legion; the Legion's weapon designer, Kil'jaeden, imbued these mechs with different cosmic energies. In addition to fel energy, the powers of shadow and flame could also be utilized by the mechs. On the surface, these mechs were colored differently by the energy contained within them.
But no matter which type of mech, it required an entire well-equipped, experienced composite team to barely contend with them. The power these terrifying war constructs could unleash on the battlefield was astonishing.
"Truly excellent creations. I thought Kil'jaeden had burned out his brain with his little toys."
Ishkar shook his head, evaluating the performance of the fel mechs, but his smile didn't last long. A thick fel energy spear descended from the sky, causing one mech to stagger.
Although this ship cannon shot couldn't directly destroy the mech due to its thick armor and powerful magic resistance, it still caused some structural damage, and its movement became somewhat sluggish.
Ishkar's face immediately darkened. He looked at the fel warship in the sky that had taken a moment to fire a shot. For the mighty Burning Legion to be at a loss against a single warship was an insult.
"Those damned Demon Hunters, they're like persistent ghosts!"
Just as Ishkar was about to use a more powerful spell to restrict the warship's movements, an almost imperceptible breeze brushed past his face.
At first, Ishkar didn't notice, but after the breeze, he felt a slight unease. However, he still didn't pay it any mind at the moment—after all, it was just a wisp of wind. Even the wildest storm couldn't threaten him, so what did he have to worry about?
After this thought flashed by, Ishkar continued to focus on casting his spell. But when he constructed the spell runes and domain patterns in his mind, a sudden, intense wave of weakness washed over him. His steps became unsteady, his strong body seemed to lose all its strength, and the largely completed spell collapsed.
Then, Ishkar heard his subordinate's terrified scream, "Lord Ishkar! Take cover quickly!"
What was this fellow saying?
Ishkar hadn't reacted yet, only instinctively pressed his hand to his chest, wanting to catch his breath, but as his palm touched his chest, he found nothing.
"What?"
He hadn't realized that his brain's function had become sluggish. He doubtfully fumbled at his chest with his hand, but only felt an empty outline and a hand full of wet liquid.
Ishkar slowly lowered his head, his pupils suddenly shrinking to the size of pinpricks—how did such a large hole appear in his chest?
The blood-filled hole pierced the demon's heart, even revealing the view behind it. Ishkar's ambitious dark heart had long since vanished along with the flesh on his chest.
The Eredar subordinate next to him quickly tried to use magic to sustain Ishkar's life, but before he could finish his incantation, another sharp arrow pierced his head. The powerful kinetic energy carried his body, pinning it directly to the metal wall behind him.
Only then did Ishkar realize where his weakness had come from. He quickly grabbed the railing in front of him, trying to steady his body, but his injuries were too severe. His magic could no longer be mobilized. Although losing a heart was not entirely fatal for a demon, it would plunge the demon into a state of severe weakness.
He wanted to quickly leave this dangerous place, but because he had lost his heart, even using magical items for spatial displacement became extremely difficult.
This slight delay, however, became Ishkar's death warrant. The mobilization of magic became difficult, but that didn't mean the archer had no follow-up.
In the blink of an eye, the second wisp of wind had already reached Ishkar's forehead. This time, he finally saw the true nature of the attack.
It was a wooden arrow surrounded by wind, looking quite crude, like a clumsy toy made by a child in Ishkar's eyes. Yet, it was such an arrow that bypassed his perception and, silently, ended his life.
"Whoosh!"
Like a breeze passing by, leaving no trace, Ishkar's head also vanished. The brain, which contained over ten thousand years of knowledge and ideals of the Burning Legion, was instantly destroyed by this arrow. After annihilating Ishkar's head, the arrow dissipated into the air.
On a distant cliff, Sylvanas's released bowstring was still trembling slightly. She let out a soft breath, a smile gracing her face, "What a satisfying hunt, thas'dorah, Vereesa, thank you."
A golden glow, like breathing, emanated from the wooden bow of the longbow, seemingly in response to Sylvanas's gratitude.
Vereesa, standing nearby, also lowered her bow. It was she who had shot and killed the subordinate preparing to cover Ishkar, allowing Sylvanas's second arrow to unhinderedly slay Ishkar.
However, Vereesa's eyes still held worry at this moment. She looked at the frontal battlefield below. Although Ishkar had been dealt with, the mechs below were not entirely under Ishkar's control, and the allied champions were still engaged in a bitter struggle.
This was not a problem that a sniper team like theirs could solve. The specially made arrows of thas'dorah were extremely precious; almost every one was a relic that could be offered individually. The number of branches High Elves had acquired over the years to make arrows was also quite limited.
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Though using two arrows to snipe Ishkar before he could fully react was exhilarating, if those busybodies from Silvermoon City knew, they would surely have a headache for quite some time.
Sylvanas, however, still felt a lingering desire. She looked at the fel mechs below, even wanting to use a few more arrows to deal with them.
Vereesa sighed, helplessly stopping Sylvanas, "Sister, these arrows are very precious, you should know that, right?"
Sylvanas said indifferently, "Aren't arrows made to be used by people? Should they really be enshrined in a sanctuary like those old fogeys do?"
"But these arrows aren't that effective against such large targets. Usage and waste are two different concepts."
Under Vereesa's serious persuasion, Sylvanas no longer seemed eager. The stock of these arrows was not large, and wasting them on these mass-produced constructs was indeed a pity.
"Then we don't have any weapons powerful enough to destroy these mechs now—the power of explosive arrows shouldn't be enough to destroy that armor."
Sylvanas had also seen the fel warship's main cannon fire earlier. Such a powerful bombardment couldn't immediately disable the fel mech, and there was nothing they could do with just a few of them.
Vereesa pursed her lips, "We can only trust General Turalyon. The demon leader has been dealt with, so at least they can't summon more fel mechs."
Sylvanas shrugged, putting thas'dorah back on her back, "Let's go help out first. I see those felbats in the sky are good targets."
"Ishkar is dead too..."
On the command platform of the warship, Kil'jaeden's expression remained indifferent. He had already sensed Ishkar's death. While this couldn't sway his will or make him waver, the consecutive deaths of Legion commanders still cast a stone into his heart, causing ripples in his thoughts.
More than anger and shock, Kil'jaeden's mood at this moment was one of incredulity and strangeness. He didn't know how these mortals had managed it, why in just a few days, the situation on Argus had taken such a sharp turn for the worse. The Burning Legion hadn't suffered such a crushing defeat in ten thousand years; even the two previous failures in invading Azeroth were mere minor setbacks compared to now.
What Kil'jaeden found most unacceptable was that the very things he had hoped to gain within the Burning Legion were instead showing signs of being acquired by these weak mortals who hadn't even fully left Azeroth.
From the moment he realized this fact, Kil'jaeden wanted to utterly destroy Azeroth. He wanted to prevent the possibility of such a thing happening. He wanted to prove Velen wrong, and that his own choice for the Eredar's future all those years ago had been correct.
For over ten thousand years, Kil'jaeden had rarely fallen into such deep thought. Even now, he was on the battlefield, enemy forces surrounding him, yet Kil'jaeden showed no movement or reaction.
He was waiting, waiting for someone destined to appear before him.
And that person didn't make him wait long. After the passages on both sides of the bridge were activated, Saurfang and Velen, with their respective forces, arrived before Kil'jaeden's throne.
Saurfang gripped his battle-axe, gazing at the tall, red Eredar before him. The rage in his heart surged, almost impossible to suppress. The decades of suffering and torment endured by the orcs were all part of Kil'jaeden's scheme. All the blood and muscle in his body urged him to act, to bury the battle-axe in Kil'jaeden's neck or heart.
But the instinct of a living being at this moment made Saurfang's steady hands tremble uncontrollably—the veteran's keen intuition and senses made him realize what a terrifying monster the Eredar before him truly was. Even the most ferocious Gronn paled in comparison to the pressure and might emanating from Kil'jaeden.
If even Saurfang instinctively felt wary and trembled in Kil'jaeden's presence, the other warriors found it even harder to suppress the fear and panic that uncontrollably surged from within their bodies. Yet, even with their teeth clenched and chattering, not a single warrior was broken by the pressure of facing Kil'jaeden directly.
Among all present, the only one unaffected was the Prophet. Velen gripped his staff. He had imagined countless times the day he would face Kil'jaeden again. Rakeesh, and all the experiences of the Draenei, were undoubtedly the most raw scars in Velen's heart. Even Velen couldn't help but harbor thoughts of pulverizing Kil'jaeden.
But when he truly saw his "old friend" again after ten millennia, Velen realized that all prophecies were merely illusions of the future, utterly incapable of simulating the complex emotions that overwhelmed him at this moment. The Draenei and the Eredar, Velen and Kil'jaeden, their relationship and hatred were already like the gnarled roots of a great tree; no words or phrases, however complex, could fully convey them.
"Kil'jaeden... all your evil and schemes will end today!"
Flames spewed from Velen's eyes; they were the flames of vengeance and justice. The Prophet understood that there was only one way to bring justice to those who had suffered persecution and violation by the Burning Legion.
"Velen, you truly haven't changed a bit," Kil'jaeden sneered twice, his gaze sweeping over the assembled army. "You're still so naive, thinking these mortals can deal with me? Or perhaps, my excellent subordinate has made you lose your head in anger? Heh heh, I too am troubled by the loss of a student."
Kil'jaeden was naturally referring to Rakeesh. After Velen's son endured torture and torment, eventually forced to submit to the Burning Legion, Kil'jaeden took his nephew as a student. He diligently taught Rakeesh magic and combat skills, and instilled in Rakeesh the belief that the Draenei and Velen were a group of shameful traitors, ensuring that Rakeesh's heart, tormented by fel fire and witchcraft, would forever burn with hatred for Velen.
Rakeesh was convinced that all the misfortunes he suffered were related to Velen, and thus, he took perverse pleasure in slaughtering Draenei to fill the emptiness in his heart.
"Kil'jaeden, you have fallen so far, the most venomous words cannot describe your baseness."
"Enough! Velen! You have no right to speak of me like that! The one who betrayed, was you!"
Velen's single sentence suddenly enraged Kil'jaeden, not because of what Velen said, but because Kil'jaeden saw a profound... disappointment? in Velen's eyes.
This discovery was what truly infuriated Kil'jaeden. Velen had always been like this; he would even feel genuine compassion when facing his most hated enemies.
As an absolute leader and powerhouse, Kil'jaeden could not tolerate such a look from Velen. To him, it was undoubtedly an insult, an insult Kil'jaeden could never endure.
So Kil'jaeden ceased any verbal sparring with Velen. He unhesitatingly unleashed his magic, and the roaring energies stirred up a terrifying storm in the space, almost scattering Velen's and Saurfang's forces.
Within this storm of magic, everyone heard faint, agonizing wails. They were the wills of countless beings who had died horribly at Kil'jaeden's hands, their souls unable to find release, enslaved and driven by Kil'jaeden, becoming weapons in his hands against his enemies.
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Among these souls were valiant warriors who resisted the Burning Legion, as well as colleagues and subordinates Kil'jaeden eliminated when purging dissenters. Evil and righteousness lost their boundaries before absolute power, leaving only pure destructive desire driven by Kil'jaeden.
The wailing storm of souls swept in with terrifying might. Everyone present felt their eardrums ache, their vision darken, and their hearts thump violently in their chests, as if they could be torn out at any moment by this dreadful magic, becoming one of these vengeful spirits.
Velen's face was ashen. Kil'jaeden's power was indeed immense, perhaps even surpassing Archimonde, who always boasted of his strength—unlike Archimonde, Kil'jaeden didn't often flaunt his power. This Legion leader was more adept at using various schemes and methods to force his enemies into submission.
Only when facing an enemy like Velen, who absolutely could not be subdued by schemes and tricks, did Kil'jaeden choose to unhesitatingly display his power. This power was so strong that it shocked Velen. He immediately realized that in a one-on-one fight, he would never be a match for the ruthless Kil'jaeden, but he still had the ability to counter Kil'jaeden at this moment.
A hymn of the Holy Light suddenly began to sing. Countless Holy Light energies gathered, condensing into a golden ocean, helping the warriors drive away the evil and unease from their bodies. It collided with Kil'jaeden's soul storm, erupting in a surging wave of energy in space.
The last leaders of the Eredar stood in direct opposition at this moment, just like the two divergent paths their race had chosen, with no possibility of reconciliation left.