CHAPTER 43: Shadows of Madness and Redemption
The ethereal glow of the System UI flickered in Arthas's vision, a constant reminder of the bizarre game-like mechanics that had upended his existence in this world. "[System UI] You have completed the quest Coveting the Red Dragon Queen Alexstrasza (I). [Task Reward]: Energy recovery is accelerated by 10%, and the inertia period is shortened by 10%."
Arthas dismissed the notification with a mental flick, his brow furrowing in mild disappointment. The reward was practical but underwhelming—a slight boost to his post-exertion recovery time. If it normally took twenty minutes to regain his vigor after such intimate encounters, this shaved off a mere two minutes. Still, in the heat of battle or passion, every second could count. Better than nothing, he mused, especially given the escalating dangers he faced.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than another prompt materialized. "[System UI] Triggering the quest: Crisis of Onyxia."
The details unfolded before him: "Onyxia's Crisis: Due to an unexpected reason, the Black Dragon Princess was captured by the Blue Dragon Aspect. The enraged Blue Dragon Aspect is prepared to execute her, but Deathwing remains indifferent. Rescue the Black Dragon Princess, and you will receive rich rewards. [Task Reward] Onyxia's favorability increased to 60, and reputation with the Black Dragonflight elevated to Revered."
Favorability boosts were fleeting, Arthas knew from experience. Like any relationship, they decayed without maintenance—friends grew distant, allies turned cold. But at a solid 60, it opened doors: alliances, secrets, perhaps even leverage against her father, Deathwing. And Revered status with the Black Dragonflight? That could shift the tides in his favor, provided he navigated this mess without getting incinerated.
The cavernous chamber deep within the Nexus, the Blue Dragonflight's frigid stronghold, hummed with arcane energy. Onyxia, the Black Dragon Princess disguised in her human form as Katrana Prestor, knelt bound in shimmering chains of mana, her raven hair disheveled and her elegant gown torn from the struggle. Her eyes, sharp and defiant, flicked toward Arthas with a mix of curiosity and desperation. Beside her stood Alleria Windrunner, the elven ranger who had become an unlikely companion in his quests, her bow slung over her shoulder and her expression a mask of stoic resolve.
Towering above them all was Malygos, the Blue Dragon Aspect, his massive draconic form coiled like a storm ready to unleash. His scales shimmered with frost, and his eyes glowed with unbridled fury. "Your target is Deathwing and the black dragons that follow him," Malygos growled, his voice echoing like cracking ice, "not other innocent black dragons? Hah! Innocence? This whelp is as corrupt as her sire!"
Arthas took a deep breath, steadying himself against the oppressive aura radiating from the Aspect. "I know you hate the black dragons, Malygos, but your approach is shortsighted. It's ineffective and far from the most strategic path forward."
Malygos's gaze bore into Arthas like twin lances of sapphire lightning. The pressure was immense, a psychic weight pressing down on his shoulders, threatening to force him to his knees. The air thickened, breaths coming in labored gasps. A soft buzz emanated from Arthas as he summoned a burst of Holy Light, wrapping himself in its golden warmth to alleviate some of the strain. It helped, but the atmosphere remained stifling, as if the very essence of magic conspired against him.
After an agonizing silence, Malygos rumbled, "Speak your mind, mortal. But choose your words wisely."
This was a test—a lethal one. Fail to convince the Aspect, and both he and Onyxia would be reduced to ash. Even Alleria might not escape unscathed.
From the shadows of the chamber's entrance, Alexstrasza, the Red Dragon Queen, observed with keen interest. Her majestic form, still radiating the afterglow of their recent... encounter, exuded an aura of life and vitality. She couldn't fathom Arthas's angle, but her voice carried a gentle warning. "You should know her true identity, mortal. I hope you've thought this through carefully." Her words were a subtle nudge: Onyxia was no mere damsel; she was a black dragon, steeped in deception and destruction.
Arthas nodded gratefully toward Alexstrasza. "Thank you, my Queen. I've known from the start." His earlier vulnerability with her—exposing himself literally and figuratively—had been a calculated risk, a step in a long game of seduction and alliance-building. Love? Unlikely to bloom overnight. But trust? Influence? Those were within reach.
He turned back to Malygos, his voice steady despite the tension. "Neltharion—Deathwing, as he's known now—didn't descend into madness by choice. As the Earth-Warder, protector of Azeroth's very foundations, he was uniquely vulnerable. You all know of the Old Gods, imprisoned beneath the world's crust. Those ancient horrors excel at whispers, at eroding sanity with endless, insidious murmurs."
Malygos snorted, and the temperature plummeted. Snowflakes materialized in the summer air, swirling like harbingers of winter. "Are you excusing him, insect? Defending the betrayer who shattered our kin?"
"And how do you know these secrets?" Malygos's eyes narrowed to slits, murderous intent flashing within.
Alexstrasza interjected in the ancient Draconic tongue, her words a melodic cascade that seemed to soothe the Blue Aspect slightly. Malygos's surprise was fleeting, but it bought Arthas a moment.
"No excuses," Arthas continued, unflinching. "Just analysis. To defeat an enemy, you must understand them. The one who knows you best is often your foe—because they seek your end." He wasn't worried; his knowledge of the world's lore, augmented by the System, gave him an edge. But knowledge alone was worthless without application. Fools hoarded it; victors wielded it.
Deathwing's madness stemmed from his role. The Earth-Warder's power attuned him to the planet's depths, where the Old Gods lurked. "He faced two paths," Arthas said, raising his voice deliberately. He had spotted Deathwing lurking in the distance through the System's overlay—a massive shadow clinging to the cavern walls, concealed but betrayed by the glaring identifier hovering above. The fallen Aspect was watching, indifferent to his daughter's fate but perhaps intrigued by this mortal's audacity.
"First: relinquish his power. Pass the mantle of Earth-Warder to another, freeing himself from the whispers' grasp."
Malygos recoiled. "Impossible! That would only birth a second Deathwing, corrupted in turn!"
Arthas's smile twisted with cunning. He knew the flaw intimately—anyone inheriting that power would eventually succumb. "Not necessarily. The power doesn't have to reside in a single being. It could be infused into artifacts, stored safely and drawn upon only when needed. But whether Deathwing would agree... that's another question entirely."
He paused, glancing at Onyxia. She met his eyes, a spark of hope igniting in her gaze. He offered a reassuring smile, then nodded to Alleria, slipping his hand into hers. Her fingers were cold, tense, but she didn't pull away, though she averted her eyes, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
"The second path," Arthas pressed on, "is to eradicate the source. Slay the Old Gods themselves. No whispers, no madness."
A verdant portal shimmered into existence, emerald light bathing the chamber. Slender legs clad in minimalistic bikini armor stepped through, followed by a lithe night elf form adorned with curving dragon horns. Ysera, the Green Dragon Queen, Aspect of Dreams, emerged with half-lidded eyes that belied her immense power. Her presence was ethereal, dreamlike, yet her combat prowess was legendary—manipulating realities that blurred the line between illusion and truth.
"Impossible," Ysera intoned, her voice a soft whisper carrying the weight of ages. "The Old Gods are eternal; they cannot be truly eliminated. Their essence permeates the world."
Arthas spread his hands, his grin turning devilish, almost demonic in the flickering light. "Then we adapt. Use the second method in a different way: cultivate uncorrupted black dragons to overthrow the corrupted ones. Imagine it—Deathwing slain by his own kin, his children turning against him. What sweeter vengeance?"
Ysera tilted her head, her sleepy eyes sharpening momentarily. "Mortal, your smile evokes shadows of an old adversary. It reeks of manipulation."
Holy Light flared from Arthas's palms, a radiant counterpoint to the gathering darkness. "Power knows no good or evil—Holy Light included. It's merely a tool. I trust in myself, in doing what my heart deems right. Justice and evil are illusions; the world is gray. Any force can be mastered if one's will is strong."
The Aspects exchanged glances, the air thick with unspoken deliberations. Malygos's fury simmered, Ysera's curiosity piqued, and Alexstrasza's expression softened with intrigue. Onyxia, sensing a shift, straightened despite her bonds.
Arthas pressed his advantage. "Release her, and let us forge a new path. Onyxia could be the key—an uncorrupted agent within the Black Dragonflight. With her favor, we infiltrate, we divide, we conquer. Deathwing's indifference to her plight proves he's beyond redemption. But she... she might yet choose light over shadow."
Alleria squeezed his hand, her voice a whisper. "You're playing with fire, Arthas. But... I trust you."
The Blue Aspect grumbled, frost cracking under his claws. "You speak boldly for a mortal. Prove your words, or perish."
As the negotiations hung in the balance, Arthas felt the System hum approvingly. This was more than survival—it was the dawn of an alliance that could reshape Azeroth. Deathwing's shadow loomed, but for the first time, cracks appeared in its impenetrable facade.
In the depths of his mind, Arthas plotted further. The Old Gods' whispers might have driven one Aspect mad, but he would turn them into weapons. Favorability, reputation, power—all pieces in his grand game. And with dragons at his side, who could stand against him?
The chamber's tension eased slightly as Malygos waved a claw, the mana chains dissolving. Onyxia rose, rubbing her wrists, her eyes locking onto Arthas with newfound respect. "You have my gratitude, stranger. Perhaps... my allegiance."
Alexstrasza smiled faintly. "You've bought time, mortal. Use it wisely."
Ysera nodded dreamily. "The dream weaves new threads. Let us see where they lead."
As they departed the Nexus, Arthas exhaled, the weight lifting. The quest wasn't complete, but the path forward gleamed with potential. In this world of gods and monsters, he was no pawn—he was the player.