When our ice block crawled to the coast, the battle in the port had already ended, moving deeper into the city. Not much could be seen behind the numerous Undead ships, but the explosions, screams, and burning buildings in the port area spoke for themselves. The Undead had successfully managed to land. And the closer we sailed, the more clearly we saw how.
Yes, some of the Undead forces had drowned, and a Necropolis had also gone to the bottom, but some had reached the shore. And it wasn't as if drowning particularly bothered the dead, except that now they had to cover a greater distance. So those who drowned near the coast were easily coming out of the water and could also join the attack.
It was no surprise that it was in this sector that the Undead had the best chance of breaking through. Which they successfully exploited. After all, the thickness of the water gave them protection and the opportunity to move into close combat almost with impunity. Using magical vision, I quietly surveyed the surroundings, looking for the enemy. So far we haven't been noticed; everyone is too busy with the city. I don't know how long this will last.
"We're almost there. Row quieter; it's not worth attracting attention at the last minute."
Dartaola nodded and quietly checked with the Dwarf pilot.
"Are you with us, or?"
The Dwarf showed a pair of axes. Or rather, an axe and a hammer gripped in his hands.
"It's always safer with you. So we row and disembark. We'll show the bone-heads how to crack skulls."
And yes, "crawled" was not a metaphor, but a method of movement. The plane was finished, and so as not to attract the attention of those around us, we cast invisibility on the frozen frame, made ice oars, and split into two teams. Row and Row. A joke, though not entirely; we really were working the oars, or rather the others were. My physical parameters are poor, but I helped as much as I could anyway. As a lookout, so we didn't crash into anyone. And by supporting the ice and invisibility with my magic.
"Now everyone be quiet, we're mooring," I whispered, watching as we sailed past a mast sticking out of the water.
The mast of an Undead ship that had been breaking for the shore. And now some of them were sticking out from under the water, partially submerged and destroyed, creating obstacles for us. Some, in the process of sinking, had scattered cargo and debris floating here and there. Some had simply submerged; only masts with sails were sticking out from them. Well, those ships that successfully reached the shore had parked at the pier, shelling the city with harpoons and arrows from ballistae. It was toward them that our improvised raft headed.
Dartaola cursed quietly, seeing more projectiles fly into the city in an arc. Then something exploded there. Even if the effectiveness of such volleys was minimal, they were still damaging and setting the city on fire. Our city. Unacceptable.
"We need to destroy their artillery. This won't do," the Paladin said angrily.
I had to remind her:
"We'll have to act the old-fashioned way; I have nothing. I could sink one or two ships, but there are... — wait, let me count — two dozen of them here. And the cargo will be useful to us; not everything there is Saronite."
"Saro... what?" the Dwarf immediately asked.
I sighed; they didn't know.
"The weapons of the Undead are toxic to the living. Because of the metal they're made of, mined in Northrend. Saronite. But I don't think everything there is made of it. We'll find something to use. So we should act carefully."
Venidan nodded.
"It's fine, let's work. The Undead are busy with the assault; there shouldn't be much guard at the guns."
"DaVi, make us some steps."
I nodded, getting to work.
Ice is a simple thing to handle. You can make steps, and many other things. But the water we're sailing on is not. It's extremely unstable; as a surface, it's unsteady. Any shift in the center of gravity, and our raft, consisting of ice and a plane, starts to rock quite a bit in all directions. We almost took a bath that way.
In the end, I managed to solve the problem by freezing steps directly onto the side of the Undead ship. It's been long noted that some frost spells, for greater stability, freeze directly to the surface, or even into it if the support is soft. There are gaps between the timbers, cracks in the boards, which the ice expanded, connecting to the side of the ship with a quiet crunch. Which didn't even sway. To this thirty-meter vessel, a couple of hundred kilos at one point was no problem. And we got an excellent ladder onto the deck. And there's almost no rocking here. Sweet! Forward, to dry land!
On board the undead ship, it was relatively clean and, as expected, empty. Yes, it stinks unspeakably of rot and ammonia, no one's arguing that. If not for the helmet, breathing would be simply impossible; the deck is soaked in it. Perhaps Abominations were transported here. What matters is that they aren't here now. Nor are Ghouls or the rest. Almost all the Undead have disembarked, so we climbed onto the deck without trouble, looking around.
"There," Dartaola pointed toward the bow, and we, passing the helm, peered over the railing.
A real mortar is mounted on the ship's bow, aimed straight ahead at the city. There are no broadside cannons, only a pair of ballistae in the forward section, currently unmanned. However, scurrying around the mortar are... Skeletons. Four of them. And it seems there is no one else on the ship. The Skeletons haven't noticed us yet, busy with their work, loading the weapon that thuds dully with every shot. Each shot is invariably followed by an explosion in the city. Venidan pressed a finger to her lips:
"Watch and learn."
Then she vaulted over the railing and... vanished? Even in magical vision. I shuddered slightly at the memory of when we first met, when she used to sneak up like that. The Rogue hasn't played such jokes since, but she clearly hasn't lost the skill. We descended from the gallery quietly, trying not to make noise, as she reached the Skeletons. And she attacked, giving them no chance to react.
The first one received a literal Backstab, right into the spine, causing it to crumble into a rain of bones clattering merrily on the deck. The remaining three reacted, but didn't have time to do anything. While they were drawing weapons hanging from their pelvic bones, Veni managed to decapitate the second. The third lit up with Holy light and collapsed into bones. The fourth was tripped, after which a foot descended on its skull, and the bones, no longer held by magic, simply scattered. Now only a pile of bones remained by the empty mortar.
"That's that," the Rogue said with visible boredom, clearly sizing up how best to break the thing, but the Dwarf grabbed her arm.
"No need. This mortar... is clearly our work. Or a very good fake. I'll stay here, fire a few times at whoever I see. Go on, it seems safe here. If anything happens, I'll manage," he swung his hammer, "go."
And we moved on, from ship to ship, looking toward the city. It was clear the Undead had advanced quite far. The port, at least, is lost, completely or nearly so. As expected, there were too many of the dead. And too few defenders. I hope this was taken into account when planning the defense and the Undead will be stopped. We, however, will do what we can here. We decided to finish with these first, so they wouldn't fire ballistae, mortars, and catapults into the city, then move there ourselves.
Standard ships, seriously. Completely identical layout, arrangement... of everything. Except where specific types of Undead were, traces of their... presence are visible. Puddles of decomposition and rot that have literally eaten through the wood. Remains in various states of being gnawed and chewed. It got to everyone without exception; now I understand why the Dwarf stayed. The Undead killed and then ate the port defenders right then and there. I had to take some Alchemy to move through THIS without trouble. And not just me. Emotions dulled; only the goal and the means remained. And the deck is a bit slippery; you have to watch where you step so as not to slip or fall through the boards.
On the fourth ship, we were spotted. As soon as Venidan and Dartaola—I would have been too noticeable with DaVi's control—engaged the catapult crew, arrows flew at us from the neighboring ship. They flew fast, accurately, and hard, glowing with purple magic, so even I had to create an ice wall to get cover. What's worst is that Skeletons are completely indifferent to piercing damage, so the dead archers fire at us without caring about friendly fire at all. Peering out, looking for the enemy, I couldn't hold back a curse that broke through even the potion. Shit!
"That's..." Dartaola said quietly, clearly seeing from behind the shield the same thing I did.
"Those aren't archers. Those are female archers. Dead Elf Archers," I said, standing behind cover to see them through the transparent ice, "Dark Rangers."
Indeed, Sylvanas isn't the only one. And in this case, she's not here at all. Even if Undead made from Elves are quite specific and worse than Humans as cannon fodder, there are at least San'layn and dark Farstriders, showing that Elves can be dangerous. And then I had the urge to help. Well, okay, I just want some Farstriders as subordinates. Or for experiments, whichever works out. Immobilize them; the Undead won't die anyway if they can't breathe or move.
"Frost wave."
Ignoring everything, I simply froze the path to the neighboring ship, not holding back my power, binding the ship in ice. The frost wave froze the hull to the pier, completely stopping movement. With a crunch, the ice bit into the wooden hull, rapidly spreading across the deck. Nowhere to run, or so I thought.
All four Elves did somersaults like grasshoppers, evading the impulse and landing on the ice. Then, with quick leaps, they began to move, evading my attempts to freeze them. Another catapult was encased in ice, freezing the Skeletons. But the Huntresses, jumping nimbly enough to make gymnasts die of envy, seemed to feel exactly where the attack would land and moved away. At least they stopped shooting, too busy dodging.
Nimble. And instead of bows, they drew short swords... Like Venidan. Then, jumping along railings and masts, they rushed straight at us. The Rogue prepared for melee herself; Dartaola stood beside her on the ice, holding her shield and ready to crush skulls with her mace. And I cursed myself inwardly for a moment of greed, calling myself many bad words. Even if the Paladin remained silent, her look was more than eloquent.
What's worse, a howl rose from below, so I had to urgently summon DaVi to hold back the Ghouls. Though there aren't many of them, there are only three of us. This whole situation attracted far too much attention. And all because of a fit of greed and overconfidence. No, I still think we'll fight them off. But that doesn't mean we should act so rashly.
"Sorry, I couldn't help myself."
Venidan growled:
"Later!" and threw herself into the fight, blades in both hands.
Dartaola closed the distance behind her with a dash, ramming her target with her shield and bringing down her mace. The Huntress's arm broke with a crunch, her weapon falling from it. But the target herself rolled aside, forcing the Paladin to defend against quick piercing attacks. I had to help with ice spears, covering them both.
What can I say—the dead Elves are very sharp. Not like Warriors, with fast and heavy strikes. And not like Nerubians, trying to grab, immobilize, and drag you into a burrow to eat you. But in the same style as our Veni: stabbing, cutting, and breaking, moving fast and looking for a spot to stick a blade. If not for the Mana Shield and shoulder-length gloves, one of these ladies who tried to grapple me would have broken the arm I held out for casting by grabbing it and striking the joint. As it was, she just grabbed the barrier, tried to perform a throw, then moved aside from Dartaola's strike. Which slid right by the barrier, nearly hitting me. Okay, I'm still alive, let's continue!
At least I could examine them, our opponents. They are quite intact for dead people, on the level of Death Knights. At first glance, no injuries are visible on their bodies, nor scars. Pale gray, uniform skin without visible flaws, eyes glowing red, and a very angry look. And also very heavy strikes; I almost flew overboard when a Huntress, apparently realizing I didn't plan on dying, performed a Spartan kick. Given my five-foot height—the process wasn't particularly difficult.
I hit the railing quite painfully. A second later, a fist flew into where my head had been. Right into a frost wave in response. And so we froze: a dead Elf frozen in a block of ice and a living me, exhaling because death had once again passed quite close.
"Now that's more like it," I muttered, curiously examining the girl frozen in the ice monolith. And the red fires of her eyes studied me in return.
I remember when Illidan blasted the Frozen Throne with the eye, the Undead weakened and the Huntresses were able to break free from the Lich King's power... What if...
"DaVi, don't sleep!"
Oh, I saw an interesting project and got distracted. I poked a finger at the ice right in front of the frozen nose, as if flicking it.
"Don't go anywhere."
Still have to finish the job.
We fought off the Huntresses, though not on the first try. One thing I can say for sure—agility builds are annoying. The space is limited, it's hard to aim without hitting your own. And these ones, using the masts and rigging, can move in all three dimensions, making them hard even to target. There are even difficulties with magical arrows because they have their own, explosive ones, and with silence. And the bow these ladies use to fire at us and interrupt casting. But we simply turned out to be stronger, although we had to take a bottle of blue each; a lot of Mana went into those four assassins.
At the end, two Ghouls ran up; poor DaVi was finally poked to death. But after Saronite swords and their owners, ordinary Ghouls aren't so scary anymore. Or maybe it's the Alchemy, I don't know. I froze the first target. Dartaola finished the second, broken one, with Holy light. Venidan entertained the third until she stepped into the Holy light. And the fourth couldn't dodge my fire boulder and was subsequently decapitated by our Rogue. The Ghouls were swept aside in passing, and we sat down to catch our breath.
Under such conditions, even Dartaola didn't argue.
"Potion for me. And a flask."
Veni, who had already drunk hers and was now looking from the deck toward the pier, figuring out what to do next, laughed.
"And so sobriety ends. Soon you'll be hitting the taverns..." the Paladin threw a healing potion at her in response. Veni caught it.
"Give it here," Dartaola demanded, "who knows when the next chance will be. Davilinia, how are you?"
I massaged my shoulders. The hits were strong, but the shield held. Even though it's only against physical damage, it does its job.
"Fine. The hits were strong, but the defense held. Sorry again, I got greedy."
Veni waved it off.
"It's fine. They were clearly trained by the same program as me. So they would have gone into melee anyway to dig out the Paladin. And you, Midget, have a good shield. So you just sped up the process. Dart, you good?"
Satisfied with the answers and having swallowed her Alchemy, Dartaola nodded and we rushed on to continue clearing the pier. We found many interesting things. Cultists. More Ghouls. And a Lich with Necromancers. Said character was just like Kel'Thuzad. That is, bones, and clearly not human ones, inside which magical energy glows. Chains around the body, a book in the hands. The skull is equipped with tusks, as if an Ogre's teeth were pulled out. Or someone larger. Otherwise—a skeleton is a skeleton, or rather the top half. No legs, it levitates, glowing with bluish magic. And in a hissing voice, it demands:
"Faster, servants! The Master does not accept defeat! We must finish the work!" at that moment, my latest DaVi smeared a Ghoul across the asphalt with a roar, flying out at them from behind a ship.
The Lich didn't lose his head, using a frost star. I also like to use this icy spiked explosion against Murlocs; sharp crystals penetrate under armor, into joints and cracks, grow, and tear the target apart. DaVi predictably lost his legs from such treatment but didn't fold. The Necromancers, at the Lich's command, raised their hands, and the pile of bloody bodies lying nearby began to rise.
Unfortunately for the Undead, distracted by my elemental, they missed us. We occupied the bow of another ship, with a perfect view of this whole merry company.
"Begin!" the Paladin gave a short command, and we fired a volley.
Veni drove an arrow into the eye of one of the Necromancers. Dartaola flared with Holy light and a beam from the heavens struck the Lich. I also discharged a fireball at the Necromancers, and now purple magical arrows are raining down on the enemies. Necromancers have a downside: they are, of course, tougher than a human—but a Mana Shield doesn't seem to be on the standard training list. And it wouldn't have helped against magic anyway. Still, the first volley wasn't enough for everyone. A couple of dozen Zombies successfully stood up and turned toward us. Not a problem, but they will slow us down noticeably.
"Crusher!" Um, who's that shouting there?
"Stonecutter!" familiar names... Are they alive?
"Forward!" someone gave a command, and it became clear the shouts were coming from the warehouses located deep in the docks.
Everyone turned at the yells. The Zombies. The surviving Necromancers, the Lich, and us. And there... Klanika, Stan, some Priest, four soldiers, and their earth elementals. And they all rushed at the Zombies together.
"We'll take them apart!" the Gnome girl shouted, "Go on! Tear him up!"
The Lich turned back to us. And laughed.
"Paltry mortal nobodies. Do you think you have the strength to crush eternity? Did you think you could hide from the Master's gaze in these swamps? Foolish, insignificant creatures... Refugees without a home, you will serve as material for our victory. Your home will become a tomb. Your souls will become fuel, and your frail bod—"
BOOOOMMM!
The Lich was blown away along with a piece of the pier in an incredibly bright fire explosion, making the timbers creak and shake. He rolled, burning and losing a few bones, but immediately began to pull himself back together.
"Who dares..." he began, but the Lich was interrupted again.
An extremely familiar voice. Again. But I couldn't hold back a smile when the Magister floated smoothly down from the wall. Good thing I have a helmet on my head and no one will notice anything.
"I spent years erasing your kind from Azeroth," the Teacher said irritably, and added to us, "don't interfere. I'll handle this. This nonentity might run, but it will suffer defeat. Here and now."
And we don't mind taking on the extras. The pier creaked under the feet of an Abomination attracted by the fight; several more Ghouls ran out after it, a Necromancer with Skeletons. In short, there's plenty to do.
The Teacher, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to have a magical duel with the Lich. Fire from the Magister and ice from the Lich. Start shipping them, hm? The Magister will twist my head off for such ideas. But it's curious; I have a feeling something connects these men. Something more than just war. A conflict of ideas, a conflict of paths, ideologies. Fire and ice, life and death, order and chaos. Peace and destruction.
And the Mage and Lich themselves are actively and with full commitment tearing up the pier. Both have elemental shields, characteristically—against the opponent's element. So innocent timbers, ships, and crates suffer from fireballs, ice spikes, and frost novas. These two even manage to talk while drenching each other in magic. Ships are burning around them, the pier is flying apart in charred splinters; they're fine. They both levitate over the pier; these ruins don't bother them at all. Vandals! But respected ones; no one even tries to get near them. Extras against extras, boss against boss.
"I have heard of you, Elf. In the time of Orgrim. Aldanos the Living. Denying the power of death. And refusing to die. You will make a wonderful dead servant."
The Magister, who had turned about ten meters of the pier to ash with a fire path, countered:
"For that, you would need not only to succeed, which is unlikely. But also to win the battle, which will not happen in any case. Your dead are defeated. You are alone."
I was overcome with pride. The Orcs know the Teacher? Liches, the first generation, are Death Knights from the Shadow Council. Turned into Liches by the very evil Kil'jaeden, or Archimonde. I don't remember. Anyway, Ner'zhul tried to bail from Draenor through a portal with his subordinates; they were caught at the portal's exit. The leader was sat with his bare ass on an ice chair, and he froze there for good. The subordinates were turned into this. No wonder the Teacher was interested in what I know about Necrolytes. I thought it was a theoretical question. Turns out it was this.
"Have we met, dead Orc?" the Mage asked after another exchange of blows.
The Lich, sending ice boulders at the enemy and ignoring the floor burning beneath him, laughed.
"You know, fancy that. No, we haven't met personally. But I was told," ice spears, chains struck from the ground, and a powerful explosion washed over the shield, "it won't help you. Behind me is all the power of the Master. Now I am no paltry mortal. I am—invincible!"
The Magister evaded the chains with a blink. Then a cluster of fireballs struck the dead man; two went wide, turning another piece of a ship's hull into an inferno. The rest broke against the shield or were dispelled by a wave of the Lich's hand, who had stirred up a small storm.
We've already finished our clearing, watching from a safe distance, but we don't join the fight. I only quietly sent DaVi to pick up the ice block from the ship. Need to remodel a room to maintain my trophy. Did I catch her for nothing? The Dwarf marksman came up too, whistled, but also started watching to see how it would end. Said reinforcements had arrived, defense forces broke through to the wharf, the docks are retaken. Well, that's good.
Meanwhile, the Lich ran out. Another ball pierced the defense and exploded inside the skeleton, right in its magical structure. The Lich roared as the heat began to crush and crack the bones. And finally fell silent, crumbling into elements after the Teacher exploded a burst of Arcane magic right inside his body.
"Indeed, we haven't met..." the Mage said thoughtfully. "He clearly didn't know me well..."
The bones partially remained lying on top, burning and cracking among the pier debris, but most fell into the water. I'll pick them up later and shove them into the Umformer; it'll be better for everyone. Dartaola added some Holy light to the lying bones, just in case, but the bones being carried away by the water didn't react. The Lich didn't even try to pull himself together. His body is definitely destroyed.
"Is it dead?" Venidan clarified.
I shook my head.
"Nope. The soul is in a jar, in a phylactery. Not here. Unless there's a chance it stayed in a Necropolis, walled up. But no guarantees. So personally, I think it's not dead, just lost its body. Though without help, restoring the carcass will be a bit difficult..."
The Rogue cursed.
"Why do we always have immortal enemies, huh? First demons, now a Lich? Why can't they just up and die? That's exactly what they're killed for! Outrageous!"
The Magister, who had floated over to us, answered. I bowed to the Teacher; he nodded in response, then turned to the Rogue.
"They sought power that would place them outside the rules, above them. And they found it: immortality in death. Correct, Paladin?"
Dartaola bowed.
"Correct, Magister. The Darkness accepted them."
The interaction between these two amuses me. Dartaola is clearly embarrassed by the events of our first meeting; the Teacher knows this. I don't know if they discussed it, but the Paladin tries not to cross paths with the Teacher unnecessarily. And when she does—she behaves politely. Well, I'm all for it; I don't want Elves arguing in my circle.
Carefully, along the wall, a squad of soldiers approached us. Klanika smiled widely, sitting on the back of her golem, and Stan nodded, walking beside his. Dusty, a bit bloody, the Mages clearly didn't stand aside; they took an active part in the city's defense. If the man is generally calm, the Gnome girl is excitedly gesturing as usual.
"That was powerful, how you took him apart! Amazing! Boom! Boom! Boom! And just bones flying everywhere."
The Magister nodded and turned to me.
"That is all well and good, but there is a problem that requires an immediate solution. Davilinia, an urgent order for you. We held the main attack; we'll handle the cleanup ourselves. There is no contact with headquarters. Take the Crane walkers, the team, and find out what happened and where they are. We must know what to prepare for. Do you understand?"
As if I know where to look. Though I know the general direction. And with the Cranes and birds... We'll find them. I nodded, figuring out the best way to proceed. Or rather, how to do all this.
"Yes, Magister. We'll set out as soon as possible."
The team we'll be searching with was expanded slightly. Two familiar apprentice mages were forced upon us. I was against it at first, but the Magister explained the reason. With three earth golems, we can organize a diversionary maneuver if needed. Not the best idea, but we don't have another. An elemental can be resummoned if necessary, and the chances of running into demons in an unfamiliar Elven forest are much higher than we'd like. So the Teacher is right—we'll need the reinforcement.
Two hours later, we gathered at the portal to the base nearest to Ashenvale that the city still has contact with. The one with the entrance in the mountain. Me, Dartaola, and Veni. But the Rogue doesn't have a walker. So she'll ride with the Paladin. I'll carry the apprentice mages.
The contact issue is a general problem; we know for sure that the demons attacked everywhere. It didn't just hit Theramore; it's easier to say where there were no attacks. Small groups in some places, and in others, like ours, a whole army. Command, whoever is left, decided not to spread forces thin and to withdraw troops if defense isn't possible. But that also means the city's coverage zone is shrinking. The more people retreat, the less complete our picture is. Plus, no word from Jaina and her troops... It's reasonable that they decided to send reconnaissance.
It amused me that Klanika only recognized me at that moment, when she saw the walkers. Well, yeah, I'd been in a helmet all this time, and she hadn't seen me in it. But the gloves! I never take them off. Offending! But the Gnome girl quickly recovered, sitting behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist.
"Great high spot. You upgraded it, right? And what can it do now? And what speed does it reach? And what's the box volume?" her curiosity softened my irritation, so I just answered.
But Stan is as wary of me as ever. And I still don't understand why. And I don't really understand why he and the Gnome girl hang out either. Sometimes reality leaves me at a dead end. How can such different personalities even communicate? Grommash and Thrall, now these two. The Midget is ready for any trouble as long as it's not a hunger strike. The guy—only if said incident includes ale, wine, beer, or another alcoholic product. He even came with us only after a direct order and the Gnome girl's jokes with the Rogue about cowardice.
Of course, we loaded up before leaving. A two-hundred-liter bottomless box was included in the standard Crane configuration. I had to negotiate with the enchanters for that too. Though I can't argue that it's useful. Food, water, Alchemy, my birds and Hacks, ammunition for the grenade launchers. It's not a given we'll be able to restock, so we're taking as much as possible right away. Actually, in a perfect world, a normal, trained recon team should be sent on this mission. But only I know how to operate the mechanical birds "in the field." And there's no time; it's clear the Systems Alliance and Horde forces in Ashenvale are guaranteed to be attacked by demons. We need to restore contact. Immediately.
While restocking, I hid my trophy at the base and assessed the level of destruction in the city. The first part was simple—I brought a capacitor, connected a seal so the block would be maintained and wouldn't melt. A sheep would have been better, but there's no time. For now, I just froze enough ice so the victim couldn't get out even in theory. A freezer closed with an armored door, which, if the ice melts, will become a pool. It's Undead; it won't die. She watched my actions the whole time but didn't twitch. I'll decide what to do with her later.
As for the city... The city took a hit. It's not all bad; mostly the fortifications suffered. But on the port side—it's worse. The Undead broke into the city limits; many were killed and injured. People barricaded themselves, but it didn't help everyone; Ghouls and Abominations broke walls and barricades, gnawing through people. They smashed and broke the walls of houses to get to the hidden residents. This district now resembles Stratholme and is under quarantine. The reason for the latter is a ship with plague cauldrons we found at the pier during the search after the battle.
In the end, we have: walls and fortifications in the assault areas are moderately damaged. Demons, Gargoyles, and Abominations did their best. Houses—up to fifteen percent require repair, ten percent—serious repair, might have to be rebuilt from scratch. The port surroundings are under quarantine, requiring repair and rebuilding. Damage is moderate.
The most unpleasant thing is that you can't really use the Undead's equipment, only the timber. While the ships can somehow be adapted for our needs, the weapons and armor are made of Saronite—the crystallized blood of an Old God. Without proper processing, this material is very toxic to the living. This didn't stop me from requesting a share of Saronite; it'll be useful for creating a platform spirit. Но in rebuilding the city, the metal is useless. And for trophy hunters and looters, it's even dangerous.
They wanted to destroy the plague cauldrons too, but I remembered in time that Priests and Druids can purify this device and use it to cleanse territory. If we find Alastir—let him deal with it; the Elves and the Horde will need to cleanse the land left by Undead bases.
Where is the Druid? No idea. Alastir was in Jaina's camp when contact was lost. So the ship with the cauldrons was just towed away from the shore. If Murlocs eat some—not a problem. If they leave it—we'll show it to the Druid, let him think. Actually, once we find command—we'll raise this issue too.
So we left the city through the portal. The task is as follows: find the bosses, report on the situation.
"We'll run the Cranes at a marching pace," I suggested, "There's a road. If we hurry, we'll get there in a few days."
The plan was accepted unanimously.
It would be easier for me if someone else piloted the walker so I could focus on recon with the birds, but of the five of us, only two are pilots. Me and Dartaola. So forward to heroics. Especially since, is it just me, or are people running from the portal? It seems the demons got to them too.
I even voiced it.
"It's not just you," Venidan nodded, "they are definitely running. We should hurry if we don't want to watch it close from this side."
A panicked retreat with a very large number of wounded is observed from the portal. Bloody people, soldiers who have lost parts of their armor or weapons, with jagged wounds that metal armor didn't protect them from. Separately—burn victims, smelling of char and Fel, screaming and groaning. It seems things are really bad there.
"Holy light sends us a trial," Dartaola nodded in agreement.
Klanika giggled.
"Then forward. If heroics are waiting for us, let's not make them wait."
I nodded and led the Crane toward the portal, through which both our machines successfully passed. The heroics began, as they say, upon arrival. The camp is located on the shortest path to Ashenvale, which means—in the path of the demons. On the front line, yep. And upon exiting the portal...
URURURUUUUUM! URURUUUUUURUUUUUMMMMM!
"Move aside!" Dartaola barked.
I reacted on raw reflexes, jerking the Crane's Speed Boost. And just in time; a large, green fireball landed where we had been standing, unfolding into an Infernal. But that's not the main thing. Nope.
Let's just estimate. Wall height—six meters. A standard quick-build stone wall, typical for forts. A standard Systems Alliance defense tower—a tenner, up to fifteen meters, depending on the builders and configuration. Same as a three-story barracks, give or take.
Sentient beings are running around all this construction, trying to retreat to the portal, taking whatever they can with them. Humans, Dwarves, Gnomes are scurrying; cannons and ballistae are firing.
And a Fel Reaver. That thing towers over the base, about one and a half times taller than the buildings. Give or take. A damn mechanical Godzilla loomed over us, showing an exclusively dominant position in all parameters. And it's tearing up the base, breaking it with brute force. The exceptional brute force of a HUGE MOTHERFUCKING ROBOT!
Where did you come from, sunshine? You shouldn't be here! Or did the demons see that the Horde didn't tear this base apart during the pursuit and decided to finish it themselves? Or did they kick Arthas's ass for so long that they requested reinforcements?
"Holy shit..." Stan wheezed.
We stared at It with wide eyes, all thinking the same thing.
"How can you even defeat that?"
All these undoubtedly interesting thoughts moved to the background because it. Kicked. A tower. And it simply flew apart into bricks, starting to collapse onto the robot itself. It added a fist, crushing the top part of the tower, and exhaled green steam into it, causing burning people to pour out of the windows. Then it emitted a low, trumpeting howl, strongly resembling a Reaper, only longer, and more like a horn. Damn... I'm just... not ready for this shit.
"Hey, over here, move it!" I turned to see five soldiers and an officer by the portal, waving at us, "No time! We're leaving."
This soldier snapped me, and not just me, out of the state of shock. We don't necessarily have to fight this; on the contrary, we need to leave as soon as possible. And we'll close the portal ourselves. I was already thinking how to convince them, but Dartaola intervened.
"Go. We're right behind you. Holy light will protect us!" she accompanied the last part with a burst of magic that set a Succubus on fire.
This BDSM enthusiast with a whip, dressed as she should be, like Princess Leia... groaned, arching her back, flapping her wings. And something tells me it wasn't from pain. Venidan immediately drove an arrow into the demonic pervert's forehead, which then exploded. Only then did the demoness find peace, and her corpse began to disintegrate into green flakes that instantly blackened the ground.
This snapped the officer out of his stupor, and with a short command, he ordered a retreat. Especially since an Infernal landed near them, scattering and scorching the people; we had to help them get to the portal. Fortunately, the big guy was a bit busy destroying the base, and you can drive off an Infernal with icicles. The small ones are still very tough, but no longer that resistant. I fired a burst from the grenade launcher at the small fry; there are still too many demons coming.
And as soon as the soldiers passed, Dartaola demanded:
"Close it, now! Time to leave while we have a chance!"
URURURUUUUUM! URURUUUUUURUUUUUMMMMM!
And I'm all for it. We didn't plan on returning this way anyway. And staying at this point is extremely unhealthy! The Fel Reaver began to turn toward us with a hum, finishing breaking the barracks. Plus Succubi, an unexpectedly large fifteen-foot Doomguard with a blade glowing with magic, Hounds, and other small fry. And all this against the five of us. With very ill intentions.
"Run!"
Fortunately, the Cranes accelerate very well, from zero to max in about eight seconds. And we would have even escaped. But it's not that easy when the ground literally shakes from every step of the huge robot chasing you. The Fel Reaver finally decided we were the target and has no intention of letting us go. That colossal figure, even at a great distance, seems to loom over us, humming and stomping, changing the terrain with its wide strides.
Good news: the shaking is affecting the pursuers just as much as us. The bad news is that many demons have wings and can fly, so they couldn't care less about the vibrations. In short, everyone suddenly found something to do. Dartaola and I gripped the steering wheel, jumping over bodies, debris, and demons to ensure the machine didn't stumble under any circumstances. If that happens, we die. The others are firing at the pursuers, trying to shoot down the flyers. And all of this is happening to the thumping of a Fel Reaver that makes the earth tremble.
"He's catching up!" Veni shouted through her helmet. "His legs are too long!"
I didn't even need to turn around to see it. The shadow of the massive mech covering our walkers was far too telling. So, what to do? Break it! I've been using the gauntlets quite actively lately. Oh well. We simply won't get another chance! So let's blast him! I said briefly:
"Everyone, prepare for a Salvo. Klanika! Forward, take the wheel!"
The Gnome, laughing merrily, scrambled forward, completely unafraid of flying out of the saddle at high speed. But the fact that she's smaller than me is convenient; she crawled under my arms, hardly interfering with my steering. Except for Stan, who started twitching when the Gnome pushed him aside to get to the front. I can understand; these high-speed pirouettes on a full-throttle, shaking walker are a bit nerve-wracking even for me. Klanika almost clocked me with her elbow, luckily I'm keeping a mana shield up. Grabbing the levers, the Gnome reported:
"I've got the wheel. Do whatever you want, just hurry up, please!"
I nodded.
"Just keep it straight. I'm going to destroy it now."
The Gnome immediately inquired:
"How? He's a bit too big for a fireball. Seriously big!"
Alas, she couldn't see my smirk under the helmet.
"I'll show you."
The gauntlet began to reconfigure into the Uomo Universale module. Thunder rumbles, the earth shakes, and the Fel Reaver runs after us with a roar, its limbs working heavily. On its chest is a massive grate, behind which burns a blindingly bright green flame of Fel. Right on the move, waves of heat and fireballs erupt from this inferno zone. Fortunately, they aren't aiming precisely, and there's still some distance.
The gauntlet changed shape, locking into its new state with a screech. It elongated and grew in size. A drum of seals appeared, a massive magimechanical block. A system for analysis, accumulation, and delivery. Heavy as hell and clumsy. If the target weren't so huge and running in a perfectly straight line, aiming on rough terrain with this much turbulence would be impossible.
"What is that?" Stan exhaled in shock. "Where did you bring us? What is even happening? I don't want to die!"
I can understand; the gauntlet had increased in size several times over. But we don't plan on dying.
"Support me, aim it at the mech. Klanika, look ahead!"
And now, the launch. The humming and clicking began to build. And in the splayed fingers, a sphere of energy began to form. Well, let's see what the elements are. Arcana, Holy. Logical. Arcana is universal, and Holy won't allow the structure to be defiled upon contact with Fel. Stan turned pale, seeing a literal sphere forming right in front of his face. So nervous. Or maybe through magical vision, he sees how the sphere packs massive amounts of energy layer by layer.
With a clunk, the work of the analysis mechanism stopped. Usually, I used the gauntlet at less than full power, just as a cannon without a full analysis of the target. It can hit hard even without that, and it charges faster. Not this time. Now the mechanism was scanning the machine, studying it, taking it apart. And with that, understanding came to me as well. This is... interesting.
The machine bears a resemblance to a living organism. In the chest, where the grate is, there is something like a reactor, a mechanical heart spewing out Fel energy. Which is pumped through the entire mechanism in liquid and gaseous form. That's why it's so toxic; Fel energy enters the atmosphere with every strike, every step. It doesn't harm the demons, and they don't care about the environment.
Fel gives the Fel Reaver everything it needs. Energy for movement, it fills the mechanisms with power—the schematics of which I can see, even if I don't understand much. It fills the mech's fists with strength, allowing it to crush rocks without shattering itself. It uses an enlarged analog of my power hammer, which, apparently, was copied specifically from this mech's weapon. At the very least, I can see the structure of the robot's hands more clearly than its other parts.
Excess energy is discarded, as the cursed sun in its chest provides enough to not worry about economy. But the mechanisms themselves, hm. The principles are... different, clearly not like Arcana. Energy for abilities, for the operation of the machine mind. Not runes. Or runes, but different ones. I don't understand. My understanding is still limited by my knowledge, alas. The foundation... is insufficient. I'll need to learn more when the opportunity arises. For now, my knowledge was enough to see a vulnerability.
That will be enough to make a precision shot. I smiled.
"And even though I know you're a replica, I don't care! Uomo Universale!"
The sphere, spinning madly in the palm of the mechanical gauntlet, left it, heading straight for the Fel Reaver's grate. A small white-violet sun lit up everything around like a bright dot, moving toward the giant robot. Venidan, clearly understanding what was about to happen, screamed:
"Everyone hold on! I don't care to what, grab something and pray to the Holy or whatever, I don't care!"
The sphere hit the reactor. Arcana smashed through the defense, destroying the grate, punching a hole in it, allowing the Holy to enter the Fel reactor system. A flash—the light, no longer restrained, began to spread rapidly through the machine's chassis from the inside. A conflict of fundamentally opposite energies occurred. And it EXPLODED.
Had the reaction occurred on the armor, the mech's hull would have protected it from the consequences. And the Fel would have followed the path of least resistance. There might have been a hole in the hull, but nothing more. The Arcane bolt burned a small hole, but one sufficient for the warhead to pass under the armor. And that changed everything.
A sharp pressure spike in the system shorted out the mechanisms; the reactor choked, trying to digest what it wasn't supposed to. In a sense, the robot suffered a heart attack. The deafening screech of mechanisms being crushed from the inside made me smirk widely as I watched the mech stumble on its next step.
The machine froze for a second, beginning to topple forward by inertia, venting green steam from every possible opening. And then there was a flash. Very bright and hot. The mechanism was thrown back with a screech, falling onto its back, and then its chest cavity finally burst, releasing a pillar of green flame through the mangled chest and mechanisms torn at the joints. The impact of the multi-ton mech made the earth shudder and tossed us up, nearly throwing us out of our saddles. But the colossal mechanical giant moves no more, lying there on its back, emitting a bright green torch from its chest.
"He's done. He's not chasing us anymore," I whispered, listening to my heart pounding wildly in my chest.
"Yeah," the Rogue said thoughtfully.
It seems we were deafened; we even had to slow down, luckily there was no more pursuit. We tried to come to our senses. This shocked and stunned all of us, and everyone is processing it in their own way. Only the Gnome is happy, practically dancing. Stan seems to have achieved zen. Dartaola and Veni are already used to powerful explosions; they just decided to let everyone catch their breath, let me release the birds, and let the ringing in our ears stop. We still have a mission, and now that the enemy has fallen behind, we can attend to it.
"What w-w-w-w-was that?" Stan stammered.
The guy jumped off the Crane, walking and staggering, rubbing his backside. It seems he bruised it. After walking a few steps, he stopped, staring blankly into the distance toward where the Fel Reaver lay. Veni laughed.
"Midget, we broke the guy."
He actually flinched at the Rogue's words, pointed a finger at her, and whispered, though loudly:
"This is n-not n-normal! Do you h-hear me? Not n-n-normal! You're psychos! I'm sure of it!"
I waved him off.
"Well, you're wrong. Usually, this happens to us once every few months. We're just used to it; we're not psychos, nope."
Stan recoiled from me as well, to the Gnome's snickering.
"You're p-psychos! All of you! P-psychos!"
Further hysterics were avoided only through the efforts of Dartaola, who cast something on him. Apparently, something to boost morale. A flash of light, and the guy looks much more sane than a minute ago. The Paladin sighed.
"Actually, I agree with him. Going through something like this..."
I snorted, also dismounting to stretch my legs while sending out the bird.
"Then don't go through it."
For which I received a clip round the ear over my mana shield. I winced; the clip was magically enhanced, so it still hit through the shield. The helmet helped, but not completely. It seems our Paladin has mastered something unpleasant.
"Don't interrupt, Davilinia, it's impolite. We are going through trials too heavy for ordinary mortals. But we do it gallantly and perform deeds pleasing to the Holy. So I am glad to be traveling with you."
Fine, if that's the case, I'm pleased too. After the spell, the guy seemed to have lost his fear and became much bolder, asking where to next. Well, I didn't rush. We drove to a safe distance—who knows, a Nathrezim might come to check what that light show was about. And I released the birds.
And while they are flying, we went even further and stopped for the night. Bruised backsides, frayed nerves, and we had conducted a battle involving a large amount of Alchemy. We need to eat and rest. And I need the birds to spread out so I can track their path without being distracted by piloting. So we found a grove of Baobabs without local wildlife, hid the walkers there, and stopped for the night. While the others set up camp, I searched.
The reconnaissance results... were so-so.
"Significant enemy forces ahead. Demons and Undead. That's the short version."
"And the long version?" Veni chimed in immediately.
Our companions listen, but they don't butt in. Apparently, the similar helmets and the lack of shock told them something. Dartaola is stirring food in a pot, making me glance at the source of the pleasant smell.
"And the long version—the assault on the forest has begun. At the entrance to Ashenvale, there's an Undead base. To the north, in the forest—demons. They're just everywhere. I didn't risk flying in this zone before; my scouts were shot down. I see Doomguards, Infernals, Fel Reavers," I pointed in the direction where our 'frag' remained, "and other small fry. I haven't found the base yet; the forest is too big a place. It will take days to fly over it; I'll start now, after dinner."
Dartaola sighed.
"Holy, protect us... Search, we'll stand guard. Your work is arguably more important, Davilinia."
Everyone grasped the situation, and from then on, the Cranes moved quickly but much more cautiously. Fortunately, on this stretch, we aren't interesting to anyone. The demons are moving north, toward Nordrassil, toward Mount Hyjal. Because of this, the forest looks eerie from above when movement occurs among the crowns. After all, the source of the movement can be quite gargantuan in size.
But there's nothing for it; we need to go there. And once again, I thought about flying transport. Because there are simply no words for how much easier it would be to fly over the enemy, over the forest, over everyone. Well, we have to do it on foot, at great risk. Alas, I understand that there are at most a week or two left until the actual battle for Hyjal. And instead of building the dock, all forces will now be thrown into repairing the city. Even though the dock itself is about half-finished. But I see no point in judging them; in conditions where the Undead might return, repairs are a necessity. A dock won't help if the Undead pass through the destroyed Defensive Line and sweep the city away. The next day, we continued our journey. And then another day. And another.
As the Barrens began to turn into forest, the tracks became more numerous. Both Human and Orc camps, abandoned or burned. And clearings, and roads. Several bases were clearly destroyed by demons; the earth scorched by Fel and pieces of Infernals point to this. Corpses, of course, but few of them. The Scourge picks up and uses what it can. We burned another "meat-stitching circle" despite the risk. No one could hold back; it's an unspeakably disgusting sight.
"Just how many of them are there? You know, demons?" the Gnome asked, sitting behind me on the walker and looking around.
I didn't answer, because monitoring both the road and the mechanical scouts is difficult. The equally bored Venidan answered.
"As I understand it, this is the personal army of the archdemon, Archimonde the Defiler. His inner circle with their retinue. And the Undead from the Eastern Kingdoms as infantry."
"Sounds bad," Stan groaned, but Veni heard him.
"Yeah, it is," the Rogue agreed. "See the tracks over there, on the right? Guess whose they are?"
We looked at the massive prints in the ground. Truly massive, about five meters for the sole. Even though we hadn't seen such tracks before, it wasn't hard to guess. Stan groaned, clutching his head; Klanika flinched, hugging me tighter. A Fel Reaver, no matter how one reacts, left no one indifferent. I would have liked to hug someone too, but I have the control levers in my hands.
However, while hugging, the Gnome recovered from her fright quite quickly.
"Good thing DaVi is with us. I wouldn't want to meet those things again. And what are those," she pointed further, "huge hooves?"
And indeed. Besides the Fel Reaver tracks, hoof prints are visible. But these tracks must also belong to someone nearly ten meters tall. A Doomguard, presumably. And over there are paw prints, and more hooves, small ones. Demons passed through here. And although we haven't met any guards or Fel Reavers yet, we decided prudently to move out of their way.
An hour later, the walkers stepped onto Cursed Land, which something is spreading. I remember these traces; we've encountered them before. Again, slimy tentacle-strings that I remember from Silvermoon and Lordaeron. Presumably the work of the Skull of Gul'dan or a plague cauldron, as an option. I wonder if Illidan has already taken it, the skull? We could check. Although there's a Nathrezim hanging around there. Never mind, the five of us aren't going to crawl into THAT. I still don't know what to do with the energy of a skull containing pieces of Gul'dan's soul. And I'll get the Outland coordinates in Karazhan. We have another mission. No less difficult and important.
Progress became even slower once we were in the Elven forest. Yes, Fel infects, poisons, and wounds the trees; rot and stench drift from somewhere, and we, to avoid running into trouble unnecessarily, go slowly, through the backwoods. At night we hide among roots, in pits and caves, keeping fire to a minimum to attract as little attention as possible. This forest is dangerous, and we are already on edge; it's easy to make a mistake.
We can't get through entirely without a fight. The Night Elf forests are full of life, and Fel distorts that too. Furbolgs—humanoid bears; Moonkins—the same, but owls capable of magic. Wild cats. Many very large and angry wild cats, ranging in size from a leopard to a large tiger, because of which we stumbled upon a Satyr patrol. For a rather banal reason: when this cat jumped from a branch onto the walker, we screamed a little. No, later we stuffed it with spells, but first there was a yell. A cat the size of a tiger with huge fangs was very sudden, and I was too distracted by controlling the birds. And when it opened its maw and tried to bite off my face, I was a little surprised.
"Don't your birds detect beasts like that?" Klanika clarified. "He's terrifying, no words. And big. He'd swallow you and not even notice."
I shook my head. The journey is exhausting us, and even the initially cheerful Gnome is starting to get nervous and twitchy. But alas, I have nothing to cheer her up with.
"There are too many of them, and the magic in them is sparse. This forest is full of beasts, and the Cursed Land, as if from a plague cauldron, spreads, poisons, and hides them. Too many Infected targets. I try to look for movement, otherwise it's too difficult to cover a large territory. But I miss things; it's hard."
Our conversation was interrupted by a voice.
"Wre-e-e-e-e-tched mo-o-o-o-o-ortals. I will make you suffe-e-e-e-er!"
Five... Satyrs jumped onto the road. Literally furries! The bottom half is goat-like, with powerful hooves and a tufted tail. The top half is a Night Elf, only wildly bulked up, as is standard for the locals, and with a chest and shoulders overgrown with fur. The arms are abnormally large, with claws. They don't wear armor but are armed with long curved blades that slice through flesh perfectly. And horned, of course. Furries! Burn them! Burn them! Grenades are good too!
The Satyrs were finished in about five seconds. Not because we did anything complicated. Fragmentation grenades, and they had no armor. Did I put a drum-fed launcher on the Cranes for nothing? I think not. Given that we have two Cranes here. They were shredded, and those who survived were finished off by Veni with her bow, and with magic. Our Elf is a regular Legolas. She left her rifle at home to avoid making noise, in favor of a quieter and more familiar weapon. I stopped over the corpse of the senior Satyr, who was staring with empty eyes at the sky, and exhaled irritably.
"What was it you said? Wretched mortals? All that talk for nothing."
Klanika, giggling, parodied him.
"Wre-e-e-e-e-tched immo-o-o-o-ortals. But dead."
Veni laughed; Dartaola smiled too. Stan sighed.
"Maybe we should go before more show up?"
And we went on. Or rather, drove. Quietly and as inconspicuously as possible, trying not to run into Satyrs and demons. And the further we went, the more of them there were. As were their servants and corrupted beasts. The Satyrs are especially annoying. The corrupted Night Elves have corrupted ancient protectors.
Imagine you're making your way through the forest, no one around. You're going as quietly as possible so as not to attract the attention of the orderlies. Of the forest. Peace, quiet, birds singing, someone being slaughtered in the distance, judging by the screams. But that's far away and none of our business.
And then one of the trees you're approaching opens its eyes, looks at you, then rips out a neighboring tree and uses the resulting club to deliver a vertical strike that makes the earth shudder and leaves a pit. You are saved from immediate pounding into humus by the fact that the forest is full of trees three meters thick, so this sentient log physically cannot swing horizontally.
You remember that you have, after all, three mages here, and to the cheerful tune of "One-two-three! Little tree—burn!" you incinerate this sentient stump. Three golems also help, engaging the tree in close combat. Victory? Almost. Now, if you please, spend the next twenty-four hours merrily fleeing from a forest fire. The completely delighted Gnome dubbed this song the pyromancers' anthem and was extremely pleased.
And yes, we could have extinguished the fire, but the fight with the tree attracted new Satyrs and we decided that a fire was a good diversion. It worked; the Satyrs left us alone, though not immediately.
And two days later, a patrol of Night Elves found us. We had successfully escaped the fire, the Satyrs, and a crowd of Ghouls. It was decided not to engage in battle; the chance of attracting attention was too great. We leave our stone warriors to distract them while we take a direct route. We are a courier squad, not shock troops. Up to a certain point, this even worked and we relaxed a bit. Big mistake.
It all happened during a rest. Even if the territory is hostile, you still need to rest. In silence, without a fire, hiding in the roots of trees. All to attract as little attention as possible. As it turned out, we weren't hiding well enough. And these night ghouls know how to move completely silently. And read tracks.
One moment there's no one around. And a second later, a very impressive-looking black cat, the size of a well-fed tiger, jumped onto the grass in front of me. Three more like it appeared near the others. On their backs were Night Elves of the most brutal and imposing appearance, in plate armor, albeit incomplete, with three-bladed throwing stars. Their armor is something between plate and a plate-bikini. But the huge cats compensate for some of the absurdity of their outfit.
Noticing a rustle, I raised my head. And on the branches were... six more archers. These ones definitely reject clothing in favor of the plate-bikini. Or, in their case, a leather bikini. Knee-high boots, a very short skirt, something like a top on the chest, and a bow—that was their entire gear. Purple skin, blue hair, and eyes glowing white.
They silently surrounded our squad, not aiming, but holding their weapons ready, prepared to strike if anything happened. Perhaps I could have immobilized them, covered everything in ice... But not the ones sitting on the branches. While I was confident in my protection, I wasn't for the others. Of us, only Venidan managed to draw her weapon. After all, we're not great at being invisible. And our constant vigilance wasn't enough. We were tired, lost our focus, and now we're paying for it. And I need a ship. For now, though...
"Relax, Veni. They won't eviscerate us too painfully."
"Naziofis!" demanded the Huntress sitting on the huge cat. In general, it's clear what they want from us, although the language differs significantly from what was in Quel'Thalas.
While listening to her, I was also examining her. Impressive. I understand that the cat won't break a mana shield, but when you have the unfriendly face of a huge cat hovering thirty centimeters from your face, you're going to take it seriously. Because those teeth, those eyes opposite yours, do not invite humor.
"I'll try to negotiate," I said in Common, which the Night Elves likely don't know.
I said it for the Human and the Gnome. Then, with an effort, I raised my eyes to the Huntress looking down and clarified, trying to speak as clearly as possible:
"Humans and Orcs have already made peace against the demons?"
The Huntresses exchanged glances and began talking in their own tongue. I understood "Quel'dorei," which means High Elves, and that we don't look like demons. Finally, their leader demanded:
"Helmet. Off."
Not exactly like that, but I got the gist. Checking if we really are elves? Generally, I try not to do this, but if these are allies, then... In short, I took off the helmet. In response, the Huntress jumped lightly and silently from the cat, not even rustling the undergrowth, walked up carefully, peering into my face.
In return, I examined the one who approached. She is... beautiful. Two meters tall, a toned figure with clearly defined muscles. An athlete, a beauty, though not a comrade. Even Veni's figure looks neglected compared to this. The reason is clear: our Rogue likes to drink and relax, while this one clearly runs a cross-country marathon as a warm-up. And I'm certain she could run it and still be able to continue fighting. In short, I'm jealous of such fitness. I can lift a mana potion at most. A joke, of course, but not entirely. The difference between us is night and day.
And yet, her figure is also great. Again, not a beautiful dancer, but a proud and strong warrior, capable of crushing watermelons with her thighs. I've heard that's important to some. To me, it's important that they aren't trying to kill and eat me.
And even though I'm confident in my defense, the sight of a self-assured warrior commands respect and prevents me from doing anything stupid. She stopped, crouching and looking into my eyes. Her glowing white eyes and mine—I hope blue and not purple—met. Not in a staring contest, but simply examining each other. I'm curious what they're like—the Night Elves. To her... I don't know why I'm curious to her personally.
Plus her friends—a squad of battle-thugs on their haunches, sitting in the branches with bows. Finally, breaking the long silence, the Elf answered.
"Demon is enemy. Peace is made. You make fire, child? Here?" she pointed into the distance, from where we had come.
It seems she's talking about the fire. I nodded.
"Satyrs. Children of Xavius. Burned."
I don't know if she can understand the word "Satyr," but she reacted to the name "Xavius" and "burned." With a smile.
"Good. Come. I give guide, take to camp. Come, come."
The journey to Mount Hyjal took almost another week and a half. They did indeed provide us with a Huntress on a huge cat as a guide, which I was itching to pet. And I wanted to sketch her owner. The cat and I bonded over meat. I suspect the Elf saw everything and allowed it. I even took off my gauntlets for the occasion, making the Huntress grimace as she examined my hands.
Well, yeah, pale skin, bluish veins, no muscles to speak of—what's there to complain about? It's all for the cause. Although Dartaola was also displeased.
"You need to be in the sun more often, Davilinia. And pray to the Holy. This is not right at all."
But I just waved her off, scratching the huge fluffy beast. He's cool; I want one just like him. But I won't be able to draw him; I have nothing to draw on.
We spoke little, because the further we went, the tighter the circle of enemies became. And every word could attract unwanted attention. Demons and Scourge are combing the forest more actively, and there are more and more corrupted beasts. Once, a Harpy patrol spotted us, and we spent three days running from them. And from demons. And here even I didn't use the gauntlet, only controlling the mechanical birds—the risk was too great. Yes, we can kill a few demons, but that also means drawing the attention of an entire Scourge base with hundreds of souls, and we'd be lucky if it was just them. So no, we left quietly, or rather, we ran.
In the evenings, the Huntress trained with Venidan, who was cyber-humiliated in sword combat. I just spread my hands.
"A millennium of experience against your century. And hopefully, it's just one millennium."
Physically, our guide can only be matched by Dartaola. Tall, strong, and muscular. But with my reconnaissance data, which she quickly learned to use, shamelessly taking the helmet, we were quite successfully brought where we needed to go. To Mount Hyjal, where a major construction project was already in full swing. Orcs, Humans, Night Elves. Preparation of the Defensive Line is in full swing.
And at the top of the mountain stands Nordrassil—the world tree. The biggest thing I've seen in two lives, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. This tree is huge. Truly huge. It fills the sky, looming over everyone in this forest. It is the master here. It is the alpha and omega; it is like a Titan holding up the sky, just as colossal. I simply lack the words to describe this tree.
And in its shadow, at its roots, the final battle of this war awaits us. Very soon. For now—find and report to Jaina; the Systems Alliance base should be at the foot.
***
***
Read early on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan