Chapter 50 - Chapter 50

VVUUUUUUURRRRUUUVUUUURRRRRRRR!!!

Every time I hear the hum created by these guys, I'm reminded of Reapers. Low and heavy, penetrating to the core, literally making you shudder and cringe from the sensation of pressure. It's hard to resist the impulse; I can see it by looking at the sentients around me. Both the soldiers in the trench and the elves in the trees. They don't take a step back, but you can see them tensing up. And from this angle, you can't even see the damn robots. Just the sound and nothing more.

Another analogy—Imperial AT-ATs, the walkers from Hoth. A large machine, impractical, quite slow, vulnerable to attacks from the flank, top, and rear. But when these machines come at you in a line, ignoring the desperate fire of the defenders from the trenches, and attack back. It's a terrifying sight, capable of putting an enemy to flight. Through the sensation of helplessness. Inevitability.

We haven't reached that point in space yet, but those who have seen these machines in action will never underestimate them. Even a single Fel Reaver reaching your positions will bring a mass of destruction and death. All while never ceasing its howling, setting everything around it on fire. The Theramore base was destroyed very quickly. So quickly that the second base, the Horde one, was abandoned at the first sign of a mass attack by these mechs. They'd found a large enough staging area.

Now it was the Night Elves' turn. But there was nowhere left to retreat. We'd have to hold the line. My gauntlet clicked, changing operating modes—using all available firepower. What would I do without a "contact pair"...

"Fel Reavers again," Dartaola sighed, "the artillery should handle it. Remember, the Holy Light is with us! The Demons didn't pass before, and they won't pass this time. We will stand. There is no other way."

I snorted, trying to hide my anxiety. Dartaola was trying to cheer everyone up. But I could see she was doubting, too. I was doubting, too. It's one thing to destroy one Fel Reaver, another to destroy a dozen. The only hope was that a dozen wouldn't get through. We could handle a couple. Even with five, there was every chance, with the Wyverns and Mountain Giants. The problem was that the Legion had more than five. So the only hope was the insufficiently passable terrain.

"We'll stand, we have to," at that moment, instead of the Fel Reavers' hum, a collective howl of hundreds of gargoyle and bat throats rang out, "looks like the Demons decided to launch a coordinated attack. By land and air."

Forecasting the appearance of the gargoyles, a blizzard began to gather in the sky. Not too thick, but strong enough to ground them. A cold wind touched the trees, leaving frost on the leaves. Thunder crashed, then again and again. Then, instead of thunder, there was a sharp crackle of electricity. Visibility dropped; it was impossible to make out anything in the sky above the camp. Even magical vision helped little due to the high saturation of magic in this place. Everything here was radiating.

"Gargoyles in the rear!"

"There was no order, hold positions!" But I had my ice spears ready.

A roar suggested there weren't just gargoyles up there. You couldn't see over the forest, but the resonant crack of breaking wood and the "h-sh-sh-sh-sh" sound of exhaled icy breath said it clearly: there were also Frost Wyrms of the Undead here. The Demons didn't want to make this situation any easier. A dragon, even if it's an Undead dragon, is still a dragon.

"Frost Wyrm! Bring it down!" Jaina's order rang through the camp.

After that, lightning sparked in the sky amidst the blizzard. The thunder was quite respectable. Thrall must be up there. Presumably, he and the Wizard would handle the air defense. And we had local-scale problems. A frontal assault.

"They woke Jaina up; everyone's screwed," Venidan commented.

The joke was funny; I even giggled.

"Just don't tell her that. I saw Lady Jaina; she's very tired after these past few days."

"Quiet! Get ready, they're coming. On this mountain, there is no rest for the living or the dead!" Dartaola proclaimed.

With a whistle, all sorts of projectiles flew over the trenches. Burning barrels, ballista bolts, something else. They fell somewhere beyond the visible horizon—that is, down the mountain. Whether they hit or not wasn't visible, but most likely some would find their target. Even such seemingly useless, almost blind firing had a clear purpose.

The Fel Reavers had one problem that the Demons hadn't solved to this day. To move up a steep slope, they really needed traction. And given their size and mass, the problem was quite glaring. Artillery, even if it didn't penetrate the armor, simply pushed them down, causing them to slide. That's why the artillery was getting so much attention; the Demons were trying to ensure their most powerful weapon had a path to the high ground. Unsuccessfully, so far.

The drop-pods created a problem, but less than it might seem. One Grommash is worth a small army. We hadn't spoken since our last meeting in the camp. But I'd managed to see the Orc racing among the Demons to the scream of his axe and his own roars, literally hacking into the enemy ranks. And behind him raced some Paladin who was healing him. And, apparently, swearing at him in the process.

This pair was instantly carving out enemy commanders as soon as they appeared in sight. Leaving the rest of us with everything else crawling toward us. Ghouls, Abominations, Zombies, Demons of all sorts and kinds. And now, Fel Reavers. I'm actually curious—can Grommash take down a Fel Reaver single-handedly? I'm genuinely curious. Broxigar, after all, wounded Sargeras; a Fel Reaver is a much simpler opponent, by several orders of magnitude. If only we had more like that lunatic.

The difference between ordinary soldiers and heroes was more than visible. A soldier is a soldier. A Footman with a sword, an Orc Brute despite his immense strength—it's still a soldier with a weapon and in armor. Even if he could tear an ordinary human from my old Earth apart with pure physical strength. It's still rank-and-file, which in a few minutes would become the wall separating us from the wave of Undead and Demons. They make their contribution, a very important one, but they can't turn the tide of a battle.

And then there are individuals like Thrall, Grommash, Jaina, Tyrande. You can stomp them with a crowd of those same Footmen—you can stomp anyone; none of us are invincible. You can certainly stomp me, for that matter. Но Tyrande arranges a meteor shower, burning Demons and Undead from the air. Thrall and Jaina have currently deployed a storm front over the base, making the weather un-flyable for anything smaller than a dragon. And the lightning jumping through the storm strikes anything that didn't fall immediately.

Grommash, meanwhile, carves through Nathrezim almost single-handedly; you just have to keep healing and buffing him. An Orc with an axe, but what an Orc! His son can do quite a lot, too. By the way, an interesting question: how does he deal with the mental magic those bastards use so actively? I haven't noticed him suffering from it. But, generally, that is the difference between ordinary soldiers and those who, under the right conditions, inflict colossal damage.

Presumably, above them are characters of the level where such devastation is wrought without creating specific conditions, simply by the fact of personal power. Archimonde, for example. I'm currently in the first group, though not at the top. But that's only in perspective. Whether I'll grow into the second, I have no idea.

Again, a roar rang out, turning into a groan and a crunch. Everyone turned toward the noise. It turned out to be the skeleton of an Undead Frost Wyrm falling out of a cloud. Diving clumsily, clearly in an emergency, the dragon clipped a tree. In normal conditions, the bag of bones would have continued its flight in one piece, even if it took some damage. But it was already losing parts as it flew down, so this time the wing tore off. Its magical core in the skeleton's chest flickered but didn't hold. The one-winged carcass continued its crash, then slammed into the ground with a crack, shattering into a rain of bone.

That's exactly what I mean: create the conditions—and in a sky full of crashing lightning and a blizzard (which, by the way, had deployed over the trees without destroying them), nothing will survive. And yes, the sky is looking suspiciously red. Not good; it reeks of Fel.

"Shit," exhaled a soldier standing nearby looking at the sky, also noticing the change in lighting.

Everyone looked up as if on command; curses were heard. They were partially drowned out by the roar of the storm, partially by the giant robots climbing the mountain and being shelled by artillery.

"So your end has come, mortals. Fall before the inevitable, before fate! Today your world shall fall!" Archimonde proclaimed from somewhere.

And then, a violet vortex began to open in the sky. A BIG violet vortex. Demons have another method of delivering a Fel Reaver to the battlefield. Orbital—damn it—deployment right onto the enemy's head. Meaning ours. I'm actually curious why they didn't do this sooner. Was there no warlock of sufficient power available? Doesn't matter. What matters is that a huge green asteroid dropped out of the portal in the sky and hurtled toward us, leaving a bright smoky trail. And from numerous smaller vortexes—infernal meteors. Closer, closer, and closer. More and more. I wouldn't be surprised if Archimonde himself is the one casting.

And if the hum of the Fel Reavers just made everyone tense up, the prospect of a direct hit caused a bit of a panic.

"Everyone prepare for the blast!"

"Take cover! Fast!"

The archers jumped from the branches, literally showering down from them into the trenches. Venidan was beside me in one leap:

"Davi, hey! Get down!" and we hit the bottom of the trench.

A huge projectile burning with green fire streaked overhead, followed by a long flaming trail. Say what you will, but it's hard to miss a fireball the size of a large private house. For a second, it became the main source of light in Nordrassil's shadow.

And then the earth shook, everything around trembled, roared, and creaked, and we were tossed by the force of the impact. A wave of green flame covered the sky. The trenches turned into corridors with a glowing ceiling; if you raised your head, the burning torrent would instantly incinerate it. The roar and rumble deafened even through the helmet, forcing us to press into the floor of the trench with all our might. Just to avoid touching that cursed—in every sense—explosion. The heat scorched my back, carrying danger and forcing me to press down, though where else was there to go—into the ground even tighter.

From all this, the upper part of the shelters first dried out instantly and then rapidly began to melt. Moreover, the sentients hiding here began to wheeze, struggling for air. It was easier for Dartaola, Venidan, and me; our helmets had long had a supply for breathing. But it was still hot; steam even started rising from my cloak. Finally, the fire above our heads began to subside, and we slowly rose.

The fire front is rapidly dissipating. The tree right next to us is dead. It dropped what remained of its arm-branches and froze, a bright and very hot torch.

"Well, that really was a hell of a hit," Venidan mused.

I nodded.

"Yeah. And something tells me this isn't a routine attack."

Dartaola tried to be encouraging, but it came out poorly.

"We will become the barrier in the path of darkness, one way or another. Now is not the time for cowardice. We will protect our world."

"We have to."

After long seconds, the blazing wall thinned enough that it was safe to examine the world around us. There, among the trunks of trees and Ancients burning with yellow-green flame. Among the ground, melted for a couple of hundred meters around. Stood he. A Fel Reaver. Standing like a classic Demon amidst a fiery inferno. Only not red-yellow, but yellow-green, acidic. Where everything that burns—burns with green flame. And what doesn't burn—emits waves of heat, boils, and cracks. The blast site had turned into a literal branch of hell. And a crater remained at the point of impact; the trenches had collapsed. A haze rose over the scorched earth. A significant part of the defensive line, if not destroyed, was seriously thinned.

"VVUUUUUUURRRRUUUVUUUURRRRRRRR!!!" the giant proclaimed victoriously, turning its head and looking around.

Shit. Switching gauntlet modes! I need something more powerful here. Immediately. Especially since, looking toward the slope, I noticed movement. They aren't attacking yet, but they're already gathering in dense groups to make a push. There's no artillery—I'd be surprised if the mines survived such a blast—and the Ancient Protectors are finished. The Demons have every chance of breaking through.

The giant turned toward the Mountain Giants rushing toward it over the molten earth, unhurriedly wound up, and threw a fist forward. The air around the fist shuddered, demonstrating the effect of a power hammer. The upper torso of the nearest stone giant exploded deafeningly into a shrapnel of gravel, and he fell onto his back, losing his arm and club. Yes, that is definitely a power hammer.

And while I'm worried about the Fel Reaver, Dartaola is looking in the other direction. Toward the slope, where the main blow will come from. Yes, this is just the warm-up, in every sense.

"They're coming! Everyone get ready!"

Turning and hovering slightly, I could see crowds of Undead and Demons racing toward us up the slope. Ghouls, Felhunters, moving in a solid carpet over the ground; Doomguards flying. And a Pit Lord. And a Lich. They, of course, used what happened to start the attack while avoiding the shelling.

The soldiers rose to the edge of the trench. The marksmen to give a volley at the beasts, and the swordsmen to replace them and stop the Undead. After all, a sword against a Ghoul is still better than a rifle. Simply because the creatures don't give a damn about pain, and even losing limbs isn't an excuse. Though conventions, like the fact that Undead without a head usually die... we'll chalk that up to Necromancer stupidity.

In any case, the soldiers approached the edge of the trench and lined up in two rows.

"Ready... volley!"

The marksmen fired their rifles in sync. Not very effective, but they'd do some damage. Ghouls have their heads in front, and Demons often don't wear armor.

"Ready... volley!"

Shot after shot, some of the creatures began to fall. Not enough.

"Blades... ready!"

The swordsmen stepped forward, climbing to the top of the trench, while the marksmen took positions on the other side. Not the best solution, but now, to get to the marksmen, the Undead had to pass both the line of swords and the trench. Alas, an adequate tactic against a horde using trenches instead of walls hasn't been invented yet. Everything is at the level of: Human soldiers with shields stop the creatures. The second row—Orcs, children of the forest, Treants, anything that has less protection but can strike. And behind them—marksmen, hitting where the swordsmen can't cope. Good thing that's not all we can show in this situation.

"The Goddess is with us, sisters!"

The familiar presence of something unseen, confident, and blobs of energy falling from the heavens began to burn the Demons and the dead. Looking around briefly, I easily found the priestess sitting on a white tiger, hands raised to the sky. And the sky answered her with a starfall, the symbol of the moon over her hands, and a surge of confidence. Truly, children of the stars and their goddess. It seemed a moon had appeared in the sky, even though it was daytime.

"Andu-falah-dor!"

And there, the Night Elf leaders were moving. Strings struck out in all directions; the previously scorched earth began to rapidly come to life, as if the Fel Reaver had never been there. But that was only the first sign of the Archdruid's presence—a side effect, so to speak. Powerful, no doubt; he didn't grow those stag antlers for nothing.

From the forest behind, about three hundred meters away, both small Treants and full-sized Ancient Protectors began to detach. They stepped forward heavily, standing as a living wall in the path of the attackers, plugging the holes in the defense left by the explosion.

"The biggest one is mine!" and there was Grommash, with a Paladin running behind him, swinging a hammer.

"Stop charging into the thick of it, in the name of the Holy Light! You don't have a Divine Shield, you can't hold auras, you stupid animal!" shouted the clearly sweating Human warrior in heavy plate.

The Orc laughed.

"Then don't sleep, iron-man! Or should I kick you to make you move? You were assigned to me to help, so get moving!" the Orc roared back indignantly.

The cheerful pair vaulted over the trenches and raced toward the Pit Lord, howling the Warsong Clan battle cry. I already pity the Demon; Grommash won't let him be.

"Well, at least they'll keep that guy busy," Venidan giggled, "I heard he's been carving up Demon commanders left and right. Makes it easier for us."

I nodded.

"I heard that, too; Grommash decided to personally cut down the strongest opponents. Though at least now he goes to the Mages for elemental shields instead of checking his fire resistance with a bare chest."

Dartaola noted in a didactic tone:

"He has learned the price of caution. Watch out!" we ducked as a boulder the size of a minibus flew over the trench, "we should remember that, too."

I snorted at that, keeping the Uomo Universale ready. The boulder was clearly part of a Mountain Giant.

"If they don't finish it, I'll have to put it to rest."

The earth trembles from the steps and blows of the giants on both sides. And I'm not sure where to look. Against the backdrop of the charging armies, the Fel Reaver and three Mountain Giants are brawling. I thought about it... and didn't fire. They're handling it well enough on their own. And I'll still need my Mana in the very near future.

After the first lost brother, two giants began to work over the Fel Reaver... with logs, yes. In the giants' hands, they're clubs. But really, they're the trunks of centuries-old trees, their branches stripped with a single motion of a mighty hand. The blows are heavy enough that a log to the knee made the Fel Reaver drop to it. And, it seemed, it wouldn't get up again; the joint was bent. A volley of Fel fireballs scorched the Mountain Giant, but he's stone and just got slightly charred and melted.

Instead, three giants began to naturally beat the Fel Reaver. They broke the second knee, and then the arm, which snapped at the joint, spilling green sludge in all directions. But even so, the Demonic giant is in no hurry to die. It raised its second arm, and the air around it shuddered. It threw it forward, into the chest of a Mountain Giant. And from the impulse, that one again exploded into shrapnel, and the giant, cut into halves, collapsed with the roar of a landslide where he stood. However, that was the last thing the Fel Reaver did, as a club landed on the arm, breaking it, too. The blows continued.

There was no time to watch the further beating. Thunder rolls, the earth shakes, the first Demons and dead are already a hundred meters from us. Ice wave! And spikes. And ice spears. Someone had already cast a blizzard; the visibility dropped sharply from the density of the ice storm, and frost began to rapidly grow on the attackers. The previously baked earth cooled quickly. Venidan leaned out of the trench and began to fire her rifle rapidly.

"Dartaola, I'm behind you."

"I'll cover you," the Paladin agreed, "someone has to protect the younger ones."

I snorted but didn't argue. She was within her rights. Because the first ranks of creatures were already here. The Paladin nodded once more, then lit up with Holy Light:

"THE HOLY LIGHT SHALL PUNISH YOU!"

Her two-handed sword flared, wings appeared behind her back, and a fiery aura appeared around her body, scorching me, too. The Void in my blood, of course. Not only did I recoil, but so did the first ranks of monsters charging at us. But the armor of the soldiers nearby glowed slightly, showing the work of a protection aura. Now they would be a bit tougher, and their weapons would strike "evil" a bit better.

The distorted figures of Ghouls, the owners of flayed skulls—Felhunters—stumbled, slowed down, but then howled again and rushed forward with even greater fury.

Yes, you definitely qualify as "evil." Though I, when pumped with the Void, qualify too, I guess. Alright, my turn to join the fight; they're close enough.

"Ice wave. Magical Arrows. And a Void arrow as the gauntlet formation."

The first row was frozen to the waist in ice, which Dartaola took advantage of, closing in on the Ghouls in one leap and bringing down her two-handed sword. An Abomination tried to throw a hook with its fat arm and grab the arrogant Paladin, but Venidan's shot to the eye ruined the Undead's aim. I added my own, so it went blind and started attacking everyone around it. Dartaola finished it off, bringing her blade down on the Abomination, cleaving the creature from shoulder to waist. The creature fell apart, releasing a cloud of green gas. But the Paladin was already gone by then.

"Keep going!"

We're doing well. Freeze the targets with an ice wave or spears, then let the Paladin hack them with the Holy Light. We have to act carefully, over the heads of the soldiers who stand as a wall in the path of the creatures. But our section is holding well; we're managing. If nothing changes, we'll withstand this wave, too.

And in the sky, a rather large flock of gargoyles and some Demonic flying filth resembling bats. Orcs on Wyverns and Trolls on their bats came out against them. But they're fighting quite high up, so we're left only to finish off the surviving creatures that fall from the sky. And the new and new creatures crawling along the ground.

And against all of this, a motley crew of Humans, Elves, Orcs, Taurens, Elven Druids in Bear Form, half-elf-half-deer Dryads, Elven marksmen and Priestesses, Dwarves, and Gnomes holds the line. Stars fall from the heavens from Tyrande; behind us are Mountain Giants, Treants, and Ancients. The full power of Azeroth.

From behind the slope, the heads of Fel Reavers appeared. And a second Commander of the demons. Now that was something new; until now, the Pit Lords had traveled alone. And a pair consisting of a Pit Lord and a Lich was a first here.

"This will be a magnificent slaughter!" the Pit Lord shouted, spinning a massive twin-bladed spear in his hands and extending it like a staff.

A green beam erupted from the tip of the spear, tracing a line across the defenders' positions. Several burned. With a laugh, the Demon charged forward, heedless of the path, trampling everyone under his four limbs, including his own.

"Feel the cold of death!" echoed the Lich flying behind him, throwing up his hands, in which a blue sphere glowed.

The marksmen and huntresses in the trees were blanketed by a wave of icicles. The Night Elves, lacking proper protection, had a hard time. Sharp icy shards cut them, wounded them, and knocked the weakest from the trees.

"For the Warsong Clan, you freaks!" Grommash, noticing a new target, broke away from the furious annihilation of demon swordsmen, of whom a decent pile had already gathered around him—all hacked, eviscerated, and drenching the area in green gore.

The furious Orc charged at the Pit Lord with a howl. The Pit Lord laughingly leveled his spear but was forced to shield himself from a Paladin's flash of Holy light.

"The Holy light shall punish you, monster!"

The Demon roared with laughter, spreading his wings and looking at his new target. The Orc immediately took advantage of this to slip under the spear and hack the Demon's arm with his axe. The monster didn't drop the spear, but the wound was clearly unpleasant. The Paladin blinded the Pit Lord again, and the axe buried itself in the side of the massive beast. Alright, they have everything under control there.

An icy wind swept across the ground, chilling to the bone, forcing me to focus on the Lich. And I... I recognized you, parasite. Deathfrost! Your bony mug was more than well-remembered from the escape from the Necropolis. This time, your boss isn't here. And I can discharge my gauntlets into you.

The earth shuddered; the Fel Reavers had already risen to their shoulders. They were climbing. But why was the artillery silent? I turned around to see... a scorched, molten field. The landing of a Fel Reaver had incinerated the artillery in this sector; there was simply nothing left to attack with. Well then, that means...

"Infernals! Get down!"

I dropped sharply to one knee, covering myself with barriers. A stone meteor crashed right by the trench; a second one hit further north. Right onto a formation of Footmen, crushing them. Some were tossed aside, some were blinded, many were wounded. The screams and groans of burned Humans were more than telling. Especially when the Infernal turned around, trampling the wounded with its heavy bulk and finishing them off with powerful blows of its fists.

BOOM!

"Fire! Fire! Kill the beasts!" there was more about legs they couldn't feel, and rasping breaths.

But I was too tired to be afraid and simply tried not to listen, focusing on the enemies. The faster we destroy them, the fewer people will suffer. Armor doesn't do much to stop those with stone fists and heavy stone legs. Even if it doesn't penetrate—a concussion is guaranteed, at best.

I discharged magical arrows and spikes by ear, as the flash of green flame briefly blinded me, burning my cloak. I had to shed it; it was a good thing, after all, that I left the Cloak in the camp. I would have missed that one. All the shots hit the stone figure looming over me. The glowing green dots of its eyes expressed nothing but focus on the target directly in front of it. On me.

"Billy, go!" my stone warrior took the blow, receiving a solid dose of Mana.

He could handle one enemy while I dealt with the Fel Reavers. Time was wasting; they were getting higher with every step. The Infernal recoiled from a blow to its stone chest and tried to defend itself, but an accelerated Elemental is simply better in hand-to-hand combat. Thanks to Venidan and her training for that. Let's see how a primitive boulder handles this.

Specifically, something you wouldn't expect at all from a living rock that fundamentally stands firm on the ground. A sudden kick to the knee shattered the Infernal's joint; it didn't even try to cover it. The demonic golem wavered and began to topple, losing all initiative. A straight right. A left hook. A low punch. A right hook. Billy's strikes are quite slow, but he hammered the off-balance opponent into the ground with the methodical rhythm of a blacksmith's hammer. After that, he deliberately stepped on its head, finally crushing it into gravel. The stone figure went still, and Billy moved toward a new target. Wonderful, I've bought some time and gained a window for a shot; it's time!

Analytical module, start the pump. There are only four Fel Reavers; if I try hard—I'll spend the concentrate, but I'll burn them all. I just need a little time to charge the equipment.

"Cover me, I'm taking down the Fel Reavers!"

A sphere of energy began to form in the gauntlet opposite my fingers as I dropped to one knee, aiming at the Fel Reaver's chest that had just opened up. At the grate, just like last time.

"Protect her!" oh, Venidan is here, stopping nearby and firing at the nearest Demon.

It was a Doomguard, a good old devil with wings, an ugly face, hooves, and red skin. Though Veni seemed to have moved higher to fire from a better position.

Did she notice the gauntlet charging? Well, I'm certainly not against it. Ahead, Dartaola is dashing around in a white flash, making ten-meter leaps and swinging a flaming greatsword, drawing attention to herself. To the attackers, the Holy light is like a red rag to a colorblind bull. And the demons noticed the glow of the charging weapon too.

A hulking bear covered in runes on the left and a pair of Footmen with swords drawn on the right wouldn't be redundant at all. Nor would Veni, standing with her rifle and firing it quite loudly. With a swipe of its paw, the bear simply swiped away a Ghoul's snarling maw along with half its skull. The corpse dropped where it stood. Roots entwined a Doomguard, pulling him toward the ground and forcing him to his knees. A Human soldier didn't miss the moment and took off his head with a blade. Good job, I believe in you.

Charging... complete. Arcana-Holy. Piercing. Ready!

"And even though I know you're a replica, I don't care! Uomo Universale!"

The recoil jolted my arm as the sphere streaked like a white projectile over the heads of the dead and entered the chest cavity of the far-left Fel Reaver, right into the Fel-boiling grate. They really do die in an amusing way from a hit like that. Apparently, the internal pressure spikes, causing the mechanism to freeze, after which Fel begins to pour from every crack. A few seconds in that position, with liquid pouring from the grate, and then the giant begins to topple onto its back. In this case, it fell somewhere beyond the horizon of the slope, but it crashed so loudly that everyone heard it.

"One down. Three left."

Venidan slapped my shoulder.

"Good job, we're covering you."

It's nice to be appreciated. And I also drew attention from the other side of the front. If the Pit Lord had already done his part, and Grommash had plunged back into the demons, then I locked eyes with the Lich. I think I noticed genuine surprise on that bare skull. Venidan fired a few shots, but the Lich didn't even notice them, continuing to study me. He did, however, send icy spears toward the shots; the Rogue dodged without trouble.

"Those gauntlets..." Deathfrost muttered, "You! It was you!"

Well yeah, he saw them when I bolted through the portal. I tried to answer loudly to be heard over the noise, and as provocatively as possible. My elemental shields are good; I can entertain him for a while. He won't let me hit the Fel Reavers anyway.

"Hi, bonehead. How's it going?"

The Lich froze in shock, hovering fifty meters from me and about five meters above the attackers. Clenching his fists, he looked exactly at me. Even though he was far away, I could hear his words very clearly, as if he were right next to me. A form of telepathy? Interesting; after all, many types of Undead simply don't have a vocal apparatus.

This one certainly doesn't—a bare skull with tusks fused to it. And yet I hear a voice, very clearly, even at a great distance. I hear surprise and rage.

"Yoooou. Insignificant mortal who destroyed my work! Wretched creature because of whom the Master is displeased with me! I was punished because of your insane insolence!"

Keep talking, keep talking; I just need to prepare a spell. Pyroblast? Let's see how you like this. A boulder of fire slammed into the Lich's shield, splashing in an explosion. When it dissipated... he didn't even look singed. But he looked even angrier. He pointed a finger straight at me and declared:

"How dare you! Mortal cur, you are unworthy of even a moment of my greatness reflected in eternity! I will kill you, capture your soul, and give it to the Master so that you may know an entire eternity of loneliness and endless torment! Die! Die! Drop dead!"

It's almost a shame I decided to save Mana for the Fel Reavers. Otherwise, there won't be enough for everyone. Mana or strength.

"I'll outlive you..." I tossed out right before Teleporting, feeling the tension of strings stretching exactly to where I stood.

Blink! Behind me, an icy flower of a Frost Nova bloomed with a screech, crushing soldiers. Judging by the screams, they were hit hard, but I didn't have time to react. Fireball, you bastard! Another flash of the shield, another time the Lich looked as good as new. As if on command, the nearest Felhunters rushed right here, with little flowers on their tentacles—though why "as if"... But immediately, an unnatural weakness began to wash over my body. Void arrows, use the Void.

"Billy!" the Elemental will entertain these dogs.

Frost Nova! Don't you dare eat my Mana, you bastards! A Doomguard dropped from the air, swinging his blade. Right onto an icy spike that thrust forcefully out of the ground. Before he could attack, the Demon found himself impaled. An icy wind chills to the bone, as does the Lich's laughter. Cold, not death. A lie, not a friend. I ignored the voice. The Lich spoke raspingly and even slightly bored:

"Try harder, mortal. Try, but suffer defeat. Know despair."

I found a moment to look around. Undead and demons were running all around; they had clearly pushed through the first line of defense. The battle was ongoing, but I found myself far from my own. The Lich had turned the contents of the trench into icy spikes and mincemeat with several Frost Novas. Only Venidan was nearby; she had dropped her rifle—it wasn't clear which one it was by now—switching to twin blades. And she was fighting quite vigorously with a warrior woman in a chainmail bikini. They look so much alike, don't they? No. But I think they look alike. Identical, I would say. Agreed. And me.

The Succubus was also wielding two blades, almost dancing, wearing the classic minimum of armor for this type of Demon. But that didn't hinder her; it even helped her move in the dance, creating an almost solid wall of blades with the two swords. One that Venidan wouldn't break through easily. But I, with the help of a power hammer—no problem. Hit the one on the right! Kill her! No, she's my friend. Traitor! No!

"Thunderfist!" and the Succubus disintegrated into a red-green mist.

Venidan gave a short nod, choosing a new target and jumping back to avoid the Lich's icy spears. I couldn't see where Dartaola had gone, and I didn't have time for her now. We needed to fight off these freaks.

"No chance, mortal," the Lich remarked, as if reading my thoughts, "you kill one, ten, a hundred. But the Master's armies are innumerable. Sooner or later, your strength will leave you. And then you will fall, consumed by despair. You will be in our power."

I only snorted; there was no time for more. Venidan and Billy were barely managing to move behind me, fortunately for everyone around, the main target was me. And the constant Frost Novas and walls of spikes created decent rough terrain, which complicated the battle for the enemy. I'm levitating, but for them, it's slippery and they have to bypass the spikes.

The problem was that the Fel Reaver had incinerated the scout bird during the explosion, and so much was running, exploding, and storming with a blizzard around that it was difficult to determine direction even with magical vision. I had to move at random, but not too far, so as not to lose Veni. And that also meant that the damn Lich wasn't losing me. Use our power; it will give you the necessary time. Time until the real savior arrives.

"Life will find a way, corpse. I escaped you once."

A rasping laugh followed.

"Not this time, Elf. Not this time. You can try as much as you want; the result will be the same. No one will save you; no one will come to your aid."

Blink-Frost Nova-spikes, Frostbolts. Arcane arrows. Purple flashes hit the Harpies in the sky, knocking some down and driving the rest away. But new green beams hit my body, along with a wave of weakness. Dogs again. Die! Void arrows from both hands. Right now, the main thing is to survive. The right approach. But until you kill the Elf, none of this will end.

"I won't kill my friend!" the voices laughed.

Are you sure about that? What if she is an enemy?

"Yes, damn voice! Yes!"

Concentrate—inject. And icy spears, all the dogs will get it! Skulls pierced by long icicles, these beasts were laid to rest, but new ones were crawling out. With a crunch, an icy flower of a Frost Nova bloomed around my body. Magical arrows flew at the Lich, but he only burst out laughing. It seems he uses the same shields as I do. And until his Mana runs out, he takes almost no damage... or none at all.

"Such is the Master's mercy, mortal. Immortality and magical power! Continue the battle; you're doing wonderfully. I'm curious how long you'll last!"

Venidan was nearby again, blocking a Doomguard's strike.

"Not so fast!" right now the Elf was focused, trying to withstand the attacks of the numerous enemies swarming from the air.

If it weren't for the damn dogs, of which there are plenty here, I'd be chasing you until evening. But more and more green beams of Mana Drain... It's getting hard. Fatigue is accumulating; it's inevitable. If there were a little less Mana in this storm, I could orient myself. But as it is, I have to move blindly. Because you're looking in the wrong place. You don't want to listen. You don't want to see. I do, but the voices in my head are interfering. Suggest something useful. We are. You're not listening. I. Will. Not. Betray. My friend. You can only betray a friend. He who has ears, let him hear. He who has eyes, let him see. And you weren't even given a bribe not to hear and not to see.

Blink toward the defenders, this time another trench full of laid-to-rest Ghouls and torn-apart soldiers. A Frost Nova with spikes, magical arrows, and a Fireball at the Lich. It's getting harder. Goddamn dogs! Another Doomguard caught a Void arrow in the chest, causing him to fall as if poleaxed, and a second one—a Thunderfist. Venidan killed an Abomination, cutting off its head.

And yet, this isn't a victory. The power hammer also feeds on my Mana. And even though it's not a spell, it consumes it. You refuse to listen, and you will suffer defeat. I will not betray my own!

"Moving."

Veni shouted, fighting off a Felhunter:

"Got it! Go! I'm right behind you!"

Blink-wave-arrows-Fireball. And yet the Lich is hardly participating in the battle, attacking others and only occasionally throwing a Frost Nova. The main contribution is made by... Oh, the Mana Shield was shattered by the blow of an Abomination's cleaver, which interrupted my levitation; I found myself on the ground. A doll.

"Shall we play?" the monster asked, smiling a stupid smile.

A Void arrow to the face, a Thunderfist to the stomach; with a grunt, the Abomination began to topple onto its back. We played. Ghouls were impaled on icy spikes. If they didn't die, they couldn't move. I can continue. The concentrate is boiling in my blood; power pours out in another Frost Nova. Casting a storm is dangerous—I'll draw attention, and the dogs will drain my Mana. Plus, there's no time to pump the pulse; I have to keep moving constantly instead of shooting.

Venidan is here; we're together, back to back. Dead archers, go to hell where you belong!

Wave! Just end already, you bastards!

"Veni, how are you?"

The Rogue exhaled with effort:

"I'll live. We need to find our own, or we'll just end up lying here."

Agreed. This snide humorist with a huge supply of Mana is annoying me. Catch another Pyroblast. And a Fireball! And Burning!

"Well, you really are quite strong," the Lich chuckled, "even too much so for an ordinary mortal. However... I'm not the only one who wishes to meet you."

An unexpected blow to the back didn't break the Mana Shield, but it was strong enough on its own to knock me to one knee. Behind my back stands and smiles the insignificant Sayaad who dared to play with us. The one whose life you spared.

And then came the pain. But the shield... Fel! Or poison? In any case, weakness began to spread across my back; my back began to go numb. What the? From where, why?

The injector in the gauntlet triggered automatically, releasing a healing potion into my blood. It got a little better, but not entirely. Turning around, I noticed Venidan with a bloody dagger. What? Why did she do that?

"Stop..."

That's not her dagger; I know the Rogue's weapon. And that's not her weapon. And she doesn't coat her blades with Fel.

It took me a whole second to realize from the predatory smile and the intrusive advice of the Void... Not Venidan. All this time, it wasn't her... She wasn't killing demons, only crossing blades with them... Crap. Demons and their mental magic! She probably messed up my vision too, interfering with my orientation using illusions. That's why everything around is so saturated with Mana.

"You beast. A Sayaad, right? You're a bit small for a Nathrezim. And I don't think the Lich would use one of them as a backup. It's just beneath him."

Not-Venidan smiled broadly, and a ripple ran across her body, which quickly shifted, changing her appearance. Her skin became bright pink with a reddish tint. Wings and hooves appeared; most of her clothes dissolved, changing into a short mini-skirt and a chainmail bikini with bracers. Two things didn't change. Her face, which remained exactly like the Elf's, only expressing a brazen mockery. And the dagger, which the demoness ran her tongue over, licking off the blood. A long, very long tongue. The Fel on the knife flared up, and the Succubus let out a slight moan of pleasure.

I didn't do anything stupid like trying to smash her face under the Lich's cover. Even if I wanted to. She has a knife in one hand and a saber in the other. I know a bit about the theory of illusions, and if she didn't know how to swing a weapon like that, she wouldn't have been able to show it naturally. I'm not in a position to test the strength of my shields against such a weapon, clearly in the hands of an experienced fencer. The Succubus, clearly expecting an attack, clicked her tongue in disappointment. But she quickly recovered and smiled broadly, tucking the dagger behind her belt.

"You're too quick, toy. The poison will immobilize you, rob you of your strength, but it won't kill you. You can't run. Not from meeeee," she sang the last word, smiling and tilting her head, "understand? The more actively you move, the faster you'll lose your strength. So, dear, shall we dance?"

The Succubus gestured to stall a Doomguard who had noticed us and tried to charge me. But then he jerked anyway, moving forward and ignoring her demand. Suddenly he fell, decapitated. And the demoness shook the blood from her blade, then picked up the severed pig-snouted head and licked it. Gross! Why don't you just kiss him! Gross, that was metaphorical! Pervert.

"Oh, don't hurry; this is my new little toy, not yours," she informed the head of the other Demon in a melodic voice, allowing me to switch to the power hammer, then looked at me, "so brazen and self-assured. I like you. How about coming with me? I promise I'll be gentle... the first time... If you beg me hard enough, your new, beloved mistress."

She almost whispered the last part, with a look that didn't bode well. She'll devour me. Except... a dream came to mind. Xal'atath and her methods came to mind. Losing everything. Defeat. To surrender is to suffer defeat. Final defeat. No!

Ignoring the weakness, I threw up my hand, and the Succubus flipped backward. The air shuddered; a scream rang out... turning into a moan of pleasure. The Succubus was hit by the pulse at the end of its range, which stripped away her skin, clothes, and some muscle as if with sandpaper. But what would have put a Human out of commission for six months only made the Demon emit a half-scream, half-moan. White fluid poured from ruptured vessels, and the red meat doesn't stand out so much against the red skin. Though the demoness doesn't look pretty anymore, of course. Trembling with pleasure, she moaned:

"Exquisite, yes... Oh yes... You know, dear, when we play together..."

The ground under my feet jerked with an icy spike, and the second pulse of the gauntlet went wide. I had to distract myself from the creature in favor of the others present. Specifically the Lich, who was clearly sharply against an attack on his colleague. Though one shouldn't forget about his girlfriend herself, who had already begun to regenerate. Having peppered two more Harpies with icy spears, I turned to the Succubus slowly walking toward me. She's walking with a hip sway, so to speak, like she's on a catwalk, not clattering her hooves on an icy field.

But she stopped about eight meters away, beyond the range of my weapon. And yes, I still have Void arrows, don't worry you chicken, I'll pepper you with them now. Sayaad are vulnerable to our power. I don't doubt it. Especially if the front half of her body still hasn't recovered. Though even so, she's only covered by skin. She was; now she isn't. Although the sight of flayed meat doesn't evoke any thoughts in me at all; I'm not a fan of steaks with blood.

I need to buy some time.

"Is that all you've come up with, Lich? A dangerous trap, I agree. And then what?" I have to hide the fact that the poison, and the Mana-draining attacks, are still working behind my mockery.

I'm just stalling for time, trying to figure out where the hell to go. Refresh shields, magical buffs, all that. Because of the blizzard—and the Lich clearly created it himself—it's difficult to determine. And it's also very cold. It looks like I'm about to get sick. The dead man, watching the proceedings from above, laughed.

"Such is the Master's will. I would have preferred to simply kill you and bring you back as Undead. A possessor of such magical potential would have made a good servant, despite everything you've done. But Lord Archimonde desires that for everything committed against the Burning Legion, you shall know unthinkable suffering. And so it shall be."

The demoness smiled, licking her lips with her fangs. They had already regenerated, so she licked off the remains of ichor and her own green blood. Her torso hadn't yet, though; there were still bare muscles there. And her clothes hadn't restored themselves, though I don't think a Succubus would be bothered by such trifles.

"And I will become your jailer. The Master said that I will experience all the suffering that you don't receive," she almost whispered the last part with visible desire, "if I like you, I might end up beside you. And we will be, lying together, you and I, receiving all the Master's conceivable and inconceivable gifts... We'll be good together, my little cruel toy... I suggest you agree; you won't get a better offer anyway. We'll be good together; we'll spend eternity together..."

Yeah, right. I have enough Mana. An icy barrier formed around me to block the Mana Drain of the damn dogs. I already hate them; the fatigue their influence brings is not cured by the concentrate. And fatigue interferes with concentration.

"Try to take me first."

She somehow burned off most of the Fel on her face and now looks like she's just smeared in something green. This time the demoness bared her teeth, unfurling a spiked whip previously coiled in a ring, with Fel dripping from its spikes.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Mana-eater!"

The barrier on the left shattered, showering me with shards, and right in front of me was the maw of a Felhunter. A dog the size of a lion, whose head is a bare skull, stripped of skin and meat, with eyeballs set directly into it. The tentacles for sucking Mana didn't fit through the hole, but the tooth-filled maw snapped dangerously close to the shield. I jerked my hand up, discharging the power hammer into its face, receiving a rain of bone fragments as well. Now I definitely need to wash. After that, I froze the hole. I need to recover; I need protection. My strength is fading, you bastards!

"Now why did you do that to him?" the demoness inquired in her most innocent voice, "now he has to wait until he recovers."

The Lich cut into the conversation.

"Your Mana is coming to an end, mortal; I see it. How long will you last? You can't escape; if you could, you would have done so already. Don't waste my time with a senseless flight."

Well, he's not lying there. I won't be able to Blink into the sunset, not with such a tail and Mana-eaters. That means I'll struggle a bit more. The voices said something about salvation there. And that I need to hold out a bit longer. The main thing is to close up after every Blink from the damn dogs, or it won't end well. But I can handle that; my frost control is enough.

"Long enough. I don't intend to make your job easy."

Alas, I'm almost certain—there's no getting out of the trap so easily. And that means... Switching seals. Void. If I don't get out, I'll at least take you with me, you bastards. The cylinder of the power hammer's charger began to change color from a steady blue to purple.

Blink. A moment, and I'm already in the Succubus's strike zone. Thunderfist. With a hum, the hammer discharged, turning the Succubus's body into a fleshy haze, and her head hit the ground. She's looking with clear surprise. I wonder what it's like: realizing that your soul is being torn apart by Void energy. That you won't return. Quite agonizing...

"Don't play with your food."

I hit women and children because I'm handsome, because I'm stronger... Shut up. I'm a child too, if you've forgotten. But I think it turned out funny. Yes, a curious song. Where did you get that?

Now, shut down the "Invasion" in my head, right now! We're busy here!

There will be consequences for what I did, of course. Active use of the Void. But the consequences will come later, if I survive. An icy block the size of a good-sized crate formed over the Lich's head. However, I understood that as long as he keeps his hand raised, the sphere is only forming.

"You won't escape, mortal. No one escapes the wrath of the Lich King! Dark power will not help you, but it will serve his designs. To your knees!"

Less and less strength. I don't know what kind of poison this is; I won't last long. Obviously, I won't reach the Fel Reavers. But one Lich. I just need to buy a few seconds to charge. Arcane-Holy, armor-piercing. It should be enough. I can't show the charging. Can't stay silent either.

"Ner'zhul won't win this battle. He never wins it. Your master might win a battle. Но not the war."

The Lich laughed, though he didn't attack.

"The Lich King foresaw all of this. Do you really think he doesn't have a plan? Do you really think he doesn't have one for you, for all of them? If you submit, I can tell Lord Archimonde that you escaped."

Enough strength left me that I finally fell to one knee. The Lich noticed.

"The poison is taking your strength. Whether you want to or not, you will bow. Before the Lich King, before me, who found the one who wounded Lord Archimonde. The demons developed this poison to capture prisoners. You won't be able to resist it. Soon you won't be able to move, won't be able to do anything. And then your end will come! You can't even attack me," the Lich flew a little closer, looking at the glow in my hand, "you don't have the strength to stand up. At all. Such weak mortal flesh. You know, this poison doesn't work on the Undead. Most poisons don't work on us. A perfect immortal body against weak, such vulnerable flesh. What do you feel, mortal? Is there enough disappointment in you?"

Charging complete. But I don't have the strength to raise my arm anymore. Freak.

"I..."

I fell on my back. It will be easier to find the strength this way, take the right angle and... hit. The sphere, obeying the command, left the gauntlet and hit the Lich's shoulder bones. He screamed from the flash of Holy light, bright enough to disperse the shadows. One arm, a tusk, half a jaw, a piece of the neck, and most of the torso were torn apart, and now bone fragments are flying in a fan around the Lich. The bastard survived the attack. Or I didn't have enough strength for a proper charge. Damn demons. Took out so many, but missed one rat.

"Die!" the Lich proclaimed, lowering his only remaining hand.

An icy block is flying straight toward me. Blink. A moment later his projectile exploded, and where it hit, an icy flower of a Frost Nova bloomed. I was no longer there, but I have no strength to stand up or move in any way. Which the Lich quickly discovered.

"It seems this is your end, Mage. You tried, for so long. And where did it lead you? To defeat. To death. To everything our Master will condemn you to."

"I don't think so, Deathfrost..."

"Wh—" the Lich began to protest, but was immediately swept away by a flaming boulder.

A large black crow landed on my helmet. It looked through the visor. It cawed. And I smiled. Help had come after all; they noticed the explosion of Holy light. Then I felt a cautious, almost gentle touch. It became easier. Someone spoke very close by:

"I thought you had croaked. We supposedly destroyed you."

A familiar voice. The Teacher? Indeed, it was him. My vision began to return, and I could see him, in a somewhat crumpled and scorched robe. And a hatred, hidden but not well enough, was frozen on his face. The Lich froze, boring into the Mage with his gaze.

"W-well now, Aldanos Duskbringer... Hunter of Necrolytes," protective fields began to ripple into existence around the Lich, "I didn't expect to meet you here."

The Mage chuckled, his eyes flashing, for some reason with green energy. Suddenly!

"And I was hoping for it," the Teacher calmly mentioned, "so many half-dead leftovers have gathered here," as if remembering something, the Mage added: "and yes, Aldanos Dawnwalker. That is what I am called now."

Then they immediately exploded in a series of spells. Icy spears, sharp and jagged, formed around the Lich. And the mentor responded with a stream of flame that simply vaporized the opponent's strike.

"Too weak, Lich. Just like last time. But you won't escape now..."

The Teacher chuckled, illuminated by bone-crushing magical circles. It's the first time I've seen him manifest spells so overtly. And then a Frost Nova struck. On a scale level with mine, only spreading with spikes along the edges. And for some reason shimmering with a pale green light. Fel? Then, almost without a pause, followed a flaming arc... Also green, by the way. Fel! Magister, you didn't tell me a lot of things! Nevertheless, it hit the dead man's shield, blocking his new attack. And it froze on the stakes of an icy... arena? Flash! Oh... I missed how a fire seal formed under Deathfrost's feet.

The Magister cast a short glance in my direction.

"That will distract him... Are you conscious, apprentice? This isn't the first time I've seen this poison; you should be feeling better already."

By the feel of it... the ability to walk had returned. Casting? Partially.

"I'll live, Magister."

The Elf looked on approvingly.

"Well, that's just grand," he nodded, unexpectedly launching another fireball that shattered the lich's beginning-to-recover shield. "Take a rest on the sidelines. You've earned it. Now, I'm going to explain to this disrespectful degenerate why one does not touch my students..." It was nice, damn it, but he wouldn't be the teacher I knew if he didn't add: "By the way, watch and learn."

And all this time, the lich had long since stopped laughing. The Magister hadn't ceased his attacks even while politely chatting with me. In fact, the creature seemed rather nervous now. Then the real show began. New spells, one after another, smashed against his barrier, while the counterattacks rarely even reached their target. The Mage maneuvered virtuously. Blink, spell, blink, two spells, blink. Fast, frequent. Catching him in ice was simply out of the question. The Magister was carrying the fight; the Teacher was a total beast.

"Your power has not diminished in the least, Duskbringer, but I too have grown far stronger! Feel the chill of hungry death!" He was acting brave, the bastard, but no one could find any joy in the lich's words anymore.

The Magister was busy and didn't respond. Unlike that creep, he could lose his breath, and with it, his rhythm. Characteristically, the lich finally shut up after that phrase too. Ignoring everything else, he unleashed only on the Mage frost nova after frost nova, ice spears, spikes, and freezing winds. To which his opponent responded with a firestorm. From the ground and in the air. Burning, plasma balls, flaming spears. At one point, the foe even grazed my teacher a couple of times... except he had his own shields too. Unexpected, isn't it?

I reached the edge, and now that the storm over the battlefield had cleared, I could see everything. Everything around was scorched and melted. Burnt-out husks stood in place of the Ancients. My icy plateau was generously splattered with green demon blood and remains. Trenches were filled with bloody ice crystals. The remains of three Fel Reavers lay scattered. One had been battered by living elven rocks. The second was on its knees among the trenches, Fel spewing from its grate, turning the ground around it into a dead, black-green, muddy wasteland. The third had also lost its arms and knelt beside another mountain giant—or rather, its lower half.

The problem was that two other Fel Reavers had crashed with a roar and a crunch into the elven green forest, which was burning with a fierce flame. They towered over the trees, trampling them and occasionally bringing energy-glowing fists down upon the burning elven base.

Through the trenches toward the conflagration, demons and Ghouls were running toward the battle and the screams—not as many now, but enough. Explosions, hissing, and grinding echoed; a frost wyrm circled above. The defenders were nowhere to be seen; the battlefield had evidently shifted into the camp. No one paid us any attention. Whether the lich had ordered it or something else, I didn't know. But the ice field, surrounded by green and red spikes—first created by me and then by the teacher—did not interest the demons. Then the voice of Archimonde rang out:

"So, is this all? Where is the passion with which you fought, Night Elves? I am disappointed; without Cenarius, you are good for nothing..."

"How are you doing this? Why?" the lich rasped in shock, and I turned around.

The Magister, meanwhile, had conjured not just a firestorm, but a full-blown fire hail. Deathfrost could only protect himself with his own compact ice storm. Passive defense was no longer working. He tried to reach the Mage with spears, but they evaporated against the teacher's magical barrier. Every ice spell was parried by either a barrier, a blink, or a counter-element. The creep clearly couldn't keep up with him. I suddenly realized that the mentor was openly toying with him. The Undead was flailing like a sausage on a grill. His barrier flashed almost incessantly from the constant attacks, draining his Mana. The lich's spears missed. Attempts to cast a curse were met with almost instantaneous "dispelling." To the ice spears—fireballs flew in response. To the frost nova—a wave of fire. To the freezing wind—a searing front. The lich was being read like a book!

In the end, Deathfrost began to openly panic:

"Inconceivable, my power is immeasurably higher! It shouldn't be like this! You cannot win! The Master promised! We are perfect!"

The Magister, forming more and more flame into a sphere before him, countered:

"It is only natural, nonentity. I promised I would destroy every one of you. Today, you burn."

"No! No! Die!"

And then the Undead released a phantasmagoric torrent of necro-energy. The pressure of the malevolent force clouded my vision and muddled my consciousness. It felt as if the screams of the fallen drowned out everything around, replacing reality with an ocean of filth. Just like when the teacher explained to me what necromancy was. This time, I handled it better. And so, I managed to catch a cry full of rage and indignation:

"How?!"

I blinked my eyes clear and saw the Magister, slightly disheveled, standing opposite the lich. Only now, in his hands was not a sphere of fire, but a globule of something acrid-green, flecked with gray ash.

"Because I teach and I learn," the mentor grinned openly. "Including from your masters... But you are just a servant!"

An unfamiliar spell tore from his hands, clearly breathing of Fel. Ignoring the enemy's desperate curses, it struck the back of the one vainly trying to flee. He didn't even try to shield himself, throwing all his strength into escaping. But it was too late. The explosion consumed the lich entirely.

Is that it? The teacher carelessly brushed himself off, looking at the spot where his enemy once stood. I switched to Magic Vision to see the gray-violet strings snapping and dissipating there.

"He's done, teacher."

The Magister nodded.

"The first rule of a villain: always check that your opponent is laid to rest. In the case of Undead, it is especially relevant."

I laughed, though it was difficult.

"So that means we're villains?"

The teacher shrugged, smiling quite sincerely. It seemed to me, for the first time in a long while.

"The rules still work. He broke the second rule, by the way: kill immediately. By talking, you give your opponent time to think of a way out."

"Well, yeah, that's how it turned out," I agreed, though it was the teacher himself who saved me.

Still, I lack experience. And support. And protection from mental magic. And a Dreadnaught. Although I think that, by my modest calculations, I laid a couple of hundred dead to rest today, directly or indirectly. That's a good result, even if insufficient. They still broke through the defenses.

The Magister stopped beside me. A scanning contour flashed in his hands, and he nodded satisfied with his thoughts.

"It's time for us to go, student, before we are noticed," he pointed to the side.

There, among the destroyed Fel Reavers of the last attack, against the backdrop of the bright sun, a massive humanoid blue-skinned tentacle-faced figure in golden armor was ascending the mountain. Archimonde. And it seemed the Demon hadn't even noticed us, more interested in the World Tree and the burning elven camp. In any case, his face looked as satisfied as possible.

Reaching the slope, he kicked over a kneeling Fel Reaver, gradually increasing in size, and looking at the fire and the World Tree, he laughed. That laugh... like nails on glass, but very resonant and low. And the voice: a rumble that shook the cliffs. With such a size, it wasn't surprising. It was almost strange that we could hear anything at all.

"FINALLY, THIS PITIFUL WORLD AND ITS WORTHLESS INHABITANTS SHALL FALL BEFORE ME! THE AGE OF MORTALS IS OVER. I AM YOUR DOOM, I AM THE EVIL THAT CRUSHED YOU TODAY. I AM ARCHIMONDE THE DEFILER, HEAR ME, MORTALS. HEAR AND TREMBLE!"

Fuck... were we too late? We had to hold out for six days, and now it's the middle of the fifth. It can't be; the Bronze Dragonflight wouldn't have allowed this. I... I don't understand. The Magister tapped my shoulder, opening his portal.

"Come, student, to a more suitable place for viewing. One shouldn't watch an explosion from this distance."

The teacher helped me up, supported me, and I awkwardly hobbled to the portal... and suddenly I was swept up into his arms. And so habitually and skillfully... He really is a pedobear. Funny word, by the way. Shut up! I'm embarrassed enough as it is...

The first thing the teacher did when we stepped out of the portal was find a fallen tree to unload me onto. He remained standing nearby, looking from the overgrown hill toward Mount Hyjal. Toward where the equally massive archdemon was approaching the enormous Nordrassil, amidst numerous fires and green flames.

This doesn't look like a victory. We just didn't make it in time!

"But the trap..."

I couldn't finish the question, but the teacher understood everything.

"It was ready yesterday morning. The Night Elves were looking for other solutions and stalling for time. And that six-day deadline was needed to hide the real preparations from the Undead spies. So that Archimonde would walk into it, certain he had won," the teacher pointed to the colossal figure, its thirty-meter legs striding through the forest as if it were tall grass, "and the Demon believed it, as you can see. Alas, the Night Elves never found another way, no matter how hard they tried."

Wait, another solution... He doesn't mean...

"Me? Or rather the 'contact pair'? They were looking for that? Looking and stalling for time? Magister?"

The teacher nodded.

"As an option. They had the idea of at least wounding the Demon, buying time at the cost of one elf, especially one who isn't Kaldorei. You were even offered a place among the novices of the main Temple of Elune as a reward. With training under the High Priestess."

"Very funny, teacher."

The Mage spread his hands.

"As far as I know, many Druids did not accept their High Druid's decision. The very thought of losing immortality horrified them."

I looked at the teacher in surprise.

"And how do you..." a cawing crow was the answer to my question, "...you were watching."

"They aren't the only ones allowed to," the Mage remarked without any remorse. "Sentinel owls, spies. Have no doubt, they watched us with the utmost scrutiny. Especially during the search for their solution. If not for Alastir, you would have been evacuated to Theramore. That elf is not as simple as he seems."

I'll have to thank the parasite. I wouldn't have returned to the battlefield from Theramore. Yes, it didn't turn out perfectly, but I showed a good result, destroyed a bunch of Undead and demons. And next time I'll be even better.

I smiled, struck by the thoughts. So, the Night Elves stalled for time because of me. And a bunch of people got killed too. On the other hand, the very possibility is a recognition of merit. You can't argue with that. Although the way they almost sacrificed a bunch of people trying to save their own... I understand it. Even if I don't like being on the side of the "sacrificed." And I'll remind them of that later. But I understand it. I understand why it was decided exactly this way.

"Thank you for covering me, teacher."

"It is my duty as an instructor. Are you settled comfortably, student?"

The sudden change in tone caught me off guard, but I nodded.

"Yes, Magister. What's wrong?"

The Mage sat on the log, being both nearby but simultaneously higher.

"The fact is that you, student, fell into a trap. And it's not that you made a mistake. It's that you allowed yourself to be left alone. To let the opponent seize the initiative."

Unpleasant.

"Teacher, I didn't know it wasn't Venidan."

The Mage nodded.

"But there was also Dartaola, whom you lost in the process. That is your problem. In that you, relying only on yourself, left the others and thus walked into a trap."

It was hard to argue with that. I really set myself up, no matter how you look at it. The Mage, not waiting for an answer, continued:

"And that's despite the fact that the three of you would have won even without me."

Seriously?

"You think so? The lich clearly knew about the gauntlet, and other spells barely scratched his defense."

The Mage nodded, looking into the distance. At the beautiful view of the mountains, the fir forest, and the huge giga-bonsai. Except Archimonde stood out from the image of natural peace and harmony.

"I am certain. You have more potential. If the Paladin and the Rogue had taken care of the small fry, you would have pelted him with spells without a problem. But the enemy understood this just as well and did not wish to fight 'fairly.' Honor is of little interest to the dead, student. And this dead man almost won. Where else did you go wrong?"

I tried to feel the spot where I was hit in the back, but couldn't.

"I exposed myself to a strike, didn't have backup. Wasn't ready for a trap, didn't know portal magic," and I raised my head, looking into the elf's eyes.

The teacher gave another short nod.

"Correct, but not entirely. The enemy will always try to surprise you. They will always set traps. Such is the nature of war. All we can do is be ready. And surround ourselves with those who will cover us. As I have told you more than once: there is the gray mass. And there are those who, under certain conditions, can turn the world over. You even mentioned some Archimedes with a lever. This time, your enemy created the conditions, and where you could have won, you suffered defeat."

Unpleasant, but he was right. If I really could have overwhelmed him with raw power, then being in a trap...

"I understand, teacher."

The Mage smiled.

"I hope this will be a lesson for you for the future. Do not underestimate the enemy. Be ready to set traps and play on someone else's field. Remember—you are not alone," I winced; yeah, I already remembered that I lost all my people, "and now for the good news. Your Mana reserve has grown, and substantially so. Shields—also at a high level, higher than before. I am pleased. As I am with the methodical way you exterminated the attackers. No complaints here; considering your level—very good. You weren't taught in vain."

A smile crept onto my face of its own accord. I even pulled the helmet off my head. It was already clear there would be no battle.

"Thank you, teacher."

The Mage nodded. Something flashed in the grass nearby, and I carefully picked it up with the gauntlet's claws. A coin? No, it turned out to be a Bronze scale with a smiley face scratched on it. Yeah, you're welcome. The teacher snapped his fingers, drawing my attention. He had produced a bottle of wine from somewhere and was pouring it right now. The situation was quite something. Crystal glasses in a forest clearing against the backdrop of a demon ready to destroy the World Tree and absorb its Mana.

The elf held out a glass, and at my questioning look, explained:

"So, let us enjoy the spectacle, student. For this is your vengeance. The vengeance of all Exiles against all Kaldorei."

Um, are you serious? He's colossal. I'm a bit too small for a devil of those dimensions.

"You think I would have had enough strength?"

The Mage shrugged.

"It doesn't matter, student. What matters is that you faced Archimonde, dealt him wounds. And returned almost unscathed. Everyone saw it. Many heard what you said next."

I remembered that arrogant Night Elf. And Dartaola, whom I almost executed. But we survived this day, all of us.

"And, teacher? Where does this lead?"

"To the fact," the Mage answered readily, "that you were able to wound the Demon and receive no wounds yourself. And what can be wounded can be killed. But you did not wish to. You decided to take revenge, to leave the Kaldorei without eternity, to make them pay a price that none of them wanted to pay. And make no mistake, many of them will never forget this. And will not forgive. They will blame you until the end of time for the fact that because of you, they lost their immortality. It doesn't matter how true that is. It is the lie they were sold and which many of them gladly believed."

The thought made me shudder. Many Druids didn't even forgive Malfurion for the destruction of Nordrassil; they tried to plant a new tree to regain their immortality. They failed, without the blessing of the Dragon Aspects. And here is a whole High Elf, and a Mage at that. They can hate with a clear conscience, remembering Azshara.

The teacher silently handed me a mirror. From the other side, it reflected... almost a Void Elf. Hair tips glowing with violet energy, skin already turning distinctly blue. I took off the gauntlet. My fingertips had also become a deep violet shade, transitioning into pale blue higher up. Only my eyes remained a piercingly deep blue, and had even become brighter than they were. The Magister smiled sadly.

"You hid your face behind a helmet, and your hands behind mechanisms. None of them see the price paid. And, make no mistake, they won't want to see it."

I snorted, realizing the Mage was right.

"Or they'll find new parallels with Azshara. I'm already almost a Void Elf."

The Mage smiled and spread his hands.

"Tell me, student, if there were a chance..."

"I would have done many things differently. But the Void is too good a weapon for fighting demons, teacher."

"I respect your choice, lady," the Mage saluted with his glass, "In your place, I would have done the same."

"But you... me..." he waved it off, carelessly swirling the wine in his glass. "Yes. And I, in my time, was also warned."

"Paladins, house arrest..." I suddenly realized, "You..."

"We are not so different, student," he admitted calmly, and, unexpectedly, smiled warmly, "The only thing I am far from happy about is the age at which you had to make such a choice."

Words were unnecessary; I just smiled back. The Magister continued:

"So let us enjoy the spectacle of your triumph. Today we have won significant victories, student. The demons are routed, the Night Elves are deprived of eternity. And your fame, after everything that has happened, will thunder across all of Azeroth. To victory."

I repeated his gesture with the glass.

"To victory!" and took a sip, just a little.

Fruity, delicious. Slightly tart from the alcohol, but I won't get drunk from twenty grams, right?

"And now, the highlight of the program," the teacher said in a satisfied tone, "all your detractors will kill themselves against each other. And we will watch it from the best angle. Prepare for the spectacle, student."

Spectacle, ha. From this angle, Nordrassil is fully visible. We are a couple of kilometers away, and from here you can see both the burning camp and the desecrated Undead camps. The monumental Nordrassil, the World Tree. And Archimonde, who had grown to about seventy meters.

I switched to Magic Vision. An interesting change in the background. All of nature is connected by unified strings to Nordrassil. From the Well at the base, strings diverge into the colossal trunk. From it, through the roots, strings go to the forest, to every ancient multi-meter tree, providing it with longevity and strength. Along the tree itself, thinning and diverging in all directions, like a colossal relay station. That is likely how the Mana saturation works. The Well of Eternity of the Night Elves.

The Demon, grinning in anticipation, shifting his hooves and raising pillars of dust, began to press against the tree, satisfied. All this against the backdrop of the afternoon sun. He too feels the power emanating from it, desires it. A sentient colossal globule of Fel, he reaches for the power it exudes, wanting to consume it. And his greed is immeasurable.

The Night Elf camp behind the Demon is ablaze, but against the backdrop of the living monument, it all looks so insignificant. Small. Even Archimonde here is no more than a child who has come to spend time under this beautiful, huge, and power-filled plant.

I'll need to sketch this; the view from this point is simply gorgeous, exactly what's needed for a painting. Separately as just an image, and separately in the magical background.

Suddenly, the sound of a horn rang out:

"UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM..."

From this angle, Malfurion—and it is undoubtedly him blowing the horn—could not be seen. By the way, he is the one I never crossed paths with. I've seen the others, but not him, and I don't see him now; the strings hide the Druid from magical eyes. But the numerous white dots rising from everywhere, from every corner of the forest, are perfectly visible. Lights descend from the tree, gather from the forest, from all corners of the mountain. A green carpet and green dots, gathering, flying around the Demon. So small, but very bright, including in the magical sense.

The giant took a step back in surprise, watching as the lights whirled in a frantic waltz around his body. Faster and faster, more and more. New lights joined the dance. I took another sip, watching as they swarmed the ugly abomination that Archimonde appeared as in Magic Vision. A construct of Fel, no longer an Eredar, but something much greater. I couldn't help myself and proclaimed:

"Art, teacher, is..."

EXPLOSION. A flash of milky-white light blinded me—I had taken off that damn helmet! Little fool! The flash obscured everything, preventing me from seeing the moment of the Demon's death; it was too bright. A moment later, the wind blew, and strings curled into a ball around the teacher and me, protecting us from the wave. And instead of a bright flash, we were covered by flames with a roar and a rumble. Roaring, deafening, such that the ground shook. The wall of fire scorched everything it touched. Archimonde's energy, no longer contained by his body, burst out in the form of a firestorm.

And then it was all over. And the forest had changed. There was no more Archimonde, not a trace of the Demon. No grass or green carpet; the tree was charred. Now at the foot of Nordrassil were only blackened, ugly tree trunks. The clearing where we sat was the same. The grass was burnt, the leaves, everything. The bark was smoking, it had blackened, but on the ground was only ash.

In Magic Vision... the strings had also changed. Or rather, they were no longer there. No, a bright ball of energy still burned in the tree's place, but... neither in the forest nor in the sky was there a single string left. The self-sacrifice of the wisps had burned them all out. The Demon, the strings, all the magic except for the Well that had merged with Nordrassil. The eternity of the Night Elves was gone. And it would not return.

Grim satisfaction faded slightly when soot crumbled from one of the burnt and charred roots of Nordrassil with a loud creak, audible even from our position. And now, in place of the dead root, a living and healthy one appeared, and from it, strings stretched to the nearest trees. They too began to rapidly renew. Should I burn you again, huh? Maybe Sylvanas was right?

But no, there were no signs that this living relay had restored its functions. Where the bark had renewed, the strings did not diverge. Apparently, the transmission effect was from the blessing of the Dragon Aspects. Which Nordrassil had lost. Now it was just a colossal magical tree feeding the forest around it. Well, that's just grand.

The teacher helped me up, and I, looking at the desolation, laughed, tossing the shiny scale in my hand. Even if nature recovers, the Third War ended as it should have. And I got the maximum bonuses from it. The teacher mentioned that my Mana reserve had grown. I'll have to check. And as for me mutating into a Void Elf... well, everyone has their flaws. If I don't lose my mind, it's still a victory, no two ways about it. I'll learn to use makeup and be a goth elf. And you won't be able to do anything to me, so there! The alcohol gave a light warmth in my chest, bringing joy and images of how I could do some cool makeup to shock everyone. I just need to learn how. For now, the smile turned into a cheerful, joyful laugh.

"We won, Magister! We survived! Ha-ha-ha! Finale! Victory! Ai?"

The teacher flicked my forehead and looked disapprovingly.

"Is this truly the limit of your ambitions, student? I am disappointed."

The words stuck in my throat. Disappointed? But... but we really did survive. And we're no longer bound by a timer. Oh, I see. The time of battle is over; I can be driven and taught again, right? Time to build plans, a life, my "Hansa."

"I understand, teacher, I'm sorry. This isn't just a victory. It's the beginning of a new stage. A stage where the whole world will learn my Legend. A step toward something greater. Much greater."

For one day my Legend will become big enough. And I will become a true Heroic Spirit. I will become more than just a sentient being. And for that, I need to try hard and work a lot. And perform great deeds that Azeroth won't forget even in a thousand years! Yes! I will do it! I, Davilinia the Universal! Hee-Hm. Khem. No, that's bad. I'll think of a nickname later.

The Magister chuckled.

"I suppose, student, there is no point in expecting better from you right now. It will do," he opened a portal, "come, the Night Elves will handle the cleanup. We need to collect our things and find your companions. We have done our job. We can leave. Victory awaits. Your victory and its consequences."

I jumped into the Magister's portal in total delight. This truly was a triumph.

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