"The Demon Soul, in the past called the Dragon Soul —
An artifact created shortly before the War of the Ancients.
Although it looks like an ordinary golden disk,
Possessing it grants incredible power.
The Demon Soul was created by Goblins from gold,
Strengthened by the corruption of the Old Gods and mixed with the blood of Neltharion,
The Aspect of the black dragonflight, who would later be called Deathwing.
When the artifact was completed,
He showed it to the other Aspects and
Convinced them to invest part of their power into the golden disk.
After that, the Aspects and their dragons could no longer influence the Soul,
Only growing weaker near it."
"I don't like any of this." My loyal assistant was nervously shifting from foot to foot, looking around with a slightly spooked gaze... which said a lot, considering his penchant for madness and indulgence in my crazy ideas. "Maybe we should clear out, Master Rodgirn?"
"Have you lost your mind, Tim, or do you want a pickaxe in your ass? We barely made it inside, and now you want to just leave?"
"I don't feel right here..."
"You're a cowardly Orc armpit!"
"Quiet, both of you," hissing at us both, Narandiel loomed over us like a punishing hand, "you've picked a fine time, no use arguing now!"
"But I was just..."
"Quiet, I said," she hissed through tightly pressed lips. Even in such a moment, Narochka looked magnificent in my eyes, which clearly didn't escape her perceptive gaze. "The green-skins might not be bright, but their hearing is sharp."
Holding an index finger in front of her face, the elven woman pressed her lips even tighter, though it seemed impossible to do so further, and comically bulging her eyes, she shook it admonishingly at the level of our noses, tracing a significant arc due to the height difference.
"Clear," said the calm voice of Sarochka, who had resigned herself to the inevitability of universal forces—namely my grumbling and Tim's comments—and was simply doing her job. "The Orcs almost never go to the upper floors; they all hang around here. If something truly valuable is hidden here, it's at the top."
"Dwarves don't hide anything on the peaks of cliffs, you Pointy-Ears princess," ignoring the hiss of the angry "cat," I folded my arms across my chest. "As much as the Dark Iron Dwarves annoy me, they are like us. Therefore, we should head down while there's still a chance."
"Speaking of which," carefully peeking around the corner of the cave, where vast winding roads, houses, and stone ledges spread out beneath our feet, Sarandiel pressed her lips together in dissatisfaction, "I haven't met a single Dwarf in this god-forsaken place. Orcs, Trolls, Ogres aplenty, but not a single Shorty within a radius of a couple hundred meters. Not even Goblins."
"Don't you dare equate us with Goblins!"
Turning red in the face, bristling my beard, and supported by the dissatisfied grumbling of the other Avengers behind me, I prepared for a new round of arguments, venting my anxiety and jitters. Anticipation was overflowing, urging me to fall upon the Orcs right now, in the center of their citadel, and bleed the bastards, but I held back.
"Leave your vengeance for just a minute and think with the head from which you shaved the last of your brains along with your hair," the elven woman waved a hand at me dismissively, not even bothering to turn toward her interlocutor. "If your fallen kin ever lived here, they are no longer in these parts. Most likely, The Horde settled that matter in their signature style... Radically."
Frowning, I stood beside her, trying to stay hidden in the shadows.
"And what about things?" The ironically arched eyebrow of the Pointy-Ears nuisance threw me off. Spending a few seconds calming down, breathing through my nose like a Behemoth, I finally deigned to clarify in a calm and not even venom-boiling tone. "Pickaxes, clothes, food? Maybe something that would remind us of their presence?"
"Nothing," shaking her head, Sara cupped her own chin with her slender fingers. "I looked into the houses—and those dumps definitely belong to savages. Externally they look the same as yours, but the contents are absolutely Orc and Troll."
"Sigm (Shit). Did they really lose and fall before these bastards?"
"Do you regret it?"
My words finally forced the girl to turn, carefully tracking the reaction on my face. Beneath my furrowed brows and disheveled beard, I was trying to sort out my own feelings as well.
"I don't know," wiping my face with my palm, I stepped back into the shadow, realizing that with my eyesight, staring into the distance looking for "dust motes" and clues was useless. "Like it or not, they are better than Orcs. It's hard to accept the fact that their entire clan has been destroyed..."
"Maybe they left just the same?"
"Where to?"
Raising my gaze to Sarochka, I let my true emotions into my voice.
"Khaz Modan is occupied by The Horde; all the lands and fortresses, except for Grim Batol, now belong to these monkeys in loincloths," fury was waking in my chest, and the oaths on my head began to ache. "Our home... The lands that for centuries kept our history will now be turned into a lifeless wasteland, eventually becoming like the Orcs' home world... Pathetic and empty."
"That won't happen," a female hand gently rested on my shoulder. "Let's go check what's happening at the top."
"Fine..." I had long noted for myself that even the simple presence of one of the sisters had a positive effect on my state, and even more so when one of them violated my personal space. "Regardless, even if the forges really are somewhere below, we won't have time to destroy them all."
"Exactly, and this way we'll at least find out what these brutes are hiding."
Trying to step in her tracks, we moved behind Sarandiel and her sister, darting through caves and hiding in the dark. A small detachment, from which it was decided not to take all the mages and most of the humans, so as not to risk the lives of the entire group for nothing.
For in the event of our failure, the survivors would still have a chance to serve the Systems Alliance and our cause, using the Beer Lord and the Arms and my developments remaining on board.
All this and much more swirled in my head as we made our way up, sometimes climbing sheer cliffs directly over an abyss where sluggish lava splashed far below, occasionally bulging from falling pebbles.
The soft semi-darkness and rare pockets of light were our allies in this difficult task, hiding even such clumsy beings as Tim and me.
But success could not last forever, and at one of the turns, we stumbled upon a fairly large group of Orcs dressed in long robes that hid their bodies.
All hunched over, hiding their palms in their sleeves or holding curved staves, they froze in front of us in all their glory. Their solemn procession, where each walked at a precisely measured distance from the other, stared stupidly at us, blinking and silently parting their lips in the first attempts to scream when Tim lunged forward and sent a stream of fire directly at the largest Orc in the most richly decorated robes.
"Get the freaks!"
"For Khaz Modan!"
"AAAA!"
Along with the wave of fire, I realized that time had begun to slip through our fingers. Screams of pain and death throes of the Orc "nobility" echoed throughout the mountain, and several Fireballs exploding in the center of their formation only added to the general cacophony of sounds.
Being among the first to reach the enemy, I pushed off the ground with both feet, flying headfirst at full speed into a surviving Orc Mage of the tribe, breaking his chest with my "iron" forehead.
Nearby, like a tidal wave, the Avengers rolled through, crushing anyone who could still stand. Ignoring the still-burning clothes of the Orcs, we hacked into their ranks, mowing down the legs of these tall beasts, forcing them to their knees and finishing them off, splitting skulls and hacking through powerful necks.
"KAZUK!"
A Dwarf running nearby was blasted by a green bolt of lightning that left nothing of my oath-brother but a collapsing skeleton. Meat slid off the bones, and the poor Avenger was still alive when his body, like paste, flowed onto the ground.
From the center of the enemy formation, other bright green arcs showered out, targeting the most dangerous among us, knocking out Dwarves and elves with a single hit, leaving no chance for salvation.
"Kill the Warlocks!"
"Think you're the smartest? They're all Warlocks!"
Several arrows flew in a curved trajectory into the head of the most active Orc Warlock, piercing the powerful skull and shattering into fragments of bone and arrowhead.
The militant cries of the green-skins grew fiercer. Realizing they would not survive this battle, the bastards sacrificed their own lives with a vengeance, trying to take as many of us as possible.
And only when the last, largest Warlock collapsed to the ground, did silence descend upon the cave smelling of fire and blood, broken only by the thumping of hundreds of feet rushing toward us.
"Well, damn..." Even my meager hearing was enough to realize—we were in deep trouble. "Quick, we need to run!"
"They're coming from behind!" Tim's cry confirmed the worst fears. "The only way is forward."
"Then that's where we'll go," closing my eyes for a moment, I placed a hand on my chest, paying a final tribute of respect to the fallen, who were too many this time. "Quick, while there's still a chance."
At the last moment, I noticed an unusual golden disk lying at the feet of the main Orc Warlock. Not giving it too much significance, the object, along with its strange wrapping of dragon skin, went into my shoulder pack.
And so began a race to the death. Our thinned-out detachment fled through the stirred-up Orc Hive, where other ancient enemies of all good creatures began to crawl out of every crack.
Huge wolves, small dragons, Trolls, Ogres. They converged on us from all over the mountain, forcing us to run only forward, occasionally flooding the passages with fire-mixture to buy at least a little time.
"TIM! Take off the cylinder, let's leave the monsters a few surprises!"
Unwinding a simple fishing line, I ordered my assistant to pour the mixture onto the floor in the darkest part of the corridor, where a sharp turn began, spiraling toward the mountain peak. From a distance, the members of The Horde wouldn't see what was under their feet, and then it would be too late.
"Don't pour it all out, leave a little joy in the cylinder... And seal it so all the fumes don't escape," nodding satisfactorily, I waved a hand to the soldiers standing guard, leading them after me, beginning to answer unvoiced questions on the run. "We'll have an extra ten minutes while the whole mixture burns through."
"Plus, they won't run as eagerly and actively, checking every nook and cranny."
Tim added his word to my speech.
We raced further until we ran out into a huge grotto, lined along the walls with steel plates, and only a small passage in the depths of the hall led further, but we noticed it at the last moment, for the sight that opened before our eyes was too incredible.
Huge eggs, practically the size of my height, lay everywhere, piled on top of each other and pulsating rhythmically. Covered in that familiar scale of red, almost scarlet color...
"A dragon nest."
We all heard Sarandiel's whisper to herself.
It was unheard of, incredible, and terrifying. Hundreds, maybe thousands of eggs, each of which would soon erupt into a massive fire-breathing beast that would turn against the Systems Alliance and our kingdoms.
"No army can stand against this."
A distant explosion echoed behind us, causing a satisfied smile to flicker on my face for a moment. Even through the distance and the thickness of the stone, it seemed I could hear the panicked screams of Orcs burning alive, whose well-deserved fate gave me pleasure.
"Rodgirn," stammering and even calling me by name, which happened extremely rarely, Sarochka leaned against the wall, breathing heavily, "what do we do?"
"As if there's any other answer to that question," smirking darkly, I turned to the other Avengers, especially those who used to work in the mines. "Lay the explosives, we'll bring down the vault and send this entire Cursed family to their stinking ancestors."
"Yes, Izbad."
Quickly dropping their packs, the Dwarves who survived the last skirmish began scrounging through the hall, looking for cracks in the sheets and standing on the shoulders of unoccupied comrades to reach higher. To our joy, the ceiling and passages here were extremely low, likely so the adults wouldn't be underfoot.
"And we shall go further with you," pulling out my battle-axe, I weighed it in my hand, already anticipating how dragon blood would drench my blade. "We have a far more important task than we could have imagined."
Looking into the faces of my comrades and... well, friends, I gave a trusting nod to each, perfectly understanding that we likely wouldn't come back out, no matter how well we fought or how many beasts we killed on our way.
Dragon eggs were spread around us, members of The Horde were screaming and wailing behind us, and ahead, surely, the mother of this entire hoard awaited.
"Perhaps we won't be able to fulfill all our oaths ourselves," the words left my mouth easily, and a long-awaited calm felt in my head, "but we will do everything and more so our brothers can finish this for us."
"Even in Cursed death, we won't be able to keep our word..."
"Such is our lot," chuckling good-naturedly at the simple joke of one of the Avengers, I was the first to turn and walk toward the exit on the other side of the hall. "Но our ancestors are watching us. Khaz smiles upon us today, for there is no more glorious prey than a massive flying lizard. Today the first step on the path of our vengeance will be taken."
Almost in unison, we stepped forward, slowly making our way through the clutch to the quiet beats of our own hearts.
The Arms in our hands sang and called for a glorious death in battle, and the oaths on our temples finally stopped aching. After so many months, we had a worthy chance to cross the threshold.
"Khaz, if you are watching us, meet us in your halls as is fitting, so that I do not regret what I have done."
Closing my eyes, I addressed The Keeper and Creator of the mountains one last time before stepping over the threshold of the narrow gates, bound in steel.
Behind them, we were met by a long corridor, more like a chimney. Entirely covered in soot, it prevented us from turning to our full width, and even one Dwarf passed through here with difficulty. It was even funny for me to imagine how broad-shouldered Orcs pushed and made their way through this gut.
"Though, their Warlocks are quite thin, especially those shooting green lightning... Not what I should be thinking about."
We covered the final meters in absolute silence, involuntarily holding our breath, for on the other side, heavy wheezing and rustling could be heard.
The clang of massive chains struck our ears, and warm gusts of wind ruffled our beards, forcing us to cover our faces with our hands.
Along with the flow of heat, a smell burst out—vile and piercing the nostrils to the core. A mixture of rot, blood, and ash, as if from a field of a proper battle.
The clang of chains intensified, and gradually a growl joined it. Powerful and angry, though notes of fatigue and sad despair could be heard in it.
With the final step, I was the first to emerge from the darkness of the corridor, walking slightly forward to freeze in place.
Never before had I encountered such an impressive and miserable creature. The very first dragon that brought down the Beer Lord seemed like a snotty youth compared to this giant.
A powerful crown of horns, massive wings barely fitting under the ceiling, and four chain-bound paws, each of which could easily crush a knight with his horse.
The creature's claws impatiently tore up the ground, and two huge yellow eyes followed my every step intently, not distracted by the other Avengers spreading out through the hall.
I didn't know what to do. No matter how I had imagined this battle, everything immediately went sideways, for the beast was too big. Comparing my battle-axe to its teeth, I involuntarily noted that the axe barely reached the size of the middle teeth, let alone the fangs and the front ones.
"Oh, they're going to have a hell of a time cleaning the meat off the bones," commented one of the Dwarves, taking a position to the side of the dragon. "I hope when he's dug out from under the rubble, he'll one day hang in Ironforge with our names carved on the bone."
Grumbling in approval, the other Avengers gripped their Arms tighter, preparing to attack, but the dragon opened its maw, speaking in a melodic female voice.
"I always believed that the children of the earth differed from other peoples for the better, but it turns out that even at my age, one can be mistaken."
"Oh, hell..."
That was the only thing I could grunt under my breath. Ignoring our faces, the lizard spoke again.
"I smell the blood of many of my sons and daughters on you," dissatisfaction seeped through her voice, though she carefully tried to hide it. "How many have you killed, how many lives have you ruined in your hatred, that even now I feel it bursting through your entire being."
"It's not for you to speak of ruined lives," the reproaches and fake pity ignited a fire in my chest. "By your efforts, entire countries are burning, Khagam menu penu Garapdul (Orcish spawn). It's not for you to speak of death and ruined lives..."
Almost spitting with rage, I gripped my battle-axe and began to slowly advance on the dragon staring down at me from above.
"How many humans, Dwarves, and elves have your offspring killed, obeying Orcs and their ilk?" A flame was kindling in my chest that could rival a dragon's. With every word spoken, images appeared in my head, and perhaps now, for the first time in my life, I regretted having such a rich inventor's imagination. "How many cities have they burned? Fields? Forests?"
"It was not their choice... I regret your losses and all those..."
"Shove that regret up your red ass," growing more heated, glaring from under my brows at the culprit of thousands of deaths, I stopped watching my tongue, giving in to emotions. "The Kul Tiras fleet is burned to the ground, the southern borders of the Eastern Kingdoms are ablaze, and Khaz Modan..."
Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes for a moment, realizing I needed to wait a little longer to get closer.
"Our home, which for millennia protected us, gave us shelter and food..." Bitter saliva went down my esophagus, and my jaw ached from how tightly I clenched it. "Destroyed. Captured by beasts that you carry on your own backs."
"I understand your grief," tilting her head closer, the dragoness painfully closed her eyes as several sharp links on her paws brought her a new portion of pain. "And I ask for forgiveness. Though I understand that no words will stifle your pain... Free me, and then I will lead my flight to the north, far across the sea, and we will never again interfere in the affairs of mortals."
Bowing her head in an apologetic gesture, the lizard closed her eyes, awaiting my decision. For a second, I even seriously considered fulfilling her request. To just release the giant, hoping she could lead her kin away, leaving The Horde without such strong air superiority...
But at that very moment, the rest of the detachment ran through the corridor, and an explosion echoed behind us, destroying the clutch and collapsing the ceiling.
Falling to the ground, throwing out the seemingly suggested thoughts, I managed to roll aside just in time, for a massive paw struck the ground nearby, passing within mere millimeters of me.
"Murderer! Monster! What have you done!?"
A dragon's roar mingled with a furious female voice that echoed directly in our heads. The beast went wild, ignoring her wounds, flailing her paws and wings, bringing down the ceiling and flooding everything with fire.
"Nara!"
"Yes!"
Understanding my request without words, the elven woman put up a massive blue barrier that saved us from the first seconds of the dragoness's rampage. The shield creaked and sparked, threatening to fall apart at any moment, but the wizard managed to hold it, and then a couple of homemade bombs hit the dragon's head, forcing her to close her maw and cover herself with her own body.
"I will destroy you!"
A massive tail swept across the floor, knocking aside several of our men and sending their broken bodies flying toward the wall.
The bacchanalia spun with new force. The dragon was destroying her lair, promising to bury us under the rubble along with her. Furiously blazing with fire, she lunged from one member of the detachment to another, ignoring her own wounds, gradually reducing our numbers.
With a sickening crunch, one of the Avengers disappeared into the massive maw, and the dragoness, throwing back her head, let out a new roar.
"Sara, blind her!"
Shielding myself with my battle-axe from small stones raining down on my head, I ran forward, believing in my elven woman. Sometimes gusts of wind flew overhead, knocking the largest rock fragments out of the way, but I continued to run forward, knowing what was at stake.
My friends and comrades were dying nearby, their lives buying us time, but with every second, there were fewer of them. And although the lizard was losing strength, I had to drive away panic thoughts, believing only in victory.
The chains hindered her movement, forcing her to spin frequently to deflect attacks from all sides. Severe exhaustion and rage clouded her judgment, and when the dragoness least expected it, a lone arrow pierced her right eye, blinding her on my side.
Throwing back her head, the brute began to scream in agony, slamming her head against the walls to dull the sickening sensation in her eye socket. With the last impact, she pressed her entire body against the rock, looking around fearfully, and that was the exact moment I struck.
Taking a running start and leaping onto the stone fragments, clearing the distance between us in a single jump, I drove my greataxe into her long neck. The blade struggled through the scales, reaching the succulent dragon meat. As if gnawing into the flesh, I wrenched the axe in every direction, widening the opening to strike the same spot again. Practically hanging from the handle and bracing my feet against the mighty creature's neck, I missed my mark by only a couple of seconds.
The new wound reignited the battle with fresh intensity. Sensing her impending death, the spawn thrashed in agony, shattering one of the walls and opening a path to the fresh air.
Amidst the roar of falling rock, we tumbled out onto a small ledge. From the heavens, dark clouds looked down upon us, eternally shrouding Blackrock Mountain. Somewhere far below, Orc drums thundered, and around the mountain, true madness reigned.
The Horde and the dragons were locked in a life-and-death struggle, crushing and destroying one another. Orc and Troll hovels blazed, lighting up the surroundings, while smoke clouded the eyes, making it difficult to see the base of the mountain clearly. The bodies of the lizards fell from the sky, thinning the numbers of their cursed tribe by the second. Locked in mortal combat, the Orcs generously spilled the blood of their pets. Fearing no death, they hacked through the spines of the rebellious creatures.
"Rodgirn, how are you?"
Sarandiel, running up to me, managed to fire a burst of flame from a single-shot pistol, launching a shimmering projectile into the sky. Piercing through the smoke and clouds, it illuminated the surroundings, bringing the battle to a halt.
"I'm fine, but we still have business."
Leaning on my axe, I walked stubbornly toward my goal, ignoring the mounting pain throughout my body. Wounds bled, and bones creaked under the strain, signaling many fractures.
"Just a little more..."
Whispering under my breath, I climbed onto a nearby rock, standing opposite the dragoness's mangled face; she looked even worse than I did. A bleeding eye with an arrow fragment, a massive wound on her neck, and mutilated paws with spikes from broken shackles gnawing into them. One of her wings was snapped and hung like a dirty rag, while the other pressed fearfully against her body.
"You are making a mistake..."
"I would have made one if I let you go free," the rotors of the Beer Lord hummed nearby. "Today it all ends, and the defeat of The Horde will be only a matter of time."
"Do what you intended."
Humbly hanging her head, she awaited her fate while our airship was already approaching, taking the few survivors on board.
Clinging to the rope, I thought one last time about what was happening, feeling a pressure building in my head, urging me to leave the creature alive. Something dark and terrible had lost its form and now, abandoning tricks and guile, was forcing its will upon me, telling me that the dragoness and I were bound by something...
But the oaths burning on my temples were stronger. The rage and vengeance from the words written in the ancient tongue tore me from the oblivion.
Pushing off with my feet, I hung by one hand, staring fixedly at the Red Dragon.
"For Khaz Modan."
Quietly whispering the final words, I waved my free hand, giving the long-awaited command.
"FIRE!"
Through the smoke and flame, a dozen cannons sent their charges straight into the mighty creature's body, tearing her once-beautiful scales to pieces. The batteries strained as the cannoneers loaded new and newer cannonballs until their hands were raw and bloody, sending them into our enemy.
With the very first salvo, one lucky shot snapped the brute's head back. Her eyes rolled, and her skull jerked upward. The dragon's wings fluttered, and her paws flexed one last time. She couldn't even let out a final roar, silently accepting death for everything her kind had wrought.
With a sort of morbid satisfaction, I watched as the mistress of the dragonflight collapsed to the ground, rolling down under the cannon fire and sliding off the cliff.
Spinning through the air, she struck the crags of Blackrock Mountain, breaking her last intact bones and leaving a wide trail of blood behind her.
Continuing to hang on the rope, feeling neither fatigue nor pain, I watched the dragon's body fall until the Beer Lord flew north. From above, the Elven women shouted to me, while the rest of the crew stared in disbelief at the ruined mountain peak and the slaughter that had taken place.
Around the fallen Matriarch, the surviving dragons slowly gathered, filling the air with their mournful "singing." They bowed their heads as if afraid to lift their gaze to the Dead body of their Mother.
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