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(A/N: Chapter 103 will soon be on Patreon!)
(Nurgle in retaliation of me creating Peak, progressive fiction has cursed me with Diarrhea, Yet that is no excuse to shirk on duty!)
The greatest hero of the era did not look nearly as awe-inspiring or inspirational as he normally did on the battlefield.
But considering the identities of the people currently chewing him out, most observers would have preferred to look the other way.
Varian and Anduin rarely scolded Alastor, even when he was a child. Llane wasn't even worth mentioning, since the man could barely manage more than a slap on the wrist when disciplining his children.
Taria was the only one who could truly keep him in line, but considering how much she doted on him—and how Alastor himself was generally a well-mannered and good-natured boy despite his occasional mischief—it rarely became necessary.
What had happened recently, however, could only be described as a completely "valid crashout".
But even that was nothing compared to the chewing out Jaina and Alleria were currently giving their fiancé.
Thankfully for Alastor, he had "learned" quite a few things growing up from watching his father endure similar situations whenever his mother Taria was upset with him.
Most notably, he had learned that women—the ultimate unsolved puzzles of the universe—could not be reasoned with using the otherwise reliable tool known as common sense.
Fortunately, through the countless "sacrifices" of the men who came before him, modern men had developed methods for navigating the minefield known as women.
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"Do you even think before deciding on such dangerous plans!?"
"Sorry."
"You could have died, Alastor! Do you have any idea what that would have done to us!?"
"You're right."
Currently, Alastor sat in his mortal form on a couch while Jaina and Alleria stood before him, thoroughly chewing out the leader of the Alliance.
After the victory and the closure of the Warp Rift, the Alliance forces had retreated to the nearest secured city which also acted as a outpost.
There, Alastor had immediately been dragged to the mansion they were currently occupying while the rest of the Alliance celebrated their victory.
Which meant booze, drinking contests, brawls, bragging, dancing, bards, and a whole host of other "activites".
*cough* sex *cough*
The moment Jaina and Alleria began their own round of scolding, Varian and Anduin exchanged a single look and promptly left the room.
Partly to give them privacy.
And partly because they understood that, just like their own anger, Jaina and Alleria's frustration came from a place of genuine care.
"You... had us worried sick!"
Jaina's voice was the first to crack as her eyes began to mist over.
"I know you're strong and can handle yourself, but... you... almost..."
Even Alleria, despite being centuries old and normally composed under nearly any circumstance, began to crack once the anger had been vented.
'Annnnnnd Now I really feel like a piece of shit.'
Alastor quickly stood up, pulled both women into an embrace, and sat back down on the couch with one wrapped around each arm.
He hated worrying the people he loved.
Whether they were family, friends, or lovers.
But because of his position—and perhaps because of the expectations he placed upon himself—he always felt obligated to be among the first to take action and set an example for others.
At the same time, he understood their concerns.
What had happened inside the corrupted dimension had genuinely been too close for comfort.
Deathwing was a legitimate threat. Once one of the mighty Dragon Aspects, he had retained his dominion over the earth even after his fall.
And after that fall, he had gained even more destructive powers tied to corruption and ruin.
That wasn't even considering the sinister energy Alastor had sensed lurking within him.
Then there was the dimension itself.
It had been on the verge of violently exploding due to the destabilized portal while simultaneously imploding as reality forcibly reasserted itself.
Alastor knew full well that his chances of surviving the resulting catastrophe had been slim.
Very slim.
The massive explosion that had erased Alterac City and created the colossal crater?
That had merely been the tail end of the destruction after both opposing forces had already canceled out the vast majority of each other's energy.
So yes, Alastor was painfully aware that he and the rest of the team could have died had they remained trapped there much longer.
Because of that, he felt genuinely indebted to Alexstrasza and the Red Dragonflight for their timely intervention.
"I'm sorry I worried both of you."
He sighed heavily.
"It's just... fuck... sometimes I really hate my position."
"But look at it from my perspective. I'm the leader of the Alliance, and whether I like it or not, a lot of people have placed their hopes on me to save our home."
"It's hard trying to be a capable leader while also making sure I don't constantly worry the people I care about."
Alleria sighed and leaned into his right side, nuzzling against him while his arm rested around her waist.
Jaina settled into a similar position on his left.
"You selfless, heroic buffoon of a man..." Alleria muttered. "You're too good for this galaxy."
"Don't forget reckless and foolish," Jaina added from the other side.
Alleria chuckled.
"May I remind you that BOTH of you fell in love with this reckless buffoon of a man?" Alastor interjected with a mock-offended expression.
That only earned more laughter.
"Woe is us." Jaina placed a hand dramatically on her forehead.
Alleria pointed an accusing finger at him.
"Worse still, we can't even regret meeting you because of whatever dastardly spell you've clearly cast on us."
Alastor responded with an exaggerated villainous grin.
"So you've finally uncovered my master plan?"
He steepled his fingers dramatically.
"No matter! The trap has already been sprung! You are now doomed to spend the rest of your lives with me!"
Alleria immediately broke into laughter.
"By Isha, you'd make a terrible villain."
She shook her head.
"I can't even take you seriously when you're trying."
"What? Hey! I'll have you know I could make an excellent villain if I wanted to!"
"True," Jaina agreed with a completely serious expression.
"...When Orks learn basic hygiene."
The three of them spent the next several minutes laughing, bickering, and cuddling together on the couch.
The atmosphere became relaxed and comfortable.
Then, at some point, Alastor noticed that Alleria's hand had somehow slipped beneath his doublet and was casually tracing his muscles and moving downwards.
Meanwhile, Jaina had pressed herself much closer against his other side as he felt her two "lethal" and "large" weapons of destruction making quick work of his self control.
Judging by their increasingly affectionate behavior and dazed looks, it wasn't difficult for Alastor to understand exactly what kind of "attention" his fiancées wanted.
The atmosphere quickly became more ambiguous.
Alastor would have been lying if he said he wasn't tempted.
The two women beside him were absurdly beautiful.
And after everything that had happened this day, he was exhausted, stressed, and desperately in need of some de-stressing.
He had nearly suffered a breakdown after his confrontation with Arthas.
Then there had been Deathwing.
And being trapped between a collapsing pocket dimension and an unstable Warp Rift.
It had been a VERY long day.
Unfortunately, he knew this wasn't the time.
As much as he regretted it.
Not before he finished one final task.
Alastor gently took hold of Alleria's hand and shook his head at Jaina.
"Not now."
Both women looked confused.
Alastor wasn't one to turn them down when they sought his attention, they would know considering how passionate he was in those moments.
"It's important."
He released a slow breath.
"When I was inside that dimension... I fought Arthas."
And with that, Alastor began explaining everything that had happened during the battle and what he had discovered.
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Alastor and Jaina stood in a separate room.
Turalyon had accompanied them and gently laid Arthas's body upon the bed before giving them a solemn nod. After removing the cloth that had concealed Arthas's identity, he quietly excused himself and left.
Jaina remained silent throughout all of it.
In fact, she had barely spoken a word ever since Alastor told her what had truly happened during his battle with Arthas.
Alleria had chosen not to stay.
She understood that this was something only those who had been closest to Arthas before his fall had the right to be present for, even if neither Alastor nor anyone else would have objected to her presence.
Instead, she wished them luck, offered both of them a supportive hug, and departed to find Tyrande, with whom she had unexpectedly developed a close friendship.
.....One had to wonder how she would react if she ever learned that her new "friend" was the mortal incarnation of one of the Eldar goddesses.
The next to enter the room were Alonsus and Uther.
They were accompanied by Calia, who had only recently been escorted to the outpost city.
The journey had been made significantly easier by the destruction of the main Warp Rift, which had drastically reduced the corruption throughout the surrounding lands.
Calia froze the moment she saw Arthas lying on the bed.
For the first time in what felt like years, he looked less like the monster the world remembered and more like the beloved younger brother she had known before everything went wrong.
Uther and Alonsus frowned as well, but neither spoke.
Instead, everyone turned their attention toward Alastor.
Seeing that all the relevant people had finally arrived, Alastor once again began recounting everything that had happened during his confrontation with Arthas inside the corrupted dimension.
By the time he finished, Calia had broken down in tears.
She collapsed beside the bed and repeatedly struck Arthas's chest with trembling fists.
"You idiot...!"
Hit.
"You stupid idiot...!"
Hit.
"Why... why would you do something so stupid...!?"
Hit.
The blows carried no real strength behind them.
Only grief.
Only pain.
Only the anguish of a sister who had learned far too late what her brother had truly endured.
Uther, normally a firm and composed man who would not hesitate to stand against even a Greater Daemon, was equally shaken.
He had to sit down lest he collapsed on the floor.
"You fool..." he whispered.
"You bloody Light-damned fool of a boy..."
His hands clenched into fists.
"Why couldn't you have said something...?"
Even Jaina, who had already heard the story earlier alongside Alleria, felt a fresh wave of grief and guilt wash over her.
Back in Dalaran, she had condemned Arthas without hesitation.
She had believed the man before her to be the prince she once knew.
Never imagining that the true Arthas had effectively been imprisoned within his own body while a twisted persona wielded him as a vessel for Frostmourne's power.
Alastor, sensing her turmoil, gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Jaina immediately buried her face against his chest and held onto him tightly.
Alonsus was perhaps the most composed person in the room.
Yet even he regarded Arthas with a sorrowful gaze.
He mourned the loss of a genuinely good man while silently cursing Chaos for its insidious nature.
"To think..." Alonsus said quietly.
"All this time, the one we believed we were fighting was not truly Arthas at all."
His expression darkened.
"But rather a twisted persona crafted by the same fel powers that manipulated him, using his body as a vessel for Frostmourne's power."
Unfortunately, Alonsus was far too familiar with how such entities operated.
Whether they were creatures of Chaos or other fel abominations, he had spent much of his life witnessing the devastation they left behind.
Daemons and monsters, terrifying as they were in open battle, could at least be fought directly.
They could be slain.
Defeated.
Banished.
Sealed away.
In fact, many veteran warriors of the Church preferred facing such enemies head-on.
No.
What made these entities truly dangerous was their ability to infiltrate the minds and hearts of mortals.
They sought out the cracks within a person's psyche.
They preyed upon fear.
Upon anger.
Upon grief.
Upon insecurity.
It always began with whispers.
Small suggestions.
Tiny doubts.
Then, little by little, those whispers grew louder.
Until eventually the victim either became a willing servant or was twisted into a version of themselves they could never have imagined becoming.
Alonsus had seen countless good men and women fall victim to such corruption throughout his lifetime.
Some succumbed to greed.
Others to hatred.
Others simply lacked the strength to overcome the darkness within themselves that these creatures so eagerly exploited.
His eyes lowered as if he could still see the blood on his hands.
...Quite a few of those fallen souls had once been friends.
And more often than not...
He had been the one forced to put them down.
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Alastor finally spoke again.
"Before he died, Arthas told me two important things."
He paused briefly.
"The first is that Malak, the leader of the Chaos-worshipping Black Guilds, is in the north. Specifically, somewhere within the territory of Quel'Thalas."
"Quel'Thalas?" Alonsus frowned. "Why would he be in the lands of the High Elves unless..."
His expression darkened.
"We may need to begin the northern purge operations and purification procedures much sooner than planned."
"I'll do it."
Both Alastor and Alonsus turned toward Uther.
The Paladin's face was a mask of barely restrained hatred and vengeance.
"Give me a few days, and I'll have the entirety of the Silver Hand mobilized and ready to spearhead the purges and purification campaigns."
His hands clenched into fists.
"I won't leave a single stone unturned."
His voice hardened.
"And I won't let even one of those daemon-worshipping fucks—or the freaks they call masters—live."
Alonsus looked at Uther with concern.
"Uther, I don't think that's wise—"
"You have my permission."
Alonsus stopped speaking as Alastor interrupted him.
The Alliance leader's expression was serious.
"Speak with any of my lieutenants regarding whatever resources you'll need."
He met Uther's gaze.
"And Uther..."
A grim smile crossed his face.
"Good hunting."
The Paladin's scowl eased slightly.
He gave Alastor a grateful nod before departing from the room.
Once the door closed behind him, Alonsus turned back toward Alastor.
"Was that wise?"
Alastor sighed and gently disentangled himself from Jaina before answering.
"Perfect? No."
He shook his head.
"But I can see that Uther is filled with rage over Arthas and what the enemy did to him."
His eyes lowered.
"And honestly... I can't—or rather, I won't—deny him that vengeance."
He folded his arms.
"Not when I know firsthand how badly people need the chance to strike back against those who hurt them."
A distant look entered his eyes as memories resurfaced.
His father's death.
The grief.
The overwhelming rage that had followed.
"Even a little revenge helps."
His voice grew quieter.
"Sometimes, just knowing you've brought justice to the people responsible for taking someone you love can help you move forward."
Alastor looked back toward the door through which Uther had left.
"I understand how he feels."
And he truly did.
"Besides," he continued, "hatred and anger can be powerful motivators."
A faint smirk appeared.
"Having someone like Uther leading the effort to eradicate the remaining enemy forces will probably do wonders for the morale of the other purge and purification groups."
Alonsus nodded slowly.
It was clear he understood Alastor's reasoning, even if he didn't entirely agree with it.
"Then I should be going as well."
The Archbishop rose to his feet.
"There is much to prepare for."
A small, weary smile crossed his face.
"And that stubborn boy of mine will need someone around once all that anger finally burns itself out."
Alastor smiled in return.
He knew Uther was in good hands.
More importantly, he knew Alonsus would ensure that Uther's hatred did not consume him entirely.
Eventually, the Archbishop departed, leaving only Alastor, Jaina, and Calia in the room.
Calia still knelt beside Arthas's bed.
Alastor steadied himself as Jaina gave his hand a firm squeeze and an encouraging look.
Taking a deep breath, he walked over and gently placed a hand upon Calia's shoulder.
Her body was still trembling from quiet sobs.
"The second thing Arthas told me..."
His voice softened.
"Was for you, Calia."
Slowly, she looked up.
Alastor swallowed.
"His message was simple."
"I'm sorry."
Calia's eyes widened.
"He regretted many things...."
Alastor's gaze drifted toward Arthas's body.
"He regretted the suffering his actions caused."
"The lives that were lost."
"The pain he brought to others."
His voice became quieter still.
"But the one person he never wanted to hurt..."
He looked directly at her.
"...was you."
The irony was cruel.
In many ways, Calia had been the person hurt most by everything that had happened.
Yet if humanity possessed one defining trait, it was stubbornness.
Logic could insist something was impossible.
Facts could say there was no hope.
But humans would still cling to that one impossible chance.
That tiny possibility that a miracle might occur.
Calia had every right to hate Arthas.
No one would have blamed her if she did.
But the truth was that she never had.
Even before learning what had truly happened, she had only ever felt sorrow, pity, and grief for her brother.
And now, after discovering the extent of the manipulation he had endured—how Chaos, Frostmourne, and the darkness within had twisted his fate—those feelings only deepened.
The knowledge that the real Arthas had been trapped inside his own body all this time made everything worse.
Somewhere within that tortured soul, her brother had remained.
Watching.
Helpless.
Forced to witness atrocity after atrocity committed through his own hands.
Like a prisoner trapped inside a grotesque puppet.
And when he had finally regained control...
It had only been long enough to give Alastor the opening needed to strike the fatal blow that ultimately sealed his fate.
Arthas understood the damage he had caused.
He understood the suffering attached to his name.
And despite all his regrets, he had accepted that history would remember him as a monster.
Because in his mind, no one deserved to suffer for his mistakes.
Especially not his sister.
Calia's sobs returned with renewed force.
She suddenly threw her arms around Alastor, seeking comfort and support.
Alastor immediately embraced her in return.
No words.
Just the silent reassurance that he was there for her.
That she wasn't alone.
Jaina soon joined them, kneeling beside Calia and gently rubbing her back despite the grief weighing heavily upon her own heart.
The three remained like that for several moments.
United by loss.
By exhaustion.
By the scars left behind by war.
Because in truth, there were no winners in war.
Only the dead.
And the survivors.
Nearly everyone who had fought in this conflict had been wounded in some way.
Some had lost friends.
Some had lost family.
Others had lost parts of themselves.
Many had suffered all three.
There was still much to be done.
The war was not completely over.
There would be more battles.
More rebuilding.
More healing.
But for now...
For now, they had earned the right to rest.
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