Stormwind.
On the city wall appeared those of its defenders who were dressed in priestly robes. From the tops of the staves of the servants of the church, bright white rays tore away and rushed downward...
"The Elves, of course, warned that the Holy would not be as useful in a fight with Demons as with the spawn of N'Zoth, but not to this extent!" the thought flashed through the head of the leader of the Order of the Silver Hand at the sight of how the lethal magic of his fellow Priests mostly dissolved powerlessly upon meeting the haze of the protective dome filled with green sparks—this was the first attempt to respond to the meteor flow that had crashed from the sky and nearly leveled the recently rebuilt city along with all its Magical Barriers and those who sheltered behind them.
Of course, the defense of Stormwind did not live by the Holy alone in the person of Priests and Paladins. There were some Mages, several batteries of Dwarven cannons were present, as well as a large number of ordinary soldiers; they were also joined by refugees from their native Lordaeron led by a young talent about whom incredible rumors circulated...
The thought slid to the betrayal of his ward, and Uther the Lightbringer clenched his gauntlet on the hilt of his faithful hammer until it creaked, but almost immediately regained control of himself and loosened his grip—falling into a rage would be quite out of place...
...but most importantly—the Elves had come to their aid. And even if these Long-Ears, as it turned out, were not subjects of Quel'Thalas and were even in unfriendly relations with the latter, they nevertheless represented a considerable force...
Uther the Lightbringer perfectly understood the young King of Stormwind, hurrying to grab any extended hand of help so that his people would have hope for survival in the coming... the war that had begun. Only this time they were opposed by an enemy that could not be defeated by hope or luck.
The commanders of the defenders, preparing to repel an attack from the sea depths, were forced to adapt their developments against the demonic threat. Following the unsuccessful attempt of the servants of the Holy, spells, cannonballs, arrows, stones, and other gifts from the hospitable hosts rained down on the attackers rushing toward the city fortifications under powerful magical cover.
The Demons began to suffer their first losses, for stopping a cast-iron ball accelerated by Dwarven cannons turned out to be not as easy as dealing with the energy of the Holy. What can be said about the heavy stones falling from above: although the underground shorties preferred firearms, it cost such masters nothing to "slightly refine" the existing throwing machines available to the allies—trophies from the war with the Orcs that had thundered a decade ago. And now, instead of fifty kilograms, stone blocks weighing nearly two hundred rushed toward the ground, tumbling. And for something so simple and straightforward, the Demons turned out to be prepared not to the extent they would have liked. The sight of squashed, maimed, or even completely disintegrating monsters from particularly successful hits gladdened the eyes of the defenders; here and there, from the walls, triumphant cries began to ring out... premature ones.
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Under the walls of Stormwind.
Archimonde squinted with displeasure, looking at the falling stones. Yes, the commander of the Legion forces perfectly understood that a little more and his soldiers would reach the walls, and then the besieged would realize a simple truth—the Demons are running toward the Human fortifications not at all to crowd under them in anticipation of death. But even with such an understanding, losses in a place he considered level ground upset the left hand of Sargeras. And Archimonde did not like to be upset—he liked to do that to others—which he demonstrated.
"If even one more stone falls on my troops—I will send you to the front line."
And, it would seem, the former Eredar uttered the threat without a specific address, but judging by the whispering coming from behind his back, he was heard, and his order was taken into account. And no later than half a minute later, the stone blocks falling from the sky were met by green blobs, after which only harmless grit showered the ground upon hitting the target.
The leader of the demonic army nodded with satisfaction and immediately made his contribution to the assault—after his spell and a couple of careless passes, the sky was pierced by the yellow-green streak of a lone but large meteorite. The dome of the besieged faded but held, however, the stone did not shatter into pieces like its past brethren, but bounced, its outlines melting in flight, and now before the gates of Stormwind, a huge Infernal, level with the walls and literally blazing with Fel, began to grow from the pile of fragments...
Archimonde limited himself to this for now: he had not climbed to the very top of the chain of command to now play the part of even an elite soldier; otherwise, the former Eredar could well have swept away the flimsy defense of the little humans with a single spell... the main thing was not to overdo it. And where did he have to hurry now? A day, two, a week—time didn't make a difference, for the moment had already been missed anyway. The Elves had been preparing for the invasion for several millennia, and a few days for them was nothing, whereas his army after the fiasco at the Portal was in dire need of reinforcements. That was why the Warlocks provided almost no magical support to the advancing troops, continuously summoning new Demons from the Netherstorm or raising the dead. Although the local material was not great, it was quite suitable to ravage the surrounding villages and thereby multiply their numbers, in order to further turn a pile of worthless walking bones and rotten zombies into some kind of elite flesh golem... For the role of "meat" in Sargeras's forces, the competition was always purely formal—everyone was accepted, but all other troops were treated more fastidiously the higher their rank in the extensive hierarchy of the Legion. However, in the city itself, a fat prize awaited him.
Meanwhile, the Infernal did not like the treat from the hospitable inhabitants, who spared no stockpiled projectiles, scrolls, and most importantly—Mana. And although the creation of Fel possessed good resistance to enemy spells, it could not be said that the lightning striking the stone cap of its head caused no damage at all. Be that as it may, the creation of demonic worlds was not summoned to act as a mannequin for practicing strikes—the Infernal golem finally formed and, emitting an indistinct but loud grinding sound, moved confidently toward the city gates.
A step, a second... The magical support finally finished its weaving, and the result of the joint efforts was a dome saturated with poisonous green that surrounded the summoned creation. The Infernal golem, which the "stinging midges" had stopped bothering, took the third and fourth steps more confidently... but instead of then testing the strength of the stone bridge with its weight, it fell straight into the moat along with the fragments of the Human structure, which had collapsed not at all on its own under the weight of the big guy—it was certainly helped by the defenders. Contrary to the expectations of the witnesses of the ignominious fall, the water, upon coming into contact with the demonic fire, was in no hurry to give off clouds of steam: the Fel did not care about such trifles. But such ignoring did not work with all physical laws. The water hid a second layer of the trap—a pit filled with choice silt. And the longer the Infernal floundered, the stronger and faster it sank into the muck, which only half a minute ago had been ordinary earth—and neither the magical shield nor its native protection from magic could prevent this process or even slow it down.
The leader of the Demons grimaced slightly. The desire to save strength and replenish the army "for free" began to go against the current situation. But the reluctance to act personally could have been cast aside for the sake of expediency, but he still feared overexerting himself. Finishing everything with one blow and destroying the city, spending resources and getting nothing in return—clearly did not appeal to him. And if Archimonde treated losses in the rank-and-file forces quite calmly, as they were quite replaceable (experienced Warlocks could summon those same Fiends by the dozens), he categorically did not want to waste his own Mana in large volumes—after all, the success of the entire war depended on him. Fortunately, he had subordinates to whom the principle of economy did not apply.
"Begin," Archimonde commanded when his army, though suffering some losses, finally almost reached the fortifications: the moat and the remains of the bridge, which it had now become clear was a trap.
Behind the commander's back were many Demons skilled in magic, ranging from succubi to Nathrezim. The leading role, of course, was played by the latter. Some of the Warlocks were engaged in maintaining charms that destabilized spatial magic, others in covering the advancing troops, and yet another group was preparing to crack the defenses of the Human city and provide their army with access inside the city fortifications. Moreover, the latter, strangely enough, entered into direct confrontation with the first group—this was facilitated by their chosen method of penetration behind the walls of Stormwind—portal magic. And here, in view of the significance of the efforts applied to holding the caught little humans, the ultimate distance at which a portal could open played a very key role. About a dozen dark red arches formed on the bank of the moat, into which streams of Legion soldiers rushed, not bothering to conquer the walls, and the exits appeared exactly at the inner side of the stonework, only thirty meters from the entrance—it was precisely to such a distance that the defenders were "graciously" allowed to attempt to flee from the doomed city, while applying significant magical efforts.
The concentration of defenders' faces on the battlefield dropped sharply—most turned their backs to the enemy as one, or even left the crest of the wall in a hurry. Archimonde did not see what was happening in the city itself, but he perfectly imagined the difficulties experienced by the Azerothians... If one could call it that, the slaughter that unfolded in the first seconds of the invasion on the defenseless streets of the city. Later, of course, the generals of the united Human army tried to organize the blocking of the creatures that had burst into the city, but it didn't work very well—this maneuver of the Legion turned out to be very non-standard and unexpected. The horror and despair into which the city began to sink gave Sargeras's henchman visible pleasure...
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Stormwind. Mage Quarter.
An arrow glowing with a blue shine easily pierced the skull of one of the blue-skinned brutes who ran out from around the corner, then with difficulty broke through the chest covered by armor of a second, and got stuck in an Imp flickering under the feet of the "grown-up guys," knocking it onto the pavement. During the next five seconds, three of its fellows whistled nearby, and it could not be said that the result was any worse. The remaining living Demons were buried under a plant mass that broke through the ground toward the light and fundamentally tore up the roadway. However, a new wave of invaders had already appeared from around the corner of the house.
"They will simply bury us with bodies, and it won't be possible to leave the city anymore," the Druid commented indifferently on the situation, standing on the roof next to the Elf Archer who was "concurrently" his wife and the ruler of the remains of the Kaldorei.
Surprisingly, Malfurion Stormrage had calmed down after they were trapped in Stormwind, although at one time he had vehemently protested against Tyrande Whisperwind's proposal to provide aid to the new allies, following the instructions of "visions of Elune."
Clenching her bow until it creaked and simultaneously sending several more feathered guests into flight, the girl (after several divine manifestations, Tyrande Whisperwind seemed to have shed the weight of her years, looking younger, if not in body, then certainly in soul) said confidently:
"Elune will not leave us in our hour of trouble. Malfurion Stormrage, you saw it all yourself."
"And I will say it again: this Sally... she looks more like a Priestess from their church than one graced by our Goddess."
"If you were closer to Elune, you would not have such doubts. And besides—who told you that one interferes with the other?"
The next arrows, despite the magical component, "cheerfully" clattered against a suddenly appeared protective dome, shattering in different directions in a useless heap of splinters. Someone more serious had appeared to cover the stalled direction, which meant it was necessary to retreat—after all, it was not worth giving the enemy a chance to realize the threat voiced by Malfurion Stormrage. But they had barely jumped over several roofs when a new problem emerged.
"If Elune can help, then I think now is the time," Malfurion Stormrage noted; the characteristic flickering of the Magic Shield deployed over the capital of the Human kingdom indicated that the energy defense structure was living its last minutes...
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Stormwind. Trade District.
The market square at the main entrance to the city had been its busiest part even before the war, and now, when this large open space had become the only place whose defense the invaders had failed to push through even after fifteen minutes, a real crowd was observed on it. From five portals burning with a sinister crimson near the still-closed city gates, Legion soldiers in all their multifaceted diversity burst into the city. However, despite the fact that the defenders of Stormwind could not boast such distinctive features as horns, hooves, tails, and other demonic attributes—they generally managed to easily hold back the pressure of the attackers, even though the latter increased with every minute of the battle. Such a serious achievement of the defenders against the backdrop of the success of the Demons rapidly spreading through the city streets in other directions was due to only one factor—the presence on the battlefield of the leader of the Order of the Silver Hand.
The first Paladin shone on the battlefield. Uther the Lightbringer had never so justified his nickname. His protective aura emitted a radiance that stung the eyes of enemies and heartened allies, and the man himself, in a halo of pink light, swung his famous hammer, gifted to him by the founder of the order, as easily as if it were a twig, acting as a mighty and indestructible cliff against which wave after wave of demonic spawn shattered like blood spray. All attempts by the enemy to deal with the "breakwater" proved doomed to failure, for not a single attack could reach Uther: no one had canceled the ultimacy of the Divine Shield. Even when holding the absolute... almost absolute defense proved impossible, his comrades stood before the Paladin, and after what seemed like only a few seconds, their leader returned to the battlefield again fully armed.
And yet Uther was far from being there in solitary pride. Not counting the brothers of the order, there was everyone on the square, ranging from Varian Wrynn's guards defending their native lands to the Elves who had recently joined the formed alliance. And if one were to delve into the details of the defenders' composition, then among the townspeople and the long-eared guests from Kalimdor, there were still Kul Tirans, Dwarves, and Lordaeronians "crowding." The subjects of the deceased Menethil senior arrived last, having made it just one day before the appearance of the Demons under the walls of Stormwind, and among the other allies, they were the most remarkable, surpassing even the Elves in terms of the interest they aroused. The reason for the exceptional nature of the arrived detachment was not its small size, which was only three hundred people—even the Elves were more numerous—and not even the method of arrival—no one is surprised by portals nowadays. But the identity of the leader evoked strong emotions, and amazement in the souls of those who fervently believed in the Holy was far from being in first place there...
If one looked at the leader of the kin of Lordaeron's northern neighbors, then upon learning the age of the young-looking green-haired Elf, everyone would identify in her gaze a reflection of that spark they would subconsciously look for there: be it the wisdom of millennia lived or the sternness of a leader who had led her people through many troubles. Well, that's an Elf—an ancient creature followed by a flair of legends, tales, and ordinary Human fantasy that had distorted everything possible and impossible from century to century; but one doesn't somehow expect anything like that from a young teenage girl, and then there you go—the periodically activating non-human gaze of eyes filled with the Holy revealed her to be at least an Avatar of a god and made even such an experienced, strong-willed person as Uther tremble...
In general, the appearance of Sally Whitemane and his brothers of the order from the Lordaeron monastery caused a great stir among the Priests and Paladins, even despite the threat looming over Azeroth. For among the fervently believing, which the representatives of the church and the Order of the Silver Hand undoubtedly were, a collapse of the ideals of faith occurred, which they had nurtured in themselves all their conscious lives on the path to the Holy. To realize in one moment that behind the faceless Holy, to which they addressed their appeals and which guided and warmed them, as well as protected them from enemies, stands someone's will... the will of a higher Entity—is worth a lot.
Recalling a small lecture about Elune, kindly conducted by the leader of the allies, who was concurrently the High Priestess of the mentioned Moon Goddess, Uther, successfully smashing the skull of another Demon with his hammer, involuntarily grimaced: he also remembered the heated debate that had flared up among the high church figures, and the Paladin already sensed what verbal battles would begin after the fight regarding the gender of God...
It would seem that a High Paladin should be focused on the battle rather than being distracted by idle memories, if one could call thoughts regarding the first manifestation of a certain divine essence of Holy so, but the mechanical work of his hands required no serious expenditure of attention from him, unlike the need to concentrate his will on maintaining defense. Uther had quite enough experience to manage tactical tasks or, as in this case, to ponder strategic questions. However, he was in no hurry to become completely distracted, and thus he noticed in time a qualitative change in the composition of the attackers: blue Brutes clad in Armor pushed forward, handling enormous protasans quite deftly. Apparently, the commanders of the demonic hordes were tired of waiting for Stormwind to fall into their paws like overripe fruit, and they decided to increase the pressure. This immediately began to take its toll on the defenders' lines.
And though Uther himself continued to make a significant contribution to the destruction of enemy manpower, the concentration of enemy attention on him was gradually fading: the demons were not as stupid as they seemed at first glance, to pointlessly batter themselves against an impenetrable sphere of protection. Losses among the members of the spontaneously formed Systems Alliance from ranged attacks began to rise, while the magic of the defenders mostly shattered helplessly against the powerful protection of the attackers. Of course, long-lived beings like the elves were bound to provide competition for the enemy's Biotics users... but not all Kaldorei were skilled Mages, and their numbers left much to be desired, while the number present specifically on this square was negligible. Therefore, it was not surprising that the humans and their allies were losing the magical confrontation miserably. The situation was saved only by the formation of the aforementioned paladins and a crowd of priests, but the attacking arsenal of the latter was quite meager; one cannot get far on healing alone, and a blind defense is a path to nowhere. Uther understood this perfectly but had no idea what could be done. The valiant Paladin saw no opportunity to turn the tide of the battle in their favor, and therefore it was necessary to retreat, abandoning the market square, the difficulty of further defending which was beyond doubt due to its size and the decrease in the number of defenders almost proportionally to the increase in the number of demons continuing to rush through the portal.
Another bright lightning bolt, created by one of the elves, struck the Biotics users who were actively using spells, turning the target into a well-done piece of Meat and jumping to a neighbor, but, having weakened considerably, it only helplessly "stroked" the protection of the deceased's closest comrades. Over the Paladin's head, toward the lover of roasting Biotics users, dark clusters flew, but judging by another lightning bolt, they met with failure and the ally survived; however, this did not mean that someone else hadn't suffered. One episode of battle among many, but it was from such moments that the realization was born—the square could not be held...
The Defensive Line of the defenders was backing away, despite the presence of determined paladins in the ranks. And just as the chief among the champions of Holy once again considered the order to retreat, a shadow suddenly fell over the square and, as it later turned out, over the entire city. Uther had absolutely no time to be distracted by investigating the nature of the phenomenon; he only hoped that the dome would withstand another trick of the demons. He did not even doubt that this was an attack by the latter. But after a blindingly white beam struck from the sky, tracing a line in front of the defenders and incinerating every single Legion soldier caught under the spell, regardless of their Magic Shields, doubts appeared. The next attack from the heavens was not as successful: the demon rearguard chosen as a target by the unknown entity, consisting mainly of Biotics users providing support to the troops, was protected far better than simple meat, and thus the beam had barely dealt with the shields of a third of the enemy mages when the energy invested in it was exhausted.
Be that as it may, the humans and their allies gained a respite, and Uther, like many standing nearby, took advantage of the moment to look up. In the sky, almost touching the exhausted protective dome, hung a huge dark-purple crystal, around which three of its smaller brethren of coral, amethyst, and light-blue colors slowly circled. It was the first satellite that had supported the Stormwindians at the main gates and was currently quite successfully burning out portals; the other two were dealing with the demons that had burst into the city in other districts, while the central crystal, without a hint of hesitation, brazenly attacked the headquarters of the commander of the Burning Legion. A white beam, which in the Paladin's view was at least three times thicker than those seen before, connected the unknown flying object and a point hidden behind the city wall. And only relatively recently, Uther had seen a huge blue-skinned Demon standing near the former forest edge, in exactly that direction.
This state of affairs lasted barely a few seconds, during which Uther managed to deal with only one Demon that had slipped through the scorched exclusion zone, before the situation on the battlefield changed again. But here it was impossible to say exactly in which direction, due to the lack of visibility. Behind the wall, a huge dome of dark-purple color swelled (as if in mockery of the crystal hovering over the city) with green veins. The beam emitted by the celestial object slammed into it, and simultaneously, portals began to open again along the perimeter of the walls, from which new demonic reinforcements did not hesitate to pour. Dark green spots began to spread across the facets of the crystals hanging in the air—evidence of hits from spells saturated with Fel. And immediately, as if the demonic shield served as an activator rune, multiple portals of an unusually white color began to open throughout the city near clusters of its defenders, and a girl's voice, amplified by mana, commanded across the entire city:
"Defenders and residents of Stormwind! Everyone retreat into the portals! Hurry!"
It is quite possible that Uther would not have believed some suspicious voice from the heavens, suspecting a trap. The demons could well sacrifice their own to lure their enemies and take them while they were vulnerable right at the exit of the portals. Of course, the Paladin knew nothing about the Naaru, nor about how they had been persuaded to assist the Stormwindians by the one the elves called Elune, so he had every right to doubt such a situation. However, Uther recognized the voice. The one who gave the order to retreat was none other than that same Sally Whitemane he had recently been thinking about, and therefore...
"Tell everyone—we are retreating!"
The head of the order of paladins confirmed the order, but he himself planned to leave if not last, then among the very last—today his hammer still had a little work to do... in the name of Holy, of course.
***
Maelstrom.
When Archimonde felt that his astral double had been destroyed, he should have been greatly surprised: although it had been created for the purpose of distracting the powerful of this world, its death was clearly not intended—after all, the double was not just anywhere, but in the middle of the Burning Legion army. However, at that moment, Archimonde had no time for such "trifles." Sargeras's henchman was channeling the energy of the destroyed first Well of Eternity through himself and creating a portal... though it would be more accurate to call it a Portal. Of course, building a portal to summon Sargeras himself by passing the energy of the Maelstrom through oneself and converting it into a more convenient "format" would not work. Truth be told, Archimonde did not regret this at all—for if the Maelstrom could be used as a battery, the locals would have "discharged" it long ago. As it was—even for him, the process of extracting the necessary energy from the vortex was at the limit of his by no means small Magical Talents.
In short, the left hand of the Fallen Titan, standing still on one of the cliffs surrounding the Maelstrom, was trying to build a huge portal not at all to summon his master or additional Legion armies from the Twisting Nether—they simply wouldn't fit on this pathetic scrap of land. Everything was much simpler and more complicated at the same time—the archdemon was summoning his colleague and old friend, if one could call a rival for Sargeras's attention so—Kil'jaeden. And it could not be said that summoning this being was any easier than summoning thousands of demons, even if they were far weaker than one of the two former leaders of the Eredar.
The efforts spent on building the Portal were not in vain: five minutes after the death of the astral double, an arch of interplanetary transition gaped (there was no other way to put it) on the ledge. From beyond the edge breathed the Void of the Nether, and then through the thinnest film separating space, a red-skinned giant passed, looking very much like the creator of the Portal. The arch behind the newcomer immediately dissipated into a multicolored flurry of mana, instantly drawn in by the Maelstrom.
"Tremble, mortals! Evil. Has come. To this world," a coarse but deep voice, filled with undisguised power, drowned out even the noise of the Maelstrom.
And although an immeasurable amount of strength had been spent on converting energy to create a passage through space, Archimonde still managed to easily demonstrate bewilderment on his face at such blatant plagiarism, as vividly evidenced by a raised eyebrow: after all, the commander of the Burning Legion did not expect to hear his catchphrase from someone else's lips.
"What?" Kil'jaeden shrugged. "I've always wanted to say that..."
***
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