Atop the formidable Mount Hyjal, they had assembled, driven by the last flicker of hope to thwart the impending annihilation of their world. Yet, amidst the urgency of the enemy's looming presence, Jaina found herself ensnared in a ceaseless struggle, mediating between the obstinate Orcs and the unyielding Elves. Even now, with the shadow of doom over them, these factions bore their fangs at one another. It defied reason, akin to a torturous nightmare.
Jaina's patience was a threadbare tapestry, stretched to its limits by the relentless tension between Orc and Elf. Despite the strategic placement of her own people between the feuding groups, some persisted in abandoning their posts to engage in petty skirmishes.
At this juncture, Jaina had transcended any vestige of concern for either of these stubborn and prejudiced races. The legitimacy of the Elves' grievances against the Orcs notwithstanding, the current situation was an exercise in incomprehensibility.
"Told ya!" an intrusive, grating voice pierced the air from behind her. Jaina clenched her teeth, her magical power barely constrained. She recognized that unleashing it would achieve nothing but dissipate her precious strength.
She turned, her expression contorted into a sneer, as she faced the impudent figure behind her. This being, had once approached her, reveling in her futile attempts to unite the warring factions in the cause of saving their shared world—the very fabric of their existence!
"What do you want?" her voice dripped with venom as she addressed him. The remnants of her composure had dissolved into the chaos that had been her constant companion for days on end. Her moments of respite were stolen away by incessant distractions, fraying her already taut nerves. This ceaseless torment pushed her to the brink; she clung to her sanity by a slender thread. And this man, this tormentor, was further testing her resolve.
A grin, laden with teeth, materialized on the man's face, emblematic of his cavalier disregard. "A gift, my dear! A gift to salvage your crumbling world," he taunted, the nonchalance in his tone a stark contrast to the gravity of their plight.
Her countenance twitched at his insouciance, a reminder that creatures like him had no obligation to bear the weight of a world teetering on the precipice. To him, it was all a grand jest. It hadn't escaped her that she had once sunk so low as to beseech his assistance, only to be met with laughter and refusal.
And now, he had the audacity to waltz into her presence, peddling salvation out of thin air. Fury surged within her; her palm met his cheek in a stinging slap. "Now? Now you deign to extend your aid?! I implored you, on my knees, and you—you laughed at my plea!" Her strikes rained down on him, her voice cracking as tears streamed from her eyes.
And yet, he found her anguish uproariously amusing. His laughter mocked her broken spirit as her strikes continued, a desperate crescendo in her symphony of despair. She crumbled, collapsing onto the ground, her sobs testament to the ruins of her once indomitable resolve. There was nothing left; she no longer clung to the world's salvation. If this was the end, then so be it. Let the world perish, and with it, her anguish.
Arms encircled her, an embrace that was meant to provide solace but only served to heighten her distress. She felt neither warmth nor reassurance—only dread, wrongness, and an unshakable fear. It was all so awfully amiss, a cacophony of discordant emotions that clamored for escape. She struggled, her efforts futile against the invisible maelstrom that ensnared her. It consumed her, an engulfing darkness that left her gasping for breath.
Help me! She yearned to cry out, her voice stifled by unseen restraints. She was drowning, submerged in an abyss where light dwindled to a mere glimmer before vanishing altogether.
And then, release. Panting and trembling, she found herself sprawled upon the ground, eyes wide with terror, her veins coursing with the residue of adrenaline. A hand gently gripped her chin, lifting her gaze to meet the stranger's visage, a visage devoid of emotion. Gone was the amusement that usually danced in his eyes. Something was off, gravely off.
"What are you?" she croaked, horror etching her voice as she struggled to grasp the incomprehensible tableau before her.
He leaned in, a proximity that should have prompted her retreat, but she was immobilized, caught in the gravity of his presence. His lips hovered near her ear, his words a chilling whisper. "A monster."
He leaned back, his gaze softening as it met hers. "Yet, I am not bereft of compassion. My offer is sincere—a chance to grant you the power to defend yourself, to obliterate these aberrations and stand resolute against the terrors that plague this accursed realm," he cooed, his words like a gentle enchantment weaving around her, threading her thoughts with promises she couldn't resist. Her fear dissipated, replaced by an unfamiliar calmness that had eluded her for days.
A tranquility she hadn't tasted in so long wrapped around her like a soothing embrace.
"Do you desire it?" he inquired, his voice like a siren's call. And her heart could only respond in one way. "Yes," she confessed, her longing laid bare.
His touch traced the curve of her cheek, a tender gesture before he helped her to her feet. He turned her attention towards something ahead. Her brows knitted in mild confusion. "The Elves sought its destruction—a means to thwart Archimonde—but that would offer a solitary reprieve. It's a wellspring of unparalleled power, dormant for eons. I can guide you to it, help you tap into its reservoir, and with that power, combating the demons would become child's play. Of course, the Elves would balk at your audacity, and the Orcs might eye you with suspicion, fearing you might wield it against them," he whispered close to her ear, his voice both alluring and magnetic.
His words evoked a mélange of emotions within her. Anger towards the Elves for their reckless handling of a formidable force. Hope ignited by the prospect of channeling this energy to annihilate the demonic onslaught and any impending threats. And, simmering beneath it all, a disdain for the Orcs, their entitlement unfounded. They should consider themselves fortunate that she'd tolerated their presence this long.
She steadied herself, commanding a tone of authority. "Proceed."
She couldn't see the man's face, or the grin splitting across his visage. He took her arm, lifting it to point towards the designated tree. Under his guidance, her magical prowess was directed in novel ways, untapped avenues of power revealed.
Then she felt it—the wellspring of energy, a titanic reservoir unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was as if she were a pebble beside the vast expanse of a sea, the sheer enormity taking her breath away. "Easy, breathe," his voice cut through the haze, grounding her in the moment. Following his counsel, she inhaled deeply, regaining her equilibrium.
With each passing moment, her connection to this force grew stronger, embracing it without being consumed. She merged with it, her essence intertwining with its boundless power—distinct yet harmonious. A frustrated exhale escaped her, the Elves' folly evident. "Later," his voice sounded, tinged with amusement, undoubtedly sensing her frustrations.
She scarcely noticed when he withdrew, her link to the wellspring cementing further. She closed her eyes, centering herself before turning her attention back to him.
For an instant, the temptation to turn this newfound power against him danced at the periphery of her thoughts. His grin widened as if he knew her inner turmoil. She sniffed, shaking her head; there was no time for such distractions. The demons awaited her attention, and finally, she possessed the means to confront them on her own terms. Let the Elves and Orcs nurse their grudges—she had given them their chance. Now, she would tread her path.
~~~~
Archimonde reveled in his triumph, savoring the ease with which he had conquered resistance. The opposition he encountered paled in comparison to the challenges of ten thousand years past. The once-proud Elves had faltered, their defenses feeble against his onslaught.
Even more ludicrously, they had sought an "alliance" with the Orcs. Yet, the very same Orcs bickered with them even as his forces descended upon them. Amidst this chaos, the Humans struggled to mediate, their efforts floundering miserably.
Uncontrollable laughter spilled from him; he had never encountered such a smooth path to his desires. Since his arrival on this world, events had unfolded in perfect alignment with his scheme. The grand mage city had succumbed to his dominion, its mages scattered like autumn leaves.
He had anticipated challenges, foreseen disruptions as he stepped onto this continent to confront old adversaries. And yet, no challenge emerged. They fought valiantly, yes, but their efforts were mere distractions brushed aside with casual ease.
Most amusingly, the Orcs, once his slaves, now dared to defy him. Their struggle was comical, especially considering their eagerness to drink from the chalice of Mannoroth's blood.
In a benevolent mood, he considered pardoning their slaying of Mannoroth, inviting them to join him. Observing their actions, he perceived their true intention: a shared desire to vanquish the Elves, prioritizing this vendetta over his forces.
Then, a cataclysmic explosion rent the air, decimating his troops. He whirled around, incredulous—what force could muster such might?
Amidst the settling dust and debris, he discerned the figure of the human woman who led the Human forces. Something had changed, an alteration in her demeanor. He had sensed her power—formidable, yes, but insufficient to manifest this devastation.
Yet, she now hurled magic with impunity, each spell a harbinger of death for his minions. She forced him, Archimonde, to raise defenses against her onslaught—him, a Leader of the Legion, shielded by magic against a mere mortal. It rankled within him, inciting a seething anger, his good mood undone.
He retaliated with a torrent of magic, his wrath directed at the audacious woman. Yet, even as he dismissed her as a survivor of his wrath, her survival defied all logic. His bewilderment transformed into rage when he discovered the truth—his own leg, obliterated by her magic!
"What?" he exclaimed, incredulous and furious. This defied every tenet of reality!
Undeterred, she cast a disdainful glance at him, her voice dripping with derision. "You're going to have to try much harder than that, you despicable creature." Her attacks recommenced, forcing him to shield himself while retreating, his leg still mending.
He turned his attention to his loyal forces, bellowing a command. "Don't stand there, you imbeciles! Attack her!"
Seizing the moment they afforded him, he exploited his power to regenerate his leg. Yet, as his focus shifted back to the battle, he was met with the sight of her systematically dismantling his strongest warriors. Useless, utterly useless, the entire lot!
While they provided a momentary buffer, he sought to decipher her newfound strength. His realization hit him like a searing bolt—she had tapped into the World Tree's power, harnessed its might. This revelation filled him with incandescent fury. The audacity! He couldn't fathom how, but she had channeled the very essence of the World Tree, a force no mere human should wield.
~~~~
A distance away, the Stranger observed the culmination of his meticulous efforts. Breaking Jaina had proven more arduous than he had initially assumed. Her iron will necessitated a relentless assault, dismantling her resolve piece by piece. He had orchestrated conflicts among the Elves and Orcs, fostering complications that would eventually fray the threads of her sanity.
Only when she stood on the precipice of emotional collapse did he unveil his ultimate gambit—an intricately constructed mind break, sculpting her vulnerability into malleability. His most potent weapon was on the cusp of emergence, poised to serve his desires. Yes, she would be an invaluable pawn in his machinations, a puppet of his design.
As he observed her on the battlefield, demons falling before her as if mere playthings, his lips curled into a sardonic smile. Archimonde, once so confident in his dominion, now quaked in rage as he recognized the wellspring of her power. The Stranger reveled in this revelation, relishing the taste of impending defeat upon Archimonde's lips.
Yet, for the ancient Demon, there was no escape from this orchestrated downfall. The Stranger's grin widened, his voice laced with menace as he addressed Archimonde's futile bid for retreat. "Running away, are we? But that won't do, my persistent pest. Embrace your demise."
With his power, he bound Archimonde, eradicating any semblance of escape from the clutches of Jaina's wrath.
"Ah, behold—a symphony of righteousness, a woman's fury. And demons, they fall like leaves in autumn, pleading for mercy." The Stranger's voice danced with dark humor, his laughter an accompaniment to the carnage he had ignited.
A contemplative pause settled upon him, his thoughts navigating the tapestry of his designs. "The time draws near, the crescendo awaits," he mused aloud. A fleeting consideration surfaced, pondering an alternative narrative thread. "Or should another layer be woven for a more seamless conclusion? Yet, that path would necessitate a surge of power. An intriguing prospect, but the course is set. Deviation is unnecessary now."
Lost in his ruminations, he allowed the waves of Archimonde's pain and fury to wash over him, the torrent of anguish a symphony of satisfaction.
"No, it's best to remain steadfast, unwavering. The grand design approaches its zenith."
