A/N: Hello everyone.

I'm sure you're all very disappointed with me. I'd honestly expected to finish this up a long time back, but life has a way of throwing a wrench in the works. I'm being interrupted even as I'm writing this.

To address the issue of certain impatient readers: why is this considered a crossover with HP if I'm simply not going to use the HP universe and its aspects here?

Well, let me first tell you that I have incorporated some ideas into the story. And, because you obviously know all about how much of the universe is present from having read the first four chapters – have a go at the fifth one and tell me the original HP has nothing to do here.

Also, need I remind you that this is the first part of two, and the next one will be set completely in HP universe?

To the other well-wishers: thank you all for your continued reviews and support. It means a lot to me that you would take time out of your busy days to read this little literary piece.

Disclaimer: See previous.

Suggestions: This story is best read in a 3/4ths format, single spacing.

Chapter 5: The road to hell is paved with good intentions

The loss of anyone close is always a shock – no matter who it happens to (or when). The degree may vary, and indeed, many try to cope with the inescapable by giving up. Giving up what, you might ask?

It depends on the individual – for some, it may be their general sense of purpose; others their outlook of life is radically skewed. Some more may even develop a reserved personality, with a much more frigid disposition towards others, and a few more may try to ignore or repress their feelings ubiquitously, and choose to carry on with their quotidian duties.

That is, of course, given that these unfortunate individuals have the time to process what has passed and have the luxury of being able to deal with things one after the other, at their own pace.

Jaina Proudmoore, however, could only stare at her bed-ridden commander with tears in her eyes.

So much had happened to her—over such a short period of time!

When she had first met Apollo, and had subsequently been roped into his social circle, she never expected things to get out control.

Ironically enough, control is the first thing we are taught, she mused unhappily and unhelpfully.

The Kul'Tirasi Princess took a moment to analyze her situation.

Her best friend lay in coma; her childhood playmate – insane with unholy power; the one she perceived as her one-time rival – dark and melancholy at the thought of—no doubt—casualties suffered and bereft of morale at the sight of their beloved hero in such dire straits.

Even the trumped up consort of the famed Highlord could be seen with a scowl on her dark, entrancing features.

What else could possibly go wrong? Here he lies, healthy yet cold – uncaring and unheeding of the outside world. Arthas has recovered his losses, taking vengeance on surrounding cemeteries, pillaging the sanctified grounds in our moment of weakness.

"Stand up straight, girl! I will not have you looking so miserable when we have so many important matters to attend to!"

Sylvanas had entered the tent and sat at the head of table – Apollo's co-commander was needed at the time, discussing with all the generals present their present course of action, when the Queen of the Flight herself had entered into the discussion.

And of course, the 'fancy lights girl' was the first one she picked on, seeing her standing near her consort.

Sylvanas gave the two a cursory glance before acquiescing to Onyxia's silent request to forgo their discussion in favour of healing Apollo. Sylvanas, of course, knew of the dragon flights and their powers – though she had never heard the Black was a capable healer.

"Jaina, we need your input here." A silent command to stop moping about.

Jaina sighed before giving one last look at Apollo and headed for the table.

"The situation stands as follows: we have held back Arthas at these two northern defensive pits – the traps have not been used yet. We have, however, lost the southern and eastern chokepoints – even though the eastern one has now become an impasse for either side. So far, I would say, we have managed to halt Arthas' blitzkrieg momentum. Our scouts reports that they have seen large swathes of undead retreating to a certain point in the south – it seems to be protected by the same dome that Arthas used to shield himself. Ladies and Gentlemen, I fear we may be facing an even greater force than we had anticipated."

Several murmurs rose to this, while Jaina narrowed her eyes. "How can that be? We have not caught any more of the Cult of the Damned around, and Arthas has surely been robbed of his potential harvest when we started Scorched Earth."

One of the Farstriders present took up the slack. "I believe, from what my subordinates have reported that we may be facing an invasion force supplemented by dreadlords. What I cannot understand is why the undead seem to bringing in raw resources into their dome – If I were to guess, I would say they were building a fortress – but that makes no sense! Why build one there, so far away from any positive targets or prime locations?"

Taking a pause to exhale properly, she continued. "The worst part is that somehow, we are unable to breach this dome. No weapon seems to pierce it – just go straight through it, and any living thing just gets repelled. The only thing that seems to have any effect of the dome is arcane power – though even that gets only a small ripple before that part of the dome brightens up, seemingly absorbing the essence. I would kill to be able to get a scout through there."

"I believe ... I may be able ... to help with that." The benevolent tone and cough-punctuated delivery could come from only one person—everyone turned to face their commander, a bewildered yet almost hopeful look on their faces.

Apollo whispered into Onyxia's embrace upon seeing their looks, and was shocked by the answer. "A week? A whole bloody week?!"

"It would have been longer if I hadn't decided I couldn't have a weakling for a consort. How dare you be so easily affected by what happened!"

While most of the company present in the room were wide-mouthed at that, Apollo merely chuckled before returning his face to a stony gaze and hardened complexion.

"I care deeply for you too, my dear. Now, please don't stop on my account – I do believe I may be in a position to help, but I would like to know a bit more about the current situation... and about my guardsmen."

Sylvanas pinched the bridge of her nose before sighing. "Alright, Apollo, there are several things you need to know. We have begun Scorched Earth, though the whole kingdom weeps at it; Arthas has taken over a huge garrison town we had down south, near the Thalassian-Amani Pass."

Apollo suddenly remembered Uther's words about moving to the human garrison at the foot of the mountains.

"But... Uther said he went there, no? He went to reinforce the garrison and took a small company of men with him to—".

"Deathholme."

"What?" The shock on his face was pure and unadulterated.

"Uther is dead. Arthas stormed the garrison; they were overrun. He has turned the city into a necropolis. It is now known as Deathholme. I'm sorry, Apollo, I wish you could wake to better news, but we are on the brink of failure."

"We are most certainly NOT on the brink of failure!" Jaina had decided to make her presence known, and she didn't like the defeatist attitude Sylvanas had fallen into.

"Peace, princess! We cannot afford discord amongst ourselves right now – but she is right, milady, we have much yet to do, much that can still be done." The Generals present seemed more level-headed than he believed them to be – this was a good sign.

Apollo figured the harrying troops he had sent south would have returned by now.

"What of your rangers and Farstriders down south, Ranger-General Windrunner?"

The formality of that statement feeling like a heavy-handed slap to her face, Sylvanas took a moment to recollect before continuing.

"Thankfully, my rangers have been able to communicate with me, but Arthas and the dreadlords have set up traps all over the southern plains – plague spreaders and their ilk – fel cannons, other such monstrosities. They are under strict 'no one left behind' orders and thus are caught on the other side."

As the present company digested this information, she continued.

"Of course, this could be very helpful to us, but the fact is that we barely know enough about their situations to know that they are alive, nothing else. We cannot send them supplies, medical aid; that damned, oh so damned undead belt between us contains the Dead Zone Dome. We cannot fly high enough to be able to avoid their seeming anti-air batteries, either – many messenger ravens were shot down."

Apollo pondered over this. This was in part of his own doing, and he'd need to figure out a way to prevent any more loss of allied life, and see if there could be any way to free the undead from the Lich King's control.

One thing that would continue to pain him in memories was the loss of Uther, named the Lightbringer, Leader of the Silver Hand.

.oOo.

Interlude: A Slice of Morpheus

Shivers.

Deep, torturous moans.

Choked screams. Sweat.

Blood.

A certain familiar bout of insane cackling struck Harry Potter to his very core, jerking him awake inside his dream world.

Deep breaths! Calm down, Harry!

Shaking himself, partly to reassure himself, and partly to throw himself out of the dream, Harry Potter realized he was stuck.

Well, let's see what the suffering was about.

Trudging forward reluctantly, he came upon a horrifying sight.

Lying on the ground in front of him was the broken body of an eight-year old Harry Potter, covered in a shroud of pure darkness. The malevolent miasma seemed to corrupt the blood leaking from cuts all over the child-like body; arms and legs were bent at odd angles – Harry Potter the younger lay convulsing on the ground, his neck twisted impossibly to the back.

The head then focused on him and began to plead.

"Please, brother, please, for the sake of our survival, HELP ME!"

Help? How? With what?

"YOU... took... I need... life, brother..."

The divine part of Harry Potter's soul finally realized what was taking place.

Since a soul is eternal, he himself was immortal. However, since a soul is never meant to be separated, the mortal part of Harry Potter's soul was only too mortal. It would be obliterated when it died, erased from any plane of existence. The balance of souls would be disrupted, ensuing that he himself would never find peace.

He couldn't fathom just why it had taken so long for his mortal half to contact him, because if he understood correctly, he had survived on Azeroth for almost a couple decades. Looking closely at the pitiful figure in front of him, though, he realized that time was not as unilateral as he believed.

The putrefying form in front of him was, oddly, showing signs similar to the victims of Arthas' systematic decimation process.

In other words, powerful dark magic was at work on it – and judging by the intensity, only Voldemort could taint a body so pervasively, meaning that this was the Dark Lord's work.

This situation obviously can't get resolved without me suffering side effects...

One look at the writhing Harry in front of him reinforced his desire to help.

"Well, ex nihilo nihil ... I just hope this will be worth it. FIAT LUX!"

As soon as he uttered the last syllable, an amalgam of light exploded from him and channelled straight into the prone figure in front of him. Just as suddenly as it started, the phenomenon stopped.

The battle between the pure light and the vile taint picked up with renewed vigour after that momentous silent struggle – tremendous power bursting out at the seams of the very being that seemed to be floating in front of him!

Slowly, that vile taint's untenable aggression was won over by the brilliance of the light burning at the core of the being, and with a seeming retreat much of the black taint ejected from the struggle and rushed towards Apollo.

Moving too quickly for the startled High Lord to do anything about, the taint concentrated on the choker on his neck – soon, all that was left of the vileness was absorbed into the pendant.

"Oh, shit."

Gasping, Apollo awoke clutching his neck in terror. Thankfully, the pendant was still there, and the fragment of the Old God's consciousness inside seemed unperturbed.

Staring up at the tent ceiling, he took a few deep breaths in rapid succession, intent on calming down and willing off the dream's unpleasantness. A figure stirred at his side.

"Hmm... Apollo, my dear consort – you simply must tell me what you dreamt of. You smell... vulnerable."

Giving a low growl at that – was this inner draconic instinct, pulling through? – Apollo decided to be upfront with the dark Queen sharing his bed.

"I... as you know, when I came to this world, my soul was split in two. Tonight, I dreamt of my mortal half – it was crying out in torment, choking out that it needed a way to sustain itself, should it lose its mortal coil."

"So you gave up your invulnerability, your immortality, to set this straight? HOW COULD YOU BE SO IGNORANT?"

Apollo felt slighted at that. He was most certainly NOT ignorant. "No, my dear beloved Queen, I am still immortal – I'm just not everlasting any more. I do believe I can be killed now, and will unfortunately stay dead should that happen."

Onyxia gave a cry of utter frustration before slapping him abruptly, and then slowly turned to return to sleep, facing away from him. Apollo was dumbfounded for a moment before realizing he deserved it; he was most indignant, however, when he felt her pull all the covers towards herself.

"Promise me just one thing, you foolish little man."

That slur against him hurt more than the previous tries, and it showed on his face; thankfully, in the darkness of their tent, this lay unnoticed by the formidable lady. Apollo cleared his throat twice, intent on not letting her pick up any distress from his voice.

"And what might that be?"

A long-suffering sigh from her quickly lessened the pseudo-hardness in his features.

"Don't get yourself killed." Apollo quirked an eyebrow up, and even though she couldn't see it, Onyxia knew she had to give some sort of justification for seeming to care for him.

"It'll diminish my standing amongst the Flights – the other Blacks would certainly mock me, and the Reds would definitely pity me. I do not wish to have to deal with that, so I'll repeat myself. Do not get yourself killed."

With an acquiescing sigh Apollo fell back on his pillow, wondering what the following day would bring.

.oOo.

"Commander, we are in position – the ranger and heavily armoured unit teams are ready. We still need orders for them, though – we don't know what you want from these."

"Simple. We're going to establish and enforce guerrilla warfare tactics on his royal ungodliness."

Murmurs ran inside the command tent.

"Sir?"

"The two man cells are going to be assigned target areas to watch over – when any scourge come into these delimited zones, they will be taken out, the bodies burnt if they're still conscious, and the cells will return to camouflaged positions, waiting for either the next scourge team, or replacement, whichever comes first."

"You specified 'conscious', there – do you intend to do something specific with the unconscious undead? How does that even make sense, they're all unconscious – they can't be knocked out because Arthas is directly commanding them... oh. You mean, blunt force recalibration to relieve any mind control? But, sir, how are we going to get these undead to fight for us – we've been and are still killing scourge anywhere and everywhere possible?"

"Do you not think that we can persuade them to fight against the oppressor, the one figure who is responsible for their downfall?"

Low whispers amongst the commanding officers began to gain in strength. If they could do this... if they could re-convert undead combatants to fight for their side... the numerical advantage Arthas possesses could be overcome – slowly, but surely. And seeing as Arthas was quite busy establishing a stronghold in Deathholme at the moment anyways...

"But sir, how do we know that these undead won't fall under the grasp of the Lich once more?"

There was always a small dilemma.

"What I've personally seen, from two test subjects that Milady managed to capture, gives overwhelming evidence that once the undead – who are resurrected directly under the Lich King's command – are freed from the mind control, their free will returns. Beyond that point, the Lich King will have as much difficulty controlling them as he would have controlling any of us."

A general sigh of relief descended across the room as one more of their problems disappeared.

The Lady Sylvanas Windrunner gave a short nod of her head before gesturing for Apollo and Onyxia to head outside, to give the specific commands to the two-people teams preparing their gear.

Once outside, Onyxia noticed the fancy lights girl staring at her, and saw the elf-ranger herself was coming towards her, having indicated to Apollo his job.

Aegwynn watched silently as Jaina and Sylvanas headed for Onyxia, and gave a small chuckle at the three-way catfight that was moments away from erupting.

"So, Milady of the Black... how is it that you do not stay in your true form?"

Onyxia stared at Jaina for a while before giving her a steely gaze. "Why is that any of your concern, little girl?"

Sylvanas, having arrived, decided to help her erstwhile rival out. "What she meant, I believe, is that you seem to be oddly comfortable with keeping a ... humanoid appearance whilst in our midst, Milady. I remember you having ... difficulty ... identifying with lesser creatures."

Onyxia snorted. "We both know that she's just politely wondering why I'm sleeping with Apollo."

Both Jaina and Sylvanas gave a strangled, quasi-silent scream that belied their personal feelings on the matter, and Onyxia gave both of them a smug smile.

"Why, after all, he is my consort. You wouldn't happen to be interested in him now, would you? I should hope not, considering the length of time you have had to get him for yourselves, and you've most assuredly done nothing of it."

Sylvanas' resolute face paused Onyxia from her backhanded scolding. The argument, if it can be called that, was over before it had even begun, the two humanoids walking away from it properly chastised. Onyxia simply smirked and turned heel to join Apollo.

"Alright, soldiers, rangers, and mages – you know your tasks. Set up forward points and STICK TO THEM. Do not go out in the open for more than absolutely necessary. Request covering support from Beta teams WHENEVER YOU COME UNDER FIRE and are not able to make a clean retreat. Now step up, Delta and Eta teams one through one-fifty, receive your locations – you are the assassination and/or retrieval cells. Alpha teams, you are placed in squads of eight – you are on patrol duty near the Dome. Under NO circumstances are you to enter the Dead Zone Dome, even with anticipated protection."

Apollo gestured at all the Delta and Eta teams to move out, seeing as they were all geared up. The first forty of each legion would be on active duty while the second half would set up niche sanctuaries, quarantined 'Holy' zones, which would burn up to a certain amount of Scourge entering them, providing a temporary safety net.

"Alpha squads, even though you are heavily armoured, the patrol zone that we can safely delimit as 'ours' is not free from enemy liches or spies. Keep both eyes open – you will have to provide covering support for Beta teams headed out through the open. Guardsmen, I'm looking at you."

The aforementioned troops all shared a nervous smile. Everyone had extensive duties.

"You will report directly to Commander Aegwynn – follow every order she gives you. They are NOT suggestions."

Onyxia smirked at this point. It seemed Apollo was in his element, a commander, a charismatic leader through and through. I knew there was a reason I agreed to the alliance proposal. Make me proud, my lovely white dragon. Well, translucent gold was near enough to white, anyway.

"Beta squads, you are all marked as ranged support. Leave the up close and personal business to the D/Es. I do not want to see a single sword wound on any of you, am I clear? You will provide assistance to any D/E teams should they request it – you will work on the same zone areas I've allocated to them, except you will each have about three teams under you."

Murmurs of assent prompted him to continue.

"You are in six person squads for a reason. Rangers amongst you, I know and completely understand your aversion to working with us lowly humans, but you will get with the program. You answer solely to the Ranger-General Windrunner. The other commanders will rarely be in contact with you either ways, considering the nature of your tasks. I will stress this one last time – do NOT endanger yourselves needlessly."

"Lastly, Omega cells – you are going to be working with me and Milady of the Black personally. We are, for all intent and purpose, going to be undertaking suicide runs. Please feel free to opt out; I will not hold this against you personally."

Now, there was a clear sound of dissent running through the army. All the people from the Omega cells were noted to be humans – the men and women from the other squads felt slighted in this, were Omega any more expendable than the rest of them? – the High Elf and Dwarf forces were grumbling, did the commander-in-chief deem humans more deserving of giving their lives, especially after giving a grating speech about not throwing their lives away.

Thankfully, each of the Battalion Lieutenants rapidly quelled the rebellious thoughts before they could be uttered to their commanders, reminding them that personnel was low and the military standings as they were could not afford to take large hits, or even any hits at all.

"Alpha teams, you will be relieved by reserve members every two days – no complaints, you are on twenty-four hour duty, after all."

"Omega team – all fify of you – get prepared for stints in the Medical Bay, long stints. For the periods when myself or Lady Onyxia are unavailable, receive your orders from Lady Proudmoore."

Taking a short pause to let the protocol sink in, Apollo remembered a crucial point.

"Remember to send a communiqué every two hours regarding troop position and movement, I cannot stress this enough. We simply do not have the manpower to check up on every team and collect information, don't deviate from protocol. Remember, it'll be Omega team hauling your teams back should we fail to receive contact from you. Command Centre will handle all the data crunching – get your rations and move out. May the Light protect you all!"

"For the Light!"

"Down with the Scourge!"

The cheers of thousands of gathered personnel rang through the clearing, reinvigorating morale and strength, and the battalions moved out on that high note.

The High Lord's Logbook of Military Resources:

Combat Units:

Alpha teams: Currently eight man squads.

Commander: Magna Aegwynn

Details: Heavily armoured infantry and elite guardsmen. Patrol Duty outside of Dead Zone Dome.

Active duty of fifty squads. Relieved by Reserves on the forty-eighth hour of duty.

Total Effective Personnel: one hundred and fifty squads – 1200 men. Bulk of our force, notwithstanding militia and Thalassian Silvermoon City Guards.

Beta teams: Currently six man squads.

Commander: Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner

Details: Lightly armoured shock troopers and purely ranged support. Support duty to Delta/Eta teams. Overseer and focal point for three Delta and/or Eta teams each. Communication point to Command Centre.

Note: High utility and importance assets, information handout concerning these teams are LIMITED, NEED-TO-KNOW basis ONLY. Information dissemination makes them potential high-value targets.

Active duty of thirty-five squads. Relieved by reserve Beta squads ONLY. Time frame to be communicated separately.

Total Effective Personnel: seventy squads – 420 rangers and mages. SIGNIFICANT Farstrider prevalence – Bulk of Silvermoon City's support. Recommend care when assigning missions, possible diplomacy issues from fallout after Arthas is put down.

Delta teams: Currently two man cells.

Commander: Beta squads will handle command dissemination. Overseer is First Ranger Cynthia.

Details: Assassination/Retrieval cells with emphasis on Assassination. Primary objective is to recapture non-modified scourge and forcefully recalibrate them. Barring that, eliminating any scourge they come in contact with. Lethal force is encouraged on modified Scourge units. All teams will take a 'zero exposure' approach – go in, execute mission, get out ASAP.

Future movement: After disabling of the Dead Zone Dome by Omega squad, Delta and Eta teams will be required to work inside previously Scourge-held territory.

Active duty of seventy-five squads. Relieved by Delta reserves ONLY, every ninety-six hours.

Total Effective Personnel: one hundred and fifty squads – 300 soldiers. Demolitions experts are all separated throughout the teams.

Eta teams: Currently two man cells.

Commander: Beta squads will handle command dissemination. Overseer is Commander Jameson.

Details: Retrieval/Assassination cells with emphasis on Retrieval. Primary objective is to recapture scourge and forcefully recalibrate them. Test results with modified Scourge units. All teams will take a 'low exposure' approach – suppressor and nerve gas have been supplied.

Future movement: After disabling of the Dead Zone Dome by Omega squad, Delta and Eta teams will be required to work inside previously Scourge-held territory.

Active duty of seventy-five squads. Relieved by Eta reserves ONLY, every ninety-six hours.

Total Effective Personnel: one hundred and fifty squads – 300 soldiers.

Omega team: Polyvalent group.

Commander: Lord Apollo of the Light, Lady Onyxia of the Black Dragonflight, Lady Jaina Proudmoore (in absentia of the other two)

Details: Personnel retrieval/ground support/all-purpose troops. Redacted Operations. Dome breach is priority mission.

Special Note: Prepare purple hearts and compensation groups to families of squads. Low chance of survival.

Active duty of fifty soldiers. No support from reserves. Omega personnel are designated by Omega-#number.

Total Effective Personnel of fifty people. Number set to go down, will NOT be replaced.

Non-Combat Units:

Gamma team: Single Gryphon and rider units.

Commander: Chain of command handled by Lady Jaina Proudmoore.

Details: Messenger squads in charge of handling communiqués and potential portal creation. Reconnaissance squads, within limits of anti-air batteries. Primary mission is to establish contact with Farstrider line beyond the undead belt and Dome Zone.

Active duty of fifty squads, intermittently called upon. No replacement rider, but fifty replacement gryphons.

Total Effective Personnel of fifty squads – 50 dwarfs and 100 gryphons.

Sigma team: Medical Personnel

Commander: Joint command by High Priestess Lorraine and the Order of the Silver Hand's senior paladins

Details: Medical bay personnel who may be allowed to move out to reach severely injured teams, under protection detail from Alpha squad reserves.

No personnel count – reinforced by the healer group from Quel'Thalas.

As Apollo penned the last entry, he realized the deteriorating situation he now found himself in. Resources and supplies were still coming through from safe lines behind them – but the Cult of the Damned seemed to have arms that reached nearly everywhere in Azeroth! They had thankfully set up a 'Light Scan' protocol for all arriving supplies which helped determine whether any of them were poisoned or not. He even went so far as to make sure that no one could compromise their drinking and bathing water source, and discreetly set the volunteers from the wounded and reserve squads into creating unnoticeable but deadly semi-natural defences to the war encampment. He did not forget to reward them discreetly, either.

Neither did he forget to spell-lock his log book to only be opened by those he personally trusted – to a reasonable extent.

After all, it would be unreasonable and unadvisable to not suspect the Lady Onyxia even the slightest bit of having a hidden agenda.

That did not mean it was an agenda at odds with his own designs, so he gave her leeway voluntarily, probably surprising her.

.oOo.

"Commander! Squads Delta-032 and Eta-024 have found a patrol breach!"

As if the whole tent was suddenly lit on fire, everyone inside mobilized in an uncharacteristic frenzy to gather intelligence and plan possible attacks. It had been a short couple weeks of skirmishing between the two forces, each at first testing the waters – which evolved into full scale assault by the Scourge against Alpha squads. The allied resistance fought back in full, however – Mograine wielding his might blade, Fordring and the Sin'Dorei paladins holding back the amassing undead droves. Everyone was on edge, and many of the new entries into the medical bay were the nervous recruits, inexperienced in large-scale combat and underhanded tactics.

After all, one could not expect the undead to fight with honour.

The Command Centre had been a messy area full of reports by numerous Beta squads handling their chain of commands, improperly at first, but learning by doing – an honest, un-tampered trial by fire (in some cases, literally).

Apollo himself was seldom seen sitting at the head of the Command Centre table – this was a role mostly assumed by the Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, with active and very frequent participation from the dragon queen. He was mostly busying himself with either tending to the wounded or checking up on the victims of the Scourge that they had managed to free.

These undead had been kept in observation to check for behavioural tics and psychological trauma – most of them could unfortunately remember what they had suffered through and done as a servant of the Lich King. Arthas and his damned Runeblade had turned honest, hard-working citizens into mindless drones for the will of the Nazrethim.

It was also thanks to these 'converts' that they had been able to gather a lot of intelligence about the Dome. Apparently, the living members of the Cult of the Damned could pass through it without any problems whatsoever, which lead the Sigma team eggheads into believing there was some sort of identifier present on them, some amulet of sorts which allowed them through.

Hence the importance of targeting undead patrols – these were unnecessary in general due to the Dome, meaning they were only assigned when members of the Cult needed escort to get in or out of the zone.

The fact that a patrol breach had been found was wonderful news – they could subvert the undead in the patrol and replace them with (willing) undead agents of their own, who would be able to lure the Cult into a false sense of security before dispatching them.

"Who's their handler?" Mograine was especially interested in this new development – his son Renault had gone missing a few days prior and there was no way to spend any more resources into tracking him separately – he was not unduly worried, however – Renault was last seen leaving in the early hours of the morning away from the battle area.

"Beta-09, Sir. We've currently left them orders to pursue the remaining undead – these seem to possess a certain degree of free will and have made a tactical retreat."

"How many have we managed to retrieve?" Sylvanas was interested in the identity of the citizens they'd managed to recover.

"Four, Milady. They are currently being flown into the medical bay. But Milady... there is something you should know—"

"What is it?"

The hesitation on the human general's part was grating on her nerves, and it was beginning to show. The man heaved a sigh before continuing.

"One of the undead who retreated... she bore a stark resemblance to one of Milord's personal guardsmen – the lady Eversong."

A sharp intake of breath signified Jaina understood what was going on.

If the ones who retreated possessed a degree of free will, then Apollo would be devastated by Anya's betrayal, if it was indeed Anya that the strike team fought off.

As the report continued at length, it became clear to all that it was indeed Anya Eversong who was the undead in question. One of the volunteer undead geists had followed her till a Scourge forward camp, whereupon it was seen that she was conversing through unholy means with the Lich King about the failed rendezvous.

Onyxia had quirked an eyebrow up when they were told he expected Anya to leave the 'useless minion to the dogs of Light' and return to base to properly marshal their forces for a full frontal assault. Yes, time was running out.

An hour later, the commanders were seen feverishly working on a garrison plan to help minimize losses and protect as many civilian lives as possible – after all, many of the undead they had managed to recover were normally civilians in their previous lives and were simply unfit to act as proper soldiers with training. Nevertheless, every single one of them was ready to defend their homeland and their allies' homeland from the invading Scourge, without any scruples.

Onyxia herself was preoccupied with other thoughts. She knew she would have no problem setting dozens of undead alight in her current form, but that would not be well received by the soldiers, many of whom were fighting against possible siblings, spouses, or even their own children. She would have to gamble between unleashing her primary, draconic form against these vermin and lash out at them physically, or she was going to have to find some way to use her destructive and very potent fire magic to good effect with minimal casualty.

That was a problem that could be solved later, however. First, there was a moping consort—who had just returned from the medical bay area—to take care of.

.oOo.

Apollo was incredibly frustrated, but was holding it in for the moment with sheer willpower.

Omega agents 32 and 34 had been unable to find any sort of amulet on the Cult member they had apprehended. After a long deliberation between the greatest minds present which had lead to nowhere, Apollo decided he would lead the interrogation of the prisoner, Victor Blake, himself.

As he sealed the underground cave door shut behind him, Apollo wondered on the quickest way to get his information without mentally destroying the person, as he had done previously.

We don't have much time left.

The Old God had weaselled his way into his thoughts once more, after the nightmare night. He seemed not to want to derail Apollo, however, which he found decidedly bizarre, but he went along with it. Sometimes, having some company in one's own mind was beneficial.

This was not one of those times, however.

Why don't you do things... quickly... do them MY way... you will have your results very quickly, as well as a very cooperating prisoner.

Apollo knew the Old God was suggesting pure and simple mind control, a tool that the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow – the undead on their side who found they could no longer use the light, but a twisted reflection which they called the Shadow – used regularly to bind enemies or terrorize them.

He was not, to his slight shame, capable of manipulating this 'Shadow', however, and he had tried, extensively. Beyond that, there was no way to mind control the prisoner in front of him – his old method left the victim bereft of even the simplest of mental faculties, and he could not depend on the Old God not to control Blake for his own designs.

Apollo sighed. It would seem he needed to get his hands dirty – hopefully not too much.

"You, Victor Blake, mid-ranking member of the Cult of the Damned, were captured on your way to the Dead Zone Dome. I'm going to make this simple for you – answer my questions, and you may yet live to see another dawn. Withhold any information, and things will start to break. Do I make myself clear?"

Blake, in the times previous to the murder of Terenas the Second, was a simple tax accountant for the kingdom. He had always aspired to a higher position, and was enraged when non-humans rose above him in his own system. When he was led into the Cult, he had gladly agreed to its missions and promises of power beyond measure and left his life of boredom and arithmetic behind. He had, by the fifth month following his induction, risen to a respectable position after much backstabbing and politicking, and had managed to grow some nerves while doing so.

So far, he was not intimidated.

He was not, contrary to popular belief, a complete fool, though – he knew of the man standing in front of him, had heard of what he could do – so he nodded his head.

"Very good, Mr. Blake, very good indeed. Now, tell me, how do you enter into the Dome?"

Blake had never had any trouble entering the Dome, however, so he responded with dry humour.

"I assume the same way anyone else walks into the Dome – by walking into it?" He gave a demeaning chuckle at the end, and was rewarded for his efforts by a swift backhand that sent him reeling.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Blake. You see, I'm not at all in the mood for some jokes. Now, I'll ask again one more time: HOW do you enter into the Dome?"

Blake clenched his jaw shut. Whatever the man in front of him could do, the Lich King would do ten times worse if he knew he had talked.

Apollo smirked to himself. So, this is the way you want to play it? Perfect, I need some stress relief.

Apollo rolled up his sleeves before delicately picking up Blake's left hand. The prisoner knew what was coming, but steeled himself to the impending torture. He would not fail the Lich King. A short moment later, his eyes widened impossibly, and he bit into his own tongue from the suddenness of the assault.

Horrifying, blood-curling screams began to erupt from the deep underground prison.

.oOo.

Jaina Proudmoore was exhilarated. She and the other commanders – minus Apollo – had managed to identify exactly how the living members were able to bypass the Dome. Sigma team had isolated a specific substance in the blood sample they had taken from Victor Blake before he was left with Apollo and confidently declared they would be able to synthesize it themselves and spread it around with aerosol dispersal for mass-use.

Thus, she was on her way to inform Apollo – who she had been informed had not yet returned from the prison.

Probably to keep the prisoner company – everyone knows how much he believes in giving second chances to people – still, some people are undeserving of his kindness.

Lost in her own world, she did not realize she had already reached the entrance. Just as she was about to unseal the door herself, it opened, revealing a figure stepping out.

Her first reaction was to let out a huge shriek, and her second was to pull up her wand right into the face of the man.

Her face paled as she realized who the man was, and paled even more when she realized what had occurred.

Apollo was standing in front of her with a bemused expression on his face. The latter was streaked with red all over it, his clothes sprayed in – what she now realized – blood from the prisoner.

He was dripping wet.

"Jaina, my dear – was there something you needed?"

She shook herself for a second before replying. "Yes... Yes Apollo. Sigma has identified the way in which we could enter the Dome. The Cult of the Damned—"

"Ingested a special Truesilver-Thorium alloy mixed with Mageroyal, unreactive to the blood or digestive system but with an active-complex good enough to pass the lipid-based blood-brain barrier and which doesn't get broken down once inside the brain – easiest method to keep it around, while definitely not the safest."

Jaina was once again stunned.

"Victor BLAKE knew all of that?"

Apollo just gave her a non-committal shrug before curling his lips into a tight smile. "Who says he knew anything about that?"

Jaina's perfect image of Apollo was crumbling, just like her perfect world with Arthas and everyone else in it getting along with everyone else without trouble. She needed to check the prisoner after reporting to Apollo.

"Well, anyway, Sigma team said they could synthesize it and bypass the necessity of mass-production by using aerosol dispersion methods over our whole camp."

Apollo nodded. "Yes, of course – though that would simply stay in our blood awhile before getting broken down – yes, that could work – for maybe a period of two days. Perfect – we can enter the Dome within that time and disable it, if we're lucky – if not, we'll all be dead by then either way... Thank you for the news, Jaina. I'll leave you to your devices."

Apollo turned heel and briskly walked back towards his own tent while Jaina stepped inside the prison.

She was dumbfounded, however, when she saw the prisoner sleeping on his chair with no visible injuries, no internal haemorrhaging, in fact, nothing to suggest anything even slightly violent had occurred in there over the past few hours except for the bloodied clothes.

Victor Blake, being bald, had a few noticeable scars on his shiny head. Thus, she was quite certain she remembered what scars he had on his head when he was captured.

The scar line seemingly dividing his head into its hemispheres had definitely not been there before.

Once she went to check Blake's pulse, however, she screamed. The flayed skin having been disturbed fell off the body onto the floor. Backtracking quickly, Jaina ran out of the cave, trying to outrun the total annihilation of her perfect world.

Some people are undeserving of his kindness.

She tripped over someone along the way and fell over on her front, before being helped up by a sinister form.

"I don't know why you're looking so terrified. He's still alive, you know."

Jaina couldn't believe her ears. Onyxia condoned what had just taken place – she sided with Apollo on an argument that hadn't even started.

Then again, she has probably seen and done worse, if the rumours are to be believed.

"We are not discussing this. I am not questioning my... leader... Besides, we have a battle to prepare for. Goodnight, Milady." Jaina's rebuttal brought a twisted smile to the dragon's face, and she bid her adieu to the mage before retreating to find her consort.

.oOo.

"SIR! It works! We have breached the Dome!" A very audible sigh of relief ran throughout the tent.

"All squads move forward – leave your perimeter patrols and head to the designated chokepoints. Engage all hostiles with appropriate measure – kill all Cult of the Damned, take prisoners only if you must. We need to eradicate this disease once and for all. Keep to your original orders when dealing with undead targets."

Sylvanas picked up Apollo's slack. "Remember, the undead you are facing may or may not be civilians, your friends, or even your families. Do what must be done – this is a war, most of these dead have made peace with their deaths – they have passed away for a reason, and the world does not need them to suffer through this life once more."

Mograine smirked. He was finally being given the permission to fully utilize the potential of his Ashbringer. He could picture it already – huge swathes of undead crowding around him, only to be pulverized by the power of the Ashbringer; a day full of glory and honour lay in front of him.

"We WILL drive Arthas away!"

Hails and cheers rang throughout the amassed army, all fighting to protect the land they held dear.

With the orders given out, Apollo himself led the charge on the direct and open path to Deathholme. The support teams would be flanking the enemy stronghold, picking out their targets and dispatching them one by one.

Onyxia had chosen to remain in her human form, charging besides Apollo on her own war mount, swiftly covering the ground between her and the hungry zombies in the distance.

They got closer and closer – Deathholme was currently in sight. The once proud and beautiful town was now a threatening necropolis with evil seeping from it into the very land and air around it.

As soon as they were within two hundred yards, the arrows started flying. Artillery fire from behind the walls took out large groups of riders – the primary assault had been coordinated to go this way, and the riders were using up the magical wards set up on them by the support mages to that effect.

It seems even the undead were surprised when previously dead groups of riders merely got back up as soon as the undead had passed them and jumped into the fight with murderous rage.

Up in the skies, the few dwarven gryphon riders they had were swooping down in high-velocity dives, taking out aerial targets one by one. The fearsome gryphons themselves desiccated many undead in their claws and talons. The fifty free gryphons had daring mages atop them, ready to take down the troublesome banshees interfering with fights below. Some even had the opportunity to cast wide-area based spells, banishing the will of the Lich King over them, with mixed results—some unleashing their terrible fury on the Lich King's forces, others driven made by rage, hostile to everything near it.

Further ahead, Apollo and Onyxia were almost at the reinforced gates fighting in their usual style – both side by side, at time covering the other's back, one dealing out devastation with primal fire and the other burning through the undead with holy light.

The symphony of destruction playing around the two had everyone nearby transfixed, unable to run away from their doom; they lay almost begging for it to come, straining to feel that last caress, their minds fleeing the horrors to approach the sweet embrace of death, their drooling bodies left behind.

Ribbons of pure light intersecting with the suffocating heat of the firestorm going around them left them virtually unchallenged on the battlefield – the gates stood no chance against their combined might.

Crashing down with a furious roar that shook the entire battlefield, the gates had crushed many of the inner primary defences just inside the courtyard. Luckily so for our deadly duet, as they would have been hard-pressed to evade all of the traps set by the Lich King's army, had they been forced to move at ground level.

Forward and on the two lead, their foot soldiers now catching up to them – they had stopped expending energy into their casts and had taken to plain old-fashioned swordsmanship to fight their enemies.

Arthas, meanwhile, sent out all his troops from within the citadel. This was a daring plan, he would grant Apollo that much – they had not been expecting this at all. Frostmourne was enraged, its murderous thoughts holding deep sway over him, Arthas strode out to meet and greet his foes.

"Arthas! The Death Knight and Lich King are here!"

Sensing the shaky morale of the nearby soldiers, Apollo resorted to brashness to save the day. He spoke up, each subsequent word gaining in force, ending in a crescendo of magnified power.

"Arthas! Kinslayer! Murderer! Traitor to the Light! Come, face your judgement!"

At that exact moment, the battlefield fell still.

The oppressive silence bore down as Arthas began to walk, one thundering footstep after the other. Slowly, for each step he took, his undead soldiers began to clash their swords on their shields.

Soon, a veritable song of war was roaring through the crowds; Apollo had started to walk in tune to the clash, which his own troops took up. The unified sound ringing through the noontime air generated an intoxicating feel to the scene, giving it a very surreal, otherworldly touch.

At present, the two titans stood mere metres from each other, neither flinching nor looking away from the other's eyes.

"Well—shall we, old friend?"

Arthas' nostrils flared in anger. "You ... traitorous ... scum ... I'll torture you into undeath for this!"

Any lingering hope either of them held had long faded; at the first clash of their swords the battlefield sprang to life anew.

Apollo had started on the defensive, letting Arthas expend his strength cleaving around with his massive runeblade. Swift movements, little deflections, the occasional blocks with his shield and the rare direct parries were Apollo's method for saving energy.

After all, having fought and trained against him while they were both younger, they knew each other's fighting style and flaws, and though Apollo may have gained new insight on swordsmanship in recent years, both had a much ingrained fighting style singular to them; the deadly dance continued for a long time – the surrounding armies continued their fight, of course, but always gave both a wide berth – with good reason.

Apollo drew first blood, uncharacteristically, as he was not focusing on attacking Arthas, but an overhead cleave had left him with the perfect opportunity for a counterattack, and he took the chance, nicking Arthas on the cheek.

Apollo, however, was once again forced on the defensive – and as nimble as he was on his feet, the howling winds and tempest around Arthas were not working in Apollo's favour. By pure chance, while fleeting around his nemesis, he noticed a cliff towards the back-walled area of the once proud town.

I can trap him against that if I switch him around quickly enough, I'll be able to force him on the defensive, then.

While still on the defensive, he began to back up against the slowly climbing hill. He didn't know whether Arthas understood what he was doing or not, but he knew he would not overlook such a weakness so casually.

Before he could go any further, however, Apollo tripped backwards on a cobblestone sticking out from the pavement, lost his balance and found himself on his backside, his sword and shield thankfully still within grip. Arthas smirked.

Apollo's armour provided optimum protection against most blades – but Frostmourne wasn't a normal blade. It housed one of the greatest powers on Azeroth – the Lich King's power.

Cutting through chainmail felt like dragging a hot knife through butter.

Apollo's gasp of pain was heard throughout the central square – the uphill area overlooking the central square being the main reason for that. Many soldiers from both sides uncharacteristically stopped in the midst of their fights and looked up at what was happening. Arthas, deciding he would not mind drawing out his victory over the one who had wronged him in the past, turned to gloat, slightly mindful of any movement in the background. When he saw none forthcoming, however, a twisted smirk flitted across his face. Slowly, cutting off his celebratory skip, he beckoned Apollo up from the ground.

"Pick up your sword, brother."

Apollo was more than surprised and a little wary of this sudden turn of events—until he saw just who Arthas called up to his side.

A plague bat flew in low onto the field, dropping off a cargo in the form of a slender, pale-skinned elven woman. She flipped her hood off as she landed in a crouch and bared her teeth in a malevolent smile.

"Eversong, do hurry up with him, will you? I've got things to do, places to be—don't make me late... I'll be waiting."

And just like that, he walked away.

.oOo.

Apollo was absolutely furious.

He had tried all he could to bypass Anya and skewer the sadistic kin-slayer while his back was turned, never mind the shame of such an act, but she had drawn her falchion out, ready to defend the way to her master.

With an enraged cry of utter frustration and helplessness, Apollo raised Mograine's Legacy.

"Fine! Let's have it your way, Arthas. I'll make damned sure you regret this for the rest of your miserable life!"

He brought up the sword to parry a difficult blow only to overextend as his former captain of personal guards manoeuvred the motion into a feint, drawing out the chinks in his armour to her advantage.

Even under mind control she is a formidable weapons mistress. Did you have to train your rangers this well, Sylvanas?

Meanwhile, Onyxia was torn between helping her consort and watching the spectacle degenerate into (what she perceived was) befitting humiliation.

None need guess which she stuck with.

Thankfully, Apollo had the presence of mind to dodge the lightning-quick counterattack from her, though he did so by unconventional means, dropping his shield.

He had just given up his one measure of good defence against an opponent who was an expert at duel-wielding, having done so all her life, and he was left with nothing more than paltry (against someone of her calibre) armour to defend his life. With a sinking feeling, he steadied Mograine's Legacy into a two-handed grip, optimizing for swift, balanced blows.

Anya for her part was doing extremely well; she had one falchion in her right hand, the blade pointed downwards, and a long red dagger in her left hand, the glinting blade up at the sun. She looked to be in understandably shocking good form – she had, after all, been cleaved into by Arthas not long previously.

She decided to taunt him a little.

"So, Milord of the Empty Promises, have you lost any other people you swore to cherish and protect, lately?"

This, coming from Anya herself, felt like a stake driven right through his heart. His betrayal of Arthas was churning all his other failures into a dangerous melting pot deep within him.

"Anya, my dear, you know I couldn't—"

"Oh, no, milord, I understand perfectly. So sayeth the lord, and his word is holy. No, I understand, I was but an expendable meat-shield... I simply wonder who else you promised the world to, and failed to deliver even a single rose ..."

Now, however, the shock factor had morphed into confusion. Apollo had absolutely no idea why or how the conversation had gained this delicate edge to it. Feeling a headache brewing simply from thinking about it, he erupted into anger.

"Enough of this charade! Let me through!"

Anya's smirk morphed into an expression of profound distaste. "Very well, then—as I said before, you shall not pass while I am still alive."

Gritting his teeth, shaking with absolute fury, Apollo once again raised Mograine's Legacy and began an unrelenting assault on the nimble (and slightly dead) Sin'Dorei.

The unplanned assault may have made him unpredictable, but it also made him reckless. Whereas before, Apollo was dodging most slashes and parrying the ones he couldn't, now he was taking a few cuts here and there, after every bout of contact. Presently, his armour plate was riddled with surgically precise intrusions, and something wet dribbled and sloshed around in the padded interior.

Onyxia and the others could see Apollo growing more and more unstable by the minute – this would not do; he was going to lose. Maybe I should let him, just this once, to make sure he knows his place. She'd step in before he got seriously hurt, of course – as the only combatant in the area not busy any longer. The moment that Arthas had started walking, scores of plague bats had arrived with monstrous reinforcements, renewing their onslaught against the tiring resistance soldiers.

After a drawn-out duel that did not deserve to be as such, Apollo decided to use a trick she had taught him herself, counting on her inability to cohesively construe his un-connected attack as her own pattern, a decidedly foolish idea with grounds for murder if she were in her right mind.

After the fifth high-speed, adrenalin-fuelled haemorrhage strike he made to feint, but unfortunately for him, Anya was loyalty-addled, not brain-addled – her riposte struck just as fiercely.

The riposte to the feint had left him with little balance; Anya needed but to kick his leg and he would tumble – incredibly, though, she did not.

Apollo was overjoyed. My Anya is fighting Arthas' control! That would, of course, have been a reasonable and possible conclusion, but another, less optimistic mind might see it as a diversionary tactic to throw the target off-guard and lower his defences.

Shamefully for Apollo, it worked. He unconsciously relaxed his stance, as he would when engaging in practice spars with his guardsmen, muscle memory reverting to happier times from a subconscious override.

This was the moment Anya was waiting for, and she capitulated on it, engaging him at extremely close-quarters with a move that could never miss from such a range.

Just as her bloody dagger entered his abdomen, his crimson essence spilling freely, he lost his grip on his sword, which due to momentum veered off in another direction, taking his gauntlet with him.

Far away, Onyxia screamed in utter anguish as the situation developed quicker than she had anticipated, and she rushed at him as he fell on his back.

Anya kneeled next to him, a cruel grin on her face, contradicting the impossible teardrop falling down one cheek.

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

She picked up his free, unblemished hand and brushed it against her cheek, just seconds before Onyxia tried to barrel into her side.

An unnatural phenomenon took place as she held his hand, however. The ethereal glow from his body, which had faded somewhat over the years and especially after his dream, concentrated instead on his hand and entered her from it, bathing her in a golden glow.

Instantly, she began to scream.

As it turned out, that had been Anya's real body, stitched together by scourge 'doctors' after she had been inducted.

That partially-rot infested body was now beginning to burn, illuminating Anya up with otherworldly light, much to Onyxia's delight, as she had slowed down and stopped before reaching her target.

As the light ate away at everything that made up Anya, her screams increased in intensity, the ferocity of her voice startling even the dragon queen slightly. As Anya shrieked and howled and cried out with pure, unrestrained fear, a miracle began to appear.

Where the legs had burnt up, new limbs were being grown; her charred abdomen recovering in a new sheen of silver, and the process moved up to reach the now hoarse-larynx, changing the horrible screeches to much more controlled, though out-of-breath groans.

When she came to, Anya saw quite a few pairs of angry and altogether inquisitive,—friendly?—faces.

Her voice came out in short, almost tantalizing moans. "Where ... am I," another untimely moan, "why ... are you ... looking at me ... like I've—oh."

"Well, she seems to have finally been recalibrated, her motor functions are normal, her vitals check out just fine—in short, you, Miss Eversong, are free to go." The nearby nurse was obviously having to deal with other patients, and poor Anya was left at the mercy of pissed-off members of Apollo's entourage.

.oOo.

"So you're telling me that while I went through phoenix re-birthing, Lady Windrunner managed to catch up with Arthas?"

"Yes. Also, to be fair, you aren't fully normal, Anya, not anymore. I believe Apollo's ... manipulation ... simply gave you a body to possess. I'm sorry, once a banshee, you cannot become ... well, living, again."

"You're telling me I'm currently possessing an artificial body that just happens to have next-to-none degradability?"

"Well, that, and, I'm really sorry, but you won't be able to have any children." Jaina's voice did a rapid decrescendo over the course of that sentence.

If her heart did break there and then, none were the wiser – Jaina exhaled deeply in relief when she saw her take the news well. The good news was still waiting though.

"You haven't heard the good news, yet."

"Oh? Do elaborate."

"After a tense standoff between Sylvanas and Arthas, up on the same cliff, her rangers and Farstriders backup managed to pin him against it. In the end, Arthas claimed some fancy tale of revenge and jumped backwards into the river deep below."

Anya raised an eyebrow at that. "And?"

"And, we've found he's retreated to Northrend – he won't be bothering us anymore, at least not for years, till he's gathered his strength again. Consecrated ground really hurt him."

"That's the best news I've heard in months."

"Well, the downside to that is that when you ripped Apollo's entrails up ... well, he basically went into shock. We've cleared him, now – he somehow managed to minimize the damage while in coma by transferring his left hand's essence into patching up his ... um ... interior."

Anya was now open-mouthed, staring at her in utter shock and a little revulsion.

"Does that mean his hand is now—"

"Yes, he'll have to wear a fake, enchanted glove to serve as his hand for the remainder of his life."

Anya sighed deeply and promptly caused Jaina to crack up and begin chuckling, making her laugh in relief from the absurdity of the recent happenings.

After a moment, they gathered themselves, tremulously silent.

"So he's absolutely fine, and Arthas is gone."

Jaina looked at her in the eyes and the whole world seemed to be rotating properly once more.

"Right – our campaign is now over. I suppose I'll have to accompany milord back Light's Watch – I wonder what more half-cocked struggles we'll have over there. You should come visit us sometime, milady."

Jaina simply smiled at her snarky friend before gesturing her off to the command tent.

Once in there, she received the biggest shock of her life.

"Anya Eversong, as by my right through my Consort, Highlord of the Light, I order you to lead these undead people unto a new dawn, forged with hope, bravery and—oh by Aman'thul, do I really have to say all of this? You have been requested by all of our undead associates to represent and lead them. Now that Arthas has been beaten, you have much work left to do to reclaim the land of these people – the plague-ridden meadows and lands of Tirisfal. What say you, Banshee Queen?"

A flabbergasted Anya could only yelp as she was jumped on by Jaina after her hesitant nod.

.oOo.

"Soon, this world will learn what their petty efforts reap – they will learn ... of suffering."

"Very good discourse, Ner'zhul. Now, do try and leave me something to show for Lord Sargeras to harvest, yes?"

AND FINISHED! (This chapter, that is.)

I could really end the story here and pick up with a direct sequel, but we all know that would just annoy me, you guys, and every other thing on this crossover.

So, explanations: the reason why I took so much time to finish?

Actually I had 85% of it written for the past few months – I just ended up re-writing the beginning 2k words over five times and I couldn't decided on the ending.

In the end, I decided I'd botch up both and work towards regaining your trust in the next chapter. (Due sometime this year – I've got military service starting in March, so we'll see how it goes.)

REVIEWS ARE WELCOME AND VERY MUCH APPRECIATED, NO MATTER HOW LONG THEY ARE!

I AM OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS, TOO – You may choose to mail be about them or leave a review – completely up to your discretion.

Review, please.

Until next time.