The descent of the ten Holy Archangels completely altered the landscape of the battlefield. The coalition's offensive grew even more ferocious, and the surging tide of the Burning Legion was actually suppressed.
Golden Holy Light intertwined with azure-gold Arcane radiance, forming a domain of sacred invulnerability. Within this realm, demons felt as if they were cast into a furnace; their Fel energy was stifled, their movements turned sluggish, and low-level demons were vaporized into ash by the mere radiance of the Light.
"The Light Legion..." Tichondrius stood upon the ramparts, his scarlet pupils filling with terror for the first time. "Impossible! How could the Light Legion appear here?"
As ancient rivals, the Nathrezim understood the Army of the Light well, but they had never seen creatures like these. These tall, winged humanoids were an anomaly. Were they a new race recruited from the cosmos? The Dreadlord's mind was flooded with questions. Usually, the Light's forces consisted of Draenei and various alien races piloting Light-forged mechs and high-tech weaponry—not these divine biological weapons. Each one felt as powerful as a demigod; any one of them could likely kill him in seconds.
It's a good thing Archimonde died quickly, Tichondrius thought grimly. If he had stayed alive only to be ganged up on by these ten, his end would have been much uglier.
He turned his head to look at "Rhodes" (Krasus), who was feigning an expression of stunned admiration. "Truly spectacular," Krasus remarked. "It seems this world is more complex than we imagined. These Holy Angels are formidable!"
"Lord Rhodes," Tichondrius asked tentatively, "During your travels through the Astral Plane, did you ever hear of such a force within the Light Legion?"
Krasus felt a jolt of nerves but kept his face stoic. "I've heard whispers of fanatics who worship the Light, but I never expected them to manifest here. It seems Azeroth's importance exceeds our calculations."
On the battlefield, the Archangels demonstrated devastating power. Michael and Lucifer stood side-by-side, raising their swords in a joint incantation. A massive golden vortex formed in the sky, and from its center, a hundred-meter blade of pure Holy Light coalesced.
"Holy Judgment!" Michael's voice boomed like a great bell.
The giant sword cleaved downward, targeting the densest cluster of demons. Doomguards attempted to intercept, but their Fel shields shattered like paper. The blade left a trench dozens of meters deep, burning with golden flames.
Gabriel and Raphael focused on support. They unfurled their four wings, raining down blue-gold motes of light. Where they landed on coalition soldiers, wounds closed instantly and exhaustion vanished. A Night Elf warrior, previously near death, felt power surge through his limbs and cleaved a Dreadlord in two with a single roar of triumph.
Uriel and Sariel moved like ghosts, leaving afterimages as they precisely executed demon commanders. Remiel and Julian rained down Arcane Missiles like a tropical storm, while Beelzebub and Amenadiel maintained a massive Holy Barrier at the front lines that dissolved any demon who touched it.
Just as the battle seemed to turn into a rout, the portal above the Well of Eternity vibrated violently. The emerald vortex distorted and swelled as a terrifying will—ten times more powerful than Archimonde's—poured through. It was the essence of pure destruction, madness, and darkness.
"This is..." Cenarius's face paled.
"Sargeras!" Malfurion gasped, struggling to breathe under the sheer pressure of the True God's presence.
In the portal, a pair of burning Fel-eyes opened slowly. The gaze alone distorted space. Some weaker soldiers began to bleed from their eyes and ears, collapsing instantly. Even the Wild Gods felt as if a mountain had been dropped on them.
"Mortals... you have... surprised me," a deep, majestic voice echoed directly in everyone's consciousness. "But the game ends here. Soon I shall descend, and I will personally tear those birds apart."
With his words, the portal expanded further. This time, it wasn't fodder emerging, but the true elite: hundreds of Eredar Fel-Lords, dozens of Pit Lords, and organized legions of Doomguards. The tide turned again. At this rate, the coalition would be buried in an hour.
In the Depths of the Palace
Illidan, Rhonin, and Broxigar moved silently through the shadows. Illidan's demon sight allowed them to dodge patrols, while Rhonin's magic masked their sounds.
"The core is just ahead," Illidan whispered. "I can feel Xavius's soul and a massive amount of Fel energy."
"How do we get in?" Rhonin asked. "Charging in is suicide."
Just as Illidan was about to propose a desperate, suicidal plan to blow up the Well itself, a flash of Arcane light appeared beside them.
"Lord Rhodes!" Rhonin whispered in relief.
The old orc, Broxigar, thumped his chest and raised his oak axe—a legendary weapon crafted and enchanted by Cenarius himself. "Lord Rhodes, it is an honor to see you again."
"No time for talk," Rhodes said, having disguised his appearance once more to facilitate his later switch with Krasus. "Sargeras's attention is fully on the Archangels outside. Here is the plan: Illidan, the moment I break the gate's seal, hit the left wing with a Fel blast to distract the Dreadlords. Broxigar, take the Pit Lord on the right—keep him busy. Rhonin, use your strongest area-of-effect Arcane spells to suppress those Eredar sorcerers for at least three seconds."
The three nodded, entering combat stances. Rhodes stepped forward, pressing his hand against the massive, Fel-inscribed doors.
"BREAK!"
With a sharp command, his mana surged. The Fel runes dimmed and shattered instantly, and the heavy metal doors exploded inward with a screech of twisting iron.
"Move!"
Rhodes fired a Magic Arrow that vaporized the first guarding demon into cinders.