Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom...
The steps of the Fel Reavers made everyone shudder, constantly looking back toward the huge robots walking toward us. And not just the steps, but their colossal figures themselves. They walk in a wall, towering over the trees, breaking them with swings of their huge arms without even slowing down. A mechanical mobile wall; only Nordrassil itself is taller than them. And each giant glows with an emerald furnace on its chest, from which green fireballs fly out. They walk in step, beating out an ever-increasing rhythm as they approach. A terrifying rhythm. Dust hides their legs, and it seems like a huge wall, a landslide, that keeps crawling and crawling toward you.
What to stop THIS with, I don't know. Truly, I don't know. The debris of Infernals are just pebbles under their feet. Tree trunks shatter into splinters with a crash or catch fire from the fireballs. The huge robots approach, closer, and closer, and closer. The psychological effect is simply unreal; it gets to everyone, even the Night Elves with their thousands of years of experience. Even they haven't seen this.
Finishing examining the approaching robots through the optics, I turned to Venidan. I can't see her face; the white-and-green helmet, like mine, hides it. But the agitation can't be hidden, not by any of us. Even though the question wasn't asked, I answered anyway.
"They'll be here in a few minutes. About ten, I think. They're moving not too fast, methodically trampling everything in their path. And still too fast for ordinary sentients. Long legs, too long."
"And then?" the Rogue clarified, though she clearly already knew the answer.
I laughed nervously. This rumbling, these giants… it's unnerving. Frightening, yes, and unnerving. This feeling of… inevitability. Hopelessness. I wouldn't be surprised if that's exactly the plan. If they wanted to make us afraid—they succeeded. I have to make an effort not to bolt. Especially now, when I am a Surveyor, which means an officer, a colonel. And I have no right to show weakness. So I answered as calmly as I could. And quietly, so as not to be overheard.
"And then we get trampled. Unless someone figures out how to stop them."
I really don't know what to do. I could spit on everything and wreck one of those things. If I ignore the consequences, maybe two. After that, though, I'll be a rag, unable to move much or run far, but fine. Two full-power salvos, if I prepare and gorge myself on concentrate—three, maybe. And there are sixty of them there by the most modest estimates. And the ground shakes from the stride of these Giant Humanoid Combat Robots. Retreating isn't an option either; they'll just follow us.
The robots continue to advance, kicking up dust and crushing everything in their path, towering over the forest. They march in step, making the earth shudder rhythmically. And the closer they get, the harder it is to remain calm. But I must; it is my duty as a Commander! Finally, command made the decision for me.
"Everyone retreat!" Jaina shouted. "Fall back to the Horde camp, to the second line! Leave everything you can't carry in your hands!"
Sentient beings began to leave their positions with visible relief, but I'm in no hurry. There are things left in this camp that I won't leave without. I won't leave with them either. Inside the tent is my flying chair on jet propulsion. A pure perversion of magical science, crude, but it will do the job.
I called it the "James Bond Chair." Because it has some weapons built into it. Crude, unorganic. For example, crystals for an elemental shield are simply glued into a hole I poked out. A hole is cut under the feet, from which the noses of air-to-air missiles protrude. And behind the backrest is a hydrogen tank. Arms controlled by a simple golem stick out from the sides and top. They are needed to direct the elevators and rudders.
Ideally, I should have added armor and made the chair more aerodynamic to create a proper glider, but there was no time or materials; I cut corners wherever I could. I had to buy the chair from one of the officers. He didn't want to part with the comfort, but I promised to turn it into a weapon, and the man was curious to see what would happen. Well, he's about to see.
"Looks like it's time…"
My thoughts drifted back to Tyrande Whisperwind's night prayers of mass destruction. That was… truly impressive. And I'm not talking about the rain of falling stars; that could be written off as a very powerful Area of Effect spell. Jaina knows how to make blizzards of that scale, nothing new there. What mattered wasn't that, but the presence of another will.
An alien will, whose author watched, evaluated, and understood. And that understanding was almost physical. Negativity directed at the attackers. Understanding and support for the defenders. Agreement regarding the actions of the priestess herself? Probably. And also a slight disapproval directed at me. And I just don't know how to react to that. This will was dominant; arguing with it in the moment of its attention was simply impossible. As if all your arguments don't matter; they've already been heard and aren't interesting at all, because the truth is different. And arguing with it is pointless. Even the void-born schizophrenia decided to shut up and stay out of sight.
And that is very interesting. Could my problems with magic be solved this way? I don't know.
The devil knows how to react to this; when it's over, I'll need to shake down the priestesses of Elune, maybe they'll suggest something clever. I want to see their faces when a High Elf comes with the question: can we talk about our goddess, Elune? But seriously, it's a grave question. I'm flirting quite actively with dark forces. In these conditions, there's no such thing as too much precaution.
A nudge to my shoulder drew my attention to the Rogue. More precisely, to the visor of her helmet looking at me.
"DaVi? Do we have a plan?" Venidan distracted me from my complex thoughts. "Because if not, it's time to go. We're the only ones left."
I shrugged. True enough, everyone had left the trenches; only we remained. Well, also the ancients and a few mountain giants, the living rocks of the night elves, but they have no intention of retreating. They will stay to delay the attackers. Perhaps the defenders have a plan; after all, Mount Hyjal is a mountain. Right now we are at the foot. On the slopes, it will be harder for the huge robots; the inclines are quite steep. Actually, the road from the Human Camp to the orcish one is the only relatively level path. Likely, that's where they'll be stopped. As for me… Today I'm playing by my own rules again.
"Yes, I have a plan, Veni. The edge of a knife, as usual."
And yes, before retreating, the cannons, ballistae, and everything we had fired at the Fel Reavers. It helped little. They have no Magic Shields, so the robots just shuddered from the hits. Sometimes Fel began to ooze from the breaches. But that was it; they are very tough, resilient. They are getting closer, thundering and relentless.
Their weapon is fear. Fear of the inevitable end. I agree. Only it won't help them. Archimonde was prophesied to suffer defeat. Here, on Mount Hyjal. And I will be the one to strike the first blow against him. One he will never forget. Ultimately, if I am to be known among demons too, this should be a huge bonus to my Legend. After all, in the entire multiverse, there is exactly one Burning Legion.
Yes, it's time to do this. I stood up, heading for the tents. Quickly, levitating over the trenches so as not to worry about the rough terrain. The Rogue followed close behind, jumping over obstacles with ease, showing all her available agility. Now we are alone; the others are fleeing in haste. Sentient beings are huddled at the exit of the camp, crowding together, eager to leave as quickly as possible. And only we are heading not toward the exit, but deeper into the camp.
I can't see the Rogue's face, but I can guess what she's thinking. Why we aren't going to the exit. What I'm up to. Alas, this time there is no place for Venidan in my plan. Literally no place.
"Veni. Leave. Immediately."
I was grabbed by the shoulders and spun around. Her helmet visor almost pressed against mine, trying to see my eyes.
"Explain yourself. Now," the Rogue demanded.
I jerked, pulling away. After a second jerk, Venidan let go of one hand but continued to watch and hold with the other. I sighed; this was bound to happen.
"Come on, I'll tell you on the way. They're very close; you need to have time to get out."
The plan, as usual, is suicidal. I gathered my thoughts before speaking. You'll judge me for this, but fine, I'll live. Especially since we're already near my tent. There's no time for another plan.
"I'm going to distract Archimonde, Veni, so he'll scatter his own favorite toys. With this."
We ran into the tent, near which my Crane is parked. A means for quick evacuation, Plan B, so to speak. Inside the tent, in a magic circle, is the chair, my Plan A. Literally a chair with seatbelts sewn on and reinforced with magic. They are very tight; if you buckle up, you can only fall out by being ripped out by the roots. I adjusted them to fit myself to survive all possible G-forces. And on the back panel, behind the backrest, a rocket hydrogen engine is attached to the chair.
Two tanks located behind the pilot's back so that the exhaust from the rockets launched from below doesn't heat the tank. As protection for the tank—a heavy chest reinforced with magic, in which the tanks are hidden. The creation of a drunken mekboy, transport for… What do you call those boyz who strap themselves to a rocket? And on this, I'm going to fly to hit Archimonde. This schizo-tech scares even me, its creator. The only thing saving me is the "terrain creation" cast on this device—I'm sure I can control this confidently, almost intuitively.
Venidan looked at the chair, then turned her helmet toward me. I can't see her eyes, but I feel the doubt physically. Doubt about my mental development, yes. It seems this time I managed to surprise even her. Hee-hee.
"You're… not joking," she stammered. "This is madness. Even more madness than usual, DaVi. This is just madness, Midget. I can't even manage a joke; it looks that much like a delusion."
I nodded, ignoring the faintly trembling ground.
"Madness. The reason why no one knows exactly what I did."
Venidan cursed in Thalassian. Beautifully and softly, like wiping yourself with a Velvet rag. Though the occasion doesn't fit at all. They are already close; if the Rogue doesn't hurry, she won't make it out. The Rogue ripped the helmet off her head so I could see the full depth of her displeasure. Shock, surprise, and irritation.
"DaVi, I'm sure someone has to say this. This is a very, very stupid decision. On this," she pointed at the chair, "all that awaits you is death! I'm asking you seriously: do you want to die?"
I sighed. I just knew it would be like this. How much easier it would have been if they didn't know. But we're following the path of good. Since she's with me, she has the right to know. And to get answers, even if they aren't entirely honest.
"I want to survive, Veni. That's exactly why this chair is needed. I wouldn't be able to escape a huge archdemon on the surface. But in the air… there will be a chance. Please understand. And the engine is needed to escape the gargoyles. Many demons can fly; the only way to do everything right is to hit and run. Hit-and-run."
The Rogue shook her head.
"This is idiocy, Midget. I can joke, but this is something else entirely. You. Will. Die. There!"
I just rolled my eyes.
"I'll outlive you. Do you believe me?"
The Rogue fell silent. Obviously, we are walking on very thin ice. I'm going to lie to her. I don't want to, but I'm going to. And for that, I took off my helmet, meeting Venidan's eyes.
"I've seen it. I will survive and return to you. Do you believe me?"
It hurts me to do what I'm doing. But I'm confident in success. That this will be my moment of triumph. The Rogue sighed.
"I believe you. I still think it's idiocy, but I believe you. You've always come back. Battered, wrecked, but you came back. Swear that you'll return."
I answered immediately.
"I will return. I give my word."
Thinking for a moment, I decided to push further.
"And anyway, how did you imagine wounding Archimonde, which I already mentioned? He's a damn archdemon, Veni. Thirty meters tall, and that's just how he is now; he can grow even bigger. I'll hit him, but then what? We both know what. He'll be in a rage and try to grind me into dust! With this chair, with the rocket—I can escape, just on acceleration. Without it—my one-meter legs against his twenty-meter ones! I've thought of everything."
This made Venidan think. Well, yes, the speed of movement with such a difference in height is a relevant problem. The Rogue looked at the chair again.
"I could…"
Fly instead of me. No.
"You couldn't," I interrupted her. "This isn't a Pepelats; there are no defense systems. "Creation" tuned the controls, the belts, everything here to me. There's no time to learn or rebuild; they're here. Right at the trenches. I'll control the rudders directly, with magic. Veni, there's no time! Leave. Faster! Please…"
The thundering became absolutely deafening. Shouts and the crashing of retreating sentient and not-so-sentient soldiers filled the camp. It seems not everyone managed to get away, and panic began to mount. The Rogue hesitated for a few more seconds, then forcefully sat me in the chair and began to buckle me in. And in that moment… I'm grateful to her. If Veni had dug in her heels, I would have spat on the chair and left with her. Ultimately, the result of this battle is predetermined. Hyjal will hold. As will the Horde and the Theramore people.
I have no reason to sacrifice myself or my friends. I wouldn't do that. But since Veni is ready to help… I gasped when the Rogue hugged me tightly.
"Don't die there, or I'll find a Necromancer and bring back your soul. I'll go to Northrend if I have to, to learn and resurrect. And then I'll spend a long and thorough time reminding you of your mistake. I believe in you, Midget. Don't die there. I won't forgive it."
I smiled, bumping her shoulder while the Rogue checked the fastenings. I wouldn't forgive myself such a ridiculous death either. And the fact that I could lose you all. For the sake of protecting the sentient. For the sake of Theramore, I will survive. I will definitely survive.
The elf sighed, cutting through the tent door so I could fly out properly.
"I'll survive. You don't die there either. Take my Crane; it can easily hop over the wall. And try not to break it this time, okay?"
She nodded.
"I promise. I have to go."
Venidan left. I checked the belts one last time; it would be very undesirable to fall out of the chair in flight. Hands on the armrests; icicles appeared over my hands on command. I have to shoot something in flight, even if it's strictly forward. Obeying the command, the injector began to introduce Alchemy into my blood. I'll need all my reaction speed. I'll introduce it gradually so the acceleration goes smoother. Maybe I can negate the consequences.
"Well, here we go!"
And I floored the gas, not caring about anything anymore. The tent jerked sharply and was left behind, carried away by the engine's thrust; papers flew everywhere but were ignored, as was the fact that some of them caught fire from the exhaust. The pressure pressed me into the chair, making me remember how to properly tense my muscles under G-forces and that I mustn't forget to steer. I'm not over the ocean now; I need to gain altitude so I don't crash into anything. So, forward and up!
"The process has started! I'm flying for your ass, Archimonde… Okay, dodge!"
Almost immediately I had to bank into a turn to avoid the Fel Reavers, who stood like a wall right in front of the camp. The first row had already reached the trenches and were crushing the defending elven ancients with mighty fists. They try to resist, striking with branches, entangling the enemy with roots, but Fel burns them, wounds them. Leaves fall, branches break, splinters fly in all directions. The powerful blows of the robots crush their trunks.
Mountain giants also entered the fray with the Fel Reavers, winning time for the retreaters. The stone giants are quite capable of dealing damage to the Fel Reavers; their stone fists crumple metal, and clubs made of logs bend the robots' limbs. Return damage from fireballs doesn't affect them much. But the Fel Reavers have something to answer with. Their fists have a system similar to my power hammer. The fists create a shockwave that grinds the stone giants into gravel. The clubs give time for one or two hits, but after that, both the mountain giants and the Fel Reavers find themselves on equal terms. Except there are more of the latter. Stone boulders thrown by the ancients help a little, but here the robots were saved by the second and third rows of robots themselves. Even the largest rock doesn't topple them; those standing behind support them. This battle is no longer my problem; there's nothing to see here.
The camp itself was now completely empty. My tent is ablaze, and among the retreaters, I spotted my walker running off into the distance, with Veni sitting on it. And she's looking in my direction, as is Dartaola, on the second walker. It's nice to know they believe in me. I won't lose.
"What do we say to the god of death? Not today."
I'm reassuring myself, that's a fact. It's scary, and I'm going in there anyway. Yes, perhaps if I die there, the Entity will bring me back or send me somewhere else. Death is no longer the end; that much is known for sure. We have a contract that I'm slowly fulfilling. Pick something up from Karazhan, something else in another place. Why, he could bring me back in the same form; I'd finish everything in a month. But that would mean the end of everything. Veni, Mom and Dad, the others would stay here, and I would be there. I wouldn't want to lose everything. Which means—I am obligated to survive. For all of them. It's not time to go yet.
The chair rose higher; I stabilized the flight and leaned over, surveying the landscape below. The Fel Reavers had simply plowed a huge clearing through the forest, leaving only destruction behind and opening the way for the Army of Undead and demons following them. And finishing off those who survived, I assume. Moreover, the forest to the right and left of their formation is burning with green cursed flame, as if warning not to interfere. I won't interfere.
Everything is ground into dust—wood, pieces of Infernals, flesh—everything is crushed and ground, leaving a long passage through the forest, literally black from the erupting Fel.
Of course, the demons and Undead following them have to scramble over the debris, climb over pieces of trees and ruts in the ground, but that's not what matters. What matters is the nearly thirty-meter Archimonde, leisurely marching behind the robots and clearly enjoying the panic among the defenders. The Demon instantly noticed me in the flying chair and frowned, peering closer. Apparently, he wasn't impressed.
"An insolent gnat. Kill it," the giant said and turned away.
I didn't comment, though I couldn't suppress a smile. You think it's that easy, do you? Well, let's see. Full speed ahead! And a few cheat codes for clarity. Warmth spread through my body from the Alchemy entering my blood through the injections in my shoulders. The world became sharp and clear; any traces of fatigue vanished. I'm Ready for Combat. The gauntlet on my right hand trembled, typing text on an illusory keyboard:
OUIQDMW
COXEFGU
With a hiss, the chair, having received the authorizing commands, accelerated, leaving a trail of fire behind from the running engine. I gave up on controlling the birds; the main thing now is not to kill myself; controlling this stool is a hell of its own; it's not aerodynamic at all! And I have to aim with this thing too!
Left! Gargoyles tried to stand in the chair's path, to slow it down. Lower, further right, fire! From my hands pressed to the chair's armrest, frost spears tore away, knocking down a gargoyle that happened to be in the way. Like that, and now right! And more spears. The more of you die, the less you'll bother me! Shot! Heh-heh-heh. To the side! Roll! Missed!
These flying beasts know how to throw magic too. My chair's rocket swept rapidly over the formation, over the demons, forcing them to look up. Excellent, everything is going just perfectly! Near the Undead base, I turned around, taking aim at Archimonde. Analysis will take a little time; I'll just fly parallel. I've pulled away from the gargoyles; there's time.
I need to time the moment right, because right now Archimonde isn't paying attention to me, more occupied with how the huge robots, having passed through the ancients and mountain giants, are trampling the base and those few who didn't manage to retreat. This time Jaina didn't stay at the base to give the Demon her "fie." Simply because the base is already being demolished, and Archimonde hasn't even reached it yet. She has nothing to do there.
The gauntlet clicked into place, glowing with energy. The seals began to move, taking the optimal position. The mechanism unfolded, ready for the shot. Well, I can't wait any longer. But I need to clear the sky slightly of new targets.
"Launch!"
Between my spread legs, bathing the Magic Shield from the fire in a wave of heat, the rockets launched, destroying the creatures. Not just gargoyles, but also red-skinned demons with blades who had taken to the sky on leathery wings. A hit! More rockets! One, two, fourth, sixth. Not many, but enough to clear my path. Everything is going according to plan.
NCSGDAG
The fastening of my right arm to the chair disconnected, except for the very top, and I, banking into a turn, pointed it down at the archdemon. And began to pump in energy. A full-power salvo. All for one strike. I felt weakness from the sharp and strong drain of Mana into the bright sphere forming in my palm. Resilient bastard, this is the strongest charge-up in all the time I've used the gauntlet. But it won't save you. I have plenty of Mana; enough for everyone.
It seems even Archimonde felt the power of the forming magical sphere, because he turned and looked up, unerringly finding my little ship. He looked, squinting slightly, as if at something small and insignificant.
"You have potential, gnat. Are you here to bow your knees before me?"
I know, Archimonde, that I have potential. Aiming complete, charging complete. Vulnerability identified—Fel, void. Effect—maximum penetration. The bright white sphere, a little sun, turned black instead, a black hole sucking in the light. Right! Damn gargoyles. Okay, can't wait any longer; I'm practically over Archimonde. Our eyes met, but on my face is the happy smile of a winner.
"And even though I know you're a replica, I don't care! Uomo Universale!"
This time the sphere tore away from the gauntlet so fast that I was jolted and swept aside along with the chair, distracting me as I tried to stabilize this poorly controlled bolide. The sphere sped down and behind, but I know exactly how to tell if I hit.
"BRUUUUTE!" that frenzied howl was music to my ears.
I definitely hit.
Performing a roll, I could see Archimonde fallen to one knee, a long and slanted wound burning with Fel left on his body, running from his right shoulder to his groin. Right across his entire torso; I don't know how deep it is, but it's very noticeable. Zoom in.
It went in well. Deep enough, which is good; he'll need time to restore functionality. And the fact that you're on one knee is quite wonderful. Because everyone saw it. Me, you, your subordinates, and the scouts of those same night elves. Great, isn't it?
The Eredar, holding onto the ground with his left hand since the right one doesn't look very functional, looked into the sky, straight at me, with a face twisted in rage. And yes, the goal was clearly achieved; the metal belt that covered everything important was torn away, a hole where the necessary part of the body should be, and a deep wound remained on one of his legs. I can see them so well thanks to the bright lime-green blood, full of Fel. At the groin itself, the projectile entered deep enough to blow that very area to dust. I'm almost certain that walking normally will also be very difficult for him… for a while, until he can regenerate.
Pity there's no time to admire; there are more and more gargoyles in the sky. I'm faster, more maneuverable, but there are many more of them and they know how to shoot. Down! Right! Down, roll! Up! Left! Speed Boooooost! Bye, winged losers! I dominate this sky! I am speed!
"What did you do? WHAT did you do, nonentity???" the Demon roared.
And I know what. Attacked with Fel, which can wound demons. Your own element. It's wildly ironic that senior demons are almost impenetrable to normal damage, as well as a significant portion of magical damage. Resistance is at a very good level. But at the same time, they are quite vulnerable to their native element. Well, also Holy, but that's generally universal against everything dark. This is extremely unusual; as a rule, such creatures are immune to their own element. Elementals, for example—it's useless to hit a fire elemental with fire; it'll only get stronger.
A hologram of the Eredar unfolded on my helmet so I could better examine the damage.
"Just as I thought."
It really didn't just blow off his bolt; it also partially broke his legs. I don't think this effect is permanent or complete; the Demon, no longer taking his eyes off me, stood up, and is even standing almost straight. Hmm, there is an effect, but clearly insufficient. And yet the wound is in no hurry to regenerate, and that's already a good sign. Which the wounded man himself realized.
"I will destroy you," he is clearly in a rage.
I only smiled. Given what's bubbling in my blood and in what concentration, I'm not capable of being fully afraid. Venidan's acquaintance with Goblins didn't go to waste; those are the ones who understand combat Alchemy. The Rogue knew how to brew stims before; now she does it even better. For the future, I need to look into this matter. I should put the best into the injectors; I'm working for myself.
Roll! We'll do without the Fel rays, Demon.
"I don't doubt you'll try," we'll see about that.
The sky turned red, and a rain of fire descended from the heavens. Dense but un-aimed, it fell on the instantly ignited forest, on the demons and Undead moving around. It flares up on my Magic Shield, forcing me to maneuver frantically. Green flashes of explosions light up here and there. He's just blasting the area, not caring about anyone. And the weak ones clearly aren't surviving this attack.
And I have a damn bullet hell here! Gargoyles from below, their magic blades, damn fire rain falling from the heavens! But I'm laughing. This damn well works! Archimonde is firing on his own! Need to make him even angrier. Second salvo! Need to make a second salvo! Speed Boooooost! There's still hydrogen left.
Ultimately, what are torn-off balls to a demon? He'll grow new ones. They always return until the soul is devoured or dissipated…
Exactly. Hee-hee-hee. Lucky that Archimonde doesn't have wings. If it were Kil'jaeden, we wouldn't have gotten away from him so easily. Actually, he's already slowly recovering. Not enough damage; need more.
"Insolent gnat…"
A power-hungry prideful fool who is so easy to lead by the nose…
Oh, thanks for the help. I don't necessarily have to do a full salvo! I just need to convince the Demon that I'm charging it and can deal a lot more damage with a few hits! And he won't be able to reach me in the sky. And that also means going on the attack again. The defense is holding, there's hydrogen in the tank, we can repeat, hee-hee-hee!
Banking into a turn for a couple of seconds, I looked at the Human Camp. At the piles of rubble that were a base just ten minutes ago. Now there are only numerous figures of Fel Reavers towering over the trees and the burning buildings and tents turned to ruins. The base is destroyed, in a matter of minutes. If nothing is done… I will do it.
Turn. Speed Boost!
"I'll do it."
The acceleration pressed me into the chair again, and the distance began to shrink rapidly. Starting the charge. This time Archimonde paid attention immediately, as soon as the energy began to concentrate. He spread his hands, and from behind his back, streams of Fel struck in my direction, lighting up the sky. And forcing me to dodge. Left-down-down-up-right-down-roll… I'm not a pilot; my eyes are going dark, but my mind is still with me. I won't leave you alone that easily, creep. Standing there, with your huge carcass, watching. Wary? Rightly so.
The wound left by the first hit, interestingly, hasn't healed yet. The trauma is serious; it's closing up, slowly, but faster than I would like. This means that I simply wouldn't have had enough damage to finish him off without finding a weak spot and pouring concentrate down to my eyebrows. Just pelting this colossal carcass with damage isn't an option; it regenerates. Which means I need to hit a weak spot. A part of the body already wounded. The shoulder joint of the right arm. Aiming.
NCSGDAG
Fel-void. Salvo.
"And even though I know you're a replica, I don't care! Uomo Universale!"
I missed the moment of the shot again; the shot coincided with a sharp dodge on Speed Boost; my eyes went dark once more. Lucky that nothing tore off in the process. But Archimonde was growling in rage, and I was smiling as the sphere pierced his damaged shell and exploded in the shoulder, tearing off the arm. And now his gaze focused on one specific point. On me. A moment later, the archdemon tore forward, crushing everything in his way. Turning around, I noticed he is noticeably limping, moving quite slowly. Well, for a thirty-meter carcass. Still too fast for any ground target. But I'm not on the ground, asshole!
"DESTROY… THE INSIGNIFICANT INSECT! YOU DARED TO WOUND ME, YOU PITIFUL MORTAL CUR!"
And I, trying not to pass out from the G-forces, turned the machine toward the Fel Reavers. My arm won't obey; I'm not sure I can repeat the salvo. It doesn't stop me from steering; the "contact pair" is two gauntlets.
Fire rain is pouring from the sky; with his only hand, Archimonde is throwing Fel balls the size of a house. The second such sphere just melted a Fel Reaver, which, scattering Fel and metal debris in all directions, crashed to the ground, spilling burning green sludge everywhere. One down. Only a few dozen left.
Total chaos is happening around; fire rain is falling from the heavens, and the spheres… Archimonde simply swept away the Fel Reavers that happened to be in his path with a wave of his hand. The mangled machines crashed to the ground. Another minus.
I'm in pain, but I couldn't hold back the laughter. It's working. We led him by the nose. Exactly, the voice. Any ideas on how not to die now? I can't make a third shot; my arm won't move. And if I fire with the left, I'll lose control. But Archimonde doesn't know that. Right! Down. Spin!
"Don't even hope! Look at me, everyone. A deadly act! Racing with a rabid bull! As the bull—an archdemon! Perhaps I have a slight overdose! I DON'T CAAAAARE!"
Instead of fear, I feel an abnormal cheerfulness. You can dodge the shots; the sky is three-dimensional. Reaction speed is boosted by magic and Alchemy. I am unstoppable! I am the king of this evening!
Another Fel ball smashed two more Fel Reavers, and the Demon stopped amidst the burning green wasteland.
"So that's it. You think you can escape. Then run…"
What's happening? What are you plotting there that's no good? The Demon isn't going anywhere anymore; on the contrary, he's crouched down and is drawing? Something ritualistic? Shit! Speed up!
I floored the gas, squeezing the last of the fuel into the chair, after which the engine simply disconnected so as not to interfere. I'll levitate the rest of the way as is.
"And you are brave enough to oppose me, elf. If all your villagers were like you, destroying your cursed people would be much more fun! Very well! Omnis Immundus Spiritus! Omnis Potestas! Omnis Incursio Infernalis Adversarii! Omnis Legio! AUDINOS!"
Thunder crashed. And needles struck from the ground. A multitude of bright green and red needles. A canister shot! Oh, you clever devil! Why didn't you do that before! Dodge! Dodge! But there were too many of them. The projectiles, as they say of arrows, "blotted out the sky." I already prepared to feel the hit, raised the remains of the Magic Shield. Without Mana, a Mana Shield can't do much.
The chair shuddered from the impact of dozens of projectiles. And… I'm still flying; there's no pain. Ahem. Where? Turning my head, I noticed many needles sticking out, including those that had pierced the back of the chair clean through but got stuck. Seems it didn't penetrate. Fear was replaced by a fit of amusement.
Um, and that's it? I even turned around, only to meet the gaze of the grinning one-armed Demon standing in the middle of the wrecked camp. And what did you do? I don't understand. I mean, you see that I'm alive, but you're still grinning. Why? Unclear. Oh well, without an engine, I'm not going back to you anyway. Home, and we'll figure it out there.
One thing I can say for certain—I won time. Some of the Fel Reavers need repairs. The Demon needs to restore his arm. He burned the infantry himself. So for the near future, an attack can be expected not to happen. The gargoyles were left behind; the acceleration did its job. Who's a good girl? I am, of course! Mana is almost at zero, but otherwise… it turned out well. I am completely satisfied with the result.
And the view of the sunset is absolutely gorgeous. Well, we held out for two days. Four more to go. Not a bad result.
Of course, before landing, I made a victory lap over the orc camp. It's situated higher on the slope than the Theramore one. As I thought, the Fel Reavers will be able to pass through here in much smaller numbers. And if I also trigger a landslide, or make the slope more unstable or slippery… it could turn out quite well. I just need to think about how. It's almost a pity that most of them didn't see what happened behind the trees. But I think those who did see will tell the others. For now, I, the humble hero of the day, can descend and rest. It was worth it. Definitely worth it.
Below, at the orc base, work is in full swing. Defensive lines are already being remodeled for the new conditions. Of course, the problem with the pile of Fel Reavers still remains, but there are other troops besides them. And the bots were roughed up by a very angry demon-eunuch. Archimonde is no idiot; between continuing the attack and recovering, he will choose the latter. There's no rush; his wound is merely an obstacle.
I am satisfied with the result. Well, almost. It remains to find out what that demon actually did. I don't believe everything can be this simple.
***
In the distance, below, where the base of the humans and their allies once stood, only black, poisoned ruins remain, among which the hulking masses of Fel Reavers tower, and Archimonde the Defiler stands, gazing into the distance. A monster that has already stepped upon the lands of the Night Elves. One doomed to defeat, as predicted by the Qiraji. And by that underage prophetess. Davilinia.
Alastir, a Night Elf Druid, sighed to himself. This child… No, truly. In his long life, he had seen many, many children. But such a combination of raw power, potential, and a sincere desire to create new, amazing things… and at the same time, a complete lack of brakes—this was a first. She is entirely devoid of fear and doubt, ready to commit acts that no sensible adult would dare. Yet she dares, survives, and wins. A miracle, truly a miracle. Or—a prophetic gift, which the elf herself fiercely disavows.
Judging by the reaction of her friends, they knew nothing either. They had no idea what their younger comrade would pull off. The Paladin prayed incessantly throughout the battle. The Rogue… well, she did too, essentially, though clearly unskillfully. There are simply no words.
Recklessness—how complicated it is. She is too overconfident. Though, one cannot deny it, the damage inflicted was colossal. Davilinia, for all her recklessness, wins. Perhaps that is why they cling to this child, allowing the elf to do such reckless things. Because she wins. Every single time, she wins. Even in insane situations like this.
He could have intervened in the situation, but he didn't. Firstly, it wasn't his problem. There are adults in her circle who indulge her whims. And also… because she wins. The Druid chuckled to himself. He himself, for the sake of protecting the World Tree, was ready to let her risk herself. Trading one elven child for the World Tree is cynical, but correct by every possible parameter.
So Alastir only smirked; he was no better than the rest. To demand a different attitude from others would be quite hypocritical. For the sake of protecting the lands from demons, for the sake of protecting Ashenvale… he must act this way. Allow her to continue doing what she does. For the sake of protecting their world.
And now, when she has returned once more with victory, he would congratulate her.
"She's descending!"
The Druid noted the reaction of the Paladin, who raised her eyes to the sky upon hearing Venidan's words. Both elves were sincerely worried about the younger one. Looking closely at Dartaola's face, Alastir winced to himself. Her age… to him, all three elves were merely children. But Dartaola looks older than him. From the perspective of development, she is older. Other Night Elves might haughtily note that such is the price of their betrayal. But he, Alastir, did not consider those who hadn't even lived during the era of the empire's decline to be traitors.
And those who are now shedding blood and performing insane acts to buy time. He did not consider them traitors, nor their ideas wrong. He didn't consider them guilty of anything toward the Night Elves either. However, that was only his opinion. The opinion of other Kaldorei might differ. And Alastir did not want to argue with his kin. That was one of the reasons he had left them. And he was in no particular hurry to return. Yes, of course, the main reason remained the search for traces of demons, but not only that. There was personal interest as well.
"Come, let's meet our victress," the huntress distracted the Druid from his thoughts, "I intend to pull her ears for this stunt. Perhaps even give her a spanking. Yes, definitely a spanking."
"Which you yourself allowed," the Paladin reminded her, "when it comes to indulging her decisions, you are in first place, Venidan."
But she was not upset.
"Don't be dramatic. If it were a problem, I would have stopped her. DaVi is a girl from the village, accustomed to hardships. And she knows perfectly well how to calculate risks. As you can see, she wasn't wrong this time either."
"Exactly," the Paladin snapped back, "exactly! You know what she wants. And you know her ambitions. Those require entirely different qualities than a readiness to assemble a powerful machine and achieve the impossible. When we are finished here, I swear, I will start teaching her to be a lady! A worthy, well-bred member of society. Restrained and wise! This is simply unbelievable!"
The younger elf laughed, watching as the chair descended near them.
"Yeah, good luck. The first thing the Midget will do when we get back is bury herself in the workshop to build herself a Dreadnaught, and good luck scratching her out of there," at that moment the chair touched the ground, so the younger one turned her attention to the pilot, "My congratulations, DaVi. That was cool!"
He couldn't see the face behind the opaque visor of the helmet, but there was clear satisfaction in the voice.
"Thank you, he didn't stand a chance."
Characteristically, all three elves inspected the fourth one sitting in the chair. The upholstery was damaged, scorched, and bore traces of hits, though they seemed glancing. Separately—the rear part of the chair was riddled with Fel needles, but at least they hadn't pierced the helmet. Or perhaps the magical barrier that the young Wizard always fueled in battle held.
The pilot herself, wrapped in a black-colored robe, looked intact. The yellow-purple gloves and helmet were also undamaged, bearing not even a scratch. It looked good. Only, why was there a sense of… rot coming from her? Again because of using that weapon? She should be shown to the Priests. And it seemed he wasn't the only one who thought so.
"I think you should be shown to a healer," Dartaola remarked, "I'm glad you managed. But the last few times after firing, you've gotten worse. You should get checked out."
Davilinia stood up with difficulty, and Venidan supported her. It was clear the battle hadn't been easy for her, and without support, she wouldn't have gone far.
"I'm fine," the girl said, then looked at her right hand, "well, almost. My hand is numb, Mana is at the bottom, the demon drained my shield pretty well with his needles."
Alastir looked at the indicated hand. The right glove looked no different from the left. There was no external damage, which meant one could assume problems with using her powers. Dartaola nodded.
"Come, let's see. We'll sit you down and I'll examine you, since everything is fine. And then you'll go rest. You did it, well done."
The Wizard nodded, trying to take a step, but her legs gave way.
"Thanks, Dartaola. Yes, a rest wouldn't hurt."
Alastir followed them. He was troubled by the putrid scent coming from the young elf. Something was wrong. Fortunately, the elves themselves didn't intend to leave their comrade unsupervised. She was taken to a nearby bench and sat down. But the Paladin didn't have time to start the examination because a pair of Night Elf Huntresses arrived, riding their beasts. The younger one pointed out Davilinia to the elder and said:
"That's her, mistress."
Of course, the huntresses had been watching the battle with the help of Ancient Protectors. Who would have doubted it. The elder nodded and addressed Venidan, who had stood up:
"I need to speak with her. It's important."
Veni wanted to say something, but Davilinia cut her off.
"I'm listening. Just make it quick."
The Night Elf frowned at such blatant disrespect. But she answered calmly enough.
"What you did to the demon, wounding him. Can you repeat that attack?"
This was the question that interested Alastir himself. Many had seen what she had done with Archimonde. The orc base is located higher on the mountain slope. And the demon himself, towering over the trees and furiously attacking a lone point in the sky, is very noticeable. Huntresses and Ancient Protectors—it was just a fact. So the question was indeed important. Yes, the Wizard clearly had impaired mobility in one hand, and her vehicle was damaged. But the possibility itself… If he can be wounded, he can be killed. If it can be repeated, slowing him down even further… It must be done.
"I could. But why would I?" the elf clarified boredly, causing everyone to look at her, "Why would I go back in there?"
And Alastir tried to process what he heard. This… was not at all like the Wizard's usual manner of speech. She almost never was rude to anyone. Especially upon a first meeting. She could have cited her health status instead of provoking a conflict. But she didn't. Strange.
"Why would it be… for you?" the younger huntress asked, also surprised by the tone.
Davilinia nodded. Alastir was almost certain she was smirking.
"Well yes, why would I do it for you? The Night Elves deprived us, the High Elves, of everything. Exiled us, doomed us to suffering and a painful death without access to magic. But we survived. And now, when the demons are here again, you need the help of a Mage again. My help. And you come to me and demand. You don't offer, you don't ask, you do it without respect. So why should I do it? Why shouldn't I watch as the demon burns your beloved forest, destroys your homes. And then he will deprive you of eternity. And enslave the survivors, turning them into living batteries for the Fel, as he already did with the Draenei?"
Alastir frowned. Did it to whom? What was she talking about? Dartaola tried to intervene.
"You shouldn't speak like that. Better yet—see a healer. Immediately. Magic is affecting your mind."
But the young elf only shrugged.
"But I'm right, Dartaola. These two purple ones here, as the voice in my head tells me, are thinking that I should sacrifice myself for them and their tree. From their point of view, it's 'right.' Why should I? Who are you to me anyway?"
Alastir frowned harder. A voice in her head? The voice of darkness? And… he really had been thinking that, so the Druid felt slightly embarrassed. Still, setting up a child like that was wrong. And the Paladin, it seemed, noticed his reaction, as she frowned noticeably.
The huntress, however, did not lose her composure.
"If Archimonde wins, he will leave no one. You must understand that."
The Wizard laughed outright.
"And who's going to let him? Everything is predetermined. The demon will suffer defeat, as was predicted. But for the sake of it, you and your people will be doomed to the suffering you so easily doomed others to. And I will watch it. Watch and laugh, looking at your agony. Just as I am now, looking at your helplessness. So old, and so useless! I look and laugh at you, nonentity!"
The huntress leaped from her animal and rushed toward the Wizard with very specific intentions. The Paladin had to block the younger one so she wouldn't get hit in the face by the huntress. Dartaola barked:
"Calm down! She's not herself! Healer first, then we talk! Venidan, take her away, now!"
Alastir wasn't looking at the Night Elves. Because Davilinia, while everyone was distracted, raised her left hand, on which another mechanism unfolded. A massive rounded casing larger than her arm, ending in a cylinder covered in runes and a strange "multi-channel" pattern. Thunderfist, he had already seen this weapon in action. It began to glow, pumping with energy. And she was about to aim it at her friend and the huntress.
The Druid didn't think; he summoned Earth Roots, which entangled the hammer and directed it into the ground halfway to the Paladin, diverting it from the attack vector.
"Thunderfist."
She fired anyway. The air shuddered as a wave of energy was released, going into the wall. But depriving the Paladin of an arm, which instantly turned into a bloody mist. The latter stared at the stump with a groan and screamed. Alastir didn't waste time, summoning more and more roots. Entangling the mechanism to prevent the device from charging and firing again. And pinning the elf. It was good that she essentially had no Mana left, and her physical training… wasn't exactly good. She was barely in a condition to resist.
To the left, Holy light flared—Dartaola healed herself, restoring her destroyed limb. Venidan, who had been distracted giving the huntress a slap, shouted:
"What the hell are you doing, DaVi? Dartaola, examine her! Now!"
Alastir countered.
"Too many witnesses. Carry her away. Now is not the time or place."
"Where?" the Rogue didn't understand, "we don't have tents here."
The Druid nodded, making a decision.
"To the mountain. If this is the influence of darkness, we need to show her to the Priests. Only be careful, her weapon is still deployed. Don't get caught in the line of fire."
He didn't believe the glove could be removed without the owner's will. Nor did he believe that Davilinia, in any semblance of her right mind, would attack a friend in the back. And he also remembered what that scent of rot meant. Fel. Likely a curse. One had to assume the needles did hit, piercing the shield of the Wizard who was drained of Mana after spending it all on the attack. It seemed the demon, realizing he couldn't reach the victim, decided to take revenge on her in this way. And he almost achieved success.
Even if Alastir himself wished to use this girl for victory, he was obligated to help her. Because he could.
***
I came to with a jolt. One moment I'm not here. The next, I am. I… Davilinia, a High Elf Wizard. Looks like I overdid it with the chemistry again. Breathing is hard, moving too.
"Where am I?"
Above my head is an unfamiliar wooden ceiling. My body feels unusually light, and my hands are cold. The gloves… are lying separately, on the table. I can feel their presence. There's no helmet on my head, nor clothes on my body, just a light blanket. I'm in bed, undressed. By whom and why? There's no fatigue; in fact, I feel unusually good.
"Oh, you're awake? How are you feeling?"
I jumped, hearing an unfamiliar voice. With significant effort, even after the healing. Mana… there's a lot. And still, where am I? The room is just a room, with an open balcony spanning the whole wall; along the inner wall are about a dozen beds with nightstands, all empty and made. It looks not like a living room, but a barracks or a hospital. Though no other residents are seen. In the doorway stands a tall Night Elf with deep blue hair, as if it were dyed. And in a long white dress reaching the floor with bare arms and short gloves. My mind prompted: a Priestess of Elune.
"I, why am I here? Am I wounded? Caught in the crossfire? But Restoration would have helped…"
Smiling, the Night Elf stepped closer.
"Don't worry about it, child. Everything is in order. Ordinary physical wounds are indeed simple to heal. But the curse placed by the demon… It took effort to cleanse you. But now everything is fine. You are in the Temple of Elune at the foot of Teldrassil; your friends brought you here. Everything is fine now."
Curse… curse… Archimonde. I wounded Archimonde and he did something. Red needles, I remember sticking red needles. And then I returned and… I almost killed Dartaola.
I screamed. From the realization of what I had done. From the fact that it was damn painful. Because I remember. I remember feeling irritation that these nonentities were contradicting me and demanding things. As if I were an object. And these nonentities kept demanding and wouldn't shut up. And I deployed the Thunderfist to… What have I done!!!
I probably would have run into the forest, sobbing and not looking where I was going, because I didn't want to see anyone, because I remembered. How it seemed to me that killing her along with that brat of the Holy light would be a good idea. She always irritated me, from the very first meeting. And later too, with her guardianship, her hypocrisy. I thought, and decided that executing her on the spot was a perfect solution for that nonentity. And without hesitation, I deployed the hammer and pulled the trigger. If not for the Druid…
My whole life here flashed before my eyes. And the understanding of what I almost did. I wanted to howl, absolutely unbearably. And discharge the Thunderfist to end it all. But the gloves aren't on my hands, so I just sat there, staring into the distance, and it hurt very much.
I don't know how long it took for me to come to. I don't know. But gathering my brains together once more, I realized I couldn't get out of the arms of the Priestess, who had come over, sat on the floor, and hugged me. Our eyes met and she… just looked with understanding. She wasn't smiling, but she was looking.
"I won't run," I exhaled, and she readily released her grip, "thank you."
Indeed, without magic, I have essentially no strength; I wouldn't have been able to get out of that grip. I went out onto the balcony, stepping with bare feet on the warm wood. They undressed me, I'm in some kind of robe, but that doesn't bother me at all; everyone is very much not concerned with me right now. And where did I end up?
The Night Elf base at the top of the mountain. Where I hadn't reached before. Elven buildings and many Ancient Protectors that have visible faces and branch-arms. And a magical background. This place is full of magic; likely the Well of Eternity is somewhere nearby. But I wasn't looking for it; I just stared into the distance, trying to calm down. I couldn't suppress the sobs right away.
It's wrong. So wrong. To stab your own in the back. I would have done the same to Venidan next, I'm sure. Without any hesitation, in my right mind. I would have killed her in the back because she irritated me. And not just them, anyone. Me. I'm scared. For what I did, they'll... I don't know what will happen. Even the thought of my friends leaving is terrifying. But after what I did, how can it be otherwise?
Turning around, I saw the same Priestess, who was looking with understanding, sitting on the bed I had occupied. And yet they helped me.
"I'm sorry, I think I got a bit too worked up. And I'm guilty. Very…"
The elf nodded.
"Alastir told me what happened. You attacked the demon, and he answered you. I cleansed you; you are safe here. Don't worry about it."
I flinched at the thought of what happened next.
"I struck my friends, my comrades, in the back. I remember it very clearly. I was ready to kill them because they were irritating. That's not normal."
The Priestess nodded.
"And now you fear how they will act. You don't have to answer. They don't blame you."
At that phrase "don't blame you," I flinched.
"I did it. I…"
"You left yourself open," the woman nodded, "that is true. I am not saying you are innocent. That insolent cat said you didn't warn anyone and went into battle alone. You decided you were strong enough to strike down a demon of such power single-handedly. And you were punished for your overconfidence. But you have already paid for your mistake. No one was hurt."
I countered:
"Dartaola."
"Is a healer, and she grew her arm back herself. I am sure of it; when they brought you, all limbs were in place. And she was able to significantly weaken the curse while they were carrying you here. They were worried about you, all of them. And they don't blame you for what happened."
She said it sternly, really driving it home. And it helped me calm down. So, more calmly now, I clarified:
"How is the battle going? What day is it, what's happening there?"
The Priestess smiled encouragingly.
"The right attitude. It is now the morning of the fourth day of the siege of Mount Hyjal. The demons have not yet been able to overcome the Horde base, though they are trying. Do you want to talk about it?"
I nodded, listening to my sensations.
"Yes, please. And, if possible… I haven't eaten in over a day. I'll pay."
The Priestess waved it off.
"Don't talk nonsense. I'll bring some soup and tell you about the situation."
The soup turned out to be fish soup, which I personally hate, but my body accepted it as if it were the most delicious food in my life. And while I ate, the Priestess indeed told me about what had happened over the last day.
The Horde base continues to repel strike after strike. Yes, the demons brought Fel Reavers into the battle, but even they didn't manage. It turns out that although the first Defensive Line was breached twice, the servants of Sargeras achieved no success.
First, Malfurion Stormrage set Ancient Protectors on the servants of the Scourge who were deploying the base. The Fel Reavers that tried to intervene only destroyed their own buildings but achieved no success. The Ancient Protectors killed many servants, which only slowed down the deployment. And prevented the demon forces from striking with full power. They still tried to attack but failed.
The attempt to bring the robots up the mountain ended in failure. The Night Elves released Chimaeras—two-headed draconids, one head of which attacks with extremely powerful lightning, the second with magical acid. While the former isn't much of a threat to metallic robots, the acid hitting directly into the Fel furnace melts that very furnace perfectly. Causing them to stall much like they do from my spheres. Not from the first hit, but from the third or fourth, they shut down. Also, Fel Reavers do not attack aerial targets.
Of course, Archimonde is still in the camp, and no one risked sending Chimaeras there. And they need cover from Gargoyles, which is provided by Hippogryph riders and the Wyverns of the Trolls. So it turned into a stalemate.
As I had assumed, the demons couldn't send many Fel Reavers at once, simply because of the landscape. Even so, they successfully reached the orc positions, but it was exactly here that they were stopped by the Chimaeras. Actually, that's how the breakthrough happened. And without the support of the Fel Reavers, the surviving Mages simply froze the road, covering it with a blizzard, turning the path into a test of survival. Which not everyone passed. Another important fact—Archimonde is not eager to push forward, sending only subordinates and not leaving the camp. For some reason.
But the fact is that without the boss, the subordinates, though they inflicted damage, couldn't break through to the orc base, as the Theramore forces are greater than they were in the original. Of course, sooner or later Archimonde will get bored and come. But for now, the defense is holding.
At the end of the discussion, Dartaola arrived, making me very embarrassed again, unsure what to do: hide or apologize. In the end, I pulled myself together under the Priestess's gaze and went to surrender.
The Paladin saw my hesitation and waited calmly. Until I approached and, looking her in the eye, said:
"Dartaola, I… I'm sorry. I did something incredibly stupid. And I didn't want to kill you, truly. I'm very guilty toward you. Toward all of you."
The Paladin smiled.
"I know. And I'm not offended."
It became easier. So I continued:
"I underestimated Archimonde. And I didn't expect him to use something like that. I really didn't want to kill you. You."
The Paladin nodded.
"And I know that too. And when we are finished, I will personally take charge of your training, young lady. Because this simply won't do. Do you agree? After everything that has happened?"
Do I agree to accept punishment for my mistake? Well, yes.
"I agree, Dartaola. Only… I have projects there. And parents…"
"We will make a schedule," the Paladin readily agreed, "without stimulants. Study, study, and study. And in your free time—projects. I understand they are important. And I'll cover for you with the others. If you are ready to admit your mistakes and change. Because this…"
Fine, I'll regret this. But… okay.
"Fine. You're right, of course. Dartaola, you're not…"
In response, the Paladin took a step forward and, dropping to one knee, hugged me. More like squeezed me. And quietly said.
"Don't worry, please. We are all alive; everything turned out okay. Everything is fine, Davilinia. I am not giving up on you or our group. None of us are."
A weight just fell off my soul.
"I was afraid that you…"
"I know," the Paladin nodded, not pulling away, "that's why I'm here. That's why I came personally. Everything is fine, Davilinia. We are a team."
Satisfied with myself, I ran upstairs, where my clothes hung on a chair by the bed, and my gloves and helmet lay on the table. Limping past the Priestess, I thanked her, rushing out after the Paladin. The morning of the fourth day means we need to hold out for another two to three days. And I'm not very combat-capable. Fine, I'll think about how I can help. But that will be later. Now…
First thing is to apologize to Venidan as well. It scares me to think she might say "no." Which means I am obligated to ask in person. Even just the thought that I almost killed my friends is unbearable. Dartaola is right—I need to become much more careful. I got too used to relying on my strength, which made me overly overconfident. And I forgot that besides raw power, which can be tracked with magical vision, there are various curses and negative effects.
And then I did what I did. I achieved my goal, that's indisputable. Archimonde, his entire attack stalled. The demon ended up on his knee, which I didn't even expect, and that's cool. Was it worth it? I'm no longer sure. I'm not sure I can forgive myself for such a mistake.
All I can do now is apologize. In words and in deeds, I won't leave myself open like that again. And hope that it will be enough. And then we will win. And "tomorrow" will come.
***
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