Stormwind Wizard God-Chapter 835: The Unholy Massacre

"The fel energy extracted at the cost of life and destruction will undoubtedly accelerate the arrival of our Lord Sargeras," Duke stated, his voice as cold and emotionless as a tomb. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

"Then I have no objection." The Queen sighed with a pretense of great sorrow, her hand delicately placed upon her chest. "Yes, I hope that when Sargeras arrives, I will be the first to know. It would be a tragedy to miss his personal greeting."

"I shall endeavor to inform you in advance," Duke replied, his tone smooth and utterly devoid of emotion. "Now, my Queen, I must bid you farewell. The portal demands my full attention."

The Queen gave an absentminded bow, her golden eyes fixed on the colossal, swirling portal before her. In her mind, she had already begun to dream. A new, greater world, where every inch of land would be hers. The meddling ancient gods would be no more, and glorious monuments would be erected in every corner of her domain. This world would no longer bear the common name of Azeroth; no, it would be named Azshara.

Azshara... She whispered the name twice, lost in a haze of self-infatuation. The change should have happened long ago, but it mattered not. For now, a far greater prize awaited. He would arrive soon. His name was Sargeras.

"Sargeras... my Lord Sargeras..." she breathed, an almost childlike, twisted smile gracing her perfect face. "And his Queen... Azshara..."

With that final, chilling whisper, her slender form vanished through the gateway, leaving Duke alone with his contempt.

Madwoman, Duke seethed inwardly. Does she truly believe the Lord of the Pantheon would be swayed by the fleeting beauty of a mortal queen? Duke’s inner thoughts were filled with a withering mockery. He knew the prophecy—Sargeras had only ever deigned to take one mate, a monstrous half-orc born of chaos, with tusks and jade-green skin. Her feral nature had proved far more appealing than a pampered elf’s porcelain perfection. No green skin? No ferocious tusks? I’m afraid your application has been denied, my dear.

With a final, disgusted sigh, Duke turned to face the Eredar Twins and the assembled void lords. His voice, now laced with a cutting authority, echoed through the cavern. "Open—the gates—"

At Duke’s command, the four colossal gates of Azshara’s inner city slowly began to grind open. A desperate roar went up from the elven populace outside, who surged forward like a tidal wave. They believed, with a fervent, dying hope, that Queen Azshara would finally emerge to answer their pleas. Instead, what spilled forth from the gates was not a queen, nor a courtier, but something born of nightmare.

It was the Burning Legion’s demonic army, a terrifying wave of death and destruction.

Leading the charge were the hellhounds, four-legged beasts with sinewy, canine frames, their skin a lurid tapestry of scarlet and black. Long, white horns curled from their skulls, and a pair of writhing black tendrils lashed from their spines. These were the infamous Hellhounds, a magical plague on mages even ten millennia later. A vast, living carpet of them swarmed behind the gates, and the night elves who had so eagerly pushed forward were met with a chorus of bloodcurdling shrieks.

The massacre began in that horrifying moment. The elves at the front, sane enough to recoil, were trampled by the maddened, magic-starved masses behind them. As the first few elves tried to conjure spells, their incantations sputtered and died, their magic violently suppressed by the hellhounds’ innate abilities. Their fate was sealed. At three o’clock in the morning, the first victim of the demonic invasion was born upon the soil of Azeroth. A hellhound, with a sickening crunch of bone, tore open the elf’s stomach with its horns, then ripped out the long intestines with a single, sharp bite of its beak-like maw.

"Ahhh—" The guttural screams of the dying sent a jolt of panic through the crowd. They had come to plead, to demand answers, never imagining they would be met with such a brutal butchery. The thousands of elves, driven to madness by their magical cravings, were overwhelmed by the larger, stronger hellhounds in a matter of minutes. Blood flowed in crimson rivers, filling the inner city’s moat to its brim.

Then, an even more monstrous figure appeared. Mannoroth, his gargantuan form barely fitting through the city gate, let out the happiest laugh of his existence. "Hahaha! Come on, my little cubs! Kill—destroy—tonight is the feast of the Burning Legion! Hahahaha!"

Beside him stood the Dog King Hakkar, a newly appointed lord. Around him, the air shimmered and distorted, as ripples of arcane energy pulsed from his form. From a portal crafted specifically for hellhounds, endless more poured forth, spilling out of the Twisting Nether to join the orgy of slaughter.

Abyss lords, immense war machines with the terrifying visage of dragons, lumbered onto the scene. They tore through the elegant elven houses as if they were made of paper, their massive forms acting as living bulldozers. The ground trembled with a deafening rumble that echoed for miles. Azshara, once the city of eternal light, was now a city of death, its darkness broken only by the fiery glow of a thousand burning homes. Each flame marked not just the destruction of a magnificent, ancient monument, but the violent deaths of countless souls.

Circling the outskirts of the city, riding a mighty red dragon, was Krasus. He watched the carnage with a look of utter, profound shock. "Impossible... Why did he not stop this? He knew it was coming... he knew it all along..." Krasus’s mind reeled, unable to comprehend why Duke would allow such a horrific slaughter, especially when he was sent to preserve history.

"Who is he, Krasus?" the red dragon rumbled, its voice filled with concern.

Krasus could not answer. Any clue he gave might alter the future, a future he was meant to protect. Finally, he gave a vague, powerful answer. "He is our Alliance’s leader," he said, his voice a low tremor. "A great being who will not fall into the abyss, even under the darkest of curses."