Then… cries broke out from the direction of the tauren. The night elf watched in horror as several of Huln’s kind burned as if some virulent acid had been poured over them. Their hair sizzled and their flesh melted away in clumps.

The priestesses tried to aid them, but a surge of Fel Guard barreled over the foremost females. The demons cared not whether an adversary was male or female. They impaled tauren and beheaded priestesses with utter savagery.

Jarod knew that he should stay where he was, but Maiev, whatever her faults, was his only family. He cared for her far more than he dared show. Quickly making certain that his own area would not fall victim once he departed, the commander forced his mount around and headed for the horrific scene.

A few tauren still stood, some of them badly injured but able to wield their spears and axes. They and the survivors of Maiev’s band stood all but encircled by demons. Even before he had ridden halfway, Jarod watched two more of the defenders perish under the onslaught.

Then, Maiev slipped. A looming Fel Guard swung at her. She managed to deflect his attack, but just barely.

With a howl, Jarod rode his mount into the struggle. His cat took down the demon attacking his sister. Another demon slashed at him, instead catching the animal on the shoulder. Jarod ran his blade through his foe’s throat.

The demons suddenly focused on Jarod. It had not occurred to him that they might know who he was, but their determination suggested just that. They ignored other viable targets just to reach the commander.

His night saber took down two more, but then suffered several deep wounds from lances. On foot, Jarod would have a great disadvantage over so many towering figures, yet, there was nothing he could do. Three more lances finished the noble animal and it was all Jarod could do to leap off or be trapped underneath its carcass.

He landed in a crouching position next to his sister, who, for the first time, seemed to realize the identity of her would-be rescuer.

“Jarod! You shouldn’t have come! They need you!”

“Stop commanding for once and get behind me!” He shoved his sister unceremoniously to the rear just as two horned figures closed on him. Despite his good fortune so far, Jarod Shadowsong had little belief that his small sword would be any match for their two massive blades.

But as he readied himself for his final battle, a horn sounded and the area was suddenly aswarm with soldiers and tauren. Huln crashed into the two demons, beheading one and crushing in the chest of the other before the pair could realize that they were under assault. A cloaked figure rode past, one Jarod belatedly recognized as Lord Blackforest.

There could only be one explanation for their sudden arrival. They had seen Jarod riding into struggle… and believed in him enough to come to his aid.

The reinforcements shoved back the Burning Legion, buying Jarod and Maiev time. He dragged her further from the fight, the remaining sisters following close behind.

Jarod made her sit on a rock. Maiev, eyes speculative, studied her younger brother.

“Jarod — ” she started.

“You can reprimand me later, sister!” he snapped. “I won’t stand behind while those who followed me face the enemy in my name!”

“I was not going to reprimand — ” was as far as the priestess got before he was out of earshot. With his sister at least temporarily secure, Jarod concerned himself only with his comrades. Even Blackforest, one of the most prominent of the nobles, fought hard. He and his ilk had managed to learn from Lord Stareye’s mistakes. This was a battle for survival, not a game for the amusement of the high castes.

Coming up on Huln, Jarod lunged at a demon seeking the tauren’s side. Huln noticed the action and gave the night elf an appreciative snort.

“I will carve your name on my spear!” he rumbled. “You will be honored by generations of my line!”

“I’d be honored just to live through this!”

“Ha! Such wisdom in one so young!”

A female dragon of Alexstrasza’s flight swooped down, laying a cleansing blast of red flame that forever doused many green ones. The action further eased the situation for Jarod’s contingent. The commander of the host began to breath just a little easier.

But a second later, the same dragon went careening back beyond the night elves’ lines, her chest a sizzling mass of ruined scale and torn innards. The earth shook as she collided with it and a furtive look by Jarod gave him ample enough evidence to know that she would not fly again.

And in the wake of the leviathan’s death, a dozen soldiers also flew back, their bodies charred. Demons, too, tumbled, as if whatever attacked did not care who perished so long as nothing stood in its path.

Huln put a protective arm across Jarod’s chest. “What comes is no Infernal or the work of the Eredar! I believe it seeks — ”

Then a massive wind tossed fighters from both forces aside as if they were nothing. Night sabers were no less immune, Blackforest and his mount thrown with the rest. Huln managed to stand his ground a second longer, but even the stubbornness of a tauren could not hold against the incredible gale. He went flying past, the warrior striking at the wind in frustration as he vanished from sight.

Yet… Jarod Shadowsong felt nothing, not even a breeze.

And so he found himself alone when the giant strode out of the dust raised by the wind, the giant with dark skin and intricate tattoos that even the unskilled Jarod could sense radiated sinister magical forces.

“Yes…” mused the figure, eyeing the night elf up and down. “If I cannot have the druid, I shall amuse myself on what pathetically passes as the hope of this doomed host.”

Jarod readied his blade, aware that he had no hope against this opponent but finding himself unwilling to surrender to the inevitable. “I await you, Archimonde.”

The archdemon laughed.

 Brox was only a simple warrior, but he knew when a battle was going bad. It was not that he and the others could not defeat these armored night elves and their fiendish mounts, but that each second wasted so brought the portal nearer and nearer to completion. Already, a sinister green aura had formed around the gullet of the whirlpool. The orc understood magic well enough to know that soon the passage would be strong enough for whatever evil desired to come through, be it Sargeras or the “Old Gods” Krasus had mentioned.

A barbed lance flashed by his head, scraping away a few bits of skin but otherwise doing the hardened orc no harm. The scowling soldier wielding it steered his shadow bat to the side, hoping to get in past the bronze dragon’s claws for another thrust at the green warrior.

The dragon caught hold of the shadow bat. The two struggled, upsetting the night elf’s aim. Instead of impaling Brox, he caught the orc at the shoulder. Brox growled as the barbed head tore a thick piece of flesh from the spot. Despite the pain, he managed to lean forward and chop the lance in two.

With a curse, the soldier drew his sword. However, Brox, throwing caution to the wind, rose from his seat and leapt at his opponent.

He landed in a crouching position, gripping one of the bat’s ears for support. The outrageous act so startled the night elf that he sat openmouthed as, with one hand, the orc buried his ax in his foe’s armored chest. The soldier collapsed, tumbling off the back of his mount.

But Brox’s impetuous action nearly cost him his own life. He had thought to use the bat’s back to leap back atop the dragon, but the creature’s hide proved oddly slick. As he let go of the ear, the orc lost his footing. Still gripping his ax tight, he slid toward the tail, following the night elf’s corpse.

The burgeoning gateway far below filled Brox’s eyes. He sensed the evil swelling within —