Away… away… demanded the voices that had once encouraged the dragon in everything he did. Now, they, like all the others, had proven themselves to be treacherous. Truly, there was no one Neltharion could trust but himself.

“I will have it! The Soul is mine! No one else’s!”

He sensed their outrage that he would not obey them. They savagely attacked his mind even as through other means they fueled the Burning Legion’s spells that also battled him. Never had the black dragon suffered so, but it would all be worth it. Even though he only inched forward, he still made progress. The disk was almost within his grasp.

Away… they repeated. Away…

Under their outrage, however, Neltharion also noted growing anxiety, even fear. The voices, too, saw that he had almost reached the his creation. Perhaps they understood that when it came back into his possession, he would punish them along with all the rest.

Then, another factor came more into play. The demon lord reached out from his own realm, magnifying the horrific forces already bound into the spell matrix. Neltharion bellowed again as the torture he had suffered previous proved but a fraction of what he now felt.

But, if anything, it only drove him on. Mouth stretched back in a dragon’s version of a death grin, the leviathan laughed loud at all those who would deny him his right. He laughed and pushed the final few yards to the disk.

“It is mine!” he roared in triumph. “Mine!”

His paw wrapped around the Demon Soul.

“It must be now!” Krasus warned Alexstrasza. “It must be now, if we are to — ”

The world exploded.

Or so, at least, it seemed to the cowled figure. A mad cornucopia of colors overwhelmed Krasus. He heard Alexstrasza roar in surprise and agony. A tremendous force buffeted the two. Krasus tried to hold onto his queen, but it was too much of a strain for the mortal form he wore.

He was thrown.

Things hurtled past him. A squealing, charred shadow bat. A small form that might have been its rider or one of his own comrades. Several pieces of dragon scale, their own color burnt away.

Krasus rolled over and over, unable to slow his momentum despite attempted spells.

We have lost! he managed to think. Surely, this is the end of all!

Then, a huge paw scooped him up and he heard Alexstrasza’s hoarse voice cry out, “He has done it! He has done it!”

Through his tears, the mage managed to peer at Deathwing and the Demon Soul.

The black dragon roared at the top of his lungs as he ripped the disk free of the spell. Deathwing’s body blazed and it amazed Krasus that even a being as powerful as the Aspect could survive such damage. The leviathan raised his creation high, laughing triumphantly despite his clear agony.

And then, from the depths of the Well, a black force shot out and struck Deathwing head-on.

It threw the dragon back, hitting him with such ferocity that he was hurtled far, far beyond the vast Well. Far beyond even the shore. A tumbling Deathwing flew from sight into the clouds…

In his wake, the Demon Soul — lost from his grip — plunged toward the whirlpool.

“We must seize control before either Sargeras or the Old Gods can restore it to the portal’s matrix! I think that, despite Deathwing’s spell on it, I can hold it, at least long enough for our purposes! But we must reach it first!”

“I will try my best…” gasped Alexstrasza.

Only then did Krasus see how much his queen had been burnt by the forces unleashed by Deathwing’s mad actions. The Aspect of Life could barely keep aloft.

But another massive dragon suddenly flew past them, a familiar green leviathan with a most unique night elf astride.

“Malfurion…” Krasus murmured, eyeing the druid, who now sported a small pair of antlers akin to those of his teacher. “Yes, it has to be he who attempts it…”

Yet, that did not preclude any effort by the others. Alexstrasza did not slow despite her wounds and from Krasus’s right flew Rhonin and Brox on the red male. The bronze female also followed, but without a rider, she could not do anything but watch over the others.

Malfurion’s dragon moved in on the plummeting disk, the Demon Soul leaving a bright, golden trail as it dropped. Krasus watched as the druid opened his palm… then unerringly caught the foul piece. The night elf clutched it to his chest.

And from within the portal came a monstrous roar that shook the dragon mage’s very soul. He peered down, staring in dismay at a horrific green storm brewing in the center.

Sargeras was trying to cross through the nearly-completed gateway.

As a warrior, Brox knew well his limits. This was now a time of wizards and sorcerers. There were no foes with blades and axes up here, not anymore.

Malfurion gazed at the dread device, his eyes wide and unblinking. Brox understood the disk’s seductive power and quickly shouted past Rhonin, “Druid! You must not trust it so! It is evil!”

The night elf glanced up, then gave his comrade a determined nod. Brox exhaled in relief — an exhalation that became a choking sound as he, like the rest, heard the fiendish cry erupting from the Well. It was the cry of an angered god.

The cry of Sargeras, lord of the Burning Legion.

“The demon lord seeks to enter Kalimdor!” the crimson male roared. “The portal is all but complete! He may be able to succeed… and, if he does, we are all lost!”

Brox stared at the green tempest below. It was contracting, coalescing into a smaller, almost perfectly octagonal gap. “What happens? The gateway shrinks, not grows!”

“Sargeras must further seek to strengthen his chances by localizing the spell! Once through, he will have no trouble stretching it wide again. If anything, he has his chance of success more likely!”

Horrified, the orc pulled his gaze from the monstrous storm… and saw that their situation was even more dire. From Zin-Azshari there now rose hundreds, perhaps, thousands, of winged forms. “Look! There!”

The demon Mannoroth had allowed Captain Varo’then and his soldiers to attack the party when all it had seemed was needed had been a delaying tactic. Now, though, with what the black dragon had done, the plan had clearly changed. Mannoroth surely realized that there was a true danger to the Legion. He had therefore summoned every Doomguard and other winged demon available to deal with the world’s defenders.

Brox itched to sink his ax into the oncoming swarm, but he knew his efforts would be laughable compared to those of Rhonin and Krasus. True, he could ride along as the red male and the wizard fought them, but what good would that do?

Alexstrasza and Krasus, being further back, had already turned to confront the horde of aerial demons. The red male began arcing away from the center of the Well. That left the wielding of the Demon Soul and the sealing of the portal to Malfurion… providing that he was somehow given the time needed. Even Brox could sense the sinister energies building up within the condensed portal. Sargeras had nearly succeeded…

The orc could think of only one thing to do. A part of him spoke called it madness, yet, another part insisted it had to be done.

“Farewell, wizard!” he roared. “It is my honor to have fought beside you and the rest!”

Rhonin glanced back at him. “What’re you planning to — ”

Brox leapt.

The red dragon attempted to snatch Brox, but the giant’s astonishment made him react far too slowly. The orc fell past his claws, dropping relentlessly toward the center of the Well of Eternity… and the blazing storm now reaching its peak.

Howling with anticipation, Brox felt the wind tear at his face as he descended. His grip on his ax so tight that his knuckles had turned white. He grinned just as he had that day when he and his comrades had stood ready to protect the pass at cost of their lives.