Outside the very fabric of Mardum's starry sky, a truly magnificent, and utterly terrifying, spectacle unfolded! The colossal main ship, the Storm Fortress, flanked by its four equally imposing frigates, had somehow managed to completely encircle the shattered planet from five distinct directions! It was less a blockade and more a cosmic bear hug of divine retribution.
Golden beams of light, thick as ancient tree trunks, shot out from the Storm Fortress's hull, illuminating the energy ship with a blinding flash, then ricocheted with pinpoint precision to the eco-ships, the Forbidden Arcane Prison, and the Exodar. In mere seconds, a shimmering, colossal golden net, looking suspiciously like a divine fishing net, scooped up all of Marton's broken, floating islands! This was no ordinary light show; this was the Naaru, several of them, joining forces within the Storm Fortress fleet, using their holy light to slap a giant, glowing "CLOSED FOR BUSINESS" sign on the entire planet of Mardum!
Immediately, as if someone had flipped a cosmic off-switch, all the portals painstakingly set up by the Burning Legion blinked out of existence. No demon, not even a particularly determined imp, could worm their way into Mardum anymore! This shattered world was now utterly cut off from all connections with the outside universe. Even Kil'jaeden, the grand architect of cosmic misery, found himself staring at a celestial "no signal" message, utterly unable to connect to Mardum in anything resembling a short period of time.
In the command hall at the very front of the Vindicaar, Medivh, looking disturbingly calm for a man orchestrating planetary annihilation, observed the war situation on the entire continent of Mardum. He leaned back in his chair, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. "It's the second time, you know," he mused to himself, shaking his head. "These demons truly possess the collective brainpower of a particularly dim-witted rock."
This battle plan, a masterpiece of strategic humiliation, had been formulated by Galen himself – a true visionary, even if he did tend to abandon his grand schemes mid-execution. Medivh had secretly kept tabs on Illidan's progress, and upon confirming that the Illidari were on the verge of a glorious, albeit messy, victory, Galen had decided it was time for a truly big move! The classic "surround the point and attack the reinforcements, then close the door and beat the dog" maneuver. A timeless classic!
The only hiccup? After meticulously crafting this brilliant plan, Galen had simply… run off to the road of time and flown away, presumably to harass another unsuspecting timeline. No one, not even Medivh, had expected Kil'jaeden to be so generous! The Trickster had, with a truly astonishing lack of foresight, directly sent over two million demons from a hundred thousand light-years around Mardum straight into the Mardum battlefield! He had, it seemed, catastrophically misjudged the strategic importance of Mardum to the Burning Legion, and even more hilariously, he had utterly misjudged the sheer, burning hatred that the "egg" (Illidan, naturally) harbored for anything remotely Legion-shaped.
Fortunately, as the esteemed Governor of Draenor, Medivh's authority within the Heart of Origin was second only to the legendary Smygos. Not only had he effortlessly mobilized millions of troops from the Heart of Origin as backup (because why do things by halves?), he had also, with surprising ease, persuaded the Naaru to join the battle with their gleaming, light-infused fleets!
"The Burning Legion, in their infinite arrogance, truly believed they were invincible," Khadgar's holographic image shimmered into existence in the center of the command center, looking far too smug for a mere projection. (His real body, presumably, was safely ensconced on another warship, the Genedar, probably sipping tea). "They certainly didn't realize the glaring, humiliating drawbacks of their portal warfare! It seems," Khadgar continued, adjusting his spectral spectacles, "that they didn't learn a single thing from their colossal failure ten thousand years ago!"
Medivh, however, merely raised an eyebrow, a silent rebuke to his overly enthusiastic disciple. "Not every world, Khadgar, is called Azeroth. And not every world can spontaneously mobilize millions of troops and a veritable army of demigods at a moment's notice!" Even if some poor, unfortunate soul in the worlds invaded by the Burning Legion did manage to stumble upon the fatal weakness of portal warfare, it would be nigh impossible for them to actually exploit that weakness and win. Otherwise, why would Sargeras have been so utterly obsessed with Azeroth for so many millennia? Because, as Medivh knew all too well, this was the only world where the Burning Legion had been repeatedly, spectacularly, and hilariously defeated.
"My mentor is absolutely correct!" A wide, almost disturbingly rejuvenated smile spread across Khadgar's face. "God has truly blessed Azeroth and allowed our world to produce a great lord! A lord who can orchestrate such magnificent, multi-dimensional chaos!"
"What a crying shame, though!" Khadgar lamented, a theatrical sigh escaping his holographic form. "Even though Mardum has been shattered into a million pieces, the basic structure of the planet is still preserved. It cannot, unfortunately, be considered a true twisting void. Otherwise, the loss of these two million troops alone would be enough to make Kil'jaeden cry himself to sleep for a year!"
Medivh, who had been listening with a mixture of amusement and mild exasperation, shot Khadgar a look that clearly said, "You've talked enough today, my boy." He then turned to the assembled officers. "The blockade is complete. Now, it's our turn."
"Understood!" Khadgar chirped, his holographic self practically vibrating with excitement. "The bombing operation begins! Let the cleansing commence!"
Call out…
The Genedar and Vindicaar, two golden streaks of divine vengeance, plunged into Marton's low-Earth orbit. The colossal main guns at the front of both warships flared to life, glowing with an ominous, golden intensity!
BOOM!
Two golden beams of pure, unadulterated holy light gushed forth, connecting heaven and the shattered earth below in a single, deadly, incandescent line! The golden rays, guided by Medivh's unerring precision, slammed accurately into the very center of a massive demon formation! The powerful holy light energy, a divine chainsaw, directly sliced the demon army in half! Tens of thousands of demons, caught in the inferno, were purified by holy light in the searing, unbearable heat, their last thoughts probably being, "Well, this is inconvenient."
The remaining demons, those lucky enough to be outside the immediate blast radius, were so utterly terrified by the overwhelming holy light energy that they fled in every conceivable direction, scrambling away from the deadly golden rays like cockroaches scattering from a sudden light!
However! Their escape was utterly, pathetically futile. No matter if it was the two-legged, perpetually angry Angry Guards, the four-legged, snarling Hellhounds, or the winged, perpetually gloomy Doomsday Guards, none of them could outrun the two spaceships that now dominated the sky! How to describe this scene? It felt a bit like a particularly efficient drone spraying pesticides. The demon army was nothing but a swarm of annoying bugs, easily, effortlessly, and humiliatingly squashed by the divine might of the Genedar and the Vindicaar!
After the two spaceships had firmly established their aerial supremacy, countless white lights began to flicker to life across the floating islands of Marton! The ground combat units of the Heart of Origin, looking sharp and ready for some righteous ass-kicking, began to materialize, ready to start the final, glorious harvest!
Bang!
A flash of green light, a sickening crunch, and one of Bruttalus's arms was cleanly severed, falling to the black ground with a wet thud. His colossal body, now horribly unbalanced, tumbled awkwardly onto a small, unsuspecting floating island.
"NOOOOOOO!" Bruttalus shrieked, his remaining eye widening in disbelief. He had been relentlessly hunted by Illidan for three agonizing days, and Kruul, his partner in destruction, had already inconveniently died in battle before him. But the sheer, physical pain of being hunted down was nothing compared to the soul-crushing shame of being utterly, completely defeated! An army of two million demons! Gone! Just like that! Even for the mighty Burning Legion, this was a catastrophic, humiliating loss!
Especially considering that just over ten years ago, two other high-level demons, Magtheridon and Kazzak, had led millions of vanguards to conquer the world of Draenor. And strangely, the souls of those two demons, Magtheridon and Kazzak, who had supposedly died in that battle, had never returned to the Twisting Nether to revive… a curious anomaly that Kil'jaeden was still scratching his tentacle-covered chin about. Bruttalus had even heard whispers that only one powerful, incredibly stubborn evil orc had managed to gather all the remaining troops in Draenor, and was still holding on, pathetically requesting reinforcements to try and complete Lord Kil'jaeden's increasingly irrelevant orders! This entire operation, which had seemed so easy, so utterly foolproof, had plunged the Legion into a quagmire of endless, frustrating war. In the end, Kil'jaeden, in a rare moment of clarity, had seen through the rebellious evil orc's "trick" and had finally stopped sending reinforcements, probably after realizing he was just throwing good demons after bad.
And now, this ultimate shame, this complete and utter annihilation, had fallen squarely on his massive, scarred head…
Bruttalus staggered to his feet, his remaining limbs trembling. His breastplate, a symbol of his former glory, had long since fallen off, and his chest was a roadmap of grotesque scars. In one particularly nasty wound, one could even see his still-beating, rapidly despairing heart. With only one arm and three legs left, Bu Pang finally understood. This, indeed, might be the glorious place where he would finally die.
"This is a conspiracy against the Legion! A vile, insidious plot! I never thought I would be forced into such a pathetic mess by a mere traitor!" he roared, his voice thick with indignation. Mardum was blocked, they couldn't get out, and the enemy's insidious conspiracy couldn't be conveyed to Lord Kil'jaeden! The ultimate cosmic prank!
"Haha, you should feel honored, you big, dumb brute!" Illidan taunted, circling him like a predator. "At least no one has ever been able to make us mobilize such a large force just to kick your collective demonic butts!" Illidan launched his final, devastating attack. "You can rest in peace now. Even Magtheridon didn't get this much attention before he was unceremoniously dealt with…"
Puff!
Bruttalus spat out a mouthful of green blood, his eyes widening in shock. It was the Warblade of Azzinoth, penetrating with such surgical accuracy that the bone was visible, exploding his very heart with a sickening squelch!
"Traitor! I failed, but the Legion will not fail! Die with me, you blind fiend!" The final, desperate blow of the Lord of the Abyss! He gathered all the evil energy in his massive, dying body, intending to burst it out, destroying himself and the infuriating enemy in a glorious, self-destructive explosion!
"Old-fashioned!" Illidan scoffed, a dismissive flick of his wrist. He quickly retracted his blade, flapped his wings with a casual grace, and flashed across several hundred meters, leaving the doomed demon to his explosive fate.
Air bomb!
"Ah! Lord Kil'jaeden will avenge me! You'll see! He'll be so mad!" Bruttalus's final, pathetic cry echoed through the void, a testament to his utterly misplaced faith.
Meanwhile, back on Azeroth, the planet was recuperating with the serene efficiency of a well-oiled machine, while Illidan, in a completely different corner of the cosmos, was busy establishing Mardum Base as his shiny new interstellar outpost. While Galen, in a timeline tributary, was working towards a "small goal" of unlimitedly massing troops (because why not?), Azeroth continued its quiet, determined recovery. While Algalon zipped back and forth across the universe, frantically searching for the Temple of Eonar (a task that seemed to take an eternity), Azeroth was still recuperating.
The second five-year plan, meticulously crafted by Galen himself (and probably featuring a few doodles of him on a throne), was successfully completed under the flawless execution of the Alliance's top leaders! With towering high walls, abundant food reserves that could feed a small army for a decade, and multiple strategically placed positions, tall and solid fortresses sprang up in the Golden Plains, Western Plains, Tanaris, Azshara, Dun Morogh, and even the perpetually gloomy Hillsbrad. Everything, it seemed, was finally going in a gloriously good direction.
Deep in the universe, far, far away from Azeroth's newfound tranquility, lay a sight of cosmic horror: an emerald green planet! It was surrounded by a sickly green light and was truly gargantuan, looking no less massive than Azeroth itself. The only pity? The planet was utterly torn into pieces by colossal cracks, almost splitting the entire celestial body in two. A malevolent green light, thick and pulsating, shot up into the sky from these fissures! This wasn't the vibrant, life-giving light of nature, oh no; this was pure, unadulterated evil energy, brimming with tyranny and malice! Most of the planet's surface had simply disintegrated in the relentless ravages of this fel energy, leaving only three pathetic, clinging pieces of land. This potent evil was so strong, it made the planet look more like a star, a sun of pure, concentrated wickedness!
This, dear reader, was the once-proud homeland of the Draenei, and now, the very headquarters of the Burning Legion: Argus!
At this very moment, in the opulent, yet terrifying, Burning Throne at the core of Argus, the red-skinned Kil'jaeden sat upon his throne, looking less like a supreme commander and more like a particularly annoyed cosmic overlord.
"You mean to tell me," he purred, his voice deceptively calm, "that Marton has simply… vanished from the star map? And all the portals that used it as a transit point have, quite inconveniently, lost their function?"
The Trickster, his tentacle-covered chin resting on the backs of his interlocked hands, stared coldly at his trembling subordinates arrayed before the throne platform. The demons of the Burning Legion, from the lowliest imp to the mightiest Pit Lord, shivered, exchanged nervous glances, and hesitated to respond. The silence was deafening, punctuated only by the faint, rhythmic thumping of their rapidly beating demonic hearts.
"Cassanatir!" Kil'jaeden's voice, now a low growl, sliced through the tense silence. "Answer me!" He was calling the roll, like a particularly sadistic teacher. The Dreadlord named Casanatier, who had been attempting to inconspicuously hide behind the impressively large butt of an Abyss Lord, had wisely decided not to interrupt rashly. Unfortunately, his boss, the universe's most inconveniently observant overlord, had decided to directly call out his name and single him out for public humiliation. Casanatiel clearly heard his colleagues around him letting out collective sighs of relief, a sound that made his blood boil. Damn it! What a bunch of self-serving, cowardly shits! He knew perfectly well that the great devil was suppressing his inner rage, and if he wasn't careful, he would become the convenient, squishy outlet for that anger. And on Argus, which belonged to the twisting void, once you died, you were really dead! No respawns, no second chances, just eternal oblivion.
"Dear Trickster," the dreadlord began, raising his head cautiously, observing Kil'jaeden's utterly expressionless face. "All of this, I assure you, is due to Tyranna's utter incompetence. She is, quite frankly, unworthy of the Dark Titan's trust!" Casanatiel was complaining in his heart, a silent, desperate plea. Lord Tichondrius! Lord Anetheron! Lord Mephistroth! And where in the void are Balzana, Mal'Ganis, and Varimathras?! Oh my God, I'm just a mid-level commander among the Nathrezim! Why are you putting so much pressure on me?!
Casanatier, having made up his mind to throw everyone else under the bus, decided to go for broke. "And then there are those three imbeciles, Targas, Bruttalus, and Kruul! A legion of two million soldiers, and they couldn't even deal with one traitor! Pathetic!"
At this moment, a faint trace of something akin to gloom flickered in Kil'jaeden's eyes. These individuals were all high-ranking generals of the Burning Legion, powerful beyond measure. Even if they failed, their souls should have returned to Argus, patiently waiting for rebirth! Why was there no sign of them until now? He thought of the decades of meticulous planning. After much difficulty, they had finally located Velen, only for him to run away. The brilliant plan to use the orcs to disrupt Azeroth had failed spectacularly. Archimonde had invaded Azeroth and died, and his soul was still stuck in some cosmic waiting room. Even the Lich King, Ner'zhul, and his carefully crafted Scourge, had rebelled! A tiny, insignificant Azeroth had caused them to fail so many times!
Snort! Kil'jaeden snorted coldly, a sound that made the very air crackle. "You are all a bunch of worthless trash. Can't you, for once, let me hear some good news?"
"Hehehe…" A sweet, almost melodic laugh escaped from one of the devils, a sound so out of place in the grim throne room that everyone looked sideways, wondering which colleague was so utterly suicidal as to dare to laugh out loud at this moment. But after seeing the source of the sound, they all subtly shifted their bodies, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and her. This was a six-armed destroyer, one of the terrifying female demon priests. These beings were not only incredibly pious, but they possessed an extraordinary, unsettling charm. Their very existence was to spread the will of Sargeras, and their methods were… quite extreme. They either used insidious magic to twist the enemy's will, or seduced them into corruption with irresistible desire.
"Lord Kil'jaeden," the Mistress of Destruction purred, holding her head high, a proud, almost smug look on her face. "Our coven has truly magnificent news to report!" She paused for dramatic effect. "We have completed the master's first mission and successfully twisted Aggramar's will! That lord can now be reborn at any moment to fight for the Legion!"
This news exploded in the minds of the other demons like a fel bomb. They all knew that the Coven of Destroyer was the most depraved and fanatical followers of Sargeras. They had a truly evil mission: to distort the wills of the fallen Titans' spirits, forcing them to form an unstoppable, utterly dark pantheon. Each Matron had her own signature torture method, and over the years, the halls of Antorus had been filled with the endless, agonizing screams of their victims. But those were just weak-willed mortals! No one, no one, had expected that their insidious whispers could actually cause a Titan's will to collapse! Of course, this didn't rule out the convenient fact that Aggramar had been severely injured by Sargeras many, many times, and his soul was probably already weak and susceptible to a good, old-fashioned demonic brainwashing.
"Very good," Kil'jaeden said, his eyes flashing with a predatory gleam. "Lord Sargeras will reward your coven handsomely! But you must continue to work hard. Lord Sargeras needs a strong fighting force. In the eternal, glorious war with the void, we need every single bit of power that can be used. The reorganization of the Dark Pantheon is the absolute top priority!" Kil'jaeden's tone was flat, utterly devoid of emotion, making it impossible to discern whether he was happy or angry. Even though he was a master schemer, he would never show his true emotions to these imbeciles.
Kil'jaeden once again cast a cold, piercing glance at his subordinates below. No matter whether they were his trusted dreadlords, the brutish pit lords belonging to Archimonde, or the perpetually gloomy doomsday lords, they all felt their bodies tense, their demonic instincts screaming at them to run.
"Putting aside the utterly embarrassing matter of Mardum for now," Kil'jaeden finally declared, dismissing the entire debacle with a wave of his hand. "I will contact Lord Sargeras immediately to arrange for the rebirth of Aggramar!" He paused, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "And let's make that annoying Army of Light the first target of Aggramar's glorious, vengeful rampage!"