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(A/N: Chapter 100 will soon be on Patreon!)
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(Now back to the story!)
"How much longer!?" Turalyon yelled as he wiped out more than a hundred attacking daemons with his Holy Light, only for more daemons to fill the ranks again.
"Well, Lord Brann did say he would need a bit of time to prime it, so maybe a minute or two more!"
Mario answered as he cut down daemons with a bastard sword in one hand and a short sword in the other.
Above them hung the massive Warp portal, like a giant wound in reality itself, continuously releasing copious amounts of corrupted Warp energy from the Realms of Chaos.
Malfurion, Uther, Turalyon, and Mario were fighting in the central plaza. Behind the plaza was the ritual site maintaining the Warp portal in question.
As soon as they arrived, Uther immediately unleashed a gigantic shockwave of Holy Light called [Holy Domain], obliterating every entity within the plaza, ritual site, and surrounding area.
Seeing his chance, Brann ran toward the ritual site, leaving the other four in the plaza to ensure he wasn't disturbed while preparing the mana bomb.
The others immediately took their positions, knowing they had to defend the plaza until it was done, doubly so since they could already see a very, VERY large number of enemies charging toward the area.
By now, it would have been obvious even to the deaf, blind, and dumb what their plan was, and let's just say Azeroth's unwanted "visitors" were not too keen on seeing it succeed.
"Sorcerers!"
Mario trained to notice small but significant details from his former duties, was the first to spot the multiple Black Mages and Tzeentchian sorcerers entering the plaza and beginning to chant and weave their fel spells.
"Leave it to me," Malfurion called out.
Within the Chaos pocket dimension, Malfurion felt his normally powerful connection with nature being obstructed. But if anyone thought this was enough to nullify his threat.....
Then they were deeply delusional to think that one who held the title of Archdruid would be rendered helpless by something as unreliable as "circumstance".
Thick arcs of lightning surged around his thick arms before he thrust them forward, sending out two massive bolts of lightning that each split into a dozen smaller bolts, targeting the mages and sorcerers.
Most of them were wiped out instantly, along with anyone unfortunate enough to be within ten meters of them, while those who survived were violently thrown away by the resulting shockwaves.
Others, either through luck, skill, or both, dodged and used their own means to fly away, only for Malfurion to manipulate the remaining bolts with masterful ease and redirect them back toward their targets.
The "survivors" could only watch in unwilling fear and despair as the bolts they thought they had dodged changed trajectories toward them once again, as if they possessed minds of their own.
They desperately conjured shields and other Chaos defensive spells, only for the attacks to pause for no more than a split second before killing them anyway.
Satisfied, Malfurion gathered as much nature energy as he could through what connection remained before slamming both palms onto the ground.
Immediately, the plaza and surrounding area began shaking as though an earthquake had struck.
Multiple large fissures tore through the ground, and from them emerged enormous roots and fully grown trees.
And these were no ordinary trees. Even the smallest among them were easily wider than two people standing side by side.
Sharp roots and branches pierced and crushed the attacking daemons while converging together to form barriers around the plaza.
Very soon, aside from the area in the center where they stood, the plaza looked more like a dense forest than an important part of a city.
The trees and foliage were especially thick along the outer edges where the daemons were recently entering from.
The others breathed a sigh of relief since this finally gave them some breathing room.
"Many thanks, Lord Malfurion. With this, at least we can catch our breath." Turalyon panted, despite that he still gave the Archdruid a thankful nod.
"I could have done more were it not for this wretched dimension strangling my connection to nature."
Malfurion shook his head. He wasn't arrogant, but he knew very well what he was capable of, and the corrupted dimension was making it difficult for him to unleash his full might.
"Besides, I'm not the one among us who needs to catch his breath the most."
Turalyon knew what—or rather who—Malfurion was referring to as he looked worriedly toward Uther.
The Grand Master of the Knights of the Silver Hand was in the worst condition out of everyone present.
The legendary Paladin was panting heavily, his face covered in sweat and exhaustion and his armor showing visible damages, yet despite that, the determination in his eyes never once wavered.
"Uther, how are you holding up?"
"Bah! I can easily go ten more rounds like this, Turalyon. Focus on yourself and the others."
Sadly, no one present believed him, especially Turalyon, who knew Uther best.
Ever since they began holding their position within the plaza, every time their group looked close to being overwhelmed, Uther would unhesitatingly unleash another Holy Domain attack to wipe out the enemy forces.
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The Holy Domain spell was a powerful technique taught by the Church of the Holy Light to its strongest and most faithful followers.
The move discharged an immense amount of Holy Light not only upon the target, but across the surrounding area itself.
But it didn't end there.
Holy Domain's effects were twofold. The initial attack was merely the first phase.
The second phase caused the discharged Holy Light to merge with the ground, air, and even the very space within the affected area itself.
This transformed the entire battlefield into consecrated holy ground that was not only deadly to any dark or fel-aligned force, weakening them severely, but also strengthened the courage, resilience, and power of allies.
In addition, it provided protection from harm and corruption while passively healing wounds and cleansing curses.
It was the type of skill that could—and historically had—turned the tide of entire battles, not to mention wars, against evil forces opposed by the Church.
But as powerful as it was, it was equally taxing.
Holy Domain could only be cast by the strongest and most skilled wielders of the Holy Light, and even then, once it was used, it left the caster's body and mind in a state of hard exhaustion due to the immense amount of Holy Light that had to pass through their body and interact directly with their soul.
Not to mention that after casting it, the user would be incapable of using the Holy Light meaningfully for a period of time aside from its most basic applications.
In other words, it left them in an extremely vulnerable state.
But like many things, there were exceptions, most notably the revered Saints of the Light.
Yet even they had their limits—a limit Turalyon was certain his brother-in-arms, leader, and fellow apprentice was rapidly approaching... or perhaps had already surpassed.
Yes, Uther was a Saint, someone who had mastered both his gifts and skills to an extraordinary degree.
If Alonsus Faol were excluded, then Uther was unquestionably the most skilled and experienced wielder of the Holy Light currently alive on Azeroth.
But including the first time Uther cast Holy Domain upon their arrival to clear the area, he had now used the spell a total of seven times!
Even for Uther—who was considered a legend even within the long history of the Church—casting such a powerful and taxing spell several times in succession was both exhausting and dangerous.
The Holy Light, as gentle and benevolent as it was, remained at its core a diluted form of the volatile cosmic force known simply as the Light.
There was a limit to how much mortals could wield without eventually burning themselves out.
Still, Turalyon couldn't blame him. He understood exactly why Uther was doing it.
Without Holy Domain, they would have been overwhelmed long ago by the endless hordes of daemons and fel creatures swarming the plaza.
However, due to the heavy corruption saturating the Chaos dimension around them, whenever consecrated holy ground was established, it was quickly dispersed and corrupted in only a small fraction of the time it would normally last.
This drastically reduced the breathing time they gained from each casting, forcing Uther to unleash the spell again whenever they were on the verge of being overwhelmed.
No one present—not Mario, Turalyon, nor even Malfurion—would deny that Uther was the MVP of this battle and the primary reason they had managed to hold their position for so long.
But from Turalyon's estimates, Uther could perhaps cast Holy Domain only one more time before being completely out of commission.
He wanted to help, oh he wanted to help badly but even though he too was capable of casting Holy Domain he knew at most he could cast it once before his condition would be the same as Uther by then he would become a liability.
Something that frustrated Turalyon and made him feel angry at himself for helping more not knowing he was unconsciously walking faster towards his own Sainthood.
Unfortunately he wasn't a Saint....yet
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Even Malfurion couldn't help but feel genuine admiration for Uther.
As someone who had lived for over three millennia, the Archdruid had witnessed countless heroes and champions—not only among his own people, but from many races across Azeroth.
Yet the Lightbringer had proven himself exceptional even among that illustrious company.
In fact, ever since Darnassus had entered the war at Tyrande's orders, Malfurion had encountered multiple extraordinary human heroes.
Antonidas. Turalyon. Alonsus. Rhonin. Jaina. Anduin. Thoras. Varian.
Just to name a few.
And chief among them—the one who shone the brightest—was Alastor Wrynn.
Despite still being a young man, the demigod had handled himself admirably despite this being his first major war and despite everything he'd been forced to endure since the war's beginning.
Gaining the recognition, respect and loyalty of the other Alliance heroes and rulers while distinguishing himself as a wise and great leader.
To the point that he was now not only leading the Alliance as its Supreme Commander, but had also become a living symbol of hope for much of Azeroth's population, not just humanity.
If Malfurion was being honest, besides admiration, he also felt a measure of envy—not toward Alastor or any individual in particular, but toward humanity itself.
This young race had existed for, at most, a little over thirty millennia, yet within that time they'd evolved from a primitive people using stone tools into an interstellar empire and one of the two "overlords" of the galaxy alongside the Aeldari Empire.
And unlike humanity, the Aeldari Empire had existed for over sixty million years, while the Eldar race itself had been blessed with numerous biological and technological advantages since its creation.
Humanity, on the other hand, had possessed none of those advantages!
They had only achieved space travel during their 3rd Millennium using primitive methods such as sub-light generators.
By the 15th Millennium, when their Age of Technology began, they had started settling the galaxy, but still relied on generation ships and cryogenic stasis.
It was only during the 18th Millennium that they discovered the Warp Drive and the Gellar Field, finally gaining faster-than-light travel capabilities.
Then, in the 22nd Millennium, the Navigator mutation was discovered, allowing for longer and far more accurate Warp voyages.
And yet, within only three thousand years after that, humanity had surpassed nearly every other spacefaring race in the galaxy aside from the Eldar and firmly established itself as the second great overlord of the stars.
And they had done it with practically nothing.
Compared to races such as elves, dwarves, or orks, humans were fragile.
They could die easily from injury or disease.
They were prone to conflict and disagreement, nor did they possess the inherent racial talents many other races possessed, such as the dwarves' masterful craftsmanship or their superior strength, endurance, and durability.
Yet human tenacity, spirit, and resilience seemed to surpass them all.
Over the millennia, Malfurion had witnessed how the horrors of the Stygian Era failed to wipe them out and how disaster after disaster had failed to truly break them.
If anything, suffering only seemed to make them more vengeful and more united, fighting back with a ferocity that often should have been impossible, as though they wished to spite the very enemies standing against them.
In fact, Malfurion would willingly bet that there were countless other worlds throughout the galaxy inhabited by humans.
Because if they were even a fraction as stubborn as the humans of Azeroth, then they too would have survived the Age of Strife.
As the saying went: What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger.
And in humanity's case... more spiteful as well.
...Maybe there were far more similarities between dwarves and humans than he had initially believed.
No wonder the two races got along so well whenever they weren't at war.
Then there was humanity's strange talent for finding—or creating—advantages out of almost anything, even their own flaws.
Conflict? Well, now they were extraordinarily skilled in warfare.
Disunity? It gave rise to rich and diverse cultures, while simultaneously fueling their already ingenious creativity.
Selfishness. Greed. Self-indulgence.
Strangely enough, such flaws only seemed to highlight humanity's better qualities whenever they chose to display them: empathy, creativity, kindness, wisdom, and courage.
It showed that despite being considered a flawed race, humanity still possessed tremendous potential for greatness, compassion, and understanding—qualities that often led to acts of morality, bravery, and wisdom so profound they left others in awe.
And beyond all of that, humanity never seemed to lack heroes.
Every generation produced men and women who stepped up while walking their chosen paths , people whose radiance shone like the very stars themselves.
Heroes who, even when they died without successors, would inspire others—intentionally or otherwise—to inherit their ideals and creeds as spiritual successors, ensuring the flame never truly died out.
Compared to that, it was hardly surprising humanity had reached such incredible heights and still retained the resilience to rise again after catastrophe.
Then there was his own race—not merely the night elves, but the Eldar as a whole—who had themselves recently endured a cataclysmic disaster following the birth of the Prince of Pleasure.
Unlike humanity, which had endured the Age of Strife for nearly five millennia and still possessed the potential to to make a come back, it hadn't even been a full millennia since the Fall of the Aeldari Empire, and already the future seemed bleak.
With each passing day, extinction appeared increasingly inevitable.
(A/N: Extinction events)
(Eldar: With the fall of the Aeldari Empire, the extinction of the Eldar race may already be a foregone conclusion.)
(Humans: I DIDN'T HEAR NO BELL! I'M READY FOR ROUNDS 2, 3, 4, AND 5, BITCH!)
More than once, Malfurion found himself envying this young race.
For despite all their flaws, humanity always seemed capable of rising back to its feet and continuing onward with a determination and steadfastness that belied their supposedly fragile nature.
Maybe that was why they never lacked heroes.
Or perhaps it was better to say... miracles.
Because when one stands against impossible odds and still emerges victorious—
What else could you possibly call that...
If not a miracle?
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