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(A/N: Chapter 96 will soon be on Patreon!)
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(Now back to the story!)
"The other armies are in position and awaiting the signal."
"Surprising that they haven't attacked us despite having us within sight."
"Don't be. They may be insane, but even they understand they don't need to move from their positions when they know we'll come to them regardless."
The commanders and heroes gathered around a holographic map displaying Alterac City and the surrounding terrain, with the positions of the various armies highlighted across its surface.
Alastor studied the map with narrowed eyes before glancing at the assembled leaders.
"You all know the plan and your respective roles?"
Everyone nodded seriously as Uther spoke first.
"Aye. Hold fortified positions and methodically grind down the enemy's numbers."
Magni spoke next.
"Our objective during the first phase of the operation is to force as many enemy champions into the open as possible. Killing them will destabilize their already fragile cohesion as well as draw attention."
Kurdran gave a bloodthirsty grin as his grip tightened around his enchanted power axe, arcs of electricity crackling across its surface.
"Plenty of foes for us to slay. But given the importance of this siege, most of them won't die by our hands alone. We'll have bigger beasts to butcher."
"Indeed best we save our anger for when we truly need it."
Genn Greymane stared coldly at the highlighted enemy forces on the hologram, his expression resolute.
Alastor nodded before enlarging the map further.
"Good. But for convenience's sake, I'll summarize the plan once more."
"The main bulk of our armies, all of which have already fortified their positions, will slowly advance toward the enemy lines. We don'tt need to engage them head-on. Our goal is to provoke them and force them to attack us instead."
"The armored lines will serve as the primary defensive bulwark once the enemy advances. Our ground and armored units are to maintain a defensive posture throughout the assault."
"Their objective is simple: hold position, defend, and steadily reduce enemy numbers while drawing out as many enemy champions as possible."
"Once identified, those champions will be engaged by our own."
"I strongly advise all of you to eliminate your targets as quickly as possible before withdrawing. By that point, enemy cohesion should begin to fracture further, allowing our artillery and aerial units to strike with far greater effectiveness."
"Once those bombardments begin, the Armored Core units will move in and shatter whatever remains of the enemy's morale and cohesion."
"Specialized groups such as the Mage Corps, Paladin Orders, Warrior Priests, Knight Orders, Druids, Priestesses of the Moon, and Dwarven Walkers have already received their operational directives."
"Finally, whatever remains of the enemy assault waves will be annihilated by concentrated barrages from our armored divisions and infantry firing lines."
"After that…"
Alastor's expression hardened.
"Rinse and repeat for every subsequent wave until the first phase is complete."
It was a solid plan.
Hell, considering the circumstances, it was arguably the best plan they had.
And yet, despite its effectiveness, this strategy would still turn the siege into a months-long nightmare at minimum.
There were several reasons for that.
For one, undead and daemons had no need for sleep, food, or rest. Attempting to exhaust them through conventional siege tactics would accomplish nothing.
As for the Beastkin?
If they grew hungry enough, they would simply slaughter and cannibalize their weaker kin.
The enemy also outnumbered the Alliance several times over, making a direct assault against the city little short of suicidal insanity.
Then there was the massive Warp Rift at the center of Alterac City itself, situated within the corrupted castle grounds and continuously summoning daemons into Azeroth to this very day.
A war of attrition would be suicide.
Alastor knew it.
And so did every commander in the room.
Thankfully…
That had never been the true plan.
The siege itself was a ruse.
During the first phase, by inflicting casualties and—more importantly—eliminating enough enemy champions, they intended to convince the enemy that the Alliance had fully committed to a prolonged siege and was growing increasingly desperate.
The true operation would begin during the second phase.
Once the enemy became sufficiently focused on the main Alliance armies, Alastor and a select group of Alliance Heroes would infiltrate the city and make their way directly toward its center.
Their objective?
Destroy the Chaos ritual sustaining the main Warp Rift.
Doing so would sever Chaos's primary source of reinforcements, weaken the energies keeping the daemons manifested within Azeroth's realspace, and drastically reduce the effectiveness of Chaos sorcery and blessings across the battlefield.
Why only a small strike force instead of a larger army?
Because the concentration of corrupted Warp energy within the city walls far surpassed anything found in the surrounding regions.
Even the ambient Warp corruption outside the city was already severe enough that, under normal circumstances, it would overwhelm mortal minds with whispers, temptations, and madness.
Bodies would mutate.
Sanity would erode.
Disorder would spread like a plague.
Thankfully, the Alliance possessed numerous countermeasures.
Mages maintained vast protective wards around the armies.
Priests reinforced them through prayers, chants, and holy sigils designed specifically to repel fel corruption.
Druids continuously purified tainted energies through their mastery of nature magic.
Then there was Battle Meditation—
Alastor's psionic based technique/spell that significantly enhanced the morale, coordination, focus, and combat effectiveness of Alliance soldiers.
It was a technique he frequently maintained throughout every engagement in the war even while actively fighting, despite the immense strain it placed on him.
(Trivia: Battle Meditation is notably less effective against daemons, undead, and inorganic lifeforms such as Necrons. Its ability to erode enemy morale, disrupt strategy, and weaken combat efficiency relies on the target possessing a biological brain, significant emotions, and active willpower.)
There was also another important factor:
The Azerothians themselves.
Their resilient spirits had been forged through over two millennia of constant warfare during the Stygian Era, shaping much of their current martial culture.
The people of Azeroth were no strangers to war against mutants, orks, corrupted psykers/black mages, daemons, and other fel entities.
To the point that they'd become exceptionally skilled at killing much less fighting them.
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But despite all of that, the concentration of corrupted energy within the city itself was so overwhelming—and the veil between reality and the Aether so dangerously weakened—that for anyone else, entering the city would be suicide.
If they were lucky, they would simply die.
More likely, however, they would devolve into twisted monstrosities as their minds and sanity crumbled under the relentless psychic assault of the Warp.
That was why only Heroes could participate in the infiltration once the enemy's attention had been sufficiently diverted after the completion of the first phase.
In fact, aside from Alastor and Aegwynn—whose powers and unique abilities gave them exceptional resistance—and Uther and Alonsus, who were Saints of the Holy Light—
the rest of the strike team would, as an added precaution, wear specially blessed equipment personally consecrated by Alonsus himself to provide another layer of protection against corruption.
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Alastor belatedly realized that he'd long since lost count of how many lives he had taken since the war began.
A year ago, he would have found the very thought absurd.
Despite his combat ability and great power, he'd always preferred diplomacy and dialogue over bloodshed whenever possible.
But then, as though reality itself wished to punish him for such idealism, disaster after disaster struck.
And when the war began…
Things only spiraled further into madness.
After leading multiple campaigns, breaking numerous sieges across Allied kingdoms, becoming the Supreme Commander of the Alliance, and displaying not only military brilliance but remarkable political and administrative skill as well—
Alastor had, over the course of nearly a year, become widely regarded as the greatest hero of the era.
A symbol of hope.
A figure spoken of in the same breath as Emperor Thoradin himself.
A living incarnated "god" of the light who descended upon the mortal world to lead the mortal races against the darkness.
Yet alongside those achievements came painful lessons—
lessons reality seemed determined to hammer into him only after forcing him through suffering first.
This galaxy was cruel.
Chaotic.
And merciless.
Even if this was the 31st Millennium rather than the more grim 41st, that did not make the era any less dangerous.
Five thousand years ago, humanity's great Federation of man had collapsed during the 25th Millennium after winning Cybernetic rebellion at a great cost.
Only for Warp Storms to begin converging on large parts of the Galaxy with the advent of the Old night/Age of Strife that dealt the killing blow to the Interstellar empire of humanity.
These very Warp storms ravaged the galaxy, devastating countless civilizations and wiping many races from existence entirely.
Then came the fall of the Aeldari Empire in the early years of the current millennium with the birth of Slaanesh.
As tragic as those events were…
They also created opportunity.
With humanity fallen from grace and the Eldar nearly annihilated, the two former "overlords" of the galaxy had been reduced to shadows of their former selves.
Other powerful races and interstellar powers—though not necessarily equal to them—had likewise been shattered, weakened, or exterminated during the Age of Strife.
And now, with those ancient empires gone and the Warp storms finally beginning to subside…
The galaxy stood ripe for the taking!
New and ancient factions alike prepared to expand their influence, while the most ambitious among them gazed hungrily toward the vacant thrones once occupied by galactic superpowers.
Dreaming.
Scheming.
Salivating at the possibility of becoming the next rulers of the galaxy.
This was an age of conflict.
An age of conquest.
An age of endless war.
Neutrality, indecisiveness, and isolationism were luxuries that simply did not exist in such an era.
If you were not one of the players, then you became the vassal of one.
And even that outcome depended entirely on whether your people survived long enough to submit.
Because in an age like this, only those with strength and unwavering determination to make their ideals reality possessed the right to compete for dominion.
Even if your only wish was to protect those you loved, strength alone was not enough.
Sometimes…
You needed to show exactly why making an enemy of you was a catastrophic mistake.
(A/N: As Theodore "Teddy" Roosevelt once said: "Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.")
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The events leading up to the war—and the war itself—had hardened Alastor considerably.
He'd become far more decisive whenever circumstances demanded firm actions.
He no longer hesitated to take command, nor was he reluctant to crush those who threatened his people and loved ones.
But at his core…
He was still the same man his adoptive parents had raised.
And that, he swore to himself, would never change.
No matter how much rage, hatred, or war surrounded him, he would never allow himself to become twisted into something unrecognizable.
Llane and Taria Wrynn had not raised a monster.
And he had no intention of ever becoming one.
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Two weeks.
It had been two weeks since the beginning of the first phase of the Alliance siege against Alterac City.
Every single day, both sides assaulted each other relentlessly using every method at their disposal.
The Alliance armies attacked from three separate fronts, slowly advancing while methodically grinding down the endless enemy waves.
But despite their successes, they too suffered casualties—
even if those losses were only a fraction of what the enemy endured.
Conversely, the Scourge and Chaos forces vastly outnumbered the Alliance, and more reinforcements—especially daemons—continued pouring into the city through the Warp Rift to replenish their losses.
And yet…
Alliance morale never faltered.
If anything, every fallen comrade only strengthened their resolve and deepened their hatred for the enemy.
Which, in turn, only made them fight harder.
While Alastor's Battle Meditation certainly played a role, the Alliance's growing morale was primarily due to the overwhelming success of the first phase of the operation.
Over the course of those two weeks, the Alliance had successfully drawn out numerous enemy champions and high-ranking commanders—
all of whom were subsequently slain by the Alliance's own Heroes.
Even better, unlike the enemy forces, the Alliance had not lost a single one of its prominent champions.
Alastor himself fought and killed many powerful enemies: Champions of Chaos, Daemon Princes, Liches, Beastlords, Minotaurs, Death Knights, and more.
It was also during this time that he experienced his first true battles against Greater Daemons—
more specifically, a Bloodthirster and a Keeper of Secrets.
It wasn't that Alastor hadn't faced greater daemons in the last few battles since the Alliance's counteroffensive it was just that his attention was mostly taken by Arthas.
And when he did face Greater daemons it was with the assistance of other heroes as well, so most of those fights ended quickly with either the daemon banished or escaping.
Nonetheless, Alastor quickly discovered that, compared to lesser daemons, Greater Daemons were on an entirely different level.
They were vastly stronger, more intelligent, and infinitely more dangerous.
And while they still showed caution toward his flames, unlike lesser fel entities, that fear barely affected their combat effectiveness.
The truly absurd part?
Even these immensely powerful monsters were only utilizing a fraction of their true power.
Daemons were strongest within the Warp itself.
In realspace, however, they required vast amounts of Warp energy simply to maintain physical form while reality constantly rejected their existence.
Because of this, terrifying as they already were, daemons were somewhat weakened in realspace.
And that limitation became even more severe for higher-ranking daemons—
especially Greater Daemons.
These monstrous entities required vast amounts of Warp energy merely to manifest in the material universe. Even then, they generally projected only a fragment of their true essence into realspace.
Unless they were willing to expend even greater amounts of energy to reinforce their manifestation and pull more of themselves through the veil—
which would dramatically increase their strength.
Otherwise, they risked being forcibly banished before accomplishing anything meaningful.
And despite all these restrictions…
Even a fragment of their true selves possessed monstrous strength, terrifying skill, and the blessings of their respective Chaos Gods.
(A/N: Seriously, is it just me or do too many Warhammer fanfics massively nerf Greater Daemons? I read the Ruinstorm novel, an average Greater Daemon was literally tearing through Baneblades and Imperial Knights like paper for Emperor's sake.)
The Bloodthirster had been incredibly strong.
Faster than something of its size had any right to be.
And skilled—
extremely skilled.
Its mastery of combat was only a level below warriors of renown such as Varian, Anduin, Uther, and Thoras.
And those men were already regarded as legendary even among the Alliance Heroes themselves.
While trying to hack Alastor in half with it's bronze axe, the daemon had even attempted to "persuade" him to join the Blood God's court.
A warrior of his caliber, free to slaughter endlessly without the burden of mortal morality or sanity.
Unfortunately for it—
Fortunately for everyone else—
it never got to finish its speech.
Alastor found an opening, severed one of its arms, followed with a devastating slash across its chest, and finally decapitated it with Dawn.
Holy flames immediately engulfed the Greater Daemon's body and incinerated both flesh and essence while simultaneously sending a violent psychic shockwave back into the Warp.
Unlike lesser daemons—which often manifested nearly their entire essence into realspace and could therefore be permanently destroyed by Alastor's flames—
this Bloodthirster could not be fully annihilated in one strike.
Still, by destroying this manifested fragment of its essence, Alastor severely weakened it and ensured that it would not return for a quite some time even with the help of it's master.
As for the Keeper of Secrets?
Alastor was not ashamed to admit that he had nearly vomited the moment he got a proper look at the Greater Daemon of Slaanesh.
The Daemonettes were already a challenge to look at without grimacing.
This "thing" was somehow infinitely worse.
Yes, it possessed the expected speed, strength, and supernatural skill associated with a high-ranking daemon of the Prince of Excess, along with all the corresponding blessings.
But why—
Oh, by Arda, why—!
did these blasted creatures seem delusional enough to believe they were attractive!?
Were they male?
Female?
Some horrifying mixture of both!?
Why did such an alarmingly high number of them have crab claws!?
Why did so many of them have a pair or two of extra tits!?
If not for the blessings of their equally deranged god—
goddess—
whatever the frak! Slaanesh actually was—
did they truly believe they could seduce anyone!?
Even a PIG would sooner beg a butcher for a quick death before willingly entertaining such a nightmare.
Suffice it to say, Alastor barely registered whatever the daemon had been saying before immediately attacking with everything he had just to ensure he wouldn't be psychologically scarred any further.
He only sighed in relief once his flames reduced the daemon's manifested body and essence to ash—
just as he had done with the Bloodthirster.
After that battle ended, Alastor genuinely found himself disturbed by the thought of what kind of madness in the galaxy could create something so utterly twisted.
Thankfully, he thought, it would be difficult for anything to top that.
The very next day...Alastor had his very first encounter with a Great Unclean One.
…......That day, the battle ended early.
Both armies suddenly witnessed a colossal flaming dome erupt into existence from the section of the battlefield where Alastor had been fighting.
The inferno was so massive that even the other two Alliance armies assaulting the city from different fronts could see it clearly—
and feel the heat radiating from it.
The Alliance forces erupted into thunderous cheers at the display of power from their Supreme Commander.
Meanwhile, the Heroes who personally knew Alastor were significantly more confused about what exactly had managed to tick him off that much?
Alleria raised an eyebrow as she stared at the distant flaming dome after finishing off a Herald of Tzeentch.
Nearby, Rhonin, Jaina, and Antonidas stood amidst a field of frozen enemy "statues" created by their magic.
Rhonin merely shrugged, his expression practically screaming beats me, as he wiped blood from his sword onto the corpse of a Bestigor.
"Maybe he ran into Arthas again," Jaina offered helpfully. "And this time decided to start the fight with a stronger attack."
Antonidas stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Either that… or he encountered a truly foul foe."
Oh, if only Antonidas knew just how correct he was about it being "foul."
In the most literal sense possible.
Shivers in disgust.
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