Chapter Ninety-Six: The Darkness of a Thousand Souls

World of Warcraft: Sunwell Plateau.

The wellspring of magic that had nourished the high elves for more than seven thousand years was finally, at the turning point of fate, transformed into a gateway by the hand of a high elven prince.

The surging power of the Sunwell became a colossal conduit of filth, and a demon with crimson skin was trying to claw his way out of it, his muscular upper body already exposed.

He was powerful, towering, and brimming with strength.

Kil'jaeden the Deceiver, lieutenant to the dark titan Sargeras, leader of the eredar, executioner of countless worlds, blasphemer of all realms, creator of the Scourge, the most terrifying warlock in all of Warcraft, without question.

The deaths of the eredar twins were hardly worth a mention. M'uru's fall moved him only slightly. The assault of the Shattered Sun forces enraged him.

But so long as these feeble enemies were destroyed and the Sunwell's power completely absorbed, he would truly descend into this world and accomplish what even Sargeras and Archimonde had failed to do: bring ruin to the newborn titan.

“Chaos!”

“Destruction!”

“Annihilation!”

“My will cannot be defied. This world shall be destroyed!”

A voice from another world, amid the contest of light and shadow, amid the clash of fel and holy radiance, twisted into a word that chilled the soul:

“Darkness of a Thousand Souls!”

Innumerable souls wailed in agony, and under the sweep of shadow energy they surged toward everyone of the Shattered Sun.

Every second brought hundreds of strikes. The elite of the coalition, clad in fine and even legendary gear, fell one after another. Even that pitiful, utterly useless blue dragon, Kalecgos, could not endure many more blows; he had already suffered grievous injuries in the earlier battle.

He was on the verge of death.

The blue dragon orb was about to lose control.

Once its protection was gone, the miserable coalition would not last ten seconds. No one would be able to stop him from stepping into this world.

Beneath the burning sky,

apocalypse

was about to descend.

Then Kil'jaeden gave a soft exclamation.

Darkness of a Thousand Souls was one of his favorite area spells, formed from countless shrieking souls and warped shadows. Each soul and each shadow was a repeated, chained assault.

Yet one of those assaults had suddenly vanished.

At last, Kalecgos found a moment to breathe. The blue dragon's gentle call echoed across the Sunwell Plateau.

“Anveena, wake up!”

“The world needs you!”

...

...

The level five temporal channel had remained open for only three seconds. After a mere tiny fraction of one strike from Darkness of a Thousand Souls reached the other world, it closed at once.

The already meager essence of Azeroth was instantly drained dry, leaving less than one twentieth behind.

The pained shrieks were as dreadful as the banshee queen's howl, carrying a force that could tear at the soul. Even as only an insignificant component of the entire area spell, they still possessed damage at the legendary level.

A thousandth of Darkness of a Thousand Souls struck the little boy, striking that chaotic, composite soul of his.

A mass of souls that had been forcibly devoured yet never fully melted down was already unstable enough. The fragile little vessel of flesh, carrying hundreds of souls, drifted upon the sea of suffering when, all at once, a wave broke against it.

The ship overturned.

“This... is impossible!”

The ancient evil that had finally descended let out a resentful roar.

Sensing the collapse of the soul amalgam, it knew very well that it had failed. Even this body was disintegrating now, consumed by some strange dark energy, beyond further use.

The only remaining path was to forcefully descend into yet another black void.

But how could that be possible before such a formidable enemy?

Though close enough to touch, it might as well have been separated by the ends of the earth.

What was more, the slightly overweight Chinese youth had already stepped in front of Erica.

“I will descend once more!”

The little boy's blood-red eyes fixed on Old Wang without blinking, like a savage beast choosing its prey. “I will carry away every soul I have devoured, and descend within another black void!”

“No. I’ll wait. I’ll descend into the girl behind you when the chance comes!”

“She cannot reject me after I’ve devoured so many souls. I don’t believe you can keep guarding her forever!”

Seeing the boy's face, pale from too much cultivation, Old Wang felt as though he were looking at some shut-in who had hidden away for centuries, maybe millennia.

Stupidly adorable.

It seemed that age alone did not bring wisdom.

Experience did.

The boy's body was already breaking apart.

The power of the beast was fading.

The souls forcibly fused by devouring were now coming undone.

Old Wang needed only the simplest, most direct attack, even just a poke with a finger, to finish off the black void once and for all and send the beast back where it belonged.

But he did not do that.

“Azeroth,” Old Wang said lightly, “I need another skill.”

“Which one?”

“Soul Drain.”

“That will be 0.01 grams of Azeroth's blood.”

As soon as the words fell, the last of Azeroth's blood vanished.

The four circles bloated with blood-red light, and the ten spherical spaces of the sponge-like structure turned crimson in an instant.

The level four temporal channel opened.

In World of Warcraft, somewhere along some unlucky timeline, the spell vanished.

Old Wang lifted a hand, and a strange force shot from the void into the little boy's body, tearing at his soul.

“No!”

“What have you done to me?”

“My soul... it's weakening!”

He could feel the souls he had finally devoured, not yet fully digested, disappearing one after another. They turned into violet beams that flowed into Old Wang's hand and became one diamond-shaped crystal after another.

They were soul shards.

“What am I doing?” Old Wang sneered. “I’m draining your soul.”

The spell continued.

Soul Drain was a warlock spell. Its effect was to draw out an enemy's soul and, under the power of the spell, transform it into soul shards. In the early days of World of Warcraft, that was.

Soul shards were the warlock's most important casting material. Whether for making soulstones, healthstones, or summoning demons, they were indispensable. In fact, among warlocks and demons alike, soul shards were more stable currency than gold, mithril, or arcane crystals.

The quality of a soul shard depended on the soul drained.

Within less than half a month, the beast had devoured more than five hundred souls, most of them ordinary people.

The vast majority of those souls had already been digested and absorbed, becoming nourishment for the beast. But some had only been partially digested, or not digested at all.

Those souls were far too weak, nowhere near the level of the humans and orcs forged by Warcraft's endless wars. Only several, even a dozen, might form the poorest-quality shard. And yet...

They were still precious.

And there were enough of them.

“Thank you for your gift.”

Old Wang's expression did not change. “Now, crawl back to your own world.”

The last thread of soul was wrung dry, and the little boy collapsed to the ground.

“No!”

With one unwilling roar, the ancient evil that had descended into this world for less than half a month was kicked back home once more.

A full twenty-four soul shards floated before Old Wang.

With a flick of his hand, they disappeared.

“It should all end here.”

“And I should clean up the battlefield!”

Old Wang's soul and body split apart.

One second later, he had reached the underground chamber.