D101 Chapter 201

As soon as this vision of Faedra from the past spoke her piece, the world began to tremble, and disappear into multicolored rainbow hues until everything around Varrus turned to darkest black. 

Then, emerging in a bright flash of light was a white Dragon that encompassed so much space, it was almost impossible for Varrus to take it all in. It was as if he were looking at a being the size of a sun. 

Varrus didn't say a word as a message began to transmit itself into his mind. 

[When evil rules all, an awakening voice from the Sacred Realm will call those destined to be Sages, who dwell in the five temples. One in a deep forest... One on a high mountain... One under a vast lake... One within the house of the dead... One inside a goddess of the sand... Together with the Hero of Time, the awakened ones will bind the evil and return the light of peace to the world... This is the legend of Azeroth…

Only one worthy of the title of "Hero of Time" can pull it from the Pedestal of Time.... However, you were too young to be the Hero of Time.... Therefore, your spirit was sealed. And now that you are old enough, the time has come for you to awaken as the Hero of Time!] 

The Dragon then roared, releasing an echoing Shout full of overwhelming power. 

[Druh. Drey. Fen!] 

The words washed over Varrus, and without having to experience them, they entered his mind, and were absorbed by his system. 

He understood that they were: Past, Present, Future.

A second later, as Varrus wanted to ask his grandfather about his transmigration, as it seemed he might have had a hand in it based on his speech, or ask the elder dragon about the invasion details of Jyggalag, Varrus was sent back to the tower. 

Eyes spinning, Varrus felt a cool cloth wiping sweat from his forehead, as well as the soft bust of his wife cushioning his head. 

Leaning back, he silently let her keep up her ministrations, as he rarely got to spend time like this with her anymore. 

The warmth of his wife soothed his spirit, as well as the responsibility that the God had saddled him with. 

Hero of Time? Could he be that? Considering he had a buff ever since he consumed Nozdormu's soul that enhanced his learning speed, it was theoretically possible. 

But this plot surrounding his unborn child made him uneasy. 

With his meta knowledge, he knew that all the Gods, Demons, and he guessed Daedra/Aedta were trying to corrupt the nascent soul of Azeroth into a God that aligned with their faction. 

From what Varrus could see, Akatosh and Meridia had teamed up and were aiming to do something like that through Varrus. 

If that was the case, then both he and Syra were like petri dish babies. Grown to be nothing more than the tools to fulfill some deities prophecy. 

Was Syra's dream to birth children her own original goal, or was it some twisted subversion? This made Hermeas Mora's involvement with Syra all the more suspect. 

Maybe he was freaking out over nothing, because from a rational standpoint, Akatosh and Meridia could be considered good Gods. 

Meridia had a hate boner for anything Undead, and Varrus could kind of get behind that hate train. She also historically helped people, especially Elves. 

Akatosh, too, was known as Auri-El in the Elder Scrolls, and was considered the ancestor of all Mer. 

It really made Varrus wonder if the evolution of Elves from Trolls was an accident, or perhaps, had the hand of Akatosh involved. 

This revelation had Varrus feeling all kinds of fucked up, but he didn't want to devote too much time thinking about this, because his Uncle's corpse was currently cooling in a room nearby. 

He had gone through all that pain to learn a word of power, it was time to see what the cost was. 

Browsing his menu, Varrus saw it in all its glory. 

Laas. Sil. Daal. (Life. Soul. Return!) 

[Bring the dead back to life, restore the Undead back to living. (Reduces the effectiveness of all spells, weapons, armor, and all modifiers by 10% for one year)] 

Varrus felt his mouth go dry when he beheld the cost. 

That was serious. It was something he couldn't allow his mother to do since she had already cured herself, as well as the surrounding Darkfallen around the Sunwell. 

10% of basically everything he did would practically drop him to the bottom tier of Demigod. He was already on shaky ground in this tier, and couldn't just steamroll every opponent at the same level. To reduce himself now would be extremely unwise. 

Varrus stared blankly at this screen as his inner turmoil ate away at him, and guilt began to figuratively eat at his insides. 

Squirming in his seat, Syra's gentle caress broke him out of his mini panic attack, and he let himself relax as she ran a hand through his hair. 

That’s right, he still had responsibilities. Reviving Rho'dan this very second without considering them would be the height of recklessness. 

On the eve of a significant battle, he would need every ounce of power that he could muster. 

Sighing to himself, Varrus felt as if he had betrayed his closest confidant as he made his decision to stall…besides, as Nightsong had demonstrated, this Shout, like any Shout, could be used with a wide AOE feature. 

As soon as those Dreadlords were demolished, and Varrus had used their Legendary Souls tk enchant something, he was going to purify every Darkfallen, and Forsaken that he could. 

‘I promise, Rho'dan. I will bring you back.’ Varrus teerily thought to himself. 

Syra squeezed him tightly, and lifted his chin to look him in the eye. 

“You are not alone. I am here for you.” 

“Thank you. More than you can imagine, I wholeheartedly and sincerely mean it. Thank you, Syra. Words cannot express how much you mean to me.” Varrus smiled as tears dripped down his face. 

“You're all mine.” Syra squeezed him again, and held him obsessively. 

“Syra?” 

“....” 

Varrus mustered up a smile, and leaned back into her once again. He realized that in his hurt, he had neglected Syra's feelings. 

Tonight was supposed to be her night after they had been forced apart due to work. It was her Triumph, but instead it had transformed into Varrus's horror. 

She had sat with him this entire time, and done nothing but given. Now she wanted to take, and Varrus was too emotionally exhausted to try and argue his way out. 

Instead, he embraced the situation.  

“How long was I out for?” Varrus questioned. 

“Five hours.”

“I assume Nightsong and Lor'Themar have drawn up war plans? When do we attack?” 

“Eight hours from now at dawn.” 

Varrus stared up at the ceiling feeling ice in his veins. 

“To hell with that.” Varrus spat venomously. 

“What do you want to do?” Syra asked. 

Varrus couldn't see her face, but he could hear the excitement in her tone. 

“We go right fucking now. I don't care what the council says, what the King says, or even what my mother says. An attack on my Uncle is an attack on me, it's an attack on you! Yeah, that's right, fuck'em, we're going right now. You and me.” Varrus growled as his emotion and anger began to take ahold of him. 

“I was hoping you'd say that. We fight together.” Syra happily picked Varrus up, and planted a wet kiss on his lips. 

“God you're beautiful.” Varrus praised as he felt the strength in her grasp. 

“I know.” Syra’s breath tickled his cheek, and as she turned around the back of her firm ass tickled the tip of his dick before she stepped away and towards the door to their room. 

Varrus was grinning like a maniac as he followed after her. Anger and lust oozed out of his every pour as he marched into the tower's command room. 

He was absolutely oozing power and mana as his Imposing Presence was going full tilt. 

“Varrus, you're back.” Nightsong said with relief from the planning table. 

“Aye, but he has the look about him.” Lor'Themar tiredly assessed, then moved back to the 3D map, and began to rapidly input orders. 

“Karwl too! Karwl and friend Liadran pray all night for master! Great Candle in the sky never wrong! We knew you wake up healthy and strong!” Karwl bounced in place next to Liadran, and exclaimed. 

“Praise the Light, the Prophet is returned.” Liadran bowed her head, and muttered a prayer. 

“Ruff, ruff!” Omen ran back and forth in a circle around Varrus with the unmatched vigor of a good boy. 

“Varrus. Syra, oh my gosh! I was so worried for you! Koren kept saying you would be fine, but what would he know about magic?” Tess moved forward to say hi, but was held back by a big muscly arm. 

“Quiet, Mouse, can't you see his face? It's krumpin time. About damn time if you ask me!” Jan'alai aggressively slammed her club into an open hand and grinned. 

“It is good to see you, my friend, you must have been successful in learning your mother's magic, very well done! Once we have revived your friend, we can begin the assault on the morrow!” Kael stepped forward, and graciously came for a hug. 

Syra stood in between Varrus and everyone else with her sword brandished. 

“We're going tonight.” Varrus declared. 

“...” The room was absent of any disagreement at that statement. 

Varrus could almost hear Rho'dan's nagging voice in the back of his head telling him about how this was a bad idea, but Varrus didn't care. 

Right now, he was full of wrath. Nothing would stop him. 

“I estimate a 20.3% casualty rate should we advance this very moment. Comparatively, should we advance on time tomorrow, I estimate a 11.3%-”

“Shut up Tae'thelon.” 

The engineer pursed his lips, and shook his head. 

Varrus appreciated the science wizard's expertise, but he wouldn't let the numbers dissuade him. Varrus was done playing around. 

“Those are people. My people. I care for revenge as much as you Varrus, the Scourge are responsible for the murder of our people. You were the one who cautioned me in the past, the one who counseled me against rushing to my demise, and the demise of our people. Months ago I held the very same position you find yourself in now. It pains me to say this, but I forbid the mobilization of the troops until tomorrow.” Kael’Thas sadly, and solemnly declared.

“Using my own logic against me? You've come a long way, Kael.” Varrus smiled, yet no mirth came to his eyes. 

This was his Uncle. The man who practically took a bullet for him, the one who made his rise to power so smooth, the one that covered for his dumb ass, the one who patiently listened to his stupid monologues. 

No. Varrus was going to resolve this shit as soon as possible, damn the consequences. He was going to use the resurrection Shout anyway, wasn't he? So what if they lost 20% or 50%, he was going to have his Uncle back. 

“Let's go, Syra.” Varrus turned away from the assembled people with a flourish of his cloak. 

“But Varrus, we can hold a vote, the King's authority isn't absolute! At the very least, my personal forces and your House could-” Koren began, only for Varrus to interrupt with an upraised hand. 

“I was irresponsible during the siege of Stratholme. I think it's time Syra and I showed the world what we are capable of.” 

“B-but there are millions of Undead, the enemy are rumored to have two Demigods, please, Varrus, Syra, let us, your friends, come with you!” Tess ran forward, and interposed herself between Varrus and the window balcony. 

“You're a good girl, Tess. I wouldn't want to accidentally kill you through collateral.” Varrus gently smiled, then surprised her by knocking her to the ground with Paralyze. 

“Be strong, Varrus. There are two armies. We shall prioritize whichever one is opposite yours.” Lor'Themar saluted, and nodded with respect. 

Varrus returned the gesture, then saw his mother blocking his way. 

“Mom, I-” 

“At least bring Omen with you.” Nightsong crossed her arms, and said without any room for argument. 

Varrus whistled, and the pup ran to his side. 

Nightsong eyed Syra critically, then silently stepped to the side. 

Varrus then threw out his flying carpet outside the window. 

Boarding the magical device, Varrus didn't look back as he set off. 

The air vibrated, and a mass of mana radiated through the heavens as Varrus, Syra, and Omen streaked towards the Western Plaguelands. Any life form that had the barest hint of mana sense quivered in place as they passed by. 

Death. Destruction. Desolation. 

The aura of these three was monstrous, like a tidal wave of a super tsunami viewed from a rural beach gower. It was so pervasive, those witnessing the aura of demise knew that running wouldn't save them. 

Doom was headed for the Westenlands, and nothing would avert its path.