D101 Chapter 195

Escaping the mine in a hurry, Omen had acted as a battering ram, and tore his way through the underground terrain as if it were playdough and he were a child going to town. 

Varrus & Nightsong rode atop the back of the golden retriever, and exited the hole in the mountain with an enormous explosion behind them. 

“Go, go, go!” Varrus urged his mount onward. 

Feeling the breeze on his hair, Varrus didn't feel that they were in the clear yet, as the ground began to shake like a 9.0 earthquake. 

A fireball of untold magnitude erupted into the sky, and chunks of mountain flew sky high. 

The ground began to implode in a series of segments as the mountain started to collapse in on itself. 

This act of implosion came with one small blessing. That is, the fiery cataclysm became smothered before it could truly grow out of control, as all that sand and debris acted as a smothering agent. 

However, the shockwave from the initial outburst was traveling in their wake, and along for the ride were a metric fuckton of boulders, rocks, and all sorts of debris traveling 200mph+. 

And dead ahead of Varrus was the army! 

If he didn't stop this, and FAST, then this relief effort would have been for nothing, and the entire group would perish! 

“Mother, shall we combine our Unrelenting Force?!” Varrus yelled over the whooshing wind to be heard. 

“It will suffice.” Nightsong shrugged her shoulders and agreed. 

“Omen, turn around NOW!” Varrus ordered. 

“Ruff!” Omen did a 360 turn, and dug his claws in. 

Sliding to a halt, the doggo faced the oncoming storm of debris with a brave look on his face. 

“Together now, Fus…ROH DAH!!!” 

“FUS ROH DAH!!!”  Nightsong added her voice to his. 

“ARF!!!” Omen joined in with a moon empowered beam blast of his own. 

A wave of nigh invisible air pressure rocketed forth with an equal, if not more devastating power. 

Trees, shrubbery, stone and dirt flew skyward, and moved to collide with the oncoming former mountainside. 

Casting a shroud of Muffle around him-so as to protect his ears-Varrus watched on in silent awe as the mother-son Fus Roh Dah battered the oncoming shockwave into submission, and continued forth to press down onto the mountain. 

By now, a supreme amount of dust was in the air, clogging up his vision, but if the second round of earthquakes was anything to go by, that shrine to Mephala must be buried so deep, no mortal would lay eyes upon it for generations to come. 

Varrus would make sure that this place was marked as inconsequential on the maps, a place devoid of resources, and bereft of any strategic value. All so that none would be tempted by the Mistress of Silent murder, lest her lies cause further trouble, and interrupt his planned, peaceful immortality. 

As his bar for Dragon Shouts cooled down, Varrus Shouted once more. It was the words to Clear Skies. Since he had ‘wasted’ some of his free Dragon Souls on the Shout already, he might as well make full use of it. 

“Lok. Vah. Coor!” 

Upon the words leaving his lips, all the dust cleared, and a monument of utter devastation was revealed. 

Where before, a proud mountain full of many peaks dominated the skyline, now a valley rested in its place. 

Thankfully, there were still a few mountains behind it, and the land wasn't leveled flat. It was ‘thankfully,’ because this mountain chain had acted as the geographical barrier between the Humans and the Elves. 

Even though they were allies with many Humans now, that didn't mean Varrus was ready to tear down every existing barrier, and open Quel'Thalas to just anyone. National defense was important even if allies shared a border. This was a feudal world after all, and not an ideal place as imagined on Earth.  

But borders aside, the destruction was truly magnificent. It was a stunning transformation, and only spoke to the testament of the power and yield behind the Legendary Mana Stones. 

Varrus actually thought it was crazy that hundreds of those things were used to power Quel'Vanar. It really sank in at this moment that the flying fortress was basically a nuclear carrier. 

Stroking his chin, he realized that Quel'Vanar could itself act as an ultimate weapon if used as a warhead, but that was a thought for another day, as right now, he had to see to the aftermath of this excursion. 

Directing Omen over to the survivors of Karwl's legion, he was surprised when everyone knelt. 

Even the prideful Elves, as well as Liadran-his theoretical equal on the Convocation-took a knee! 

“Hail, Highlord Vandercross, hail!” Rho'dan led a chant that was soon taken up by many more. 

“Hail!” Several people repeated, some again referred to him as a prophet, but Varrus ignored these. 

“Oh, don't think I can't see you trying to hide that smile.” Nightsong whispered in her ear from behind, and said impishly as she poked him in the side. 

Squirming in his seat because of the slightly ticklish sensation, Varrus shook his head in denial. 

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” Varrus replied dismissively. 

“Oh you can't fool me, my Var Var has the exact same tells as his father.” Nightsong covered her mouth and softly chuckled. 

“Nonsense.” Varrus refuted. 

“Don't worry, it's adorable. I'm certain Syra thinks as such.” 

“Alright, alright. I need to heal the wounded.” Varrus waved her off dismissively, and directed Omen to get closer to the army. 

“Aww, is mommy embarrassing you? Don't worry my little shrimp, your Muffle spell is still up. Although just because they can't hear us, doesn't mean they can't see you squir-” 

“Ah haaaa…welp, it was great going out with you mom, but I think I see a guy down there missing an eye, I really should get to it.” Varrus weakly chuckled, and was about to cancel the spell, and hop off Omen, when he was gripped on the wrist. 

“Remember. Fame is ephemeral. Arrogance means death. Confidence, faith, loyalty, these are all good, but nothing is forever, not even the Sunwell. Accept their goodwill, but do not become drunk on it. Your father is testament to the failures of overindulging in the belief of his invincibility.” Nightsong said in a serious tone, then pushed him forward. “Go. Heal, be happy.” 

Varrus stumbled off Omen's back, and did a front flip to land. 

Looking back at Nightsong, she smiled down at him, and bade him go forth with a gentle nod. 

Varrus felt loved, and warmth spread in his heart. It was for moments like these that he really kept going.  

Fighting was scary, death, the dissolution of his immortal soul, they were all very real. Yet the people close to him, the ones who gave him their honest opinions, they were worth everything. 

The more fame and power he accrued, the more people would act like supplicants. The further they would be from him as a person. Instead of looking at him like just another guy, they would heap upon him expectations. It was a burden, but also a task he was glad to meet if it meant securing a happy, peaceful future for his children.  

‘Nightsong. You really are. One in a million.’ Varrus thought to himself. 

Canceling the shroud, Varrus was washed by a cacophony of noise, and people singing his praises.  

Nightsong was right, he did like to hear his name being chanted. It was like he was a famous singer, or athlete performing at their peak, only more. Fame, it was addicting, but Nightsong, Rho'dan, and Lor'Themar, they had all warned him of its pitfalls. 

And yet, he couldn't help but smile grandly at these people. His people. 

They expected things of him, and he felt obligated to deliver. 

“Thank you, thank you, my friends. Please, all of you, rise. Get up off the ground. For those of you who can't stand due to a wound or some injury, stay where you are, I shall heal everyone as we speak.” Varrus gestured for the people to stand, and personally helped Karwl and Liadran to their feet. 

As the army slowly stood up, Varrus released the spell, Infinite Light into them. 

“Praise the Light!” One man shouted. 

Many others joined him, even the Elves, as ireligious as they tended to be, joined in. 

Restoring the more than 200 survivors to perfect health, Varrus was surprised by how hopeful they all looked. 

Just earlier, he had overheard some of them scream in despair just before he arrived. Now, many of them were going all in on ‘praising the Light.’ 

Honestly, Varrus couldn't blame them. He'd be worshipping the Light too, if it gave him super powers, and could literally work miracles. 

“Prophet…perhaps it is presumptuous of me to ask, but…could you please deliver unto your flock a sermon?” Liadran said as she looked down at the ground. 

To Varrus's view it was as if the fiery redheaded Paladin were a schoolgirl asking a notorious bad boy out on a date! 

“Karwl agrees! Master is best friend of Big Candle, Master speak best!” Karwl ran to Varrus's side, and clutched at his robes with hope in his eyes. 

“I don't know…” Varrus scratched his head, and said in embarrassment. 

It was kind of funny to him that this was being requested of him. Back on Earth, his Uncle had always insisted he become a preacher, because Varrus had a talent for public speaking. 

But truthfully, Varrus wasn't 100% certain on anything, and didn't want to feel like he was lying to people. 

Now, however, here he was, the supposed ‘expert’ on the Light. 

‘Curse my Skyrim spells for making me appear as a Light casting savant.’ Varrus thought to himself, and facepalmed. 

However, looking at all the hopeful expressions, Varrus began to feel conflicted. 

‘Well, they did just go through a horrifying experience. I guess I could take this time and TedTalk them into believing wholeheartedly in the Covenant.’ 

“...Gather around, citizens of the Covenant, and listen. Today I'll discuss the importance of Unity…” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Whilst Varrus had been rushing to rescue Karwl, another important development was taking place within the Eastern Plaguelands. 

Standing on top of a mountain of decapitated, diseased limbs, Syra had a cold look of frosty murder etched into her features. 

All around her, as far as the eye could see, were the bisected remains of her enemy.  

“M-monster.” The Heroic Necromancer in charge of the fortified town of Darrowshire-and the western front of the Eastern Plaguelands-muttered in fear from the ground. 

Missing all his limbs save for his right arm, the bony Undead attempted to crawl away, yet was impaled in the back, halting his retreat. 

“...” Syra furiously glared at the creature beneath her, and silently fumed. 

This maggot had hidden tens of thousands of Undead underground, and had turned a fun outing with her friends into a slog. 

Every day away from her beloved was grounds for violent murder. 

A day away from her husband when he had hosted the first formal duel since she had won him the Convocation?! A day where he killed a political rival without her?!?!?! 

Why that made Syra absolutely livid. 

She lived and breathed for Varrus's performances, she was his biggest fan. 

And she missed it. 

All because of this sniveling coward. 

“Just kill me.” The necromancer begged, and tried to bisect himself on Syra's blade. 

Yet Syra held it firm, refusing to give the wretch even an inch. 

How dare he beg for mercy when he took something so precious from her! 

Weaving the Void in a way that restored the absence of nothingness, Syra-through her extreme emotions and hatred-had accidentally discovered how to heal via the Void. 

Restoring the flesh on the Undead, Syra was quick to shock him with the Light, causing the Undead great amounts of agony. 

Unsatisfied with her torture, Syra cut off his limbs, and tossed them to the side, to join the tens of thousands of other body parts. 

Off to the side, Tess was silent as a mouse, and Jan'alai was uncharacteristically quiet. 

“What should we do with all these body parts? They're diseased, right? Big sis usually destroys everything, that's what she did with all the other Undead. But these tens of thousands of limbs…they all belong to this one necromancer.” Tess whispered in awe. 

“Just stay off her kill list, and never even think of her man.” Jan'alai belched as she drank a large pint. 

Tess gulped, and couldn't tear her eyes away from the macabre sight. 

Behind her, the entire Saints Legion were all set up, ready for battle, yet they had long stepped out of formation. Syra's torture was in public for all too see. 

One thing was understood that day. 

Never talk bad about Varrus Vandercross, or get on Syra Vandercross's bad side, or else a demoness might just visit you.