Chapter 175

Whilst Kael’Thas was busy engaging the fortress temple of Naxxramas, Varrus, Syra, Karwl, Tess, the Crossguard, and the Illidari had gone to reinforce the northern flank. 

Faedra had chosen to remain behind, and Varrus had given Nightsong a hug goodbye before departing. Lor'Themar gave him a curt nod as he departed, Omen being assigned to the Ranger General to assure his safety. 

Just like that, the most influential leaders from Quel'Thalas were each off to put out the various fires spreading across the flying city. 

Lounging on his flying carpet, Varrus sighed as the epic clash between Kael and Kel’Thuzad went on in the distance. 

“You shouldn't let him talk to you like that.” Syra said, lounging on her back, and resting her head on Varrus's lap. 

Syra was relaxed and casual, taking none of the surrounding chaos as anything extraordinary.

Varrus similarly didn't care much for the trash mobs the Scourge commanders kept throwing at them.  This event was a good bonding experience for Kobold, Elf, and Human forces to bond together anyway. He would let them fight and suffer together until he was really needed to step in. 

No, instead, he wasn't so much focused on the fight as he was his wife's words. 

Slowly stroking her hair, Varrus was a little peeved that Kael’Thas had decided to pull rank, and try to counter Kel’Thuzad alone. 

For this journey, they had Syra, Omen, Nightsong, and himself. All Demigod tier existences worthy of curb stomping Kel’Thuzad in one swift blow. 

Their combined might would be enough to see him become nothing but a smear on the ground. The Lich was an insect to be demolished by the recently formed Covenant. A proving grounds for his new allies to bloody themselves against a shared foe. 

“Yes, you are right my love, but he is the King. Even if he has his moods, he is still my friend.” Varrus stared down at Syra's golden eyes, and saw her smiling up at him. 

Syra silently nestled her head deeper into his ribs, lightly driving the air from his lungs. 

All around them, the sound of explosions, cracking guns, chanted spells, screaming, hungering Ghouls and more was taking place. 

Yet whilst Varrus held Syra in his arms, time seemed to still, and it didn't matter what was taking place in the background. 

Stroking jer hair some more, Varrus flicked the tip of her Elven ears, then cast a shroud of Muffle over them so no one could hear the next part of their conversation. 

“No, you cannot kill him and make me king.” Varrus covered his mouth with his hand, and said. 

“You're no fun. He has no children, and loves a Troll. As much as I have come to appreciate Jan'alai, she is no queen. You are a household name, more popular than anyone else at the moment. Once we have children, it could be a fun game to see which one of them is best fit for the throne~” Syra explained her position, and idly scratched the spot on Varrus's back that she had identified as one of his weak points. 

‘Yep, not going to touch that one. Better spell it out to her in clear, straightforward Thalassian.’ Varrus thought to himself as he just heard the most outrageous take. 

“No means no. Unless Kael did something outrageously incompetent, or passed of his own accord, I do not, nor do I ever intend on being King. Besides, I am the leader of the Covenant. Your husband controls an international organization made up of different races, that's pretty cool.” Varrus defended himself. 

“Hmm, Queen Vandercross. I like the sound of it.” Syra looked up to the sky, and lost herself in her imagination. 

“....seriously, did you listen to a single thing I said?” Varrus rubbed the bridge of his nose in consternation. 

“You really care about him, hm?” Syra narrowed her eyes, a dangerous glint entering them as for the briefest of seconds, the feeling of murder coiled around her form. 

Varrus wordlessly leaned down, and kissed Syra on the lips. 

Greedily grasping onto him, Syra breathed heavily as Varrus held her close. 

“This is making me horny.” Syra confessed, and whispered in Varrus's ear. 

“Me too, but we can't simply do it up here in front of everyone-”

“We could if you were King.” Syra interrupted. 

“Whatever. I don't care about that stuff. I was hoping to see you face a worthy opponent with my gift, but sadly, the Scourge seems to only be throwing their trash at us.” Varrus said, and pointed at the glistening black blade resting by Syra's side. 

“I can kill them all if you like.” Syra gestured to the tens of thousands of Undead milling down below, clogging the streets. Her tone was casual, and said as if she were stating a boring factoid from a school book. 

It was as if she was saying ‘the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell’ or ‘Na is the periodic symbol representing sodium.’ 

Syra wasn't showboating, bragging, or any other act of self glorification. 

What she said was fact! 

Varrus chuckled at her willingness to join a slaughter. 

“Not yet my dear. I want our forces to gel together. To earn and build trust. Once they get in trouble, or someone worthy steps forward shall I sicc my most potent, beautiful weapon at them.” Varrus said, praising Syra. 

For his troubles, Syra pulled him in for another kiss. 

“I must confess, watching a battle from a distance doesn't sit right with me. However, I’m with you-flying over all the chaos like this-it feels like we're a conquering couple flying on high whilst all the riff raff mucks about. Ooo, please make a play about this! I am certain our children will love it!” Syra clapped to herself, and looked at Varrus with stars in her eyes. 

‘Well, at least she stopped talking about assassinating his best friend.’ Varrus thought to himself, and felt a small drop of sweat roll down his back when he once again witnessed how his wife could swap between adorable & murderous at the drop of a hat. 

“Yes, yes, I'll make this event into a play, it's a promise.” Varrus gently patted Syra on the side and gave his word. 

“I love you Varrus, now, let's watch! I need to take notes for your play!” Syra said in an unusual amount of enthusiasm, and paid extra attention to the battles happening around them. 

“Love you too.” Varrus thoughtlessly replied. 

Looking down at how much attention Syra was giving to this, Varrus realized how much he had underestimated her devotion. 

This girl was well and truly starstruck. In a way, he kind of felt like those actors who went into movies because their children really wanted them in it. Like how the actor who played Aragorn in LOTR only did so because his son asked him to. 

Stroking her hair again-something Varrus would never stop doing as it was softer than silk-Varrus thought that once the Scourge was taken care of, he would have a year or two of lesser threats to manage. 

In that time, having children, and acquiescing to Syra's outrageous demands-such as performing for her, not murdering Kael-could be something worth his attention. 

Smiling to himself, Varrus joined Syra and began to observe the fight between Scourge and Covenant forces. 

Internally, Varrus didn't agree with their currently lax attitude in the center of a battlefield, as they could be ambushed, or set upon by some stupid Daedric demigod from who knew where. 

But the advance party of Heroes was having no problem cutting their way through the Scourge forces, and everything seemed to be in order. 

The literal dozen+ Heroes of House Vandercross, and 1,000+ Elites were all equipped with cutting edge enchanted gear, and powerful potions were like a relentlessly unstoppable machine. 

Rho'dan was at the very front, his sword-covered in flames-cleaved apart a dozen Undead with each swipe. His unit, the Crossguard, moved in sync with him, their actions killed Elites nearly instantly. 

A Necromantic Hero tried to blast them apart with massive building sized slabs of ice, however, Rho'dan and his subordinates cut them apart. 

The powerful Void users from the Illidari then began to blast everything the Ice Mage threw at them, and after wading through countless meat shields, destroyed the walking corpse with ease. 

Watching the Crossguard and Illidari performing well as a group, it reminded Varrus of sports. The Elven forces were like pros and the Scourge amateurs. 

Even if they did have more numbers, and fielded Heroes or Elites, they were lacking in coordination. 

Meanwhile, the Crossguard had been sparring, and fighting with one another for literal centuries. The degree of trust and battlefield knowledge shared between these men was phenomenal. 

They could pick apart a Hero when they were all Elites. Now that their gear boosted their stats, the skills that they had honed for so long transformed them into incredible killers. 

At the same time, Humans were unloading their Rune Pistols, and Karwl led his Paladins into an epic charge. 

Tess was lurking somewhere invisibly nearby, and the troops were getting closer and closer to their target. 

Looming at the end of a street block less than a mile away was an all black temple. A beam of Death energy shot out from its top every other second, and fresh waves of Undead emerged from its doors in an endless stream. 

Varrus withheld a bit of a chuckle at that thought. 

Endless wasn't exactly true, since they were advancing forward with barely any resistance. 

Abominations, Gargoyles, Ghouls, they kept coming, yet they were trampled upon as the Elves had an unlimited amount of stamina and spells. The Humans had fancy new gear provided courtesy of Varrus, and the 100 Kobolds all knew Light based spells, the very antithesis to the Undead! 

The power disparity in their gear just made his troops, and his allies' troops so much better. They outclassed their foes on every front. 

Frankly speaking, Varrus barely felt that his presence was necessary, and he was acting more as a symbol to boost morale. 

Occasionally, he would destroy an Undead that was about to kill one of his troops. That, or fling one of the Covenant forces backward with a quick application of telekinesis to save them from certain peril. 

Of course he could dominate this fight, instantly obliterating them with his overwhelming power, but as he had stated to Syra earlier, he wanted the member races of the Covenant to feel as if they belonged together. 

And Varrus had discovered the glue that would bind them in blood. 

Fear. 

There truly was nothing more potent a motivator than the fear of eternal damnation. 

The Kobolds and Humans all knew what was at stake should they lose here, and so they fought more than ten times as fiercely as any ordinary soldier. 

Fear turned into hate, hate turned into violence. 

Violence when done in a group setting created community. 

Looking down, Varrus barely withheld a smile as he saw a dozen little actions that these soldiers would remember for a lifetime. 

An Elf deflected a diseased arrow away from a Kobold. A squadron of Humans crushed an Abomination that threatened to overwhelm a lone Elf. A Kobold healed a man with crushed legs. A Human had his head ripped off, his gore coated a Kobold, who shrieked, and ran at the Undead in rage. 

On and on, Varrus witnessed such acts of heroism, and the need for vengeance against a despicable foe.

It was acts such as these that made Varrus know he had made the right choice opening Quel'Thalas up to the outside world. 

Gilneas received food free of taint, its people no longer haunted by uncontrollable wolf cults, and their most heinous nobles had been purged. 

The land of the Kobolds received wax for their religion, food, tools, instruction in the Light, and freedom from the shadowy creature. 

They were each aided by Varrus, yet until today, it was his sweat and labor that had gone into safeguarding their lands. 

Now, it was their time to show their mettle, to prove to the unconvinced, prim smug Elves that yes, they were more than the raw resources they provided! 

That the Gilneans and Kobolds were real, living people, ones with their own hopes, dreams, and fears. 

People worthy of respect. 

Feeling his heart swelling with pride, Varrus raised his voice so that his army could hear him. 

“Men, Elves, and Kobolds! Less than a mile away lies our victory! Bask in the Light, and smite the vile Undead!” 

Keeping his speech short so he wouldn't distract his men too much, Varrus cast a pair of spells. 

Channel Energies: Casts the (beneficial self-targeted) spell in your left hand on the target.

Tree Rings: Caster receives 10 layers of tough plant skin, each increasing maximum Health by 300 points. Layers gradually fall off over the course of 1hr. 

By doing this, Varrus practically made each soldier under his command have the protection of a masterworked set of iron armor! 

Ten whole sets! 

“Go forth, and fear no evil! Arise, arise soldiers of the Covenant! Men, Elves, and Kobolds, march forth to the future, to destiny!”