Fire.

  Fire was all the warrior saw. Green and burning, as their gryphon shrieked awfully. Danath Trollbane and Varok Saurfang had also been hit, and had gone down somewhere further back along the shore. Now, it was their turn.

  Then, suddenly, the lionbird turned, still on fire, and flew over a beach with large figures on it, Vrykul, the adventurer realized, by the size and Human shape. Murmuring their thanks, the warrior leapt from the lionbird’s back, as it dove into the sea and thrashed. Thankfully, water did eventually put out Fel flames. But there were plenty of shoreline predators that would enjoy mostly-roasted gryphon.

  The warrior did not see what fate befell their fallen mount, as a new one dominated their destiny.

  “They’re…shorter than Havi said they’d be.” One of the female Vrykul rumbled, as the warrior approached.

  The male Vrykul beside her responded. “That old Seer is mad…but rarely wrong. Come, ‘friend’, more Demons approach. Prove your valor!”

  And without more than a ‘hello’, they did. Even the Vrykul had to pause, as the smaller warrior’s fury absolutely tore apart every demon that came within reach of their twin two-handed weapons. There was little to no finesse, no aiming for weak spots, just pure unbridled fury that turned the warrior’s opponents into demonic chum. The female from earlier chuckled at the warrior as their Bladestorm ended, in a circle of Felguard parts. “Small, but Mighty!”

  The warrior grinned with foam peaking out of the sides of their mouth, the only visible part of their face under their horned heavy plate helmet. Their wounds burned rage to rapidly knit back together. “You have no idea…”

  She ducked, as the warrior suddenly leapt straight over her head and into another pack of demons. One by one, their lieutenants fell. Then, something strange happened. Something the warrior had not seen on all the battlefields they’d been on. Not in the realm of the living, anyway. When they’d touched the realms of Death, they’d spied the Spirit Healers that lived, occupied, or just worked in graveyards of the world. But the warrior’s allies had always brought them back from the brink before they’d had a chance to talk to them.

  Now, a golden one clad in shining armor descended from golden clouds above the shore. She called the names of the worthy dead Vrykul before her, and raised their spirits up into the sky. “Save me a seat in the Skyhold, brothers!” The helmeted male who’d called the warrior friend shouted, before glancing at fresh movement in the distance. “A Brute joins the battle! Come, meet your fate little Hero! Before your place is taken!”

  Alas, the Mo’arg brute and the pack of underlings that came with it were about as much of a challenge as everything else the warrior had faced. Their mouth shifted into a grin, as a worthy opponent arrived in typical Legion fashion, ranting about the futility of their efforts.

  “My forces…are LEGION!”

  The male warrior, Ragnvald they called him, said, “Wha…what was that?”

  A crimson, massive, four-legged Pit Lord with wings that looked large enough to carry even its bulk came stomping down towards the body-covered beach. “Enough games! I will break you myself!” The demon stomped the ground, and the earth shook as it leapt and glided slightly into a charge towards them.

  The woman, who was called Finna, chuckled. “Well…will you look at that. Demon pigs can fly.”

  Ragnvald, was ecstatic. “At last! THIS is the glorious death Havi promised me!” He charged forward eagerly, meeting the Pit Lord head on.

  Finna shouted after him. “I say we kill the Demon, instead!” She looked downwards again. “Little Hero, you have proven yourself a worthy ally! Join us, in the hour of our greatest triumph! …or our deaths.”

  With a nod, the two warriors charged in as well, flanking the demon as Ragnvald tanked its blows, but not very well. He didn’t seem to mind though, as the demon's massive claws made blood spurt from torn veins in his arms and left furrows in the metal of his greatsword. “HAH! With all of us together, we may yet be victorious! Let us be about it then!” With a whirlwind of strikes that shook even the Pit Lord, Ragnvald drove it back up the ridge from whence it came.

  “You have to admire his courage.” Finna said, as she and the warrior charged again to catch up.

  The Pit Lord laughed, letting their weapons scratch uselessly at his armor. “Is this the best you can manage, weaklings? A few scratches? DIE like the insects you are!” With that, the Pit Lord struck straight through Ragnvald’s blade and chest, and ripped out his heart. The warriors watched in shock, as he died, and the demon consumed the organ with a bloody grin that suggested they were next.

  “Fight on…Hero… For me…the Halls await…” And with that, Ragnvald’s final breath was spent. Enraged, the two remaining warriors tore into the flagging Pit Lord but the brute’s admittedly impressive physical strength forced them back to the beach. Finna took over as the tank, but even the shield of her mother shattered under the demonic force of the Pit Lord. As it shattered apart, Finna didn’t falter, only becoming angrier, as she picked up a stray demonic longsword and switched to dual wielding to effectively vent all that fury. As they always had, the warrior continued almost mindlessly, relentlessly, tearing into the demon’s hide, only stopping when its tail or a spell came their way.

  “ENOUGH OF THIS!” The Pit Lord roared. “Face your Destruction!” He stuck an arm glowing with ominous black-green light forward at Finna, and the warrior charged in front of it, blocking most of the spell’s damage with their rather special axes. But it wasn’t enough.

  A glance behind them showed Finna missing her left half of her body, and the Disintegrate spell was working on the rest. All it needed was time, but the blank look in her eyes was one the warrior knew all too well. The expression on her face suggested she’d barely registered her death as what was left of her hit the beach.

  “You…you yet stand…? Impossible!’ The Pit Lord roared.

  Too enraged for words, and too wounded to waste breath on them, the warrior clashed alone with the Pit Lord, one on one, the force of their blows rolling across the field of scattered dead. Yet, despite their gear, their experience, the quality of their weapons, the warrior was but a mortal, a lone mortal, who did eventually take punishing amounts of damage. The Pit Lord seemed somewhere between enraged and impressed as the inconceivable mortal kept pace with them.

  But it could not last. In the end, their equipment broke before the warrior did, and the Pit Lord shamelessly took full advantage.

  Massive claws raked down them, removing a large and now properly rent plate pauldron, and leaving their breastplate hanging by a strap. Without a second thought, the warrior cut it loose and tossed it aside. That just made them faster, and eased the pain in what they assumed was a full set of broken ribs.

  The Pit Lord looked at himself, and then at the warrior with a smug, knowing smirk. “Death comes…a minor inconvenience for me, but you, Mortal…” The demon grinned wide, confident in his victory. This was not the Nether. He would return. “I WILL TAKE YOU WITH ME!”

  The warrior, as always, just kept swinging, but the Fel rupture the Pit Lord was tearing in the fabric of reality was slowing them, making attack or escape impossible from what was coming. Eventually, the demon reached the limit of even its strength, reality snapped back shut in an explosion of violent magic and Fel, and the warrior fell atop the Pit Lord’s smoldering corpse, feeling none of it.

  Fear, finally, began to creep in as their body died, and their conscious mind faded. There were no healers, this time. No Light, no warlock ‘soul cookies’, just the inevitable oncoming chill of Death rolling up their stiffening limbs. The wind howled over the shore, over the corpses of over a hundred demons, and every Vrykul who’d torn them apart. For what seemed like eternity, but was in actuality maybe three minutes, nothing happened.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Then, the skies lit with gold, and the golden Spirit Healer in armor grabbed the warrior, personally. “A valorous sacrifice, Hero! But…it is not yet your time!” Light erupted around them, and the warrior felt their body return to life once more. What was more, was their armor had also been repaired, restored, and upgraded apparently, as the warrior checked subtly and magically examined the changes in their gear. It's make was unlike anything they'd seen on Azeroth, save one place. The far northern reaches of Northrend. But this work, was far higher quality. Epic, some might say.

  She ascended skyward, alongside several other golden winged women in armor carrying the spirits of their newfound comrades. The warrior was beginning to think they were something different from Spirit Healers altogether. They pierced the clouds over the Broken Isles, and everything lit with gold. The warrior gasped, as they took it in.

  A majestic palace, made of some kind of golden metal, and flaring with power even the warrior could sense, occupied this heavenly plane. His warrior angel shouted, as she began to descend.

  “Welcome to Skyhold! Here, the brave live on forever!”

  The warrior knew they still lived, but as Danica, the Val’kyr, gave them the exposition on who they were and where they were, they wondered if they had actually died after all. They’d started hallucinating a bit when they’d died, and the chemicals were still fresh in their system. The entire realm…reminded them of that blue-gray space they went to, when on the brink of expiration. They knew Skyhold had to be in some sort of separate pocket plane, and given that souls of the dead were even then being funneled in behind them, the warrior concluded the afterlife had more than one realm for departed souls. It had to. Aside from themself, almost everyone here was Vrykul.

  “Odyn awaits you. I will announce you. Behave yourself in his presence, Hero.” Danica warned, before flying ahead.

  The warrior followed behind her at a mortal pace, arriving just in time for Odyn to rise from his throne. The Titan Keeper regarded the warrior, as they ran into the hall, and from both sides, feasting warriors stood and gathered to see what had drawn their lord’s attention.

  Odyn’s booming baritone echoed throughout the hall. “I have foreseen the coming of a mighty Champion to these broken shores. One who would slay countless foes and prove their valor time and again. One who would lead my armies to victory against the great darkness that seeks to devour this world!”

  Odyn raised a titanic finger, and leveled it at the warrior. A golden rune appeared on the floor of the hall, enveloping and surrounding them in the Keeper’s power. “You have proven yourself the greatest living Warrior on Azeroth. You have faced Ragnaros, Arthas, even Deathwing, and you have not faltered. Not once. From the moment you began your adventure you charged bravely into the arms of whatever enemy was foolish enough to stand in your way. And won. It is for these reasons, that I have saved you.”

  The rune flared, and Odyn continued as the Vrykul murmured quietly in awe. “I name you Valarjar! Bring glory to these halls on the wings of my Val’kyr! Go forth and speak with Danica. She will help you find a weapon worthy of my Battlelord.”

  The Vrykul erupted into cheers of applause and congratulations, and for some reason, that spurred them to continue feasting with more gusto. The warrior silently bowed to Odyn as he sat his throne again, and did as they were bid.

  When they rendezvoused with Danica near where they’d landed, the Val’kyr wasted no time in giving them their mission in that heavenly Stormheim accent. “To prove yourself worthy of the title Odyn grants you, you will face a test of your strength, alone, and reclaim the Warswords of the Valarjar from the wretch known as Vigfus Bladewind.”

  Danica led the Battlelord to the edge of Skyhold, and as they peered down, the warrior felt a sudden urge to leap. Danica’s warm, steadying light-bathed hand kept them grounded. “Aim for the Tideskorn Harbor, in Stormheim. When you leap, the power of Skyhold will send you to the right place. Good luck, Battlelord!”

  Danica flapped away, leaving the warrior at the precipice, as the other nearby Valarjar watched them. The warrior turned, focused, and then jumped. Power filled their body, and a rush of adrenaline filled them as they fell feet first through thousands of feet in seconds. They landed in an explosion of sand and mud, roaring at the heavens as they survived the landing and defied the laws of fall damage.

  “THAT…WAS…AWESOOOOME!”

  The howl of elation immediately gave away their presence, but that was fine with the warrior. There had been more than enough talking.

  Out of the mists around them came what could only be the Helarjar they’d been warned about. Undead Vrykul in the service of Helya. Admittedly, the warrior knew little of Odyn, Helya, or their history. But they’d cut down enough evil minions to know the Helarjar deserved what their axes gave them.

  They shouted out to their crew that they were being assaulted, and their leader shouted back that it was just one warrior. The axes the warrior had crafted from pieces of Deathwing himself had a new glow to them, as they parried the nameless minions of Vigfus, and cut them down with almost disturbing ease. Even without the Warswords, Odyn’s blessing was quite the power up.

  In a comparatively simple slaughter, the Battlelord of the Valarjar cut their way to Vigfus Bladewind, and by that point, Vigfus finally realized this was no ordinary assailant. Thus, he beseeched his ‘goddess’.

  “Helya! Aid your Champion! I will claim this prize in your name!”

  The Battlelord arrived right as the half submerged ruler of Hel empowered her chosen warrior. “So this is the Champion of Odyn. Let them die by Odyn’s own blades! I bless these weapons with the fury of Helheim! Go, Vigfus! Slay this champion and earn my favor for all Eternity!”

  Vigfus shone with deathly power as Helya empowered him, but the warrior was more focused on the Warswords. They were somehow shaped to resemble a Storm Dragon’s jaw, and yet were still quite sharp. They wanted them. The power, the aesthetic, that was very much in line with their style. The axes forged from the Dragon Aspect that shattered the planet were fun, but those swords were their destiny.

  They even made a slightly above average, at best, warrior like Vigfus unrivaled. Among his peers, at least. Against an actual warrior that had traversed the whole of Azeroth, he was no match.

  The warrior’s clash was too fast to follow, but everyone who would’ve been a spectator was now piles of seaweed. The Warswords were powerful, but in the hands of Vigfus they might as well have been sticks. The battle raged for about a minute before the Battlelord knocked one of the Warswords away, where it stuck point first in the muck.

  With one blade, Vigfus managed to block three times, before the warrior executed them with a powerful dual overhead slash that cut Vigfus in half. Seaweed bound the Helarjar’s wounds, as he shouted and fell back, unarmed.

  “I see… only darkness… Helya… No!…NO!”

  The ‘goddess’ pulled away from the shoreline in disgust. “Vigfus, you weak fool! Your torment will be unending!” Spectral chains dragged the begging Helarjar into the depths of Helheim, as the warrior stowed their trusty axes, and claimed their prize.

  Once they held both blades, the warrior, who hadn’t received much more than a few scratches from Vigfus’ entire crew, felt the blessing of Odyn again. But more than that…they realized Helya’s power was also still very much infused in the Warswords of the Valarjar.

  The warrior grinned at Helya with bloodlust in their now golden eyes. “Come, wretch! Odyn will reward me for your rotting head!”

  Helya scowled. Her blessings were not so easily undone, once given. Now Odyn’s newest clueless pawn would be unstoppable. “I grow weary of your presence! Tell Odyn that this changes nothing. He will suffer my wrath for ages to come!”

  The warrior sheathed the Warswords, and spat a juicy loogie in the direction of where she’d sunken into the water. “Weak words from a weak wretch! ANY TIME, ANY WHERE, WITCH!” They shouted. Helya made no visible response. Quitting the awful coastline, the Battlelord pictured Skyhold, and leapt.

  The blessings infusing them sent them hurtling hundreds of feet in the air, and they were pretty sure it was Danica who caught them.

  “Hail, Battlelord! Your victory was witnessed by all of Skyhold! Come! The other Valarjar have reclaimed weapons of power as well! Your old companions, Finna and Ragnvald, shall join you in aiding the strongest Heroes of Azeroth, gathering even now in Dalaran!”

  Not seeing Skyhold in the distance, the warrior asked, “Is that where we’re going?”

  “Aye!” Danica shouted, “Normally we would celebrate your victories for a fortnight! But the drums of war are thundering and Azeroth requires her Heroes! Fight well, Battlelord!”

  With that, Danica launched them towards the familiar Krasus’ Landing, and they landed with a thunderous crash beside their companions in death and glory.

  The warriors looked up, as the soft thump of Atiesh, Greatstaff of the Guardian and the Archmage who wielded it approached them.

  “Greetings, Warriors of the Valarjar. Please, join your fellow Heroes.” Khadgar gestured, and the warrior’s eyes widened. Heroes, both adventurers and faces of some renown, were gathered on the Landing, casually chatting. It was almost absurd to see, and yet, here they were.

  “Now…all we need all we need are the Demon Hunters, and the Druids.” Khadgar murmured, eyeing the unlikely conglomerate of heroes and adventurers. People and personalities that would normally never interact now stood together, armed with weapons of legend and infamy alike, from the Ashbringer to the Kingslayer daggers.

  “This may be the most powerful force ever assembled...” Khadgar said to himself, as the warriors had long since joined the forming Raid. They had both quality and quantity, but they were not yet complete. Of all the classes, Khadgar knew the druids and demonslayers in particular were vital. Archdruids could all heal, to varying degrees of effectiveness, and they had many powerful weapons of legend. And the Demon Hunters, well...it turned out they'd been right the entire time. Even if their methods were abhorrent, even classifiably insane, no one could argue they weren't necessary at this point. The Sargerite Keystone was the axis on which Azeroth's survival would likely hinge.

  The Archmage stared at the Fel green and gray clouds over the Broken Isles, as he recalled a story that his friend Rhonin had once told him. Of how the druid Malfurion and his brother Illidan had wielded the Dragon Soul against Sargeras himself.

  It had been a tale of time travel, dragons, demons, and love triangles. And the more Khadgar learned of the history in these broken shores, the more he believed it.