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81. Surfacing
🕑 Added 2025-08-12 15:42:18 +0000 UTCI growled, claws digging into the chitinous floor as I swallowed a tooth that regrew moments later. I wasn't going to waste my biomass.
Another battle, another victory, and another drain on my resources. I never knew a few measly kilometers could feel endless. But clearly, it could.
It was not very pleasant, as one might expect.
But the higher I went, the greater the chaos. This hadn't been a single tunnel that collapsed; it was dozens, if not hundreds, utterly ravaging the integrity of the soil and everything below.
Naturally, this earthquake–it couldn't be anything else, if not in name, in effect–affected the qiraji and their slaves in equal measure. I was a target, the last few painful hours proved to me beyond any doubt of such.
The stunt that forced me underground, as if Azeroth had grown a fanged maw to swallow me, made tracking me difficult.
Well, at least when I manage to get out of their antennas and compound eyes. But everything was double-edged; I couldn't dig everywhere I wished.
I could, in theory, commune with earth spirits, but it would take time, concentration, and effort–all of which I sorely lacked–for minimal results.
Adding to that is the nastiness of the spirits around here.
Getting buried alive wasn't just a risk but a reality that had happened too many times when my mind slipped. Not that it didn't happen when I was focused.
I was getting sloppy, unable to focus with my every thought haunted by my brief forced plunges in the Emerald Nightmare. It wasn't its heart or anywhere close, but that didn't matter.
It touched me. It wanted me. And it would go to great lengths to satisfy its desire.
The rapid increase in fault lines and collapsed tunnels brought good news: the surface was approaching. Yet with their presence, moving was a game of even more expensive tactfulness.
I was terrible at it. Try as I might, I wasn't stealthy or gentle. Well, it was not enough for it to matter.
Still, battles ensued, and I fought. But injuries weren't only on me, Qiraji and silithids suffered in the collapse and couldn't be brought back to full health in seconds.
They healed fast, but not that fast.
It felt like hours, if not an entire day, of this game of whack-a-mole and that game with wood blocks you took. Only the stakes were impossibly higher.
However, I faced worse, and my fear regarding the Twin Emperors was proved unfounded. They would have been a pair of foe I would very likely die to.
Not win or flee, die. Resonating crystals remained, suspiciously in good conditions, might I add, as were the larger cavities housing larvae, food, and such.
The ancestors were generous, and that didn't happen, but I had been uncomfortably close to being in real danger more than once.
This was all to come to an end very soon, though. I was smelling fresh air, well, dry and hot, but that wasn't the stale rotting one down under.
If there was anything that could motivate me, it was exactly that, so I was back as an oversized and hypertrophied ottuk digging.
Then it happened. First, extremely fine sand was infiltrating my tunnel. I sensed it with my roots first, and with the composition, I had a good idea of what I was touching.
However, the sand shifting through the holes was another matter, and I was euphoric about it for a long time.
Nothing more than an illusion, as I was quickly forced to eat and breathe sand.
I didn't hate sand, I merely found it annoying, wet sand to be precise, and as I didn't sweat, only places like beaches proved inconvenient.
Yet that didn't mean having tons upon tons of those tiny rocks, powdered bone, and seashells hitting like the mother of all avalanches didn't further piss me off.
I killed a lot, but this act of deserved slaughter did a poor job of drowning the firestorm in my heart. The opposite, it kept on growing, brighter, and at a quicker rate.
I was going to find Xavius, destroy his existence, rip his bark, and have beetle larvae eat his insides.
Malfurion failed at that, too–killing him. It's not that I entirely blamed him much for that; transmutation into a tree had the tendency to make one impotent. And insane, and unable to think, mostly.
But treants and Ancients proved that meat brains weren't needed for sapience. That was likely what he partly became, given he was one of the strongest mages in history, period. Easily top five.
Still, I didn't know how that piece of demon-touched highborn boot licker got this power. I did have the obvious blame on Old Gods fuckery, but the amount of luck involved was staggering.
All this sand reminded me of the bronze dragons or their corrupted alternate selves, their mere existence making my temple throb in pain.
Those thoughts were a good diversion, but ultimately, the sand was omnipresent, getting where it shouldn't. And it did so regardless until it stopped.
And it did because I emerged like an orca headbutting a penguin.
Sand flew, but before I landed on its scorching, unstable surface, I did the same, my front limbs and fingers elongated to give ample space for thick leathery membranes.
I was in the sky soon after, for once happy to feel like I was boiling alive.
"Almost an entire day…" I hissed, spotting the position of the setting sun, "Or more… and oh… it was an earthquake alright."
I mused, staring at the distant ground where the desert of Silithus had seemed to eat itself. The scars on the land went as far as my sight could go, from the ocean to the inside of the continent.
My eyes zeroed in on the Sara'shenia Forest, and the gravity of the damage was significantly lower from the sturdy root and mycelium system, with the soil work by our shamans to further that.
It was noticeable even from where I was.
Nearly a fifth of it had sunk; pillars and roots held islands, while entire sections were sloped to the point of falling down the gaping holes.
That was only the surface, too.
'How many died?' I thought with a soft growl as I veered down to Cenarion Hold. It was in relatively good condition, given it was the heart of this flytrap of a jungle. The name wasn't random.
Then my mind veered back to Tur. I needed to check on him, so I flew quickly.
But I had been spotted far earlier, and as such, it was what I might call a welcoming party. Though I didn't spot any Wild Gods or notable authorities, they must be away. Or worse, but those were thoughts for later.
There were a lot of movements, people running around and clearing the way, and their voices varied and were positive.
I wished to share their joy, alas, reality proved to be a mean bitch time and time again.
My first words when I landed were very much straight to the point, "Where is my student, Tur Ragepaw? I demand to see him!"
Confusion was brief, broken by a male dark troll who was also a student of mine, Jalka.
"Teacha' ya back?! Follow me! He be in stasis in de floral womb!"
I didn't waste time, almost bulldozing my way through the crowd, forcing Jalka to run even to hope to keep up; however, I suddenly stopped.
Right. My situation. I didn't care if it was paranoia, you never had enough against the Void, and its nature corrupted counterpart specifically.
"I need a squadron of Elune's children, Light users, and a dreaming courier!" And unsurprisingly, my command was heeded right away by said squadron of priestesses and priests, who weren't doing anything.
The same was for Light users, who were mostly kobolds, as were the first, mainly night elves. The rat men were absolutely obsessed with this force, not that I was complaining. The few books we stole from the humans were only helping.
"What is your request, Lord Ohto?" The head priestess, by the look of it, asked, elven ear tips shifting to her emotions.
An amusing quirk some kaldorei had from vestigial muscles, I couldn't care less right about now.
I resumed walking, motioning to them to follow with a wave of a paw, but only when people were growing sparse, and we approached the healing chamber, did I answer.
"Simple, watch over me, the flow of energies as I tend to Tur. You didn't hear from me as I had complications of the Shadow magic variety." I paused my round ears, turning to the soft tap of the dryad's delicate cloven hooves.
"We have a Black Tenax category three, and we sent the messages to every Representative with Tyrande and Brightwaggle as priority. Have Malfurion informed too, and add that the transfigured tree is alive and obeying masters with too many eyes." I finished, necessarily cryptic.
Let's avoid panic.
Black Tenax was one of the codes for each Representative. The color was our state, the second was a plant or part of the appellation of one symbolic to us, and the number added further specification.
The half-kaldorei half-doe made a squeak-like noise before adding a clipped yes, and with a surge, she vanished from the waking world.
Dryads were among our best for communication for that reason.
Slipping away in the Dreaming, in a Nature mana-rich environment and with a sublime affinity to wild spirits, made them invaluable. They weren't half bad fighters as well, if fragile when caught, not that it was an easy task.
This done, I advanced inward, passing by the numerous floral wombs, very few of which were free. It was a grisly sight, a demonstration in flesh and blood of the ravage that unfolded beyond war itself.
The Healing Hall was never empty, logically, but the number of wounded had only the Battle of Mount Hyjal for comparison.
And it was the Wild alone. I wouldn't cry over the Horde loss, but I wasn't heartless. They didn't have access to our healing facilities, but we had restoration druids and the likes over there, in theory.
I had no clue about the present.
"Jalka, debrief me of what happened when I was gone while you-" My claws pointing to the faithful of Elune and mostly kobold Light wielders, "-push your best purification around me like a cage, filter anything that isn't Life or Nature from my coming spells. Don't hold back."
"Um! Yes, teacha', er de be a massive earthquake yesterday but dat ya know… we and de Horde are searchin' and healin' survivors and clearin' de ways. De obvious. And well, ya be here so rescue for ya be done. Outside, tension and a war almost broke out." The young troll rattled.
Meanwhile, I spotted Tur and felt a new surge of burning rage quickly doused in shame and guilt. Irrational, but that was anathema to emotions.
He was floating in the amniotic fluid of his floral womb, feeding fleshy vines that served as sensors to input his vitals and every tidbit of details about his bloodwork and the like.
I didn't have to say anything for my mismatched escort to begin; their magic, the soft golden glow of candlelight, and the moonlight silver shine flowed around me.
Together, they created an imitation of a tapestry that was functional and professional in method. They worked together, always, but competition existed.
You can't take it out, but the Wild's high standards were respected.
The Wild Hunt was an elite force, but that didn't mean the others were any less.
And there were adventurers in that mix, they were glaringly obvious by their–let's say, to not be insulting–creatively put together purely practical garbs.
Observation aside, my spellwork began, my mana passing through the filter as I concentrated.
My control was poor, but I was no cub to mana control, so I simplified, used more magic, and limited complex techniques.
For short, dumbing down my spells. I couldn't fix Tur's brain even with my full capacity. There's no point in being fancy; I needn't see the extent to realize this.
What I saw increased my deep frown and led to a snarl to split my muzzle like it was cut in half. I cleaned the blood to the best of my abilities. I couldn't go deep, but that was better than letting it here.
He was going to live. That wasn't a relief; his higher thought capabilities and memories weren't likely to be touched, but the damage to other brain sections was extensive.
"There's a low chance he would speak again, his left eye, ear, and most of his face would be numb and partly paralyzed. Potential loss of motor functions for the same side." I stated, my rage bleeding into my clinical assessment.
It wasn't definitive.
Far from it, for the most part, some things are more complicated to fix and would never be the same. But it happened and could still worsen.
I continued my checkup, reviewing his healed body, and was pleased with the healing quality. It wasn't perfect, but my student body with the womb could do the rest.
Then I returned to the present, focusing on the ones I called. They went alert immediately, their bodies instinctively shifting to trained standing formation.
"You may stop, you aren't dismissed, though. Don't worry, you won't go unrewarded. Follow me." And they did as we left Hall, I had Tyrande and Brightwaggle to meet.
The two shouldn't take long to arrive from the Dream Portal with their own followers to escort me through the Nightmare. Green dragons would likely be here even if the quarantine took place outside their domain.
I was too important to ignore. Now to wait, however.
Comments
Petrox
I guess Alex could fix brains
