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39. End of Eternity
🕑 Added 2025-03-11 15:50:00 +0000 UTCI flew low to the ground, weaving between structures and plants already present or that Groot was raising. Walls of thorns were grown, and seeds rained down to grow a trail of twisted trees in my wake.
I took sharp turns, shifting up and down, moving erratically with bursts of speed and slowness.
Clouds of puffshrooms' spores periodically poofed to obscure my form and make it difficult to distinguish my head from other parts.
Yet, ultimately, it wasn't even an inconvenience to Archimonde, whose derisive laughter proved this much if his actions were not proof enough.
"You can run, you can hide, but you can't escape your destiny, insolent mut." I stifled a screech as another of those fucking 'Finger of Death' struck my lower back, killing most of my momentum.
My muscles seized, and I felt my organs being wrenched upward from within like hooks were digging into me, and the only solution was to let it go.
Not all of it, but the touched parts were better left abandoned while I saved as much tissue as possible.
I had seen what this spell did multiple times beyond being intimately aware of its violation of the body.
It inverted the skin and everything below aside from the central nervous system, heart, lungs, certain tendons, muscles, and bones.
The rest was forced out; it would be marvelous to see how smooth and well-made it was if it was literally anything but that horrific shit.
If I weren't well-versed in the art of sculpting my flesh to my will and didn't have a certain degree of control.
It would have been my fate five seconds after getting hit. It didn't just kill, too; you didn't immediately die.
It was something out of a maniacal sadist's fever dream. It was conceptualized to generate suffering first. It could shut down the nervous system, but it explicitly didn't, besides flaring up pain sensors.
From the little I saw, the victims 'lived' for a few seconds.
Or rather, they remained conscious and delirious with pain for as long as their unfolded bodies could endure—short as it may be. It wasn't to directly kill; the death was a byproduct of virtually everything getting shafted out.
The pain involved was exacerbated beyond reason for no purpose besides pain and drama.
It was beyond wasteful and unreasonable—though those were two points of thousands to hate it and the creator behind it.
Not that such a creature would ever possess the capability of reason.
Still, by the ancestors, without that, I would have probably been dead if it was anyone close to a more plain beam of Fel anywhere at any notable percentile of Archimonde's power.
He was toying with me, maddening as it was. I recognized the hidden blessing in this curse for a given worth of that 'blessing.'
'Here!' I internally rejoiced as the first sentinels made their presence known in a rain of silvery arrows. I couldn't see where it all landed, but my echo localization gave me a good picture of what my vision missed.
They hit their marks. And arrows were a fraction of the elven machinery shooting large shuriken-like projectiles, blasts, and beams of natural energies; the last stalling phase began now.
It had begun for some time, to be frank, but it grew in intensity every moment.
It was utter chaos with no clear lines or distinct continuous tactics. It was everything, everywhere, all at once, though it wasn't disharmonious. The enemies were clear and the target of everyone's ire.
It would be a lie to say there was an absence of fratricide if enough demons and undead were present… mostly from kaldorei.
But it wasn't exclusive to them, yet it remained minor.
The withdrawing Horde had been thrown into disarray by Archimonde bulldozing through them and massacring to his heart's content in his strolling 'pursuit' of me. The Legion and Scourge naturally poured from the gaping cracks.
Words failed to describe it beyond that all–the Horde, the Alliance, and us, the Wild–worked as one broken machine to fend off the heralds of doom.
It wasn't beautiful, glorious, or fantastical; it was a war for our survival, for Azeroth's survival. There was nothing to praise or venerate unless we won.
Brutality, ugliness, and despair balled into a tattered plan surrounding the demon lord, who walked around and laughed as he brought destruction until the trap was armed.
Spells fizzled out against Archimonde's dark blue skin and, when they actually landed, did virtually nothing.
Thrall's strongest attack seemed to tickle him at best and had Jaina save him at the last second by forced teleportation. Or so I presumed; he didn't have that skill.
Warriors of all races slowly withered around if they weren't crushed under hooves or cooked alive. Or had their life force sucked out of them. Or dozens of different yet equally agonizing ends.
Not that they could do much from the beginning to the roughly hundred-meter-tall giant demon that never ceased to grow.
And projectiles did no better than the spells. They were splinters that didn't draw blood if they went through. The eredar lord's hide was unnaturally resistant and extremely thick at fault.
Even if they did damage, what of it? Vital and vulnerable parts were either too high or protected both.
It was, at best, an annoyance, to put it exceptionally generously, and it earned the brave shooters' immediate horrific death.
It was the same for priests, mages, shamans, and druids who made themselves a 'nuisance.' Insects to be crushed by the hundreds.
Entire portions of the battlefield were annihilated by a concentrated laser of the vilest Fel and rain of infernals for the luckiest.
Only Tyrande managed to avoid this fate–or at least she was the most able–not that I saw her. But the periodic hail of concentrated stars and moonlight with arrows charged with both could only be hers.
Our collective effort and might were mere distractions, poor ones at that. I was simply the biggest for the demon lord, but it stopped me from doing anything else worthwhile.
I took a chunk of that demon focus, which was more than many. My unwillingness was of no value in that fact.
It didn't get any better at every second that went by.
Our front was breaking apart worryingly but unsurprisingly fast. And I was aware Malfurion's preparation wasn't ready through the spirits and the roots of the World Tree.
Though it wouldn't be long, that was the sliver of hope I needed to hold on too tightly.
It was obviously for anyone in tune with the natural world. It couldn't continue.
I shifted up and then down in a spin, earning me a light brush of that dreadful spell with a muffled screech coming out. My wound, like earlier, closed up from the aborted non-vital body parts moments after.
'I can't keep this up infinitely.' I frowned. I wasn't shy about eating the golden acorns I had made. They pumped purified life force into me, but the verdict remained unchanged.
And the Fel… It was getting exhausting. It was seeping in like the parasite that it was after each hit. It would need far more to be a threat, and I could cleanse it, but now… it was frustrating.
I couldn't keep this up forever, and I won't be able to fly straight for long.
We weren't far enough from Nordrassil for that to be possible anymore, and going in circles was what I was starting to do. A strategy that was doomed to failure.
And I was having enough of fleeing like a coward. So I stopped, twisting myself into a kobold tunnel on all fours for a short breather, my heart hammering madly in my chest.
I focused on healing my wounds, internal and external, patching them up for pain and bleeding. The lost organs and tissues were a non-problem right now; if they weren't vital, I could do without them for some time.
My eyes squinted as a candlelight walked towards me. Under it, the long muzzle with small round ears and large eyes came into view.
"Candlebringer?! Are you alright? Do Keebler must help!" The distressed, squeaky voice of the tiny rat man reached me right after, and a strained, if honest, smile came to my muzzle.
"No, no, but go away unless you wish to have your candlelight extinguished," I responded mid-pant, throwing a globule of healing at him.
He meeped in joy, his beady eyes boggled out, but of course, this time of relaxation couldn't fucking last a second longer.
The ground trembled, stone and dust falling from the sturdy tunnel ceiling.
The kobold squealed and hastily did as asked while I pushed forward to the closest way out. But it was the exit that came for my rising dread; it had been scrapped off in a beam of bright, toxic green.
"Here you are…" Archimonde intoned, staring down at me, casting a massive shadow.
I was airborne the next moment, but not of my free will.
Blood was spilling from my wide-open maw, and my eyes bulged out. Pain flared in my lower abdomen, and my body almost folded from the brutal impact of the hoof.
"...scrambling among your varmints kindred." He ended. The kick had sent me flying like I weighed nothing as he stared contemptuously.
I was stunned but quickly got back into shape; the damages were minimal–a single broken rib healed instantaneously–and I became a bloodwing bat before meeting the ground.
I didn't feel fear, however…
This… this overpowered it. Frustration, born of hate, shame, and terror, erupted from within me that had been bubbling with the accumulated stress from the past weeks exploded at once.
It was something burning, incessant, that I couldn't hold anymore. The trained restraints snapped and went loose, and there wasn't a way to mend them.
It was anger—catatonic rage. I presumed. Not that I cared much for introspection at this very instant or that I would do something foolish; I lacked any workable alternative.
I blew the Spirit Whistle; Groot was my hand in the endeavor.
"Ancestors, I beseech you, grant me your might and wisdom!" And they did with eagerness beyond any; my taxed mana pool dried even more. But I could go on longer, though not long.
My mind and senses sharpened, and I felt my movement smoothen, optimized to the utmost by millennia of experience. Intuition forged into instinct flowed through me as I became one with the ancestral spirits of the furbolg.
I also swallowed three golden acorns with my treant's help and flew to Archimonde, keeping myself close to the ground.
The flaps of my wings were quick and powerful, cutting the distance in a heartbeat.
Running away led nowhere, and I couldn't take it anymore from that arrogant stain. I didn't hold illusions of success, but what could I do?
"Ah, you're coming for me. A daring but ultimately futile effort, mortal." The demon lord chortled, his profane aura burning my continually healing eyes as he tried and failed to stomp on me.
The ground exploded right where I had been, and the impact was strong enough to feel the wind in my fur and the shock wave in my bones, but that didn't stop me.
The next instant, I was at his waist. My body moved faster than my complex, though. It was almost not enough.
Like an oddly large wasp, I barely dodged his lazy yet far too agile swat, crushing the area a dozen meters behind simultaneously.
His movement alone almost sent me in a whirlwind by the sheer amount of air moved and the heat of his body. I have never felt so small, or insignificant, and it only pissed me off more.
Bolts and seeds from my mounted crossbows pelted the gigantic arm and unprotected torso for the little worth they did as I veered up.
My talons, infused with Life, scraped against the skin, leaving a white trail but not much else—not even scratches.
I was rocked to the side by another slap, but I caught the smoldering wind in my leathery wing and dodged the hit at the last moment.
Green fire licked my fur as the giant palm made a blazing Fel inferno where I once was.
"Annoying little pest." Archimonde snapped in anger, but he stubbornly kept his tactics.
I dodged once more, the two clawed hands having clapped behind me in a hellish firework so hot it burned deep into my exposed skin, pushing me even higher.
My only response was more bolts shot alongside his neck, tentacles, and chin.
I gracefully used every percent of the scalding hot air he made for my goal—something that would have been impossible without the assistance of my ancestors.
I arrived face to face with him, and my full wingspan was less than a third of his visage, frozen in a sneer.
Sharp fangs up and down with white teeth moving as they formed words. I was far past the point of caring to listen to his megalomaniacal rambling.
His eyes were miniature suns of putrid green, following my every movement as I glared right into them–the right one, to be precise. I rose above, and his head followed suit.
Then, those malice-filled organs widened in confusion as my form became that of a furbolg, right over the right one.
"What are-" My insides shifted, and bones exploded from my skull and chest while wood made a thick shell.
I bore the pain and wrongness of that necessary action and swallowed my remaining acorns, which Groot had fed directly to me. The regular seeds left grew, adding layers to my armor, be they thorns, leaves, or roots.
Then gravity and closeness with my momentum did the rest.
My metallic claws, glowing with emerald and ruby, sliced through the blinding iris of Archimonde's eyes with ease.
My two full paws plunged right after to the shoulders, my fur burned, and my skin melted.
It was like putting my body on fire. A muffled roar came out of me, but I didn't relent. I couldn't. I wasn't finished. Groot was of no different opinion; he was equally angry and in pain as I.
I had begun my work as soon as my first knuckles were in the eye, but the pointy and barbed bones from my arms expanded into the eyeball, mimicking roots in the soft forest soil.
I grinned like mad at the howl of bonafide pain, rage, and shock that followed. It was euphoric even with the agony, even with the sickening smell of demon blood and scorching of my lungs.
Alas, it didn't last. I screamed as I was torn off, ripped off like a bee with its stinger still in.
My shoulder joints popped loudly, and everything below was ripped away from the burn and strength in the pull with a sickening squelch. My arms were gone.
My brain reeled from the loss as I was held high in a crushing hold from my lower body, snapping me back to reality.
Fight as I might, it was in vain. The ghostly limbs were inferior to my true ones, and my efforts were asinine.
I glowered and bared my fangs at the demon lord's enraged snarl. His right eye was closed and profusely bleeding, to my profound joy.
I screamed louder as my pelvis, spine, and legs were ground, and the bone fragments mingled with what became my viscera, fat, and muscles.
And it was burning, smoldering against my exposed crushed insides.
But I wasn't bleeding out; the arteries and veins were sealed under my command, and the Life energies coursing through me with my fine-tuning kept me from entering into shock or losing consciousness.
"Once I devour this world's soul, I will enslave and torture yours for eternity. Do survive for my future enjoyment, furbolg. I know you will." Archimonde growled, and I was discarded with a lazy throw as he marched forward to Nordrassil again.
"Groot!" My friend answered. Roots from my armor weaved structures akin to articulated limbs and tentacles, and my bones formed a sphere around what remained of me.
I landed roughly, the hasty shields softening most of it.
I canceled the spiritual connection; it was too taxing. The praise afterward was acknowledged but far from my focus.
The sudden separation from this pool of knowledge was a cold shower, making my mind catch up to what happened at once.
I was alive, and I chuckled weakly among my loud heaving, with my heart feeling like it was going to burst in its protective layers and my pounding headache ringing in the background.
I was barely holding on, but I was far from dying of those injuries. My heart and brain were spotless, my lungs hurting but working, and I had enough blood.
But I was defenseless, a ruined limbless body in the middle of a battlefield, and that was unfavorable to the extreme.
The sensation of powerlessness and nothingness from a lack of limbs was no better.
'I need to hide and heal…' Roots and bones shifted to hoist me up and drag my form to a tunnel like a chimera of a centipede, centaur, and spider.
Be that as it may, the 'legs' worked well enough for their purposes. Even if Groot wasn't healthy in the least, he was in better shape than me still.
My wildly shifting eyes locked from the chaos of the battlefield to the source of a smell I recognized as Grommash Hellscream.
He stared at me with incomprehension, and I noted fear as he raised his axe briefly.
I continued to 'walk' on those short stilts, my eyes on him all the while as my flesh and skin wiggled, beginning the regeneration of my mangled body parts.
He was gone the next second, leaving behind a single sentence in Orcish simple enough for me to understand amidst the agony of my current state.
I was holding on to life by a thread.
"Beast, no, you're more than that… can you even die?"
Luckily, for once, in this forsaken battle, something went right. As I dragged my half-burned slug of a body, two furbolgs rushed to me: a shaman and a warrior. Behind them was the same kobold from earlier.
"Chosen of the Twins, let us bring you to safety!" It was the middle-aged shaman borderline hysterical as she held on from showing too much horror at my state.
"Lead me to a tunnel." I rasped, my voice wet, harsh, and dry at the same time but firm.
"Here-here! Candlebringer, Keebler can help!" And we did, shockingly little getting in the way as we followed the rat man.
Before reaching the tunnel, a fanged predatory smile suddenly split my closed muzzle, and a deep, resounding chuckle followed.
It was painful, but I went on regardless, even louder.
"What is the matter, Honored Shaman?" The male furbolg asked with worried confusion, and I tilted my head up to the World Tree, where the now titanic eredar I blinded two times confidently sauntered to.
"Observe," I answered, and the deep hum of a horn echoed. Then, thousand upon thousands of whisps, each brighter than the stars, swarmed Archimonde in their tapestries.
I could hear the roar of pain from here as his body began to break apart. My grin grew even wider when Nordrassil shined in, coalescing raw, primal energies.
There was a bright prismatic light, with the shadow of the demon lord yelling to the sky within. Then it ended, and he was no more; fire followed.
The giant tree's crown became ash, and the trunk came second as the wave of energy swiped the land. The last shred of Archimonde's defiantly pitiful screech reached us.
"We won." I whispered in disbelief and boomed the last portion, "By Ursoc and Ursol, Archimonde is no more!"
However, I knew better, but I wouldn't be in shape for the cleanup of the demons freaking out, breaking formation, and the retreating undead.
Yet that hardly dulled my happiness and relief. We have won. I couldn't believe it, but my eyes and ears weren't deceiving me.
We have won, I have survived, the furbolgs have survived, and the knowledge it was only a step forward didn't dampen my mood.
"We have won." I repeated, the results from the wounds and burns clear in my voice, but it didn't stop me, "The Burning Legion has been defeated."
'For now…' The last part went unsaid, and then I growled and swore from the pain. It was so much I was numb, yet not. I needed to go now.
Comments
Mika Willems
I've got the feeling that Ohto is gonna die eventually and gonna sucker punch the manifestation of death in the face to return to life. Local bear literally too angry to die.
TITOO
Don't forget he has second and third degrees burns everywhere even on exposed flesh. Grom saw something that shook him.
TITOO
Being the ultimate cockroach is Ohto's life goal after all.
Asura
Let’s go! Our boy won🔥💥👏 Thanks for the badass chapter
Bat
That’s some body horror going on for our MC right now. How grotesque must he look right now with limbs missing and him basically animating his body to move anyway.
Mika Willems
Bruh, our dear bear is literally the Incredible Hulk. Bastard can survive anything. XD
