Deep within Felwood Forest, the Fel corruption had reached a staggering level. The once-lush greenery was withered and twisted; the earth had cracked open, oozing thick, pulsating green Fel sludge. The very air was thick with the stench of sulfur and decay.
"Illidan, this forest is heavily corrupted. Do you think the lingering Fel energy can ever be purged by the forest itself?" Rhodes asked, looking at the desolate landscape.
In the original timeline, even by the era of World of Warcraft, this corruption remained unpurified, transforming a sacred demigod's domain into a breeding ground for evil.
"If the Demigod Cenarius comes, along with the Archdruids, and they spend considerable time within the Emerald Dream, they could eventually purge the Fel and heal the land," Illidan replied. "Time is the ultimate healer; in hundreds or perhaps a thousand years, it might recover. But for now, we are powerless. The infection has taken root."
"I was thinking of a different approach," Rhodes mused. "What if you tried to drain the Fel energy from the land itself?"
"You're overthinking it. I can't do that," Illidan said, sounding a bit exasperated. "The Fel in the earth is too sparse and deep-seated. It's not concentrated like it is in a living organism. Let's keep moving."
What is this guy thinking? Illidan wondered. Does he think I'm Sargeras?
Rhodes shrugged. In Heroes of Might and Magic, there was a specialized spell called "Remove Obstacle." He wondered if Fel corruption counted as an "obstacle" that could be cleared.
Perhaps in the future, he could experiment with Holy Light or Life energy. Holy Light countered Fel; maybe he could bring Uther and other Paladins back here to see if summoning Light Elementals could cleanse the soil.
As they pushed deeper, the demon patrols became denser and more powerful. Rhodes was itching to try a large-scale spell. With his Advanced Earth Magic and a Power attribute of 9, a "Death Ripple" would be devastating. Any demon with less than 100 HP would be obliterated instantly—though, of course, the undead would be unaffected.
Soon, a force of about two thousand demons and ten thousand undead appeared before them. At the center sat a five-meter-tall, bald, bat-winged figure: the Dreadlord Tichondrius. He was the primary target, a foe whose raw power rivaled even that of the Pit Lord Mannoroth.
"We won't be able to sneak in, Rhodes," Illidan said, turning to him. "We need a spell with massive destructive potential."
"I have just the thing," Rhodes replied, "but it hits every living soul except the undead and me. You'll be a target too."
"I know the power of that spell; I saw you use it before. To be honest, I wanted to learn it back then, but I could never grasp it," Illidan said, taking a deep breath. "Just use it. I can handle the damage."
Rhodes actually had an even more terrifying fire spell called "Armageddon," but that was a true world-ender. For now, he decided to stick with Earth magic. He also realized he had "stolen" a skill from Arthas during their many clashes: Anti-Magic Shell.
Rhodes proceeded to stack defensive buffs on Illidan: Shield, Stone Skin, Arcane Shield, Ice Armor, and finally, the newly learned Anti-Magic Shell. With these five layers, the damage Illidan would take from the Death Ripple would be reduced by more than half.
"Ready, Illidan?" Rhodes opened his spellbook.
There were no flashy special effects—just a single, blood-red ripple that expanded outward from Rhodes's body.
The surrounding demons sensed a lethal threat. They hissed and growled in unease. Even Tichondrius, sitting atop his throne of bones, narrowed his eyes. "What is that spell? Such a loathsome aura..."
"Death Ripple!"
Woom—!!!
A silent, soul-shaking crimson wave surged outward like a pebble dropped in a still pond. Where the ripple passed, space itself seemed to warp, and the light grew dim.
The wave first hit the Felhunters and Imps. These low-level demons didn't even have time to scream; the Fel fire in their eyes vanished, and their bodies withered into ash instantly. Next were the Felguards, Succubi, and Doomguards. Their toughened demonic hides were useless. The ripple passed through them, and they collapsed like puppets with their strings cut, their souls forced back into the Twisting Nether.
Eyeballs and Doomguards fell from the sky like leaden rain, splattering into piles of rotting meat.
As Rhodes predicted, the undead stood motionless and unharmed, but for anything with a spark of life—even twisted demonic life—it was a catastrophe.
Standing next to Rhodes, Illidan felt a bone-chilling cold clawing at his life force despite his layers of shields. He groaned as his own Fel flames flared up to resist the death energy. The shields flickered violently, absorbing most of the impact, but he still felt a momentary wave of weakness. He was secretly shocked by the sheer variety and power of Rhodes's repertoire.
When the ripple finally faded, the battlefield was eerily silent.
Over eighty percent of the once-massive demon army had been reduced to ash or lifeless husks. Only a few high-ranking demon officers remained, gasping for breath and heavily wounded. The undead stood aimlessly, confused by the sudden loss of their masters.
Tichondrius stood up, jaw dropped in pure disbelief. His entire legion had been nearly wiped out by a single spell.