Not long ago, atop the Frozen Throne, the consciousness of Ner'zhul, the Lich King, was enduring an unimaginable assault. It was not a physical strike, but a surge of violent, profane magical energy tearing across the infinite void. It hammered relentlessly against the ice and armor binding his soul, seeking to sever his psychic link with the Scourge.
"Argh—!" A silent roar echoed through the mental realm. The attack was as eerie as it was fierce, saturated with a dense Fel signature, yet it did not match the techniques of any Burning Legion demon lord he knew.
Who is this? Another of Kil'jaeden's daggers? Or... something else? The Lich King's will writhed in agony. He could feel his control over the undead in the Eastern Kingdoms wavering and fracturing. The recent annihilation of his legion and their loss of contact were undoubtedly linked to this.
I must... stabilize... I must find this assailant!
The reason Rhodes's camp had been attacked by the Scourge was a direct result of the Lich King's desperation. Unable to pinpoint the exact location of the ritual, the Lich King had determined the source was somewhere near Dalaran.
He had ordered his legions to strike out in all directions, to scour every inch of living territory—even if they had to dig three feet underground—to find the one attacking him. If he failed to stop them, he would be utterly destroyed.
Illidan Stormrage hovered in mid-air, the Eye of Sargeras suspended before him. It pulsated with cataclysmic energy. Massive amounts of Fel were being gathered and channeled through a complex runic array, aimed directly at the distant Frozen Throne in Northrend. Around the array, several Naga sea witches were focused entirely on maintaining the ritual's stability.
The old orc, Drak'thul, stepped forward and bowed slightly to Illidan, his eyes hidden in the shadows of his hood. "Mighty Demon Hunter Illidan Stormrage, I have heard of your grand undertaking to end the threat of the Lich King and the Legion. I, Drak'thul, wish to offer my knowledge and strength. I am a powerful warlock."
"My people are the Orcs. We once lived freely on the planet Draenor, enjoying a rare peace. But one day, that peace was shattered," the old orc continued. "The demons of the Burning Legion seduced our shamans, deceiving them with promises of power, when their true goal was the enslavement of our race. Our world was destroyed, and our people were cast into Azeroth. Having claimed the Skull of Gul'dan, you must surely understand the tragedy of our world."
Illidan spared a fraction of his attention to glance at the old orc. He was fully committed to destroying the Frozen Throne, but he was not one to reject a source of power—especially one that claimed to oppose the Legion. Having absorbed the memories from Gul'dan's skull, he knew the history of the Orcs well. Based on those memories, this orc before him was a master who had once been second only to Gul'dan within the Shadow Council.
However, one thing struck Illidan as strange. According to Gul'dan's memories, the members of the Shadow Council reveled in Fel energy; they were the loyal lapdogs of the Burning Legion. Illidan suspected this orc might be a plant sent by the Legion to infiltrate him—perhaps a test from Kil'jaeden to see if he was truly serving their interests.
"I know who you are, Drak'thul—High Warlock of the Shadow Council, one of Gul'dan's chief lieutenants. I assumed you had perished in the Tomb of Sargeras on the Broken Isles along with the rest," Illidan said from his elevated position. "Yet you have survived. Who ordered you to seek me out?"
"Lord Illidan, as you can see, I did not die in that tomb. I merely wished to live out my final years in peace, but someone would not let me rest. Thus, I have returned to the fray," Drak'thul said with a faint smile.
Rhodes had anticipated that Illidan wouldn't be easily fooled, so he hadn't instructed Drak'thul to hide his identity.
"Kil'jaeden sent you, didn't he? You Shadow Council members are devoted zealots of the Legion," Illidan said, as if he had solved a puzzle. He couldn't imagine anyone else who could command a former Shadow Council member.
"No, no, Lord Illidan, you misunderstand," Drak'thul chuckled. "I am here under the orders of Lord Rhodes. I know nothing of this 'Kil'jaeden' you speak of."
The old orc's eyes drifted to the Eye of Sargeras on the altar. It was an incomparable artifact; the sheer volume of Fel energy radiating from it made even his skin crawl. Is this what Gul'dan traded his life for? How pathetic. Gul'dan died without ever touching it, yet I stand here seeing it with my own eyes.
This revelation surprised Illidan. He hadn't expected Rhodes to send him an assistant, let alone one of this caliber. His current force, aside from a few Night Elves, consisted entirely of Naga.
While they possessed Arcane power, they were mere conduits; they couldn't help him truly drive the Eye of Sargeras. A former Shadow Council warlock, however, possessed the necessary Fel affinity to accelerate the destruction of the Frozen Throne.
"Intriguing. Rhodes sent a helper? Did he give you a token of some kind?" Illidan asked, folding his wings and landing before the warlock.
"Indeed, Lord Illidan. Lord Rhodes granted me a powerful guardian and taught me specialized spells." Drak'thul then summoned the Pit Lord (Fel Arch-Demon) that Rhodes had left with him.
Standing over five meters tall, clad in menacing armor and wielding a massive scythe, the demon—with its horns and hooves—looked like a larger, wingless mirror of Illidan himself.
"Well, Lord Illidan? Does this Great Demon suffice to prove my identity?" Drak'thul asked. On the journey here, he had tested the creature's combat prowess. It was stronger than any demon he had ever known. While a traditional Pit Lord might have more brute strength, this unit's terrifying teleportation ability and agility made it a superior predator.
"Impressive. This is indeed one of Rhodes' 'units.' You have proven yourself, orc. Welcome to my ranks; I have a specific use for you," Illidan declared. He could sense that the demon was one of Rhodes's summoned entities—not a natural creature of Azeroth.
"Command me, Lord Illidan," Drak'thul bowed.
"You will assist me in driving this artifact to strike the Lich King. We are going to shatter the continent of Northrend and erase the Scourge from existence," Illidan explained.
"I understand. I will assist immediately," Drak'thul replied, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. This was the warlock's ultimate dream. He wondered if, by using this artifact, he might eventually break free of Rhodes's control—or perhaps even seize control of the Great Demon himself.
"You are here only to assist. Do not overreach," Illidan warned, sensing the warlock's greed. "And do not touch the Eye. We operate it remotely. It contains a sliver of Sargeras's will; no mortal can resist it."
Fel was a corrupting force, and Illidan knew how easily it could consume the undisciplined. Even Rhodes had nearly succumbed in the tomb, saved only by his Archangel. Illidan planned to use the Eye to fulfill Kil'jaeden's task, after which the artifact would likely burn out and shatter from the strain of destroying a continent. He intended to ensure it was destroyed forever.
"I thank you for the warning, Lord Illidan. I am well aware of its power—and its danger." Drak'thul nodded. After all, the Lich King was Ner'zhul; the warlock was more than happy to help settle an old score.
Together, the two began to channel energy into the Eye of Sargeras, creating a massive disturbance. Terrifying Fel beams struck the Frozen Throne from across the world, causing a massive fissure to open in the ice. The Lich King's immense power began to leak out.
The very earth of Lordaeron trembled. Inside the Alliance camp, the soldiers were panicked by the quakes.
"Rhodes, do you feel that?" Kael'thas asked, his expression grave. "I feel a massive surge of magical energy. It is incredibly evil, and it is coming from the north."