Make Azeroth breathtaking

"Terrible timelines? Let's see which is worse, these timelines or the timelines in Blizzard's writers' minds?"

77. In the Shattered Time

"I have to admit, Blizzard's writers are really something else. When it comes to creating plot twists, they've managed to outdo even the worst possible timelines. That's impressive!"

"Stop making baseless accusations; there are even worse timelines out there."

"Sometimes I feel that a complete wipeout ending is better than Blizzard's forced whitewashing or sudden dark turn in the story. Is that just my imagination?"

"It's definitely not my imagination; I think so too."

"Wait a minute, based on the intelligence we've gathered so far, those timelines all involve real Azeroth, StarCraft, or Sanctuary stories—so are the stories Blizzard is writing true or false?"

"My friend's great-uncle's wife's son's teacher's daughter's friend's ex-boyfriend told me that part of it is true, part of it is made up by Blizzard employees who thought it wasn't cool, and part of it is using plots from other timelines to connect to the original plot. Therefore, many plot connections feel quite jarring."

"Wait a minute, are you talking about yourself? Did Blizzard's writers really know about certain timelines before this happened?"

"After all, it's clear from the people who came that the timelines do indeed have a significant 'match,' so why can't it be true?"

"maybe......"

Looking at the forum screen, which was flooded with messages with every refresh, and then at the bright red countdown, Old D couldn't help but sigh. Just moments before, when he and his teammates had entered a special timeline generated by Sargeras's side to rescue the minds of the otherworldly visitors trapped there, they had been hit by a massive fel missile. His character was instantly killed, and he himself was forcibly disconnected. When he tried to log back in, he found that whether he tried to log in stealthily or normally, the message was always the same: his character was locked and could not be activated. So, with nothing else to do, he watched the livestream while chatting on the forum with other players who had also been kicked from the game.

However, about an hour later....

"What? You guys were sent back too?"

"There's no way to play. The monsters are too powerful, and we can't revive to fight them. How are we supposed to win?"

"The mission failed?"

"I don't know, I can't log in right now, but when I died, Malfurion was still fighting, so he should... probably be alright?"

"I hope everything's alright..."

----------------at the same time----------------

"Thump, thump—"

"call--"

In a narrow, dark underground passage, Garrosh, dressed in the old-fashioned armor of an Orgrimmar officer before its modernization, and carrying what might be Gorehowl's battleaxe—which he had taken from someone who, for reasons unknown, had defected to the Legion and become a fel orc—stopped and looked toward the end of the passage. There, indistinctly, were hundreds of lifelike orc statues, each one filled with agonizing struggle, each one with a sorrowful longing to breathe its last breath.

"These statues..."

Having defeated the crazed Grandmother Gaia with the sacrifice of the last player, Garrosh, expecting to return to the garrison but instead finding himself in this wretched place, frowned slightly, realizing something was amiss with the statues. He knew the orcish sculpting style intimately; even in this civilized world, orcish art remained rugged and wild, a hallmark of Azeroth. Furthermore, the elements of pain and torment were impossible in orcish art. In other words, these statues…

"You've arrived."

As Garrosh tried to get closer to examine these poor victims, who were most likely turned to stone by some kind of evil sorcery, a hoarse, weary voice—a voice he heard every day—entered his ears.

"I am coming."

Garrosh gripped his battle axe, watching as his 'self' emerged from the darkness. Clad in tattered shamanic robes, wielding a twisted staff in his left hand and a warhammer—which, upon closer inspection, bore several blasphemous symbols and was wreathed in a chilling aura—wafted towards him. His body was hunched, and his face was excessively withered. Garrosh tensed, entering battle stance.

Why were you able to achieve good results?

However, to Garrosh's surprise, this person who seemed to be a black shaman did not immediately rush up to fight him like the previous 'fel-infused father,' 'white ghost orc mother,' or 'crazy Gaiaan,' after finishing their lines and doing some things like a 'monster.' Instead, he stood leaning on his staff at the faint boundary between light and shadow, uttering a painful question.

"You have fallen into darkness."

The orc warlord's response made the black shaman Garrosh laugh desolately.

"Falling into darkness? How I longed to be a powerful warrior! How I longed to become like this! But our world could not stop Deathwing! I could only watch helplessly as the world crumbled! Thrall entrusted his last hope to me! He gave me the Doomhammer and the last power of the Earthen Ring shamans! Hoping I could find a way to save the world! And I did find it—in the whispers of the Old Gods!"

You should refuse.

"I had no right to refuse—Orgrimmar was right behind me, Deathwing's world-ending torrent was right before my eyes, how could I fight if I refused? The spell's effects allowed me to desecrate the earth, draining the life force from all of Orgrimmar's inhabitants—Alliance, Horde, goblins, even ethereal beings—leaving them in this cursed state, barely securing victory—I stopped Deathwing, I stopped Deathwing! But! Orgrimmar was still destroyed! I destroyed Orgrimmar, sacrificing all its inhabitants to the evil god, and all I gained was one more day of existence for the city!"

"..."

Hearing Garrosh's almost heart-wrenching roar from the other side, the paladin Garrosh gently gripped his battle axe. He understood the saying, "Don't advise others to do good if you haven't experienced their suffering," so he chose to remain silent.

"I tried, I failed, I was practically a joke, I didn't even make a ripple... Do you know, me in another world? Do you know this despair? The moment my consciousness awakened here, I swore—I would make you experience my pain, no matter what, I would make you experience it! Why should our timeline be destroyed, while yours can exist?!"

"Like a wimp."

"What did you say??"

“I’m telling you, you’re a coward—if you want to kill me, then shut up.”

Although still somewhat confused, Garrosh had a sudden realization: the Garrosh standing before him was different from the other strange acquaintances he and the other players had just slain. This Garrosh was a genuine, unmistakable remnant, or rather, a fragment of his soul, from a Garrosh in a fragmented timeline. Even though, under the influence of the three demon lords of Sargeras, his pathetic counterpart had become a pure soul of hatred—and perhaps, many more such souls awaited him in the future, all failures of timelines, the final obsessions of souls from the shattered Azeroth.

"Hehehe... Hahahaha..."

The Black Shaman Garrosh laughed maniacally. At the same time, ominous light and writhing tentacles surged on his staff, and the blasphemous runes on the Doomhammer, a symbol of elemental wrath, flickered erratically. Crackling vibrations from the dark tunnel walls reached Garrosh's ears. Clearly, some indiscernible but extremely evil sorcery was being channeled.

"I possess the power of 'players'! The great Destroyer implanted the 'minds' of his players into my body, granting me unparalleled power! And you? What do you have besides this pile of scrap metal? Where are your players? You are all alone!"

"No, you're wrong, you softie."

Garrosh spun his battle axe, holding the blade horizontally in front of him, a mocking smile spreading across his face. Behind him, holy light flickered faintly, and some figures could be seen indistinctly within it.

"I am never alone, it is you who are lonely."

—————————————Varian's dividing line————————————————————

"I...I'm not convinced. I've sacrificed so much, why don't I get a better result than you?"

Varian, leaning on an ordinary two-handed sword, glared at his opponent, who, though severed at the waist, was still alive, writhing and struggling desperately, covered in black dragon scales, clinging to life with all his might. Having learned of the insane choice Varian had made to 'save' Stormwind, the Wolf King, having regained some of his power after traversing several worlds, showed no mercy. Driven by rage, his sword cleanly and swiftly cleaved Varian into a gruesome mess.

"What did you sacrifice? And what did you gain? You sacrificed the citizens of Stormwind Kingdom to the Black Dragon Legion, and gained 'Stormwind Kingdom'? I simply cannot imagine that I, in any timeline, would make such a foolish choice!"

"Foolish? Perhaps, but back then, it was the only way I could leave a trace for the Stormwind Kingdom... cough cough..."

After saying this, the black dragon-transformed Varian raised his head with all his might, letting his eyes meet those of the wolf king Varian in front of him, as if trying to see through his heart.

"You...how...could defeat me? You're weaker than me, you're just...a mortal...how could you do...things I couldn't?"

“I do not know the answer, because I know myself very well. Although I am a king, I have the mind of a warrior—I trust my family, my comrades, my friends, and they have answered me.”

"...trust, trust, ha...trust, ha...ha..."

With a soft murmur of his lips moving, Varian breathed his last, dying before the Wolf King. Staring at the king's unseeing eyes, Varian sighed, bent down, and closed his eyes. At the same time, another large door opened before him, behind which lay Stormwind once more.

"Endless battles?"

Staring at Stormwind City, which reeks of death behind the door, Varian slung his greatsword over his shoulder and strode forward—though he appeared to be alone, he knew he was never truly alone.

———————————Korhal World———————————————————

Jim Raynor raised his right foot and stomped on the chest of the man in front of him, whose life support system he had just shattered and whose face was now turning purple from suffocation. He raised his gun and aimed it at him—just now, the players who followed him had all been blown to bits by this guy's cunning hostage tactics. Although he knew the players wouldn't really die, it still infuriated Jim Raynor—he had come to understand that these worlds were the 'possibilities' of certain choices he had made, and clearly, in this possibility, he himself was an absolute scumbag!

“I think I know why you still choose to follow that bastard Mengsk after seeing so much. You and he are birds of a feather.”

"Ugh... Ugh ugh ugh—"

Looking at the dark muzzle of the gun pressed against his face, Jim Raynor, a scumbag who could only move with the help of a life support system for some reason, wanted to beg for mercy. However, Jim Raynor from the normal timeline didn't want to waste any more words. He pulled the trigger, and Jim Raynor's brain was instantly vaporized by the intense heat. Not even a drop of blood flowed from his neck.

"Phew, it looks like I'll have to walk this road alone from now on. Who knows when it will end?"

After surveying the collapsing world, Jim Raynor quickly gathered any usable loot and jumped into the unfolding portal without looking back—he had seen far more trouble than this; this was probably just a minor issue.

————————————Shelter————————————————————————

"I'm sorry, I can't."

Li Min's hands were enveloped in arcane light as she looked with sorrow at Deckard Cain, who lay prostrate before her, muttering about the sins of the High Heavens, and beside him, a Nephalem whom she had defeated—in his final moments, this twisted Deckard Cain was still trying to convince her to join them and bring true 'freedom' to the Sanctuary world—by plunging the entire world into hell!

"You don't understand! You don't understand at all! The Highest Heaven..."

"Although I don't understand, but..."

With a gentle rub of her hands, Li Min incinerated Deckard Kane into ashes with a ball of karmic fire. As expected, a portal identical to the one she had just traversed opened before her, revealing a cathedral-like scene.

"There's never anything good in hell."

————————————A certain Ashenvale————————————————————

"You'd better not be spouting nonsense, Lord of Dread."

Illidan held the blades in both hands, his expression unwavering. Beneath his feet, fel flames surged, and countless fel elves, along with fragments of himself from this world, found their 'final resting place' beneath his blades.

"Of course, aren't you curious about how I was able to find you? With the analytical speed of people on Earth, it's impossible to achieve this quickly."

Sasauvard raised his hands high to indicate that he had no hostile intentions.

"explain."

"Fragments from other timelines are insufficient to support a time rift; after all, flawed things are inherently incomplete. However, they are filled in with Earth's hatred, anger, and resentment, giving birth to these 'worlds.' The souls that pledged allegiance to them become the driving force behind these 'cores.' The shattering of each world makes the next world 'more complete'—logically, these worlds cycle endlessly."

"So, what do you want?"

Illidan, knowing that Sathova must have a way to solve the problem, snorted and signaled it to stop talking nonsense.

"As expected of Illidan."

Sasorwal paused for a moment, then made a request that caused Illidan's expression to change slightly.

“We want to use their plans to repair our homeworld and project its information onto a unique timeline—we can make our homeworld a satellite of your world, under your control.”

After saying that, Sasauval's smile turned devilish.

"Of course, we were also prepared for the possibility of being rejected."

78. The Fear Lord Begins His Busy Life

After the Legion's complete defeat and Sargeras's sealing away, the Nathrezim were not completely controlled like other demons—although a few Nathrezim served Illidan, a large number of Nathrezim still lived 'freely'.

The people of Azeroth are well aware of this.

But where exactly did Nasrezim go?

Illidan wasn't aware of this before—or rather, he was aware but couldn't find the answer. After the Nathrezim, beings of both body and soul, adapted to their environment over time, even the most professional Light Chasers, the most skilled demon hunters adept at hunting fel creatures, and even the Titans admitted they couldn't distinguish these cosmic life forms adept at disguise. Undoubtedly, given the Nathrezim's ability to adapt to changing circumstances, their most likely hiding place was Azeroth. With Azeroth now boasting such a diverse array of races and so many interconnected worlds and planets, finding them was simply impossible.

However, now, a dreadlord—in a way that even revealed his high-ranking position within the Alliance—appeared before Illidan, speaking in the most nonchalant tone to the enemy who destroyed his homeworld, conveying the last vestiges of the Nathrezim's request—or rather, their dream.

How long have you been planning this?

After a few seconds of contemplation, Illidan spoke.