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Natural Nature (Warcraft/Marvel - Semi-SI/Gamer): Chapter 2.
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 14:59:08 +0000 UTCStill a shit title, but I do wanna try and put out at least a chapter a month of this.
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His mind spun furiously as he stared at the screen in front of him.
Objective: Escape Lordaeron City!
Bullshit. It was fucking bullshit. Sure, he picked the hard start, but come on! He didn't even get the fucking reward yet!
Daerion closed his eyes and took a deep breath, tuning out the spectacle around him. It was okay. It was fine. Well, no, it wasn't fine, but he'd been in tight spots before, and it had turned out fine in the end. This was no different.
He just had to get out of Lordaeron City before the undead flooded in, Bonus Quest or not. He could only see the one gate, which was presumably where the Scourge would be entering from, but there had to be side entrances or secret passages. Hell, he'd jump from the walls if he could find a bush large enough to cushion the fall.
There was a little time to work with. If he left now-
“Come on! I don’t want to be late!”
Daerion’s thoughts were interrupted as Princess Calia grabbed him by the hand and started dragging him down the corridor again.
“Wait- Princess, hold up!”
“Why!?” She asked over her shoulder, speeding up if anything. “He's probably already there!”
“Tha-” He stopped. What was he supposed to say? “That's what I'm worried about.”? “I'm pretty sure your brother's a psychotic zombie necromancer that's gonna kill us all.”? There was no logical explanation for why they shouldn't go, nothing he could say to convince her.
He could ditch her. Fake a stomach problem or something, let her go on alone, and escape in the meantime.
The thought was instantly discarded. Even if he didn't get some positive memories from young Daerion regarding the Princess, that wasn't the type of person he was. There was no way he was just gonna abandon a civilian in what was about to become an active war zone when he had a chance to save her.
There was accepting inevitable losses, and then there was neglect and apathy.
“What?”
“...Nothing,” he shook his head. “You're right, let's go.”
Which meant he had no choice but to stay and try to get her and as many others as possible out.
Even if it probably meant the end of his second life before it even had the chance to really start.
Doors passed by as they ran, the commotion outside dying down only a little, even when Arthas had passed the spectators by. Soon they entered a narrow hallway with a large spiral staircase leading downwards and a pair of heavily armored guards holding large tower shields, spears, and swords sheathed at their sides, waiting on either side of an ornate door, the Menethil crest on the front. Calia didn't need to say a word as one of the watchmen opened the door for her. In the back of his mind, Daerion wondered if he was gonna slam the door in his face, yet despite the glare he could feel behind the lifeless helmet, the warrior waited until he had passed through before closing the door behind them.
There were already half a dozen people in the small circular room they emerged into, though Daerion barely noticed any of them. His attention was locked onto the half of the room that was missing a wall, giving a high-up view of the throne room with a railing lining the balcony.
“Princess Calia, there you are. We feared you would miss it. Ah, and Lord Rubble. Nearly forcing the Princess to miss the Prince's triumphant return. Truly, you have no shame.”
“Uh-huh, likewise, bro.” He wasn't sure who said it or what they said, as the huge double doors leading to the outside of the Palace were thrown open.
The future Lich King swaggered into the Imperial chamber, heavy boots thudding against the perfectly placed bricks. He didn't spare the guards on his path a single glance as he marched past the enormous blue curtains that framed the entrance. The room was silent as the Prince walked across the blue mosaic pattern in the center of the floor, depicting symbols Daerion thinks he might have been taught by his father, but couldn't recall. Arthas came to a stop in the center of the ancient decoration, drawing his terrible blade with one hand. The tip sank into the stained glass like butter as he knelt, wisps of icy energy leaking from the blade as his two servants took up positions behind him.
King Terenas Menethil II stood, clutching the arm of his throne for support. Thinking gray hair hung long from under his pronged crown, center amethyst gleaming in the sunlight pouring through the glass window at the top of the center spire. Short facial hair of a similar pale color clad his chin and cheeks, hiding many of the wrinkles that lined his weathered face, though his blue-green eyes still shone with strength. King Terenas was an old man now, his fighting days long behind him, yet his breastplate still fit him like it was forged yesterday. Despite his weakened body, however, there were few among the human kingdoms that would dare doubt the wisdom and leadership of the man who led them through the Second War and was the first to join the Alliance of Lordaeron.
The ageing King held out his arms in welcome, great wolf pelt cape flowing behind him.
“Ah, my son. I knew you would be victorious.”
The King went on, but Daerion tuned him out and elbowed the Princess. It took a couple of tries to get her attention, but he finally managed it.
“What!?” She hissed out of the corner of her mouth, not looking away from the proceedings.
“Does your brother normally run around in skull armor and with a sword like that?” he asked very suggestively. He couldn’t drag her out of there, but maybe he could get her ready to run in a second. “And wasn't his hair blonde and his eyes not glowing?”
How the fuck no one noticed all the red flags was beyond him. The cloak didn't even cover that much!
The Princess hesitated. “What are you saying, Lord Blackmoore? I am sure it has been a long journey for my Lord brother, but-”
“Princess.” The same guy who talked shit earlier cut in. Daerion met his green eyes for the first time, seeing a thin, tall middle-aged man with dirty blonde hair, clad in white and blue orange robes. “Be it far from me to agree with Lord Knif- Lord Blackmoore.” He hastily changed while Daerion rolled his eyes. Fucking racist. “And I would never claim to be a master of the light-”
“Bro, get to the point.”
The other noble shot Daerion a mixed look, half angry at the interruption and half confused by the manner of address, yet did indeed get to the point. “That blade, Your Grace, it's… I've never felt anything like it. It reeks of death and darkness.”
Calia was getting visibly agitated. “My Lords, if you have something to say-”
Metal scraping against glass and stone put a stop to their whispered conversation as the Crown Prince rose to his feet and threw back the hood of his mantle. Daerion heard the woman by his side let out a gasp as the snow white locks were fully revealed, icy eyes illuminated by horrific power and terrible purpose. The deathly pallor of the Death Knights' clammy skin pulled into a smirk, madness dancing on the former pride of Lordaeron's lip as he marched towards his father, long legs taking the stairs two at a time. The King's Guards standing along the walls moved to intervene, as not even the heir to the throne could approach without leave, but they got intercepted themselves as Arthas’ two henchmen got in the way.
Daerion started pulling the Princess towards the door. “Princess, we have to go.”
“Why!?” She struggled to escape his grasp. “What is going on!?”
“What is this? What are you doing, my son?”
The terrible words rang out through the Imperial chamber, easily heard despite the increasing sounds of commotion and whispering. The nobles, even the guy who had shared his concerns, were glued to the railing and the events below. The knowledge of what was about to happen made him lose his grip a little, allowing the Princess to tear herself loose and join the others in their spectating.
“Succeeding you, father.”
Daerion made it just in time to see Frostmourne pierce straight through the enchanted ancestral armor of House Menethil and sink into its wielder's father's chest. The King gasped in pain and disbelief as his son put a massive boot to his belly and used the dying corpse of his sire and King as leverage to rip his horrid sword from the body, Frostmourne glowing ominously as something was pulled from King Terenas.
CLINK!
CLINK!
CLINK!
The Crown of Lordaeron bounced with echoing clinks of the steps of the raised platform of the throne. A prong broke off as it hit the floor, rolling before coming to a stop, bloodstained and still.
Stunned silence.
Then.
Screams.
“FATHER!” Calia cried out as Daerion grabbed her by the waist and pulled her towards the door. It was pandemonium. Nobles were screaming and rushing towards the exits, commandeering every guard within sight as steel clashed against steel in the throne room. An eerie voice echoed out, easily heard over the bedlam despite the low volume.
“This kingdom shall fall.”
Growing frustrated by her struggles, Daerion spun the Princess around and threw her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and ran through the door. Her loud “NO!” echoed off the cold stone.
“And from the ashes shall arise a new order.”
The two guards beside the door remained, shouting questions towards the pleading and fleeing nobles. Daerion quickly grabbed their attention with a shout.
“HEY! You two, with me! We need to get the Princess out of here!”
Seeing Calia flailing uselessly over his shoulder, the same guard who had glared at him on the way pointed his spear at the half-elf.
“Put the Princess down at once!”
Daerion was about to start shouting at the idiot when the same noble as earlier came to the rescue again.
“Enemies within the Palace! We must hurry!”
Hearing it from a second source seemed to kick them into gear, and they flanked the group of three as they hurried down the corridor. Daerion took the chance to explain as much as he could.
“The Prince has fallen to the Scourge, and the King is dead. Assume invasion of the undead is either imminent or already underway.”
The dickhead guard sputtered in disbelief, yet his fellow was made of sterner stuff, shutting the other one up with a nod off his head and a firm “understood”.
“That will shake the very foundations of the world.”
CLUNK!
The sound of something heavy impacting the watch room they had just vacated rang out. Risking a glance over his shoulder, Daerion immediately wished he hadn't.
One of the two guards who had accompanied the fallen Prince had leapt from the floor up to the balcony in a display of inhuman strength. His hood had dropped from the movement, showing the same corpse-like skin as his master, sunken eyes glowing a similar, if dimmer, hue. He might have been handsome once upon a time. Though he lacked the sharp and striking features of a noble, his jaw was strong and pointed, his nose delicate, and the short black hair streaked with white. But any appeal the man might have had was snuffed out by the sickly feeling of death and cold that clung to his armored frame. Broad shoulders clad in even broader pauldrons, the skull belt was displayed prominently on his waist. Much like his foul Lord, skulls featured everywhere, from his shoulders to his legs, to his arms, and his boots that cranked their way towards them. Blood dripped from the two-pronged spear clasped in his hand, similar specks decorating his dark armor.
‘Observe’
[Captain Falric, Level ?]
HP - ?
The unlikable guard gasped at the other man's appearance, whispering in disbelief.
“Falric?”
Daerion had to commend him. Vaguely shit person he might seem, he shook off his shock quickly and pointed his spear at the approaching enemy.
“Halt! Explain yourself, Captain! What is the meaning of-”
He never got to finish his words. With an errant wave of his free hand, Captain Falric shot a sickly green-black bolt of awful energy at the defender, a ghastly face forming and screaming from the attack. The Death Coil hit the King's Guard dead on and sent him flying, spear and shield clattering to the ground as he lay on the floor unmoving.
“TENAS!” The first words Daerion heard from the other guard were ones of grief as he made to rush forward. The members of the King's Guard of Lordaeron were impeccably trained, however, and he managed to gather himself, raising his shield in front of him, spear pressed against the side as he advanced side-first towards his enemy.
“Go, go, go!” Daerion urged his fellow noble, quickly snatching the dead guard's spear from where it had fallen at his feet with his free hand. The other one was still holding the Princess even as she fell silent, catatonic from the sudden rush of events.
They sprinted down the hallway and took the same turn as Calia and Daerion had made on their way there, as clings of steel against steel rang out behind him. The last Daerion saw of the valiant guard was him launching a strong thrust that pierced through the waist of Captain Falric, the Death Knight not even lifting a finger to defend himself. The next second, the dead Tenas rose from the floor behind his fellow, eyes lit by unholy blue as he thrust his blade through the throat of his friend from behind.
Daerion’s breath came faster and faster as they ran, weighed down by the Princess. Giving a mental Status command to the Game, he peeked at his Stamina.
SP - 100/180
It was dropping a lot faster than the Running Action suggested it should. Clearly, there was some kind of over-encumbered penalty that he couldn't see.
“Here! Get inside, quickly!” The noble came to a sudden halt in the middle of the hallway. There had passed Daerion’s room at some point while he was talking, and he was standing by one of the large banners that decorated the walls. He pulled it aside, revealing a narrow staircase leading downwards.
Thank fuck for paranoid nobles and their secret passages. Daerion took the stairs two steps at a time, almost jumping down as the other man straightened the banner and made sure nothing stood out.
Coming to a small platform at the bottom of the steps, with paths leading left and right, he swung Calia off his shoulder and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her gently.
“Princess. Princess! CALIA!”
No response. She was in shock, which was fair if extremely inconvenient. Daerion ignored the labored breathing that appeared behind him, somehow even worse than his own despite not carrying another human. Then again, shit physical condition was to be expected of aristocrats, even in a fantasy universe, apparently.
But he really needed the Princess to at least be able to walk. There was no way they wouldn't encounter more enemies, and he would need both hands for that.
Nothing for it.
SLAP!
“Blackmoore! How dare you!”
Calia blinked in surprise, turning her head back to look at Daerion, one hand holding her reddening cheek. Never felt good hitting a woman, but needs must.
“Princess, are you with us?” He asked.
She nodded shakily. “Y-yes. Yes, i-im here.”
“Okay,” Daerion took her by the shoulders again, gently, and forced her to look him straight in the eyes, “I understand that this is shit, and it's too much, okay? I get that. But we need you to stay with us for now, okay? We can cry and scream and grieve once we're out of here. You're the last Menethil. You can't fall here.” He felt real fucking weird to be advocating for a monarchy, but names were powerful in the Warcraft universe and could do a lot to pull people together.
He hadn’t had the time to actually think up a plan, but helping a scared woman who’d just lost her entire family couldn’t be a bad start.
Calia was obviously not okay, and small tremors ran through her body. But her eyes focused somewhat, a spark of the defiant woman young Daerion had known peeking through.
“You are right, My Lord. My apologies.” She took a deep breath and nodded to them both. “Thank you, Lord Blackmoore, Lord Fairspring. What is the plan?”
Fairspring, whose name rang all the bells as soon as Daerion heard it, spoke up. “The path to the left leads outside the city. There should be some horses and provisions there.”
Daerion shook his head. “These tunnels are known to the royal family as well?” His companions nodded. “Then we have to assume Arthas has people posted at the exits. Fuck, this is probably where the rest of the nobles went.”
“Then what is your suggestion!?” Fairspring was clearly freaking out as their options shrank. “Just stay here and die!? Or maybe you have some secret plan! Maybe this is all some knife-ear plot!”
“LORD FAIRCHILD!” Calia scolded, sounding surprised. Lucky for Fairspring, as Daerion had been seconds from breaking his nose and leaving him. There wasn't time for shit like this. “This is a horrific situation, believe me, I know, but there is no need for that kind of behavior.”
To his credit, Fairspring actually seemed chagrined. “Apologies, My Lady.” Visibly more reluctant, he turned to Daerion as well. “And you, Lord Blackmoore. That was unbecoming.”
“Whatever, bro. Look, we can't stay here. Where does the other path lead?”
“Out into the city.”
“Okay, not ideal,” he admitted, “but we might have to risk it. The-”
THUD!
THUD!
THUD!
Metal against rock in a rhythmic pattern, heavy boots hitting stone coming their way from the staircase.
“Fuck. Go, go, go!” Pushing Calia in front, they ran down the dark corridor. Daerion was so focused on listening behind them that he almost missed the sounds from in front.
“AAAHHH!”
“SHIT!”
“By the light…”
Daerion had been wrong when he assumed the other nobles took the path that led outside the walls. Apparently, they had the same concerns as he did.
A clump of shadows moved before them, grasping limbs reaching out in their direction. The blue glow of their eyes revealed just enough to ascertain what was going on. Almost a dozen corpses, expensive robes and tunics torn and ripped, the original color impossible to make out under the blood, shambles towards them. Wet groans and moans echoed off the cold stone walls; the noises pushed through gaping throats and missing jaws. Most lacked limbs, some dragging themselves across the floor with their hands, others coming at them teeth first. Ribs and organs peeked through eviscerated torsos, entrails pulled behind and stepped on by their fellows.
Daerion had seen war. He had seen people blown to smithereens by bombs, screaming in agony as they clutched limbless stumps. He had heard mothers wail as their sons were gunned down and seen people take multiple bullets and keep standing through nothing but hatred.
But the sight before him was fucked up, even by his standards.
‘Observe’
[Noble Ghoul Level 6] - [Noble Ghoul Level 5] - [Noble Ghoul Level 5] - [Noble Ghoul Level 4] - [Noble Ghoul Level 7] - [Noble Ghoul Level 6] - [Noble Ghoul Level 5] - [Noble Ghoul Level 6] - [Noble Ghoul Level 4] - [Noble Ghoul Level 6] - [Noble Ghoul Level 5]
+1 to Skill: Observe! (2/100)
+1 to Skill: Observe! (3/100)
Fairspring took a halting step forward, his trembling hand reaching out for a woman with half her face missing, teeth marks littering what skin was left. “J-Jennifer…”
“Get behind me!” Daerion said, putting the Princess between himself and Fairspring and dragging the other man back. Stepping forward, he held out a hand and tried his first act of magic.
“Fireburst!”
An explosion of fire sprang from his hand, spreading to a five-by-five-foot cone. The zombies screeched in pain as the flames washed over them, the light revealing even more of the terrible ways they had died.
42.5 (85) x 4!
Unfortunately, as the description said, the range was very short, and he only got the front row. On the plus side, he got an x2 for some reason. Undead were weak to fire? Keeping his hand out, he went for the repeat.
“Fireburst!”
42.5 (85) x 7!
Quest updated!
Long live the King.
Bonus objective: Kill (4/25) Undead!
Daerion panted. A third of his MP was gone in two Spells, and he killed less than half of them. On the bright side, the burning corpses of the first four dropped to the ground in a flaming pile, creating a shitty makeshift barrier that at least delayed the rest.
“They are coming!”
Fairspring's yell made him glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, a pair of icy dots shone through the blackness, the heavy clings of the armored figure making its way towards them. The light of the burning Ghouls reflected off the polished breastplate, the symbol of Lordaeron shining proudly.
Quickly turning back to his task, Daerion lashed out with his acquired spear in a thrust. It was his first time using such a weapon, but according to his Status page, young Daerion favored the weapon, which would explain why the attack felt vaguely familiar.
The foot-and-a-half blade on the top of the six-foot pole bit deep into the eye socket of the reanimated body of a young woman.
1030 Damage! (0/150)
The sudden drop of the walking dead, plus the shock of the unexpectedly huge number, nearly tore the spear from his hands as he stared.
What the fuck?!
Looking at his weapon, he hit it with an Observe.
Spear of Lordaeron King's Guard
A masterfully crafted weapon given to the King's Guard of House Menethil. Despite no enchantments, the full skill of humanity's greatest blacksmiths had been poured into its creation.
Quality: Epic.
Requirements: N/A
Range: Short/Long. Damage: DEX x 3 + 1000 Physical. Attributes: N/A.
A grin formed on his face. That's more like it.
The forcefully raised undead swiftly returned to their rest as the spear cleaved through them. Limbs were chopped off with the greatest of ease, the tip sinking through rib cages and bones like butter. In short order, the remaining ones joined their brethren in the flames on the ground.
Quest updated!
Long live the King.
Bonus objective: Kill (11/25) Undead!
Shouting over his shoulder, “We’re clear!” He pushed Calia forward again. She hesitated by the burning heap of bodies, but there was no time, so Daerion leaned his spear against the wall. Grabbing the Princess by the back of her dress and her ass, he ignored her protest and hurled her over the obstacle. Rearming himself, he followed. Turning to look at the last member of their little group, the pale face of Tenas peeked through the darkness like a ghost, close, much too close.
“Fairspring, jump!”
But the noble hesitated. He looked at Daerion, eyes wide and afraid as they darted down to the burning corpses at his feet, lingering on one in particular. Yet, when he saw the Princess, his jaw clenched, and something in his gaze firmed.
“Get her out of here, I will hold them!”
Daerion knew that look. He had seen it in soldiers who thought their death was inevitable, but were determined to either see their friends make it or at least go down swinging.
Fuck that.
“No fucking way, I'm not leaving a man behind! You can't take them alone!”
The other man smiled. It might be the first time he had ever shown Daerion a positive emotion.
“I am not alone. The Light is with me.”
Daerion didn't know how to respond to that. What did you say to someone who had decided religious martyrdom was the way to go?
“Go. GO! GET HER OUT OR I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU MYSELF!” Fishing something out of his shirt, Fairspring clutched it in his hand and turned back to the approaching undead. Tenas was nearly upon him, and in the darkness, another pair of eyes lit up.
Feeling the Princess cling to the back of his tunic, Daerion knew he had to make a choice.
It wasn't a good one.
“Fuck! FUCK!” He shouted. Spinning around and taking Calia by the hand, he sprinted down the hall.
“Foul abomination!”
Lord Fairspring's defiant words followed them down the tunnel.
“You dare bring your unholy presence here!? Here, of all places!?”
A faint glow crept in front of them, illuminating the path before them more than the flames ever could.
“It was here, in Lordaeron, that the Knights of the Silver Hand were forged! It was here that mighty Tyr himself fell, protecting the world from your ilk!”
The glow grew brighter, golden light chasing away the darkness.
"You stand upon holy ground! Consecrated with generation upon generation of the faithful! You may have taken our King, you may have taken our Prince!”
Stronger than a hundred torches, the light pushed them on. Despite running as fast as he could, Daerion felt his breathing slow and strength flood his muscles. Their pace increased.
SP - 660/680
+1 DEX!
“You may even take our city and our bodies, but you will never take us! Our minds and souls are one with the Light, and through its warmth we fear not death, or evil, or the horrors of the void!”
Effect Added!
Strength of a True Servant of the Light
No harm or weakness shall befall you; for you stand with the Light and defeat is not an option for the Righteous.
Effect: +500% HP and SP Regeneration! +500 HP and SP! -25% Damage taken!
“GAZE UPON ME, FOUL WRETCH, AND SEE A TRUE SERVANT OF THE LIGHT! LOOK UPON THE RUIN YOU HAVE WROUGHT AND KNOW THAT IT WILL BE REPAID UPON YOU A THOUSAND FOLD! JUSTICE COMES FOR YOU! AS LONG AS THERE IS GOOD AND LIGHT IN THIS WORLD, YOU WILL BE ALLOWED NO REST! THE LIGHT DAMMS YOU, THE LIGHT CONDEMNS YOU, AND YET, THROUGH THE LIGHT, I BRING UPON YOU SALVATION!”
It was like a sun had been born behind them, blinding daylight pouring around them. But it wasn't scorching. It was barely hot. Like a mother's warm hug, like a father's strong hand on their shoulder, the light embraced them and carried them.
“REPENT, ABOMINATION! REPENT, SINNER!
The world held its breath, the very air going still. The only sound was their shoes hammering against stone.
+1 to Skill: Running! (7/100)
“BY HOLY LIGHT BE PURGED!”
BOOOOOM!
An explosion rang out, the tunnel shaking as loud crashes filled the air. Dust fell from the ceiling as the stone collapsed behind them, everything vibrating from the force of Lord Fairspring's sacrificial attack. The light beams were replaced with a golden shockwave, washing over them as it raced through the secret path. The large granite slabs shone, holt light imbued into their nature as a door lit up before them. Daerion lowered his shoulder and put everything he had into speed.
CRASH!
The door ripped off its hinges as the actual shockwave hit it at the same time as Daerion did, the wind pressure lifting them off their feet and sending them sprawling as the hallway behind them fell silent.
Daerion swiftly got to his feet, taking in his surroundings. They appeared to have emerged in a basement, the door hidden behind a now obliterated shelf. Dusty crates and random shit filled the space, clearly used for storage. Looking behind him, he saw the glow of the stone persist, fading ever so slowly, Fairspring's last act saturating the earth.
Daerion didn't think he had it in him. Everything he knew about the Lord painted him as a stuck-up, racist dickhead. Seemed that everyone truly had their good and bad parts.
They may not have gotten along, but Daerion swore he wouldn't let his sacrifice go to waste. One day, his words would come true.
It may take years, or even decades, but in honor of the faith Fairspring had put in him, Daerion would come back to Lordaeron City and reclaim it.
Provided he survived first, of course.
