The Demon Soul Read Free Page A

realm between worlds and dimensions where the Burning Legion roamed between their rampages, had collapsed under a magical assault. That same force had also ripped apart the original tower, where the Highborne and demons had worked. Mannoroth still did not know what exactly had happened, but several survivors of the destruction had hinted of an invisible foe in their midst, one who had also slain the counselor. Mannoroth had his suspicions as to who that invisible intruder was and had already dispatched hunters to seek him out. Now he concentrated only on restoring the precious portal—if it could be done.
    No, he thought. It will be done.
    Yet so far the fiery ball of energy floating just above the pattern had done nothing but burn. When the tusked behemoth looked into it, he did not sense eternity, did not sense the overwhelming presence of his master. Mannoroth only sensed nothing.
    Nothing was failure and, in the Burning Legion, failure meant death.
    “They’re weakening,” Captain Varo’then remarked blandly. “They’ll lose control of it again.”
    Mannoroth saw that the soldier spoke the truth. Snarling, the monstrous demon reached out with his mind and thrust himself into the spellwork. His intrusion shook the Highborne sorcerers, nearly upsetting everything, but Mannoroth seized control of the group and refocused their efforts.
    It will be done this time. It will be…
    Under his guidance, the sorcerers pressed as never before. Mannoroth’s determination whipped them into a manic state. Their crimson-edged eyes widened to their fullest, and their bodies shook from both physical and magical stress.
    Mannoroth glared grimly at the recalcitrant ball of energy. It refused to change, refused to open access to his master. Yellow drops of sweat poured down over the demon. Foam formed on his broad, froglike mouth. Even though failure meant being cut off from the great one, Mannoroth felt certain that somehow he would be punished.
    No one escaped the wrath of Sargeras.
    With that in mind, he pushed even more furiously, tearing from the night elves whatever power he could. Moans arose from the circle…
    And suddenly, a point of utter blackness formed in the center of the fiery sphere. From far within it, a voice filled Mannoroth’s mind, a voice as familiar to him as his own.
    Mannoroth…it is you…
    But not that of Sargeras.
    Yes, he reluctantly replied. The way is open again.
    We have waited too long…it said in a cold, analytical tone that made even the huge demon shrink into himself. He is disappointed in you…
    I did all that was possible! Mannoroth protested before common sense warned him of the foolishness of doing so.
    The way must be made completely open for him. I will see to it that it is finally done. Be ready for me, Mannoroth…I come to you even now.
    And with that, the blackness spread, becoming a huge emptiness above the pattern. The portal was not quite as it had been when first the night elves created it, but that was because the one who spoke from the other realm now also strengthened it. This time, it would not collapse.
    “To your knees!” Mannoroth roared. Still under his sway, the sorcerers had no choice but to immediately obey. The Fel Guard and night elven soldiers in attendance followed suit a moment later. Even Captain Varo’then quickly knelt.
    The demon was the last to kneel, but he did so with the most deference. Almost as much as he feared Sargeras, he feared this one.
    We are ready, he informed the other. Mannoroth kept his gaze now on the floor. Any single act, however minute, that could be construed as defiance might mean his painful demise. We, the unworthy, await your presence…Archimonde…

Two
    T he world he had known, the world they all had known, was no more.
    The central region of the continent of Kalimdor was a ravaged plain. Spreading out in every direction, the demons had wreaked carnage on the complacent, jaded night elf civilization. Hundreds, possibly thousands,