The Titans' Orb: Breaking Dawn

by Mister Horncastle

Prologue: An Alternative Approach

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“Where are they?” muttered the Defiler.

Twenty minutes had passed, and with every nook and cranny searched, it became perfectly apparent that his quarry was not here. The furnishings had been split apart, and the floorboards had been torn away; even the cupboards had been searched, and yet, there was nothing. Stepping back outside, Nah’Lek’s amethyst eyes gradually turned that of a seething red, a byproduct of the Fel that now churned within him, thrashing against the confines of his mind. It was often easy for him to maintain, for his rebirth through Appelox had granted him the strength needed to command the Fel, overcoming its oppressive qualities and inheriting its strength with none of the drawbacks. However, when anger and dejection graced the vile one’s heart, the demon magic would stir, and seek to bleed witless wrath into his calculative mind.

And right now, the Defiler was angry.

“Where… ARE THEY!?”

In a fit of rage, Nah’Lek swung his staff, conjuring a blast strong enough to rip the mansion apart. Room by room, Hawnu Rey’eng’s home was obliterated, until nothing remained but a blanket of rubble, scattered across the mountaintop. Even the basement had been destroyed, which by now, had been cleared out entirely by the Guardian, leaving naught behind but a gift. Sitting inside an empty box, Nah’Lek had found the severed head of another nerubian, plucked from Azeroth to be experimented on. Its mana well had been removed, and its lifeless cranium had been left here to send a message.

The Defiler was not welcome here…

It was a way of saying that if he dared to emerge from the shadows whilst hunting for Twilight’s Company, he would meet the same fate as the kin before him. Having crossed swords with the Guardian now, Nah’Lek knew they were equally matched, and in spite of his pride, he knew better than to risk his long-plotted scheme.

The message was acknowledged.

With his violent tantrum subsiding, he emitted a long chattering rasp, irritated beyond words. He had wasted weeks searching for the company, with his expedition to Ukraine coming up fruitless. The overgrown city had been wholly cleansed of the Fel, with nary a zomrad nor mutant to be found. Elephant’s Tusk had reverted into Elephant’s Foot, shrinking back to its original state and solidifying into corium, with the human biomatter disappearing entirely. To the outside world, the state of things now matched the false narrative; Pripyat had been evacuated, with minimal direct casualties linked to the infamous Chernobyl disaster.

Nah’Lek had gained nothing from the excursion, save for a perilous encounter with the one responsible for expunging the city. Upon his journey northward, he and his orcs had encountered Hawnu Rey’eng in the flesh, where a great battle had ensued. Their trading of blows had left both demigods wounded, with the Guardian eventually fleeing, though he vowed their next encounter would spell the end for Nah’Lek.

Beyond that, he traced the residual essence of magic into Belarus, leading him to the rotten carcass of a bear, long-since slain by Twilight Sparkle, who had unwittingly used the Fel to devour its soul. Soon enough, the Defiler found a stronger signal, left over from Twilight’s teleportation to Portugal. However, in the time since that fateful day, when Callum had been separated from the group, Hawnu Rey’eng had returned to the site, and used the same teleportation spell on repeat, zipping to many locations across the globe to throw Nah’Lek off the scent. By the time he had found the right trail, he was too late, arriving upon an abandoned mansion at the top of a mountain, with no company of ponies to be found.

They had certainly been there though, with their tracks littering the building from top to bottom. There were hoofprints across the floors, shed fur and mane hair on the bedding, and in the air clung the scent of their habitation, ranging from their food, to their blood and sweat. Nah’Lek could taste all that had transpired here; the fight by the cliff, the arguments, the intoxication, the sex, all of it was known to him. Had he not been led astray by that meddlesome metal-plated protector, they would have been in his grasp now. In fact, he would have had them even sooner, had his shade not been destroyed by the boy.

That boy…

“Horncastle…” Nah’Lek muttered, his mandibles clicking with irritation.

A mere child, resistant to the Fel’s corruption and capable of enduring the Defiler’s torture, not to mention the effects of demonification. He was an adversary not unlike his nemesis, Stardust Moonshimmer, spry and gloating, with an air of arrogance about him. The boy’s soul had been a vast one, stronger than it should have been, but what made it so? Had Nah’Lek anticipated him to be a genuine obstacle, he would have delved deeper into the boy’s brain in search of an answer. Instead, his shade had grown too bold, choosing instead to torment the remnant of Stardust, of whom he’d found living beyond death, hiding inside the human’s brain like a parasite.

Vexation was common to the Defiler, for the Fel in his veins left him eternally bitter, but to be displeased with himself? Now that was exquisitely rare. Nah’Lek didn’t make mistakes, and in this arrogant blunder, it became clear that this was no longer a hunt for pitiful sheep. In addition to the angel, watching from above, a young wolf lurked amongst the ponies, guarding them without relent. Thinking on this, the Defiler muttered quietly to himself, pondering aloud on how best to tackle this issue.

He needed an alternative approach, and soon, one came to him.

Turning to the green-skinned warriors behind him, Nah’Lek approached the pair of orcs in his company, and rested his claw upon one of their metal pauldrons.

“How would you hunt a wolf, Grommash?”

Raising his upper lip, the orc answered in earnest, displaying more wit than the conventional brute.

“On Draenor, pursuing a wolf is unwise. They are fast, intelligent, and know their own domain far better than us. If I were to seek one, I would find where it calls home, and lie in wait.”

“Well answered, Hellscream.”

Confirming this would be the new strategy, Nah’Lek decreed that they would maintain the element of surprise, and wait for the company in ambush. At this, the second orc, the larger of the two, pushed Grommash aside and snarled at Nah’Lek.

“This is your plan? Guile and cowardice? I did not agree to accompany you only to remain in hiding, all for six halflings and their guide! When you took Gul’dan’s place, demon, we followed your promise of war and conquest, and still we have neither! You pledged us freedom from the Legion, under the assurance that we would continue to be conquerors! The Phaylings were weak, and unfit for our bloodthirst. Where is our challenge? Where is our promised glory?”

Surprisingly, even in this affront to his authority, Nah’Lek remained calm. Barely moving an inch, he tilted his head, a movement so subtle that it sent a faint chill through both the fearsome warriors. Choosing to reply indirectly, Nah’Lek continued conversing with Grommash.

“Tell me, Hellscream. Since I bested your brutish companion in the Mak’gora, and assumed the mantle of Warchief, who have I left to rule in my stead?”

“My son, Garrosh.” Grom replied.

“And what is Garrosh doing right now?”

“Preparing them… for war on Equus.”

“And what were the Horde’s numbers before we left Rhynor?”

“We were nearing five million orcs, half that in direwolves. As for the enslaved, we possess over a thousand orges, and forty gronns.”

Acknowledging the vast number of battle-ready combatants, Nah’Lek faced the larger orc once more, and leaned towards him until their faces were a mere foot apart.

“War is coming, as is your bloodshed, and the Horde will have it all. However, this will only come to pass if the company of ponies on this planet fail in retrieving the Titans’ Orb. By being here alongside me, you are ensuring my promise is kept. Your boldness impresses me, Blackhand, but do not test my patience again.”

Blackhand the Destroyer, former Warchief of the Horde, in all his fearless audacity, knew he was inferior to the demigod. Dipping his head, he stepped back in concession, spitting on the ground with distaste as he did so.

Walking away from the orcs, Nah’Lek took his staff and aimed it at the trees, which began to groan as the very life was drawn from them. The bark turned black and the evergreen leaves grew brown and grey, before falling away altogether. It wasn’t much sustenance at all, it was barely enough to conjure a demonic spell, but Nah’Lek had grown hungry. In spite of his unmatched strength since ascending to godhood, the Fel always had a price, a price paid in lives taken.

Soon after, Nah’Lek was approached by Grommash, who asked the Defiler how they were to locate Twilight and her company, now that their trail had gone cold.

“Locating them is no longer our goal.” he replied, “I have another destination in mind, one where they will inevitably flock to.”

With his mandibles clicking excitedly, Nah’Lek shared the information his shade had gathered.

“Little Twilight told me much during our time together. The blubbering whelp gave me all the knowledge she knew in order to prevent further agony, other than disclosing her location of course. However, as I perused the greater depths of her mind, there were things I found even beyond her knowing. I found memories, long suppressed, hidden away by her beloved goddess.”

“What memories?” asked Grommash, “What have you found?”

Emitting a haunting laugh, Nah’Lek revealed that Twilight and the others had been to Earth once before, with one of the Equus-born once finding herself stranded here as a foal, raised for fifteen years by a human. These memories, like swollen pustules, were on the cusp of eruption, for Celestia’s efforts to suppress them were waning, growing weaker with each passing day on this planet. Soon, the ponies would remember, and when they did, it was an undeniable certainty that the one raised by man would desire to see her beloved daddy again. Lowering his head, Nah’Lek gripped Grommash by the chest armour, and pulled him closer before letting his commandment known.

“We, Grommash, have all the information we need.
It’s time we pay a visit… to Rainbow Dash’s surrogate father.”

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Comments

[PonyJoe1]

Well damn, that's one way to kick off the story.
That nerubian head is freaky as shit.

Also having done some Warcraft research and seen what a gronn is, the idea of 40 of them marching on Equestria along with a host of 5 million orcs is slightly terrifying.