Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 23

Chapter 23: Deathwing's Wrath

Stormwind's Noble District had always been renowned for elegance and tranquility, yet tonight, Countess Katrana Prestor's estate blazed with raging fire.

Flames like furious beasts devoured exquisite carved archways and silk curtains, reducing priceless paintings and antiques to ash and charcoal. Servants screamed and fled in panic. Stormwind guards clumsily carried water buckets to fight the inferno, yet could not suppress those eerie dark red flames—they seemed alive, specifically pursuing everything related to "Katrana" to consume and destroy.

"The Countess is still inside!" A maid cried out desperately.

The guard captain gritted his teeth, about to lead his team into the inferno, when an invisible force violently shoved them backward. Immediately after, the estate's main beam collapsed thunderously. Fire tongues shot ten meters high, forcing everyone to retreat repeatedly in fear.

No one noticed a tall figure standing motionless in the shadows.

Deathwing—in human form concealed in darkness—golden vertical pupils reflecting dancing firelight, face terrifyingly grim. He had originally only come to question his daughter about her absurd "fertilizer business" obsession, yet discovered the entire estate's so-called "Countess Katrana" was merely an illusion puppet maintained by complex magic.

An hour ago, he had quietly infiltrated the bedroom, seeing "Katrana" lying weakly in bed, pale cheeks carrying morbid beauty. But when he grabbed that slender neck with killing intent, his palm passed through empty air—

"Onyxia!" The moment he crushed the illusion's core, the puppet bizarrely winked at him, lips curving in a mocking arc.

"Clever trick." His gaze swept toward the distant horizon. "Seems my daughter has found new toys to play with."

Suddenly, his acute hearing caught something.

"We must find the Countess!" The guard captain was roaring at his deputy. "Duke Bolvar will absolutely not allow Prestor family representatives to mysteriously disappear!"

Deathwing sneered coldly, his figure dissipating like smoke into the night.

Deep in Blackrock Mountain, the lava lake reflected bizarre scenes in Nefarian's laboratory: draconic organs soaking in glowing green liquid, wailing chromatic dragon experimental subjects chained to walls, and surfaces densely covered with parchment scrawled with mad calculations.

The Black Dragon Prince was concentrating on injecting a tube of sulfur extract into some dragonkin's exposed spine when his movement suddenly paused. The laboratory's temperature abruptly rose. The lava lake rippled unnaturally.

"Father." Nefarian did not look back. "I am conducting a critical experiment."

Deathwing's humanoid figure emerged from shadows, obsidian boots stepping in blood pools, producing hissing evaporation sounds.

"Your sister's affairs." He cut straight to the point. "How much do you know?"

Nefarian's dragon claw imperceptibly trembled.

"I am not very clear either. Heard she is engaging in agriculture, making fertilizer or something." He turned, displaying a practiced smile. "You know, I have been entirely absorbed in my chromatic experiments."

Deathwing suddenly grabbed a glass jar from the experiment table—inside floated some crystalline substance similar to fertilizer components.

"Then what is this?"

"Uh... enhancement reagent?" Nefarian reached to retrieve the jar. "Recently fertilizer stories spread everywhere. I just casually acquired some for research, seeing if it helps my experiments."

CRACK!

The glass jar exploded in Deathwing's palm, white powder falling in cascades.

"Last chance." The Destroyer's voice made the lava lake's surface frost over with unnatural cold. "Where is she?"

Nefarian's dragon wings behind him uneasily folded. He certainly knew what his sister was doing hiding in her lair—in fact, he had secretly invested ten percent in the fertilizer business, using sulfur trade profits to subsidize his chromatic dragon research.

"Dustwallow Marsh, her old lair." He finally shrugged with affected casualness. "But Father, you should really examine her financial statements. Last quarter's profit growth was quite—"

BOOM!

A dragon breath grazing Nefarian's cheek shattered half the experiment table. Chromatic dragon whelp remains fell like grotesque rain.

"You had better pray she is not plotting something monumentally stupid." Deathwing grabbed his son's throat, dangling him over the bubbling lava lake. "Otherwise next time what burns will not merely be experimental data."

After his father's overwhelming presence finally disappeared, Nefarian collapsed in the ruins, wiping dragon blood from his split lips.

"Good luck, dear sister." He smiled bitterly. Then after Deathwing vanished completely, he pulled out a communication crystal from his robes.

When Onyxia entered the underground workshop, Deren was sprawled among iron pipes and copper ingots, gripping a strange metal tube, half a screw still clenched between his teeth.

"What toy are you tinkering with now?" She raised an eyebrow, toeing a twisted copper pipe.

Deren looked up, face covered in machine oil, yet eyes frighteningly bright with manic energy.

"Ammonium nitrate sugar propellant with hollow-charge armor-piercing warhead!" He excitedly raised the iron pipe. "Specifically designed for—"

"Speak plainly." Onyxia interrupted.

Deren choked, scratching his head sheepishly. "Uh... basically... something that can burn a hole through your father's scales."

The Black Dragon Princess narrowed her eyes, golden vertical pupils contracting to thin lines in the dim lamplight.

"Demonstrate." She commanded.

Deren immediately jumped up, nimbly mounting a miniaturized rocket on an iron stand, warhead aimed at a half-palm-thick steel plate ten steps away.

"Will the noise not be too loud?" Onyxia frowned. "Dragonspawn patrol teams have been frequently active in Dustwallow Marsh recently."

"Relax!" Deren patted his chest confidently. "Quieter than goblin flatulence!"

He lit the fuse, pulling Onyxia behind a stone pillar—

WHOOSH!

The rocket trailed faint exhaust smoke, carving a cleanly melted circular hole in the steel plate, momentum undiminished as it embedded in the rear stone wall with a crisp metallic ding.

Onyxia stared at the still-smoking hole, silent for three long seconds.

"That is it?" She scoffed dismissively. "You expect to use this to trim Deathwing's toenails?"

Deren jogged over, prying out warhead remnants from the wall. "This is merely the experimental model—propellant load only one-tenth of live rounds." He wiped slag from copper liner fragments. "The real weapon can penetrate one meter of homogeneous steel—but that is not the point."

He leaned close to Onyxia, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "This is for finishing blows. After the main charge stuns him, you grab this—" He made a brutal thrusting motion. "And shove it into his elementium breastplate cracks."

The Black Dragon Princess's tail tip unconsciously swept the ground.

"I want to test live rounds." She suddenly said.

Deren's smile froze on his face. "What?"

"Now."

Onyxia manifested her true dragon form, pitch-black scales gleaming coldly under swamp gas lamps. She impatiently tapped the ground with massive claws, shaking dust from the workshop ceiling.

"Hurry. Up." She growled.

Deren's face paled, clutching composite armor pieced from steel plates and ceramic fragments, trembling as he fitted it onto her forelimb.

"At-at least wear armor... Please, safety first..." His voice shook. "The composite armor I constructed should provide decent protection."

Onyxia scoffed but still allowed him to secure the armor properly.

Deren retreated to a safe distance, laboriously setting up the full-size rocket launcher, ensuring aim at the armored dragon body—

BOOM!

The instant the projectile left the barrel, shockwaves overturned three tool racks. The armor-piercing round precisely struck composite armor. The copper liner jet poured forth like a hot knife through butter, penetrating the composite armor and leaving a charred scorch mark on Onyxia's forelimb.

"ROAR—!" The black dragon bellowed in pain, sound waves cracking workshop rock walls into spiderweb patterns.

Deren ran over with genuine concern. "Your Highness, are you alright—"

Yet Onyxia suddenly quieted.

She lowered her massive head, gazing at the smoking wound, extended her tongue to lick scorched scales, and then suddenly emitted low, satisfied laughter.

"Human." She flicked her tail, tossing the launcher before Deren. "I want one hundred of these."

Air still retained the rocket's pungent post-launch smell. Deren frantically tidied overturned tool racks while Onyxia lowered her head, licking the forelimb burn, dragon eyes gleaming with some pleased, dangerous light.

Suddenly, air in the workshop corner distorted unnaturally.

"Whoa."

A crisp, childlike voice came from the void.

Deren whipped around to see a golden rift splitting midair. A pigtailed small head poked out, round eyes staring fixedly at Onyxia's wound.

"Chromie?!" Deren nearly bit his tongue.

"You actually let this thing hit you?" Chromie—the bronze dragon's humanoid gnome form—completely emerged from the temporal rift, pointing at the Black Dragon Princess's burned scales, face written with disbelief. "Onyxia, when did you become so... masochistically valiant?"

Onyxia's tail cracked a stone slab with a sharp slap. "Come out and talk properly, shorty."

Chromie pouted, completely jumping from the rift, dusting off nonexistent dirt. She circled Onyxia, clicking her tongue in wonder. "Seriously, I did not expect you would voluntarily serve as a target dummy?"

"None of your business." Onyxia narrowed her eyes. "This bit of pain is nothing. Without confirming the weapon's actual power, how can I feel confident about the next plan?"

Chromie laughed, jumping onto a rock fragment, swinging her legs. "Me too—coming to reconfirm the plan's viability. I feel like I am stupid for believing you two can actually handle that ancient monster."

Onyxia's scales bristled slightly, her throat rumbling with a low growl.

Deren quickly inserted himself between two dragons. "Chromie, you came to confirm the plan, correct?"

Chromie's expression immediately turned serious. She jumped down, patting Deren's shoulder. "Nozdormu has already noticed abnormal timeline fluctuations." She lowered her voice. "Are you certain about doing this?"

Deren nodded firmly. "News has already spread throughout the Eastern Kingdoms via goblins. Black Dragon Fertilizer rumors fly everywhere. Even Stormwind nobles are discussing it... Deathwing cannot possibly remain oblivious."

Onyxia snorted coldly, claws toying with the rocket beside her. "We also prepared... little gifts for him."

Chromie stared at those coldly gleaming metal projectiles, swallowing nervously. "These—these things can really hurt him?"

Deren scratched his head. "Just follow the plan. We do our part; fate handles the rest." He paused, meaningfully adding, "Besides... we have a big boss watching our backs."

He finished, lightly tapping the ground with his toe.

Instantly, both dragons (though one was humanoid) fell into tense silence.

Chromie's pupils contracted slightly. Onyxia's tail tip coiled nervously. Deren simply stood there calmly, as if he had merely commented on pleasant weather.

"Alright." Chromie finally sighed deeply. "I will join on schedule."

She turned, jumping back into the temporal rift. Before leaving, she poked her head out to add, "Oh right—" She winked at Onyxia with forced cheer. "Your father is probably already on his way here."

The rift whooshed shut, leaving the workshop in profound silence.

Deren and Onyxia exchanged meaningful glances.

The Black Dragon Princess's lips slowly spread, revealing sharp dragon fangs.

Deren wiped cold sweat from his forehead, yet also started laughing nervously.

"The fireworks show is starting early." He said softly.