Chapter 356 - My CO Stash #56 - Wizard Runemaster by plums (HarryPotterXWarcraft) (1/2)

-The attention to detail, the quests, and the interactions between characters makes this CO fic a worthwhile read!

Synopsis: A Weapon. A Hero. But now… a loose end. Harry Potter resolves to destroy the enemies who betrayed him on his terms, only to find all his plans torn asunder when he's summoned to a new world plagued with the same enemies as his own.

Rated: M

Words: 283K

Posted on: fanfiction.net/s/8933408/1/Wizard-Runemaster (plums)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

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Chapter 1-3 (exceptional)

Harry sat on the edge of his bed in the master bedroom of the Potter Estate, slowly swirling the glass of fire whiskey in his hand. The rest of the house was empty except for the main entrance hall. Everything his family owned had been shrunk and placed within magical trunks that were stored in a moleskin pouch on his hip. All of it, ready to move at a moments notice.

Despite the fact he sat in a bedroom, he looked ready to fight a war since he had donned his full battle armor. Enchanted armor and robes that cost more than most wizards earned in ten lifetimes. And he had created these himself from scratch over the course of a year. All the knowledge to create them had been found in this house. The Potters truly were a powerful family, and it was no wonder Dumbledore had set up such an elaborate plot to gain access to his ancestor's secrets and fortune.

Everything the man had ever spoken or done regarding Harry had proved to be a lie. The death of his parents, the incarceration of Sirius, the ineffectual fighting of a second war against Voldemort, and the proclamations of war crimes against Harry for ending the lives of so many ”upstanding purebloods” to end the conflict. Dumbledore had secretly been behind it all, and thought himself one-step ahead of Harry at all times.

The start of Harry's disillusionment with Dumbledore began moments after waking up in the hospital after the Twi-Wizard tournament. The old fool assumed Harry was asleep, but Harry had always been able to wake early from potions meant to incapacitate him in the hospital. It was the only time the Headmaster had probably ever spoken his true mind in public outside the safety of his office, and he paid for his indiscretion in spades.

”Is it done, Severus?” he heard the old man ask from a few feet away.

”Yes, but it appears to be ineffectual. His blood must be willingly and freshly given. We determined Potter himself must be in proximity to the wardstone as well. There were also additional conditions of the offering: he must be alive, coherent, and uncoerced when he makes the offering.”

”Blast,” he heard Dumbledore respond with vehemence Harry had never heard before. Harry almost opened his eyes there, but managed to remain calm and unmoving. ”The boy can never know of his family's estate. The knowledge and opportunities it contains could allow him to end this war on his own if he actually was properly trained. We can't allow that if we want to be the ones who gain from allowing this conflict to be drawn out.”

”Well, at least that part won't ever be a concern,” said Snape, and Harry actually could swear he heard humor in the distasteful man's voice. ”The boy is far more concerned with playing chess and quidditch with his Neanderthal friend than he is actually improving himself. He's known the Dark Lord has been after him since the end of his first year when he saw him with his own eyes, and he still does nothing to actually improve his chances of survival. He chooses classes such as Divination and Magical Creatures instead of Runes and Arithmancy. His luck has held so far, I doubt it will hold much longer. We will be ready to step in if that is the case.”

Harry remembered his anger at those words at the time, but looking back now, he could honestly credit that brief summarization of his life as entirely truthful. He truly had never applied himself. All he had done was go with the flow. The only true extracurricular studying he had ever done outside the standard Hogwarts curriculum was to support his own survival in the Tournament. And even then, it was Hermione who performed most of the legwork.

He resolved right then and there to change.

A final off-hand comment by Snape as he walked away though is what changed the course of history. ”It's just good he's continually bought your excuses not to enter Gringotts and to let the Weasley woman have possession of his trust vault key. He'll never know he's about to miss the opportunity to claim his inheritance and the Order will be well funded with money from his own vault.”

As he heard the fading footsteps he felt rage overcome him. At that moment, for the first time in his life, he knew just how screwed he really was. It was a daunting realization, to have it finally dawn on him just how numerous his enemies were beyond just Voldemort.

The Death Eater children of Slytherin were his enemies. They had been trained since birth to hate Dumbledore and his ”Golden Boy” Harry. It didn't matter that Harry had been left out to dry Dumbledore publicly on multiple occasions. Additionally, the ”popular” crowd of Hogwarts were his enemies, since they relied upon gossip as fact. They had hated Harry for being a parselmouth, and hated him even more for stealing Cedric's thunder in the tournament. And the ”light side” cronies of Albus Dumbledore were also apparently his enemies, as they sought to take what was rightfully his.

He also knew that the Ministry of Magic was now his enemy. He was not a completely naive child, and he was well aware of the consequences of the massive argument he had witnessed between Albus Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Because Harry was the original source of the now disputed fact of Voldemort's return, he knew the ministry would likely throw all its considerable political weight behind destroying Harry's reputation even further than Rita Skeeter had done this past year. He also knew this would be exacerbated by Lucius Malfoy, an influential Death Eater who had the Minister's ear. His political power was demonstrated two years previous after the man out-maneuvered Dumbledore during the Chamber of Secrets crisis.

A war had started and Harry was already fighting an uphill battle. Harry, for all intents and purposes, was in a war against everyone. And he was completely alone.

He couldn't count on Hermione to save his a_s_s every time he found himself in trouble in the future. His only other potential ally he could think of was Neville Longbottom, and Neville was a far cry from someone who would be useful in battle. Neville was an abused under-confident child just like Harry was, and would have his own problems to overcome.

”Dobby,” he whispered, hoping the Elf would would come.

”Yes Harry Potter sir,” the diminutive green being said with exuberance.

”Dobby, do you wish to be my house Elf?”

His eyes widened. The incredibly loyal being looked like Christmas had just been declared to be every day of the year.

”Yes sir, Harry Potter Sir. Dobby would love to be his Elf.”

”How do I do that?”

Dobby reached over and grabbed Harry's hand. Instantly he felt a bond between the two form. It felt pure and comforting. He knew Dobby was loyal to him and him alone, and that he could trust him with his life.

”Dobby, I need to get out of Hogwarts. I need you to quietly pack up all my belongings in my room, get out my invisibility cloak, and bring it all here.”

A minute later, Dobby returned with all his c_h_e_s_t, cloak, and an outfit to wear outside of the hospital. With a deep breath, Harry stretched and snuck out of the hospital. The hastily put together plan seemed to have succeeded so far.

He needed to get from Hogwarts to there, and he needed to do it immediately. With his belongings packed, he shrunk his school c_h_e_s_t and donned his father's invisibility cloak. Thirty minutes later, after a quick jaunt through a Hogwarts secret passageway, he found himself emerging from the bas_e_m_e_nt of Honeydukes, the sweet shop in Hogsmeade village. A quick run to ”the Three Broomsticks” tavern and some stolen floo powder found himself emerging from the fireplace in Diagon Alley's Leaky Cauldron in London. Elapsed time thus far, twenty minutes.

He was easily able to sneak through the alley undetected, and wisely took off his cloak as he ascended the steps to Gringotts. After all, it wouldn't be a very smart thing to sneak into a bank where guards would sooner kill you than look at you while wearing a device such as a invisibility cloak.

Those few fleeting moments on the steps of that bank would be the last time Harry James Potter was seen in public for nearly two and half years.

-o0o0o-

Harry continued to sit on the bed, lost in the memories of what followed the acceptance of his heritage. The grief, the rage, and finally, the happiness of having actual physical things that belonged to his parents in his hands other than an old invisibility cloak.

The goblins were extremely helpful with finding trainers for Harry. He withdrew from Hogwarts and applied himself towards learning everything and anything that could possibly assist him. He trained his body, his mind, and even his soul. The magical ”leech” in his scar was removed, setting Harry's mind at ease and giving him the first true period of uninterrupted sleep in his lifetime. The power boost he received after the leach's removal was also incredibly substantial.

Open war broke out within a week of Harry's removal of the soul fragment embedded in the scar. He later learned through the interrogation of a high-ranked prisoner that Voldemort had been attempting to influence Harry through the mental link embedded in the scar. The Dark Lord's goal was for Harry to stupidly wander into the Ministry of magic and steal a prophecy orb for him located in the Department of Mysteries. With this no longer an option, Voldemort had to steal it himself, which through his own poorly devised plan, exposed him publicly far sooner than he wanted.

Before that summer was finished, the news was out. Voldemort was back and Harry Potter wasn't a liar. But even then, Harry did not make any public appearances. Decrees were passed by the Wizengamot, declaring him a traitor to Britain unless he returned to fight the Dark Lord, but he ignored each and every one. He went through a crash course of magical combat far more intensive than had been seen in centuries. It was during this period, he discovered the love of his life.

Runes.

Runes could do everything Magic could do, but only better. They were static, predictable, and could be overpowered via Harry's insanely high magic levels to never break down even if subjected to simultaneous drains by hundreds of other normal wizards.

Eventually, Harry deemed his training adequate for the initial strike against his enemies. Magical Britain had taken no direct actions to combat the treasonous faction. They weren't even bothering to pursue them. The Death Eaters would never be defeated so long as the current toadies for Voldemort were entrenched in the legislature. As long as they held power, they could hold up the process for as long as needed to ensure the Dark Lord's ultimate victory.

So Harry had no choice. It was easy after all. All he did was compare each piece of legislation that helped Voldemort and which pieces that would aid muggleborns and compare who voted for what. It conveniently, gave him a very specific list of people who voted the same way each time.

He waited for a Wizengamot meeting where Dumbledore was out of the country on business. He stormed the Wizengamot and killed one-third of its members in the middle of a session. He left the room in ruins, each dead body with their left sleeve cut off, showing they were branded servants of the Dark Lord.

The action immediately alienated himself from both sides of the war, but it wasn't like he cared. He had already been declared a criminal and a traitor to Magical England, but at least now, he had done something to earn those charges. He was happy with the result since the government was free to make laws that actually targeted Death Eaters.

Afterwards, Voldemort was slowly pushed back, inch by inch, blow by blow, until he was on the ropes. They had him surrounded. An international force with some of the strongest Wizards in the world. Those present at that last battle truly believed the four years of war against the evil wizard were finally about to end.

And then the unthinkable happened. Voldemort unveiled that he had made a pact with a group of demons called the Burning Legion. And then he opened a Dark Portal and their invasion of Earth began. Voldemort died within seconds of the Portal opening, but no one had time to cheer. They were too busy trying to save their own lives.

Harry sighed, remembering the brutal dozen years that followed. Satyrs, imps, succubae, Doomguards, Felguards, Dread Lords, Shivarra, and Eradar. The endless number of foes he had slaughtered with his own hands had made Harry almost numb to death. However many he had slaughtered though found ten more behind to replace them. The number of humans upon Earth had fallen to under ten percent what it had been before the war.

'Before the war… that was now over.'

That concept was something Harry truly wished he could enjoy. But Harry would never be granted peace. He had been branded an international war criminal for the ruthless manner he had interrogated and ended the lives of his enemies. He had mind-r_a_p_ed so many Death Eaters prior to the war with the Burning Legion that it wasn't even something he could consider wrong anymore. He had seen their crimes. The r_a_p_es, the murders. He knew they would be back out on the street within weeks because of how the criminal justice system worked in England. He had committed unthinkable crimes for the good of everyone, because no one else had the stomach for it. The remaining magical humans alive on Earth owed their very lives to his methods, but they would never admit it.

Instead, a large group of 'light-side' fanatics currently stood outside the boundaries of his ancestral home. They had been banging on the wards in an attempt to bring them down for the past four days to arrest him. In truth, they didn't have a prayer of entering his wards. Nothing short of a muggle nuclear weapon could penetrate the ancient wards on the manor that Harry himself had reinforced. And even then, Harry could only count the Nuclear Weapon as a possibility because his attempts at an anti-radiation ward had never been tested.

No, any progress they had made towards bringing down the wards was deliberately allowed by Harry. He wanted this over.

He was tired of running. The Demon War had ended almost three years prior. He was tired of hiding on an estate that no one could enter but him. He was ready to start his life over. Voldemort was defeated. The Demon hordes of the Burning Legion had been driven back and eradicated. The portals had been shut down.

Now all that was left was for Harry himself to disappear. He needed to fake his death, or at least leave enough doubt that it wasn't worth the while of those in charge to continue to pursue him. If he could take out a number of his powerful enemies in the process, all the better.

And the people outside the ward line of his estate would certainly be counted amongst his enemies.

Most prominent of them all was Albus Dumbledore. The geriatric had lived through both the Demon and Second Voldemort war without lifting his wand once. That alone condemned him in Harry's mind. How many lives could have been saved if Albus Dumbledore had got off his sanctimonious arse and actually contributed. Harry hated hypothetical questions, but one like that always begged to be asked by his subconscious.

Harry's main plan to disappear was to allow Dumbledore and his minions access to his estate and then trap them here. He would then raise wards to prevent their escape and blow the place sky high, destroying them in one swoop and leaving their bodies in a completely unidentifiable state. The action would have the bonus of leaving it forever open as to whether he survived the incursion or not. The house was empty except for the main entrance hall to give the impression Harry still intended to live here. All side-halls from the entrance hall were sealed anyways to prevent people from snooping in the minute or two they had the chance.

If one were to wander the rest of the house behind those locked doors, they would be shocked to see the rest of the house was loaded to bear with runic bombs. Over five hundred bombs were all daisy-chained together into a massive array which would likely create a crater half a mile wide once set off. Harry would escape via shadow walking to a safe house in the American southwest. He planned to live there for at least half a decade in seclusion, then set out to another location which he would buy under an assumed identity already established by Gringotts.

There wasn't a ward in existence that could prevent his shadow-walking. Plus, it's not like Dumbledore would even know to prevent it anyways. No one alive knew he could shadow walk. Harry had killed everyone who had ever witnessed its use.

Harry absent-mindedly looked down at his glass, and realized he had sipped the final bit of alcohol he had nursed for the last thirty minutes.

'Guess this is it,' he thought sadly, as he looked around at the bedroom that had once belonged to his parents. He briefly thought of the few moments of happiness he had in this room. Laughing with Tonks. Chasing Susan around from room to room when she cursed his shower to run cold.

Memories of the two women he loved more than life itself… who had been killed by traitors outside his house right now.

He had found out his mother and father had lived here for the first ten months of their marriage, and had only abandoned it for a secluded cottage that Albus Dumbledore owned after Harry's birth. Dumbledore had told his parents of Harry's potential to kill Voldemort the day after he was born, and they immediately went into hiding, never knowing Dumbledore himself had Snape leak their identity to the Dark Lord.

'Just another crime that old man has never had to answer for until now,' thought Harry with quiet rage as he stood up.

He took one more look around the room and took a deep breath, before he walked out into the hallway. It was a dark, dreary walk through the empty halls of the house. Hallways once lined with portraits of his ancestors were b_a_r_e, since all the portraits were now stored in his hidden trunks. Even the magical light fixtures had been removed by Harry. He would leave nothing behind that could possibly be of sentimental value.

Eventually, he found himself in the entrance hall, and walked down the grand marble staircase. He sorely wished he could have had the chance to have made a family in this house. It was a warm, loving environment here, completely opposite to the one time he had seen the interior of the Malfoy estate, with its dreary and forbidding stone walls and old-world dungeon-like fires everywhere.

Even companionship had been denied to him. The two times he had dated a woman, they had both been assassinated. One by Voldemort, the other time by Dumbledore. The bodies of Susan Bones and Nymphadora Tonks had once been buried here at a secluded part of his estate. He had since moved their graves to a peaceful garden at his new safe house. He wouldn't dare allow their eternal rest to be disturbed by the explosion he was about to create.

He walked to the center of the hall and stopped. This was it, the vast trap arrays were skillfully hidden, and the method to ignite the bombs were under the pressure switch floor panel he had just stepped upon. All he needed to do was bait his enemies into the hall.

After one last look around the room, he concentrated on the wards, and quickly collapsed the one barrier that protected the path from the main gate that lead to the front door. With the manner he used to remove it, the arresting Aurors would have no means to tell that Harry deliberately lowered the barrier instead of it having failed on its own. He had, after all, slowly lowered this barrier bit by bit over the past few days to make it seem like they were making progress.

The rest of the wards were active, and he could feel the presence of the intruders as they jogged up the path. He inwardly seethed at what he felt. They were all useless. All of them were nothing to him. Barely any of them had a magical core bigger than a Hogwarts fifth year. It was obvious Dumbledore had scr_a_p_ed the bottom of the barrel for this group.

And speaking of Dumbledore, his presence was the hardest to miss. He was in the lead group, obviously trying to give the impression that he was the fabled Light Lord he always made himself out to be by leading the charge. Harry couldn't help but chuckle, since this was the first time Dumbledore had been on the front-line of a wizard war or engagement since the late 1970's.

The front door to the house smashed open, and wizards began to pour into the room. None of them fired, none of them did anything except to circle the room. Harry knew Dumbledore wouldn't be able to resist giving some sort of speech, so he allowed himself to be encircled. It wasn't like Harry had anything to fear, since he currently stood in a magical dead zone that extended five feet in every direction from him. If a spell was fired at him, it would dissipate before it even got close to him. Even the killing curse couldn't pass through the magical void.

While the minions scurried forth into the room, Albus Dumbledore was the last, despite being one of the first there. He obviously didn't want to engage in a firefight that might cost him his life as he entered, so he allowed his hand-picked troops to enter first.

He walked in with a twinkling gleam to his eye, which belied the pitifully fake look of disappointment he now had aimed at Harry. ”Harry, my boy. I'm afraid the chase ends here. Your parents would be ashamed at what you've done.”

Harry knew this was just Dumbledore baiting him, so he didn't bother responding. He felt the wards once more through the one sliver of magic he had allowed through the dead zone, and found that everyone in the attacking group had entered the room. It was time to end this.

Harry gave a quick mental command, and activated the primary trap array under his foot. Instantly, every person in the room found themselves unable to move. Dumbledore's eyes widened in an act of surprise, which very quickly transitioned to fear.

”Did you actually think I was going to let you just waltz in here, Albus?” Harry asked conversationally. He was honestly amused and even disappointed how easy this was. There wasn't any challenge at all.

”I know you can't speak Dumbledore because of my trap, so I won't bother with some long-winded dialogue.” He then spoke aloud, looking at everyone in the room who had their eyes glued to Harry, ”Just know that everyone here in this hall, and every one of your backup troops outside…”

”…are all about to die.”

Harry stepped off of the panel in the floor, and everyone heard an audible click, which began the countdown. Harry made a sigh of relief knowing that everything was about to go off without a hitch. ”You have roughly thirty seconds to make your peace with your god, old man.”

And with that final comment, Harry shadow walked out of his family estate.

Thirty seconds later, a circular half-mile area of Wales suddenly erupted in a blinding flash of light. Over five-hundred Witches and Wizards were vaporized instantly, including Albus Dumbledore, the famed self-proclaimed Leader of the Light.

And in America, in a secluded cabin stocked with provisions and under heavy wards, a silent beacon beeped the acknowledgment that the bomb had indeed gone off.

Yet the wizard that should have been there never arrived. In fact, the Wizard named Harry Potter was never seen on Earth again.

Chapter 2

After he left the manor, Harry shadow walked to his new refuge. Shadow-walking was an art that had long been over-looked by the wizarding community. Primarily it was because of a few Dark Lord's who utilized it in the past, but also because it was just so darn hard to learn. Instructions on the art were rare, and to learn the ability, one must immerse one's self in pure darkness and 'find the path.' Not only does it require supreme patience, it requires a sensitivity to magic that is almost unheard of in modern times.

He barely knew anyone who would even have the potential to learn the infamous branch of magic. Sirius likely could have learned it, as could his parents. No one really stood out amongst his Hogwarts peers. Hermione was book-smart, but her actual practical skills were nowhere near Harry's. A few of the more powerful Slytherin girl's he had quietly observed in the past such as Tracey Davis or Daphne Greengrass likely possessed the subtlety to learn the method of travel, but Harry knew they had been murdered in the first few years of the Demon War.

He was slowly making his way along the almost invisible road that would ultimately lead to his primary safe-house, feeling absolutely giddy with what he had done. It was over. There would likely always be questions about whether he was dead or not, but then again, no one would be able to tell his body from Dumbledore's.

He had almost reached his destination when he suddenly felt a lurch in his body. It wasn't like a portkey and their hook-like pulls behind one's navel. This was something else.

Something sinister.

He immediately felt the fel-magic behind whatever was affecting him. Demon Magic. He inwardly swore at the implications. He had his battle-robes on, but he was nowhere near equipped to his satisfaction to fight demons properly. He had his sword strapped to his back, but he would be unable to unleash the weapon while he shadow-walked. Holy weapons plus shadow realm equals bad news. He was about to duck out into the nearest shadow and then apparate to his destination when he felt something new, and then finally understood the implications.

Most demons came from worlds of darkness. Hence all demons at one point had to be summoned from a shadow plane. Once they entered the real world, they would stay there until dismissed. If the summoner dies, then the demon permanently stays on the normal plane of existence.

And the feeling he noticed right now was just like whenever he observed Burning Legion warlocks amidst their summoning rituals. Someone was somehow summoning him.

'Oh Shi-', were his last eloquent thoughts before his body popped into nothingness and was summoned away from the realm of Earth.

-o0o0o-

Lord Banehollow was a proud Dread Lord. In fact, he was one of the highest ranking Nathrezim who had participated in the Third War on Azeroth. However, when the Burning Legion was defeated at the World Tree upon Mount Hyjal, Generals such as Banehollow found themselves leaderless and amongst troops with no supply lines or clearly defined mission.

He had managed to collect a few thousand demons and warlocks in Felwood and form them into a somewhat cohesive force, but he knew it would never be enough to support Lord Sargeras' ambitions upon his eventual return to Azeroth. Sargeras had been obsessed with Azeroth for over 10,000 years. The world was an o_b_s_c_e_n_ely rich source of raw magic, which would normally cause demons to thrive and multiply in droves. The godlike beings known as Titans had experimented heavily on this world with various magical means before the group abandoned the world. The remnants and power of these experiments sung to the demons and drew them forth like moths to a flame.

There had been multiple invasions of Azeroth over the past ten millennia. Some were direct invasions by the Burning Legion and its forces, and others were indirect such as when the Legion sent its enslaved servants, the Orcs, through the portals created.

All campaigns resulted in the same thing… failure.

Banehollow knew another invasion would eventually occur, but he did not know when. He knew his role would be to build an army to support the next invasion, but that could not happen while the forces of this world were still strong. If the demons were to set up permanent colonies and begin to breed, the native forces would easily notice and crush them like insects. For the past five years since the end of the war, his only ambition had been to gather unaligned demons and wait for the return of their Master or his chief lieutenant, Kil'Jaeden.

This ambition changed recently when an old tome was discovered amongst the ruins of Az'shara. The ruined area of land represented the outskirts of the once majestic Night Elf city that was the source of the original invasion of Azeroth. The prideful elves had been their own downfall. It was amusing to Banehollow that their inability to find this one specific book when they meticulously cleansed the ruins would now be their undoing.

The ritual outlined within the book was quite simple in theory, just difficult in execution. It would summon the most deadly foe of the Legion, and then through fel-magic, bind the person's mind to the summoner.

Just the very thought of performing this ritual made Banehollow cackle with near childlike glee. The greatest enemy to the Burning Legion upon Azeroth right now was the Night Elf priestess Tyrande Whisperwind. Her mate, Malfurion could have potentially been the enemy, but his soul had been rumored to have been lost amidst the endless forests of the Emerald Dream, a parallel reality to Azeroth that reflected the land in its once primordial glory. Apparently, dark forces were overrunning the Dream, and Malfurion's spirit had been trapped there for nearly four years

'Sucks for him,' thought Banehollow maliciously.

The ritual would not summon Malfurion in theory because his soul was currently not on this plane of existence. Which left Tyrande as the next largest threat. He couldn't wait to enslave the warrior priestess. She would eventually stand at his side as they waged battle, marched forth, and slaughtered her own kin. Until that day however, she would need to be broken. She would serve as entertainment for his loyal troops here in Shadow Hold.

The ritual required him to sacrifice a servant, which seemed totally justified to Banehollow. 'Sacrifice a servant to gain a more powerful one. A totally acceptable price to pay,' he thought.

This concept is why he didn't think twice upon incapacitating Shadow Lord Fel'dan, the highest member of the Shadow Council upon Azeroth. New ants would rise to take his place eventually. But here was the opportunity to gain a servant stronger than any the Legion previously held. Besides, the succubae that served Fel'dan seemed thrilled at the possibility of having Tyrande as a playmate.

The ritual was set up in the deepest part of the Shadow Hold and the Dread Lord was assisted by his primary servant, Ur'dan. He never really liked the orc, but he was crafty and had his uses. Banehollow was aware the wily orc ran a huge business selling Xorithian Stardust to other warlocks, but Nathrezim let it slide so long as it didn't affect his primary duties. He may be greedy, but he was intelligent and loyal.

Ur'dan was easily able to create the sacrificial circle required to empower the ritual once he was instructed. All that was required now was for Banehollow to sacrifice his own blood and channel his demonic magic into the circle.

The summoning circle required a much greater effort than Banehollow cared to admit. The notes described how the amount of magic required was directly related to the power and distance of the enemy. It took nearly two minutes for the circle to complete, by which time Banehollow had dropped to a knee in exhaustion.

He was almost too tired to look up and gaze upon his new slave, when he suddenly heard a roar of rage from the dead center of the circle.

Instead of finding Tyrande Whisperwind when he looked up, he discovered a young human male with dark hair and malevolent green eyes that briefly locked eyes with Banehollow before the human shouted ”Nathrezim!”

With one smooth movement, Banehollow watched as the young warrior's sword was unsheathed from his back and removed Ur'dan's head. Banehollow quickly realized that the ritual failed, and whoever this warrior was, they were definitely not enthralled by the magic of the ritual.

The warrior turned his head to Banehollow, who barely had time to raise an exhausted arm to launch one Carrion Swarm at the human before he saw a flash of the human's silver sword fly under his chin.

The Dread Lord Banehollow's last thoughts before his demonic soul rematerialized in death amongst the wastes of the Twisting Nether was, 'Well shit, that wasn't a good idea.'

-o0o0o-

As Harry felt himself summoned, he tried not to panic. The instant he felt his body enter the stream of the summoning, he felt his mind undergo an attack ten times worse than he had ever felt from Voldemort. It slammed into his Occlumency shields with malicious intent. Whoever was behind this did not mean to read Harry's mind and plumb his secrets. The person meant to completely dominate Harry's personality and subvert it to their own. The will behind the attack was incredible, and Harry could only hope that he could last out the pain.

He didn't know how long it took to arrive, but the moment the pain stopped, he found himself standing upon a large five meter wide circle drawn in blood. He saw a Nathrezim slump to a knee and look down in what appeared to be exhaustion. 'This must be the f_u_c_ker who summoned me,' he thought as he lost control of his temper and shouted, ”Nathrezim!”

Harry abhorred Nathrezim. They were the field generals of the Legion. Intelligent and wily, they were often the last opponents to die on any field of battle. They had a sense of self-preservation that was unequalled, and taking them out early in a pitched battle between armies was almost next to impossible.

Another glance around as he withdrew his sword brought his attention to a green thing with overlarge tusks protruding from his mouth that stood next to the Dread Lord. The green man had the most ridiculous looking hat on Harry had ever seen, and the sight of it made want to kill the thing just on principal. A slight shift in course and a swing removed the green dude's head before the thing could so much as whimper in fear.

He turned his head to the Dread Lord, who at this point had noticed Harry was there and about to fight him. The Dread Lord raised his hands in attempt to ward off Harry's next blow.

Harry feinted to his left, which the Dread Lord fell for easily, before Harry pivoted and swung his sword at the demon's exposed throat. The demon managed to cast a fairly strong Carrion Swarm at Harry, which he failed to bite back the grunt of pain it inflicted.

But through the pain of the fel-curse, Harry felt the satisfaction of resistance against the sword as it travelled through the Dread Lord's neck. A second later, Harry heard the very welcome thud of the impact of the demon's head upon the ground and the batlike sounds of fel-magic evaporation as the power left the corpse of the Dread Lord.

Harry realized he wasn't out of danger yet and turned around. He saw no one in the immediate vicinity, but realized with all the noise he had just made, reinforcements were very likely to be coming soon. He glanced at the wound at his side and let out an annoyed sigh.

Fel-Curse.

It would take two weeks to heal from the damned thing, and that was only after it drove him to the brink of exhaustion sometime in the next day or so. Carrion Swarm introduced demonic insect constructs into the victim's body. Without treatment, he would slowly fade in and out of consciousness as his magic fought the curse. He would need to find way out of this cave, find shelter and food, and lay low for two weeks.

As he proceeded forth out of the part of the cave he came to one disturbing fact. He was no longer on Earth. With the little he knew about space / time and demonic summoning techniques, the time he had spent ”in transit” exceeded any he would have had while on his own world.

The thought brought him to an immediate stop. He instantly turned around and marched back to the two corpses and looked for any information he could find about the ritual that brought him here. He found a few tomes scattered about, along with numerous doc_u_ments that looked like battle plans and troop strength listings written in demonic. Harry had interrogated demons before during the war, and translation charms slowly taught a person both the language and the system of writing while they were in place. He could understand everything written here.

Seeing the value in this information, Harry took it all. Demons were always at war with someone. This information could prove useful if he could make it out alive. Maybe even buy him some limited protection with new allies. He then took all the weapons and gold he found upon the green dude, seeing as he no longer had a use for them. The currency was a standard mix of gold, silver, and copper. But the weapons Harry found very intriguing. It had the hint of magic upon it. Enchantments. But there were no runes present.

He would enjoy figuring that particular puzzle out later.

With one last look at the summoning circle that brought him here, Harry strode out of the room. He could recreate the circle later from a memory in a pensieve.

-o0o0o-

Arko'narin was on her last legs emotionally. A Shadow Council faction hitherto unknown in Felwood had captured her and her friend of the past decade, Trey Lightforge, five days previous. In addition, not only had she been captured and brought to their base, she found out it was the primary headquarters of the Shadow Council's entire organization on Azeroth.

The fear she felt when she had been stripped n_a_k_e_d in front of their leader Fel'dan still made her shiver. It was a feeling she hated, and she continually alternated between shivering in fear of what her fate would be and shivering with cold as the Orcs and Satyrs present hadn't even left the Night Elf her u_n_d_e_r_w_e_a_r.

A rescue was out of the question. She knew this. No one knew they were proceeding to this part of Felwood. Despite it being against all protocols of the Alliance, the duo had set out without notifying anyone, as they were trying to be quick to capitalize on a lead they had acquired on the Shadow Council.

They had been overwhelmed by enemies before they could even reach the entrance to the old Druid Barrow-Dens. Minutes later, they were bound and already being transported as prisoners into the depths of the ancient unused Druid caves of hibernation.

She guessed Trey was dead by now. They had taken him the previous day, and the absolute inhuman howls that had gone on for hours had long since stopped. She only hoped that her death would not be as agonizing as what he had endured. She prayed for something quick, but doubted they would be that merciful.

She looked around the room. Groups of Satyr's and Felguards roamed aimlessly, and occasionally an Orc or two would wander by and sneer at her as she lay chained within her cage. It was barely tall enough for her to sit upright, and the Orcs that brought her one meal a day had not seen fit to take her to a toilet, so she had been forced to relieve herself right in the cage, much to the amus_e_m_e_nt of the Orcs who merely sat and watch as she defecated on herself.

Arko'narin was too exhausted to care about the smell or embarrassment. The numb feeling generated when her thoughts pondered the events she had endured thus far only told her that she was slowly breaking down mentally. It would not be long now, and she knew that. They at least had left Karri, her nightsaber mount, alive to this point. The cat had even managed to procure more food than she had so far.

'They probably wanted to fatten her up for a feast later on,' she thought bitterly.

She loved Karri. The nightsaber had been with her for nearly five centuries. Mounts that bonded to Night Elves tended to acquire unnaturally long lives. In her three millenniums of life thus far, Karri was only the second mount she had. Her original mount had lived nearly two thousand years, and it had taken Arko'narin nearly a hundred years past Nia's death to work up the courage to bond to another mount.

Her thoughts on her mount were interrupted by the sound of battle approaching.

'Could someone be attempting to rescue me?' she thought with hope. Then she realized the direction was all wrong. The fighting was not coming from the barrow entrance, but from deeper within. The only person who was that direction who was her ally was Trey, and she knew almost for certain that he was dead.

True utter fear gripped her. Was this a demon revolt? It certainly wasn't unheard of. She had previously been on missions in her long life where they had come upon the aftermath of a demon revolt. No one knew what caused them, but the result was always the same. Hundreds of demons dead by their own hands. And if this was a revolt, she doubted she would emerge with her innocence unscathed before she was put to death.

A tear rolled along the young night elf's cheek. 'Oh Elune, please, do not let this be the end,' she thought as she prayed to the Moon Goddess that had been the salvation of her people so many times in the past.

She gripped her knees tighter as sound of fighting approached. A quick glance at Karri told her that the cat was ready to do battle with whatever came if it gained even the slightest chance at freedom. Her last hope before a door somewhere behind her was thrown open was to wish that she could die on her feet and not in a cage.

-o0o0o-

They were unending.

He slew Warlock after Satyr after Undead looking weird people with big ears. There were even a few fel guards thrown in randomly. Enemies seemed to come from almost every direction, but at least their training s_u_c_k_e_d. He sliced through them with a reckless abandon that bordered upon mindless.

But something angered him even more as he progressed further out of this stronghold that he had randomly found himself inside.

There were humans among them.

'Betrayers,' he inwardly raged. How dare this sc_u_m work alongside the Burning Legion. After he killed a s_u_c_c_u_b_u_s matriarch that stood over the savaged remains of some sort of Holy Knight, he finally took the chance to rest. Physically he was fine. But the fel-curse upon him was slowly sapping his magical strength.

The knight's fate unnerved him. Harry could tell the fallen man's soul had somehow been corrupted before it had been f_o_r_c_i_b_l_y extracted from the body. It certainly sounded like something these demons would do. Harry himself had obviously been the victim of an attempted takeover of his mind and soul. It wasn't that far of a stretch to assume that they tried similar methods on others to enthrall them.

He proceeded into the next room and found a lone human there, tending some tomes of knowledge. Harry petrified and cast some binding ropes upon the man, causing him to fall unceremoniously upon the ground.

'Let's find out some information,' he thought as he cast Legilimens the human.

'Where are we, human?' he thought mentally at the man.

The man attempted to resist the question, but Harry easily squashed down the resistance, 'Shadow Hold.'

'Where is Shadow Hold?'

'It is located in Felwood,' the man responded.

'Where is Felwood,' Harry asked, and he could feel the shock emanate from the man at the question.

The man faltered in his response, but the answer came eventually. 'Felwood is in the northwestern part of Kalimdor, the western continent of the world of Azeroth.'

Finally, there was Harry's confirmation. He was no longer on Earth. Instead, he was on some Burning Legion occupied world called Azeroth.

On a whim, Harry asked, 'Are there any prisoners kept here?'

The man resisted more than he had previously, but through a bit of force, Harry prodded out an answer, 'Yes, some Night Elf s_l_u_t we've been ordered to leave unsullied. She's apparently a two thousand year old v_i_r_g_i_n, and her maiden's blood will be excellent for a strong ritual.'

Harry felt himself enraged at the response, especially when he saw the flit of a memory of a beautiful light purple-skinned woman with blue hair and glowing white eyes who sat n_a_k_e_d in a wooden cage. Her most prominent feature beyond her ample c_h_e_s_t were her foot long ears that extended backwards from her head in a point. She was obviously the female version of the corrupted beings he had fought earlier within the tunnels. He was about to extract himself from the human's mind when he saw a memory of the human's laughter as he taunted the woman as she was forced to sit in her own waste.

”Where is she?” Harry growled aloud, completely forgetting to project his question into the human's mind.

'In… the next… room.' The man managed to think before blood began to flow from his eyes, ears, and nose.

Harry would normally simply kill the man, but he wasn't feeling generous at the moment after the memories he had seen. He cast an extremely painful version of the Entrail-Expelling Curse at him, before he walked off without a second thought. Harry didn't even acknowledge the sickening wet sounds of the man's stomach and intestinal organs vomiting out of his mouth and nose.

After killing a few more satyrs, who were too busy drinking and fornicating with themselves to hear the sounds of battle, Harry came upon a room that looked similar to the area where the woman had been imprisoned in the human's memories.

He glanced around, and saw the woman quietly stare at him while attempting to not draw attention to herself. He was about to unlock her cage, when a booming voice from the door opposite yelled, ”Who dares to disturb my rest before the summoning ritual?”

A large green Satyr slowly walked into the room, flanked by two guards. The Satyr proudly wore the raiment of a prince, thought Harry could hardly call the outfit princely, or even close to those of Satyr nobles he had killed in the past when he had snuck up on them while they had lost themselves in orgies. The demon had a sword in his belt that did not look appropriate to him. It was obviously some spoil of war that had been lazily placed there.

The Satyr's eyes fell upon Harry, and instantly showed rage at the smirk Harry had given the demon. ”Adventurer, you've snuck into the wrong den. This place will now become your tomb.”

The demon gave the most clichéd laugh Harry had heard in years. He didn't know whether to laugh at the thing or somehow cry in sympathy. Either way, Harry did what he did best to demons.

He killed it.

Instead of using his sword, Harry unleashed his wand out of his forearm holster in a quick draw and cast a silent Diffindo at the demon. The satyr barely registered shock at Harry's switch from sword to wand before the spell cut into his neck and severed his head from his body.

The two guards took one look at the fallen form of their leader and charged, their claw-like hands swiping at Harry in a completely untrained fashion.

'These are guards for a prince?' Harry thought with disappointment as he dodged between their blows before he cast a close-range Reducto at each Satyr. Their heads exploded with a muffled squelch sound, and their bodies quickly fell to the floor.

Harry took a look around, to ensure that the room was clear, then he slowly walked towards the caged woman, who he could tell was shaking with total mind-encompassing fear. As he walked he felt the curse from the Dread Lord gain more power. 'I need to get out of here. Hopefully I can trust her because I'm not going to be conscious much longer. I used too much energy to get this far.'

As he approached, Harry lifted his wand, and he could feel the woman tense. A large chained cat across the hall from her growled at Harry in warning. The cat was obviously sentient to some extent and a companion to the girl.

Harry cast a translation charm at the woman so that he could understand her language and slowly learn it. He cast one at the cat as well just in case. The woman closed her eyes in fear as the spell hit her, but after a few seconds, and no noticeable outward effects, she opened her eyes.

Harry was about to speak, when she quickly blurted out, ”Please don't hurt me.”

-o0o0o-

She couldn't help what she had just said. She didn't even know if the human in front of her could understand her, since she had just plead for her life in the language of her own Kaldorei people.

The man however, gave a tight smile. ”I'm not going to hurt you. That spell I cast was a translation charm. It's simply there to help us understand each other and will help each of us learn the other's language.”

Her eyes widened at the potential of such a spell, but her mind quickly came back to the danger they found themselves in. ”Could you assist me in escaping, warrior-mage?”

He nodded and spoke the words, 'Alohamora' under his breath, but her s_e_n_s_i_t_i_v_e ears easily picked up the phrase. The lock on her cage quickly fell away and she hustled out of the filth she had spent the last few days sitting in. She suddenly became very self-conscious of the fact she was n_a_k_e_d, dirty, and smelled extremely foul.

The man quickly picked up on the source of how uncomfortable she was, and spoke, ”Hold still, let me help. It'll only take about ten seconds start to finish to get you ready to go. Please close your eyes for a second.”

She closed her eyes, and heard him say, 'Scurgify' a few times. She felt her skin feel lighter, and the smell that overwhelmed her nostrils from her experience slowly drifted away.

”OK, you should be clean now,” she heard him say.

She opened her eyes, and looked over herself. She was clean now. Not a speck of dirt anywhere on her body, though this just made her even more aware that she was completely nude in front of a highly attractive male as she crossed her arms over her c_h_e_s_t.

”My armor is just behind you, do you mind if I put it on?” She asked. He instantly sputtered a bit in embarrassment and stepped-aside. As she approached where her armor was thrown haphazardly upon the ground, she asked, ”Can you free my mount? Her name is Karri. We'll need her to escape.”

The man nodded, and cast a spell at the chain that bound Karri. Her friend and companion instantly sprinted forth and began to lick Arko'narin's fingers.

”I know baby, I'm glad you're ok as well,” she whispered.

The man slowly approached, but he didn't look at her, he looked at Karri, ”May I heal your cat, it looks like she has a few wounds.”

Karri growled, and Arko'narin couldn't help but chuckle at the nightsaber. She hated being referred to as a cat, but now wasn't the time for her usual antics.

”Just let him, Karri. We need to move.”

She quickly donned her armor and weapons, feeling a bit more secure despite how perilous their situation was. A quick glance at the strange human found him with his hand on Karri's back while he waved a wand over whip marks that slowly disappeared.

He noticed her staring and said aloud, ”My spells don't clean blood very well, unfortunately. She'll need a wash to get the bloodstains out, but her skin and muscles have been healed.”

Arko'narin nodded her thanks, but what surprised her was the growl that Karri made which clearly said, ”Thank you, human.”