Witnessing the cooked duck ascend into the heavens, Arthas unleashed a furious arc with Frostmourne. The blade howled through the air, and a colossal stone pillar CRACKED like brittle bone in its path.
"By the Frozen Throne!" Arthas snarled, the air around him crackling with icy wrath. He yanked Frostmourne free, its runes glowing with malevolent energy, and fixed a glacial stare upon Vantos. "Incompetent fool! With such a prime opportunity, you let that precious artifact slip through your grasp!"
A crimson tide of anger surged in Vantos, threatening to breach his stoic facade. Yet, he bit back his fury, his voice tight with strained control. "Prince Arthas, the raw magic of the Nightwell flows through my conduits. The remaining power is substantial; it will not impede the Great Master's grand design!"
"Hmph!" Though his displeasure lingered like a bitter frost, Arthas acknowledged the prudence of restraint with this newly inducted Nightborne sorcerer. "It had better be as you claim! Kel'Thuzad," his gaze shifted, sharp as shattered ice, "the summoning of Archimonde falls to you. Salanar, my loyal Death Knight," he gestured towards the fallen Spellblade, "claim the husk of this pathetic warrior. I shall forge him into an instrument of my will!"
Salanar, a veteran admiral of Lordaeron's once-proud fleet, now a chilling specter in Arthas's service, moved with grim purpose. He had followed his prince to the frozen north, only to be reborn in undeath. Without a word, he hefted Mylan'dus's lifeless form. The Spellblade, regardless of virtue or vice, had fought with a warrior's resolve until his final breath.
As Arthas vanished into the shadows, a swirling emerald rift tore open the fabric of reality. From its chaotic heart strode Tichondrius, his voice a guttural command that echoed with demonic power. "Well done, Lich. Commence the ritual of summoning!"
"As you command, Lord Tichondrius." Kel'Thuzad inclined his horned skull, a sinister anticipation gleaming in his eyes. "The energy matrix will be established swiftly. I shall initiate the conjuration the moment I ascertain the Nightwell's residual energies!"
Guided by Vantos, they descended into the Nighthold's arcane heart. Beside the pulsating Nightwell, Kel'Thuzad began to weave intricate patterns of power. Dal'khan, his gaze narrowed with suspicion, watched Vantos – a distant Nightborne kin, newly turned and yet untethered to the Lich King's absolute control. In this pivotal moment, vigilance was paramount.
The summoning array shimmered into existence, four obsidian obelisks marking its corners. At its center floated a ring of polished stone, etched with glowing arcane sigils. Kel'Thuzad raised the forbidden Book of Medivh, its pages whispering with dark secrets. As he positioned himself within the circle, he began the incantation, his voice resonating with arcane might. The Nightwell's energies surged, drawn into the stone ring, causing its sigils to blaze with incandescent light. Tendrils of violet energy writhed within, coalescing into a swirling emerald orb.
"ARISE, LORD ARCHIMONDE!" Kel'Thuzad bellowed, his voice imbued with dark triumph. "Step forth into this realm, and let us drown in the glory of your power!"
The green orb pulsed with increasing intensity, swelling in size. Above the Nightwell, a colossal demonic gateway ripped open the air. A massive, clawed hand reached through, followed by a thick, hooved leg, and finally, the towering form of Archimonde strode into Azeroth. He radiated an aura of ultimate darkness and terrifying power.
Tichondrius bowed low, his voice dripping with obsequious respect. "Master Archimonde, all is prepared."
"Excellent, Tichondrius." Archimonde offered a dismissive nod to the dreadlord. "Azeroth... a familiar tang in the air. And what is this place? Suramar. A city that once eluded my grasp." A cruel, arrogant laughter boomed through the chamber. "Soon, the true assault will commence. But first," his gaze hardened, "this city will serve as a testament... a monument to ashes."
Archimonde turned and strode towards the city's outer reaches. A legion of demons poured through the portal – Mannoroth, a familiar terror to Tichondrius, Anetheron, and scores of fel-wielding eredar warlocks surging behind. The remaining undead forces, led by Kel'Thuzad, also retreated, leaving the city's perimeter eerily silent.
Meanwhile, in the last remaining district, Thalyssra rallied the terrified civilians. "Leave everything behind! Make for the Star Court! The teleportation awaits!" Her voice, though strained, resonated with authority.
A Nightborne woman nodded, then hesitated, turning towards a grand residence. "But... the mana wine upstairs..."
Thalyssra whirled, her eyes flashing with raw arcane energy. "NO! Leave it! We have sufficient sustenance beyond the city walls. You MUST understand – the enemy advances! The Duskwatch sacrificed themselves to buy us this precious time. Do not let their sacrifice be in vain!"
The distraught murmurs of the remaining citizens fell silent, quelled by Thalyssra's unwavering resolve. Her past acts of kindness, her willingness to share her own dwindling mana reserves, had earned her their trust. They coalesced with surprising speed, fleeing along Artisan's Terrace towards the sanctuary of the Star Court.
As the last of the common folk vanished through the portal, another wave of Nightborne surged into the Star Court – the nobles from the northern districts and their retinue. Unlike the lightly burdened civilians, these privileged few were laden with chests overflowing with family heirlooms, their avarice costing them precious moments.
"Thalyssra, quickly! We must depart!" a richly adorned noblewoman pleaded, her voice laced with panic.
But it was too late.
A collective gasp of horror rippled through the Star Court. All eyes were fixed on the towering silhouette of the Nighthold. The Astromancer's Spire, the city's proudest landmark, seemed to buckle under an unseen force, its majestic form beginning to crumble.
"What in the... what has happened to the Nightwell?!" a nobleman shrieked, his face a mask of terror.
A desperate scramble towards the portal ensued.
Beyond the city walls, in the once-scarlet embrace of the Scarlet Thicket, a sickly green hue now stained the maple leaves, corrupted by fel energy. Archimonde knelt in a clearing, his massive fingers tracing a complex magical circle upon the scorched earth.
"This petty illusion will be their undoing!" he growled, infusing the diagram with raw power. A miniature replica of Suramar shimmered into existence within the circle. Had any Nightborne been present, they would have recognized every intricate detail of their beloved city.
A malevolent grin stretched across Archimonde's features. He idly scratched his chin, then with a casual flick of his wrist, pinched off the tallest spire of the miniature city.
Miles away, within the collapsing Nighthold, Thalyssra and a knot of stranded nobles witnessed the horrifying destruction of the Astromancer's Spire!
Patience had never been a virtue of the Destroyer. With a brutal efficiency, Archimonde slammed his massive hands together, crushing the entire sand model.
BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!
The city of Suramar convulsed, as if the very heavens were collapsing upon it.