The whirlwind of combat in Skywall reached its brutal crescendo. The brief exchange between Nefarian and Galen sealed the fate of the elemental lords, and the Golden Holy Dragonflight descended with overwhelming force.
Ertan, the Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Wind, was the second to fall, his inherent weakness no match for the furious onslaught of Onyxia. The golden dragon, a whirlwind of golden scales and furious claws, tore through him, shattering his very form into a tempest of dissipating energy. All that remained was a lone, shimmering elemental core, a testament to his swift demise.
The West Wind Lord, Assad, fared no better, his struggle against Sabellian a horrifying spectacle of one-sided dominance. Galen watched as the once-proud elemental lord was brutally pinned to the very edge of the platform by Sabellian's colossal dragon form. The massive black dragon, an embodiment of raw power, held Assad's humanoid head firmly in his maw, repeatedly smashing it against a nearby pillar.
The impact resonated, a sickening crack echoing through the Skywall. With each blow, the ancient pillars groaned, then fractured, collapsing under the immense force. This wasn't a testament to Assad's weakness, but to Sabellian's overwhelming might. The former Black Dragon Prince, hand-picked by Deathwing himself as the legitimate Vice-Commander of the Black Dragonflight, had once faced down Gruul and emerged victorious. His mastery over the path of Holy Light protection made him virtually unassailable in close combat, leaving only the "desperate man" Vaelastrasz among the second generation of Guardian Dragons as a potential rival.
"Ertan, Altairus, West Wind Lord is summoning you!" Assad's desperate plea for aid was a futile cry into the wind. His relied-upon Prime Minister was naught but an elemental core, and the powerful Storm Dragon, Altairus, was already subdued.
Despite the odds, a glimmer of hope arrived as over twenty legendary wind elementals and several Storm Dragons surged forward, attempting to rescue their lord. Their charge was short-lived. In a flash, Sabellian's Golden Holy Dragons decimated the elementals, while the Storm Dragons were swiftly subdued and captured alive.
"Enjoy the last moment of your life!" Sabellian's draconic snout curled into a mocking smile as Assad's "reinforcements" crumbled. With a final, crushing squeeze of his mighty claws, Assad's enormous twenty-meter body began to crack, his whirlwind form dissipating, revealing the raw elemental core within.
"No! I surrender! I surrender, I am willing to submit to you!" Assad's desperate plea for mercy halted Sabellian's grip. The black dragon turned his massive head towards Galen, awaiting his master's command.
Galen's sneer was cold and decisive. A creature so consumed by greed, fear, and indecision was worthless, even if its loyalty could be secured. Galen's forces were no longer in their early, struggling days; he commanded a legion of fierce generals and countless soldiers. Assad was a mere trifle.
With a deliberate motion, Galen raised his hand, palm down, and drew it across his throat. The silent command was clear. Sabellian understood. The momentary hesitation vanished, and his dragon claws tightened.
Bang!
A sharp crack echoed. West Wind Lord Assad's head was crushed, his form dissolving into nothing but the elemental core held firmly in Sabellian's grasp.
With the three elemental leaders defeated, the remaining wind elementals in Skywall scattered, their will to fight broken. The Golden Holy Dragonflight swept through the fortress, claiming it as their own.
Onyxia and Sabellian reverted to their human forms, presenting the two elemental cores to Galen. Alleria, who had observed the battle in silent awe, gazed at the shimmering crystals. "Galen," she asked, "are Sylvanas and I to use these wind elemental cores to comprehend and strengthen ourselves?"
Galen weighed the cores in his hand before pocketing them. "No," he replied, "West Wind Lord Assad and Wind Prime Minister Ertan are not worthy. Your opportunity to achieve demigod status, my loves, lies with the Lord of the Four Winds and Windcaller Al'Akir!"
For elemental beings, absorbing such a core would grant them immense power. But the Windrunner sisters were of flesh and blood, their existence grounded in Azeroth. Their ascension would be a more complex and arduous journey. Galen, however, had a plan. He would use the Storm Altar as a conduit, just as it had been used in the past, to channel the raw power of the wind element into their bodies, transforming them into demigod-level Wind Elemental Elves.
The Storm Altar offered immense security, but at a cost: significant energy loss. More importantly, the transition from legend to demigod required a higher caliber of energy—the essence of demigod-level wind elementals. Only the powerful elemental cores born in the primordial era of Azeroth's creation, like those of Windcaller Al'Akir and the Lords of the Four Winds, would suffice.
The golden holy dragon trio instantly perked up. "Master," they chorused, "are we to attack the Throne of the Four Winds next? We will immediately go and reorganize the legion!"
"No! No need," Galen replied, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed towards the western sky of Skywall. "We will wait for Windcaller to come to Skywall himself!"
A massive elemental tide surged from the west – Al'Akir was coming, bringing with him a countless host of his wind elemental subordinates.
Al'Akir's mood had been jovial. The Shattering had shattered the veil between the elemental planes and Azeroth, allowing Skywall to resurface. Elemental creatures, particularly the invisible wind elementals, were notoriously arrogant and unruly, their chaotic nature difficult to grasp. Yet, Galen knew the truth: the elements of Azeroth weren't inherently chaotic. The true culprit was the Titan Soul slumbering within the planet's core. Its absorption of the world's fifth element, the soul, had disrupted the natural balance, plunging the elemental order into disarray.
Of the four elemental lords, Windcaller Al'Akir was the most cunning. His preferred tactic was to dispatch spies to his enemies, sow discord, ignite feuds between other elemental lords, and then unleash his wrath upon their weakened forces. He was an old fox, indeed.