Darkness.
Not the cozy, candlelit kind that invites bedtime stories and warm milk. No, this was the kind of pitch-black abyss that dragged ancient fears from the base of your spine, polished them with dread, and whispered sweet, terrifying nothings into your soul.
The mercenaries tasted the fear like old pennies in their mouths.
"Sweet flaming Light! Did Hogg bring the whole flea-bitten gnoll circus with him?! Aren't those furballs supposed to stay in Elwynn Forest!? What the hell are they doing in Westfall?!" one of them hissed, his voice cracking like a boy seeing his first banshee.
Night blindness didn't help. Thanks to a tragic shortage of seafood in their daily gruel, these poor sods could barely see their own hands, let alone the furry nightmares creeping through the gloom.
Captain Makaro tried humor. Gods bless him.
"Well... look on the bright side! Sheriff Duhan's been itching for someone to bring back proof of Hogg's demise. Imagine the reward when we haul back his oversized paws to Goldshire. Double bounty, boys!"
"Boss... I think we're gonna die..."
Makaro's optimism went over about as well as a lead balloon in a thunderstorm.
"Have you forgotten who we have with us?!"
That did it. Like a match in dry tinder, morale flared.
Sir Edmund Duke.
Yes! The weird, mysterious young noble with magic that made your hair stand on end and your bones feel fizzy. Everyone's eyes shifted to the carriage like it was the Holy Light itself.
Inside, Duke was sweating bullets.
"This is it? My first real fight? NOW?!"
He wasn't ready. Hell, he barely had enough mana to light a magical cigarette, let alone fight a boss monster from hell.
And these weren't the stubby, snarling scavengers from his last encounter. No. The gnolls had hit the gym. Hard.
The system helpfully supplied data.
"Adult gnoll: Approx. 1.9 meters tall, 120 kilograms."
Great.
But then, his vision locked onto the horror lumbering in the distance—a nightmare in the shape of a beast. A towering slab of muscle and mange, part hyena, part bulldozer. Hogg.
System: "Elite Alienated Monster: Hogg. Height: 4.1 meters. Weight: don't ask. Danger Assessment: HIGH RISK. Strongly recommend retreat. Also, good luck, idiot."
Duke wanted to scream. This wasn't a field trip. This was a death sentence with fur.
And of course, Hogg, the infamous newbie slayer from World of Warcraft, had decided to bring his apocalypse to Duke's doorstep.
Once, in the old game, players had run toward Hogg with joy and curiosity. They quickly learned why that was a terrible idea. Hogg didn't just kill you. He made an example of you.
Now, Duke had apparently triggered the Live Action Director's Cut of that nightmare.
"WHOOSH-WHOOSH-WHOOSH!"
Massive shadows swept across the warning fires, their light casting Hogg's twisted silhouette like a demon summoned from another plane.
He was hideous. A mouth full of yellow fangs, eyes glowing like cursed rubies, black and yellow fur matted with blood and ego. Impaled in his body were several human swords—standard Stormwind issue—sticking out like decorative toothpicks.
And in his paw? A war trophy: half a Stormwind flag still fluttering sadly from a snapped flagpole the size of a tree trunk.
Then he roared.
"AAAH-WOOOOOO!"
It sounded like a dog caught in a blender while gargling lava.
The gnolls surged forward with murderous glee.
And just as the convoy braced for doom, a calm, clear voice rang from the carriage:
"Stay close to me... and inside the blizzard."
Wait. What?
Inside the blizzard?
The mercenaries looked confused. Blizzard?
Then it hit. Literally.
CRASH. WHOOSH. SHATTERING GLORY.
Hundreds of jagged ice spikes rained from the heavens like a pissed-off frost god had dropped a chandelier. The gnoll charge faltered. Then stopped. Then exploded in fur and confusion.
Screams. Yelps. The sound of frozen hyena-bones meeting unforgiving ground. It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was spellcasting at its most extravagant.
Sound had become gorgeous. That was the only word. Crackling ice, the thud of bodies, the hiss of frostbite. Gorgeous.
The mercenaries blinked, mouths agape. One of them sniffed. Another whispered, "I think... I think I love him."
The gnolls didn't love anything anymore. They were either dead or dancing the frozen twitch of defeat.
But the real boss was still coming.
Uncle Hogg, the monster with swords in his chest and fire in his eyes, stepped into the blizzard like he was walking into a lukewarm bath.
Duke narrowed his eyes.
"Okay, big guy. Let's dance."
Somewhere, the system softly played boss battle music.