If everyone were like you and me, how would the Burning Legion ever get any work done?

The Dark Titan has arrived on Argus.

Yet, He did not plunge His catastrophic, burning greatsword directly into the planetary body to subject Argus to the "supreme treatment" that Azeroth would experience ten thousand years later.

Sargeras was a busy being, however. The boundaries of the physical universe were teeming with skulking, petty Void forces awaiting His personal attention, and every minute delayed on a cosmic scale meant more worlds falling prey to Void corruption. Therefore, the Dark Titan did not linger long on Argus.

He merely paid a personal visit to the Heart of the World and then, disappearing into the boundless sea of stars with the overwhelming, universe-spanning majesty that marked His appearance, He was gone.

The tasks of establishing demonic fortresses on Argus, channeling fel magic to corrupt the world-soul, shaping His Destroyer brothers, transforming this world into a Burning Legion command hub far more suitable than Mardum, and granting the power of the world-soul to every single demon—all of these naturally had to be completed by His servants.

If He had to handle every minor affair Himself, what was the purpose of the esteemed Lord Sargeras forming the Burning Legion? Did He perhaps feel that His magnificent life as a Titan was running too smoothly, and thus deliberately invited a bunch of losers to cause Him grief?

Following the departure of the Dark Titan, the two greater demon lords He had personally selected and elevated commenced their bustling work.

Countless demons were summoned to the planetary surface of Argus, assigned tasks according to their respective areas of expertise. Their command structure was undergoing a thorough reshaping, with the corrupted Man'ari assigned to every critical command node.

Although the demons were reluctant to acknowledge the authority of these corrupted ones, facts proved that following the integration of the Man'ari, even the mobilization speed and training efficiency of the cannon-fodder armies soared at an astonishing rate.

Kil'jaeden, the greater demon lord, was in no rush to command the demons to launch further destructive invasions.

Instead, he chose the city of Antorus—where he had once fought—as the headquarters of the Burning Legion, promoting numerous talented Man'ari here to serve as his adjutants as he set about restructuring the internal command framework of the entire Burning Legion.

According to his plan, the Burning Legion needed to remain on the world of Argus for at least twenty to thirty years to adapt to and complete the various reorganizations of the demon army, while simultaneously carving out a sufficient number of forge-camps for the Morg'oth, the demon race born in the Twisting Nether most adept at manufacturing, to ensure they could finish upgrading the demons' armaments as quickly as possible.

"You previously relied on planetary portals to accomplish your invasions. Such methods are fine, but insufficiently efficient."

Seated upon his throne, Kil'jaeden said expressionlessly:

"You have already witnessed how the starships of the Naaru can traverse the stars. On the scale of the physical universe, if the Burning Legion wishes to better fulfill the Dark Titan's grand work of destruction, we must assemble a matching fleet of demonic fel vessels.

Only by possessing a sufficient fleet can we guarantee that the efficiency and speed of our Burning Crusade will satisfy Lord Sargeras."

"You ought to address Him with humble reverence as 'Master'."

Tichondrius, the dreadlord standing in attendance beneath the throne, said in a sinister tone:

"Maintaining the necessary respect toward the supreme sovereign of the Twisting Nether will help you win the trust of all demons within the Burning Legion. The doomlord who occupied your seat previously did precisely that; he was exceptionally loyal, and it was precisely because of that loyalty that he earned—"

"Can loyalty buy you a meal? Can loyalty serve as a weapon? Can loyalty win you a war?"

Kil'jaeden coldly interrupted Tichondrius's "suggestion," his eyes burning with pure fel energy as he stared fixedly at the meddling dreadlord, saying:

"You use Kazzak as an analogy? Splendid. Then let me ask you: how many victories has the 'most qualified' demon commander in your eyes won on Argus?

In my memory alone, he was decapitated twice—and by the same arbiter, at that. When Diakum accomplished such a grand feat, he wasn't even at legendary status yet, whereas Kazzak was the demon demigod who had followed the Dark Titan for the longest time!

Pardon my bluntness.

You!

Nathrezim!

Do me a favor and rein in your laughable little schemes in my presence. I would much rather prefer that you and your minions apply the rare intelligence found among demons to the right place."

"Very well, mighty demon lord."

A trace of displeasure flickered across Tichondrius's pale face, though it quickly morphed into subservience.

He raised a question, saying:

"Yet even if the Morg'oth forge-fiends are exceptionally skilled at crafting fel weaponry, forcing them to manufacture starships capable of demon operations entirely from scratch remains a protracted process.

I can understand your foresight, but the problem lies in the fact that our esteemed Master is occasionally somewhat lacking in 'patience.' If the demon grand army is forced to remain holed up on Argus and Mardum for an extended period unable to act due to armament upgrades...

You and I will both bear the responsibility!

We are the whip in the Dark Titan's hand meant to chastise the stars; we must bring destruction to those weak and polluted worlds. This is our duty, and the very reason we are permitted to exist here."

The dreadlord shook his head and said:

"You are a powerful warrior, so let me ask you: how do you dispose of a sword when it loses its utility? Or are you simply hoping to use this excuse—one that fails to deceive even me—to buy a tiny, negligible slice of survival time for your compatriots who fled their homeland?"

Kil'jaeden fell silent. He offered no reply.

Yet one could easily imagine that the greater demon lord's inner thoughts at this moment were exceedingly complex.

The dreadlord keenly captured this nuance.

It appeared to be using this method to remind Kil'jaeden that playing favorites could not be made too obvious; once the Dark Titan's wrath was provoked, no one would meet a pleasant end.

Amidst this silence, a voice pierced the calm.

"The Naaru are not the only race in the physical universe capable of interstellar navigation. Through the wisdom bestowed by the Twisting Nether, I have learned of a lifeform known as 'Ethereals' who likewise grasp the mysteries of deep-space voyage.

The most wonderful part is that they lack internal unity due to various reasons, having suffered a civil schism in pursuit of vengeance against their sworn enemies.

Ah, I love the vengeful! The more extreme they are, the more I adore them!

That means as long as you help them exact their revenge, you can acquire every single treasure they possess from their hands."

Escuorted by several fel lords, a tall Man'ari wielding a skull-topped staff strode into the hall.

He wore magnificent yet corrupted fel vestments, adorned with the exaggerated shoulder ornamentation typical of demon lords. His robust physique had not, like Kil'jaeden's, turned crimson red from enduring excessive fel infusions.

Instead, perhaps owing to a more sophisticated mastery over manipulating fel energy, he managed to retain the blue skin of the Eredar.

Yet the burning eyes and the "Mark of the Demon Lord" upon his forehead attested to his true identity.

"Greetings to you, The Enlightener."

The Nathrezim lord turned around, paying a deeply hypocritical tribute to Xhul'horac—now Zachreth, who had been reborn into a state of ascendance through fel energy. The latter waved a hand, saying in a gentle tone:

"That is a name of the past. To celebrate my rebirth within the Twisting Nether, I intend to call myself 'The Forger.' Cease using my former moniker, and spare me from recalling those agonizing experiences.

In short, esteemed Lord Tichondrius, I trust that you and your silver-tongued Nathrezim lords surely possess a means of contacting the Ethereals.

Invite the Nexus-Prince of the 'Consortium' to Argus as a guest in my name."

Zachreth waved his hand casually and said:

"The harrowing tale of those pitiful beings whose homeworld of K'aresh was devoured by the Void-Eaters has reached my ears through the memories of the Twisting Nether. They yearn for vengeance against the Void-Eaters, and most wonderfully, our great Master is likewise single-mindedly combating the threat from the Darkened Sea.

In this regard, we share common interests with those exiles; we can become 'friends' with them.

Go.

Accomplish this initial diplomatic mission following the establishment of the Burning Legion.

We require the interstellar navigation technology held by the Ethereals, while the warriors and power they require can be generously lent to them by us. Should our cooperation prove agreeable, it would even be possible for the Burning Legion to dispatch forces directly to help them reclaim their lost K'aresh.

Provided they are willing to accept their homeland becoming a sacred fel sanctuary, of course."

"Your wisdom is as vast as the Twisting Nether, O Forger."

Tichondrius offered an exaggerated praise before dissolving into a swarm of bats amidst eerie laughter, vanishing into the dim hall.

Zachreth waved his hand, dismissing the fel lords guarding him. Left alone with Kil'jaeden in the vast chamber, Zachreth leaned upon his skull staff and inquired:

"He flatters me by using the praises once lavished upon Kazzak, believing I cannot hear the mockery hidden within. These dreadlords, who take joy in deception, have grown somewhat weary, unwilling even to upgrade the rhetorical scripts of their falsehoods. Evidently, they are in need of a thorough 'forging,' though these are minor matters.

I ask you, Commander: how long do you intend to buy Velen and the others under the pretext of 'legion reorganization'?"

"I do not know."

Kil'jaeden said expressionlessly:

"Perhaps the longer, the better."

"Splendid! You still retain your self-awareness, your mind unswallowed by the brutality and destructive desire of the fel. I am truly overjoyed to witness this."

Zachreth nodded with satisfaction, saying:

"You must maintain such sanity for the long term. Once the calmness and decisiveness you pride yourself on are disrupted by fel corruption, you will swiftly degenerate into a fool like Kazzak. The supreme blessings of the six cosmic forces each exert an influence on individual minds; in terms of side effects, fel energy is indisputably the crown jewel.

Yet extraordinary talent is the inner rampart of our souls, helping us withstand this influence.

However, talent alone is insufficient; you also require external aid."

"Whoosh."

A scroll was tossed toward Kil'jaeden.

Catching it in his hand with a look of surprise, he gazed at Zachreth. The demon lord who styled himself "The Forger" wore a gentle smile uncharacteristic of a demon as he explained:

"A meditation technique—a method I personally refined over the dozen years I walked alongside fel energy, proven effective through testing. Set aside time each day to settle your spirit, Kil'jaeden. As long as you are not tempted by power to actively demand more blessings from the Twisting Nether, you can preserve your sanity and spirit, maintaining the purity of your willpower at a baseline level.

Of course, it is not permanently effective.

Prolonged exposure to fel energy will inevitably usher in a spiritual frenzy following bodily mutation; that is an unavoidable transformation. If you wish to seek a sanctuary and harbor for your soul, my advice is that you must establish a long-term goal for yourself.

Protection, or pursuit.

As long as it is extreme enough, your spirit will be protected by it. The firmer your mindset, the less the temptation of fel or other cosmic forces can affect you.

I imagine this should not prove difficult for you."

"Why?"

Kil'jaeden clutched the scroll, raising his gaze to look at Zachreth.

"As the very first lapdog among the Eredar to bow and scrape before fel energy and the Dark Titan, you ought to be the scum who worships fel the most, yet your current demeanor resembles that of a wise sage. I am curious, Zachreth: what on earth made you into what you are now?

You are already a demon lord of the Burning Legion, yet you harbor no intention of dedicating your passionate life to Lord Sargeras's grand work of destruction?"

"Heh, if I truly thought that way, I would not have earned the blessing of the great Master. Just as if you were a spineless wretch who brought the world of Argus to kneel before the Burning Legion in submission, the Dark Titan would never have completed that absurd transaction with you."

Zachreth laughed and said:

"Our Master is extraordinarily great!

He possesses supreme power and wields the authority of cosmic forces. Most precious of all, He is a deity with His own persistent convictions, yet He also possesses His own personality and will.

This grants Him personal likes and dislikes, much like any ordinary mortal.

Evidently, individuals like you and me who possess inner resolve are no different in His eyes from fragile ants. Demons blindly worship power alone; however, Lord Sargeras does not require worship!

No amount of praise and flattery is of any use.

Do you truly believe a deity capable of reshaping an entire world with mere thought remains unaware of the thoughts spinning within our minds?

No, no, no.

He is clearer than anyone else that you and I defected to the Burning Legion merely to protect our own people—our methods merely differ—yet He bestowed His blessing upon us nonetheless.

He knows, but He does not care!

Ah, in such matters, we leaders who fancy ourselves wise actually prove less clear-sighted than Diakum, that three-hundred-year-old child. You see, during his duel with me, he posed a question to me..."

Leaning on his bizarre and wicked spine-staff—a magical artifact crafted from his own original spinal column—The Forger walked through the palace, speaking to the raptly listening Kil'jaeden:

"Diakum asked me: the fundamental reason the Dark Titan executes the Burning Crusade is to purge the Void threat from the starry sea. Even though He has embraced fel energy and become the Lord of Demons, He remains identical to when He was a Titan of the Pantheon, His heart overflowing with a fierce protective instinct.

Then the question arises.

When all hidden hazards of Void corruption in the starry sea are eradicated by us leading the demons...

When the stars are restored to the purity Lord Sargeras desires, do people like us, who understand only destruction and devastation, retain the qualification to continue existing in that new world?"

Zachreth raised his head, looking at Kil'jaeden.

Though it was a question, he required no answer.

He said to Kil'jaeden:

"No!

The very moment the Burning Crusade is completed will mark the end of the Burning Legion!

Lord Sargeras will destroy us with His own hands, treating it as a blessing of release. He is deeply aware that aside from the Void, the mere existence of demons constitutes the greatest peril to the physical universe.

He will not allow a pure starry sea—protected through His own violence—to harbor a force that brings nothing but destruction.

We will shatter the old era; we shall be the final corpses of the old age!

There exists no such ticket to carry us aboard into that glorious new world.

Lord Sargeras is entirely aware of what you and I ponder in our hearts, but He does not care. Just as you do not pause on the battlefield to solicit the opinions of the dead, do you?

We are merely tools.

As long as we function well, who cares what the hammer in their hand thinks?

Therefore, Commander Kil'jaeden, there is no need to conceal those thoughts of yours; display them boldly. No one within the Burning Legion cares whether you wish to aid your former brethren... demons desire only destruction and victory!

As long as you provide them with these things, they will submit to you wholeheartedly and sing praises of your efficiency, ruthlessness, and cruelty.

More importantly, the Dark Titan's apprehensions are not groundless. When I was reborn in the Twisting Nether, aided by its memories, I indeed witnessed worlds both great and small plagued by Void corruption throughout the physical universe."

The Forger Zachreth said in a solemn tone:

"Those worlds become rents between the physical universe and the Void realm, acting as gangrene upon all existing rules and order. We must destroy them! Fel desires only war and violence, yet the Void hungers for far more.

Even without the Burning Legion, we would ultimately fight a decisive battle to the death against the invading Void. As we are now, we are instead far more powerful, granting us an overwhelming advantage when confronting Void forces.

Setting aside the risks of fel energy, consider the Burning Crusade in its own right.

It genuinely represents a certain 'ultimate justice' that surpasses mortal comprehension!"

"Justice? Spare me the jokes, Zachreth. Neither of these forces is anything good; this is at best an infighting between evils, and we happen to belong to one side."

Kil'jaeden sneered:

"Very well, I concede that what you just said has laid my profound anxieties to rest. I thank you for the reminder and have regained a measure of trust in you. But I suspect you did not come here today merely to soothe my troubled thoughts.

Speak, what else do you require?"

"Follow me!"

Zachreth swung his spine-crafted staff, and a fel rift plunging straight to the planet's core tore open between them.

The two who had been blessed by fel as demon demigods had long surpassed the spatial limits of the material world. Entering the rift one after another, they arrived within the region of the World's Heart.

Yet this location clearly did not reside within the material world; for the place they stepped upon at the planet's core possessed no physical support, resembling a floating island suspended in mid-air. From here, they could observe the swirling rays of light dancing before them, though far weaker than previously witnessed.

"Lord Sargeras Himself lingered here, thereby forming a special region where the material world and the world-soul coexist. We can observe the state of the Argus world-soul from this vantage point.

See for yourself with your own eyes."

Zachreth pointed forward. Kil'jaeden raised his head, gazing at the entity of the world-soul he had once beheld, and subsequently registered profound shock.

"How did it grow this feeble?"

Kil'jaeden furrowed his brow, saying:

"Compared to before, it's practically... is it dying?"

"Because Argus expended far too much power endowing the Eredar, aiding you in that foolish yet epic resistance."

Zachreth shook his head and sighed:

"It is merely an infant world-soul; the reinforcement it granted exceeded the limits of its health. The War of Argus was less the Eredar fighting demons, and more the world-soul waging a desperate, life-or-death struggle against Sargeras through your hands.

Unwilling to become a captive of fel, it adopted extreme measures to safeguard itself.

I surmise this was Diakum's suggestion.

Brutal, barbaric, and chaotic—it bears all the hallmarks of a reckless child choosing a series of absurd operations when facing an inescapable doom, yet the outcome hit the mark by sheer blind luck.

The physical shell of the world-soul remains here, but the vast majority of its will has fled.

Only an empty husk remains."

"Would the Dark Titan not be disappointed?"

Upon hearing Zachreth's explanation, Kil'jaeden felt a weight lift from his chest, yet he subsequently inquired with the cold tone befitting a demon lord:

"Was this not precisely what He came for?"

"Disappointed? No, no, no, our Master is overjoyed."

Zachreth emitted an eccentric laugh, saying:

"You must understand, Kil'jaeden, Lord Sargeras intends to forge His own Dark Pantheon on Argus. He desires His brother and sister Titans to embrace fel as He did, becoming the vanguard against the Void forces.

This means He must personally warp the minds of every single Titan sibling.

Yet as I stated earlier, our Master may appear ruthless, but in reality, He possesses more 'humanity' than most mortals. Executing this task due to a firm objective does not mean He delights in listening to the death rattles of His siblings' corruption.

Even deities feel sorrow, and lingering long upon the borders of the material world was done not solely to slay and deter trespassing Void lords; it was also to spare Himself from hearing those sorrowful cries.

Ah, He is truly such a gentle god.

Now, the will of the Argus world-soul has been divided and carried away by our people, leaving behind only an empty shell—much like a giant whose brain has been excised. All that remains for us to do is channel the fel energy of the Twisting Nether to strengthen, infuse, and catalyze it.

There will be no suffering, nor any shrieking of worlds; everything will flow naturally, and ultimately, the Fel Titan Argus will rise from the earth.

The Master will acquire a powerful adjutant, the Void forces will gain a formidable foe, the physical universe will boast a brutal protector, and Argus will be spared the agony of a corrupted will.

Everyone shall be satisfied.

This is likely one of the reasons He spared the Eredar; Velen and Diakum genuinely helped Lord Sargeras resolve a lingering concern.

However, this means we have a problem."

"Oh? How so?"

Kil'jaeden asked, to which Zachreth sighed:

"Too much of the world-soul's will has escaped, and now its spiritual entity displays signs of collapse. We must track down and recapture some fragments of its will to ensure the world-soul does not suddenly vaporize when subjected to fel infusion.

This means we must personally hunt down some fleeing compatriots, cruelly transform them into Man'ari, and extract the world-soul fragments carried within their minds during the process.

Moreover, the quantity cannot be small.

By my estimation, we must drag back at least three million of them...

Are you prepared, Commander Kil'jaeden? This is a duty you and I must shoulder. If we fail even at this simplest of tasks, we shall truly find ourselves in trouble."

"I refuse!"

Kil'jaeden decisively rejected the notion:

"As you persuaded me, I need not conceal what I harbor in my heart. I can lead demons to destroy world after world—polluted or on the brink of it—for Sargeras, and I can persuade myself to become a destroyer.

But...

In short, you handle it."

"On what grounds?"

Zachreth retorted:

"You are unwilling to become the executioner, yet am I willing?

You are well aware why I bowed before the Dark Titan; I share the exact same convictions as you. This is precisely why you and I must hammer out a conclusion today: one of us must become the executioner of our people!

This is our destiny, and we have already stepped into it!"

The two greater demons glared furiously at one another.

Under the gaze of the feeble world-soul, the conversation ground to an awkward halt.

Following a prolonged standoff, Kil'jaeden shook his head and said:

"It seems we are both hypocrites, Zachreth. Having already degenerated into the supreme evils of the physical universe, we remain hypocritically unwilling to betray our past selves. How pathetic."

"You may mock us as much as you please, but the fact remains that we must devise a solution."

Zachreth said calmly:

"If neither of us is willing to soil our hands, we must leave the task to a third party. So... Kazzak? Or the ambitious Tichondrius?"

"The former is too dim-witted, the latter too vicious; neither is suitable."

Kil'jaeden shook his head:

"We must find someone possessing a degree of wisdom and talent yet lacking excessive depth, someone who can invariably bungle matters at the opportune moment, someone capable of commanding the respect of all demons yet belonging to no Eredar faction."

"My, the demands are high, but I do happen to have a candidate in mind."

Zachreth narrowed his eyes and said:

"During my rebirth in the Twisting Nether, a passing glance revealed some peculiar demons. They are crude yet powerful, blending cunning with a touch of brainless oafishness, perfectly fitting your requirements.

Those hulking, menacing brutes known as the 'Annihilan' lurk at the fringes of the Twisting Nether. They scoff at the recruitment efforts of the Burning Legion, deeming the demons under our command a bunch of softlings entirely unworthy of wasting their time.

Go and recruit them.

Select 'virtuous talents' for the Legion, and incidentally use your extraordinary commanding prowess to conquer those powerful and boorish Annihilan demons, then dispatch these hulking brutes to hunt down our kin.

They will prove difficult to handle.

To be frank, however, they do not exceed the limits of what Velen and the Naaru can manage.

They will bungle things repeatedly just as you desire, while occasionally scoring minor victories. Such a ruse cannot fool anyone indefinitely—after all, our Master demands to witness the 'growth' of Argus—but it will stall for time at the very least.

Until we discover a far more suitable 'substitute' in the course of conquering the starry sea!

An outstanding yet not overly exceptional 'third leader.' I am quite willing to spend more time selecting quality material for the Legion, if doing so truly alleviates the hypocritical sense of guilt weighing upon you and me."

"And you?"

Kil'jaeden asked:

"Aside from presiding over 'diplomacy' with the Ethereals, what is your task?"

"Ah, my task is a troublesome one."

Zachreth sighed:

"A truly esteemed 'big shot' is about to be delivered to Argus. I must bear sole responsibility for His reconstruction and corruption. Let us hope that when that grand figure awakens in a body of destruction, He does not cleave me in two with a single blow.

Though He lacks the sheer terrifying might of Lord Sargeras, He is nonetheless a lifeform standing at the absolute apex of the physical universe.

My assignment is destined to require thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of years to complete. Yet how shall I put it? I do not loathe it either. Kil'jaeden, I wish you a smooth voyage in your subsequent destruction and conquest.

Oh, and by the way.

Demons love bestowing nicknames upon themselves and others—for instance, they call Diakum, who shone so brilliantly during the decisive battle on Argus, the 'Butcher of the Light.' You ought to forge a moniker for yourself as well."

"I have no interest."

Kil'jaeden scoffed:

"Nicknames are only meaningful when bestowed by one's enemies. Furthermore, Zachreth, you seem rather 'obsessed' with Diakum?"

"Indeed, that young man brought me too many surprises, too many miracles."

Zachreth sighed:

"Much like you and Velen, I sense that a twisted, frantic connection has been forged between that child and myself. I ought to thank him..."

The Forger blinked his eyes.

Before him, alongside the imagery of the material world, floated the reflection of another realm.

He beheld the endless world of death, the miraculous city located at the heart of the Death Realm, and the four Eternals whose radiance burned eternally. Finally, with every blink of his eyes, he caught sight of a "hulking bald figure" bearing chains.

The scene shifted once more to the pinnacle of a magnificent palace, high above the dancing Venthyr Harvesters, where a handsome Eternal with flowing white locks raised a crimson goblet toward Zachreth.

It resembled both a "welcome" and a "salute."

As the latter gazed into those smiling, crimson-red eyes, Zachreth similarly permitted a trace of a smile to grace his features.

This greater demon lord of "complex composition" said softly:

"Diakum... no, Dick granted me an 'unforgettable death.' He cast me down into the abyss, yet Lord Sargeras dragged me back. Ah, this wondrous journey is enough to etch him permanently into my memory.

Speaking of which, you detest those Nathrezim intensely, do you not?

Then let them fall under my command.

I shall properly discipline and tutor them, lest they use petty schemes to anger you once more and find themselves dispatched on suicide missions.

In the future...

Well, they might prove vastly useful in days to come.

Very well, Kil'jaeden the Conqueror!

Cease wearing that mournful visage, and let us henceforth join hands to dedicate our supreme loyalty to the grand enterprise of the Master and the Legion."