52. Poked The Bear

Undrassil, the Crown of the Under, a World Tree that should have never existed, was a heresy against nature, birthed from the feral mind of a marginally intelligent furbolg.

It was a thing second only to the divine, one no creature like him or his packmates should possess. It wasn't the bear men's place; it went against the order of things.

Yet, Undrassil came to be, resulting from tricking the Wise Bear and Lord of the Forests.

Since then, the beast men grew in their arrogance, gathering more of their kindred and similar people.

Taurens, bulls, and cows who had forsaken their right over druidism for their unparalleled foolishness, leading to

Desolace and bringing grief to Cenarius.

These were people divided between the loathsome Horde and the Wild… The Wild was another of Ohto's plans that had come to sprout and ensnare the minds of countless.

The Wild was an equal alliance between the forces of nature, of which the majority were kaldorei, furbolgs, taurens, and kobolds.

It was as ridiculous as it sounded for the last one if the third wasn't a glaring anomaly from the beginning.

Kobolds, the cowardly bipedal rodents obsessed with candles, terrified of their own shadow, with spectacularly dim minds, were founding members of the Wild.

They were creatures with exceptionally short lives, even for mortals, countering their incessant breeding as their shape would suggest.

Pest was all they were.

And those very same kobolds were now to be considered as peers to night elves, artificially elevated where they didn't belong.

Worse even was, the bear and cow promoted them, but it was a clear scheme from the latter for political power in the Wild.

Each species had a Representative chosen that would have the final vote of their people for laws and decisions regarding the Wild as a whole.

It was under the guise of fairness.

Of course, it didn't imply true power; kobolds remained kobolds, but it was dangerous.

They weren't the only lesser species to be elevated, or planned to be at the very least. Dark trolls were being talked about, and more. It would be amusing if it was an elaborate joke, but it wasn't.

It wasn't just about druids to respect those intruders, either, at that. It was to every noble kaldorei.

It was without fault, given a similar rank of authority, but civilians were to be considered equal.

Those who failed to abide by that draconic rule were swiftly punished.

It was nothing short of folly wrapped in madness and ridicule.

The presence of all with similar standing to elves was infuriating.

Yet at the very least, furbolgs and, to a far, far lesser extent, taurens had connections to the wild world and weren't inherently inconvenient.

The 'Chosen of the Twins' had shown fit to fix this, to bless them, tying some of the 'promising' rats to the Emerald Dream. Letting them wield the stars and forests as if they were rightfully theirs.

As if doing it to the taurens wasn't reckless and insulting enough to the sanctity of druidism and kaldorei culture. It was revolting.

Something that his Shan'do approved of, showing he was rapidly going senile and weak. Ohto spoke, and the first mortal druid attentively listened like a child to his father.

Fandral Staghelm was not alone in his dissatisfaction toward these common happenstances, even if distressingly few had the veil of illusion lifted.

Military feats were far from sufficient justification to bend the knee.

The Cenarion Circle was no longer the sanctum of the kaldorei; it was a menagerie. Guardians should never be put on the same level as their charges.

But not all was bleak and to be thrown in Fandral's opinions. From that, the unholy satyrs were made effectively extinct–truly this time–and Northern Kalimdor was healed.

The Wild had led to the unification and stabilization of many aspects of kaldorei society. It was a boon unlike any other.

The crumbling of chained gender roles was the greatest aspect, and it was one of many.

And it went beyond, as industries and the military underwent drastic reconstruction for the better. Or so it was for the most part, as the lesser races' omnipresence was a stain.

This organization was to be kept, and in truth, Staghelm's vision didn't involve its dismantlement, which was far from it. He wouldn't be able to and knew it was to invite doom.

If only it hadn't come to shape in this condition, but nothing was unmovable, and it was young. It was malleable.

However, it needed the spark to evolve, and like a forest wildfire, the greater it would regrow from the ash.

Undrassil was the first step to that future. Tragic, but there was no alternative to Fandral. Ohto had left him no choice, and spitting the mad bear man was a worthwhile bonus.

It was the reason for the ongoing ritual. The second strongest druid's followers were here with him under the gentle light of Elune.

The forest was silent as they chanted, staff and hands held, their shared magical energies painting the air and soil in an afterglow of verdant green.

The stars shone upon them but seemed to focus on the center of their formation. Light brown roots coiled outward from the fertile soil into the first shape of a trunk.

Branches became apparent with burgeoning leaves as they grew and grew, rapidly overtaking bigger trees. The ground trembled from the sheer mass added.

It was Ashdrassil, the Crown of the Night, for it would not be jailed in a chasm never to see the entrancing night sky of Kalimdor.

But for it to sprout to its potential, a sacrifice needed to be made.

The Crown of the Under was this sacrifice, not that it was widespread knowledge among his followers. It was well-guarded to his most loyal and intellectual men and women.

Today was to save a nascent World Tree even if, in truth, it was to see the blessing given back to their rightful holder.

It would be an equal exchange with an unfortunate consequence–not for the ones on the known–of the bear men World Tree withering as they were unworthy.

To that effect, this meeting was held secretly, a no-easy fit even with his influence.

His followers had grown significantly over the years, and it was not limited to druids.

Mortality was an ailment many wished to be cured of. Though thwarting the unparalleled arrogance of furbolgs, taurens, and kobolds wasn't far behind.

His views weren't unique, and while only a fringe had the courage to go to him or his associates, his force multiplied with the years.

It remained silent, hidden in the shadow; however, it was on purpose.

There was no need for waves when the Grimtotem taurens would happily wag their tails and send the information to their infuriating yet clever mistress.

Then, Magatha would do the same and send it to Ohto. They knew far too much already, just enough to leave them in the haze of confusion.

It was among the rare moments when the furbolg would react outside of violent fits of feral rage.

Otherwise, he spent most of his time deep in his laboratory. It could stretch from days to weeks as he tinkered with what he shouldn't.

A weakness Staghelm had spotted. And one he exploited, as well as the arrogance and naïvety regarding Undrassil's security.

It had been trivial to reach its roots. The most challenging task had been to extend some up to here without being noticed and making it seem natural.

It was as if Ashdrassil had sprouted from the roots of Undrassil, and he had to step in.

It wasn't foolproof, even if the World Trees' placements to one another and further details hinted at no falsehood. It was more than enough, as non-specialized druids lacked this knowledge of World Trees.

Regardless, today was the grand reveal that had been carefully carried out.

Malfurion was asleep, fighting the Nightmare; there was no more perfect time than that. It was a tight timetable, studied and used to its utmost to orchestrate today.

The night elf also understood the wide consequences of such a drastic act. The fallbacks of such an action were considered and anticipated to their last-minute details.

It wasn't void of risk.

But it would be the final push for Ohto of the Greenweald to show his true color, a rabid animal with no restraint or reason and far too much power.

From then on, what he built would disperse like dandelion seeds in the wind. He was the cornerstone of the wrongthink within the Wild.

Every path led to victory, even in the scenario where Ashdrassil's blessings were weaker than anticipated.

They existed, meager and spread, and condensing them was one of the purposes of this ritual.

Killing Undrassil was the only solution, a tragedy even for Fandral, but alas, a necessity. It held the power the night elves needed.

And as he planned for the last years, he felt a sudden resistance, a strong pull as a tug of war began. It was a predictable result.

Hollowmaw was a city of Nature magic, both wrong and good. Another wasted potential, but not all, would be lost.

The lesser Archdruid understood the implications better than any.

The population down under wouldn't stay idle watching the World Tree wither away.

It was immediately seen in effect through the sprout of Ashdrassil's sudden sluggish development, yet it didn't stop.

They lacked the collective might, but raw power wasn't the end-all. It was between World Trees, a battle as old as the first plant—resource.

It wasn't as good as he would have preferred.

But Fandral was many things, and several steps ahead was one of them. Leyara, his daughter-in-law, with a squad of their most loyal and skilled, was with her.

It wouldn't be to kill but to gain precious time, a distraction against direct intervention, a show of the beast's danger, and then a retreat.

Calculated, practiced, and perfected.

The roots couldn't be simply severed; the result would be the demise of both World Trees. The complete success of the ritual was a non-vital piece of a larger scheme.

Success was within his reach, and the kaldorei would be able to ascend to their rightful place once more.

The ritual could be repeated later down the line. But Ohto's disgracing was an unmissable opportunity.

•••••

Stones broke apart like clay before my paws and magic, as I cared not for what impeded my ascension.

Roots and mycelium worked as one for me, easing my passage while burning rage powered my every action.

I lunged, my claws digging into the cavern wall as bones shifted in my skin, before erupting like spires yet drawing no blood. Wood as if liquid merged with them, but I paid it no heed. It was second nature just as much as breathing.

Together, they formed an intricate plated armor that further enhanced my progress. I needn't care about blinding or suffocating myself.

Crossbows and more complex weaponry began to form right after. Like my armor, it was mostly the magical equivalent of muscle memories and instinct at this point.

Every lesson taught by Chen did little to temper my anger beyond bringing the rational to present need to satisfy my primal side for this crime.

It was an existential threat.

I needed to put a stop to this. I would put a stop to it.

It wasn't to me. And that was grave enough of a mistake.

No, it was worse, incomprehensibly worse.

It was to what was mine, MINE, MINE, my territory, MINE, putting everyone and everything in danger. My people, MINE, and it wasn't to furbolgs alone.

It was a crime even the demons hadn't committed.

The lives of thousands were on the line, my people and theirs as well, though I doubted they cared. This made the inferno in my chest burn ever hotter.

It was despicable.

It was mine, and something was trying to rip it apart right before my nose. I wouldn't stand for that.

It was a threat, an enemy to be culled to the very last. And I would thoroughly enjoy being the executioner and butcher.

And mere rocks wouldn't stop me from enacting this slaughter.

The wisdom and instincts of the ancestors suffusing me as I silently beckoned them furthered that fact.

It has been a long time since I needed the Spirit Whistle as a crutch for this, and its destruction had played a role in that. Not that Ursol didn't make me a new one.

Groot, the ever-helpful sprout through the Goldilocks, informed me of what was in the large cavern above.

A cavern, I immediately ordered the golden mycelium to isolate with its millions of filaments and flora connected to them. Nevertheless, it wasn't hasty; a hunt required stealth.

None of the twenty-two kaldorei-sized life forms and roughly the same number of varying animals would witness the light of day anymore.

'Kaldorei… druids, priestesses and sentinels by the animals here, there's nightsabers…' I scowled; my doubts were not unfounded.

I wasn't shocked.

Though anger and disappointment were a different story, they were the bad apples Magatha and I foresaw. Yet to witness them was different; a visceral reaction of outrage and disgust ignited in my heart.

I had bled for them, healed them, and this was my reward?

Those were people that Tyrande and Malfurion refused to believe were big enough worries to result in internal violent conflict or how duplicitous their people could be.

It was seen as fucking paranoia, even if it wasn't openly called that.

But the diarchs' arrogance and disconnect were a mild irritation to the rage I had toward those traitorous, ungrateful, selfish walking waste of air, time, and resources, the lowest of the low, unworthy of life itself.

It was profoundly unpleasant. Hate was little in comparison to how much I despise such individuals. It was more than demons, even more than undead.

But a knife in the back was entirely unpredictable. In a twisted way, it was good; the cancer had shown itself.

And as I emerged in the large cavern where the brilliant stolon of Undrassil was stealing the World Tree's very essence.

I was met with forty of those traitors.

I snarled, my smoldering gaze snapping to each of them; none were hidden from me. It was obviously a trap. They knew I would rush there.

It was clever, but it was a fatal mistake on their part, like many today.

Yet they still flinched; if not, the sharp stink of fear was in the air, making me hungry. Cowards. Prey. That's all they were. And it was all they would ever be.

They even swiftly placed themselves to run in their cute little ambush.

My eyes swiftly went on each of them until they locked on a female kaldorei next to Undrassil's painfully glowing root.

She stood tall as if she were a noble lady, and her staff and equipment quality were evident in that. She even had her own guards as if they could defend her.

There was a flicker of surprise over her features that became a polite smile that was little more than a sneer.

It wasn't a facade. The bitch was poised.

And I recognized her, but truthfully, I didn't care about the identity of future mince meat.

"I'm Leyara, and I wish to spea-" I had long since leaped, cutting through distance before the first lie left her lips.

Alas, my bladed claws missed her throat by a hairbreadth.

Her body morphed into an eagle as she dodged. At the same moment, her talon glowed as my vision went white in return, making me huff and swing my arms wildly.

The searing pain settled over my retina as I was rendered blind.

The man to her right wasn't so lucky. I felt his supple flesh and bones split under my assault. It was followed by the sound of his body falling and the iron smell tingling my sinuses.

"Father-in-law was right. Attack this beast for the kaldorei!" Her muttering became a war cry as I heard her shift back to a night elf above.

I agreed with her statement.

Staghelm was right in his assessment indeed, too right, and he didn't realize how much he was.

I had been exceptionally patient and clement; however, he had been wrong about why I would act like this. Or maybe not. It didn't matter. For too long, he poked too many times where he shouldn't have.

He wanted a beast, and I wouldn't disappoint.

I rumbled a growl that echoed far and wide as I shook my head, my sight coming back just as fast from the starlight flare.

But my regained vision becomes tinted red in undiluted rage and hate.

I lost it when the first arrow pinged on my neck armor, and a blast of raw Arcane did the same to my left ear. The first two of a barrage, yet it did nothing, nothing that would stop me.

It was laughable and insulting that they dared to think this would put me down.

I killed Mannoroth with his spear going through my back. I fucking stabbed Archimonde in the eye.

Luck played a role, but to believe its role beyond easing the possible was plain stupidity.

'No matter…' I thought, and something raw and primordial ripped from my throat in a thunderous roar under the assault.

It deafened all for but one instant, freezing the kaldorei as they clutched their sensitive ears and sent the nightsabers and transformed druids into an instinct-driven panic.

I leaped to the closest of them before any got their bearings back.

My jaws snapped shut over the head of a wide-eyed male while my paw batted his companion so hard that only his legs didn't scatter in bloody chunks.

I swallowed loudly, elven blood painting my fangs as the cavern fell silent with only the sound of my deglutition as I tauntingly stared at my audience.

They were next.

And I was on the third instant later, her manic expression of anger, disbelief, and realization freezing as I impaled her and her cat on my claws.

I ripped both open with a quick yank outward, light armor, bones, and skin serving no purpose but being cleaved open before my might. It was wet paper to me.

Elven and feline's lungs, stomach, livers, and guts spilled free, painting my black fur in the shower of gore as I jumped to my next target, whose fate wasn't any different.

It was then that the spell broke, and from all sides, I was pelted.

I didn't dodge. I couldn't even if I tried, but their efforts were fruitless.

Damages to my armor repaired themselves. Damages to my fur led to nothing, like my hide, then fat and muscles as I regenerated.

The two worked as one.

They aimed for the eyes and weak points with blades, arrows, plants, and energy blasts, but I wasn't a statue, and those weren't undefended.

And none were vital.

I survived far worse with far less. It only enraged me further as the time trickled by.

The massacre began, and I didn't waste time. It was the entire point of those pieces of kaldorei trash presence, unluckily for them… I didn't play around, proverbial food or not. I was a bear, not a cat.

At the same time, Groot joined in the gory festivities as the crossbows finished and began firing with deadly precision. It wasn't that it changed the result if he missed; they weren't regular bolts shot.

Kaldorei, who got the seeds in them, had them germinate and feast on their life force. Soon, like parasites, they burst from every hole or made them.

Then, the carnivorous strand of quilboar thorn ravaged their victims and nearby targets. The distinct smell of open intestines followed, and I salivated.

Where Groot missed, they grew regardless and formed thorny walls that would ensnare any close by, drinking the blood with gusto.

It was one plant of dozens, and Nature magic not of my own went largely unheeded by my more potent creations, of which they were. The reaction was brutal retaliation.

I wasn't a fool; only someone equal to me had the power to make them bend the knee against my wishes. And it wouldn't be trivial for them either.

Only Leyara was of any notable power, and she was the only one to be of any threat to me here.

She took one of my eyes as she danced, flying in the restricted cavern with supernatural grace and speed. But that was all she did; she was an annoyance at best.

We were underground. There were no stars, moons, or sun to draw strength from, and she couldn't fly as she pleased.

Among the strongest druids, she was, but it meant shit here.

Yet it took disappointingly long for her to understand they wouldn't win, as she ordered a tactical retreat at long last.

Bear Lords be witness, I would have laughed if I felt any less pissed when the sealed-off exits became widely known to the remaining and reality settled in.

I didn't enclose the cavern close by. My uninvited guests would have fled otherwise, and that was a big no-no. The Life and Nature mana in the air made my trick easy to hide.

My trap seamlessly blended in the nature-bound cavern as well. Besides the support not being stone, they didn't look any different at first glance.

The walking corpses still knew where to go; they were an intelligent herd of prey. For the one that got there, my roots caught them, as did my paws and my buddy's bolts.

And then they tried to pry off the Goldilocks' floral walls with panicked and desperate spells, slash of blades, snap of teeth, and slam of claws.

Everything was used, and they were rewarded. They succeeded, but there wasn't hope; they opened the first layers of dozens.

The living walls weren't thin. They went for tens of meters and weren't flimsy.

I wouldn't be able to cut through them without significant effort myself if I didn't get tangled first, then killed. It was by design.

And the walls weren't shy about regrowing or fighting back. A sentinel had her arm bitten off by a bright red flower, and a vine strangling her neck finished her off.

The pointy-eared traitors were trapped, and it was then that the delicious, tangy, almost spicy-sweet smell of unbridled terror and despair wafted to my blood-coated muzzle.

I hadn't been idle as they struggled, and by the ancestors, the more sadistic part of me wished it. But urgency and rationality won over. I could always bring back most of them.

Neither was Groot, and our death count rose until the only night elf that wasn't a warm corpse, most in pieces or bite-sized pieces, was the daughter-in-law of the source of my stress and fear of the past few years.

The bitch had fought well for what it was worth. And she fought dirty. My genitals were not out of her target range.

Sadly, it wasn't a problem for me, too, as my claw speared her belly, slashing it open to the spine.

The shredded abdominal muscles and membranes let loose a mass of nerves, tissues, and fleshy tubes that were in her abdomen.

The sight of this did nothing; my appetite was as strong as ever. I had to restrain my body from devouring her right then and there.

Leyara glared at me and spat with spite and agony in her faltering voice; she even tried to spit, "Yo-you… will regret t-"

Deciding I had heard enough of her rambling, I carelessly threw her away, but not without sealing the major arteries and veins.

She would die when I said so.

"Now to you…" I growled out, my remaining eye on the pulsing root.

*

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