Sandfury

After the Troll Death vanished into the ether, Galen was left standing alone in the Underworld Palace, still holding Rastakhan's soul.

"Oh, Bwonsamdi… you really dropped the bone this time," Galen muttered, staring at the glowing essence dancing in his palm. "Leaving me alone in your house? That's like asking a pyromaniac to babysit a fireworks factory."

Of course, the wandering souls of low-level trolls swarming the palace didn't interest Galen one bit. Their flickering spirits were like overripe bananas at a fruit stand—soft, sad, and utterly unremarkable. No, he had his eyes on the prime cut: the royal souls enshrined at the Altar of Kings. Now those were vintage.

"Charge!" Galen barked like a mad general, and with a flash of sacred energy, Rastakhan's soul zipped skyward and vanished like a firework on festival night.

Just as the last trace of the king's essence flickered out, lightning cracked like divine judgment—Bwonsamdi was back.

The old troll god practically tripped over himself as he re-entered his lair, eyes darting like a guilty parent checking if the kids had wrecked the house.

"Where's Rastakhan?!" he snapped.

"Relax, old bones," Galen said with a casual shrug. "I knew you'd fold like a paper raptor under Rezan's death glare, so I sent him back ahead of time. You'll probably hear the king snoring soon."

Bwonsamdi squinted suspiciously, his glowing pupils narrowing like a suspicious cat. He knew Galen had done something fishy—but standing this close to a human wrapped in enough Holy Light to give a sunburn to a celestial being, he decided… maybe it was best not to push it.

Still, the sting of giving up Rastakhan's soul for free gnawed at him. He furrowed his brow and coughed into his ghostly hand. "Ahem. Uh, brother. You did say you'd give me a better one, yeah? Time to pony up, my sparkly friend."

"It'll knock your tusks off," Galen smirked.

With a flick of his wrist, a new ball of Soul Fire blazed into existence, glowing brighter and angrier than the last. It pulsed with power like it wanted to punch a god in the face.

Bwonsamdi's eyes bulged. "No way. Is that—wait—is that who I think it is?"

"Ever heard of the Thunder King?"

Bwonsamdi let out a laugh that quickly choked itself off. "Thor?! You mean Lei Shen, the Mogu Emperor?! That guy makes Rezan look like a puppy Loa!"

"Yup. I watched him strut around Zandalar like he owned the place. Arrogant as a rooster in a henhouse. Then, poof—dead. Took a whole elite battalion with him. But guess what? Some Zandalari genius brought him back."

"Zul." Bwonsamdi scowled. "That little necromancer's been dabbling in forbidden nonsense again."

"Well, now I've got this soul." Galen grinned and shoved the blazing spirit practically into Bwonsamdi's face. "Here, take a sniff."

Bwonsamdi inhaled deeply, then shuddered. "Mmm... savory, spicy, with a hint of Titan tech. Delicious! And the strength! Like chewing on lightning bolts dipped in molten arrogance!"

"Better than Rastakhan?" Galen asked, bouncing the soul in his hand like a flaming beach ball.

"Way better," Bwonsamdi said, licking his lips.

"Then he's yours."

Without ceremony, Galen yeeted the soul into the Troll Death's arms. Bwonsamdi caught it like a wide receiver snagging the game-winning touchdown, immediately hugging it to his chest like a toddler with a new toy.

"Mon, I'm starting to really like you," Bwonsamdi beamed. "You always bring old Bwonsamdi da good stuff!"

Galen just chuckled darkly. There's more coming, you greedy grave-hugger… let's see if you're still smiling when the real surprises begin.

Meanwhile, in Zeb'Ali…

The King's Sword had just returned to the sleepy fishing village when a streak of blue Soul Fire blazed across the sky like a meteor on a mission. It slammed straight into Joel's House, catching the guards so off-guard that one of them dropped his spear and screamed like a kobold.

Zolani sprinted toward the house, slamming the door open—and gasped.

King Rastakhan, who had been snoozing harder than a kodo on vacation, now stood upright. Not just awake—powered up. His posture was straighter, his aura heavier, and his sideburns somehow… majestic-er.

He marched out of the hut, eyes locked on the bay like a man possessed.

Inside, he was boiling.

The last few days had been a mind-scrambling nightmare of betrayal, death, and divine judgment. Now, the former God-King stood as something new—not quite dead, not quite alive, but definitely stronger. And he knew: everything had changed.

Gone was the untouchable ruler of all trolls. What remained was a king reborn—one who would now share power with others… at least, for now.

But first? Vengeance.

He turned to Zolani, flashing a grin sharp enough to slice a direhorn in half.

"You've done well, my King's Sword."

She bowed. "Your Majesty."

"No need for that. You've seen the gods too. I've been summoned back by my Loa—because there's unfinished business."

Zolani dropped to one knee, along with a unit of golden-armored Zandalari. "Your orders, my King!"

"Zul's treason was unexpected. Even here, in this backwater fishing hole, his hounds sniffed me out. But now?" He pointed toward the bay. "I can feel it. My golden warship—the Might of Rastakhan—is anchored just south of here. It's still in Zandalari waters… but not under my command."

His voice turned to iron.

"That means the crew aboard are traitors. Soldiers of Zul. And you know what we do to traitors?"

The guards tensed.

"We feed them to the sea. Burn them if they beg. Take no prisoners. Treason only ends one way."

"YES, YOUR MAJESTY!"

Zolani selected 300 of the fiercest troll warriors and led them under the cover of night, ready to strike like lightning.

Back inside Joel's House, Rastakhan sat on the floor, deep in thought.

He knew what had to be done.

To restore Zandalar, he had to play the long game—and that meant cutting deals, even with monsters. Zandalar would rise, but not as the undisputed troll empire. The Amani and Gurubashi now had their own ambitions. The age of one troll nation was over.

But there was still one path to dominance—absorb the Sandfury. The Farraki trolls were once little more than desert-dwelling afterthoughts. But now? They were a strategic snack. One ripe for conquest.

"Sorry," he muttered with a wicked grin. "The Sandfury clan just made the menu."