Spaaace

Through the cosmic abyss, two colossal vessels, the Genedar and the Vindicaar, blazed with holy golden light, tearing through the interstellar void. They had cheated light-years of travel, thanks to the sheer, terrifying power of the Sargerite Keystone – the very artifact Illidan had ripped from the depths of Mardum like a grumpy titan pulling a stubborn tooth. Before them hung a phenomenon that would make even the most seasoned space-faring goblin swallow their gizzard: a colossal, shimmering blue titan, forged from pure starlight.

"By the Light's shimmering beard!" Thorim would have bellowed, if he wasn't currently holding his breath. It was none other than Star-Saint Algalon, the Celestial Observer himself! This was the grand prize, the cosmic GPS that had led them here. Why such extreme measures? Because Azeroth, bless its dusty, dirt-loving heart, was still stubbornly stuck in the 'pointy stick' era. Even with the Draenei's fancy Holy Light tech, they'd need a century and a half just to get out of their own solar system, let alone chase after a literal Star-Saint who'd gotten a ten-year head start on the cosmic race!

The Sargerite Keystone, a relic of unimaginable might, forged by Sargeras back in his less-fel-and-more-bronze-tanning days, was no mere trinket. It was a strategic warp engine, capable of flinging entire legions across dimensions faster than a runaway kodo. Overload it? It could yank a planet from its orbit like a cosmic fishing lure. Galen, poor soul, had seen Illidan demonstrate this horrifying ability firsthand.

On the Vindicaar's gleaming bow, the two colossal Titan Keepers, Thorim and Hodir, stood shoulder to shoulder, their expressions a magnificent blend of grim determination and barely contained cosmic jitters. Before them, a jewel of emerald green pulsed in the void, a tantalizing beacon of life.

"It has to be here!" Thorim declared, his voice a rumbling avalanche. "We've scoured every cosmic dust bunny in this quadrant! This is the last overgrown rock left! If the Mother Goddess Eonar isn't here, I'll eat my thunder hammer!"

The usually stoic Ice King Hodir, whose default expression was usually 'frozen tundra,' actually nodded, a rare act of enthusiastic agreement. "Indeed. Though, I still believe we should have dragged Freya along. Her connection to the Mother Goddess's essence is... well, she's practically a walking life-detector, unlike us, who apparently need a cosmic treasure map and ten previous false alarms."

Ah, the false alarms. The sheer, soul-crushing multitude of "Life Temples" they'd encountered lately! Planets masquerading as havens of life, only to reveal themselves as cleverly disguised cosmic gas stations or particularly vibrant patches of space algae. It was precisely this baffling ineptitude on the Burning Legion's part that had, ironically, allowed Eonar to safely evade their infernal pursuit for millennia. They just kept missing the real thing, bless their demonic little hearts.

But this time... this time it was different! Thorim and Hodir practically vibrated with anticipation. A genuine, overflowing torrent of pure, unadulterated life energy poured from the emerald world, a symphony of vitality unlike any cheap imitation.

"She's there! The Mother Goddess is truly there!" Thorim roared, his voice cracking with a mix of relief and triumphant thunder.

Then, faster than a Warlock's ill-timed potty break, a malevolent, dazzling green light erupted from the planet's surface. Not the gentle hum of life, oh no. This was the sickly, corrupting luminescence of raw Fel Flame!

"OH, BLIGHT AND DAMNATION!" Thorim bellowed, his hammer already a blur in his grip. The roar of the Thunder King, typically reserved for smashing mountains and particularly annoying rock elementals, echoed through the ship's entire frame. "The demons! They've breached it! They beat us to the punch! Eonar is in dire peril!"

With a seismic lurch, the two golden behemoths, the Genedar and the Vindicaar, plunged into the planet's gravitational embrace, their speed rocketing past ludicrous, straight into face-melting territory.

Through the shimmering atmospheric haze, the terrible truth unveiled itself: a colossal, emerald barrier, once radiant, now sickeningly corroded, a gaping maw torn into its side. Hovering menacingly above the wound was a black-green Fel Battleship, an ugly blight on the horizon. From its maw, a vile torrent of demon armies spewed forth, raining down upon the surface, their sights set on a structure that bore the unmistakable, tragic silhouette of a sacred temple.

"Alright, Frostbeard! We split!" Thorim barked, his eyes blazing. "I'll ram the Vindicaar straight into that temple's defense, and you get the Genedar to play cosmic dodgeball with that glorified demon-barge!"

"Agreed," Hodir grunted, a flicker of something akin to urgency in his icy gaze. Without another word, he vanished in a shimmer, utilizing the constant portal between the two vessels.

Thorim gripped his Thunder Hammer, his knuckles white, his expression set in stone. "Charge the Vindicaar's main guns! Prepare for a very unscheduled, very violent, planetary landing!"