Eonar

Following Thorim's thundering directive, the Draenei technicians and frantic mechanical gnomes aboard the Vindicaar sprang into a frenzy of highly professional panic. A blinding, holy light began to bloom at the very maw of their magnificent vessel.

"Ten percent! Twenty! Thirty!… Sixty percent!" came the urgent shouts.

The Burning Legion, never ones to miss an opportunity for wanton destruction, reacted with the speed of a charging fel reaver. Their dark green battleship, the Paraxis, swiveled with an unnatural grace, its main gun spitting a crackling, green energy cannon that looked suspiciously like a giant, demonic lightning fork.

"Energy lock detected! Recommend immediate cessation of charging and activation of defensive barriers! We're about to get a Fel-powered enema!" screeched a particularly agitated mechanical dwarf over the comms.

Thorim's eyes, however, remained as calm as a frozen lake in Northrend. "Don't you dare touch that button, runt! Keep charging! We're giving that landing party of demons a shot they'll never forget, even if their souls are already ash!"

Though Thorim and the Ice King Hodir had endured tens of thousands of years of squabbles, mostly thanks to some mischievous fallen being's petty schemes, they'd long since buried the hatchet—right into the skull of said fallen being, probably. Their bond, forged in mutual surrender to Galen, was now unbreakable. Thorim trusted Hodir implicitly, certain his frosty brother would tangle that demonic warship long enough for him to unleash pure, holy havoc.

And true to form, the Genedar flashed into the fray, a shimmering streak of defiant light, slamming itself directly between the Vindicaar and the spitting maw of the Paraxis!

BOOOM!

The Genedar, already cloaked in its shimmering defensive barrier, took the full force of the monstrous fel energy artillery directly on its hull. It was less of a block and more of a glorious, self-sacrificing belly flop into a pool of green fire.

"Eighty percent! Ninety! One HUNDRED PERCENT! SHE'S HOT!"

"NOW! LAUNCH THE DIVINE RETRIBUTION!"

A Draenei technician, gritting his teeth, slammed his fist onto a massive, glowing red button with the force of a thousand holy hammers.

BWEEEEOOOOONG!

The Vindicaar's colossal forward section shuddered, a deep, resonant hum vibrating through the deck. Then, a blinding torrent of pure Holy Light energy erupted from its golden crystal muzzle, a pillar of righteous fury so intense it seemed to tear the very fabric of the cosmos.

Inside, Thorim watched, transfixed, as the raw, unadulterated power of the main gun tore through the void. The golden rays streaked across thousands of kilometers in an instant, smashing into the very center of the assembled demon army on the planet's surface.

For a moment, the world itself seemed to hold its breath. A gargantuan mushroom cloud, shimmering with holy golden light, blossomed from the ground, followed by concentric rings of pure shockwave that rippled across the landscape. Thorim felt an unnatural quiet descend, broken only by the hum of the ship. The vibrant green landscape was gone, replaced by an incandescent, holy glow.

As the mushroom cloud slowly dissipated, it revealed not a crater, but a gaping abyss, a monument to pure, holy devastation.

Seeing the sheer, unholy mess they'd made, the Draenei and gnomes in the ship began to pump their fists, their faces alight with a mixture of awe and manic glee.

"By the Ancestors!" one Draenei gasped, "Even Lei and Odin in their prime couldn't conjure up a commotion like that!"

Thorim himself muttered, a wide, almost manic grin spreading across his bearded face, "Truly horrific! Impossible to stop! Absolutely nowhere to hide! If that happened to me, I'd have to eject my platinum disc immediately and pray my siblings remembered how to assemble a new body!"

Compared to Thorim's unbridled elation, the demons were absolutely furious.

Suraya, the Mother of the Universe (though what kind of mother raised these brutes was anyone's guess), her forehead sporting a pulsating Eye of Fel Energy, shrieked in rage. She swung her six wickedly sharp blades, carving a blubbering Mo'arg engineer into confetti.

"FIGHT BACK! FIGHT BACK, YOU ROTTING GARBAGE! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!"

The Vindicaar's single, glorious shot had obliterated at least a third of her advance forces. Her fury was a tangible, choking presence.

"Activate ALL weapons on the Paraxis! Fire everything! NOW!"

The sheer, murderous aura emanating from their leader sent a terrified surge through the remaining Mo'arg engineers. They didn't care if the ship's muzzles melted or the energy conduits ruptured; they slammed controls, unleashing a maximum-power counterattack! Fel rockets rained down like green, fiery hail, and meteor storms bombarded the Genedar with reckless abandon.

On the Genedar, Hodir wasn't ordering evasive maneuvers. Instead, he coolly commanded his technicians to shunt every last erg of the ship's energy into its defensive modules. Then, he pointed the nose of the ancient vessel directly at the Burning Legion's vanguard ship and rammed.

The Genedar, an old Draenei warhorse that had seen twenty thousand years of cosmic abuse, had been patched up more times than a goblin's accounting ledger. It had crashed on Draenor, buried itself in Nagrand for centuries, and been rebuilt from the ground up, only its original frame remaining. Romu, the Draenei chief technician, had obsessed over its defenses, even sacrificing half its offensive capabilities just to make it the toughest, most unkillable brick in the universe.

Now, facing the unholy firestorm from the Paraxis, the Genedar didn't flinch. It plunged headfirst into the fel artillery, a shining, defiant shield.

With Hodir successfully (and heroically) distracting the Burning Legion's main firepower, Thorim wasted no time. He led the assembled army from Draenor – a motley crew of grim veterans and zealous recruits – plummeting towards the planet's surface to reinforce the besieged temple.

CRACKLE! SIZZLE!

A bolt of pure, crackling purple lightning seared across the ground in front of the temple, transforming a whole squad of furious demon guards into smoking, human-shaped piles of ash under the electrifying fury of Thorim's spark and lightning. In his invincible, Thunder King state, he was an unstoppable force among the lesser demon hordes.

But even as he effortlessly carved a path, the King of Thunder was plagued by a gnawing anxiety. His very soul trembled. He could feel the Mother Goddess Eonar's despair, a psychic cry echoing across the battlefield. They couldn't afford to get bogged down here!

He glanced at the Draenor army, singling out the most imposing figures: the Glorious Orcs. "Blackhand! You take part of these troops and block any demon reinforcements! Grom! Garrosh! You two, with me! We're breaking through!"

This order was precisely what Grom had been itching for. He shot Blackhand a challenging glance, raised Gorehowl, and let out a bellow that summoned the surrounding Honor Orcs: "LOK'TAR OGAR! FOR THE HORDE… and THE GLORY OF THE CRUSADERS!"

Garrosh, meanwhile, bisected a demon guard with a savage chop of his axe, roaring back, "GLORY IS MY LIFE! FOR THE GLORY OF THE CRUSADERS!" The stark difference in the father-son battle cries was telling; the younger Mag'har clearly embraced the ideals of the Crusaders more enthusiastically than their older, "pinned-to-the-ground-and-converted" counterparts.

Thorim, thoroughly impressed by this natural, if slightly unhinged, warband, led the charge! The sheer brilliance of a demigod simply could not be stopped by these common Burning Legion grunts. Among the enemy's high-end forces, one was preoccupied with the battleship, and the other had already slipped into Eonar's life chamber.

Soon, the world around Thorim seemed to shimmer, his body enveloped by an overwhelming, rich breath of life. It was a scent deeply familiar, reminiscent of the Living Greenhouse within Ulduar. But before he could properly orient himself, he was assaulted by shouts and cries echoing through the very air.

"Surrender to the power of Sargeras! Just as you did Aggramar! Bow before the Dark Titan!"

"Aggramar! NO! Never! You will not have me!"

Faced with the relentless, rampant demon, Eonar felt a profound weariness, but her spirit remained unbroken. She would not surrender!

"Follow my command!" her voice, though strained, resonated with ancient power. "Life blooms! BLOOM, I SAY!"