Dichlorvos

"Here I am, busting my hump, working my fingers to the bone for the entire Alliance, coordinating more kingdoms than a goblin has bad ideas, day and night! I'm juggling strategy, logistics, diplomacy, and herd-catting these squabbling monarchs! Your own backyard, Lordaeron, was practically on fire, and I had to ride in like a knight in shining armor with my own crew to pull your chestnuts out of the fire! Now, we've finally managed to turn the tide, shifting from defense to offense, and we're seeing a glimmer of hope, a light at the end of this bloody tunnel! And what do you do?! I'm not even dead yet, you old buzzard! And you're already trying to carve up my territory, touching my people?! Terenas Menethil! You absolute, unmitigated, damn you to the Twisting Nether!"

Duke's teeth were clenched so tight they threatened to shatter, his chest heaving violently, his arms trembling from the sheer, unbridled fury coursing through him. His fingernails dug deeply into his palms, drawing crescent-shaped moons of blood. There's a very famous saying in Azeroth, whispered in taverns and battlefields alike: "I'm not afraid of god-like bosses; I'm afraid of teammates who play like pigs." But there's another breed of creature, even more infuriating, more utterly disgusting than a brain-dead teammate – and that, in Duke's book, was a traitor!

That's right! In Duke's eyes, Terenas wasn't some noble hero; he was a two-faced, backstabbing snake! A fake Madonna, a wolf in sheep's clothing! Duke couldn't stop King Aiden Perenolde from committing political suicide, but he had already made his intentions clear, expressed his unwavering determination to protect the Barov family. And now, even before he'd received confirmed news of Duke's demise, Terenas was already treating him like a dead man, carving up his legacy, starting to seize power, and paving the way for the "rise" of Lordaeron on Duke's supposed grave! The audacity! The sheer, unmitigated gall!

Duke truly wanted to rip open a portal right then and there, storm back to Lordaeron, and scream in Terenas's face: "Ah! The sun is so bright tonight, Your Majesty! What? You ask me why there's a sun at night? It's simple, you blind old bat! Because Terenas, you miserable excuse for a king, you're blind as a bat! You can't see the writing on the wall, you can't see the future, but you sit on the highest seat, a useless lump of royal flesh! You rubbish! Your heart is as black as the darkest night, a bottomless pit of treachery!"

"Hahaha! Hahahaha!" Duke suddenly burst out of the cave, a manic, almost unhinged cackle tearing from his throat as he ran wildly onto the mountainside. His laughter, a chilling, echoing sound, was carried far away by the strong, biting wind, a testament to his unraveling sanity.

Originally, Duke had been thinking that, since he was intimately familiar with the course of history, he should probably step in and stop Terenas's beloved son, His Highness Arthas, from, you know, killing his father. But now, for some reason, a dark, humorous twist of fate, Duke suddenly found himself wanting to see that scene play out. Oh, the old beast's stunned, horrified expression as his own son plunged Frostmourne into his chest – it must have been absolutely priceless!

"Hmph, hmph, hmph!" Duke exhaled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "It seems like you really want me to kick the bucket, you old coot. But – I'm not going anywhere!" Duke's eyes suddenly became hard as steel, blazing with an unyielding resolve. His fierce gaze was like a knife, a sword, a raging wave, cutting through the very air, daring anyone to stand in his way.

However, just as Duke's thoughts were spiraling into a chaotic, vengeful mess, he suddenly received a new, cryptic message from Krasus. "Sorry, it all went south."

Duke was absolutely certain that Krasus, who possessed the best magical talent among the Dragonflights, had sensed Deathwing's insidious eavesdropping. Therefore, he'd deliberately sent such a nonsensical, coded magical message that only Duke, with his unique understanding of the timeline, could possibly decipher.

Duke's blood ran cold. He became utterly horrified. What in the blazes is going on?! he thought, his mind racing. Didn't Krasus convince the other three Guardian Dragons in history? How in the name of all that's holy did they all fail?! This is truly messed up!

"I got the most important Deathwing Amulet, the key to everything, and now you're telling me that the three most important helpers, the very pillars of my plan, aren't coming to the party?!" Duke wailed internally, a childish whine escaping his lips. "What am I supposed to do now?! Seriously, what am I going to do?!"

At this moment, Duke felt like he was going to burst into tears, a full-blown bawling session. That's right, men don't shed tears easily, they say. But right now, he felt so utterly, profoundly sad, so completely overwhelmed, that he wanted to curl up in a ball and just cry himself to sleep.

"Is this what they call despair?" Duke muttered, shaking his head violently. "No! Absolutely not! I, Duke, am a man who wants to become the God of Magic in Azeroth! If that loser Krasus can't handle the three Guardian Dragons, then I'll go there myself and knock some sense into them!"

Although he declared he was going on a "trip," Duke knew, deep down, he had no time to jet off to the snowy wastes of another continent to look for Malygos, the King of Blue Dragons, nor did he have the luxury of digging out Nozdormu, the Lord of Time, from his sandy lair in the Caverns of Time. He was on a tight schedule, with the fate of Azeroth hanging in the balance.

Duke's only shot, his last desperate gamble, was the Green Dragon Queen, Ysera, who was hiding somewhere in the ethereal depths of the Emerald Dream. Ysera, and the Emerald Dream she guarded, was the very reflection of Azeroth in the dream world. Everything that happened in the Emerald Dream and in reality would affect each other, a cosmic dance of cause and effect. In theory, it was easy-peasy to find Ysera; all you had to do was drift off to sleep and contact her in your dreams. In actual practice, however, if you didn't have an extraordinary dream, a vivid, powerful construct woven with extremely potent mental energy, you couldn't even hope to attract Ysera's attention. She was a busy dragon queen.

Duke, with a renewed sense of grim determination, scurried back into the cave. He found a small recess not far from the entrance, and with a swift, practiced motion, sealed his body with ice, creating a temporary stasis chamber. This was to ensure that any changes in his life force wouldn't be detected by Deathwing, who was probably listening in on every whisper. After instructing the system AI to maintain constant monitoring of Deathwing's amulet, Duke took out a small, unassuming bottle of potion from his storage space.

It was a black bottle, as dark as a moonless night. He'd put a special, ominous label on it and placed it in a designated, easily accessible spot, so he could find it quickly in a pinch. This thing was called "Death Dream." Even in the hallowed, often terrifying, laboratory of Karazhan, it was considered a taboo by Medivh himself, a forbidden concoction. He'd implemented the most stringent protections around it, labeling it as the most dangerous substance in his entire arsenal.

Just three drops of this venom, placed on the tip of an arrow, had been enough to kill Manta, the Lord of the Abyss, in seconds. Just three drops were enough to fell a being that was ten times the size and strength of a dragon, a creature thought to be invincible. Just like Deathwing, almost everyone had once believed that Manta was absolutely unkillable, a force of nature.

Now, Duke was going to take some "Death Dream" himself. He wanted to harness its strongest, most potent hallucinogenic effect, to plunge himself into the deepest slumber, the most vivid dream.

"The deepest sleep, the deepest dream..." Duke murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper, as he uncorked the bottle. "If I can do this, then Ysera should be there... No, she must be there. It's my only shot."

He paused, a grim realization dawning on him. "But if the amount is too much," he added, his voice tinged with a dark humor, "I'll be the one kicking the bucket, not Ysera."

"Most people only get one shot at this," Duke said, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping him. "But am I an ordinary person? Hell no!"

That's right! Duke wasn't afraid of death. He'd faced it too many times to count. But he was terrified of decay or destruction at the soul level, a fate worse than death. The curse that Sargeras had cast before he knelt, before he was banished, was of this very level – a corruption that went straight to the core of your being.

Rather than waiting for a slow, agonizing death countdown, like a frog boiling slowly in warm water, Duke would rather take a gamble, give himself a fighting chance. How many chances do we really get to fight for what truly matters in our lives?

He took out a plain cup and a small bottle of pure water from his storage space. Then he poured enough water into the cup to drink in one gulp, a single, desperate draught. With a steady hand, he opened the small black bottle, its contents shimmering ominously. He carefully lifted the opened black bottle above the cup, his hand trembling ever so slightly.

Three drops of poison had killed Manta in seconds. How many drops did Duke need? The deepest sleep and eternal death... the gap between their essences was far smaller than most people imagined, a razor's edge.

Duke tilted his hand, pouring out the smallest, most minuscule drop of poison he possibly could. He watched it fall silently into the glass of water, a tiny, dark pearl dissolving into the clear liquid. He replaced the cap on the vial, a grim finality to the action, and picked up the glass.

"Damn," Duke muttered, a wry grin spreading across his face. "It would be nice if there was a big, comfy spring bed for this. And," he added, his eyes twinkling with dark humor, "it would be even better if there were two big-breasted elf girls to accompany me on both sides, just for moral support, of course."

Duke smiled coolly, a glint of madness in his eyes, and said to himself: "Come on! Let's drink this glass of bug spray!"

After saying that, he drank it all in one gulp, a desperate, defiant act.