23: Fate Dictates That a Female Troll Must Face Frostmourne, Perhaps Two?

Many years later, when Prince Toserin led the Empress's Death Guard in campaigns across the sea of stars, he still could not forget that dusk when the Nightwell's shield quietly went out before his eyes.

Deathlord Toserin and the Scourge champions under his command were all dumbfounded.

They had truly never expected the Nightwell shield—which had trapped them for so long and been as impossible to breach as a turtle shell—to suddenly dissipate for no reason at all.

As a powerful spellcaster, Toserin had not failed to plan operations to seize the Nightwell over the past ten thousand years. He had studied the way its energy operated, so he could say with certainty that this was not some kind of "energy failure."

Someone had shut down the Nightwell's energy nodes from within, directly causing the barrier before Suramar to fail.

But the undead were too shocked to charge forward immediately.

The death knights suspected it might be a trap. Everything had happened too suddenly. But when they saw a huge swarm of bat-like gargoyles flapping their wings and screeching into Suramar, snatching up several equally stunned, unlucky Nightborne, Toserin's heart sank.

It was real!

Suramar was finished.

The elven death knight gripping Frostmourne even felt a flicker of resistance. He knew perfectly well what the Scourge entering the city would bring to this place. But under the workings of Domination, that faint resistance transformed into an even colder resolve to carry out his duty.

As the Crown of Winter on his brow erupted with frost and shaped his handsome yet effeminate face into a skeletal ghost mask, Frostmourne in his hand rose high before slashing viciously downward.

The moment the blade radiating endless chill pointed at Suramar, the utterly silent army of the dead began its march.

The death knights