Fear

"Maicomarlon, what's wrong? Hey, hey!" A series of loud shouts brought Malone back from his daze. He focused his eyes and saw Teron Gorefiend shaking him hard by the shoulders.

"Wh-what is it?" Malone stepped back, pulling free of Teron Gorefiend's hands, then asked with a frown.

"You're the one with the problem! Maicomarlon, what happened just now? No matter how much I called you, you didn't respond. You were just like a corpse." Teron Gorefiend spoke earnestly, as if forgetting that Death Knights were corpses to begin with.

"I..." Malone opened his mouth, but all he could taste was bitterness. What had happened? He damn well wanted to know!

His conversations with the God of Video Games had made Malone understand his current predicament.

At last, he understood that whether he had been tossed into another world or gained this miraculous power, in the face of true punishment, he would always be just a small, powerless mortal.

Everything was clear now. From this moment on, he would live in fear—that was what Malone told himself—because he never knew when a whole horde of Bronze Dragons might appear before him, tear him limb from limb, or simply make him disappear completely.

The only way to prevent that was to play Maicomarlon's role to the letter and avoid changing the timeline of the world of Azeroth in any way.

The problem was, Malone had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Had Maicomarlon taken part in this war? What role had he played in it? Malone didn't know how to replicate his actions, especially when he had no idea what Maicomarlon had done.

Even if he did know, it would still be difficult. How could one person become someone else completely?

Malone knew it was impossible.

Even if he knew how many human soldiers Maicomarlon had killed in the great battle in Hillsbrad Foothills, was he supposed to do the same?

Even if Malone could bring himself to attack the humans of Azeroth to save his own skin, would he just stand around stupidly on the battlefield once he'd killed enough? Could he really replicate exactly how many minutes into the battle Maicomarlon had killed each person?

More importantly, what if Maicomarlon died? Malone didn't know what he had done, but he was sure the first generation of Death Knights hadn't lived long. At the very least, they hadn't survived until Arthas became the Lich King.

Even if Malone somehow managed to replicate Maicomarlon's entire life, against odds of one in ten thousand—or even one in a hundred million—and changed nothing in the timeline, would he have to die when Maicomarlon was supposed to?

Of course not. Malone wasn't that stupid. But if he didn't die at the appointed time, what would have been the point of everything he'd done before? Things would change sooner or later anyway.

Now Malone understood what his punishment was. Just like low-level players grinding in Stranglethorn Vale, never knowing when an enemy from the opposing faction might drop out of the sky and kill them, he, too, would live in fear forever—until the Butterfly Effect caused by his existence changed some point in time and the Bronze Dragonflight wiped him out completely.

"Ha..." Malone let out a mocking laugh at his own childish ideas from before.

Help humanity defeat the Orcs? Save Anduin Lothar from death? Stop Arthas from massacring Stratholme? Prevent the Undead Scourge from spreading across the world of Azeroth?

It was all bullshit now. Malone knew that not only could he never become a "savior," he had to... stand by and let all of it happen, because it had to happen.

Malone knew all the important events that had taken place in the world of Azeroth, and he also knew what he could do now.

There were two paths. Malone thought of two possible ways to respond, either of which might delay his doom for as long as possible. As for the end of the world, he couldn't do much about that.

The first choice was to intervene and do everything he could to ensure those events unfolded as they should. For example, with Anduin Lothar, Malone had to make sure Ogrim Doomhammer was here, at Blackrock Mountain, to kill the Alliance commander. And with Arthas Menethil, he had to make sure Arthas carried out the massacre at Stratholme—and before that, despite knowing the truth, Malone had to ensure the plague-infested grain reached the city...

It sounded horrifying. Malone didn't think he could do it. But it was an active choice, and the only way to make Nozdormu, the Bronze Dragon Aspect, believe the timeline here needed no correction.

Putting aside the pangs of conscience, Malone knew this would be dangerous, too. Taking the initiative might give him some control, but he could also make things worse and end up changing the timeline.

The other choice was a passive one: Malone could stay away from everyone.

Keep away from the Alliance and the Horde, and from all conflict. After all, he was a Death Knight. He probably didn't need to eat or sleep, so maybe he could survive away from everyone.

He could do nothing and take no part in anything. The Alliance and the Horde, the Burning Legion and the Scourge—none of it had anything to do with him. He could avoid everyone and live alone in the mountains or some desolate wilderness.

That would surely minimize the changes to the timeline, Malone thought. Maybe the Bronze Dragons wouldn't notice him for decades, or even centuries.

The world of Azeroth would go on as before: conflict, peace, killing, alliances... None of it would have anything to do with him. He wouldn't even be an observer.

But could he really go on living like that?

There was no TV, no internet, no computer—nothing in this world... Life alone was nothing like the easy existence of a shut-in back on Earth.

Maybe the loneliness would drive him mad before the Bronze Dragons ever found him, Malone thought.

"Teron..." After a long silence, Malone finally spoke.

"What is it?" Teron Gorefiend looked at his companion with concern.

"Nothing." Malone shook his head.

Actually, Malone had wanted to ask Teron Gorefiend whether he would choose life or death. But he soon realized it was pointless.

For one thing, the guy might say something like, "For the Orcs to live better lives, I would gladly die for the Horde." And anyway, what was the point of asking someone else about something like this?

Malone decided to make his own choice. He would live, using the safest method possible. He would leave—right away, at once. He would leave Blackrock Mountain and the Orc camp, and, unlike his original plan, head south to Stranglethorn Vale or Elwynn Forest. There, in a remote jungle, he would live like a hermit, forever, all alone.