The instant the passage stabilized, the entire hall shuddered, as though the whole mountain had held its breath.
The light flowing across the runes metal doorframe shifted from dazzling gold-white to a deep violet, before settling into a still, dark blue, like a frozen night sky. A strange smell filled the air-the scorched odor of overloaded arcane energy, mingled with the chill peculiar to the Shadowlands.
"It worked!"
Old Charlatan was the first to put away his staff. His beard jutted high, and the excitement on his face made him look like a child who had just stolen some candy. He circled the enormous doorframe twice, occasionally tapping the metal framework with his knuckles. Listening to its deep, lingering echoes, he nodded in satisfaction. "Good, good! With this stability, it could withstand at least one major surge of spatial turbulence."
Beside him, Mognathus gave a low, hoarse chuckle. His skeletal fingers traced a few gestures in the air as he checked the anchoring at the other end of the passage. "Hmph. If the spells of you living folk weren't so sensitive, requiring such delicate balancing of the elements, why would we need all this trouble? Wouldn't it be more efficient to connect directly to the Abyssal Rift using undead power?"
Yu Lin Bloodhawk ignored their bickering.
He stood before the gate, gazing at the enormous dark-purple vortex within the portal-this was the Dark Passage connecting Azeroth and the Shadowlands. He could clearly feel that his connection to the Shadowlands while in Azeroth had never been so strong. The tiny portal he had once opened as a temporary Death Gate had now been expanded enough to admit a catapult. An immense, icy tide of shadow poured from the dark-purple vortex, which had been torn open to many times its original size.