The Shadowlands had opened. Amid the catastrophe of anima depletion, all the stolen anima had been used to open a river of passage from the Maw to Azeroth.
Two Mawsworn Swords forged by the Primus struck Gul'dan and Khadgar respectively. Then countless winged troops of the Mawsworn Army descended from the sky and rushed into battle.
Rowan looked up at the heavens, watching the sky threaten to collapse, and cursed inwardly. Fucking Zodick, you really know how to pick your moment.
Seeing the gateway from the Shadowlands to Azeroth fully open, the graceful figure fighting nearby sprouted wings and leaped into the air, reaching Rowan's side immediately.
The boundaries of the Maw had been destroyed. The Shadowlands had lost its former balance, and Oribos had completely severed its connections to every realm of the dead.
A sheen of sweat formed on Devos's fair forehead, her bangs clinging together and framing her anxious face.
"Look, Rowan! That pawn of the Jailer floating behind the Mawsworn Army seems to be human." Devos had caught the scent of a human. This Mawsworn soldier returning from the Shadowlands still carried a mortal aura.
The Jailer's representative? Rowan followed Devos's pointing finger and looked toward the figure within the dark inferno of the Maw.
Rowan could not make out the human's face, but the Runeblade radiating an icy gleam made him blurt out, "Holy shit."
Frostmourne?
Arthas?
Perhaps sensing Rowan's gaze, the humanoid suspended in the air transformed into a streak of deathly energy and suddenly plunged to the ground.
Sure enough, behind the anima-born shadows stood a young prince clad in sturdy armor, his gray hair falling to his shoulders.
"Warriors of the Silver Hand who have endured life and death in the Maw's inferno, this is your new battlefield! Slaughter these demons invading