Undead Beneath the Ruins

Belorell awoke from his unconsciousness, rubbing his eyes and groggily taking a breath of damp air. As he tried to stand up, the pain all over his body made his mouth tremble uncontrollably.

For a moment, the Elf boy seemed to forget his ordeal, staring only at the stars and moon shimmering in the night sky. Belorell felt his mind was a jumbled mess, lying on the ground as he slowly began to recall what had happened. The last image he remembered was Krasus's smile, followed by an explosion, then everything went black, and that was it.

"Am I dead?" the boy asked himself, yet the aches and pains in his body felt so real. He was alive; he had survived the disaster. How fortunate!

Belorell remained silent for a while, pondering his surroundings. It was warm all around him; he felt no trace of Northrend's chilling winds. After lying there for a long time, he sat up, feeling puzzled, not only by the scene before him but, more importantly, by the stench of decay and decay he could smell.

This wasn't Northrend, nor any place he knew. The slightly chilly mist intensified the unfamiliar scent of pine trees and earthy odors, and a stream flowed a few dozen meters away. He couldn't help but wonder if everything he had just experienced was a dream. If it was, then his body must have been tossing and turning wildly in his sleep to end up covered in injuries.

That's impossible, of course; Krasus's voice and the shadow of the Twilight Cult are still vivid in our minds.

He leaned his heavy body against a tree, letting his hands slide to his sides. For a while, he had only been shocked and terrified by Krasus's sudden actions. Only now did he realize what the Red Dragon had done.

Belorell pressed a hand to his visible wound, feeling a slight, burning, tingling sensation. He quickly adjusted and then summoned magical power. His palm glowed, and a piece of bread and a water pouch filled with liquid appeared. Belorell shook his head helplessly; compared to Krasus's cake and drinks, this was truly meager. Perhaps Aunt Vareesa was right; his magical talent was indeed quite poor. Fortunately, he had learned several very practical spells; the Conjure Food and Conjure Water would ensure he wouldn't starve or die of thirst.

After eating a few bites haphazardly, Belorell regained his strength and also got a clear look at the terrain. This wasn't Quel'Thalas, but the Eastern Plaguelands; he was located in the southern part of Storsom. Under the night sky, the cities of Kingdom of Lordaeron were still lit up with fire, their human-built walls resembling a banner against the darkness.

If he headed north, he should be able to return to the Blood Elf forest. Less than two days after escaping Silvermoon City, Belorell hadn't yet begun to miss his home. Having brushed with death, he was initially terrified, then somewhat fearful in retrospect, but now that everything Tranquility down, all that remained in his heart was the excitement and thrill of having survived the danger.

Belorell's spirits lifted. He pulled out a map and decided where to go next. He was currently in Storsom, south of the Thondroril River, so...

The Elf boy stared intently at the map, stunned. A red marker had appeared on the map, not indicating his current location, but rather the surrounding area. Belorell remembered that the map was hidden in his mother's desk drawer; he hadn't paid much attention to it when it was taken away, but now this marker was strikingly obvious.

Why would the mother mark the map of the Eastern Plaguelands?

"This place seems to be not far away." Belorell looked around to confirm his direction. Ten minutes later, he realized that what he had found was not a place where treasure might be buried, but ruins on a hillside. The boy watched in disappointment from afar, where two dogs, two Undead Hound, were wandering around the ruins.

Belorell had seen the Undead in books. In Silvermoon City, Alleria and those around him strictly forbade him from approaching the Death's Scar, telling him that terrible resurrected monsters rotting there. These rotting creatures were indeed repulsive, and they would attack living beings.

"What secret is Mother hiding here?" Belorell asked, puzzled. Despite knowing the danger, he quietly approached a tree on the hillside to get a better look. Just as he had observed from afar, the ruins remained ruins, except that many used arrows were scattered around the collapsed houses. Clearly, a battle had taken place here, and one involving many people.

Perhaps it was because the mother participated in the battle that she marked it on the map.

Aside from what he could see, Belorell found nothing else. Just then, a sound reached his ears.

It was the sound of rubble being shoveled away.

Belorell immediately shrank back behind the tree. For some reason, the sound gave him a sense of unease that he disliked; perhaps it was because there was something else in the ruins that had surprised him too much.

Under the boy's gaze, a pale and scarred hand broke through the barrier of the ruins and reached upwards, slowly clenching into a fist as if trying to grasp something, accompanied by a long sigh. Two dogs, seemingly waiting for this moment, excitedly circled the hand.

For a long time, not a sound rang out. Belorell held his breath, for there was a person beneath the rubble.

Then, Belorell heard a voice he had never heard before. The voice was hoarse and angry, but Belorell found it familiar and felt a lump in his throat.

"I'm alive!"

A plank of wood was torn open from the inside out of the ruins. The man crawled out. His clothes were tattered and ragged, like a beggar's. His eyes were bloodshot and blazing with fire. He was laughing maniacally.

A... Undead!

Belorell stared at him, shock and fear churning within him. He took a deep breath...

"Who goes there? Show yourself!" the Undead roared. Belorell cowered behind a tree, too terrified to move; this time, he had no powerful protector like Krasus.

Another muffled roar broke the silence, "I think I smell the Elf!"

The boy didn't want to complain, but inwardly he jokingly mocked the other person for daring to use the word "stink." As the footsteps drew closer, the smell of the corpse became increasingly unbearable for Belorell. Although he knew the other person was approaching, the boy's legs seemed to have suddenly lost their will and he couldn't move.

Will he kill me? Will he bite me? Will I become like him...?

Terrifying thoughts swirled in Belorell's mind, none of which he wanted to accept. Before the boy could decide what to do, a bloodstained hand suddenly appeared and grabbed the large tree blocking his way.

The Undead, longsword in hand, turned to the other end of the tree, its eyes wide with confusion, and asked, "Nobody here?"