God of Death

The meeting ended badly, and although Jaina had expected this outcome, she couldn't suppress her disappointment. She chanted a spell and appeared in the quiet Mage District, arriving at Bred's residence. Sylvanas told the mage she could find her there.

Standing at the doorway, Jaina could hear Elf and humans talking inside. They seemed to be having a good time, and Jaina heard Bred laughing several times.

She turned to leave, unwilling to recount what had transpired at the meeting. How could an elderly woman bear the weight of hearing that her son was not only alive but had become Undead?

"Don't worry, she'll be back soon. She set off to see the King two hours ago and should be back soon."

Jaina frowned. Were they talking about her? Curiosity made her stop and listen to the sounds coming from inside the house.

"I want to thank Ms. Proudmoore in person; she's gone to a lot of trouble for this old man. And I also want to ask her for a favor. Theramore is currently in the Dalaran Crater, and I'd like to visit my home when I get back. It's been almost twenty years since I've been home."

Marius Farm? Jaina's mind immediately went to that place. She had no reason to refuse Bred, especially since she herself hadn't returned to the old Kingdom of Lordaeron for many years. But were they still familiar with that place? Did it hold any trace of the past?

Those we deeply love are now nothing but skeletal remains, wandering alone in this world. That's something no one wants to see. People would rather remember them as they were. Remember them as they were once vibrant, healthy, happy... as living people.

Anger reignited in Jaina's heart; she was tormented by the fact that she couldn't forget Tyrande's words. And the only thing that resonated with her was the Night Elf leader's words.

Perhaps I should ask other people for their opinions.

Nathanos was surprised that he had been idle for so long, both before and after his death. He hadn't stopped, and the sudden release from this heavy burden had prompted his subconscious to want to rest. It sounds ridiculous, but he truly hadn't even opened his eyes yet. It turns out that the unique characteristic of the Undead— that they don't feel fatigue—is limited to the body; their minds still retain the thought processes of the living.

He didn't care how long he'd been lying on the branch; the inability to sleep had never bothered him so much. He longed to dream, not for the relief of waking, but because sleep would stop his mind from Forsaken. Unfortunately, dreams were not on his side. And whenever he stopped focusing on the present, he would start thinking about the Forsaken's tomorrow.

If asked about the significance of his actions, he would say: Under my leadership, the Forsaken have achieved victory after victory, but as long as the enemy exists, our existence is not yet secure.

"Yes, my child, at least for now."

It was his mother's voice, a real voice, not his imagination. He wanted to turn his head towards the direction the voice came from, but only calmly said, "Who is it? Show yourself!" His mother's soul had long since rested and hadn't spoken to him for years. The fact that it was speaking to him now in a slightly mocking tone could only mean that the person who had stolen his mother's voice was a fool. Or perhaps the other party knew he could see through this little trick and was just toying with him. Either way, Nathanos vowed to make him pay.

His thought provoked a loud laugh from the other, the piercing sound like a lashing at his soul. Nathanos finally couldn't help but open his eyes, stand up, and turn around. To his surprise, he was no longer in his original position, but in a dark, tomb-like space. His mother was indeed before him, floating in mid-air as a spirit, while on the other side was a terrifying figure with an expression like that of someone wearing a ritual mask. The Witherer immediately thought of Ner'zhul, but he was Orcs, while the person before him was Troll.

"Daphne, take a good look at what your good son is thinking. I brought you to see him, and he speaks rudely to me and wants me to pay the price. How could you raise such a son?"

Nathanos fixed his gaze on his mother, and after confirming that it was indeed her, the crimson light in his eyes dimmed instantly.

Daphne gave Nathanos a reassuring smile and said to the Troll, "His attitude towards you is only because he mistakenly believes you have imprisoned me. Since it's a misunderstanding, it can be cleared up once things are explained."

"Looks like your son didn't inherit your good speaking skills." The Troll roared, pointing a skeletal finger at the Witherer: "Do you remember who I am, Nathanos?"

Nathanos pursed his lips, his eyes burning with the intensity of his rage. He seemed to calm down. "I'm not surprised you know my name, because I remember you too, even though I had only recently regained my freedom. You are Loa worshipped by the Troll, and your name is Bwonsamdi."

"Luckily, you still have a good memory!" Bwonsamdi floated in mid-air, sizing up Nathanos. "He's just gotten a lot weaker."

Death's words were true, but he merely brushed the hair back from his forehead, his gaze equally intense as he stared at the other. "You want to try?"

Bwonsamdi immediately responded to Nathanos's provocation, suddenly appearing before the Witherer and warning, "You'd better keep quiet while I'm talking, or I'll show you what happens to noisy fellows." This had an effect, not from Bwonsamdi's threat, but because as he drew closer, Nathanos felt an overwhelming sense of familiarity, the same feeling he had when facing the Lich King.

"If you want to threaten me, it would be more effective to just take action," Nathanos said without backing down.

"This Undead is surprisingly audacious," Bwonsamdi thought. He didn't approve of such reckless behavior. "You're right."

With a dramatic sigh, Death waved his hand, and Daphne's already ghostly form became even more transparent. For a moment, Nathanos remained convinced it was just a bluff, but it wasn't. His mother's smile remained, slowly disappearing from his sight.

"Enough!"

The Troll Death God stopped, looking at the Forsaken's leader as if examining a toy. Before Nathanos could change his mind and agree to compromise, Bwonsamdi spoke again, "Enough?"

At that moment, Nathanos pursed his lips, struggling in an angry silence, "Yes, don't torture her. Tell me what you want?"

"To be honest, I even have some doubts about whether you can meet my needs."

"My power is beyond question," The Witherer, his right hand forming a claw as a furious surge of power not belonging to Bwonsamdi roared. He could hear it, and Bwonsamdi could hear it too: the agonizing cries of countless souls being torn apart.

The Troll Loa landed slowly, the bottom of his staff slamming into the ground, instantly silencing the restless spirits stirred by Nathanos.

"This is the last time you'll provoke me." Bwonsamdi's tone was no longer joking. "But you've also earned us the opportunity to cooperate."

His choice of words was clever; he used "cooperation" instead of "serving" or "obeying." This piqued Nathanos's interest.

"What kind of cooperation?"

Bwonsamdi's eyes brightened, and he first rebuked sarcastically, "You are an unpleasant fellow, Nathanos. Your existence seriously undermines the interests of the gods who govern the dead."

"It seems you are not the only god who knows death," Nathanos replied. But the Troll Loa moved closer to his face once more, pointing a finger at his chest.

"Yes, I should even kill you now," he said, but then changed his mind. "But that won't solve the problem. You've kept too many dead people around you. Most of them are absolutely loyal to you, but Death doesn't accept souls that believe in others."

"You mean my people should be loyal to you?"

Bwonsamdi grinned, revealing his withered, white fangs. Most Loa Spirits are in animal form, but he chose the appearance of Troll. Thus, he was as cunning as the race he represented. Nathanos was prepared to attack Bwonsamdi, and if he were to demand the sacrifice of his people, he would not hesitate to pull out Sulfuras.

"I don't want your men." Bwonsamdi's words temporarily put the Witherer's thoughts aside. "What I need is for you to lead the war."

"War?" Nathanos repeated. "You mean the war between the Horde and the Alliance?"

"Obviously."

"Ha!" Nathanos laughed without a hint of humor. "I don't need to do anything. They'll fight each other on their own. It's inevitable. After the Battle of Theramore, there will be no peace between the Alliance and the Horde. If you want war, just wait."

"No, no, no." Death shook his head, took a few meters back, snapped his fingers, and a strange, mysterious throne appeared behind him. The man sitting on it reminded Nathanos of the Lich King. "That is far too insignificant. What I want is a total war."

"A full-scale war?" The Undead beneath the throne widened their eyes.

"That means everyone," the Troll Loa spread his hands and raised them high. "The Horde, the Alliance, the Forsaken, and even the Pandaren will all be involved. I might as well tell you that an army full of Zandalari Troll is searching for Pandaria, and it's only a matter of time before the fog over this continent is lifted."

"So you want to bring the war here?" Nathanos said angrily. He liked Pandaria. Although he hadn't been on this continent for long, its Tranquility atmosphere was completely different from Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. It was a place where he could temporarily escape his burdens. Moreover, Pandaria had what he needed, and he didn't want the Alliance and the Horde to stop him.

Perhaps seeing through the thoughts in the Witherer's mind, Bwonsamdi laughed, his laughter growing increasingly maniacal. "You seem reluctant, but don't forget what war is, Nathanos. Honor and justice are foolish lies. Every side in war fights for two words: profit. Imagine how vast Pandaria is, its fertile lands, abundant minerals, even the Pandaren could become slaves. Would the leaders of the Alliance and the Horde give it up? And you... would you give it up?"

"Don't lump me in with King Wrynn and Grommash. I would never... fight for profit."

Another round of snickers followed, but Bwonsamdi didn't continue mocking Nathanos. Instead, he said with considerable approval, "Yes, you fight for 'needs,' and satisfying my needs will help you find what you want."

"You have no idea what I want."

Death rose from his throne. This time, instead of flashing before the Witherer, he approached him step by step, leaning on his cane. Then, with his free hand, he grasped Nathanos's left sleeve. "I don't think so," he said. "Your needs are all too easy to guess."

"So what if I guessed right? I can still find what I want without your help."

"Hahaha! You have no idea, not even a clue, about the dangers lurking in Pandaria. That's why you're so leisurely lying on the branch pretending to be asleep. You may still have time, but what about the Forsaken? Can they afford to wait?"

"As long as I am here, the Forsaken will not perish."

Bwonsamdi walked behind Nathanos, placed his hands on his shoulders, and said in a detached tone, "How long can you hold on? I can guarantee you'll die before you find a place to perform the ritual."

"Wouldn't my death be a good thing for you?" Nathanos glanced at him over his right shoulder, but Bwonsamdi was already back on his throne.

"When the losses outweigh the gains, it's a losing proposition. Your agreement to my cooperation request is the real benefit for me."

"I am not the Lich King," Nathanos rebuked. "I will not use blood to satisfy anyone's demands."

"Perhaps it's because my offers aren't enough to entice you. In any case, if you're unwilling to act, I'll have to force you. For example, I'll guide the Alliance and Horde to Pandaria, and then let the Pandaren choose their respective factions." Bwonsamdi heard Nathanos grinding his teeth and continued calmly, "Of course, you might choose to remain neutral, but I'd be happy to provide you with the incentive to participate. Just increase my stakes a little more, and you won't want to know why your mother's soul is here?"

The resounding sound of a sword being drawn echoed all around. Nathanos pointed at Bwonsamdi with Sulfuras, saying nothing, but he needed Death to give him an explanation.

"Put your toys away, they're no use to me," Bwonsamdi said with a smile, but Nathanos remained unmoved. "First of all, I did not imprison your mother's soul; she has returned to where she belongs."

"If that's the case, she shouldn't have obeyed your summons."

"I brought her here, but that doesn't mean I have her under my control." The Troll Loa noticed the confusion in the Witherer's eyes and couldn't help but laugh. "So you don't understand the afterlife. It seems the Lich King killed you too quickly; you were pulled back into your body before you even stepped onto the other side."

"The world after death...?" Nathanos murmured, slowly lowering his sword.

His actions further confirmed Bwonsamdi's conjecture. "You don't think that people become unconscious after they die, like when they're asleep, do you?"

Isn't that so? Nathanos's anger subsided. Arguing with the one who controls death was a joke, but his mother had indeed appeared; he wouldn't be fooled. What on earth...?

"What exactly do you mean by 'the Otherworld'? Tell me."

Bwonsamdi fell silent, but Nathanos saw the hesitation in it and instantly seized upon Death's weakness. "If you want my help, answer my questions." Just as he had predicted, Bwonsamdi's eyes blazed with anger, as if he had no other choice.

"I should refuse your request, Nathanos. What you want even seems to cost more than it costs, but old Bwonsamdi allows it on credit. However, you must understand that what you want to know is beyond your comprehension, far more terrifying than any danger you have ever faced. You will likely be crushed to dust. Then you will only regret peeking into the secrets of death."