The teleportation array

Although the Twilight Cultists were already scattering in a blind panic, fleeing for their lives without caring where they went, several of them were still captured.

The Twilight Cultists huddled together, trembling like quails. Apparently, even fanatics were not fearless. They might long for the destruction of the world, but when death truly threatened them, not everyone could face it with a smile.

"Let's notify the Thorium Brotherhood," Diago suggested. Honestly, he doubted he could handle torture and interrogation. It was skilled work, and the sight of it was a serious test of mental endurance for both the torturer and the victim. For the Dark Iron Dwarves, however, that was no problem at all. Although the Thorium Brotherhood was somewhat better than the corrupted Dark Iron Dwarves, the difference was limited. With their survival at stake, these dwarves who had been schooled by the Firelord would show no mercy.

Diago wrote a few brief lines on a piece of parchment, folded it several times, and threaded it onto Khanifa's metal tooth.

"Give this to Ofist!" he instructed, patting Khanifa's shoulder. The big cat nodded at him and raced toward Thorium Point.

Diago and Masley waited where they were, feeling rather bored, while the Twilight prisoners dared not move a muscle. Whenever Diago's muzzle pointed their way, deliberately or otherwise, they trembled uncontrollably from head to toe. Apparently, this demonic weapon had left a sufficiently terrifying impression on them.

The Thorium Brotherhood's leaders did not keep them waiting long. For the brotherhood, which had been at the end of its rope, this unexpected turn was nothing short of a lifeline. Overjoyed, nearly the entire brotherhood immediately turned out and followed Khanifa over.

The Dark Iron Dwarves marveled at the corpses strewn across the hills, and their respect for Diago and Masley, who had caused all this, grew accordingly.

After exchanging a few words with the Dark Iron Dwarves, Diago turned to leave. Honestly, killing people in battle had not felt like much, but it was better not to watch something as bloody and brutal as torture.

"Where did you come from?" he heard Grand Smith Burninate demand gruffly. The old dwarf had a short temper. It looked as though these prisoners were in for a rough time.

"Silithus. We came from Silithus..." a timid voice stammered.

Diago, who had not gone far, strode back and delivered a resounding slap.

"Silithus? Do you think we're idiots?" Diago roared. Silithus was the Twilight's Hammer's main base, located on Kalimdor across the Great Sea. But even within Kalimdor, Silithus was a famously remote desert region, and it produced thorium ore itself. Shipping ore from this mine to Silithus would cost several times the ore's value in freight alone. Did these Twilight Cultists have nothing better to do?

"No, we transport the ore through a teleportation array!" the Twilight Cultist cried, afraid that Diago would slap him again if he spoke too slowly. "South! The teleportation array is in the ruins to the south, about a day's walk away."

Diago lowered his raised hand. He did know the place. Before his transmigration, he had visited those abandoned war ruins to take a look.

During the Second War, the Orc Warlocks had devised a method of granting intelligence and magical power to their Ogre allies. This method required mysterious structures such as the Altar of Storms, but this particular altar had been destroyed during that war. Now its ruins were dilapidated and covered in the scars of war, yet its lingering energy still drew elementals and Ogre Mages there to siphon off the remaining dregs. It was a dangerous place, but these Twilight Cultists had evidently found a use for its remains.

Suddenly, a bold idea occurred to him. "Maybe I can use this teleportation passage!" Diago murmured, his eyes shining. Less than two hours had passed since they launched their ambush. The fleeing survivors surely would not have had time to destroy the teleportation array yet!

When he told Ofist and the others his idea, almost every Dark Iron Dwarf was won over by its boldness.

"Theodosius Frostwhisper! Get your fucking ass over here!" Burninate bellowed at the people at the rear of the group. He pointed at the only warlock among the prisoners. The man had been shot in the thigh and looked barely alive, on the verge of breathing his last. "Don't let him die! We have a very important use for him!"

An old dwarf with gray hair and beard ran over. He wore a yellowish-brown leather robe with a pale, moon-white vest over it.

"Trust me, he won't die," the dwarf priest said confidently after giving the prisoner's wound a cursory examination. "A through-and-through wound. The bullet didn't tumble inside him. What a clean wound-worth at least a hundred gold coins. I've seen gunshot wounds far worse than this. Last time Lolor accidentally fired his gun while drunk and peppered Jack Rockleg's entire face..."

"All right, all right, we all trust you," Burninate said helplessly, interrupting the old priest's rambling. "If you don't cast your spell soon, he really will die."

The old priest said no more. Gathering up his robe, he knelt on one knee beside the wounded man and began chanting a spell. When the spell was complete, a ball of pure white holy light appeared in his hands. Guided by the priest, it slowly descended and sank into the wound.

Honestly, the M1 Rifle had quite good penetrating power, particularly against an unarmored cloth-wearing class. This careless Twilight warlock had evidently also forgotten to cast a defensive spell such as Demon Armor on himself, though that had indirectly kept the bullet from remaining inside his body. The old priest clearly enjoyed Titan the Forger's favor. Under his treatment, the entry and exit wounds vanished almost in the blink of an eye. Without the blood left on the skin, it would have been hard to tell that the area had ever been wounded. In fact, the most serious problem was the heavy blood loss, but that was the priest's specialty, and there would be no mishap there.

While waiting for the priest to finish treating him, Diago discussed matters with Ofist and set off ahead, without even waiting for the unconscious Twilight warlock to wake. Their immediate priority was to prevent the routed survivors from destroying the portal. If that happened, even a hundred healthy Twilight prisoners would be useless.

Today was clearly their lucky day. Diago ran with the two panthers until evening, and by the time they reached the Altar of Storms Ruins, they had still seen no sign of the routed Twilight's Hammer troops. Those survivors had evidently either been frightened out of their wits and fled back to Silithus, or were running aimlessly through the hills and had become deserters.

Diago suspected the latter. Even with a two-hour head start, he did not believe those fleeing troops could have arrived before him. When it came to a race on foot, hunters and druids feared no one.

Still, just in case, he set up a sniper position a little over two hundred meters from the ruins' exit and watched for any activity.

Although it was called the Altar of Storms, barely anything remained of the mysterious structure. Apart from the enormous stone statues around its perimeter, there were only broken bricks, shattered tiles, and huge animal bones scattered across the ground. On a level patch in the center stood a magic array composed of six mithril runes. An oval frame cast from fel iron rose from its thorium base. This metal construction from Outland was as thick as a wrist and covered in strange, twisted engravings. Although it was not active, Diago could sense the immense power contained within it. Clearly, this was the residual energy squeezed out of the Altar of Storms.

In truth, teleportation arrays were not cheap. The Rune Stones and various rare materials needed to construct one alone cost an astronomical sum. But now it appeared that some brilliant designer had cleverly harnessed the Altar of Storms' remaining energy, making teleportation to and from Silithus less expensive.

The night was anything but peaceful, and Diago slept badly. The fel energy lingering in the mysterious structure exerted its influence every moment. This evil power, which had corrupted the entire planet of Draenor like bloodthistle, whispered incessantly in Diago's ears, as though some filthy, foul shadow were drooling over his soul, coveting his inner self and constantly tempting him to fall into darkness.

Diago abruptly woke from a nightmare. His eyes snapped open, and he looked somewhat jitterily at the concerned Night Elf. His forehead felt cold. He touched it and found it covered in cold sweat.

"What's wrong, Diago? I heard you shouting in terror," Masley asked quietly, worry written all over his face.

"I'm fine, Masley. Thank you." Feeling somewhat guilty, Diago avoided the Night Elf's gaze. He knew that his condition could hardly look normal to a Night Elf, and he had no desire to be burned as a heretic.

He picked up the rifle beside him and cradled it in his arms, pressing its barrel against his cheek. The cold steel, still smelling of gun smoke, doused the burning unease in his heart like ice water and helped him feel more secure.

With a badly wounded prisoner in tow, the Dark Iron Dwarves traveled very slowly. They did not finally arrive until nearly noon the following day, when Diago and Masley were growing impatient.

The Thorium Brotherhood apparently knew this place as well; they simply had not known about the Twilight Cultists' activities. Several dwarf soldiers were immediately dispatched to search the entire ruin thoroughly, though they wisely avoided the teleportation array, which had yet to be activated.

Diago knew they would find nothing. This place was extremely remote, and apart from some shadow elementals and two-headed ogres drawn by the magical fluctuations, few ever came here. Sure enough, after a while, all the dwarf scouts returned, shaking their heads to indicate that they had found nothing.

This put Ofist and Burninate somewhat at ease, and the former beckoned to the crowd. Two Dark Iron Dwarves carried the Twilight warlock out on a stretcher. The old priest Theodosius Frostwhisper's divine magic was quite remarkable; the prisoner already seemed largely recovered. Several dwarves stepped forward, hauled him up rather roughly, and shoved him toward the array. He stumbled but managed to remain standing.

"How do we activate it?" Masley asked the warlock as he stood beside the teleportation array. The prisoner wore a fairly fine robe and probably held no low position in the Twilight's Hammer.

"Don't try anything. All I have to do is gently pull this trigger to blow your head apart. You won't get a single spell off before your brains go flying. I guarantee it." Watching the warlock's constantly shifting eyes, Diago threatened him viciously. The fel energy contained in this array was so immense that if anything went wrong, everyone in the ruins would die with it.

The Twilight warlock gave him a pale-faced glance and began chanting a spell. As the spell progressed, the runes forming the array gradually lit up with a ghostly blue glow.

Masley gave Diago a discreet nod, indicating that the warlock was not trying anything. Druids had an innate advantage over hunters when it came to sensing magical energy.

At last, all the array's runes lit up. An oval curtain of light appeared in its center, rippling like water and looking like a doorway woven from brilliant auroras. While everyone was marveling at it, the Twilight warlock darted toward the glowing doorway. But before he could touch the portal, a heavy rifle butt slammed into the back of his head, sending him flying sideways to hit the ground in a great puff of dust.

Diago casually slung the rifle onto his back, then crouched down and took a box out of his Demons Bag-he had discovered that this backpack, like Doraemon's pocket, could hold an astonishing amount. The box contained the oversized bomb he had made before bed last night, its iron casing filled with all the gunpowder left over from loading his cartridges.

Diago had built this bomb according to the schematic for a Powerful Explosive Salt Bomb. The power of a bomb originally intended for sieges and breaching gates was plainly beyond question. Although he could not gather all the parts on short notice, he had substituted rejected components from his gun-making efforts. This had also made the large bomb unstable, but instability did not mean diminished power. Quite the opposite: sacrificing precise control had greatly increased this Elemental Explosive Salt Bomb's power. Now even its creator, Diago, could hardly estimate its strength accurately.

Diago weighed it in his hands, then trimmed the fuse a little shorter. Getting the length right was difficult. Too short, and it might explode before passing through; too long, and someone might douse it or simply pick it up and throw it back.

"How long until it explodes?" Masley asked with some concern. In fact, even if it failed to reach Silithus, the violent energy fluctuations caused by the explosion could collapse the spatial passage connecting the two gates, completely cutting off the Twilight's Hammer's ability to send more reinforcements here. What worried him was whether, if the bomb failed to travel far in three seconds, the blast would pour back out through the portal.

"There should be about a three-second delay," Diago guessed. According to planar studies and spatial theory, the two portals overlapped in terms of spatial distance. Anything entering this side would emerge on the other.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Masley asked, doubting him for once. Honestly, the unreliability of Goblin Engineering explosives was as world-famous as their power.

"I'm sure." With slightly trembling hands, Diago lit the fuse, then kicked the bomb through the portal.

Like a stone tossed onto water, the bomb caused a surge of spatial energy. The portal rippled a few times like the surface of a pond, and the bomb vanished. Good. The portal was still working normally.

Unfortunately, Diago could not see the earth-shaking sight of the bomb exploding. But he could imagine it. He had seen such scenes countless times in films and television before his transmigration.

Before the ripples caused by the bomb's passage had even settled, the portal's fel iron frame suddenly began shaking violently. Diago, who had been about to leave, noticed the array's runes growing brighter, reaching their maximum brilliance in just a few seconds.

Diago felt that he distinctly heard the sharp crack of the fel iron frame splitting apart. But before the portal was completely destroyed, a powerful shock wave erupted violently from it.

"Get down!" Diago ran a few steps toward the perimeter, then dove away from the portal. But he only had time to roar that warning before the raging blast engulfed him.

Diago could guarantee that no explosion he had seen in any film or television show before his transmigration had been this violent. All the arcane energy drawn from the Altar of Storms into the array erupted at that instant like a geyser. Jets of energy swept up sand and dust and blasted them outward at high speed. Even grains smaller than rice struck painfully. Diago felt like a blade of grass swaying in a sandstorm, liable to be swept away at any moment. He could even feel the scorching heat of fragments from the array skimming over his head.

After a dozen or so seconds, the explosion gradually subsided. When Diago coughed and peered through the settling dust to make out his surroundings, he could not help gaping, despite having seen countless war blockbusters. The ruins had been almost completely leveled. The broken bricks, tiles, and animal bones had been swept away, and even the statues at the outermost perimeter had collapsed and shattered across the ground. The runic teleportation array had vanished entirely, replaced by an enormous crater. It was so large that Diago estimated a small two-story building could fit inside.

With a soft clack, a round object rolled to the edge of the crater. It was a purple helmet decorated with a horn on either side. Lingering gun smoke still curled around it, obscuring it from view.

Ofist walked over gloomily and gave it an absentminded kick. The Thorium Brotherhood had lost more than ten people in the explosion, with over twenty more seriously wounded. Yet he could not express dissatisfaction with Diago, because the explosion had completely resolved the threat hanging over them. The Twilight Cultists were no longer a problem.

But the next moment, Ofist let out a surprised exclamation. He discovered that the helmet was not cast from metal, but made from some kind of cloth-Diago guessed it was demons cloth, since his Demons Bag was made from the same material. Stranger still, the hoodlike helmet actually contained a human head!

People gathered around curiously. In these chaotic times, they were accustomed to sights far crueler than this. A mere head would not leave them with any unbearable trauma.

The tremendous force of the explosion had wrenched this head bodily from its torso, because no blade would have left such a ragged break at the neck. Muscle contractions caused by massive blood loss had left the head somewhat distorted.

Most people, however, were looking at the helmet. Although made from cloth, it bore a peculiar inscription. This unusual enchantment gave it both the comfort of cloth armor and the strength of plate. Clearly, this magical item had protected the head wearing it from being pulverized.

"Heavens, it's Lord Vyral!" At that moment, on the outer edge of the crowd, the Twilight warlock's eyes widened, and he shrieked like a rooster being strangled. He had been fortunate enough to survive the explosion, but the portal's destruction had plainly cut off his last hope of escape. Staring incredulously at the head, he muttered, "You're in big trouble! Cho'gall will tear you apart!"

"He's just a Twilight Lord," Diago said dismissively, pursing his lips. In his memory, the leaders of the Twilight Cultists in Silithus were called Twilight Lords, each commanding anywhere from dozens to several hundred followers. Vyral was the strongest among them and enjoyed the greatest favor from Cho'gall. This fallen shadow warlock was notorious for his cruelty and brutality. Even the Twilight Cultists feared him and called him Vyral the Evil. Vyral, however, liked the name, and sometimes even referred to himself that way.

Although the Twilight Cultists feared him greatly, Vyral was actually only a minor figure in Silithus, nowhere near anyone important. In Diago's previous life, his death had not caused so much as a ripple within the Twilight's Hammer.

"I'll leave the rest to you," he told Ofist quietly. Honestly, the outcome was settled. He did not believe the battered remnants back at the mining camp could cause any more trouble.

Note: This Altar of Storms was actually located at the southern foot of the Blackrock Mountain Range, but here, we need it to be in the north. Warlocks may be more familiar with its location. It was where their dreams of a demonic steed began.