Stormwind Wizard God-Chapter 601: Fight in Karazhan

Well, two people duke it out.

Mano a mano.

Sounds fair as apple pie, right?

In reality, this was complete and utter horseshit!

Sure, warlocks had their talents spread across three skill trees - Demon, Destruction, and Pain - but telling a warlock he couldn't have demon pets was like asking a boxer to fight with both hands tied behind his back and then calling it "fair combat."

At least half of Ner'zhul's arsenal had been thrown out the window!

Since time immemorial, warlocks had relied on hellhounds to give mages absolute hell. Not only could hellhounds provide warlocks with a full buffet of magic resistance bonuses, they could also interrupt mages' spellcasting at the worst possible moments like the world's most annoying hecklers.

Well, the hellhound that had just been summoned got atomized by Alexstrasza faster than you could say "good boy."

Then Ner'zhul tried summoning a void demon to cast a magic shield for himself. But that demon got sent to the great beyond by the Queen the nanosecond it materialized.

After getting shafted this hard, even Ner'zhul was ready to throw in the towel and bawl his eyes out.

Damn it all to hell, this is what they called a fair fight?

This was their idea of one-on-one combat!?

Ner'zhul was so steaming mad that his nose went sideways.

Ner'zhul could see Duke's dirty tricks clear as day, and what made his blood boil even more was that his promised demolition of Karazhan had gone up in smoke. After laying eyes on Nefarian, how could he not realize that the "skinny" elf woman standing there might be the guardian dragon Alexstrasza herself?

Even if she didn't lift a finger against him, he still couldn't win against her in a million years.

This future Lich King was never what you'd call a brave soul. Grom Hellscream was all "Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!" But Ner'zhul?

More chicken than a poultry farm?

More yellow-bellied than a canary?

Hell, he was so spineless he made jellyfish look like they had backbones!

Other villains would at least spit out some tough-guy one-liners before making their "strategic withdrawal."

Well, Ner'zhul didn't waste breath on trash talk - he just jerked his chin, and several poor bastard warlocks rushed forward to cover his retreat. He spun around and beat feet without so much as a backward glance, like some punk who'd kicked in your door and split without even leaving an IOU.

"Whoa there, partner! You waltz in here uninvited and think you can just mosey on out? If you're gonna crash the party and bust down the door, at least leave a tip! How about leaving your life and that shiny artifact behind instead?" Duke sneered as he threw up a massive ice shield to tank the destruction spells those sacrificial lambs were hurling at him. He raised his hands and made a gesture like he was slamming a door shut.

A pair of invisible giant hands materialized out of thin air, forcibly crushing the portal opening that Ner'zhul had been trying to escape through.

"SCREEEECH--" The sound of reality being twisted made everyone's teeth ache and their ears ring.

Ner'zhul's beard bristled with fury. He whipped around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, and the white skull paint on his mug started flaking off because his face was twitching with rage. He growled in broken Common: "Edmund Duke! That dragon may be tough as nails, but she ain't no proper bodyguard. Don't think I can't send you to meet your maker even with her watching your back!"

Duke crooked his finger with a shit-eating grin: "Bring it on, tough guy! Let's see who's got the bigger stones!"

His gesture was also a battle signal. The instant he beckoned, everyone behind him - including the Windrunner sisters - opened fire like it was the Fourth of July. Since Ner'zhul had decided to wipe his ass with the "honorable duel" rulebook, it was anybody's guess who'd be crying uncle in an all-out brawl.

Alleria's lightning-charged hurricane arrows punched through a high-level warlock who'd lost his magical protection like a hot knife through butter. Without the shields they got from sacrificing void demons, all they had to protect their sorry hides was their gear and their mortal flesh. They weren't Ner'zhul, who was decked out in a set of epic equipment that looked bizarre as hell but cost more than a small kingdom's treasury.

A warlock who leaned too heavily on magical shields was like a sitting duck once those defenses went down.

The lightning arrow blew clean through a warlock's skull, leaving even his neck bones looking like charcoal. Meanwhile, Vereesa's wind arrows weren't as flashy as her big sister's electrified death dealers, but they were just as deadly efficient at sending folks to the pearly gates.

The Heroic Mage Khadgar beside them had just rushed out and backstabbed a warlock like some common street thug, when he suddenly realized that the Windrunner sisters had already mopped the floor with the rest of Ner'zhul's cannon fodder.

As a result, the other heroic warriors who came charging out from the back either ran off to help the Saint of Chastity and the curator, or just became cheerleaders, backing up to a safe distance to holler encouragement.

If Ner'zhul's face wasn't caked in that thick layer of white war paint, it would've been blacker than a moonless night.

Ner'zhul was scared of dying more than anything, but when he found himself backed into a corner with nowhere to run, he became the kind of desperate man who could pull miracles out of his ass.

Maybe that's just human nature when push comes to shove.

A massive fire cloud the size of a McMansion was churning above his head like a gathering storm from hell. But this firestorm didn't look like your garden-variety elemental magic - this sucker was alive and kicking.

The destructive flame elements were swirling in perfect formation, like the thunderous beating of some colossal heart. The fire cloud was sucking energy from the void elemental plane like a cosmic vacuum cleaner, and each pulse was like the deep breathing of an ancient dragon, mixing wind, thunder, and fire into one apocalyptic cocktail.

The staff in Ner'zhul's right hand was conducting this fiery orchestra, while the Skull of Gul'dan clutched in his left was pumping even more raw magical juice into the inferno above. Even though this wasn't actual dragon breath, it packed the same earth-shattering punch as a guardian dragon's flame attack.

"Well, I'll be!" Finally remembering her manners, Alexstrasza dabbed the soup stains from her mouth with a napkin and turned her full attention back to Ner'zhul like a cat spotting a particularly interesting mouse.

A Dawn-level mystic already had enough firepower to make a guardian dragon think twice, and with an artifact backing him up, he could genuinely threaten even someone of her caliber.

The queen couldn't help but narrow her eyes dangerously: Duke, showing off is one thing, but don't bite off more than you can chew!

Since the entrance to Karazhan had been relocated, this showdown was taking place on the massive terrace where the Nightmare used to lurk near the Broken Stairs.

Right now, the sky above the terrace looked like it had been split down the middle by two opposing gods.

On one side, there was an ominous crimson sky lit up by flames of pure destruction. When those fire clouds rolled and churned, the high-temperature inferno looked ready to burn a hole straight through Karazhan's ceiling, and even the illusory space beyond seemed ready to catch fire.

The other half was ethereal and dreamlike, with purple-blue arcane light twinkling like stars. Delicate wizard's hands were materializing from phantom to flesh, but the transformation was happening at a measured pace that let everyone see not just the palms, but also an arsenal of staffs that some had seen and others could only dream of.

"Holy cow, Duke's got more staffs than a marching band!" Vereesa gasped in amazement.

"Beats me - I can only recognize the Grand Marshal's Battle Staff and the Jordan Staff!" Alleria was equally flummoxed.

Duke was gripping the black staff with four wicked spikes and a blue-white aura that could cut glass. The staffs floating in the air around him were every single magical implement he'd ever collected and tucked away in the dusty corners of his memory vault.

Duke let out a commanding shout, then declared: "Ner'zhul - this technique is a special gift just for you, you backstabbing snake! The name fits your cowardly style perfectly - behold the 'Unlimited Staff Works!'"