Just how ridiculously, absurdly, mind-bogglingly strong are the guys who step into the heroic realm in Azeroth? This has always been a question mark so big it could swallow a small moon for Duke. He'd pondered it during long, sleepless nights, usually while trying to figure out if his arcane missiles were hitting hard enough.
Judging from his physical strength, agility, and vitality, Lothar was, by all accounts, no better than a particularly well-built human. He wasn't made of adamantium or powered by a tiny, furious nuclear reactor. However, with the peculiar, almost mystical support of the warrior's unique power of "Rage" (which, let's be honest, mostly involved screaming and hitting things harder), Lothar performed a series of actions so incredible they'd make a seasoned stunt double weep with inadequacy.
An ordinary charge, the kind your grumpy uncle does when the buffet opens, and a warrior's special skill, the glorious, earth-shattering Charge! are two completely different concepts. While a warrior's Charge! can often only be deployed once in a battle (presumably because it requires the user to temporarily defy all known laws of physics and common sense), the powerful impact of this charge is also invaluable. It's like being hit by a very enthusiastic, very fast, very angry brick house.
This was the first time Duke had seen Lothar's Charge! in action. And by "in action," he meant "turning into a golden blur of righteous fury." It should be said that when Lothar was dealing with Tristan before, he hadn't even bothered to take it seriously. He'd probably just yawned and flicked him away with a pinky.
There was a high-speed friction sound under Lothar's military boots, a noise that suggested the very air was protesting his existence. The next moment, he suddenly transformed into a stream of light, a golden, angry streak, crossing the more than 10-meter distance between him and Prince Malchezaar with the speed of a caffeinated cheetah. According to a normal human charge, Lothar would only charge to the prince's feet, probably tripping over his own shoelaces. But Lothar's Charge! was utterly unreasonable, defying gravity and good manners, as he rushed into the air!
"You..." Prince Malchezaar's next words were abruptly, hilariously stopped, because he saw a shield, not particularly big but perfectly sized to cover his entire ugly, tentacled face, growing larger and larger in his sight. It was like a very fast, very painful, very metallic eclipse.
"Bang!" A glorious Shield Slam! connected squarely with the prince's head, knocking him so unconscious he probably saw cartoon birds circling his noggin. The strong impact hit the prince's nose bridge (if you could call that fleshy protrusion a nose bridge), and the uncontrollable sourness and pain made the prince want to cry. Like a very large, very demonic toddler who'd just stubbed his toe on a planet.
But wait, there's more! This is not the end!
The tentacle that looked suspiciously like a small, rather unfortunate appendage on Prince Malchezaar's chin, which Garona had almost chopped off just moments before (a near-miss that still haunted her dreams), was really chopped off this time! With a satisfying snip! Garona's missed opportunity, her moment of accidental mercy, was deliberately and gloriously taken over by Lothar! The hatred just created by Garona, the simmering rage of a slightly maimed demon, was perfectly inherited by Lothar, like a very violent family heirloom.
Duke had heard of an unreliable legend, probably whispered by a very bored gnome, that the Eredar men considered the three tentacles on their chins as precious as their own brothers. Whether this legend was true or fabricated by an unscrupulous author with a penchant for bizarre demon anatomy was unknown. Anyway, when the tentacles were cut off by Lothar with the Sword of Kings, a truly magnificent act of facial rearrangement, Prince Malchezaar was angry!
Really, really angry. The kind of angry that makes volcanoes look like mildly annoyed puddles.
"Go to hell! Human!" the prince shrieked, his voice a guttural roar of pure, unadulterated fury. The prince was not knocked down by Lothar's charge and shield bash; oh no, he displayed the terrifyingly strong physical fitness of the demon clan. His colossal body, which had been leaning back due to the heavy blow, suddenly bounced back like a spring under the powerful, almost elastic strength of his waist and abdominal muscles. And his fist, a meaty club bigger than a calf, fell down with a bang, aimed squarely at Lothar.
Fast! And fierce! It was like being attacked by a very determined, very large, very angry ham. This is the problem that humans often encounter when fighting giants – the huge difference in size means that if humans are accidentally hit, their relatively weak physiques will be unable to withstand this inhuman force. Under this terrifying power gap that cannot be made up by exercise (unless you're exercising with a mountain range), they will be crushed and killed instantly, probably turning into a fine, bloody mist.
Time seems to have stopped at this moment, holding its breath in anticipation of the inevitable squish.
The high-level demon, Prince Malchezaar himself, had an expression of surprise that he couldn't hide, a look that suggested he'd just seen a pig fly, backwards, while juggling chainsaws. "How is this possible!?" he bellowed, his voice cracking with disbelief.
In Prince Malchezaar's eyes, Lothar, who was covered in heavy armor that only added weight but was utterly meaningless to the demons (it was basically just a very shiny, very heavy target), and whose body was suspended in mid-air with no place to support himself, should be a piece of delicious, easily squishable meat on a chopping board, ready for him to slaughter with glee.
But Lothar flew.
It's not an adjective, dear reader, but he really pushed his feet and rose more than two meters in the air again. From facing the ugly, tentacled face of the prince, he flew to the prince's forehead, like a very determined, very angry, very airborne mosquito. And it was another sword! A glorious, golden, demon-head-piercing sword!
It was only then that the prince, with a dawning horror, saw two ethereal wizard's hands from where Lothar had just landed. These illusory hands, shimmering with arcane energy, perfectly became Lothar's fulcrum when he had no other leverage, supporting Lothar to perform juggling movements that others could not imagine. It was like a very violent, very magical ballet.
"Ahhh——" The sword of the king burst into dazzling golden light the moment it pierced Malchezaar's head, turning the demon's ugly face into a temporary sun. A pair of golden wings that seemed to be burning, forged from pure, righteous fury, extended from the armor behind Lothar, breaking through the chaotic void on the roof of Karazhan and creating an extra passage between Karazhan and the world of Azeroth, which was located in the crack of the astral realm. The passage glowed with golden light, like a very exclusive, very holy VIP entrance.
On the sword, a golden storm, filled with a sacred aura, blew up, whipping around Lothar like a very enthusiastic, very holy fan. The wind made Lothar's elegant long hair flutter, turning the future Lion of Azeroth into an even more charming, even more heroic, even more impossibly handsome figure.
At some point, Garona, who was supposed to be cooperating in the attack (or at least making sarcastic remarks), also stopped. She was probably too busy staring in awe.
Standing triumphantly on the head of this huge demon that was at least six meters tall, Lothar's expression was very calm, almost serene, as if his soul was wandering in space, perhaps contemplating the meaning of life, or wondering if he left the oven on. He seemed to be feeling something, savoring something, or perhaps listening to the melodious sound of chimes coming from a tall building in the distance. It seemed like, at that moment, even Duke heard the sound of metal clashing coming from the sky, like a very large, very epic wind chime.
Looking up suddenly, Duke found that he had stepped into a strange period of history without knowing when. It was like accidentally walking onto a movie set and realizing you're in the middle of a historical epic. Since coming into this world... every moment, there are tens of millions of voices singing praises to his legend. Every minute and every second, hundreds of thousands of wills are swearing to inherit his ideals. It was exhausting, frankly.
As if in response to Lothar's golden wings of light, Duke saw an ethereal figure in the golden mist floating over the battlefield. It was a knight, and his face was clearly blurry to others, like a poorly rendered video game character, but everyone could feel his two eyes fixed on Lothar, with an intensity that could melt steel. No, he was not only looking at Lothar, he was also looking at all of humanity, probably with a mix of pride and exasperation.
Right! The only imperial crown on his head, shimmering with ancient power, proved his identity – Emperor Thoradin, the only emperor recognized by the seven human kingdoms in the history of Azeroth. The original OG human king. His eyes fell on the sword in Lothar's hands that was piercing the demon's head, and he smiled, a smile of profound approval, like a proud father watching his kid finally nail that impossible trick.
"Those who fight for humanity will be blessed by me!" Emperor Thoradin whispered, his voice resonating with the weight of centuries. After leaving behind this rather profound whisper, he promptly disappeared, probably to go back to napping in the afterlife.
The next moment, the sword in Lothar's hand emitted a brilliant light, so bright it probably caused temporary blindness in any nearby squirrels. Prince Malchezaar's huge blue-green body, starting from the forehead where it was stabbed, seemed to turn into sand in the wind and disappeared completely in the golden light, like a very large, very evil sandcastle being washed away by the tide.
Duke was dumbfounded. He never thought that Prince Malchezaar would be a problem for him, Lothar, and Garona. He was just a minor inconvenience, a warm-up act! But Lothar killed Prince Malchezaar, who would later become the final boss in Karazhan, with one ultimate move? One glorious, golden, demon-annihilating move?! This is a bit exaggerated! It was like defeating the final boss of a video game with a single, perfectly timed sneeze.
The prince's figure disappeared, leaving only a lingering scent of brimstone and regret. Lothar fell down in a gorgeous, eagle-like swoop, landing with the grace of a particularly heavy, very armored swan. His metal boots hit the bluestone ground with a clear, satisfying clanging sound, like a tiny victory bell.
There was no joy of victory on Lothar's face, however, but instead a solemn expression as if he was facing a formidable enemy. Not only him, Duke and Garona also had the same expression on their faces, looking like they'd just realized they'd forgotten to turn off the stove before leaving.
"Come out, old friend. I can already sense your presence. And frankly, it's getting a little crowded in here."
"Hehehe!" Accompanied by a burst of laughter that sounded suspiciously like a villain stroking a very evil cat, the surrounding scene suddenly warped and changed. For some reason, everyone had arrived at Medivh's workshop inside Karazhan, presumably teleported there by a very dramatic, very powerful, very evil wizard. Right in the middle of these three people, the super boss Medivh, the one who directed the entire Dark Portal incident (and probably also invented bad hair days), appeared! Looking rather smug.