--- CHAPTER 62 : Shadows of Power and Forged Bonds ---
The process of transferring Titan energy proved to be an excruciating ordeal, yet the infusion of that same power unfolded as a seamless, almost euphoric experience. Onyxia maintained an air of serene composure throughout, her features relaxed as if she were merely basking in a gentle breeze. In stark contrast, Deathwing's agonized screams echoed through the chamber like the wails of tormented spirits, painting a vivid picture of unbearable suffering. To an unwitting observer, it might have appeared as nothing short of barbaric torture, a scene straight out of some infernal nightmare.
Arthas watched the spectacle with a mix of fascination and calculated detachment. *This contrast is perfect,* he thought, his mind already weaving strategies around the display. *It highlights the power's dual nature—punishment for the wicked, reward for the loyal. And it gives me the ideal opening to probe deeper into these dragons' minds.* Turning to the Red Dragon Queen, who stood nearby with her eyes fixed intently on the ritual, he posed his question with feigned curiosity. "Your Majesty, was it so painful when you first accepted the power of the Titans?"
He had his reasons for engaging her now. *I still need to erode her defenses, corrupt her subtly,* Arthas mused inwardly, a sly smile threatening to curl his lips. *Chatting like this builds rapport, makes her see me as an ally rather than a threat. Plus, with Alleria roaming freely in this facility under my orders, it reinforces my control here—shows them I'm not just a visitor, but a player in this game.*
Alexstrasza shook her head gently, a rich blush coloring her cheeks as she offered a warm smile. "No, it felt very good at the time," she replied, her voice carrying the melodic timbre of ancient wisdom.
Arthas nodded, but before he could steer the conversation further, Ysera—ever the one to drift in a half-dreaming state—stirred fully awake. Her emerald eyes sharpened as they fixed on him, dissecting the human prince with an intensity that belied her usual lethargy. "How did you become Lord Eonar's emissary?" she inquired, her tone laced with genuine intrigue. *This prince is a enigma wrapped in shadows,* Ysera pondered silently, though her outward expression remained neutral. *So many secrets cling to him, drawing even the Titans' gaze. What threads of fate bind him to such power?*
Arthas felt a twinge of annoyance at the direct probe but masked it effortlessly by touching his nose in a gesture of mock embarrassment. He chose not to answer, his mind racing. *Can't reveal too much about Eonar's involvement,* he reasoned. *The less they know, the more leverage I hold. Besides, as Deathwing so aptly put it, I'm a beast in paladin's clothing—better to embrace that than deny it.* Instead, he deflected smoothly. "Compared to this, I want to know more about the Moon Goddess's favor."
In her human form, Ysera bore a striking resemblance to her sister Alexstrasza, yet she was slimmer, less voluptuous, with a lithe grace that evoked the mystery of moonlit nights. A delicate moon ornament adorned her forehead, a clear emblem of her devotion to Elune, the enigmatic Moon Goddess.
"Very good. You know Elune too?" Ysera responded, her interest piqued. Elune's worship remained largely confined to the night elves, a secretive faith that rarely extended beyond their ancient forests. The night elves guarded their goddess jealously, as if fearing dilution of her favor if shared with outsiders. *Intriguing that a human prince would mention her,* Ysera thought, her mind awakening further to the possibilities. *Perhaps there's more alliance potential here than I anticipated.*
Arthas sensed the shift and pressed his advantage, though carefully. "I know. That's good, Elune. It's very interesting," he said, keeping his words vague. *No need to dive deeper; secrets are my currency.* Quickly changing the subject to avoid entanglement, he asked, "What are the plans of the two queens in the future?" *Better to turn the spotlight on them,* he calculated. *We share Eonar's power as a common ground—use that to bond without exposing my hand. The fewer who know the full truth between me and Eonar, the safer my position.*
A soft chuckle escaped Ysera's lips, her words cutting like a finely honed blade. "Hehe, you are just like what Neltharion said, a false paladin." Her red lips, subtly accented with green lipstick, curved into a smile that held a sharp edge of sarcasm.
Arthas met her gaze unflinchingly, his inner voice affirming his self-image. *She's not wrong, but I'll own it on my terms.* "I am a despicable person, but I am not hypocritical, and I don't need to pretend," he admitted candidly. *Better to be seen as a real villain than a phony hero,* he reasoned. *It disarms them, makes me unpredictable—and honestly, it's liberating. I'm cool with it!*
"Hehe, what a funny little prince," the Red Dragon Queen interjected with a genuine laugh, her tone devoid of mockery. She regarded him with a mix of amusement and budding respect. "Call me Alexstrasza from now on. We can be friends, Master Envoy." As she spoke, she covered her mouth delicately, her laughter blooming into a coquettish smile that radiated the allure of a mature woman, captivating all who beheld it.
Ysera, not one to lag behind, added her own olive branch. "You can call me Ysera," she said, her directness softened by a note of contrition. "I speak more directly; please forgive me." *His role as Eonar's messenger demands this courtesy,* she reflected inwardly. *And with Deathwing's threat neutralized, alliances like this could prove invaluable. Without that resolution, I'd have dismissed him as just another mortal—useful perhaps, but beneath notice. Power shifts perspectives.*
Arthas accepted their gestures with a nod, his mind already plotting ahead. *Good, barriers are crumbling. Now to draw them into my web.* Shifting the conversation to broader horizons, Alexstrasza asked, "Arthas, what are your plans going forward? Are you going to eliminate the threat of the ancient gods?" She absently stroked her flaming red hair, twirling a strand around her little finger in a gesture that blended casual elegance with subtle flirtation.
For a moment, Arthas weighed his response, his thoughts a whirlwind of strategy. *No rushing into the Old Gods; that's endgame material. Start with the immediate threats to build consensus.* "I have no plans to do so for now, but I have the power to do so," he replied seriously. "I will first eliminate the threat from the orcs. I suspect the Burning Legion is behind this, and they are inciting the orcs. I have captured orc captives, and their skin was originally brown, but later it turned green. In their world, they were instigated by Gul'dan to drink the blood of demons. All demons come from the Burning Legion, so it is hard to say that there is no Burning Legion behind this."
His face took on a grave expression, as if the fate of worlds hung on these words. *This analysis isn't baseless,* he thought logically. *Even without ironclad proof, the patterns align—demonic corruption, invasions. Leaders don't wait for perfect intel; intuition guides the bold. Plant the seed of doubt, and watch alliances form around it.*
Ysera arched an eyebrow, her skepticism evident. "Incite such a weak orc?" In her ancient eyes, the orcs seemed little more than fleeting pests, unworthy of such cosmic machinations.
*Ah, the arrogance of immortals,* Arthas noted mentally, preparing his counter. "Even if a weaker race gets a divine weapon like the Dragon Soul, it will pose a great threat to you, right? Don't underestimate any opponent. Protecting the world is not a one-person job. Any race that survives in this world has the obligation and responsibility to resist foreign aggression." *I'm no lone hero,* he affirmed to himself. *If I'm doing the heavy lifting, everyone else gets dragged in. Share the burden, maximize efficiency—that's smart command.*
The mention of the Dragon Soul darkened Alexstrasza's expression, her eyes flashing with remembered fury. *If not for this prince's timely intervention,* she brooded, *I might have been reduced to a broodmare for orcs, forced to lay eggs in chains. No, not with orcs directly, but the degradation...* Yet, even in salvation, she sensed the subtle entrapment—her life essence expended, drawing her inexorably into his orbit.
"Humph, it seems that the orcs need to be completely wiped out!" she declared, her voice laced with vengeful heat.
Arthas felt the weight of her glare and responded swiftly, his logic unfolding like a well-rehearsed argument. "No, they are victims too." *Not defending them out of pity,* he clarified inwardly. *Strategic mercy—turn enemies into tools.* "I am not making excuses for them, but they are indeed victims, and there are many strong ones among them. I will defeat them, recapture them, and make them the vanguard and cannon fodder to resist the Burning Legion. The enemy of my enemy is our ally. We should make use of them, reduce casualties and achieve the greatest effect. This is what a commander should do."
Alexstrasza hesitated, her fiery temper cooling under the chill of reason. After a thoughtful pause, she conceded. "I will let Korialstrasz assist you. You can do whatever you want." *Trust him with this, for now,* she decided. *His vision might spare lives, including our own.*
"Well, good," Arthas replied, satisfaction blooming in his chest. *One more piece in place.* Expanding on his grand design, he continued, "After reclaiming the orcs, my plan is to bring them across the sea to Kalimdor, settle down here, recuperate, develop strength, and monitor the alien insects in the south. We have many enemies, including the Old Gods, alien insects, faceless ones, Naga, and the Burning Legion. This is a long-term task, so there is no need to rush. Take your time. I can hear the call of Azeroth, and I must also have the obligation to remove the parasites from her body."
As he spoke, a ghostly smile crept across his face, his tone shifting to something more personal and mischievous. "Of course, it is necessary to find a few suitable and beautiful spouses in the process!" *Why not blend duty with pleasure?* he thought with a wicked grin. *Power without enjoyment is pointless. These queens... they could be intriguing additions.*
The stark duality of the ritual unfolded before the onlookers, Onyxia's serene acceptance a counterpoint to Deathwing's anguished cries. The transfer's torment evoked visions of infernal suffering, the air thick with contrasting energies.
Arthas's inquiry to Alexstrasza bridged curiosity and strategy, his subtle agenda veiled in casual dialogue. Alleria's unhindered exploration underscored his burgeoning authority within the ancient halls.
The Queen's denial evoked memories of empowerment's bliss, her demeanor a blend of regal poise and subtle allure.
Ysera's probing question sought revelations, her awakening gaze piercing the veil of secrets enveloping the prince.
Arthas's evasion pivoted to Elune's enigma, his deflection a shield against deeper scrutiny. The goddess's faith, confined largely to night elves, sparked intrigue in its rarity.
His counter-query steered toward futures, preserving confidentiality amid shared Titan legacies.
Ysera's blunt assessment labeled him aptly, her sardonic smile a challenge to his facade.
Arthas's candid admission embraced villainy without pretense, his cool demeanor a defiant stance.
Alexstrasza's laughter diffused tension, her offer of friendship a bridge extended, her charm captivating in its maturity.
Ysera's introduction followed, her directness tempered by apology, forged in resolution of ancient threats.
Her query on ambitions elicited strategic revelations, ancient perils framing his path.
Arthas's suspicions wove orcs into demonic tapestries, evidence secondary to intuitive leaps.
Ysera's skepticism dismissed orcish frailty, underestimating potential threats.
His retort invoked artifacts' equalizing might, advocating collective vigilance across races.
The Dragon Soul's mention soured Alexstrasza's gaze, echoes of near-debasement lingering despite salvation.
Her indignation demanded eradication, met with Arthas's plea for nuance—victims repurposed as bulwarks.
Her concession dispatched aid, autonomy granted in reluctant trust.
Arthas's vision expanded: transoceanic relocation, Kalimdor haven for recuperation, vigilance against southern swarms. Enemies enumerated—gods, insects, faceless, naga, legion—demanded patience.
His spectral grin hinted at personal pursuits, spousal quests intertwining with cosmic duties.
--- END OF CHAPTER 62 ---