Stormwind Wizard God-Chapter 611: The Great Karazhan Catastrophe

"Can we EVER go back?" Tirion's voice cracked like a whip through the magical silence, desperation clawing at every syllable.

"Hell's bells, I honestly don't know!" Duke threw his hands up in exasperation. "Thanks to that earth-shattering, reality-bending PLUS ULTRA-explosion, the space channel that originally tethered us to Azeroth got blown to smithereens! Karazhan can't find its way back down the original cosmic highway, and what's a thousand times worse—we've completely lost Azeroth's space coordinates! We're floating through the universe like some cursed, magical driftwood in an ocean of stars!"

This was Duke's most skull-splitting nightmare come to life. He'd never in his wildest fever dreams imagined that Karazhan could be launched into the void like a cannonball from a siege engine. In Duke's mind, Karazhan had always been like a faithful hound circling its master's campfire. Now it was as if that hound had been shot clean out of a catapult and sent howling into the wilderness beyond!

They weren't dead—oh no, that would've been too merciful. They'd been catapulted into cosmic exile instead.

Even Duke was seething mad about this absolutely bonkers turn of events.

"We really, TRULY can't go home?" Alexstrasza slammed her fists on her hips, looking about as helpless as a knight without armor facing a dragon.

"Aren't you supposed to be the almighty Guardian Dragon? Shouldn't you have better tricks up your scaly sleeve than me, a mere mage?" Duke snarled, his patience wearing thinner than parchment.

"Even Guardian Dragons aren't jack-of-all-trades, you insufferable wizard!" the Queen roared back, flames practically shooting from her nostrils. "I'm about as good at space magic as a fish on land! YOU sweet-talked me into this Karazhan adventure, and now I can't get back! If Azeroth gets steamrolled by a full-scale Burning Legion assault, that blood will be on YOUR hands!"

"There won't BE a general attack!" Duke declared with the confidence of a man betting his last gold coin. "Mark my words!"

At this precise moment in the cosmic chess game, the Titans hadn't thrown in the towel yet. Sargeras had just been hurled into the Abyss like yesterday's garbage, and the Burning Legion's internal power struggle would take time to sort out. Meanwhile, Kil'jaeden still needed the Scourge to bleed Azeroth dry, drop by agonizing drop.

But before they could save their world, they'd better figure out how to save their own necks first.

Duke clutched his throbbing head, his face twisted in concentration. Secretly, he commanded the system AI to scan every nook and cranny of Karazhan's current predicament. Not just the structural damage—the OXYGEN situation. He didn't know if this counted as being shot into outer space, but if Karazhan had become some sort of magical spaceship, they were all royally screwed.

Even with only five people and one dragon breathing the air in all of Karazhan, oxygen consumption might be manageable now, but once their supply ran dry, all the mana in the world wouldn't save them from suffocating like rats in a sealed barrel.

"Host, Karazhan appears capable of drawing oxygen through microscopic spatial fissures. Calculations indicate sufficient supply for one hundred people's daily needs. However, Karazhan appears to be caught like a fly in a spider's web."

Duke nearly choked on his own tongue when he saw the three-dimensional space model. Karazhan looked like it had been wrapped up by tens of thousands of chaotic cosmic spider threads, each one more menacing than the last. Each "thread" was actually a space crack of unknowable power. Try to bull their way through, and who knew if Karazhan would get diced up like vegetables for a stew.

When Duke projected this nightmarish image for the others to see, despair painted itself across every face like war paint.

"Alright, I've heard enough doom and gloom to last three lifetimes! Please tell me there's SOME good news?" Alexstrasza pleaded, throwing her hands toward the heavens.

Duke snapped his fingers with theatrical flair, and Khadgar stepped forward like a herald announcing victory: "The silver lining in this storm cloud is that Master Edmund was planning to recruit a small army of magic apprentices, so he stockpiled a full year's worth of food and every spice, seasoning, and ingredient imaginable for a THOUSAND people in Karazhan's pantries!"

Khadgar, Karazhan's ever-dutiful steward, cast a meaningful glance at the Red Dragon Queen and continued, "As long as we're smart about food preservation and Her Majesty Alexstrasza's appetite doesn't rival that of an entire battalion... we can hold out for twenty years without breaking a sweat."

The Queen's chest heaved like a bellows as fury blazed in her eyes. "How DARE you make such insulting assumptions! The eternal life force of Guardian Dragons doesn't depend on stuffing our faces like common tavern wenches! If my magical power ever runs dangerously low, I can enter deep hibernation and suspend my life functions indefinitely!"

"Hey now, don't talk like that. Worst case scenario, I'll whip up some five-star meals when you're awake." Duke quietly filed the Queen away in his mental ledger under 'Grade-A Food Enthusiast.'

"Now THAT'S what I call good news!" The Queen's eyes sparkled like crescent moons, her earlier rage melting away like snow in summer.

"What else have you got?" Alleria demanded, her patience hanging by a thread.

"Well... it seems I can catch magical messages drifting through the cosmic winds every now and then. Unfortunately, it's strictly one-way communication. I can hear them, but they can't hear hide nor hair from me."

"What's the word on the Alliance?" Gavinrad pressed urgently.

"Victory so complete it makes fairy tales look modest!"

Compared to the original timeline's war—which had been a meat grinder that left both Alliance and Horde bleeding like stuck pigs—this conflict had been mercifully brief thanks to Duke's masterful intervention.

The explosion's aftershocks still rippled through the Dark Portal into the Cursed Lands, but they were just the dying echoes of devastation.

Scorching winds rushed through space cracks that hadn't fully sealed yet, carrying moderate shockwaves that scattered the orc army near the Dark Portal like leaves before a hurricane. Many orcs closest to the portal got launched through the air like stones from a slingshot, some flying several times their own height.

But this chaos handed the Alliance a golden opportunity on a silver platter.

Muradin showed brass balls the size of boulders, pushing massive mortar teams right up to the north-south dividing line of the Dark Portal, positioning them to rain shells down on the orc camps beyond with nothing but open sky between them and their targets.

The Dark Portal's moderate explosion and subsequent collapse left every orc exposed to the Alliance's artillery like sitting ducks in a shooting gallery. Shells could arc clear over the smoking ruins of tribal camps and crash down on the southernmost cliffs of the Cursed Lands. frёeωebɳovel.com

Under Duke's brilliant guidance, the Alliance had mastered the arts of creeping barrage and infantry-artillery coordination—tactics that wouldn't be invented on Earth until World War II, making them absolutely revolutionary for Azeroth.

The relentless bombardment left the orcs more stunned than a mule kicked by lightning.

Many orcs genuinely believed the Dark Portal explosions had never stopped echoing.

Every patch of ground plowed by artillery shells would be overrun by Haas or Turalyon's cavalry within thirty heartbeats.

The Alliance unleashed lightning-fast charges combined with devastating artillery strikes, and a mere 6,000 cavalry completely shattered nearly 50,000 orc infantry like a hammer through glass.

Gazing upon the vanished ruins of the Dark Portal that had once scarred the Cursed Lands...

No hesitation remained!

Anduin committed every last reserve in one spectacular, all-or-nothing gamble.

A textbook victory so complete it would be studied for generations.

Kilrogg Deadeye, chieftain of the Bleeding Hollow clan, fell beneath Danath Trollbane's righteous blade.

Bonechewer chieftain Harkan Skullsplitter met his doom at Haas's hands.

Teron Gorefiend, the first and most feared Death Knight commander, was obliterated by Turalyon's blazing Holy Light.

This single battle annihilated the last dregs of the Horde's elite forces.

Yet the Alliance felt no urge to celebrate their triumph.

Because devastating news had arrived: Karazhan had vanished without a trace.

Edmund Duke—one of the Alliance's founding father, the greatest and wisest hero their cause had ever known—was missing, presumed lost forever.

Even though Antonidas, Krasus, and other archmages searched frantically and calculated until their minds nearly broke, they could only reach one horrifying conclusion: Karazhan had been consumed by a spatial vortex and torn from reality itself.

Nobody wanted to believe that Duke—that seemingly immortal young genius who'd cheated death more times than a cat with a dozen lives—could actually perish because of the Dark Portal's explosion.

The irony was sharp enough to cut: their greatest victory had cost them their greatest hero.