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Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 19
🕑 Added 2025-10-15 19:00:02 +0000 UTCChapter 19: Dragon-Shaped Brats
Morning mist hung like gauze across Dustwallow Marsh, the workshop district still shrouded in hazy water vapor. Deren clutched a stack of formula sheets, trudging wearily toward the sulfur processing area. His boots sank into muddy ground with each step, producing wet squelching sounds that echoed in the unnatural quiet.
"Everyone up and working!" He shouted hoarsely, his voice particularly jarring against the silent swamp.
Yet only a few lazy draconic rumbles answered him.
Before the burning furnace, Onyxia bent over a massive pile of sulfur ore. Her slender fingers lightly toyed with golden crystals, nose tip nearly touching them. As Deren approached, he witnessed her taking a deep, deliberate breath, dragon eyes slightly squinting, lips unconsciously curving into an expression of pure intoxication.
"Hey!" Deren kicked scattered stones with his boot. "What are you doing?"
Onyxia lazily glanced at him, tail tip tapping the ground with rhythmic contentment. "This smell is remarkably special."
Deren frowned, about to speak when he suddenly heard rustling sounds behind him. He whipped around to discover over a dozen dragonspawn had somehow surrounded him without warning. Like cats drawn to catnip, they uniformly prostrated themselves, burying their faces directly in the sulfur pile.
"Hiss—hah—"
The broken-horned black dragon scooped up a large sulfur chunk, inhaling deeply, then releasing a satisfied sigh. His dragon eyes dilated visibly, expression blissful as though drunk. Other dragonspawn followed suit eagerly. Soon the workshop filled with rising and falling inhalation sounds.
Deren's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. "You... what in Azeroth are you doing?"
"Sulfur..." A young black dragon whelp murmured dreamily. "Smells like sunshine..."
"Nonsense! Clearly the scent of molten lava!" Another older dragonspawn retorted indignantly, taking another deep sniff.
Deren stood frozen in disbelief, formula sheets dropping with a wet plop into mud. He looked left—the broken-horned black dragon was rubbing his cheek against sulfur blocks like a contented cat. Looked right—Onyxia had actually secretly sniffed again. Looking ahead—an entire group of dragonspawn were rolling comfortably on the ground in sulfuric bliss.
"ENOUGH!!!"
Deren grabbed a nearby iron bucket, viciously banging it with a wooden stick. The tremendous clanging nearly made several whelps jump out of their scales.
"Everyone up and working NOW!!" He waved the stick threateningly, herding these junkie dragons like wayward sheep. "Sulfur is for burning! Not for sniffing like some alchemical drug!!"
Onyxia elegantly straightened, dusting off nonexistent dirt with affected dignity. "What is the rush?" Her tail swept lightly, knocking several dragonspawn still immersed in sulfur pleasure completely off-balance. "Did you not hear the human? Work. Now."
The dragonspawn reluctantly crawled upright, eyes still longingly glancing at sulfur piles. The broken-horned black dragon even secretly stuffed small pieces into his scale crevices before being glared back into compliance by Deren's withering stare.
"Light the furnaces!" Deren ordered through gritted teeth. "Collect the smoke to make sulfurous acid! Anyone who dares sniff again..." He glared viciously at Onyxia. "Your princess will throw you in sulfuric acid pools for a prolonged bath!"
Onyxia's lips curved slightly, fingertips igniting black flame. "That is an excellent suggestion."
As black flame fell into the furnace, golden sulfur began slowly burning, emitting pungent smoke that made eyes water. Dragonspawn coughed while working—no one dared sniff anymore. However, Deren noticed with irritation that Onyxia's position was always precisely downwind of the smoke.
That evening Deren wrote in his diary: "Today's discovery: 1. Dragons possess mysterious obsession with sulfur. 2. Onyxia is the junkie ringleader. 3. Need to strengthen sulfur warehouse security measures immediately."
The sulfurous acid pool bubbled ominously, pale yellow liquid gleaming with eerie iridescence in harsh sunlight. Deren rolled up his sleeves, gripping a long-handled wooden paddle, fine sweat already beading his forehead.
"Watch carefully!" He shouted to dragonspawn surrounding the pool. "Stir gently! Slowly! Let the oxidation reaction proceed uniformly!"
He bent down, carefully tracing circles in the pool with the paddle, movements as gentle as stirring hot tea. Dragonspawn tilted their heads, observing, faces clearly confused.
The broken-horned black dragon scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Just like this?"
"Exactly like this." Deren straightened, handing him the paddle. "You try."
The broken-horned black dragon accepted the paddle, stared at the pool for two contemplative seconds, then suddenly swung his arm in a full violent arc—
SPLASH!!!
One stroke raised waves half a man's height in the sulfurous acid pool, liquid splashing everywhere like a tidal wave. Deren jumped back, still getting splattered on his pants. Fabric immediately emitted wisps of acrid smoke.
"My—pants—!!" Deren's roar startled swamp birds into panicked flight.
The broken-horned black dragon looked genuinely innocent. "Not like this?"
Deren took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the overwhelming urge to smash the paddle across his thick skull. "Gently! Slowly! Like THIS!" He demonstrated again with exaggerated patience.
The dragonspawn exchanged confused glances, finally nodding as if enlightened.
The next scene nearly made Deren cough blood—these creatures did lighten their movements, but excessively so. Their paddles barely touched the liquid surface, swaying lightly as if fanning the pool. The oxidation reaction's speed visibly slowed to glacial pace.
"Use some actual force!!" Deren frantically waved his arms.
"But you said gently..." a dragonspawn answered pitifully, looking like a scolded child.
Deren desperately wiped his face, wordlessly jumping onto the poolside operating platform to personally take charge. He gritted his teeth, stirring stroke after exhausting stroke. Sweat dripped from his chin into the pool, producing faint hissing sounds as it evaporated.
When he finally exhausted himself climbing out, he found all the dragonspawn squatting poolside, hands cupping chins, wearing expressions of serious study—yet not one helping.
"You..." Deren's voice trembled with barely controlled rage. "Just... watching?"
"Learning!" The broken-horned black dragon answered with complete righteousness. "Human techniques require careful observation before practical application."
Deren turned desperately toward Onyxia leaning under a tree, sending frantic distress signals with his eyes. The Black Dragon Princess lazily yawned, tail tip flicking with casual force to send the nearest dragonspawn flying into a distant swamp pool.
SPLASH!
"Now," she narrowed her eyes dangerously, "either work productively or take flight permanently. Choose wisely."
The dragonspawn immediately grabbed paddles, working with sudden energy that rivaled professional alchemists.
Deren collapsed aside, watching suddenly industrious dragonspawn, muttering wearily, "So this is proper draconic management technique..."
Inside the ammonia workshop, Deren poured buckets of fermented materials into reaction pools. An intensely pungent ammonia smell instantly exploded in the enclosed space like a brutal punch striking every nose simultaneously.
"Urgh—"
The broken-horned black dragon was first to fall, covering his nose while retreating three desperate steps, scales turning visibly pale. Other dragonspawn fared worse—some directly transformed to full dragon form, flapping wings to rush outside, ending up comically jammed in the narrow doorway.
"Come back!" Deren grabbed a black dragon whelp's thrashing tail. "Put on masks and continue working!"
"NO! This stinks worse than rotting lizard corpses!" The whelp struggled desperately, claws gouging deep furrows in the ground.
Deren's temple veins bulged prominently, turning toward the only remaining standing figure—Onyxia. The Black Dragon Princess was wrapping her head in a magical barrier, but slightly twitching lips betrayed she was also barely enduring the stench.
"You cannot handle it either?" Deren incredulously held up crude gas masks—hastily made equipment from spice-soaked linen and activated charcoal.
Onyxia's dragon eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch your wording, human."
"Then help manage these deserters!" Deren pointed at dragonspawn rolling on the floor. "What happened to dragons not fearing putrid stenches?!"
A black shadow flashed with lethal speed. The first fleeing broken-horned black dragon was coiled by dragon tail and slammed violently back beside the reaction pool. Onyxia's claws dug deeply into his shoulder armor. "Run one more step and I will soak you in ammonia pools until your scales dissolve."
The brutal suppression lasted ten full minutes. Finally, every dragonspawn wore crooked masks, standing tearfully at their assigned workstations. When Deren checked equipment individually, he found dragon faces under masks wrinkled like steamed bun folds.
"Move quickly!" Deren knocked the reactor. "When the nitric acid solution—"
SPLASH—
A certain whelp's hand shook violently, an entire bucket of materials spilling directly on it. Dense smoke immediately hissed from scale crevices, scaring it into howling while frantically shaking its body like a cat whose tail was stepped on.
Deren desperately closed his eyes. When he reopened them, Onyxia had already used shadow chains to tether all dragonspawn securely around the reaction pool.
"Now," she licked her fangs with predatory satisfaction, "whoever moves inappropriately again..."
The chains tightened responsively, strangling several dragonspawn until their eyes rolled back.
Under genuine death threats, the dragonspawn finally exploded with astonishing work efficiency. When the last bag of finished ammonium nitrate was sealed, Deren collapsed in a corner, weak laughter coming from under his mask. "Should have used this method for sulfur management..."
Onyxia withdrew her barrier, elegantly dusting nonexistent dirt. "Told you—sticks work better than reasoning."
Sunset's afterglow filtered through workshop roof gaps, gilding mountains of ammonium nitrate sacks. Deren sat leaning against the sack pile, fingers lightly tapping his knee, mentally calculating today's output.
"At least three and a half tons..." He murmured, lips unconsciously curving with satisfaction. "More than enough."
Onyxia walked over with elegant steps, claw tips scraping sack surfaces with rustling sounds. She bent to sniff experimentally, dragon nose wrinkling. "Smells like concentrated failures."
"Chemical odors are never pleasant." Deren smiled wearily, hand patting the sack beside him. "But these substances can change battle outcomes."
The Black Dragon Princess hummed thoughtfully, tail coiling to easily lift several ammonium nitrate sacks. "The lair storage is prepared."
Deren nodded, supporting his knees to stand. His movements were sluggish—a full day of directing, demonstrating, and roaring had nearly exhausted his stamina completely. Onyxia glanced at him, then suddenly used her tail tip to prop his back, unobtrusively supporting him.
The dragonspawn lined up, shouldering ammonium nitrate sacks toward the lair. The broken-horned black dragon led at the front, occasionally glancing back at Deren with eyes carrying newfound reverence—today's ammonia nightmare had clearly left profound impressions.
Onyxia's lair was located deep in the swamp. After this period of renovation, it no longer resembled the dark, damp cavern of before. Magical barriers flowed at the entrance, completely isolating the interior space from the outside environment. Deren followed the dragonspawn procession inside, surprised to find the lair interior had been transformed into a proper storage facility.
"When did you..."
"Last night." Onyxia's tail lightly swept his wrist. "Since we are storing important materials, we might as well appear proper."
Deren gazed at neatly arranged shelves, moisture-proof magical arrays, and even temperature-humidity monitoring devices, momentarily speechless. These were clearly not typical draconic arrangements—shelf heights were perfect for human operation, monitoring devices were standard Dalaran issue, and even the moisture-proof array's runic flow strictly followed Alchemical Storage Regulations.
"You..."
"Quiet, human." Onyxia turned away, yet her tail tip honestly coiled around his wrist. "Just preventing your pathetic bags from getting damp."
After the last ammonium nitrate sack was positioned, Onyxia waved her claw. Shadow runes interwove into nets in the air, enveloping the entire storage area in protective magic.
"Now," she admired her masterpiece with satisfaction, "except for you and me, whoever touches this dies immediately."
Deren smiled and nodded, then suddenly his legs gave out. Continuous high-intensity work finally made his body protest violently. Before he could fall, Onyxia's tail had already steadily coiled around his waist.
"Humans are so fragile." She said disdainfully, yet carefully adjusted her tail's force. "Go sleep."
Deren was groggily carried toward the lair's deep rest area—where somehow appeared a stone bed covered with soft furs, sized perfectly to accommodate one human and one dragon comfortably.
In the last moment before falling into unconsciousness, Deren felt something warm and protective gently encircle him. His nostrils filled with the sulfur and obsidian scent, Onyxia's steady breathing in his ears like a lullaby.
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