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Saving Azeroth (By Stealing the Black Dragon Princess) - 7
🕑 Added 2025-10-12 13:46:14 +0000 UTCChapter 7: The Test Blast
Morning mist shrouded the deserted island in thick gray curtains. Damp sea wind carrying salt spray swept across the sand, leaving crystalline residue on every surface. Deren crouched on the ground, carefully adjusting the ammonium nitrate ratio with steady hands, sweat-dampened bangs plastered to his forehead. Onyxia stood behind him, arms crossed, dragon eyes flickering with mounting impatience.
"Not ready yet?" She kicked sand beside her foot, sending up a small spray. "For this little demonstration, does it need such precision?"
Deren did not look up, continuing to mix precisely measured aluminum powder into the compound with meticulous care. "What is the rush? This is science."
Onyxia scoffed, her slender fingertips igniting a strand of black-red dragon flame that danced between her fingers. "If you ask me, just light it with dragonfire and be done with it."
"No," Deren finally stood, dusting powder residue from his hands. "If you use magic, how can we deceive your father? We must ensure it carries no arcane or psychic signature." He pointed to a reef formation thirty meters away. "Go wait over there."
Onyxia's eyebrows shot up. "Me? Hide?" Her voice carried incredulous mockery. "From this little pile of—"
"From this pile that can blast your pretty scales into decorative patterns." Deren interrupted, suddenly reaching out to grab her wrist. "Now, come with me."
Onyxia froze completely.
This human—this scrawny human she could crush with one talon—dared grab her directly?
Her dragon eyes instantly contracted to hairline slits, scales flickering beneath the illusion, dragon breath churning in her throat and nearly erupting. But Deren did not even look at her reaction, just focused on dragging her toward the reef, muttering calculations, "Estimated shockwave range twenty meters, shrapnel projection could extend farther, need more distance..."
Onyxia should have flung him off. She should have let this presumptuous insect taste draconic fury—but some bizarre curiosity made her allow Deren to pull her behind the weathered reef formation.
"Crouch down." Deren ordered, already curling into a protective ball himself.
Onyxia remained standing, spine straight. "A mere mortal's explosion cannot—"
"Crouch down!"
Deren suddenly stood, pressing both hands on her shoulders and shoving down hard. Onyxia, caught completely off guard, actually found herself pressed into a half-kneel against the sand. She stared in shock, rage not yet fully formed when Deren had already lit the fuse with trembling fingers, diving and pinning her completely into the depression behind the reef.
"You dare—"
BOOM!
The deafening explosion swallowed her roar entirely.
Onyxia felt Deren's body violently shudder against her, pressing tightly against her back for protection. Scorching shockwaves howled overhead like living things, fine sand and gravel clattering against the reef in a deadly rain. Some instinctive sense of crisis made her unconsciously spread partial dragon wings, sheltering them both beneath scaled membrane.
As the ringing gradually faded from her ears, Onyxia shoved Deren off and stood furiously—then froze in place.
Thirty meters away, the previously smooth sand now bore a blackened crater nearly two meters in diameter and half a meter deep. Sand at the crater's edges had melted into glass-like crystals from the intense heat, refracting eerie prismatic light in the morning sun. The air hung thick with acrid gunpowder smoke and a sharp metallic scent she had never encountered before—the smell of metal after violent combustion.
Deren staggered to his feet, wiping ash and sand from his face with the back of his hand. "See, I told you—"
Onyxia suddenly reached out to grab his chin, forcing him to look up at her. Her dragon eyes contracted violently from excitement, fingertip scales nearly piercing his skin. "Ten pounds... only ten pounds of material?"
Deren nodded with difficulty under her iron grip, yet his lips curved in a deeply smug arc. "How about it? More entertaining than dragon fire, right?"
Onyxia released his face, whirling toward the still-smoking crater. Her pace quickened with each step, finally almost breaking into a run. Deren watched her retreating figure, suddenly noticing the Black Dragon Princess's tail swaying uncontrollably left and right—exactly like a child discovering a fascinating new toy.
She crouched at the crater's edge, dragon claws gently brushing the heat-melted sand crystals. Those crystals shattered under her touch with delicate, musical sounds.
"Again." She looked up, her voice carrying pure pleasure Deren had never heard before. "I want to see it again."
Sunlight penetrated the gradually dispersing gunpowder smoke, illuminating Onyxia's upturned face. Deren realized with genuine surprise—this Black Dragon Princess, notorious throughout Azeroth for cruelty and manipulation, was actually smiling. Not that calculating, cold smile she wore in Stormwind's courts, but something genuine, almost innocent.
"Alright," Deren smiled back, pulling more materials from his pack. "This time let us try the formula with added sugar for thermal enhancement."
Onyxia's dragon eyes sparkled like gemstones catching light. She casually shed the already damaged elf illusion entirely, pitch-black scales stretching luxuriously in the sunlight. At this moment, she resembled less an avatar of destruction and more a child seeing fireworks for the first time.
Watching her like this, Deren suddenly felt something in his chest tremble unexpectedly.
Just as the atmosphere grew subtly intimate, a bronze-colored fissure suddenly split the air with a sharp crack.
"What are you two doing now—"
Chromie's small head had barely emerged when the second explosion's shockwave sent her tumbling. She flopped face-first into the sand with a heavy splat, pigtails covered in grit, the hourglass on her staff nearly flying off its mount.
"Cough—cough—cough!" She struggled upright, spitting sand from her mouth. "This is even more excessive than last time..."
Her voice abruptly ceased.
The bronze dragon stood rooted in place, eyes round as copper coins. Before her stretched a blackened crater nearly three meters in diameter, the sand at its edges showing eerie vitrification that sparkled with rainbow colors. The air hung thick with an acrid metallic burning smell and energy residue she had never observed in any timeline—past, present, or future.
More unsettling—Onyxia crouched beside the newest crater, poking melted sand crystals with dragon claws, face carrying almost childlike curiosity. That pitch-black tail swayed gently behind her, exactly like an oversized cat discovering prey.
"You two..." Chromie's voice trembled. "You are genuinely making dragon-slaying weapons?"
Deren's head emerged from behind various bottles and jars, face thoroughly covered in black soot. "Strictly speaking, high-efficiency fertilizer." He raised a ceramic jar labeled in crude script "Improved Formula No. 4." "Want to observe the next test? Added aluminum powder—the effect is considerably more—"
"Are you completely insane?!" Chromie shrieked, rushing forward. Her hourglass staff thumped into the sand before Deren like a judge's gavel. "If this substance can blast through dragon scales! Do you two understand what you are doing?! Every dragonflight in Azeroth will hunt you down!"
Onyxia lazily raised her head, her expression utterly unconcerned. "We only want to kill one particular old black dragon. Did we not explain this already?"
The statement came so casually, as if discussing dinner plans. Chromie's small face instantly lost all color.
The bronze dragon's fingertips began trembling uncontrollably. She suddenly realized with perfect clarity—these two lunatics were completely serious. They were not fantasizing, not daydreaming, but truly creating weapons step by methodical step that could threaten even the guardian dragonflights.
Timeline possibilities flashed madly before her eyes: Deathwing's premature fall, the Black Dragonflight losing all control, Old Gods losing their draconic checks and balances... countless branching futures exploding like fireworks, each one spelling potential disaster.
"Done, done, done..." Chromie spun in frantic circles, pulling her pigtails. "Lord Nozdormu will turn me into a preserved whelp specimen..."
Deren patted her shoulder consolingly. "Relax. Just tell him the timeline disturbance was caused by Old God interference."
"Old Gods will not take this blame!" Chromie jumped up frantically, gesturing wildly. "Your pile of fertilizer has energy signatures obviously carrying—" She suddenly choked, eyes widening as she stared at the white crystals Onyxia casually played with. "Wait. All this destructive power was synthesized from waste materials and common acids?"
Onyxia revealed a dangerous smile. "What did you think, shorty?"
Chromie's legs gave out entirely, collapsing directly onto the beach. Her hourglass staff flopped to one side, temporal sand flowing in rapid, chaotic streams—the bronze dragon's physiological reaction to extreme shock.
"Too late..." she murmured, staring at nothing. "Already far too late to stop..."
Deren crouched down beside her, somehow producing a steaming cup of tea. "Look on the bright side. What if we actually succeed?"
Chromie mechanically accepted the teacup, eyes vacant and unfocused. "That would mean in one timeline... Deathwing the Destroyer was killed by fertilizer."
Sea wind carrying gunpowder smoke swept across the deserted island. The three fell into eerie silence, broken only by waves and distant seabird cries.
Onyxia suddenly laughed softly, the sound carrying genuine amusement. "That sounds perfectly acceptable."
Chromie slowly raised her head, studying these two madmen—the human's eyes sparkling with fevered certainty, the black dragon's face radiating pleased anticipation. She experienced a powerful premonition: regardless of timeline alterations, these two would definitely cause more chaos than the Old Gods themselves.
"I am writing a resignation letter." The bronze dragon covered her face in despair. "Right now. Immediately."
Deren crouched down beside her with the patient air of a concerned friend. "Think carefully about the implications. If we succeed, it would be tremendously beneficial for Azeroth! For example—" His voice dropped to barely audible conspiratorial levels.
Chromie slumped on the beach, mechanically counting on her fingers, bending one down with each catastrophic item prevented.
"No Cataclysm..." Her index finger bent.
"No Elemental Unrest..." Middle finger followed suit.
"No Azerite War..." Ring finger also surrendered.
Deren squatted opposite her like an enthusiastic merchant hawking miracle cures. "Not just that! Consider—" He pried open Chromie's remaining pinky finger. "No Alliance and Horde slaughtering each other over Azerite deposits!"
"No Sargeras stabbing Azeroth with his sword!" The thumb was forced into submission.
Onyxia somehow materialized closer, grabbing Chromie's other hand with interest, forcibly opening her index finger. "What about my brother Nefarian's fate?"
"He will experience the same pleasant outcome you avoid." Deren cheerfully pressed down Chromie's middle finger.
Chromie stared blankly at her hands twisted into bizarre shapes, suddenly feeling the timelines in her consciousness tangling like yarn destroyed by playful cats.
"Wait..." she protested weakly. "You cannot calculate causality like this. Temporal paradoxes will—"
"No temporal paradoxes!" Deren waved dismissively like a fervent believer preaching salvation. "This is called optimizing historical progression! Look—"
He produced a flat stone from nowhere, charcoal swiftly sketching several crooked timeline diagrams:
Deathwing Survives Timeline: World destruction → Heroes exhausted to death → Chromie working overtime until baldness.
Deathwing Dies Early Timeline: World peace → Heroes take vacations → Chromie enjoys afternoon tea daily.
Onyxia peered over his shoulder, suddenly adding a small black dragon doodle to the second line with her claw tip. "Also saves considerable funds for repairing Stormwind's roofs repeatedly."
Chromie's lips trembled. As a bronze dragon, she could perceive countless temporal branches spreading like tree roots—but no one had ever made patricide and world-saving sound as casual as marketplace bargaining.
"But... but..." She clutched her hourglass staff like a drowning person grasping driftwood. "Lord Nozdormu said major historical nodes must be—"
"Must be resolved by destined heroes?" Deren suddenly leaned close, tapping the slate emphatically with charcoal. "Then tell me, which Azeroth hero saved the world by following established rules perfectly?"
Chromie opened her mouth to argue, then closed it.
Jaina Proudmoore?—Nearly drowned all of Orgrimmar in retribution.
Illidan Stormrage?—Professional rule violator and demon hunter.
Even Thrall pulled desperate maneuvers inconsistent with shamanic traditions at critical moments.
"See!" Deren pressed his advantage relentlessly. "True heroism means introducing variables even the Old Gods cannot calculate into historical progression!"
Onyxia suddenly applauded, dragon claws striking together to produce shower-like sparks. "Well said. I like you more and more, human."
Chromie looked at Deren's soot-covered earnest face, then at the still-smoking craters, finally looking down at her twisted fingers. Some fundamental cognition exploded like a bomb in her mind:
These two lunatics might actually rewrite Azeroth's fate.
More terrifying—they were using neither Titan technology nor ancient divine power, but ordinary materials any goblin could purchase.
"I need a strong drink." The bronze dragon stood shakily on unsteady legs. "Something very strong."
Deren helpfully produced a beaker filled with clear liquid. "Seventy-five percent alcohol concentration, distilled personally. Strong enough?"
Chromie stared at the liquid in the beaker, then suddenly revealed a bizarre smile edging toward hysteria. "You know what? I am suddenly anticipating Lord Nozdormu's expression when he hears Deathwing the Destroyer died from fertilizer..."
Sea wind carrying gunpowder smoke swept across the deserted island. Three silhouettes cast long shadows in morning light. Among them, that petite bronze dragon was simultaneously coughing and emitting collapse-like laughter that echoed across the waves.
Comments
Lucas Panzenboeck
they got chromie noooooo xD
