Chapter 724

Chapter 724: The Master of Dethmoora

The next morning, Jesse woke up and crawled out of the orc tent. Many warlocks were already busy at the altar.

They used Azgath’s demon blood to inscribe runes and circles over the altar’s original carvings, overlapping the existing summoning circle without conflict. The patterns interlaced like a new, more harmonious formation.

Mor’zul and Elaine supervised each stroke with scrolls while idle warlocks observed from the feet of the colossal statues. From high above, little was visible, but standing atop the altar revealed its immense scale—the warlocks stood no taller than the statues’ toes.

Jesse gazed up into the darkness beneath the hood of the statue opposite him, feeling it might open its eyes at any moment.

After completing the circle, they began laying ritual materials. Everyone, including Jesse, contributed Soul Shards.

Soulstones were placed around the formation. Jesse sensed many fragments held human souls, or at least those of humanoids like orcs or dwarves, radiating terrible hatred and fury far more savage than the deceased souls he’d offered—harvested by Satyrs. Yet for spellwork, such wrathful souls held greater power. Naturally, Jesse withheld Dethmoora’s Soul Shard.

Work continued until afternoon. Nearly finished, the circles included binding and demon-weakening spells. Their runes, peppered with Orcish script, were clearly orc craftsmanship.

Fitting for the orc-built Storm Altar. Jesse noticed Kargal Shadowpunch staring dreamily at the three statues since finishing his task, eyes brimming with reverence and nostalgia.

After Gul’dan’s fall and flight to the Tomb of Sargeras, the new Great Chief Orgrim Doomhammer purged his followers. Many orc warlocks fled into the wilds—Kargal likely among them.

The Storm Altar was built when the Shadow Council ruled the Horde—the pinnacle of orc warlocks’ glory.

“Everyone, positions as planned! This isn’t our first summoning!” Mor’zul shouted. “Azgath’s blood is wildly chaotic. With the circle fresh, now’s when we control it best. Seize this chance… waste no time!”

Warlocks answered Mor’zul’s call, moving to their posts. Jesse stood at the innermost circle’s edge facing Mor’zul and Elaine.

They stood directly before the three statues. The figure opposite Jesse lowered its head, fixing him in its gaze. Elaine said, “This altar’s design has purpose. Our presence is fitting. We should’ve attempted this summoning long ago, Mor’zul.”

Mor’zul glanced toward the distant gorge. “We’re here now.” “Begin,” he commanded. “Start the ritual!”

The six warlocks anchoring the binding circle chanted in unison. Jesse felt molten rock rumble around the altar, heating the valley. Azgath’s blood-glyphs glowed brighter, their dark green hue intensifying as a crushing stench of evil grew palpable.

Elaine raised her hands, shut her eyes, and recited spells. Mor’zul soon followed, then Jesse, mimicking their rehearsed motions.

Closing his eyes, he chanted the scroll’s incantation.

“Ulleth, Tototlweht, Caskayrjade…”

With each uttered word, Jesse felt buried forces answer—a subterranean roar echoing his call. As the near-endless chant continued, these powers coalesced into a dark, swelling energy that rose, locking onto the three at the circle’s heart, especially him.

Jesse’s feet felt leaden, anchored by the altar’s power.

For an instant, he merged with Blackrock Mountain itself—its foundations bridging the Twisting Nether. Arrogance, born of the dark peaks, surged within him. He recognized the Shadow Power’s corrupting touch and fought to contain it, focusing on the ritual.

Lava beyond the altar seethed violently. Azgath’s blood-rites ignited, spreading dark green fire along the glyphs. The six binders chanted steadily, guiding the altar’s might, while outer warlocks grew visibly unsettled by the growing tumult.

Mor’zul’s choices proved sound.

Between the three, a pitch-black portal yawned open, seven or eight meters tall. Jesse felt his body strain as if tearing apart—forces whirling to rend him. He knew it wasn’t real, just his mind blurring under pressure.

The summoning channel stabilized. Mor’zul peeked, then lost himself to excitement.

“Success?”

“Never like this!” cried a distant warlock. But where was the demon?

A voice boomed from the portal’s depths.

“I enact the Great Master’s will. Who dares interrupt me now, you wretched vermin? Name yourselves!”

The thunderous words jolted the warlocks. Mor’zul shouted, “We are Dethmoora’s loyal servants, great lord! We act on Dethmoora’s command, summoning you by her will!”

“I’ve told her countless times: cease your whining, your prattle! Now she sends you…”

The voice neared until Jesse felt the demon’s breath at his ear.

A massive claw with brown fur gripped the portal’s edge. Enormous black horns, ringed in demon-rune shackles, thrust forth.

Jesse’s heart hammered. Mor’zul scanned the binders, confirmed their focus, then snapped his gaze back.

The demon’s head emerged—a hideously twisted Ered’ruin visage. Beady green eyes darted about. It opened its fanged maw, thick dark tendrils like whiskers probing beneath. Two longer, thicker brown tentacles sprouted from its cheeks, bound in rune-etched metal bands. They groped the Storm Altar’s edges as the creature heaved its upper body through…

The monster’s torso alone stood four meters tall. Shadowy rune-forged armor sheathed its arms, shoulders, and chest. Spiked pauldrons, layered like shields, framed its malformed head—large as a pony’s body even without the absurd horns.

Jesse doubted the binders could hold this Demon Lord. His unease mirrored the fifteen warlocks and their demon servants…

The Demon Lord froze. Its tiny eyes and tentacles twitched in sudden alarm. “Deceitful grubs! What scheme is this?! A binding circle!”

With a frantic roar, it tried retreating into the portal. Mor’zul screamed, “Hold him!”

Outer warlocks hurled curses. Jesse recognized the Curse of Weakness among others—spells of hindrance, obstruction, even mind-numbing force. The Demon Lord staggered under the onslaught, coughing violently.

Seizing the moment, Mor’zul yelled at the summoner, “End the chant, Elaine! He flees!” Elaine halted the magic. The portal’s edges frayed instantly!

Bellowing, the demon abandoned retreat. It clawed through the collapsing rift, tearing itself free just before annihilation. Its vast wings flared as it crashed onto the altar—the impact quaking the stones!

Wounded by the portal’s collapse, its form shrank. Armor cracked; murky blood oozed down its legs, pooling around black hooves.

“He’s trapped! Sustain the circle! Hold it!”

Ecstasy filled Mor’zul’s cry. But blood trickled from one binder’s nose. Lava splashed onto the altar’s edge…

Jesse’s hand found his sword hilt beneath his cloak. He wasn’t alone sensing battle—the Dark Iron Dwarf Fezuras fumbled for something in his pack.