The signal to attack Icecrown Citadel was sent out in the early morning, and Galen and his elite team began their infiltration in the afternoon, under the cover of the Alliance's assault.
Their chosen infiltration point was a dam constructed of Saronite, a dark and formidable material, built across the headwaters of the Duskfall River.
Saronite was indeed a rare and potent ore, imbued with the corrupting essence of the Old God Yogg-Saron. While it possessed immense power and a wide range of applications, it also exuded an aura of malice, draining the life force and energy from its surroundings. Despite its tainted nature, Saronite possessed remarkable properties. It was incredibly hard, capable of withstanding even the most powerful physical attacks without sustaining damage.
In terms of magical resistance, Saronite also performed exceptionally well. It could completely negate the effects of Druidic nature spells, and when struck directly by Holy Light, it would reflect the divine energy back upon its source, turning the light into a weapon against its wielder.
Such exceptional properties made Saronite an ideal material for the construction of war machines and fortifications.
The Alliance's most powerful cannons and siege engines, even those enhanced with potent magic, were unable to breach Saronite-cast city walls. This forced the Alliance to rely on more traditional methods of siege warfare, such as the massive siege vehicle they had brought with them, a colossal engine of destruction designed to smash through the seemingly impenetrable defenses.
So, were the walls of Icecrown Citadel truly invulnerable, capable of withstanding any assault?
Not entirely.
Saronite, for all its strength, was not without its weaknesses. The giant ice worms of Northrend, monstrous creatures that burrowed through the frozen wastes, were Saronite's greatest nemesis. Their bodies secreted a potent corrosive acid, capable of dissolving even the thickest Saronite structures with alarming ease.
Galen, ever the resourceful strategist, summoned the resurrected giant ice worm, Acidmaw. Using Acidmaw's corrosive acid, they were able to quickly and efficiently dissolve a large enough gap in the seemingly impregnable Saronite dam. Then, following the tunnel created by the giant worm's passage, Galen led his assembled twenty-five-man team into the dark and twisted interior of Icecrown Citadel, bypassing the heavily fortified front lines.
As the heart of the undead kingdom, Icecrown Citadel was saturated with a dense and oppressive power of death. When the members of the decapitation squad crawled out of the tunnel, they felt an immediate and profound heaviness, as if they were carrying invisible sandbags on their backs. The air itself seemed to press down on them, chilling them to the bone and sapping their strength.
The dense power of death reacted violently with the Holy Light within Galen's body. The divine energy flared to life, autonomously protecting him from the encroaching darkness, dispelling the evil power within a meter radius of his body, creating a bubble of light and warmth in the oppressive gloom.
"So strong!"
The sight of Galen's radiant aura, the palpable power of the Holy Light emanating from him, stunned the twenty-five warriors, especially the paladins in the team, such as Tirion Fordring, the legendary Highlord of the Silver Hand, and the Barov brothers, Alexi and Wilton, their faith renewed and their spirits lifted by the display of divine power.
"Alright, don't just stand there gawking," Galen said, his voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the oppressive silence. "We don't have time to waste. Hogg, Lilaria, Rexxar, Hemet, the four of you go scout ahead and draw a map of this place. Find the safest and most direct route forward!"
"Yes, Highlord!" the four scouts replied in unison, their voices a mixture of respect and determination.
After Galen arranged for the pathfinders to scout ahead, he expanded his protective aura of Holy Light, extending its reach until it enveloped all the members of the team. The warriors felt the oppressive weight and chilling coldness that had plagued them moments before vanish, replaced by a sense of warmth and vitality.
While the scouts were away, Galen and the rest of the team waited in tense silence, their weapons at the ready, their senses on high alert. Soon, Hemet Nesingwary and Rexxar, two seasoned hunters with years of experience navigating treacherous terrain, returned, their faces grim but determined. They were followed shortly by Hogg, the ferocious gnoll chieftain, and Lilaria, the agile Nightborne rogue, their movements fluid and silent.
The four scouts combined their knowledge, piecing together the routes they had explored into a rough but serviceable map of the citadel's interior. After Galen carefully studied the map, and combined it with his own observations of the surrounding environment, he made an educated guess about their location. He surmised that they were likely situated somewhere around the Scourge Foundry, the second major area within Icecrown Citadel.
Oh, bother! Galen thought, a wry smile playing on his lips.
If my memory serves me correctly, there's an... eccentric and rather unpleasant individual located in that area. An evil mad scientist, Professor Putricide, a loyal servant of the Scourge!
At this time, the entire Icecrown Citadel was eerily quiet. Turalyon and the main Alliance force had successfully drawn the Scourge's living forces to the outer walls, engaging them in a fierce and desperate battle.
In addition, Galen's infiltration through the underground tunnel had allowed them to bypass Lord Marrowgar, the grotesque bone lord who guarded the citadel's main gate. Now, encountering the remaining mad scientist seemed like a stroke of good fortune.
Without saying more, we'll kill him first, Galen decided, his eyes hardening with determination. It will give the squad some much-needed practice, a chance to test their mettle against a formidable foe.
After determining the most direct route to the Scourge Foundry, Galen issued the order to advance. Hogg, utilizing his natural stealth and cunning, moved ahead to scout, his movements silent and unseen. The rest of the team followed, led by Istaria, the Night Elf druid who transformed into a massive boar, her tusks gleaming menacingly, and the resolute human paladin, Brigitte Abbendis, her faith unwavering.
The Scourge Foundry was a bizarre and unsettling laboratory, a testament to the twisted genius of its creator. Professor Putricide, a brilliant but utterly deranged scientist, devoted his considerable talents to developing a horrifying array of plagues, blights, toxins, and slimes for the Scourge. His mastery of these dark arts, his willingness to experiment on living subjects, and his complete disregard for morality had earned him the favor of the Lich King, securing him a high-ranking position within the Scourge hierarchy.
The group moved cautiously through the citadel's labyrinthine corridors, their senses on high alert, their weapons at the ready. Soon, they spotted a long, translucent pipe running along the wall, its contents bubbling and churning with an unholy green liquid. Galen recognized the distinctive design, a hallmark of Putricide's twisted experiments.
"We're here," Galen announced, his voice grim. "We've reached the Scourge Foundry."
Just then, Hogg returned from his scouting mission, his face grim. He reported that a large number of zombie dogs, their flesh rotting and their eyes burning with malevolent hunger, and grotesque abominations, stitched together from the flesh of countless victims, were patrolling the passages on both sides of their current location.
"Brigitte," Galen commanded, his voice decisive, "take half of the team and clear the passage to the left. Little Druid," he said, addressing Istaria, "take the rest of the team and clear the passage to the right. Remember to eliminate all threats, secure both sides, and then open the valves to fill these two pipes with whatever foul concoction Putricide is brewing!"
The team split into two groups. The humans, dwarves, and high elves followed Brigitte, their footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. The remaining Tauren, Nightborne, and dragonmen, a diverse but formidable force, followed the Night Elf druid, their movements fluid and purposeful.
Tirion Fordring and Jaina Proudmoore did not join either group. They remained behind Galen, their expressions serious, their attention focused on the large, reinforced door that stood at the end of the corridor, the entrance to Putricide's main laboratory.
There were not many legendary-ranked warriors in the team. The experienced hunter Hemet Nesingwary and a powerful high elf mage had gone with Brigitte to the left, while the orcish beastmaster Rexxar and the jovial pandaren brewmaster Chen Stormstout had accompanied Istaria to the right. Tirion was not overly concerned about their safety, confident in their abilities to handle the challenges that lay ahead.
"Galen," Tirion asked, breaking the tense silence, "you seem to be very familiar with this place. Have you been here before?"
Galen glanced at Tirion, his expression unreadable. "No, Fordring," he replied, his voice flat. "This is the first time."
That's right, the first time in this reality, Fordring, he thought grimly. And I sincerely hope that you don't end up becoming the next invincible Lich King!
Tirion, sensing Galen's reluctance to engage in conversation, decided not to press the matter. He suppressed his curiosity, focusing his attention on the task at hand, his hand resting on the hilt of his holy blade.
Soon, the sounds of battle echoed from the passages on both sides, the clash of steel, the roar of spells, and the guttural growls of the undead filling the air. As the fighting intensified, a series of sharp, anguished cries pierced through the din, their source seemingly coming from the depths of the laboratory beyond the reinforced door.
"No! You killed Stinky! You will pay for this!"
"No! Little Treasure! My darling creation! You can't be dead!"
"No! Rotface, you were my love, second only to Festergut in my affections! But your death has released a noxious cloud of poisonous gas! I'm about to be asphyxiated!"
Galen silently endured the cacophony of the mad scientist's lamentations, his expression a mixture of disgust and impatience. He waited for the return of his teams, his hand resting on the hilt of Magnus Doomblade.
Finally, Brigitte and her group returned, their armor stained with ichor, their faces grim but victorious. "The left passage is clear," she reported, her voice hoarse. "The abominations and zombie dogs have been... dealt with."
"The Festergut I created also died," a high-elf mage added, her voice laced with a hint of dark humor. "But great news! He left behind a pool of... viscous slime. Oh! I actually possess such outstanding poetic talent! This whole experience has truly... killed me!"
Galen silently endured the mage's morbid jest, waiting for the return of the team that had cleared the right passage.
After a brief but intense series of battles, punctuated by the sounds of snapping bones and rending flesh, Istaria and her group returned, their task also completed. As the last of the undead fell, the pipes on both sides of the corridor were gradually filled with the bubbling green liquid. A low, grinding sound of gears turning echoed through the citadel, emanating from the reinforced door at the end of the corridor.
Then, with a heavy groan, the door slowly began to open, revealing a vast and grotesque laboratory beyond.
Galen, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade, led the way into the laboratory. The chamber was a macabre spectacle, filled with a bewildering array of experimental vessels, bubbling vats of noxious chemicals, and various horrifying human specimens, their bodies twisted and contorted into grotesque shapes. The air was thick with the stench of decay, chemicals, and the unmistakable odor of death.
"Looks like you solved the mystery of Rotface and Festergut... Unbelievable," a voice echoed from the far end of the laboratory. "Those were my latest and most advanced anti-Holy Light abominations!"
Professor Putricide turned to face Galen and his team, a test tube filled with a bubbling green liquid held delicately in his gloved hand. He seemed to be in a state of deep contemplation, his eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed in scientific curiosity.
"To shake, or not to shake," Putricide murmured to himself, his voice a low, guttural growl, his attention completely focused on the test tube. "That is the question!"
Galen, recognizing the scientist's famous catchphrase, couldn't resist making a comment. "To shake, or not to shake, that is indeed the question," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with dark amusement.
The words, spoken in the eerie silence of the laboratory, caught Putricide's attention. The mad scientist suddenly snapped his head up, his eyes widening in surprise.
This person... this person understands me!
However, as Putricide's gaze fell upon Galen's face, his scientific curiosity was instantly replaced by a stark and visceral terror. His pupils contracted sharply, his face paling as he recognized the figure standing before him.
Alliance Grand Marshal Galen Hellscream!
The Lich King's most dreaded enemy! The bane of the Scourge!
He had somehow infiltrated Icecrown Citadel! He was here, in his laboratory!
No!
He had to warn his master! He had to notify the Lich King as soon as possible!