Beneath the pitch-black night sky, war had broken out—but it was a completely one-sided slaughter. The armored Protoss were scattered and fleeing in every direction.
This was the universe of StarCraft. The ancient dark god Amon had launched an assault on a Protoss enclave. The souls of those who perished were harvested by him, intended as raw material for a new form of life—a hybrid of terrifying power.
Garus had just appeared on this battlefield. He surveyed the chaos with confusion, unsure if this was a world he had once known.
After exterminating the Protoss, Amon turned his attention to Garus. Sensing something unfamiliar and dangerous, he launched an attack.
Amon's power was immense, but Garus was stronger. It cost him a bit of effort, but he ultimately obliterated the ancient being—and claimed his soul.
"Not a bad trophy," Garus murmured, watching Amon's soul coil and thrash in a tight sphere upon his palm.
Just then, a voice emerged from the Soulstone, respectful and even a little sycophantic—an uncharacteristic change for the once-arrogant artifact. It had learned the hard way that Garus was not someone to cross.
"Garus," the Soulstone spoke. "I'd like a body. You've grown powerful enough to create one for me, haven't you? With a body, I can serve you even better."
The Soulstone had long yearned for physical form. Now seemed the perfect time to bring it up—it had helped Garus accomplish quite a bit, after all. Asking for a body didn't seem too much in return.
Garus didn't even think before replying.
"Fine. Not now, but I'll call you out when the time comes."
Creating a body was a hassle, but he could always modify an existing one.
"Thank you. And… make it powerful, yeah?" The Soulstone hesitated, then added, "Also, help TOAA get a body too."
"You're pushing it," Garus shot back. "You think I have that kind of time?"
"No—wait—you misunderstand!" the Soulstone said hastily. "It's for your benefit. TOAA has existed for countless eons. The knowledge he holds is… immeasurable. All of it could help you—"
"Yeah, yeah. I get it," Garus interrupted, waving off the rambling.
As Garus departed, he didn't realize that something unexpected had happened during his battle with Amon. The Pym Particles he had inadvertently released were now influencing a nearby swarm of Zerg and remnants of the Protoss.
Traversing the Quantum Realm—again.
The view shifted.
Garus suddenly found himself in a world that felt familiar.
Azeroth?!
His chest tightened. It wasn't his ultimate destination, but he had lived here for many years. This world held many memories—and many friends.
Looking up, he saw new landmasses floating above Azeroth's skies—places he had never been.
Near the Maelstrom at the planet's center, a distant continent shimmered with conflicting forces: dark, fel corruption and piercing, radiant Light.
A brutal war was underway.
Garus sensed it immediately—one of the battling factions was made up of old allies. Without a second thought, his body streaked downward like a meteor.
"Tirion?!"
On the war-torn battlefield below, Garus saw his old mentor surrounded by a horde of demons. The Knights of the Silver Hand were all but slaughtered, helplessly watching their Highlord bound and dragged toward the enemy ranks.
A twisted, mocking voice echoed in Tirion's ears.
"Well, well. Isn't this the grand paladin himself—Tirion Fordring, champion of the Light? Tell me—why hasn't your Light come to save you?" Gul'dan sneered.
"You're a monster. The combined armies of the Alliance and Horde will raze this place in time," Tirion growled through gritted teeth.
Before Gul'dan could reply, the ground shook violently. Dust and debris scattered in every direction as a massive crater erupted nearby.
From it rose a figure cloaked in dark energy.
"Garus?! It's… you?" Tirion's eyes widened in disbelief—not just because his long-lost student had returned after so many years, but because of the power that radiated from him—pure, undiluted death.
Gul'dan raised a hand to stop the charging demons.
"A death knight… And a powerful one at that. Why not join us? Serve Sargeras with me, and you'll gain power far beyond what you now wield."
Garus realized, belatedly, that he'd forgotten to mask his aura. In this world, death knights were still remembered as the Lich King's pawns.
"Uh… Master…" he began awkwardly.
"Go! Leave now! There are too many demons—you'll only die in vain!" Tirion shouted.
The screams of dying paladins filled the air. The Silver Hand was collapsing under the unrelenting demonic onslaught.
Garus didn't waste another second.
Invisible chains of death magic unfurled across the battlefield, binding every demon in place and suspending them midair.
The slaughter halted.
The surviving paladins didn't hesitate. Their blades gleamed with the Light as they plunged them into the helpless demons' bodies.
"Ugh—you… who are you?!" Gul'dan wheezed, choking and gasping as fear twisted his face.
Clang!
Tirion collapsed to the ground, his heavy Light's Vow armor thudding against the dirt.
Struggling to his feet, he stared hard at the man before him.
"Is it really you, Garus?"
Garus grinned.
"It's me, old man. But let me finish off this guy first."
He turned to Gul'dan and sneered.
"You like power, don't you? Let me give you some. Let me bless you with all the demonic strength you crave."
Now fully exposed as a death knight, Garus no longer bothered to hold back. He funneled an overwhelming torrent of fel energy straight into Gul'dan's body.
It was everything Gul'dan had ever desired—and more than his body could contain.
His form cracked open. Green energy seared through the fissures, until his body disintegrated into ashes. His soul didn't escape, either—it was captured, imprisoned by Garus.
"You alright, old man?" Garus said, helping Tirion to his feet.
Tirion looked around at the hundreds of fallen paladins. His heart was heavy with guilt.
"Garus… is it really you?"
Kael, another friend from the Silver Hand, limped forward, wounded but alive. The moment he saw Garus, his eyes lit up with joy.
"Garus?! You're alive?!"
"Tsk, tsk. You guys look terrible," Garus teased. Before Kael could scold him, Garus raised Frostmourne.
Golden life energy surged from the sword into the earth, seeping into the fallen.
One by one, the dead paladins stirred… and stood again.
Tirion's eyes blazed.
"That's Frostmourne! Did you turn them into undead?!"
Kael grabbed Garus by the shoulders.
"Tell me you didn't fall. We may no longer hate death knights, but these were our heroes!"
"Relax," Garus said calmly. "Take a closer look. I didn't raise them as undead."
The revived paladins looked around in confusion. As their memories of the battle returned, they stared in shock at the figures of Tirion and Garus at the battlefield's center.
Garus had grown powerful—powerful enough to resurrect the recently fallen without binding them to undeath.