Warm steam billowed through the excessively spacious bathroom, coating the polished obsidian walls in a hazy mist. Jerry reclined in a corner of the massive tub, which was practically the size of a small swimming pool. The tepid water covered his chest, washing away the lingering dust and blood of this wasteland world. Along the nearby wall, a row of thick, polished brass pipes continuously pumped scalding water into the pool with a reassuring "glug-glug," ensuring this luxury remained uninterrupted.
Jerry's small body formed a striking contrast with the opulent surroundings. His pale skin looked almost ethereal beneath the shimmering ripples. In one hand, he toyed with an intricate device—a sphere composed of overlapping brass rings with a transparent crystal at its center. The crystal core emitted a faint, chaotic dark-red glow, while the rings vibrated at an irregular frequency.
It seemed that even at the highest point of Ironforge, building a teleportation array capable of crossing planar barriers was a pipe dream. The spatial structure of this world was being interfered with by an invisible force, making it unstable—sometimes fragile, sometimes rigid—and utterly incapable of handling high-intensity energy transfers.
Jerry let go, allowing the alchemical tool to sink to the bottom. His mind wasn't on the device. He was dwelling on the system prompt that had echoed in his mind earlier—the second stage of the quest chain: [Vow of the Broken Cocoon].
Objective: Ensure the primary target (Broodmother) cannot hatch or reproduce normally... Note: This is not a kill mission. Reward: Partial Tyranid Gene Recombination Sequence; Talent: 'Swarm-Heart Synchrony'.
The system didn't want him to kill the Broodmother, but to "ensure it cannot reproduce." The hidden meaning was intriguing.
Splash. Jerry sat up, water droplets sliding down his youthful shoulders. His face was no longer relaxed; it held the cold decisiveness of his true self. While the mystery of the Hive remained a fog, there was no point in obsessing over it without real answers. A more pressing issue loomed: going home.
Since Ironforge's spatial structure couldn't support a massive array, staying here meant waiting for death. His only choice was to leave the fortress and head into the vast, unknown, and perilous Wasteland. He needed a spot where the world's barrier was thin and the energy was pure enough to construct a portal capable of transporting an entire wizarding legion. Only then could the Wizards cross over and dominate this world, and only then could he return to Hogwarts to finish his lessons.
Until then, he was just a high-class prisoner in a world of steampunk and biological rot. It was an interesting place, but it wasn't home.
Hiss—
The heavy obsidian door slid open. A draft of cool air rushed in, mingling with the steam. Erica stood at the entrance, her silhouette nearly filling the doorframe. She wore a simple white linen shift provided by Kaelia. It looked strange on a Centaur—the top half was a standard shirt, while the bottom consisted of two large flaps of fabric that barely draped over her powerful equine flanks.
Her chestnut hair was combed and damp. The cheerful, somewhat goofy smile she usually wore was gone, replaced by a mask of pale, awkward determination. She stood there, staring at the small boy in the pool, silent and looming.
Jerry didn't turn around. "What is it, Erica? Is something wrong?"
She flinched at the sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside. Her four hooves hit the polished floor with a series of heavy, rhythmic clacks.
"I..." Her voice was raspy. "Jerry, I want... I want to follow you. Stay by your side."
She walked to the edge of the pool, her amber eyes misty with steam or unshed tears. As she looked down at Jerry, her gaze involuntarily drifted below the waterline, and then she froze. Even through the refraction of the water, she could see the monstrous, rigid outline that did not belong on a boy of his size. Her face turned a deep crimson, and her forced stoicism shattered into a mess of maidenly panic.
She tried to look away, but her eyes were like magnets drawn to the sight. Jerry watched her, waiting for more.
"I've thought it through." Erica forced herself to meet his eyes. "My father... he would have wanted me to live, to thrive. You are strong—stronger than anyone I've ever seen. Only by following you can I... can I..."
She trailed off. Talk of revenge and glory felt hollow in the face of his absolute power. Then, she did something that surprised even Jerry. She lifted a leg and dipped a hoof into the pool.
Splash.
The warm water rose past her hard hoof and the short brown fur of her lower leg. Slowly, her entire body submerged. As a Centaur, she couldn't sit like a human; she had to adopt a half-kneeling, half-crouching posture, soaking her powerful equine torso while leaving her human upper half and broad back exposed. The water level rose sharply, some of it spilling over the edge.
The warmth wrapped around her trembling body, washing over her massive, firm breasts that stood taut from years of being compressed by armor. She was close now, close enough to smell the fresh, otherworldly scent of his skin.
Jerry remained expressionless. He slowly lifted one foot. Under Erica's confused, nervous gaze, he pressed his sole—with undeniable authority—directly onto her swollen, quivering right breast.
"Nngh..."
A mix of shame and a bizarre, sharp stimulation surged through Erica. Jerry's foot wasn't heavy, but the sensation of being dominated by a male's limb on her most private part made her skin break out in goosebumps. Her body wanted to recoil, but her mind forced her to stay still. She endured his foot as it began to grind and knead her nipple, moving in slow, mocking circles.
"You want to join me in the crusade against the Hive?" Jerry asked casually, as if inquiring about the weather.
The question unlocked her emotions. Her father's death, her own risk of rot... Erica's face turned a shade of red that looked like it might leak blood. Her amber eyes shimmered. She could feel her crushed nipple hardening against his sole, a traitorous reaction to the humiliation. Her other breast throbbed in sympathy.
"...Yes." She squeezed the word out through her throat.
The brass pipes hissed again, sensing the drop in water level. A fresh torrent of scalding water gushed in, creating a thicker, more intimate shroud of steam. In the white-out fog, Jerry grew bolder. He withdrew his foot, and just as Erica thought the torment was over, he grabbed her slick, wet breasts with both hands, forcing them apart.
He lunged forward. That massive spear extending from his small frame, a weapon completely disproportionate to his age, sliced through the water and buried itself deep within the soft, elastic valley of her cleavage.
"Ah...!" Erica let out a muffled scream.
This wasn't like the clumsy serving from before. This was an aggressive, unyielding act of possession. The thick shaft stretched her breasts apart, the heavy head poking out the top while his large, warm weight pressed against the underside of her chest. The sensation of being filled and spanned left her brain blank.
"The Wasteland isn't Ironforge," Jerry whispered through the steam. "No walls, no supplies. Just mutated beasts and roaming bugs. You will likely die quickly. No one will sing of you. No one will remember your honor. Still want to go?"
The cold reality didn't make her flinch. Instead, a light returned to her eyes. "I don't care!" she shouted. "Dying in the wastes is better than rotting away like a piece of trash here! If I can be with you... even death is better than this!"
Driven by instinct or a desperate need to prove herself, Erica leaned down. Her chestnut hair dipped into the water as her gaze fell upon the glistening, purple head of the monster peeking out from her cleavage. It smelled of man and musk. She hesitated, then extended her tongue and gave the massive tip a tentative, delicate lick.
Slurp...
The salty, musky scent filled her mouth, making her shudder. But she didn't stop. She became the aggressor.
"Gulp... hah..." Her tongue began to work the head feverishly, her tip trying to probe the small opening. Her hands, which had been passive, began to squeeze her own breasts inward with all her might. She used her strength to clamp the giant member tighter within her snowy mounds. The friction of her soft fat against the pulsing vein of his shaft sent sparks of pleasure straight to her groin.
Suddenly, Jerry's voice cut through her trance like ice water: "No. You just want revenge."
Six words. They struck her like lightning, hitting the one corner of her heart she refused to look at. Erica froze. Her tongue stopped mid-lick; her arms lost their strength. She looked up, her face covered in steam and spit, wide-eyed with shock.
Revenge? Yes. She wasn't fearless; she was just full of hate. Hate for the bugs that made her an orphan, hate for Kaelia's "experiments," and hate for her own weakness. She was here, offering herself in the most humiliating way, just to beg for a stranger's help.
"Uuuu..."
The string finally snapped. Erica broke down. Large tears mingled with the condensation on her face. She didn't wail; she just wept in despair, her body shaking like a cornered animal with nowhere to run.
Just as she was about to be swallowed by grief, a shadow fell over her. Jerry moved. His "tiny" body left the pool floor and, like a weightless creature, he climbed onto her. Because of their size difference, the sight was surreal. Jerry wrapped his legs around her thick, powerful waist, pressing his entire upper body against her massive, trembling breasts.
Jerry's arms circled her neck, his entire body clinging to her like a lethal, elegant "Facehugger" from an otherworldly film, "embedded" onto Erica in a posture of total envelopment and dominance. Because of this movement, that massive spear slid even deeper within her slick cleavage. The gargantuan head was now pressing right beneath her collarbone, and Jerry lay prone atop this "bridge" connecting their bodies.
His small face was inches away from Erica's tear-stained features. Amidst her gaze—a mix of sorrow and shock—Jerry leaned down and, with a demand that brooked no refusal, sealed Erica's small mouth, stifling her grief-stricken whimpers.
It was a deep kiss. Jerry's tongue, possessing a predatory skill far beyond his years, pried open Erica's teeth, invading her mouth. He tasted the salt of her tears and the floral fragrance of a young girl, tangling his tongue with hers as she remained clumsy and lost.
"Mmph... nn... ngh..."
Erica's brain completely short-circuited. She could feel his saliva continuously flowing into her mouth, which she swallowed along with her tears. She could also feel the massive object beneath her, grinding and thrusting with powerful rhythm between her tightly squeezed breasts in synchronization with the kiss.
Squelch... squelch... splash...
The sounds of water, the wet smacking of the kiss, and the friction of the spear rubbing against her cleavage blended into a symphony of carnal intensity. Erica abandoned all thought and struggle. She simply clung instinctively to the boy "parasitizing" her body, allowing him to pillage her mouth and chest at will.
Under the dual pressure of the kiss and the physical friction, Erica was completely submerged in a tide of surging pleasure and a sense of being conquered.
"Ahhh...!" Erica let out an uncontrollable low growl, the sound drowned out by the gnashing of teeth and the splashing of water. Her body arched from the intense stimulation. Her powerful equine legs thrashed wildly in the water, sending massive sprays flying.
Just as Erica felt she was about to be torn apart by the waves of ecstasy, Jerry's movements abruptly halted. The giant object that had been racing between her breasts withdrew from the valley of her snowy peaks with incredible speed.
"Ugh...!" With a moan of loss, Erica didn't even have time to figure out what was happening before Jerry grabbed the back of her head and pressed his spear directly against her lips.
Erica didn't have time to react; she simply opened her mouth instinctively. And the moment her warm oral cavity completely enveloped the head of that spear—!
Gulp... gulp, gulp...!
Thick, scalding, and salty jets of fluid, carrying a heavy masculine scent, erupted violently. Like a dam bursting, the flood instantly filled her mouth. This sudden, massive spray made Erica's entire body shudder. She couldn't swallow fast enough; the thick, hot liquid forced its way down her throat, sending her into convulsions.
She swallowed desperately, yet she still couldn't keep up with the terrifying rate of the discharge. Soon, the liquid slid down her esophagus, scalding her throat and eventually pooling in her stomach.
"Nngh... hah... mgh..."
Jerry showed no mercy. He gripped the back of her head, forcing her to stay latched onto the pulsing, twitching member. She couldn't retreat or break free; she could only passively endure this absolute irrigation. The fluid continued to pour out, filling her throat and mouth. Some of it, unable to be swallowed, overflowed from the corners of her mouth, trickling down her chin and neck into the pool.
Erica's stomach... began to swell at a visible rate. Her originally flat abdomen became slightly rounded, distended by the sheer volume of the viscous fluid. It was Jerry's overflowing life force, occupying the very space inside her body.
The process felt like it lasted a century. Only when Jerry was completely drained did his softening spear slowly withdraw from Erica's distended, numbed mouth.
"Hah... hah... phew..."
Erica panted heavily, gasping for fresh air. Her lips were smeared with white fluid, and her amber eyes were unfocused from the shock. Tears, saliva, and semen mingled, sliding down her cheeks. Her body was limp from total subjugation, her massive equine frame trembling in the water. The heavy, bloated feeling in her lower belly felt alien and shameful, yet it carried a strange sense of fulfillment.
Looking down at her slightly protruding stomach, the sensation of being filled was overwhelming. She leaned helplessly into Jerry's embrace, drifting aimlessly in the warm water.
"Does it taste good?" Jerry asked.
Erica looked at him and said clearly, word for word:
"...It tastes bad."
She felt that wasn't enough, so she raised a trembling hand, clumsily wiping the white residue from her lips, then extended her tongue to lick her fingers clean.
"...But I like eating it," she added in a small but firm voice.
With those words, her last shred of modesty was shattered. She turned her head away, not daring to look into his eyes, burying her burning face in his chest like an ostrich. Her powerful horse-body swished its tail restlessly, creating splashes that betrayed her inner turmoil. The heavy weight in her gut made her feel marked—possessed.
Jerry stroked her wet hair, a satisfied smirk on his face. He whispered into her ear:
"Then let us... go and fuck up that Hive together!"
Two days later.
In the deepest level of Ironforge, inside the massive subterranean workshop, the air was thick with the pungent smell of machine oil, the burnt scent of metal welding, and the acrid tang of acid etching. There was no day or night here; hundreds of high-pressure steam lamps kept the space as bright as noon.
Countless workers and alchemists swarmed like ants over the skeleton of a steel behemoth. The clanging, the grinding of gears, and the hiss of escaping steam formed a symphony of industrial power. Before them stood the ultimate weapon of Ironforge, built over three years of secret labor: the "Pathfinder" War Train.
This was no ordinary train. Each carriage was as large as a mobile three-story building. Its black, metallic armor was obscenely thick, bristling with ramming prows and firing ports. Thick steam pipes coiled around the hull like giant pythons.
"Jerry, look." Kaelia's voice carried unrestrained pride as she pointed to the engine. The front was a monstrous head equipped with two massive, rotating steam drills and iron jaws designed to crush and grab.
"The core of the Pathfinder lies in its engine. It integrates our top alchemical tech and geological terraforming equipment. Once started, it can dig and level ground in any terrain, using onboard metal reserves and high-strength alchemical concrete to lay down new tracks in real-time."
Kaelia's eyes glowed. "In less than two days, the final tuning will be done. This beast will wake up." She gripped her chitin-covered left hand, trembling with excitement. "Even if track-laying slows us to fifteen kilometers per hour, we never have to fear the tracks ahead being destroyed. We won't be trapped."
Jerry watched the drills. He didn't share her excitement, instead asking the crucial question: "Does this mean we can lay tracks indefinitely until we reach the Hive?"
Kaelia's smile faltered. She shook her head. "I'm afraid not. The material reserves and the output of the alchemical furnace limit us to about five hundred kilometers of autonomous track-laying. Our latest scouts put the edge of the Hive at least fifteen hundred kilometers away."
Seeing Jerry's pensive look, she added: "But don't worry. Our route passes several outposts. They should provide enough ore and timber to keep the Pathfinder moving. Each resupply extends our range by hundreds of kilometers."
Jerry's brow furrowed slightly. "Advancing with such fanfare... won't it attract the swarm? This thing is huge, and the screaming of the steam is loud enough to be heard for miles. It's a target."
Kaelia sighed, her pride fading into weariness. She rubbed her temple with her scaled hand. "You're right. It's a beacon. But... we have no choice. The distance is too great for foot travel or small squads. The dangers of the wastes aren't just bugs." She pointed toward the darkness. "Without a mobile fortress, we have no hope of survival if we encounter a 'bloody abyss' or environments beyond imagination."
Jerry simply nodded. "I see."
Just then, a group of steam engineers covered in grease ran up to Kaelia, reporting a valve failure in the power core. She apologized to Jerry and followed them into the maze of gears and pipes.
Jerry stood alone before the steel giant. His small silhouette stood in stark contrast to the mountain of a train, yet he seemed immovable. As he watched the bustling workers, a lithe figure emerged from a dark passage.
It was Li, the tall Elf. She wore grease-stained coveralls today, her silver hair tied back messily. She carried a heavy, oil-slicked wrench. Li had been tested and was luckily uninfected, so she hadn't participated in Jerry's "initiation ritual."
As an Elf, Li had a long life. She had seen empires rise and fall, and she chose to focus her passion on gears and steam. This was why she wasn't joining the crusade. Her goals were fundamentally different.
She walked to Jerry, looking at the Pathfinder with a purely technical appreciation. "This thing!" She tapped the armor with her wrench—Clang! "It's beautiful. I'm sad I wasn't part of the build team."
Jerry smiled noncommittally.
"It's beautiful, but dangerous," Li said calmly. "Are you really going out in it? The world outside Ironforge is much more complex than you think."
Jerry nodded. "So what? Someone has to explore. You're not coming?"
Li shook her head, a faint, ethereal smile on her face. "I have too much to finish here. The pipe modifications, the new steam core models... to me, those are more important than what's outside."
After a moment of silence, Li's gaze settled on Jerry once more. The smile on her face gradually faded, replaced by a faint, lingering melancholy.
"Jerry!" Li's voice dropped, carrying an almost imperceptible plea. "Please... take care of Erica."
She paused, as if searching for the right words or perhaps simply suppressing a surge of emotion. Her fingertips brushed against the rough surface of the brass wrench, creating a soft metallic rasp.
"She is my only, my last, my final friend." Li looked up, her eyes—usually as deep as the stars—now clouded by a layer of mist. "Perhaps, after this, I will never have another friend again."
Her spirits had visibly plummeted. The usual fanaticism she held for machinery was momentarily eclipsed by this heavy weight of companionship. In this cold, ruthless world, having a true friend was a luxury. Now, she was entrusting that luxury to a boy she had only just met.
Jerry didn't offer empty platitudes. Instead, he opened his arms to her. "Do you need a hug?"
Li didn't hesitate. Almost before the words left his mouth, she dropped her wrench and threw herself at him. She buried her head in the crook of his neck, her tall, lithe frame pressing tightly against his small body. The scent of cold machine oil and steam mingled with the distinct, floral fragrance of an Elf, enveloping Jerry.
This wasn't an embrace of lust; it was a pure, desperate clinging of farewell. Li held him so tightly it seemed she wanted to transfer all her longing and blessings through the contact. Jerry could feel her trembling—not the rhythmic vibration of a machine, but the deep emotional pulse of a living soul.
Li pulled back slightly, her damp eyes locking onto Jerry's. Her lips, warm and moist, brushed against his in a fleeting, ghost-like touch. It was a rapid kiss, separating the instant they met—no lingering, just a soft, tentative taste of goodbye.
The moment it ended, she pulled away, moving quickly as if afraid she would lose her nerve if she stayed a second longer. She waved to him, the moisture in her eyes finally coalescing into crystal tears that tracked down her cheeks, though she wore a smile of relief and hope.
"I hope we can meet again."
With that, Li didn't look back. Her agile form darted into the labyrinthine maze of brass pipes. Within a few breaths, she had vanished into the shadows of the machinery, leaving only the distant ting-tang of a hammer to signal that she had returned to her world of steam.
Jerry stood still, watching her go. His gaze swept over the twisted brass pipes on the walls like a surveyor. They were thick, curved, and tightly interwoven—like the intestines of some prehistoric beast or a massive mechanical spiderweb climbing in every direction. In the dim light, they looked like the lifelines of the workshop, or perhaps a winding maze to another world.
His mind didn't flicker with emotion at her departure. However, just as he was about to look away, a familiar sensation washed over him like a tide.
It was the feeling of being watched. It didn't come from the pipes, nor from anything physical. It was formless, transcending distance and time—as if something indescribable was peering through the layers of dimensions, scrutinizing him with a high-and-mighty curiosity.
A slow, cold smirk curled onto Jerry's lips. It was a faint smile, carrying a chill of mockery. Without a word, he raised his hand and, toward the direction of that invisible gaze, clearly and deliberately extended his middle finger.
"Fuck you."
His voice was a whisper, drowned out by the industrial roar of the workshop, but the sheer malice in his tone seemed to pierce through the dimensions to reach that unknown observer. There was no fear in his eyes, only unmasked contempt.
After finishing this, he retracted his hand as if nothing had happened and turned his attention back to the sleeping steel beast.
Two days flashed by. The clamor reached a crescendo and then suddenly died down upon command.
The "Pathfinder" War Train finally completed its awakening. The massive black engine was shrouded in the gleam of brass and clouds of white steam. The two colossal drills glinted coldly under the lights. It was no longer a heap of metal; it was a predator waiting to swallow the wastes.
Behind the vanguard engine, the train pulled ten specially reinforced heavy freight cars. Each car was longer and heavier than a standard carriage, modified to be "bloated" to maximize internal space. Though the Pathfinder's terrifying traction could theoretically pull dozens of cars, Kaelia and the engineers limited it to ten for the sake of maneuverability. In the wastes, bulk was a fatal flaw.
Accompanied by piercing alarms and the deafening hiss of high-pressure steam, the hangar doors slowly opened. Thousands of fully armed soldiers in heavy combat gear filed in silently, disappearing into the maws of the carriages. Behind them came the grim-faced engineers, carrying bags of wrenches, welding tools, and alchemical reagents.
Of these thousands, over eighty percent were "Infected"—men and women who knew their bodies were failing and chose to gamble their last days on a final, dignified end. For them, this was a suicide mission, but it was their only chance to prove their worth. The remaining twenty percent were "Volunteers"—those fighting for faith, family, or a flicker of hope.
At the entrance of the first car, Kaelia stopped. She looked at the powerful woman standing beside her—Luria, a Tauren warrior of immense strength. The Tauren were the most numerous tribe in Ironforge and its top-tier aristocracy. Luria, as Kaelia's successor, possessed both the brawn and the prestige to keep the fortress running.
Luria was clad in leather armor, gripping a massive two-handed greataxe. Her eyes were bright with power. Kaelia gave her a genuine smile—the look of someone finally setting down an unbearable burden. She placed an ancient, pitch-black brass key into Luria's broad palm.
"Luria," Kaelia said lightly, the shadows seemingly lifted from her face. "Now, this city... is yours."
She smiled happily, as if the key to supreme power was a release from a cage rather than a prize. The Greyfeather family ended with her; her life and mission would now move toward an unpredictable future in the roar of the Pathfinder.
Luria stared at the heavy key for a moment. Without a word, she stepped forward and wrapped her massive, steel-crushing arms around the relatively petite Kaelia.
Clang!
The hard leather and Kaelia's metal components collided with a dull thud. It was a powerful, almost violent embrace, yet it held a clumsy tenderness. Kaelia was nearly squeezed breathless, but she didn't struggle, simply patting Luria's rock-solid back.
Luria released her, then took the key. Kaelia personally looped the leather cord over Luria's thick neck. The black key stood out sharply against Luria's bronze skin.
"I don't want to be some damned City Lord!" Luria snorted, hot air puffing from her nostrils. "I'm just holding it for a while. When I get bored of it, you'd better be back..." Her large eyes fixed on Kaelia, roaring each word: "Come back alive!"
As their farewell ended, Li appeared once more from the shadows of the pipes. She walked quickly toward Erica, her eyes swirling with complex emotions. Seeing her, Erica's tall frame gave a slight shiver. She lowered her head, clearly anxious about the separation.
Li didn't say much. She reached out and tied a small, shimmering alchemical compass to the bracer of Erica's thick arm. The face of the compass was filled with tiny gears and runes.
"This is the result of my recent tuning," Li said softly. "It stabilizes directions and warns of incoming energy surges. You'll need it out there."
Erica looked up, her amber eyes full of gratitude and longing. In Ironforge, Li was her only friend. Now, she was leaving her behind. Li patted Erica's broad shoulder. "Come back alive." Her voice cracked slightly. "Come back and tell me about the world outside... and the new machines you see."
Erica's nose stung. She nodded vigorously, then lunged forward, pulling Li into a massive hug. The Elf's slenderness and the Centaur's bulk formed a stark but harmonious contrast.
However, Jerry's indifferent voice cut through the air, breaking the mood. "Don't worry. This isn't a permanent goodbye."
His voice was small but carried a prophetic weight. He looked at the engine. As if on cue, the steel beast responded.
"BOOM!"
An unprecedented roar erupted from the core of the Pathfinder. The entire workshop vibrated. Steam surged from every exhaust port with a whoosh, accompanied by the glug-glug of boilers and the scream of biting gears. Then, a shrill, metallic whistle tore through the air—a signal for departure, a beast's roar announcing its awakening.
The massive alloy gates, thick as fortress walls, began to grind open. Gears groaned under the push of oil and steam. The heavy armor plates rose, revealing a sliver of the dark, desolate world beyond. A cold, damp wind rushed in, smelling of a wilderness that hadn't seen the sun in an age.
"URRAHH!"
The train's roar crushed all other sounds. The gate fully opened like the maw of a giant. Jerry leaped nimbly onto the engine's prow. The machine beneath his feet vibrated like a heartbeat. The wind of the wastes blew back his hair.
"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"
With three earth-shaking lurches, the beast surged forward. The momentum jerked Jerry back, but he stood firm at the very front. The train roared out of the tunnel and into the open plains that had been ravaged by the swarm for years.
The air out here smelled of rot and dust. Jerry looked back at Ironforge. The fortress was shrinking rapidly. From this height, it no longer looked like a majestic citadel. It looked bloated, ugly, and gray—a mess of pipes, scrap, and shacks clinging to it like a web. Against the gray plains, it looked like a giant insect egg wrapped in silk, lonely and eerie.
Jerry turned back to the front. Along the tracks, workers scrambled to get out of the way, their faces masks of awe and terror. In the howling wind, their shouts were swallowed by the shriek of metal on metal.
As they cleared the tunnel, the view was unobstructed. The broken earth lay before them. The railway, which should have been straight, looked like a shredded centipede. Tracks were twisted into knots, ripped from the ground, or buried in silt—silent monuments to the carnage of the swarm.
Jerry suddenly spread his arms wide against the gale and shouted:
"Toll the Great Bell once! Pull the levers, start the pistons and pumps!" "Toll the Great Bell twice! Press the buttons, fire the engines, ignite the turbines, and breathe life!" "Toll the Great Bell thrice! Sing in unison, praise the God of all Machines!" "Praise the Omnissiah!"