Arcane Missiles, Arcane Barrage, Arcane Explosion, and Presence of Mind combined with Flamestrike.
Standing behind the Stormrage brothers to provide support, Rhonin demonstrated to the world what a true magical turret looked like.
Krasus, who was temporarily hanging back, kept a distracted eye on the portal's movements. The increasingly intense fluctuations caused even the well-traveled Krasus's heart to race.
The terrifying pressure emanating from the other side of the portal made his entire body tremble uncontrollably as he stared directly at it. This was an instinctive fear that he, as a dragon at the top of Azeroth's food chain, had never experienced before.
"There's no mistake. It must be Sargeras. He is beginning his attempt to cross the portal."
The chaotic melee was giving Andreas a massive headache. Neltharion was gradually suppressing the four Dragon Aspects with his superior strength, and his predatory gaze would occasionally flicker toward their direction.
Illidan and Rhonin could only hold back the Eredar elite's charge for a short time. If this continued, it was only a matter of time before the demons broke through the defensive line.
Stray arrows flying wildly across the battlefield prevented Andreas from finding a suitable window to charge the Dragon Soul. Eredar warriors, unafraid of death, constantly broke through the lines to launch attacks at him as he held the artifact.
"This can't go on!"
Andreas looked anxiously at the boiling Well of Eternity. Krasus wasn't the only one who could feel the instinctive dread. Every soul present, whether demon or Night Elf, clearly realized that Sargeras was attempting to bypass the defenses set by the Pantheon in the ancient past to enter Azeroth.
"We need to delay Sargeras's entry into Azeroth while simultaneously dealing with the Eredar. Everyone, please buy me the time I need to activate the Dragon Soul!"
Broxigar Saurfang—an orc veteran who had survived since the days of the Old Horde.
To carve out a new home for the Horde after the destruction of their homeland, he and his brother, Varok Saurfang, had slain countless Alliance soldiers. He had even committed acts that betrayed orcish honor under the corruption of demon blood.
Broxigar was a man of iron will. While he felt guilt for his past crimes, for the sake of the Horde, he harbored no regrets. As he aged, Broxigar felt his physical functions declining rapidly; he was losing his qualification to be a warrior.
In orcish tradition, a warrior should die gloriously on the battlefield; dying of old age in a sickbed was nothing short of a disgrace. However, in the time before Broxigar and Rhonin were transported here, the Alliance and Horde had just worked together to repel the Burning Legion, paying a heavy price to kill the overwhelmingly powerful Archimonde.
Broxigar had luckily survived the inferno of Mount Hyjal. With the Alliance and Horde in a temporary truce, neither side intended to provoke a war. In the short term, he had no way to honorably end his life on the battlefield.
Having been accidentally sent back to the War of the Ancients, Broxigar firmly believed this was an opportunity granted by his ancestors. He had a powerful premonition that the moment of glory he had sought for so long would be realized here.
Still slaughtering demons in their ranks, Broxigar was jolted by Andreas's words. Wiping the green blood from his face, he took several heavy breaths.
Time spared no one. The aging Broxigar could no longer match the stamina of his prime, but his experience was far richer than during his impulsive youth. This experience was his greatest asset in surviving the battlefields of Hyjal.
He turned to look at the portal. In the center of the frame composed of Fel energy, within the pitch-black hole leading to an unknown space, something seemed to be beckoning him.
Ancestral spirits... has the moment finally arrived?
Taking a deep breath, Broxigar cleared the nearby demons with one last Whirlwind and jumped back out of the fray, drawing a startled look from Rhonin.
"Broxigar?"
Though Rhonin and Broxigar belonged to opposing factions before arriving in this era, as a Dalaran mage, the unconventional Rhonin had always cared little for factional divides.
Over the past few months of companionship, Broxigar had proven that he was no cold-blooded butcher, but a warrior who truly held honor in his heart. Based on Rhonin's understanding, the old warrior was not one to flee the battlefield. His current actions gave Rhonin a dark premonition.
Broxigar turned toward the Well of Eternity and spoke in a flat tone, "Rhonin, Krasus, and Priestess Tyrande... it has been an honor to meet and know you on this final journey."
Tyrande, who had been trapped in her own internal conflict, was startled by Broxigar's words. She looked in surprise at the orc whose words carried the weight of a final farewell.
When Broxigar first arrived in this era, the Night Elves had treated this never-before-seen green-skinned outsider as a monster, locking him in a cage. It was Tyrande who convinced her people to release him.
Broxigar, a man who clearly distinguished between gratitude and grudges, had held a sense of appreciation for Tyrande since then. He wanted to repay her kindness, and now was the most appropriate time.
He hoisted the oak war axe, blessed by Cenarius, onto his right shoulder and gave a carefree wave with his left hand.
"I am heading out to pursue my final glory. Everyone, please make sure you survive this cataclysm."
Rhonin finally realized what the old orc intended to do. "Wait, Broxigar!"
"Rhonin." Krasus placed a hand on Rhonin's back, forcing him to continue facing the battlefield. "Don't look back! Fulfill your mission. You know Broxigar's character and you know what he has always sought. Let him go."
Broxigar gripped the oak axe tightly, his massive muscles tensing. His powerful thighs suddenly exerted force as he leaped high toward the center of the portal, beginning the final Heroic Leap of his life.
"Lok'tar Ogar!"
Watching Broxigar charge into the portal with his axe raised high, the emotional Rhonin's eyes quickly became bloodshot.
"Dammit!"
Under Krasus's lead, Rhonin vented his fury upon the demons of the Burning Legion. Instant Pyroblasts and a sky-covering Arcane Barrage temporarily suppressed the momentum of the Eredar sorcerers.
Andreas witnessed the final moment of the Horde hero. He remained silent for a few seconds before offering a prayer in his heart.
May you return to the embrace of your ancestors as you wished.
His gaze swept to Tyrande. Seeing her look of indecision and hesitation, Andreas, having just sent off a hero, felt a surge of anger.
Mannoroth continued to close in, tanking Malfurion's countless lightning strikes, and was on the verge of reaching the Well of Eternity. If this valiant general were allowed to break through Malfurion's magical lockdown, it was a question whether everyone present combined could defeat him.
"Catch!"
Andreas suddenly threw the Dragon Soul to Tyrande. While she was scrambling to maintain her balance, he closed the distance and snatched the Tears of Elune from her neck.
"Since you don't dare to risk using the Tears of Elune, I will do it. The task of activating the Dragon Soul is yours."
Without another word, he poured his own Shadow energy into this Pillar of Creation. Stimulated by the external energy, the Tears of Elune immediately began to greedily drain energy from Andreas's body like a whale swallowing water.
"You're not joking, are you?!" Xal'atath's incredulous voice suddenly echoed in Andreas's mind. "Even though this artifact has a powerful amplification effect, the energy it absorbs is no joke. If you can't hold out..."
"I know," Andreas gripped the Tears of Elune tightly. Feeling his energy being amplified within the artifact as it was drained, he spoke with a determined expression, "But some things simply require someone to stand up and do them! Just like the choice Broxigar made."