-11- The Sound of Death

The room resembled an apothecary's workplace. White tiles covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. Dissection tables and tool drawers were scattered along the walls. But that's where the similarities ended, and the horrors began. It smelled of death, rightly so considering there was blood everywhere. Large explosions of gore, lakes of dried blood on the floor, and sometimes it seemed as if the blood had been intentionally spread. Guro'jintal could see dried handprints pocketing random portions of the walls. He looked at the ceiling, and gulped deeply rather than contemplating how some of the patterns had managed to appear as they did.

But the greatest atrocity sat atop a raised platform in the center of a room. A man was strapped to the table by his wrists and ankles. He appeared unconscious, but that didn't make his predicament any better. Standing atop a stool with its back to them was a small figure.

"A final test! That's all I ask for! And what do I get? NOTHING! I am left with a vessel, but nothing more! USELESS!"

The little humanoid turned around. He was a sight to behold; his form was pale and gaunt, and he had a faint tremble that could have been his sanity trembling beneath the weight of oppressive madness. His eyes were yellowed and bloodshot, yet alive with activity all the same. The bloody apron and the scalpel, clutch in his bloodsoaked operation gloves, made him look like a butcher from hell.

And he was. Guro'jintal knew that this was the mad scientist himself, Fabrovus Marx.

Fabrovus appeared to have been on the verge of unleashing his anger upon the helpless man, but through the haze of his fury he had managed to catch sight of the intruders. His eyes drew across each of the Trolls and Iyana in turn, studying them like a researcher would a lab animal. And then he calmly turned around and placed the scalpel back on the bloody tray. The clatter of metal ringing upon metal broke a tense silence, sufficing to break the ice before Fabrovus began to speak in a hushed, sinister tone.

"Well," his voice was raspy with premature age. He sounded like death. "Perhaps all is not a failure. Perhaps nothing is. This might still work! Your timing could not have been better."

"Fabrovus Marx," spoke up Guro'jintal, lowering his weapon and stepping forward. The others watched him carefully, noting the two Scourge automatons that sat at the base of the platform, unmoving but focusing the hollow stare of their skulls upon Guro'jintal nonetheless. "There's no need to go through with this. You've done enough. You need to rest."

The Gnome appeared to be weighing Guro'jintal's words. He focused his gaze again. "Perhaps...it is complete, theoretically. I have the leisure to spare..."

His tiny, frail head suddenly shrunk to the side, as if avoiding the lecture of an angry parent. His eyes retreated to his feet. "No...no...not enough time...more tests..."

"The tests are unnecessary. Your work is done, Fabrovus. You don't--"

"NO!" shouted Fabrovus. "My work is never done! NEVER! Always more experiments, more compounds. Work is never done!"

He pointed an accusing, twitching finger at Guro'jintal. "You...you are trying to stop me, aren't you?"

Guro'jintal remained silent, though his eyes didn't leave Fabrovus.

The Gnome gave pause before speaking agian. "I...I don't blame you."

"It's what you want, isn't it, Fabrovus? You want us to stop you."

When the Gnome looked at Guro'jintal, the Troll saw a hint of the former scientist in his eyes. A righteous, brilliant man that would have laughed at what he had become.

"You've read my diary. Then you already know the answer. And you know what must be done."

The moment crumbled and Fabrovus scared eyes were back. He turned around in a flash, and was facing them again with a beaker of glowing red liquid. The Trolls recognized it as Serum 146. And before they could react, Fabrovus had poured the entire thing into his mouth, and drank with depth that would make a Dwarf blush. The sat stunned for a moment, until the Gnome's terrible laugh shook the walls.

Hirojata squeezed the trigger of his crossbow. The shot was perfect, landing in the square of the Gnome's chest and knocking him off his feet. He was launched off of the stool and fell behind the platform. Simultaneously the twin Scourge knights drew their blades and shambled towards them. Guro'jintal dispatched one with a swift slice across the throat of one, and finished off the other with the first's giant broadsword while it was distracted by Alojin and Hirojata.

And in the moment, Guro'jintal felt relief. Mission accomplished. Then he remembered the Human prisoner who was still strapped to the table. He turned and began to walk toward the table.

A shout from Iyana was all the warning he had. He saw the table too late, and managed to escape most of the blow but was flung aside as it plowed into his side. He slid across the floor, feeling blood soak his arms and hip and hoping it wasn't his own. But there were no wounds. He only had enough time to consider this as a table came swiftly towards him. This time he had the preparation to move safely aside. And then he saw Fabrovus Marx re-emerge from behind the platform.

Proportionatly, he had nearly tripled. The tiny Gnome was now as nearly tall as an Elf, and his shoulders were almost as wide as a Tauren's. Corded muscle bulged on his arms and legs, threatening to pull him apart. A vicious snarl was wrought upon his face, and there was nothing left of the crumbling sanity in the Gnome's eyes. Only madness.

"Do you see this Troll? This is power. All the power you could ever imagine. Soldiers of war, indestructible!"

Fabrovus looked down at the arrow still embedded in his chest. He grabbed the shaft of the bolt and pulled it free without so much as a flinch. Guro'jintal gulped down a stone that had lodged in his throat.

"With such power as this, the Lich King cannot fall! All life will be crushed in the name of Undeath! Glory to the Lich King!"

They watched the enlarged Gnome silently, flexing the grip on their weapons as they waited for the inevitable. Fabrovus looked at them as if noticing them for the first time.

"Ah...but you resist, still. Come, join the glorious King of the Frozen North. Testify your devotion, and bathe in his power. Combined with Serum 146, nothing will stand in your way."

Guro'jintal shook his head. "It will never happen, Fabrovus. I won't allow it. We won't allow it."

The Gnome smiled evilly. "Then you shall be His, even if you've already stopped breathing."

Fabrovus twisted around, swiping a bonesaw from the pile of tools. Alojin and Wotam fired their crossbows instinctively, landing hits on the Gnome's back. But then he turned back clutching the weapon as if nothing had happened, the evil grin still on his face. With a monstrous cackle he drove the blade down the middle of the restrained Human. He was immediately roused from his slumber in time to see his blood spray everywhere, and began convulsing. Meanwhile, Fabrovus licked the blood away from around his mouth, chuckling maniacly. Then in a single leap from his empowered legs he cleared the platform and soared through the air toward Guro'jintal.

The Troll had already planned his point of entry. The bonesaw was in Fabrovus' right hand, and would surely cut diagonally across. He would dart hard left and push his dagger into the nape of the Gnome's neck. He exhaled deeply, and everything slowed down. Fabrovus was coming at him, and now he was coming at Fabrovus, head on. The distance closed. The Gnome was ten feet away, and his feet were at Guro'jintal's head height. Five feet away, and then Guro'jintal broke left, hard. But then the Gnome had pulled his left hand across, something the Troll hadn't expected. But it was too late, he was already ducking left...

Right into Fabrovus' waiting backhand. The blow stung, and stunned Guro'jintal into momentary black out. When his vision came back he was on the ground. Sound returned a second later. He turned toward the cacophany of battle, pain enveloping the left side of his face. He saw the bone saw shining in the light of the room, and then it disappeared. There was a scream, and then there was blood. All at once Guro'jintal felt his stomach tense.

He had miscalculated. And as he watched, Fabrovus punished him for his failure by slicing Wotam into three pieces. The monster spun about and nearly cut Alojin in two, but the Troll brought his spear up in time to deflect the blow and break his weapon in two in the process. Fabrovus shouldered his way through the Troll and attempted to take off Iyana's head, but the lithe Elf was faster, and leapt completely over the Gnome while lashing out with her daggers at the same time. She was rewarded with a roar of pain, or perhaps anger, as the monster was momentarily distracted by the blades that were now protruding from his shoulder blades. He managed to yank one out before Hirojata and Jakazul descened on him with their weapons, Hirojata bringing down his axes with relentless vigor and Jakazul cutting endless strokes with his saber. The rage was flowing through their veins, and nothing could stop them.

Nothing, besides death, perhaps. Fabrovus jerked away from the blows, but though they split his skin and let blood, he ignored them for the most part. He ripped the second dagger out and threw it aside, focusing his attention on the Trolls. With his left hand he grabbed Hirojata and tossed him aside like a rag doll, and with the bonesaw he dueled Jakazul. The Troll matched his blows, but gave ground in the process. Guro'jintal knew in the end, Jakazul would lose. He ignored the flash of pain ringing in his skull and sprinted toward the pair, his dagger gripped tightly in his right hand. With a snarl he leapt onto the Gnome's back and began to repeatedly stab him. Fabrovus growled menacingly, lashing out with a foot and sending Jakazul flying several feet. With one hand he grabbed Guro'jintal by the collar of his harness and lifted him into the air and onto his back. The blow knocked the wind out of the Troll and exploded stars onto his vision. If that wasn't enough, Fabrovus picked him and and threw him across the room. Guro'jintal collided with one of the metal experiment tables and remained motionless on the floor. The pain was unbearable.

When he could lift his head, he saw Jakazul come at Fabrovus with his saber again, but with sloppy form. His swings were wild and his movement was completely erratic. The Blood Rage had consumed him to such a point that he lost all method and reason. And Fabrovus, insane but not deranged, saw his chance. He swept the Troll's blade aside, and drove the bonesaw into Jakazul's chest. He paused for a moment, letting the stunned Troll understand that his death had arrived.

Guro'jintal thought he saw Jakazul's blood-drenched eyes look at him for a scant second. Suddenly the old Troll was filled with anger. It was his fault that Wotam had died. And it was his still that Jakazul would meet his end. The anger coarsed through his blood like the Rage, though it was a renewing force rather than an intoxicating one. Fabrovus ripped the bonesaw upward, splitting Jakazul from chest to shoulder.

Then the veil was lifted. Everything appeared sharper. Guro'jintal could see the mold growing in between the tiled floor. He could smell the different strains of blood and tell the Human from the Elf, and the Dwarf from the Orc. He could see each individual muscle pulsing on Fabrovus, trace each beat of his black heart as it pumped blood through his system.

He broke into a sprint. Despite the pain, he pressed on. He shut it out, like many times before as he had been trained. Adrenaline flowed through his veins as wholesomely as blood, driving him into an invigorated state of strength. It was no Blood Rage, but the driving spirit of a Troll warrior. He saw the Gnome lift the bonesaw into the air, aiming to cleave the advancing Troll in two. As it came down Guro'jintal dug his feet in and threw his hands up, catching Fabrovus by the wrist. Their muscles flexed and tensed as they strained to outlast the other, and then the Gnome's arm was locked in a stalemate.

Then something clicked. Guro'jintal momentarily took the weight into his right arm and released his left. He brought his fist in an arc and collided squarely with the Gnome's extended elbow. Bone erupted at an unnatural angle as the monster's arm was broken, and with a roar of pain he tried to crush the Troll with his remaining good hand. Guro'jintal interlocked his fingers with Fabrovus' and twisted violently, calmly acknowledging the rupture of cartilage and splitting of the Gnome's wrist bones. What followed was a blur. Guro'jintal renewed his stance, coming down hard on the Gnome's right kneecap with his knuckles. It dislocated, and the pain alone drove him to one knee. The Troll moved--no, he glided--past the Gnome's useless right arm, wrapping his right arm around his neck and cupping his chin with his left. In a swift re-positiong of their weights, Guro'jintal lifted Fabrovus over his back, and as he was coming down on the other side, tightened his gripped and jolted upward brutally.

His heightened sense of hearing made the resounding crack echo several times in the space of the room. Then Fabrovus Marx fell limply to the floor, his neck cleanly snapped.