That his own part in this work had required the sacrifice of others did not in any manner disturb Zendarin. Despite everything, he did not consider his acts heinous in the least. Ambitious, yes. Of necessity, yes... but not heinous. Like so many of his kind, he was driven by the hunger, the need, to seek out magic... at all costs. He considered all he did necessary to achieving that goal.

And that many others would still have to perish in the process was simply a matter that he could not help... not that he cared. After all, they were only dwarves, humans, and other lesser creatures.

The lady in black studied the egg for several seconds, as if able to see within its thick shell. She placed the cerulean cube before the egg. Then, with a smile to the captive leviathan, she ran her long, tapering fingers across the protective layer.

The myatis coating sizzled away.

"Join me, dear Zendarin...."

He eagerly stepped to her side, summoning the magic at his command to blend with hers. It was the very nature of his abilities as a blood elf that made him so precious to her and permitted Zendarin to voice, at least to a point, his frustrations. He brought to the mistress a magic uniquely qualified to aid her, for it was based in the almost vampiric siphoning of power from demons and other denizens of the Twisting Nether. Zendarin was exceptionally proficient in that skill, and thus his might was currently at its height.

It also helped that he had at his command those who brought to him other sources of magical energy. Invaluable servants whom the lady in black could not rip from his control without losing them and him in the process. That was another reason that she tolerated his impatience.

He stood next to her, his hands splayed over the egg in identical fashion to hers. Silently, they linked their magic together, binding it into one unique form. As they did, both the cube and the white crystals burned bright.

Zendarin's companion stretched forth her left hand toward the captive nether dragon.

The white crystals let out a sinister hum. From each emanated a light that struck the nether dragon.

Blue tendrils of energy shot forth from the struggling beast wherever the light of the crystals burned him. Despite the silver strands binding his maw, his agonized moans shook the cavern.

Guided by the sorceress, the blue tendrils dove down, striking the egg in the center. The egg shook and swelled to twice its original size. The shell took on an azure hue.

"Now..." she murmured to Zendarin.

As one, the pair threw their own contributions deeper into the matrix of the spell, mixing them with the stolen forces of the nether dragon. The cavern was suddenly ablaze in a wicked storm of violent energies whose focus was the egg. Although immune from most magic through the skillful work of their mistress, the skardyn scrambled to the farthest corners. Still dwarves at their core, they were rightly wary of a possible collapse of the cavern, but wise enough to know the punishment that they would receive if they fled the cavern at this critical moment.

The air crackled. The sorceress's dark locks rose. The veil also lifted, revealing clearly her savagely-burnt profile. The full lips ended in charred flesh that outlined the permanent smile of a skull. Underneath the upper edge of the veil, the ear proved to be little more than a shriveled bit of skin over a hole.

She raised her hands high, Zendarin matching her actions perfectly. They continued to throw their combined power into the egg as the sorceress tore more and more of the nether dragon's essence from him.

The nether dragon's struggles grew more violent. Futile as his attempt was, it still managed to shake the entire cavern. A huge stalactite cracked free, plummeting to the floor far below. A skardyn too slow to register what was happening was crushed underneath it, a death unworthy of notice or even significance to either spellcaster.

Zzeraku—the blood elf remembered the nether dragon calling himself—shimmered, seeming ready to melt into mist. Yet, the strands holding him prisoner did not permit the Outland beast to even escape to death. They held Zzeraku mercilessly, tightening further at the mistress's silent command.

More and more of the nether dragon's magic—and essence, in fact—poured into the swollen egg, where it continually intertwined with that of the two spellcasters. Zendarln almost expected the egg to explode, so out of proportion had it grown....

And, indeed, one side suddenly developed a crack.

But this did not enrage or frustrate either, for, the next moment, it was clear that the crack was not due to their work, not directly. Rather, the cause could be found within... a cause eager now to be free.

The egg was hatching.

In the glow of the ensorcelled egg, the face of Zendarin's companion was more monstrous to behold than even those of the skardyn. An inhuman quality filled her expression... not surprising, as the sorceress was no more human—indeed, even less so—than the blood elf.

"Yes... my child..." she murmured, almost sounding motherly. "Yes... come to me..."

Another crack developed next to the first. A fragment of the shell fell away—

From within, an eye peered out... an eye such as neither had ever seen.

An eye, despite this being the birth, that spoke of cunning, of evil... far, far more ancient.

The bay that separated the lands of Lordaeron, and Dalaran in particular, from where Grim Batol lay, was wide, but should have taken Korialstrasz no more than five hours to cross. Yet, only midway out, the red dragon was forced to land upon a small rock formation jutting out of the turbulent water and perch upon it like a sea gull while he rested. Korialstrasz could only assume that the sorcerous shaft's crystal head had weakened him more than he had expected.

But he had little opportunity for recuperation, for suddenly a storm assailed him, a tempest of such abrupt violence that the crimson behemoth instantly gave up all notion of rest. Dragging himself into the air, he instead continued on his way.

But the elements were clearly against him, for the storm only worsened. As powerful as he was, Korialstrasz was yet tossed about like a leaf. He immediately headed toward the clouds, thinking to fly above the storm, but though he fought hard to reach them, they stayed well overhead.

And that at last warned the red giant that this storm was not so natural after all.

Rather than struggle to reach the unreachable, Korialstrasz tried a more direct flight toward Grim Batol. The moment he did, the wind exploded from that direction, buffeting him so hard that the dragon felt as if he had struck a mountain.

He did not believe in happenstance. This was a spell, yes, though whether directed at him in particular or merely to hunt a dragon was a question he had no time to answer. What mattered foremost was escaping it.

Logic suggested that he fight magic with magic... and yet, Korialstrasz was not so certain of the wisdom of that. Yet, he could think of no other immediate course. Thus, steeling himself against the raging storm, the red dragon struck at the dark clouds.

No sooner had he done so than he was attacked by a raging hurricane tenfold stronger than before. A barrage of lightning pounded him, and the gale force winds turned the dragon upside down. He could see little past his snout, for the rain fell in a pounding torrent.

And even as Korialstrasz struggled against vertigo, he was painfully aware that it was his own power that had now multiplied the storm's effect... just as the mysterious caster had no doubt intended.

Around and around, the dragon spun. The clouds became the sea beneath and the sea the sky. Korialstrasz saw no choice; he could not reach those clouds. There remained but one alternative, even ifit was likely the one his unseen adversary wished him to take.