01-06-2018, 06:59 PM
Intense heat surrounded Illidan as he floated, suspended in a neon green substance thick and slimy. Fel energy tore through his body. He clenched his teeth and growled as his flesh sizzled and broke, dragging fissures over his skin. And yet the pain was sublime. The dark agony inflicted to the core of his soul felt like red-hot needles being stabbed into every part of his being, and still Illidan craved more. The exquisite torture funnelled with it immense power, filling up every corner of his existence. More demonic magic spilled into him, and soon Illidan was revelling in the anguish it brought.
Yes, Illidan ... drink of our well ...
The night elf sensed the power within him swell, pressing light through the tattoos over his torso. A quiet thought at the back of his mind realised he would soon bring attention to himself as he blasted sickly emerald luminance from the core of the fel crystal high atop Poenari Castle, but it was quickly smothered by the pure bliss of fel magic drowning his soul.
Feel the energy, Illidan ... even more can be yours if you submit to us ...
The demons picked at the edge of his consciousness, plying his delirious mind with more promises of power. As the night elf bathed in their eldritch light, he grew more inclined to hear their words. He clenched his fists and set his back straight, reining in the desire to lose himself in their swirling malevolence. He had spent thousands of years beating back their advances, but marinating directly in a nexus of their influence softened his resolve. The power was glorious.
Declare your allegiance to the Burning Legion ... and all of this and more will be granted to you ... Fight for us and know true power!
“No!” Illidan bit back, his voice swirling in ghostly echoes in his ears. “The power belongs to me ... as does my will!”
But it feels wonderful, doesn’t it? You can sense it soaking into your cuts and wounds, drenching your soul in absolute might ... why would you stop now? Take more!
Illidan did. He siphoned the demonic energy that cocooned him directly into his being. He clenched his teeth at the bloom in his spirit, and yet as the demons took a moment’s respite from their pestering, he found himself wanting to join them. The elixir of the damned weakened the recipient’s resolve regardless of the temptations. Most didn’t need the push from the Burning Legion to partake in evil; the very ‘gift’ drove most power-mad and willing to unleash their newfound strength in any way possible. The demons merely directed that outlet and promised more of it if they followed the will of Sargeras. Eventually, the addiction to the fel would become so great that they would become empty thralls, only experiencing thrills when absorbing or utilising their dark magic.
Illidan wasn’t so weak-willed. He had endured ten thousand years of niggling torment in utter blackness and still hadn’t broken. The sinister whispers never ceased, but they never could convince the night elf of the validity of their promises. Yet as he drowned in fel, waves of vile power rushing over him, their arguments made more and more sense.
Your brother has chastised you for your transgressions and never forgiven you. He even labelled you Betrayer for trying to save your world! Such selfish arrogance is punishable by death! Take this power and smite him!
“Malfurion is short-sighted and pious, but he fights for Azeroth as I did,” Illidan growled back, his sense fighting the hedonistic urges that sprung fresh in the midst of the fel. “We may squabble but he is not worthy of destruction, unlike you and your filthy ilk!”
A surge of agony shot through Illidan’s soul. He screamed in his crystal prison, his body twitching but stuck fast in the emerald substance.
You will submit to us, Illidan Stormrage. Sargeras has seen your turn to our side. Continue to resist and you will endure pain which would obliterate a mortal ... but you will survive it, only to be subjected to it again and again until you crumble!
Stormrage’s pained roar was deadened as a mind-shaking buzz blasted through his ears. His back arched as fel power ravaged his body, though it did not deposit its strength within him; this was solely for torturous machinations.
Have you given up hope yet, Illidan Stormrage?
In the murky, shifting greens before him, a dark silhouette coalesced. It pressed closer to Illidan until the lime light tore the shadows from its form. A dark olive demon floated before him, wings outstretched, cloven feet hovering in the green void. His jagged, chunky teeth were bared in a perpetual grimace, the lips too tight or absent to cover them. His angled brow hid the baleful eyes of the demon in shadow, but Illidan knew who revealed himself.
“Still angry about the stolen weapons, Azzinoth?” Illidan said, chuckling briefly before another current of scorching magic scoured his flesh.
You’re acting quite insolent for someone trapped in our web, Azzinoth said, his teeth locked together. I have you right where I want you. You cannot escape from here. I can torment you for all eternity and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. The promises of power and domination will cease. There is no more hope for you.
A recalcitrant response enlivened Illidan’s tongue but it stilled as Azzinoth brought anguish to the night elf’s soul once again.
Illidan tensed his muscles. Azzinoth was a petty doomguard commander that was part of the first invasion of Azeroth over ten thousand years ago. They battled and Stormrage triumphed, using his commanding knowledge of the arcane to slaughter him. As the demon’s limp body bled on Kalimdor soil, Illidan stole his warglaives for use in the war. The hell-forged steel had never broken or chipped in all the years he fought with them, and a deeper connection to the Twisting Nether existed within it, just beneath the surface.
To be at Azzinoth’s mercy now brought bile to the back of the night elf’s throat. Either the doomguard had massively increased in strength since their fateful meeting, or Illidan was ensorcelled by another’s spell and Azzinoth was taking the opportunity to wallow in the night elf’s pain.
“Gloat all you want, fiend,” Illidan said through gritted teeth. “I’ve resisted the advances of your putrid Legion for millennia and never bowed. I shall not now, especially to a worthless cur like you!”
Agony flooded Illidan’s mind. He roared into the void.
Soon I will walk away from you, Betrayer. I will let your torture continue. I may leave you for a thousand years, maybe ten thousand. You will feel every inch of your being on fire. It will feel like molten lava has replaced the blood in your veins. And when I come back ... you will be a whimpering mess. You will beg me to end the pain, and you will submit to me. And your conquest of Azeroth will begin in earnest in Sargeras’ name. You should never have come here.
“You speak of fantasies which have no hope of coming tr-ahhhh!”
Azzinoth crept closer as Illidan writhed. You will lead the final invasion of Azeroth. Your great power will decimate their armies as you march with a demonic force of your own at your back. Their lands and cities will be razed, their populaces slaughtered. The ground will run in rivers of blood. Flies and buzzards will swarm over the carrion left strewn everywhere.
Illidan’s thoughts went blank. Pain was the only thing he could register. Panic flashed briefly in his thoughts – had he finally pushed himself too far, beyond where he could escape? Were Azzinoth’s words true, and not the trivial boastings of a low class demon?
I can see into your mind, Azzinoth said without words. He opened his jaws and the stench of sulphur stung Illidan’s nostrils. All that you hold dear, all that you fight for ... your people, the night elves. Why would you stand up for them? They abandoned you, damned you for siding with us. They locked you away in a prison to rot for the rest of time. And yet you still want to save them? What useless sentimental drivel!
The words pierced Illidan’s brain and sunk in deeply. Was he right? The pain stopped him from combating them, but he wasn’t sure if they needed to be. The night elves had imprisoned him for trying to fight the true fight – the endless hordes of the Burning Legion that would eventually return. What did a single victory matter when all they did was scoop a bucket out of the oncoming ocean? And yet none of them understood his far-reaching vision, believing his actions were all in the name of securing more power for himself.
Your brother, the great Malfurion ... he never approved of your talent for magic. As soon as Cenarius expelled you from learning the druidic arts from him, Malfurion always acted superior to you. You gave everything for your people and your world and he turned his back on you. He never understood your sacrifices.
No! He’s manipulating the facts ... isn’t he? The rage and pain funnelled into his resistance and broke them, letting the sprinkle of tainted truths settle in Illidan’s mind. Something didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t fight it.
And his precious Tyrande Whisperwind. Do you remember how she betrayed you? How she chose your brother over you? The one who was truly fighting to save your world?
A heat rose in Illidan’s chest, completely divorced from his torture.
She picked the safe option, the cowardly option. She left you alone, to shoulder the burden all by yourself. She feared standing by your side, feared doing the right thing.
Illidan unfurled bent, quaking fingers.
She deserves to be wiped clean from your world for her crimes against you. You loved her –
Illidan lifted his head. Crackling green electricity still surged over his body, but his limbs unlocked, the bones and joints freed. A new mentality overrode the night elf’s mind – one greater than pain or coerced bliss.
No, wait. You LOVE –
Leathery wings tore from Illidan’s back. Horns burst from his forehead. Toes fused together to produce cloven hooves. Muscles ballooned in size.
The night elf demon seized Azzinoth by the throat, cutting off his telepathic communication. The flowing emerald essence surrounding them drew towards Illidan as if green water swirled around a drain. Despite it matching the colour of their surroundings, light blazed from Stormrage’s tattoos and eyes, standing out like a flare in the black of night. His violet skin deepened until it resembled charcoal, intensifying the luminance of his fel attributes.
Azzinoth scratched at Illidan’s hand, his teeth parting to release a strained chortling. Did I find your sore spot, Betrayer?
Power brimmed within Illidan, sublime and horrifying. His mind quietened, supplying a single objective. No demons whispered to him, no agony disabled him – fury and determination broke through both jails and arose to the surface.
“You demons are all the same,” Illidan spoke, his voice several octaves deeper, ringing with a dark echo. “You think you’ve won until the moment you’ve lost. Let me do you a favour, wretch. This is the turning point. Your victory has ended, and your failure has become manifest.”
You think your childish tantrum means anything? I have broken your spirit, and now you will -
Illidan burst forward, still gripping the demon. Azzinoth’s back collided with solidity, but no object was visible in the green liquid. A crack splintered reality, white and shimmering with light along its thin length. Illidan slammed Azzinoth against the crack and it spread like the downpour of a waterfall. White light pierced the green gloom.
Wait! What are you-
Illidan thrust Azzinoth one last time into the epicentre of the cracks and the shattering of a thousand panes of glass consumed them. The demon roared as the reality of the crystal flew around them in spinning jagged shards. Fresh air blasted them both as they fell, careering down the side of a grey castle. Azzinoth struggled all the way down, but all Illidan did was tighten his fingers around his prize.
Azzinoth slammed into the ground, roaring as the air raced from his lungs. Illidan drove his knee into the demon’s chest. The broken pieces of fel crystal rained down on them, tinkling as they shattered on the gravelled ground.
Perhaps for the first time, Azzinoth drank in the new visage of Illidan. His skin had turned to an inky black as smoke rose from his frame. The shining of his emerald tattoos was enough to project light onto the demon’s chest. Illidan knew he had achieved what he had wanted to in the fel crystal, though his attempt had almost cost him his soul. At least he held the perpetrator in his clawed grasp.
Illidan yanked Azzinoth from the ground and shoved him against the castle wall. Thrusting an accusatory finger at him, a black serpent burst from the tip and coiled around the demon. Azzinoth fell, his wings wrapped around his body like a misshapen cape. He wriggled against his restraint but to no avail.
“Stay here,” Illidan said. “I’ll deal with you when the important matters are handled.”
Flaring his wings, Stormrage took off into the air, leaving a trail of smoke behind him. The fel crystal above Poenari Castle shone with emerald light despite the huge chunk that had been torn out of it from the inside. Green steam poured out of the gap like a smoke signal into the dreary Pale Moors sky.
Heads craned upwards as Illidan streaked overhead a stream of skeletons and decrepit undead. Many wielded weapons, ostensibly rushing to the source of the shatter. They were small fish.
The night elf demon skated through the air and plunged through the entrance to the dungeons. His spread wings clotheslined the two werewolf guards, knocking them over effortlessly. As the tunnel restricted in width, Illidan filled his wings with wind and alighted on the floor, sprinting past the cells.
Some still had warriors and mages faithful to Illidan’s cause. Scores of night elves, naga and Broken draenei lifted their weary heads as their master barrelled past them. Illidan skidded to a stop.
“Stand back!” he shouted. He aimed his fists along the line of cell doors and a ripple of the air flew from his hands. The swell of force swung every door of each cell so hard they cartwheeled off their hinges.
His followers climbed to their feet and tentatively examined the frame of the cell where the doors were once attached. Other than a few injuries from battle and perhaps some forceful shoves and strikes from their jailers, they were in good shape.
“Hold until I return,” Illidan said. “We will reclaim Poenari Castle.”
The lack of light did nothing to stop his magical sight detecting his objectives as he dashed into the penultimate floor of the dungeons. The figures in the cells blazed with light in his eyes, their arcane strength unmissable.
“My lord!” Clawfang said, throwing himself against his cage. “You’ve returned! I knew you would come back!”
Lady Vashj twisted her svelte body around at Clawfang’s words and slithered to her cell door, silently nodding her approval.
Torandril, sitting against the wall, leapt to his feet and ran to his door. “My lord, your skin is smoking ...”
Illidan waved a hand, sending invisible tendrils of telekinetic magic into each lock. As they made contact, the locks snapped open with a loud crack.
“Hold it!”
Another figure was present in the hall, one Illidan was surprised he hadn’t noticed before.
“Lavir the Foolish,” Illidan growled.
“How on Azeroth did you get back so quickly?” the blonde blood elf sputtered. “You were gone for less than a minute!”
“Time flows differently in the realms of fel, ‘demon hunter,’” Illidan said. He ran his gaze up and down Lavir and failed to detect a whisker of fel power bleeding invisibly from his body. His two skeleton guards, however, reeked of yellow necromantic energies.
Lavir scowled and stabbed a finger at Illidan. “Get them!”
The skeletons lurched forward, brandishing their swords and shields.
“You send leaves to battle a hurricane,” Illidan spat. Opening a black hand, an emerald fireball burst from his palm and screamed towards the skeletons. The raised dead blew apart, their faded and gnarled bones incinerating to ash before they landed back on the ground. “I warned you they would do little to stop me.”
Clawfang exploded out of his cage. “You will die for betraying our lord!”
“Stay your jaws, Clawfang,” Torandril said. Echoing down the hall came the clapping of dozens of feet on stone. Each second lent strength to the sound. “Let Lord Illidan handle him. We must hold the dungeon lest Lavir receive reinforcements.”
Lady Vashj left her cell to join the other loyal officers of Illidan’s forces. “Do as you will, Lord Illidan. Know that we will keep you safe.”
“I’ve freed our forces that did not change sides,” Illidan said. “See that they get their revenge.”
His liberated retainers rose up the steps to the next floor.
“Hey!” Lavir shouted, his voice echoing in the damp jails. “You think this is over?”
Illidan scowled, parting his smoking lips to reveal daggered teeth. “No. You and I have only just begun.”
Stormrage clawed at the air, mimicking grabbing something. Lavir snapped hands to his neck and grimaced as Illidan tightened his telekinetic hold of the blood elf. Raising his hand, Lavir also lifted into the air. Snarling, the night elf demon swung his curled fingers from side to side, battering Lavir against the wall and the cells repeatedly. He continued as blood broke free from the usurper’s mouth and nostrils. He didn’t stop when he heard the crack of bone breaking as Lavir’s shoulder collided awkwardly with the cell bars.
“Please – stop – this!” Lavir struggled between every collision.
“You stole the command from me!” Illidan roared. “You conspired with Regis to take away everything I’ve worked for! You betrayed me!”
“I’m – sorry!”
Illidan clenched his teeth. The hatred swirled within his core, etching the snarl on his face and keeping it rigid. He bashed Lavir again and again against the cold brick and rusted steel until the blood elf’s head sagged. Grunting, Illidan dissolved the magic and let Lavir flop to the ground.
Lavir’s body shuddered. Blood slinked from cuts on his arms and shoulders and stained his golden hair.
Illidan strode over to his quaking body. He prodded Lavir’s naked torso with a hoof and flipped him onto his back. He could still sense the subtle rise and fall of Lavir’s chest.
“I’m ... sorry,” Lavir huffed, grimacing. “I ...truly ... am.”
“I know you are not a true demon hunter,” Stormrage said menacingly.
“How ...”
“When you brought me the piece of fel crystal and I sensed it through your pocket, you lowered your guard for a moment. I saw surprise on your face. Shock. A demon hunter would know that our cursed vision lets us see sources of magic through objects as long as the magic is potent. You, obviously, did not.” Illidan lent down and tugged Lavir’s blindfold free. Beneath were eyes of flesh, unburning. Small pricks of green light were positioned on the cloth approximately where his eyes would have been with the strip of fabric on. “You did not know because you do not have this sight. You have not endured the ritual.”
Lavir sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right.”
Cries of battle reached Illidan’s ears. “You will explain to me what this revolution was about, and you will do it before my warriors are finished defeating yours.”
“I was going to join you,” Lavir said, still splayed on his back, eyes closed. “I appeared in the Omniverse like everyone else who isn’t a Prime; scared. Soon I heard about the great Illidan Stormrage and thought I would be safe with you. At last, someone I recognised from Azeroth! All I had to do was act the part of a demon hunter and no one would know. I would be protected by your warriors. Part of me even considered becoming a demon hunter.”
“But when I saw the process ... killing a demon and eating its heart ... I couldn’t do it. I was too weak. And I realised, after you attacked Darkshire, that it would only be a matter of time before my uselessness in a fight would be exposed. So when I saw Regis walk away frustrated again after talking to you, I came up with a plan. A stupid plan, a risky plan ...” He coughed and spat blood to the side. “But doing nothing was riskier. Fear makes people do stupid things.”
“I convinced Regis to use me as a rallying symbol. Those that followed you could feel easier by betraying you if they still followed one of their own. I would be a figurehead and Regis would control the army to better Count Dracula’s position in the Pale Moors. He cast an illusion of burning eyes on the blindfold and drew these tattoos so I would look like a demon hunter. Regis promised my safety.”
“But it’s not working. Your forces who joined Regis aren’t happy. They’ve been changing their minds. So Regis sent them to the dungeons. This whole situation has weakened everything.”
Illidan let his gaze roll over the prone blood elf. He was nothing but a coward. He couldn’t blame him for fearing the demon hunter ritual; many brave enough to attempt it didn’t survive it. Lavir just wanted to survive in a world full of horrors dealing death at every turn. These were the people Illidan fought for, whether he would ever admit it. He fought to save worlds from evil, and that included all that lived in them.
“You betrayed me,” Illidan said, tightening his grip on Lavir’s blindfold, trying to convince himself that the yearning for murder was justified. “You damaged my bid for hegemony of the Pale Moors, my quest to oust the darkness, all to cover your hide.”
Lavir opened his green eyes for the first time. “Your ... quest?”
Illidan frowned. “I will defeat Dracula. Do you think I am truly beholden to his will?”
“There’s plenty of rumours about the Betrayer,” Lavir said. “It’s ... hard to know what to believe.”
The demonic pounding in his head ordered him to slay Lavir. His blood had to be spilled to pay for his actions. He deserved to be wiped clean from this world for what he had done to –
She deserves to be wiped clean from your world for her crimes against you, Azzinoth’s past words rang in his ears. You loved her –
Illidan stood in silence as Lavir stared at him. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Wait here. If you are not here when I return, I will hunt you down and make your death unbearable torment.”
The night elf demon stormed up the stairs and towards the din of battle. He reached his forces as they tried to beat back the rotting undead and monsters underneath Regis’ command. The green vapour rising from his eyes intensified.
“All warriors true to Illidan Stormrage – drop to the floor now!” the Betrayer roared.
In unison, his loyal demon hunters, naga and Broken leapt to the side and collapsed on the ground without question. Illidan ripped the blindfold away as fel light blazed from the twin flames on his face.
With a bloodcurdling roar, twin beams of intensely concentrated fel magic burst from Illidan’s eyes, widening to encompass the entire hallway. Screams and bellows drowned beneath the crackling of the emerald columns as Illidan’s faithful flattened themselves to the floor, letting their lord’s attack buzz overhead.
The corridor was blackened and layered with ash when Stormrage ceased his eye beams. His forces stood again and kneeled before their lord.
“We are with you,” Lady Vashj said, bending at the waist.
“You are my long suffering warriors and I thank you for your loyalty and steadfastness,” Illidan said in a rare moment of praise. “But I will not need you to face the traitor in our midst. Protect the castle and kill any of Dracula’s forces you encounter. I will be visiting Regis alone.”
Before his officers could object, Illidan rocketed past them and out of the dungeon, reaching the entrance to Poenari Castle.
“Regis!” the night elf demon shouted. “Your insurrection failed and now I’m coming for you!”
Yes, Illidan ... drink of our well ...
The night elf sensed the power within him swell, pressing light through the tattoos over his torso. A quiet thought at the back of his mind realised he would soon bring attention to himself as he blasted sickly emerald luminance from the core of the fel crystal high atop Poenari Castle, but it was quickly smothered by the pure bliss of fel magic drowning his soul.
Feel the energy, Illidan ... even more can be yours if you submit to us ...
The demons picked at the edge of his consciousness, plying his delirious mind with more promises of power. As the night elf bathed in their eldritch light, he grew more inclined to hear their words. He clenched his fists and set his back straight, reining in the desire to lose himself in their swirling malevolence. He had spent thousands of years beating back their advances, but marinating directly in a nexus of their influence softened his resolve. The power was glorious.
Declare your allegiance to the Burning Legion ... and all of this and more will be granted to you ... Fight for us and know true power!
“No!” Illidan bit back, his voice swirling in ghostly echoes in his ears. “The power belongs to me ... as does my will!”
But it feels wonderful, doesn’t it? You can sense it soaking into your cuts and wounds, drenching your soul in absolute might ... why would you stop now? Take more!
Illidan did. He siphoned the demonic energy that cocooned him directly into his being. He clenched his teeth at the bloom in his spirit, and yet as the demons took a moment’s respite from their pestering, he found himself wanting to join them. The elixir of the damned weakened the recipient’s resolve regardless of the temptations. Most didn’t need the push from the Burning Legion to partake in evil; the very ‘gift’ drove most power-mad and willing to unleash their newfound strength in any way possible. The demons merely directed that outlet and promised more of it if they followed the will of Sargeras. Eventually, the addiction to the fel would become so great that they would become empty thralls, only experiencing thrills when absorbing or utilising their dark magic.
Illidan wasn’t so weak-willed. He had endured ten thousand years of niggling torment in utter blackness and still hadn’t broken. The sinister whispers never ceased, but they never could convince the night elf of the validity of their promises. Yet as he drowned in fel, waves of vile power rushing over him, their arguments made more and more sense.
Your brother has chastised you for your transgressions and never forgiven you. He even labelled you Betrayer for trying to save your world! Such selfish arrogance is punishable by death! Take this power and smite him!
“Malfurion is short-sighted and pious, but he fights for Azeroth as I did,” Illidan growled back, his sense fighting the hedonistic urges that sprung fresh in the midst of the fel. “We may squabble but he is not worthy of destruction, unlike you and your filthy ilk!”
A surge of agony shot through Illidan’s soul. He screamed in his crystal prison, his body twitching but stuck fast in the emerald substance.
You will submit to us, Illidan Stormrage. Sargeras has seen your turn to our side. Continue to resist and you will endure pain which would obliterate a mortal ... but you will survive it, only to be subjected to it again and again until you crumble!
Stormrage’s pained roar was deadened as a mind-shaking buzz blasted through his ears. His back arched as fel power ravaged his body, though it did not deposit its strength within him; this was solely for torturous machinations.
Have you given up hope yet, Illidan Stormrage?
In the murky, shifting greens before him, a dark silhouette coalesced. It pressed closer to Illidan until the lime light tore the shadows from its form. A dark olive demon floated before him, wings outstretched, cloven feet hovering in the green void. His jagged, chunky teeth were bared in a perpetual grimace, the lips too tight or absent to cover them. His angled brow hid the baleful eyes of the demon in shadow, but Illidan knew who revealed himself.
“Still angry about the stolen weapons, Azzinoth?” Illidan said, chuckling briefly before another current of scorching magic scoured his flesh.
You’re acting quite insolent for someone trapped in our web, Azzinoth said, his teeth locked together. I have you right where I want you. You cannot escape from here. I can torment you for all eternity and there’s nothing you can do to stop me. The promises of power and domination will cease. There is no more hope for you.
A recalcitrant response enlivened Illidan’s tongue but it stilled as Azzinoth brought anguish to the night elf’s soul once again.
Illidan tensed his muscles. Azzinoth was a petty doomguard commander that was part of the first invasion of Azeroth over ten thousand years ago. They battled and Stormrage triumphed, using his commanding knowledge of the arcane to slaughter him. As the demon’s limp body bled on Kalimdor soil, Illidan stole his warglaives for use in the war. The hell-forged steel had never broken or chipped in all the years he fought with them, and a deeper connection to the Twisting Nether existed within it, just beneath the surface.
To be at Azzinoth’s mercy now brought bile to the back of the night elf’s throat. Either the doomguard had massively increased in strength since their fateful meeting, or Illidan was ensorcelled by another’s spell and Azzinoth was taking the opportunity to wallow in the night elf’s pain.
“Gloat all you want, fiend,” Illidan said through gritted teeth. “I’ve resisted the advances of your putrid Legion for millennia and never bowed. I shall not now, especially to a worthless cur like you!”
Agony flooded Illidan’s mind. He roared into the void.
Soon I will walk away from you, Betrayer. I will let your torture continue. I may leave you for a thousand years, maybe ten thousand. You will feel every inch of your being on fire. It will feel like molten lava has replaced the blood in your veins. And when I come back ... you will be a whimpering mess. You will beg me to end the pain, and you will submit to me. And your conquest of Azeroth will begin in earnest in Sargeras’ name. You should never have come here.
“You speak of fantasies which have no hope of coming tr-ahhhh!”
Azzinoth crept closer as Illidan writhed. You will lead the final invasion of Azeroth. Your great power will decimate their armies as you march with a demonic force of your own at your back. Their lands and cities will be razed, their populaces slaughtered. The ground will run in rivers of blood. Flies and buzzards will swarm over the carrion left strewn everywhere.
Illidan’s thoughts went blank. Pain was the only thing he could register. Panic flashed briefly in his thoughts – had he finally pushed himself too far, beyond where he could escape? Were Azzinoth’s words true, and not the trivial boastings of a low class demon?
I can see into your mind, Azzinoth said without words. He opened his jaws and the stench of sulphur stung Illidan’s nostrils. All that you hold dear, all that you fight for ... your people, the night elves. Why would you stand up for them? They abandoned you, damned you for siding with us. They locked you away in a prison to rot for the rest of time. And yet you still want to save them? What useless sentimental drivel!
The words pierced Illidan’s brain and sunk in deeply. Was he right? The pain stopped him from combating them, but he wasn’t sure if they needed to be. The night elves had imprisoned him for trying to fight the true fight – the endless hordes of the Burning Legion that would eventually return. What did a single victory matter when all they did was scoop a bucket out of the oncoming ocean? And yet none of them understood his far-reaching vision, believing his actions were all in the name of securing more power for himself.
Your brother, the great Malfurion ... he never approved of your talent for magic. As soon as Cenarius expelled you from learning the druidic arts from him, Malfurion always acted superior to you. You gave everything for your people and your world and he turned his back on you. He never understood your sacrifices.
No! He’s manipulating the facts ... isn’t he? The rage and pain funnelled into his resistance and broke them, letting the sprinkle of tainted truths settle in Illidan’s mind. Something didn’t seem right, but he couldn’t fight it.
And his precious Tyrande Whisperwind. Do you remember how she betrayed you? How she chose your brother over you? The one who was truly fighting to save your world?
A heat rose in Illidan’s chest, completely divorced from his torture.
She picked the safe option, the cowardly option. She left you alone, to shoulder the burden all by yourself. She feared standing by your side, feared doing the right thing.
Illidan unfurled bent, quaking fingers.
She deserves to be wiped clean from your world for her crimes against you. You loved her –
Illidan lifted his head. Crackling green electricity still surged over his body, but his limbs unlocked, the bones and joints freed. A new mentality overrode the night elf’s mind – one greater than pain or coerced bliss.
No, wait. You LOVE –
Leathery wings tore from Illidan’s back. Horns burst from his forehead. Toes fused together to produce cloven hooves. Muscles ballooned in size.
The night elf demon seized Azzinoth by the throat, cutting off his telepathic communication. The flowing emerald essence surrounding them drew towards Illidan as if green water swirled around a drain. Despite it matching the colour of their surroundings, light blazed from Stormrage’s tattoos and eyes, standing out like a flare in the black of night. His violet skin deepened until it resembled charcoal, intensifying the luminance of his fel attributes.
Azzinoth scratched at Illidan’s hand, his teeth parting to release a strained chortling. Did I find your sore spot, Betrayer?
Power brimmed within Illidan, sublime and horrifying. His mind quietened, supplying a single objective. No demons whispered to him, no agony disabled him – fury and determination broke through both jails and arose to the surface.
“You demons are all the same,” Illidan spoke, his voice several octaves deeper, ringing with a dark echo. “You think you’ve won until the moment you’ve lost. Let me do you a favour, wretch. This is the turning point. Your victory has ended, and your failure has become manifest.”
You think your childish tantrum means anything? I have broken your spirit, and now you will -
Illidan burst forward, still gripping the demon. Azzinoth’s back collided with solidity, but no object was visible in the green liquid. A crack splintered reality, white and shimmering with light along its thin length. Illidan slammed Azzinoth against the crack and it spread like the downpour of a waterfall. White light pierced the green gloom.
Wait! What are you-
Illidan thrust Azzinoth one last time into the epicentre of the cracks and the shattering of a thousand panes of glass consumed them. The demon roared as the reality of the crystal flew around them in spinning jagged shards. Fresh air blasted them both as they fell, careering down the side of a grey castle. Azzinoth struggled all the way down, but all Illidan did was tighten his fingers around his prize.
Azzinoth slammed into the ground, roaring as the air raced from his lungs. Illidan drove his knee into the demon’s chest. The broken pieces of fel crystal rained down on them, tinkling as they shattered on the gravelled ground.
Perhaps for the first time, Azzinoth drank in the new visage of Illidan. His skin had turned to an inky black as smoke rose from his frame. The shining of his emerald tattoos was enough to project light onto the demon’s chest. Illidan knew he had achieved what he had wanted to in the fel crystal, though his attempt had almost cost him his soul. At least he held the perpetrator in his clawed grasp.
Illidan yanked Azzinoth from the ground and shoved him against the castle wall. Thrusting an accusatory finger at him, a black serpent burst from the tip and coiled around the demon. Azzinoth fell, his wings wrapped around his body like a misshapen cape. He wriggled against his restraint but to no avail.
“Stay here,” Illidan said. “I’ll deal with you when the important matters are handled.”
Flaring his wings, Stormrage took off into the air, leaving a trail of smoke behind him. The fel crystal above Poenari Castle shone with emerald light despite the huge chunk that had been torn out of it from the inside. Green steam poured out of the gap like a smoke signal into the dreary Pale Moors sky.
Heads craned upwards as Illidan streaked overhead a stream of skeletons and decrepit undead. Many wielded weapons, ostensibly rushing to the source of the shatter. They were small fish.
The night elf demon skated through the air and plunged through the entrance to the dungeons. His spread wings clotheslined the two werewolf guards, knocking them over effortlessly. As the tunnel restricted in width, Illidan filled his wings with wind and alighted on the floor, sprinting past the cells.
Some still had warriors and mages faithful to Illidan’s cause. Scores of night elves, naga and Broken draenei lifted their weary heads as their master barrelled past them. Illidan skidded to a stop.
“Stand back!” he shouted. He aimed his fists along the line of cell doors and a ripple of the air flew from his hands. The swell of force swung every door of each cell so hard they cartwheeled off their hinges.
His followers climbed to their feet and tentatively examined the frame of the cell where the doors were once attached. Other than a few injuries from battle and perhaps some forceful shoves and strikes from their jailers, they were in good shape.
“Hold until I return,” Illidan said. “We will reclaim Poenari Castle.”
The lack of light did nothing to stop his magical sight detecting his objectives as he dashed into the penultimate floor of the dungeons. The figures in the cells blazed with light in his eyes, their arcane strength unmissable.
“My lord!” Clawfang said, throwing himself against his cage. “You’ve returned! I knew you would come back!”
Lady Vashj twisted her svelte body around at Clawfang’s words and slithered to her cell door, silently nodding her approval.
Torandril, sitting against the wall, leapt to his feet and ran to his door. “My lord, your skin is smoking ...”
Illidan waved a hand, sending invisible tendrils of telekinetic magic into each lock. As they made contact, the locks snapped open with a loud crack.
“Hold it!”
Another figure was present in the hall, one Illidan was surprised he hadn’t noticed before.
“Lavir the Foolish,” Illidan growled.
“How on Azeroth did you get back so quickly?” the blonde blood elf sputtered. “You were gone for less than a minute!”
“Time flows differently in the realms of fel, ‘demon hunter,’” Illidan said. He ran his gaze up and down Lavir and failed to detect a whisker of fel power bleeding invisibly from his body. His two skeleton guards, however, reeked of yellow necromantic energies.
Lavir scowled and stabbed a finger at Illidan. “Get them!”
The skeletons lurched forward, brandishing their swords and shields.
“You send leaves to battle a hurricane,” Illidan spat. Opening a black hand, an emerald fireball burst from his palm and screamed towards the skeletons. The raised dead blew apart, their faded and gnarled bones incinerating to ash before they landed back on the ground. “I warned you they would do little to stop me.”
Clawfang exploded out of his cage. “You will die for betraying our lord!”
“Stay your jaws, Clawfang,” Torandril said. Echoing down the hall came the clapping of dozens of feet on stone. Each second lent strength to the sound. “Let Lord Illidan handle him. We must hold the dungeon lest Lavir receive reinforcements.”
Lady Vashj left her cell to join the other loyal officers of Illidan’s forces. “Do as you will, Lord Illidan. Know that we will keep you safe.”
“I’ve freed our forces that did not change sides,” Illidan said. “See that they get their revenge.”
His liberated retainers rose up the steps to the next floor.
“Hey!” Lavir shouted, his voice echoing in the damp jails. “You think this is over?”
Illidan scowled, parting his smoking lips to reveal daggered teeth. “No. You and I have only just begun.”
Stormrage clawed at the air, mimicking grabbing something. Lavir snapped hands to his neck and grimaced as Illidan tightened his telekinetic hold of the blood elf. Raising his hand, Lavir also lifted into the air. Snarling, the night elf demon swung his curled fingers from side to side, battering Lavir against the wall and the cells repeatedly. He continued as blood broke free from the usurper’s mouth and nostrils. He didn’t stop when he heard the crack of bone breaking as Lavir’s shoulder collided awkwardly with the cell bars.
“Please – stop – this!” Lavir struggled between every collision.
“You stole the command from me!” Illidan roared. “You conspired with Regis to take away everything I’ve worked for! You betrayed me!”
“I’m – sorry!”
Illidan clenched his teeth. The hatred swirled within his core, etching the snarl on his face and keeping it rigid. He bashed Lavir again and again against the cold brick and rusted steel until the blood elf’s head sagged. Grunting, Illidan dissolved the magic and let Lavir flop to the ground.
Lavir’s body shuddered. Blood slinked from cuts on his arms and shoulders and stained his golden hair.
Illidan strode over to his quaking body. He prodded Lavir’s naked torso with a hoof and flipped him onto his back. He could still sense the subtle rise and fall of Lavir’s chest.
“I’m ... sorry,” Lavir huffed, grimacing. “I ...truly ... am.”
“I know you are not a true demon hunter,” Stormrage said menacingly.
“How ...”
“When you brought me the piece of fel crystal and I sensed it through your pocket, you lowered your guard for a moment. I saw surprise on your face. Shock. A demon hunter would know that our cursed vision lets us see sources of magic through objects as long as the magic is potent. You, obviously, did not.” Illidan lent down and tugged Lavir’s blindfold free. Beneath were eyes of flesh, unburning. Small pricks of green light were positioned on the cloth approximately where his eyes would have been with the strip of fabric on. “You did not know because you do not have this sight. You have not endured the ritual.”
Lavir sucked in a deep breath and let it out. “You’re right.”
Cries of battle reached Illidan’s ears. “You will explain to me what this revolution was about, and you will do it before my warriors are finished defeating yours.”
“I was going to join you,” Lavir said, still splayed on his back, eyes closed. “I appeared in the Omniverse like everyone else who isn’t a Prime; scared. Soon I heard about the great Illidan Stormrage and thought I would be safe with you. At last, someone I recognised from Azeroth! All I had to do was act the part of a demon hunter and no one would know. I would be protected by your warriors. Part of me even considered becoming a demon hunter.”
“But when I saw the process ... killing a demon and eating its heart ... I couldn’t do it. I was too weak. And I realised, after you attacked Darkshire, that it would only be a matter of time before my uselessness in a fight would be exposed. So when I saw Regis walk away frustrated again after talking to you, I came up with a plan. A stupid plan, a risky plan ...” He coughed and spat blood to the side. “But doing nothing was riskier. Fear makes people do stupid things.”
“I convinced Regis to use me as a rallying symbol. Those that followed you could feel easier by betraying you if they still followed one of their own. I would be a figurehead and Regis would control the army to better Count Dracula’s position in the Pale Moors. He cast an illusion of burning eyes on the blindfold and drew these tattoos so I would look like a demon hunter. Regis promised my safety.”
“But it’s not working. Your forces who joined Regis aren’t happy. They’ve been changing their minds. So Regis sent them to the dungeons. This whole situation has weakened everything.”
Illidan let his gaze roll over the prone blood elf. He was nothing but a coward. He couldn’t blame him for fearing the demon hunter ritual; many brave enough to attempt it didn’t survive it. Lavir just wanted to survive in a world full of horrors dealing death at every turn. These were the people Illidan fought for, whether he would ever admit it. He fought to save worlds from evil, and that included all that lived in them.
“You betrayed me,” Illidan said, tightening his grip on Lavir’s blindfold, trying to convince himself that the yearning for murder was justified. “You damaged my bid for hegemony of the Pale Moors, my quest to oust the darkness, all to cover your hide.”
Lavir opened his green eyes for the first time. “Your ... quest?”
Illidan frowned. “I will defeat Dracula. Do you think I am truly beholden to his will?”
“There’s plenty of rumours about the Betrayer,” Lavir said. “It’s ... hard to know what to believe.”
The demonic pounding in his head ordered him to slay Lavir. His blood had to be spilled to pay for his actions. He deserved to be wiped clean from this world for what he had done to –
She deserves to be wiped clean from your world for her crimes against you, Azzinoth’s past words rang in his ears. You loved her –
Illidan stood in silence as Lavir stared at him. “What are you going to do to me?”
“Wait here. If you are not here when I return, I will hunt you down and make your death unbearable torment.”
The night elf demon stormed up the stairs and towards the din of battle. He reached his forces as they tried to beat back the rotting undead and monsters underneath Regis’ command. The green vapour rising from his eyes intensified.
“All warriors true to Illidan Stormrage – drop to the floor now!” the Betrayer roared.
In unison, his loyal demon hunters, naga and Broken leapt to the side and collapsed on the ground without question. Illidan ripped the blindfold away as fel light blazed from the twin flames on his face.
With a bloodcurdling roar, twin beams of intensely concentrated fel magic burst from Illidan’s eyes, widening to encompass the entire hallway. Screams and bellows drowned beneath the crackling of the emerald columns as Illidan’s faithful flattened themselves to the floor, letting their lord’s attack buzz overhead.
The corridor was blackened and layered with ash when Stormrage ceased his eye beams. His forces stood again and kneeled before their lord.
“We are with you,” Lady Vashj said, bending at the waist.
“You are my long suffering warriors and I thank you for your loyalty and steadfastness,” Illidan said in a rare moment of praise. “But I will not need you to face the traitor in our midst. Protect the castle and kill any of Dracula’s forces you encounter. I will be visiting Regis alone.”
Before his officers could object, Illidan rocketed past them and out of the dungeon, reaching the entrance to Poenari Castle.
“Regis!” the night elf demon shouted. “Your insurrection failed and now I’m coming for you!”
![[Image: illidansig2.jpg]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2017/07/07/illidansig2.jpg)