Good Intentions

[Jim Raynor]

The necromancer peered at him with yellowed, sunken eyes. A thin veil of white hair hung over his sight, almost reaching the top of his bulbous nose. He gripped the pulpit with long, gnarled fingers, nails chipped and ridged. He stared at Illidan with the utmost contempt, his dried lips parted, his breath wheezing out through a gap in his teeth.

Illidan sensed great necrotic energies swirling around the dark practitioner. Pale yellow light suffused his frail, lanky body. He may not be a physical threat, but his command over the undead magicks was indisputable.

"You," he said, sneering. "You dare trespass here?"

You? He recognised Illidan? The night elf realised it all at once. "You're the one that sicced those corpses on me when I first got here, aren't you?"

The corner of the necromancer's lips tweaked for a second before collapsing. "Yes. Thought you were some pretender. Still not convinced I was wrong."

"Indeed?" Illidan said, scrunching his nose. "And my presence here doesn't make the opinion easier to form?"

The sickly man shook his head. "You may be a threat to me, to reach me here ... or you may be a foolhardy jester, here to entertain me for a time before I raise you up in service of my lord."

Apparently necromancy rots the brain. Another reason to abstain from the horrid practice. "You will find me the former, you miserable piece of filth."

The necromancer shoved the pulpit over, his book fluttering as it fell. His pallid hands shone with a sickly yellow glow. "Is that so? Perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your ability ... before I show you mine."

The woman in the cage sobbed, the chain around her ankle clanking.

"Silence!" the dark mage rasped. "I will ensure your demise will be more agony than you can endure if you don't shut up!"

In a flash Illidan's hands found his bucklers and he sprinted down the aisle. The necromancer turned back just in time to see the night elf airborne, blades extended from his bucklers, two green lights penetrating his blindfold.

Despite his ostensible frailty, the necromancer reacted with incredible speed. He threw his hands out and a yellow shockwave battered Illidan backwards, shattering the glass windows still intact. The lord of Outland flipped in mid air and landed gracefully on his feet.

"I will not waste my time on the likes of you! Not when we're so close!" the necromancer yelled. He thrust his hands out and a bolt of pulsing yellow energy flew forward.

Illidan parried the magic attack with one warglaive, redirecting it into the wall behind him where it detonated, blowing the bricks away. In a fluid motion, he spun from the parry, lined up his target, and hurled the warglaive with all his strength. It carved a straight and true line towards the necromancer. The evil mage's eyes widened but ducked in time for the spinning weapon to embed deeply in the back wall with a loud twang.

He stood again, eyes wild, teeth bared. "What do you hope to gain here, you simpleton? Killing me won't stop Lord Dracula's plan! It is already set in motion! If I'm gone, he'll simply summon another to complete my task! He may even bring me back from the dead! You can't stop the undying army by killing them!"

What a fool. Arthas was undead and he never returned after Illidan killed him. He must have been babbling because he saw the grim spectre of death on the horizon. Such were the worthless and feeble; ever frightened of their demise, unable to prevent it.

"Stop your churlish boasting. What are you doing here?" Illidan cried out, leaping onto the dais.

The necromancer fell onto his back, crawling away from his adversary. "You will rue your decision to come here!" He then flipped over, head buried in his hands as if he could will Illidan away by hiding his eyes from him.

Illidan scoffed. Such cowardice from a supposedly powerful mage. "I have little patience for your kind. Speak now or I will end you, and I will find out the information from some other pathetic weakling."

The earth shook beneath his feet, almost bringing him to one knee. Illidan shot a glance over his shoulder. "Report!"

Joni was closest to the chapel door. He was rising to his feet, using his warhammer as an aid. "No idea. Earthquake?"

"Any undead?"

"None!"

More quakes followed the first, jostling the candles, rattling the cage. The woman squeaked at each vibration as the church grew darker, flames petering out as their wax towers teetered over. The necromancer kept his head to the ground, no longer acknowledging Illidan's existence.

"Enough games!" the night elf roared. He grabbed the necromancer's hood and hoisted him to his feet, where he stood weakly. His cowl removed, Illidan saw the pale, filmy skin beneath, almost all of his tiny veins embossed through it, a sparse crown of hair to cover it. He spun the pathetic excuse for a man around to meet his eyes, and they were rolled back in his head.

Dead? That didn't seem likely. "I am through with this childish silence!" Illidan poised his warglaive for the coup de gras. "You will die, and I will find out what I need from another!"

"Illidan!"

The night elf craned his neck backwards. Falstan stood at the door, eyes wide. "We've got a whole mess of trouble coming our way! Run!"

Before Illidan could inquire further, Falstan ducked out of the doorway and out of sight.

Another earthquake interrupted, but Illidan was done with stalling. It was time to do what he did best.

An ear splitting boom knocked Illidan to the ground. Bricks and tiles crashed atop him. He bounded to his feet as soon as he was able, kicking away debris. He looked up. The entirety of the chapel roof had been ripped open.

And a godless behemoth stared down at him, yellow eyes blazing. Illidan had seen nothing like it in his life. It was a giant built solely of corpses and skeletons. Its thick, corded muscles throbbed with the undead still possessing skin, while its fingers and knuckles were constructed out of crudely entwined bones. Its head was perhaps the most ghoulish thing about it; instead of one large skull, it was a ghastly collaboration of hundreds of skulls, smashed and pieced together like a terrifying jigsaw puzzle.

"You are wrong!" it blasted in a deep, throaty voice. "Death comes for you!"

The building sized fist hurdled towards Illidan. He dove forward as the punch plowed into the church floor. Snatching the warglaive still embedded in the wall, Illidan bounded out of the church as the follow-up punch obliterated the second portion of the building.

The night elf landed atop the spire of the chapel, the last section still able to stand. A quick survey of the town revealed two important facts; the first being that there was now an even bigger sinkhole in the centre of the village, and that his crew were outside the town walls, watching the undead leviathan as it sized up its foe.

"Building a giant undead brute underground all this time?" Illidan remarked. "Those pesky Darkshire humans giving you too much hassle? Seems like a lot of effort for a such a small resistance."

Illidan was already airborne as the spire crumbled into pieces, the horrid mega-undead's fist extended into it. How was he going to handle this? For some reason, he couldn't call upon his spells since he came to this Omniverse plane of existence. He had tried a handful of times while in the Nexus, but nothing had come. No fire, no lightning, no ice. He could still feel the connections to his magical source, but he just couldn't pull the power down the lines. His Twin Blades of Azzinoth would not make a whole lot of difference in this fight; he needed something more.

If only he still had the Skull of Gul'dan. The intense demonic strength that relic preserved ...

I thought you were turning over a new leaf. Already lusting after the Burning Legion's collar?

No. He was going to do this right. Somehow ...

"This isn't just a vehicle for Darkshire's enslavement!" the necromancer boomed from within the horror. "Once Lord Dracula has dominion of this wretched verse, I will be the vanguard of the entire Omniverse's doom! Nothing will stop me!"

Dammit. What the hell could he do against such an almighty opponent?

Illidan sprinted down the alleyway. The lumbering mega-undead chased after him, massive legs powering after him, the individual corpses writhing with every step. Buildings broke against its body like waves on the shore. As fast as Illidan was, his foe's strides were unfortunately long. He couldn't outrun it forever, nor could he wear it out before he suffered from fatigue himself.

No! He had to win this! There must be some way!

Punches and heel slams came quick and fast, cratering the earth as Illidan dodged deftly away. The mega-undead moved with a speed completely removed from its size, and possessed raw strength unmatched by his opponent. Illidan could only run, the village slowly being pounded into a memory as he hoped his mind would invent some brilliant scheme to prevail.

But with every fist that scarred the ground, with every buffet of wind from a close call, Illidan's patience strained. His muscles joined in as well, complaining about the extra effort they put in just to keep him alive, all the while his mind finding dead-end solutions. Illidan's fury compounded moment over moment, until he couldn't think straight anymore.

He turned mid stride, slid backwards on his heels, and hurled himself into the air. His thoughts were no longer his own. "You dare hound the Lord of Outland around like some common dog?! I am Illidan, your superior! You will not mock me a moment longer!"

The raging haze fled as Illidan realised something quite unusual; he floated in the air. Returning to himself, he quickly discerned the reason. His wings had sprouted! His wide, leathery wings!

But ... he didn't have the Skull of Gul'dan any more! His fingers dabbed at his forehead. No curled horns. His eyes dropped to his feet. They were not cloved. Yet his wings beat, keeping him aloft. Somehow in his fury, he managed to summon them. Now if he could only pinpoint how he -

A bone battering ram crashed into Illidan, sending him soaring over the village.

The night elf awoke moments later on the ground, trampled buildings surrounding him. He couldn't remember the flight, nor hitting the ground, but the memory of the mega-undead's fist finding him distracted in the sky came racing back. Everything ached. In fact, Illidan supposed the burning fire in his chest meant that a few ribs were broken. He carefully rose to his feet, noting that his wings remained.

The gargantuan plodded closer, each footfall rumbling the earth. "It appears the Lord of Outland is about to be dethroned."

His inner tormentor laughed. Just like when Maiev Shadowsong finally claimed her quarry. Another failure to add to the unending list.

Illidan didn't care about his pain any longer. He didn't care about his self imposed restrictions on powers. Fury welded into his chest and channeled into his mind. There was one way he knew he could obliterate his opponent, and he didn't care what it cost.

He darted into the sky as if he had never been without his wings at all and landed upon the mega-undead's shoulder. As the monstrous hand lifted to swat the night elf bug, Illidan thrust his hand into the arm, and a green light pulsed down the length of the ghastly appendage. A second later, the undead comprising the arm disconnected entirely from each other, spilling onto the ground like the limb had become liquid. The bony fingers that reached for Illidan crumbled and fell. Even the disjointed undead did not rise. Illidan's fel magic had made sure of that.

"No!" the necromancer roared. "No! You can't do this!"

Illidan snarled. "I am Illidan, master of the Burning Legion! You will bow down to me, or you shall be vanquished!"

He swooped to the other shoulder, repeating the same step. The second arm exploded with bodies and fell apart.

Enough games. Illidan dug both hands into the neck. The green light thrummed and the mega-undead went rigid. The winged night elf pushed off the shoulder as the towering giant fell. As it impacted with the ground, it shattered into the thousands of undead that once were bound tightly together, spilling into the streets unmoving. Illidan flapped above, his magic sight searching for the blip of power he knew still remained.

He spotted it in a single skull and dived on it, clasping it in his hands.

"No!" the skull screamed."You've ruined everything! All the months it took to plan, the bodies we collected ... you just ..."

"Unravelled it," Illidan interrupted. "Undead magic is the product of the Burning Legion. Wherever it is you source it in this plane of existence, it seems there are many similarities. The right pulse at the right place nullifies it."

"You are a fool!" the skull yelled back. "Don't you see the power Lord Dracula possesses? You would hold onto your vaunted Burning Legion, whatever that is, when you have witnessed but a portion of his strength? You could be conquering the whole Omniverse in his name!"

Illidan was ready to argue back, but there was something tragically intriguing about what he said. Dracula had the power and resources to pool this juggernaut together almost unopposed. If Illidan had a sip of such strength, imagine the heights he could reach! The people he could save! Why, he could turn Dracula's own power against him! The fools of Darkshire didn't even have a plan on how to end the threat once and for all; they would be content fighting off raiding parties for the rest of their miserable lives. They couldn't comprehend such a strategy, nor would they have the fortitude or bravery to undertake such a dangerous operation.

Indeed, wasn't that how Illidan had operated since the first war? Given the immense energy of Sargeras, he used it to combat the very armies that were fueled by that same power. How destructive it had been, how unstoppable! No druid would ever understand, especially his muddled brother.

Illidan, on the other hand ...

"Speak plainly, necromancer. If you tell me how I can access this Dracula's power, I will spare you."

"Yes!" the skull said excitedly, yellow flaring in its eye sockets. "All you have to do is present yourself to the castle bearing two tokens of your sincerity; a woman or child, alive, and the head of a Darkshire soldier."

Simple. A woman remained caged within the ruins of the chapel, assuming she hadn't died when it collapsed. And there were four Darkshire soldiers nervously awaiting him outside the walls ...

"You've been most helpful."

Illidan squeezed the skull as it screamed, shattering it into a handful of bone. The necromancer's yellowed spirit rose out of it and thinned into nothingness.

Now was the time for Illidan to shine.