Good Intentions

[Jim Raynor]

Illidan folded his wings back as he stepped around the lifeless bodies splayed all around him. It was an alien feeling, his leathery appendages. He excelled at using them, having possessed them for a number of years before his final battle in Outland, but to use them in this pre-demon state was strange. Welcome, of course. Any edge to his battle style was welcomed.

Illidan almost tripped over a corpse as he wended his way through the abrupt mass graveyard. He hid it well from the talking skull, but the strength it took to unspool the dark magic stitching the gargantuan together had not been an infinitesimal amount. The exertion he spent just trying to stay alive before his strategy had only compounded the matter. Still, he had a mission to accomplish.

Dracula had to die, and what better way than to take his dagger and thrust it into his back?

You'll have to give that woman to him. And kill one of your little friends, too. Your perception of 'good' is getting murkier by the minute. Why don't you just capture Darkshire yourself and be done with it? We both know that's what you really want to do.

Was that true? Was he moving further and further from the new path he had chosen for himself? Handing over the living in order to gain more power for himself? Malfurion would never do that. Tyrande would never do that.

Bah! What did they know? They never forgave him. They were relics of a past era, stuck in their antiquated ways. Life sometimes had to be sacrificed in order to protect it. That was what war was all about, after all. Soldiers died at the behest of their commanders, never choosing the moment of their demise, only happy to give all they had to protect their world.

In this instance, Illidan would be the one making battlefield promotions. Once he had Dracula's power, his reign of tyranny would come to an abrupt end. What were two lives in service of hundreds, maybe thousands? Nothing. They were nothing.

If you say so, Betrayer.

The night elf strolled up to the crumbled ruins of the church. Most of the structure had fallen onto the first half of the aisle, leaving the dais comparatively unscathed. Broken brick and glass surrounded the top half of a dirtied cage. Illidan sensed the woman within. She was alive, although weak, and she had air supply. She would keep.

He turned to the hole in the outer wall as the Darkshire scouts wandered through, eyes wide.

"I don't know where to begin," Falstan said. "That Dracula could twist undead bodies together like that is beyond any nightmare I could imagine."

"How can we fight something like that?" Joni said. "What if he's building more of them?"

"Then we've got Illidan here to help us," Eyra said, folding her arms. "Oh, you have wings now."

"Not exactly something I can do easily," Illidan replied. "Nullifying necromancy on that scale is ... draining. Besides, there will never be another one of those monstrosities ever again if I can help it."

"How can you guarantee that?" Barland said sarcastically. "You didn't even know that this one was here. You're full of hot air."

And to think, Illidan thought, I was having trouble deciding who would be the sacrifice.

"Just ... how did you do that?" Falstan asked. "Not something most Primes would know how to do."

Illidan humphed. "My history isn't up for discussion."

Barland motioned to Illidan. "What about those bat wings on your back? Off limits too?"

Illidan barely kept a lid on his anger. What an intrusive boor. "Barland. Get over here and help dig out this woman. The rest of you, ensure the town is secure. We may have missed something."

"I don't take orders from you!" Barland snapped. "Only Falstan can-"

"Just do what he says," Falstan said, exasperated. "Not everything has to be an argument."

Barland grumbled something under his breath, muffled by his thick beard. He followed Illidan over the pile of rubble and to the silver top of the cage. A gap about two centimetres high let the imprisoned woman enough air to breathe, but she slumped against the bars, small rocks littering the inside of the cage. Illidan could sense the woman lived, but Barland was too dense to know.

"We've got to get her out right now!" Barland said.

Illidan eyed him with disdain, but the soldier couldn't tell. One advantage of having no eyeballs meant only his facial expression could give him away. "You get started. I need a moment to rest."

In truth, he did. He was still recovering from his ordeal, and he needed to recuperate as fast as possible for what he was about to do.

He looked out over the demolished village. The other three scouts waded out into the sea of corpses, kicking a body here or there, making sure one wouldn't jump out at them. They kept their eyes away from Illidan, ostensibly trusting him. It made sense, though. The night elf decimated an impossibly massive foe with, at least in their eyes, little effort. Without Illidan, everyone would've been in dire peril.

Ironic.

"You gonna help yet or what?"

Illidan turned back to Barland. He'd done quite well with the short time he had to dig. Three quarters of the cage was visible now. A strong enough pull from its top would likely dislodge the rest of the debris surrounding it.

Now it was time to take the path that would save Darkshire.

With Barland still crouched in the brittle brick and soot, Illidan took one of the bucklers from his belt and extended the blades. The bearded buffoon didn't react. Good.

Illidan swept the warglaive across Barland's neck. He stopped moving, still crouched, and his head slipped forward until it tumbled from his shoulders.

It was done. The night elf grabbed Barland's decapitated head by his scraggly beard, fingers dripping with blood, and clawed his fingers into the metal, forging a crude handle contoured around his hand.

"Illidan ... no ..."

The three scouts returned, weapons drawn. Illidan recognised the hurt look in their eyes.

Betrayal.

"How could you?" Joni said.

"Tell me where Dracula's castle is, and I will spare the rest of you," Illidan said.

"You do work for Dracula after all," Eyra said. "Barland was ..." Her voice broke, but she recomposed herself. "Barland was right not to trust you."

Illidan unfurled his wings. "This needn't end with all of you dead. I have what I need. Point me in the direction and I will leave."

Joni's eyes burned with rage. "Help you?! Come down here and I'll show you what we do with traitors!"

Traitors? Didn't these imbeciles see that what he was doing was for the benefit of all? "You fool! Once I taste Dracula's power, I will turn it on him! I will end the threat to Darkshire once and for all! These two lives will save countless more!"

"Don't believe a word he says," Eyra said, eyes wet, lips tight. "Dracula's henchmen'll do whatever it takes to kill us all."

Falstan drew his greatsword. "You deceived us, Illidan. We can't let you go."

Illidan couldn't fight them. He hadn't recovered yet from destroying the mega-undead. He barely had the strength to fly out of the ruined village as it was. A battle here would be ill advised.

"So be it." Illidan spread his wings and launched into the air, soaring away from the squad who had once been his allies.

Illidan the Betrayer. You will never be anything else.