Siege of Darkshire - Spearhead [PvP - Great]

[Illidan Stormrage]

Pain echoed through his body. Blood ran in streams from freshly gorged flesh, wetting his fingers and loosening his grip on his glowing warglaives. A bolt of lightning shone in the liquid pooling near his feet. Illidan breathed deeply through his nostrils, the tang of copper suffocating the rancid stench of the plagued knight. He furrowed his brow, fighting the wave of calm that flooded his body. Gritting teeth, he blinked and focused on the two obstacles in his way.
 
The diseased warrior, despite the slashes inflicted upon his rotting flesh with demonic steel, found some cursed way to sew that parted skin together right before Illidan's coruscating eyes. Whatever foul corruption laid waste to his bones must have kept him upright, though such necromancy only fuelled the Lord of Outland's hatred for him. A warrior that doesn't have the good manners to die when impaled through the stomach? Undead filth.
 
In his trance, the kaldorei had failed to notice another powerful combatant enter the fray. Black fabric hugged his head and body, though the robe did not cover the crimson chest plate that flashed ruby with the lightning. He'd taken advantage of Illidan's single-mindedness, finding too many openings in his form while the night elf dealt with the putrescent soldier. His eyeless gaze cast about him, searching for reinforcements capable of dealing with the newcomer, but none revealed themselves. Skirmishes played out all around him; even the rank and file had more pressing matters than to attend to their commander. Maybe it was the loss of blood, but Illidan didn't feel furious about that.
 
But his fury mounted as two blades scythed towards him. With a heave, Illidan deflected both swings from his body, though even the block rang in his bones like a bell. He was on the back foot, and he couldn't see a way to change that situation. Even his demon form, lithe and brimming with dark power as it was, would be difficult to call upon and maintain with his myriad wounds. Options were scarce.
 
"Your vaunted crusade was doomed before it began ... vermin," the plagued knight wheezed, speaking through lungs that sounded ravaged and torn.
 
Damn this position! How could he let himself be exposed like this? Where had this ... this weakness come from?
 
A memory rose from the depths of his mind, perhaps called on for purpose, perhaps a freed thought bobbing into view from a declining mind.
 
"And if I take this new power into me, my weakness will be gone?"
 
"Once mixed with your demonic magic in that skull, it vanished completely. I've turned your greatest weakness into a strength. But can I make a suggestion? If you do imbibe it, do it during battle. I promise it will be much more satisfying."
 
Illidan's ubiquitous sight fell upon the Skull of Gul'dan clasped to his hip. Black steam licked the air through empty sockets. The power inside raged, screamed like some wild animal caged. Did he have any other choice?
 
I hope you weren't lying to me, old man.
 
Stabbing a warglaive into the ruined battlefield, Illidan reached for the orc skull. An arc of silver nicked his wrist, awakening a new sting. The night elf recoiled, seeing the black-cloaked soldier closer upon him than he should've been. "You won't be touching that."
 
A hot fury burst in Illidan's chest, cementing his teeth together. It took a supreme effort to stop them from shattering against one another. "You will not deny me this!"
 
A small orb of emerald light coalesced in Illidan's hand. The robed knight took affront to this, charging forward with sword raised. The orb glinted, signifying its completion, and Illidan thrust it at his opponent. Sailing over the battlefield, it collided with the plagued knight easily; apparently both his adversaries expected the attack to be aimed at the cloaked one. The night elf clenched his hand and pale green light enveloped his target, immobilising him. Swiping the air with his fist, Illidan hurled the armoured undead through the air, using his rotting girth as a projectile. He collided with the sword wielder, knocking both of them heavily to the tainted earth.
 
Illidan knew his spell was little more than a diversion, but it was all he needed. Seizing the skull at his hip, the night elf funnelled the fumes through his nostrils, sucking it deep into his lungs. The acrid magic burned within his chest, burrowing into his organs from the inside and crawling throughout him. Illidan dropped the skull and fell to his knees, his throbbing wounds forgotten in a sea of invasive demonic magic.
 
He watched black and green vapour spool out of the skin of his hands, clawed in the mud. A surge of pain lanced down his spine, causing him to arc like a howling wolf. Flesh broke at his shoulders, forearms and jaw line as sharp protrusions lanced outwards. Muscles twitched and bulged as dark strength pooled into them, thickening his frame in every place.
 
Illidan roared, his voice a deep and guttural growl.
 
The monstrous agony ebbed away. Illidan panted, sweat and blood slinking down his face. What had happened? The sensation had all the hallmarks of his demon form transformation, but this was not it.
 
Standing on new hooves, the night elf caught sight of himself in a dirtied puddle. He loomed over his old height. Calcified spires of blackened bone jutted from his shoulders and forearms like spiked armour, and his jaw like a thorny beard. In fact, his entire skin was rigid and inflexible, as if a thin sheen of steel covered him. Ram horns stabbed out from his forehead, much less audacious than his demonic form. His broad arms brimmed with unholy strength.
 
He looked like a night elf Fel Guard.
 
Illidan snarled as his two enemies climbed to their feet, animalistic rage swirling in his mind. His wounds no longer bothered him, nor did his restraint.
 
"You foolish heathens stand before oblivion!"

997 words according to MS Word. Used Confine. -2 SP for using Felguard Form for this round. 2/4 SP remaining.