Snakes and Ladders

[Illidan Stormrage]

The sky above the Pale Moors clouds surpassed anything he'd seen in the dreary verse before. Unhindered by grey sheets of fog blocking it, the sun roared with fire and light, tingling Illidan's wet skin. Pale blue suffused the firmament all around, a calming and sensational hue. Perhaps this is what the verse looked like once, before Dracula and his ilk conquered it, before perpetual misery became like day and night.
 
The clouds rumbled beneath him, the sound following flashes of light that pulsed through the grey. Something darted from the side, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Illidan's veins. He spun in flight, palms facing each other over his chest as green flames crawled around the space between. The moving object screeched towards him, wide leathery wings flapping. The felfire bolt congealed in his hands as he recognised the creature. It was a manbat; what a human might look like if it combined its essence with a bat. Its thick, furry body bobbed in the air in time with the slapping of its wings, with thick arms hanging from its formless shoulders and small legs hanging behind.
 
These creatures were part of the rank-and-file of his soldiers procured from Dracula, but Illidan had no idea why it flew at him. Was it part of the seething rebellion of his castle, waiting for the opportune moment to strike him down? Surely it should realise that a single manbat wouldn't be enough to even pose a challenge to him, let alone a threat.
 
The winged beast screeched. Stormrage hurled his ball of felfire, green flames peeling off as it soared. The manbat barrel-rolled to the side, its wings spiralling around it as the felfire bolt careened into the distance. The beast screeched again, and this time Illidan considered that its objective may not be to attack. Perhaps a sudden assault on Poenari Castle had sprung after he left, and this manbat was the messenger sent to recall their lord to command the defence.
 
The creature clutched a folded square of paper in its claws as it stopped right beside Illidan. It squawked quietly through serrated teeth, its round black eyes staring vacantly. It twitched its massive pointed ears and presented the paper to Illidan. Taking it, the night elf demon unfurled it. A missive covered the white sheet.
 
Illidan Stormrage,
 
Your assault on Darkshire has not gone unnoticed. While the attack was ultimately unsuccessful, it has struck fear into the hearts of the Pale Moors again. Through your efforts, my influence has resurged. To continue this trend, I have selected you to attend Dante's Abyss, a televised tournament where the last standing attendant wins.
 
Destroy your competition and display to the Omniverse the threat that looms above them all. You can sign up in Darkshire.
 
Count Dracula
 
Illidan swallowed. "A death tournament." An interesting idea, though what surprised him the most was that he finally had a communication from Dracula. His attack on Darkshire had been seen favourably despite the inhabitants repelling him. Perhaps just the knowledge that Darkshire's populace had now that meant Dracula's forces could strike at any time was enough for the Count.
 
Participating in such a tournament could be beneficial. After all, the defenders of Darkshire opened Illidan's eyes to the potential foes he could face in the future. If other Primes decided to enter, he could learn valuable information on what other threats existed, and to what extent Illidan should take them seriously. Besides, it was a direct order from Dracula, so best to obey regardless of his own personal feelings.
 
Illidan looked up from the note and tossed it away. "You can go now."
 
The manbat grunted and dived like a stone into the grey mass below.
 
Illidan hugged his wings to his body and plummeted through the clouds. Rain pelted him as he burst back into the miserable plains, spreading wings wide as he headed towards Darkshire.