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[Illidan Stormrage]

A peal of thunder crashed overhead as Illidan glided towards Darkshire. The tiny hovel had begun reconstruction efforts since the attack. As the rain had eased off, workers had streamed back to the crumbled walls and recommenced restoration of the perimeter. They had made decent progress, more than Illidan had perhaps considered. Some of the houses nearby still suffered damage, from scorched to missing walls, but again there were people addressing the issue.
 
The kaldorei demon wondered how he would be treated when he attempted to sign up for this death tournament. While he didn't take his demonic transformation he was in now during the battle, instead opting for a tank-like variant, the general theme was hardly different; glowing tattoos, blindfold over the eyes, protruding horns, purple skin. The less stupid among the survivors would put two and two together, surely. Stormrage had no desire to battle, especially without an army at his back, but vengeance is a strong and potent drink. Those who had imbibed it too deeply and too readily may not care about Illidan's intentions. He could understand. Vengeance had driven his entire life.
 
His blazing eyes scoured the streets of Darkshire as he soared overhead. Some of the humans had spotted him, pointing at the black creature that watched them ominously from the sky. News would soon spread. Hell, it would surprise him if the alarm didn't go up almost immediately. Humans were known to be jumpy, scared creatures. After his assault on their hamlet, no doubt the survivors were on edge, running from any vague shadow that sported claws and growled.
 
Sure enough, a horn blew. A shrill ringing of bells meshed to form a striking if irritating call to arms. People scattered along the streets, barricading themselves in the nearest building they could find. Others dived beneath carts and boxes. A small contingent of brave humans ran to the barracks to take up weapons and slide on armour to meet the threat.
 
Of course, it was all in their heads, but even if Illidan didn't throw the first punch, there could well be a battle in the town. A battle that the night elf demon likely wouldn't win. He had to find the sign ups for this death tournament and flee. But how did he sign up? Who was in charge of such a thing? Dracula could have stood to be more informative.
 
A stream of soldiers pursued him from below. Illidan slammed his wings and shot off like a bullet, giving him some breathing room from his predators. His hooves touched down on the ground. The footfalls of the approaching army echoed through the street behind him. Illidan's fingers twitched, reacting to the prelude to battle, and he almost summoned his warglaives without thinking. Balling his fists, he fought the urge to pummel those who sought him death.
 
"Hey!" Illidan shouted, touching a clawed finger to his throat and casting a spell to amplify the volume of his voice. "I'm here to sign up for ... Dante's Abyss! I do not want to fight!"
 
The soldiers poured into the square where Illidan had landed. Swords slipped free of their scabbards, shields raised towards the night elf demon, spears thrust forward in a spiky line of defence, and archers in the back notched their bows. Stormrage had expected a full frontal assault, since he stood alone, though after the hiding Darkshire took from him previously, perhaps they were concerned he was playing some sort of trick. In any case, playing it safe, at least for the time being, had saved some Darkshire militia lives.
 
A single soldier walked defiantly through the entanglement of shields and spears. His sword still nestled in its scabbard hanging from his hip, and he made no movement to draw it. His eyes had narrowed to the point that they could have been opened or closed and Illidan wouldn't be able to tell the difference. A five o'clock shadow covered his thick jaw and face.
 
"You ..." he growled in a tired voice. "Haven't you done enough?"
 
Illidan unfurled his fingers in a display of transparency. "I do not wish to fight you. I have come to sign up for this Dante's Abyss and was informed I could do so here."
 
"That's funny," the officer said, walking uncomfortable close to Stormrage. "Because a whole lot of people didn't want to fight you. But they did, because they weren't about to lie down and die like cowards to some piece of garbage vampire monster. But a lot of them did die, defending the little peace that we have built for ourselves here."
 
"And more of them will die if you insist on provoking me," Illidan spat. "I have already made it clear that I am not here to kill."
 
The sword rang in a high, steely note as the officer swept the blade from its scabbard. The narrowness of his eyes vanished as a hard, penetrating gaze rounded them. His lips quivered as he spoke, deep rage struggling through each word. "You killed my brother. You killed my son. You killed my friends. My wife will never walk again. What makes you think that you can just stroll into Darkshire and do whatever you it is you want?!"
 
Illidan knelt down, his fiery eyes level with the officer. "I understand your pain."
 
"Don't try to empathise with me, you sick son-of-a-"
 
"I have felt untold loss in my life as well," Stormrage continued. "I have been abandoned, betrayed, excommunicated, and left for dead. I have a rage that swirls within me that will never be quenched, no matter whom I slaughter to repay debts. It is a sickness - no, a darkness,  that consumes you until there is barely enough light to see."
 
The officer scowled, though the intensity of his hatred had softened to make way for confusion.
 
"If you let it, it will fester inside until it claims you, too. Perhaps one day it will, and you will be driven to madness. Perhaps you will throw away any chance of redemption, of a new life, in order to hunt me down and bury your blade into my heart. And if you did, I would not be angry. How could I be, when vengeance is all I know?"
 
"But listen to me. Release your fury and start a new life, grip it close to your soul until it infects you irreparably, it matters not to me which you choose. But today, if not for your sake -" Illidan pointed over the officer's shoulder and to the men and women arrayed behind him, awaiting the order to strike, "- do not spill any more blood, for their sake. Do not spread the darkness to more of your kin."
 
Tears welled in the officer's eyes as he grimaced, staring directly into Illidan's fiery orbs. The tip of his blade shot up, and the night elf demon tensed. Emotions were fragile and corruptible things, capable of leading a smart man into a stupid situation. If that sword moved another inch towards his violet flesh, it would not be kaldorei blood that would be first spilled.
 
Two well armed men flanked Illidan from either side wielding sleeker versions of those strange gnome blunderbusses he had seen on Azeroth. "Excuse me sir, are you the one who wanted to join Dante's Abyss?"
 
A whirl of black smoke surrounded Illidan and quickly dispersed, robbing the night elf of his demonic attributes and height. "Yes. I was searching for the sign up station until I got into a ... discussion with the local law enforcement."
 
"The mayor assured the Syntech Corporation that all aspiring contestants would be free to join without harassment," one of the guards said, his eyes hidden behind a visor.
 
The soldier sighed abruptly and the point of the sword dropped. "Get on with your business and then get the hell out of Darkshire. Never return again, even if it is to sign up for some death tournament. Do you hear me?! You won't be so lucky next time!"
 
"You're not in a position to make demands," Illidan said as he walked off with the Syntech guards.
 
The kaldorei was led to a small booth. A man in a pressed blue suit sat at a chair, drumming his fingers on the desk. He jumped out of his seat at Illidan's arrival, his hands skimming through the numerous leafs of paper strewn before him. He grabbed a handful, spun them around to face Illidan, and picked a pen out of his front pocket.
 
"Good day sir," the man said, adjusting his wide-lens glasses. "Are you interested in joining Dante's Abyss?"
 
Illidan nodded in the affirmative. "I've gone through enough trouble. It better be worth my while."
 
"For someone as strong as you look, I'm sure you'll find it thrilling," the attendant said, handing Illidan the pen. "I just need you to sign a few waivers. Sign here and here, initial here, over the page ... sign here, here and here, initial here, skip those few pages ... and initial here, here, here, here, here and here, and finally, sign here and initial here."
 
"Enough busywork," Illidan said, dropping the pen. "Let me enter this death tournament already."
 
"Ah, almost ready for you sir. I just need you to fill out a character profile-"
 
"I'm not writing anything more!"
 
The man swallowed. "Ah, well ... how about I ask you the questions and I write the answers down for you? Is that acceptable?"
 
Illidan growled. Since when did a death tournament require so much bureaucracy? "Fine. Let's just get it over and done with."
 
"Thank you sir, now to the questions ... what is your name?"
 
"Illidan Stormrage." He almost immediately annotated 'The Betrayer' to the end, and he was so shocked at how deeply ingrained that was, he growled. The Syntech employee twitched, thinking the agitation was caused by him. Illidan had no desire to correct him.
 
"O-OK ... how long have you been in the Omniverse?"
 
Illidan jetted air audibly through his nostrils. "I don't know. A while."
 
"Right." The attendant adjusted his spectacles. "And where do you live in the Omniverse?"
 
"I'm not in the habit of announcing my location," Illidan said, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I hail from the Pale Moors, I suppose."
 
"Pale Moors, got it. And what's your current profession?"
 
Illidan frowned. "Profession? Like a trade? I do not have one. I'm sure some of the inhabitants of this dingy village would label me a butcher."
 
"OK, butcher ..."
 
"I wasn't being serious!" Illidan shouted. "You want more information, ask the townspeople about my connection with Count Dracula."
 
"Oh, sorry Mr. Stormrage, I misunderstood," the Syntech employee said, the sound of his ballpoint pen scratching over the paper as he crossed out his mistake. "What was your life like back in your old world?"
 
"Which part? The part where my brother-" Illidan slammed his mouth shut. Why was he about to spill his past to this stranger? Had that soldier and his sob story gotten under his skin? He took a deep breath. "Chaos. War. Death. I'm not going into specifics."
 
The Syntech employee made no indication he would pry further. "Good. One last question ... why are you joining Dante's Abyss?"
 
"A simple question. I have a simple answer." Illidan leaned in close. The Syntech employee stiffened. "To show to the Omniverse that Count Dracula is back, and that no one is safe."