Richard Knaak: The Demon Soul

And even if the night elves held the invaders in check or pushed them back to the very gates of Zin-Azshari, none of their success would matter if the portal stayed open and the Highborne and demons managed to strengthen it further. A thousand thousand demons could perish and the night elves could storm the palace itself…but all would be for naught if Sargeras stepped through to their world. He would sweep away their army with a wave of his arm, a glare of his eyes.

That, in itself, made the decision for Krasus. The others gathered with him, he declared the only thing that might be done to stave off what appeared almost inevitable.

“Ravencrest was wrong,” he insisted, defying the memory of the dead, “and Stareye is blind. Without an alliance of all races, Kalimdor—the world—will be lost.”

“But Lord Stareye won’t speak with them,” Jarod pointed out.

“Then we must do it in his place…” The mage eyed each of them. “We cannot count on the dragons for now…if ever. Korialstrasz has gone to see what has become of them, but I fear that as long as Neltharion holds the disk, they can do nothing. Therefore, we must go to the dwarves, the tauren, the furbolgs…and we must convince them that they should help those who disdain their assistance.”

Rhonin shook his head. “The other races may see no reason to ally themselves with ones who’d almost as much as the Burning Legion prefer to see them all wiped out. We’re talking centuries of enmity, Krasus.”

The thin figure nodded grimly, his gaze shifting to the direction of the unseen capital. “Then, if that is the case, we will all die. Whether by the blades of the Burning Legion or the malevolent power of the Demon Soul, we will all surely die.”

No one there could argue with him.

Malfurion was the only one of the group not in attendance; these past few days, he had been on a hunt. It had started with a plan, a desperate plan, and there had been only one he could consider mad enough to join him on it. The druid wanted to go after Tyrande, still perhaps rescue her from the demons’ evil. Only one other among the thousands in the host might see the matter in the same light as he and Malfurion had spent all this time searching for his intended partner in this suicidal quest of his.

But of his brother, Illidan, he could find no sign.

At last, he dared approach the Moon Guard. Pretending to merely ask for his twin’s counsel on the upcoming advance, the druid sought the audience of the most senior of the sorcerers.

The balding night elf with the thin beard looked up as Malfurion neared. While the Moon Guard still did not trust his calling, they respected the terrifying results of his spells.

“Hail, Malfurion Stormrage,” the robed figure said, rising. The sorcerer had been sitting on a rock, reading a scroll that no doubt contained some of the arcane knowledge of his own craft.

“Forgive me, Galar’thus Rivertree. I come seeking my brother, but I can’t locate him.”

Galar’thus eyed him uneasily. “Has word not been passed on to you?”

Malfurion’s tension mounted. “What word?”

“Your brother has…disappeared. He went riding to investigate the volcanic regions created by the dragon…but never returned.”

The news left the druid incredulous. “Illidan rode out there alone? No bodyguard?”

The sorcerer bent low his head. “Can you think of one of us who could stop your twin, master druid?”

In truth, Malfurion could not. “Tell me what you know.”

“There is little. He rode out the night after the storm settled with the promise that he intended to return before daylight. Instead, two hours after night ended, his mount returned without him.”

“Was there—how was the beast?”

Galar’thus could not look at him. “The night saber looked ragged…and there was some blood on him. We tried to trace it to your brother, but much magic still radiates the area. Lord Stareye said—”

“Lord Stareye?” Malfurion grew more upset. “He knows, and yet I wasn’t told?”

“Lord Stareye said that no time could be wasted on one certainly dead. Our efforts must be made for the living. Your brother rode out of his own accord. I’m sorry, Malfurion Stormrage, but that was the commander’s decision.”

The druid no longer heard him. Malfurion turned and fled, stricken by the new loss. Illidan dead! It could not be! For all the differences between him and his twin, Malfurion had still loved his brother deeply. Illidan could not be dead…

Even as he thought that, a shiver ran down his spine. Malfurion halted, staring not at anything nearby, but rather inside himself.

He would know if his twin was dead. As sure as he felt the beating of his heart, Malfurion felt certain that if Illidan had perished, the druid would have known. Despite the evidence, Illidan had to be alive.

Alive…The druid eyed the smoldering lands, trying to sense beyond them and failing. If Illidan was out there…then where exactly was he?

Malfurion had the horrible feeling that he knew…

The stench of the ravaged city did not in the least disturb the cloaked and hooded rider as he rode slowly along the ruined avenue. He eyed the overturned tree towers and crushed homes with mild, analytical interest. The corpses so very slowly rotting away he looked at almost with disdain.

His mount suddenly growled and hissed. The rider immediately clutched the two tentacles he held tight, forcing the felbeast to move on despite its reluctance. When the huge, demonic hound did not do so at a sufficient pace, the rider unleashed a wave of black energy that, instead of feeding the vampiric creature, filled it with awful pain. The felbeast quickened its pace.

On and on through the dead city, the hooded figure traveled. He sensed many eyes watching him, but chose to do nothing. The guardians were of no interest to him; if they let him be, he would do the same.

His reluctant mount, which he had seized two days outside of the city, slowed again as it came to a crossroads. This time, however, the rider knew that the felbeast slowed not because of reluctance, but because it knew that its brethren were closing.

They would not leave him be. They intended a trap.

They were fools.

The three Fel Guard charged him from in front. With their brutal, horned visages and blazing weapons, the giants presented a formidable sight. But they were not, he knew, the true threat.

From the ruins on each side of him, a felbeast eagerly leapt at the supposedly distracted prey. Their tentacles reached out hungrily as they prepared to feast on this naive spellcaster.

He sniffed, disappointed with their ambush. With one quick tug, he tore a tentacle from his mount, ensuring that it would understand not to join the effort. As the felbeast howled, he tossed its appendage at the three warriors.

The bloody tentacle stretched out as it flew at the trio, turning into a sinewy noose that snared all three around the waist. The bestial warriors tumbled forward, ending in a pile of limbs.

Even as the tentacle left his hand, the rider glanced at the felbeast coming from his right. The demon suddenly howled and burst into flames. It dropped several yards short, its burning corpse quickly adding to the thick odor permeating the area.

The second monster collided against his mount. The new felbeast’s tentacles adhered to the chest and side of the rider and the creature began to feast.

Rather than devour the hooded figure’s magic, however, the felbeast instead found itself feeding its prey. It frantically tried to remove its suckers from his body, but he would not permit it to do so. The felbeast began to shrivel, its skin sagging on its very bones. A creature of magic, it was almost entirely composed of energy that the rider now absorbed.