William King - Illidan

“When we overcome the pit lord, most of his fel orc lieutenants will support us,” Illidan said. “They follow the strongest, and we will have shown that their faith in Magtheridon was misplaced. Such summoned demons as remain within the temple will be bound in fealty to me, or they will die their final death.”

Vashj nodded. “Cut off the head and the body falls,” she said.

“You will slay Magtheridon, Lord?” Akama asked.

Illidan allowed himself a cruel smile. “We shall do much worse than that,” he said.

“And what would that be?” Akama spoke slowly. Illidan heard the doubt in his voice. Clearly, Akama had reservations about what they were doing.

“You will need to wait and see,” Illidan said.

“As you wish, Lord,” Akama said. “So shall it be.”

“Then let us be about our business,” said Illidan. “We have a world to conquer.”

The doorway to the throne room slid open. The stench of demon assaulted Illidan’s nostrils. Flames leapt around Magtheridon’s throne of bones. The pit lord loomed more than five times the height of a blood elf, a centaur-like creature with two arms and a quadruped lower half, as massive as a dragon. Magtheridon’s legs were like the columns supporting the roof of some ancient temple. They lifted his underbelly so high that an elf could walk beneath it. In one huge hand, he held a glaive as long as the mast of an oceangoing ship, weighty as a battering ram. Flanking him were two gigantic, batwinged doomguard, each almost as tall as their master, and a force of lesser demons. Illidan sensed their power and their hostility.

The pit lord turned his burning eyes upon Illidan. When he spoke, his voice was deep and guttural. “I do not know you, stranger, but your power is vast. Are you an agent of the Legion? Have you been sent here to test me?”

Illidan laughed. “I have come to replace you. You are a relic, Magtheridon, a ghost of a past age. The future is mine. From this moment on, Outland and all its denizens will bow to me.”

The pit lord lumbered forward, raising his gigantic glaive. The earth shook beneath his tread. “I will crush you like the insect you are. I will feast upon your pulped flesh and devour your soul with it.”

He spoke with the overweening self-confidence of one who thought his might was unchallengeable. His demonic bodyguards advanced. Illidan sprang, warglaives scything through the air to bite into demon flesh. His blow slashed the arm from a felguard, forcing the creature to drop his axe. A heartbeat later Illidan’s left-hand warglaive sliced his opponent open from neck to groin.

Illidan’s own forces advanced into the fray. The doomguard were mighty, but they were few. Buffeted by the spells of Kael’thas and Vashj and surrounded by assailants, the doomguard were slain like bears being dragged down by a pack of hounds.

Illidan bounded forward to confront Magtheridon himself. The pit lord’s huge glaive crashed down, biting into the stone where Illidan had stood. He was already away, rolling between the lord of Outland’s columnar legs, hamstringing each of the front ones with a double swipe of his blades. The pit lord roared with fury and struck again. Illidan tumbled forward under his foe’s belly, drawing forth ichor with his strikes. He vaulted onto Magtheridon’s massive tail, ran up his spine, and drove his blades into the demon’s thick neck.

From Illidan’s vantage point, he could see that his forces had felled the pit lord’s bodyguards. The demons were finished. Illidan raised his hands high and chanted the spell of binding. A wave of unleashed magical energy hit the pit lord. Magtheridon flinched as the spell began to bite.

Illidan’s heart thundered as he exerted his will. He felt as if he were engaged in a tug-of-war with a giant. Magtheridon’s advance slowed. His face twisted as if he, too, felt the strain.

“You are strong—for a mortal,” the pit lord said.

“I am not a mortal,” said Illidan.

“Anything that can be killed is mortal.”

Sweat beaded on Illidan’s brow. His breath rasped from his chest. He spread his wings and rose into the air above Magtheridon, signaling the others. It was time. Lady Vashj nodded, raised her hands, and began to chant. Lines of fire blazed across Illidan’s sight, forming intricate patterns around the pit lord. Magtheridon roared as he understood what was happening.

Illidan fed more power into the spell. The pit lord stood transfixed, unable to proceed. His tombstone-sized fangs glistened, reflecting the light of magical energy. He reared up, fighting against the magic as much with his huge strength as with his own sorcerous might.

Illidan strained against him and glanced at Prince Kael’thas. The blood elf licked his lips like an epicure catching sight of a feast. All this unleashed magic clearly aroused something within him.

“Kael’thas,” Illidan croaked. His words carried to the elf’s ears. Kael’thas spread his arms and added his voice to the spell. Colossal magical energies smashed down. The spell locked into place. The pit lord screamed his rage and defiance, but to no avail. He was held by bindings so strong, not even he could overcome them. Illidan smiled. Victory was his. The first stage of his long-dreamed plan was complete.

Akama listened as Lord Illidan howled the final words of binding. Magtheridon stood frozen, impotent, and full of baffled rage. He flexed his mighty body, but he was held.

It was done. The pit lord was vanquished. The defeat of Akama’s people had been avenged. The Temple of Karabor would be free of the demon’s baleful influence.

Akama allowed himself a moment of triumph. His strength, combined with that of the outworld sorcerers, had been enough to overcome even so potent a demon as Magtheridon.

Illidan descended to the ground. His wings snapped closed and slumped around his shoulders, and the glow faded from his magical tattoos. His arms dropped. Akama rushed to his side.

“Victory is ours, oh lord,” Akama said.

“Yes, faithful Akama, it is,” Illidan said. Was there a note of mockery in the way he stressed the word faithful ? It mattered not.

“You have freed the Temple of Karabor.”

“We have freed the Temple of Karabor.”

“May I ask when I may begin, Lord?”

“Begin what?”

A cold hand clutched at Akama’s heart. He looked up at Illidan’s face. He could not read the expression there. The demon hunter’s features were a mask. A strip of runecloth concealed his empty eye sockets. Perhaps it was to be as Akama had feared all along.

“We must purify the temple, Lord, and prepare it to be returned to holiness. My brethren and I will work day and night to finish the required rituals. It will be as if Magtheridon’s vile touch never tainted this place.”

Illidan nodded slowly. “There will be time for that afterward.”

“Afterward, Lord Illidan?”

“After my business is concluded. There is much to do before Outland is freed.”

“But the temple is free now, is it not, Lord?”

“Nowhere is free while the Burning Legion reaches out for conquest. We must fortify this place. It must become a beacon to all who oppose the demons.”

Akama swallowed his disappointment. He had been half expecting something like this. He let none of his thoughts show on his face. Instead he cast his eyes down and said, “It is, no doubt, as you say, Lord Illidan. May I withdraw and share the glad news with my people?”

“You may,” said Illidan. He paused for a moment and said, “The temple will be returned to the Broken, Akama. Just not today.”

“Of course, Lord. I do not doubt it.” Akama hurried out of Magtheridon’s throne room. He must prepare to travel. He had business with one who might be able to help. As he departed, he noticed that Prince Kael’thas’s mocking gaze followed him. The prince had known all along what was going to happen. So had Lady Vashj. Fortunately, the Broken had not entirely trusted Illidan’s benevolence. Akama had laid such contingency plans as had seemed wise when entering into any agreement with one known as the Betrayer.