William King: Illidan

He paused again, silently cursing his hidden observer, knowing that the attack would soon come, raging at the futility of what he was attempting but realizing he had no other choice. Perhaps another might be able to complete his great work even if he was captured here. It was the most forlorn of hopes. There were few sorcerers of sufficient skill in Azeroth or Outland, and they would be most unlikely to finish his work. What else could he do, though? He had come this far. He needed to continue.

He steeled himself and invoked the last anchor for the spell. This was the most dangerous moment. Instead of simply taking form and fading, this vortex sent out a pulse of force, leaping to the farthest anchor and then the next, forming a great pentacle and then filling in the complex web of runes until it had replicated the magical energy of the pattern in his sanctum in Outland.

The principle of harmonic resonance established a connection between the two great symbols. Despite his wariness, he felt a flush of triumph. The link between Argus and Outland was established. The portal could be activated once the pattern was finished. He had but a heartbeat to enjoy his victory, and then the attack came.

The power of it was astonishing. His spirit form was swept up like an infant being snatched by an orc.

He was like a swimmer caught in an oceanic undertow. No matter how much he struggled, he could not break free. He stopped, determined to preserve his strength for when the worst came.

He emerged onto a plain of Light. Before him glittered a being of perfect geometric lines. They twisted in a way that made them seem to disappear and reappear a moment later in a completely different arrangement. It baffled his brain trying to follow the changes.

Illidan braced himself to unleash the most destructive spell he could in spirit form, but the creature did not attack. He realized he had seen its like before, in the Terrace of Light in Shattrath. If anything, this creature was possessed of even more power than A’dal and its followers.

“You are a naaru,” Illidan said eventually, when he wearied of the silence.

“I am an elder naaru. Possibly the eldest now remaining in these universes.”

“Why are you here? Do you serve Sargeras or Kil’jaeden?”

Gentle mirth emanated from the naaru. Sparkles of light shifted around its form, like the notes of laughter made visible. “I do not.”

A faint sense of relief swept over Illidan. It might be a trick, though, meant to take him off guard. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“You knew I would come?”

“You or someone like you was bound to. The universe throws up champions in the face of those who would destroy it.”

“It could perhaps have picked a better one.” The words emerged from his mouth before he could stop them.

“I do not think so. You are what you are. All your days have forged you into that. A weapon aimed at the heart of a great demon.”

“I would like to think I am somewhat more sentient than my warglaives.”

“That is what makes you dangerous.”

“So the universe has anointed me to slay Kil’jaeden.” His tone was sardonic, but hope flickered inside Illidan. Perhaps, if what this naaru said was true, there was some chance of victory after all.

The swirl of lights indicated a negative. “No. Your enemy is far greater than Kil’jaeden. Greater even than Sargeras and his Burning Legion.”

“Wonderful,” Illidan said. “As if they were not strong enough.”

The suspicion that this was all a subtle, mocking trap set by Kil’jaeden sidled once more into his mind. He fought down bitterness. It seemed as if all his sacrifices had gone for naught. If this was a trap, his struggle was ended. If it was not, then things were even worse than he had thought.

“The Void is a more potent foe by far than the Burning Legion. It is the ultimate opponent of the Light. It will take all the peoples of Azeroth and Outland united to oppose it.” The naaru stopped pulsing. “You do not believe me? You lose faith and hope. Then know this.”

Before Illidan could defend himself in any way, a bolt of pure Light blasted from the naaru. It struck his empty eye sockets and filled them with a golden glow. Illidan braced himself for a blast of agony that did not come. In the past such magic had always racked him with pain. It would normally have done the same to any user of fel magic. His vision shimmered and faded, and he found himself looking down on a terrible battlefield.

Amid mountains of corpses, a winged figure battled at the head of the legions of Light. A golden glow surrounded his warglaives. He cleft demons asunder with mighty blows. The soldiers surrounding him gazed up in awe and wonder at their leader. It took Illidan a moment to realize that this being’s features were his own, transformed, his eyes glowing fiercely. This avatar of the Light looked calm and strong and at peace. His face was filled with confidence, shorn of all suffering.

As Illidan watched, the winged figure rose above the battle, defying gigantic entities of darkness, creations of the evil of the Void. A halo played around his head. His body began to glow brighter than the sun, and from his outstretched arms, rays of Light emerged to strike down his foes.

There was a sense of rightness about this, as if he looked upon a vision of the unborn future. For a moment he could believe in it, but then his doubts rushed back. This could not be true. It was not any path he had ever set out on. It was not who he was. He was a fighter and a killer, as driven by darkness and his own desires as he was by any urge to do right.

“You will defy death,” the naaru’s voice said as the vision faded. “I have seen this. Whatever you were, whatever you are, a champion of Light is what you will be.”

There was utter certainty in the naaru’s voice, and it communicated itself to Illidan. For a moment, he felt the Light embrace him, and his heart was at rest. He had been given a vision of redemption beyond any he had hoped for. Peace filled him as he communed silently with the naaru. The moment lasted only a heartbeat, but when it ended, Illidan felt as if it might have been a lifetime.

“You will be a hero,” said the naaru. “But there will be a price.”

“There always is.”

The moment ended. Illidan stood, suffused by a feeling of peace. The lattice of Light, the shimmering plain, faded, and Argus appeared around him and the naaru. It had always been there, he realized. The reality he had stood within with the being was entirely a product of its power, an illusion.

Sudden fear stabbed at him. He might have been detected. The minions of the Burning Legion could be closing in. Whether the naaru was friendly or not, it was placing both of them in danger.

“Farewell,” the naaru said. A limb of Light flickered out of its body and touched Illidan on the forehead. He felt a sense of contact, as if another tattoo had been added to his flesh. It burned strangely, at war with the fel power contained within his other tattoos; then it merged with them and disappeared.

The contact was broken, and the naaru vanished from his sight as if it had never been. The image of himself transformed once again played through his mind. Could it be true? Was there really a path to redemption for him? He had never dared think such a thing was possible, and yet the naaru believed it would be so. It believed in him. Just for a moment, he let himself believe, too. Then he pushed the thought to one side, for future consideration. There was still work to be done.

Illidan studied the anchor points of the portal. He could just sense them, and he knew they were there. Hopefully they would remain hidden from any demon who sought them. It was time to go. He had been here too long.