William King - Illidan

He gazed at it with something like wonder. How many in their lives got to look upon everything that was evil in themselves? How many confronted all the darkness within?

To anyone else, it looked merely like his evil shadow. He saw that it was made up of every bit of wickedness that had ever been in him. Every mean and petty deed, from the smallest to the largest. Looking at it, he could see when he was a child coveting his brother’s toys. He saw himself gloating over the untimely death of a rival for the leadership of his people. He saw the shadow that lurked behind his every outward show of piety and goodness. He saw the vanity and the egoism and the lust and the greed for glory. He saw all his demons, all that had driven him to become what he was.

Illidan had freed him of that, in a way. He had taken part of his strength, too, for in that darkness had been many of the things that had driven him to master magic, forged him to become leader of his people. He had always thought of himself as humble, but looking on this monster, he saw that humility had been a mask he wore, all the better to fool those who had followed him.

He wanted to tell himself that these visions were part of the shade’s attack on him, that it was attempting to undermine his will, to drive him to his knees, to force the rest of his soul from his body so that it could take residence. He knew that such was not the case. This shadow was part of him. He needed to reclaim it, for it held a great part of his strength, and only when he had reintegrated it would he have the power to do what was needed.

The shade was weakening under the onslaught of its attackers, Akama’s allies from Azeroth.

Akama understood the spell now and unraveled it. He drew its energies into himself. The vortex he created brought the spirit home. It fell into him. For a moment, he shuddered in dark ecstasy; then he put the chains in place around his own evil, binding it to him, integrating it into his being. He felt strength return. He felt power and pride and ambition flow into him. He was once more truly Akama.

It was done. He took a deep breath and allowed the strength to surge back into his body. A crowd of Ashtongue entered the refectory and gazed up at him.

“Hail Akama!” they shouted.

The steady pulse of the portal-opening spell vanished.

Maiev sprang over her fallen foe. She had no more time to waste. Even now she might be too late. She needed to find Illidan before he fled forever. She rushed past the smoldering stone form of some gigantic dead infernal.

She raced into the enormous structure. Dead satyrs and other demons sprawled all around a massive hall. Ashtongue moved in groups. They stared at her. There was no menace in their gazes, but no warmth, either. They clearly knew who she was. She wondered whether they would dare attack her. There was only one way to find out.

She marched over to the nearest of them. “Where is Akama?” she demanded in her most commanding tone.

The Ashtongue looked at her. There was something different in his manner. In the past, the Broken had usually been obsequious. Even the ones guarding her would never meet her gaze. This one did, as did all his companions. They did not look at her as if they were afraid. They looked at her as if they were her equals.

“He is deeper within the temple. He seeks to put an end to the Betrayer.”

“Good,” she said. “I shall go and help him.”

Wearily Illidan emerged into his council chamber. The demon hunters were away. He had done all he could. He wished he could have gone with them, but he had needed to remain behind as one mystical pole of the portal, to hold the way open.

Now it was only a matter of waiting. Holding open that portal had taken almost all his strength and all the power within the soul siphon.

Lady Malande looked at him. “The Ashtongue have betrayed us. Our servants have turned against us. The gates are open.”

“They must have planned this all along,” said Gathios the Shatterer.

Illidan reached out with his sorcerous senses. The binding spell he had maintained on Akama’s shade was gone. Akama had freed himself and, in doing so, had freed his people. The old Broken had been more cunning than he thought. One more miscalculation. Illidan had been too busy with the portal to Argus and his demon hunters to pay attention to Akama. Still, he would find a way to make the leader of the Broken pay.

“I sensed a portal opening,” said High Nethermancer Zerevor. “I thought you had escaped, oh lord.”

His expression held a complex mix of emotions: gladness that his overlord was still there, puzzlement as to why. If he wanted an explanation, he was doomed to disappointment.

Illidan sensed events closing in all around him. Things were unwinding. He was trapped by fate, his plans half complete. He thought of the vision the naaru had shown him. He doubted now that the creature was of the Light. Perhaps it had been part of the trap Kil’jaeden set for him. It had lulled him into a false sense of security at a critical time. Everything he had worked for so long to achieve had come undone.

Perhaps his demon hunters would fail. Perhaps he had only sent them to their doom. He resigned himself to the fact that he would never know. All he could do now was stand his ground. He would not give his enemies the satisfaction of his surrender. He would never be imprisoned again.

He regarded his councilors. They still looked to him for leadership. “Defend this place,” he said. “Guard the way into the summit of the temple. There is a spell I will cast. It may turn the battle our way. We will yet overthrow our enemies. We are not defeated yet.”

Akama stepped over the corpse of High Nethermancer Zerevor. Ahead of him loomed the sealed gateway to the summit of the temple. It had been a swift, hard-fought battle to get to this point. They had left a trail of broken bodies and shattered sentinels through the perfumed gardens and palatial apartments the blood elves occupied. Now ahead of him lay the great black door beyond which Illidan worked his evil magic. What new fiendish spell was he casting?

The adventurers from Azeroth waited to see what he would do.

Akama said, “This door is all that stands between us and the Betrayer. Stand aside, friends.”

He studied the spell sealing the way to the summit. It was a thing of fantastic intricacy, composed over multiple interlocking weaves of force. It would take a sorcerer a lifetime to unravel it. Fortunately, he did not need to do so. He merely needed to shatter it.

He drew upon all his strength and launched it at the doorway. Somehow that fragile-looking structure resisted. He increased the amount of power, his spell rending and clawing at the seal with all the energies he commanded. It was still not enough. His shoulders slumped. He had come so far, risked so much.

“I cannot do this alone…” Frustration forced the words from Akama’s lips.

He sensed the presence of others of his people. Powerful spirits, familiar and mighty ghosts, unleashed to stalk through the Temple of Karabor by the events of the day.

“You are not alone, Akama,” said one of the spirits. It wore the form of his onetime companion, the seer Udalo.

“Your people will always be with you!” The other spirit had taken the shape of Seer Olum. Akama was struck with awe.

I had not thought to see you so soon, old friend . The seer had been one of Akama’s closest allies, until Vashj’s naga discovered that Olum was plotting to depose the Betrayer. Olum had asked Akama to slay him in order to keep up the appearance that the Ashtongue were loyal to Illidan. Akama had sadly complied.

The spirits added their strength to his own. Slowly at first, the binding spell began to come apart, shredded by the torrent of power thrown at it, power backed by the will of an entire people freed from chains.