William King: Illidan

The spell collapsed. The ghosts began to fade. Akama said, “I thank you for your aid, brothers. Our people will be redeemed!”

Had Akama the time to reflect, he would have wept with joy. Olum’s sacrifice had allowed him to get to this door, and his spirit had returned to help him open it. It was a good omen. But triumph warred with dread within Akama’s soul. Soon he and his allies would have to face the Betrayer. Even after all this time, all his scheming, and all his planning, Akama was not certain that he was prepared for that.

Illidan felt the seal give way on the gateway to the Black Temple’s summit. Akama had grown powerful indeed to tear it down so quickly. He had learned a great deal during his time within Illidan’s service, including how to work counterspells against his master’s magic. Illidan remained crouched down, wings wrapped around his body, taking these last few moments to draw what power he could to himself before the final conflict of his life was upon him.

Filled with trepidation, Akama entered the summit. Even now victory was far from certain. The Betrayer might find some way of turning things around even as Akama’s people threw the gates of the temple open to welcome the Aldor and the Scryers and their allies.

Illidan crouched down on the far side of the summit. In the center was a great grill, shielding a central well that went all the way down into the heart of the Temple of Karabor. The Betrayer held a skull in his hands as if contemplating a reminder of his own mortality. He was utterly still, immobile as one dead. Surely he could not have taken his own life.

Akama studied the aura swirling around his former master. No. He yet lived. Titanic swells of energy rose within him. He was merely gathering his strength.

All around, Akama’s allies checked their weapons nervously. Illidan seemed to be waiting for all his enemies to enter. It was as if he wanted them all in one place and had no fear of their superior numbers. Given the powers on which he could call, Akama thought his lack of concern might be justified.

Where are his mutated soldiers? Akama wondered. All through the battle in the temple, Akama had looked for the demon hunters to appear, but there was no sign of their presence. Nor was there any sign of the great portal Akama had sensed being opened. He had expected Illidan to flee through it. In truth he would have half welcomed it, because it would have averted this final, likely fatal confrontation.

It spoke volumes of the Betrayer’s confidence that he gave the intruders time to prepare themselves. Akama pushed the thoughts aside and began to draw on his own powers.

Illidan studied the forces arrayed against him. It felt strange to see so many enemies within the heart of the Black Temple. It was even stranger in its way to see Akama standing beside them. He still could not believe the old Broken had the nerve to do such a thing. He had eluded all the traps and escaped all the shackles Illidan had prepared for him. And now he was here, surrounded by these outsiders he had brought to fight for him.

Anger filled Illidan’s heart. He stared hard at Akama, letting his contempt show on his face. “Akama. Your duplicity is hardly surprising. I should have slaughtered you and your malformed brethren long ago.”

Akama recoiled from the venom in Illidan’s voice. He took a moment to gather himself and said, “We have come to end your reign, Illidan. My people and all of Outland shall be free!”

“Boldly said. But I remain…unconvinced.”

“The time has come! The moment is at hand!”

Illidan glared at the Broken and his pathetic allies. “You are not prepared.”

A massive warrior emerged from the pack, garbed in heavy plate, protective spells woven around him. Illidan saw the network of defensive magic that connected him to the Azerothian casters.

Illidan leapt forward and struck a powerful blow with his warglaive. The warrior raised a shield to block it. Illidan took advantage of the opening to slash at his neck with the left-hand blade. Blood spurted from the warrior’s throat, but healing magic surged in, drawing the blood back and knitting torn flesh and severed veins.

Illidan summoned a parasitic shadowfiend to him. The creature slithered out of the Twisting Nether and into reality, racing toward the spellcaster who had done the healing. Unless the shadowfiend was stopped, it would soon spawn more.

A hail of spells smashed into Illidan’s defenses but did not overcome them. For mortals, these casters were potent, but he would show them they were no match for the lord of Outland.

Illidan spread his arms wide and summoned fire. A great swath of it blazed all around him, scorching his attackers. One of them screamed and fell, his skin blackened, his eyeballs popping from the heat. Illidan laughed. The sorcerers among his host of enemies frantically redirected their spells to protect themselves.

Illidan sensed a presence behind him, a shadow figure bearing two blades. The poison coating the swords made his nostrils twitch. He turned just as his assailant was about to drive the weapons into his back. With one hand he caught him by the throat. With a word of power, he ignited his foe’s flesh with persistent fire and cast him aside to burn down to blackened bones.

An arrow flashed toward Illidan’s head. He turned so it glanced off his horn. A gigantic hunting beast bounded right at him. He summoned a wall of shadows that began to drain away the life of the beast and all the attackers close by. Their energy flooded into him, fueling his spells. He blocked another thrust, chopped down his attacker.

Wild joy flowed through his veins. He exulted in every death he caused, feeding on it. Every fallen foe filled him with glee and an urge to scream his triumph to the skies. They had come to slay him, had they? Well, they would find out he did not die so easily.

In battle the Betrayer was awesome. Akama had to admit it. The Broken’s allies were among the greatest fighters of Azeroth, and he was aiding them as best he could, but one by one they were going down. Attacking Illidan now was like attacking a wounded rabid wolf. It was clear that he intended to drag as many down into death with him as he could. Worse, his unrelenting savagery might yet lead to his victory. If he triumphed here, he might leave this place and rally the defenders of the Black Temple. Then things would look black indeed for Akama’s people.

Where is Maiev? Akama wondered. Her presence at this juncture could turn the whole course of the battle.

“Come, my minions!” Illidan bellowed. “Deal with this traitor as he deserves!”

Akama sensed the approach of reinforcements loyal to the Betrayer. If they should arrive and flank Illidan’s attackers…

Akama shouted, “I will deal with these mongrels! Strike now, friends! Strike at the Betrayer!”

He turned away from the fight to confront the onrushing sentries. His allies were on their own.

The massive form of the sentinel golem loomed over Maiev, reaching out for her with its enormous metal hands. Maiev dispatched the blood elven construct with a blow and glanced around. All through the vast area of the pleasure gardens, she had found signs of conflict. Dead concubines sprawled on the flowering swards, poisoned blades clutched in their hands. The severed limbs and heads of sin’dorei sorcerers lay beside them. Akama and his allies had left a trail of destruction that was easy to follow.

She raced up the stairs. Somewhere above her she sensed titanic energies being unleashed. She recognized them as being wielded by the Betrayer. It looked as if the final battle had started without her. She raced on toward the conflict, praying to Elune that she would not be too late to mete judgment.