The blood-soaked blade of Jody's sword paused in its relentless assault of its target, a dark string of thick liquid dripping to the hot stones below. The undead warrior stood, sweating and exhausted, before Lord Illidan Stormrage, his muscles aching from the exertion of blocking and dodging the demon hunter's devastating blows. His chest heaved and he could feel his knees weakening and shaking beneath him. Yet he could not stop smiling as he looked down his nose at the huge ragged figure on its hands and knees before him.
Jody's guildmates rushed forward as they saw the former night elf fall to his knees, bleeding with burn marks, cuts, and arrows poking out of odd places on his massive, muscular body. Mentally and physically exhausted as well, they kept a respectable difference from their dangerous foe, but their eyes and minds were flooded with an eagerness for the kill. Their ally, Akama, a draenei native to Outland, once Illidan's right hand confidante, stood tall beside Jody, sweat dripping from his greasy brow. He also had an unshakable grin upon his marred and ugly face.
"Detestable mortals," the demon hunter gasped, shuddering. His dusty purple skin was slick with sweat mixing with the blood from his wounds, his great tattoos fading into an ugly muddy green on his skin. Blood streamed from under his blindfold, the great horns above cracked and his hair matted and clinging to his body. Illidan could not feel his fingers; in fact, he could only feel an ache in his heart and a painful tingling sensation in his head. His wounds meant nothing, but he could not remember being this exhausted since the Second War. And here he had twenty-six people waiting for him to submit completely so they could cut off his pretty head and return it to some insignificant leader they followed.
"Illidan," Akama puffed hoarsely. "I thank you for the help you have given my people, but you have committed too many crimes subseque-"
"Silence." A tendril of blood worked its way down Illidan's chin. "I'll hear none of your pitiful excuses. And I warn you that this will come around to you. I promise to you, Akama." He bit off the last word distastefully and gave his former minion a bloody smile. "Well? Bring me my death! I am ready! I have other matters to attend to afterward, so get on with it!" With a last burst of energy, he rose and lunged at the tiny undead which had held his attention for past hour, teeth bared and blades still sharp.
Jody raised his shield to block this final massive charge. There was a sudden gurgle behind the shield.
He waited. The impact never came.
The warrior lowered his shield and stared down at the floor where Illidan now lay, his fingers twitching and slight moans of pain emerging from his lips. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a tall figure swoop into the room.
"Illidan." A stern dulcet voice echoed in the ears of the weary group. Maiev Shadowsong approached the fallen demon hunter, the knives of her heavy cloak scraping along the stone floor. She kneeled beside him, roughly yanking a barb, which was apparently hers, from his thick neck. "Illidan," she repeated more quietly.
"What was that?" he asked her gruffly, his dirty hands moving to his neck where the dart had pierced his skin.
The warden leaned over him. "I'm killing you," she crooned into his ear. "I fixed you up a special poison. You will feel no pain." She smiled sweetly at him. "Not physically anyway."
He grunted. "You always bring pain with you, little witch. How did you let this group of miscreants get to me before you?"
Maiev rolled Illidan over to his back, then put her hands to her helmet and pulled it over her head. She bent over his face and touched his nose with her own, and, despite the murmurs and gasps from the group behind her on the terrace, planted her lips firmly on his, smearing blood and sweat all over her own face and errant tendrils of hair. "I'm killing you," she repeated. "I love you."
He managed to spit out a chuckle. "Tell Tyrande I love her."
The warden stared at him for a moment, her mouth in an O of shock and offense, before throwing her head back and laughing maniacally. "I will do nothing of the sort, you old bastard. And you know it." She bent over and kissed him again, feeling in his lips years of unspoken passion and love.
"You have about 10 seconds."
She stared directly into the flames of his blindfold as she spoke these words, feeling tears in her own eyes and all satisfaction she had been anticipating of performing this coup de grace of her career draining out of her heart. She had been looking forward to watching this for years, and yet, as she know she would, she felt like part of her was dying along with this broken body of a past lover, her enemy, her obsession, her awkwardly inevitable soulmate.
Illidan sighed a breath of the dying, finally feeling the ache in his heart go numb and a sense of nothingness cloud his head. "You are nothing without me," he hissed fiercely at his Watcher. He finally felt his energy and consciousness escape him, and his lips went slack.
Maiev's own lips quivered and she felt a single tear fall down her dirty cheek as she watched the flames of his eyes fade and disappear. She remained kneeling next to his body for a few moments, absorbing everything that had just happened, before rising and whirling to face the weary, cheering mob behind her. A loud sniff grabbed their attention and silenced them as she gave them a nasty smile. "I hope you are proud of yourselves," she said in a hollow, bitter voice. "May you be lost forever in the damned Nether." She gave Akama an icy nod before swooping across the terrace and down the stairs into the Temple.
Maiev ignored the whooping cheers as she descended into the now-empty Black Temple, her heart cold and empty. Illidan was right, of course. She had dedicated the last ten millennia of her life to him, and he had been stolen from her. The years of torture, anger, pain, love, passion…
"I am nothing," she admitted to herself, choking on a sob. She glanced downward to her hand, where she still held the poisoned barb which had taken her beloved bastard's life. A life filled of disappointments, shame, pain, mockery…
Maiev cackled madly as she plunged the barb into her own thigh, a shrill cry of pain escaping her lips before mixing with her laughter as she sank to her knees. She tossed her helmet at the closest wall, cursing it as her body went numb, and focused her thoughts on Illidan as her vision blackened, wishing she had done this with him, together up on the terrace.
The cheers and cries of the guild and surrounding onlookers filled Orgrimmar as Jody approached Thrall, the warchief of the Horde, a large sack slung over his shoulder. The undead sank to one knee as he swung the bag in front of him and placed it at the Warchief's feet. Thrall bowed, a deep look of respect passing between the two hardened warriors as Thrall untied and opened his gift.
A ghostly shriek echoed through the Warchief's chamber as Thrall's fingers came in contact with the bloody, severed head of the younger Stormrage brother. Frightened chatters rose as the room's guards rose at once to guard their Warchief, all eyes searching for the source of the shrill sound.
It did not repeat itself. Content with the security of the room, Thrall's fingers closed around the dusky midnight blue mane of the demon, unflinching at the stench and feel of blood, and he hefted the trophy above his head with a grunt. The crowd, forgetting the terrifying scream, cheered and whooped, jumping and hugging, exchanging handshakes and pats on the back.
High in the rafters of the chamber, invisible to those below, an ethereal pair of red eyes in swirling cloud of black scowled, watching the proceedings with a naked hatred.
Jody paused in his muted celebration as he noticed the lips on Illidan's head suddenly curl into a cruel, mocking smile.