A/N: Did this out of boredom. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: Blizzard own Warcraft. I own this fic. Understood

Whispers were heard in her head. sick, twisted whispers. Lust of power and unholy domination. Darkness in the world and punishment to the infidels. Death to the living and undeath to the dead.

Undeath which she had already embraced unwillingly.

The whispers. Orders of assassination. Demands of power. Actions against nature. Sinking memories she desired to keep. Memories of beloved, family, friends and home.

But the whispers erased every thought. Now she was nothing but a servant.

What could she do? Fighting the whispers? No, she was dominated. The whispers were too much to handle. They were not a faint sound. They were not wind though his mouth. Not just insanity' sensual voice talking to her head.

They were all that and more. And her ears were obligated to hear it.

She looked at her former friends, but found nothing. Their gazes were foul, full of hatred and madness. No joy found in their enraged expressions. No memory of what they were. She was not even sure if the knew what they are now.

She hoped they didn't.

Hopelessness, despair, vengeance, entropy, chaos. Thoughts that became diary in her head. Thoughts provoked by the whispers. She wished she could curse those whispers, but she couldn't.

The whispers ordered her to love them. And she did so.

She gazed at her protector. She was the most powerful of them. Full of hatred, deep in agony, thrown in the torment, she walked alongside with the two other servants of the whispers. Her protector's cloak was followed by shadows. Her bow was loosing a corrupted arrow. Then, it hit the living one.

The living one died, but it was a short moment of peace, for he was brought by the corruption.

Whispers that wouldn't stop, whispers that wouldn't have mercy, whispers that... were not heard anymore? She looked at her former friends. They were... free? She looked at her protector. She was... free? She looked at herself. She could soften the grip on her bow. She could decide when to shoot. She could walk towards anywhere she desired.

Her protector was confused, her red glare hinting sorrow. She went the top of a mountain to talk. To talk with three liars.

She returned, telling her and her friends that they were free. But they still had to deal with the servants. She gave her instructions. Instruction that, even if hard given, were the most kindest words she heard since the whispers.

The powerful servant's power was waning, as so were the whispers. They set them free because they were weak. She felt hope for herself. Until she remembered that she was still corrupted.

She relied in what corrupted her, in necromancy. Her druidic ways abandoned her, noting the dark and unnatural being she became. Noting that she was nothing more than a mockery of what she was before.

Noting that she was undead.

Her protector came back. She failed in killing the powerful servant. The weaker one came with reinforcements to wipe out anyone that tried to hurt the whispers' powerful servant.

And then came the red liar, trying to coax her protector into joining them. Into siding with the lies and losing the freshly regained freedom. Into sharing with them and they giving nothing to her.

But her protector didn't fail to her followers. She refused the lies.

"We will finish this new threat as we defeated Ner'Zhul, sisters." said Sylvanas Windrunner to her banshees. Then she glanced at her "You take the first line of enemies, Anya Eversong."

The other dark ranger's lips twitched into a feline grin. Whispers eventually fade away.

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