A/N: Welcome back, my lovely friends. It's been a crazy ride so far, but we've made it at last to the long-awaited conclusion to the Betrayal trilogy. To those that have been following these stories, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continued support. To those just showing up now, better late than never! (Though I suggest possibly reading the previous two books, which can be found on my page.)

A few things before we get going. I, of course, do not own the rights to Warcraft or any affiliated characters. I don't even have a proto-drake, okay. I'm a slacker.

A huge thanks to Blame the Priest, who will continue her work as my beta and fangirl consultant. These stories never would have made it this far if not for her, whether it was talking me through plot holes, forcing me to write when I had no motivation left, reminding me to update whenever I forgot, or running through the Hyjal raid a thousand times just to make sure I didn't miss anything. This one's for you, dearheart xx

Finally, with the announcement of Legion, a few people have asked me if I am planning to extend the trilogy into a fourth book that will incorporate its events. I am happy to say that after much consideration, I have decided that I will be writing a story for Legion. When this will be released is dependent on the expansion itself, of course, and the length of time for patches, but I have every intention of touching on the subject in time.

Anyway, I hope you're all happy to be back, because I know I certainly am. And without further ado, I present to you Retribution.

xx -Skye

…

prologue

The night was perfectly still, a silent serenity that was broken only by the slight breeze that tugged at the branches of towering trees, the moonlight filtering in through the leaves. Once upon a time, in days so long past they might as well not have existed at all, there may have been a sense of comfort in it all, in the idea that this kind of peace could last forever.

Illidan Stormrage had long since given up on the idea of anything lasting forever, especially peace. The world was no longer the innocent place of his childhood; it was tainted with corruption, with darkness and evil. He knew this far more intimately than most, for that very corruption and darkness and evil dwelled within him, this constant presence he could never quite escape. It manifested in the form of great, spiraling horns that rose from his skull and weighed down his every movement, in the leathery wings that he would be forever cursed to drag around, in the shimmering, pulsating fel energy that had been seared into his flesh.

But that was only the physical proof, the visible and tangible signs of the pure corruption that had taken ahold of his soul and tried with all its might to squeeze out every remaining ounce of goodness. No, the real evidence resided within him, in the darkness of his heart, in the places no one could see and Illidan could not ignore. And on nights such as this, when the world was stilled and peaceful, finding some shred of comfort regardless of the fact that it was always teetering on the edge of destruction, it manifested instead in the form of terrible, terrible nightmares.

They started out slow, soft, and full of light. There was an undeniable innocence to them, one that could so easily be shattered. He was standing before the Well, with a slender, dark haired woman at his side, and he could never be certain which one he wanted to look at more, because they were both so beautiful in their own ways. In the reflective surface of the waters, he could see himself, not as he was now, but as he had been before, when the corruption had not quite held such an unbreakable grip upon him.

"You're going to have to choose," Tyrande said, her voice somehow more ethereal than he recalled, haunting as it shattered the silent serenity of the night.

Illidan angled his head to glance over at her, but she was staring straight ahead, her eyes wide as they gazed out at the sparkling water. "You don't know that," he replied, his own voice deadly low, almost edged with a hint of hostility, though of course it was never directed at her, but rather at the impossibility of the entire situation.

"Of course I do," she retorted. "Everyone has to choose, eventually." At that, she finally turned towards him, tilted her chin up so that she could look him in the eye, reaching out to take both of his hands in her own. She rose up onto her toes and pressed herself in closely, until their chests were pressed toggle and he was certain she would be able to feel the way his heart sped up at her touch. Her lips brushed ever so lightly against her cheek, pressing a kiss to the spot just before his ear. "What are you going to choose, Illidan?"

Fighting off a soft moan, he unlaced their fingers so that he might place his hands on her hips instead, holding her in place against him. Her lips continued to trail down his jawline, to his neck, kissing and nipping lightly. "What about you?" He asked gruffly. "You have to choose too, Tyrande."

Pulling back, she met his gaze once more, flashing a strangely dangerous smile. "I already have."

...

Illidan awoke with a start to the sound of an awful shriek, piercing the air around him and tearing right through the peacefulness of the night. Jolting up to his feet, his wings unfurled behind him as he took up his glaives. He whirled around, taking in the endless darkness that surrounded him, the cursed vision he had long since become used to. Just another price to pay, he had thought, just another sacrifice he was all too willing to make, if it meant he could protect the ones he loved.

But then, the ones he had loved had all turned their backs on him now, hadn't they? And suddenly all of his sacrifices were for nothing.

Glancing around once more and seeing no sign of light to break through the shadows, he began to allow himself to relax. Whatever it had been, it didn't seem to be any immediate danger, if it had even been there at all. It wouldn't have been the first time he had heard something that he couldn't be certain was real; ever since he had thrown away his very soul by taking up the tainted skull of Gul'dan, he had felt as though this was this constant presence looming over him. Watching, waiting, laughing-

A snapping twig drew his attention, sending him spinning around once again. And this time, he was met not with darkness, not with shadows, but with a low emerald glow, flickering and moving and seeming to twist all around him. It was somehow both unfamiliar and familiar, like a memory that he knew somehow and yet had never lived, but it was undeniably demonic in nature. Lifting a single glaive out before him, Illidan lifted his chin in the hopes of appearing brave and impenetrable. "Who are you?"

His only reply came in the form of a low, echoing laugh, filled with malevolence and malice. "I am far more concerned with who you are, Illidan Stormrage."

It took everything in him not to visibly flinch at the sound of the voice. It was dark and alluring, drawing him in without him even realizing it. Still, he forced himself to hold his ground, tightening his hold on his weapons. "Tell me who you are," he pressed, though his insistent tone now sounded closer to a plea.

The fel-tainted aura shifted, circling around him as though it might try to consume him fully. "You may call me Kil'jaeden. And I have come to make you an offer I sense you won't be able to resist."

His words dripped with assurance and arrogance, and almost against his will Illidan found himself lowering the blades, exchanging the glare he had worn for a more questioning expression. "What makes you so certain?" He asked carefully, like he wasn't entirely sure he really wanted to know the answer.

"Because," Kil'jaeden replied easily, and even though Illidan couldn't exactly see him, he could tell just by the way he spoke that he was smirking. "Because if you accept, I can give you exactly what your heart desires."

The words weighed heavily on Illidan's shoulders, the memories of his dream lingering in his mind, flickering images that were almost real enough that he swore he could feel Tyrande's breath against his skin. He wasn't even sure how long it had been since he had seen her, only that he had spent every moment since trying to forget the way that she had looked at him like she had never seen him before in her life, and even longer trying to forget the way that he had felt that single, perfect night that he had been allowed to hold her in his arms, to sleep beside her, to feel her body pressed to his.

So far, nothing had worked. Still he longed for her. He wasn't even sure if it was love anymore, this desperate need for her affection, but he was sure that he would never feel whole again so long as he was forced to live with the fact that she would never see him as anything more than a mistake.

Ultimately, it was this that drowned out any logical thoughts he might have had. A part of him knew that this was a demon, that this creature could not be trusted. But then, he had spent his entire life trying to stop the demons, and that had never earned him anything either, except perhaps a broken heart and more scars than he cared to admit. And Kil'jaeden seemed different, somehow, not like the mindless monsters he had fought before. He hadn't attacked him, had addressed him by name, like he knew him, like he had been watching and waiting for him, like Illidan was the only person who could possibly achieve whatever task he wished to be done.

And above all, he claimed to have a way to make Tyrande his. That in itself seemed reason enough. After all, it wasn't as if he had anything left to lose.

Kil'jaeden watched the half-demon elf with a devilish grin tugging at his lips, tilting his head to the side. "It's your choice, Illidan Stormrage."