(Note: Another one featuring Dariahn Wheeler, following the stories "Stratholme" and "Shards of Ice". I'm posting a backlog of stories at this point, and this takes place a couple months after "Shards of Ice". In between, Dariahn's runeblade Lichreaver was broken and reforged into two smaller swords, which are mentioned here. Yes, he's dual-wielding now. ;) )
It occurred to Dariahn as the last of the Scarlet Onslaught soldiers fell lifeless and eviscerated at his feet, the blade-shredded body gouting steaming blood over the Death Knight's frozen plate-metal boots, that even the simple experience of feeding had changed dramatically since he had faced his old master and put his fractured psyche back together. Not that feeding what was now a twin pair of runeblades was easy, as evidenced by the half-dozen scarlet-armored humans strewn in pieces in the reddening snow around him. If he still had his humanity left it would likely be impossible. It was made even more difficult now that most of the prey he was officially supposed to be pursuing didn't have souls. It was no wonder that many of the Knights of the Ebon Blade had gladly taken on the task of assaulting the Scarlet Onslaught fortifications off of Icecrown's western coast. Each hungered in his or her frozen heart for vengeance against the undead Scourge, but each also had a runeblade that hungered for blood and souls, and it was rare to find Scourge with either. So the Scarlet Onslaught, human zealots who had turned their backs on any but those who shared their beliefs, who could be hunted with no diplomatic hangups, had become their prey of choice.
Dariahn knelt next to the freshest kill, balancing on the balls of his feet, regarding the dead man. There was no need to consume anything physical from his victims, but with his hunger pains soothed he was feeling thoughtful. He reached out one blood-covered blade - the right-hand one, Revenant - and eased the man's helm off. He was human, of course, as they all were, around thirty years of age with tidy blonde hair and a clean-shaven chin. Handsome. Rime formed in the dead man's hair as Dariahn considered him with eyes glowing bright blue with the man's own stolen power. It had changed. There had been a time when he had been weaker and let what he thought was the runeblade take over to feed. Now he could face the slaughter. He still undertook the task mechanically, with neither enjoyment nor remorse, like a construct designed to dismember human beings. He smirked just a trace at the thought of himself as such a thing: a construct built by Etheris, powered by dark magic and the soul the necromancer had deigned to return to him. Would he be any different if Etheris had made him from metal rather than flesh and bone? Not that he would have wanted him as anything but flesh, considering his...motivations. But regardless, at least now Dariahn was aware of the thrill of the power coursing through him from the cursed blades. He had to concede to himself that it was just the murder he was apathetic toward. He did enjoy the swordplay.
A wide smear of red blossomed on the corpse's pale cheek as the Death Knight ran the bloody flat of his blade across it. He was handsome, though, wasn't he? And now he was a part of Dariahn's domain, the domain of the dead. He let his magical senses radiate out, feeling the potential there. It would be trivial to raise the man with the power that now filled him. He did it in the heat of battle all the time, using the fallen against their comrades. It was a dirty tactic by civilized standards, but Death Knights didn't concern themselves much with civilized standards. Here it was just playing with his food. He held Revenant's glowing blade out over the man, grinned as he made him lift one arm out of the snow to reach for it. At his side Reckoner's runes glowed brighter under a haze of frozen blood as he invoked their power as well. He moved the blade away, over the man's sprawled legs, and the body sat up to follow. There was a soft crackling as the red ice that had already formed on the intestines that spilled from a deep gash in the man's gut began to shatter. Dariahn let the grasping hand catch the gloved fist at the hilt of the sword. He looked up to see the now-undead man watching the blade. The eyes were still glassy, but they had begun moving around with an animal intelligence.
Dariahn leaned closer to the man. The eyes turned to him, blank, awaiting orders. He set Revenant down in the snow and hooked a finger under the man's chin, smirking to himself in approval. Handsome. He could be useful, once he was patched up enough to be presentable. In life he had been a soldier fighting against everything Dariahn was - possibly even more than he knew - but in death he would serve him unquestioningly. It was a heady feeling, having so much control over someone. He stroked the dead man's cheek with his thumb, eliciting not even a flinch from him. He would make a perfect servant, perfect and handsome and completely under his control. Dariahn tipped forward just a little more, bringing his face closer to the soldier's, letting their lips nearly touch. A perfect beautiful pet, just like...
Dariahn recoiled suddenly, teetering back in a brief fight with balance before falling on his rear in the snow. He shook his head sharply and growled to himself, barely noticing the corpse falling back into the half-melted red snow as if his strings had been cut. This wasn't him, this was...
Etheris.
This, too, had changed since he had faced his old master, faced him and killed him and made the horrible mistake of letting his sword consume his soul, something that had seemed so appropriate and ironic at the time. He had underestimated the will of someone who would serve the Scourge willingly, who would become one of their liches. It was affecting him. He already found his thoughts at times drifting to things that would make his feelings for his living friend Tendaros less conflicted, things that would let them be together at a price that he knew was far too high to pay. Things that he knew Etheris would have done because he had already once upon a time done them to Dariahn. And sometimes he found himself doing this, thrilling at the power he had over the dead with a glee that he knew was not his own.
Dariahn sat there for a moment, splayed in the snow, watching the unmoving bodies around the camp with wide eyes. Unmoving. He sighed with relief, a sigh that turned into another low, frustrated growl. He had it under control. He was himself, he was the Dariahn Ten meant when he refused to acknowledge that he was a monster. "Don't you understand what I am?" "You're a Dariahn." The memory of it anchored him. Slowly he got to his feet, snow sticking here and there to his dark armor. He picked Revenant up and stood straddling the corpse's chest. He held the twin blades crossed over the throat, set his jaw, and in one quick motion sliced the dead soldier's head off. He stood for a moment, watching the last of the man's blood trickle out into the snow. Sure, it could be sewn back on, but it was the symbolism that was important: It was a man's corpse, not some toy, not some pet. The Death Knight stepped away from the corpse, clutching his swords tightly. He wouldn't be like that. He was a monster, yes, but he wouldn't be like that. Satisfied, he knelt to wipe his blades clean in the snow, then slipped them back into place on his belt as he left the Scarlet camp. His hunger was sated. Playtime was over. It was time to go back to work.