Here is chapter ten; just one chapter before the ending. However, I have begun a sequel, and even have a couple chapters written up already for it. I'm not entirely sure when I'll publish that story; if I'll wait a little bit after this one or not. What I can say is that the next story is so much darker and emotional than this. Expect chapter 11 on either Friday or Saturday.
I gave my own personal spin on several aspects from the original storyline; which I'm sure you'll notice. As always, Blizzards owns all.
"Light, this sucks."
Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, Deimos kept his uninterested gaze out the window. The sun had long set, blanketing the city in darkened night. Flamed torches and lampposts illuminated the cobblestoned streets of Old Town, the occasional guard passing by the only evidence to life outside. Squinting in anger at a rat that scurried across the street, Deimos gave an irritated grunt; even the pests of Stormwind were rewarded more freedom.
Tearing his gaze away from the teasing window, the young elf scanned his eyes around the sitting room, contemplating his situation. Warren was in a meeting, which was suspected to last well into the night. Unfortunately Matheus was also required to attend, rendering the paladin grounded to the house. After the attempt on his life a month ago, the Sin'dorei wasn't particularly interested in having a new guard escort him around the city.
Fingering his necklace that lay limp on his neck, Deimos mutely pondered back on the experience with a smirk. Of all people, it was the small mage that had found out his assassin. Small in size, she made up for her petite height with a large heart. He remembered her dashing into his room the day after the attack, jumping on the bed to embrace him in a hug. While he felt awkward at the gesture, the small girl refused to let him go. She was strange; her optimist and cheerful attitude contrasting with his rebellious and defiant one.
A frown replacing the smirk, Deimos shook his head as he recalled the 'trial' – if it was to be called such. The soldier had refused to name the criminals he paid to do the deed. However, he still only received parole and a fine for committing the crime. Traded from Warren's battalion to a different one, it was the only punishment the human boy seemed somewhat distraught about.
The month after the attack had gone by slowly; Deimos spending more time at the training grounds. Though he didn't see the paladin trainer again, the young elf kept thinking back to the comments and critiques the man had given him. Growing up, the elf wasn't allowed much time with the paladin trainers in Silvermoon; instead, his father preferred to train him. While it made him deadly with a blade, Deimos lacked the stamina for holy spells that a well honed paladin had.
Looking outside one last time, the young elf gave an agitated sigh. "Screw this."
Leaving the sitting room, Deimos took the stairs two at a time. Having meditated for a good portion of the morning, the young elf had run out of entertainment. The study offered only a small handful of books, most of which were tremendously boring to the elf. He cleaned what needed it and took a longer bath than he usually would. Still, the paladin found himself bored. Warren had thought ahead, picking up food the day before for the elf to eat. While he was thankful that he wasn't starving waiting for the human's return, Deimos was annoyed at the restless feeling in his stomach.
Taking a left at the top of the stairs, the young elf turned the door knob to Warren's bedroom. He was entering unchartered territory; the room specifically labeled off limits. Completely disregarding it, Deimos pushed the door open to its full ability. The room wasn't much different from his own; prior to the redecorating. Slightly larger, the bed was unmade; sheets and blankets bundled together at the foot of the bed. A pile of dirty clothes rested in the corner, waiting for washing. His footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floor boards, Deimos began his advance towards the closet in the corner.
Stepping into the small dark room, his green eyes began to scan the numerous pieces of clothing; looking for a certain item. His eyes lighting up at a brown wool cloth folded on top of a pile of pants, Deimos quickly grabbed it and made his way out of the room.
Going down the stairs and entering the foyer, the young elf pulled the wool cloak around himself. Fastening two buttons on the front, he wasn't so much concerned for his comfort that he was for his identity. Pulling the hood over his pointed ears and head, he felt confident in his ability to conceal who he was. Turning the knob to the front door, the elf kept his eyes downcast as a guard passed by. As long as no one saw his unnatural green eyes and his hood stayed up, he knew he'd be fine.
Moving through the deserted and dark streets, the paladin made his way towards the towering fortress in front of him. Warren wouldn't return back to the house for several hours, giving the elf the idea to spend those hours at the training grounds.
Walking up the stoned steps, Deimos unconsciously pulled the hood over his face tighter as a group of soldiers passed by. He knew what he was doing wasn't allowed according to his sentence, but he couldn't sit stagnant in the barren house any longer. Restlessness was a foreign sensation to the young elf; and one that he didn't wish to familiarize himself with.
Reaching the empty training grounds, Deimos gave a smile. He would have the luxury to train in solitude. Though several torches hung on the stoned walls, the young elf didn't particularly need them. His keen eyesight would compensate for the loss of light. Pulling the cloak off himself and tossing it to the side, the Sin'dorei took a blunted sword from the rack. Smiling at the dummy, he took a couple practice swings with the blade. Adrenaline beginning to pump, he felt content and at ease.
Tapping his quill against the wooden table as the standing night elf droned on, Warren found his attention span waning. A map of Northrend was plastered to the wall, different colored darts marking territories. The meeting had gone on since dawn, several breaks mixed in the day. Sparing a glance at the rogue to his right, Warren watched Matheus' gazed and distant eyes stay focused on the parchment in front of him. Smirking, the warrior knew his mind was elsewhere.
His own mind wandering, Warren mutely pondered what his house guest was doing. Hoping he was most likely taking the day to meditate, the warrior prayed he would stay out of trouble. Less than two months left of his sentence, the man felt a strange sensation begin to pass over him. In three months time, the elf would be gone; most likely back to Silvermoon, and Warren would be in the house alone. While he longed for his solitude at certain times, such as dates with Elly, he felt a small ounce of him thinking he'd miss the young elf. Deimos was annoying, brash, and arrogant; qualities the warrior found to be extremely irritating. But over the past month, the man had grown to rather enjoy the company of the paladin. Shaking his head, Warren blamed the long, monotonous day the reason for his abstract and odd thinking.
Smirking as he watched Matheus' head slowly droop forward and his eyes closed, the warrior gave the young man an elbow to the ribs. Instantly, his head snapped up and eyes popped open. Sending a thankful grin to Warren, the rogue scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. Returning the smile, the warrior knew how the man felt.
Pulling his sweat soaked shirt over his head, Deimos absently tossed it to the side as he eyed the dummy. Practicing for nearly an hour, the paladin reveled in the high that resulted from the adrenaline rush; his attacks becoming swifter and more pronounced.
Charging the dummy, Deimos advanced his feet forward. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he brought the blade forward into a thrust at his foe. Satisfied when he heard the wood creak in protest at the assault, the paladin took a step back with a grin. His blond hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, the night's breeze sending shivers down his damp upper torso.
"Not bad. Footwork was a lot better."
Heaving a deep and irritated sigh, Deimos let the sword hang limply from his hands as he turned around. Standing behind him was Grayson Shadowbreaker, the paladin trainer he met before. Pulling his own sword from its sheathe, he approached the panting elf a calm smile. "You've been practicing."
Eyeing the man, the young elf nodded his head. "I've been trying."
His gaze moving from the young paladin's face to the abused dummy behind him, the older man stretched an open hand to the elf. "Give me your weapon. I'm going to go through an exercise with you."
Hesitantly and skeptically eyeing the man, Deimos gingerly placed the blunted blade in his hands. He wasn't sure what kind of exercise called for no weapon, but it was vastly different from his usual exercises he partook with his father. Swallowing as the trainer tossed the training sword to the side, he approached the elf with a serene look.
"Your tolerance for using spells is extremely low. You need to build it up if you ever want to progress through your class."
Crossing his arms over his chest, the young elf regarded him with an annoyed look. "And how would I do that?"
"With practice, of course."
About to open his mouth to send a smart retort, Deimos failed to react when the man's sharp sword made a clean slice across his shoulder. The wound was deep, blood beginning to run down the front of his chest. Falling forward on his knees, the young elf brought up his hand to grip the wound while sending confused eyes at the older man. "What the hell?!"
"Heal it."
Taking several deep breaths as the stinging in his shoulder throbbed with each heart beat, the Sin'dorei began to chant the words to Holy Light. Watching with interest above the kneeling elf, Shadowbreaker kept a calm and patient look on his face. As the last words of the spell left the paladin's lips, the wound on his shoulder began to mend itself back together. The heated pain disappeared, the blood stopped flowing. Standing up on two shaky legs, Deimos sent Shadowbreaker a furious glare, fatigue from the healing spell evident in his eyes. "Are you insane? How is that increasing my tolerance?!"
Unexpectedly, the paladin trainer pivoted on his feet with speed to get behind the elf. With precise accuracy, Shadowbreaker stabbed his sword cleanly through his upper shoulder blade, careful not to hit any vital organs. The young elf gave a pained scream, the weapon in his body supporting him from falling forward. Slowly, the older man pulled the blade from his hurting body, vigilant to not antagonize the wound. Holding the boys upper arm to help support him, Shadowbreaker looked into his pained features.
"Heal."
Clenching his eyes in pain, Deimos lifted a hand up to the gaping hole in his shoulder. His blood seeped through his clenched fingers, spilling over his bare chest. Exhausted from the other spell, the young elf mutely shook his head. "I can't… mana…"
"You're mana is fine. Now heal."
His chest heaving from pain and gasping breaths, the younger paladin began to move his mouth, the enchanted words leaving his lips. Pausing several times to force his mind to cooperate for him, Deimos became aware of the energy leaving his body as he approached the ending of the spell. The wound was significantly worse than the previous, making him doubt his ability to heal such a gash. As the last word left his mouth, the elf felt the hole close up and exhaustion set in. Opening his eyes in anger at the paladin trainer, Deimos directed his rage at the older man. "Is this the only exercise to build up tolerance?"
Pulling a small dagger with remarkable speed from his inner pocket, Shadowbreaker slammed it into the younger elf's bicep, roughly pulling to down. Screaming shamefully when he felt the pointed blade tear his muscles and tendons from the bone, Deimos felt like his arm was detached from the rest of his body. Torn muscles shrieked in pain, the jagged wound pulsing in agony. Nausea rolled over his body as the elf felt the blade leave his arm.
"Heal."
Shaking his head furiously at the man while regarding him with an unbelievable look. "I get your… point. I understand. I can't… heal though. I have no energy."
Gripping his hand on the swaggering elf, Shadowbreaker gave his calm voice a firmer tone. "Deimos, heal it."
His eyes watering at the pain, the young paladin shook his head. He knew his body; there was hardly any mana left for him to draw on. If he had a potion or fel crystal, he would have no problem complying with the trainer's request. "I-I… I can't."
"Heal!"
The loud and hard voice made Deimos acutely aware of the situation. Vainly holding the throbbing arm, the young elf began to chant the words for the third time that night. He didn't expect it to work; his energy was far too low. Still gripping one of the elf's shoulders, Shadowbreaker watched with calmness as the words left Deimos' lips. His green eyes were shut in pain, his face grimacing while he whispered the chant. Hearing the last bit leave his mouth, the older man moved forward, knowing full well what the spell would do.
The muscles repairing the rough onslaught they received, Deimos felt fatigue consume his body as the sides of his vision turned black. No strength left to support himself, he stumbled forward into strong arms. Unconsciousness threatened to overcome him, the young elf forced his worn body to stay coherent. His eyes moving over a calm face in front of him, he sent an angry and tired gaze at the older man.
Easily supporting the elf's light weight, Shadowbreaker half dragged him to the wall. Feeling his body being propped up against the wall, Deimos tilted his head back against it. The cool stone soothed his sweating body. Though he was utterly exhausted, he was proud at the lack of wounds riddling his body due to his healing.
About to give in to the exhaustion, Deimos felt a flask placed against his lips. Instinctively, he turned his head to the side. A strong hand on his chin held his head in place, a firm voice addressing him. "Drink."
The hand on his jaw tightening, the young elf reluctantly complied. The taste of spring water filled his mouth slowly, the liquid welcoming to his dry mouth.
Tilting the flask slowly and carefully, Shadowbreaker kept his grasp on the young elf's jaw to ensure stability. Satisfied when Deimos began to actually drink the liquid, he watched as energy slowly seeped back into the boy's body. Eyes cracked open to reveal green ones, the older man removed the flask and his grip from the boy.
"Is that how you train all of your paladins?"
His tranquil face breaking into a grin, the trainer sat beside the panting elf against the wall. "Not usually but you needed to know your true limits. As you can see, you have more tolerance than you thought."
Smirking at the man, Deimos blinked tiredly. "Yeah but look at me. I wouldn't be able to continue fighting after that."
Passing the half filled flask to the young elf, Shadowbreaker gave him a patient look. "This is practice. Eventually, you will be able to heal and cast holy attacks back to back with ease."
Lifting a skeptical eyebrow at the man, the younger paladin downed the rest of the water in the flask, reveling at the replenishment of energy that it seemed to bring. Looking sideways at the trademark calm expression on the man's face, the young elf mutely wondered if this was how real paladin's were trained.
Glancing down at a long list of names on a piece of parchment, the orc shifted the large mace on his back. Giving a sigh of impatience, he glanced around his surroundings. Quietly gliding through the water, the wooden ship made its way towards the lit harbor lights fast approaching. Rows of soldiers sat on the deck, inspecting weapons and drinking battle elixirs. Hunters fed their beast's raw meat, checking their delicate teeth and claws for any imperfections. The ship was deathly silent; the only noise coming from the water rippling beneath them. Though he couldn't see them due to the darkness, the orc knew that four other ships moved in the water with him. Each ship harboring two hundred soldiers each, the orc general felt a smile slip across his face; with such grand numbers, failure was impossible. The blood elf would be killed; along with the king and the others that knew about the planned assassination.
Stuffing the list into a pocket beneath his plate armor, the warrior turned from the approaching lights in the harbor to a single lantern on a pole next to him. His yellow eyes trained back on the harbor, he brought his hand up to light the lantern. The yellow glow illuminated the orc's green face, a dark smirk on his features. Glancing around, he was rewarded with seeing four other lanterns on blackened ships follow suit; signaling they were ready for the impending assault.
The rows of soldiers, mixed with tauren, orc, undead, and trolls, began to silently stand in preparation for the raid on the city. Adrenaline was high, sharpened blades gripped in hand. The sound of movement below deck confirmed to the general the canons were being put in place. Archers drew their strong bows at the ready, quivers packed full of arrows, as they lined the side of the ship. Torches were struck, the yellow and red flames illuminating the decks and its inhabitants. Grim and expressionless faces decorated the soldiers on the ship, their fists opening and closing in anticipation. Flying high above the wooden deck was a flag; a blood red background behind the black Horde insignia.
In view and range of Stormwind's harbor, the general heard yelling and screams coming from the human soldiers stationed at the well-fortified harbor. Though he couldn't pick up on the words being screamed, he had a general idea of what it was. Most likely alerting the soldiers manning the cannons, the orc smirked; it would all be in vain. A small group of rogues had already disposed of the men and disarmed the cannons, rendering their best defense against the ships useless.
"Lok'tar ogar!" (Victory or Death!)
The soldiers on the ship gave a loud cry in response to the general's battle cry, their sharpened and shining weapons hoisted in the air with excitement. Watching with amused eyes as the humans began to run around the harbor in a panic, he was pleased when he saw the first canon leave the ship with malice. Smashing into a fortified wall, the stone broke from the mold. Watching with satisfaction as a large piece of the wall smashed several humans under its immense weight, the general smirked. More canons went off; following the same fashion as the first. The sister ships released their own ranged assaults on the harbor, relishing in the destruction that followed.
Grinning as a man shrieked in pain from a piece of debris lodged through his midsection, the general gave a hand signal to the archers. Pulling sharpened arrows from the leather quivers resting on their backs, the soldiers took aim and fired at the Alliance soldiers that attempted to get into boats to reach them. Some lighting the tips of the projectiles with a flame from the torches, the orc grinned darkly as he watched the lit arrows embed themselves in wooden wagons and tents.
A loud explosion was followed by seven more, well placed dynamite by the rogues exploding along the wall. Debris and rock showered the alarmed and fearful humans below, their piercing screams pleading for a miracle that wouldn't come. The orc deepened his smile as the smell of burning flesh and smoke filled his nostrils. Unable to tear his gaze away as he watched a human soldier run around in a panic, large flames dancing from his chest, the warrior shook his head at the spectacle. The raid was going smoothly.
Screams of pain and misery filled the dark night as Stormwind harbor was meticulously destroyed. Feeling the ship pull up to the side of the harbor, the orc gave a brisk hand signal. Soldiers carried large planks of wood, positioning them methodically at an angle. The archers never slowed their assaults, taking down any enemy that dared to get to close with a piercing arrow in the chest. The planks in position, the Horde soldiers began to file off the ship with amazing speed; weapons drawn and determined looks on their faces.
"So, why did you decide to become a paladin and not a warrior?"
Leaning his bare back against the stoned wall, Deimos felt a chill run up his spine. Unsure of what the cause was, the young elf dismissed it as the cold stone and night. His energy restored from resting and drinking the trainer's flask of water, the elf eyed the dummy across from him. He was ready for round two.
Giving a shrug, he glanced at Shadowbreaker. "My older cousin was a paladin. I used to watch him train a lot. And," the elf paused, a foreboding feeling setting into his stomach. He wasn't sure what his body was trying to tell him but he really wished it would desist. "It was a small battle won against my father. He wanted his only son to be a warrior, like him, and I…"
Stopping in his thoughts as alarms set off in his head, the young elf shook his head, trying to will his senses under control. The paladin trainer took the gesture as part of his response. "You wanted a say in something in your life."
Brows together, Deimos gave a small nod. His heart was beating madly in his chest, an uneasy sensation in his stomach. His face clouded with concern, the elf stood up to glance around the training area. Swallowing hard, his green eyes confirmed the deserted area. Still, the apprehension continued to flood his senses; trying to warn him of something.
Shadowbreaker, seeing the distressed look on the young elf's face, slowly brought himself to his feet. "Deimos, what's wrong?"
Opening his mouth to respond, a large and resonating explosion filled the night air. Nearly a beat later, a second followed; shaking the stoned ground beneath their feet with each boom. Instinctively pushing the young elf behind him, Shadowbreaker stood in front of Deimos as he tried to place the location of the attack. Fearing for the worse, he turned his trained eyes towards the direction of the Keep.
"What the hell is that?!" Deimos exclaimed, his wide eyes scanning around. His senses seemed to still themselves, apprehension being replaced with adrenaline and curiosity.
Another explosion sounded the air as Shadowbreaker shook his head at the elf. "I don't know. I can't tell where it's coming from."
Both paladins were taken back as a furious fireball erupted in the sky. Screams and shouts resounded throughout the city, soldiers running through Old Town in a controlled manner. Pulling his discarded shirt on over his head, the elf's keen hearing picked up on distant screams and cries of agony moving closer.
Another ball of fire exploding in the distance, the two paladins rushed out of the training grounds and into the streets of Old Town. Citizens stood outside of their homes, confused and anxious faces looking around. Soldiers and guards continued to run towards the canals, swords drawn at the ready.
Seeing a guard jog by them, Shadowbreaker gestured him over. "What's going on?"
Swallowing, the soldier tried futilely to catch his breath, his eyes glancing over the blood elf nervously. "Horde, sir. They've leveled the harbor. I barely got away with my life."
Opening his mouth to ask another question, the paladin trainer was cut off by the elf's angry voice. "How many are blood elves?"
Shifting on his feet nervously, the soldier blinked. "I don't remember seeing any."
Shrieks of pain caused the three men to lift their heads up in surprise. The noise was significantly closer; alluding to the advancement of the attack. In the distance, thick black smoke filled the night sky, the bright embers of fire reaching to the heavens. The smell of smoldering skin and death clung to the air. The soldier, giving a brisk nod to the paladin trainer, turned on his heels and continued his trek.
"C'mon!"
Gripping the elf's shoulder hard, Shadowbreaker ran back towards the training grounds. Taking a swift left, Deimos mutely noticed they were headed to the Command Center; a place he was never allowed. Soldiers of young and old and both genders began to rush out the barracks; weapons in hand. They seemed to ignore the blood elf and human trying to make their way into the structure.
"Shadowbreaker, you have to let me fight. They're here to kill me," Deimos pleaded as they stopped in front of a rack of weapons. The older man removed his two handed sword for a one handed blade. Placing it on the sheathe resting on his hips, he proceeded to equip a plated shield on his back.
"Pick a weapon," Shadowbreaker's calm and serene voice responded.
Eyeing the man curiously, the young elf turned his attention to the weapons resting on the wall. His eyes landing on a long two handed sword, the Sin'dorei gripped the hilt in his hands. Eyeing the sharpened blade with interest, he sent a skeptical gaze at the older man. "You're ok with this?"
The sounds of clashing swords drew their attention to the doorway. "We won't be able to access the armory. You'll have to go without armor."
Nodding at the man, the situation wasn't foreign to the elf. He had trained with his father as such for majority of his life. Giving the long sword a couple test swings, the young elf grinned at the prospect of the fight.
Taking a deep sigh, the paladin trainer turned to the younger elf with a determined look in his eye. "We need to get to the Keep."
Slashing the throat of a hunter open, Warren spun expertly on his feet to bring his sword up in a deflect. The orc was strong, pushing his blade threateningly against the older man's. Gritting his teeth, the human sidestepped to the left; satisfied when the orc took an unbalanced step forward. With swift accuracy, the man slammed the blade through the midsection of the creature; watching as its entails bulged through the gaping hole. Not being able to revel in his small victory, the warrior immediately went to the next enemy to dispose off. His muscles began to ache in pain and fatigue from the constant onslaught. Disarming a warlock's staff from its hands, Warren sliced the throat of the troll open, not bothering to watch it fall forward while choking on its own blood.
The Keep was an utter mess. The fight initiating outside the fortress, the brawl advanced to the throne room; Warren's current location. The King was guarded in a side room, armed guards and soldiers surrounding the man. When the attack had commenced the sovereign had been tucked further in the Keep for safety. However, the Horde had somehow managed to infiltrate the fortified castle from the back entrance undetected; filling the once secure halls. The safest place for their king was in the middle of the brawl. Priests kept constant shields on the man; at the ready to provide healing spells if need be.
Disposing of a priest by slicing his throat open, Warren gave a sigh as he looked down the long and narrow hall leading up to the throne room. A mix of Horde and Alliance soldiers filled the area, cries of pain and anger echoing off the walls. The stone on the floor, once a polished white hue, shone with red liquid marking its surface. Bodies littered the ground, lifeless eyes looking up at those fighting.
Turning to face an undead mage, the older man felt its staff slam against his face. Forcing his vision to focus on his foe, Warren's body erupted in pain as the mage released a burst of arcane magic. Stumbling backwards, the warrior was quick to shrug the pain off. Paying heed to such thoughts would cost him his life. Charging the mage with speed that seemed to take it off guard, the man was quick to thrust the already bloodied blade into the cloth armored enemy. Watching as the undead fell to the ground with a thud, Warren glanced around himself in dismay. While the amount of Horde bodies was more than Alliance, their numbers didn't seem to be dwindling.
Jumping back with ease as his enemy attempted to slice a dagger across his chest, Deimos looked into the undead's face in anger. Smirking at the blood elf, the rogue tried again to follow up with a stabbing motion into his unarmored body. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, the young elf expertly avoided the attack. Bringing his sword up in a deadly slice across his foe's neck, the paladin gritted his teeth in anger as the rogue easily sidestepped the attack. While his attacks were well aimed, Deimos had tremendous trouble trying to match the speed and dexterity the rogue possessed. Willing his body to increase its haste, the young elf brought his sword to the left in an attempt at a side slice across the leathered clad chest. The undead was prepared however; easily dodging the assault while bring up a dagger to disarm the elf. Hissing in pain, Deimos felt the tip of the rogue's blade enter his wrist. His hands unable to support the weight of the sword, his fingers released their grip on the hilt.
Smirking at the pained expression on the elf, the undead was satisfied when the blade clattered to the ground. Lifting a blood dripping dagger to finish the battle, the rogue grinned at the paladin.
Knowing he'd have to revert to hand to blade combat, Deimos lifted his uninjured hand up in an effort to defend himself. Preparing to grab the undeads' wrist, the young elf was surprised when the rogue stopped in his tracks, a look of horror on his features. Falling forward to the ground on his face, Deimos lifted a surprised brow at the action. A dagger was nestled in between the undeads' shoulder blades. Lifting his eyes up as a hand pulled out the dagger lodged in the lifeless body, Deimos gave a quick smirk at his savior.
"It seems your Horde friends don't like you very much, kid," Matheus said as he grinned at the young elf, eyeing the bleeding wrist.
"Thanks, I didn't notice."Glancing to the sides at the battle raging around them in the passage in the Keep, Deimos turned determined eyes back to the rogue. "I need you to cover me while I heal."
Turning his back to the young elf, the man gave a chuckle as he eyed the enemies surrounding them with mirth; daggers twirling in his hands with anticipation. "With pleasure."
Whispering the holy chant, Deimos turned his own back to the turned rogue. Feeling the man behind him tense up as he prepared to enter combat, the elf eyed an orc slash his blade cleanly through a dwarf's neck; severing the head from the rest of the body with a smirk. The orc turned his yellow eyes towards Deimos, the two making eye contact. Cradling his bleeding wrist against his body, the paladin tensed his body as the green figure made its way over to him. Increasing the speed of the chant, the Sin'dorei heard Matheus engage in a battled behind him, daggers clashing against a polearm.
A broad sword swinging at the elf's exposed chest, Deimos paused in his chanting to duck from the deadly blade. Stepping to the side, the elf glanced at his discarded sword on the stone, several feet from his current position. The orc quickly rebounded from the failed attack, swinging his sword with strength and precision. Rolling out of the massive creatures' attack, the blood elf resumed his healing chant. Sidestepping a stab to his left, Deimos noticed the feign too late. Hissing in pain as the sword sliced his right side, the elf threw his body to the ground to grab his sword resting feet away. Finishing up the chant as he hit the stone, the paladin felt his wrist and side wound mend itself together. Not paying much heed to the inevitable tiredness that resulted, the young elf stretched is arm out in an effort to reach the sword.
As his fingers began to grip the hilt, a large boot stepped on his forearm, pressing down with malice. Turning his gaze up, the Sin'dorei met the gaze of the orc and the tip of the blade that was pointed at his throat. The orc smirked as he glared down at the young elf, pulling his arm back to lodge the weapon into the paladin's chest. The boot on his arm rendering him unable to escape, Deimos stared at his opponent with surprise.
A glimmering blade whipped across the exposed skin behind the orc's knees, his tendons being cut by the weapon and coiling up into his legs. Screaming, the green figure fell forward, his weapon falling from his hands. His shriek of pain was cut short as a dagger was lodged through the back of his throat, the cry being replaced with the sound of gurgling blood. Life leaving the orc's eyes, he fell forward next to the elf. Moving his eyes up, Deimos was surprised to see an outstretched hand offered to him.
"Sorry, got a little sidetracked with a hunter. Damn pets," Matheus smirked as he pulled the paladin to his feet with ease. Eyeing the sword resting in Deimos' hands, he gave the elf a grin. "Heal went well?"
Rolling his eyes, Deimos turned his back to the rogue, eyeing the battle raging around them. "Would have been better without the orc."
Smirking with a shake of his head, Matheus placed his own back against the elf's, gripping his bloodied daggers. "Hey, better late than never, right?"
Grinning at the comment, the paladin slashed his blade at a troll; his blade meeting an axe. The lack of response from behind him confirmed that Matheus had entered his own battle. Kicking the tall troll in the abdomen with a grunt, the paladin was satisfied when his enemy was momentarily knocked off guard. Not wasting any time, he thrust his sword into the troll's neck. Pulling out the blade in time to deflect the swing from another sword, Deimos feigned a slice to the undead's legs, following up with a stab to the exposed skin on its side. The Forsaken easily parried, swinging his own blade in an attempt to slice the elf's neck open. Deflecting the attack, the young elf brought his blade in a downward slice to his enemy's chest. Irritated at the blocked attack, Deimos gritted his teeth.
"I'm hearing a lot of clashing back there," Matheus' voice came from behind the elf; the human's back still up against his own. "Need help?"
A small grin spreading on his features, Deimos tried another assault on the undead. "Just concentrate on your own fight."
"Did you come alone to the Keep?"
Annoyed at how long the skirmish was taking, Deimos decided to try different tactic. Quickly rotating the sword in his hands, the young elf thrust the hilt in to the neck of the undead. Momentarily stunned at the attack, his enemy instinctively brought a hand up to his throat. Seizing the chance to end the undead's life and battle, Deimos swiftly sliced his sword across the figures neck. Eyeing the decapitated body blankly, the paladin gave a sigh. "I was with Shadowbreaker but he said something about reinforcements and we got separated."
Glancing around himself, Deimos felt his heart sink to his stomach. The amount of soldiers bearing the Horde insignia heavily outweighed those wearing the blue and gold one. A familiar feeling washing over him, the young elf knew he had been in the same situation before. Four years prior during the raid on Stormwind, he cut down the same race he was fighting for; the same race he owed his life to multiple times. Fighting for his life in the Keep wasn't a new experience for him; the enemies, however, had changed. His green eyes darting around at the obvious outnumbering, the paladin gritted his teeth. If he would die, it would be with honor and weapon in hand.
"Well, we could really use his reinforcement's right about now."
Gripping his sword in his bloodied hands, Deimos frowned as more Horde soldiers enclosed them; weapons taking the lives of the Alliance soldiers fighting them. "Are you still offering that help?"
Matheus, his own gaze frantically eyeing the onslaught, shook his head at the question. He felt the paladin's back against his own heave with each breath, obviously beginning to feel the fatigue from the night's ongoing battle. "This isn't looking very good, kid."
Swallowing hard at the tone the rogue's voice carried, Deimos had a similar thought. Setting his jaw, the young elf lifted his sword up with determination. "For honor."
Clenching his twin daggers in his tired hands, the man felt a surge of adrenaline and resolve fill his body. "It was good fighting with you, kid. For honor."
Preparing to throw himself into the mob of fierce Horde soldiers, Deimos glanced down at his boots with a confused face. His feet going instantly cold, the paladin watched with interested eyes as the blood covered floor around him lit up with a glowing blue. Realizing what it was, he quickly turned around to focus his attention on the rogue; who also faced the paladin with questioning eyes. Drawing on all the energy and mana his body possessed, Deimos concentrated on forming a holy shield around himself and Matheus.
A second after the air surrounding the two turned opaque, shards of ice slammed into the floor around them. Sharpened pieces lodged themselves into the unprepared Horde soldiers, the raining assault showing no mercy for those in its path. Keeping his focus on the shields that slowly drained his energy, Deimos whipped his head around looking for the source of the attack. The deadly shower continued to fall, the once large number of surrounding enemies swiftly dwindling. His eyes finding the supplier of the assailment, Deimos felt a smile go across his face.
Standing paces behind the aerial attack, Lena had her arms extended above her as she conjured the blizzard that destroyed the soldiers. Meeting Deimos' gaze, her blue eyes lit up; a smile plastering itself across her face. Amazed at the small gnome's feat, the paladin nodded his head forward in thanks to the small girl; he owed his life to her.
The ground beneath him turning back to its blood spilled color, the paladin stopped focusing on the shields. His energy was nearly gone, the fatigue in his body evident from the action. He knew that without proper rest or potions, healing would be close to impossible. His eyes roaming the lifeless bodies surrounding him, Deimos felt his confidence build up to vast heights. Sparing a glance at Matheus, the paladin smirked at the grin on the rogues face. The man tauntingly spun his weapons in his hands as he eyed the downed Horde.
"And you were ready to throw in the towel."
Rolling his eyes at the human, the elf turned his attention at the battle he heard taking place further up the passage in the Keep. Though they had a small victory, thanks to the gnome, he knew it was far from over.
Pulling his sword out of the priest, Warren quickly wiped the blood and sweat rolling down his face. Glancing to the right, he scowled as he watched the king slice the midsection of a troll open, its innards spilling onto the stone. The Horde soldiers had rushed the throne room, engaging the king's guards and priests in combat. Wrynn, unable to stand by useless, removed his own sword from its sheathe; he would fight with his people. Swallowing hard as the warrior glanced around himself, he knew the battle was going sour. His sovereign being forced to take up arms, the Horde had maneuvered the Alliance into a vulnerable position. Gritting his teeth when he felt a dagger scrap his side, the older man knew that while reinforcements would be on their way, he wasn't sure if it would be in time.
Turning around to dispose of the rogue, Warren lifted surprised brows at the foe. The tip of a sword sticking through its abdomen, the troll began to spit up blood over its chin. The lifeless body being tossed to the side, the older man felt a grin spread on his face. Holding a bloodied sword, Deimos smirked back at the warrior. His shirt was torn, gashes and cuts marring his unarmored body. Sweat and blood soaked his face, plastering his hair against his forehead.
Eyeing the elf with interest, Warren gave a smirk at him. "I thought I told you to stay at home."
Rolling his eyes at the man, Deimos turned to scan the overrun room. "You can lecture me later." He paused, turning his questioning green eyes at the older man. "What do you think?"
Clenching his jaw as a crowd of Horde soldiers rushed the throne room, weapons glistening with shed blood, Warren shifted the plate armor on his chest in preparation. "I think you already know."
Nodding at the man, the paladin charged a warlock preparing to unleash a bolt of shadow magic into the king's back. Slamming the undead into the wall, the young elf lifted his sword up to thrust it into his opponent's abdomen. He felt a brief grasp on his shoulder before being thrown backwards against the opposite wall, his back making contact with the hard stone. Sword falling from his grasp, Deimos lifted his gaze up in surprise and curiosity at the unsuspected assault. His eyes scanning the room for the source of the attack, the paladin felt his blood run cold. Stalking towards him was a felguard, its heavy axe in hand, determination in each of its steps.
Rolling to the side as the large axe slammed into the ground where his neck used to be, Deimos gave a sigh of relief when he felt his fingers grip a sword lodged in a soldier's chest. Pulling it from the lifeless body, the paladin brought the blade up in time to parry the felguards' attack. The warlock's minion, having vastly more strength than the young elf, propelled the elf backwards as their weapons met. Landing hard on his back, the Sin'dorei felt a thick hand grip his throat, lifting him from the floor. Struggling for breath, the minion threw him against the wall; the stones cracking at the immense strength the felguard used. Stumbling forward, Deimos felt like his body got trampled by tauren. His head was pounding from the contact it made with the stone, blood beginning to rush down his back.
Watching as the felguard patiently walked towards him, Deimos ran his eyes over the room. Matheus was struggling with two warriors he tried to take on at once, an arrow lodged in his upper thigh hindering his attacks. It would only be a matter of time before he made a mistake; a deadly one. Hearing a scream, the young elf turned his head in time to see a tauren slice Warren's side open with its sword. Though blood began to pour from the fatal wound, the warrior didn't slow his onslaught. He would die fighting. Glancing at the king, Wrynn didn't seem to be fairing any better. Four Horde soldiers corned the king, the man trying in vain to keep up with the attacks. Shaking his head, the paladin knew the Horde were simply delaying the inevitable. Movement to his left caught his attention as he turned his gaz. Walking backwards with her staff drawn, Lena had a glowing blue shield surrounding herself. Panting from the loss of mana and energy, the small girl could only defend herself against the warrior in front of her with the staff.
Gritting his teeth in anger, Deimos pulled a small dagger nestled into a downed human's chest out. Fingering the hilt, he kept trained eyes on the felguard that approached him. Swallowing hard, the elf kept his weight on the balls of his feet while he got ready for the onslaught.
The felguard didn't disappoint, charging the elf with impressive speed. But Deimos was prepared, lifting an arm up to block the axe swinging down towards his body. Feeling the axe easily embed itself into his bones, the paladin used all of his self-reserve to follow through with the planned attack. Thrusting the dagger into the minion's chest, he gave it a sickening twist. Emitting a pained shout, the felguard dropped its immense weapon to the ground with a clatter. Ignoring the screaming pain his arm had, the paladin charged the stunned and hurting minion against the wall with a thud. Watching as the life left its eyes, Deimos brought the dagger up with precision and speed to slash across the demon's neck. Holding the larger creature in place against the wall, the young elf swallowed hard as he watched the thick stream of blood seep from the wound on its neck. A million warning bells went off in his head as he waited for the demon's blood to increase its flow. Taking a deep breath, Deimos brought his head to the crook of the felguard's neck, his mouth encircling the deep wound. Sucking the gushing blood generously, the elf felt his body erupt in pleasure. Blood pumped faster with a high from the demonic blood, his mana addiction no longer on his mind. Swallowing the blood in copious amounts, the paladin felt strength he never experience before, his muscles twitching in anticipation and power. Energy flowed through the elf's body; he never felt such a high in his short life. Increasing his grip on the minion's shoulders, Deimos drank the felguards blood furiously.
The sides of his vision turning black, Warren knew his end was fast approaching. He ached, the deadly slice to his body seeping blood down his ruined armor. His feet were beginning to not cooperate with him, his movements becoming lethargic and clumsy. Fatigue and unconsciousness threatened to take over, the warrior knew it would mean death. Though his demise was inevitable, the man felt little sadness from the idea. Instead, he was furious at himself for failing to protect his king. Sending a quick glance as Wrynn took an axe to his shoulder blade, the man felt the battle was coming to an angry end. His sword falling loose in his grip, he fell forward hard on his knees from fatigue.
Closing his eyes briefly, the warrior could no longer hold back the death that loomed over him. As his coherence began to leave his senses, an enormous amount of unusual energy filled the man. Snapping his eyes open, he felt his hands grip his sword stronger. Glancing down at himself, Warren was amazed as he watched the fatal wounds mend themselves together; the pain completely gone. He lifted his head up to try to find the healer that saved him. Surprise filled his body as he noticed the air around him turn an off white color, alluding to the shield that was placed around his body. Unsure what was going on, the warrior felt the breath leave his lungs as he glanced at the source.
Walking calmly to the middle of the room, Deimos lifted his arms up as his casted a spell. Instantly, an immense burst of holy energy emitted from his body, impaling the enemy soldiers not protected by the shields he placed on the Alliance. Energy and mana seemed unending to the paladin, who easily focused shields and healing spells on the hurt humans. Noticing that he no longer needed to mouth the chants for the spells to commence, the young elf reveled in his new found power. Directing his focus on all of the undead soldiers in the room, Deimos pulled mana from his body to send a bolt of exorcism at them. The powerful attack killed the Forsaken on contact, their lifeless bodies falling to the floor with a thud. Smirking at the ruthless attack, the young elf glanced around himself at the remaining Horde. There were several dozen left, each picking themselves off the floor from the elf's earlier attack that knocked them off their feet. Taking a deep breath, Deimos sought to end the battle mercilessly. The ground under the paladin's feet began to glow with malice, his mind focused on a new attack. A golden glow enveloped the room, the once blood covered ground lighting up with power. Still keeping the strong shields around the Alliance soldiers, Deimos felt the stone beneath him shake as it filled with holy energy. The Horde soldiers glanced down at the glowing floor, horror and revulsion etched on their features as realization set in. Bringing an arm up in front of him, the paladin increased the consumption of mana from his body to power the strong attack. With the blink of an eye, the ground erupted into a blinding light, those not shielded also taking on a slight glow to their forms. Holy energy entered the bodies of the Horde, their pain-filled screams echoing off the stone walls. Dropping his arm to his side, Deimos watched in satisfaction as the screams stopped; the remaining Horde soldiers fell to the ground with lifeless eyes.
Swallowing as he looked around, the king was utterly surprised at the room. Standing up from his laying position, he assumed himself dead from the rush of Horde. Receiving numerous fatal wounds to his body, Wrynn didn't expect to survive to see the reinforcements. He was taken back when he felt his pain filled wounds heals, his energy revive itself. His eyes resting on the sole person standing in the middle of the room, the king cocked his head to the side as he regarded Deimos with a curious look. Hearing the sound of running coming into the room, the king turned his attention to the Alliance soldiers.
Warren, glancing around the room, was taken back at the sight. All the Horde soldiers littered the stone ground, their dead eyes looking up at him. Roaming his eyes over the young elf standing still, the warrior was unable to see his face; his back to the man. Swallowing hard, he reached a shaky hand to the paladin's shoulder. Turning the boy around, Warren pulled his hand back in horror at Deimos' face. Blood painted his mouth, the dried liquid covering his chin.
Sending his eyes downcast at the man's disgusted glare, Deimos took in a large gulp of air. His high came crashing down as realization of what he did set in. He immediately forgot the feeling of the power, shame and guilt replacing it. "I… I…"
Feeling movement next to him, the warrior turned to the king's curious face. "Reinforcements have arrived. They're outside the Keep." Turning a glance at the elf's distraught face, Wrynn cocked his head to the side. "What happened?"
Lifting his clouded green eyes towards a spot on the wall, the two humans turned to inspect the site. Lying in a heap against the wall, its blood spilling out beneath it, was a felguard. Watching dread sweep over the young elf's features, Warren sent a look to Wrynn. "My King, perhaps you should wait in the side room with guards."
His gray eyes roaming the elf's distant look in his eyes, the sovereign gave a small nod at the hidden meaning behind the request. Moving to discuss the situation with the human soldiers that filed into the room, weapons ready, the king figured he'd hear from Warren later.
"What did I do?" A small whisper sounded, pulling Warren's attention to Deimos; his eyes still focused on the ground. Terror and disgust were etched on his features, sharply contrasting to the confident elf that released strong holy energy only minutes earlier. The man had a clue for the elf's abrupt change in attitude. While drinking demonic blood allowed the Sin'dorei to quell their mana thirst significantly, it also increased their addiction; leading to becoming one of the Wretched. The consumption of demonic blood was viewed as a horrendous taboo in Silvermoon.
Unsure how to respond to the boy, Warren glanced around himself. The reinforcements checked the status of the downed soldiers; making sure the Horde were dead and hoping the Alliance were alive. Matheus was leaning against a wall, holding a discussion with an officer from the reinforcements, arms gesturing around the room. Turning his gaze back to the young elf, Warren felt his emotions switch gears. Looking into green tear-filled eyes, the warrior was taken back by the horrified look on Deimos' face. He looked lost and confused, his gaze roaming Warren's as if looking for an answer. Though he fought like a seasoned warrior, Deimos' face gave away to the youth he truly was.
Not sure what to say to the boy, Warren did the first response that came to mind. Moving forward, he wrapped his arms around the young elf's shoulders into an embrace. At first, the warrior felt he made a mistake in his action; Deimos standing rigid at the movement. A beat passed, however, and Warren became aware of arms returning the embrace. Feeling the elf's body shake under him, the older man just stood still. However unfamiliar he was to the action, Warren felt he was in the right place.
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