Chapter 11
'As disciples of blood, you strive to master the very life-force of your enemies'
A much younger Azrael stood in rigid attention among a group of new Death Knight Initiates. Lord Thorval, instructor of the Blood school, was training the newly formed Death Knights who had just been risen into undeath by the Lich King himself. They were in Acherus. None of them had been told to which school they were to go to train. As all scourge, they simply knew. Azrael remembered nothing before this. He was the hand of the Lich King. His chosen one. His life began in service to the Lich King and his only purpose in life- to execute the will of the Lich King.
'Be it by blade or incantation, blood feeds our attacks and weakens our foes' continued Lord Thorval. Azrael listened in rapt attention.
'And every foe that falls, energy sapped and stolen, only furthers our assault'
'You' said Lord Thorval pointing to Azrael 'Step forward'
Without hesitation Azrael stepped out of the ranks and stood in front of Thorval. He had with, his him newly forged rune blade. He was eager to serve the Lich King and would rise to any challenge.
'Do you feel the power of Blood within you?' asked Thorval
'Yes' replied Azrael. There was no emotion in his voice. He stated it as simply as one would state a fact.
Two servants- Rotting corpses- brought a chained prisoner and threw him at Thorval's feet. The prisoner was human. No doubt Thorval had chosen one of Azrael's own race to test his conviction. The prisoner tried to speak, but a tight metal collar around his neck restrained his voice. Even in undeath Azrael could recognize emotions. He could see the terror in the prisoner's eyes as he groveled at Thorval's feet. Ignoring the unheard pleas of the prisoner, Thorval spoke.
'Do you feel the Blood within him?' he asked. Pointing his blade to the prisoner.
Azrael nodded.
'Good. Now make it boil' he said.
Azrael moved closer to Thorval and held his hand inches from the squirming chained prisoner. Calling upon the dormant powers the Lich King had blessed him with, he felt a hunger rise within him. He felt his own life-force connecting with the prisoners. In a matter of seconds he could feel the prisoner's blood. He knew what he had to do, even though he had not been taught. Slowly he used his own powers to heat the prisoner's blood. The human was now curled into a ball not understanding what was happening to him. Azrael was met with primal resistance. The human was weak of mind, but like every creature he had a will to survive that was far beyond his own understanding. Unworthy of life, a voice whispered his in his ears. Incensed by the resistance of the human, Azrael spread his fingers and concentrated harder. A long moan escaped from the throat of the prisoner in spite of the collar that stifled him. In a sudden flash, the human form that was lying before him exploded splattering blood on everything around him. A glob of blood had struck Azrael in the face. Boiling as it was, Azrael felt no pain. The blood could not harm him. Without making a move to clean it, Azrael calmly lowered his hand and turned to face Thorval. Thorval nodded in approval. The Blood on the floor was bubbling and steaming through lumps of flesh showing that it was still boiling. Wordlessly, Azrael moved and stood within the ranks of the initiates again. The hot boiling blood flowed down from his face onto his lips. He could almost taste the power that was latent in it.
'As masters of blood, we know battle without end...We know hunger never to be quenched...We know power never to be overcome...'
Azrael knew the words to be true. He was only an initiate, yet he felt the bottomless well of power that he had tapped when he called upon the powers of blood.
'As masters of blood, we are masters of life and death itself'
That power would one day be his.
'Against us, even hope falls drained and lifeless'
-
It was a detached Azrael that now stood in the second level of the Undercroft. There were at least four abominations. About ten skeletons and countless ghouls. All of them sharing a single target. Him. He had fought against the first wave of scourge savagely destroying them into rubble against the power of Ilim's runes that fueled them. Eventually the stronger scourge had come to join the battle. He switched his stance to become completely defensive. His only goal was to live. To live long enough to hold them back. He had even forgotten why. Reasons never mattered. He had returned to the creature that he had first been reborn as. The Champion of the Lich King. Nothing else in the world mattered. There was only him and his connection to the blood and his goal. His goal back then had been the will of the Lich King. Now his goal was to survive. In the midst of all this madness, Azrael had come face to face with the truth of who he was. His connection to the Blood was always there. The power within him cared not whether he fought for the Lich King or against him, whether he killed innocents or whether he killed scourge. It was simply there. The only reason he had been able to channel it with such deadly efficiency under the Lich King was that his mind had been devoid of emotions and reasons. As much as his own mind tried to associate his connection with the power to the atrocities he had committed, he now understood they were utterly disconnected. With that realization he opened himself up entirely to the Blood power that was raging within him. Visions flooded him of the countless beings he had slaughtered, villages and towns like Havenshire that he had laid waste to. They did not affect him.
With singular focus, he stood at the center of room. An angel of death. He moved like a candle flame that danced against the wind. Cleaver, sword, axe, meat hook, claw. They could not touch him. If they did, they struck hard, but he did not feel the pain. He struck with his sword at every opening he could find. He held his blade back parrying tremendous strikes. More were coming to join the battle. Let them come he thought. He could see a massive claw swipe the side of his face ripping out a chunk of flesh. Again he felt no pain. His response was to hack off the claw that had come so close. He leapt sideways avoiding a cleaver. One part of him screamed that he was getting injured beyond repair. But he had to continue, he would continue. He had to survive. With each breath he drew, he commanded the powers of Blood within him to survive. His life had been reduced to seconds. Every second he lived counted.
The number of wounds he was taking began to increase. Several of the wounds were closing up to heal, but a few continued to bleed profusely. It didn't matter. These pathetic excuses for undeath would not pass. Not while he could still breathe. He carved giant swipes into walls of rotting flesh and bone. He ploughed through all the matter that surrounded him. That was all everything was. Matter. Blood corrupted and rotting was blood still. Blood within the marrow of the bone was blood still. And it was all he saw. Blood. And it was all he felt. His connection to it.
Time passed. He was getting weaker. He felt his mind drawn back into the body. The pain began to overcome him. He felt a sword strike his leg cutting through the armor and slashing his foot. He felt the sting of the blade. He stole back whatever life he could from the Blood that was around him, but it wasn't going to be enough. A cleaver slashed across his front, tearing through armor, flesh and bone. Ignoring the damage, he rolled over towards an opening and struck back at the deformed hand that held the cleaver disconnecting it from its body. He felt his blood and bile rise into his mouth from his stomach. He leapt back towards the wall blood gushing from several of his wounds.
Suddenly he heard voices.
'I can see someone inside!'
He held his sword aloft to block another strike, but his strength was nearly drained. The block was weak and his weapon was knocked away from his hand. More voices.
'Andu-falah-dor!' Azrael recognized it as elven
'What the hell is wrong with them!'
'They're just not dying'
'Yeah! I can see someone there. A human. He's badly wounded'
Through the haze and battle-weariness Azrael could make out dim lit figures. He was sure he could see one or two death knights. Most of them were paladins though. By some miracle, reinforcements had arrived. Azrael found his blade on the ground. Before he could stand up, he heard a loud rumble and felt the ground shake underneath his feet. He was knocked back to the ground. The rumbles began to grow louder. Suddenly he felt something change around him. The runes on the scourge began to glow and then go away altogether. It came back to him. Liha had done it. Taking heart Azrael tried to join the newcomers in their battle against the scourge. It was unnecessary. It was over before the battle had begun.
'What happened?'
'I'm not sure. They just died'
'One minute they fight like Scourgelords and suddenly...'
Azrael felt hands upon him. Warm hands. Not the cold touch of the scourge
'Easy there friend...'
It was a human paladin. Taking his support Azrael tried to speak. All that came out was a gurgle. He tried to turn backwards.
'I need help here!' A female voice
Azrael turned his neck around. It was Inara. She was supporting a wounded William on her shoulder. Following them was Liha. Liha immediately ran to where Azrael was standing and offered his support. Many words were exchanged after that. There were more rumbles. The Crypt was going to cave in. They were on the stairs to the upper level when Azrael remembered her.
Azrael broke off from the man holding him and started back down into the second level.
'What the..?'
'Are you insane? Get back here!'
Ignoring the voices. Azrael turned back and shouted. 'GO! I'll be fine. Right behind you'
A slab from the ceiling broke off and fell to the ground. Azrael sidestepped to avoid getting crushed. He felt a strong hand grip his arm to try and pull him. He knew it was Liha. He shouted over the noise of the stone foundations collapsing.
'We need to go! NOW!'
Ignoring him Azrael ran towards the stairs to third level where he had left Lyresa. As he came closer to the stairs he heard a scream. He saw that she was already awake and was at the edge of the stairs. He could see tears streaming down her eyes and horror in her face even from a distance. Azrael leapt into her, pushing her away from a collapsing wall.
'You're mad! you came back for HER?' shouted Liha, helping Azrael to the ground.
'I'll explain everything later' Azrael managed to say. He could feel his legs trembling as he got back to his feet. He could feel Lyresa clutching on to his hand. Liha shot a hateful stare at Lyresa but it appeared he was prepared to trust Azrael. Azrael's legs were nearly gave away as they reached the stairs to the first level. Lyresa tripped and fell down. There was no time to waste thought Azrael. It would be faster if he carried her. Without a word he swept her off her feet and rushed forward in mad burst of energy. He reminded himself that this ordeal was at an end. Starting with the abomination that the had fought in the morning, Durk'anh, and then the Enhanced scourge. All of it was at an end. He only had to make it a few meters more.
'Move faster!' shouted Liha. Azrael saw that Liha was far ahead of him. A large pillar collapsed blocking his path. Azrael leapt over it and collapsed to the ground. Lyresa fell a few feet away from him. His energy was leaving him. His wounds were too grievous. He felt a light touch on his hand. It was Lyresa. She still appeared to be crying. She tried to lift him to his feet. He couldn't help but force a smile. Maybe his decision wasn't a bad one after all. She was roughly pushed aside by Liha who managed to pull Azrael to his feet. Together the three of them managed to make it to the stairs leading to the exit.
Azrael pushed himself forward, being pulled by Liha. It was dawn the next day. Never in all his life did Azrael feel so glad to see the sun. The light fell upon his body relaxing him. He heard much chatter and noises. Behind him he could hear the final rumble that collapsed the antechamber into the ground. All at once he felt the remnants of energy draining from his body. His Blood power that had sustained him throughout had receded back to the depths from which he called it. He was simply too tired to feel any pain. Closing his eyes, he collapsed onto the ground. The last feeling he felt was relief. Relief that they were all alive. Relief that at long last since he had joined the Knights of the Ebon Blade- he had finally found himself.