Title: The Challenge
Description: "Alarak dares Sylvanas to outdo him as the biggest sadist in the Nexus. There's only one person who can help her with that."
Notes1: Very late in the making given my work schedule and me pulling a Togashi Yoshihiro in regards to video gaming (although that is, supposedly, not the case with the man himself), so again I'd like to apologize. I had trouble working on the chapter in the beginning, and then again when it came time to include Alarak in the narrative without him coming off as too OOC. Not for the last time, this turned out to be much longer than I wanted it to be, but this may also be the last time I say I'll do a chapter and feel constrained to do it without feeling as though I'm going to break such a promise.
Notes2: I don't know when I'll get back to How Does That Even Work?, but I still intend to work on it. There are also the rest of the chapter ideas that I have in my little notepad plus the "wedding crash" prompt (whom I believe) Consort sent to me a while back. There have been new ideas I've come up with since that announcement, but none have been taken to be written down for memory.
Notes3: Sometimes I wonder if Blizzard reads fanfiction. Certainly they are aware of it (going by one of Thrall's poke comments). I was contemplating doing another Winter Veil chapter...and then I saw Gingerdread Nazeebo and Reindeer Lunara in the BlizzCon 2016 In Development video. Oh, the inspiration I can reap from the latter's salty tears.
Notes4: Yes, I did watch HawkrayTV's "A Stylish Hallow End". It made me wonder which of us plays the better Sylvanas and what level he is with her.
Notes5: One more thing, and once more it's late in the coming and because I feel it needs to be reiterated: Don't argue in the review sections for First Impressions, How Does That Even Work?, and any other HotS story I post in the future (which I do plan on doing eventually). It's not doing anyone a world of good and I hate having to play babysitter when people should know better. Seeing mudslinging going on in the reviews is the last thing I want to see when I come home from work and check my e-mails.
"Nova, I need you to do me a favor."
"A…A favor?" Nova parroted, every thought and process in her body freezing to a halt. She had said it out loud and didn't notice the change in atmosphere around them: how the people seated nearby grew quiet and listened, trying not to lean closer to better hear the exchange.
Sylvanas slapped her hands on the table. "Yes, a favor! Keep your voice down!" The action was loud enough to make the patrons jump and turn away.
"Ah! S-Sorry, I…."
"Just be quiet and listen." Sylvanas leaned forward, but only marginally so; she didn't want to give the girl ideas. "There's going to be a match tomorrow—one of those armchair leagues between the noblesse lower on the food chain. I checked in with the Board; it's going to be between House Llhoran and House Arrhidon. You and I got handpicked in the lottery and put into Llhoran."
Nova nodded, tapping her fingers against the mug. "Okay. Who do we have on our team?"
"We have Artanis as solo tank, Chromie, and Malfurion. House Arrhidon has ETC as tank and Uther as support with Tychus, Tracer, and Alarak as their frontline."
Nova took a sip. The tea had grown cold, but it still retained that cool, faint grape flavor. "That's a pretty strong team. Slippery, too. Between my emergency stealth protocol, your banshee cries, and Chromie's hearthstone…there aren't that many options of escape. Not many options to control the field, either. Did they decide on a realm?"
"Warhead Junction."
"The new stomping grounds, huh? Hopefully the Knights have the borders secured and the aether stabilized. After what happened to Hammer and her new, uh, followers, I don't think the Children of Atom and the Bawhm are going to be worshipping undetonated warheads and pushing for decriminalizing and legalizing public usage of nuclear and aetherite plants."
Sylvanas waved her hand dismissively. "They can do that in their hospital beds." And their chamber pots, knowing the kind of medicine Morales used to instantly cure radiation poisoning and aether fever, but there was a plate of food in front of Nova and there was enough humanity left in Sylvanas to not spoil the atmosphere with such crude comments. "As I was saying: I mention this to you not only to let you know ahead of time, but because I have accepted a challenge from Alarak, the newcomer."
"You sure it was a challenge and not an attempt to goad you into something he could take advantage of? I mean, Warhead Junction isn't exactly protoss territory but he wasn't given the title of Highlord for being a boy scout. He's cunning, Sylvanas. The Tal'darim are assholes, and Alarak just happens to be the biggest one of 'em all. They'll muddy their four-fingered, Simpsons-styled hands if it means winning a losing battle.
Sylvanas shrugged. "So? What does he have that I don't?"
"He has telekinesis!"
She scoffed. "So he can move things with his mind! A valuable asset, but not something I am sorely in need of."
"He's fast and knows how to charge in when you least expect it!"
She nodded. "Indeed…if you're deaf. You can hear him coming from the other side of the battlefield."
"He's a dick to everyone, even the healers." Nova turned up her nose. "I swear, I think he likes to self-inflict some of that pain as much as he can dish it so he could bitch out Morales or Li Li, saying their nanites and magicks aren't enough to keep him going."
"So he claims. He believes himself to be, and I quote, 'the biggest sadist on this side, that side, and outside the Nexus'. Which brings me to my aforementioned point: Alarak has heard of the more…well, I can't say the things I've done back home are considered 'unsavory' if I had done them within my moral boundaries. But yes, he's heard about me and proposed a game of sorts, the kind of game I, in my most high seat as Banshee Queen, have no time for."
Nova sipped again. "What was it?"
"He said he wanted to see who the biggest sadist is. On top of learning of my deeds on Azeroth, he's also more or less yanked on the grapevine one too many times and learned of my…relationship with the participants in the Hero League. More importantly: you. Tell me, Nova, do you still keep track of how many times you die by my hand?"
"Sure do. I still have the ledgers from when we first made our acquaintance." Nova tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling, blinking the spots out of her eyes. "Sure doesn't feel like going on two years…."
"Which is why I require your assistance. Alarak is of the opinion that I will so easily use you as a meat shield in order to protect myself from some of the more brutal fights that'll go down in and out of the throw pits. Normally I would do that if it were to work to my advantage…but not this time." Sylvanas shook her head. "Nay, Nova—this time, it will not be the case. So I ask that you may do me this favor."
Nova had set down the cup and took up the fork and knife, and paused just she was about to cut into the crisp shank. "You're not going to murder me again, are you? Even if we lose? No offense, but there's a difference between catching me when I least expect it and doing me in when I'm at my weakest."
"You have my word I will not indiscriminately break every bone in your body, put holes in it, or punt you off a cliff into oblivion out of cathartic spite." For now.
Nova hummed and for a time set upon the meat, cutting it into bite-sized chunks. Sylvanas waited as the girl chewed, thought, swallowed, and picked up another piece, resuming the process. "How will I get close to him?" she asked. "As soon as I drop the cloak, he's going to toss me around like a ragdoll. Especially with that charge of his; unless you or someone else gets between him, I'm screwed."
"As a matter of fact, Nova, you won't have to," said Sylvanas. "Not in the usual way, that is." She tried not to fidget; she was a Banshee Queen, dammit, and self-imposed undead queens with the power to raise the dead and make people deaf through the power of screaming did not fidget.
Nova paused, lowering the meat-speared fork. "Oh? How so?" Sylvanas' frown, which was her default expression when she wasn't railing at everyone and every beast left and right when her temperament wasn't pressed, deepened into a scowl, and her ears flicked back and forth. It was instances like this where Nova found the older woman to be more doglike than catlike, but that only made the mental images of her as a chibi with animal ears all the more endearing. "What is it?" she pressed, trying not to let the childish glee of her thoughts be voiced.
Beneath the linen tablecloth, Sylvanas clenched her hands hard. "Nova, do you know how I've always said that if a person does not serve me in their first life, they will do so in the next as a Forsaken?"
"Yeah," said Nova. "Speaking of which, you never got back to me when I asked you if you'd raise me if I ever got dropped into Azeroth—"
"I'm still thinking it over."
"After a whole year?"
"These things take time," Sylvanas forced out between clenched teeth. "Consideration."
"Well, if I do this, I'm expecting an answer. Oh, and some major compensation. If this is going to be more hardcore than spontaneously dying to friendly fire or you causing the Li-Ming equivalent of a nuke going off by using Chromie as a missile again and I get caught in it—"
"I assure you, it won't be. And get that fork out of my face!"
"I want to be sure," Nova said, withdrawing the utensil. She didn't care if the gravy was dripping on the plate or all over the table. "If I'm going to die doing this—and between you and me, odds are good I will—I want it to be special." Leaning back against the seat, legs crossed one over the other and the fork tapping her lips, she added, "Make it worth my while, and maybe, just maybe I'll—"
Sylvanas grumbled.
"What was that?" Nova asked, blinked, and sat up. She thought she had misheard, but...judging by those furrowed brows, the curled upper lip exposing her fangs, and the way her gaze was averted…
"I said I'll…." Sylvanas started, and trailed off into incoherency.
"Sylvanas, I can't hear you—"
"An outing! A debt to be repaid! An IOU! Call it what you will, but gods, ancestors, and cosmic forces beyond your mortal comprehension help you, do not call it a DATE!" Sylvanas cried, and in a little corner at the far back of her mind she was vaguely aware of all the conversation around them dropping several decibels. "I will do anything you please EXCEPT the first thing that comes into your mind, because WE ALL KNOW we don't want to give those damn shippers more of a leg to stand on! Do I make myself clear, November Terra?"
Sylvanas watched the girl process this. With her mouth hanging open wide enough for a monorail to go through, she had the sudden urge to lean forward and ram the heel of her hand under her jaw just to hear the satisfying, painful click as it snapped shut. How was she to take her seriously with that wide-eyed, star-struck look on her face?
Nova blinked once. Twice. Sylvanas could almost hear the gears turning, could imagine the rust falling between the spaces in copper flakes. "…Anything?" she asked.
"Anything," Sylvanas said, putting emphasis on the word. She restrained herself from staring right back at the idiot patrons. Darkness, if she had just trained a little more she could compel them to commit mass suicide via mind control! The lack of such power, on top of being put on the spot, made her ears burn cold with humiliation. "Just…help me out this…one…time." The words felt as though they were being punctuated with a stake through her heart.
Nova smirked. She set down her utensils on the plate and pushed it aside. "Just 'one time'?"
"Don't push your luck."
"Oh, fine. Have it your way. Now then, let's get down to business, shall we? How do you plan to use me?"
The day came and went, and soon tomorrow became today, and when the sun was high and the aether storms not so chaotic, the match was underway. Disgruntled Children of Atom and Bawhm worshippers sulked in their holographic costumes and their picket signs on their laps, paying half a mind the blows House Llhoran and House Arrhidon traded in between lanes. Higher up, in glass-walled balconies, the lords and ladies sat in leather upholstery while their manservants and slaves stood sentinel behind them, watching the action unfold on HoloVision screens. Androids waited on them with platters of food and drink conjured from the banquet tables and wet bars.
They were upping the stakes as the match went on; this Alarak was certain. Raising the amount of money to be exchanged, what idiot and deviant dare they'd perform to the amusement of all their drunkard friends, who would have to give up a precious slave and bear the brunt of his master's wrath. He receded from their thoughts and reigned in his focus. Through the smoke he could see Tracer zipping in between Tychus and Artanis to get some shots in on Chromie, who was in the middle of casting a spell; Artanis spun on his heel and dashed back after her, but his blades caught only air as she warped back to her point of origin. Chromie fell on her back, got up, and fled past the broken gates toward the health fountain, blood dripping a zig-zagging trail behind her. Alarak emerged from the vent and blasted lightning from his palm. It nailed her right in the back and sent her rolling to the ground, dead. The crowd roared.
He harrumphed and turned away from her disintegrating body, warp blades primed and humming with power. He saw Malfurion coming in from the bottom lane on the unicorn, its flank bruised and the tip of its horn coated in gore both red and blue. Alarak scoffed and made a swift 'come hither' motion with his hand that elicited pinpricks up his wrist; he ignored it and pushed with his mind. An invisible wave shoved Malfurion from behind, throwing him off the beast. The unicorn whinnied and reared back, hooves pawing the air. Alarak pushed again, and the unicorn was slammed into the creep-infested wall; bereft of its rider, it disappeared in a shimmer of aether. Another wave of his hand, he picked Malfurion up and dumped him on his feet. Alarak charged, noting contemptuously the way the Archdruid, dazed as he was, raise his staff and cast Moonfire. The column of moonlight rained down on Alarak, lit up his skin in burning, blister-inducing waves. Unfazed, he put on a burst of speed, raised the warp blades and struck forward.
A phase prism caught Malfurion full-on and tossed him out of the way, replacing him with Artanis. Warp blades clashed—one blue and red locked together, the other blue knocking the red aside for a glancing blow and avoiding a full-on strike. Round, transparent shields erupted all over Artanis' body, brimming with light, and as they exchanged blow for blow the lights flickered and flared, flickered and dimmed, absorbing the damage. From another vent Tychus emerged, roaring in tandem with the whine of the minigun spitting line after line of bullets at the Daelaam Hierarch. A fresh batch of shields ignited on Artanis' armor and in seconds faded. Tracer slipped past the Terran outlaw, unloading both clips of her guns onto another array of shields, emptied the clips and slapped in new ones at a speed Alarak's eyes couldn't follow, and proceeded to go right through those. A third, fourth, and fifth set of shields burst in and out of existence like flashing strobe lights.
"ACTIVATE PURIFIER BEAM!" Artanis called, and made a gesture with his hands. Somewhere high above, past the clouds, the atmosphere, and through the aether, the Spear of Adun relayed his call and brought down the thunder. The blue-white beam pierced the stars, the sky, and slammed into the ground as though it was the wrath of the gods themselves. Alarak growled and sidestepped as the beam chased after Tracer, sliding a deep gouge into earth, metal, and creep. She pushed herself seconds ahead of normal time, keeping several paces of it even as it went through the mid-lane's red gate and its shields screeched and its structures whined in protest. Alarak shot a surge of lightning at the battered foundations, destroying the systems that kept the shields online. The cannon towers crumbled inward, spilling gears and bolted plates and sawtoothed, square-toothed innards. Uther galloped in on the horse from the core's gate and reined it to a stop behind the bulk of the keep, away from the dissipating Purifier Beam. A quick psionic probe revealed the paladin was healing her injuries with the Holy Light. Another reach showed Chromie respawning at the Hall of Storms and making her way back to the fray.
Somewhere above them, someone yodeled. Distant at first, then rising in volume…obnoxious and grating on the ears. Or, it was the protoss equivalent of nails against a chalkboard. Artanis lunged forward and slashed once, twice, and a third time, warp blades criss-crossing the air. Alarak leaped back away from them and raised his in a parry. A fourth slash came whistling overhead. Alarak caught it with both weapons and, with a cry, put all his weight into his feet and swept his arms and Artanis' to the right, throwing the Daelaam Highlord off balance. Alarak pounced, slamming a blade through his opponent's girdle and into his gut, doubling him over. He reared his right arm back, gathered the psychic power in fist and warp blade, and struck Artanis open-palmed in the face. Crimson energy washed over him in a violent shockwave that blew him off his feet and bowled into Malfurion just as he was raising his staff again for another spell. Alarak growled as his movements came to a jarring halt and stared down at his body, which was wrapped in a slew of thorn-tipped vines. He grabbed a fistful and tore them off his body, heedless of the blood flowing freely from his hand.
All this happened in seconds, and then the ground shook as the Elite Tauren Chieftain made his grandiose entrance onto the scene, loosening the remaining vines from their ironclad grip. The bull-man yanked a stereo speaker off his belt and all but hurled it at the enemy gate, where it let loose a loud, static-riddled shockwave that bounced Malfurion and the evaporating corpse in his arms back a few feet.
The ETC ran his hand through his guitar's strings and flashed the night elf the hook 'em horns. "Yo, bros, don't stop 'til you can't get enough! Rock the night away! We got the advantage! Press on! They can't kill the metal, baby!"
"Quit your blathering, you oversized slab of uncooked beef, and get the bomb!" said Alarak, tearing off the last of the vines. "Did you forget they have a cloaked assassin?"
"Live and learn! Nova knows she has to be dead to crowd surf! No way she'd make a move now!"
"Let me go check!" said Tracer, jogging past them. "It should still be there!" She accelerated through the smoke vents and reappeared immediately thereafter, arms and legs pumping hard and panic in her eyes. "It's not! WATCH OUT!"
Alarak and the Chief turned to face her, just in time for the howling black arrow to slam right into the tauren's chest. He barely managed to look down at what hit him before it exploded in a tide of black and purple magic. He was thrown against the wall and collapsed, his skull cracking against a sharp edge of broken tower. Alarak tossed up an arm and telekinetically pushed himself to the side just before he crashed into the structure, landing on both knees. His hearts drummed furiously in his chest, felt his skin thrum with adrenaline and the ache of necromancy rippling across his body and settle into his bones like frostbite. He lifted his head in time to see Sylvanas reform from her bizarre banshee cry in front of a confused Tracer and whip her arm upward. In her hand was the shadow dagger.
Blood flowed, and the light from her chronal accelerator was snuffed out. Her body crumbled to nothing, more quickly than the rest of her teammates. Not even technology can protect you from the storm, he thought, and stood to his full height, appraising Sylvanas. She stared back at him, tall and proud, the inner shadows of her hood lit with a necromantic, red glow.
"Oh? You're not attacking me?" he asked. "How odd. Does that mean you rescind our challenge and surrender?"
"No," she said. "I'm still in this 'for the win', as the children put it these days."
Alarak barked laughter. "Not doing much of a good job, are you? You'd better work on that before those Arrhidon tools flag you for non-participation. But that's fine by me," he added with a shrug, limbering his shoulders. "It'll make this game so much easier."
"I could say the same to you. Shouldn't you be concerned about the lack of a nuke?"
His eyes widened, feigning innocence. "Should I? You make it sound as though it's a bother."
"I would be, if I were you. This is Nova we're talking about…and speaking of which, we're out in the open. You should keep an open mind, Highlord. It might get you somewhere."
He laughed again. "Don't be so certain! It's so easy to tell when the stealth protocol is active. Have you ever noticed when the sun hits it at the right angle? Even on a cloudy day, if you look closely~" He scanned the lane, eyes narrowing. "You can point. Them. OUT!" He whipped both hands forward and unleashed a streak of lightning at the vent to Sylvanas' left. The smoke parted, but it revealed nothing.
She turned her head toward the vent and arched a brow. "I guess not."
"She is around here somewhere! Ghosts, as you should know, cannot abide to hide forever. They have a propensity for the most. Unusual. PLACES!"—another bolt, this time to her right—"to take over. You, at least, have that nasty old sack to walk around in. You can manipulate it however you please…although I don't see why anyone, especially a…person as transitioned as Miss Nova…would want to take a…personal…interest. It'd be like reading those god-awful fanfiction everyone just loves to write. It's all BLITHER and BLATHER and UNREALISTIC EXPECTATION set UP for DISAPPOINTMENT!" He struck with emphasis, each blast hitting dangerously closer to Sylvanas. The Banshee Queen did not move an inch.
"Ah, but I digress," Alarak said, relaxing his posture, as if he hadn't just torn up part of the lane. "If you're here, then that means she's nearby. I wonder if she'd dare take the risk if I so much as, oh I don't know, tickle you?" He splayed his palm and blackened the ground at her feet, kicking up a cloud of dirt and dust along with the edge of her cloak.
Sylvanas' ears twitched. She stared at the scorched earth, then stared back up at the protoss. "You know, Alarak, I can respect someone who does what it takes to get to the top regardless of their methods. Not everyone can be like us and bloody their hands and get away with it. But you know…there is one thing I have that you lack."
Alarak shook his head in quick, little motions. "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention. Did you happen to say you're better than me?"
"More or less. More, really. There's no less with me."
"And what is this oh-so desirable trait that I'm lacking, eh?" Alarak primed the warp blades and moved into a ready stance. At the very edges of his mind, prodding with very faint fingertips, he could sense the gnome-dragon and Artanis riding out of the Hall of Storms. "I want you to think very carefully—"
"Focus."
"What?" he growled.
"You lack focus," said Sylvanas. "Oh, and let's not forget reaction time."
"Reaction—?"
Malfurion staggered through the gate. "Sylvanas! This isn't the time for palavers—"
What happened next slowed to a crawl.
"Hey, buddy!" came Nova's voice, and the Ghost herself uncloaked right behind the Tal'darim Highlord, just outside the keep's targeting protocol. She clamped a hand on the back of a gauntlet and raised her head, locking eyes with him as he was twisting around to look.
That grin was monstrous. "Today's your birthday!" In her other hand, something metal and cylindrical glowed a subsuming green. In such close proximity, the warp blade crackled. "Let's celebrate."
Alarak's hearts seized. "WHAT—!"
And then everything happened in an instant.
"THE WARHEAD!" Tracer cried, and made to move.
"BY THE LIGHT!" yelled Uther, and he rushed forward, hammer pointed at Alarak in a motion to shield him.
"Sylvanas, you planned—!" Malfurion began.
"MOVE!" she said, and all but spun him around and shoved her boot up his ass. Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Nova bringing down the nuke onto the tip of the Highlord's warp blade.
REMEMBER OUR DEAL, SYLVANAS! Nova's single thought blared in her head.
Then the nuke exploded. The shockwave that followed sped across the lane and into the gate, causing it to crackle and whine. The hum that signified the systems were up and running in the cannon towers died with the EMP passing, and it was all Sylvanas could hear before the wave lifted her feet off the ground and slammed her into Malfurion. Artanis forced his battle beast to a halt, to which it roared in shock as he drew up on the reins. Chromie nearly rammed into his back on the MVP Black tile, but as its engines recalibrated to adjust the sudden movement she gazed upon the mushroom cloud blooming amidst the destruction of the enemy keep. Nova, Alarak, Tracer, and Uther were gone.
"Sylvanas," Artanis began, "tell me you didn't just send Nova to her death."
"Now why would I do a thing like that?" she said, pushing herself off Malfurion.
"Because Nova does whatever Nova wants unless you're involved to some capacity," the Archdruid said, giving the Banshee Queen a look that was both dismayed and resigned. "Which is, I should put it, every chance she gets."
Sylvanas shrugged. "Who's to say she didn't come up with this on her own?"
"Sylvanas, I was right there. I heard everything."
"And you're going to have such a wonderful time on your date!" Chromie exclaimed, sidling up next to her with a big smile. Sylvanas scowled. "Oh, don't give me that look. It's a lot better than watching The Walking Dead and browsing the forums for spoilers and viewer reactions afterwards or trying to connect to online servers while playing Mortal Kombat. You'll get to participate in Jeetilopolis' Monster Truck and Rocket Rooster Sudden Death Competition!"
Artanis shot Sylvanas a bewildered look. "Wait. You…and her…are you actually—?"
"Don't even finish that sentence," she snarled.
"But if you really cared, why did you—"
"Unless you want to experience what having a mouth feels like, you'll keep those thoughts to yourself!" She whipped out the shadow dagger and stopped its point shy of carving it across his face. Artanis' eyes narrowed and took a step back, shrugging his shoulders in stubborn acquiescence. "Now, if we're all done speculating my personal, backdoor on-goings, let us return our focus to the match. Not a word of this to anyone. Understand? If I so much as hear one of you gossip—"
"You'll murder us in our sleep, we know, we know," said Malfurion, brushing himself off and taking his staff to hand. "Honestly, Sylvanas, you are much too predictable. People will find out even if we don't talk. You know this match is being recorded and broadcast on cable network and internet streaming services, right?"
"And you know how obsessed the paparazzi are," Chromie added. "They're totally going to tail you to the ends of the Anchors and back if it means getting a teensy-weensy bit of information, no matter how incorrect and farfetched, out of your relationship with Nova. That kind of stuff sells like hot cakes!"
Sylvanas pulled her lips back in a severe scowl. "By all that is dark and unholy, never say teensy-weensy ever again. It's bad enough trying to take you seriously looking like…well, that." She gestured to the pint-sized gnome form Chromie presented herself in.
Chromie steepled her hands together and bowed to her a mock-salaam. "We'll get our day in the spotlight. Eventually…but for now, you're stuck with me, plus a night elf who can't decide what animal he identifies with (no offense taken, Mal) and the not-draenei space samurai. Isn't that grand?"
Sylvanas sneered and walked away, grumbling, knocking an arrow against the bowstring.
