Shouts echoed through Acherus, metal clashing against metal. As Thalach ran to help assist a tauren knight that he'd been working with for a while, he paused in the hall, looking up to where another tauren death knight hung.

He struggled to remember his name for a moment before the word Shadow bubbled up into his memory. The undead steer hung where he was, eyes closed, though his ears twitched occasionally when the fighting sounded like it was closer.

This had been the first death knight to break free of Arthas' will.

This was the knight who had started it all.

How was it, then, that no one had thought to get him down yet?

Thalach's blade cracking into one of the chains holding him up, breaking the cold metal apart and letting one of Shadow's arms fall loose. The tauren's eyes snapped open, surprise etched clearly onto his face. His gray fur was a bit matted, but aside from that, he'd born undeath with few injuries to show. There were a few gashes across his torso, but aside from that—and likely whatever injuries the meathooks would leave when he was pulled down—he almost looked like a living tauren.

Assuming Thalach's memories were even remotely accurate.

"What are you—" Shadow's voice wavered. He hadn't used his vocal cords in a while.

Thalach eyed the chains and broke another that kept the creature's massive head in place. The next hit brought down his other arm. "You're gonna sag down from those hooks one way or another. You have a preference for which side gets fucked?"

Though the tauren stared down at him for a moment, he abruptly laughed. "You've got to be… kidding."

"We're fighting back," Thalach replied, eyeing the remaining chains. The ends around Shadow still hung off him loosely, but he was almost down. "If I can get you down, do you think you can kick some ass?"

"You get me down and I'll kick any asses you want me to," Shadow replied, a smirk replacing his grimace as Thalach managed to get the middle chain, leaving only two meathooks, one in each shoulder.

Even as the orc tried to figure out how to reach them, Shadow reached up, gripping each chain just about his shoulder, and then hoisting himself up, as though he weren't the one strung up on them. Thalach could hear the sickening squik of the hooks sliding out of flesh, and then Shadow thudded to the ground in front of him, his hulking form hunching down and falling to one knee.

Even as Thalach moved to him, pulling loose one of the other hooks still in him and tossing it aside, Shadow jerked to his feet, swinging one of the other chains into an abomination and catching it by the arm with its hook. Shadow had the thing disarmed and dismembered in foreign heartbeat.

Thalach watched him, mouth hanging open as Shadow jerked more of the hooks from himself, tossing all but the last one aside. "How many death knights are rebelling?"

With a grin, Thalach motioned for Shadow to follow him. "Over half of Acherus." He hesitated to decapitate two skeletal casters as they turned the corner, hurrying to assist with the Scourge forces still in the necropolis. "I'm heading upstairs to meet with Leafless and Shawn."

"And Kisses?" Shadow asked, keeping up with him easily, despite his injuries.

"I'm sure she's around," Thalach laughed.

"And Bloodsworn?"

His voice had dropped at that name, and Thalach paused to glance at him. They both might have been death knights, but Shadow was on a level all his own. "Not sure."

A wide grin spread across Shadow's lips as he nodded. "If he shows up, he's mine."

Even as they took on another small group of Scourge—these ghouls were more disoriented, not sure who to go after. Thalach caught one of them under his control and turned it on the others, keeping it with them as they kept pressing forward. "You may be able to take on abominations and casters, but I don't know if you'll want to take on a fellow death knight without finding someone to mend you first."

Shadow seemed to consider that for a moment before nodding and then giving Thalach another grin. "Get me to the armory, and that won't be a problem."

With a nod, Thalach charged forward, gripping a banshee to him and then beheading another caster. He let out a howl as they fought their way forward.

They had all lost so much, taken so much, but here, now, they were themselves again, and they were going to reclaim every scrap of themselves that they could, starting with the necropolis.

~"~

Adrias stood in front of the Farstriders' headquarters in Silvermoon, exhausted yet determined. "Let me speak with him."

The Farstrider who had barred him entry simply crossed his arms, feet planted firmly where he stood. "No civilians are allowed beyond this point."

With a curse, Adrias held up a hand, flames dancing around his fingertips as he fought back the urge to just conjure a damned demon to sic on the bastard blocking his path. "If I can't go in, then go get him. I need to talk with him—"

"He doesn't want to speak with you," the elf snapped back, draining Adrias magic and leaving the warlock doubled over on the floor, gasping as he reoriented himself. "You've come by every day for the last two months. The city is under fucking siege. Surely an elf with your prowess could be useful elsewhere."

"And just what are you doing for your people?" Adrias managed, hissing the words as he glared up. The Farstrider narrowed his eyes. Already, their former blue was tinged to a turquoise. Another month or so and there wouldn't be any blue eyed elves left in Silvermoon.

Adrias' father—the grand warlock of Silvermoon—had taken advantage of the end of their world to approach the prince with ideas of how to be strong enough to take on the undead that didn't seem to end. It was a last ditch effort, but the quel'dorei were not about to go out quietly.

Adrias wondered how green Gryst'lyn's eyes were now.

If he could just see him… just talk to him…

How could he be mad about what had happened? How could he honestly think that dying would have been better?

Adrias couldn't have left him behind, couldn't have let the undead take his only friend.

Though, it seemed that in the end he'd lost Gryst'lyn either way.

Standing a bit straighter and mustering his wounded pride, he stared down his nose at the Farstrider. "If Gryst'lyn doesn't want to talk to me, he can tell me himself. I will be here to bother you every day until he does."

As he spoke, a small contingent of Farstriders returned to the headquarters from patrols of the outer parts of the city. Many of them were injured, many worn and looking ready to give up—everyone had lost someone at this point. Wren counted among them, though he made sure not to look toward Adrias as he slipped into the headquarters, disappearing into the shadows with a few others without a word. They'd be up and back on patrol well before they'd had a chance to rest properly.

One of them, however, paused beside Adrias, blonde eyebrows arched inquisitively. "What's going on here?"

"Captain Dawningblade," the Farstrider saluted him. "This is the elf who insists on speaking with Farstrider Emberdawn."

The captain turned toward him, tilting his head as he appraised Adrias with a cautious look in his eyes—they were already mostly fel green.

In Adrias experience, those who fell to the fel magic this quickly were tapping the newly made mana crystals in desperate attempts to forget the things they had seen.

Things they had done.

"Dawningblade," Adrias said the name slowly, inspecting him back. "You wouldn't happen to be Amaeria's friend, Jaserisk, would you?"

The elf winced at that, though he nodded. "I wasn't aware Amaeria was friends with warlocks."

"We weren't friends," Adrias replied, narrowing his eyes. He vaguely remembered Gryst'lyn insisting that Jaserisk's actions had been suspicious.

Yet here he was, rising in the ranks. Perhaps that was just because the worthy choices for higher ups had already fallen.

As he looked over the elf, a thought occurred to him. He couldn't bring Amaeria back, but perhaps he could bring to light what had really happened—whatever it was that had been kept out of the official reports, of course.

Surely that sort of endeavor would win him back Gryst'lyn's favor.

It was worth a try.

With a thin smile, Adrias shook his head. "I suppose you're right," he said, looking at the Farstrider who had first blocked his entry. The man seemed bewildered by the sudden turn of events. "I do have more important things to do." Glancing toward Jaserisk, he gave him a short nod. "Captain."

…-…

A/N: I'm ending Lost Souls here because to continue would require introducing a slew of new characters, and not getting back to some older ones for a while. Haa'aji and Amaeria's adventures continue in Dark Heart. After Dark Heart, there's a span of a few years not covered, and then Impervious starts. I will be finishing Impervious before I go back and write anything else in that gap, if I write anything.