The Twisting Nether seethed and writhed as it always had, but now it seemed the physical manifestation of Kil'jaeden's anger. The Legion had failed in its mission, the planet and more than half of its peoples had survived, and the bulk of the demon forces had been repulsed into the Nether, never to return. Kil'jaeden's singular purpose in his dealings with this wretched world had been thwarted… by a mere boy, the Lich King's puppet.
And here was the dying spirit of Azgalor, the demon Kil'jaeden himself had chosen to prevent all of the aforementioned failures from occurring.
"Azgalor! Wretched child!" the Eredar fumed, his red skin seeming to erupt in flames not unlike the swirling inferno of the Nether. "I gave you one task, and one task only – ensure that the Legion can still fight after Archimonde was defeated!" The great demon summoned a pillar of flame and sent it as a wave over the anguished form of the Pit Lord.
"Now I find you instrumental in the failure of that objective, and all that you can say for yourself is that you were tricked? By a human?!"
"Massster, pleasssse! I did all I could to ssstop the – gah!" The spirit wailed as a new wave of fire washed over it. Tears of char and ash fell down its face, burning holes in its skin.
"Yet," Kil'jaeden sighed, "I understand it would not be fair to hold you singularly to blame. There was after all, the boy, whom I failed to foresee… and I suppose it was also I who chose you for this task, which was obviously, in hindsight, quite beyond you…" The Pit Lord's burnt-out visage looked up foolishly, with hope. The Eredar caught his gaze and chuckled grimly.
"Yes, I suppose it must have been my fault then. I cannot hold you accountable then." Azgalor's spirit seemed overjoyed. The Eredar sneered at him.
"In that case, I won't keep torturing you… you've done all you could, after all… I think you've earned the right to die."
The spirit let loose one last shriek as bolts of green lightning enveloped it, and then was suddenly silent.
Arthas clapped.
The sound was strangely hostile in the silence of the desolated forest. He repeated the gesture several times, and then lowered his gloved hands to his sides as at last Illidan turned to look at him.
"Good show, my friend, good show. I had my money on you the whole time."
"What do you want?" Illidan snarled, his fist closing around the Orb of Kil'jaeden.
"Just my sword back, if you please." Arthas smiled warmly. Illidan remained cold.
"Take it, then," the elf said, his gaze returning to his prize. "Blasted weapon's no good anyway."
"It has its purposes!" Arthas disputed, his voice high and childish. Then he grinned again. "I won't argue with you, though. I'd hate to convince you of its use and have to fight you for it."
"Be gone, Arthas. Please." The elf collapsed in the dirt, the fatigue from his constant battles having finally drained him.
"I don't blame you for being irritable. You've had an awfully long day," the Death Knight answered, bending to retrieve Frostmourne where Illidan had discarded it on the ground. "Truly, though, I was rooting for you the whole time. Those demons didn't stand a chance… especially that one." He gestured to the charred form of Azgalor.
"Arthas, I asked you once to be gone. Please… go before I decide I have to fight you."
"Of course, friend. You need your privacy while you sleep it off."
"You are not my friend!" The elf exploded suddenly. A nearby tree caught fire, paralleling the emotion in Illidan's voice.
"My, my, you have grown powerful," Arthas remarked. He paused, eyeing the burning tree. "It's just as well, of course. I don't plan to play my games with just anyone."
The night elf sighed in defeat, and placed his throbbing head in his hands.
"If you don't mind me saying so," Arthas added, "it's quite a nice pair of horns you've got there. They suit you."
"Be gone!" Illidan exploded again. The flames licking the tree doubled in intensity.
"Fine, fine," the Death Knight said, "I know when I'm not wanted. I'll be seeing you around, Illidan."
"Wait." Something Arthas had said had just struck the night elf. He struggled to place it. "You said… something about… not playing games… with just anyone?"
Arthas nodded, smiling. "Why, of course. I won't play my games with just anyone. It has to be you, Illidan, and I daresay you've almost made it to where you need to be when I start."
"But I thought… are your blasted games not over, Arthas?" The Death Knight smiled wider. "You made me kill the orc and those demons for you, you made sure the Legion got sent back to the Nether, and you even saved the world in the meantime, all though I don't wonder if that was by accident. Aren't your miserable games finished yet?"
"Illidan, Illidan, Illidan. I thought you'd come so far, but you need to pay more attention." The Death Knight dropped his idiotic grin suddenly, instantly serious. "Did you not see? All I did today was narrow the playing field, weeded out a few contenders, prepared the battleground. My goal was never to save the world, Illidan – it was to rule it." The was a momentary pause as Illidan considered this, an expression of shock – even fear – taking over his face where anger had governed it seconds before.
"You're mad, Arthas!" he said at last. The human smiled again, but it was not now his light, boyish grin; instead, his mouth twisted into a sinister sneer.
"Oh, good, at least you're not completely dense. Yes, Illidan, I'm completely mad. But not the sort you think. I'm the sort of mad that makes a man get back up and fight when it's obvious he's lost, the sort of mad that decides which species evolve and survive and which perish. I'm the sort of mad that it takes to seize this great big world and make it follow my vision – my aims! And I am mad enough to make it work!"
"So what game is it you've picked me for, Arthas? You want me to conquer the world for you?"
"No, Illidan. I want you to die. But not here, and not now. I want you stronger, much stronger… strong enough to push me to my limits and thereby make me that strong. When I eventually kill you, Illidan, I want it to be the single most important act of my life, my defining moment, and yours. It will be the exact moment when this world may as well give up and bow to me, because I will have destroyed the most powerful warrior in it other than myself, and that warrior will be you."
The two had approached one another as they'd spoken, and the undead human now stood a few scant inches from the horned night elf, staring upwards into the taller warrior's blindfolded visage.
"You're a monster," Illidan whispered. Arthas laughed.
"I think we've exhausted the topics for this conversation, my friend. I'll be seeing you." Whistling to himself, the Death Knight clutched the hilt of Frostmourne, turned and walked calmly away from the suddenly shivering Illidan.
The elf remained in clearing a long time, unable to shake the cold shudder he had felt at Arthas' words.
Later, much later, when Illidan had at last picked himself and left the clearing, the morning's new light came to shine upon the results of the previous twilight's carnage. The sun revealed to all the burnt patches of forest, the crumbled orc, human and night elf fortifications… and worst of all, the decimated Tree.
The survivors mourned those who had fallen, and then began the slow task of rebuilding what could be rebuilt. The ancient forest would take generations to regrow; the broken kingdoms of all three races' civilizations would require many years to repair. And nothing would bring back the lives taken by the Legion in its wake.
Most of the Scourge had retreated overnight to Northrend, and from there, many of its number would return to the broken Lordaeron. Though far from its original state, the wilder-lands of Kalimdor would become a fair home for any who wished to settle there.
In one forgotten clearing littered with bodies, one fallen shape stirred.
The cold touch of the Runeblade, Frostmourne, had not left Kokoro's body with his fall, nor with the coming of the warm, humid morning. It lived on in him, and so long as it did so, he would live on. He knew, somehow, that Kil'jaeden's plans had failed, that the legion was gone. Arthas, the villain, had succeeded where countless heroes had at the same time failed – he had preserved this world from the touch of one who would destroy it, for whatever reason.
Yet, though his master was beaten, the blademaster's quest remained in his mind, and in his heart. Coupled with the unnerving cold in his chest, the sense of his reluctant duty drove the orc to rise… to point his feet north, towards Northrend… towards the Icecrown glacier, where he would find his enemy, the Lich King, and with him Arthas…
Kokoro began to walk.