I
There was a numbness in her she could not quell. It spread throughout her being; this feeling of apathy. She sat down next to her Lord's unmoving body, her fingertips lightly touching his cold Elven skin. They traced past the three black arrow-shafts lodged in his flesh. They reached his face. The stone-like face. She could feel velvet across her Lord's eyes. She could not actually see these eyes, covered as they were by a black sash. But the grimace of pain and triumph etched on his face told everything of his last stand against his enemies.
Akasha looked about her at the corpse-filled battlefield. So many soldiers and magi lay dead, their bodies hacked to pieces by her Lord's magnificent moon-blades. And even in death, his hands would not let go of his weapons.
When the Sentinel forces destroyed the Frozen Throne, the Scourge's world had ended. And with Kel'Thuzad, Leoric and Leshrac fallen in battle, the leaderless Undead army had fled the Sentinel advance. They had chosen to run than to fight.
Lord Terrorblade had decided otherwise.
He had entered the main Sentinel outpost alone. With the Sentinel army pushing so far forth in chase, the base had much less troops than usual. When the defenders arrived, the massacre began. He had forged a path to destroy the Sentinel's Ancient – a large tree of magic, killing all in his way. He was finally brought down by the combined effort of three Sentinel generals. But at such a price! Akasha spotted a large Tauren collapsed on the ground, a pool of blood beneath it. A Nightsabre and a female elf lay side by side unmoving. A drow knelt, decapitated.
But for all his power, in the end, he was just one man.
Lord Terrorblade had already fallen by the time she had arrived. Ever since her Lord had found her all those years ago, he had used her as a simple servant and sometimes bodyguard. Instead of fighting in the War of the Ancients, she had been used for running errands. He had sent her on such an errand just before he had attacked the Sentinel base. He was breathing his last when she returned. And when Akasha cradled his shivering frame, he whispered his last words before the final shudder of death.
Still, for all the regret she initially felt for not protecting her Lord, that emotion was eaten away by the emptiness within her. Yes, Lord Terrorblade, the man who had enslaved her for all these years, who had stolen her childhood, was finally dead.
And I am free!
Then why was she not happy?
The distant sound of hoofs alerted her of their presence. Akasha looked up and saw the riders entering the camp. There were six of them, and of diverse races. There was a green troll, two humans – a familiar male in full Loraeldon regalia and a female dressed in simple blue robes, and an armoured being with an unusually massive sword on his back. There was also an old man who glowed supernaturally in the setting sun. And a dryad, she noted in mild surprise. She also observed the shock on their faces after witnessing the horrific scene of destruction before them.
The man, she remembered him now. Lord Terrorblade had pointed him out to her once. He had called him… the Omniknight. The son of a lord playing general, Lord Terrorblade had described him.
This Omniknight dismounted, the others followed suit. He then approached her, a broadsword unsheathed in his hand. Nearby, the troll lurked, sporting two wicked-looking axes in its grip. The armoured being stood next to it. The female Human and the old man, she could smell the magic on them, they fell behind with the dryad who carried a small spear in her hands.
"You have nowhere else to go monster!" The Omniknight called out in the clearest of voices. "Surrender now! Perhaps mercy will stay our hands if you do!"
Akasha smiled grimly as the whole party advanced on her. It seemed she was not free yet. She recalled her Lord's final words as she pulled out a dull-grey dagger from the sheath at her hip. Only three words but still retained the power to chain her fate with his.
Kill them all!
She rose.
II
His name was Sven, more commonly known to others as the Rogue Knight. And he had a God's strength. It was because of his great strength that the charge against the Scourge army had smashed through their formations. It was because of his boldness and skill that hundreds of ghouls were swept aside by his blade. In fact, it was he who had slain the immortal Leoric, reducing the Skeleton King to fragments of bone. Even the Undead could not survive such decimation. The Sentinel army had surged forth in triumph, pushing the enemy back, killing their generals, cumulating in the destruction of the cursed Frozen Throne. It was a complete victory.
Until news came of Terrorblade's strike against their own base.
Sven glanced at Purist Thunderwrath, the Omniknight. It was he who had rallied the remaining generals to a sprint back to reinforce the defenders. And with due cause too. Terrorblade was a fearsome opponent, both devious and strong. He had already achieved so much damage by himself. It was fortunate he had not brought allies along for the attack.
"Dat blind elf, he be dead yar?" a guttural voice spoke from beside him. Sven turned to its source, Jah'rakal, a green troll with an orange Mohawk on his head. He had an axe in each hand. The troll was a warlord of a tribe unknown to Sven. His reasons for allying with the Sentinels were murky, but his skills were undeniably useful.
"Aye," replied Sven, "and I am thankful for it. Terrorblade is not a simple one to kill." He turned back to the situation before him. Purist was approaching the Scourge general's corpse and the creature crouching beside it. His weapon was unsheathed, his steps wary.
Sven studied the Scourge being, a female creature of unknown race. Her skin was the colour of the summer sky, her body lithe. Long black hair tied in a simple pony-tail cascaded down to her chest. Her face seemed elfin, made even so by the large, pointed ears she sported. That face had many dark markings on it, giving her an air of mystery that Sven could not fathom. Her emerald eyes bore no trace of fear.
"Who do you think she is Jah'rakal?" he asked, "I have not seen her before in any battle."
The troll's answer was interrupted by Purist's call for the creature's surrender. She said nothing, merely rose slowly from her crouch. In her right hand was a single dagger.
Sven saw a flash of silver and something flew past his right ear. He whipped his head about in time to see Jah'rakal fall to his knees. The troll was clutching at his throat, desperately trying to reach the hilt of a knife lodged in it. Crimson gushed from the wound, a macabre beard that grew ever longer. He gasped once, then the hands fell away limp.
Sven immediately went for his sword.
"Ezalor! Spells!" he heard Purist order in the background. Sven whirled back to the scene, his body tensed for the fight ahead.
Only the landscape of corpses greeted him. Of the enemy, there was no sign.
Where is she?
The sharp steel that touched his throat was cold. And the Rogue Knight felt little pain when it sliced across skin and flesh. A sticky wetness trickled down his chest. Paying it little mind, he tried to turn, a battle-cry on his lips. The next thing Sven knew, he was on his back, his eyes staring glassily at a tattooed face. His famed God's strength was rapidly disappearing, as if seeping away into the earth beneath. His other senses faded into the background. All he could feel now was the cold and this weakness. Darkness began to make its ritual presence across his vision.
Who are you… Sven wanted to ask before the night fell. But the words would not come.
III
Her Lord had a name for this particular movement, this display of terrifying speed and skill. It was an ability Akasha had displayed from young. It was what had attracted Lord Terrorblade to her in the first place.
She had seen others with a similar power as hers. There was Nessaj, the Chaos Knight, who charged at opponents with such speed, it seemed to all that he had teleported straight into the enemy's face. But her particular ability was different, and infinitely more useful. Where other warriors merely acquired high movement speeds, Akasha could move from one place to another instantaneously. All she had to do… was will it so. It was teleportation. Lord Terrorblade had called it blinking. When she blinked, the effect was immediate. No flashes of light heralded the jump. Her blinking range was limited only by her strength. The greater the jump distance, the more times she used it, the weaker she would be.
She flicked her weapon lightly and drops of blood flew from the stained blade. Her body had reacted to the Sentinel threat instantly, just as Lord Terrorblade had trained her. The troll was the first to fall in surprise. The armoured warrior had good senses, but was much too slow to comprehend her strikes.
Akasha shifted her body in readiness, her gaze sweeping across the remaining opponents. She was not accustomed to so much fighting and was determined to finish this with haste. As quick as she was, these were Sentinel generals outnumbering her four to one. Surprise would not be her ally for long. The numbers would take their toll.
The air crackled with energy.
In a single movement, she threw her body to the right, just as a tremendous ball of energy sped by her, destroying everything in its path. The troll and human bodies disintegrated into nothingness. The magical ball itself travelled some way more, causing more devastation before crashing into a nearby building.
The woman rolled and fell into a crouch, instantly aware. Her eyes focused onto the old luminous mage, whose staff had been pointed in her direction before. It was trained onto her now as the man's lips began to move in a whispered chant. She watched the staff glow as eddies of magic swirled about it.
Then the chanting stopped. And flared brilliantly as another ball of power exploded from the staff with blinding speed.
Akasha watched its approach with narrowed eyes. Then disappeared.
She could still feel residue sparks after passing through the burst of magic. She paid it little mind, more intent on the old mage's now-surprised face. Fluidly, she crouched low, her dagger pointing upwards. With a sudden ferocity, she jerked up, her aim true. The weapon pierced through the underside of the man's jaw, easily tearing through flesh and muscle, rending the mouth to pieces. The ascent continued as Akasha thrust the entire length of the dagger through the mage's head. It was over in mere seconds. The old man had not even time to scream, his dead body sagging against her smaller form.
It was pure instincts that saved her then. Her mind screaming out against unseen danger, her body reacting instantly to its commands. She darted to the dead mage's right, twisting on the balls of her feet to face his back. She leaned forward and with sudden ferocity, pushed the corpse.
The dead body struck fire. Unbearable heat filled the world as flames licked the air. It was a firestorm that could have only emerged from hell itself.
Akasha ignored the searing heat and the red sea that approached. She only saw a majestic bird before her. It soared and screeched and was beautiful. It devoured the mage's body, wrapping around it in fiery vengeance. The body's flesh puckered in boils, before melting, revealing charred bones underneath. All these in moments.
The body exploded. Its demised released a shockwave that ripped into Akasha with tremendous force, flinging her into the air as if a doll. Though slightly dazed from the concussion, she still managed to twist her body while in flight, landing on the ground slightly shaken, but unhurt. She looked for the source of the attack
There her enemy stood, proud and defiant, her blue robes flapping in the wind. Her hands were stretched out, palms open and facing the Scourge woman. An orange nimbus surrounded those hands, becoming brighter with every second. Akasha could see the sorceress's eyes, lit up as they were by her magic. They were eyes of scarlet, steel and fire in their gaze. She had seen the enemy, realising the dangers it posed. There would be no mercy.
Akasha stood ready. She observed the woman take a breath. She could feel the air about her begin to burn. She could almost taste the heat. Then her mind reacted.
Now!
Two fireballs burst from the glowing palms, bearing down at her. Akasha waited – then darted to the left, the aerial attack sailing by her harmlessly. She quickened her steps, determined to end the duel when the ground below her shook. Once again, her instincts saved her, her body blinking away just as a column of flame erupted from her last spot. She reappeared several feet from the area, realising how close to Death's embrace she had been. It would have been an instant death, but a painful one nevertheless.
Not yet.
She saw the sorceress chanting again. A mage's fatal flaw was the helplessness they had before casting the spell. It was now or never. She blinked again, emerging behind the enemy, her blade drawn in a reversed grip, the tip aimed for the side of her neck. The Sentinel woman turned to meet her arrival, her eyes betraying no fear, her lips still moving in mid-chant. The blade stabbed down-
And struck only the woman's shoulder as something crashed into her, throwing her onto the ground heavily. Akasha scrambled to her feet, senses screaming. Her hand moved automatically, guiding her dagger to slash out at open air. Metal pieces struck against the waving blade. Akasha studied those that had landed on the ground. They looked like little stars with serrated edges. She looked forth again, finally spotting the enemy. Or not. The enemy wavered between the visible and shadow, as if an illusion. It ran at her with amazing quickness, its intentions most definitely hostile. And as it approached, more of the shadows unravelled from its bodice, as if sunlight chasing away the advance of heavy darkness. Akasha knew it was a man then, dressed in a dark-green tunic and pants. He wore a grey mask of no features. There was a short sword in each hand, one the colour of ebony in his right, an ivory one in his left. Behind his run was the blue-clad sorceress, still standing with an arm covering her left shoulder.
The man was soon within striking range and lunged at the woman, both blades flashing. She backed away from a swipe from the right before blocking the other sword with her dagger. There was the clash of steel, the sparks of conflict. Akasha blinked, appearing behind her opponent. An ebony blade snaked out, too quick for her to put up a proper defence, the edge slicing the woman's cheek as she cocked her head away from the attack. She blinked again, this time to the man's right flank, keeping her distance. A small trickle of blood made its way down her cheek.
The masked man advanced, twirling his swords in his hands as he did.
"So you can be hurt," he said, his voice curiously high-pitched, its sound muffled but comprehensible. "That is good to know."
He broke into a run. She lunged forth to meet him.
Interlude I
She bent down, her fingers scrabbling for the remains of the bun. It was ruined, trodden upon, smashed into the mud. It was soaked in the rain. But she reached for the pieces anyway, stuffing them into her mouth, relishing the coldness of the bun.
She was hungry.
It was three days since she had last eaten. Half-dead from exhaustion and hunger, it was pure luck that she chanced upon a small bun sitting on the ground. She had picked it in anticipation, her stomach growled in assent. Then the men came. They came with knives and clubs.
"It will not taste good like that," said a voice in front of her. It was low and melodic, carrying a hint of arrogance only the strong would know. Instantly, the girl crouched, her left hand cradling the bun to her breast, the right hand closed upon a short knife. She thrust it out at the voice. Finally, she looked up.
She saw a man. No, not a man… he was something else. He was tall, and of the palest skin. On his face was a black sash but the girl's eyes were transfixed on the two wings that protruded from his smooth back. They were like a bat's wings, skeletal-like in form. They moved ever so slightly.
"Will you use the knife against me?" asked the man, amused. A small grin appeared, softening his features some. He gestured around the girl. "Like you used it against them?"
She looked about her – at the six men lying still on the ground. Their eyes stared into nothingness. Their mouths were opened in surprise. Pools of blood were everywhere, not yet totally washed away by the rain.
"They tried to kill me," she replied dully. She turned to the pale man, "Are you here to kill me too? You will die you know, like the others."
The man laughed. It was a raw sound that warmed her just a little. "No no little one! It would be too easy for me!" He walked towards her. The girl backed away, her knife quivering in her grip. He came closer and closer, barely a couple of feet away when he knelt down, his face levelled with hers.
"Do you know what I desire most?" he whispered. When she didn't answer, he continued, "I want to create a world… a world where people like you and I can live in without fear. We will no longer be outcasts, we will be at peace.
"What do you want most fey one? What is it that you desire?"
She could not see his eyes. She did not know how to answer such a question. Nobody ever talked to her like that. It was always the same names, the same starts before the beatings came. Her stomach growled again. Inspiration struck her.
"I want food! And a place from the rain!"
The man laughed once more, no mockery in his voice. "Then come with me! There is food where I'm from! And shelter too! And fire to ward off the cold!
"But you will have to earn your keep," he continued, serious now, an edge to his words, "To follow me is to belong to me. You will be mine to use, however I choose. Are you willing?"
So he was like the others, she decided, raising the knife quickly, stabbing out at the man. He did not move and the blade sliced his cheek deeply. She was surprised at the lack of response from the man. Thick blood flowed from the wound.
"Are you willing?" he repeated. She said nothing, afraid of the man, of the prospect of happiness.
Silence held for a while longer, then the man finally stood, his wings shuffling. He looked at her sadly.
"Then so be it," he uttered before turning from her. He began to walk away. The first to ever offer her a way out and he was walking away!
No.
NO!
"Wait!" she cried out and disappeared. Her knife and bun fell to the ground the moment she reappeared in front of the winged man. "Wait… please," she pleaded, "Take me with you. I will work for you! Take me with you!"
He regarded her silently. Then spoke, "You are certain?"
She nodded.
He sighed. "Then I promise you this child – know that I shall never abandon you. For you are now mine. And you will never be lost." He broke into a grin.
"Now! What is your name?"
Surprised at the question, she thought for a moment. She remembered she had no name. Only what the other villagers had called her.
"Elercha," she whispered. Demonspawn.
The man shook his head. "That will not do! Not in my camp. I will give you a name child. Now come! The hour grows late and the others do not like to wait." He reached out a clawed hand.
She took it.
IV
His name was Gondar, a Draenei by birth, a famed Hunter by trade.
And a bloody fool by nature! He cursed as he circled about his opponent. His blades sang as he twirled them in his hands, the black Sange in his left, the ivory Yasha in the other. They were his most treasured possessions, but would they last against an enemy such as this?
He studied the Scourge woman. She had excellent swordsmanship, limited only by her weapon's short range. But it mattered not when her speed entered the picture. She was fast. Phenomenally fast. And her ability to teleport made her even deadlier. Even more so than the infamous Phantom Assassin, who had sent hundreds to their grave before Gondar himself cut her down. Even so, it had taken all his skills and wits to prevail then. And now, he had witnessed this unknown woman kill three experienced generals in heartbeats. He had cloaked himself in the shadows before, watching for a weakness he could exploit. She had none and still he had waited. It was only when the creature threatened Lina, then did he involve himself in the fray.
Gondar risked a glance at the flame sorceress. She was still on her feet, but her wound seemed deep, the blood flowing without pause.
To have threatened his beloved so.
He launched himself at the enemy, Sange slashing downwards with intent. The woman stepped back coolly, dodging the attack, her own blade swivelling to block his second thrust. She lashed out with a quick riposte but Gondar had already retreated. She followed, disappearing once again. The Hunter flailed out wildly, determined not to let the demon get too close. She appeared several feet away, her eyes trained on the man. They circled each other once more.
The Hunter let out a breath he did not realise he was holding. This was the third time they had clashed, both gaining no vantage over the other. The gash on her face was the cause of more of luck than skill. He doubted there would be more.
She vanished again, a phantom in time, appearing by his left flank. He struck out but slashed empty air.
Behind!
Yasha swept upwards as he turned, catching the dagger just in time. He barely had time to recover before she disappeared again. Sange moved on its own accord, whipping about to block another strike, this time from the right. He saw the Scourge monster dance away gracefully. He paused to catch his breath. He wasn't allowed the time.
She ran at him, dagger held close to her breast. Then disappeared again.
And again. And again.
It was like fighting the wind. His eyes could not follow the movements. She was behind, in front, near him then far. His swords slashed and cut as in response but his body could not match such speed.
Then a mistake. And she was by an exposed right flank. Metal slid into his ribs and agony flared all over. It was over then. He waited for the weapon to slice up to his heart.
"LAGUNA BLADE!"
It was a voice of power. And the reaction was instantaneous. Lightning scorched the sky, crashing into the ground beneath them. Both combatants were flung from their spots, so great was the force of the spell. He landed heavily on the ground but got up as quickly as he could, amazed he had not lost his blades in the turmoil. He turned to his saviour. Lina smiled at him wanly and his heart soared. Facing the battleground again, he searched for the enemy, locating her amongst the destruction Lina's spell had wrought. The woman was still getting to her feet slowly, one of her arms bleeding badly. Gondar silently applauded her ability in evading the death-stroke. Few could race the lightning.
"This is our chance!" came a voice from beside him. Gondar turned to see Purist standing next to him. The dryad Aiushtha still hung behind them, fearful. The Omniknight placed a gauntleted hand over the smaller man's wound. A soft glow surrounded the cut and Gondar immediately felt stronger as the wound closed.
"The demon is hurt," said the healer. He removed his hand from the Hunter's side and lifted his sword to his face. "We can take her!"
Gondar returned his gaze to the assassin struggling to her feet.
"She is wounded badly. Perhaps she will go away," he replied, hopeful.
Purist turned to him, his eyes ablaze with zealous rage. "She has defiled our land! Our sanctity! For that she will pay! Come with me Hunter! We are three and she is but one. We will strike her down and rise triumphant!" With that, the Omniknight sped away.
Gondar watched the man's run, then followed after, his speed overtaking the knight easily. As a result, he reached her first. The Hunter timed his attack. He aimed Yasha at her vulnerable neck. Then swung.
She disappeared, appearing in mid-air before the Omniknight. Gondar turned in time to see her knee smash into the man's face. Purist crumpled to the ground. She whirled about, dagger over his throat but had to jump back immediately, a fireball singeing the air before her. She disappeared, narrowly avoiding another fiery attack.
There!
Gondar could not explain it. From the moment he saw the creature vanish, he just knew. In a single fluid movement, he held Sange as if gripping a spear, took aim at the flame sorceress. And hurled it.
The ebony blade sailed in the air like an arrow, swift and sure. It sang in flight. And when the demon appeared behind Lina, it ripped into her outstretched arm, knocking her weapon away. In fact, the weapon impact was so strong, it threw her forcefully into air. The woman crashed onto the ground several feet from the sorceress, screaming out in pain, her other hand cradling the ruined right arm. The blade still protruded from it.
Gondar broke into a sprint, reaching Lina's side in a heartbeat.
"Back," he merely said and advanced to deal the finishing blow. The Scourge assassin was on trying her best to stand. Blood spilt everywhere and she moved sluggishly. Her arm was still speared by the black sword.
"You battled so well," Gondar told the woman and stabbed out with Yasha.
Next thing he knew, he had lost a hand. It spiralled in the air in a lazy somersault before landing at his feet. Gondar had not the time to move. He had not even felt any pain from the blow. The woman had reacted with speed beyond his imagination, her left arm gripping Sange's protruding hilt, tearing the sword from flesh. The blade had sliced in an arc, catching the Hunter's wrist, cutting the hand off with one stroke. Then she was upon him and as he watched, she reversed the grip on the weapon, the tip aimed downwards. Gondar could hear Lina begin another chant but he knew it was too late. Much too late.
The blade stabbed down. It pierced his chest, through layers of leather, skin, flesh, muscle and finally, the heart.
There was fire. It burned across his nerves, spreading quickly, bathing his entire body in pain. Then the agony receded. The fire slowed. No, Gondar discovered, the whole world was slowing down. It was a surreal thing. He could see the Scourge woman pull Sange out and throw it over her shoulder much like he had done before. His eyes followed the sword's flight, watching it enter Lina's chest, sending her reeling back. Funnily enough, he felt no anger. No despair that should accompany this sight. As Lina fell, so did he, all in slow motion. He noticed blood spurting from Lina's grievous wound. He wondered if his own chest was gushing gouts of blood as well. Then he was on the ground, his eyes meeting the sorceress's own. Her lips moved as if saying something. He didn't know what.
You are a fool Gondar, he thought.
The world stopped.
Interlude II
"You disobeyed me," came his voice, cold as the night. Akasha looked about groggily. Her head still throbbed from hitting the wall and her vision constantly swam in and out of focus. She could taste the blood.
Lord Terrorblade stood away from her, his face an impassive mask. But she knew he was displeased. Very much so this time. She wondered why. For a few moments, she studied the sparse room. She was in the Lord's quarters back at the keep, a room lacking much in warmth, but filled with the trophies of past glories. Swords and shields lined the room's walls, his coat of arms hung over the only window to the left. In the centre was a large bed. On it was a woman. She was a human, with hair the colour sunset. She was naked on the covers. A knife protruded from her throat.
Akasha remembered.
"My Lord I--"
"SILENCE! You dare answer back to me?" He lunged forth, too quickly for Akasha to react, his hand reaching for her. It closed upon her face tightly. It was an unbreakable grip. It held on, the nails digging into her scream. Akasha stifled a cry, enduring the punishment as much as she could. She could feel the blood flow from the puncture wounds.
"Why girl why? I told you to stay in the shadows outside… to not disturb us." her Lord was saying, "Now this…to disobey me so readily…"
His hold relaxed and after a while, finally released her. Akasha leaned back, breathing deeply, fighting back the nausea that threatened to overwhelm her.
"Speak," he commanded. Akasha tried to obey.
"I… I know the woman," she started timidly, then louder, "She is a Sentinel spy."
Lord Terrorblade stared at her for a heartbeat, stern and stoic. Then a cruel smile.
"Did you think I had not realised that? Did you think me such a fool?" he said, "Of course I knew what she was and who she served! It was all plain to me!"
He stabbed a finger at the woman. "That whore thought she had seduced me. She was going to kill me in my most vulnerable position. And I knew all of that! I planned to have my way with her, then torture her slowly, extracting information that might prove useful. It was a good plan, til you threw a dagger into her throat!"
"But my Lord, she had a dagger above you! You unarmed! I had to do something!"
"So you were spying as well I see… Do you not trust me at all?"
"I am your bodyguard my Lord!" Akasha blurted out, "You are my charge!"
Lord Terrorblade stalked up to her, then in a swift motion whipped his arm across her face in a vicious backhand. Her head reeled back, striking the wall hard. She felt sticky wetness on the back of her head and black started to close in. She tried to rise but found that she couldn't. Her body was too stiff. Her legs were too weak.
"Know your place slave!" she heard Lord Terrorblade say before the darkness smothered her.
Akasha awoke in a bed. Her eyes flitted about in an attempt to discern where she was. In the meantime, she checked her body, making sure it was fully functional.
"How are you feeling?" said a voice from her right. She turned her head quickly, regretting it as she did as dizziness attacked her. She closed her eyes to steady herself, then opened them again, focusing on her Lord.
He sat in a chair near the bed, arms across his chest. His face was stone.
"You lost consciousness for a while. It is nightfall," he said.
"How… how did I get here?"
"I carried you of course!" he snapped and stood up suddenly. He walked to the bedside and threw a small container onto the covers.
"Apply the ointment on your wounds later. They will heal better. I expect to see you gone by morning. And I want the bed to be made." He moved to exit the room. Akasha wanted to thank him but found that she couldn't. The words would not come. He opened the thick, wooden door, then stopped in his tracks.
"I am your master," he said without turning around, "and you are my slave. Always remember that. Always obey me to the letter for I will need such loyalty in my men. There will come a time when that will change, when you and I will not be separate. That will be the day when this bitter world will end, when you will be free. But not yet. Can you promise me that?"
Akasha nodded hesitantly at the renewal of vows, then realised her mistake. "I swear my loyalty to you my Lord," she said, "in all things. Command me as you will."
Lord Terrorblade turned back to her. He had a wane smile on his lips. "That is good," he said, "Trust in my strength girl."
He left the room.
IV
Weariness and nausea assaulted Akasha relentlessly, each demanding attention her body and mind could not give. They cajoled and mocked her. They wrapped their tendrils about her, draining her strength and will. The battle before had left her with injuries that sapped at her stamina. She quickly took stock of herself. At least a rib or two had been cracked from that lightning bolt's impact before. And her right arm was useless now, though she was more worried about blood loss than the use of the arm. Akasha steadied her wavering legs, determined not to fall just yet.
"Not yet," she muttered and stooped to pick up the fallen black blade.
She whirled away just in time to avoid a swipe at her back, grazing the skin rather than dealing more damage. She stumbled from her assailant, turning as she did so. The Omniknight, his face bloody and full of undisguised hate, greeted her. In his hands was a keen broadsword, raised high for another attempt at her life. It swept down without mercy.
Akasha gathered together whatever strength she could just as the blade came onto her. She blinked, reappearing merely a few feet from the Omniknight. And when she did, her vision blurred and the strength she was relying upon before left her. Akasha fell to a knee, gasping for breath. This was it. Her initial heroics and the wounds on her were finally taking their toll. She had not the strength to even stand. Much less blink or fight. Still she tried, staggering upright, her breaths coming out short and pained. She faced the Sentinel knight unflinchingly, noting the fury in his eyes at her escape. A smile slowly graced the Omniknight's lips as he realised how weak his opponent was. This monster who had decimated his allies was now easy prey. The smile grew into a grin of triumph, the confidence showing on his visage. It was as if he knew he had won, as if he was invulnerable at the present.
The woman suddenly raised her left arm. The Omniknight immediately raised his sword in response, prepared to ward off any knives or darts she might had thrown. When none were forthcoming, he lowered his sword. Akasha allowed herself a smile. It was good to know he was still wary of her, still afraid. The man saw that smile, read its intent, and the mask of arrogance vanished, only to be replaced by uncontrolled rage. He snarled and attacked anew, an overhead swipe cutting the air to her.
The Scourge assassin swayed to her right, the blade narrowly striking her as she did. Then she kicked out, a straight shot at the man's gut. She hit metal as the Sentinel's armour absorbed most of the impact. Rather, pain lanced up her leg after the attack. She withdrew and limped away, breathing heavily.
"You are in no condition to fight demon!" sneered the enemy, "You are a fool! Just like that damned Terrorblade! To battle us without any allies! To dare attack us alone! In our house!"
He stepped in with a fist raised, too quickly for the injured woman to evade. The punch thundered into her skull. The world exploded into brilliance and then darkness, before appearing again. She awoke to a gauntleted hand across her slender neck. It held her fast. Then it squeezed.
She gasped for air. What else could she do? She clawed at the hand, kicking out, twisting and turning to dislodge herself from the man's iron grip. The air would not come. Darkness hovered at the edge, beckoning, threatening to enclose about her.
Then the hand released her and air flooded back into the lungs. She took a deep breath, relishing the sudden sweetness it held. But the respite was not to be long. Before she could recover properly, that same hand viciously whipped across her cheek, sending her flying before tumbling to the ground in a heap. She feebly looked up in time to see the Omniknight raise a boot. He kicked at her unprotected form, stomped at her battered body. Fresh agony racked her entire frame and soon, she felt consciousness begin to leave her.
I am going to die.
Then another thought - I am not free yet!
Gathering whatever strength she had within her, she placed her legs together and swung them out with as much force as she could muster. It struck the Omniknight on his jaw, forcing him back. Akasha took this time to roll to her knees, facing the stricken man. She stared at him, tasting the blood in her mouth, feeling all too clearly the broken ribs and bones throughout her body. It was against logic, she decided, but it was perhaps the only way. She was injured and unarmed and she dipped her body in preparation.
She ran.
She dodged beneath a clumsy swipe of the sword, executing a graceful pirouette that took her past his defences. Then she jumped on him. Her knees pounced on their prey, seeking to knock him down. Her claws extended, reached for his face.
The two fell to the ground, the woman on top of man, a most intimate of positions to the untrained eye. A closer inspection would reveal the struggle of wills between the persons – the Omniknight trying his best to prevent his eyes from being gouged out by a determined creature. Her claws scratched against the man's flesh mercilessly, drawing blood in their attempt to reach the eyes. She thrashed and sliced, kicked and bit, using her body as an undeniable weapon. There was no grace in her actions now. Nothing spoke of the skilled killer that had fought before. Akasha was a woman with her back to the wall, ferocious and wrathful. It was pure desperate savagery that attacked the Omniknight now.
But the Omniknight was still powerful and fresh while Akasha was weak. Furthermore, she knew nothing of the abilities he possessed. It appeared as a blast of power – a golden cone of energy that expanded below the woman, sending her flying into the air. She fell to the ground badly, rolling when she could to lessen the damage wrought on her exhausted body. She glanced up. The man had risen, the curious nimbus of light surrounding him. As he approached her, weapon in hand, Akasha noticed the deep wounds on his face begin to recede. The opened cuts began to close, the crimson marks fading away into obscurity. Finally, all that remained of her wild attack was smooth flesh, highlighted by the coldest of blue eyes.
"Don't you see demon? You have lost!" said the man, every step drawing nearer to fallen woman, "This is not a game you can play… this is not a fight you can win!" His lips curled into a cruel smile, "This is not your world anymore!"
Interlude III
"My world is ending," said her Lord, lying on the ground, his blades still in his hands. "I am dying and it is a frightening thing."
She held his body in her arms, unsure of what to do. She knew his wounds were fatal, but tried to aid him anyway. She moved to remove a black arrow.
"No!" ordered Lord Terrorblade. Even when dying, his voice still held such power. "Pull one out and more blood will flow, killing me all the faster!"
"Then what can I do? I am lost."
The dying man laughed cruelly. "You will do nothing! You cannot help me here! What of your duties?"
Akasha could not believe the man still wanted to talk of trivial matters. "I gave your package to the acolyte in the Black Forest."
"Good… he will know what to do with it. He owes me… and maybe Magina will know why I did what I did…" He trailed off.
"My Lord?" It was not good; delirium had perhaps struck him already.
"I could have killed them all girl! Killed them all so easily! Then those arrows. And that blasted Elf's face! I knew her you know… knew her so well…"
"Lord Terrorblade! Say no more!"
A hand gripped her shoulder. It curled across her skin painfully, the nails digging into flesh. She made not a sound.
"Our time! Our time is not over! We are not outcasts! We are not monsters!" He was raving now, his voice though strong, was unfocused.
"We are not evil…" He sighed and was silent. Akasha thought him dead then but the iron grip on her shoulder did not slacken.
He spoke again, his voice gentler, more resigned. "You are… not evil Akasha… never that. Still… we have… lost… only the victors are… the good ones…" His grip lessened and his arm fell to his chest. It was as if his entire body had lost colour and strength.
"They come… You must finish it… Kill… Them… All…"
V
The Omniknight slowly approached her, his face a mask of contempt. His eyes radiated hatred. His sword demanded vengeance. Akasha knew all too well the reason. But this was war, it was her duty. This battle could not have been ignored. So she tried to stand, and when discovering that her legs had betrayed her, bared her teeth at the Sentinel.
The sword came, a thrust at her feral face. She cocked her head to the right while striking out with her left arm. It bounced uselessly off armour and the Omniknight's boot slammed into her chest, bringing her down. Then knives of fire assaulted her, flaring from her bleeding right arm as the Omniknight settled a heavy boot onto it. His weight shifted, resting entirely on that one arm. There was a snap. She screamed out, her voice already hoarse from the cries before.
"Look at you," sang the Omniknight's voice, "you came and killed, caused so much destruction… and yet here you are. Beneath a righteous soldier's heel as it should be." He ground his boot further onto the arm. She gasped aloud, too exhausted to even cry out.
"You are dirt! Your kind all are! Did you think you were Gods? To try and alter destiny? To not accept your fate in this life?" He moved his boot, relieving the pressure on her ruined arm. He then stood over her, judging her with his eyes. Akasha had never met such cold hatred before. It was always fire with her Lord. Never such ice.
The man raised the sword over her breast. "This is your punishment you whore of demons. This is our judgement."
Akasha stared at the blade's point. There was nothing else she could do. There were no more tricks. She closed her eyes.
"Back to your hell monster. Back Elercha!"
Demonspawn.
Akasha had little idea of what stirred inside her then. Perhaps it was pure rage that fuelled her ailing body with fire. Perhaps it was true, that she was a demon that pulled upon unholy energies at the last hurrah. She would never know. She only felt the need, left the body to take charge. It was emotional turmoil at its most chaotic. Every instance of fear, hatred, frustration, despair and maybe love, collected in a whirlpool that welled up inside her. As she waited for the kiss of the sword, she felt all this, suppressing it, determined not to let the enemy see any weakness, resilient in her will not to scream. But the feelings would not be denied, they fell upon themselves, building and building into a storm. They had to go somewhere. Finally, the whirlwind had no more room to stay. They needed to be released. So they rushed up.
The Omniknight was still above Akasha when she opened her mouth in a screech. And oh what a sound it was. It poured out of her mouth, a torrent of raw energy, as if her entire being was projected into the air. It was a wave of sound, of such anguish, of such pain, of ecstasy and desolation. It blasted towards the sky in a single invisible cone. And the Omniknight stood in its path.
The sound wave whipped across the sword, shattering it in an instant. It rippled through his armoured body, his body bearing the full brunt of its passing. His head snapped back from its force and he staggered a few steps away. The screech continued its ascent into the orange sky, through the clouds and beyond, its power dissipating into the world until only those who had heard it, knew of it.
Akasha laid there, gasping, utterly exhausted. She could barely move. She opened her eyes and saw the man standing only a few feet from her, still. In his hand was the hilt of his bladeless sword. He faced the sky. She leaned forwards slowly, wincing at the complaints her wounds made. This was her chance. A timely strike would end this contest. All she had to do was get up. Get up.
The Omniknight moved. His head lolled down to face her. Akasha bit back a cry in surprise when she saw his face. It was one of ruin. Blood trailed everywhere, pouring from each orifice. His ears bled, his nose bled. His crimson eyes cried blood. And when he tried to speak, only gurgles sounded before the red fluid spurted out of the mouth. Still his lips moved, as if unknowing of the futility of it all. His face was also one of shock. The questions Akasha read on that face. He had all these questions. Then he fell to his knees, his eyes still wide, his lips still moving. Then they moved no more.
Akasha stared at the dead man. It was no way for a person to die. Lord Terrorblade would not have approved. Still, he was dead. And there was only one more.
Just one more.
She got to her feet unsteadily, pushing away pain and the dizziness that flitted by. She turned her gaze to the last of the Sentinel forces. The lone dryad watched her with fearful eyes. Akasha advanced, slowly, every step an effort. She walked to a black blade, then bent to pick it up. With sword in hand, she continued on.
A spear flew at her in an arc. She raised the blade and swatted it aside. She continued on towards the now defenceless dryad. The dryad stood stock-still, paralysed with obvious terror at this monster's advent. Then she ran, a burst of speed away from the enemy. Casually, Akasha raised her left arm, flinging the ebony sword out. It fired through the air, striking the dryad's hind leg, sending her crashing to the ground. The stricken Sentinel was still trying desperately to rise when Akasha arrived. The woman then reached down, her fingers curled across the blade's hilt before ripping it out calmly.
The dryad cried out painfully and faced her executor. She was trembling now, fearing the onset of death, fearing her. Akasha slowly angled the blade across the dryad's throat, the keen edge cutting the skin just a little, releasing a thin rivulet of blood. She gazed at the dryad's face. And saw a child.
A ragged child with pieces of a bun in her hand.
A girl who played at war.
A woman with a blade to a child's neck.
Enough.
"Enough," whispered Akasha, "enough!" She kept the blade and turned around. There would be no more killing. Not of children. If her duty were to end, it would end with no child's blood on her hands. She spied the tree in the distance, an enormous tree of the most brilliant green. She went to it. This would end it. This would please him.
She headed for the tree, every step was agony, every breath burned. Still she walked, blood trailing behind her. She did not see the dryad rise and limp away. She ignored the bodies of dead heroes lying on the red-soaked ground. She only saw the tree. And the man that stood by it. He was pale and muscular. He had wings on his back.
Come! Lord Terrorblade beckoned, Come!
She walked on, a sense of fulfilment within her. If she struck down the tree, they would win. And maybe she would finally be happy.
Something pierced her back, something small and hard, exiting through the chest in a brilliant spray of red. Then the crack of thunder filled the air. All strength left her, she fell to her knees. Akasha looked down, at the tiny hole in her chest. Blood poured from it, forming a small pool beneath her. She didn't know she had so much within her. She turned around slowly and there he was. A short dwarf dressed in the hues of the darkest blue stood at the gates. In his hands was a brown stick that had smoke billowing from one of its ends. Beside him was the dryad.
She returned her wavering gaze to the tree. She could feel herself dying. Her breaths came in short wheezes. Blood flecked her lips as she did. And still her Lord stood by the tree.
Come! To me Akasha!
Here! I am here! She called out.
She blinked. Not knowing how, uncaring of where the strength came from. She found herself in front of the tree and with a final agonized swing, stabbed the ebony blade deep into the tree's trunk.
It stayed there, her hand still gripping the hilt. The tree moved not.
Another biting pain tore into her back and she fell to the ground. She barely heard the second thunderclap. Everything was receding into darkness, slowly but surely. Her eyes tried to focus on Lord Terrorblade's image but he was not there.
He was not there!
Her eyes closed, allowing the night to fall. Her lips moved in a silent accusation.
"You… lied."
"What are you talking about girl? Get up!" a familiar voice roared by her. Akasha's eyes opened, the world burst into life before her. She turned to its source, seeing that elfin face.
"I never lie! I am still here aren't I?" Lord Terrorblade continued, "But we have no time! There is still fighting to do girl! Get to your duties!"
She got up by reflex, noting her body's readiness to battle. There was no pain, her body healthy and strong. She looked at her Lord. No more was his face consumed by the pallor of death. He now sported a familiar grin of arrogance on his bold features. It suited him nicely. He pointed to the scene before them.
"There is our dream Akasha! That is our world! We are all here and with one last push, we can take them! We will seize the day!"
She followed his gaze and saw the soldiers. There were her old allies, the crafty Leshrac and the powerful Leoric. Many other Scourge heroes stood by their side. Across from them were the Sentinel lines. She recognized several of them – the short masked man, the blue-clad sorceress. She noted the joy on their faces in anticipation of the battle ahead.
"And when we win Akasha, we shall be free! Free!" Her Lord's voice cried in the wind. Then he laughed.
Akasha smiled, which grew into a grin, which escalated into a full-blown laugh. He was right of course! One more fight and she would have them! She would have her dreams! She drew her dagger from the sheath by her hip, and still laughing, joined the lines.
Then they charged.
The End