Chapter 6

All was quiet in the town of Brill. The majority of the undead had succumb to sleep's lazy embrace, and those that had been ordered to stand guard did their work with little ambition. It was the perfect time to strike.

Humans, their worn tabards emblazed with the Scarlet Crusader insignia, crept from the trees. They slew the town's scattered guards first; impaling and decapitating the undead with prejudice and disgust.

---

Cerberus awakened with a throbbing hand. Groggily, he tried to sit up in his bed, but realized something was weighing him down, and there was still the pain. When his eyes finally adjusted to the dimly room, he noticed that Pluto had fanged him. Ivory teeth were embedded deep into his green skin, black blood escaping between the teeth.

But Cerberus's first instinct was not anger, or to hit the wolf until he was released, as a human might do. He trusted Pluto more than he trusted many of his own kind, so instead he patted his pet's head, and the jaws instantly opened. The wolf then growled softly and padded to the window. Confused, Cerberus rose from his bed and looked down into the streets below. The sight made him cringe in anger.

---

The Scarlets moved silently through the town of Brill, individual soldiers breaking from the main body to stealthily invade the houses, and slaughter those they found inside.

Suddenly, the sound of metal striking the cobble stone ground caused all the zealots to draw their weapons. Human eyes strained through the moon light to see an opponent: one of the barbaric "green skins" or the blasphemous undead, but they could find no vast silhouette before them.

Instead, the source of sound was right beneath their nose, rather than in front of their eyes. A large bomb had been thrown just at the leader's feet, yet he stood ignorantly rooted to the spot: so sure the Horde knew nothing of stealth or surprise.

The bomb exploded, and many problems were solved by the shattering eruption of flames.

Bits of charred human skin rained through the town and disembodied limbs crashed through windows. This awakened and rallied the sleeping Horde, who burst from their homes: armed and armored and ready to fight.

But most significant, was the confusion of the Scarlets. The sudden burst of light and loud, booming noise disoriented the humans' senses. The Forsaken warriors charged through their ranks and slew many. But the Scarlet Crusaders had come to the town of Brill with a vast army, intent on crushing the abominations one last time. This battle would not be short.

---

The bars were made of special alloy, so no matter what Shaak threw at them, they would not yield. Not that he had bothered trying. He needed to show the Horde that he meant them no harm, and initiating a prison break was not a good way to do just that.

And it wasn't that bad. Taff, the tauren with grey fur, had visited him, and promised he would be released in a few days. The bull had even allowed Shaak to be with his sister, while the rest of the blood elf prisoners were segregated by gender.

At first Shaak had been alone with his sisters in the subterranean jail, but that did not last long. With in a day, the cells were crowded with refugees, all blood elves begging the Horde for protection from the Alliance they'd once thought of as comrades. Shaak met many old friends from behind the bars, and was shaken by the horror stories they had to tell.

When the battle first started, Shaak could faintly hear the clashing of steel and eruption of bombs. But he could feel the enchantments. Oh, the intoxicating allure of the arcane, black magic, and holy words. The blood elves devoured any residual trace of it rabidly.

The battle suddenly burst into the dungeon in the form of a frail, pail skinned humanoid. Shaak recognized the undead as the one called Eck, part of the original group he'd met.

The Forsaken rolled down a flight of stairs and came to rest when he banged against the bars of Shaak's cell. He was followed by a burly human, who swung an axe over his head to cleave the undead in half.

Eck lifted both hands and summoned an elegant shield of shadows to protect him. The axe crashed down with bone crushing force, but the undead remained unharmed. The human even looked surprised as the undead focused a dark bolt of shadows to consume his opponent's mind.

The Forsaken was breathing hard. A bony hand clutched an arrow in his shoulder and with a gasp, he yanked the shaft out: ancient blood dripping out of the wound and staining clothe. He then struggled to his feet, fell, got his balance by heavily relying on his staff, and took another deep breath.

"What the hell is happening?" demanded a blood elf from the middle of the jail.

"Raid," the Forsaken announced to all. "The Scarlet Crusaders, and many of them. We can use all the help we can get." The undead lifted a hand, muttered an incantation in his Gutterspeak tongue, and all the cells of the prison opened with a clink. "Congratulations, I'm deputizing all of you. If you'd like to run, now would be the time. But know this, neither the Scarlets nor the Alliance will cease their hunts. It would be wise to stay and fight."

The Forsaken struggled up the stairs to rejoin the fray. He was soon joined by rallying blood elves, the prison's population unanimously choice to stay and fight.

But before Shaak would follow his brethren, he needed to tend to his sister.

"Cynth," he said, brushing the hair from her face. "I have to go. But whatever happens, stay here. Okay."

"No," the youth shrieked, wrapping her arms around her brother's waist. "No, we can escape. We can run away."

"And go where? We cannot survive alone, the Sentinels will track us down again. But the tauren promises the Horde will protect us. He is honorable, he will keep his word."

"Shaak," Cynthana whimpered.

"Stay here," he ordered, before dashing up the flight of stairs.

The battle overwhelmed Shaak even before he stepped into the open. All around him: swords clanged and drew blood and magic burned away flesh. Shaak, as with all of his blood elf brethren, had been a soldier in the Alliance army during the war with the Burning Legion. Returning to the mind set of war was remarkably simple.

The Scarlet Crusaders were easy to pick out. Aside from the fact that they were the only humans in the fray, they wore bleached white tabards: the contrast of the black and red ones worn by the Horde.

Shaak released burning flames into a large group of the Scarlets, and watched in satisfaction as the bodies incinerated to ash. First, their clothes caught fire and their skin blackened. Next, fat and flesh dripped off pearly white bone into a pool on the ground. And finally, that white bone turned to dust.

There was something exhilarating about the fight, the amount of magic Shaak could play with freely. He felt amazing as he formed his mana into a fireball and slew the zealots by the drove.

By Shaak was not a true warrior, for he made the unforgivable mistake of forgetting his blind side, and heard the unmistakable click of a rifle behind him. He had been so engrossed, intoxicated, by his magic, it must have been easy for one of the zealots to come behind him. He had no melee weapon, and even if he did he was far too slow to turn and cut the Scarlet down. And a spell would take to long. He waited for death.

Even over the sounds of the battle he could hear the gunshot, his gunshot, the one that would end his life. And yet there was no pain. And he could still hear the battle, feel that magic that flowed through the town. He turned to face the Scarlet, and saw that she had been wounded by a bullet through her left breast. The Scarlet made eye contact, before she collapsed to the ground: dead.

Shaak looked up to a rooftop and noticed the orc the others called Cerb. He loaded his rifle, took aim, and shot a human who'd come to Shaak's side.

Faithful in his protection, the blood elf freely summoned flames to burn away the humans.

And the battle raged on.