Title: The Church of Light
Description: "Sylvanas runs an errand."
Notes1: This chapter was one of the earliest prompts (and, chronologically, one of the earliest chapters) I've had long before I wrote up the prompt dump doc; however, it was also written as a response to patrik666, who commented on how nice Sylvanas acted in the previous chapter (and imagine how much nicer Ranger-General Sylvanas would be, and I ship RG!Sylvanas/Valeera like a crack addict to his crack). Now a nice Sylvanas is well and fine, but we're more or less all here for asshole!Sylvanas and her antics (or, as Night3603 described her, "cynical but badass"). And I like writing asshole!Sylvanas, even if some of her actions are petty and childish (which are pretty much a result of the transition amplifying her behavior).
Notes2: This was also inspired a year or so back when I had Postal 2 installed on Steam and played it for the first time. Let's just say that in order to fully experience this chapter, I recommend you hit up YouTube and find the link for the church organ music.
Notes3: Uther was supposed to be in this chapter, and here he would've pleaded for BansheeQueen!Sylvanas to get him the hell out of the church. Then I sat back and asked myself why he would complain about the Church of Light's teachings - or rather, why he would complain about the person relaying the teachings to the masses, and so that was scrapped. It was supposed to be based around this supposed rivalry he has with Johanna in the game, but as I'm certainly not a Diablo player, none of it really made much sense to me.
Notes4: So I was going through the older chapters (and experiencing both a mix of Early Installment Weirdness and an ominous foreshadowing of discontent seeing Lucario's name in print) and noticed a peculiar detail: the Heroes used to live in a Manor. I think we're going to need a chapter for how everyone went from the Manor to goddamn school dormitories, don't you think? XD
Notes5: And last but not least: This story has hit over 100 reviews and 20,000+ views! And to think it's taken almost ten years since I've joined this site to get to that point. I should celebrate this with a special drawing. Let's aim for one hundred more!

"What is this?" asked the woman whose voice certainly did not sound as though it was coming out of a subwoofer (much like any other undead person's voice would), and Sylvanas scowled fiercely at the smirk the Ranger-General was giving her. "The Banshee Queen got roped into playing errand girl? I think Hell just froze over."

"And I think Heaven's come knocking for you early, girl. My fist has your name on speed dial. Let me call and ask," Sylvanas snapped, and jabbed at her when she was but a step away. The younger elf laughed and ducked underneath, then spun around and matched her stride.

"I thought you said you didn't do slapstick."

"I don't."

"You could have fooled me."

"I do what I want."

"Then what's with the papers?" The Ranger-General nodded at the sheaf in her hands.

"This? These are invoices I have to deliver to their correspondents because, once again, the Board is short on staff and can't be assed to stop playing Bejeweled for a few hours and look through all the applications they've received through the mail. Typical houseborn assholes having nothing better to do with their pampered lives!"

"They're rich people. What do you expect them to do?"

"Be rich and actually do something!"

"Such as?"

"Oh, I don't know, increase funding on reinforcing and proofing their wards in remote locations, for one! How many times does one person have to send perfectly arable land into another dark age by having satanic runes scorch the area or frozen solid by an undead dragon? Or how about increasing production on strengthening their architecture! How about buying a pocket dimension from one of their realms and store all their genetic research and reproductive material there? Can you imagine the catastrophe that would be going on if we had this kind of lunacy happening on Azeroth? How can one realm be okay with half their population—nay, nearly the entire Hubworld—blowing the Nexus to Kingdom Come on a daily basis? Am I the only person who thinks there's something very fundamentally wrong with that?!"

The Ranger-General grinned. "You might just be."

Sylvanas harrumphed. "Bitch," she rumbled. She still couldn't believe she was this same person some centuries back before the Fall. This was all Alleria's fault for getting her to loosen up, don't be such a stick in the mud all the time, let Big Sis help you! What moron listened to their older siblings, anyway?

This one, said her conscience, and she cut her off with a mental picturing of twisting her neck.

"So where are you going first?" the Ranger-General asked.

Sylvanas shrugged but perused the invoice in front of her, eyes narrowing distaste. "It's to the Church of Light. They're looking to do some renovations on the interior because everything dates back to the Renaissance era. Unfortunately, some lazy ass couldn't afford to take time out of his day to give it to the High Deacon in person, so the Board had to scramble and pull someone off the benches to do the work for them."

"Meaning you."

"Meaning me," Sylvanas spat, and clutched the sheaf hard enough for the papers to crinkle at the edges. "Why couldn't they have sent that runt Nova in my place instead?"

"Why, because she can cloak herself from public eye and you can't?" the Ranger-General chuckled and elbowed her in the ribs. "I didn't take you to be the jealous type."

"I'm not," she growled. "I say it should be Nova because," she paused, made a face as she tried to find the right words, and sighed, "because she's Nova. She's eager, like a child, and always wants to help. I, on the other hand, could not give a damn if businesses went under or if churches lost their followers and hard-earned 'donation' money. I want nothing to do with them."

The Ranger-General nodded knowingly. "Ah. So not only are you jealous, you're a hypocrite."

"It's one thing to be concerned about one's welfare when they're stuck in this hellish plane you call a second home," said the Banshee Queen, "for when even immortal, one must partake in sustenance and homely comforts, regardless of how…varied and deranged those tastes may be. It's another thing to look the other way if those services do not provide for you by any means whatsoever. I am not a religious person. I never really was. This," she emphasized with a shake of the sheaf, "is just a means to an end. I take it to the church, I give it to them, I get paid, and I move on with my life. That's all."

"You mean you don't want to sneak into their sermons and take advantage of the potluck they have going on? I hear they get some good catering out east in the Quadrants."

"Yes, if you like catering from fast food joints where their subway sandwiches get soggy after being in the fridge overnight. You couldn't dare me to put any of that stuff in my mouth even if my digestive system still worked."

"Who said anything about subway sandwiches? Now chicken wings," said the Ranger-General, and nodded with a knowing grin. "Chicken wings are divine. Have you ever had chicken wings when you were alive?"

"Yes, I've had tallstrider before, back before the Second War and we traded with the southern nations. I can't say we had these fancy flavors like lemon pepper or teriyaki or 'thermonuclear heat' as we do now. And why are you asking me this? You should know what I liked to eat. We're more or less the same person."

"Perhaps. We never had your Third War."

"Yet."

"Don't stampede on my dreams."

"Che," Sylvanas spat, scowling at the papers. "Just keep walking. I need someone to distract me from the horrendous murder coming out of that organ when I hand the invoice over, and the first thing I hear better not be about food."

"Not even chicken wings?"

"Not even chicken wings."

The Ranger-General hummed thoughtfully, tapping her fingers together. Then she snapped them, loudly, as though a whip was struck right next to the Banshee Queen. "Not even blood?"

Sylvanas whipped her head askance so hard the living counterpart thought her neck would snap and go flying from her shoulders. "Oh, now I'm a vampire, eh? You can't call me a werewolf, and I'm neither a George Romero zombie nor a runner, so you have to go down the list of stock horror archetypes and mark them as you see fit!"

The Ranger-General sniffed and clicked her tongue. "I was just trying to make a joke."

"Well I don't do jokes."

"Part of having a running gag is trying not to be hypocritical about it, you know," she said, and shook her head. "Goddamn. Am I going to be this big of a prick when I'm older?"

"Want to find out?" She made to reach for the shadow dagger.

The Ranger-General dismissed her with a wave of the hand. "No thanks. I prefer living, thank you very much. I hear there are bigger bitches—and more physiological benefits—on my side of the lawn, anyway. Who needs undeath? Oh, here we are. The Church of Light." The building came into view: a small, marble place with a belfry and automated clock at the top underneath a row of pointed towers of gold and bronze shingles. A few cars were parked in a rectangular space filled with gravel and loose blacktop chips, and well off to the side was a hitching post for some of the poorer folk to leave their beasts to graze and not be frightened by the starting engines. Most were equine, one or two the reptilian battle beast, and one a mechanostrider, and they raised their heads when they heard the two Sylvanases walk onto the pavement and march their way up to the double doors.

The Banshee Queen craned her neck back to get a better look at it, frowning. "You know, when I first laid eyes on this place, I was expecting some large, grandiose place where people of all manners of riches and walks of life congregated and prayed to the Powers or the Spaces or whatever flying spaghetti monster lurks in the Uncharted Dark. This? This is a chapel set so far back in the boonies no one would miss it if it was sucked in through a sinkhole."

"This is just one of many Churches of Light," said the Ranger-General. "We're out in the Wend, which is one of the more rural districts in western King's Crest. I always heard that the further east you go the bigger, richer, and more urban the chapels get. Now those churches—I hear they have escalators so you can reach the very back of the bleachers where the loudspeakers are."

"The better to deafen people with, my dear," Sylvanas said sarcastically.

The Ranger-General opened her mouth to retort, closed it, and rolled her eyes. She motioned for the other to follow, and together they climbed off the gravel and onto an inlaid cobblestone path leading up to the double doors. They could hear the deep rumblings of organ music wafting out from the inside. "Now why aren't these doors transparent like the other churches? And what's with this crossbar? Bah, I can't tell if they're warming up or already in session."

Sylvanas shrugged. "If that's the case, I'll just slide this under the door and—"

"Get up!" the younger woman exclaimed, hauling the elder to her feet as she kneeled down. "Come on, you're better than that! Show some pride, dammit!"

"I don't like the Light and the Light doesn't like me! Look at me!" and the Banshee Queen pointed at the scar across her face. "This was what the Light did to me!"

"Because you and Kerrigan had the bright idea to go and 'introduce yourselves' to Johanna! What did you think was going to happen? Hazing rituals don't work that way!"

"And yet, for some ungodly reason, this thing has rewarded me with a three-hundred percent increase in fangirls across the Nexus that I did not ask for." Sylvanas shrugged. "The things that I do that make people notice me. You would think my actions would turn others away, not toward me."

"You're stalling," said the Ranger-General. "That paycheck's not going to walk itself into your hands, you know."

"Oh shut it," said the Banshee Queen. "Just shut it and let me get this over with so I don't have to behold this blasted, heathen temple of mockery any longer—" She went and pushed through the doors, the Ranger-General quickly following behind.

The words died on her lips, the anger wiped clean from her face. Her counterpart mimicked her.

The church was just as small inside as it was outside. The floor underfoot was a plush, carpeted green that was broken here and there by twin rows of dark, polished pews. Large, stained glass windows depicting the Powers in their mortal mantles graced the walls on both sides and shone down on the parishioners in what little sunlight could pass through the overcast sky. A massive chandelier hung above the aisle. When one looked straight ahead, they saw the carpet ended in low-legged benches and steps that lead up to a platform. This was where the podium stood, and behind that hung tapestries of varied symbols of the Light. A giant sun cross sculpted from marble and laid in colorful jewels took up most of the space on the wall and loomed above the gathered assembly and its deacon. She wore a plain, beige robe with a white sash tied across her waist and looped around one shoulder, a sign that she belonged to the Church's upper echelons.

"And lo! Did the Great Galad spake to his brothers and sisters and the peasants and the nobles, 'So let the Light beseech the Spaces, and so let the Spaces beseech the Dark, so that all may be illumined by the knowledge, by the grace, by the dawn, by the dusk of the stars, the suns, and the moons within the reach of the eye and beyond the reach of the mind—' Why, hello there." Johnna unfolded her arms from their large, voluminous sleeves and nodded to the Banshee Queen and the Ranger-General. "This is quite the surprise! Banshee Queen, have you come to partake in today's sermon? It is never too late to espouse the Great Galad's teachings."

"Ehhhh…." was all the Banshee Queen could drone, stalling for time. The Ranger-General noticed and jolted her awake with a swift jab to the ribs with an elbow. "Oof!" She mustered her composure and glared at the woman. "No. No, I am not interested in some dead man's lies."

The assembly gasped, and they whispered—loudly, so she could hear them—amongst themselves. "The nerve of that woman!" "Ignorant wench!" "How dare she insult Galad!" "What do you expect from someone who dresses like those hookers in the Darkness convent?"

Johanna pursed her lips. "Now Sylvanas—Banshee Queen Sylvanas, I should say. It is unwise to speak venom of something, of someone, you are unaware of. That is, unless you are that I was not aware and you disagree with those teachings."

"No, I just don't care for whatever crockery you're spoonfeeding these imbeciles."

"Then whatever are you here for?" Johanna sighed. "Honestly, we get enough hecklers from the Church of Darkness. My sincerest apologies, Banshee Queen, but your words are but mere insects buzzing in my ear. The tennis balls to my playground of Teflon. Surely you can do better than that."

"You've got an invoice that the Board never bothered to give you. For renovations." Sylvanas removed the sheet from its clipping and crossed the aisle in quick, boundless strides. "Everything should be shipped and on its way within six to eight business days." She caught glimpses of the disapproving, hostile looks the parishioners directed at her from her periphery and tried not to sneer back at them.

Johanna met her at the end of the steps and retrieved the document from her. She glanced it over, nodded, hummed pleasantly. "Aye. This is wonderful news indeed. This old place could use some sprucing up and plenty of color. There is still life in these old bones. Thank you kindly. I will fill Deacon Rembrandt in on the details when he returns from Luxoria." She folded the paper in a small square and tucked it away beneath the folds of her robe. "Now, Sylvanas, is there anything else you wish to impart? Or perhaps there is something you require from me that I may be able to assist you with?"

"Just one thing: get rid of this scar you gave me." Sylvanas pointed at the dark, jagged line across the bridge of her nose. "I'm tired of people comparing me to Umino Iruka."

Johanna lowered her head and coughed into the crook of her arm. It didn't sound so much as coughing as it did laughter, and the more Sylvanas glared at her and heard that mock-coughing the hotter the anger burned, the more painful and abrupt the memory of the shield dashing across her face became. The scar smoldered with a quiet, ghostly ache as the skin around it and her mouth crinkled to form a horrific snarl. "I-I'm sorry, Sylvanas," said the crusader when she had finally settled down, "but I think that is beyond what little healing capabilities I have. The Light is unkind to people with your condition, and the Nexus is very…fickle with how it brings us back from the dead. I should think, if you ever hope to be rid of your disfiguring, you would have to ask not just the Powers but the Light itself—"

"Do I look like I want to be a born-again Christian? Get out of here with that nonsense."

Johanna smirked. "Very well. Come. Allow me to walk you to the door. 'Tis the least I can do."

Sylvanas scoffed but shrugged. "Do what you want. Just watch where you step. I hear at that height it's quite the fall."

"Do not worry. I take pains to be extra careful." Johanna suppressed a cough and walked down the aisle. Sylvanas lagged behind her, sulking, until she saw an old man giving her the stink eye and warding her off with the sign of the cross. She feigned a lunge at him, teeth bared and hands clenched as claws, causing him to splutter and scuttle back against some rippling sack of liver spots and sagging breasts she assumed was his wife or sister or something. Sylvanas mocked another lunge at the opposite side, this time at the group as a whole, and they sneered and rumbled at her.

The Ranger-General observed all this and quashed the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she sighed and straightened her posture when Johanna and the counterpart approached. "Good afternoon, Crusader," she said.

"Ah, good afternoon, Ranger-General," said Johanna. "Have you come to keep our resident banshee out of trouble?"

The living Sylvanas chuckled. "Something like that."

"Oh, piss and bother," the undead Sylvanas grumbled.

"I am almost finished with the day's sermon," said Johanna. "Would you perhaps be interested in lending an ear to what I have to say from the Book of Galad? Even if you do not adhere, you are more than welcome to stay."

"Perhaps another time. I have a class to prepare later today. It's almost time for their first foray into the Shadowskirts that are overtaking the borderlands at the northern Wend."

"Ah, a noble task, indeed! The Realm of Darkness thinks itself too bold to wage war on people who are beyond their martial ken, but one can only hope the cosmos will be kind to us and draw them a short lot when you encounter them."

"They're being trained by a Windrunner, friend, and a Windrunner never misses her mark," she said, and Sylvanas thought she saw her eyes flicker her way. She probably thought that because she was undead, she couldn't hit a target dead-center as a living person would. Stupid bitch. "There's no way my students will fail."

"That's the spirit! If a few words cannot dissuade them from turning away on their endeavor…well, you and I both know how to best express them. A little one-two, don't you know! Oh ho ho, ho ho ho ho!" Johanna tilted her head back and continued with that droll, noblewoman's laugh. Sylvanas figured it suited more a donkey than a warrior.

The Banshee Queen glanced at the sheaf of papers in her hand, looked up at the doors, then past the Ranger-General and the blasted woman toward the large, bejeweled sun cross. She got her counterpart's attention by touching her elbow. "As much as I can see how much you…enjoy…the company, you really should be going. You don't have much time before class is in session. It'd be a shame if you were to be late."

The Ranger-General nodded. "Yes, you're right. I still have to get my equipment together and make some final adjustments to the day's plan. I can't imagine having another person try to go off my work plan and follow everything to the letter. There's just no way. Thank you for your time, Johanna, but I really should be going."

"Nay, I understand, but do come again when you have the time," said the crusader. "I extend this to you as well, Banshee Queen. Better to sit in sunlight than that dreadful, gloomy atmosphere yonder over hill where the Church of Darkness resides. I don't know how anyone can walk about that place and not crash into something or someone."

"You forgot to add 'and not getting shanked over it'," said the Banshee Queen.

Johanna grimaced. "Yes, there is that. What a terrible fate to befall those who knock over the presiding Dark Lord's precious pottery."

"Come now, Ranger-General, I'll take you back to the Manor."

"What about the papers?"

Sylvanas snorted. "Screw them. They can wait a little longer."

The Ranger-General resigned to shrug her shoulders. "Well…if that's how you feel, but hey, it's your ass."

The Banshee Queen nodded slowly as she led the other to the double doors. "Yes. Indeed, it is my ass. Mine. Not yours." She pushed open one of the doors and bowed low at the waist, arm swept in a grand gesture toward the road. "After you."

The living Sylvanas was taken aback but nonetheless touched by this gesture. "Oh! Why, thank you. How very kind of you." She started walking.

Then the undead Sylvanas emitted a single bark of laughter. "Psyche!" She cut in front of the other, spun around, and shut the door in her face. The shock of it ran through the Ranger-General like electricity through a lightning rod, and by the time she registered the sound of the crossbar falling down into place she had decided to run face-first into the doors.

She snatched the handles and shook and pulled them. "SYLVANAS!" she roared.

"Have fun at church, loser!" the Banshee Queen called from the other side, her voice muffled. "Let your noobs learn from a real Windrunner! At least I have a statue!"

"AT LEAST I DIDN'T DIE AND LET MY COUNTRY FALL! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT NOW!" The Ranger-General banged her fists and punctuated the end of her sentence with a swift kick that ran shockwaves up her leg.

"Easy there, friend," Johanna said quietly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "It's nothing to fret over."

"Nothing to fret over? We're locked in!"

"Do you see how big these doors are? They're big enough for a demon like Diablo to walk through unhindered; there's no need to duck underneath or turn to the side to get through."

"Your point being?"

"You haven't noticed already? Here, let me show you." Johanna reached inside the depths of her robe and procured a keycard on a lanyard. She stepped forward, held the card up to the middle of the doors…and jammed it in. She remained in this position for several seconds.

There was a clicking sound, and with both benevolence and a hint of smugness she pushed the doors outward. The Banshee Queen Sylvanas was gone, but blinding sunlight flooded in and cast Johanna in a halo-like aura. It forced the Ranger-General to shield her eyes until it was obscured by graying clouds.

"Wh-What was that just now?" she asked. "I thought these doors were made of wood!"

"But they are…mimic wood, that is. 'Tis a kind of wood that is grown only in the furthest reaches of the Nexus…and only in places where the Realm of Darkness has taken root. It's very malleable material, but also very difficult to meld with current technology; it's one of the reasons why it takes many years to cultivate and nurture it, and why there are so few artisans. Although you must admit, it makes for great anti-burglar security, doesn't it? A Hero, not even one of demonic origin, can dare blow these walls apart."

"Unless you have the key."

"Unless you have the key," Johanna agreed, and then frowned, disappointed. "I suppose this means you won't stick around then."

"Pardon my Common in these hallowed halls, but hell no! That bitch is a total goner when I get my hands on her! That's my class she's going to mess with! What's she going to teach them, scream the Darkness out of the darklings? They're more apt to get laryngitis than make any headway! I'm really sorry, Johanna, but I have to go! NOW!" The Ranger-General rushed through the doors and into the outside world. "I KNOW ALL YOUR HAUNTS, SYLVANAS! YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING IF YOU THINK THE LACK OF SLEEP IS GOING TO KEEP YOU FROM ME!"