The Second Stage: March


Chapter 14

Honor Thy Elders


X Unknown X

Upon the steps of Ulduar, the men wracked with shivers, accusing the cold, none of them questioning if it was not terror that had infiltrated their being. To look upon Its eyes is to invite certain death, they were told, and so they waited with eyes cast down upon the trampled snow, waiting.

There was a sound then, up from the very top of the grand staircase, and they caught movement there from peripherals. Quickly, they turned their eyes further down, voices catching in their throats, groveling before He that would be their Master.

A rich, malicious chuckle touched their ears, and the sound betrayed itself as the clod of horse hooves. Those with sense did not dare to raise their eyes, though the curious were betrayed as they glanced upwards. It was not He that approached them, but a rider on a midnight steed, shrouded in clothing of equal darkness.

"And who are you?" the first of them demanded, shouting out over the howling winds of Storm Peaks. A clash of lightning and thunder punctuated his words; here, that was a common theatric. The others, emboldened, also raised their eyes.

The rider smiled at their bunch. "I am the Prophet of He That Is Always Watching. I am His mouth, and He is my eyes. It is to me you will plead the case for your fleeting lives."

At the mention of eyes, the rider was finally close enough for them to make out the pale face beneath the hood. Jagged gouges ripped at the flesh beside the empty sockets, the lids cast open to reveal their terrible bowels. The quivering continued, knowing this one spoke with the authority of Him.

"Yes, well," the man said, fighting to regain his confidence, while the rider circled them. The horse too exhaled smoke and ash, also missing its eyes, and the mouth seemed to sneer at them with human emotion. "We seek to serve the Great Master, as the Twilight's Hammer always have. We are devoted."

"He loathes your pitiful kind, fatherslayers," the rider told them. "He seeks to end you. He will be there, Watching, as the last songs of the mortals grow silent, Watching as the last heart finishes beating, and the last lids flutter shut, forever blind to the world of the living.

"The world is already overthrown. Its leaders lay dead, their blood feasted on by the Mlachwah, and the greatest cities and smallest havens lay cracked open like the eggs of a robin. What use has He for swine like you?"

Many turned their gazes away from even this mouthpiece, silent and without defense. They had offered so little resistance against those that came for Yogg'Saron. One man, he that had spoken since the beginning, dared:

"We offer hands that work loyally, Prophet, and eyes that can see."

The Prophet of the Elder God smiled broadly. It revealed to them the inhuman nature of it, splitting its maw past the line of lips, revealing rows of shark-like teeth. This body was an avatar, not human. The hatred was obvious in its expression even still. "Yes, you offer eyes. But what you do not know, youngling, is that elsewhere in this world, resistance can still be found. The leaders fell before the Exyccikt'la, but the heroes rally for whatever defense they can conjure.

"We will not slay you now, for there is still use in you. You are human, you are dwarf, here before me, and that allows you to infiltrate those that dare advance upon He That Sees Everything. The blessed armies of the Ysthalcc'nilu can defeat them from the outside, but from the inside, there is no need to draw them into confrontation. You know what I speak of, yes?"

"The... Yslah-what?" someone asked. "You must forgive our immaturity in the matters of the Great Master."

The Prophet showed no disdain, though his circle around them, up and down the steps, counter-clockwise. "The wisest of men, fatherslayer, seeks to ascend from Ywalsthu, from minnows, to the Ysthalcc'nilu – the chosen, the children, the progeny and propagators. To cast your eyes upon the beast is the highest honor you may ever chance upon, fatherslayer, and prostration in prayer to Ghat'Nothos, The Always Watching, should be foremost in your desires. Pray for forgiveness, as the children who slew their merciful father, and pray for salvation, through the blood of He Above You."

The cultists fell to their knees, bowing down in servitude. "Cast your blessing upon us, Great Master!" they cried out, while the Prophet sneered.

"You will come to learn, fatherslayer, that the price of blood can only be repaid in blood. Now begone!" The air whipped at command, sending the prostate men tumbling down the steps, clinging to icy edges to prevent the long fall. "Go! Service Ghat'Nothos, and pray, minnows!"

A pale sword was drawn, raised high, and orange light radiated from its shining length. Then, it was slashed down, like the order of march from a general, and from the skies came a swirling meteor, to crash in the place the men had stood prior. Flaming debris scattered down upon them, while the men rose to flee. Other meteors came crashing down, even crushing one man into a corpse of ash, before they managed to flee.

X Prophet X

Sin had walked the place called the Gardens of the Twisting Nether. It was a home-struck name, from his very mother Margaret de Rath, but not one altogether isolated. After his conversation with his mother within her soulstone, he had opened the way into the begotten lands of the Twisting Nether, to the Gardens, to behold that which had become his inheritance.

The Nether was not like Azeroth. It was a realm of separate laws, separate physics, tied closer to the mind than the physical body. He walked the ground only because his mind had gravity pulling him downward. He remained in only this place, because his mind anchored him here with purpose, to not be accidentally whisked across the universe into... other lands. Lands belonging to Sargeras, the Destroyer.

In such a place as the Gardens, the Destroyer held no threat to Sin. Not here. For it was no scenic walk, no stroll past beautiful trees of Nether-color. It was a prison complex, one of the finest and most intricate of its kind. Margaret de Rath was not a fighter, but her skill as warlock extended so far beyond that. She could build such beautiful, impossible things.

And Sin had become its Keeper. The Warden.

Dancing at the edges of his vision along the walk was the shadow-haze of the Nether, the uncertainty of the universe, always in attempt to tug away his focus long enough to take him to a new land. It was not Sin's own focus that held him in place, however. In his right hand, tapping with purpose between each step, was Shed'lahk. It seemed to purr, content as a cat, at the approach towards what it knew.

It would allow him to go no place else, for they were on path towards Shed'Beshal.

Sin was not alone on his journey – well, as alone as one could get here. His mother had not been an idle figure through history. Each tree here contained a prisoner, be it eredar, nathrezim, or something else of unspeakable, unstoppable evil. Names that once pulled forth the most ghastly terror lay eternally bound here, to be forgotten.

Now, behind Sin, was a small army of little imps. Two remained at the forefront: Quztal, Sin's own contracted brother, and she that was called Grandmother Shuzlo. Shuzlo was the mother of Quztal, and all the imps that presently followed them, but after watching her raise several generations of the monsters, "Mother" no longer seemed appropriate to Sin.

Finally, one particular dark shadow sharpened from its blur into a full shape. Arching purples met with jagged greens, with thorns of orange and bark of dripping blood. There were no leafs upon the imposing figure of Shed'Beshal, but the twisting monstrosity, large as the Dragonqueen, could be called nothing but a tree. The purple of the branches were threaded with the green Light of Nether energy, remaining harvested in a shell of power around it. The tree was silent, almost innocent, yet its very representation, and the knowledge of what remained ensnared in its roots below, frightened Sin then as the stories of it had as a child.

The collected scores of imps cowered before it, hiding as best they could, while Quztal took to hiding beneath the hem of Sin's robes. Sin barely managed enough attention to keep himself clothed, as well as whole in body. One imp did not hide, instead stopping beside Sin himself, and she sighed heavily to herself. Shuzlo had been Sin's mothers own contact.

No longer was warlock and imp bound by word or blood. If Margaret called upon the true name of Shuzlo, the aged imp came, for such was their friendship and company, just as Shuzlo may call upon Margaret if in need of defense for her brood from the evil of the Nether.

"A terrible image, that which is called Shed'Beshal," Shuzlo had said then to Sin, as they stared at the tree. Though its body seemed small, colossal only without thought of the larger horrors of the world, its roots reached deep and far to capture the whole body of the Nameless Evil it harbored.

Unlike the trees they had passed, which shook and writhed, Shed'Beshal was perfectly still, for it was in slumber with its prisoner. Margaret had imprisoned the Nameless One, yet very quickly the tree had succumbed to its terrible power, turning into a new host, and she had it sealed, to be freed only from one key:

The Heart of Shed'Beshal had been removed, and though it carried all of the perverse evil of its body, it had been cut from its power, unable to influence the world around it outside of a wielder of the Heart. Shed'lahk, the Heart of Shed'Beshal, was the name.

Sin felt the staff trying to tug him forward then, towards the tree. His mind spun images of what should happen then, as he inserted the key back into the lock, the heart into the body, and in that moment, the Evil would awaken once again, and the universe would tremble.

He resisted its pull, its promises of power and life eternal, despite knowing them to be true. The Twisting Nether did not know such evils as that which was contained within Shed'Beshal. Azeroth did, the Great Dark Beyond did, and they were called old gods. But old gods were beings of the physical world, of malefic evil but thwart-able power. Immortal, sure, but even immortals could be slain.

Such was not so in the Twisting Nether. Thought, imagination, and chaos ruled here. They were not beings of physical bodies, only shapes which they saw themselves as, and power was limited only to what the mind could contrive and the will could support. The titan Sargeras had mastered the rules of the Nether in his control of it, but he was not a monster contrived of this world. Not like the Nameless Evil was, which could spread its will from end to end of the infinite plane, to be anywhere and everywhere, to subdue even the grandest and mightiest being with only a thought.

Margaret had been given the jump on the Evil when its summoning had happened. A force of powerful eredar spell-weavers had come together for the... Sin might guess creation of such an evil, for its manifestation into the metaphysical plane, but they had cast their magics and immense control of the Nether to weave into existence this Evil, for their dark purposes, unknowing that they could never hope to control it.

They had perished nearly immediately. But before it could fully flex its might, Margaret had come, and she battled this newly formed creature, quickly sealing it away here, in the Gardens. It was the gorgeous centerpiece to an immense collection of such pleasant-seeming cells.

"What would happen," Sin had asked back to Shuzlo, "if such an Evil was to be freed?"

The imp matron peeled the horn pipe from her mouth, blowing smoke thicker than that which left Sin's mouth, and wrinkled lips drew together under her massive hooked nose. "Terrible things, child. I suspect that first to go would be the Gardens, and each prison herein would shatter, releasing untold evils back into the Nether. If your mother's theory is correct, It might subjugate the entire Twisting Nether and plunge it into chaos and ruin, raping and consuming all that is until Its own reign of power trickles into a state of deep slumber, resting in Its own dreamless nap with a full belly, until the day It awakens to repeat the cycle."

"Is this really necessary?" Quztal had complained from beneath Sin's robes. Many of these imps had been here when Margaret had sealed the Evil; memories still had them trembling, from just the still form of Shed'Beshal.

Sin ignored his imp, staring transfixed at the tree. "Often, they are overshadowed by the tales of this prisoner, but were the others here so awful? Who were they?"

"In your world, you know demons by the physical forms they must take. Here in the Twisting Nether, all powers are amplified by will, including that of malevolence. Consider your Mal'ganis, and the harm he has wrought upon your world with the undead legions of the Scourge. Here, his evil will is far more influential in the universe around him... and he is but one nathrezim, a figurehead. There, beneath that tree of sickly greens and dripping oranges, lays a nathrezim Elder, the presence of whom even Mal'ganis would tremble before. Across from it is a brother of force, an eredar second to Kil'Jaeden in magical power and second to none in his pursuit of cruelties. I would use their names, if such would not excite them further in their imprisonment."

The Grandmother imp blew more smoke from her mouth, before sucking in again through her pipe. Her beady eyes were narrowed in their regard. Sin's gaze left her pensive face to turn back, looking past the horde of trembling imps, to other trees. He had asked, "And The Twelve?"

Shuzlo did not look, sucking at her pipe. After a lengthy exhale, she had muttered in a deep, reflective tone, "Creatures of the Nether – not demons. Creatures from beyond reality, outside of the world as you and even I know it. They are far from the evil of demons, yet far more terrible in threat. They know not human emotions like love and hate, and in their alien natures, that makes them infinitely more dangerous. You can expect a demon to loath you; for the Others, you can only count on festering madness."

The Others. Sin had heard of them, in vague tales, from his mother, but the subject had never been clear. There was much Grandmother Shuzlo could teach him. His mother too, had she the reason and time. "They cannot manifest on the physical world, can they? The Others. They possess mortals to madness, right?"

"Aye, and immortals too," Shuzlo had answered, nodding sagely. She paused to inhale another deep breath of pipe smoke. "If drawn onto a world like Azeroth, they come as a force, a bodiless entity. Sometimes it is madness, as they think their thoughts in a human mind, and sometimes it is in play, to watch the kings of the world raise armies in their rage to battle in that they call the Dance and Song of Wind."

There was a sudden cry of terror from the imps, and Shuzlo hummed in her basso, throaty way. Sin looked at them in question, until he felt a tap of Shuzlo's staff on his left arm in a strange place. Looking back, he saw his focus had sipped, and presently his left arm was stretching nearly twenty feet beyond, reaching with Shed'lahk to insert the Heart back into Shed'Beshal.

An eye-blink after, the arm was planted at normal distance before him, the staff grounded, and Shed'lahk growled violently within his head. Liquid fire began to pour into his arm, and the skin began to hiss and melt at the place of contact between them. Sin was left wincing at the pain, but he bore it through a shadow-wrapped mind.

Shuzlo nodded. "You're control of the Bane-Heart is good, but your mind must always be present in the Nether with it."

"Why must things be evil?" Sin asked rhetorically. He would not forget that with him were demons, whom were not human in will or intent, though often cruel mischief was the worst of the imps' deeds.

The wizened matron did not hesitate to answer. "Why do the mortals show empathy for those that are not themselves? To a demon, taking quarrel with one whom you have none – in defense for another, as you say – is unfair and evil. In your courts of law, you pride in your logic, and cold reason, for your judgments. If we were to have a court, we would cherish most passion, the incentives of emotion, and the strength of their pursuit. It is a different state of mental being, not precisely "evil.""

Sin shook his head, with no reply to an answer like that. He had told her next, "Come, let us return to your abode and break with tea and biscuit, Grandmother Shuzlo."

The imp matron threw her pipe's embers at Sin, and he danced back with a short cry. Glaring, Shuzlo had declared, "Call me "Grandmother" again and I'll sear your eyes off!"

They had departed from the Gardens then, for a short while before Sin returned to his home at Gadgetzan, where he had found Warden Blackmoon and the bruiser waiting.

XxX

A strong sense of vertigo followed Sin's travel through the Waygate. The climate seemed nearly identical, but there was a certain wrongness that his senses noticed that told him he was far displaced. So went the jump of thousands of miles, from the very bottom of the world to the very top, from Un'Goro Crater to Sholazar Basin.

Sekara was trembling. Her tan skin was pocked with gooseflesh all the way around, and she shivered as if submerged in the deepest waters of Northrend's ocean. There was no icy nip to the air to set her in such a state, only the traveling through the technology of her foes, the Titans. Sin had held her in his arms as they used the Waygate, to urge her through, but the physical support seemed to do little to alleviate her fears.

She was without harm though, and soon the other qiraji and the many bandits passed through as well. They marveled over the ancient technology, the instantaneous passage through the stars. Even Narelle Blackmoon gave it a second glance once she was through, undoubtedly considering its uses for her people.

To the south and east they moved, sliding along the outer wall of the northern crater. They moved quickly, with Sin on his dreadsteed and the bandits trotting with the unyielding resolve of the desert. The sun had not even set when the first of the silithid was found.

"By the goddess," Narelle gasped at the finding, slowing herself to a walk and staring.

Sin stopped beside her, nodding to himself. "As I said. However, it appears that C'Thun's long reach could not stretch this far north at his current power, or perhaps not penetrate the magical protection of the basin. These silithid remained remarkably passive, even at the time of Yogg'Saron's reign."

The warden narrowed her gaze at him, suspicion coming to her silver eyes. "You are suggesting they should be left alone, without consideration of them later being rallied."

"I have considered it. Ressact!"

"Sin de Rath," a familiar voice rasped. The speaker of the qiraji remained veiled in white, and she hovered beside him now with a new alertness to her teal eyes.

"Answer in truth. Do the qiraji Battleguards still seek a haven without war or strife?" Narelle's interest was peaked.

"It is so," Ressact answered.

"If the old god came for you now, would you serve it or fight it?"

The qiraji expression for uncertainty passed over her eyes. "The sisters seek safety from extinction... But the all-mind is loyal to Sin de Rath, and Sin de Rath would fight. The sisters would fight for Sin de Rath."

"And if I found you haven, would you remain loyal to me?"

Ressact had no answer, and her wings took her to the left and right in quick bursts. But she was not the only one listening, and a second qiraji floated before him. It was Sekara, covered in pink vest and pink harem pants, but no longer veiled as the rest were. "Sekara loyalty to Sin de Raas."

Ressact caught her attention then, and teal eyes bore into each other as the qiraji communicated. Sekara remained bold, staring down her white-clothed sister, until Ressact faltered and bowed her head, retreating back. Though Sekara had improved her speech much since the days in Silithus, Sin still looked to Ressact to speak.

The woman remained hesitant, until she admitted, "Sekara explains human ways, to which qiraji should not understand. We owe you debts, we owe you favor. Ressact does not understand, for such thoughts are for the Master, but Sekara is certain. Qiraji loyalty is not to be whimsical. The qiraji are loyal to Sin de Rath, for now until Sin de Rath says no."

Explains human ways? Sin wondered, looking to the once-Bugsy that had started this whole mess. Sekara's black-covered mouth twitched then, pulling at the sides, and he realized she was trying to smile. He realized in a startling moment that perhaps he was not the only only one to face changes at the forced linkage of minds between him and her.

"I don't understand," he admitted, looking between the two.

Sekara said, "At parting, all-mind loyalty to Sekara. Sekara loyalty to Sin de Raas. So, sisters loyalty to Sin de Raas."

He nodded slowly, letting her words sink in. Perhaps it could work. "Warden Blackmoon, watch closely, for I permit you this knowledge. Sekara, Ressact, and all the qiraji Battleguards – before you lies a peaceful silithid hive. In there, you can find haven from the war, to settle without fear from brothers or fathers or old gods. There may come times where you must defend yourselves, but the Battleguards are elite warriors, and I trust you will ensure your own future, even as I leave you to take battle against the new old god."

There was silence between them, until Sekara asked quietly, barely heard over the buzz of her wings, "So Sin de Raas leave now?"

"Indeed I shall," he told her. It was a fey feeling, to be parting from the qiraji. Part of him was ready to rejoice, and yet another part expressed clear sorrow. "I ask that you keep the silithid peaceful in the hive as well. I like the sisters; I do not want to return to battle them again."

There was another pause, before Sekara rasped, "Gratitude and much sorrow from Sekara."

"I know," he told her. "I will check in on you when it is all over." She nodded back, before turning away from him.

The bandits took to a break then, as Sin and the qiraji worked at assimilating them with the silithid. The process happened easily, and the Battleguards entered the hive to establish themselves in their new home. By nightfall, it was only Sin and Sekara that remained outside, and there was a heavy silence between them.

Sekara was an odd friend to have made during the travels, but she had taught him much, hurt him more, and she had established a bond between them that seemed unwilling to break even now. She was the first of them to seek him as a friend, the first to talk to him; she was the one corrupted lusts sought, the one he found attractive and companionable, and her trust had held him through the fallout between he and Lynona, his succubus.

Sin hugged her now, uncertain of what to say. Sekara tried returning the gesture, touching him with the red nubs of her arms, until they separated. "Farewell, Sekara," he told her.

"Fight well, Sin de Raas," she returned. And then she kissed him, as he had her before. It was a clumsy touch of lips, but Sin smiled and kissed her back, before they parted again.

Narelle was waiting for him when he finally left the qiraji to their own fate. She had her arms crossed before her bosom, revealing all the skin and weapons beneath her cloak, but her expression was steel. Sin met her, his own expression solemn. Shed'lahk remained tightly gripped in a fist as he planted it finally between them and said, "This chapter is done, Watcher. You know their fate, you know their plots as well as I. Now, we march to find this old god."

"My Watch remains on you," she told him tersely, and silver eyes gave a deliberate look at his staff. "The battles for your mind and loyalty have not yet ended."

"Nor shall they, I fear," Sin agreed. "Should you find it worthwhile, so long as I cling to myself, we shall remain companions for a rather long time. Centuries even, or the rest of my life."

"I do not look forward to it," she spat, and her gaze turned to the east. "If you would do away with the pervasive forces, I would not be necessary at all."

"Do away with Shed'lahk?" Sin asked, and he barked a laugh. "You do not yet know how such an action would damn the universe. You will in time. I will make myself trust you in necessity, as our travels continue."

She looked at him again, until an unspoken understanding was reached. The conversation changed course then as she asked, "Where do we go next?"

"East, to climb the mountain wall up to the land called Wintergrasp. From there, I can find allies and managed a network of information until we know where to strike."

Narelle was pacified, and if she had more words, she held them at the approach of Darnin. The tanned, worn husk of a man looked deliberately towards the mouth of the silithid hive, then to Sin. He asked, "So that's it then? We are done with the qiraji for good?"

A strange vulnerability prevented Sin from answering immediately. Always, when dealing with the former cultists, he had an army behind him. Darnin especially was unpredictable, treacherous, clearly following his own whims and wills. As a warlock, Sin was not used to being surrounded by danger without stalwart and absolutely loyal companion at his back. He missed Lynona. Narelle, whose only purpose was to execute him if he slipped, was no replacement.

Sin raised his hood over his head, despite the darkness, and he noted the tightness at the base of his spine. He wrapped his mind in shadows, returning cold focus, and decided to also shroud himself in truth, for whatever it meant to this man: "As I said from the beginning, they came to me for deliverance, and now my task has been fulfilled. From here, we march to war."

"Was it a smart move?" Darnin pressed, without emotion in his voice.

How utterly ambiguous, Sin noticed. Shed'lahk purred in his mind, whispering violence, strength, destruction – all the power Sin could ever need, to see him through any treachery or foe. Truly, with its power, Sin would have no fear of this man. Frankly, its words were true, but such would come with a terrible cost.

Sin took him to mean the fighting capabilities of the Battleguards. The loss of their scythes was a valid concern. "I gave them my word, and I concluded the contract. That is all that matters."

"To you, Specter," Darnin argued, but with a shake of his head, he dropped the matter. "Where do we go now? This jungle does not appear to be as deadly as Un'Goro, but I still do not favor running through it in the dark."

"We'll make some distance between us and the hive, then camp. How do our food stock look?"

"Bountiful, after our hunts. On your word, we're ready to leave."

Sin summoned his dreadsteed, quickly overcoming its headstrong will to mount it. "Then let us be off."

XxX

By the third day of moving through Sholazar Basin, Sin's band found themselves surrounded.

It began with ancient protectors, those sentient trees that could walk on stump-like legs, with leafy beards and keen eyes. They stomped in front of their march, holding at the top of the hill Sin was about to climb – three of them. His dreadsteed neighed loudly as he wheeled it towards the north, along the shallow river they had just crossed, and he waved them along it to avoid the sentries.

A small herd of nymphs and dryads trampled down from the brush to fill the way, and they bore leafy spears and wooden shields, armed for war. Though innocent and frolicsome, the fey folk were reputed deadly warriors, and Sin cursed to himself, turning towards the south, to try for a hard climb towards the steep cliffs of the basin.

"The fucking elves followed us!" Handon roared then, as more creatures of the forest and fey appeared to advance from the south. He drew a cleaver and gestured with deadly intent towards Narelle. "She brought them here!"

By then, the rest of the bandits had clamored into the bank of the river, and with a knowing look back, Sin saw the advance of keepers of the grove, dryads, and more ancient protectors from the western bank they had just descended. Darnin appeared beside Handon then, and a knobby hand soothed the arm that held the cleaver, turning it away with deceptive strength. "Calm," he whispered in passing.

Sin looked in all the directions, watching the forest advance upon them, seeking a way out without combat. Shed'lahk laughed in his head, for this was no actual dilemma. Sin would use it to turn the entire area into ash; he would have no choice. Narelle had her bow drawn, he noticed, and she was crouched on a smooth stone with an arrow nocked loosely, watching.

"Specter," Darnin called, as Jern shouldered his way to Sin. A broadsword was held between two burly fists.

Sin said nothing. The forest stopped moving, at roughly fifty paces out from any angle. Close enough for most range attacks, but at least there would be chance for negotiations. From the looks of their accosters, he had a firm idea of whom was behind this, and Handon couldn't be further wrong from "elves."

Just then, there was a roar appropriate to the jungle, and a massive snow leopard pounced from a hiding place in the brush to the sloped side of the eastern bank, and with heavy steps, it paced back and forth, watching Sin alone with glowing blue eyes. Sin recognized the beast: Loque'nahak.

An odd addition, he felt, until a second roar outdid his by ground-shaking multiples. The next creature to leap from the brush cleared the ancient protectors, revealed to be even larger than they, and its landing left deep marks in the loose soil, though its paws did not slip.

A toothy grin regarded him, revealing teeth larger than Sin was tall. He knew this one as well, though he was unsure if he should be afraid or relieved. Har'koa, the snow leopard goddess. Taking from Sin the knowledge of the loa goddess, Shed'lahk began to spew fire from its contact with Sin – dripping bright lava from shaft into soil – and the astral tendrils thickened to sink its hooks deeper into Sin's body.

Finally, in this new standstill, the true force of the forest came. It was not an avatar, as Sin expected. The Warden of Life, an entitled Watcher of the titans... Freya herself came striding forth, standing at what must have been forty feet tall, stopping between the ancient protectors at the top of the eastern bank, where they looked like mossy stumps beside her hips.

For what Shed'lahk represented in chaos and destruction, a rival staff of unadulterated life tapped into the soil beside the goddess, and from its touch, new life blossomed in a sudden burst of green and colorful flowers. The whole length of wood was covered in writhing, ever-blooming life as well.

Sin began to wonder if his madness had crept back over his mind without notice, as he looked at the trap sprang from two reputed goddesses. From the looks of the others, however, he knew he was not alone in this hallucination, and he sobered his expression beneath his hood.

"Children of the shadow, you will remain where you are or face penalty of death," Freya boomed, in a voice that rang like a city's church bells.

Handon was unimpressed. "Yeah?" he hollered back. "And who are you, you mossy bitch?"

A wry smile passed Narelle's lips as she answered calmly. "That is Freya, goddess of life, whom you just insulted."

"Freya is not the goddess I'm worried about," Sin remarked quietly, staring at Har'koa. The toothy grin stretched wider.

Freya proved nonplussed. "Sin de Rath! You will ascend the riverbank now and speak to us."

Light and Shadow, to be singled out by them. The paths he had followed in recent days did not bode well for dealings with figures like these two. His dreadsteed was not one to grow nervous, but its hooves danced over the soil, snorting at the many figures facing it. It recognized power.

With a short command, Sin banished it back into the Twisting Nether, and he landed on the grass with practiced ease. He did not look to the many faces around him, all of whom followed him here. After inhaling a deep breath, he began to climb the slope, towards Har'koa and her mate.

He had barely made three steps when Loque'nahak roared threateningly, and Har'koa growled, "Not you, child of the stars. Your fate lies with those you've chosen to affiliate with."

"I am a warden, and Sin de Rath is my Watch," Narelle Blackmoon argued, and he realized she had tried following him up. With surprising reverence, she added, "Please, great goddess, reconsider."

"Your kind has grown too bold in its immortality," Har'koa scoffed, and then she stepped forward swiftly to catch Sin by his robes, between her teeth. He prided himself on not crying out in surprise or fear, as she lifted him up and bounded to Freya with him dangling helplessly. Loque'nahak remained behind, keeping the rest of them under close watch.

Sin clutched onto Shed'lahk with all his might as he was bounced about upon the gleaming white fangs of the snow leopard goddess, but he noticed that once they crested the hill, Har'koa did not stop there. She bounded forward, over the nearby brush, and in the lazy grace of her kind, she loped along deeper and deeper into the forest, letting him thrash against the iron fangs with every step.

Battered, likely bruised, Sin was spat finally onto a grassy meadow, where he rolled several times. He remained frozen in place for a moment, then withheld any complaint as he rose to his feet again. He looked up in time to see Freya clear the last long stride with a single leg, and then he was alone with two goddesses, both of whom towered over his mortal form.

In truth, Sin considered himself a warlock of much privilege. His innate magical power, combined with his devoted study into the forbidden arts and years of practical experience, had rewarded him with legendary meetings with beings well beyond what a mortal should encounter. C'Thun might have been added to that list, had Sin not perished in the tunnels before the confrontation.

Beings both great and dark had considered his help and graciously accepted, and together, sometimes even back to back in desperate pitches, they had overcome foes that neither could take alone. Therein lied favors, offers of power, discipleship, and more, between Sin and these beings of great power. He knew that Shed'lahk's offers were not the only paths he could take, should he be desperate for more power. He knew to always keep that in mind, especially now when faced with the appearance of another old god.

But while warlocks were known as sorcerers whose ambitions for power drove them into similar dark bargains, there was always a difference. Warlocks exposed and saturated themselves to power that came with dark temptations, and through control, the first law of a warlock, their cornerstone, they overcome the manipulations and used the powers for their own independent purposes. The bargains Sin had refused were those that came with collars to latch around his neck, those that removed his ability to fight control. He would lose his freewill.

But for others, Sin had accepted their thanks as favors, to be called in later. Har'koa was one such deity, when she had been bound before the trolls of Zul'Drek and Sin had come in a storm of fire and shadow to free her. They had a history together. On Freya, Sin had been there to see her freedom from the grasps of Yogg'Saron in the bowels of Ulduar.

Now, Sin glanced from the massive face of the snow leopard goddess, then he looked up to the towering figure of Freya. Both were silent in their regard for him, waiting, observing. Sin met them squarely, not knowing what foothold he had in their graces... and he noticed Freya was wearing a rather short skirt.

Sin blinked, then turned away quickly to look to the trees around him, fighting a rush of embarrassed heat to his cheeks. For one who knew all mortals stood as high as her shins and must always look up, a goddess really ought to be wearing... more. Sin couldn't hold in a bark of laughter at the thought, realizing the mad bubbles still could interrupt his control.

"Something you find funny, Sin de Rath?" Har'koa growled. She was not being threatening, but such was her way of speak.

Sin shook his head, sobering quickly and reminding himself of where he was. He told her, "In a mad sort of way. Why have you stopped us?"

The loa goddess turned away to begin pacing side to side behind Freya, watching him with her large blue eyes as she did. The pitch of her words came lower. "Do not pretend you don't know."

Freya spoke finally, her words feminine but loud: "No, let us be clear and honest here. Sin de Rath bears the weight of a dark power well beyond his ability, but he has not fallen to its whispers or any other. I presume you already know, but an old god has risen in Storm Peaks, unchained and in the full of his power, and already his armies spill over the planet, burning and destroying all they come across."

Sin did not raise his eyes to her, too worried about looking up her skirt again, but he nodded, fist tight over the growling Shed'lahk. "I am aware. That is my reason for taking the Waygate from Un'Goro Crater to here, to take the fight to it. Those... men back there, you know who they were, but now they seek to help combat this new one, to prove their change of heart."

A menacing growl from Har'koa, and one of her hulking paws pushed over a leaning tree with a loud crack and crash. She snapped, "Do not play snake with us, Sin. You come carrying the Bane-Heart. You bring with you scores of aqir soldiers – the minions of the old gods! And you head an army of cultists, burning with dark powers, dark desires that I could feel with proximity. Those balloon-headed elves sent a warden after you, and it is very clear why- and that crass bitch is trying to spy on us!"

Har'koa turned her head back towards the way they had come from, and she roared clear and loud, giving a satisfied snort after. "She'll be feeling that for a week."

Freya gave a disapproving sigh. "There are cleaner ways, sister. Let her try to focus that listening spell with a nymph distracting her."

The remark only stretched the loa's lips wider. "The chatter of fey folk will make the headache that much worse." Her tail lashed out with an angry snap.

The awareness of them, the ease in which dealt with Narelle as if she were but a child, was a reminder of who Sin stood before. He slowly gathered his camouflaging cloak around him, wishing it could grant total invisibility. He took a breath and made a stand though, dragging attention back to him, "In recent days, I have made... very difficult decisions, for many right reasons done in many wrong ways. I understand suspicion, and I do not blame you for it, but I promise, as you know me, that I remain myself through it all."

"Difficult decisions?" Har'koa asked, and she shook with mocking laughter. Waving her head towards Freya she said, "He thinks his choices have been difficult!"

"Hush," the life goddess told her.

Har'koa wasn't deterred. Rounding upon Sin and slamming her paw before him, her face leaned in close. Like that, it was easier to tell that the voice they heard did not come from her throat. "Zul'Drek was lost twenty days ago, only two days after Ghat'Nothos came. My high priest, my followers – everyone in the troll lands is dead. In Storm Peaks, Thorim, Hodir, Mimiron, they were dead on the very first day. Freya lived only because she was behind the barrier of the basin when they came. Me, because my brother and sister loa gave me warning and all of their combined strength just to flee. We are the last eternals to still live across all of Azeroth, Sin. Do you understand where we are now?"

Sin couldn't reply. His mouth opened and closed, and then he turned away to lean against one of the trees, his head suddenly aching under a flurry of violent thoughts. To kill the mortals, to overthrow kingdoms, was one matter – to butcher all of the eternals, and so quickly, was another entirely. Never had the world witnessed an old god at full power... not since the titans had been here to combat them, and even then, C'Thun had defeated one before his own sealing.

No wonder the snow leopard goddess was so paranoid, so quick to suspect. She had lost everything – likely had to abandon her own people just to escape with her life, even as they still died. Because death was not the same to an eternal. There were far worse fates for them, if captured. The two had overcome such a fate for Har'koa and the other loa once before.

Freya was the last titanic watcher? Sin had sudden thoughts of Algalon, of the re-origination of the world. What other beacons had been activated now?

"She is mostly correct," Freya mentioned, morose. "Those who maintain the Halls of Origination have also perished, but Tyr had been beyond reach for some time. We, when there was still a we to speculate, assumed he had taken to watching over the mortals, granting his blessing and shaping their futures. The paladins of your kind especially bare his sigil, not just his silver hand, but signs of his power and blessing. He might even personally reside over a chosen champion."

Sin took a long moment to let the words sink in. He had no immediate response, only concerns and many questions. He always felt meek before beings of such power, always willing to lend them aid as he could – for it was right to honor ones elders, and the mortals were always so low on the chain. But even as he thought to offer his hand, responsibilities cropped up, and his spine stiffened against his will.

"Do not strike against the qiraji Battleguards," Sin told them abruptly. He blinked in surprise at his own bold words, and their attention tightened over him. Like before, in Silithus, he felt as if watching a theater play of himself again, letting the actor follow its script. "I ferried them here because I know them to have turned from the old gods. They seek peace, from extinction, and asked for my aid to escape the grasp of this new god. That hive is the home I offered them. The cultists behind me, they are no more than a band of bandits. They are hardened by the desert, and they are excellent killers. I can use them, as long as I can, to fight."

He paused, then faced them again, looking into their eyes – even up into Freya's. "Shed'lahk is a terrible curse, but its power is great, and I can use that too. I need every scrape of help I can get to fight this old god. They say they cannot be defeated by mortals, but I say fuck that. We are resilient and surprising as fuck when it comes to what we can do. We will fight. Tell me, what hope is there? Who else in this world will help us fight? Will you join us? Har'koa, will you fight beside me once again?"

The goddesses did not answer him. They looked to each other, wordless, until Har'koa sat herself on the grassy floor. Freya then looked to the north-west, peering with wizened, melancholy eyes. Har'koa waited.

"That is a no then?" Sin asked, with far more bite than intended. "You will cower here, while the world marches to its own defeat?"

Har'koa growled in a dangerous way, but her head never turned from Freya. The life goddess sighed, and still looking into the distance, over the trees, said, "Do not assume we live in the same manner as you, Sin de Rath. The battles we take are on different fields, and our powers best used elsewhere. We do not live solely on the physical plane, as you do."

"Melar Adare te rikk Parn!" Sin snapped back, his tone seething. The Demonic words came harshly, the Eredun language no longer the pleasant one of the draenei. During it, he lifted Shed'lahk and slammed the butt down once, sending out a dark thrum of power. Both goddesses recoiled.

This time, Sin could not hold himself back. He knew to honor his elders, to respect the beings who lived beyond the mortals, but this time, Sin found himself on equal ground as them. No longer did they play in separate fields, gaped by age, experience, power, and existence.

"Do not assume, great goddess, that we live so differently," he said coldly. "You know I carry the Bane-Heart. You know Shed'lahk – you might even know its terrible place involving Shed'Beshal, and the prisoner therein. I am the Warden, the Keeper, of things well beyond the mortal plane. I am a human of higher duties, higher purpose, and with Light and Shadow as my witness, I am a human of higher power.

"Today, in these battles against the one you named Ghat'Nothos, no one plays in a different field. Thorim was slain in combat on his very mountain, wasn't he? The trolls, they died in the field of battle here, not in the world of spirits and dead, didn't they? You two – you two especially – I have great respect and honor for. Har'koa, we fought side by side again foes larger than either of us, against a foe neither of us could have overcome alone. Freya, I marched with thirty-nine others into the depths of Yogg'Saron's Ulduar to break free your mind from his chains, and it was your healing touch that kept the heroes sane through their trials against the Beast.

"So if you will not leave the basin, if you will remain here, plotting and planning in your supernatural planes, then I will not argue with you, and I will not disdain your decision. But I will label you cowards, for in these days, the fight is happening on the mortal plane, in mortal lands, but the battle is not exclusive to the mortals. So I ask you one last time, will you aid yourselves to my cause... even if you offer nothing more than direction towards other heroes?"

Both of them remained silent for a moment longer, expressions unnerved by his bold words, by his direct accusations. Passionate mortals, that's what Sin and his kind were, and he took joy in reminding them of it. Even a powerful warlock like him was not immortal, not like the goddesses, so mortals had reason to boldly step forward as much as they could until their time ran out.

"Sin..." Freya started, her voice carefully drained of emotion, "Leave Shed'lahk here, unprotected for any to take up, and march to the old god in the throes my grandest army."

What riddle was this? "Leave my burden for any to free That Which Dwells Below? I cannot do that."

"Then do not expect the same from us!" Har'koa roared, scaring flocks of birds from the nearby trees. She was a passionate goddess, and it was well to see her without the same ancient sadness of when she had lost her brothers and sisters.

"I can do both!" Sin declared, but his rationale was overriding his emotion once again. The shadows were returning to his mind. "I can take Shed'lahk with me to battle, to protect even as I fight – and you can do both as well, if you try. You know you can."

"Yes, let Freya strap the basin and the pillars to her back," Har'koa rebuffed. She paused to take a calming breath. "Sin, I am loath to know you as the Keeper of the Bane-Heart, but you must understand what position we are in. Freya's duty is to preserve the basin, this oasis of life. When Yogg'Saron came, she failed that, and one pillar was lost, to unleash the full force of the Scourge through the avalanche. You know this, for you are the one who rode the Etymidian from Un'Goro through the Waygate to eliminate them. Now she is back herself to perform the tasks, to defend the basin, but it is no longer a mortal princeling and an undead host trying to batter the walls down.

"An old god surrounds the walls, pressing tighter every day, and his forces are slipping through despite her best watch. The titans are needed to combat this foe, this Ghat'Nothos, and if the basins are lost, if Sholazar Basin and Un'Goro Crater are lost, if even one pillar or pylon falls, then in the eyes of the gods, Azeroth is lost. That is why I am here, to not just hide but to defend, through all of the strength of the loa through I and my brood, to ensure that Azeroth is not beyond redemption. That is our battle."

"Then let us go," Sin told her, stoic. "That army of killers is mine, ready to try for the sake of our world. And leave the qiraji be, for that was my promise, my contract. Just offer me direction: where should we go? Where can we do the most harm to the old god?"

Freya knelt. It was a slow, powerful thing, to see a being of her size carefully stretch out her leg and bend so much mass down to be at better level with one mortal. Her staff was of help, planted like an oak into the ground as she came. Then her colossal head was craned down near him, fey and alien to a simple human.

"We will let you go," she told him softly, her whisper like a strong gust of wind. Har'koa's tail whipped the announcement, but there was a pleasant chuckle from Freya. "And I will grant you the information you seek. I am sorry we cannot provide what you ask, but I am glad you do not see us as your enemies. The land whispers to me of Icecrown, that where it all ended, so must it all begin again, for the power left behind can be rallied to new banners and new purpose. But the roots squirm with complaint, the trees scream of darkness, spreading throughout the land in other forms. A new cult has risen, and just as before, the old god shall use them to pass without restraint into the basin.

"Take your direction, Sin de Rath. Into the forest of Crystalsong, where magic and nature are in a harmony more twisted than the Nether, you will find the center of this cult, and from there, with new powers in hand, marching north-west into Icecrown will provide you all the assistance you will need to ensure the battle you seek against the old god."

Sin stood there with furrowed brows, trying to process her foretelling and make from it plans. Har'koa's deep, growling voice mentioned, "That is not all, sister."

The goddess nodded agreement. "Take with you our blessings. I grant you boon, with no demand, no contract, to use as best you can. Inside you brews the power of nature, to be as unyielding as oak, to bend as easy as a sapling. You may speak to the forest with my authority, and they will speak back. When the burden of the Bane-Heart is great, let it try the entangling roots of the forest. Let your will, in times of trial, know the vastness of the endless woods, emboldened by as much unity. So is my blessing."

As she spoke, there was no glow of magic, no sign of working weaves, but Sin could feel it, the... blossoming of something new inside, something that smelled of freshly turned soil, of the air after rains, of many leafs through a strong gale. It did not merge or touch his mana, but it resided beside it, for access, and Sin knew her gift of power. He could not help falling to his knees, bowing his head in reverence.

Such gifts came with costs, with collars. It was unheard of to receive without one.

"I am not so kind as she," came the sly voice of Har'koa. "My boon comes at the cost of debt. No longer do you hold a deed to my name, Sin de Rath. To behold me again, to speak to me, you will do as a mortal to a goddess, and you will hope that experience had established friendship, but my boon is yours:

"You possess some big mojo, mortal, but now you shall have that of the troll gods. Let the primal songs of the loa beat within your chest, in your loins, in your head. Any will that vies with yours must first overcome the gods, until the only beat is the drum of death. And from me, know the patient power of the leopards, know the path to subtlety, of the Prowl. The shadows are yours, Sin de Rath. Make use of it!"

Sin's heartbeat grew louder and louder with her words, pounding until it was indeed like a drum, and it beat into his ears with relentless insistence, declaring with her words that it would do so through any foe. End that song of his life, of his mojo – it dared them!

Nearly prostrate before them, Sin remained unmoving for a long moment. Two divine powers had been blessed into him, with neither temporary or with binding costs. He was not contracted to be Har'koa's High Priest until his death, he was not signed by blood to warden the forests for Freya for centuries until the power was gone. They bestowed gifts, with terrible trusts, at the costs of themselves.

Sin could not bear such honor. "My turn," he whispered. He lifted his head, and with Shed'lahk as a brace, he pushed himself to his feet, drawing forward as much mana as he possessed.

You do not have the power! Shed'lahk mocked within his mind, holding out the offer of its own strength. Sin rejected it violently, telling himself it was time to make tribute to his mother's fantastic training. She did not teach him specific spells; she taught him the fluidity of spell-weaving, to create as big as he wished.

His soulstone was brought into sight. He sucked the soul back into himself, but the base form remained as he worked magics around it. Black bars impaled it, then stretched and contorted like liquid glass, only to stretch further still. The purple orb remained in the center, but it was bound and wrapped by black shadow-glass.

Sin began to fear the cost of the spell, as his available mana was waning as he shifted his magic to the fel. Green light erupted from the dark depths, and thorns split down the length, going beyond even to make a sort of scepter of the object. The burning, molten energy of Shed'lahk was there, inching itself towards his will to boost him the rest of the way, but Sin rejected it, instead taking from Freya's gift in the final moment.

Nature magic was foreign to Sin, even this late in his life. He knew sorcery, as the Dalaran scholars did, but never druidism or shamanism. Still, it molded easily, and the rest of the weave only erupted thick, leafy vines in long rods that bend and curved back to form an hourglass shape from it, like the handles for a lantern.

When it finished, Sin gasped out a loud breath, slumping against Shed'lahk for balance. He did not have the energy to resist its astral tendrils, feeling them slide deeper within him and bury thorns tighter around his heart and soul, but he laughed softly to himself, staring at what he made.

Testing the song inside his him, he focused on its beat as he straightened himself, and immediately Shed'lahk lost its threat over him. The tendrils did not just slide out again – they vanished as cleanly as his body did behind the cloak. With a smile, he set the arcane contraption on the ground, nodding at the two goddesses.

"You give without asking. Most mortals might take such an honor without thought, but I know very well what you two have just done, and in return I present you this gift." He paused to take a very heavy breaths, knowing he was exhausted. "Best I can say, I just made a portable summoning circle, tied only to my soul. Activate the stone at the center, and..."

He did, and then the fel-shadow of a demonic circle did not just appear – it erupted with bright fury, spilling over the area, and the top dripped its shadows done to form a full cocoon all the way to the liquid bottom. He nodded, grinning wider at the feeling inside, a small tug towards it, same as a regular circle, allowing him to jump exactly to it.

"Do that, and I can be to you in an instant. You know my battles, so never summon me lightly. But should the day come that the power of two is no longer enough, then I will understand your urgency, and your gifts shall be returned tenfold with all of my ability."

Freydis smiled at the offering, and she took the lantern-shaped devise in a large fist. "You honor us, Sin de Rath, to offer your self as a gift of freewill. I promise that use of this contraption will not be taken whimsically, and only if such a summoning will determine the difference in the fate of our battle." Har'koa nodded agreement.

Finally, Freya stood again, and Sin's eyes quickly averted from staring up at her. In her sweet, resonating voice, Freya said, "There is but one more word of advice for you. Though your band of one hundred is a remarkable host, you should appeal to your qiraji one last time to aid your cause. The aqir were the deadliest warriors to ever roam this world, and they possess powers essential to your success."

Sekara, Sin recalled, that sweet girl of an alien mind. He wondered how they were fitting in, with Northrend's silithid. With a slanted look Freya's way, he considered her proposal. He would prefer the additions, but they sought peace, not war. By the Shadow, the whole world sought peace, but they needed to rise against this threat. He'd make the visit, and so nodded to the goddesses.

With that conclusion, Har'koa led the way back towards the river.

XxX

In the few days since Sin had seen them, the qiraji had not been idle. Peppering the area of the hive, black obelisks had been erected, each bearing scarab insignias in teals and golds. Sin rode under a stone archway, ducking his head, while the powerful dreadsteed beneath him snorted loudly at the movements.

He was surprised at the extent of the masonry in such short time. The silithid could explain it; they were diggers, tunnelers, burrowers, and their hives were specifically carved out of stone before the growth crept over the walls. An actual complex, closing upon the status of a village even, now surrounded the main entrance of the hive.

Shortly into their intrusion, there was the passing by of a particularly swift buzz. The whole clearing was filled with unnaturally deep sounding swarms, and the qiraji, hidden though they were, only added to that. Still, he knew they were noticed, from the pass of the scout, and shortly after, there was a throaty roar from the mouth of the hive as a collection of Battleguards approached.

They darted out in quick bolts, and soon half a score of them descended upon Sin in an excited bubble. The qiraji did not chatter or show facial expression – at least not often – but from the pull of their shoulders, the clenching of their talon'd feet, he knew them to actually feel some form of elation at his return.

Sekara was with them, in vest and harem pants, and the black half of her face betrayed a very human smile for him. Hovering at the front, she greeted, "Sin de Raas."

"My lovely Sekara," Sin returned, bowing his head, and he jumped at the sudden soft collision of her jumping into him and squeezing. He reminded himself of the way she had gleaned human expressions, actions, even thoughts from him, the same as he had done from them. He returned her hug gently, with a smile of his own.

"Ask them," a curt voice demanded from his side. Sin turned his head to see Narelle rubbing at hers. One of her hands plugged an ear, turning away from the roar of qiraji wings, and his lip turned up at the side – truly, Har'koa's reprimand was unyielding.

To Sekara, Sin asked with jolly patronization, "What did I tell you about the sound of your wings?"

All at once, the qiraji stopped hovering and touched to the ground – even the more distant buzzes silencing – and Sin dismissed his dreadsteed to touch the ground with his own feet, now holding Sekara in a bridal carry. The light woman was turned about and set on her own feet, facing him again, and they stood apart.

"Why Sin's return?" she asked finally. He noticed that Ressact, his old medium, was not among the ones to greet him. Poor qiraji was likely sick of the grating human tongue.

"We'll get there," he assured, waving a dismissive hand. Then he gestured to the stone complex. "I am curious about this. Nothing says "Qiraji are in here" more than sigils and obelisks. Not very subtle, I'd say."

Sekara gave a shrug of her shoulders, showing off the two pincers still clinging there. "Home."

Sin glanced towards Narelle, but the night elf seemed too distracted to notice the implications. Even as minions of old gods, the qiraji were not like the Others of the Twisting Nether. They knew pride, comfort, and favored familiarity. Even foreign, they were similar.

Looking back to Sekara, he was drawn to her teal eyes, but not as if she was trying to form the bond. They just sparkled well in the light, and unlike his own eyes, they were dry, uniform in color, and they were laced through with facets like that of a bug's. Under the intense study, he noticed the way her eyelids jumped up to make them wider, and excitement – both human and qiraji – shone from her. With a red nub, she touched him and pulled at his sleeve, gesturing him to follow as she once did long ago.

Sin did not look back to where Darnin and Jern were standing among the brush, or where the other bandits were staked in vantage points along the ruins, waiting and ready. He accepted the offer gladly, letting her take him through the crowd of Battleguards towards the hive mouth. Narelle followed reluctantly.

For the best, Sekara did not intend to take him into the hive itself, instead stopping before its entrance. Narelle loudly caught his attention then as she cursed, "Fuck! The last thing I needed right now." She turned to pace back a few steps, rubbing her head, and she muttered quieter, "Fucking qiraji writing."

Sin looked up, to the mounted stone slab above the upper rim. Indeed, he recognized with a start the slashed, harsh runic writing of the qiraji, but unlike the time he had struggled with it, it did not lance through his mind like a psychic spike with each symbol. For whatever reason, most races' minds had violent backlashes to trying to comprehend the letterings. This time, Sin could follow the intent of each stroke easily, and though he couldn't make sense of all of them, he recognized the uniform, fluid beauty of the letters. Finely detailed, intricate, deceptive carvings.

Beneath the inscription, however, was an embellished scene. At the sight of it, a slimy, cold feeling crept down Sin's back with agonizing slowness. Fear, he recognized, and so much worry. The sisters were obvious, as fly-winged figures wielding deadly scythe arms. At the center was one separate from the rest, depicted as entirely nude, even her mouth unveiled, and a yellow stone surrounded her head like bright rays. Sekara, he suspected.

At the bottom of the scene, standing below the endless swarms of proud sisters, was a figure in a purple-stone robe, with skin of rich brown made of some smooth clay. That was Sin, obviously, but it was what the figure carried that had Sin in sudden unease. His fingers tightened over the object in question: Shed'lahk.

It was no staff that the picture-Sin carried. It was a pillar of obsidian, flaking thick, pervasive strands of black around his clay arm, into the ground to stretch as an endless black pool. One fine strand left the pillar upwards, encircling Sekara in a thin cocoon, and it reached higher still to form a black orb (moon?) high in the sky, beside the glittering white sun. And he noticed all the sisters, even Sekara in the center, looked upwards in awe to the black ball of liquid darkness.

His mind itched and scratched then, and Sin winced at the unpleasantness. It wasn't the tendrils of Shed'lahk, but something suddenly took from him his comprehensive thoughts to replace them with wordless screams, and with a powerful wave of pain, his eyes beheld again the words etched above.

It was no wonder the mortal races felt pain when reading the language of the qiraji. There were not words, they were not pictures to be read. They were psychic commands, to implant the desired thoughts within. The letters were metaphysical runes.

The Master Has Risen. Sin's mind put it into words, as it struggled to do, but the thoughts were still raw as he stared. A vast darkness, unending, all-consuming, where even Light in all its blazing brightness would be dwarfed and lost. That darkness, that Shadow, had risen – arrived, appeared, formed, conjured, summoned – onto the mortal, the physical plane, on the land that was the land of qiraji, aqir, family, life. And it came for Purpose – its unspoken purpose, its undebated purpose, for it had one goal that was always recognized: to bring about chaos and darkness and expel, consume, devour with endless hunger all life and order. It was the master of the qiraji, this universe, of all that is, was, and will be.

With a short cry, Sin turned away. He could not see, could not think. His eyes and head were burning with endless fire, and in the terrible moment, there was a roar of unadulterated victory inside him, as an endless amount of tiny hooks finished burrowing into muscle and bone, then took to controlling his body as it was.

Blind now, he felt the pounding song of the loa struggle valiantly, but it held no support in the battle of wills. Sin's magic was taken and used, summoning something he felt was familiar but couldn't place. There was noise, there was chaos, and instincts told him to return to himself. The power of the forest was sealed in a cage of shadow and flame.

Sin felt bruised and battered, defeated by forces he did not understand. He felt young again, in the age before words, where the world was a place of bright colors and loud sounds that he couldn't make sense of. He gained vision then, of a time too early to remember. His hand was red and slicked with fluid, and his throat hurt from his screams of air.

"You must cast it away. If you do not, it will bring to all worlds a darkness that this universe is not prepared for. It will rape and consume all that is, until after centuries of feasting and destruction, it will fall into the dreamless sleep of power, digesting what is, only to wake later to finish the task."

"That darkness is my own. It is my burden to carry, my sin. My son cannot be blamed wholly for what lays in my hands. His sin is my sin. The sin of my sin... Yes, that will be his name, his brand. It will seal the contract of his great and terrible purpose, and through it, he will learn to fight."

"My lady, you make no sense. He cannot fight this fate. He will take upon himself the Bane-Heart and return it to the Tree. He will release the beast."

"You underestimate a de'Rath, and you assume too little of the universe. I have learned that magic can fight itself, fight even the certainty of fate, and it begins with the breaking of what cannot be broken. You contract him to this fate, and he will come to break that contract."

"My lady. My lady. My lady..." the voice faded with each repetition, until Sin had finally gained awareness of himself again.

He called upon himself the control of a broken mind. Like carrying a dozen fruit in hand, it seemed impossible until he fastened a blanket of shadow to collect the pieces in a rucksack. But though the brain lacked, the heart beat strong, and Sin mustered will without control, from the bestial, and the powerful, unending beat grew to volumes of a pounding drum. The loa...

Together, Sin threw his final assault against his own body. He found his arms, his legs, his neck and hands – and he pushed away all of the tiny hooks spread through him. Something offered resistance, but it was not enough, and soon Sin had control of his own body again. The cage of shadow and flame was busted open, and he flooded himself with gentle nature and song, and the soothing touch of gentle rains and a bubbling brook touched his blind eyes.

Sin blinked away blood as his eyes finally opened. He noticed a world of darkness and brightness, coming in the shade of crimsons. He realized a second later that was not lingering blood, but the color of the world before him.

A black, churning sky split to emit a flaming meteor of bright reds, and it crashed into the ground with thundering fury. Deep, resounding booms created tremors through his body and the land. To the left, he noticed a dark skinned woman screaming with fear and rage, fighting against thorny branches as they punctured her skin and pulled her to the ground, dragging her deeper inside. A black bow was before her, and arrows scattered all around it.

Looming over them, pitch even through the flashing lights, was a tree that moved when it should not. The Nether had fled its presence, but the power remained in swirls of green and purple, washing over the black limbs in impatient frenzy. Sin noticed Shed'lahk dwarfed in a fist that was not his own, for it was hulking and monstrous, colored in mahogany skin split to reveal veins of bright fire. Bones split the skin in sharp spikes, still dripping with red and fel blood.

There was so much pain, even through the song of the loa and the fury of nature. Sin opened his mouth and screamed. What his ears heard was a roar belonging more to a tyrannosaurus rex of Un'Goro, and the very world trembled at the sound. The black stick of the Heart was thrust into the ground, and the very earth heaved up and split with terrible vengeance.

From the sky, a final storm of hundreds of meteors split the thick clouds of smoke and ash, and they centered upon the heaving sentinel of Shed'Beshal. He was alone, without word or thought of warning at what might happen then. Sin did not care to wait at the result. He commanded an intent beyond what he possessed, and the universe changed what was to what Sin wanted it to be.

The blue sky of Azeroth appeared like the flick of a switch, and all the ash and flames vanished at once. The earth had split in a vast furrow, deep enough to make out the frozen, sleeping shape of something impossibly inhuman deep, deep Down Below. He stared with unwavering, trembling attention, as he noticed that the wide circle there was a glazed Eye, peering Back without Seeing.

The Evil Of No Name.

In that moment of dread, Sin decided to change the game. So far lost, barely recoverable, he opened his maw and roared in the tongue of the demons, "From the prison of your existence I Name you Beshalahk! Forever will you be Bound to it and its meaning, to vie for its independence as all beings of the Twisting Nether do! Hear me, Beshalahk, and know my hold over your Name!"

The white, glazed tint over the Eye of Below began to dissipate, darkening the organ until the pupil became obvious. If It even twitched, if It showed even a hint of wakening, Sin knew he might try to stop his own heart before it could cast him upon a worse fate. He felt such fear at the change over the eye, and he stared with wide eyes until he could bear waiting no longer.

With will and mana, Sin slammed Shed'lahk into the earth again, and the chasm began to seal itself shut again, heaving the ground beneath his feet. The eye stared back blankly, watching and watching until it was only a tunnel between It and Sin. Then it was shut, sealed, and Shed'Beshal was sealed once again.

When it was done, and the area was one of beauty again, Sin heaved out a great breath. His body trembled and shook, and he began the work of transforming it back into his human shape. Such dread, such mind-shattering fear, at just the Sleeping State of the Bane-God.

With bloodshot and weary eyes, Sin gave a haggard stare at the motionless tree named Shed'Beshal. He collapsed onto his ass, legs unable to support him any longer, with Shed'lahk falling across his lap. For now, fear and adrenaline masked the pounding migraine, but soon enough, he knew it would be piercing his skull with every bit of ferocity he missed from communicating with the qiraji.

At a violent shuffling sound, Sin glanced to the left, where he saw a small thorn bush shaking, far more active than the other prison cells. Though his exhaustion and stress had him feeling weak within, Sin's body felt tenacious and strong still as he pointed his staff at the bush and commanded it to wither.

From the roots, a gloved hand broke free of the soil, grasping the ground and dragging a body up. Narelle collapsed once she was free, curling up into a shaking ball, with red blood smeared over the many parts of exposed skin. Sin surprised himself by feeling pity for her, even if his sympathy was overshadowed by his own experiences in this.

Beshalahk.

Thinking the name sent a pulse of dense dread through Sin again, and he pitched over to vomit whatever breakfast he had eaten. Light and Shadow, what was he doing here in the Nether? Staring at the tan-white expulsion, he grimaced and leaned back into a sit again, wiping his mouth. Last he remembered, he had been with Sekara at the hive, and now he was in the Nether, wrestling with one of the darkest forces in the universe, with some elf bitch bent on killing him.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, then planted Shed'lahk to help him stand once again. The demonic entity within the staff was silent then, finding defeat so close to victory, while the song of his heartbeat still pounded in his ears. Sin shuffled over to the night elf warden.

True to its nature, the warden cloak was completely undamaged, though it lay bunched towards the dead thorn bush and away from her nearly bare, trembling body. Many of her blades were missing from their clips and sheaths, and her skin had pock-marks and deep scratches from the thorns.

In the Nether, Sin did not need to know healing magics to help her. Bending to a knee, he reached his hand out and grasped her tight fist. In a flash of fel light, all of her wounds sealed close, leaving a wholesome elven body behind, and Narelle gasped between gritted teeth.

With a firm grip on her hand and then shoulder, Sin pulled her up until she was sitting, then fell down beside her, able to manage no more. They sat together, panting each, with Sin's hand still tight around hers. Neither said anything.

Eventually, Sin decided he needed to fill their silence, to help her make sense of some of the horrors she had just been exposed to. "That, dear warden... That is why your presence is necessary in my existence. The qiraji, the Watchers, the bandits, the old god... They mean nothing to me, when faced with this terrible charge. This is why my control is paramount in importance, this is why Shed'lahk must never be cast away, to one day fall into another's hands. I am the Keeper, the Warden, of forces darker than anyone on Azeroth knows. This place is the prison I reside over. That is my duty, and now... now, I hope you know your place in it."

Three seconds precisely was the wait before she breathed with a dark, shaken bitterness, "What... the fuck, Sin." Her gloved fist shoved his hand off, then it tightly grasped it instead. She swallowed once, but then shook her head, spongy ears bouncing. It wasn't often he saw her without her hawk helmet.

"You'll have nightmares," he told her. "You'll see things you never thought your mind could conjure, and you'll go to bed each night dreading the moment you close your eyes. I am sorry for that... but it will get better, in time. I can promise you that. Narelle Blackmoon, I am going to place great trust in you. I will treat you as someone closer than a mother or sister, more intimate than a soulmate, because it will be necessary, but I need you to at least attempt the same. Can you do that, for the sake of both of us, and for the sake of so much more?"

Weary, yet defiant, eyes turned his way. The silver seemed faded, like watching the moon through thick clouds, but there was a hardness to her being that Sin recognized and respected. Quietly, she told him, "You cannot be trusted."

He nodded, agreeing completely. "Sometimes I can, but that uncertainty will never change. All I ask is a pact of silence and secrecy between us, of a loyalty to this cause over that of your Watchers calling your return. As a gesture of good faith, I will begin with answering every question you have will all honesty: about Shed'lahk, about Shed'Beshal, anything you wish."

"And about Beshalah-"

Sin cut her off with a finger against her lips, and his eyes were wide with sudden intensity. After a moment, he gave a reluctant nod, but he left his finger there. "About that too, but you must not speak its Name, and certainly not on these hallowed grounds. It can hear, and if it can hear, it can perceive, and if it can perceive, it can be awake."

She stared at him for a few seconds before nodding her acceptance. Sin nodded himself, sealing it, then pushed himself to weary feet. He offered his hand. "Then come along now, dear warden. We must first secure qiraji loyalty, then we will battle on different fronts." She accepted the hand.

XxX

Things were abuzz back at the qiraji complex. Swarms of Battleguards were combing the area in small cells, frantically searching for something. A few dozen others – for it seemed all of them had been called out of the hive – encircled the bandits, who once again were a cursing, riotous mess.

Sin's portal from the Nether back to Azeroth left he and Narelle before a distant stone wall, able to watch the happenings in isolated peace. The night elf, though apparently calm and collected, still remained stiff with tension, her eyes searching with a new paranoia. His hand touched the skin of her back, and she gave a small stat at it, turning with her crescent blade already in hand.

"There are no monsters here. I promise you," he told her, not even glancing at the threatening blade. "If you wish to avoid confrontation, I suggest you take to the shadows, if you can."

How could anyone submerge themselves into darkness after beholding the horrors of the Beast Below Shed'Beshal? Narelle seemed to recognize that too, and she shook her head. He kept the pity from his face, for her pride's sake. Turning a hard gaze towards the disputing bandits and qiraji, he told her, "Always remember, Lady Blackmoon, that you aren't alone in this."

He made his way forward boldly. His steadfast resolve surprised him; he fared no better than Narelle after finding himself broken and possessed by the entity of Shed'lahk, but because she was new to the dark experience, he wanted to display a bold, confident face to her, to provide steady ground. Light, but he was somehow believing his own act!

"Well, well!" he called out to the shouting mass. "I see everyone is reacquainting nicely!"

Handon swatted aside the nearest battleguard as he stomped forward, his cleaver wielded in one skeletal hand. "Where the fuck were you this time? Hell's Bells, you just roar in your blighted demon-tongue, rip open the fucking ground in a green light, and your elf bitch follows with her bow out-!"

He was stopped by Darnin, as it often went, but the other bandit leader did not seem any more pleased. "Something you should be telling us, Specter?"

"Yeah," Sin told him off-hand. His attention was focusing on Sekara, who hovered silently near the qiraji inscription still. "Kil'jaeden plays a mean game of chess. Lo, Bugsy!"

"Specter!" Darnin scolded dangerously, but Sin was moving beyond him. Let Darnin watch now, and he would learn as he did with his keen attention.

"I see the qiraji aren't beyond pride," Sin continued to Sekara. "Such proud, brazen people, you qiraji are. Do you remember, Bugsy, the words we shared in Hive'Ashi? About your communication?"

Sekara displayed agitation. Her teal eyes did not quite look at him. "Sin..." she started, but she said no more.

Sin was to her then, and she cowered back to the ground, landing and stilling her wings. His arm went around her back, firm but not harsh, and he turned her towards the plaque. Without looking, he reached up with Shed'lahk and tapped the stone with it for emphasis.

"I understand what you mean by this, Sekara. I am not angry. In fact, you honor me by memorializing our time in your stones. But this, this right here... You never told me you knew Shed'lahk. You never told me you could feel its power, that you knew I controlled it."

Her wings fluttered briefly. He could feel the wind of it, could feel the tight pull of her back muscles.

"Your words penetrated my mind. They broke my control, and what you saw, that was Shed'lahk controlling me. I need to know right now, Sekara, is it me that you are loyal to... or is it Shed'lahk? Who is your master?"

Though her words were quiet, there was no hesitation: "Sekara follows Sin de Rath."

"Shed'lahk is my enemy, Sekara. I fight it. Will you fight it with me?"

Again: "Sekara follows Sin de Rath."

"Right now, I march from lands of peace to battle the new master-queen-controller. I fight, when I want peace. I came back because I want the sisters to fight with me, to kill my enemies. Will you fight with me?"

"Sekara follows Sin de Rath."

"And does Sekara speak for the sisters? Will they leave this home we have found, to risk extinction and fight with me?"

Her head turned his way, the black face tight with steely resolve, and her eyes bore into his.

"Sisters follows Sin de Rath."

He smiled gently, nodding to her. She smiled back. Still holding her, with the others gathering at his back, he announced, "We have a long march before us. The blessings of the gods favors us, and they have set our course. We will march south, out of the basin, and follow the mountains east all the way to the Great Dragonblight. There, we turn north, into the realm of the lost... Crystalsong Forest. And we will pray, close friends, that the nature goddess' blessing will see us through our task."

"Lo, Specter," a surely voice called from behind Sin. It was the gruff, but amused, Jern, "You're as damned as us, aren't you? How many collars do you wear right now?"

Sin's smile stretched, and his eyes sparkled in a mad way. "The question, friend, is how many keys do I now hold?"


AN: Well, back at it again. I've got a few chapters of Stage Two already written, but unedited. It's proving to be a longer Stage than expected, but so it goes: I promised an epic, and by God, you are all getting an epic. Frankly, I still want to go back and touch up the opening chapters of the story (prologues), and I caught several errors since I last updated WotSE that I'll get around to fixing soon (first sentence of Chapter 12 "It was the end of their second day inside the desert" Un'Goro, a desert. Bah, typos).

Anyway, the bulk of Stage Two will be Drekthac and Malthon, but I wanted to set a grander, more exciting stage for the world, and there's no one better than Sin to do that. Seriously, Sin gets all the fun, while Malthon gets all the shit. Poor Malthon.