He takes two deep breaths, getting a deep sense of cleansing when the cold air of the night breeze fills his lungs, allowing his feet to take him where they want to go. Moving forward, the forest is dark and silent as a temple, not a single soul walking among the cerulean trees except for him.
It's exactly as he likes it.
With a relaxed smile, he takes a glance at the cloudless sky, the full Moon and her warm light washing over him like the purest of blessings. Is this how Elune's followers feel when touched by the moonlight? He wonders, eyes drifting close, a delightful feeling of realization warming him from the inside out.
If it is… then he might as well get to pray more often.
Somehow it feels odd, for he had ever felt something like it before—fulfillment, serenity, such a wholesome feeling that envelops him like a blanket. A sigh full of contentment escapes his lips as he keeps walking, his feet lighter than ever before, arms spreading around and fingertips idly brushing over tall grass and tree trunks.
He's not sure how he got there or why, yet whatever those reasons may be, he decides for allowing the breeze to take those thoughts away, uncaring for the moment. Right there, it's better to walk around empty of questions—for it is an endless loop that always demands answers, and he's definitely not in the mood for that.
Or better yet, and create some new ones as he goes; some silly and mindless questions to be precise, those that only work to entertain himself for a couple of minutes before being dropped and forgotten.
Glancing at the landscape displaying before his eyes, a simple one clings to his mind—for there's the shadow of a figure, not so far away, their form reflecting the bright moonlight back at him like a glass mirror.
Who is it? Judging only by the shape of the shadow, he idly guesses there's a woman there.
He doesn't really know why, but he smiles at the figure, another warm feeling blossoming from inside his chest. Some ancient books describe tales and stories about manifestations of the Goddess wandering around the forests at night, always walking without any certain destination, only basking in what it feels like—to be on the mortal plane—if only for one night. Sometimes, they come and go in the form of a doe, and others in the shape of a female.
Whoever she may be, she looks stunningly beautiful, and that's enough for him to be grateful for the sight.
His feet lead him to the figure, cold tendrils of azure softly pulling him along. He allows it, mildly curious for what the view is about to unfold as he moves forward. It's mesmerizing, nearly hypnotizing to look at her, her skin gleaming and shimmering in bright shades of silver and white, giving her some spiritual resemblance—definitely otherworldly, utterly divine.
What he never considers is that his own curiosity is to blame when, suddenly, it all comes crashing down.
From his position, he then sees a second shadow showing itself and looming over the female, a dark, clawed hand in shades of azure taking form above her as she stands up from the grass. He's only left to watch, unexpectedly rooted in his spot, as the figure—bigger, taller, more muscled, definitely resembling a male—closes its claws onto a fist and walks away, the woman following it along without protesting.
A sense of trepidation grips him tightly, his eyes unblinking as he stares at the female; for her walking looks… odd, carrying herself around and away as if having strings pulling her limbs.
Like a lifeless puppet.
For a long minute, he seriously considers dropping the subject and turning around, just forget about what he saw and mind his own business—whatever those are. How did he get there, again? Had he been looking for something? Why is he there?
Questions, questions, dozens of questions assault his mind, shattering his previous serenity and much-needed easiness. Who are they? Why are they hanging along in the forest? Why is the female following that shadow without any hesitation at all?
Why? Why would she do that? Can't she see how… dangerous, how threatening that tall, dark figure appears to be? And why does he have to be so curious about matters that definitely don't concern him?
But, most of all, why do their figures look so familiar?
The shadows saunter away, bright silver and dark azure following their way to a lake located far to the east and, somehow, he still can't move. In fact, the entire landscape seems to move but him—thick clouds shading the vast expanse of stars in the sky and turning them off like candles, leaves and dark branches croaking with the night wind, mists streaming and wrapping around his feet, everything whispering, whispering…
His eyes blow wide when takes a glance at his feet, loud alarms ringing inside his head.
… The mists are violet.
Oh, no. No, Goddess… no, no!
Sheer, deep dread overtakes him, sending his heart racing as he starts running like a madman, his feet barely touching the grass. The forest doesn't seem to mind his sudden distress, the whole landscape still whispering its lullaby while he uses a shortcut to the lake, climbing up onto a cliff to get a better view.
The mists don't follow him as he believed so, taking instead the long route to the border of the lake, long tendrils of smoke idly and slowly making its way through grass and water altogether—lurking around like a silent predator, but also pointing him to where he needs to focus his sights on.
From his vantage point, he crouches into the shadows, spotting the two figures resting together at the rim, the faceless shadow running a hand through the female's long hair—gently, almost… lovingly. The woman's silver chest heaves, breasts slowly going up and down with her breathing, yet she doesn't look tired nor scared but relaxed, leaning further and further into the shadow's touch.
They seem to be lovers but, somehow, as the male cradles her in his lap, the whole scene feels so… wrong.
A clawed hand in shades of azure cups her tender face and he can't do anything but stay frozen in his spot, his breath hitching when the figures close together in a passionate kiss. Still, the ghostly female doesn't seem to resist, surrendering to the shadow's touch in a mere second.
But while the shadow embraces her and pushes her into him—dark waves of azure enveloping her shimmering form—the woman relaxes further and further, until her arms fall like heavy rocks to her sides and her head lolls backwards, going completely limp.
A so very soft moan clings to his ears, nearly unheard if not for the night wind drifting to where he lurks, yet the voice of her makes him snap as if getting a punch on his face. His pupils blow wide, sheer rage filling every corner of his being.
That's Mylie's voice.
Like a nightsaber, he jumps off the cliff, large shadows following him and clouding what once was a breathtaking landscape as he lands on all fours, pouncing on the faceless male like a rabid animal, without any second thought.
"You will not have her!" He roars, his voice reverberating like a thunder, straddling the shadow and landing a solid blow on the male's face with a full fist.
From that close distance, he's able to see the dark figure's face… shaping, thick azure smoke giving it form until Jarod Shadowsong's eyes glare at him from below. Utterly disgusted and angrier than before, he punches him with both fists for good measure, taking no small pleasure at hearing his grunts.
"Elune curse you!" He hits him again, bones cracking. He uses his other fist to land a blow on the same place, dark blood spluttering from his now broken nose. "You. Will. Not. Have. Her!" He keeps punching the shadow, pupils dilating and ears ringing with his never-ending fury.
He will not let that happening again, he will not let another man make the same mistake as he once did—not if he can do something about it in that nightmarish world.
Because it's a nightmare, right? But then, when did he fall asleep?
A few meters ahead, at the border of the lake, Mylenne's small figure crawls to him. "No…, please… wait," She croaks, her voice trembling just as her tired limbs. From his periphery, he gets a blurry look of her outstretched arm, yet it only works as a second of hesitation before keeping up his previous task, doing his best to take the smug smile off Lord Desdel's face.
"You… bastard!" He barks, using a hand to strangle Lord Desdel when he attempts to struggle, punching him again and again with all the force he can muster. Desdel only chuckles in return, voice thick with blood and head banging over the bare grass, yet taunting him with every breath he still takes.
His ears keep ringing loudly, following the sound of his fists breaking skin and bones altogether. How had he ended up in that place? It all feels so… intense, so tempting; from the warm moonlight caressing his skin to Mylie's ever alluring smell of lilies, the scent going straight to his chest and wrapping around his heart.
His face and hands stain with blood, Mylie and lilies and violet drifting away in the next gust of wind—the sulfuric smell of azure filling his nostrils and his brain, overtaking the rational part of his mind, shading him from the whole world.
Blinding him from everything, except for his utter need to kill Hargo'then with his bare hands.
"Please, no!" Mylenne cries, throwing herself between him and the bloody mess of Hargo'then, shimmering tears streaming down her terrified face. "Don't do this!" Shaky and pale fingers cling to his chest in her attempt to push him aside. "He—he needs me!"
"Get away from him, Mylie!" He shouts, his heartbeat rising in sheer panic as he shoves her away from Hargo'then and closer to him, not even daring to think what could happen if the shadow gets to touch her again.
Straightening up in a mere second, he grips her by her forearms, "Mylie, come with me! I can protect you, just—just come," He begs as he tries to push her further away from the threatening figure.
But then, within their struggle, something seems to shatter around him, the sound of a sharp whiplash filling his ears as Mylenne falls limp into the crook of his arms.
Like a lifeless puppet.
He stumbles in his effort to hold her weight, a surprised gasp following him when her head lolls back, a cold and pale cheek landing on the ball of his shoulder—the invisible strings that once seemed to held her breaking, thick violet smoke spreading out of her like poison.
He coughs violently as he falls to his knees, cradling her cold body in his lap in the best way he can. "What—what have you done?" He croaks, panic overtaking every single cell of his trembling body. "Why… what have you done? What have you done!?" He repeats over and over, shocked, a tight lump closing on his throat.
The shadow gets on his feet effortlessly, stepping onto the moonlight and looming over him, throwing Mylenne's strings aside as if they are useless. "What you were supposed to do," The male retorts, his disappointed baritone voice reverberating through the whole forest.
He pushes the woman's corpse further to his chest as he looks up, staring in sheer horror at the figure before him, looking straight into his golden eyes stained in azure. "All of her is ours for the taking—her heart, her body, her soul," Illidan continues, cleaning the leftovers of her magic from his mouth with the back of a clawed hand.
He can only stare at the monstrous version of himself, frozen in his spot; unable to move, to breathe, to even think as Illidan crouches next to him, the moonlight haloing his head, mouth dripping wet in shades of violet. "She's ours. Always ours, forever ours…"
Always yours, forever yours…, her lovely voice whispers inside his head like a prayer, echoing and repeating itself next to the sound of his wild heartbeat—working as a balm when a clawed hand encloses tightly on his neck.
"And in this world, she's mine," It's the last thing he hears from Illidan as he strangulates him, golden eyes polluted with azure; boring, burning, scorching him from the inside out.
And he doesn't struggle, leaning into the shadow of himself as he ends his agony.