Chapter 46: Lies |
Allen raised Xal'atath and pointed it at Teron Gorefiend.
Grease!
But at the very moment of casting, a searing pain struck his skull, like countless steel needles piercing his brain at once.
The agony made him freeze, and the conjured lard veered off course, splattering noisily beside Teron Gorefiend and the others. It drenched them in grease, but did nothing to hinder their movements.
Teron Gorefiend sneered coldly.
Just as expected. According to the intelligence Lady Katrana provided, Allen Prestor was the weakest link among these meddlesome fools.
The Death Knights moved.
They swept into the ranks of soldiers like reapers of life, blades swinging, flesh and blood flying.
Ordinary weapons clanging against them only sparked off faint flashes, incapable of dealing lethal damage. But every single one of their attacks claimed a living soul.
"ROAR——!"
Teron Gorefiend let out a thunderous howl, the sound laced with some strange, sinister magic. One by one, crimson blood-hands burst forth from his body, latching onto dozens of soldiers and dragging them like dolls toward Teron Gorefiend.
Wen Lei quickly lowered her bow, afraid the explosion would injure the soldiers being pulled toward the blood-fiend.
Allen tried to immediately throw another Tasha's Hideous Laughter at the blood-fiend, but suddenly, his head hurt even more. He dropped to his knees, his skull feeling like it was splitting apart.
The soldiers screamed and struggled, but they could not break free from that power.
Crunch—crunch—crunch—
The sound of bones shattering rose and fell in waves. Those soldiers were forcibly crushed into bloody, mangled remains, then cast aside like discarded rags.
Then, the dead soldiers' bodies twitched and slowly rose to their feet.
Their eye sockets blazed with ghostly green flames. They turned, raised their weapons, and aimed at their former comrades.
Undead! They had been raised as Undead!
Varian's eyes turned bloodshot.
"NO—!" he roared, about to charge forward, but Morgan grabbed him in a death grip.
Morgan held him fast.
"Your Majesty!" the paladin's voice carried a pleading note. "You cannot go! You cannot—"
Varian struggled, but he couldn't break free from Morgan's iron hold.
Stella fumbled frantically through her bag, muttering under her breath: "Grenades... grenades... where the hell did I put the grenades..."
Allen knelt on the ground, both hands pressed against his forehead.
The pain felt like countless steel needles churning inside his mind; each pulse made his vision go dark.
Through the cracks between his fingers, he saw Wen Lei tangled up with several Death Knights, saw Morgan desperately holding back a nearly maddened Varian, saw the terror on Stella's face as she dug through her belongings.
Then his gaze fell on his own hand.
That dagger.
Xal'atath, Blade of the Black Empire.
Could it be... she was the one causing this?
In that instant, the world froze.
Stormwind Keep vanished. The battle vanished. The blood and screams vanished.
Allen stood atop a stretch of ruins.
The burning city of Stormwind crumbled behind him, flames illuminating half the sky.
Among the shattered walls and broken pillars, he sat on a throne forged from bones and blades—the highest point of the ruins, a dais built from corpses.
And he, perched at the very top.
At his feet, countless figures prostrated themselves—humans, orcs, elves, dwarves, and even... dragons.
Those once-proud beings now groveled before him, trembling in fear.
Katrana, that arrogant Black Dragon Princess, bowed her head low, kneeling at his feet.
Allen looked down at his own hands. Shadows coiled around his fingertips, a power capable of crushing stars.
Allen stared coldly at all of this.
"Darling."
A voice came from behind him.
He turned around.
Above the rubble, from behind a broken stone pillar, a figure slowly emerged.
Xal'atath.
She had taken the form of a high elf, but her skin was a pale purple, like the twilight sky at dusk.
Her eyes were like the deepest starry void, countless stars being born and dying within them.
In her hands, she held a crown.
The crown was pitch black, studded with countless violet gemstones. At its peak sat an open eye, slowly swiveling to look at Allen.
She carried the crown toward Allen, each step treading upon empty air, ripples of shadow spreading like water beneath her feet.
Allen stared at her coldly.
"What are you doing?"
Xal'atath stopped before him, her smile growing even more seductive.
"Crowning you, darling."
She bent down, raising the crown slowly, aiming it at Allen's head.
"These past few days, I've had enough of you playing house with these insignificant mortals. You don't belong to their world. You should become—the person you are now."
She looked around at the burning Stormwind, the groveling masses, the endless ruins.
"Everyone, even the entire world, lies prostrate beneath your feet. You should control everything—their hearts, their minds, even their dreams. You are the King of Shadows, the deity of the Void descending upon this realm."
She lifted the crown even higher.
"So, go ahead. Use my power. Kill everyone here—leave not a single soul alive."
Her voice was like a summons from the abyss:
"Use their blood to forge your stairway to godhood. Then present Medivh's book to me."
Allen said nothing.
He just stared at her coldly.
"Let me out. I don't have time for your nonsense."
The smile on Xal'atath's face froze.
Those deep, starry eyes turned suddenly icy.
"Darling."
Her voice changed. No longer gentle, it carried a cold, condescending authority.
"It seems my affection for you all this time has given you the wrong impression."
Her body began to swell.
Higher and higher, larger and larger, in an instant she loomed like a titan over the ruins.
Before her, Allen was as insignificant as an ant.
"Have you forgotten who the real master is?"
Her voice thundered like lightning, shaking the entire expanse of ruins.
"Have you forgotten that you swore an oath to me using your true name, that you entered into a contract?"
"Did you really think you were the chosen one, the protagonist of this world?"
"Did you think I was just some item you owned, who fell for you at first sight, and from then on would let you toy with me, always doing as you please, providing whatever you wanted?"
A storm of void raged behind her, like doomsday descending.
"Did you think the contract you signed before a true Void God was just a joke?"
Her face leaned down, those enormous eyes fixed dead on Allen.
"From the moment you made that vow, you became nothing more than my puppet."
"So then—Ailan."
Every word she spoke carried an undeniable pressure:
"I command you. Now. Kill everyone. Bring Medivh's book to me."
Allen looked up at that titanic, godlike face.
And suddenly laughed out loud:
"Who the hell is Ailan?"
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