Chapter 47: Xal'atath, Blade of the Black Empire |
Xal'atath's form flickered. She couldn't believe it.
Could it be...?
Allen looked at her, unbothered.
That day, when Allen first opened his eyes in this world, the very first words he spoke.
He had been lying.
"The young man thought to himself as he lied as naturally as drinking water: 'Uh, I came from Baldur's Gate. Just call me Ailan.'"
He had lied as easily as drinking water—and it wasn't just the bullshit about "coming from Baldur's Gate"...
"Ailan" was just a name he'd casually made up on the spot. Or rather... it was just a character sheet from a D&D roleplaying game.
"He said, his voice hoarse yet sincere, 'I swear to you in the name of Ailan, my lady. I am willing to devote everything of Ailan to you. Please grant me power.'"
He took a step forward.
"On the other hand, Xal'atath—"
When that name slipped from his lips, Xal'atath's expression completely changed.
"You, on the other hand, truly did promise to give me power."
Xal'atath stared at Allen in disbelief. She had never revealed her name.
How could this mortal standing before me possibly know my true name!
"You're probably wondering right now, how I know your true name, aren't you?"
The rubble began to tremble. Amidst the shaking, Allen's form was transforming.
He was growing taller.
No—not growing taller. Xal'atath was becoming smaller.
Xal'atath felt her lofty position crumbling. She felt something more ancient than the Void slowly opening its eyes and fixing its gaze upon her.
"How do I know your name is Xal'atath? How do I know you're pathetically sealed within this Blade of the Black Empire, barely clinging to existence, groveling and begging?"
Allen looked down at her. His gaze was calm, almost cruel.
"How do I know that you, treacherous and vile as you are, can only trick the Gurubashi trolls, deceive the Dark Iron dwarves, living out this pitiful, petty, colorless existence?"
Xal'atath's body trembled violently.
"If you knew that I wasn't the original owner of this body. If you knew that my soul actually came from the endless starry cosmos beyond—"
Allen leaned down. Those eyes, seemingly swirling with galaxies, were inches away.
"Then have you ever considered that I might be the god?"
Xal'atath opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
"I've been watching you all along."
Allen's voice was as light as if he were stating an insignificant fact.
"Little Xal'atath."
The corner of his mouth curled into a smile—a smile devoid of warmth, nothing but the condescension of a deity.
"You wanted to be my master?"
He paused.
"Are you worthy?"
Xal'atath felt her void-born body collapsing, disintegrating, being devoured bit by bit by this man's gaze.
"You who fled the Void in disgrace. You who were betrayed. Abandoned. Weakling."
Allen straightened up. His towering form blotted out the sky.
Xal'atath could only look up at him.
"One day, I will sweep across the endless darkness and descend upon Azeroth." His voice rang out as if from the peak of the world. "But your position will always be just one thing—"
He extended his hand, pointing at the diminutive Xal'atath.
"And that is as my most lowly servant."
"Xal'atath."
"Deception Check, Success
Target Number: 30
Roll: 31 (19 base + 2 Deception Bonus + 10 Charisma Bonus)"
"You casually recite her history like a familiar tale. You skillfully toy with and interrogate her. Beneath those eyes that seem to see through all things, Xal'atath feels insecure for the first time. Countless questions surge through her mind—Who are you? Where do you come from? How do you know all this? The authority you seem to hold in your hand is one that makes her tremble. It is a forbidden secret older than the Void itself. She is afraid. She is afraid of being devoured by you whole, of becoming a speck of dust on your path to godhood. So she lowers her head, sheathes her claws, and decides to continue observing before reconsidering."
Xal'atath's proud head bowed deeply.
Allen reached out, and with one hand, he grasped her entire existence.
His thumb pressed against her chin, forcing her bowed head slowly upward, compelling her to tilt her neck back and look up at him.
The motion was like toying with a plaything.
"Now—"
His voice was calm, yet it crashed like thunder.
"Tuck your tail between your legs, and continue to offer me the power you promised."
The Void trembled.
When Allen's form returned to normal, what he held in his hand had become a dagger.
The Blade of the Black Empire.
But it had changed. It was no longer just an ordinary ceremonial dagger.
The deep purple-black blade was like solidified Void.
Flesh-and-blood-like purple creations extended from the tip of the blade all the way to the hilt, squirming slowly, as if they were living organisms.
A dark purple gem was set into the hilt, like a wide-open eye.
Allen flipped the dagger, and a system panel appeared before him.
"Xal'atath, Blade of the Black Empire"
Quality: Artifact
Intellect +5 - ???
Spirit +5 - ???
Equip: Increases the critical strike chance of all your spell attacks by 5% - ???
Equip: Increases the damage dealt by all your spell effects, especially Shadow spells
Equip: Grants Void Torrent, and slows the rate at which you descend into madness
Void Torrent: Raise your dagger to the sky, unleashing a torrent of Void upon your enemies
"Xal'atath whispers dark words in your ear, granting you forbidden knowledge and making your spells more powerful."
---------------
In reality, the battlefield was a bloodbath.
Wen Lei was being surrounded by three Death Knights. Her arrows had long since run out, and she could only fend for herself with a short blade.
Morgan activated his Divine Shield. A golden barrier of light protected both him and Varian behind it.
Varian, like a wounded lion, fought with his dying breath.
The Stormwind guards charged forward like madmen.
In the open square, blood flowed like a river.
Stella had already thrown all her grenades.
Now she crouched among a group of wounded soldiers, using a Goblin Jumper Cable to repeatedly shock the dying men.
Some came back to life. Some didn't. Her face was smeared with blood, her eyes red-rimmed, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.
Marshal Windsor was drenched in blood. He raised his sword, glanced at King Varian, and then looked at the rampaging Teron Gorefiend.
All along, he had been calmly waiting for his destiny to arrive.
The vision from Karazhan told him he would die under the claws of a black dragon.
He had prepared himself. He had imagined that moment countless times—the black dragon's claws tearing through his chest, him falling amidst the ruins, completing his fated sacrifice with his life.
But today...
There was no black dragon.
Only Death Knights.
...No black dragon. Today was not the day of his fated death as foretold by prophecy. That day had yet to come...
So what?
Windsor tightened his grip on his sword.
Even if today wasn't the day of his foretold death, even if he couldn't die a hero's death fulfilling his destiny, even if he might die without profound meaning—
He was still willing to die.
He was willing to sacrifice himself to save Stormwind's future, to save that young king.
He was Windsor. Marshal of Stormwind. Comrade-in-arms of Sir Lothar. Guardian of the Wrynn bloodline.
He had to—
A hand suddenly landed on his shoulder.
"My turn."