#it can be pretty funny seeing people flying and raining retribution from above

[semi-sketchy]

I was told hacking in ranked caused an immediate crash BUT I GUESS NOT IN TOWER CONTROL

[cuthie]

Atreyu Starbrook: Demon Hunter Tales

The Beginning

“Here, I saved you the heart.”

   A younger elf in light plated armor offers me a recently felled demon’s liver. I crack into a smile wide enough to showcase my thick elongated canines. The boy, with long ebony hair held in place by a red headband, returns the perceived camaraderie with his own goofy grin. He’s as pretty as he is dumb, but there’s definitely a healthy helping of charm under all his shenanigans. 

Perhaps I would find him more entertaining if I didn’t want to sever his head from his body and drink the blood of all his family.

Those aren’t my thoughts. They use my voice, linger in my mind, but they’re not mine. 

Yes they are. They’re my baser desires. 

No, they’re not.

  I like to think I’ve grown accustomed to the demon within me, and on most days I can silence him, but it’s bitter resentment towards me is misplaced for it’s own failings.

 I didn’t fail, I planned on- 

There. Gone for now.

  Another elf, this one squat, heavy and in paladin armor clears his throat, “Cuthbert, that’s not a heart. Besides, I’m sure they don’t really eat demons, right Atreyu?”

  I swivel my head in his direction to be polite. I can see their auras through my own skull, no need to move at all. Funny, I always thought eyes in the back of my head would be an improvement, but in reality it’s only a slight boon. I can see someone behind me, if I’m focusing, which takes only slightly less effort than actually turning my head. The dumb one’s aura is a lot dimmer, but the pair give off the same familiar glow of the Holy Light. I can see every particle in their body, I can see the impressions they leave behind in weaponry, footsteps, books they’ve read, letters they’ve written. Impressions don’t always last very long though, and I imagine my sight is as strong as it can be for now. Of course, were I to devour this offered liver, drink some of the demon’s fel blood even, that might improve.

  I shiver as a memory flickers through my mind at the speed of a passing moment, but the demonic force inside me insistently projects it to the forefront of my thoughts. It may be silent for now, but it’s influence is always present.

  I’m back in the Black Temple, amidst a confused crowd in a locked courtyard. Lord Illidan stands tall, calculating, then beckons me forth. I exhale, more than a little nervous. I know what’s expected of me, I witnessed at least three dozen hunters step forward already. Had I known that this is where following Kael’thas would bring me, I would have been more hesitant. Bas’tian, my brother and all of Quel’thalas deserves retribution, vengeance.

  I step into the summoning circle with only a sword to protect me. A black felstalker manifests, immediately picks up my scent and lunges at me. A flash of green, my memory skips forward and it’s over. I’m panting, my body exhausted, bleeding, ready to fall over but the demon dead at my feet. It hates watching this part. It refuses to rewatch the exact tactics that entrapped it. In the physical world my smile continues, while in my memory I’m repulsed at what comes next.

  I cut out the beast’s still hot beating heart and bring it to my mouth. The scent is horrible but the taste is worse and overwhelming. My thick fangs bite into the meaty pulsing organ, fangs that didn’t exist when I actually endured the trials, but as always, the mind craves familiarity. It’s like eating hot squiggling slugs. Everything squirms, squirts and tries to escape as it fills my maw completely. A flash of green. I scoop out a handful of fel blood and drink it down. It brings me to my knees, tasting of rotgut alcohol and it’s all I can do to swallow my vomit.

  Burning fel magic threatens to melt my throat, then my body feels as if it’s on fire. I look up to see the same demon, the felstalker, chasing down my brother Bas’tian. I reach for a sword that is no longer there, and instead I rush in and rip the demon apart with my own hands and claws. It’s too late, Bas’tian is gone. A flash of green.

“Take your vengeance. Feed me.”

  It was my voice. I blink and look up at the large elf in front of me. He looks delicious. I lunge upon him, clawing through his armor, trying to get to that delicious elven heart. My brother tries to kill me in return, but it’s too late for him. I win. A flash of green.

  By now I’ve killed this demon eighteen times. Only once in the physical world, but many times inside my own mind, knowing each battle would mean the end of everything if I lost. Each scenario is different but I always win. Always. At last I fall face first onto a stone floor, and watch as I leave my body behind, floating above as a specter, eavesdropping on my former life. Suddenly I’m expelled into the universe, Outlands becoming a speck in the Twisting Nether. As I fly faster than any person or thing has ever moved I behold millions upon millions of worlds teeming with life and promise. Every passing second tens of thousands of children, women and men are dying somewhere. The Burning Legion destroys all worlds. The millions upon millions of lights in the universe wink out until only a few remain. They conquer and raze worlds like an army might a small town. They are endless, they are legion, and nothing can ever defeat them. A flash of green.

Join us.

  It’s worse than losing a loved one. Abrupt death is an inevitability and soon not even dust will remain. It doesn’t stop, won’t stop. I see each and every member of my family murdered in the most gruesome and creative ways possible a thousand times over. Each one is traumatizing, each one is really happening, each one is the end of the world, and no matter how hard I close my eyes I can’t stop watching. I scream, I cry, and I dig my fingernails into my eye sockets. Sharp nails dig into my eyelids as I painfully squeeze above and below the orbs simultaneously, dragging skin with me, until I can grip my eyes enough to simply pull them out. Strands that once connected nerves now stretch, resist, then snap and dangle, but despite the pain it doesn’t blind me. I can see still everything. A flash of green.

  The felstalker paces from left to right. I have it’s full attention. It lunges again, only this time I stop it with a single hand. I grip it by it’s scaley hot throat, squeeze and it explodes into a rain of fel blood and gore. I am stronger. I rip into it’s chest, pulling out then devouring it’s wriggling steaming heart, then I drink from it’s blood. These things no longer disgust me. The blood is quite delicious. My head lifts in glee, I lick my lips and quiver as my powers and abilities grow exponentially. A flash of green.

  The demon’s blood in particular is intoxicating, addictive. I can feel the immediate connection to the Burning Legion, just as much as I feel my anger rising, my strength growing and the presence of something dark sharing my thoughts. I can’t see anything but black now, but I can smell HIM. Illidan Stormrage. I lift myself up and launch, fangs and claws extended, ready to end the Betrayer’s life. A flash of pain paints the black nothingness of my sightless vision red as a single backhanded stroke collides into my face and throws my body far away. I hit the ground rolling, then a flash of green.

  I see colors, so many colors. Everywhere, floating aimlessly about the world around me. So many of these colors I didn’t know existed. I don’t have names for them. A voice commands me. I do as they bid. The colors swirl and form objects. People. I can feel the woman in front of me without touching her. She’s one of the hundreds of bedlamites that plague this sweat stenched temple, muttering to themselves, eating their own hands. Now I know why. A flash of green.

  My haunting experiences within the Black Temple continued, but -it- isn’t interested in reviewing the other trials and teachings. Neither am I. What lasted an eternity in my mind was all of four seconds in reality. I shake my head at Alain, “No, not always. It’s tempting, but I understand the weight of it’s consequences all too well.”

  Alain doesn’t like that answer. His smile falters for half a moment, but I caught it. I hope he can appreciate the honesty there. Cuthbert simply looks confused, “So you do but.. Too many calories?”

  I simply nod my head once, “Yes.” He’ll never understand, it’s easier this way. Alain and Cuth both are in bad shape. They’re both covering their pain and fatigue, one with fatuity, the other with self dismissive kindness. They look to me to lead. “Let’s head back to the overlook in Suramar.”

Cuth raises a brow, “But we didn’t even find the portal.”

  “Mm, we have a lead. We’ll recuperate and try again tomorrow.” I’ll try again tomorrow, not them. Cuth isn’t cut out for this and Alain is straining himself to protect them both. Cuthbert should have stayed with his Order’s leader, as ordered. Dumb kid.

  Together we turn around and make our return to base. Cuthbert begins to sing, loudly, and to my surprise Alain joins in. I remember the song but I don’t quite remember the lyrics. Something about a hard knock life. About an abandoned quel’dorei girl with curly red hair.

  It would be so easy, the work of seconds. I could raise my glaives and slit both their throats at once. The crimson gush oozing down my blades, the tingling rush running down my spine, their annoying prattle forever silenced.

  I can tolerate anything and everything these two put me through. Because I already endure the most annoying thing in this world or any other, you.

Asshole.

  The sun has set, but unlike my companions, I can see just as easily in the dark. We’re only ten minutes away from home when the hair on the back of my neck prickles. I stop in my tracks and turn my eyes around to the three Felhounds in total, one one to our left, one to our right and one behind us. Their kind have tentacles that attach and drain magic. What better snack than a trio of blood elves.

Kin of yours I hope.

  I manifest my glaives instantaneously, the runic weapons bound to my soul and heeding my call. The ability to summon them now comes as effortlessly to me as clenching my own fists. They are an extension of myself, and while there are countless weapons out there more powerful, these are mine and I know them inside and out.

  I quickly pivot on my left foot, crouching and extending my right leg to bring it behind the back of Cuthbert’s knees. As he falls down I raise my right glaive in time to catch the midsection of the airborne demon. Like a hot knife through butter, the beast is cut in twain, it’s front half whining, it’s fangs chomping, it’s tentacles flailing.

I wanna fight, let me kill them.

No. It is not your time.

  I turn around to see one demon already pinning Alain to the ground, the tall grass almost covering the both of them up. A sound similar to a strong gust of wind begins and passes in the same second just as Alain surrounds himself with a bright glowing ‘bubble’. The demon applies it’s suckers, attempting to drain the Light magic, but it won’t be getting anything from that.

  Alain buying himself a few precious seconds allows me to focus on the third demon. I bring my arm back and then fling my weapon with strength siphoned from my internal demon. The blade catches in the felhound’s head, digging in deep, only for it to disappear and reform into my right hand as grey matter and green puss splatter onto the ground.

  While Cuthbert still tries to stand up and figure out what’s going on, Alain is on his feet and his protective barrier gone. He tightens his grip on his mace and takes a diagonal swing at the hound, which gracefully avoids the attack, ducking its head at just the right angle.

  I don’t spare the paladin’s feelings. I dash to the remaining demon, my right leg rising to punt the lynx sized creature ten yards into the air. Reminiscent of the Black Temple’s training courses I mindlessly spring up in pursuit, wings bursting through the skin of my back. The familiar appendages flap together once to hasten my ascent as I raise both glaives above me. First left, then right, I cut in an X shaped fashion, severing the demon into three ugly sections, it’s insides becoming outsides as their rain down on the blonde haired mender.

  I can’t help it. I narrow my eyes and lick my lips. It may as well be mana flavored melting icecream. I swallow, take a staggering breath and my arms bulge until my veins threaten to burst. I could eat just a little more, drink a little more. This speed, this agility, this strength, this everything.. I could be so much more than I am. Just a little…

  No. I quietly glide back down, light leather boots barely making a sound as they land on soft grass. I throw another smile towards Alain to try and alleviate some of his concerns. “Sorry about that.”

  He laughs nervously, then helps Cuth up who looks entirely starstruck. “Did- Did you? I wish I had wings, you’re so lucky! Maybe I should be a Demon Fighter.”

  Alain sighs, “Hunter and you’re better than them. You’re gonna be a paladin some day. Never say that again.” It took all of two seconds before the gentle paladin realized what he was saying. He turned to look at me, the sneer hiding behind a fake smile, “I mean no offense.. My apologies.”

I shrug my shoulders, “Keep to your faith, it suits you both.”

  While Cuthbert and Alain, though mostly Cuth, kept conversation for the remainder of our trip, that was the last thing I had said. Conversation is much more difficult when you want to kill everyone around you. Or rather, when something is trying to convince you of that.