(24) Dissolution

The stronghold, forever under attack by outer forces, crumbled around her silently. Brick, stone and mortar crashed to the ground endlessly, leaving a heavy, black sky above. Barefoot, she stepped among the long dead corpses that littered the unprotected fortress, some half-buried, dead faces staring sightlessly at the only living trespasser. Their echoing death cries still stung the haunted air, mixed with screamed commands, the clash of metal, and the searing of fireballs as the spells hit home. The sounds were seemingly out of synch from what was really happening within the walls, for most of the fortress was already destroyed. The scenery was commonplace for her now, having been trapped inside the crumbling labyrinth for at least months now.

In fact, the scene was one she knew. She had been here before many times, but in dreams that recurred, leaving her awakening in a cold sweat each night. That is until she decided that sleep was not so necessary anymore, and afforded herself instead increments of sleep when she could. However, one thing differed from her dreams, since she had walked through the portal, and entered this dark place--the hallway of voices, the entrancing voice that encouraged her to embrace the Darkness was missing. Now, she only seemed lost in this plane, doors only leading to more unrecognizable rooms which eternally fell upon themselves.

This collapsing room was colossal, the arched ceiling, now broken to invite the chaotic skies. Torn, vibrant flags draped across the stone ground and bodies, instead of the columns they were designed to hang around so proudly. Perhaps once an oratory, or library, the room’s glory was now only a memory to the souls that formerly occupied this fortress. She let a soft sigh escape into the shadows of the ruin, a life’s breath that seemed to be engulfed by the lingering darkness. Far too long had she been here, seeking her answers, and the reply was an empty one. The unhinged door across the room was her next destination, and the warlock reached for it with an almost irritated determination.

She half expected the door to fall open when she touched it, but it remained intact as she pushed. The piece of intricately carved wood seemed to have no mass to it, though it looked to be quite heavy, but she pushed it easily to peer into the next room. A broken lamp shone dismally upon the wreckage of a courtyard, or perhaps some type of garden. Light flickered weakly against the heavy night, until it wheezed its last bit of power and accepted the dark, which Annaliese had long grown accustomed to here. Azeroth had opened to her a world of battle, and she had seen her fair share of land and people lost to ongoing conflicts, but this place seemed a melding of what she might have seen, past and present. The skies above crackled much like Netherstorm, fed off the expended energies of the dead.

Dead grass rustled under her feet as she walked on, a trite, trivial sound amongst the quieted bedlam playing all around her. A distant balcony caved in upon itself, slowly falling down the roof of the fortress, as if the destroyed stone had a millennia to hit the ground. Despite this, she walked on, filled with a calm, knowing that she was getting closer, somehow. She walked as if she knew exactly where she was going--a servant of the Great Dark would find the way, surely. She felt her confidence falter, however, as she realized the ground below her bare feet blackened, and writhed. Tendrils solidified from the ground and wrapped around her legs, easing up the rest of her body, pulling her to the ground gently. It was simply shadow, given life, and just as surely as she formed and used it to battle her enemies, she relaxed and let it take her, secure in its embrace.

Breath upon breath, echoes overlapping each other, was what she heard foremost. These breaths, taken from her own lungs, were joined in by subtle murmurs, the same lulling whispers that had brought her through the hallways in night’s past. The shadow that had taken her coursed through every bit of her, and this she realized, was only an extension of her will. Upon opening her eyes, she saw that she was suspended in mid-air, the shadow tendrils acting like an enlivened swing.

‘It is yours to command, warlock. Command them, as you always have,’ the voice carried through the room, neither feminine nor masculine, but a sound balanced between, and heavy, with power. Understanding the words, she extended her will outward, and the tendrils shifted, lowering her gently to the black, mirrored surface of the room. She watched as the tendrils melted away from her, only to join the mass of darkness that climbed the walls surrounding her. A moment’s worth of uncertainty pulsed within her as she stood there, alone, and unprotected.
The figure was immense, imposing. It clung to the walls like amorphous, shadowy vines. A red nimbus of energy pulsed through it, like tiny branching veins reaching throughout the inky darkness. The air was sifting with pieces of it, and it passed through her system like a drug, sparking her synapses to life, the sheer power here implausible. Her calm conquered her senses however, strengthening the twine that held her back from tumbling over the edge into loss of self control. She heard a hiss, something like breath trembling between teeth, echoing all over the room--the Great Dark was amused.

‘Strange, woman, that you hold against the darkness, being what you are. In the power that you wield, most are inseparable from what they serve, avatars in thought and action. You waited seemingly for permission to enter this place, though you knew the way all along,’ the entity spoke quickly, its voice low, nearing monotone, but steady and sure. She paused, thinking over her reply, trying to make up for her silence with two steps and a bow of the head.

‘A warlock does not ask permission before acting,’ the voice continued in absence of hers, almost teasingly, ‘Only a slave. Which are you Annaliese Handhour?’

It shifted in the great expanse of the room, the air thrumming, pulsing with dark energies. She could see the corner of an altar, gleaming obsidian in the middle of the room. Or perhaps a coffin, lying flat--the shadows enveloped it as it did everything else.

“I am not a slave. I am a disciple, grateful to that which gives me purpose in this life,” she spoke softly, her voice small, barely heard. Her eyes did not leave the mass, which twisted from the walls, its bulk compacting, shrinking, taking on a humanoid shape, though of what, she could not say.

‘Humans. Surprising, fragile creatures. I am often astounded by how many warlocks have been made of them. But, here you stand,’ it continued, the voice omnipresent, the gleaming red nimbus pulsating with each syllable pronounced.

‘Your devotion however, is pure, and it has been recognized. Often your manner and action have been…questioned, but the ends justify the means.’

The shadowy figure neared her, extending a dark tendril, the details of its shape blurred in the shifting, black smoke.

‘You play a gentle melody, but it is a tune crafted from my darkness,’ it spoke and inhalation of words as the tendril passed through her skin. She almost lost her footing, and fell to her knees. The hiss of laughter surrounded her, almost a sigh as it released her, satisfied with the taste of her mortality. The ever shifting form glided back to the flat structure in the center of the room.

‘Indeed, not a slave. A daughter of Darkness, then.’

It seemed to watch her through forming eyes, silently there, as its form defined itself, tall, a man seemingly carved of obsidian, great wings spilling from its back. A hand reached out, beckoning her near.

‘Why, little daughter, do you come to this place?’

“As I have served as your Scion, learned your teachings, and embraced the shadows,” she started, choosing her words carefully, “I, feel I have, become lost and have fallen from what I was.”

Again there was the feeling of her words being consumed by the shadows, as though it devoured, not out of hunger, but out of just taste, the enjoyment of a verbal meal.

‘Lost? You know the teachings. You have brought many to our cause, opened eyes to the inevitability of what lies inside their own minds and hearts.’

The pulsating mass separated from its form to twist around her, a towering funnel with the unisex voice caught within.

‘This has served our purpose.’

“Some of the others have lost the sight of what it means to serve, or do not hear your call, or choose not to. E-even when I speak the words during our rituals, they ring empty. I…I am not sure of myself anymore, of what I believe.”

The swirls of darkness circled in close, as did the voice, as if whispered into her ear.

‘For all that are lost, there are those that serve with the required, unfaltering devotion, and in secrecy. Perhaps, where you are lost, you need only find where you fit again.’

In the midst of its counsel, she took a quick study of the room again, but could not begin to know what area this was, or what this plane seemed to emulate. Annaliese jumped slightly as the funnel twisted away from her to rejoin the obsidian form that stood next to the altar, the wings, writhing, stretched outward, as it took heavy steps toward her. She dare not move her body, and kept her eyes low in respect, but she could feel its penetrating gaze upon her, heard the slither of its tendril-like wings.

‘You know much of the Great Dark, warlock, and you know of what is expected of you, in order for our goals to come to fruition,’ it spoke, heavy limbs reaching out to her once again. Annaliese flinched, a gasp caught in her throat, anticipating the submersion once again, to be baptized in living darkness. Sensing her unease, the limbs merely lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to its towering head, the eyes, deep, deep violet. Its form was not hardened, as she thought, but rather like liquid, still shifting, but keeping shape, the red nimbus pulsing within the chest. She could feel its thrumming pulse as it touched her, and realized that images were being pulled from her mind, thoughts, and random memories.

‘Do not fear me, Annaliese. I have been with you, fought with you, lived within you. You come for my aid, and I intend to help,’ it whispered fluently in a different, ancient tongue. She was shocked that she understood these words, but nodded slowly, and closed her eyes.

‘It is not the first time I have been within you, daughter of shadow…’ its voice crept inside her mind as its fingers dipped beneath the flesh of her face. Annaliese began to protest, but her words became slurred, unintelligible.

‘…fear…has always been your enemy…and your humanity. Such feelings must be quelled, pushed back, if you are to serve without distraction.’

She began to feel the emotions being peeled from her, little by little, eaten away at. Understanding, fueled by the secret of the Dark, knowledge of ancient times, glimpses of a time before all else…and yet the fingers delved deeper, whispering along the halls of her mind.

‘…if you must act, do so in the name of Darkness, if you must sacrifice for the coming of the Dark Age…’ it chanted, replacing emotion with purpose. She felt herself being lifted, then lain upon something solid, the entity pouring itself into her like a sieve. Its form undulated over her as it skimmed through her, the peace welcome.

‘…if you must fear, only fear a world without the embrace of Night, if you must love, love only the Great DaAar--’

The mass of darkness dispersed as a shock ripped through its form, returning everything it began to take from her upon release. Lying upon the altar, she slowed her breathing, waiting for her rampant heartbeat to slow as well. She stared silently up at the red nimbus, its pulse much like her heartbeat, stretching across the room like chaotic stitching on a renegade garment. After a moment, the mass shifted once again, its pace returning to the hypnotic wave of its tendrils. A great face formed in the middle of the mass, the same ambiguous voice pouring from it:

‘To be one with the Great Dark, to be completely devoted to it, warlock, you must break your bonds to others, and give all to that which you serve, alone. This alone distracts you from your place among those who live to serve, and denies you the most secret of wisdoms.’

She sat up on the reflective altar, dreading the answer she knew of all along. The shadows encircled her once more, coiling around her body, the darkness cool and comforting to her sweat-slicked skin. Looking up, she found herself in comforting arms, the Darkness once again solid as it took shape, stolen from her mind.

Like a fluid spirit born of obsidian, a very familiar priest sat cradling her in his lap upon the heavy altar.

‘Learn to embrace the Darkness, will it into your very soul, as if it were your only lover eternally, and you will then find purpose, and with purpose…peace…’ he spoke with his own voice, echoing with dark overtones. Cool and smooth were the fingers that traced her jaw line. She had found her answer, here in these ruins, upon the altar, and reveled in it as the cool lips touched her own.

“I can’t…”

The obsidian Niklos drowned her voice out with a heavier kiss. He was in her mind, whispering, begging for her to accept, and invite him. And yet, as dearly as she wanted it, she refused, and pulled away from the shadow image.

“I cannot give myself to such a purpose, not like this. If love is weakness, then I am not worthy of your secrets, nor can I be a true servant,” Annaliese spoke calmly, though her words may have signed her death warrant. Niklos dissipated, melting off the altar and returning high above, the nimbus crimson red.

‘Careful, warlock. Such words are traitorous, given with what gift of knowledge I bestowed upon you, with what you know of My design…’

“I beg forgiveness, understanding…perhaps, there is another way I might serve…” she began. And oh, how did she feel how heavily her words were weighed, scrutinized. It was then that a thought struck her, that she might not leave this plane alive…

‘Yesss. We know a way for such treachery to be absolved. And it would not require your death, thankfully, for you. Annaliese, rectify your action and words here, and take the task I give to you,’ the voice commanded.
“Tell me…what I must do.”

‘Love…is not so much of a weakness, if it is prepared for use in the Dark design. This one you feel so strongly for, the undead priest who poses as living…open his eyes as you have opened many others, and prepare him in service to Our purpose.’

“But I have opened the door for him, and he will not walk through. He knows he has a place among us, but he is not…entirely comfortable with the stipulations…”

‘Then push him through the door. If he loves you as much , woman, he will obey. His talents would be an useful asset.’

Her answer was decided. There was no question. She would rather die, than force her love into a life of servitude, to use him in such a way. The black shadows unfurled, its nimbus and veins crackling like red lightning, knowing her answer. It struck her upon the altar like hell’s whip, searing her flesh, and she lay limp against the altar, breaths ragged.

‘Then, warlock, your only answer is death.’

Again, the crimson heat lashed at her again, and the smell of burnt flesh hit her--the scream that echoed through the ruins signified the pain. She rose an arm up into the inky darkness, a raspy plead on her lips.

“W--wait, please,” came her voice, insignificant.

‘Begging? Yesss…plead, bleat, little lamb,’ the Dark bellowed, readying another strike.

“A sacrifice…in…ex…exchange f-for life?” she stammered through burnt lips. The tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, stinging her torn skin.

‘P-please…anything…I’ve come so far…to d-die now…”

Silence, all but the hiss of the fiery whip, eager to lay another blow.

‘What sacrifice do you speak of, worthless get?’

“Take what you will, but leave my l--life, love…”

She thought of her last memory of Niklos, sitting upon the beach, after Willaim’s wedding. If there was a chance, that she could salvage what she had…she had come so far, so very, very far.

‘Hm…a pact. Perhaps too merciful for your treachery, but punishment is not restricted to death, alone.’

“Yes…what you will. Only…only spare my life, my love.”

‘Loyalties to the heart….insignificant, meaningless…’

‘…please…’

Annaliese’s fingers curled inward, the breaths squelched in her chest. From her fingertips, blood seeped onto the altar, and a pitiful whimper escaped from her lips, as the Dark One decided her fate.

‘Your blood, Annaliese Handhour, is your contribution to this pact, this day. Your knowledge of the Great Dark is your sacrifice, for I will rip it from your mind. All that you have befriended through the Dark, all you have done in its name, will be taken from your mind, and you will be left broken, with your meaningless life, your worthless love.’
The curling fog leaned in close, menacingly, the crackling nimbus like a monstrous eye.

‘Do you agree to the terms of this pact, Annaliese Handhour, on your life?’
The answer was a wheezed acceptance. There was no mercy in the act. It came for her, the black tendrils, only this time they were not gentle, and violated her mind, ripping into her memory voraciously to take what it wanted. She felt herself sinking, through the obsidian altar, and through the crackling portal, and soon enough, she was falling through the sky. Her body, a seared rag doll, slammed against Arcatraz’s pathway, high above Netherstorm, ribs breaking upon impact, but alive. The pain was too much, finally and the warlock gave in to unconsciousness, but not before plucking a name from her tattered mind, and focusing on the face that came to her.

“…zam…”