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Darrethy Voidblade

Eclipse: Breaking Point

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Three weeks, it had been three weeks and he couldn't take it.

Darrethy was possessed of a godly amount of willpower, he had wrestled with the minions Old Gods and Arch-demons in mental combat before, and with that same willpower he had managed to resist the temptation to feed.

But he had limits.

By week four, he had stopped hearing the voice and growls of Accalia or her Worgs....because she didn't need to prod him, or maybe just because his mind was too numb to hear it anymore, he had to feed on something or he'd simply lose his mind. His soul felt like it was going to be the next thing to go after his magic, and he erratically scribbled notes on his front desk to distract him from the immense amount of strain he was under. Alizabal casted worried glances at him: She too looked tired, because like Domixa their souls had been linked, and as the Shivarra's bond slowly grew to rival the Sayaads own, it also felt more and more of his strain.

"We can't keep going like this, or we'll be able to help no one."

His research into the Black Book had been dramatically slowed by his trips to the Sanctum to rejuvenate, he figured out how to read it but couldn't do anything with that knowledge, he couldn't begin to understand his own research notes because the addiction was so wracking. It all pointed to one thing: He finally had to go out and feed.

He picked up his spellbook, and walked out to the Raven's Gate.

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"I absolutely love every moment of this."

Darrethy gave the widest grin he'd had in some time as he walked out of the Raven's Gate great hall. Here and there soldiers gave him looks as they noticed his robes still had small splotches of blood on it here and there, but he didn't pay it much mind.

Goblins carried metal beams and explosives down into the Sanctum along with bits and pieces of robot parts, for Darrethy's he was watching several sheets of glass being moved into the inside. He had gotten tired of waiting for something to just happen to him while Vionora was off doing whatever the hell she was doing. He could feel his eye twitch at the mere notion of standing idle for a day longer as he pushed the double doors open.

Accalia's herald had to come for him at some point. He mused at all the things he was involved in as he looked into the now shallow mana pools and knew that he was simply far too connected for them to ignore. So of course, when she arrived it would only be proper to give her a welcoming...

The Goblins and Arakkoa working on the walls looked at him like he was crazy, probably with good reason considering he was almost certain he was crazy. Yet on he marched them, erecting steel walls and inviting some of the Silvermoon Magi he had on loan to rapidly construct pieces of the more complicated devices, Arakkoa wiring together Apexis crystals as they glanced nervously to each other about the untested technology.

Mogu runes were carved into the iron walls, hopefully enough to pull him out of the Twilight Realm...or at least let him phase back quickly, because if not...well it'd be a shame if all this work went to waste wouldn't it?

Darrethy's grin was now inhumanely wide under his mask. with razor teeth literally from ear to ear...hopefully this would be fun.

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"This seems....mildly insane." Domixa idly commented as she watched Darrethy climb a ladder up one of the iron walls.

"That's what I love about it." the Warlock replied as he hammered another rune into the wall, making sure it was tightly set in "I don't even know if half these explosives work, and that's part of the fun." he laughed and that did nothing to calm the Sayaads fears. Still her masters orders were orders and she went to the other side of the Sanctum to a small group of goblins rushing to construct an automated grenade launcher "....When Ninorra said this place needed more furniture, I don't think this is what she meant."

"I hope this is exactly what she meant."

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"The rockets I understand, the bombs I understand, but why do you need a full surround sound system?" the Bilgewater Contractor looked up at Darrethy with all sorts of confusion written on his face, not that it'd stop him from doing it as long as he got his pay "Is this....whatever she is....sensitive to sound?"

"You're asking about that, and not about the floodlights?" Domixa said, peering down from one of scaffolds erected in the Sanctum, a place now rapidly resembling a gladiators pit more then a place of quiet contemplation.

"I just want to hear the sound of my voice." Darrethy replied, standing next to a pile of explosives in the rooms center "I'm sure Vionora will appreciate it too." the goblin looked like he was about to say something, but then just shook his head. It seemed that Darrethy was growing increasingly unstable by the hour, and he couldn't help but notice the sorcerers robes had more then a few bloodstains on them now.

"...Alright, where do we put the spikes then?"

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The succubus folded her arms as another bone bounced off the floor before bouncing into a small though steadily growing pile in the bloodstained mana waters. Darrethy was eating over a banquet of raw meat from...various....humanoid sources arranged on the Sanctum floor once the workers had left, at least until tomorrow morning.

The Warlock chuckled "Alizabal would understand, I want to give in to my....baser....desires and just let the magic flow through me." he replied, wiping some of the blood off his metallic chin "Sorcery always made me feel so alive, and this....this is what it means to live. I want to drink, I want to smoke, I want to eat...and when I eat, I want to eat until I choke." he picked up a bone, raw meat hanging off it's edge "...Come on, I know you want a bite...."

The Sayaad looked at him long and hard, then flashed a fanged smile.

"...Well....maybe just a little."

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Shirkek, a blue flying octopus with six small eyes and one massive optical focus at it's center, floated quietly in the center of the Sanctum as it looked at Darrethy with some disdain.

"What were you thinking? Giving into the transformation purely to show off to an orc woman in the middle of Orgrimmar? You're losing your grip on reality Master, if we do not find you a cure soon there is no telling what could possibly happen."

Darrethy waved a hand dismissively even as he rummaged through the internal organs of one of the mini-Sargerei now chained to the metal walls in that same sanctum. This one had struggled just a little too much and activated one of the many traps, impaling him on roughly twenty two poison tipped spikes. Darrethy had simply taken that opportunity to re purpose him for dinner "Oh relax, it was only for about...five seconds...and it was all in good humor, they even made a joke at my expense about it, lighten up."

"...Lighten....up? Darrethy, the transformation is a carefully practiced art passed down from demon hunter to demon hunter, every second you spend in it risks madness and destruction. It the very cornerstone of the sacrifice one makes to combat the legion, THERE COULD BE NOTHING MORE SERIOUS!"

The Warlock stopped shoveling blue entrails in his mouth to grimace "I....won't do it again, just that once." the Observer only stared long and hard in return "Hopefully so, or I may withdraw my services."

Neither of them made much note of the gurgling as the man wasn't quite dead.

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Shirkek knew nothing, very rarely would he let the Observer capture even a glimpse of true, lasting, transformation. Even this deep in madness, he still teased with the barest taste of Chaos magic.

Massive towers loomed overhead as Darrethy sat in the middle of Gilneas city, as he often did. The great cathedral loomed overhead and for a moment it made Darrethy snicker, his people had always been more religious then the Gilneans, and yet they felt the need to build something so elaborate. The rain felt good on his face in a way he knew it shouldn't have, even as it ran down cheek and dripped of his metallic jaw, overhead the moon made the droplets sparkle as it shone bright and full. His fel green eyes wandered the cold cobblestones and across the statues, to the various well lit houses in the distance and flying Gilnean flags. To many the sight would be beautiful, a majestic capital untouched by the horrors and darkness of the world.

Safe and secure.

Slowly Darrethy began to stand and he could feel the ice gather under him as he walked to the great double doors. To either side the lights had turned from a dim yellow to a deep and dark red. Standing within were dozens of Dreadguard to either side with halberds in hand. As Darrethy approached they began stamping those halberds against the floor, subtle at first, but gradually growing in intensity with every frozen step towards the door. Cracks began to form along the glass, slowly making a spider web not unlike the countless ones made by the Battle Creepers his people created in Hillsbrad. Frost ringed on the edges of the door handle and up the carefully carved decorations into the wood, taking the doors by both hands he took a deep breath and pulled.

Then the red liquid flooded out.

Darrethy was swept away in an ocean of blood, the windows shattering to either side as it poured from them too. The Dreadguard did not so much as move from their positions even as it washed past them, oblivious and uncaring as body parts bumped off their armor and into the rapidly forming ocean. Darrethy struggled for the air he did not need as he swam against the immense force, grasping onto the shattered wooden plank that was once the Cathedral gates. He could feel himself being weighed down as the frost crystallized on his armor, and yet he still managed to leap from there to the other door, and from that further up on what was once a rooftop.

Screaming filled his ears even underwater, and yet he didn't care as he clambered from perch to perch, trying to get to the ever rising top. Thousands of skeletal hands had erupted in the cobblestones below, the leering faces they were attached to were ever locked in an unbearable death wail. Yet he only spared it a passing glance pressed forward through the blood and the organs, jumping from another rooftop and onto the bone white hand of one of the massive Gronn on Dreanor. Houses exploding and falling away below as the petrified remains slowly pushed the rock aside as if the very earth was giving birth to it.

Darrethy vomited out the liquid that he'd been forced to swallow as he broke into the surface. The water was so high now that it pushed past the Greymane wall and only the spires of Lordaeron and Gilneas were still visible across Azeroth. In the distance he could see even more hands erupting from the water as well, carrying howling monsters and Forsaken soldiers who had not been washed away, the dark tendrils of the Old Gods having burst from the dirt as well to wrap around those same hands and spires, tentacles of pulsating oily flesh that were covered with thousands of eyes like sores, all of them burning with malice as they stared at him, and him alone.

He swung his sword just as one more of those howling beasts jumped from one of the other corpse giants and onto his. It's eyes were burning red and it's flesh was peeled raw, it walked on claws like an animal and yet the thing held a misshapen hunched appearance that made humans all the more vile for the vague resemblance. When it opened it's mouth he could see black blood spill from it's crooked and broken fangs, in parts he could even see it's exposed ribcage as if something had torn it open. It tried to claw at him, but was blasted away by fel fire in mid air, it's disturbingly human voice shrieking out to him in common even as it's smoldering husk fell from the stars and into the sea.

Dozens, hundreds, thousands, more were coming from him. Darrethy screamed something inaudible to the heavens and bolts of thunder and light pierced the swirling black clouds to boil them away into nothingness, those giants turned pitched black as dark magic overcame their figures and they crushed the monsters in palm, or even clambered over their brothers in the sea to crush and devour the others, not that much different from the beasts as their entrails hung from their ribcages.

Even Vionora could not hope to possibly understand: This was every day of his life.

Hatred welled up in his chest and as one approached, they would be boiled alive in a breath of demonic flame. Fear was expelled from his figure in a singular howl that made the mountains shake and the seas ripple, the monstrous things jumped from those hands into the abyss below, or tore out their throats rather then face him. In the back of his head he could still here the stamping of Halberds on the floor so far below, as the Dreadguard continued until the very crust of Azeroth seemed to crack and break open to a fresh and new hell above. He screamed in agony whenever he was struck, and that scream ripped their bodies to shreds and burst them apart. Whenever they tried to grapple or push him down, that was when they would get the harshest response of all, rage surged through his figure as he crushed throats in his clawed hands or tossed them to the ground and beat them into a bloody pulp.

And yet they could not understand, they would not understand, where their true end would come from. The pinnacle of all human emotion: Love.

Love of his wife, love of his country, love of the Dark Lady. love of the other Forsaken under his banner. They were all brothers and sisters to him, if not his children. He had fought and bled for them as long as he could remember and asked for nothing in return, because he cared that much about them. Even when they were at their most horrible, it tore him apart to even raise a hand against one, because he has sacrificed so much just for them. He could not die here, would not die here, to do so would be to let them down. Deep within him he could feel that power surging forth from his being, and he clasped his hands together before slamming them into the skeletal palm he stood on.

Frost, fire, lightning, light, shadow, and things indescribable yet all too real rushed down into the ocean under him. The waters froze over and yet fire somehow raced across the surface to melt away mutated horrors that mere moments ago were frozen to the water top. Thunder and lightning echoed as they were blasted apart not only across Azeroth, but the entire universe as they had come to pour even out of the dark portal, at least before a blast of arcane energy tore it to pieces half a continent away. Steel rained from the sky to impale countless of their number to the hands and ice below, slowly the endless tide of monsters gave way to silence.

Darkness wrapped around Darrethy's figure as his robes melted into the black skin of his body, massive horns erupted from his forehead as his hair elongated. His ears retained the same half elvish point they always did....they seemed to never change....and his weapon melded into liquid steel before wrapping around his hands and forming into sharper, stronger, claws. His feet tore themselves apart in the most agonizing way as they became hooves and great demonic wings had broken through his back, his figure becoming several times more muscular.

This was why four weeks under the curse had not broken him into complete madness to an outside observer. Because someone who would willingly transformed into a demon had long since lost his sanity. Yet even as he looked into the bleeding fel green eye of what was once the moon, he knew this was the only way it could be.


The worgen stammered something indecipherable to him as it crawled along the floor.

His burning green eyes locked in concentration even amidst the battle cries and other distractions of Ashran, one hoof stepped in front of the other as he came upon the creature. His clawed hands reached towards one another as they began conjuring, the universe he saw in his mind was slowly bleeding into reality. Cracks like spiderwebs formed in the air as the amalgamated Chaos took form, and with a roar he launched the ball of energy forward. Fire. frost. lighting. light. shadow, steel, thousands of grasping melting hands, and the screaming infinite cut reality wide open and made the universe bleed as a billion liquid hands reached for the Gilneans face at once.

Then he simply ceased to exist.

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Darrethy held the fragment in his hand, it was the shard of a mans cheek. Pale as a ghost and not so much as bleeding, it felt like stone in his hands, which is exactly how he liked it. He leaned forward to look closely in the mirror, he wanted to get this just right.

He stared into an endless abyss that stared back at him, the infinite void was framed by delicate, though long since dead, elvish hair as he slowly pressed the fragment into the rigid framework of a mouth. He smiled with a moments strain, but then it seemed to perfectly fuse with the other shards. "See Alizabal? Perfect, nothing a little transmutation cannot fix." the Shivarra was sitting outside a window overlooking Gilneas city, she seemed more concerned with tending her wounds then the strange sounds Darrethy could hear just outside.

He ignored the rapt knocking on the door as he reached for his eye and gently set it into place "Some men are born distinguished, raised in praise. But I was always the blight on the town, yet any snob from there would be sure to tell you that a halfman can be quite cruel." he chuckled once more, hands moving to reach for spell reagents inside the ornate drawers "Vionora will learn that the hard way, she thinks she can make me suffer?" the Shivarra arched a brow at the Warlocks chuckling, half thinking him mad "She could kill my wife, my men, and my world, it would make me angry yes...but it would not make me suffer. They would not want me to suffer, they would want me to press on, and it is easier to press through a loss you have already endured once. No, she will not get a single ounce of true suffering from me." he set his other eye in place, brushing aside his hair to make sure it was perfect and doing his best to ignore the blood seeping through the bricks "Beware, beware, little Herald. My power might no longer be great, but it is not my magic you should fear."

He flashed a wide grin into the mirror, pieces of Vionora's flesh still stuck in his teeth.

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The half elf brushed his blond hair away from his face, unafraid of who might see in the cover of darkness.

He smiled a little, overlooking Lordaeron as the fair moonlight illuminated the city streets below. Casually he reached for a glass of fine wine, sipping it lightly as he looked over to his wife...her face covered by a silver mask like all the revelers here tonight. It was a time for celebration among the families of Loraderon as the anniversary of the second wars end. His light blue eyes seemed to reflect that moon as he looked across at the other humans, he had only been allowed here because of his veterancy, but he was glad for the company all the same. He swirled the wine in his glass as he gazed at that moon once again, before the howl came.

"Must you interrupt my peace Accalia?" he said, his eyes turning to the shadowy worg standing just a building over "Ever since your dark magic wormed it's way into my heart, I cannot get any peace of mind." The Worg looked back at him, tilting it's head "I cannot help my nature, that this magic has found some part of you and not fault of mine." it replied almost dismissively in a voice not unlike Darrethy's own, as was the case with all other magic he introduced into his system, it had been assimilated into a part of his mind.

The half elf frowned, and snapped his fingers: As one, a dozen spears came into the hands of the assembled nobles. Each one stepped forward to gaze at the curiously staring Worg, tapping those same spears against the ground over and over until the sound was so loud that glass seemed to crack. In unison they stopped, staring at the creature one more.

With inhuman speed the spears twirled in their hands, and were tossed one after another into the air.

The Worgs eyes went wide as it just barely dodged out of the way, the spear smashing into the floor beside it with such force that the rooftop and wall both collapsed in spaces. It was small respite however as even more spears fell from the sky as one, smashing apart more stone and splintering apart Lordaeron's landscape as the Worg ran bouncing from house to house. One violently cut it and two before splintering a tree into a thousand pieces, but two Shadow Worgs formed from it's place "Accalia offers us so much power, surely if you were to simply stand aside and allow me to take control for just a momen-" the shadow Worgs amber eyes went wide as they caught a glimpse of the half elf running just behind them.

The sky turned darker still, and the moon went blood red like the blood red of his eyes, crimson spattered against his tunic from some unknown source as the half elf hopped behind it with an amazing degree of grace and agility "If you cannot even convince one of us, how will you convince all three?" his pupils were oversized and jet black, a boiling whirlpool of gore and dismembered limbs hiding just behind, the Worg barely had a split second to react as the moon above them both seemed to melt away, and endless pool of crimson liquid splattering against the rooftops and drowning the city streets in the horrific tide, the Lordaeron of the past had become the Lordaeron of the present.

The Worg fled the city gates, now split into two dozen pieces as the red half elf and dozens of guards came behind, chasing it into the woods "Accalia's power is nothing before me, there is nothing you could do to tempt me." he said as much to himself as it, as he stood on the stained city walls. He knew the Worg would come again, eventually.

He would chase it away then, too.

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