Illidari

I’m hyped for nerd things.
This is from World of Warcraft.


The green embers hissed as they flickered out of existence across her purple skin. The fel energy coursing through her body granted her security from the fires lashing about her, dripping from her spread wings like rain. Her bandaged chest strained as she lifted her arms, heavy glaives weighing her down and fresh scratches and sores wore at her weak flesh.

With eyeless sight she viewed the battlefield, the entire world bathed in green static snarling up as demons and Illidari warring on the barren steppe-lands. Turning her gaze to the skies she saw the swirling mist of demons falling upon them, their leathery wings spread and their talons bared.

Mortal flesh would not hold her back, the smouldering ruins of the Infernal snuffed out as she took flight. Her glaives slashing through meat and sinew of a beast too close to ground. Its twisted brethren fell to her blades in swift order, the air turned to claret around her.

A deep rumbling below drew her attention just long enough for the last of the pack to strike her down, their bodies twisting together in the descent – its talons digging into her shoulders as it forced her down. Her wings curled around them, her body braced but her feet pried her loose and she found the top of the pile. Her feet drove the demon’s skull into the ground, shattering it and the rock. She stumbled forward, her legs shaken and near snapped. She could feel the demon’s energy in the air, it turned the world… greener.
The deep rumbling struck again, this time she turned to look as a leviathan rose up on four legs. Its enormous bulk shaking the world with every step. It’s arms were blades, its tusks were as long the Illidari skewered upon them and it scythed down another with ease. She could feel her wings withering as the fel inside her faded away to lick her wounds. It put a spring in her step as she leapt up and sprinted towards the carnage of a Pit Lord finally in this battle.

It saw her, but she was not along, her brothers and sisters swarmed in on all sides, their blades slick with blood or burning with green fire. The great blades struck out, one launched at her, but she rolled to the side and darted up the blade. A brother was not so lucky, crushed beneath demonic steel. Its skin beneath her boots, it pulsed with energy – corrupt and alluring, it brought something dark out of her. Her horns surging forth from her skull, her wings budding again upon her back, spines and claws erupting from her skin. It was the hunger, the rumbling was her heart as she imagined taking down larger prey.

She leapt from the Pitlord’s hand and sprung towards its face. A bladed arm slashed for her and she slipped around it effortlessly. Her blades sank deep into its throat but it did not flinch, it made to bite at her and found her hand – her glaive still attached. Intense, blinding pain surged through her, the boiling gout of fel blood mixed with her own – her blades cutting through mouth and skull. The demon wavered, its legs giving out and she fell – one less hand and one less glaive.

Her one remaining blade would carve through the demons just as well but her body started to fade as her blood flowed from open wounds. How many had died today and she had only lost a hand, how many more would die before she would lose more? She felt the slain demon’s fel like a vapour cloying her mortal form, and she drank deep – her body sparking green flame, her hand reformed as flesh and bone. How many more demons would it take before they finished her? If she had her way, an entire Legion.

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