“You’re not gonna die on me now, blue!”
The most amazing thing in all of her long, long life, was this. The one thing she hated most saved her life. The Light moves in mysterious ways.
“You’re not ordered to die, bitch!”
He pushed. Hand firm on her breasts, pushing, pushing, pounding with fists when the pushing wasn’t enough. Spit and saliva hung like tendons from his lower lip, allready half frozen in the cold, cold Icecrown wind. Undead everywhere around them. Screaming gryphons closing in. Talons. Dead meat raining down. Smoke in her eyes. Maraad screaming about securing the EZ.
“You little maggot, you’re no paladin, you’re a useless piece of fucking scum! I should let the maggots take care of you!”
“Come o-ooon, baby!”
“Please? Don’t die on me now. Please, oh Light! Hear this one prayer! Forgive me my trespasses and the misdeeds of my people! Save! This! ONE!!!”
“Come on! Don’t die on me now, draenei. Not after what we’ve been through.”
“you saved me, you did! So don’t you go and die on me now you c… Live, damnit!”
“Bitch, one breath! All I’m asking! One fucking breath!”
“She’s a goner, mate,” another voice, a human voice. A tired voice, used to seeing death. “Let her go, others need you.”
She heard them, but couldn’t move. The poison was running and burning in her veins, paralyzing her. Fragments of fleeting imagery through her brain; the fall of Karabor, her first kiss, the burden of guilt as they left Draenor, sex in Dalaran, a drunken brawl back to back with Ramash the Redeemed, the wall of death closing in … a darkness, as a fog, rolling down from the frozen Throne, blanketing her, blanketing them all. Even Fordring. The voice:
“You thought you could defeat me? You though you cought cheat me? Behold now, the eternity of you being!”
She couldn’t remember Then. From that moment of coming darkness to this moment of green fists pounding her chest, ripping her shirt open and showing her breasts to whoever was watching, everything was blank. not black, not white, not even grey. Just blank – an absolute nothingness.
At that moment, she knew there was no Light. She had fallen. Perhaps the Lich King had won, after all.
“Wait … “
This small, viscious voice. Harsh and hoarse as if spoken through a throat that had not used words for many, many years.
“Let me near … her.”
Slipping away into nothingness, she was barely aware of what happened. She heard a hoarse snicker. She heard someone mutter “monster”. She heard Ramash roar with rage – then slam both of his fist into her chest, screaming ancient orcish curses and prayers. But she wouldn’t live.
“Her soul … is still … here.”
“She’s still alive. Ah, yes, I can taste … her will. She’s clinging, like a spider to a wall. Aaww, how sweet.”
Those careful fingertips on her naked face, as the legs of a centipede.
“There’s still hope. But for what price?”
Those hands caressing her breast. That faint, gasping snicker through pursed lips, cracked with the thirst for what she was clinging to – life.
“Let me have … I mean let me save her … “
“You’ll own her, you will, I know your rituals, warlock!”
The first voice:
“Tell me, lord … What would you ask of death?”
“I should cut you down right now!”
“Oh, really? And who would save your precious kingslayer then, lord … Fordring?” A snicker, cold as deaths embrace, echoing as the voice of darkness. “This crying orc, infatuated with that wich he can never have? This draenei vindicator, lost in his own eternal pride? These … humans ..? They are scared of their own shadows after what they’ve been through! Who, I pray, would save her now, but someone who has cheated death? Perhaps we should call for a death knight, would you like that, lord … Fordring?”
“Then do what you must!”
So she did.