Chapter 12

Demon

As Jhomrotazz emerged from the cloud of smoke, the colors of the world flooded his senses. Just moments before, he had been locked away in a state of nothingness, surrounded only by the ever-powerful aura of his awareness. In the Twisting Nether, demons were the hosts, and dominated much of its presence. In a sense, the demons were the Twisting Nether itself, born from its many rivers of thought and insanity, given mental form via powerful emotions, and physical form via ritual and possession. Jhomrotazz was a bit of both.

Now, given a body in the corporeal world to personify his being, the demon would waste little time dallying with petty issues. He had been summoned for a purpose.

"King Anduin Wrynn, show yourself! Death is on your doorstep, and he is impatient," roared the demon, the terrible voice echoing across the circular chamber. Amidst the chaos, he saw many armored figures moving about, all wearing colors of their people and the emblem of their city emblazoned on their shield. None stood out to the demon.

"Down here, you lumbering bugger!"

Jhomrotazz chuckled inwardly. Whoever he was, the mortal had nerve.

He drew his gaze down, settling onto a figure dressed in white. Anger flowed freely from the man's flaring eyes, and teeth whiter than his clothes were barred openly at the demon. Jhomrotazz smiled wickedly.

"Such language is very unfitting for royalty," started the demon, eyeing the pair of maces clutched in the man's hands. "As is weaponry."

"Times change, foul demon. But, thankfully, some things don't."

The man placed a mace on his belt. Carefully, he pulled from a pouch on his waist a small, clear glass container. Sloshing about inside was a spotless liquid that glimmered even amid the dust and debris. Stefan placed it on the floor before him. The demon visibly withdrew, ever so slightly. All the while, the man's eyes never left the demon's evil countenance, which never changed throughout the show. But the demon's body language was enough.

"You know what this is, don't you?"

"Hah! What trickery is this?"

The man smashed the bottle apart with his maces, sending the shiny liquid cascading down the steps. With effort, the demon held his position, watching the liquid flow by. As it touched the demon's hooves, the water began to steam.

"Holy water, demon. No tricks," said the man. Now covered in the precious liquid, his maces shimmered in the light.

"You shall pay dearly for your mockery, human! I am Jhomrotazz, Doomsmith of the Burning Legion, and no mortal has crossed blades with me and lived," roared the demon, waving the brutal axe about. The Stormwind guards shrunk away from the wild swings.

"And I am Stefan Dreis, Jhomrotazz. I am a sword for hire, hailing from Booty Bay. And I will not allow you to touch the King of Stormwind, not while I still draw breath," replied the man.

"Then may your death be swift!"

The demon's axe came at Stefan impossibly fast. Thanks to his newly-shined boots, Stefan slipped in the water, falling hard on his rear but keeping his head upon his shoulders. The axe passed mere inches over his head, and was coming around for a second pass as Stefan was rising. He lurched sideways, rolling beneath the blow and coming to a standing position. The demon was charging him the next moment, axe raised above its horned head. Stefan backed away, gasping in surprise as his retreat was halted by the stone wall of the chamber. He turned to see the demon chop downward. He lunged away as best he could, feeling a shot of pain go up his arm as the axe was buried into the stone, knicking his forearm in the process. He staggered away, taking the demon's temporary distraction as a chance to catch his breath. The thing was nearly twice his height, and more than three times his width.

Nevertheless, Stefan had made a promise, and he hadn't stopped breathing yet. He watched the demon struggle to free the weapon, smiling in amusement. He was brought back to reality as, with a shriek of inhuman anguish, the demonic axe slowly inched out of its stone prison. The Human ran forward, maces raised. He came down upon the demon's thigh, raining blow after blow on a small patch of unprotected flesh. The demon roared in pain, but it could have easily been anger. Without warning it lashed out, driving a hoof into Stefan's chest. He was sent flying across the room, skittering to a halt amidst a pile of masonry. As he eased himself up, he felt a pain in his ribs. Most likely, several were broken. He looked up to see the demon wrestle the axe free of the wall, and turn toward him. Unbridled rage was seething from its eyes in the form of a red aura. Stefan averted his gaze, noticing a stream of black blood trickling down the demon's leg. Good, it wasn't invulnerable.

But the wound didn't slow the demon down one bit. It brought the axe up again, and this time it probably wouldn't miss. Stefan barely had time to bring his maces up in defense, and pray. The force of the blow brought Stefan to his knees. However, even underneath such strength, the maces did not shatter. Instead there was loud squealing as the axe met the wood, and the rest of the blow was ground to a halt. The holy water was doing its work, yet again. The demon brought its face close to Stefan's, growling menacingly. In response, Stefan spat a wad of saliva at it.

"Filthy bugger. That ought to clean the sh--"

The demon suddenly let up with his weapon, causing Stefan to fall forward. But the demon caught Stefan with a clawed hand and lifted him up and across the room. With a muffled thud he hit the wall, and slid down into a pile of shattered wood and crumpled stone, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Jhomrotazz turned to look about the room. A Stormwind guard stepped forward. He glared at the tiny man, and in response the guard withdrew to the safety of his comrades. The demon turned back to where Stefan had fallen, watching the dust settle. He rumbled toward the heap, scanning it for signs of life. Nothing stirred.

"Well Stefan...it is time we kept your promise."

"Stormwind makes no promises with demons, Jhomrotazz."

The demon turned to face the newcomer. The man was clad in shining armor. Clutched in his hands was a large, two-handed sword. Runes running along its blade gleamed in the dull light.

"Are you the real King?" questioned the demon sardonically.

"Afraid not. I am Highlord Bolvar Fordragon. If you want the King, you shall have to deal with me," replied the man. He crouched into a battle stance, sword raised.

"Fool! I shall tear the life from your bloody--Gah!" The demon was momentarily blinded as a pair of hands came down from above, grabbing for the demon's fiery eyes. Taken by suprise, the demon staggered backward.

"Still breathing," whispered Stefan into the demon's ear.

Jhomrotazz roared in reply. He tried to lift Stefan off of him, but the man held fast. Stefan dug his hands into the demon's brow, fastening his fingers into the demon's eye sockets. It cried out in anguish, bringing up both hands to tear Stefan apart, if it could not remove him.

"Bolvar!" shouted Stefan. He felt the demon grab his leg and arm, and slowly pull. Stefan cried in pain as his arm was broken by the demon's tremendous strength. Slowly, he felt his leg begin to give...

But then the demon's grip slackened. The thrashing ceased, and Stefan lay frozen on top of the demon's head. Time seemed to have stopped. The entire room had fallen silent, including the demon. Nothing moved, save for the dust settling around him. The silence screamed in his ears.

Am I dead? he thought.

But then someone moved. It was Bolvar Fordragon. The man was stepping away from the demon, but he didn't have his sword with him. Stefan looked down. Buried in the demon's chest, up to its hilt, was the blessed blade. From the wound, black blood had begun to trickle, then gush. Stefan sighed in relief.

He squealed in surprised when the demon's corpse finally came crashing down to the floor in a cloud of dust.