Chapter 16

Passion

No wind blowed in the Blasted Lands as he strode along the dirt path. It seemed so calm, and yet so unsettling at the same time. The red ridges loomed over him on either side, questioning, staring. In the distance, thunder boomed and lightning streaked down the sky. The flashes of light seemed so strange in such an alien place, one with so many elements combined that did not seem to match up correctly. It was as if the three dimensions were threatening to tear each other apart.

But Rok'Roham knew why the Blasted Lands was such a strange, troubled land. The Dark Portal had made it so. It was the reason why he had come.

He felt the lump in his robes, the spherical object he had been seeking for so long. Now, he finally had it. His masters would be pleased.

Find it, Rok'Roham, and the demons shall bow to you. You will command your very own regiment of Fel minions, and have a place at Kil'jaeden's side as a senior officer. Riches beyond your wildest dreams, and that which we know you crave most...

"Power," he muttered, chuckling under his breath.

It had not been hard to find the relic the Legion had sought for so long. Digging into the crypts was no easy task, but not nearly as diffcult as finding a way out of the given circumstances; his followers and ignorant believers were not beyond simple comprehension. Were they to lay eyes or ears upon the ancient Nerubian artifact, his plans would fall through. So he had to get rid of them. That had worked out nicely. He imagined them now, lifeless corpses on the desolate sands of Silithus. Perhaps they had taken some other wretches along with him. In the end, he had not lost a thing.

He climbed the last ridge, and looked down into a large crater. Past the bulwarks of the Horde and Alliance forces, the Dark Portal loomed. Guarded on either side by the statues of eternal guardians, the gateway was a large perfect cut of stone. The people below looked so small in comparison to the ancient portal, as did Rok'Roham. But the Eredar knew that in time, he would become far greater than any of those that stood before him now, eager to match blades with the Legion and its minions.

Little did they know that one of their most dangerous enemies was amongst them, and would cross over right under their noses. The irony exacted a rich laugh from Rok'Roham.

"Is something the matter, honorable Draenei?"

The voice surprised him. He had not taken notice that he was walking amongst the defenders already. An Orc had addressed him.

"Nay, Orc. I am just thrilled that after such a long, ardous journey, I have finally reached the Portal. I have been waiting for this moment for quite some time, to finally embrace my destiny."

The Orc nodded. "Fair enough. Good luck in the Outland, my friend."

Rok'Roham nodded silently, and continued on.

The fool, he thought.

Minutes passed as he continued on through the makeshift defenses, until he stepped onto the stone steps that led up toward the portal itself. The cold stone echoed loudly against his hooves, and to Rok'Roham, those echoes seemed to go on forever. They were the last echoes he would hear in the same light. Soon, he would be a demi-god, an indestructable force. Nothing would be the same.

He cherished each step that took him closer to the dark, shifting portal that swam about like water. He looked up toward the sinister faces of the stone guardians, remembering all of those he had left behind, those he had killed. He didn't regret a single one. They had all died for a cause. They had died for him to be here, ascending into godhood.

He could barely remember their many faces, their many voices. He only remembered that they were all dead now, and only he survived. Only he was strong enough.

"I have outlasted them all. I...Rok'Roham, Overlord of the Legion!" he dreamed aloud.

"That's pushing it, don't you think?"

The Eredar spun around, startled by the sudden intrusion. He was mildly surprised to find the Human there, legs apart, hands at his hips.

---

"Stefan Dreis," spoke the demon. "We meet again."

"Aye, once again," replied Stefan.

There was an edgy, tense silence that followed. The two stared at the other, their fiery gazes attempting to douse the other's.

"You're different, though," started Rok'Roham.

"How's that, demon?"

"There's something in your eyes, Stefan. Something I haven't seen before."

The Human took a moment to think about this, rubbing his chin with his right hand. "It's will."

"Will? For what?"

"Revenge," replied Stefan.

"Ah. You are still sore about the girl, I see. Lory, wasn't that her name?"

"Lorelein."

"Right," said Rok'Roham. He began to pace around, watching his feet make circles across the cold, gray stone. "Well if you are so thirsty for revenge, why not strike me down, here and now?"

Stefan raised his arms. "I have no weapons. You are a powerful mage, and I doubt I could take you, even with first strike."

"That I am, a powerful mage," replied Rok'Roham. "I am many things that you are not, Stefan. You never were as good as I, and never will be. I'm on the edge of godhood now. You cannot stop me. You made a good choice."

The Eredar gave paused, eyeing Stefan with obvious amusement.

"But you could not have come to such a conclusion just yet. If you knew you could not take me alone, why not send an army after me? Obviously, you knew where to find me."

"An army is not required to defeat a demon such as yourself, Rok'Roham," said Stefan.

The demon laughed loud and unhindered, enjoying how his voice echoed off the sides of the portal's bastion. "You think not? I am more powerful beyond your wildest dreams, Stefan! But, I shall humor your misguided soul, and play your pathetic little game."

Rok'Roham strode up to Stefan, nearly a full head taller. He looked down upon the man, his eyes flaring with rage and tempered wrath.

"Tell me then, little Stefan Dreis," whispered the Eredar, "what does it take to defeat a demon?"

Stefan paused. Rok'Roham could sense the fear just behind his passive expression.

"Passion. Something I've recently lost," replied the Human.

Then, he pointed past Rok'Roham.

"But she hasn't."

The demon turned to look at who Stefan meant. He recognized her after a moment. It was the Blood Elf that he had manipulated to lead his idiotic followers into Silithus.

"Ah, my noble lieutenant. Jorosa, was it not?"

"Gerita. Gerita Windsorrow."

"Ah! Yes, that's right," he replied hastily. "Did you fulfill my wishes? Do you come to join me in transcendence, my pupil?"

He tried as hard as he could to ignore the venom that leaked from her emerald eyes.

"No," she said, softly. "I have come to destroy you."

She was too fast. The demon tried to call forth a spell, but Gerita had already closed the gap between she and Rok'Roham. Just as fast, she had pulled out her long, elegant sword.

In a blur of motion, she rammed the weapon, up to its hilt, into Rok'Roham's stomach. The demon doubled over, letting forth a cry as pain forced his spell to falter. The tip of the blade poked through the back of the robes, startling Stefan. After a moment, the Eredar rose his head to look at Gerita, who held the blade tightly in place. Her eyes burned with fury, and as she stared back at the demon's own fiery gaze, he began to chuckle.

"Foolish girl. I'm sorry it has to end like this," he gasped.

Suddenly he stood erect, and threw a hand up to Gerita's chest. Muttering a word of power, a blast of fire erupted from his hand, sending the Blood Elf flying through the air on a trail of smoke. Then Rok'Roham turned to face Stefan, a mad look in his eyes. The Human was ready, and delivered a kick above the wound, sending the demon onto his back. Stefan stood over his, and grabbed the blade two handed. Then, he twisted. The Eredar screamed in pain as the blade tore apart his insides. Then with a wrench, Stefan tore the weapon free, erupting a black geyser from the demon's chest.

"As I said, Rok'Roham. It takes far less than an army to stop a filthy demon like you," said Stefan.

"Pah! You are nothing, Stefan Dreis! NOTHING!" spat Rok'Roham.

The demon began to mutter another incantation, its hands dancing about in strange patterns. A black glow began to form about his fingertips. Black flames danced about in the air, growing in size and speed.

Then Stefan slashed the sword across the demon's throat, severing his vocal chords. Rok'Roham gasped, his voice coming out as a flurry of gurgles and splutters as he attempted to stop the flow of blood with his hands. The shadow magics faded away.

Stefan stepped away from the dying Eredar, running over to the fallen figure of Gerita. Her chest was a smoking ruin. As he neared, she moaned, attempting to move. But she couldn't. He knelt down, lifting her head up so she could look upon him easier. Her eyes were tired. Her will was waning. But her passion burned on.

"Hold on, Gerita! We'll get a healer, alright? Just stay with--"

"Shh. Let me talk, you silly Human," she whispered softly. He obliged, pursing his lips.

"Stefan, I'm sorry. I should not have been so easily tricked. I was a fool to believe the demon. I should have seen him for what he really was."

"No, you couldn't have. He deceived you with magic. It's not your fault."

"But it is. That doesn't matter though, not now," she replied, her voice growing quieter. "But I want to thank you, for giving me the chance to make things right."

"You're welcome," he answered softly.

"Best wishes, Stefan. And...goodbye," she said, smiling weakly as she closed her eyes.

He let her head rest gently on the floor, then stood and walked away, past Rok'Roham's corpse, and down the cold, stone steps. He waited until he had reached the bottom before letting the first tear roll down his cheek.