Spoilers and Surprises
[ Trigger Warnings. Massive Warning here. Violence, Gore, Mentions of S. Assault. Please bear in mind, some of the topics discussed were conceptualized a decade and a half ago in Ammaelins creation, and while they were background characters and NPCs that the issues represented were not actually played out. This is not a condonation of those topics, and if anything, it is a testament that bad/evil people will do whatever they can to destroy the integrity of their betters. Because of this, I'll be placing a Read More barrier right after this warning for those of you who prefer not to read harsher materials. As always, thank you all for the support and understanding. I hope you enjoy the piece. -Din ]
[ I do want to also warn that this is a much longer piece than I tend to post. So, if you do manage to make it to the end, my appreciation is doubly so. ]
It was working, this was working! Dinthoqaf's frame went sailing through the air and dust like a meteor into the cavern wall opposite the room, causing a wet crunch of meat, bone, and sinew to protest in ways bodies simply weren't meant to be treated and an eruption of blood spews out of his mouth down his front in protest. The Assailant of this heavy blow comes from the dust cloud from which it had launched the start of this operation, Ammaelin. "For all your Sanctums strengths, for all your posturing and peacocking, for all the warnings our father gave about you, I'm almost saddened brother, to find I didn't need that Font to actually return the favor's you've been so kind as to bestow upon me and our family name." Ammaelin's voice was a mix of victoriously confident and generationally smug. "Don'--" In a holy blur, Ammaelin was across the room, a hand coming to encompass all of Dinthoqaf's face, The Defiler's face, just to begin cracking his head on the stone wall, hit by hit. "No. No, you don't get the opportunity to talk. You're done this time brother and I'll be damned if you get the chance to spellcraft your work out of this!" The Paladin jerks The Defiler back, akin to a ragdoll held by an ungrateful child, just to slam him into the wall once more. The Defiler's skull makes an audible wet crackle as his cranium cracks from the repeated blows on the cavern wall. "It's a shame, really, that it came to this." Oh, the posturing! " Dinthoqaf was thrown to the side, set to roll across the stone floor before it comes to a slow rolling halt, only for him to begin coughing up blood in some effort to try to stand. "I was hoping you'd put up a much better fight than this, at least I'd feel less guilty if you made me work for this before I put you down for good and if it's any consolation, your wife won't be getting a body back this time to mourn your appearance and fall. I won't let them have an opportunity to bring you back this time. No temple, no corpse, and your ashen remains will be sealed away on holy ground, bound in lightforged iron just to keep your essence from every being found again." Dinthoqaf coughs, blood splatters sputters to the floor as he tries to bring himself to stand, only to receive a kick to the ribs, sending him up into the air to get hit into the floor in a one-two fashion. Ribs cracked. "I'll finally get to sleep peacefully knowing your sickened soul goes to the Shadowlands and The Maw." So certain that he was beyond redemption, even Revendreth would not take him; he was certain of it. Maybe the Goblin was wrong. Maybe this scenario was winnable; victory could be obtained, but it just didn't require armies and movements of greater forces to do the job. Ammaelin was winning this after all.
"You talk too much." Dinthoqaf mutters, his face bloodied and skin beginning to puff from the concussive blows delivered time after time in rapid succession that was finally catching up to the present as hands come to push him up onto his feet, teetering this way and that as his Light-bathed brother prepares the haft of his hammer to deliver another grand slam. "A trait we share from Father." A nail meant to be driven home as the black hammer swings, a stream of Light being left in its wake from the crystals on its backend that comes directly for Dinthoqaf's torso.
The hammer strikes with a holy fervor and the hit causes dust to stir and cloud. Immediately, Ammaelin knew the blow was off. No body went flying and he'd done this hundreds of times across numerous battlefields and with more enemy types than he could count. Bodies and people always tumbled or at the least, buckled; this was neither of those things and his hands could tell right off by the way the hit was absorbed. Dinthoqaf stands there, his brothers lesser in physique, to be sure, with the hammer having struck home in a picture-perfect drive to the sternum, one couldn't have asked for a more direct one than that.
"Perhaps, brother, but the similarities end there." Dinthoqaf's voice comes not through broken ribs, a fatally busted frame, not even a hint of struggle as flesh begins to mend before both of their eyes. Muscle starts to swell, and lines begin to become prominent along his neck, more akin to folds of flesh over some form of runic tattoo or magical attunement.
His shirt tears and rags fall about his waist as the elf begins to grow in size. No longer was the smaller man he'd seen on the fields and forest outside of the Sanctum of the Sun in their last fight. He was damn near Ammaelins height and his skin pulled tight as more lines, folds of flesh began to become prominent as muscle beneath grew rapidly.
What came next wasn't a look of horror on Ammaelins face, surprise, certainly, but not horror, and even that was rapidly succeeded by a boisterous laugh! "And here I was about to believe you were weaker than we all believed!"
That smug grin he should have had quickly disappears when Dinthoqaf's hand flexes and the metal head of the hammer cracks in a metallic ring. "Just so we're clear. You and that Goblin had the opportunity to leave things be. To leave me be. You did this... I hope you remember that." Dinthoqaf jerks the hammer's head back, causing Ammaelin to lose his balance. A quick surge forward and the haft-turned-spear jams into Ammaelin's chest and skewers through bone and flesh alike before it erupts out the back.
"Now that's the look I was hoping for when your first hit didn't do as intended." Dinthoqaf's voice reverberates from the cavern walls, not because of how loud his brother spoke, but because of how. Magic and posturing, of course, it was. Even now, so righteous in the sudden change in tempo. Ammaelin stood there, eyes wide in shock at the upheaval and surprise blow. Blood dribbles out of the wound from both ends, and his breath catches. A wet squealch comes after due to the weapon being pulled free and discarded to the floor, just to be followed by Ammaelin hitting the ground to kneel, a hand over his open chest. Dinthoqaf remains still, watching him as Light begins to manifest, to heal and mend bone, damaged organ, and flesh alike.
"You know. It's a shame really. I wanted to ask you to join me at some point after they all brought me back. Fa-- Krownos needs to be stopped, and I was hoping you'd see things as they were, but..." A book manifests into The Defiler's hand, just to be thrown to the ground in front of Ammaelin. His journal and a scattering of smaller drawings that were of his deceased wife and child. "...after reading this? I've come to realize maybe we're more alike than we thought. You really shouldn't write down secrets and intentions, after all. It's a good way of getting caught~." Ammaelin had known of Krownos' intended betrayal, or at least rather, he anticipated it, had plans in fact to shackle him with holy bindings and to drain him to add to the font on their estate to consolidate his power as The Bloodcrest Patriarch. Nothing but rumors and stained history to be rewritten by the victors was all he'd intend to leave behind.
"And you dared to call me power hungry." Tsk tsk tsk, noises creep up lightly, garnish on the moment. "I applaud your drive, though, it almost makes me wish I'd thought of it myself!" A boisterous laugh comes free as Dinthoqaf takes a couple of steps back from Ammaelin, letting his healing come to completion. Round two? Begin.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~ From elsewhere above, a set of red eyes watch the proceedings below. Megahes clings to a set of stalactites, a minor spell of camouflaging meant to keep him from being noticed or giving too much of a magical sniff away until it was his time. The two below begin their assault of blows, hits meant to shatter bones and destroy egos and personas. This fight he was watching was worse than any Gold-per-view fight he'd ever seen on the GMA (Goblin Martial Arts) broadcasts, and for once, he was glad he wasn't mixed up or involved in this. No, he had to stick to the plan, no matter what hit Ammaelin soaked. He had to bide his time, wait for the opening they knew was coming, and Ammaelin was right. Dinthoqaf wasn't going to go down easily, and just like they knew, he was going to let himself get beaten around to give that false sense of security. Years of fighting between them had taught them this. Experience was on their side, finally.
Blow for blow, the two went back and forth, and bit by bit, The Defiler's frame continued to grow in both size and strength with each hit he absorbed. At first, Megahes had sworn that it was a trick of the light, fatigue or distance maybe as he watches them but now Ammaelin was being dwarfed bit by bit and it was becoming obvious that he was trying to push an ever growing boulder up the mountain and soon, it was going to roll back over him.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
The brothers continue to exchange blow after blow, hit after hit, bone crunches and mends due to their respective powers that be but fatigue begins to show. Ammaelin turns and twists, avoiding a blow meant to take him off his feet just to duck him as a light-embued uppercut finds its home into Dinthoqaf's gut. A guffaw comes as his arms go slack for a brief moment, allowing for a follow-up haymaker The hit lands, causing its target to take a forceful twist and turn downwards. Cinematic in its execution, really.
The scene ended there, though, as Dinthoqaf's expanded frame comes back up in a rebuttal of its own just to be sidestepped. Eyes widen as Ammaelin realized a mistake made as he was quickly jerked off his feet and swung through the air like a flail, only to slam into the ground on the opposite side of where he'd once been standing of Dinthoqaf. His hair. Dinthoqaf had taken hold of that long red hair of his and used it against him. It was by some miracle that his neck hadn't snapped and killed him immediately due to the force of the blow. A moment of thanking someone, anyone, wouldn't come as an opportunity as that same hair was quickly wrapped about his neck like rope and then tightened as Dinthoqaf spun to straddle his brothers chest, pulling on the red strands to the point it started to bite and his face started to turn red with the threat of popping from the pressure.
"You gave it your all, brother. In that, you should feel no shame. You simply didn't know the deck was sta--..." "DIE YOU BASTARD!"
Like a sailing meteor of goblin flesh, Megahes came in from the stalactites. Fire magic and frost work in concert to propel him downwards as a massive Ice lance begins to form on his palm and runs up the entirety of his arm. Fire magic explodes out behind him, sending him down as if he were a rocket. This was the opening they planned on, Dinthoqaf's winning moment of postulating. Bone was cleaved and broken, and the sacrifice made in a monumental moment as it went through not just Dinthoqaf, but sank through his body, causing ice to puncture into the paladin below. Ammaelin's hand flies up, grabbing hold of Dinthoqaf as the ambush is executed. Holy Fire begins to explode from the paladin. Pin Dinthoqaf into place, force him between the two, deal extensive damage with a singular blow and in the shock, burn him to ash. This was their plan, a plan that they both knew and accepted as being their swan song, the possible end to everything they'd done in the hopes of closing this chapter. Dinthoqaf erupts with a wailing scream more akin to a roar as his body is caught between freezing on the back half and burning from below.
The Defiler's body begins to crumble into ash, and as it does, Holy Fire begins to burn away at Megahes himself. The Goblin's body fought, wanting to let go of the magic keeping him in place, but he refused it. All these years of being a husk of what he should have been, now at least he'd have peace from the pain, and with The Defiler gone, he knew that Naturasu would be safe, their kids, all of them, would be safe. He would at least be able to give them that if nothing else. His teeth bare and for a moment, a smile comes as the ice fades to fire, causing the remnants of Dinthoqaf to ash before he falls, hitting Ammaelin just to bounce and roll onto the floor and into water. Water, gross. Ashy-water, even worse. Megahes's breathing struggles, hitching as his heart slows. No amount of pills or alchemy was going to stop this now, and he'd look over to Ammaelin, seeing the once proud elf staring up at the ceiling. His eyes had lost their shine, and his mouth, slightly ajar, held some semblance of a smile. "You did it, pal..." Megahes breathes. "...ya cleaned up ya family name." Megahes eyes close, and another shorter breath comes in as relief settles in. If he wasn't dying, he'd probably weep, glad for the struggle to be over.
Except... death didn't come. Applause did, and a look of irritated horror began to take place instead. Ammaelin coughs and his hands shoot to his stomach where a massive icicle had once fucked his guts.
The cavern walls shimmer and fade and what came to pass was somewhere else entirely, somewhere between the Hinterlands and the Plaguelands, as the smell of sweet forest and fetid corpses tried to mingle. The two find the strength to roll themselves over, looking over and onward to find a desk sitting amid an open field. A violin floating nearby as no tune was played with a procrastinating bow.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
Dinthoqaf sits at the desk, the look of pride adorning his features like a cat who finally caught the canary. He lays the quill he'd been writing with down as he looks across the way at the two of them. "I've written a lot of stories, wrote in characters, wrote them out, left plot holes and hooks, and I must say, even writing the end of this makes my eyes a bit misty."
Confusion wouldn't even be the word to cover the look on both Elf and Goblin's faces.
"Right, right. I suppose when the fourth wall comes down, some explanations are due, aren't they?" Dinthoqaf moves from his seat and starts to approach the two. "We'll have to go back quite a ways."
Dinthoqaf offers, keeping some distance between them now as illusions start to build. The scenario that comes into play was one Ammaelin could never forget, a mark of horrible shame on his past. Two women, known to have used their bodies and fathers position to try to garner favor in the ranks. His position of promotion amongst the Blood Knights taken by them, the undeserving and in a fit of rage, he'd stripped them bare and threw them to the recruits. He let them have their way with them time and time again and for it, it he had been ejected from the Order, and for good reason. A mark of shame, surely, as it was something he'd never even considered and still couldn't fathom why he'd done it. How could he have stooped so low?
"A shame really, but if its any consolation, while you did what you did, it wasn't entirely your fault... I mean, look what they did to you? Embarassed you, took all those hard years of work and threw it away... almost as if... someone planned it, really." The illusion splashes and falls to the soil as wet, black ink before it reshuffles and creates not just one goblin, but three.
Megahes' parents and Sister, and these split so there was a copy of both. "And you, oh my dear boy." Dinthoqaf's voice, insincere in its condolences. "On one hand, you killed your parents, your sister, for the slavery they basically shackled you to when they discovered your magical abilities and if it wasn't for one bad spark blowing up your home and sending you into the sea to get picked up by that fishing boat, you never would have made it to Orgrimmar, would you..." One of the families shimmers and suddenly shows up dead, frozen with multiple stab wounds, with the wreckage of a home burning. "Or... was it you came from a loving home and a sister that cared? Family survived the volcano's eruption in Kezan just to move to Northrend..."
"I'll admit, I had a tough time deciding your origin story, but, I think I liked the slavery and murder more myself, it gives off that pang of survivor's guilt and connection..." "Tha fuck are you talking about?!" Megahes interrupts. "Oh, right. I'm leaving out important details." Dinthoqaf was quicker on his feet this time, moving to put a knee into the goblin's back just to pull him up by his hair. "You exist because I wrote you into existence..." His whisper was one in Mega's right ear so it'd be loud enough that Ammaelin would hear it too.
The explosion that rocked the century.
Megahes' mind blanks out, unable to comprehend what he meant, his lips move, but nothing comes out. What the hell did he mean?!
"Your life exists purely because I wrote it into being. Your successes, your failures..." Dinthoqaf turns, a wicked smile forming on his face as he catches eyes with Ammaelin. "I couldn't rewrite things I was not present for, obviously. I'm no Bronze Dragon, but, I do do what I can with the materials I have on hand..."
"Did you never think to wonder why no one came looking for answers? Either of you? No guards, no investigation, no crimes to be reported. It wasn't my best work, obviously, I was just starting out... Didn't either of you find it odd that the people you affected, how so many of them have simply... disappeared entirely as if they were written out? Forgotten like characters left behind between one novel and the next in a series. No records beyond the memory, the story, to torment you with, to encourage or inspire?" "Then why go through all of this?! Why not just write it how you want it?!" Ammaelin shouts, screams really, his voice crackling with the force of it all.
"Because then, where's the character growth? The tension, the heart-pounding suspense of turning the next page? Come now, you act like you've never read a book in your life."
"But what about your people?! The pain you've caused them? All those servants you massacred to attack our forces, to destroy his business? What of them?!"
"You meant my Nameless? Again, you seem to fail to realize the point. They exist because I have written them in! Many of them real people, real lives, sure. But what does a writer do when they need story and plot to move along and the current cast fails to provide? They write someone else in, even if it's just for a moment and their pain? Character growth. No, they may not understand it -now-, but later? Whether their stories take them elsewhere or not, they'll be all the better for it."
And there it was... Dinthoqaf's desire for Godhood, his push, it wasn't some fanciful dream that'd never occur. What he was doing now was pulling the strings of fate for so many people, whether they knew it or not, and to what degree? What he was just introducing them to a new plot like ink to a well, or was he orchestrating every detail down to the most minute.
"Don't get me wrong. I'm not controlling them, not really. I introduce the possibility of a new character to join our saga, and they... How do authors like to put it? Their character is a person of their own will and desires. I merely write into existence challenges for them, to allow them to grow. Sometimes I'm more involved, sometimes I just introduce the possibility of growth, and like any author, I let them handle the situation that they'd prefer. An author can't always hamfist someone into something, it removes the credibility..."
Dinthoqaf moves to stand so he can move back to his desk, turning to lean against its edge as his arms cross before his chest. Ammaelin and Mega's wounds begin to mend rapidly as the ink from the stories begins to move to their bodies. Horror and an attempt to comprehend what they were both being told. Megahes speaks up first.
"And our war? Our fighting. What was it all for?!"
"Entertainment value. I wanted to see just what sort of character I'd created when he was left to his own devices... I like to think our squabble was akin to an off-page endeavor held between two books left to be explained later in some quick summary at the beginning of the next. Of course, I didn't anticipate you doing as well as you did, so it was a bitter-sweet surprise to find the character rebelling so well against the author to the point the book ended with me being buried. Thankfully, Zalilirah and Nezzok are a tenacious set, and they made sure to bring me back... I didn't even have to write that in either!" Dinthoqaf begins to laugh at that truth. "Krownos is a mistake I aim to rectify and unfortunately, that problem started before I became... whatever it is I am now. A god? Small 'g', mind. No, maybe not quite that yet, still more work to do."
Ammaelin rushed forward, a light-embued fist ready to strike his brother down, only for a hand to come up as if it were instructing him to wait. "So impatient." Dinthoqaf gestures towards the goblin, his once withered and wrecked body was beginning to fully heal. Wounds that handicapped him, forced his retirement, disappeared. Bones mended, organs were regrowing, and for the first time in years, he was able to take a deep breath without it feeling like sandpaper in his chest.
"This is the end of the story between us..." Dinthoqaf lifts his hands and turns Ammaelin around similar to a model toy on a spinning pedestal, to look from where he had once came. His fallen wife and child, "They were real, by the way. The scourge did take them, and what you did to them after was just as true. This is something I can fix." While the ink worked upon the ground, bodies were reformed, and while neither became conscious, Ammaelin's breath hitched. Was he...
"Leave me be to deal with our father, relinquish The Bloodcrest Name to me, and you can go back home to The Black Forest or wherever the hell you choose to live out the lives you should have had. They'll awaken in Silvermoon under the impression that you've just been off fighting in the wars and squabbles, understanding, but yours to build a life with again and you..."
Dinthoqaf looks to the Goblin once again. "What I have gained in knowledge with all of this is reward enough to offer your life back. To heal your body so you can be with your wife as you were supposed to be, as the erotic romance it was meant to be."
The two of them look at one another and then back at Dinthoqaf. Anger was there, frustration too, manipulated beyond even normal means, what were they to do, and how much of it was scripted?
"Can we have time to think about it?"
'That's the beauty of it all... Yes, yes, you can. Three days. If you come back here, then we start a new, far less forgiving story... if you don't, then I'll take that as any good author and know when to let a character move 'off screen', so to speak and before either of you worry, I won't tamper or influence anything. You are both real, despite my work."
"And we can trust that, how?"
"You can't, but if I were going to write the story here, how I wanted to anyway, why would I offer the option?" A fair point, one might suppose."
The three stand still for a moment. Time freezes as one waits for the decision of the other two. No grand clash, no fight to the death, no shouting match as two of them had had their minds completely and utterly blown to the realization that everything that had occurred to them in the past two decades plus might have been fabricated by a single man with a god-damned pen.
