Warcraft 1. Chapter 1

Tirisfal Glades. Once a shining testament to the tenacity and ingenuity of humankind, now wasted and nearly uninhabitable. It lay shrouded in a perpetual gloom, as though the sun itself turned its face away from the stain on humanity's history. The chill mist brought comfort to a lone rider, sitting astride a skeletal horse. Tirisfal Glades is as it should be. The undead should not reside in cheerful, sun-touched places.

The horse and rider wound their way along the dirt path toward Deathknell, the birthplace of all new Forsaken. The rider sat straight-backed in the saddle, her lank blonde hair nearly reaching the small of her back. Black, spiked metal armor covered her from chest to feet, and a similarly styled shield was affixed within easy reach on her back. Dried blood and bits of flesh still clung to the spikes of her shield and armor. She didn't need a conventional weapon: her body was her weapon. At the time her human life ended, her right arm had been savagely ripped off. Rather than settle for the unremarkable life of a tradeswoman, she trained as a warrior, and adapted those teachings to suit her needs.

The only extravagance she allowed herself in undeath was regular upkeep of her skin, to prevent it from flaking away at the joints like most of her brethren allowed. If not for her dimly glowing eyes and the pallor of her skin, she might be mistaken a living, breathing human.

Ahead, the tiny village of Deathknell loomed out of the mist. As she drew closer, the breathy moaning of the mindless failures reached her ears. Undead who were too decayed, injured, or simply too overwhelmed to be successfully brought into their new life roamed the streets. One approached her and clumsily clutched at her leg, staring sightlessly ahead. She sneered and lashed out with her foot, smiling with satisfaction as the skull crumbled beneath her heavy plate boot. The zombie tumbled backward, its legs still jerking about as though it was walking.

The horse and rider passed a rough wooden barricade, and halted beside a forsaken in a simple brown robe. "Hello, Father. I trust you received my message?"

"Yes, Cynthia. You showed up just in time. The others are impatient to begin, but I know how you like to look over them before they wake," Father Hastings said as he fell into stride alongside the horse and rider. "If I may suggest, can you try and keep this one a bit... safer? You go through squires so quickly, and creating new forsaken isn't easy, no matter how the val'kyr make it seem."

"I can't be held responsible for the failings of others. If they aren't smart enough to remove themselves from the line of fire they are of no use to me. And don't call me by that name, its just Hackett now, you know that."

The priest smiled slightly as they continued walking, "As you wish."

The duo approached the reanimation site. A large, shallow, mass grave marked the area of rebirth. Human corpses were being tossed in unceremoniously by forsaken attendants. Above, a spectral, winged woman kept a silent vigil. She was a val'kyr, and her necromantic powers would soon breathe new life into the cold limbs of the bodies below her. Around the grave, several forsaken stood by, waiting for the event to begin.

"Why are there so many people here?" Hackett asked as she dismounted.

"I've been doing a bit of research, and I've found that the rate of assimilation into our fold is increased threefold when the newly-risen are given plenty of one-on-one guidance. I surmise that even brief mentoring and companionship calms the mind down. When the realization of what they have become hits them, they can absorb it easier."

"I call it coddling, but if you feel it helps, by all means," replied Hackett as she surveyed the corpses. Weak, they all looked weak. None appealed to her. Wives in simple dresses. Men in robes marking them as wielders of magic. She needed strength. Her squires were pushed to the limit: repairing armor, carrying her supplies, tending to her every need, and putting up with a constant barrage of insults and blows. This lot would never do. She frowned, stepped away from the grave, and walked toward her warhorse. She would have to come back another day.

A slight trembling of the ground caused her to halt her stride. She knew what it meant, and gazed expectantly to the east. The rhythmic quaking became stronger, and soon a monstrous shaped surged from the mist. A cart pulled by a giant, gnarled humanoid soon stopped by the grave. At the urging of its forsaken taskmaster, the ettin lifted the cart and dumped its contents into the grave. A jumbled mess of nearly a dozen sodden human corpses fell out of the cart, landing on the grass with a sickening splat.

The driver of the cart chuckled as he watched the bodies tumble to the ground. "Refugees trying to flee Fenris Isle," he said, answering everyone's unspoken question. "We caught them last night out on the lake, sank their boat with the cannon, then picked them off with muskets as they tried to swim for shore. Most fun I've had in quite a while."

Hackett watched the bodies settle into the grave, hoping a suitable squire would be found. She didn't want to have to make a second trip. Tirisfal was lovely, but she belonged on a battlefield. She circled the pile of corpses, and froze. The upper body of a young man was visible, his lower half obscured by the corpses that landed on top of him. If she had been prone to retain actions from her life, she might have gasped in shock. She swiftly walked to his side and knelt beside him.

A portion of his long black hair was plastered across his forehead by the lake water, and Hackett gently brushed it aside, gazing intently at the boy's anguished face. So much like... he would be about this age, too. The boy's eyes were wide open in an expression of horror. His teeth were gritted together, probably from the pain of the wound on his face. A large portion of his skin, from above his left eye down to the left side of his neck, was in tatters, showing the muscle beneath. Hackett couldn't determine the cause of the wound just yet. A portion of his chest was blown outward as well, certainly an exit wound from a bullet to his back. Small amounts of pink froth around his nose and mouth told Hackett his main cause of death was most likely drowning. If he hadn't been in the water, he would certainly have bled to death. She turned his head slightly, water and blood dribbled out of his mouth.

Father Hastings watched Hackett with an expression of amusement. "A friend of yours?" he asked.

Hackett immediately regained her composure and stood, fixing the priest with a withering stare, "Of course not, I've never seen that boy before. I'm simply excited. Look at his hands: calloused, black stains, he's a blacksmith for certain. An apprentice at least, he looks too young to be a full fledged smith."

"If I remember correctly," Father Hastings began carefully, "You had sons. The youngest would be... sixteen now? This boy seems about that age-"

"This conversation is delaying what we all came here for, let's get on with it!" Hackett interrupted, grabbing the collar of the youth's jacket and pulling him from under the other bodies. She dropped him a short distance from the other corpses and walked to stand next to Father Hastings. She kept her eye on the boy as the val'kyr flew into position. He was dressed in dark blue riding pants, a white linen shirt, and a calf-length coat the same shade as his pants. Knee-high brown leather boots covered his feet. Quite a fancy outfit for an apprentice blacksmith, but she would be able to ask him about it once he awoke.

The val'kyr paused briefly over the mound of bodies, then let loose jagged bolts of necromantic energy. The bolts pierced the rigid corpses, their bodies jerked in response. This went on for several seconds, then the val'kyr abruptly stopped. She slowly and silently flew to a position near the grave, her task complete.

The glade was deathly silent for a few long moments, then groan issued from the grave, and another. A whisper of cloth dragging against cloth also became audible as stiff limbs began to move yet again. Hackett smiled grimly.

It was time to meet her new squire.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Previous Day:_

"Matthias! Matthias!"

The girl's voice rang like a bell through the cacophony of hissing and clanking in the squat building that housed the blacksmith. In the corner a young man hastily propped his hammer against an anvil and turned to greet her. His tall, lanky frame looked somewhat out of place among the other muscled occupants of the forge, but he felt it his duty to help in any way he could. As he had no trade of his own, that meant apprenticing for the small island town's blacksmith. Fenris Isle was under a grim siege, and they had taken him in even though they barely had enough supplies to feed and clothe their own.

Matthias crossed to the doorway and pulled the girl into his arms, burying his face in her shining raven hair. She pushed him away. He looked down at her, an expression of puzzlement on his face. It soon turned to concern as he noticed for the first time the tears shining in her eyes. She worriedly glanced around his body at the other workers, then pulled Matthias out of the threshold and to the side of the building.

"What's the matter, Olivia?" he asked, brushing a tear from her cheek with his thumb. It pained him to see her so upset. Olivia was the one shining spot of hope in his life since the forsaken had invaded his home of Hillsbrad. She was Gilnean herself, Matthias still wasn't certain how she made it to Fenris Isle still human. She wouldn't speak of it. They met weeks ago, when Matthias and a few other Hillsbrad holdouts fled their overrun village. He had been instantly smitten with the willowy girl. A delicate flower blooming in the dread chaos of Silverpine Forest. Simply her presence gave him hope that they might survive this nightmare.

"Oh Matthias... the Elders..." Olivia began, tears rolling down her cheeks, "They met with that beast, Crowley. They agree with him! We are all to become those... those... monsters!" As she spoke, she became increasingly upset, her last words nearly lost in sobs. Matthias was speechless. He pulled her close and she wrapped her arms around him, her crying muffled by his shirt. He couldn't do anything for her but stroke her hair and mutter small words of comfort. He didn't like the decision any more than she did. But drinking the tainted blood and becoming a worgen was the only safeguard against becoming one of those undead abominations.

Even so, the thought of Olivia with her smooth pale skin covered in coarse black fur; her wispy frame changed into a hulking behemoth; her voice, so light and airy, replaced with a feral snarl, made his stomach turn. He crushed her to his chest, laying his cheek on her soft curls. He wished with every fiber of his being that he could take her pain away, but he was powerless to stop the wheels of the forsaken war machine. And until the undead were wiped off the face of Azeroth, there would be no peace.

"Olivia, I hate the idea as much as you," Matthias whispered, "But you and I both know the undead are going to mount an attack soon. They keep sending scouts and those flying scourge women, picking us off one by one. They're spreading like a plague out of Tirisfal and the only way to live is-"

"NO! I'll never be one of those monsters! They killed my entire family! And so many others... I don't care what the Elders say!" she all but yelled at him. Olivia pushed away from Matthias slightly, resting her hands on his chest. She lowered her voice to a pleading whisper stared straight into his eyes, "There are others who feel the same. They're planning on escaping tonight and heading for the Dalaran magi, or maybe Refuge Pointe. They have a boat ready with supplies, and they'll take us! Come with me Matthias. Don't drink the blood. Don't become one of them!"

"Olivia that's..." he began. He was going to say suicide, but he could tell by the set of her jaw that there was no dissuading her from fleeing the island - with or without him. How could he stay? How could he drink the worgen's blood and secure his immediate survival, and never know if she survived. More importantly, how could he become a worgen and become the object of Olivia's hate? The thought of Olivia gazing at him, her eyes full of rage and hatred, hit him like a physical blow. "Of course I'll come. I'll always protect you, Olivia," he said, running a hand down her cheek and along her chin.

She smiled and threw her arms around his neck. He smiled as well, and kissed her softly on the cheek. "How long until we leave?" he whispered.

"An hour after sunset. At the southern tip of the island," she replied.

And so, an hour after sunset, Matthias found himself sneaking down to the southern shore. At Olivia's insistence he wore his best clothes. "People are more likely to harbor those who are well-off rather than beggars," she had said. Matthias hoped in these dire times humans would assist even the most foul beggar, if it meant the difference between life and undeath, but did as Olivia bid.

As he neared the shore, he saw Olivia. She was holding a lantern and dressed in a splendid ankle-length dress of pale yellow. In the gloom her skin appeared nearly luminous. She was anxious and motioned for him to hurry. He couldn't resist taking a moment to lean in and kiss her softly. He inhaled her faint floral fragrance. Maybe Olivia didn't realize the danger of the trip they were about to embark on, but Matthias certainly did, and he needed a moment to simply revel in life.

Too quickly, Olivia pushed him away and stepped into the boat. A quick count showed ten other people already aboard. Every face was set into a grim scowl, except Olivia. Her eyes were alight with hope. Matthias stepped into the boat and sat next to her. He wrapped one arm around her shoulder and squeezed slightly. She looked up at him, smiled, and leaned her head against his chest. One of the other men doused the lantern and kicked off from the shore.

Four men manned the oars, carefully slipping them in and out of the water. They all knew silence was imperative. Forsaken infested the shores to the west. If they made any noise or lit a lantern, the undead would be instantly alerted. As they coursed through the water, Matthias lost track of time. How long had they been rowing? Fifteen minutes? Thirty? An hour? Where was the damned shore? Were these fools rowing in circles?

Matthias fidgeted in the boat and looked out onto the water. The distorted, white reflection of the moon was quivering on the rippling surface of the lake not far from their boat. Matthias frowned. Why did that seem odd? The reflection moved toward the boat. Matthias tensed. What was going on?

The answer hit Matthias like a bolt of lightning. He jerked his head up, looking into the sky. A brightly glowing, winged being was descending towards the lake. Flying directly for their boat.

"Undead!" Matthias shouted, pointing toward the woman. Shouts of fear rose from the other occupants of the boat. Several men pulled out muskets and aimed for the winged scourge. She swooped low and hovered above their boat, letting out a piercing scream. The scream chilled Matthias to his soul, freezing his muscles with fright. Beside him, Olivia let out her own scream of pure panic.

From the shore, Matthias and the others heard another sound that seemed to seal their fate.

"FIRE!" screamed a harsh voice. A moment later the blast of a cannon and the whistle of a cannonball rent the night air. The wooden boat was violently smashed in two as the cannonball ripped through it. Some inside were slain instantly, the others were violently tossed into the lake. Matthias plunged downward into the freezing water. He was completely disoriented and flailed about uselessly. Eventually his head broke the surface, and he gulped the air greedily.

"Olivia! Olivia!" he screamed, twisting around in the water trying to catch sight of her. He saw the val'kyr flying lazily in circles above him. He didn't have time to try and puzzle out why she wasn't attacking. Around him, other survivors were surfacing. Some coughing and sputtering as Matthias was, others floating limply.

"Matthias!" came a weak call from his left. Matthias turned, and saw Olivia clinging to a plank of wood from the shattered boat several yards away from him. She was soaked and terrified, but appeared unharmed. Matthias started swimming to her, but a dark shaped loomed up between them, blocking his view. He glanced upward, and saw it was a wooden boat full of undead raiders. The leader stood on the prow of the boat. His pale flesh was barely clinging to his bleached bones, and he held a mace studded with hundreds of small shards of jagged metal. He leaned over the side of the boat opposite Matthias. To Matthias' horror, the undead plucked Olivia out of the water by her arm, cackling.

"What a pretty one this is! I think I'll keep her for myself," the others in the boat laughed with him as Olivia dangled in his grasp, tears rolling down her face. Matthias grasped the side of the forsaken boat and hauled himself halfway into it, clutching for the undead that had Olivia. His weight caused the boat to tip wildly, and the leader was forced to drop Olivia into the water to keep his balance.

"Swim away, Olivia! Go, GO!" Matthias screamed as he grappled with the undead, clutching at his arms, preventing him from wielding his weapon. He heard small splashes, and hoped it was Olivia swimming back toward the island. Matthias braced his feet against the side of the boat and gave a mighty heave, pulling the undead into the water with him. In his heart he knew it was a useless battle, but he had to give Olivia as much time as possible to swim to shore. In the water, Matthias clung to the undead like a limpet, refusing to give in. One of the forsaken in the boat raised an oar, and brought it crashing down on the back of Matthias' head.

He went limp, and the undead in the water was able to kick him off. The forsaken leader swam back to the boat, and the others hauled him back in. In the water, Matthias roused himself, he needed to give her more time! He once again swam for the forsaken boat, but this time the leader was ready for him. He swung his studded mace, connecting solidly with the left side of Matthias' jaw. The ragged metal weapon scraped upward along his face, ripping his skin to pieces.

Matthias screamed in pain and let go of the boat. He dropped into the water and began to swim away, opposite the direction Olivia went.

"Oh no you don't," growled the forsaken leader. He grabbed a musket, aimed at Matthias' retreating form, and pulled the trigger.

In the water, fueled by adrenaline, Matthias swam on. He heard the blast, but felt nothing. The undead fool missed! Matthias continued on, listening for another gunshot, but none came. They had given up! He might even make the opposite shore! However, swimming was becoming harder and harder. He couldn't breathe, and his limbs felt like lead weights. He must have too much water in his lungs. He halted to rest. He coughed, and was surprised to see a bright red glob of blood hit the water.

"_What...?" _his mind sluggishly tried to piece together what the blood meant. In the illumination of the val'kyr, he saw the water in front of him grow redder. He slipped beneath the surface, unable to tread water any longer. He looked upward toward the val'kyr's light, bubbles of air flowing from his nose and mouth.

"_At least you escaped, Olivia. I love you, Olivia... Olivia..."_


	3. Chapter 3

_In Deathknell_

The first sensation Matthias experienced was wetness. He was on his back with his eyes closed. A chill wind blew across his face, yet for some reason he didn't feel cold. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt like lead weights. He tried to move his arms, but his entire body was horribly stiff. He was dimly aware of people moving around him, but he was too focused on these strange sensations to give them much thought.

Something prodded him roughly in the side. He groaned, but all that came out was a gurgle. A gurgle? He tried to say something, but more gurgling noises escaped his throat. He vaguely registered a bit of harsh laughter before he was hoisted by a foot into the air. A torrent of foul-tasting water gushed from his innards and out his mouth. Once the fluid slowed to a thick trickle he was dropped to the ground once more.

What on Azeroth had happened? Where was he and why did he feel so strange? The last thing Matthias remembered was Olivia... and swimming...

The memories of his doomed trip across the lake struck Matthias like a bolt of lightning. Olivia! Where was she? It took what felt like a colossal effort but Matthias finally opened his eyes. He was on his back, looking up at the gray sky. He tried to move his neck but for the moment that ability eluded him.

"Well, well, took your time," spoke a harsh sounding female to his right.

"Some take longer than others, you have to admit his body has endured a great deal of trauma in the past day. Give him time," replied a kinder male voice.

Had he been rescued? He thought he remembered sinking, but perhaps he had floated back to Fenris Isle. His body had been through trauma? Of course! That damned forsaken had whacked him on the side of the face with that mace. Odd... that wound didn't hurt at all. But if he had been rescued then certainly Olivia had been rescued as well. He had to find her immediately. He summoned his strength and twisted his neck to the right. The sight that he beheld was straight from his deepest nightmares.

Two forsaken, one male and one female, stood next to him. Behind them stood many more. Some were dripping wet like he was. He recognized several faces from the ill-fated voyage across the lake. The woman in armor moved toward him and a deep-rooted terror finally breathed life into his cold limbs. He scrambled backward slightly, slipping in the damp grass before stopping, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Stay away!" he croaked as she stepped nearer. The woman ignored him and crouched down, grabbing him by his collar. Now that she was close he noticed she was missing an arm. He stared at the empty place where her right arm should have been, oddly curious as to how she lost it. The woman shook him to regain his attention.

"What is your name?" she asked in the same harsh tones she had used earlier.

Matthias's mind whirled, too much was happening at once. He tried to answer her, but couldn't yet dredge his name from under the vast amount of terrifying information his brain was trying to collect and store. He looked at her with a blank and frightened stare. The owner of the kindly voice stepped up, placing a restraining hand on the woman.

"You're scaring him to death," he said, chuckling at his choice of words, "Let it sink in before you interrogate him." The undead man knelt down beside Matthias and said with a kind expression, "I am Father Hastings, and this is Cynthia Hackett. We won't harm you, we want to help."

Matthias looked from one face to the other. Both were a dull, deathly white with glowing yellow eyes. The faces of death, the last faces many of his friends and family had seen. He shut his eyes and turned away, unable to produce a better defense.

Hackett let out an impatient sigh and stood. "What an annoying little coward. If he doesn't pull himself together I'm kicking his head in and coming back another day."

Father Hastings gave Hackett a look of disapproval and turned back to Matthias. "I know its overwhelming, but you'll adjust. We all do, it just takes some longer than others," he said, patted Matthias reassuringly on the shoulder.

His words were meant to comfort, but they had the opposite effect on Matthias. "We?" "Adjust?" Matthias's eyes flew open again and he fixed Father Hastings with a horrified and pleading expression, shaking his head from side to side. Hackett knew exactly what was on his mind and cackled, prodding Father Hastings with a bony finger.

"Show him, Father. I know you have the mirror."

Father Hastings pursed his pale lips, unsure if Matthias was quite ready for this. He decided the boy may be ready for the mirror if he could answer a question. He called upon his shadow arts to calm the boy's troubled mind as much as possible while he spoke, "Young man, calm down. Please, tell me your name."

Matthias shook his head, unwilling to answer the man's question. But he was curious himself... what WAS his name? His head started to clear a bit as the calming shadow penetrated his mind. He tried to find the appropriate name. Roger was his father, Elise was his mother, Olivia was his love and he was...

"Matthias... Moore?" he said, looking at the undead man for confirmation. Father Hastings smiled and patted Matthias on the shoulder, relieved the boy's memory was returning. Behind the Father, Hackett smirked. Leave it to Father Hastings to try and find ties where there were none. The boy may resemble her son, but that wasn't the reason she had chosen him. Well, it most likely wasn't anyway.

Father Hastings reached into his robe and pulled out a round hand mirror, careful to keep the reflective side facing away from Matthias. "Now Matthias, I want you to know you are among friends. We all know what you are feeling, we've gone through it ourselves. I need to you remain calm and look at this," he said as he held up the mirror for Matthias to see. Matthias froze at the sight of his reflection. His skin was a bloodless white, one half of his face was tattered and torn, showing the muscle underneath. But most horrifying were his eyes. Yesterday they were brown. Today they glowed a dull yellow.

Matthias gave a strangled cry and knocked the mirror away. From her position a few feet away, Hackett lost her patience. She marched up to Matthias and dragged him to his feet by his collar. "You're dead! Get that through your rotten brain! You died and we brought you back to serve the Dark Lady! Did you think you'd actually survive that?" she said, sticking her fingers into the large exit wound in his chest.

Matthias looked down in horror and batted her hand away, noticing the gaping hole in his chest for the first time. He covered it with a hand as if exposing it were indecent. He took a step backward, stumbling slightly as he tried to get his limbs to work properly again. He clutched his abdomen. Something wasn't right, he felt heavy.

"What's inside me? There's something... It wasn't there before..." he asked, looking slightly panicky.

"You've always had them, they're your organs. You don't need them anymore. Don't worry, they'll dry up or fall out soon enough," Father Hastings said with a kind smile.

Matthias thought he might pass out. Could he even pass out anymore? He looked from Hackett to Father Hastings, despair welling up inside him as their words hit home. He was dead. He was dead. He was dead yet here he was, standing and having a conversation with two other corpses about how his organs would soon fall out and not bother him any more. He had barely lived and he was already dead. He had wanted to learn a trade, get married and raise beautiful children with-

"Olivia!" he yelled suddenly, startling both Father Hastings and Hackett. "Olivia... she escaped! Right? You didn't get her, did you! She had to have escaped, I fought with that damned corpse for so long..."

"Damned corpse?" repeated Hackett with a sneer, "Well, everyone you were brought in with is still here, lets see if we can find your precious Olivia." She grabbed Matthias firmly by the shoulder and marched him toward the other sodden "survivors" of last night's escape attempt.

Matthias was tense, if Olivia was here he wasn't certain what he would do. Then again if she WAS here he could be with her again... NO! Never! She needed to live! What he wanted didn't matter anymore, he was an abomination. Hackett gestured to the others with a smirk on her face, waiting for Matthias to locate Olivia. Matthias looked over the group slowly and carefully, giving his fledgling undead brain plenty of time to register each face. He sagged with relief and looked at Hackett with a triumphant expression. "She's not here. You didn't get her."

Hackett looked momentarily annoyed, she was under the impression that there had been no escapees. "That's not all of them," piped up one of the forsaken attendants, "These are just the good ones." The attendant pointed off to their side. Matthias turned, following the undead's gaze. Perhaps twenty feet away from them stood a figure, gazing blankly upward and shuffling in a small circle.

Matthias let out a moan of despair at the sight of the pale yellow dress that hung heavily from the white skin. Soaked black curls hung over her face and she bumped into a headstone, backing up a couple steps, then bumped into the headstone again. Matthias rushed over, falling to his knees once as his cold limbs refused to do what he wanted. He staggered upright and reached her. He pushed the hair from her face, moaning her name as he tried to find a spark of recognition in her blank stare.

Hackett joined him, smiling victoriously at Matthias just like he had done to her moments before. She grabbed Olivia roughly by the chin and inspected her while Matthias was overcome with dry sobs. "Ah!" she exclaimed, looking at the side of Olivia's head and lifting several locks of black hair to expose the bullet wound, "Someone got a little trigger-happy. Her brain is a useless mound of mush by now. Stop sniveling! She can't hear you. She is useless. But you retained your mind, you will serve our purposes. Our Queen Sylvanas Windrunner has use for all her subjects. You will serve me as I serve her. Look at me!"

Hackett released Olivia and grabbed Matthias by the throat, shaking him angrily as she spoke, "I have no use for whimpering cowards! Father Hastings may think you need pampered and coddled but I disagree. You will stop your whining now! You will obey my every command, you will learn the trades I need you to, you will never second guess or cross me. If you disobey me, well there's plenty more where you came from."

She released Matthias and removed her sharpened shield from her back. She grinned wickedly before raising her shield arm. Matthias realized what she meant to do a moment before she struck and let out a wordless cry of anguish. Hackett swung her arm laterally, neatly severing Olivia's head from her body. Olivia toppled to the ground, her head rolling before coming to rest a short distance away. Matthias fell to his knees beside her body, completely numb. The last shred of hope that he had clung to – the hope that Olivia had escaped to lead a peaceful life – was now as dead as the twitching corpse in a clinging yellow dress that lay in front of him. There was nothing for him now. His family was dead, his friends were dead, Olivia was dead, he was dead.

Hackett could see she had gotten her point across and placed her shield on her back once again. She placed two fingers under Matthias' chin and lifted his yellowed gaze to meet hers.

"You are forsaken. And you belong to me."


End file.

Warcraft, Drama, Horror