Just outside the Royal Palace, within a giant warehouse filled with massive shelves and pallets full of goods, Pathaleon the Calculator, chief seneschal, and majordomo for the Sunstrider family was hard at work.

Between counting foodstuffs, ammunition, potions, and a hundred other items necessary for war, he was also triple checking the ledgers of every business in all of Quel'Thalas in search of a spy.

Whilst he had recovered the ledger documenting his own misdeeds, he had found another notebook left besides it.

Faedra, that witch, had no doubt left it there for him to find.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Pathaleon had become intrigued by the information within.

Someone had been discreetly purchasing tomes regarding necromancy within the city for the last thousand years, and it wasn't Drathir Dar'Khan.

Pathaleon had obsessively set himself on finding this hidden vagrant for the last 5 days, yet achieved little in the way of results.

Whilst Pathaleon was in the midst of intense mental calculations, distant explosions rocked the area just outside the warehouse.

Pathaleon looked left and right in worry as the sound of impending doom came closer and closer.

Looking left and right for a spot to rest, Pathaleon caught sight of a giant chest sitting in the middle of the room.

It was the box that contained every anti-Undead spellbook Pathaleon could get his hands on. As such, the chest was the most defensive item in the room!

Pathaleon fretted over jumping in, but as the sound of danger drew near, his self preservation instincts kicked in, and he jumped inside, locking the chest with a click.

No sooner did Pathaleon enter than he heard an excited voice loudly exclaim that he had ‘found it.’

Whatever ‘it’ was, Pathaleon did not have to wait for long, as he felt the chest he hid within begin to rise.

‘Not like this.’ Pathaleon closed his eyes as he realized he couldn't open the chest from the inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Syra was jumping from rooftop to rooftop as she chased down the Shade she believed to be the mastermind behind the attacks on Varrus's character.

As a Shade, the being she was constantly attacking possessed an incorporeal form made of black smoke. Tall as an average man, it had long, gangly arms ending in finger shaped claws, piercing blue magical eyes, and where there would be legs, there was a constant pool of shadow.

Dangling from its hands, a comically large chest swayed beneath it as it made its escape. Only Syra wasn't laughing.

This phantom of the night flew in the sky, and mockingly laughed down at Syra as it dodged any Light based attack she launched at it.

“My oh my, Syra Greathollow! My older brother was quite smitten with you!” The Shade boomed in a high pitched, masculine voice.

Syra recognized the voice as belonging to Prince Taladram, one of the Royal children that her mother had put down upon the order of King Anasterian.

Just remembering that creep of an older brother sent Syra into a murderous rage. If before, she was annoyed, now she was determined.

Getting in the way of her Varrus time? That was grounds for murder.

Adding onto that memories of her depressing past? That was grounds for something much, much worse than death.

The ruins of a bell tower were diced into dozens of chunks of rubble as Syra picked up her speed.

She jumped off a falling block of plaster, and sliced at Taladram, only to fall short by an inch.

“You always were so quiet! I never knew what my brother saw in you. Far as I could see, you were just a creepy, stalker fangirl of that punk Vandercross.” Taladram mockingly rambled on.

Somersaulting to the floor, Syra broke her impact by empowering herself with the Light, cracking several roof tiles in the process.

Not willing to let him escape, Syra cast the spell, Hammer of Justice, which summoned a hammer made of pure Light over the Shade's head, and knocked it downward with fury and vengeance.

Landing within an open, abandoned square between two destroyed buildings, Taladram took on mortal form as the light ate away at his gaseous form like some sort of ravenous beast.

Swiping a clawed hand across his body, Taladram drew a drop of his own blood, and somehow concentrated the Light energy attacking his body into the drop. He then flicked his hand, and was free of any damage.

He then ran a hand through his silver hair, and looked at Syra as if to say ‘is that it?’

Even in death, the deceased Prince was a handsome man. Based upon appearance alone, he would woo the heart of many a maiden.

He pissed Syra off.

How dare he call her a fangirl!

She was more than that!

She was Varrus’ one and only soulmate!

Forever and ever, and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever (x100)

…till death do they part!

Dense energies of Light and Void fed off of one another, and an aura of Holy Void began to erupt around her in a constant wave of energy.

“See? That’s why you’re so creepy. I am dead, and yet, even I get the shivers when I see that smile.” Taladram shuddered.

“Tell me why you sought to undermine my husband.” Syra stalked forward, pacing slowly from side to side like a matriarchal lioness closing in on her prey.

“Husband? If you're talking about my big brother, I don't know why I should tell y-” Taladram got out, when Syra stabbed her buster sword into the ground, and released a gush of pure power.

The square erupted as purple and gold mixed and pulled apart from one another.

Where once there was rock, and damaged-yet still recognizable buildings-there was now nothing.

Half a block's worth of buildings had all but been atomized.

As for Taladram, he had thrown up a shield made of magically empowered blood, blocking the strike.

Yet the bright red blood he had released soon turned sickly black, then began to sizzle, and pop, sounding like popcorn in the microwave.

Whenever a drop of this once foul, death magic induced blood fell upon Taladram's skin, it burned him like acid.

Unfortunately for Taladram, he was a Darkfallen. A new breed of Undead due to his Elf heritage, and Dreadlord magics.

Whilst that allowed him the feeling of ecstacy whenever he drank blood, that also opened him up to pain.

“Auugh! Like daughter, like mother! I know you Greathollow’s killed my sister! That you’re ultimately responsible for all our deaths! Die witch!” Taladram screeched in rage.

He opened up not one, not two, but five mageweave bags. Pouring out of five separate pocket spaces, gallon upon gallon of blood began to pool out at his feet.

“Tel’mathura Da’oriel!

Feng’Hair Sanguinarous!” Taladram chanted.

The blood at his feet took shape in the form of a 30ft tall serpent.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Syra speed blitzed the serpent, cleaving it in two, and moved forward with the intention of bisecting Taladram in the same motion.

However, as she burst the creation of blood apart, Taladram twitched his fingers, and the pool of crimson collapsed in on itself, sticking to the bubble of Light Syra had around herself.

The blood had properties of death and decay, greatly slowing down her speed at a conceptual level.

Syra felt her shield buckle, and wither as Death magicks seeped into her shield like a plague.

At the same time, Taladram had slid backward, using the slick blood like a rink of ice to gain some distance.

His fingers twisted, and more unrecognizable syllables left his mouth.

“Tel’mathura Mos’mortif.

Fvoth Sanguinairous Korfortous!”

The blood around him swiftly turned into a mist, blocking Syra’s sight of him, and obfuscating her ability to sense mana in the nearby surroundings.

Despite all this, Syra never lost confidence in herself, or the faith in her mission.

So long as she believed in him, in their family, she was invincible!

The bubble of Light that threatened to decay, and fall apart in time exploded outward in a big bang.

Instead of waiting for her shield to disappear with the withering of time, Syra decided to end it in a brilliant flash.

The bubble burst in a 360 radius, and melted away any putrid blood within 5 ft.

Waves of blood surged forth from all sides like a tsunami crashing down upon the shoreline.

Yet Syra kept her composure at the seemingly endless amount of poisoned ichor.

She stabbed her sword into the ground, then clasped her hands into prayer. Her bell-like voice rang out in the hauntingly dark square like a beacon of purity.

“Varrus nor'soothe bel'atathal.

Varrus nor'soothe bel'lothol

Varrus is my sanctuary.” Syra chanted, completing the ritual prayer, Sanctuary, to meet Taladram's spell.

A radiant beacon of light shined straight up into the sky, then spread outward, pressing the wave of crimson backwards.

Syra's angelic voice was as if the summons towards the herald of salvation.

Taladram tried countering Syra's spell, and was frantically chanting one of his own from within the blood mist, but no matter how he shaped the blood, it was no match for this ever expanding ripple of Light.

The mist all but melted away, leaving Taldaram with few options to hide. As he was about to transform into a Shade once more, and carry the chest he had stolen away, he fell to the ground as his legs were cut off from under him.

There, emerging from the bloody fog, was Syra.

Her smile etched into Taladram's retina, he desperately moved his fingers to direct the most into her lungs in an effort to corrupt and choke her from the inside out.

Yet with but a wave of her sword, both his remaining limbs were swiped off with the casualty of a man wiping his own arse at the toilet.

For the first time since his undeath, Taladram felt fear.

Syra planted her sword an inch away from the Undead's face, and smiled down at him as the magical properties of her sword slowly gave him 3rd degree burns all across his nose and forehead.

Taladram lay on the ground, moaning in pain as Holy Void energies ate away at his flesh and soul, slowly consuming his everything.

Without his arms or legs, the Darkfallen Prince was unable to resist as Syra practiced her magic on him.

From Taladram's perspective, Syra was like a child learning to shine an eyeglass onto an unsuspecting ant. As a Prince, Taladram had lived his life in luxury. He would laugh at the irony, except he couldn't find anything ironic about it! All he could do was wordlessly howl as the demon in Elf flesh worked her magic on him.

As for Syra, she had finally had her prey exactly where she wanted him. Savoring the moment of triumph, Syra smiled brilliantly down at him. Unable to heal him with her powers, Syra gathered some of the nearby blood, and would drip it upon Taladram. The filthy blood healed him, only for Syra to drop beads of Holy Void energy onto his skin, shriveling it further.

Each time she did, she would ask him the same question over and over and over again until he broke.

“My husband. Varrus Vandercross. Why did you set him up?” Syra bit out as she stalked over the crippled form of a once handsome Prince.

Finally unable to take it anymore, Taldram began to answer.

“Why would I set that waste up to fall? As if he needed any pushing to do that! If anything, our target was my Un-kuh!” Taladram got out before he was stabbed in the back by a similarly dressed man.

“Now, now. No need to tell the pretty lady all our secrets, is there?” A cultured voice spoke as he stepped through a continuously running two-way portal.

“It took you long enough, big brother, I had been waiting here for nearly half an hour!” Taladram complained.

“Patience is a virtue. Besides, when keeping such divine company, why, I count you lucky.” The cultured Darkfallen gently patted Taladram upon the top of the head like he was admonishing his most favorite pet.

“Divine? Big brother, open your eyes! This murderess wants us dead. Permanently! Just look at your own flesh and blood, and see what she plans to do to you!”

“Now that. Is a gross overstatement. Syra my love, why don't you lower your sword, and come along? Now that the Sunwell is destroyed, there is only one path to immortality. Marry me, and together, we can rule Quel'Thalas as King and Queen.” The sharply dressed man took off a pristine white glove, and offered his hand.

Syra ignored her former suitor, and silently began to absorb the mana from a Mana Stone.

She had seen enough of her beloved's plays to know how much an Elf loved to monologue. Furthermore, this specific noble had made advances upon her more than once. It could be said she was familiar with his brand of self importance.

Whilst she knew she could keep fighting if she had to, there was no reason to do so at a disadvantage. She had spent a lot of her mana casting Sanctuary. She would let this airbag posture. For now.

“Heuah hah hah hah!” Taladram dryly chuckled.

“Something amuses you, dear brother?” The dapper Elf frowned.

“She is married. To Vandercross!” Taladram cheerfully mocked.

“This jest has gone too far. Do not forget your place, you are speaking to your future King! You are speaking to Crown Prince Tenris Sunstrider!” The black-haired Elf punctuated his statement by absorbing all of Taladram's blood through the sword skewered in his midsection.

Taladram's face contorted as his skin dried out like a mummy. Within seconds, his body fell apart, and was naught but dust in the wind.

“Come now my Queen, this portal is due to close in a couple of seconds. The magisters are sure to have noticed it by now, we do not have much time.” Tenris said, taking hold of the chest with one hand, and beckoning towards her with another.

Syra didn't even take a second to think.

Why use words when violence was the only answer?

Her sword gleamed off the reflection of the pale light of the portal as it sang forth.

Missing his midsection by just a hair, Syra frowned in dissatisfaction as all she took was his hand.

“This is your response? Pity. Should I discover that my brother spoke truth, nothing can save Vandercross from my ministrations! One day, you will be mine, Syra!” Tenris yelled as he faded away into the rapidly closing portal.

Syra had a moment to consider chasing after him, but wasn't so foolish to believe that they would be the only two on the other side.

She was constant in her belief, but that didn't mean she was an idiot.

As she approached the chest, she saw an amulet fall off Taladram's remains. Holding it up for a closer look, she discovered an odd, serpentine dragon symbol on it. It didn't correspond with any dragon she was familiar with, but she decided to hold on to it to research later.

Curious as to what was so important about this box, Syra pulled out some rogues tools, and tinkered around until she heard a click.

Opening the chest, she was greeted by a shaking Elf pointing a dagger at her.

“Ah, Lady Greathollow how nice to see you-” Pathaleon shakily said, before Syra shoved the amulet in his face.

She wasn't expecting to find the Prince's pet inside the chest. Kidnapping him was intelligent, considering his role in managing the Royal treasury.

Milliseconds away from kicking the court senseschel for failing to recognize her as Lady Vandercross, again, Syra took a deep breath and calmed herself. She had questions for the Calculator.

Syra had read a profile on all of the former King's aides, so she knew Pathaleon was well read, and had access to information not even her mother was privy to.

“What do you know of this symbol?” Syra brusquely questioned.

Pathaleon looked out of sorts from the sudden intrusion, yet the look on Syra's face brooked no delay, and he nervously began to shake as he examined the artifact.

“This is somewhat familiar. The symbolism does not relate to any of the Dragon Aspects. However, I have seen recordings of it in ancient Troll texts. I believe it was an ancient god of pestilence.” Pathaleon said, rubbing his chin.

Syra frowned at the basic reply, then snatched the amulet out of Pathaleon's hands. This required further investigation. If Taladram's words could be trusted, then there was a collaborator within Silvermoon.

This symbol could be the clue that led to their base of operations.

“Well, thank you my Lady. It was quite the frightening night!” Pathaleon said with a weak smile, and began to pull himself up.

“It's Vandercross. Remember that.” Syra said before kicking Pathaleon in the chest, driving the air out of his lungs, and further into the giant box full of books.

Pathaleon opened his mouth to say something, but Syra never knew what he was going to say, as she kicked the lid closed a second later.

Looking around, Syra clenched her fist in anger as she had failed to root out her family's enemies. Not only that, but her kill had been stolen of all things!

Taladram had made things personal, yet she didn't get to end things on her terms.

For that, Tenris had earned himself a spot in her journal.

She only hoped she could get back before the council meeting was over.

There were, Syra concluded, other ways to release this pent up frustration. Syra grinned to herself as she imagined Varrus sweating profusely, and gasping in pleasure beneath her.

Just the thought of it made her squirm in excitement!

Syra grinned from ear to ear as she happily made for home.