That is how in my opinion Darkshore have ended. That would be cool (I am sorry, since I am not a native speaker, please be gentle to me!)
Nathanos had not felt so bad for a long time.
It wasn't related to the fact that he shouldn't have lived. Not only now, when Tyrande Whisperwind lacked a few inches to cut through the fragile threads of his borrowed life. He should not have lived anymore since the mad prince Arthas Menethil passed through Lordaeron like a winter whirlwind, leaving behind only death and despair.
Sylvanas gave Nathanos a new skin, a new coat made of flesh, a disgusting meat. He paid for this coat with the life of his cousin, he had paid with the rest of humanity carefully hidden under a mask. Now this skin was a burden for him.
He felt a glimpse of pain.
The Forsaken were accustomed to that feeling. It had accompanied them since that horrible mockery of resurrection they were victims. It was a phantom memory of the agony with which they were buried. They carried them with them just like the bodies trapped by death.
Ha! Nathanos laughed bitterly.
If pain is to be the price of victory, so be it. He smirks viciously at the black moon with broken rays. Let Elune and her servants know that the Forsaken cannot be crushed so easily, that they cannot be inflicted by more pain than they already carry.
His skin was itching a little.
He wrinkled his eyebrows. This sensation was quite new. He scratched the top of his palm and was surprised, when he saw a drop of blood. It was really vivid… and red.Загрузка...
They said that Elune holds death with one hand and life with the other. But she couldn't give Nathanos the first one, and the second one would be… impossible?
The pain twisted his bowels. Somewhere in the middle, Nathanos Blightcaller felt that something was moving inside. He felt that his mouth was dry. Returning to Sylvanas and telling her that one of the val'kyr is no more was a sufficient punishment. For a moment, however, a much more terrifying scenario glimpsed in his head. If he returns to HER, alive, sentient, tormented by doubts, fragile and fleshy, aging? Bleeding from wounds? Remembering about things defining him? Suffering in a way suitable for the living, with tears in his eyes, with blood in his veins?
The Forsaken would turn away from him in one moment, and she…
It is not possible. It shouldn't be possible.
Nathanos Blightcaller yelled, when he felt that his muscles were moving under the prison made of his ribs. Elune was mocking him. He should have been dead, that's true. The goddess should kill him. But she decided to punish him much severly. The wheels of justice turned slowly, yet the judgement was ineviteable.
The thing that moved inside him was his heart.
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