The Apophan

She stood at the bank of the pond with her sister. Her big sister. The elven woman had a huge mane of black hair with hints of her segmented horns poking from the top. A turqoise stone headband hung around her forhead.

“You wanted me here, sister?” Nukore murmured, her hand in the Apophan’s clawlike gauntlet. The Third Apophan brought her other hand to her forehead, that thumping was growing annoying, and she didn’t know what it was.

“I did... something about this place... draws us here...” Several tauren moved about the open plateau, conducting their daily business. “Do you feel it?”

Nukore closed her eyes. “Like a drumbeat... constant.” Then she nodded sheepishly towards the center of the pond. “Out there.”

The Third Apophan looked around and sighed, “We wait until nightfall.” And she led her sister away to their bedrolls at the inn.

***

As the moon hung high above them and cast a pall on Thunder Bluff below, the Third Apophan nudged her half sister. “Nukore... come on.” And her elder sister just shrugged her off. “Bit longer.”

The Apophan stared out at the pond nearby nervously. “Get... UP.” she hissed, her eyes flashing a familiar shade of red. Nukore jolted up, “Don’t ... don’t speak like that again.” Apophan sighed. “I’m... s-sorry, sister.”

The pair crept out to the pond, at the heart of Thunder Bluff, unknown to any, the nexus of their father’s power. The Apophan lifted her clawed hand and the water began to recede and split, the elemental essence screaming with the violation of its nature. The pair step down the muddy bank and slosh through to the heart of the pond.

The Apophan looked to her elder sister and ran a finger over her own horns in thought. “We dig?” Nukore asked.

“No.” The Apophan held her other claw out and the ground began to fold away from itself. The mud shivered and slowly a shape rose from the muck. The thumping in the back of her mind grew deafening.

A black iron, saronite engraved box about the size of a small shield revealed itself from the sludge. The thumping pain at the back of her mind screamed at her as she and her elder sister dragged the heavy thing to shore.

They stood a long while, the water having relaxed and the Apophan panting exhaustedly. “What is it?” she asked. Nukore paled, “I don’t know...”

“Should we open it?”

“I...” Suddenly Nukore’s eyes went dead and she slowly moved her fingers to the latch. Saronite tendrils moved around the chest as it peeled itself open like some artificial clam. Darkness spilled orut of the rim like water, fading into nothingness as it hit the grass. The wind died immediately. A few voices could be heard in the distance.

“Nukore!” The Apophan hissed, ripped her helm off and grabbing for her sister’s hands. But her elder sister merely reached into the blackness. There was a fleshy, squishing sound as blood soaked into the mutant elf’s forearms and she pulled a heavy, black and violet stained Tauren heart from the depths of the chest. Tendrils and veins still led from the organ into the void and it pumped as if still alive.

The Apophan looked down at the heart and Nukore’s hands had already melded into it, the flesh one.

“N...Nukore!?” She went to grasp her sister’s shoulder, felt her own hand begining to meld with her and pulled away.

All the power of their twisted father coursing in her veins and she could only stand and watch as her only sister began being pulled and molded into the heart. Smoke began to pump from the fleshy contorsion as it started to take shape.

A black furred hoof slammed into the ground next to the chest. Then another. The Third Apophan only wept, “Nukore...”

Then a huge, familiar clawed finger tapped under her chin. She lifted her gaze.

Her claws dug into the rocky mountains on the western coast of Silithus, near Feralas. Each stab of her nails into the cliff side was harsher than the last. Her eyes burned with a fiery rage as she made her way up the side towards the last sighting if Bryagh.

“Damnation…” She hissed. “I am the Apophan… Why do I have t-” her claw fell loose as a chunk of rock broke free and fell hundreds of feet to oblivion below. She glared down, hanging from a single grip before lashing her free hand up to continue.

“Question…” Her claws dug in. “After question…” The crack of rocks echoed off the cliffs.

Finally, her fingers, bloody and cracked, gripped a flat surface. She let out a cackle and pulled herself up onto the ledge and panted. “Ugh…maybe I’ll just… Rest… A bit.” She stared up at the cloudy, drizzling sky. The Apophan would either find what she was looking for, or become stuck in the mountains.

Her eyes flared open. “No, I need to find Bryagh…” She grunted and twisted, pushing herself onto her feet. Suddenly, she was face to face with a yawning cave that looked blasted out of the rock with fire. Black soot lined the walls and entrance. “Fire… Hmm.”

She called out to the cavern: “BRYAGH!” And it echoed down into the depths. There was a rumble followed by a deafening roar that shook the mountainside.

Three pairs of indigo eyes burned like distant stars in the cave. Three distinct snarls responded to her glaring before falling silent. Heavy thuds echoed closer. Closer. Closer. A vibrating growl shook against her as one ember-like eye appeared in the blackness and the huge muzzle of a violet proto-drake the size of which she could scarcely believe.

The force of the beast’s footsteps almost made her lose her footing and the struggled to stand resolutely in its presence. As the purple monstrocity’s roar subsided it pushed forward with its triangular muzzle sniffing at the Apophan. It’s beard-like hairs prickled and it recoiled, shaking its head.

“I am the Apophan. Your master… I’ve come again, Bryagh… I’ve missed you,” she said, her memories a shamble of half-felt feelings she weren’t sure were hers or her father’s. She slowly reached a hand out towards the great drake.

And still he shifted back. Anger was building in the Apophan. “Bryagh…” she said with more than a little exasperation. “I’ve come to take you home. The Family doesn’t believe I’m me, I’m still here. Remember when…” She walked up unafraid of the drake and pressed her palm under his blasted, scarred ruin of a left eye. “Remember when I … Father found you after they did this?” She frowned and tried to pet along Bryagh’s cheekbone as the drake resisted, but less so. “Remember how he waited up with you all night as the infection took its toll and how I… He… Sad he was to see you in such pain?” A weak smile hinted on her lips and she felt her large eyes water a bit.

“I’m sorry it’s just…” And she pressed her head against the heavy muzzle of the beast. “It’s been too long. I’m sorry… Can you forgive us?” She ask so softly and with such a crack in her breath it was hardly a whisper.

She stood there until her knees ached. The entire climb up, she was consumed by a burning anger and desire to prove herself, she had been planning to simply beat the creature into obedience, but the moment she saw him she knew the truth: the same rituals that crafted her had touched him as well. As she felt his head start to tilt down she effortlessly slid on top of his neck.

“I know you’re tired … And you just want to stay here.” She scratched at his powerful jaw under his ear as the Apophan glanced towards the three pairs of indigo eyes still in the cavern. Bryagh’s mighty wings began to unfurl and stretch. “But if you just come back with me, I’ll send you back here if you want. You don’t have to stay…”

Together, they vanished into the clouds.

Deep in the heart of Ahn'Qiraj, the Forgotten kept their most powerful artifacts. The First Sovereign even held an entire laboratory beneath his chambers. His corrupted claws scoured his notes as blood was pulled into a vat from his greatest rival… The woman who would one day take his head. “You’re awake… Pity… You’ll probably remember thisss.” He turns with a massive needle in his claws…

“You’re a monster, you can’t do this. I won’t let you…” Linthara struggled against the restraints.

The cruel beast sighed as he went to work. “Such delusionsss…”

—

The Apophan’s claw tapped the crystal shielding around the coalescing vat. The biomatter inside had begun properly morphing into a fetal shape and the dark energies of the Void infused into its being. As he spent more and more time in the laboratory, the Apophan’s voice rumbled out guttural murmurs of old songs half-remembered.

—

It took months for the form in the vat to grow into humanoid shape, and darker magics still to accelerate the growth. With each passing day, the creature’s “mother” could come to exact her revenge.

“NUKORE!” Bellowed the dark tauren. A soft, bushy haired elven woman scampered down the steps. She wore traditional Tauren clothing, bearing all the colorings and trappings of the Venomblood. “Y-yes father?” She asked as a massive claw slid behind her shoulder.

The Apophan led her over to the vat. “Say hello to your sister, my dear…” Nukore’s palm pressed to the warm crystal shield and the hideous thing inside shifted. Her hand recoiled, “W-what are you going to call her?”

“Rithlana…”

—

Her claws pulled away from Crag Venomblood’s throat after the bull’s limbs stopped wriggling. She let him drop to the dusty ground. She looked at her claws, before staring at the scythe of Apophan… called Wakichonze after her grandfather—her real grandfather. She could feel the hate and bloodthirst radiating out from the Scythe. It saught nothing more than to be used.

Nukore emerged from the underbrush nearby and dusted the tears from her eyes, having lost Crag and Awakorwi within minutes of each other. The ancient Venomblood Tribe was finally extinct except for the two of them.

Lightning flickered over the elementium surface as her clawed fingers lowered to it. The last time she tried to touch it, it had shocked her mightily. This time, though, the electricity that spurned her seemed to adhere to her wrist and the metal haft shot into her grasp. It was lighter than she was expecting for such a solid weapon.

“Sister,” Nukore tried to touch Rithlana, but two black shadowy serpents coiled up and around their mistress, one with yellow eyes, another with orange eyes. Nukore’s sister turned and curled her lips into a malicious grin before throwing her head back in a triumphant laugh that hadn’t been heard since the fall of Deathwing.

The orcs trudged through the fel-blasted canyon. They were weary and bloodied froms days of battle. At last, it seems, the invasions into Horde lands had stopped.

The nearest rest posts were on the border of Stonetalon, so the captain sent out his precious few uninjured scouts to make sure they didn’t walk into any demon traps on their way to the fort.

Kolgath frowned as his wolf trudged into the forest’s edge. For now, he was alone. Hours passed without sign of the Legion or the fort and the hour was growing late. He tried to turn around but didn’t recognize the arrangement of the trees behind him, and the path he walked was absent. The orange rocks of Stonetalon contrasted with the emerald canopy above, and in his tired squinting it almost looked as though the ground was aflame.

Almost.

Until his wolf halted and howled. The creature bucked and threw him to the dust before vanishing into the underbrush. A bony crunch silenced a brief lupine whimper. Kolgath stood and brandished his father’s axe, a weapon that had been as far flung as Outlands and in as hellish a place as Icecrown Citadel.

“Show yourself demon! Know that Kolgath, son of Gord takes your head.” And he snarled, readying himself for battle. The bush in front of him shifted and he charged forward roa-

-Until his fury caught in his throat and his body ceased moving. Without wanting to, his arms threw his axe aside, and he pushed himself to his knees. A yellow eyed black snake slithered along the ground before rising up to stare at him straight in the face.

His mouth openned of its own accord and the snake lunged forward. His eyes went black and he screamed without sound as claws and teeth tore at his body even past the point he should have met oblivion.

—

The scouts finally returned to their captain, and Kolgath reported seeing the fort not far from their present position. A troll charged up on foot, missing his weapon arm and covered in demon blood. He collapsed to his knees and panted out warnings between each breath. “Legion… Patrol… To north…” The captain quickly decided.

“Make for the fort as quick as we can. Gather the wounded… HURRY.” And the soldiers rushed to make way to the encampment. Half an hour of rushed marching later they ended up in a destroyed tauren camp… But one destroyed decades ago based on the state of the ruins. There was a post in the middle of the camp with the skeleton of a tauren chained to it.

“Kolgath? What’s this?!” His captain demanded.

Korr slithered out of Kolgath's mouth as the dead orc's body slumped to the dirt. "Dinner…” A raspy voice hissed out.

The sky burst open and a hellish green-black disk whirled into being over the Barrens. A floating obelisk descended from the burnt clouds into view, fel fire twisted through its mechanical veins as destruction rained over the dry grasslands. Where the bolts hit, the ground burned and green glow shone on the hills and trees.

As demons poured in from their meteoric assault, they erected gates and portals to other worlds and flooded the realm with their hordes. Red banners rose up in defense, and even some knights in blue erupted from the forests to the north. The Horde and a few stray Alliance rallied to fend off the invaders.

A pair stood on a mountainside overlooking the carnage, only undecipherable orcish commands could be heard above the modulated clashes of metal. The largest of the two hefted a massive elementium scythe from the ground. “Time to go back.”

“No! I want to watch, uncle,” the smaller figure said. Her clawed fingers curved over her brow to shield the hell-glow from the sky and improve her view. The larger, snorted and reached out with a black, furred hand. “Now, Rithlana, this is the third assault today… We know the outcome.”

“Maybe this time, they’ll break the Horde…” She said with a spiteful glare as tendrils of shadow whirled over her fingers.

“Maybe,” her uncle said with a bullish snort, “but either way, this is not our fight. Come, Awakorwi and your sister await us.” And he turned to leave.

“What will we do if the Legion attacks us?”

“They don’t know or care that we exist.”

“What about the City? Does the Family still stand? Is Ahn'Qiraj under attack?”

“I do not know, Rithlana. Only that your father told me to hold the Title and you in the shadows until you were ready.”

The sinuous “elf” silently relented and followed, her gaze continually returning to that warzone behind her, just out of view.

At the camp, her sister, just like her in every way, except more pathetic, was stirring some melted meat in a pot. A tauren so old his black fur had greyed so far to be nearer white sat curled up in a thick hide blanket and shivered at the entrance of his tent.

“Father,” Crag said. “How are you feeling?”

“Dead… S-s-son.” He sniffed sharply at Crag, and the scythe he held. “W-what does the battle look like?” He glanced up in the wrong direction with cloudy eyes.

“The Horde is feeling pain and blooded this day. No doubt their victories feel hollower by the hour.” This brought a smile to the old bull’s lips. “I have a favor to ask you, son… Come closer.” He whispered out of earshot of Rithlana who approached her sister.

While Rithlana was lithe, angular and blonde with a face to match her unwilling mother, Nukore was softer, quieter, and dark haired, like her mother. Despite her affections for her older sister, Rithlana felt superior to her in virtually every way.

“What are we eating tonight, Nicky?”

“Same thing as usual, Lala: Windstrider Stew.”

“Ugh. Don’t you wish we could explore the tastes of the world? I want some fruit, dammit.” Rithlana muttered and collapsed back down to a log next to her sister. “When I’m Apophan, nothing is going to hold me back from taking anything I want.”

Nukore sighed at the complaint she’d heard a thousand nights before. They both jumped to their feet when they heard Awakorwi gag out his last bloody breath as Crag removed the Scythe blade from his father’s throat.

Nukore threw the spoon of the stew aside and rushed over to the dying old bull and cradled his head. “No no no no no…. WHY?!” She demanded with tears down her cheeks and hatred in her eyes at Crag. Rithlana stood near the pot, watching, as she’d noticed the unseen magic pouring out with Awakorwi’s blood.

“Because he felt that he would be needed later.” And gripped Nukore by the mane and tossed her back towards Rithlana. With a cutting knife in hand, Nukore lunged forward only to be locked in place by her sister. “Wait! Nicky… Watch. Don’t you see it?”

“See what? I only see a murderer!”

“You don’t see the shadows peeling off of Grandpa?”

Nukore blinked, “No…” Rithlana eased her grip when Nukore stopped resisting. Crag gripped his father’s lifeless throat and pulled nothing from it that slowly coalesced into twining strands of magic before two yellow eyes appeared and it seemed to “harden” into a serpentine shape that Nukore could finally see. The new shadow serpent lashed itself around the Scythe of Apophan instinctively.

“Korr…” said Crag, with hollowness to his voice. The shadow serpent glanced up and nodded.

Rithlana finally let her sister go and snorted. “Uncle,” she finally said. “If you die, would you want to become like that?”

Crag regarded Rithlana a moment.

“Yes.”

The daughter of Awakanka steeled herself.

“I challenge you as the Apophan.”