#elderoth

((Note: This was written back in like 2016 or 2017. I dunno. It’s been a few years!))

The Burning Legion was in its third full-scale invasion of Azeroth, and the Broken Isles were the focal point. Hunting demons was plentiful, Elderoth knew, in certain parts of the world. Demonfall Canyon in Ashenvale was a favorite spot of his; it was where the Destructor had fallen, after all. Many demons flocked there for reasons he was unsure of, nor did he care. All he knew was that his prey was plentiful within the canyon.

But now the whole of Azeroth was his playground. The demons were everywhere, as were those who worshipped them. Elderoth, and much of the world, had known that the warlocks tended to shy away from the public. Delving into considerable taboo subjects like they have would often lead to less than comfortable company within the cities. Though by comparison, demon hunters were treated much less kindly than the warlocks. They chose to become the power of the Legion, rather than simply wielding it.

Regardless, because of the resurgence of demons and the Shadow Council, warlocks across the continents started to become more reckless, more open about their actions. Their arrogance drove them to gain more power, to control more demons. Some had honest and true intentions: to fight the Legion. But many of them, Elderoth correctly assumed, simply wanted more power for the sake of more power.

It wasn’t hard to find the warlocks he was currently hunting. They were in the land of Azsuna, and the Legion’s presence was already dominating the country. The rocky cliffs were bordered by green cracks of fel splitting the ground, and rivers of the vile substance trailed down the hillsides. Foul rituals and the resulting demons were rampant as far as the eyes could see.

They were proud, the warlocks, and either didn’t notice or didn’t care that they were being tracked. Elderoth could easily see them with his spectral sight, and the fel taint emanating off of them was almost palpable. He kept his ghastly eyes trained on them, even seeing through the very cliffside they were around. Though he was capable of seeing the natural magic of the land he was in, the dark magic of the warlocks stood out brightly to him like a beacon.

There were six of them, it looked like, all of varying races. There were several smaller beings around them, also covered in the scent of fel. Most likely lesser demons, he assumed. The warlocks  were standing in a circle, all of their hands raised to the blackening sky.

Elderoth narrowed his magic eyes as he rounded the corner, taking into view the ritual being conjured before him. He snarled, baring his teeth. Imps, felhounds, fel hunters, and felguards all stood around the circle of summoners, guarding them. These warlocks didn’t waste their time at all, as well: the portal was already opening. He didn’t know what was being summoned; but if it took six warlocks to do it, it had to be big.

He gripped the warglaives strapped to his back, brandishing them and planting his feet into the ground. He threw one of the glaives towards the demons and it flew through the air like a boomerang. It was almost perfect, Elderoth thought. Several of the imps barely had time to turn their heads at the sound before heads were severed from shoulders. They fell silently and lifelessly to the ground, and as the warglaive returned to its master’s hand the demons had granted their attention to him.

“Demon hunter!” one of the felguards warned. The warlocks merely cast a glance over towards him, unwilling to break the ritual they were performing.

“Deal with him!” One of them ordered.

Elderoth grinned, showing his pointed teeth. He always did love it when demons came in hordes. He let out an eager battle cry as he charged forth with unholy speed, nearly impossible to see to the untrained eye.

As the dog-like creatures rushed forth, barking and roaring in their demonic tongue, they attempted to bite and claw at the demon hunter rushing forward. He broke through their ranks with an almost childish ease, swinging his warglaives through them as he did so. Many of them were easily cut apart, and the limbs fell to the ground as Elderoth completed his dash behind the three felguards.

They were much bigger than imps and the dogs of the Legion. They also brandished heavy weapons, powerful enough to cleave a man in half if he was not careful. But where they had brute strength, Elderoth had speed and agility. One of the felguards roared out, raising its mighty axe high above its head in an attempt to bring it down upon the demon hunter.

He threw the glaive towards the demon like a large dagger, and immediately chased after it. And as the blade pierced the felguard’s chest, and exited between its shoulder blades, Elderoth appeared behind the demon, grabbing his weapon mid-air. He then twisted himself in the air, bringing down all four of his blades upon the felguard’s neck and severing its head.

The two remaining felguards attempted to take down the demon hunter together, but his speed was unmatched. As one took a horizontal swing at him, his blade met the handle of the sword it was wielding, leaving only the hilt in its hands. Elderoth plunged his warglaive into the felguard’s stomach and sliced upwards; his weapon tore through the demon’s skull, leaving it split in half and falling heavily on the ground.

Elderoth liked to imagine that demons could feel fear, it only fed his desire to terrorize them and cause them immeasurable suffering. And when he saw the final felguard hesitate, he eagerly took the shot. He leaped into the air towards it, his twin warglaives raised above his head. A primal roar erupted from his lips as he swung down, and his blades bit into the shoulders of his opponent. They rended flesh and bone effortlessly, and he twisted the blades outward as they sank into the demon. Arms and parts of torso fell to the ground in a bloody heap, soon followed by a lifeless husk of a felguard.

Elderoth stood to his feet, his body and weapons plenty dirtied with the blood of his enemies. However, in the eyes of the warlocks he had been hunting, it was too late. The ritual was complete.

The warlocks still had their hands outstretched, but they had visibly become more withered and decrepit. It was easy to tell that, as the summoners slowly started to drop one by one, they were sacrificing their own lives to summon whatever this was. And as it slowly came through the portal, the ground thundered under its monstrous footsteps.

Elderoth craned his head to look up at the emerging demon. It carried an impossibly large polearm, its wings had to have spanned several dozen meters, and each of its four feet caused the ground to shake under its tremendous weight. He grinned at the pit lord.