"Your culinary talents are truly abysmal," Galen quipped, gesturing towards the charred remains of Illidan's chicken wings with a theatrical grimace.
Illidan remained unfazed. He nonchalantly picked up the jar of honey Galen had thoughtfully provided and slathered it generously over the blackened meat, then devoured it in large, unceremonious bites. "Speak plainly, Galen. What is it you truly want from me?" Illidan was no fool. Galen's intervention with the volatile Maiev was no mere act of camaraderie; they were hardly bosom buddies.
"Nothing pressing now," Galen replied casually. "My initial intention was to engage in some demon hunting alongside you, but I've observed that your strength hasn't exactly undergone a significant surge in the past ten millennia. I believe I'll proceed on my own after I finish this rather more competently grilled chicken."
At Galen's blunt assessment, Illidan's face darkened considerably, a storm brewing in his emerald eyes. "Galen! I was imprisoned for ten thousand years! Ten thousand years stolen from me! I have only just tasted freedom, and my own brother still casts me as a villain!" Illidan's voice rose to a frustrated roar, the bitterness of his long confinement finally erupting. Ten thousand years wasted, ten thousand years where his insatiable hunger for power could have driven him to unimaginable heights. "He will witness my true strength! He will understand that demons have never controlled me! Galen, demon hunting – where is the prey?!"
Galen studied the tormented night elf before him, a silent debate raging within him. Should he steer Illidan back towards his original, tragic destiny? "Tichondrius," he finally said, his voice measured. "A formidable demon of demigod stature. You are currently no match for him." Yet, Galen decided to offer Illidan a helping hand. Without significant power, Illidan might seek more dangerous, uncontrollable sources. Better to grant him this advantage, keep him somewhat aligned. Besides, a sharp glint flashed in Galen's lowered eyes, wasn't Illidan destined to become his subordinate eventually? Let's expedite the process.
Galen's dismissive tone clearly rankled Illidan. Dealing with demons was his expertise! Even a demigod demon – he could slay one for Galen to witness! Illidan was about to retort when Galen produced a skull from his pack. Illidan's breath hitched, his eyes widening with undisguised desire. The raw fel energy emanating from it was precisely what he craved. Ten thousand years ago, he had accepted Sargeras's gift, mastering the volatile art of fel fire. In the long darkness of his imprisonment, he had meticulously conceived a comprehensive system for wielding demonic power to combat demons, needing only the final, crucial step of practical application. And the skull in Galen's hand was the missing piece of the puzzle!
"What... is this?" Illidan's voice was thick with longing, yet he suppressed the urge to snatch it, a primal caution holding him back. Not enough confidence.
"This is the Skull of Gul'dan," Galen announced, holding it aloft. "The skull of a demigod-level warlock. Upon his demise, all the potent fel essence within him coalesced within this very cranium. I know of your affinity for fel energy; this should significantly enhance your strength."
"Then... what is the price?" Illidan was intelligent enough to know nothing came without a cost. Aside from the Warglaives of Azzinoth strapped to his back, he felt he had little of comparable value to offer.
"Hunt down someone. A dead someone."
"...?" Illidan blinked, convinced he had misheard. Hunt a dead person? Did Galen harbor some peculiar fascination with the deceased?
"This Skull of Gul'dan isn't precisely mine," Galen clarified. "It belongs to the esteemed Lord Galen of the Alliance – yes, a powerful individual who happens to share my rather distinguished name. You will undoubtedly cross paths with him in the future. Not long ago, I forged an alliance with the humans on behalf of my people and, in the process, bartered for several… interesting… artifacts with this Lord Galen. The price for this particular skull was the elimination of a troublesome death knight named Arthas, who has been wreaking havoc upon their human kingdom."
Galen extended the skull towards Illidan. "Since this artifact aligns with your… unique talents, I will grant it to you. However, the task of hunting down Arthas will also fall to your capable hands."
Illidan snatched the Skull of Gul'dan eagerly. "Arthas? No problem. Provide me with his detailed information, and after I've dealt with the immediate demonic threat, he will be next on my list!" Illidan's gaze flickered towards Galen, a silent probe to gauge his sincerity, to discern if there was some hidden treachery in this seemingly generous offer.
Galen simply offered an open-handed gesture of invitation. Ultimately, Illidan chose to believe that Galen harbored no immediate malice. Such an elaborate deception seemed unnecessary. He unstrapped the Warglaives of Azzinoth from his back, carefully placing them on the ground to avoid hindering the impending ritual. Then, he cradled the Skull of Gul'dan in both hands.
Almost immediately, Illidan began to draw upon the skull's potent fel energy. Viridescent magic patterns began to illuminate the upper half of his bare torso, like grotesque, glowing brands spreading across his skin. Through these intricate markings, Illidan began to siphon the raw power, while Galen casually approached the Warglaives of Azzinoth. Illidan's body tensed, every muscle coiled, ready to interrupt Galen's actions at the slightest provocation. However, Galen made no aggressive moves. He merely picked up the main-hand warglaive, hefting it thoughtfully, then ran his fingers along the wicked curves of the off-hand.
Galen's strange behavior only deepened Illidan's suspicion. What was he doing? He watched as Galen placed Quel'Serrar beside the crackling bonfire, then, with a swift motion, snatched up the pair of warglaives in one hand, swung them experimentally a few times, strapped them onto his own back, and circled the bonfire twice. Illidan could only feel his eyelids twitch, a whirlwind of doubt and confusion swirling within him. Finally, Galen returned Illidan's weapons to their original position and settled back down by the fire, silently observing Illidan's absorption of the Skull of Gul'dan's power.
The magic patterns on Illidan's body pulsed with increasing intensity, their color deepening from a vibrant light green to a murky dark green, bordering on black. Galen, having experienced fel energy compressed to its absolute limit, could only describe the hue as green to the point of utter darkness. The surrounding trees began to wither, their leaves rustling in a nonexistent breeze before falling in a silent, premature autumn. And Illidan's very being underwent a radical transformation. Jagged black demon horns erupted from his forehead, tearing through skin and bone as they continued to grow. Two grotesque, fleshy tumors bulged ominously on his back. The scene bore an unsettling resemblance to Tien Shinhan's Four Arms Technique, except that what sprouted from Illidan's spine was not a pair of arms, but two leathery, ink-colored bat wings! Time seemed to warp and stretch as Illidan finally drew the last vestiges of fel energy from the skull, his body irrevocably changed.