As the last vestiges of Gul'dan's Skull's power coursed through him, Illidan rose to his full height. His transformation was complete and terrifying. His frame had bulked considerably, two wickedly curved Demon Horns jutting from his brow, and the empty sockets where his eyes once were now blazed with an eerie green fire. The intricate magical patterns that adorned his body pulsed with a vibrant, unwavering green light. His feet had morphed into cloven, demonic hooves, and razor-sharp claws tipped his elongated fingers. As a pair of leathery bat wings unfurled from his back, Galen recognized the horrifying truth: Illidan had become a Half-Demon. A Demigod-level Demon Hunter.
Illidan extended his clawed hands, and the Blades of Azzinoth, which had been plunged into the earth, seemed to leap into his grasp. The two dark green moon blades flew through the air, drawn to the potent Fel energy now coursing through their master, emitting a low, excited hum as they connected. At that moment, Illidan and his iconic weapons were truly one.
"Galen... where is Tichondrius?" The wind seemed to hold its breath as Illidan spoke, a newfound confidence radiating from him.
"North of Felwood Forest," Galen replied, his gaze steady. "Tichondrius is leading a contingent of Demons to corrupt our lands."
"Perfect. His doomsday has arrived!" Illidan's demeanor mirrored that of a newly awakened Sharingan user, brimming with untested power. He nodded sharply at Galen, oriented himself, spread his bat wings wide, and with a powerful thrust of his hooved legs, shot into the sky.
Hmm, yes, Galen chuckled inwardly. Tichondrius's doomsday has indeed arrived, and he will be reborn in the radiant embrace of the Holy Light Wings!
"Come forth!" Galen called out into the dense foliage. Moments later, a massive bat, radiating a golden light, emerged from the trees and landed before Galen. It then transformed into a majestic Holy Light Dreadlord, kneeling in supplication. "Mal'Ganis greets Master!"
This was the third member of Holy Light Wings, Mal'Ganis. Having narrowly escaped a fatal encounter with Golden Holy Dragons and their searing Holy Light Dragon Breath, he had spent months recuperating after his Lightforging. Galen had summoned him in anticipation of a new recruit, but Mephistroth and Balnazzar were currently occupied, hot on the trail of the Black Dragon Mother. Thus, Mal'Ganis arrived alone.
"Mal'Ganis, Illidan has gone to confront Tichondrius. Follow me shortly. Your task is to intercept Tichondrius and prevent his return to the Twisting Nether upon defeat. And remember – under no circumstances must Illidan discover your presence!" If he does, Galen thought grimly, even your current golden paint won't save you.
Mal'Ganis's expression turned serious. He had heard whispers of the infamous traitor, Illidan, even ten thousand years ago – a warrior who had stood against Mannoroth himself. Caution was paramount.
Galen took to the skies, following Illidan's trajectory, while Mal'Ganis melted back into the shadows of the forest. As he flew, Galen mentally reviewed the information regarding Tichondrius. The leader of the Dreadlord race, a figure of significant standing within the Burning Legion, on par with Mannoroth. Yet, a being plagued by misfortune. A direct subordinate of Archimonde the Defiler and Kil'jaeden the Deceiver, Tichondrius had participated in the War of the Ancients. However, his initial foray onto Azeroth had ended in humiliation, impaled by the horn of the peerless tauren warrior, Huln Highmountain, and banished back to the Twisting Nether. A mortal slaying a high-ranking demon was an embarrassment that should have warranted severe punishment from Kil'jaeden and Archimonde. But the Ancient War, Sargeras's personal invasion, had ultimately failed. Azeroth, the Legion's stumbling block, had become a focal point of their frustration. Even Sargeras himself had been thwarted by mortals. Tichondrius's minor failure was, perhaps, forgivable in that grander context.
In the original timeline, Tichondrius's second major failure was the very invasion led by Archimonde. His demise at the hands of the newly empowered Illidan, banished once more to the Twisting Nether, was a well-known event. His position as the foremost Dreadlord had then been usurped by Anetheron, who would later assist Archimonde in the assault on Mount Hyjal. Repeated failures had seemingly led to Tichondrius's demotion. Had Archimonde not been obliterated on Mount Hyjal and the invasion failed so spectacularly, Kil'jaeden might very well have erased Tichondrius from existence. Finally, during the third Burning Legion invasion, the remade Tichondrius had returned, overseeing Gul'dan in that alternate reality, ensuring the Legion's plans progressed smoothly. Yet, he had met his end once more within the Nighthold in Suramar. This time, without the Argus Star Soul to facilitate his resurrection, the luckless Dreadlord had finally met his true demise.
What does one call such a record? Galen mused. Repeated failure, yet persistent fighting? Perseverance? Or simply a recurring mismatch against Azeroth's top-tier combatants? You might be a king among demons, but you consistently face legendary kings among mortals.
Galen felt a sense of relief with Illidan taking the initiative. Now, all that remained was for Mal'Ganis to intercept Tichondrius. The ranks of Holy Light Wings were about to swell. Speaking of bolstering Holy Light Wings, Galen recalled the significant demonic presence within Felwood Forest. This corrupted woodland, a natural barrier west of Mount Hyjal, should logically be heavily defended by the Night Elves. Yet, unlike the vibrant Ashenvale, a palpable sense of decay permeated its ancient trees, a telltale sign of Fel corruption, staining water bodies and slimes with a sickly green hue. Native creatures like the Furbolg had fallen to its influence, and vile Demons such as Hellfire and Satyr had taken root within its shadowed depths. This was an anomaly.
Galen happened to possess a piece of insider knowledge from his time as a Warlock's unwilling mount. Deep within Felwood lay an ancient underground cave system known as Jaedenar, a festering wound that had existed for ten thousand years. Within its depths resided the Shadow Hold, an underground fortress teeming with untold numbers of Demons – survivors of the War of the Ancients who had not been banished back to the Twisting Nether, all under the dominion of a powerful Dreadlord named Banehollow. For millennia, Banehollow had reigned supreme in this subterranean realm. Recalling this forgotten intelligence, Galen resolved to wait until the Battle of Mount Hyjal concluded before tasking the Dark Council and Holy Light Wings with a joint operation to eradicate this festering blight. Not only would it cleanse a hidden pocket of demonic corruption from Azeroth, but it would also serve to further strengthen his burgeoning demonic factions.
When Galen finally caught up with Illidan, the Demon Hunter stood amidst a gruesome tableau of dismembered Demon corpses, the air thick with the stench of ichor and Fel energy. "I feel... invigorated, Galen!" Illidan exclaimed, turning to face him, the twin Blades of Azzinoth dripping with demonic blood. Regardless of his earlier reservations, the mere act of bestowing Gul'dan's Skull upon him had forged a new, albeit uneasy, bond between them. It was a gift of immense power, a treasure rivaling any artifact. Had Galen so desired, the skull's potent energy could have elevated Illidan to demigod status in mere moments.
"I sense the strongest Demon still lies to the north!" Illidan declared, his enhanced demonic senses honed to a razor's edge, the very foundation of his Demon Hunter prowess.
"Then what are we waiting for? Illidan, a rematch, perhaps? Just like ten thousand years ago?" Galen challenged, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.
"Heh! You claimed victory then, but this time... the outcome is far from certain!" Illidan spread his bat wings once more and surged northward.
Galen, with a familiar swirl of white mist, transformed into a hawk and followed, his powerful wings beating in time with Illidan's. Soon, a band of grotesque Satyr emerged from the shadowed depths of the forest. These twisted creatures, once Night Elves, had been warped into demonic parodies under the corrupting influence of Sargeras's Fel energy, sprouting horns and hooves. Savis had been the first of their kind on Azeroth. After the War of the Ancients, he had become a servant of the Old Gods, transforming into a monstrous tree. His former Satyr companions had rallied the remaining Legion forces, launching a vengeful war against the Night Elves, a conflict that had seen Malfurion himself lead the defense – the War of the Satyr. This particular group were the remnants of that defeated army, now unwitting participants in a gruesome head-counting contest between Illidan and Galen.
Illidan moved through the Satyr ranks like a phantom dancer, the Blades of Azzinoth a blur of lethal motion, severing limbs and cleaving torsos with effortless grace. Galen's approach was more direct, brutal even. Quel'Serrar crashed against demonic skulls with sickening force, each blow a death sentence, no opponent capable of withstanding a single strike. Illidan was the first to clear his immediate vicinity, turning to see over a dozen Satyr still clustered around Galen. A predatory grin spread across Illidan's face. He unleashed the second stage of his Fel Rush, a burst of chaotic energy propelling him towards the remaining Satyr. As he closed the distance, emerald Fel flames erupted from his empty eye sockets, a searing, high-pressure flamethrower incinerating everything in its path. When the inferno subsided, Galen's vision cleared.
Damn it, kill stealer!
"356! Galen! I claim victory!" Illidan crowed triumphantly.
322, Galen silently tallied. He had indeed fallen short. "You win this round! But how about the last, big Demon counts as a hundred?" Even as the words left his lips, Galen had already launched himself into a dark recess of the forest. Tichondrius was lurking there! When it came to sensing demonic presence, a Demigod-level Paladin was every bit as adept as a Demon Hunter.
Tichondrius, caught off guard by the simultaneous assault of two formidable foes, his hiding place exposed, snarled in shock and anger. He unleashed a wave of Carrion Swarm, a vile cloud of stinging insects and foul energy, hoping to deter their advance. Unfortunately for him, Illidan had once been a Night Elf renowned for his agility and skill. Now, empowered by the Skull of Gul'dan, his speed and power were exponentially greater. He simply vaulted into the air, easily evading the swarm. Galen, however, was no nimble acrobat. Had anyone ever witnessed a Warrior interrupting a Charge mid-stride? Or performing aerial acrobatics while wielding a massive two-handed sword? Unable to openly invoke the protective embrace of Holy Shield, Galen swiftly and secretly imbibed a Little Invincible Potion, bracing himself against the full force of the fetid impact wave.
"Impossible!" Tichondrius's shock morphed into outrage. His focus, however, remained fixed on the seemingly impervious Galen, completely ignoring the airborne Illidan. Descending like a vengeful shadow, Illidan unleashed a brutal Blade Dance upon the unsuspecting Dreadlord. Too fast!
"Roar... insects! You dare to wound me!" Two deep, bone-revealing gashes appeared on Tichondrius's chest, and viscous green Demon Blood gushed forth. Roaring in pain, he unleashed a Void spell at Illidan, forcing him to retreat. But in that very instant, Galen arrived, Quel'Serrar held in one hand, the legendary Windseeker shimmering in the other. Swish! Swish! Two more grievous wounds opened on Tichondrius's chest. This time, Galen's attack exposed the Dreadlord's still-beating heart. Having evaded the Void spell, Illidan pressed his advantage, his blades a blur. A massive, leathery wing tore free from Tichondrius's body. Galen was not far behind, adding another precise strike. The other wing followed its mate, severed and falling to the blood-soaked ground.
"No! Sleep!" Tichondrius desperately cast another spell. A wave of profound drowsiness washed over Galen, but it dissipated almost instantly. With the Origin Heart beating within his chest, ordinary control spells held no sway over him. The Dreadlord, unaware of his powerful spell's failure, had already prepared to flee, his thoughts solely focused on escape, not retaliation. But as he turned to flee, Galen's Windseeker pierced his chest, its legendary power singing through demonic flesh. A moment later, Illidan, having shaken off the lingering effects of the failed sleep spell, lunged forward as well.
Panic seized Tichondrius. In a final, desperate act of self-preservation, he transformed into a swirling mass of bats, scattering in every direction. "Hmph!" Illidan activated his Eye Beam once more, a searing torrent of Fel energy incinerating dozens of the fleeing creatures. Galen followed suit, unleashing a cone of Dragon's Breath, the fiery blast claiming many more. The last remaining bat flew desperately, its trajectory coincidentally leading it directly towards Mal'Ganis's carefully concealed ambush position. Whether by chance or design, Galen subtly shifted his position, momentarily obstructing Illidan's line of pursuit. Though a flicker of annoyance crossed Illidan's face, he knew a single surviving bat clone posed little threat, easily dispatched even by a Night Elf child. He abandoned the chase.
"Alright, Illidan," Galen conceded with a wry smile. "You win."
Illidan, still buzzing with the thrill of the hunt, felt a pang of dissatisfaction. "I should return now. Remember your promise to the Humans regarding Arthas. Do not break your word!"
"I remember," Galen assured him.
Illidan produced a small, intricately carved magic stone. "Give this to the Humans. When you require my services, crush it, and I will come." With those words, Illidan spread his remaining wing and soared into the sky, eager to continue his demonic culling and perhaps gather some loyal followers along the way.
Galen watched him disappear into the distance. Tichondrius was dealt with. Next on the agenda: Mannoroth. Galen turned his gaze towards the shadowed depths of Ashenvale. Once, during this very period, the legendary Battle of Demon Fall Canyon would have occurred, where Grom Hellscream and Thrall's united Orcish forces would have finally vanquished Mannoroth, severing the lingering demonic taint from their people. But now, the Orcish Horde, as it once was, had long since been scattered by Galen's actions. Most of the Orcs afflicted by the blood curse had been forcibly relocated to the brutal front lines of Hellfire Peninsula, their atonement to be earned in the endless war against the Legion.
Galen deactivated the Deception Orb, sheathed Quel'Serrar, and then drew forth Ashbringer, the transformation from Highlord Galen of Eldre'Thalas to Highlord Galen of the Crusaders complete. With purposeful strides, he returned towards the Forest Tree Dwelling, the ancient Night Elf stronghold in Ashenvale now designated as a key garrison for the burgeoning Alliance army.