Corruption

By the time the first sunlight pierced the gaps in the thick gray haze and fell upon the ground of Searing Gorge, Diago and Masley had already crossed the hillside and spent a long time following a dry riverbed. They had almost brushed past the reinforcements dispatched from the mines; at their closest, only a low ridge had separated them. A little over half an hour later, they reached the mine beneath Firewatch Ridge.

Lying in a hollow on a small hillside opposite the mine, the two carefully studied it from afar. The mine lay beneath a steep cliff, and its entrance was very wide. That was rare in the fractured terrain of Searing Gorge, since an entrance that large would ordinarily collapse easily without supports.

In just a few days, the Twilight's Hammer had actually built a simple camp here. Closely spaced wooden stakes formed a semicircle around it, enclosing the mine. The thigh-thick stakes stood a little taller than a person, leaned slightly outward, and had sharply pointed tops. Some still had patches of bark on them. This timber had clearly been transported from elsewhere, since most of the local trees in Searing Gorge were half-charred and good for nothing but firewood. A small archery tower had also been built near the gate, and a Twilight cultist dressed as a hunter was scanning the surroundings from its top. Through the open camp gate, Diago saw some tents and a sparse handful of Twilight cultists busy at work-clearly, the cultists' rescue operation had drawn away almost everyone here.

Diago gestured to Masley and withdrew behind the hillside. After a whole night of exertion, both were a little hungry, so they took out their rations and began chewing. To keep the food from quickly spoiling in Searing Gorge's heat, Diago had dehydrated his homemade rations until they were rock-hard. He could practically throw them at people as stones. Under those circumstances, taste was obviously out of the question. Even Diago's max-level Cooking skill could not make these rations any more palatable. Both found them difficult to swallow, but forced themselves to eat some to maintain their strength. Khanifa, on the other hand, was very fond of the tough jerky. Its new teeth handled it admirably, and it indulged in quite a feast.

While they drank water and rested after eating, Diago partially disassembled his gun and serviced it. A specially made leather pouch hung from the back of his belt, holding not only gun oil, brushes, and cleaning cloths, but also several specialized Engineering tools. The pouch was exquisitely made, with several compartments inside. Each tool fitted into its own slot, keeping them from clanking around while he ran or fought.

Stroking the cold barrel, Diago could feel how perfectly this weapon he had made with his own hands suited him. It was practically an extension of his body. He was certain he did not have a fetish for objects, but whenever the gun was not beside him, he felt uncomfortable all over, hollow inside, and utterly insecure. In just one short week, he felt he had become unable to do without it.

After resting a while, Diago returned to the hilltop. His chosen spot lay southeast of the Twilight camp. Anyone looking this way from the camp would be facing the light and see nothing clearly beyond a hazy wash of sunshine. Besides, Diago was covered by the Lizard-skin Cloak. He was not at all worried about being discovered.

He lay quietly and roughly gauged the distance to the camp: a little over two hundred meters. That was not far, and for Diago and the gun in his hands, it was an excellent sniping position. He aimed at the Twilight sentry on the archery tower and squeezed the trigger. The sound of the firing pin striking the cartridge's primer was exquisite. The tremendous roar of the shot had barely sounded before the sentry plunged headfirst from the tower, without even managing a scream.

It was like stirring up a hornets' nest. Cries of alarm rang through the camp. Immediately afterward, a dozen or so armed Twilight cultists charged through the gate and looked around, but they had no idea where to turn. Gunshots kept ringing out, yet the echoes reverberating through the gorge made it impossible to locate the enemy. Only when the fourth of them fell did they realize that this hidden enemy was beyond their ability to handle. Reluctant though they were, they had to retreat into the camp. But that did not mean they were safe. When several cultists tried peeking over the wooden wall to investigate, Diago immediately showed them the terror they faced when a truly expert hunter waited outside their gate.

Once no one dared show their head, or even peek through the gaps in the wooden wall, Diago slowly withdrew from the hilltop and led Masley and Khanifa back the way they had come. He had not let either of them participate in this attack, because he was unsure exactly how many Twilight cultists occupied the temporary camp. Launching a rash assault would have been too dangerous. Once they entered the camp, close combat would be far more brutal and uncontrollable than a ranged ambush. They could not afford a war of attrition.

Now Diago felt more like a true hunter-he roamed the wilderness with his faithful companions at his side, passed through valleys like a ghost, and laid traps along the routes his enemies had to travel. Cold as ice, savage as raging fire, treacherous as a viper, his gun struck swift as thunder, unstoppable. Only death could sate his lust for slaughter...

Diago needed almost every shred of reason he possessed to keep himself from succumbing to that false sense of power born of controlling other people's lives and deaths. Intoxicating though that feeling was, it was as wicked and deadly as a poppy.

Just then, he suddenly shivered, feeling as though a basin of cold water had been poured over his head. He turned and saw Masley holding up his right hand, murmuring an incantation toward him.

"Soothing. A Druid spell. We usually use it to calm enraged beasts, but it actually works on humans too, just less noticeably," Masley explained awkwardly when he was discovered. He looked frightened. "I know doing this was rather disrespectful to you, but the look in your eyes really scared me just now..."

Just as he had said, the Night Elf had truly been frightened. What a look that had been: blood-red eyes, thickly threaded with bulging veins, filled with a craving for destruction and slaughter, filled with the poisonous fire of madness and cruelty. Only the warmth and vitality of the living had been absent, making Masley shudder.

"Thank you, Masley. You saved me from falling into darkness." Diago embraced his companion gratefully and offered his sincere thanks. The spell had come at precisely the right moment, practically pulling him back from the brink of corruption. In this world, souls possessed a mysterious and unique power. Even the most learned mages could not analyze or explain its origins and ultimate destination. This strange power could be evil or righteous, chaotic or lawful, and changes in it could manifest outside the body. The Betrayer of Sargeras contained this account: "Sargeras's immense body also became warped by the corrupting forces that eroded his mind. His eyes, hair, and beard turned into blazing flames, and his bronze skin cracked, spewing endless hatred and fire from the fissures..."

Although people had never understood how Sargeras, the mightiest Titan, had fallen, there was no denying that, righteous though his actions had been, his slaughter of demons had still caused his lust for violence to swell beyond control. Even if it was not the sole cause, it was an important reason for his corruption. Power could make people strong, but excessive faith in power could corrupt them.

In truth, the human heart held far too many negative emotions-pride, envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony, lust... The way these dark aspects of the soul twisted human nature was a delicacy to demons. The Nathrezim, vampiric demons from the dark Twisting Nether, were particularly adept at exploiting the darkness in human thoughts to tempt people into corruption and turn them into their minions. Wicked and cunning Dreadlords could even drive entire nations to slaughter one another out of inexplicable hatred and suspicion.

Faced with these evils so difficult to purge from human nature, the people of Azeroth generally armed their wills with the power of faith. But for Diago, who had always adhered to atheism, emptying his mind and accepting the existence of a vast will was difficult. Deep down, however, he vaguely believed that gods did exist-if even something as ridiculous as transmigration had happened, what could possibly be impossible?

"Could you tell me about Elune?" Diago asked the Night Elf wearily. This differed from what he had thought at the Great Forge. Then, he had wanted to pray for good luck, a thoroughly self-serving intention. Now, however, he sought no tangible benefit from Elune, but sincerely pursued comfort and something for his spirit to hold on to, as a shield and barrier against the encroaching darkness. A firm will could help humans resist temptation, but only saints were without flaws. Everyone had moments of panic, weakness, exhaustion, or lowered vigilance. What were they to do then?

"Of course. I would be very happy to spread the goddess's grace," the somewhat surprised Night Elf answered. Though he was not a Priest of Elune himself, he was still willing to bring this human into the church as a brother.

Diago poured some water from his waterskin, cupped it in his hands, and splashed it over his face. Although Searing Gorge's heat had left the water slightly warm, it did calm his muddled mind a little. As he walked, he listened to Masley's preaching.

By the time they reached the point halfway between the mine and last night's ambush site, it was nearly noon.

The Twilight reinforcements had not yet returned. At his chosen sniping position, Diago began the first prayer of his life. The Night Elf had taught him these words on the way.

"Merciful Elune, I kneel before you and ask to become the sword in your hand in the battle against evil..." He prayed devoutly to Elune. Although war did not fall within her domain, Elune, who upheld healing, peace, and tranquility, was not a goddess who preached nonresistance. In fact, since ancient times, Elune had often appeared in the form of the Night Warrior. It was said that she carried the bodies of warriors who had died bravely from the battlefield and transformed them into stars in the night sky.

During the War of the Ancients, the moon goddess had manifested miracles more than once to inspire the Night Elf forces to resist the Burning Legion. When High Priestess Tyrande Whisperwind had nearly been killed by Archimonde, she had also protected Tyrande against a blow from Archimonde and the Dark Titan Sargeras's curse upon her. Her priestesses' hymns could bring the goddess's punishment down upon their enemies, and their prayers could restore life to gravely wounded, dying soldiers.

For many Night Elf warriors, praying to her for protection was the most natural thing in the world.

Just then, Masley, transformed into a black panther, appeared at the foot of the hill and waved a paw toward him. The Twilight reinforcements had finally returned.

"Merciful Elune, when I embark upon my journey and face the unknown darkness, please be with me..." Diago continued murmuring his prayer. He crawled into the shadow of a rock, held his gun, chambered a round, and aimed toward the southwest along the path.

"Merciful Elune, when I take up my weapon and begin to fight, please grant me a will of steel and courage..." When the enemy entered his optimal firing range, he squeezed the trigger. An unbroken succession of gunshots instantly thundered through the valley.

Even though Elune never answered her followers' prayers, Diago felt his heart gradually grow calm. Even amid the fierce fighting, he felt neither unease nor hesitation.

It was daytime now, and visibility was vastly better than during his previous nighttime ambush. He began his attack from five hundred meters away. Although he could not maintain his accuracy at that distance, he could keep the enemy at range for longer. The Twilight cultists would not be able to rush him anytime soon.

Only after losing eight lives did the Twilight cultists identify the direction of their enemy. They immediately charged. In the eyes of these fanatical doomsday cultists, death was nothing frightening; the destruction of the world was the ultimate goal they pursued. But this advance was practically a charge into death. The 1 rifle's rate of fire was not fast, but as the cultists drew closer, Diago's accuracy gradually improved. By the time he changed his sixth clip, almost every shot hit its mark. When firing at heavily armored targets, however, he had to infuse his bullets with Arcane energy, which cost him some time-beyond two hundred meters, unless a bullet struck perpendicularly, its own penetrating power was insufficient to pierce armor a finger thick. Even so, by the time they entered the two-hundred-meter range, only about a third of the Twilight reinforcement force of over a hundred remained.

By then, however, the cultists were beginning to waver. Before they had even touched a hair on the enemy's head, more than half their own people had died. That would have been enough to break anyone. Diago could see their charge beginning to slow. When Masley and Khanifa sprang from their ambush beside the road and plunged into the crowd, unleashing a bloody slaughter, the Twilight cultists finally broke. The fanatics who had charged forward shouting now scattered and fled.

Diago fired a few more shots, emptying the clip until it sprang from the magazine with a clang.

Watching the Twilight cultists scatter, he let out a soft breath of relief. He set down his gun and lay on the ground, his whole body relaxed, his hands clasped over his chest as he prayed devoutly to Elune.

"Serene lady of moonlight, may you forgive my sins and protect my soul. Let me lie down in green pastures, lead me to rest beside sweet waters. You restore my soul and guide my path in Elune's name. Even when I walk through the twisted abyss, I shall not fear falling into darkness, for you are with me..." His prayer was utterly devout. His faith in Elune was like a clear spring, slowly washing away the shadow that blood and death had cast over his heart. His bloodthirsty lust for destruction and slaughter gradually subsided. Deep in the abyss of the Twisting Nether, an evil and foul existence sighed and temporarily turned its covetous gaze away.

Note: Many prayers in this book were adapted from scriptural texts such as Hebrews. I hope they will not offend Christian readers. If they cause you any displeasure, please be understanding. I hold Jesus Christ in reverence and mean absolutely no ill will.