Test of will

The piece of paper lay crumpled by his side.

From the vantage point where he stood, on top of the Windrunner Spire, he could see the sea.

No longer was the place roamed by vengeful ghosts, as it had been during the first years after the war.

Young adventurers had slain them all by now, allowing the restless spirits to enter the peace of the after world.

Or the nether, for the matter. He still hadn't figured it out, yet.

The sea sang endlessly with a thousand voices, waves that crushed against the shores, lacing the sand in white foam.

It felt cold.

Maybe because he only wore a shirt against the chilly breeze that came across the waters and into the empty, lifeless rooms of what had once been the luxurious residence of the Windrunner family.

But cold was good. It kept his senses alert and helped him fight against the pain.

He shouldn't be thinking of that pain, he warned himself, as he forced his mind elsewhere. With all the practice over the years and the recent experiences in the catacombs of the Scarlet Monastery, he had become quite an expert at drawing the line between consciousness and body.

Not this time tough.

He knew too well the reasons of the searing agony that sent sharp stabs through each little muscle.

Withdrawal.

He had taken so little mana lately from his demons. Not that he would ever draw enough to quench his need, but even less so over the last few weeks.

Laandra.

It was her presence that made him feel again the bitter taste of doubt after so much time. Made him wonder why he had chosen the path of darkness and corruption, against all he had once believed in.

He remembered all too well the days that followed after the fall of Silvermoon. He'd wish he didn't. How they built the pyres and burnt them all. Family, friends, the Convocation of Silvermoon, his father, Niniel's broken form...Everyone. Then, they just set the entire Ghostlands on fire as well, to drive back the Scourge. He remembers himself laying awake at night, afraid to drift into sleep, because the horrors are there, awaiting for him to close the eyes and live them over and over again.

Unable to utter even a single prayer. Light had failed him. And he had failed the Light and the familiar words would sound hollow and meaningless.

There was only death.

Despair had made him listen to the nether. It was power behind the veil and what was left of his kin needed the power.

So he'd taken it and made it serve.

At least this is what he wanted to believe.That he had had control.

And he had, for the most part of these years.

But then there were those moments when he'd lost it as well. Moments in which he had killed out of sheer pleasure and he didn't even remember why, just the power and the ecstasy flooding his senses as he drew in the victim's last sparkle of life. Moments in which he had felt as if there was another being inside his body. A demon. A monster.

Say it, even in that day when you first met her.

You just wanted to kill.

It's the truth.

Conscience hadn't troubled him for a while. Hell, the nightmares were enough.

If you drink the Nether, the nether will be you. sooner or later you'll be corrupted. And there is no turning back.

He covered his face with his hands, unable to discern any longer whether the pain was in his body or in his mind.

A little. Just a little sip.

No.

Do you imagine that by submitting yourself willingly to this torture you'll cleanse the taint?

Meditation didn't seem to help for anything, lately. Only to bring forth the annoying voices in his head.

You'd rather be one of the Wretched?

A small laugh.

I'm so much stronger than that. It's just pain, nothing more.

A hell lot of pain, but it didn't actually matter.

He could control it. If he couldn't then his entire life wasn't worth the trouble, anyway.