Endless thirst...

((continued))

" Most unexpected", the satyr commented, stepping by Laandra's unconscious body and craning his neck to see better in the darkness inside the cottage. With a casual gesture, he lightened the small candle on the table near the door. "Yet what a pity...A follower of the Light...the taste of corruption slowly spreading to her soul...that would have been delightful..."

Eireannan withdrew his hand. It was all he had time to do, as Laandra's lips moved to utter the word the demon was requiring, to send a shadow bolt knock her to the ground. Weakness made him stagger. Yes, his body was almost entirely healed, even his hands, he discovered, as he raised the long, slender fingers and carefully studied them in the flickering light. But the lack of magical energy was sending painful stabs across his chest and head, as he slowly rose from the bed and faced the satyr.

" Well then" , the demon casually resumed, "since she's unconscious, maybe you will find my offer more attractive. Enough magic to feed your addiction for ever. Power beyond your wildest dream,even to drive the Scourge out of the Plaguelands and defeat Kel'Thuzad all by yourself...even the Lich King, back there, in Northrend."

Eireannan didn't answer.

" You know the taste of that power" the satyr persisted. "You've already tasted it..."

" I did", Eireannan whispered and the demon, encouraged by the quiet answer, came closer, his eyes now burning in the half-darkness of the room.

Then, suddenly, he let out a cry of pain and surprise, as Eireannan, in a whirling move, drove the dagger he tightly held in his left hand through its chest. The satyr fell to his knees, fighting to push him back, but Eireannan turned the knife into the wound and the thick, dark demonic blood splattered his hand.

" Did you mean this sort of power?" he said,in demonic, his voice low and cruel, while his other hand reached to touch the creature, in a sparkle of sickly light. The demon writhed in agony, as the warlock started to drain away its life and its energy, all of it, while the shadow enchanted dagger sent wave after wave of destruction through its body.

All of it...Eireannan thought, as the creature squirmed under his power and its magic and strength gushed through his own veins, thundering in his head.

Then, with a last spasm, the demon just died and Eireannan felt the indescribable ecstasy that always accompanied draining the very essence of a being, to its last little bit.

Breathing heavily he collapsed onto the creature's now motionless body, his fingers still clenched on the dagger, the world and the room endlessly spinning around himself.

Then he heard Laandra move.

Rising as fast as he could, he stepped over the corpse and kneeled by her side, as she stirred again, dreamily opening her eyes.

Was it all a dream?

The pain in the back of her head was real enough.

But the first thing she saw almost made her cry out in surprise. There was a slight shade of color in Eireannan's face, barely visible in the sunset light, as he tried to hide to his back the dagger and his bloodied left hand.