'Just like Northrend,' the death knight thought to herself as she drudged through the deep snow and the pelting blizzard, her weapon slung over her shoulder to help with its cumbersome weight.
The great expanse of the Frozen North did nothing but cloud her vision with its perpetual downfall of snow and dull her sense of time as she trekked for what felt like hours in a land where everything was the same. Every direction she looked to she found only fields of snow -- not even mounds where she could use as a point of reference to make sure she hadn't walked in circles.
"Where am I?" she muttered under her breath in frustration. Her voice echoed with a ghostly verb that hummed and wailed as she spoke. "Where have I come to? There's nothing here."
Reaching into her pocket she withdrew a small, etched, black rune stone that formerly glowed an eerie, lime-green colour. Now, the rune carved onto its face was just that -- a blackened carving about half a centimetre deep into the stone.
"Where the hell have you taken me?"
Floating high above the ruined town of New Avalon sat what was once the only icon of sin that sought the grimace of the human population below. A large pyramid-like structure constructed entirely of ebon stone fastened together and supported by pillars and beams made of large bones of giants and dragons, flanked by haunting, deathly skulls whose eyes glowed an icy blue that chilled the souls of those who looked into them. It was a monument that foretold the deaths of those who would be unfortunate to stand before it.
And so death came to those of New Avalon, their screams piercing into the darkened, plagued skies in which the Ebon Hold claimed as its territory. Screams that fell upon deaf ears of the merciless minions of the Lich King.
But now the Ebon Hold, Acherus, is no longer a base of operations for the Lich King's forces. It is no longer a token force in the death god's grand army. It now stands as a symbol of defiance, a force of unbridled wrath and vengeance against the one who brought them into undeath only to throw their lives away like pawns on a chess board.
The Knights of the Ebon Blade were pawns to no one.
Within its dark, cold halls of sickly green and charred grey walls walked a legion of undead knights who cling onto only a single purpose: vengeance against their former master. Even as they trained in the halls of the damned, they brought their weapons down upon stone mannequins with unbridled hatred to the point that even dulled and shattered blades did not keep them from swinging further. Perhaps the only thing that could match their boiled blood was the fires of their own runeforges.
But no single lich nor death knight held as much contempt for the Lich King as their leader, Highlord Darion Mograine. A man who was once a champion of the Holy Light in its battle against the scourge, the cruel hand of fate sundered his humanity in a twist of fate that saw him become a part of the scourge he once vowed to vanquish. His unfaltering love for his father, the Ashbringer, Alexandros Mograine, was the only thought that he clung onto even in undeath. It was that which eventually brought him back to the path of the Light.
The Light can do many things that cannot be explained by mortal means, but it was not something that could regain the virtue of patience.
"I grow tired of waiting!" grumbled the death knight as he gripped tightly on the reins of his death charger, his voice echoing lightly upon the pillars of the hold. "Alistra! You were the one who claimed responsibility for her! So tell me, death knight, where she is."
"My apologies, my Lord," called out the female knight, the dried skin around her eyes wrinkling as she widened them as Mograine reprimanded her. "I've not heard word from her since her departure to Orgrimmar. Perhaps the Warchief was not as welcoming as we suspected."
"Then it is no real loss. Feel free to bring in another initiate -- one that won't be killed within two minutes of leaving here."
"That will not be necessary, Highlord," a calm and gentle voice called out from beside him. As Mograine turned to the direction of it he was met only with a cathedral window-styled gateway of black and violet mists, atop of which was adorned with a ebon skull of an equine. From the shadows stepped a single dark steel, booted foot before being followed by a short, slender, female figure clad from head to toe in dark armor. Her eyes pierced the dark with their bright hue of cold blue that matched her sickly pale, green-white skin. "Forgive the delay, Highlord, but gaining the Warchief's approval was much more difficult with his new protégé around."
Mograine only huffed loudly at the knight's response as his steed shuffled on its hooves seemingly mirroring her own rider's impatience. "He is not the only one having trouble with their protégé," he scoffed as his head turned to Lady Alistra before turning back to the knight before him. "Regardless, I trust you bring the news that I wish to hear, else you wouldn't bother returning at all."
"Of course. Thrall has allowed the presence of death knights into the Horde, though he is adamant about the races which are allowed into their ranks."
"A trifle matter, yet one we will adhere to nonetheless. A similar proposition had been offered by Stormwind's King Varian Wrynn as one of the other initiates returned. You could learn a thing or two about punctuality from him."
The knight grumbled under her breath but maintained her composure as she nodded. "I understand, Highlord. What further use do you have of me?"
"You have not been told then?" As Mograine paused, the knight shook her head. "I am told that the Alliance is setting up a vanguard to lead an assault along the eastern coast of Northrend, taking the fight to Arthas. Tirion plans to do the same with his Argent Crusade, and so shall the Ebon Blade. I can only assume that Thrall aims to do the same thing. Go back to Orgrimmar and found out about any plans they have in invading Northrend. Join whatever expedition they are planning, and aid the Horde." Mograine turned his head to scan the room, looking around the hold before him. "Look around you, death knight. See the humans, the dwarves, the elves, the gnomes, all amongst the races of orcs, trolls, and tauren. Despite being enemies in life, they are now companions in death, unified under a single banner. This is what we need from the rest of the Horde and the Alliance should we hope to achieve victory over the Lich King."
"Of course, Highlord. Whatever happens, we will have our vengeance."
Mograine nodded. "We will see it through, to the bitter end. The Knights of the Ebon Blade will not falter. What is your name, death knight."
"Liliandra, my Lord. Liliandra Dawnbreaker."
"Dawnbreaker… Go with haste. We will have our vengeance."
The snow began to feel thinner beneath the feet of Liliandra. The sounds of crunching snow began to lessen, replaced by the hardened knocking of her steel boots upon a much denser surface. As her eyes pierced through the falling blizzard in front of her, the landscape began to turn from snow white to a deep, icy blue.
But the blizzard soon stopped. Within a single moment, the snow had stopped falling upon the land to which even the glacier on which it snowed upon was clear of anything but its icy surface. But Liliandra felt something more than just the slippery surface on which she trod upon. She felt something cold against her deadened skin. No, it was much more than just the frigid air. She had felt this kind of coldness before. Over a thousand years before. It was the kind of cold that chilled your spine and shrivelled your soul. The kind of cold that froze you from within until all that remained was an icy husk that would not dare to move.
It was the icy chill of death itself.
Looking down upon the ice Liliandra saw nothing but the fading colour of blues into an inky, void-like black. But with every step she took further she could feel the chill getting colder and colder. To any mortal this would feel unbearable, but to one who barely feels such a thing it was only a trivial issue.
The elf's steps began to ring louder as she approached the center of this icy expanse, louder and with echoes -- the ice was becoming more hollow the further she walked into it. Stopping just shy of the center she slung her weapon from her shoulder and held it to her side. Leaning forwards she gazed into the never-ending void beneath the glacier before rearing her head back. Slowly she moved her weapon forwards, prodding at the ground with the tip of the axe head, a sling ring sounding from it.
"Strong. Dense. Hollow." Liliandra paused for a moment, looking around at the scenery in front of her. All that lay as far as her eyes could see was just this huge, circular glacier of ice at least twenty meters in diameter with its circumference and beyond covered with a thick sheet of snow. Kneeling down upon one knee, she placed her gloved hand upon the surface. A numb feeling soaked into her fingers even through her thick gauntlets, spreading against her palm. "This is no ordinary ice."
"How perceptive you are."
Liliandra looked up in urgency, her eyes glancing in front of her. She could have sworn that she had heard a voice from in front of her, but stood before her was nothing but her own disfigured reflection in the ice. "Show yourself, spectre," she called out into the wastes before her.
The voice became clearer, rumbling with a haunting echo through the barren lands of cold as it spoke, "If not for my predicament, I would gladly bestow upon you my presence, creature." The skies began to darken slightly, shifting from a cool, frosty blue to a dark shade of indigo. Even the snow around the outer edges of the glacier began to stain with purples.
"Do not play games with me, foolish spectre, lest you wish to feel my wrath."
A howl of heavy laughter struck out at Liliandra, almost shaking the ground beneath her feet as it grew more and more before finally calming to a chuckle, then stopping entirely. "Such confidence! So austere!" the voice cried out almost with excitement, with joy, as though it was what it wanted. "And yet so ignorant that it shall be your undoing."
"Let's skip the idle threats and get straight to the more meaningful matters," exclaimed Liliandra as she gripped her axe tightly. "Who are you, what are you, and where are you?"
"You intrigue me, greatly, creature," replied the voice, ignoring her inquiries entirely. "When I was banished deep beneath the Frozen North the two Princess' created this powerful illusion so none may ever find me. The illusion of a barren waste so vast that one would think they were walking in circles for days. The illusion of the winter cold so frigid that one would collapse or even die should they prolong their exposure.
And yet you, of all the great creatures, of all of the greatest of beings, found me. Or mayhap it was your hatred that found me. Perhaps I shall answer your questions as a reward. I am King Sombra, former dark ruler of the Crystal Empire. And I am here"
"An interesting tale, spectre, but I had no desire to find you. I do not even know who you are, or even where I am."
"You do not know…?" Another bellow of hysteria echoed through the wastes, shifting the snow around the glacier backwards. "I wonder if you are from another land. Or perhaps another world altogether. Regardless, I will enlighten you. The realm you stand upon is in the Frozen North of the continent of Equestria -- a continent founded by the Earth Ponies, Unicorn Ponies, and the Pegasi Ponies."
A grin began to spread along Liliandra's cold, cracked lips, Her shoulder began to shift up and down as she snickered, then blurting out into laughter. "You call yourself powerful? And yet you were defeated by petty little horses!?"
"You do not understand what it is to be in Equestria. I, too, was once a Unicorn."
"Oh, wow, and I'm supposed to be intimidated by a small horse with a horn on its head? I have fought the Iron Colossi of Storm Peaks; I have fought the Lich King upon his own thrown; I have destroyed the great dragon aspect of earth, the World Destroyer himself! What possible challenge could you even hope to throw at me, horsey?"
As her voice echoed across the frozen wastes, she awaited for a reply -- one of hubris, one of mockery, or even one of commendation. But only a blanket silence fell upon her ears.
"I do not wish to challenge you at all, "death knight"," Sombra replied after a long pause, one of which Liliandra widened her eyes at. "I sense hatred in your heart. I sense vengeance in your soul. I sense both of them, smouldering and infusion into ever single piece of dead skin upon those bleached bones of yours. And I have a proposition for you, one that requires someone of your… expertise."
"I only take requests from those who deserve it."
"Then upon my words you may judge me as to whether or not I am deserving of your talents, death knight. But before I may begin, I would like to ask you one small question."
"Throw what you want at me, spectre."
"Do you still feel for your brother, high elf?"
A question that would strike upon the heart and soul of any mortal -- stone-cold or not. Her eyes shifted slightly from one side to the other, her grip upon the handle of her weapon loosened gently as she cradled it in her curled fingers. "… What do you know about me?" she asked, her voice slow and uneasy.
"Only the things I'm interested in -- the dark thoughts that linger in your head and the painful memories you like to hide until you need them to drive you forwards. So I ask this again of you, death knight: do you still feel for him?"
"… I…" Liliandra gripped her axe tightly once more and bit her bottom lip, puncturing them with her canines. "I want him dead! Only when his lifeless body is held in my arms above my head will I finally feel peace!"
Sombra chuckled a low hum, rumbling within Liliandra's ears. "I can feel your anger, death knight. I can feel it burning through those shrivelled veins of yours where blood once rushed. You had that same feeling when you spoke with that other woman… the "Banshee Queen"?"
"You know nothing, spectre!"
"I know as much as you do, and more, high elf. Two ladies of undeath and kin, once enslaved to the will of this "Lich King". I know all, death knight."
"Shadow guide you," spoke an undead guard as he crossed an arm across his armoured chest, covering only but a pair of rib bones that jutted out from the sides. "The Dark Lady has been expecting you. You may proceed."
Liliandra did not reply, only proceeding through the halls of the Royal Quarter as she was permitted. The hall snaked around to one side, slightly sloping downwards the further in it went. The walls were made of a deep purple masonry, with archways that curved along the ceiling and down the walls to form two thick pillars, all adorned with intricate carvings and skull-like ornaments. Beside each archway stood a duo of guards on either side, all of whom glared at the death knight as she walked past them.
As she turned through the last archway Liliandra found herself within the quarter itself. The room was large and circular with six alcoves spread evenly around the outside, giving it the shape like that of a cogwheel. Each of these alcoves housed a single guard each, although most of them were orcs rather than undead. In the middle of the room sat a set of large, circular steps the lead to a single platform covered with an equally large, sickly green rug.
It was a top of this platform that stood the Dark Lady herself, Sylvanas Windrunner. A former Ranger-General in her lifetime, she still keeps hold of her uniform; a hood kept up that shadowed her deadened brow that hid her one soft, flowing, blonde hair, attached to a long cape that extends past her knees, though now tattered and torn in places. Her hands and legs covered in thick leather with intricate silver filigree that undoubtedly showed its elven design. Her body only had a single piece of chest armor that wrapped around her breasts, leaving her upper arms, collar, and midriff exposed, showing her cold, icy-blue skin. Upon her shoulders were a pair of finely-crafted shoulder pads connected to the chest piece by a pair of dark brown, leather straps. Several feathers were fastened into the ends of the shoulders and skulls being fused onto the tops of them.
"Good to see you've finally arrived," spoke the Banshee Queen with a crooked smile on her dark lips. "I trust that Mograine has asked you to see me? You are his personal champion, after all."
"Do not patronize me, Sylvanas," snapped Liliandra as she stroke up the steps before standing a few feet before her. "Neither Mograine nor Fordring have any love for you or your "Forsaken". There has been talk of you growing in similarity to that bastard Arthas."
"You dare compare me to him? If you weren't serving as part of the Ebon Blades, or the Horde for that matter, I would --"
Sylvanas was cut off as Liliandra quickly slung her weapon -- the feared Shadowmourne -- from her shoulder and jutted it towards the Dark lady, who flinched backwards a little as the tip of the axe head came dangerously close to her face. "Do not threaten me, Sylvanas," growled the death knight as the runes along the surface of the axe began to glow an icy hue. "Unlike you, I have no qualms with killing whoever I damn well please, regardless of the consequence."
Those who were present in the quarter braced themselves as they readied their arms quickly. The guards drew upon their ebon swords while those gifted in the magical arts began to channel their prowess into their palms, staves, or anything else that they used as a medium. But despite their dutiful stance, they dared not act any further. They had heard of this champion of the Ebon Blade, how she had helped rid the world of the Lich King, and who had destroyed the World Destroyer himself. With that in mind, who would even dare oppose her or even think of laying a scratch on her?
But it was that thought that gave a moment of tension for Sylvanas. She saw those cold, heartless eyes before in Arthas, as he wrenched her soul from her body and revived her as a banshee. It was probably the only thing she feared more than anything else. Her words had to be made carefully.
"Now, now," she spoke softly as she gently raised her hand, pressing it upon the dulled, back end of Shadowmourne and moving it down and to the side of her, "let us not start this with hostility and violence. I assume that your "superiors" have this idea simply because I have enlisted the aid of some of the Lich King's former Scourge?"
"I have no idea why they believe what they do. It is not my duty to care. But I have noticed as well, Windrunner. You have become aggressive in your resurrection of the dead to the point that the rest of the world is beginning to question why. The Lich King is dead and you have had your vengeance, your purpose served. So then why do you continue to revive?"
"We are people just like any other race, death knight. Those who once served the Lich King now find themselves shackled to their mortal coils, fearing death as it takes them to a shallow darkness where only pain, fear, hopelessness, and regret awaits them. But if we die out then the Horde no longer have a hold on this continent besides Quel'Thalas -- a shattered city whose populace could be wiped out by a single gnome in a siege engine. What then, Liliandra? The Alliance then have complete dominance of the Eastern Kingdom, until they decide they want Kalimdor as well."
"You speak as though the Alliance are the ones proposing hostility! You were the ones who waged war upon Gilneas! You were the ones who attacked Southshore! You were the ones who pushed into the Arathi Highlands!"
"We did so at the behest of the Warchief! We were ordered by him to attack Gilneas so that we could set up docks on southern Lordaeron."
"The Warchief ordered you to use your "blight", too?"
Sylvanas' lips shut before she could even begin to compose a reply. Her pupil-less, smouldering red eyes gazed towards Liliandra as the rest of her body froze.
"The Ebon Blade is aware of your actions throughout Lordaeron, Sylvanas. We are aware that you have instigated these attacks -- with or without the consent of your "Warchief"." Turning and stepping from the platform, Liliandra began to retire from the quarter. "As far as I'm concerned, your kind doesn't deserve to exist."
"Then you don't either, death knight," quipped Sylvanas with a smirk on her lips.
"No. I don't."
With a heavy arm Liliandra drove the head of Shadowmourne into the ice, chipping it and piercing it only an inch deep, crying out a fierce, rage-filled scream. "Get out of my head, damn you!" she yelled into the glacier, pressing the axe even further in, piercing through little by little.
"Good, death knight," Sombra mocked with a grumbling chuckle. "I can feel your anger, feel your hatred, rising up from your rotten soul! But we are far from finished here. As good a memory as that was, it is not what we're looking for yet."
Liliandra gritted her teeth tight, growling under her breath. "What do you want from me, you bastard?"
"I want to know more about your sibling. When you spoke to this Dark Lady I felt something inside you. I feel a conflict within you that you had no control, no scope of. I believe it has some sort of connection with him."
Pulling the axe from the ice, Liliandra held it by her side as she paused for a moment. "When she spoke of Quel'Thalas, I felt… angry. Quel'Thalas has become nothing of what I once knew it to be. The ones who I considered my people were no longer so."
"You feel your brother has done you a disservice. He let you die. He allowed your people to be slaughtered. Now you wish to exact vengeance upon him."
"No. It is more the hate. it is more the vengeance. So much more…"
The skies began to dull further to ebon ink, with only the moonlight providing any light upon the wastes. The snow had stopped completely, settling upon the ground around her. The cold air only became more frigid as the voice chuckled once more. "And so you finally sought it out time later. But he wasn't much help, was he, this "Theron"?"
"I told you to get out of my damn head!"
"Not a single one of them were of any help, weren't they? You took all that time to see them, upon your noble steed that took you through the decaying Plaguelands and through the Dead Scar to the forests of Quel'Thalas. And what did you receive in return? A token response befitting of a commoner."
The guards on either side of the walkway stood back as Liliandra made her way towards the sanctum, her heady footsteps ringing upon the marble despite being padded by the long, thick, red carpet that spanned the entire length of it and into the sanctum itself. Despite being two dozen of the guards, perhaps more, they still dared not approach her in any manner -- they were under strict orders not to.
"I do not need to tell you again, Aethas," a powerful voice burst from inside the building, its tone was that of frustration and commandment. "We need every capable fighter -- martial, arcane, or otherwise -- in order to win this fight with the Kirin Tor. That is why I am asking you to assist with the new recruits."
"My Lord," replied the Archmage, "it has been too long since we had last trained any new spellbreakers. I'm not sure if we will even get them trained before we make way to the isle."
"If we are to gain the upper hand against Proudmore, then we need to have the right equipment to deal with her." The Regent Lord stopped as he heard the steps coming from the pathway, turning to see Liliandra's visage appear gradually as she made her way closer. "We'll continue this later," he spoke out to the Archmage. "It is good to see you've come so soon, Liliandra."
"I'm not here for pleasantries, Lor'themar," snapped Liliandra as she violently swatted the drapes from her face as she walked through the archway. "I'm only here to ask of Gai'vahros' whereabouts. I would assume that you of all people would know where he is."
The Regent Lord paused for a moment. Aethas' faceless helm turned towards Lor'themar, as did the eyes of Halduron and Rommath. "I'm afraid I don't know where he is," he responded eventually. "After Dalaran I assume he returned to Pandaria to continue his duties."
"Is that supposed to satisfy me, "Regent Lord"? Do you think that I do not know of your plans to lead your armies upon the Isle of Thunder?"
Despite the shocked expression upon their faces, the council did not let it get the better of them, all maintaining composure.
"Then you also know of the situation between the Sunreavers and Dalaran," spoke Rommath, his large collar obscuring his pained expression.
But Liliandra's cold eyes only darted to Rommath for a moment before glancing back to Lor'themar. "I don't care what happens to your people, blood elf."
"How dare you!" exclaimed Halduron, stepping forwards while piercing the death knight with a lightning gaze, gritting his teeth. "These are your people too, death knight! You were once one of us! Or has undeath rotted your brain that much?"
"I was never once one of you!" she screamed back, swing her axe from one side to the other like she would with her own hand n defiance. "I was once a proud high elf who entrusted my fate, my faith, in the Light! And the Light forsook me, left me to die at the hands of the Scourge!" He eyes winced for a moment as she gazed at the Ranger-general. "Do you know what it's like to have your limbs torn from your body, General?"
Halduron froze. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, his heart skip a beat, his fingers grow cold as she asked.
"Do you know what it's like to have your skin ripped from your bones, Archmage? Grand Magister?"
Neither one of them dared answer. Aethas didn't need to look away; his helm easily hid his discomfort. Rommath, however, was not so fortunate. He couldn't look her in her deadened eyes without feeling his skin crawl.
"What about you, Regent Lord? You were so caught up in the conflict that you never let it sink into your mind -- the thought of watching women and children butchered like pigs. I'm willing to bet that you don't know the sound of a dying girl as a meat hook is driven into her stomach."
Even Lor'themar found it painful to look at her, turning his head away.
"And then what? You succumb to your weakness and you begin to feed off of the energies of demons. Did you learn nothing from the orcs? What about when you instructed your warriors to feed off of the life of another being?"
"We did what we could in times of desperation, Liliandra," responded Rommath. "People were dying without being able to control their addiction! A number of our people had become wretched husks of their former selves because of it!"
"So you sacrificed an innocent to save your own worthless lives?" Quickly she turned on her heel and parted the drapes in front of her, leaving the sanctum, leaving only tension in her wake. "You are just like the rest of us. You don't deserve to live."
Liliandra fell to her knees with a heavy thud, breathed heavily, forming thick clouds of air beyond her face. Her gripped upon the pommel of her axe that still stuck out of the ice, her grip shaky as she tried to keep herself supported. Her arms began to go limp, her fingers sliding slightly from their position.
"What say you now, Liliandra?" mocked Sombra. "Do you still find me undeserving of your ear? or have I made myself perfectly clear?"
"… What is it that you propose?"
Sombra's ominous chuckle rung through the air once more. "Good. Let us get down to business," he replied. "That foolish Regent Lord dared not speak of the whereabouts of this "Gai'vahros". Perhaps he knew all too well of your intentions. As for I… I'm very interested to see what you will do once you find him."
"You cannot take me to him, spectre!" exclaimed Liliandra as she looked up from the ground. "As powerful as you are, you cannot take me back to Azeroth!"
"You assume that I have to. And you assume that he is still there."
"… What are you suggesting…?"
"Gai'vahros Dawnbreaker is here, death knight. he is in Equestria."
Her eyes widened at this being's response. Quickly she clambered to her feet and drew the axe from the glacier. "Tell me where he is!" she cried out.
"You must have misheard me, Liliandra. I offered you a proposition, not a favour. First you must do something for me: release me from my eternal prison."
"And you find me foolish enough to believe you?"
"Why not? We have come to the conclusion that we both have enemies here -- mine, the Princess', and yours, your brother. And I can give you so much more, Liliandra. I can give you power -- more power than you have ever witnessed! But that is for another time. If you choose not to, then you can stay walking around in this barren waste for time immemorial.
"So… do we have a deal?"
What could she do? The spirit had already made more than a generous offer for her, and was willing to help her even more should she continue to do the same for him. It wasn't like he could refuse him either way -- she didn't enjoy the prospect of being stuck in a snowstorm for much longer.
Slowly she hoisted the axe from a top the Glacier, holding it outwards and gazing down the handle upon the flat surface of the head. The darkened, saronite skull gazed down back at her with deathly eyes of ice, that glow slowly spreading along the sharpened edge, spreading along the runes as they too began to brighten in the dark.
"If it will help me bring an end to him… then I will take it!"
Bringing the axe back to her she gripped upon the handle with both arms, swinging it above her head before bringing the blade down upon the ice. That one strike, filled with all of her hate, empowered by all of her anger, tempered with her dark simulacrum of retribution, split the glacier with a dark crack that splintered upwards into tiny crystalline fragments. The cracks began to spread over the ice line cracks in a window, before eventually widening and seeping with a thick shroud of darkness.
Curtains, drapes, veils and tendrils of shadow began to weave from the cracks, swirling around like an ebon vortex into a single point beyond Liliandra by only a few meters. As the strands of black twirled and entwined with one-another they began to form a shape, a silhouette.
From a floating mass grew four limbs that touched upon the ice, a neck that began to shape into a snout with glowing amber eyes and a long, black mane, and finally a tail of equal colour. The body lightened to a charcoal grey as drapes of shadow began to form -- a chestguard of dark iron formed around his body with a long, red, fur-lined cape draping over his flank. A single dark, slightly curled horn sprouted from his forehead. Lips formed along the end of the snout, forming into a dark and sinister grin that bared large fangs.
"Gyahahahah!" The cackling laughter of Sombra pierced the skies as he bellowed into hysteria. "Finally! Finally I am fully released!"
"And now, pony," spoke Liliandra as she pulled her weapon from the glacier, "you will fulfil your end of the bargain."
"Of course. But remember, Liliandra: this is about more than hate."
"… More than vengeance…"
