"Tell me, my apprentices, where is that bastard Rhodes right now? I will slaughter him this instant and tear him into pieces," Xavius growled, his face a mask of fury.
The Highborne mages following him trembled uncontrollably. At this moment, the master they followed, the mentor they once revered, had become an utter monster—so hideous it was revolting.
Heavens, is this the price of accepting that 'True God's' power? His power actually turned people into such abominations.
This was wrong. If this was what "ascension" or "evolution" looked like, they wanted no part of it. Night Elves were naturally a long-lived race, and the Highborne—bathed in the radiation of the Well of Eternity—lived for thousands of years. They viewed other races as short-lived flickers of light, not even on the same level of existence. They had been promised true immortality by joining the Burning Legion, but if this was the cost, it was highly questionable.
"Tell me where that bastard is! Why are you silent? Why won't you speak? Do you dare not look me in the eye?" Xavius snarled. His eyes now pulsed with green Fel light, and green flames licked his body. He bore no resemblance to a Highborne Archmage; he was a pure demon.
"Please, calm your anger, Lord Xavius," one Highborne mage said, bracing himself. "Rhodes... Rhodes accepted Her Majesty's invitation. He has gone to the Queen's private baths."
"What did you say? He received the Queen's favor? How can this be? We haven't even finished our duel! How could he receive such a reward?" Xavius's face contorted.
At this moment, Xavius's hatred for Rhodes reached a point beyond words. Every Night Elf and Highborne adored Queen Azshara. Every elite mage yearned to be her guest. Yet today, an outsider of another race had succeeded. This honor should have been his. He should have been the one receiving her favor.
Xavius had even fantasized about summoning the True God to Azeroth and receiving ultimate rewards. He knew the Queen couldn't marry Sargeras; the Dark Titan viewed all life as ants and wouldn't care for the love of a mortal, even one as high as Azshara. Xavius had hoped to become a high-ranking member of the Legion, then woo the Queen and become the true Emperor of the Night Elves. That dream had been ruthlessly shattered.
He looked at his withered skin, his hideous hands, and his demonic, hardened hide. He had gained peerless power, but he had lost everything. Not even a common female Night Elf would look at him now, let alone the Queen.
His followers lowered their heads, not daring to look at him. The Archmage was in a state of absolute, explosive rage.
Meanwhile, in Azshara's bath palace, the passion had subsided, leaving the air thick with a lazy, lingering intimacy. Azshara leaned against the edge of the pool like a satiated cat, her lavender hair draped over her shoulders, her perfect figure partially veiled. A triumphant smile played on her lips.
"Now, my dear Chief Advisor, can you still say... that my charms cannot conquer you?" she asked.
Rhodes savored the Queen's warmth and the faint fragrance of her hair, but his mind remained clear. He smiled and replied:
"Your Majesty's charm is enough to make the stars lose their luster and the moonlight dim. I am but a mortal; how could I resist the radiance of the Light of Lights?" If you like hearing sweet nothings, I'll give them to you. A few cheesy lines won't kill me.
The flattery pleased Azshara immensely. She laughed and sat up, the veil sliding from her shoulder. She stepped onto the mirror-smooth floor and reached out to Rhodes.
"Then, would you like to see a dance performed only for you?" Elves lived for millennia; Azshara spent her time on magic, but also on songs, dance, and high art.
"It would be my absolute honor," Rhodes said.
The Night Elf handmaidens began to hum an ancient, beautiful melody, some playing instruments. As the music rose, Azshara spread her arms and began to dance by the pool. Her figure flickered through the steam, every step hitting a rhythmic node. Arcane energy flowed with her movements, condensing into starlight around her—sometimes like fireflies, sometimes like a pouring galaxy.
Most stunningly, as she moved, the energy of the Well of Eternity seemed to answer her call, projecting a miniature starry sky onto the dome of the bath palace. She wasn't just dancing; she was using her body to interpret the essence of magic, weaving the rules of the world with her steps.
Rhodes watched, transfixed. He had to admit that at this moment, Azshara's allure reached a certain peak. She had perfectly fused power and beauty. It was a lethal attraction.
The dance ended, and Azshara walked to Rhodes, breathing slightly. "Well?"
"Words cannot describe even a fraction of it, Your Majesty," Rhodes praised sincerely. "This dance belongs only in myth. It is no longer a worldly skill, but a resonance of the strings of the Arcane. Watching it, my spirit soared beyond the heavens. It was as if starlight first surged, spilling across jade steps; as you turned, the celestial dome seemed to fall, silver rings encircling you. Arcane lives and dies at your fingertips. The Well of Eternity follows the tide of your steps—moving like the Moon Goddess herself descending to the mortal world. When the song ended, it was as if a thousand magical flowers bloomed in the void, lighting the Empire forever."
He forced out a paragraph so purple it made his own skin crawl. But women love praise, so he gave her exactly what she wanted.
Azshara's eyes widened in disbelief. This description was high art! It praised her beauty, her magic, and even suggested the Well of Eternity itself was her backup dancer, likening her to the Moon Goddess, Elune. This was the refined adoration she craved, not the sycophancy of the nobles.
"That mouth of yours... it is more intoxicating than the sweetest mead. Say more. I like hearing you speak like this."
Crap, more? Rhodes thought. I'm almost out of material. Fine, let's push through.
"Legend says that the Moon Goddess Elune once used starlight as a veil and the night as a curtain to dance by the Well of Eternity, blessing the Night Elves. I always thought it was a poetic myth... until now, seeing Your Majesty's dance. To me, your beauty is not beneath the Moon Goddess; it perhaps even surpasses it."
Azshara's breath caught. Her golden eyes shone brilliantly. This was the ultimate validation of her ambition.
However, the moment the words left Rhodes's mouth—
Vrrr...
An invisible, vast consciousness seemed to drop from the heavens, sweeping through the entire bath palace. Rhodes felt an indescribable, cold, and majestic gaze pierce through space. It left him chilled from head to toe, as if his soul had been flash-frozen. The Arcane radiance dimmed, and the music of the handmaidens faltered.
In the night sky, the moon—the White Lady—seemed to focus its light like physical frost upon the bathhouse, an unspoken, silent scrutiny.
The triumphant smile vanished from Azshara's face. She raised her arm, dismissing the terrified, kneeling handmaidens with a wave. She looked at Rhodes. "My dear... some metaphors, even in jest, are a bit too shocking." She pointed to the sky. "Our Goddess occasionally listens to the noise of the mortal world—especially when her name is mentioned in such 'creative' verse."
A layer of cold sweat broke out on Rhodes's back. He looked up stiffly. He had clearly felt a gaze from a cosmic level, even if it was fleeting.
Meanwhile, in the Temple of the Moon, every priestess woke simultaneously with a sense of inexplicable dread, as if the moonlight itself were displeased. The High Priestess stepped out, looking at the moon, which seemed colder and brighter than usual.
"Goddess... why are you angry?"