Tichondrius's words were like a cold dagger, thrusting unexpectedly into the once-harmonious atmosphere of the corridor and turning the air thick with tension. The Dreadlord's smirk was so insufferable that Rhodes felt a sudden, violent urge to blast him back to the Twisting Nether with a surge of Holy Light.
You absolute bottom-feeder, Rhodes thought. There isn't a mess in the cosmos that you lot haven't stirred up. Azshara was a woman with an insatiable lust for power; telling her that a newcomer had been placed above her was a psychological landmine. Rhodes didn't even need his eyes to know that the Queen's expression was currently a landscape of fury.
Azshara's smile vanished instantly. She turned slowly, her golden eyes flashing with disbelief as she looked between Rhodes and the Dreadlord. Her face became a mask of frigid mist; her gaze toward Rhodes shifted from warmth to sharp suspicion in a heartbeat.
Rhodes's heart sank. He had no intention of revealing Sargeras's "special regard" just yet—especially not to Azshara. He understood her temperament perfectly: she was the ultimate egoist, currently bordering on a pathological obsession with her own status. This move by the Dreadlord was as malicious as it was precise, striking directly at her most sensitive nerve. Azshara would never tolerate anyone standing above her, let alone someone she had previously viewed as her subordinate or lover.
"Lord Tichondrius, were you present during my private conversation with Lord Sargeras just now?" Rhodes spoke first, shifting into damage-control mode. He couldn't let his relationship with Azshara fracture; he still needed this Queen to be his "fall guy" for the Legion's eventual defeat.
He needed to gauge how much this demon actually knew. If things got out of hand, he'd have to dispatch his Holy Archangel or Phoenix for a quiet "decapitation" to silence this bat for good.
"I wouldn't dare," Tichondrius replied smoothly. "Lord Sargeras said it was a private audience, so naturally, no one else was there. However, I can see that Lord Sargeras trusts you immensely. He has never spoken with a mortal creature alone for so long."
The Dreadlord's mind worked fast. It was how they survived in every faction. Within the Burning Legion, even Kil'jaeden and Archimonde occasionally relied on their cunning.
"Then on what basis do you judge that Lord Sargeras values me more, or that my rank is above Queen Azshara's? Is this not merely your own speculation?" Rhodes countered. "Have you perhaps misunderstood Lord Sargeras's intent? Her Majesty is the supreme ruler of Azeroth, the bridge between the Legion and this world. I have nothing but respect and a desire to assist her. Where did this 'above' talk come from?"
Upon hearing this, Azshara's expression softened visibly. If Rhodes's status truly surpassed hers, she would have plotted his death without hesitation. Sargeras was a god, a Titan; she could accept being beneath him. But Rhodes? No matter how "intimate" they had been, she would never accept being his subordinate.
"Lord Dreadlord, this is merely your own conjecture!" Azshara snapped. "The Great True God Sargeras never said he would strip me of my leadership. He promised me—I am still the Queen."
"Majesty," Rhodes added, "Lord Sargeras simply expressed an... academic interest in my unique constitution. He hopes I can better serve the Legion's cause, much like your own initial curiosity about me. He was simply inquisitive about the worlds I've traveled. The logistics of the descent remain under your command; Lord Sargeras has never changed his mind about who leads this effort. Or perhaps, Lord Dreadlord, you are attempting to sow discord?"
Rhodes skillfully redirected the heat onto the demon. If you want to dig a pit for me, I'll bury you in it. Fortunately, the demon hadn't heard the part about Rhodes being a Demigod or a newly appointed Legion Commander.
Azshara's anger flared anew, this time directed at Tichondrius. These demons had been in her palace for six months, and she knew their nature all too well. They loved chaos. They whispered in the ears of her handmaids to start brawls and manipulated her court mages into bloody feuds for sport. They lived to watch the world burn from the shadows.
"Tichondrius, Nathrezim," Azshara began, her voice low and dangerous. "I turned a blind eye when you toyed with my court mages and handmaids. But do not forget who I am. I am the Queen of the Night Elf Empire. My status is second only to Sargeras. If you dare utter such words again, I will personally send you screaming back to the Twisting Nether."
"Lord Dreadlord," Rhodes added with a thin, cold smile, "I am but a mortal mage who has grasped a sliver of Light. Compared to Her Majesty, who wields the power of the Well of Eternity, I am nothing. Your attempts to divide us are transparent. I've heard of your kind in the cosmos. I've even seen a different 'breed' within the Army of the Light—a Dreadlord with golden bat wings."
Tichondrius's face twisted as if he'd swallowed a fly. He knew exactly who Rhodes was talking about: Lothraxion. One of their brothers had indeed infiltrated the Army of the Light. The Nathrezim were creations of the Sire Denathrius, sent into the physical universe to infiltrate every power—including the Legion. Sargeras's own fall was partly their handiwork.
"I know of the one you speak," Tichondrius spat. "Lothraxion is a traitor to our race. He turned his back on the Fel to embrace that hypocritical Light. If you see him again, do not hesitate—kill him. Sargeras would reward you for it."
"Is that so? It seems your race isn't very united," Azshara remarked dryly.
"My people are... diverse. Perhaps we should move on from this topic, shouldn't we?" Tichondrius said, clearly wanting to steer the conversation away from their role as multi-faction moles. He had tried to sow discord because a swift Legion victory didn't serve Denathrius's need for a steady harvest of souls from a prolonged war.
"Tichondrius," Rhodes pressed, "the Nathrezim are famous for lies and manipulation. But such a shallow attempt at discord is an insult to our intelligence. Or is it that you simply hold Her Majesty's authority—and Lord Sargeras's true intent—in contempt?"
This was a precise strike. Rhodes labeled the demon's nature as untrustworthy, dismissed his words as "baseless speculation," and finally framed it as an insult to both the Queen and the Titan. Azshara nodded in agreement; she was convinced it was all just a petty demon's plot.
"It seems I have overstepped. My apologies for disturbing your mood, Majesty," Tichondrius said, preparing to retreat.
But Rhodes wasn't about to let him walk away so easily. You dug a hole for me; now you're going to pay for it. Rhodes let out a cold snort. The Holy Light within him erupted, manifesting as a massive golden hand that snatched the retreating demon out of the air. This was a partial manifestation of his "Holy Light Susanoo," a skeletal construct used to crush enemies.
"Dreadlord, you think you can just come and go as you please? You think too much of yourself," Rhodes growled, wrapping the demon in a cocoon of searing Light.
Holy Light was devastating to creatures of death and shadow. "You—what are you doing? Let me go!" the Dreadlord cried out in genuine terror. He hadn't expected Rhodes to be this powerful.