D101 Chapter 200

Varrus couldn't breathe. 

Choked gasps escaped his throat as he looked down at his lifeless Uncle's corpse. 

Tan, vibrant skin now pale, the red headed big man's chest rose no more. 

Tears poured down Varrus's face like a sieve as he kneeled over Rho'dan's corpse, and Infinite Light gushed forth like an unending fountain. 

‘Come on. Work. Work!’ Varrus internally raged. 

Light suffused Rho'dan's body, yet despite his wounds closing, his eyes never once fluttered. 

“Lad.” Lor'Themar approached from behind, and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“Don't touch me.” Varrus hissed, and flinched away. 

Lor'Themar grabbed ahold of Varrus's forearm, pulled him back, and roughly rammed his forehead onto Varrus's. 

“Old man-!” 

“You feel that? Good! What are you going to do about it?! Get angry, stand on your feet and face me like a man!” Lor'Themar shoved Varrus back, and beckoned him to come forward. 

Varrus felt ice in his veins, and glared hatefully at Lor'Themar, then spat to the side. He knew what the Ranger General was doing, and he appreciated it, but DAMMIT, he was too angry to box the old man out right now. 

What he needed was a solution! 

“Mom, I saw you bring yourself back from a state of Undeath. If I turned Rho'dan into a zombie, could you do the same for him?” 

“There is a price to pay…but for you, my Var Var, I would be willing to try.” Nightsong gently placed her hand on his shoulder, then squeezed his hand. 

“I shall bear that price. Teach me the shout.” Varrus balled his fists, and said with determination. 

“Varrus, my friend. Allow me this burden. Rho'dan was dear to you, and died to rescue me. Please, let me do this.” Kael weakly coughed from the side. 

Turning to his best friend, Varrus felt all sorts of turmoil in his heart, yet seeing how willing he was to sacrifice a part of himself, Varrus's stance on the young monarch softened. 

Glancing at his gaunt shoulders, and sallow eye sockets, Kael looked something like a holocaust survivor. Whatever had been going on in the Phoenix dimension must not have been easy on him considering the Sunwell should have kept his comatose body in peak physical condition. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, Kael, but Rho'dan was like an Uncle to me. I loved him, and it was my failure to spot the enemy that led to his early grave. I must bear this responsibility.” Varrus stated in finality. 

Syra, meanwhile, stood glued to Varrus's side. 

She was quiet-as she ever was when around a crowd-and hand her sword planted in the floor. 

Her stance was clear. Violence was promised, and revenge was to be delivered upon. 

Syra's strength gave him strength. Whatever price there was, he would have Syra be there to hold the world up. 

“It's settled then. Mother, please teach me.” Varrus requested. 

“This will be painful. Unrelenting Force is the entry level Shout, one every Dragonborn can adapt to easily. As Shouts become more complex, it can take months, years, centuries to learn and refine them. To learn as you have done-instantaneously-shall require you to feel the concepts of the Shout, and experience them first hand. Have you prepared yourself?” 

“Do it.” 

“Laas. Sil. Daal!” 

(Life. Soul. Return!) 

The words left Nightsong's lips, and appeared on the ground for Varrus to read. 

“Absorb the meaning, focus, and do not allow yourself to be drawn into them!” Nightsong's voice sounded next to him, yet felt as if she were shouting from the 6th story of a building in a major city’s downtown. 

Varrus had no time to process her message, as the first word hit him like a ton of bricks. 

Laas. Life. 

The beginning of something new. 

Within no more than a handful of minutes, Varrus experienced a dozen different lives. 

Crunching into a fetal position, Corvus felt as if he were a fetus in his mothers stomach, weak and vulnerable to the slightest touches. 

Growing into a toddler, getting strong, and eventually growing weak and wasting away. Then becoming lonely as everyone he knew disappeared one by one. 

Then, he was an ant being stepped on, a turtle hatchling scrambling for the beach, a squirrel gathering nuts fearing the winter, a shark eating his siblings to survive, a bird getting pushed out his hollow by a greedy sibling. 

Countless lives passed through Varrus's psyche, and threatened to drive him mad. His mind broke and remolded itself as he became lost in the dozens, no, hundreds of incarnations. 

“Huh, huh, huh.” Varrus found himself staring blankly up at the ceiling in the tower as the word, Laas, fully integrated itself inside his body, and was fully absorbed.  

Next came the soul, Sil. 

Feeling himself getting ripped out of his body, Varrus screamed in agony, yet there was no sound as he found himself surrounded by the black void of space. 

“Famous. Popular. Admired. Talented. Things I thought I always wanted that you obtained so easily. Yet if I had remained in Silvermoon, and kept up my useless existence, my Uncle would still be alive.” An Elf who looked just like him said as he approached out of the dark, like a phantom fading into existence. 

“I could have done more. I didn't go far enough. What do I care about the people or their casualties? If I advanced immediately upon the Dreadlords, they would be dead, and Rho'dan would live. So what if our flanks were left unsecured? The trash would deal with the trash.” Another clone image of Varrus appeared, and spoke his piece. 

“Stay home. Retreat from the world, and erect an impenetrable barrier around Quel'Thalas. The Horde and the Alliance will handle everything like they always do. What do the Elves have to add to the world but smugness, chaos, and devilry? Make a home, keep the family safe, keep Syra happy by making her dream of 12 children come true. This is what I must do.” The first apparition continued. 

“Retreat is for the weak. The Horde, the Alliance? Rivals to be ground into dust. Do I truly give a rats ass about those mud hut dwelling, Human raping greenskins? Do I care for Stormwind, where the greedy nobles keep their people in the fucking Dark Ages when advanced Dwarven technology such as rail is readily accessible? No! Kill them all, and bring education to the masses. Teach them our truth, and transform Azeroth into the bastion of civilization that it always could be. Worship Vandercross, worship the line of Akatosh!” The second apparition likewise continued. 

The more they spoke, the more Varrus felt his soul being torn into two separate camps. 

Both sides of his ideals reached two extremes, and kept pulling and pulling. 

“Choose.” 

“Choose.” 

The twin apparitions demanded of him. 

The thing was, there were bits and pieces of these extreme facets of himself that he truly identified with. 

Retreating to Silvermoon, from the world stage was an option. The Blood Elves were in no way significant to any of the major plot points in World of Warcraft. They really could resume their hermit nature, and everything probably would be okay. 

Even that threat Maphela warned about in Northrend. Wouldn't the Alliance & Horde just steamroll it like they did with everything else? 

Retiring to his villa, raising a family peacefully, it truly was a tantalizing offer.

On the other hand, retreating from the world was cowardly, it was the act of closing their eyes to the realities of the world that had made the Elves so susceptible to the Scourge invasion.  

Meanwhile, his other, more antagonistic half appealed to his hunger for conquest. To right those wrongs that persisted throughout society. 

Yet taking over the entire planet? 

That was a lot of work, and as much of an ego as Varrus had, he didn't consider himself a megalomaniac. What next, would he go on a God killing crusade and conquer the multiverse? How silly. 

Every position had its breaking point, and Varrus was neither of these options, yet encompassed them at the same time. 

Varrus looked up at the two versions of himself, and shook his head. 

“I am me.” 

As soon as he said that, he found himself back in the tower with little fanfare, no extreme pain, nothing. Next, the word for soul-Sil-burned itself into his psyche, and entered his body. 

Lastly, the word for return, Daal lit up, and began to affect Varrus. 

Awakening to the smell of burnt smoke, and screams on the horizon, he snapped his eyes open in a panic.

Instincts screamed at him to jump out of bed, and do something, but a piercing headache sent him sprawling back into the sheets.

Memories of a second life flooded his mind. Of humans, orcs, and most importantly of his identity as one of the Highborn.

He was now Varrus Vandercross, a prodigal son of an important politician, and a blonde sexy elf male to boot. The explosion of knowledge straight to his brain had him seeing double, he almost missed the highlighted sentence hovering in the center of his vision.

Puzzled, Varrus realized he was reliving the events of his first day on Azeroth! 

What the hell did Return mean in this context? From his understanding, at its base form, the word meant to go back to the beginning. 

Varrus looked around his bedroom, and saw Faedra as well as Syra. 

Come to think of it, what the hell was Faedra even doing in his bedroom? On the day of his wedding no less. What was she doing here? How could Syra allow this? 

"Syra, lead your troops to guard the gate. I shall control the arcane tower. You shall buy time while I awaken the war golems." Faedra said in an imperious command that only the bitchiest, smuggest of women could utter.

Varrus was in a hurry to learn the Shout to return Rho'dan, however, this may be an opportunity to get some answers. 

This may be some weird fever dream, but as far as he was concerned, this might as well be a relieved event or an instance of reality. All magic originating from Akatosh carried with it the weight of time. With that in mind, he decided to act differently than he had in the past. 

"Syra dearest would you truly let your pet die while you stood idly by?" Faedra directed scorn laced with the deepest ridicule, and a tinge of faked pity at her daughter.

Unbidden, a huge double handed claymore, big like Guts' from Berserk, was easily raised in the blonde's hands, and pointed at her mother's chin.

Syra longingly looked Varrus in the eye, and didn't even blink as she silently threatened her own mother's life.

"Be a good girl now, I hope you remember your priorities." Faedra smiled sweetly. 

“No, Syra, hold your sword at her throat, she had some nerve entering our bridal chambers.” Varrus arose from his position in his bed, and moved to stand beside Syra. 

Syra glanced at him, seemingly surprised by the order, but after being around her for so long, Varrus could tell her resolve had tripled. 

“I assure you, young Varrus, I am only here to secure our safety. I am unsure if you are aware, but a horde of Undead have breached the gates. Your father had left earlier to secure the Sunwell, and with the citywide shield gone, well, I'm sorry to break the sad news to you dear, but that means.” Faedra spoke in a conciliatory tone, and began to feign pitied sorrow as she detailed Old Man Vandercross's fate. 

Varrus slowly lifted his hand, and then cast Telekinesis. Or, at least he tried to. Checking his Skyrim UI, he discovered that in this space, all of his abilities had returned to how they were on day one! 

To make up for his mistake, Varrus slapped Syra on the ass. 

His hot blonde wife jumped at the contact, and her face flushed crimson. 

‘Ahh, virgin Syra is such a cutie.’ Varrus internally amused himself, yet turned back to the task at hand. 

“For a supposed spymaster, you've done a lousy job in curtailing foreign threats. How long were you aware of the tainted grain in the Human lands, yet did nothing?” Varrus accused. 

“My, my, the son of Vandercross is well informed! It may surprise you, young Varrus, but I lack the autonomy you think I have.” Faedra mirthlessly smiled. 

Varrus frowned, wondering if he should take her words at face value. 

Because if he did, then that would mean his father and King Sunstrider were well aware of the plague since the beginning. That their inaction was premeditated! 

“Intelligent too, I see the light of wisdom shining in your eyes, Varrus. Now please, allow my daughter to take to the front lines, while I attend to the golems and the Arcane Tower.” Faedra complimented, and then shuffled back a step, only to have Syra's blade move an inch closer. 

“Now why would you do that, when this is my house? Shouldn't I be the one to activate this household's defenses? Faedra, your actions are highly questionable. One might even say, suspicious.” 

“By all means, please activate them at your own behest. I was under the mistaken impression that you were-” 

“Stupid?” 

“-A playwright more interested in music and performances than the affairs of state. I can see that I was sorely mistaken. Please, go ahead, the screams of the citizenry are growing ever closer, the Undead must be hot on their heels.” 

“No.” 

“No?”

“I want answers, Faedra. You plotted to conceive Syra with King Sunstrider, you wished Syra and I to marry. I want to know the truth, and don't give me any bullshit about Anasterian and my father not getting along. A woman such as yourself would hardly make herself pregnant for the sole purpose of peace.” Varrus spat. 

Faedra paused, and stood to her full height as she collected herself. 

“You know far too much, but with our kingdom falling to pieces around us, you knowing won't matter. In fact, believe it or not, but I am relieved that I no longer have to hold onto this burden.” Faedra melodramatically sighed. 

“Quit your stalling, and get on with it.” 

“Do you recognize this emblem?” 

Varrus's eyes widened. There, embossed on her ring was the loading screen art for Skyrim, it was the symbol of Akatosh. 

“Yes, it seems you do. I am a collaborator of the Divine, Auri-El. As a child, He intervened, preventing my demise. To repay this debt, I have worked tirelessly to ensure this marriage, and the continued safety of the both of you.” 

“What? Why?!” Varrus startled, and asked. 

“For the birth of a new Divine.” Faedra leaned forward excitedly. 

“You mean my and Syra's child? But how?” 

“You, Varrus, are the son of a Shard of Akatosh. Your father, a genius Mana Stone creator, has altered your very being since birth with the highest quality crystals to produce the finest specimen a Mer can possibly become. 

Syra, the daughter of a skilled rogue, has been brought up in an environment that forced her to grow, and enhance her body to such a superb degree, that it can bear any child. Her father, a legendary sorcerer is attuned to the Phoenix realm, which in itself is one of the many Colored Rooms of Meridia, his mother. Yes, Syra, my daughter, is the granddaughter of the Daedric Prince, Meridia! 

The confluence of Aedra & Daedra, through their mixed blood, a child of prophecy shall be born!” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AN: Return is such an innocuous word when compared to Life & Soul, but words hold power, and anything that can bring one back from the dead is not to be underestimated.