Screams, the clashing weapons, and the surges of magic filled the air of the battlefield in front of the Tomb of Sargeras. The forces of the Alliance stood their ground before Gul'dan and his army of demons while the Horde overlooked the field, clearing the skies of the flying demons above. Ezikeal stood with the Alliance, necrotic energy dancing through his form, along his blade and into his enemies as he tore into them with the fervor of battle and violence only a death knight could muster. The thrill of battle and the rush of death surrounded him, but deafening to even those feelings fueling his violence something stood out abundantly clear to him.

Hopelessness.

The numbers of demons was never truly decreasing. The amount of corpses grew and grew, but only for more to arrive through Gul'dan's power, fueled by the fel magic rushing through the Tomb and into the sky above like a beacon of dread. Ezikeal let out a roar, unholy power echoing through his voice as the ground around him became coated in crimson, necrotic magic. The demons within growled and roared as their feet became snared in the dark energies of the corrupted ground. Ezikeal turned their anger into suffering as his blade promptly tore through them. The energies siphoned from the now deceased demons ran through his blade and into his body, strengthening him in his advance.

We are not going to win this fight. The realization settled itself firmly in his mind as he rended another demon's torso nearly in half. A green light shot down from the sky towards him, a ball of fel magic. Ezikeal watched it, a transparent shield of spinning runes encasing him as the fireball impacted his location. The flames washed over the bubble of runes like water over a rock in a river. Through the blindness from the smoke, an axe impacted his body, the blade grinding against Ezikeal’s armor as he slid back on his feet. In response to the attack, Ezikeal surged forward, cleaving into his assailant.

Around him, other champions of the Alliance, leaders of the nation he was loyal to fought alongside him against the demons. Jaina Proudmoore, one of the strongest mages in the world, along with one of the greatest warriors and his kind, Varian Wrynn, and many more legendary figures all gathered together.

And they were at a standstill.

No progress was being made in this battle, and that fact caused rage to surge through Ezikeal and fuel his unholy strength. They had not properly informed themselves of the sheer scope of the forces they faced and had rushed to aid those who had already landed on the shore of this damned continent.

Gul'dan. He was the source of this all, Ezikeal worked to get the warlock in his sights. He saw the hunched, robed Orc standing near the back of the demon's forces watching the fight with sadistic glee, simply summoning more whenever a sizable portion fell. If he could throw the warlock off balance, interrupt his interference in the fight even for a few moments, maybe some ground could be covered. It was just as likely to result in his true death. Ezikeal looked around at his allies, the Alliance he had sworn himself to as a representative of the Ebon Blade.

They have more potential to save this world. The capability to make this world grow, not wither. Ezikeal weighed his entire being in a few short moments, and made his decision. The air grew cold around him as he mustered the powers of an unholy chill, fortifying his body and surging forth with a ghostly shout. The dark ice formed and hardened over his armor and purple energy pulsed from his boots as he surged forward with a speed that contradicted his heavy armor. As he charged past a demon, his blade tore through it, tearing bone and sinew alike. The necrotic energies from the harvesting of its soul swarmed around him, and he let out a furious cry as he embraced the power. He faintly heard someone shout after him, but he did not care, he couldn't care now as he moved.

Closer.

Almost.

There! Ezikeal felt the ice chipping off his armor as blades crashed against him to stop his advance but he refused to let them slow him, slaying every demon in his path and healing the occasional wound with necrotic magic. He soon had Gul'dan within range, close enough to reach out with his magic and pull him to the death knight. He planted his feet and reached out, a black tendril shot out of his hand, rushing towards the warlock with the speed like a bullet. A moment before the magic made contact, Gul'dan's red eyes snapped to it and he swung his staff into the tendril of unholy magic.

He caught it!? The tendril shifted in hue, morphing into a sickly green. Ezikeal's eyes widened as he realized what was happening and felt his entire body get torn through the air as Gul'dan pulled him instead. The ground became a blur for a few short moments and Ezikeal realized that he would only have one chance. His grip on his blade tightened as he passed by the back line of demons and slammed feet first against the ground in front of Gul'dan. He went for a two handed swing the moment his boots made contact with the ashen ground. Gul'dan smirked at him and Ezikeal's pupils dilated as he felt something tear through his body and settle inside him, bearing down harshly on his very being. He let out a harsh, choked breath, the swing of his blade turning into a futile attempt to move as the sword fell limply from his grip. A phantasmal hiss sounded in his ears as the world drained of color, black surrounding the edges of his vision, offering a final chance to lash out but by the time Ezikeal could even begin to get his bearings it was too late.

"None can withstand the presence of my Master, death knight," Gul'dan laughed, "Don't you see now, your assault is doomed to fail." Ezikeal fell to a knee, his power sapped from his body and the ice coating his armor shattered, no longer held fast by his magic.

Pain.

Pain far greater than anything he had felt in his undeath pierced him as the presence of a greater being bore down on him. His vision was fading and his hearing became muffled. Despite this, the sounds of fighting became louder and before he collapsed to his side, Ezikeal saw Gul'dan's attention snap back to the conflict, huffing slightly as one would an inconvenience. The forces had gained ground — Ezikeal did it, he distracted Gul’dan long enough for the forces of the Alliance to push forward toward the warlock…

I achieved our advantage, for however long that may last... I served my purpose. The thought echoed in Ezikeal's mind as his vision faded to black, the last thing he saw was an ominous light in the darkness, and the last thing he heard was the distant echo of a horn.

Ezikeal's eyes shot open and he inhaled sharply, sitting up with a jolt.

Something is wrong! His mind screamed as he looked around, he was surrounded by apple trees, it was night time. He tried to slow his rapid breathing, lungs burning. Wait, lungs burning? He looked down at himself, noticing he was dressed in a simple white tunic and dull grey pants, brown boots shielded his feet from nature. His skin was...alive. He appeared similar in build physically but now his skin wasn't a deathly pale...it was fair, full of blood-he had a heartbeat! He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling the soft thumping of his heart against his chest, rapid from his panic. No, this wasn't right, he was a death knight, he couldn't be alive!

What is going on here...why am I..? He took a moment to just sit there under the tree, breathing the air, really feeling it. It was strange, he needed to breathe air to speak as a death knight, but now he needed to breathe to live. The new need was both refreshing...and intimidating. Along with that, the constant, radiating agony that he had learned to live with as a death knight, the curse of his undeath, was gone. Ezikeal wasn't sure how to feel about it, almost as if something valuable had been stolen from him, even if it was a positive.

A glint in the leaves caught his attention nearby and he saw it, a sword. It was a long, straight blade, that tapered to a point and secured in a black sheath. He grabbed the hilt, noting the heft of the blade. He took a closer look, seeing runes engraved on the guard, faded with a lack of power. He gripped the hilt, a red leather wrapping that connected the blade and a round pommel. He felt a chill run down his spine when he took hold of the hilt before pulling on the blade.

The small runes grew alight with power the moment it began to move from its sheath, and once the blade became visible a powerful sensation tore through Ezikeal. He let out a gasp that turned into a cry of pain as a familiar, painful sensation settled within his body and conflicted with his new mortal being. His blood boiled and his skin felt icy cold, creating a sickening equilibrium as agony ripped across his body. He drew the rest of the blade out, not noticing the icy glow that came to his eyes as he gazed upon the familiar runes etched along the flat of the blade. He breathed sharply as necrotic energy swirled around him, the power setting his nerves alight and pain receptors on fire.

He slammed the sword back into it's sheath and the sensation immediately ceased, leaving Ezikeal in a cold sweat with lingering pains from becoming filled with old power for those few seconds.

Okay...I am still a death knight...I'm just...different now...I'm alive...I should...try to hold onto this new life... He thought, looking over his weapon. He had a runeblade, one of the most powerful conduits of a death knights power that allowed them to perform complex acts of unholy sorcery. The feelings that his undeath had left him seemed isolated to his use of this strange new sword, a fact that was both fascinating and fear inducing. Confusion was racking through his mind as he tried to process everything that was happening.

I'll use this when I have to...while bearable...it is less pleasant than being like this... Ezikeal filed his new knowledge in his mind and stood himself up. Now it was time to figure out where he had ended up. He looked at the bulky trees around him, apples were strewn about their branches in a bountiful amount. He saw a break in the treeline to his left and went towards it, holding his sheathed blade in one hand and adjusting some of his hair out of his eyes as he adjusted to standing, feeling like he had not walked in weeks. For all he knew, it could have been just that long, if not more. He stepped into the open air to see...

A farm.

Ezikeal blinked. He took in the sight of fields and a barn house in the distance. A breeze blew by and he felt a shiver run through him. A pulse of satisfaction followed shortly after it. Cold... For almost as long as he could remember now, the cold had never had an effect on him. Now it felt real, it felt cold, and a smile threatened to crack his features. It was short-lived, however. If he was going to enjoy his new life at all, he needed to not freeze to death in the cold night. He started walking towards the barn. The farm didn't look abandoned, someone was bound to be around from which he could request shelter.

A few minutes of walking later and he was stood in front of the farm house door. He gave a few loud knocks, anticipating the grumbles of annoyance that would result from such a late night visit anywhere on Azeroth. He heard a bump inside, and then footsteps approaching the door. A muffled, "I'm comin' could be heard from someone inside with a country accent. Ezikeal took a step back from the door as the lock clicked and the door opened to reveal the first person he'd laid eyes on since his...relocation. A woman stood in the doorway, a tired look in her eyes and blonde hair slightly ruffled. She wore a thin plaid shirt with some shorts. From a brief glance over, she reminded him of some of the farmers he had seen in Elwynn and Westfall-- a strong physique with some visible muscle tone on her tanned skin, and she seemed to be of similar height to Ezikeal, what that could be specifically would have to wait until he measured himself but he assumed somewhere around 5'6. Her gaze settled on his chest before she slowly looked up to his face.

"Uh, howdy, stranger," She greeted, now more awake looking and slightly wary. She leaned against the doorway, one eyebrow raised curiously.

"Well met," Ezikeal spoke, throat almost dry feeling as he finally spoke, "I'm sorry to be bothering you so late, but I was wondering if you would be willing to provide me with shelter for the night." The woman looked him over, setting her eyes on the sheathed blade before looking back into his eyes.

"Not looking to cause a ruckus, are ya?" Ezikeal shook his head in response. She stared hard into his gaze before she seemed to nod to herself. "Well alright then, it is mighty cold out tonight. I can set ya up in the barn. Should be warm 'nough" She stepped past him, walking towards the barn a short ways away. He started to follow.

"So what's yer name?" She asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Ezikeal, miss."

"I'm Applejack. Nice ta meet ya." She said, "Haven't seen many new ponies 'round these parts as of late."

"Ponies?" Ezikeal asked, raising an eyebrow. What did she mean ponies? They were both humans.

"Yeah?" She glanced back at him, noting his confused look. "Cold getting to ya, partner?" She asked, opening the barn door.

"I...think so." He stepped into the barn, taking a breath as he was filled with warmth, the cold night air thwarted by the insulation the barn provided.

"Ya can sleep up in the loft, some friends rest up there from time to time," She said, gesturing to the ladder.

"Thank you for this hospitality," He said, looking around the barn gratefully. It was well put together and cozy. He started climbing up the ladder.

"Mind if I ask where yer from?" It was a natural question, wondering where a visitor came from. Ezikeal hesitated in responding for a moment.

"Nowhere important," He brushed off, not sure how much he should really say. I have doubt that this is Azeroth, and saying that will only raise questions. He glanced back, catching a small frown on her face before she shrugged.

"I'll come check on ya in the morning, don't cause any trouble now, ya hear," She said, leaving him to his own devices. Ezikeal took his place in the loft, a small bed made out of hay and a tarp was set up. He set his sword down and laid on the bedding, sighing as his body relaxed. He actually felt tired, another new sensation as his eyes grew heavy, closing as he relaxed.

I'm alive.

First chapter of first fic let's go.
Feedback on how to improve writing appreciated.