Old Friends, Old Enemies
Gul'dan hastened past the entrance. There was only one thing that he was focused on now: the prize inside this place. The other Gul'dan had been meant to claim this power, but he would be the one to do what he could not. It was a satisfying thought. What was also satisfying was how confusing this place was.
He could easily see how anyone who had never been here before could become lost. This was most pleasing indeed. The Tomb of Sargeras. This was the prison of the fallen Titan. Gul'dan briefly felt a little bit flattered that he was one of the few mortals to ever visit this place. But the other thing driving him forward was that he had only precious time to act. Kil'jaeden said nothing, merely pointed him in the proper direction down the many branching passages.
As he moved past specific points, he laid traps, at odd angles, and in tucked away corners. He couldn't spend the time necessary to weave any deceptive trails to lead Khadgar astray if he should pursue him. False trails were out of the question, but not traps of a varied nature.
He had laid a particularly nasty one right at the entrance that he had opened. He smiled nastily at how a certain advantage had been gifted to him. Khadgar could not afford to be wait. He must act swiftly if he was to stop Gul'dan. He was counting on it. All he needed do, was turn that to his advantage. If the Archmage could be caught in a reckless state of mind, then he was more likely to be injured, to make critical mistakes.
Gul'dan heard nothing from Kil'jaeden as he hurried down each corridor that he was mentally nudged toward. He could not help but smile as he felt it; humming in the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the entire structure: power. This was a place of power. It was a fascinating sensation that also gave a heavy weight, or presence, to the place.
This place had received many strange visitors, Gul'dan could feel it. He felt the presence of a great power, from a feminine source, and it was Arcane. He felt it laced throughout the whole of the tomb. Whoever they were, to have done as they had, to claim this place, they must have possessed unspeakable strength. Gul'dan could only just wonder if he could ever claim that kind of power, that kind of influence as he lay another trap, this one desired to become a spiraling vortex of Fel flames and shrapnel he had made of the floor.
Khadgar would surely be desperate to stop him. Gul'dan was counting on that particular fact, especially after the incident that had occurred before his arrival at the island. It had been a merchant ship that he had chosen. There were many passengers aboard who did not even realize they had a stowaway. When he had revealed himself, he had taken a certain measure of delight in the pain he could inflict, the screams; particularly those of the children.
When the Archmage had finally caught up with him, he had stacked all of the desiccated, shriveled corpses upon the deck to be seen, and then lined all of the children up as living shields against him. He could just imagine how terrible of a moral predicament it was for his foe. Gul'dan had taken pleasure in it but had not fooled himself into lowering his guard. Khadgar would have not stopped making attempts at him, he would find a way…except Gul'dan didn't give him the chance. He simply smiled, and then…with a simple snapping of his fingers, and a spark of Fel fire…
He smiled at the memory. Despite being forced to physically swim to the island, he knew Khadgar would struggle to hold back his anger, his emotion of such an event. As he walked through the dark corridors other magics and powers became evident to him. He had sensed a trace of his own power, but there a few others here, rather recent to. One was definitely Fel in nature with something else intertwined. It was strange, and yet if he focused upon it then he could just catch glimpses of a figure.
It was massive, taller than him, Khadgar even, and it was walking upon two cloven hooves with black, bat-like wings nearly filling the hallway. An image of power and strength, reckless confidence, and determination. It had a bandage wrapped around a certain part of it's face, and twin war glaives rested in both hands. The dark, muscular body was made more intimidating by green scars that formed brands, or tattoos, glowing with the green of Fel power. He felt like he was following the same path this being had, this visitor to the tomb. He had a feeling that this strange being should be familiar to him. It felt like it had a history with the Legion.
There was also another power, but this made his skin crawl, made his nose wrinkle in disgust. Everything about this one told him that it was wrong. It felt unwelcome, loathsome, and ancient. He did not wish to meet whatever it was, especially since his eyes could help but catch impressions of cold, slithering forms, with serpentine whispers that scraped down the nerves like long nails.
He did not wish to meet those "serpents" as he felt them. Disgusting whatever they were. Kil'jaeden's direction kept him aimed true, and soon he was in a massive chamber that had its ceiling lost high above in darkness. This, this was the center of the tomb. He was in its very heart. He felt very small in a place so massive, yet he hardly concerned himself with its size.
What was he doing here? Kil'jaeden had said nothing to him as he entered. Where was the source of power? Where was what he needed to open the door, the key? Surely it had to be here. When Kil'jaeden remained silent, he took the initiative. He walked in the center, and began to let his power flow, probing and feeling around the room. When he found nothing in the massive chamber, he let his Fel power start to filter into the structure itself, seeking any trace of something that felt important, or out of place. There was something here, he just needed time.
His gestures and weaving of power kept his attention, but he suddenly felt something wrong. He turned toward the disturbance, and his red eyes went wide with surprise. Standing at the chamber entrance, none the worse for wear, only slightly dusted and breathless, was his pursuer. Khadgar, staff in hand, his white hair framing his head, his blue uniform and confident air, was here. He had gotten past all of the traps. Gul'dan was aghast. It was so infuriating. How? How had he done it and so speedily too? "Hello there…old enemy."
Lethal, violet power erupted from Khadgar's hands, his staff now on his back, confidence and determination in his every move as he stepped forward into the chamber. "I have been looking forward to this, old friend."
Gul'dan snarled back with exposed teeth. "Have you now?" Green fire erupted in his hands, and then it met violet power. The whole of the Tomb of Sargeras shook, from its base, to its very crown. The battle between two powers, each wielded by two champions of two different forces, had begun.