Delicious Desecration (Revised) Ch.2

Chapter 2



  Kalamiina slipped into the cold, black nothingness of death.  And then there she was.  For a split moment, she was standing above her crumpled, bloodied body, looking down over her corpse and watching as Ralond battled to the death.  She screamed in the etheral realm, cried non-existant tears in her incorpreal form.  She watched blow after blow land as the humans were swarming him, and then, just as quickly as she became aware, she disappeared…

  “Kalamiina…” She heard someone, something call her.  The ghostly voice repeated its beckon, and Kalamiina became aware again.  She was standing, floating maybe, in a graveyard that they had passed earlier on the way to the monastery.  She was still in her etheral form, but the world had changed.  She was fully immersed in the spiritual realm, and she looked through it with death’s eyes, straining to see the material plane.  The color had faded from the world, and she struggled to make out anything that held life.  Sure, she could see the ground, the trees, the mountains beyond, but there was no life.  Not even a straggling wolf.  Behind her, the spirit spoke again.

  “Kalamiina…”

  “Where is my knight? My Ralond? Has he died too?”  The spirit floated high above her, wings outstretched to the sky.  It did not answer.  “Can you return me to life? I must go help him!  Can you help me?”

  The great spirit spoke again, its voice otherwordly.  “You must go to him, Kalamiina, go to him and go to where you have fallen.  Your spirit has been severed, mortal elf.  You must rejoin it to your body to live again.”

  “But how do I do that? Can’t you bring me to life here? Surely you have the ability, Great Guardian Spirit!” her ghostly voice reflected her desperation, her fear of the fate that was befalling her companion even as she stood here and spoke.  Perhaps if he had died, perhaps he would join her here.  Perhaps time had stopped when she made the journey to the other realm.  Or, perhaps it was the opposite. Maybe time was slower in this form than it was in the material realm…

  “If I reforge your body to your soul here, mortal, your body and spirit will suffer greatly.  Your belongings will be take a heavy toll in the journey as well, being summoned to the etheral plane and then reshaped into material again.  Your weapons, your armor, everything will become weakened, and you will take much time to recover.  Do you still wish this?”

  She didn’t.  She couldn’t afford to.  He needed her, and he needed her now.  He needed her in her full strength.  She hung her head and gave what would have been a heavy sigh, if she had her physical body, looking up to the Great Spirit Healer.  “No.” She said quietly.

  “Then go, Kalamiina.  Go and rejoin your body.”

  And go, she did.  She ran as much as a spirit could run, the wisps of spiritual energy that held the form of her legs landing but inches above the ground.  She darted between trees, blowing through the world like a fall breeze, leaves kicking up in little eddies in her wake.  It was but minutes before she made it back into the monasteries.  With the etheral powers granted to her, she began pushing upon the lever that released the door leading to the cathedrals. 

  The lever gave way, the door was opened, and she was gone.



  Kalamiina groaned louder than she meant to as her soul tore back into her body.  She lay on the ground, her breath in weak gasps, her wounds still bleeding.  And by the fires, did she hurt!  With a stifled yalp of pain, she wearily rose to her feet, falling hard against the nearby wall as she tried to regain her bearings.  Landing wrong on her apparently broken ankle, she spat a Thalassian curse as she nearly collapsed back to the filthy stone floor.  Biting her lip sharply to quiet the whimpering cry, she looked about the halls, reorienting herself. 

  It only took a few seconds until she realized that despite where she collapsed into the waiting arms of death, she had rejoined her body somehow just on the other side of the main corridor’s threshold.  She had to make her way all the way back through the winding halls to the Cathedral.  Hopefully she would be in enough time.  Hopefully she could reach him and prevent the same fate that took her.  Hopefully.

  The bodies that they had lain waste too had thankfully nearly burned away by now, the ash from the corpses stirring under her steps as she crept through the halls.  They still remained empty for the most part, save for a few clergy that diligently went about the task of cleaning the mess from the side chambers.  Fortunately they were too engrossed in their own tasks to notice her passing.  She had managed to slip by undetected.  As soon as she found a corner where she couldn’t be spotted, she stepped into the shadows, moving her hands in a brisk but deliberate manner, her skin icing over in a protective layer.  As quietly and discretely as she could, she slinked along the walls, trying to stay in the shadows until the found herself at the entrance to the courtyard.

  Luckily, here too the numbers were still thinned.  In fact… She looked around, and found the grassy area bare of any living.  The corpses still lay in heaps, seeping blood onto the crimson ground, but it looks like the ‘cleaning clergy’ hadn’t made it from the halls yet to this point.  No. She still had time.  Hunkered down low, she scurried quickly over the blood-drenched ground until she reached the base of the marble steps. The fountain sprays echoed in her ears, making it difficult to hear if there were any of those damned fire-cursed humans around.  She paused.  And listened.  Satisfied enough that she was still alone, she headed up the steps quietly in the hopes that the path to the Cathedral just beyond the top of the stairs was still open. 

  As she came to the top of the stairs, however, she found that it wasn’t.  She nearly shrieked in excitement as she dashed to him, a wild smile on her face.

  “Ralond!” she quietly yelled, “You survived!”  As she ran to him however, the broad smile slowly faded as a frown took over.  There he was sitting on the gory grounds, his armor damaged and stained with blood.  She was hoping it wasn’t all of his.  He looked up at her with a weary smile.

  “Not quite, lover.”  He gave a half-hearted chuckle as she tried to pull at the chain shirt to fix the chinks, frowning as they stayed stubbornly exposing his undershirt.  “But thankfully,” he continued, giving another hard tug with a grunt, “the gods blessed me the ability to rebind my soul without the aid of the spirits of Azeroth.  A gods’ blessings.”  He chuckled at that, as he really wasn’t all that religious.  But who was he to deny a god’s blessing?

  “Well.  That comes in handy.  Next time put in a word for me, will ya?” She grinned playfully and gave him a wink, then went to sit beside him.  She whimpered and winced as she lowered herself to the ground, drawing his attention immediately.  “I’m fine,” she said before he even asked. “I just stepped on my ankle wrong.” 

  “Now Kala dear, nonsense.  Let me have a look.  It’s needless to be in pain when I can heal your wounds.”  She sighed as if she were slightly annoyed, but inside she loved how he fussed over her.  Any reason was a good one to have his hands on her, she supposed.  She nodded and grabbed her leg, helping to lift it gingerly to his lap so he could see.  Slowly he slid his hand over her shin, sliding the silken fabrics of her robes up to her mid thigh, grinning deviously.  She tried not to shiver at his touch, but he could still feel her leg quiver slightly, which only added to his amusement. 

  Slowly he unbuckled her boot, slipping it as gently as possible off her foot, his heart tingeing a bit as he heard her inhale sharply with pain, biting her lip to stifle a cry. The Scarlet monks were just inside the door; they certainly didn’t need to be attracting any attention in such a vulnerable state.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and then his eyes went wide as he looked upon her black ankle.  “Kala, lover, you didn’t just step wrong.  This is broken!”  Without waiting for her to pipe up with her usual act of playing down her injuries, his hand closed slowly and firmly over the swollen bones, his hand glowing with holy energy.  His eyes fluttered shut as he concentrated the energies, guiding the bones back into place.  Her ankle, foot, calf (by the fires, her whole body) seemed to hum with divine energies, and after a few seconds, her skin returned to the color of milk, her ankle as flawless as it had always been.  Looking to her with a warm smile, his hand slid ever so slowly up her shin and calf, over her knee and to her thigh, making her close her eyes and shiver.  She fought her self control, her leg wanting to droop under his touch, but instead of his hand going any higher with its flirting touch, he grabbed the hem of her gown and pulled it down into place politely.  “Better?”

  Her eyes shot open, blinking wide eyed at him.  She wanted to beg him not to stop, wanting to give anything to let him continue the wandering of his hands.  Instead, she was looking upon the handsome Ralond, grinning like a fiend and giving her a playful wink.  “Tease,” she hissed with a smirk.  She then made small circles with her foot as if to test the magics, and found it back to normal.  “You didn’t have to stop what you were doing you know.”  She grinned playfully at him and rose to her feet, rocking her weight back and forth, even jumping once or twice.

  “Ah, but it’s better now, no?”  He too rose to his feet, looking at her ankle but unable to help his eyes wandering a bit further.

  “Well, my ankle is now, thank you.  Maybe we can work on the rest of it later.” 

  “Mmm.  Perhaps.”  By the time the word left his lips, they were at the top of the stairs again, the doors of the Cathedral swinging silently open.  Once again, there were clergy everywhere, having resumed the sermon by the looks of it.  Again, they were none the wiser to their presence.  Surely they didn’t think anyone would be foolish enough to attempt another strike after having been swept away by death.  Kalamiina and Roland exchanged a wordless smile, him drawing his blade, her igniting the spark between her palms…

  And then they struck.



  One by one the humans fell to the pair’s magics and blades, blood running as rivers in the cracks of the stone floor.  The head chaplain stood at the alter in a deep oblivious chant, reading from a massive book in almost a drone like monotony.  Behind him his brothers burned, and he didn’t hear a single scream.  Kalamiina and Roland stood at the carpet between the last of the two support pillars before the alter, watching the human with an amused chuckle. 

  “How pathetic,” Roland sneered.  The large armored man was obviously a paladin, which only angered him more.  He began to draw his blade taking a step forward, when Kalamiina’s hand fell upon his wrist.

  “Not yet.  Wait.”  She nodded toward the wings of massive chapel.  Two rooms on the left, one down the right.  “Let us make sure that we leave none breathing for him to call to aid.”  Ralond resheathed his blade, and without a word headed down the left corridor, staying as close to the wall as possible.  Though the so-called paladin was too entranced to notice anything thus far, he didn’t want to risk drawing any more unnecessary attention.  He made his way to the farthest corner of the corridor, and stepped into the shadows and waited.  A few seconds later, Kalamiina was by his side, a quaint spark flickering in her almost closed fist.  She nodded to indicate she was ready, watched as he returned the nod, and then she let the flame loose.

  The flame grew and grew as it flew through the door into the room, slamming into the closest clergy.  He screamed in pain and surprise, alerting the monk that was busy at work tending to the ornate sarcophagi.  As the monk charged out the door into the hall, fists balled and ready to brawl, the priest tried to ignore the flames that were licking at the bottom hem of his robes and began chanting something in his barbaric holy tongue.  In but a few seconds, a familiar slash of shadow pierced through her, causing her to stumble a moment, groaning in pain. 

  “Enough of this, fires damn it!  I’ll save you for last and kill you slowly!”  she growled, sending a blast of magic that instantly transformed him to a sheep.  Grinning wickedly, she laughed as she watched the helpless human wander aimlessly in the tiny room, eyes wide with fear.

  The laughing didn’t last long, however, as the monk that Ralond was trying hard to distract, noticed her magic.  Interrupting the laugh, the monk’s fist slammed into the side of her head, sending her reeling back, head swimming and vision blurred.  Satisfied that she wouldn’t be casting for a while (at least, that’s what he assumed), the monk turned back around to charge for Ralond, and was promptly met by the edge of his blade through his shoulder, sinking down deep through the crunching bones of his chest.  The man gave a gurgling scream, and collapsed to the ground, blood spraying up across the sprawled Kalamiina.  She cringed as the warm droplets hit her brow, her cheeks, even a few to her lips, taking the sleeve of her already stained gowned to wipe her face.  “Seriously.  Could you have made any more of a mess?” She sneered playfully as she rose, trying to wipe the human blood from her skin and robes.

  “Don’t test me, lover, or next time I will,” he shot back in snide jest, his breath just now beginning to show a bit of fatigue.  He wiped the sweat from his forehead, sweeping his hand in a downward motion as if to flick it to the corpse between them.  “Now then,” he began, taking a familiar defensive stance, “What do you intend to do with that one?”  Ralond nodded with a grin at the oblivious creature wandering the burial room.  She walked over slowly, arrogantly even, and peered into the room, laughing as she watched the foul beast walking aimless amidst its own defecation. 

  “Well,” she sighed, taking her time answering as she watched the beast, “I suppose I intended to kill him quickly.  But I really don’t feel like standing here looking at such a pathetic thing any longer.  I have better things to do with my evening.”  She gave a wink to the handsome elf beside her, and almost shuddered as he very slowly and very deliberately licked his lips.  Apparently, they had the same thing in mind.  She hurriedly prepared a spell between her intricately weaving hands, and let a massive sphere of flame hurling through the air, igniting the wool as the man then transformed.  Instead of the wool aflame, however, the fire transferred to his clothing.  He screamed in pain, but was instantly silenced as a blast wave of magical fire washed over him, the magics so powerful it instantly killed him.

  “Impressive.”

  She gave a long exhale and shuddered as the mana surged through her veins, her eyes glowing as bright as sun lit emeralds from the built up magics.  Turning ever so slowly, she faced him and looked him over once, up and down, then moistened her lips back.  “As I said, I have better stuff to do.”  Before he had a chance to respond, she was already making quick work of the monk in the other room.  His charred corpse came flying out of the room, slamming into the wall of the hall across from the door.  It crumpled to the floor in a lifeless crunch. 

  “So, if memory suits me, that leaves us just the corridor over yonder then?”  Ralond nodded toward the area past the alter, past the head chaplain to the other extension.  It was seemingly empty, save for the two monks conversing along the far wall.

  “Yes, and then we’ll take out the head swine, the fool that he is.”  Giving a wicked smile, she winked and slinked back along the wall toward the other wing.  Watching warily, they passed the chaplain without notice, the man still deeply engrossed in his readings.  As they came upon the final corridor, it was but a blur of blades and blood, as Kalamiina and finished off the final three priests, leaving the hall and final room empty. Just as she was about to turn to head back to the central altar, she felt his warm hand catch her gently by the wrist.  She looked back over her shoulder at him in a silent quizzical expression.  Guiding her by the hand, he brought her into the room that the final priest had run out of screaming.

  Standing in the last of the wing’s rooms, she watched with intrigued eyes as he went to a candle sconce on the wall.  “That pig awaits us, Ralond.  This is hardly the time to be admiring archetectural and interior decorating design!” she snapped playfully, her hands itching to let loose the repitoire of spells that she had rehearsed over and over in her mind dozens of times over.  Oh, how she would make that human suffer.

  Nodding to her with a grin, he held up his index finger to motion for her to wait, then put it to his lips to motion for her to be silent, then motioned to the western wall.  She glanced at the wall, then back at him, then back to the wall, and back again.  Suddenly the realization of what he was referring to clicked in her mind, and she nodded understandingly.  As he pulled the sconce down to the side in a counterclockwise motion, she wordlessly readied a spark in her palms, and waited for the sound of stone grinding on stone to echo around them.

  The moment the door was open, Kalamiina heard the familiar chilling groan of undeath, and watched as the lumbering, rotting creature came charging from inside the hidden stone chamber.  It’s flesh had decayed down to the bone in most areas: the elbows, the hips, the knees, but that’s just what she could see thanks to the decrepit and tattered cloth that hung in shreds over its maggot-writhing skin.  In a hiss of surprise (after all, she was expecting humans) she let loose a wave of fire energy, throwing the forsaken to the far wall opposite the door) inside the small, concealed room. 

  “Oh no you don’t,” Ralond jested.  “Get back here!”  The pair darted into the dark and dank room, and Kalamiina grinned wickedly as it writhed in pain under the magical fires.  In but a second Ralond was upon the forsaken creature, severing its head from the decaying spine in one smooth swing of his blade.  The creatures head rolled along the stone floor in a bloody bounce, landing almost planned at her feet.  In a cry of disgust, Kalamiina gave the head one swift kick, punting it out the door to crunch against the far wall of the outer room.  Ralond laughed, especially when he saw her cringe and nearly gag.

  “I said no messes.”  Kalamiina glared at him, though the smirk that she worked hard to conceal still hinted at the corner of her mouth.

  “Actually, you said –”

  “Oh, Fires forget what I said!” she laughed, smacking him playfully on the arm.  She slumped down into the corner, retrieving a bottle of sparkling of water she had conjured earlier, the refreshing nectar clearing her mind so that she could ready her magics again. 

  “You know, there is much that we could do in this chapel that you could say it’s… outrageous.”  He chuckled playfully as he took a seat beside her, eyeing her frame lustfully. 

  “Oh, I imagine you’re right,” she giggled, dismissing any bit of his comment’s sincerity.  She bit at her lip though as she thought about lying in his arms again, losing themselves in the throws of passion as they had several nights past.  She shivered slightly.  He grinned.  Looking about the room and changing the subject, “You know this room could certainly use some furniture.”  They both chuckled, rising to their feet as they exited, destined for the last chaplain to remain, guarding their sacred altar. 

  “All alone and no where to go,” she sneered at the chaplain at the altar.  The human whirled around on his heels, glaring at the two fair blood elves that had manage to infiltrate his beloved chapel, wipe out his entire congregation of champions and myrmidons, abbots and wizards, and had the audacity to stand here before him arrogantly.

  The High Champion Mograine furrowed his brow, cocking his head to stare at the two, bellowing something in his native human tongue. He loomed over the petite Kalamiina, but was only barely over the head of Ralond who stood blades ready, already coated with remains.  Kalamiina stared him down, watching every twitch of every muscle, waiting with a spark in a closed fist behind her back.  The human looked down at Ralond’s swords, chuckling with pity on the two before him. He could just see it now, how their bodies would lay at his feet, mutilated by his war worn blades.  He grinned wickedly as he suddenly grabbed for the hilt of his blade to draw…

  But they were ready.  In one powerful upswing, Ralond swung his blade to land a blow on the human’s side, distracting him from the pyroblast that followed in but a fraction of a second.  With lightning reflexes, the Champion had his blade drawn and clanging against the paladin knight’s, sparks flying as the echo of steel rang out through the chapel.  The hurling sphere of fire that she sent, however, too was deflected by the magic of his armor, and she groaned a curse under her breath as she quickly readied another spell.  As the two parried blades, she sent another bolt of fire crackling through the air, this time slamming into the man’s exposed side.  Yelling out in pain as the fires scorched his underarmor and skin, he couldn’t afford more than a second’s glare at the mage that was already beginning the start of another spell, instead keeping his attention at the dancing blade of the elf before him. 

  Between the magics of Kalamiina and the blades of Ralond, it was not long before they had the High Champion on his last breath.  He teetered with exhaustion and lack of blood as he desperately tried to repel the attacks, finally stumbling and dropping to his knees.  He looked up through a crimson veil at the paladin, blood and sweat blurring his vision, grimacing but glaring as best he could, though knowing his fate was now in Ralond’s hands.  He would not beg.

  But then, when Ralond would have normally landed his final killing blow, he lowered his blade, giving the man a cool stare and amused laugh.  Mograine’s glare changed to a look of confusion, daring to raise his hand just long enough to wipe the blood and sweat from his eyes.  He still watched the elf warily though, despite the apparent display of mercy.  No.  It was a trick.  He knew it was a trick.  And he spat at the paladin’s feet.  This only made Ralond laugh harder.  Shaking his head in pity at the human kneeling before him, Ralond’s voice was cool as he spoke with a grin.  “All yours, love.”

  Even though the human could not understand the elves’ native tongue, the color faded from his face even more, as Ralond stepped to the side, revealing the petite mage that had been concealed behind is sturdy frame.  She was ready with a massive, swirling ball of flame poised between her two slender hands.  Just as the human was about to open his mouth to let out a cry of terror, the molten fire slammed into his head silencing him forever.

  Or so they thought.

  Having been so caught up in the midst of battle, the two had failed to notice that as Mograine sank to his knees, the door behind the altar had opened.  A female human clad in not much more than a tunic and loincloth, High Inquisitor Whitemane gave a hiss of disgust as she let loose a blast of mind-numbing energy to fill the room, knocking Ralond and Kalamiina into a daze.  Helpless they stood, their minds absent from their bodies, and the woman took advantage of the moment to begin weaving a spell.  An eerie, unholy light filled the room, washing over the fallen champion at the pairs’ feet, and with a cry in the human common tongue, the woman commanded him to rise…

  And rise he did.

  With an unnatural steadiness, the fallen champion rose to stand before them, glaring at them and giving a sickening crack of his neck as he adjusted it back into place.  “Fools,” he hissed in broken Thalassian.  “Death will be quick to you and two.”

  Kalamiina gave a nervous smile as she held a summoned spark in her palm behind her back, leaning only slightly to Ralond to whisper: “And two? I knew humans couldn’t count…” Ralond gave a snort and grin.  “Now what do we do with ol’ silver tongue?”

  He whispered to her mind: “Wool would suit the woman better, don’t you think?”  A mischievous  smirk slowly formed on her lips as she dismissed the energies of the spark behind her, instead readying her mind for the arcane energies of a polymorphing spell.  She waited for the moment.  “Now!”

  Simultaneously, they struck.  Ralond’s blade struck the champion’s steel at the same moment Kalamiina’s magics went hurling toward the woman, slamming into an unseen barrier.  Frowning, she quickly prepared another spell, this time reverting back to her usual barrage of flame.  It sizzled and winked, surrounding the woman in a bubble of flame, before dissipating and leaving the woman untouched and with a gleaming sneer.  “My magics can’t pierce her, Ralond! You better hurry!”  Deciding her magics were of better use against the champion, she turned her spells to him, slamming him with as much energy and fire that she could conjure. Spell after spell exploded in a fury of arcane and flame, wearing down the risen champion even as he met Ralond’s strikes nearly blow for blow.  She could see her paladin getting weaker by the second, a situation not helped at all by the unholy spears of magic piercing through him from the castings of the priestess.  With a final grunt and swing of his blade, Ralond landed the killing blow to the human’s lower stomach, the blade swinging up to slice through his abdomen and crunch through the ribs.  As the blade exited the shoulder, the champion’s face paled in a look of horror, crumpling to the floor with a spray of crimson.  Bathed in the man’s blood, Ralond grimaced and wiped his eyes, just enough to glare at his next target. The woman. 

  With a raging battle shout, he charged the priestess with his dripping blade held high, his downward swing slicing through the magical barrier to strike at her magically protected skin.  With her divine, unholy magics at her aid, she sent volley after volley of spells after the bloodied paladin, and Kalamiina took the opportunity to strike.  Knowing that the woman’s energies resisted her fires, she reverted back to the purest form of magic: her magics of the arcane.  She threw her arm out in front of her, fingers spread outward to the priestess, watching the woman in deep concentration.  With a single word, five pulses of four missiles of arcane energy shot forth, one from each finger, slamming hard into the woman’s chest.

  Reeling from the pain, the woman stumbled back as she tried to keep parying against the persistent paladin’s blows, trying to no avail to keep her concentration on both of them.  When her concentration was on the mage, the paladin would strike with his divine magics and land a blow with his blade.  Then when her concentration naturally turned to him, yet another volley of spells would slam into her side and chest.  Though she knew her fate was ultimately sealed, the high priestess fought with gaping wounds, until at last her body was too weak to stand.  Falling to her knees before the paladin, he wasted no time in swinging his blade in a whirling spin, the woman’s head severing with a sickening slice, spraying her scarlet blood in a fountain of gore, the head then falling to roll across the stone floors behind her toppling body. 

  And then there was silence…