Traitor?

So, picture this: the Council of Tirisfal, a shadowy cabal whose sole purpose is to slap down demons and stop mages from blowing up half the continent with their overcooked spells. Every single member? Hand-picked from the snooty halls of Silvermoon and the hallowed, if slightly dusty, chambers of the Kirin Tor. These two councils, my friends, are the very tip of the spear against evil, the last bastion of hope in a world gone mad. Or so everyone thought.

Then, Grand Magus Antonidas, a man whose beard could tell tales, dropped a bombshell: someone within the sacred Kirin Tor was playing footsie with demons! The collective gasp in the chamber was loud enough to rattle the very foundations of Dalaran. Impossible! Unthinkable! The very idea was heresy! But then, a beat. A second beat.

And the uncomfortable realization dawned: if this wasn't a full-blown demon-hunt, why in the blazes would they have dragged in Archbishop Faol, the living embodiment of Holy Light, and Uther the Lightbringer, the Grand Poobah of Paladins himself? Suddenly, 'impossible' started sounding an awful lot like 'oh, crap.'

"Enough! Let the facts speak for themselves!" Antonidas's magnificent beard, which had been bristling like a porcupine, finally settled a hair. He pivoted, his gaze landing on the venerable Archbishop Faol. "Archbishop Faol, if you please." Faol, ever the picture of unwavering piety, didn't bat an eye. "The eradication of evil," he intoned, his voice resonating with ancient conviction, "is one of our lifelong wishes." Flanked by the formidable Uther, a veritable mountain of righteousness, Faol strode with purpose to the heart of the council hall.

He clasped his hands, and with a fervent prayer, a blinding 'Holy Star' erupted from his palms, bathing the entire chamber in a wave of pure, cleansing light. One second. Two seconds. Five. Ten. The silence stretched, thick and awkward as old gravy. No unholy shrieks. No tell-tale wisps of fel energy. Just... nothing. Faol and Uther exchanged a bewildered glance. They'd been called in specifically for a demon-busting party, a full-on exorcism, and now it was quieter than a goblin's empty coin purse. What in the Light's name was going on!?

A bead of cold sweat, the size of a small gem, trickled down Antonidas's furrowed brow. His eyes darted to Duke, a silent plea, a desperate question. It was Duke, after all, who had blown the lid off Sargeras's insidious squatting in Medivh, earning Antonidas's near-unconditional trust. Now, with a demon supposedly lurking and Holy Light drawing a blank, this wasn't just a minor hiccup; it was a public humiliation of epic proportions. Duke would be toast, and Antonidas's own authority as Speaker would go down the drain faster than a rogue's reputation. For a fleeting, agonizing moment, Antonidas's trust in Duke curdled into a simmering resentment.

Just then, Duke Edmund, cool as a winter's night in Northrend, slowly rose. "The devil is among us," he declared, his voice a calm counterpoint to the rising tension, "there is no doubt about it. But this little demonstration serves a purpose. It tells us that while we're busy polishing our old spellbooks, our ancient enemy, the Burning Legion, isn't exactly twiddling its thumbs. Ten thousand years ago, would any of you have believed that the Lord of the Legion himself would stoop to possessing a mere human Guardian?"

A collective shiver ran through the council. Medivh's betrayal had left a bitter taste in everyone's mouth, a raw wound on the soul of humanity. Duke's words, however, weren't just a reminder; they were a swift kick in the pants, snapping everyone to attention. Duke pressed on, his voice gaining a chilling edge. "Curse! A venomous, insidious new form of evil.

Undead! A mockery of life, a blight never before witnessed on this scale. The emergence of these two abominations is precisely what should keep us awake at night. So, when our traditional demon-sniffing spells fall flat, perhaps it's time, Archbishop Faol, to hit the books and conjure up some new detection methods." Even though Duke hadn't yet pulled a rabbit out of his hat, Faol, a man whose meticulousness was matched only by his unwavering sense of justice, nodded slowly.

"There is rarely absolute justice or absolute evil within the human mind,"

Duke continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

"And the demons exploit that grey area, cloaking themselves from the Holy Light's gaze, slipping into our ranks to sow discord and whisper promises of false immortality. In truth, Archbishop, you only need to infuse the Holy Light with a... mental shock." A lightbulb practically exploded over Faol's head. His eyes widened, a flicker of profound understanding. With a decisive flick of his wrist, the holy light surged forth once more, washing over the hall with renewed purpose.

This time, the silence was shattered. A congressman, a man known for his unflappable demeanor, suddenly doubled over, a guttural shriek tearing from his throat. "AAAHHHHH—!" Kel'Thuzad's unnervingly calm face, usually as expressive as a brick wall, began to crack. Not metaphorically. Literally. Inch by agonizing inch, his skin fissured, flaking away like old parchment, revealing the ghastly, pale, lifeless flesh beneath. Even Antonidas, who had been given the heads-up by Duke, was struck dumb, his jaw practically hitting the polished floor.

It was one thing to hear about it; it was another to witness the horrifying transformation firsthand. Before Kel'Thuzad could even fully contort in agony, Prince Kael'thas and Krasus, who had been coiled like springs, moved with lightning speed. Their protective shields flared into existence, then they unleashed a twin torrent of hellfire, a volley of over a hundred scorching fireballs that hammered Kel'Thuzad's magical defenses to smithereens.

Uther, the Lightbringer, was right there with them, a blur of righteous fury. The strongest paladin in history, a legend in his own right, raised his hand, and a blinding Holy Sanction ripped through Kel'Thuzad's crumbling magical protection, striking his very soul like a divine thunderbolt. The world spun for the lich. He didn't even have time to cough up a single ghoul before Uther, that fierce, unyielding titan, delivered a hammer blow straight to his newly revealed, ghastly face.

Like a goblin launched from a siege engine, Kel'Thuzad's newly revealed lich-form shot skyward under the holy hammer's impact. But alas, his flight was short-lived. He barely cleared a meter before slamming into an unyielding wall of ice that had materialized behind him. "Hmph!" Antonidas, ever the master of frosty surprises, had delivered the final, chilling touch.

Caught completely off guard, utterly unprepared, and hammered by a combined assault from mages and paladins who were his equals, if not his betters, Kel'Thuzad, the future Frost Lich of Naxxramas, one of the Lich King's most formidable champions, was now about as useful as a chocolate teapot. He was pinned under Uther's righteous boot, a holy hammer pressed firmly against his skull, while Krasus and Kael'thas plastered him with so many arcane seals he looked like a magical postage stamp. At this point, Kel'Thuzad was less a terrifying lich and more a particularly pathetic, squashed bug. He knew the jig was up. So, he spilled the beans.

"Why!? Why, Duke Edmund, did you know I'd forsaken life for eternity? I only completed my transformation into a lich last week! Not even the she-demon knew I'd done it! She thought I was merely a corrupted soul! Why? Tell me! WHY!?"

Duke merely tapped a finger against his temple, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Just as I saw through Sargeras's little vacation in Medivh's skull, I see through you, Kel'Thuzad. Let's just say I've got eyes like a hawk when it comes to demon-tainted souls."

With Kel'Thuzad thoroughly subdued, Antonidas stepped forward, his expression a complex mix of sorrow and righteous indignation.

"Kel'Thuzad," he began, his voice heavy,

"I always saw such… potential in you. Otherwise, I would never have agreed to your induction into the Kirin Tor. I warned you, Kel'Thuzad! I told you to abandon those forbidden necromantic arts! And what did you do? You smiled, you nodded, and you continued your vile experiments in the shadows. When Duke first whispered his suspicions, I'll confess, your name was the first to spring to mind. But I refused to believe it… until the truth, in all its ghastly glory, was laid bare."

Antonidas's shoulders heaved, a deep, ragged breath escaping him. He turned, his eyes brimming with undisguised grief, to Faol, Uther, and Duke.

"I am… profoundly sorry that such a blight has festered within the very heart of the Kirin Tor Council in Dalaran. I apologize, deeply. For the sake of Dalaran's reputation, I implore you, keep this under wraps. Kel'Thuzad, we will handle him, and we will provide a satisfactory explanation to the wider world. Now, if you'll excuse us, the Kirin Tor Council has… internal matters to attend to."

Duke, meanwhile, was thinking: Kel'Thuzad. A festering cancer, right there in the heart of the Alliance. He'd wanted to squash this particular bug for ages, but the problem was, he had no smoking gun! Kel'Thuzad was one of the esteemed Six, a position that came with a 'get out of jail free' card thicker than a dragon's hide. At his level, he was practically untouchable, a political heavyweight on par with Stormwind's Anduin or Bolvar. Just offing him? Not only was it a logistical nightmare, but if he was killed, Dalaran would blow a gasket, and the Alliance could kiss its mage corps goodbye. No, this required finesse. Reason. Evidence. And a hole big enough to bury a titan.

Truth be told, when Duke first stumbled upon the chilling entries in Ms. Death Speaker's soul-diary, he hadn't immediately connected the dots. The scrawled words read: "Fortunately, I've finally unearthed a truly potent and promising Fallen amongst Dalaran's high-ranking mages. He possesses an almost rabid obsession with necromancy and absolutely no resistance to my Lord's power." In the annals of future history, there would be a veritable rogues' gallery of liches and corrupted souls, all masters of necromancy, all with names that would send shivers down spines: Lyes Frostwhisper, Darkmaster Gandling, and the very Ms. Death Speaker whose grim memoirs he was perusing. But they all shared one common, terrifying thread: they were devout followers of the Cult of the Damned. And when you talked about the Cult of the Damned, one name screamed louder than all the others: Kel'Thuzad! As a hardcore gamer and a man who'd seen the future, Duke had led countless raids into Naxxramas, Kel'Thuzad's very own frosty fortress.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that Kel'Thuzad was the head honcho, the big cheese, of the Cult of the Damned. Historically, Kel'Thuzad hadn't truly clashed with his colleagues over his morbid fascinations until the tail end of the Second War. It was only then, after hearing the Lich King's chilling whisper, that he'd sold everything he owned, hoofed it all the way to the frozen wastes of Northrend, and practically licked the Lich King's boots to become the terrifying lich everyone feared. And that's when he founded the Cult of the Damned.

But demons, Duke knew, played the long game. Sargeras, the grandaddy of the Burning Legion, had managed to sneak into Aegwynn's belly and chill there for over three centuries! Duke simply couldn't swallow the idea that the Cult of the Damned just sprang up out of nowhere, without some rotten egg lurking in the shadows all along.

No way, no how! If there wasn't a pre-existing root, how could the Lich King have arrived in Azeroth with such terrifying momentum? How could Arthas, a mere mortal, control legions of brainless ghouls and clattering skeletons without a pre-assembled cadre of liches and death knights to lead them? It simply didn't add up.

So, armed with Ms. Death Speaker's disturbing memories, Duke embarked on a discreet little tour of the Kirin Tor Senate, casually dropping in on various esteemed members. His target, from start to finish, was Kel'Thuzad, and Kel'Thuzad alone.

Just as his system had helpfully tagged Sargeras's parasitic residency in Medivh, this time, Duke's internal vision flared, slapping a big, red label on 'General K': Lich! Duke had to bite back a laugh. He was practically grinning from ear to ear, knowing he was flanked by two of the Alliance's finest, Gavinrad and Windsor, like a king with his royal guard. Even if Kel'Thuzad decided to go full banshee right then and there, Duke wasn't breaking a sweat.

If the lich wanted to bolt, Duke wouldn't lift a finger to stop him. Of course, the ideal scenario was if Mr. K didn't go off the rails and left the messy bits to old man Antonidas. Kel'Thuzad, bless his rotten heart, hadn't yet received the Lich King's personal invite to the party, so he was still playing the role of the diligent, if slightly creepy, Kirin Tor Archmage.

The irony was delicious: a full-blown lich, pretending to be human, and then getting caught with his pants down by a Holy Light-infused mental shock. Justice, it seemed, had a wicked sense of humor. A full day later, Antonidas summoned Duke to his office, looking considerably more tired, but also a shade lighter.

"Kel'Thuzad has been… purified," Antonidas stated, his voice carefully neutral.

"Supervised by Knight Uther, and carried out personally by Archbishop Faol."

Duke nodded. You couldn't pull the wool over anyone's eyes with this one. Just ask Uther or Faol; they'd tell you the whole gory, glowing truth.

"The only fly in the ointment," Antonidas continued, pinching the bridge of his nose, "is that according to the dusty tomes of legend, liches possess something called a phylactery. We didn't find Kel'Thuzad's. But it's a minor detail, truly. We ensured he lost at least ninety percent of his vile soul. A lich who's had his soul-tank drained to that extent? Even if he does somehow claw his way back from the grave, he'll be nothing more than a glorified Archmage, a shadow of his former… well, undead self.

A complete waste of good necromantic energy, if you ask me." Hearing this, Duke finally let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. That's Kel'Thuzad. A rotten apple to the core, a scoundrel who'd sell his own grandmother for a pinch of fel dust. If the old lich was still at full power, Duke would genuinely be worried about the safety of everyone within a five-mile radius. But if he was destined to be a toothless, clawless shadow of his former self? Duke didn't mind giving him a good, old-fashioned spanking.

Antonidas, ever the pragmatist, pinched his drooping white eyebrows. "Well, the principle of the mage is equal exchange, Duke. And while I confess your… methods aren't exactly to my taste, you have, after all, made an outstanding contribution to Dalaran. Rest assured, Dalaran will not treat you unfairly." "Oh, you shouldn't have!" Duke replied, his voice dripping with mock humility, a performance worthy of the finest Stormwind stage.

Antonidas, however, was having none of it. "Indeed. Thank you, Deputy Commander Duke Edmund. Thank you for your truly outstanding contribution to the Alliance. You may leave now." Even though he knew Antonidas, the wily old wizard, was just pulling his leg, Duke couldn't help but unleash a death glare that could curdle milk. How DARE you! his eyes screamed, a silent threat that promised karmic retribution in the form of endless paperwork.

"Tell you what," Antonidas offered, a mischievous glint in his eye, "how about you join the Kirin Tor? There just happens to be a vacant seat among the Six Councilors." Duke rolled his eyes so hard he nearly saw his own brain. Suffer? In your stuffy tower? No thanks, old man. Antonidas, far from being offended, merely chuckled, a knowing smirk playing on his lips, an expression that clearly said, 'Oh, you little rascal, I see right through you.' "Alright, alright," the Grand Magus conceded, "I suppose I had a hunch you were after my arcane circuit model."

Duke, ever precise, corrected him. "To be precise, I'm hoping to acquire a strengthened arcane circuit. One that can simultaneously support both the Ice Crown and another fire magic circuit of equivalent power." The moment the words left Duke's mouth, Antonidas's eyelids began to twitch uncontrollably. You've got some nerve, you little scamp! If Antonidas hadn't been so deeply in Duke's debt, he would have flipped the entire mahogany table right then and there. He wouldn't have known, even if you'd beaten it out of him with a staff, that Kel'Thuzad had never intended to cause a direct ruckus in Dalaran!

In the end, the esteemed Speaker of the Kirin Tor, a man who had faced down countless threats, found himself cornered by a teenager. He sighed, a sound that carried the weight of a thousand arcane tomes. "Alright, alright, it's the Sunstrider family's Phoenix Flame, isn't it? I have done some… extensive research into their unique circuits. It's no great hardship for me to hand over the arcane schematics I've painstakingly developed.

However, first things first: this is an unverified magic circuit model. I am absolutely, unequivocally not responsible for any spontaneous combustions, dimensional rifts, or accidental transformations into a murloc that may occur in the future." Duke simply nodded, a picture of serene acceptance. "Secondly," Antonidas continued, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper, "starting from the rank of Master, every time you upgrade the Ice Crown circuit, you will require a very… specific sacrifice to strengthen your magical pathways. This isn't something you can just conjure up through sheer practice.

For example, to ascend to Archmage, I utilized the spirit of a particularly grumpy Snowman King. And to reach the venerable rank of Grand Magus…" Antonidas paused, leaning in conspiratorially, his eyes darting around the room as if listening for eavesdroppers. "...I, uh, I may have… borrowed the spirit of a… Blue Dragon Dragon King." At this point, Antonidas fixed Duke with a death stare of his own. Not the kind that promised paperwork, but the kind that promised a swift, silent, and very arcane demise if Duke ever breathed a word of this to anyone. His secret was out, and he was not happy about it.