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Shattered	By : Koori Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 8001 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Koori’s Korner: This tale is the follow up to "Brothers" which I strongly suggest you read but think it can stand on its own. It is one of the darkest tale I’ve ever attempted and thank Adult Fanfiction for giving me a place to post it.
WARNINGS: It would almost be easier to list what you won’t find … however throughout this story you will find, rape, slavery, role reversal/cross-dressing, erotic humiliation, mind games, piercing, slash/yaoi, F/M, death, gore … think that’s enough spoilers for now on with the story!

~Shattered~
A decade has passed since we last saw Nathaniel and Foster Conway. The Third War, nothing but a painful memory. Like so many that called Darrowmere Forest home, the Conways lost much when the plague came rolling over their fertile lands. Some things lost were more valuable than others.
Chapter One – Nathaniel Conway
There is pain and then there is throbbing, gut wrenching, and hurts so bad you wish you were dead but because of the agony you know you’re not. Nathaniel Conway awoke to the latter. For a long time through blurred eyesight he stared blankly at the blood splattered stone wall in front of him. His mind trying to grasp what had befallen since he broke camp this morning. Why had he returned to the cursed land of his birth? The forest wore its scars in the dying foliage, there would never again be golden fields of wheat, and the diseased animals, which prowled the woods, were the only signs of life.
His brother, Foster, that was why he had returned to Darrowmere Forest. More than once he had been told he would follow Foster to hell and back and that proved true in the most horrible of ways. He wanted to find a body, something his family could bury for closure. What he found … by the Light what he had found …
“You still breathing, faggot?”
Hard fingers grabbed his chin and jerked his face away from the wall and toward the man squatting next to him. The sudden movement made his world and stomach swirl and he let out a loud groan. Shutting his eyes he lifted his hand to his forehead. A hand which was roughly shoved away and as it landed on the cold stone ground, a heavy iron boot pressed on it, threatening to break his fingers if he lifted his arm.
“Very good,” the man said, looking down as Nathaniel blinked his eyes trying desperately to clear his vision. “You left his face untouched, go fetch a healer.”
The pressure on his hand pushed down and he cried out as bones snapped, the other foot pressed down on his stomach as the man in armor left to do the other’s bidding walking on the injured elf. Nathaniel tried to move his broken hand but the shoulder of that arm had been ripped out of its socket in the earlier torture and refused to obey him. Smooth finger touched his cheek and he flinched, he looked up at the bald man dressed in deep violet robes staring down at him. There were purple tattoos in the shape of a four point star covering both eyes, the mark of the Cult of the Damned.
“So, my little queer, how did the family reunion go?” the man let out a dark laugh, “You should have seen your face light up when you saw him, you truly thought he was here to save you … like always. Instead …” the man stood and gestured down at where Nathaniel lay broken in a blood splattered cell, his blood spilled by his brother. The same man he had come to find the corpse of and instead had found him an undead champion of the Lich King.
Nathaniel coughed and was rewarded with a mouthful of blood which poured out from his lips. “Fuck,” the man mumbled, “don’t you dare die on me … where the fuck is the healer.”
“I’m here,” a disembodied voice said.
Keeping his attention focused on the wall, Nathaniel thought back to this morning once again, the surprise attack that ended with him overran by ghouls. He believed he was going to die, like so many had in the time before and during the Third War. At the last minute they had been called off by their keeper, the bald man, who now gloated over him. The expression on his attacker’s face chilled him now as it did then, recognition followed by a look so malicious Nathaniel wanted to throw himself at the ghouls. Only the promise given to his brother those years ago had held him in check.
“Long time no see, faggot,” the man had said, instantly letting Nathaniel into the terrible truth. The tormenter from his childhood, Vance Dixon lived and had sold what little soul he had to the Lich King. He had charged the man then but a spell was cast and his world became dark. He had awoken in the cell he was lying in. Vance was there and standing with him another dressed in dark armor with a large blade strapped to his back. A command had been given and the helm of the stranger removed to reveal a familiar face. Though marked with the torment of death, it was Foster, his brother.   By the Light the joy he felt completely blocked out reason as he had struggled to his feet and went to embrace the man he believed dead. Elation that quickly turned to bewilderment; when the armor-covered gauntlet slammed into his stomach. The brutal attack went on for a long time as he begged for his brother to stop, eventually passing out and then cruelly awoken so the torture could begin again.
Strange warmth crept through his body, it was different from any healing he had received before; it felt like a serpent slithering through him. It ached, causing him to shriek as bones were mended and lesion closed. Afterwards he lay where he was shivering; his body and mind in shock from the cruelty undergone. There was the sound of the door behind him closing and a heavy lock sliding into place. “Will he live?” Vance asked.
“Of course, he will not die until you allow it, Deathspeaker Vance.”
Nathaniel watched a tiny rivulet of blood pool at the corner of the room. His mind screamed for him to get up; though no longer in physical pain his body refused to listen. Time passed, eventually the door behind him opened and heavy footfalls entered. Silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity.
“Going to lie there all day, brother?”
The almost friendly sounding words spoken in the rumbling voice from the man who had once been his brother startled him. He pushed himself up, his long blonde hair hung loose, matted with blood and grime. Brushing it back behind his slender ears he looked up at Foster.
The death knight held a tray in his hand and Nathaniel caught the whiff of savory meat, his stomach growled. The serving dish was offered and he reached for it; his hands shaking so badly it rattled the bowl and cup resting on top. To his surprise he found a thick stew of meat and potatoes.
“If you eat it quickly it will still be warm,” Foster said as he leaned against the cell door.
“I never expected hell to be so cold,” Nathaniel said as he took up the wooden spoon on the tray and began to eat. The tiny chamber he was in was freezing, the warmth from the soup both in temperature and spices was a welcomed one. He cleaned his bowl quickly and was reaching for the glass of water when the first pang of uneasiness began. Alarmed, he looked up at Foster, from his brother’s finger tips ghastly colored smoke tentacles were snaking their way down and around him.
“Brother?!” he cried out alarmed as his stomach lurched.
Foster was there beside him, holding the dish he had just drained in one hand and grabbing Nathaniel’s soiled hair in the other to hold it out of his way as he emptied his stomach of the stew back into bowl. After he finished vomiting, Nathaniel rubbed the back of his hand against his lips, the bitter taste of acid on his tongue. Looking over at the death knight, he shook his head confused.
Foster shoved the bowl of foulness at him and said, “Eat, it’s a gift from the Lich King, you will not waste it.”
Nathaniel could only stare at him in alarm, there was no way … he couldn’t do this.
“Do you know the human body has 206 bones in it?” Foster said nonchalantly, “I’m guessing elves have about the same, shall we find out as I break them one by one? Or you could just eat the damn soup!”
Trembling he reached for the spoon that had fallen. “I love you, brother,” he whispered as he took the first bite. His mind and body rejected what he was trying to force it to do.   Gagging, the spoonful ended back in the bowl. “I can’t,” he cried.
“Stand and give me your hand,” Foster said coldly.
Clenching his fingers into a fist, Nathaniel slowly got to his feet. His brother remained leaning against the door to the cell. “Am I going to die here?” he asked.
“When Deathspeaker Vance orders it, yes,” Foster said moving away from the wall and nonchalantly approaching him, holding out his hand.
“Is Vance really that important?” Nathaniel asked, taking a step back.
The eyes that glowed ghostly cobalt flashed. “You will address him properly. I will not let the likes of you disrespect Deathspeaker Vance!”
“We have the same star-kissed eyes now. I missed you, Brother,” Nathaniel said, and with a shout he charged. He hadn’t been able to defeat Foster in years and knew this was just as hopeless but he refused to stand like a lamb before the slaughterhouse.
His brother was still dressed in his plate armor, only his head was bare so that was Nathaniel’s target. He could predict Foster’s attacks as easily as his were blocked, they had done this dance hundreds of times. If he wanted to get through his brother’s defenses, he had to think of a new plan. Time to use the speed he was blessed with to his advantage. He ducked Foster’s next attack and instead of putting distance between them placed his hands on the ground and spun his body around planting both feet firmly in the stomach of the other and pushed. The attack threw Foster off balance and he took a small step backwards. Extending his left leg Nathaniel kicked the death knight in the jaw hard enough he heard bone crunch.
There was a roar of anger as a cold gauntlet wrapped around his ankle before he could move away. He cried out in pain as bones were crushed and he was thrown harshly away, slamming into the wall.    Before his head cleared Foster was on him, this assault was just as brutal as the first one, and this time his face was not spared. All his attack had done was infuriate his punisher; which had been the plan all along. If he could push the right buttons maybe Foster would forget his promises and at least free his soul from this hell. He was on the verge of passing out when cold water was splashed on his face and he was pulled callously into a sitting position.    Foster forced his broken jaw apart and Nathaniel screamed again, as his brother dumped the foul tasting contents of the bowl into his mouth. Then the hand clamped over his lips and nose until he had no choice but to swallow. The hand stayed as he gagged and he started to grow lightheaded from the lack of air.   As darkness started creeping in the palm left; he gasped for breath as he was released to fall.
“I told you to leave his face unscathed!” Vance screeched from the doorway.
“The bitch had it coming,” Foster said coolly as he collected the dishes and walked out the door. “I’ll get the healer.”
“No need,” Nathaniel blinked at the ethereal being that floated into the cell. “Your new toy won’t last long like this, Deathspeaker,” the banshee said as her sickening healing spells started to painfully correct the damage done. Nathaniel’s vocal cords were hoarse from screaming by the time she finished and he watched Vance’s shoes through mostly closed eyes, when a second pair of armored feet appeared he let out a strangled cry and curled into a ball to protect himself the best he could.
“That will do, for today,” Vance said haughtily.
“As you command, sir” Foster replied.
“Please visit your brother again tomorrow,” Vance said as the door closed.
“As you command, sir”
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Shattered