"Konak, spare me the sarcasm," Yriel snapped, his voice sharp. "If you'd been attacked by two demigods, I doubt you'd be in any better shape."
Konak's grating laugh was thick with schadenfreude, a naked display of mockery that set Yriel's teeth on edge. If the bastard hadn't agreed to help him crush the invaders and retake his Black Tower, Yriel wouldn't be caught dead here.
"The spatial anchor inscribed in my Black Tower was erased," Yriel seethed, his frustration boiling over. "No one knows what happened there. You, of all people, should know how many resources the Cult of Four pours into building a single tower." He had come to Konak and paid a steep price, not just to reclaim his territory, but to forge an alliance against Arthas and Alexander. The memory of his last encounter with them was a bitter pill, a potent mix of anger and humiliation.
