The legendary Philosopher’s Stone went by many names.
The Stone of Heaven.
The Red Elixir.
The Fifth Element.
The Miracle Stone.
Regardless of the legend, every version claimed the same impossible truth.
It could accomplish anything.
True omnipotence.
Evenson, naturally, couldn’t create such a thing.
His alchemy was barely beyond the beginner’s stage, and even a master alchemist from Azeroth wouldn’t find a recipe for the Philosopher’s Stone.
The dagger in his hand was nothing more than an ordinary Soul Shard.
He had simply reshaped it with magic into the rough form of a knife.
As for why "crafting with magic" involved rubbing his hands together as though he were rolling dough...
That was practically an honored tradition among Azeroth’s craftsmen.
Potions.
Bombs.
Flying machines.
Half the marvels of Warcraft engineering looked as though someone had simply rubbed them into existence.
"The Fifth Element..." Evenson said, idly twirling the crimson crystal dagger. "The force that bridges matter and spirit."
He raised the blade toward Blackheart.
"The miracle that transcends life and death."
His smile sharpened.
"Compared to this..."
"...your so-called immortality is a joke."
Strictly speaking...
Soul Shards and the mythical Philosopher’s Stone weren’t entirely unrelated.
According to legend, the Philosopher’s Stone was forged through the refinement of souls.
A Soul Shard was, quite literally, a soul condensed into solid form.
The legendary stone granted eternal life and limitless power.
Soul Shards...
Well...
Need more magical power?
Use a Soul Shard.
Dying from your wounds?
Create a Healthstone.
Already dead?
No problem.
A Soulstone could solve that too.
Blackheart clutched the stump where his right arm should have been.
The limb severed by the crystal dagger hadn’t regenerated.
It hadn’t even tried.
The very concept of that arm had been erased by a weapon formed from condensed soul energy.
"How..." he asked hoarsely.
"How do you possess something like that?"
He had heard of the Philosopher’s Stone.
Who hadn’t?
It was one of the greatest treasures in all magical history.
A relic worthy of figures like Merlin.
Perhaps Raymondus.
Artifacts that existed only in legend.
"I shouldn’t?" Evenson asked innocently, examining the dagger in his hand.
"Of course not!"
Blackheart answered without hesitation.
"Do you know who Merlin was?"
The legendary wizard who had guided the rise of Britain’s greatest king.
Even the Sorcerer Supreme might not surpass him in every respect.
"If you truly possessed a Philosopher’s Stone..."
"You would’ve killed me long ago."
Evenson merely smiled.
"If it exists..."
"Then clearly it’s reasonable for someone to own it."
His voice carried absolute confidence.
Then...
Crack.
The crystal dagger shattered.
Tiny crimson fragments dissolved into glittering light before disappearing completely.
Blackheart blinked.
Sif blinked.
Evenson stared silently at his now-empty hand.
...Really?
You couldn’t wait five more seconds?
You had to fall apart right in the middle of my dramatic speech?
Truthfully...
The Soul Shards Evenson currently possessed were terrible quality.
The good ones had either been traded away...
Or stuffed into a certain car engine.
At this point he couldn’t even remember what creature the shard he’d just used had originally come from.
Cheap Soul Shards were disposable by nature.
One devastating strike...
Then they were spent.
"Well, well, well..."
Blackheart’s confidence immediately returned.
"The weapon’s gone."
He spread his remaining hand triumphantly.
"Now what?"
He had reached a comforting conclusion.
That dagger couldn’t have been a genuine Philosopher’s Stone.
At most...
It was some inferior imitation possessing a fraction of the legendary artifact’s power.
Evenson nodded thoughtfully.
"I’ll admit..."
"That does complicate things."
Blackheart grinned.
Then Evenson reached toward his belt.
"...So I’ll just use another one."
He produced an identical crimson dagger.
Blackheart froze.
From Evenson’s perspective, reshaping a Soul Shard into a dagger took barely a second.
He’d spent so long crafting the first one simply because he hadn’t wanted to waste his limited supply.
If he’d possessed enough Soul Shards...
He would’ve happily thrown them like knives until Blackheart resembled a pincushion.
Blackheart’s expression gradually unraveled.
...Wait.
There are more?
Are these things mass-produced now?
When did Earth become this terrifying?
His crisis of faith deepened another level.
"Sif."
Evenson tossed the dagger toward her.
"Catch."
She caught it effortlessly.
After all, she was far better at cutting people apart than he was.
"Take his arms."
"And his legs."
Evenson drew two more crystal daggers as casually as someone pulling spare pencils from a pocket.
"This time..."
"...let’s reduce him to a torso."
Sif didn’t hesitate.
She discarded her sword.
With a dagger in each hand, she flowed forward.
Her style transformed instantly.
The heavy aggression of a berserker gave way to the swift precision of an assassin.
Blackheart’s nerves stretched to their limit.
Being struck by Sif’s sword had merely been painful.
Now...
Every successful hit would permanently erase part of his body.
Fortunately, he remained somewhat stronger than Sif.
Once he committed himself entirely to evasion, even she struggled to land a clean strike.
Unfortunately...
She wasn’t fighting alone.
Two Felhunters suddenly burst from the shadows behind Blackheart.
One clamped onto each leg.
The ambush caught him completely off guard.
His movement stopped for the briefest instant.
That was all Sif needed.
One slash.
A second.
A third.
His remaining arm...
Gone.
Both legs...
Gone.
Blackheart collapsed to the ground.
Reduced to little more than a living torso.
Evenson walked over leisurely.
"Anything you’d like to add..."
"...Your Highness?"
Blackheart’s appearance was pitiful.
His pride remained untouched.
"You still can’t kill me."
His voice was cold.
"Your weapons only suppress my regeneration."
"They don’t destroy me."
"You can cut off my head."
"Slice me into pieces."
"I’ll still be alive."
"Eventually my remaining followers will recover my body..."
"...and restore it."
Followers?
Evenson almost laughed.
By now, Mephisto was probably conducting a rather thorough purge back in Hell.
Blackheart’s loyal subordinates were unlikely to survive long enough to rescue anyone.
Still...
Evenson disliked leaving loose ends.
He drove his remaining Soul Shard daggers into Blackheart’s chest.
The crystal blades melted instantly, flowing into the demon’s body like liquid.
"Now then..."
Evenson asked calmly.
"Are you still immortal?"
He glanced toward the distant battlefield.
The Ghost Rider was still being relentlessly pummeled by the Destroyer.
"I think..."
"...he should be able to pass judgment on you now."
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