Diablo 2: Fallen - Introduction
By Amethyst Haze

Disclaimer: I do not own Diablo II, its concepts, its designs or anything else related to it. Those are the property of Blizzard Entertainment, this story is simply a non-profit tribute and parody.

Amethyst Haze's comments: This is the side story of the D2 series I'm working on. For the first two stories prior to this, it is "Longing to be with you" and "Visions of you." Be warned, those two stories are rated R unlike this one rated PG-13.

Fallen Angel Requiem - as written and sung by Bayard

Two angels of light protected all good and innocent life cherished
yet all sweel loving emotions within one simply perished.
Perspective caused by insanity which had been boredom-borne.
The other angel later wept for her, emotions so forlorn.

Tyreal was the other; driven to never fail.
The fallen one an advisor; sweet, wise and frail.
Gifted with accurate visions that danced in her head
she was haunted by one that ended with her dead.

To distract her from such horrid visions not suited for a girl,
Tyreal took her for a leisurely tour of the mortal world.
She saw how poor the people were and how they clung to life
regardless of the next day and so on being forever filled with strife.

Touched by one male mortal's soft and hopeful smile,
She never considered their love would last only for awhile.
Her constant visits filled with gifts of happiness to him did fade
once greed caused other humans to murder, pillage and raid.

Killing the band of humans responsible for her heart's pain,
the female angel was threatened to never visit mortals again.
"I do not need this anymore!" she said to the Tyreal in a yell,
So the angel turned from a world of light to face a human hell.

In the village of Grehnt is where she chose to live,
she tried to be good, taking less that what she'd give.
The humans were still filled with such an insatiable greed;
they took everything they wanted and never just what they need.

Angered by humans and the selfish foul deed
she spoke out to help them but was instead left to bleed.
She might not have turned evil if a tear had been shed,
but no one wept for her, so she wished them all dead.

Leaving a trail of blood as she left with hurt pride,
she allowed anger and rage to build up deep inside.
"You owe me so much for this," was her last threat,
"And with your lives, you men I catch shall pay the very debt."

Tyreal came to her to restore her angelic side.
she refused to give in because of her sorely dented pride.
"I'd rather die than try to help humans once more!"
Tyreal then changed her so she was human to the core.

She was found by two demonic sisters and given a better chance,
Being dubbed the third sister, she then returned with complaisance.
Though a physical death strike from her was never blown,
insanity made captors want death from a weapon of their own.

The visions turned blurry but coninued to play on,
with them are hateful thoughts that will never be gone.
Any man that catches her fancy are drawn into her lair,
and are subjected to her morbid company without a single care.

The fallen angel is now the true dark temptress;
Half human, half-demon and brimming with demetedness.
Though her sweet voice may be seductive and full of desire,
With enough words spoken, men suffer a mind's hellfire.

Upon a dark day shall destiny settle the score,
and when her demonic life ends; she'll have the visions no more.
Wits so addled, she refuses the light from which she came,
Amused with her disturbing thoughts; Diemma is her name.

Introduction: "In the Game"

The crackling flame tongues of the campfire danced that day---not a jubilant dance of celebration--in fear. A damp and foreboding sensation crawled up his spine--vertebrae by vertebrae--lightly pinching into the skin like a taloned spider. Valerius Mendalc's leather gauntleted-grip pulsed around the worn hilt of his broadsword; the dampness of his palm was momentarily relieved but his nerves were not. Despite having five of his men on watch, he could not relax himself enough to catch a much needed a wink of sleep until his body collapsed from exhaustion. Something was calling to him, echoing in the recesses of his nightmares to leave him a souvenir of tainted anxiousness in his waking moments.

My superiors would laugh at me, he thought grimly, feeling his eyelids weigh down with every delayed blink. His superiors, the Hand of Zakarum's council, indeed would laugh at him. "A seasoned warrior like yourself scared of the dark," he could imagine them jesting lightly with him before offering him words of comfort and a promise of his name in their daily prayers.

Valerius' lips twisted into a sardonic smirk. Like I care, he thought bitterly, absently tracing the wrappings of leather on the hilt with a calloused finger. All that mattered was for evil to be gone, by any means necessary. Evil.... that was why he was sleeping on the ground instead of a warm and firm pallet like he and the rest of his company was a fortnight ago.

The company's target this time was Grehnt, a small village on the outskirts of the Kurast desert, sitting divided on the Scosglen and Kehjistan regional borders; in other words, Valerius' home.

Home.... it echoed hollowly in his head as yet again a sneer twisted its way onto his face. He had not set foot on his home since ten years ago and even now he wish he didn't have to. Grehnt was his well of chaos and confusion, a place he called home though it never felt like home. When he had run off to join the Zarakum at the tender age of fifteen, it was seen as his only means of escape despite the long years he spent doing chores for the House of Zakarum and training alone at spare moments.

His eyes lingered over to a soldier in the distance... Zacharius, young, but ambitious and too full of dreams to be part of that Zarakum. Valerius felt a touch of pity towards the young man. Barely in his twenties, he swore fealty to the church upon his twentieth birthday when he was despairing over never having a purpose in life... His purpose appeared two days later in the form of a loving woman.

Ah, the fairer sex. Valerius' thoughts enviously remembered the way Zacharius' face lit up with light and joy when he spoke of his beloved waiting for him. Such emotions he never felt nor probably would never feel. But did it really matter? Humans were mortal thus flawed and by nature, humans are fickle. It would only be a matter of time before young Zacharius would find a new woman to dive into as he tosses his previous lass aside. From his logic, Valerius knew he had made the right choice; the battle against evil is more fulfilling and more exciting. Yet.... why was he repeating it like a mantra if he is so convinced?

The shiver of chainmail settling on the ground not to far from him rustled him out of his thoughts and loosely grabbed his attention. Adjacent to him though still in front of the fire to bask in its warmth, his second-in-command, Lutheric, struggling to remove his hauberk until his young squire finally stepped in to assist him. Lutheric lay back on the soft earth, shed his chain gloves and laced his hands behind his head to stare up at the smoke of the fire that trailed up into the velvet heavens stretched and bejeweled across horizons.

With a nonchalant wave of his hand to his squire, Lutheric's steely eyes glittered in the night as he glanced at Valerius with his always assessing eyes. "We leave at first light." Though he meant it questioningly, all his inquiries sounded like orders.

Valerius returned with a curt nod as he rolled over onto a shoulder, staring deeper into the hypnotic depths of the fire. "As always."

The light played with his eyes, flaring brightly before the irises that stared back intently. It captivated him, fascinated him... so much more possible than an actual fire was capable of doing. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours and Valerius' lids turned heavy while his eyes dewed and revealed its vision to be clouded by smoky wisps.

Valerius, you paragon.... what are you waiting for? Or who? A voice slithered into his head, raspy and distorted away from gender clarity.

The paladin's hazel eyes' snapped open wide, darting side to side to survey the area. The fire was burning but not with the same intensity that it held when he had succumbed to its trance. The soldiers in the company lay asleep, some dozing, and a few he could see in the distance, still standing watch.

They were still a good half day's away from Ghrent and already he was on edge... He paused for a moment, silently mocking himself for letting his imagination getting away with him.

You have a very vivid imagination then, Paragon... the voice called again mockingly, emphasizing the word "paragon." Though, this time the voice was much clearer and... much more feminine. Yes, a very feminine imagination too then. It trailed off into a chuckle, soft though still threatening.

He jerked his head up, his movement not stirring the dozing soldiers from their slumber. What's going on? he thought to himself, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Thoughts entered his head like rapidfire, one after the other, each one trailing on to the next or separate. Is this a dream? Am I dead? Is it a demon? ...I should wake the men.

No, you are not dreaming; I assure you, this is very real. The voice slyly responded. Demon.... that's debatable. As for your waking your men...

A soft shff of dirt and rssssk of chainmail hissed back towards his attentive ears. His gaze shuttered in response to the sight of his men sinking to their knees or to their backs in a soft slumber.

Valerius' jaw tensed as the voice whispered. And, as for dead, Paragon.... Not yet....

The seasoned paladin slid onto his knees, climbing to his full height as he drew his broadsword from his sheath and retrieved his trusty tower shield propped up on a nearby broken log. "Quit calling me "paragon," " he bit out in a loud voice to the still of the night.

It suits you.... I've heard of you.... The paragon of Zakarum; holy not only in thy blade's triumphs of evil, but pure of mind as well. A throaty laugh rippled through his mind, seeming to sift through the trees of the proud forests nearby. Bullshit, I do say.

"Whatever you say matters not, demon," he spat back. "For one born of true evil, you claim falsely to know much about what is holy and its ways."

The trees swayed softly in the midnight rhythm. Very good, the female whispered. But.... I was not born evil... A pity, in truth.

"Impossible," he replied tersely.

The voice hesitated before softly replying in a bitter tone, Not impossible, just... improbable, and I happen to be the unlikely result.

"And what," he found himself unable to hide his curiosity. "You wish to return to the light?"

"Do not make me ill by that thought!" a voice haughtily retorted within hearing range.

Startled, Valerius pivoted sharply to lay eyes on his enemy: a woman, a frail woman.... a demoness with haunting eyes that glimmered of intelligence in the dim flickering firelight. His body shifted into a combat-ready stance, shield raised and sword waiting to strike out like a self-righteous cobra. His narrowed eyes sweeping over the woman in an assessing manner. Though power radiated from her with ease, he didn't feel threatened enough for his adrenaline level to burst into an all time high.

Uneven lengths of hair ranging from shoulder length to past the her dainty shoulder blades framed her face loosely as it swayed to the gentle hum of the evening breeze. "Good evening, Valerius," she said primly, the accents in her voice holding a very worldly quality to them.

Guarded, Valerius arched a thick eyebrow in response. "Sir Mendalc, rather," he corrected.

"All the same, Paragon," she emphasized an endearing tone upon "paragon" that it actually struck an odd note to Valerius. He assessed her again; she looked almost.... normal. He could feel the power still that she possessed, but his eyes deceived him to that power. She seemed a frail and fragile woman; Her dark brown eyes twinkling with merry mischief despite the tight frown on her lips. She did not look at all like a demon, she was, in truth, attractive.... for a demon. She had long black hair shadowing her frame--not defying gravity or riddled with snakes waiting to snap at him like in tales many conjured up of demonesses... nor like the ones he was used to.

"Paragon," she called to him in a chiding voice with sarcastic undertones. "If you stare any longer, I might feel the maidenly blush arise."

"Demon," he mimicked her tone. "I seriously doubt you are a maiden." He verbally jabbed back, hitting the spot on her as he tightened his grip on his sword.

The corner of her lips tugged into a smile. "Are you going to call me 'Demon' from now on then?" She softly chuckled, the husky sound seducing Valerius' ears for a brief moment before he lunged forward for his attack.

His torso twisted as he threw all his strength into a single slash at the demoness. His hit, however, never hit home. The demoness was no where in sight, and not a spot of blood stained his blade.

He whirled around in a full circle, his brain on full alert, his eyes scanning the area, darting to each man asleep in the camp to ensure that they were safe. And they were.

I am not so low to bring them into this game of ours, O Paragon, a voice hissed, reaching to his mind in fury. I will be watching.

"Game...?" he growled challengingly. "Demon, show yourself. Or are you so weak to be frightened of a mere mortal?"

Another laugh echoed internally and Valerius felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he felt the soft feminine breath brush by. You should know better than to provoke a demon. The voice gradually faded until it became but a whisper. And don't call me Demon, Valerius... it's Diemma.

His breath caught in his throat. Impossible, the youngest of the demon sisters trio still remained?

Not impossible.... just improbable...