Disclaimer: I do not own Diablo 3, or any part of Activision Blizzard. Although I might wish it to be otherwise, they own everything.
This story is rated M for mature due to language, graphic themes and content. This story, in the spirit of the Diablo universe, follows and references many events from the games.
This story is the first of its kind I've ever written. Reviews are always welcome and greatly appreciated. All reviews, alerts, and follows will receive a response.
Chapter 1: I Was His Daughter
Do you know what it was like to die? Do you know what it was like to be a murderer? Do you know what it was like to take pleasure in the suffering of others? To languish in the sweet surrender, the spilling of blood. To see the beautiful crimson, to inhale that unmistakably fragrant copper scent as one's life drains out and over your hands? A crescendo of screams to caress your ears as you work; the merry music of an innocent as they take their last breath.
Neither did I, but that was before. I was Leah. Daughter to Adria, adopted by Deckard Cain, my uncle. I was once a pure child, a daughter to the good, of all things represented by righteous Light. I was an apprentice to my uncle, a scholar in prophetic research and translations. But all of that doesn't matter now. That. All of that was before everything changed.
Living with my uncle taught me many things. I learned how to read. I learned to write. I learned ancient folklore and truths from ages that had long since passed. The most difficult of all were the lessons taught by my mother. I learned that I she was a whore and I was her first newborn. I learned that I was a child conceived by much more then a mere bastard that seduced a sex-crazed, power hungry lunatic. Even though my soul revolted at these many revelations it was nothing compared to the last and most important: Betrayal.
Betrayal brought by the very blood that created me.
I am a bitch's daughter, infused with the dark essences that flowed through her cursed veins. I was not the son that my father could raise in his image so I was expendable. I was the vessel, the means to finally end the war with the High Heavens. You see, I was the child of Diablo. The great Lord of Hell, the most wicked, vile and feared of all the Lords. He wasn't a simple Lord; he wasn't only a Prime Evil either. No, he was much more, the embodiment of Evil itself.
And I was his daughter, the unknowing Princess of Darkness. I was the Princess trapped by my father in the World of Terror. A place of the bastard's creation, a place where nothing but nightmares, fear and pain existed; a place where he feds off the terror and used the tears, the screams, and broken resistance to build new forms of personalized torment.
I wasn't just his newest victim. No, if I was I could have considered myself fortunate. No, I was a Nephalem. I was the reincarnated result of a union between Angel and Demon kind that started many eons ago. My soul was that of an angelic warrior from the High Heavens. I was gifted with mighty magic's I scarcely understood courtesy of the chaotic energies acquired from a creature similar to that in strength and ability of my father.
Upon the day of my birth I was cursed. I wasn't human. I was something much worse. I had the wisdom and intelligence of the Angels. I had the resilience of a Demon. I was trusted by neither, and considered a threat by both.
Most horrible of all I wasn't only a Nephalem I was one of the most powerful Nephalem's alive. And now the most terrible demon ever known was working to merge my own abilities with his own. Having no concept of mercy my own father tortured me. My supernatural origins allowed me to survive many techniques that were impossible to use on anyone else.
I was in darkness. Freezing darkness. And pain. Oh the pain, sweet agony that pulsed through every vein. Hurting that flowed through every part of my body, as if trying to pull the very fibers of my being apart. Every cell ached with unimaginable throbbing, bitter anguish that punished the mind and tainted the soul.
I did the only thing I could; I screamed. I screamed until my throat was hoarse and vocal cords exhausted. I screamed until my jaws ached and tear ducks ran dry. And I still continued to scream. I knew that I wasn't alone anymore. I could feel him.
I was unprepared, vulnerable, just beginning to understand the true powers of a Nephalem. I had only begun to fathom the greatest possibilities allowed by my birthright. And now, now my greatest enemy was undoing all that I have strived to achieve with my beloved late uncle, the closest man I had to a father: Deckard Cain.
I didn't know whether I would live or die; I was trapped in a body no longer my own after being betrayed. My mother completed her vile task. She condemned her daughter to a life guaranteed to be an eternal Hell unlike anything that ever existed in reality. She released the Prime Evil from the soulstone. Sanctuary's most feared enemy reemerged once again: Diablo.
Now with a host Diablo went about making it – me – his own. How long my sanity remained intact, it was impossible to tell.
I once was benevolent, compassionate, and a reverent spirit; embodying everything that he loathed. Determined to break me Diablo explored with cruel devices. He probed deep into his victim. He couldn't be the epitome of evil, the one true Prime Evil unless my soul was utterly crushed. A broken fragment of what it once was so that he could feed off my life force. Something that could be easily twisted, manipulated and despoiled so that everything his daughter worked to preserve and protect would vanish.
I was powerless as he found my purity, his own daughter with the innocence of a child. He violated my sanctity as he ravaged my most intimate of places. He pushed himself deep inside. He made his presence known by hammering against my soul, forcing, stretching, tearing. He languished in my suffering as I was brutally punished for defiance. He fed off my stinging grief and dread. He encouraged both to increase in terrific waves as I was bent and defiled. I refuted every attempt by him to try to make me capitulate. Each attack was worse than last, and each weakened me further.
My father didn't care that I was his daughter. I was his Princess of Darkness, a Nephalem a mere tool to accomplish his one ceaseless wish; to rule Heaven, Sanctuary and Hell.
My blood and soul would power the magic needed to gain the throne. I was going to be trapped in the World of Terror for all eternity. Countless would die. Countless would suffer. My stupidity for believing my mother would lead to the High Heavens echoing with the screams of mortal heroes, the honorable and righteous. The Eternal River of Light would be stained forever red with from their blood. The ceaseless radiance of goodness and grace would be extinguished forever.
The fault was all mine. Time was not my ally.
I prayed for the salvation that death would bring.
I didn't know how long I could last as whom I was; I felt different.
Diablo, I refused to think of him as a father, was awakening something inside. I felt something else, just at the fringes of perception; close, so very close but impossible to grab.
Despite all this, despite all the aching and terror I felt something else. Power. I felt myself growing stronger; far more powerful then the simpleton I was but mere moments ago.
There was one problem. The power wasn't normal. The power wasn't my own. The power was everything I'm not.
I didn't know what kind of monster I was being turned into. I didn't know what kind of soul I would have left. I didn't know if my sanity would last through the inevitable suffering that I was only just beginning to experience. I didn't know many things except that I would fight. I would fight until long after my voice was silenced. I would fight until long after my fingers were broken and withered, incapable of making fists. I would fight until long after my legs were crippled and bent, powerless of supporting my own weight. My body would give in and wither, faded away into dust. My mind rendered useless and inept of logical thought. The things that made me human would disappear into the blank pages of history, but I would never submit to being a naïve observer to the atrocities I knew my father was going to commit.
Even as I heard the roar, and felt the earth beneath my feet quake as he approached I was content in my lack of knowledge of the future. I didn't know many things, but I knew the one thing that mattered the most. I was going to fight the most powerful, and feared demon, the supreme of evils, evil itself: the Prime Evil Diablo himself. I did not care that his Realm of Terror was where I was doomed to be a plaything. I did not care that I was a toy, a mere vessel for my father to practice the most forbidden of taboos. I did not care that I was his daughter, trapped by my father's unquenchable lust, and desires. I did not care that my tears, and fears were his aphrodisiac.
I did not care because as powerful as he might be I sensed great heroes, my friends who vigorously fought his Hellish armies. Perhaps I would find redemption through their actions. Perhaps, they were strong enough to grant my final wish: witness the Bastard draw his last breath before being casted into the Void from which he was spawned.
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