Disclaimer: I don't own Diablo, Diablo II or the expansion set Lord of Destruction. I'm just a fan and I intend no harm. All the afore-mentioned games are property of Blizzard Entertainment.
Preview: You must have already read that this is about Tyrael. I'll admit that I'm not sure that this is perfectly in-character. But I found his character did not have much definition, so I decided to give him one. Please, don't throw any putrefied vegetables at me for it. I'll accept constructive criticism, though.
Hope you enjoy, all :)
Archangels learn
Chapter 1. Broken
He had spent the last dozen millennia watching Tal Rasha fight, contain and lose his battle against Baal. He felt pity and respect for the Horadrim mage; no matter how powerful he was, the mortal could do nothing to resist the taint of the most powerful of the Three from corrupting him. Yet, the mortal had sacrificed himself to an eternity of combat and suffering at the spirit without hands of the Lord of Destruction. He had given his life and his soul so that the Evil could be contained, and the World had thrived, thanks to his generous or foolish sacrifice, for millennia.
And now, it was changing. The world was straying from that path back to the way of the demons. The great archangel Tyrael could feel the events unfold in the world, above the sand and far from this desert. Diablo had freed himself in Tristram; his Soulstone had been planted in a prince's forehead, and he had possessed the boy. He had been defeated, but the warrior had succumbed to the power of the Soulstone. He had gone through dungeons, caves and hells without guidance to finally find himself face to face with the Lord of Terror, whom he had defeated. Yet he had lost the fight. Tyrael knew that, at first, the Wanderer had left to the East in search of a way to restore himself, to free himself from Diablo's influence. But now, Diablo's power was overwhelming him, and he continued East to free his brother, Baal. Tyrael doubted he could even remember who he had been by now. And he was coming ever closer.
The Rogues' Monastery had fallen to Andarielle, Queen of Hells, and the desert was plagued with demons, walking in the path of the Wanderer, the Hero, Diablo's possession.
Mephisto had freed himself too, and incarnated himself in Sankekur, the great Zakarum. The Lord of Hatred was unleashing hordes of demons at Kurast, the Imperial City, and had opened the gate to hell in the bowels of the once great Temple.
Agitation was coming to the mortals' realms. Many heroes were rising against the tide of demons washing over the land. Many fell. Necromancers left their secret city in search of a fight against what was disturbing their Great Cycle. Amazons battled demons on their own islands, and went to the help of the Rogues, their archer allies. Barbarians left their lands to follow the Wanderer and his trail of demons, believing the safety of their home resided in the fight in foreign lands. Assassins came out of hiding, thinking some rogue and treacherous mage was the source of the troubles. Zann Esu, the great clan of Sorceresses, defended fiercely their territory against the advance of demons in the jungle, and not many other group of mortals could withstand the onslaught of Mephisto's hordes with as much power. Druids were driven out of their forests in search of the source of the corruption of their groves. A few Paladins had escaped Mephisto's corruption, being away from Kurast on various errands and wandering fights, but now followed the Wanderer, recognizing him as a source of Evil. The last of the Horadrim was caged in Tristram, a prize to the lesser demons left behind by Diablo.
Everywhere the Mortals were rising in power and determination, fighting back the demons. Many fell in their foolish attempt to battle demons beyond their power. So many fell before the hordes of Darkness.
There was grievance in Tyrael's heart. He loved the mortals; he had given them the Soulstones to contain the Three, and now his gift was turning bitterly against those he had wanted to protect, corrupted in a way he had yet to discover.
The Wanderer was coming ever closer. Tyrael felt his advance in the desert, Tal Rasha's writhing and show of power constantly greater. Undead and demons were rising around Lut Gholein, and the fair city was besieged by hideous creatures.
Tyrael readied himself for the coming battle. He felt Deckard Cain, last of the Horadrim, being freed, but he had to focus on gathering his power; he could not strain his innervision to observe the faraway world now. He took weeks to gather his power, not focusing himself in one great moment that would alert Evil at miles' radius. His power grew as the Evil took over the Wanderer slowly, day after day, influenced now by the proximity to his brother.
Baal was writhing in his binds, speaking the tongue of the demons and the language of magic, flames bursting around him, often laughing at the foolish Archangel guarding him.
Tyrael now felt demons inhabited the Tomb. And suddenly, the Wanderer's presence was overwhelmingly near, breaking brutally in a crystal-clear expression of Evil. Diablo was now the only driving force behind the Hero's actions. His soul was caged, and he was condemned a spectator to the doings of his body. His body was not even fully his anymore, already coursed by demonic blood.
The Archangel gathered himself, and watched as the Wanderer and Marius, the foolish, weak man, following the Wanderer's call, entered the chamber. He did not show himself. He let the Wanderer walk forward towards his brother. It was striking how he did not look human anymore; he was moving with unnatural speed and power, his head pierced by the beginning of Diablo's horns.
Then Tyrael's wing shot forward, and grabbed the Wanderer's wrist.
"Halt!", the archangel said, pulling the Wanderer's hand away from the Soulstone embedded in Tal Rasha's chest. "No one will free the Evil imprisoned here. No one, not even you," he stated. He was rising above the ground, his great white wings lifting him, and he raised his sword, gathering himself.
Then he pounced down upon the Wanderer, grieve in his heart for the mortal that was forever lost. He clashed full speed with the almost human body, and felt the punch of Diablo's power. Both plummeted down together into the pit around Tal Rasha's prison.
The Wanderer managed to grip the side of the suspended bridge, while Tyrael regained control of his wings, and elevated himself again. He gripped Diablo, and threw him across the room to the other side of the pit, again rising his holy sword to strike at Diablo.
The battle was terrible. Diablo unleashed his demonic power at him, and he struck with righteous fury. The power binding him to this world was old, and Diablo's was new, and they were an equal match in this battle for Baal's Soulstone. Tyrael knew his duty must prevail.
And everything was lost to the foolishness of a man's weakness. Tyrael knew it in a moment of prescience, feeling Marius' hand a bare inch from the Soulstone. He turned his head, freezing time in Marius' mind. He lifted Marius by the neck over the pit, and shook him, helpless in the Archangel's mental grip.
"Imbecile! The world's destiny was in your hands!" He then shouted to the fool, weak man, to run to Kurast to destroy the Soulstone at the Infernal Forges. And then, time resumed it course.
Marius finished to pull the Soulstone out of Tal Rasha's chest. Tyrael's sword, still risen above Diablo's head, ready to strike down with the final blow, was suddenly snapped out of his hand, falling down into the pit, by Tal Rasha's whip-like appendage. Marius started running out, towards Kurast.
Tal Rasha freed himself from his binds and shot his whips forwards, screeching with a demon's voice. Tyrael stood, knowing his defeat, and Diablo slowly gathered himself and stood up. The Archangel faced both brothers as they lined in front of him. He waited for the coup de grâce.
It came as an explosion of demonic power, which lashed at him with incredible force. The tomb shook with his cry of pain and the release of his energy from this plane to the Heavens. Then, both brothers turned smugly away, leaving a broken Tyrael behind them, to witness in silence and pain the rise of Duriel, called forth from the Hells to watch over the tomb, and destroy the foolish mortal heroes following the Wanderer's steps.
Tyrael was lying on the ground, coiled on himself, and saw, helpless, the show of power of Baal when he called forth the demon. It was a gigantic worm, with a powerful ice aura and razor-like arms. Tyrael was witness to the demon's power, to its ancient and brutal evil, as it bowed before its Masters and agreed to cut heroes to frozen ribbons if they dared to come here. Baal and Diablo left, Tyrael no stranger to their intent, to the oriental city, to free their last brother.
The Archangel could barely lift his head, overwhelmed by the brothers' spell and all the evil surrounding him. He looked as Duriel, the Lord of Pain, came closer, looked at him, and laughed cruelly of his weakness.
"That is the great Tyrael. What a pity."
Then Duriel left this room to go to the antechamber. Tyrael pulled himself up on his knees, then on his feet. He was about to leave this plane, when suddenly he felt something. There was not only Evil here. One bright aura, so really bright, was coming nearer. And the demons were stepping back before it. Yet they were vanquished from existence.
A sparkle of hope gave Tyrael the force to focus his essence on this plane a while longer. He had not the force to intervene in the coming battle, but if the Hero could defeat Duriel, Tyrael needed to tell him to go to Kurast, and stop the brothers before the Three were reunited and free.
Power clashed as the Hero suddenly came into Tal Rasha's antechamber. Duriel aura was foul to feel even across the wall, and Tyrael witnessed as the first demon's hit hurt greatly the Hero. He felt the flickering in the aura of righteousness, but then it shone brighter an instant. Tyrael recognized a spell being cast, then the grunt of pain of the demon. He followed in his innersight the moves of the Hero; he was obviously a spellcaster, practicing the guerrilla against Duriel, running in all directions, trying to avoid being frozen or falling victims to the hits. But the demon was a brutal fighter, and Tyrael was not sure that a lonely spellcaster stood a chance. The burst in the brightness of the aura was weak, indicating low-power spells.
Tyrael waited, seeing the Hero weakening dangerously, Duriel much slowly. Then a town portal opened, and the Hero was gone. Tyrael was surprised, and the disappearance of Light from the tomb made him weaker. He fell to his knees again. He thought in despair the Hero had gone, and was running back to his homeland, cowering in fear of Duriel for the rest of his days, no more a Hero. Tyrael had not even the force to sever his link to this world. He waited, trying to gather his power to leave.
Then the Hero was back, running back through his portal. Tyrael stood again. His aura was weak no longer; he had healed while away. The battle raged in the same way, the Hero running in disorganized rushes, casting weak spells in between runs, for a long time. Duriel was weakening slowly, but steadily. Tyrael felt himself becoming stronger from the Darkness' weakening. But he was still very weak, and could do nothing but watch and be witness to the mortal's courage.
Finally, Duriel fell, in a last rush of spells. The Hero was very near death, having suffered a blow at the very second before the demon's death. Tyrael stood there in shock for a second. Then, he heard the distinct sound of crying. It was a woman's voice.
He walked, too weak to use his wings, to the antechamber. His wings were hanging on his back like a cape, slightly undulating, but not really waving as they could. When he came in the doorway, the Hero was crying no longer. She was sitting, her back against the wall. Tyrael understood quickly she was a Zann Esu. She wore a rune-socketed breastplate, a Jared's stone and a diamond-socketed shield. Her weapon and shield were lying on the floor on each side of her, and one of her hands was clenched to her side, ripped open by Duriel. Tyrael shuddered as he saw that she was holding one of her kidneys in its place with her hand. Her other hand was falling helplessly to her side, the shoulder a mess of blood, torn flesh, crushed bones and ripped metal. Duriel's exploded carcass laid before her feet, a dozen of white worms sluggishly sliding forward, licking blood as they went.
She lifted her head slowly, her eyes hazy, as she saw the light coming from Tyrael. The Archangel paused, brutally reminded of the mortal condition and what it really meant to be weak, not only deprived of his divine energy as in this moment, and she spoke.
"I have been found worthy, after all…", her voice was a low rasp. "I am… honoured. Take me, I am ready."
Tyrael walked slowly forward. He squished the worms under his booted heel. Nothing would feed on her blood in his presence. He knelt in front of her. The potions in her sash had been broken by Duriel's hit. Tyrael then turned to her pack, rummaging through it until he found the biggest healing potion a mortal could drink; a more important quantity proved itself to be toxic. He opened the potion, and gently put it to her lips, tilting her head back with his other hand. She gave him a puzzled look at first, and drank a drop of the potion. As it was to be expected, she began coughing, and Tyrael waited until the coughing was over to pour slowly the rest of the potion in her mouth as she drank, between rasping breaths.
When she was done drinking the whole potion, the wounds on her side and shoulder were still bleeding profusely, but her entrails were back in place. She looked up to Tyrael, then, in silence. The Archangel took a step back, changing from kneeling and sitting on his heels to putting only one knee on the ground, taking a little distance from her.
"Am I still dying? Am I dreaming?", she asked, her voice very low, as though talking to herself.
"I salute you, hero," Tyrael said finally.
She shook her head, as though to clear it. Tyrael could only imagine that she was still confused because of her still-serious injuries.
"I thought you were here to take me away," she said.
"I must speak quickly. I am broken and the energies binding me to this world are fading rapidly." It was true, although her victory and the vanquishing of one of the Lesser Evils had given him some power. "It was my duty to guard the Evil imprisoned here, but I have failed. Destruction and Terror are now freely roaming your world. They must be stopped before they free their brother, Mephisto, trapped in the temple of Kurast. They must not be reunited."
There was a silence. "I understand," she said.
Tyrael nodded, then he gave her a vision of what had happened with Marius, and she nodded again. The color was draining of her face, quickly now, and he knew she needed healing, but there were no other health potions in her pack, only mana potions. He opened a town portal for her; he was broken and barely able to leave this world on his own, but he could at least do that for her.
"Go, now, mortal, with my blessing."
She nodded, and he helped her to stand and step through the portal. When she was gone, the fading of Light was nearly overwhelming; he snapped his few remaining binds to this world, and flew back to Heavens, to heal and recuperate himself.