"You're hurt," Malthael breathed, not turning, sensing the injured female's presence in the archway. "Really? Thanks for noticing," Nitharael said wryly as she approached the male with a slightly limping gait. Upon the stone table sat the Black Soulstone.
Now Nitharael stood beside Malthael, her weight all on her left leg. With his right arm, Malthael gently pulled her body close to his, kissing her cheek briefly, though his gaze never once faltered from the stone. Both Nitharael's bloody red wings and Malthael's skeletal grays entertwined, out of pure habit, and this graced a slight smile on Nitharael's features. "What caused you to be hurt so?" Malthael asked, still not taking his gaze from the Soulstone.
"The Nephalem," Nitharael spat.
Malthael's arm tightened around her waist. "They did that to you?"
She nodded, sighing. "Yes. I tried to keep them from coming to Pandemonium-tried to kill them."
"And they nearly killed you," Malthael finished, finally stealing his gaze from the stone to look at his lover. She looked battered and tired, and it caught him off guard with a wave of regret and sympathy. Again, he kissed her cheek. "They're arrogant," he murmured against her skin, "arrogant and prideful. They think they can simply waltz into Westmarch and kill us all."
He paused to shake his head slightly, and turn himself so he and Nitharael were face to face. He pressed a kiss to her lips.
"They're overconfident in themselves. They don't think that reality applies to them, since Itherael cannot see their fate... But they are too late to save their world."
His left hand snaked down to entrap her own hand in it, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"Together we may rid the world of the demonspawn-we may undo Inarius' mistake in complecity. The Eternal Conflict WILL end."
Nitharael meekly nuzzled Malthael's chest (He was very much taller than her, and her face only reached his chest) and purred softly. "That, indeed, it will..."