Disclaimer: Seriously? Do you really have to ask?
They had taken him.
The Morlu.
The remnants of nephalem souls fractured and torn by our dear lord Mephisto until they were no longer what they once were. Filled with the gift of hatred, they sought to destroy all with the might of their anger and pain.
Had that been the fate of all his children? To become servants of the Burning Hells and pawns for their lord's schemes and plots? Was that his fate?
They had stolen him from sight as he appeared from their realm, claiming him as their master's soldier before they improved him.
From stolen flesh and bone they had given him new wings.
From the cries of blood and revenge within all things they had forged his weapon.
From his hatred and misery they had made him anew.
He could hear Lord Diablo's voice, the terror and fear filling him as he was commanded to sack his former home. He would have done so anyway. He had cried out for Justice when he had been cast aside, and now?
They would have it taken from them.
The first swing severed the winged soldier's head from his shoulders. The second removed his brother's wings. She joined him just out of reach, a dance of death playing out as he danced with her again and again until she (and the winged dancers) were departed and gone.
He slashed through the man's wings, sending him to the one place he now craved more than anything as he searched for her. She had escaped the Void, and no one would keep him from her. Was she there? As the hooded man slumped over she was behind the next, and the next, and the next, until no one else was there.
Another command. A new place.
The Spire.
He flew on wings not his own as he reached the pass way between the tower and the Arch. He could feel his brother Izual struggling as he battled against a nephalem and a mortal.
A child of his. An ancestor.
He flew down and tackled the mortal, allowing his corrupted brother to finish his descendant as he drew his scythe and faced this…stranger.
The mortal was strong. He stood against him as he battered him down with his hatred and despair. He cut him with El'druin as he deflected his blows and pushed him to the edge.
How did he know that? Who was this man?
He saw his face.
A single breath stolen from him.
He could feel it. The burning as the stranger, no, his brother slid the sword, the blade of Justice, through his chest. Then the cold as his vision darkened. Was he going to see her now? Had the time finally come?
No.
He screamed as he began to burn and burn and burn as his mind was seared with the pictures, the images…the memories. The truth.
He knew.
The corrupted angel, the tortured angel, the archangel screamed as he tore the stolen wings from his back just as a true pair replaced them. He tore his helmet from his face as the face of an archangel replaced it, the face of Inarius. The breast plate, the gauntlets, the greaves, all replaced with light and power and memory.
He could remember everything.
Tyrael, Imperius, the High Heavens…Lilith.
He knew it. He knew where she was.
He had her.
Diablo.
He didn't stop for his brother' questions or the nephalem's demands as he spread his wings and drew his sword. Tearing the stone from the structure as he lifted, the archangel flew through the air and to her as everything crumbled around him.
He was going to get her back.
Even if it cost him everything.
A/N: Whoops changed my mind. This is going to be a teeny bit longer. Let's see how this plays out for our favorite archangel, shall we?
Sincerely,
kingofsecrets15