The archangel Malthael had turned.
Following the wake of Diablo's sealing, Heaven had confiscated the Black Soulstone, keeping the object safe in its possession. Kept safe by the the High Heavens and protected by the Angiris Coucil, the stone was a displayed as a sign that angels had triumphed over the demons.
Nonetheless, Tyrael had surmised, correctly, that the likes of Heaven could not be trusted with the key which bound the fate of all demons. Many in Heaven were not opposed to the idea of sealing all demons in this Black Soulstone, effectively ending the eternal conflict. The stone itself had begun to corrode those close to it, infecting the citizens of the High Heavens with thoughts of distrust, sowing seeds of turmoil. One of those affected was Malthael.
In a brazen act of opposition, Tyrael, in secret, created the new found Horadrim and commissioned the order to do the impossible: steal the Black Soulstone. Through their many trials and tribulations, the Horadrim were victorious, stealing away that which had begun to unravel the High Heavens. Yet not all was well. None knew of the true capabilities of the Black Soulstone, or dared to test it. Could the object be broken without unleashing its terrors once more into the world? Unlike the previous stones, this one was man made, and any attempt to destroy it could very well backfire.
And so, Tyrael and the Horadrim resolved to seal it away in an undisclosed location. However, in the midst of the sealing, the new Angel of Death had appeared, destroying the newly founded Horadrim and incapacitating the Aspect of Wisdom, Tyrael. The only survivors were Lorath Nahr, a member of the new Horadrim, and Tyrael himself.
Now the nation of Westmarch was in turmoil, besieged by Malthael and his legion of Death Maidens as the former archangel sought to end the eternal conflict by absorbing the life force of all remaining demons. In the process, humanity would perish, for humans were the offspring of the nephalem, and thus, created out of the union between angels and demons; the sealing of the demons would tear the souls of humans in two, and the separation of the soul from the body would mean death for all. His plan was not yet complete, but every second spent lingering meant Malthael was closer to accomplishing his goal. The Angel of Death needed to be stopped.
Eirena clutched her pillow tightly, her face pale as she struggled to come to terms with the information Kormac had just conveyed. She was sitting cross-legged on her cot, hugging her favorite pillow. Opposite of her sat the Templar in a low stool, his fingers interlocked, elbows on his knees as he stared intently at the ground.
"I know you are unwell, but I was hoping," Kormac began to mumble. "I was hoping you would consider traveling to Westmarch with me."
Eirena almost chuckled at the timing. Not even three candle marks ago she had soiled his armor with the symptoms of being "unwell," and now he was asking her to accompany him on a quest to defeat Malthael? The request was laughable.
Uncrossing her legs, Eirena draped them over the side of the bed and hoisted herself to stand. Approaching the door to her room, she peeked outside, just once, before closing it with a gentle click. In this small home, the children were divided into rooms by ages, those below the ages of ten in one, and those older in the other, with the solitary room occupied by the matron of the household. She'd put the last of them to sleep near an hour ago, but still, Eirena was glad to have the room to herself, as it afforded her some privacy.
"About your request." Eirena turned toward her dresser and opened the drawers, casually drawing out a nightgown. "I'm afraid I cannot accompany you."
"Why not?" Kormac contested, hastily averting his eyes from the Enchantress when she began undressing, her back turned to him.
"I've a family now Kormac, I cannot simply abandon them."
"I—but you—" Kormac was at a loss for words, partly out of disbelief that this was the same woman who he had journeyed with just three years prior, the one who had been so zealous in her pursuit of justice, and partly because his mind was flooding the Templar with other thoughts of the naked sorceress in front of him. It certainly wasn't the first time she had done this; it had been common during their quest to slay Diablo, and the fact that she could change comfortably in front him meant she trusted him, he thought. Still, it was terribly distracting, and he was trying to discuss events of relative importance! He sighed audibly as if the sigh would dispel those unnecessary thoughts with the air he expelled.
Eirena turned to speak before Kormac had time to compose himself, oblivious to the way he quickly turned away, twisting his body so that it faced the door instead of at her. She lifted her arms and gracefully slipped into the loose garment. "I understand your request Kormac, but I cannot accompany you and the nephalem and… Lyndon."
Kormac noticed the way Eirena paused slightly before pronouncing the name of their other traveling companion in the same way he noticed how her nightgown failed to cover the two olive-sized protrusions on the woman's bosom, pert from the cold of winter. He tried to form an argument with the woman, convince her that her presence would be needed to save humanity once more, but the thoughts that came to him were nothing of the sort. For a few minutes, Kormac battled in his mind, first with anger, then frustration, and finally acceptance. None of this showed on his face, as the Templar had stoned his expression, for once.
In the midst of this, Eirena had returned to her bed, preparing herself for the tirade she knew she had invoked, and for which the Templar was notorious. His expression was unreadable as he sat unmoving, and Eirena could only fathom what raced in the mind of her companion. Reaching out a hand, she attempted to place a hand on the shoulder of the man, startled when he moved away fluidly.
"I understand," Kormac said suddenly, his voice emotionless. It was useless to argue with Eirena and every second he spent in this room was another second spent in temptation. If she did not wish to come, he would bother her no more.
"I'll see you out then." Eirena rose to open the door as Kormac offered the barest of nods, gathering his equipment in a single motion.
"Thank you."
Then he was gone. Walking the straight path to Westmarch, where his unwavering convictions led him. Eirena had said nothing, just watched as Kormac's retreating form disappeared into the thin midnight air. She shivered as the wind swirled around her, chilling her skin with its icy embrace. Eventually she shut the door, long after his figure had disappeared from view, thankful the children still asleep. The most rambunctious of them had tuckered out long before she and Kormac had begun their private discussion.
A feeling of agony began to gnaw at her, one that only grew the more she thought about the news Kormac had just relayed, as well as his unreasonable request. The longer she pondered, the more the thoughts began to plague her.
Surely the events in Westmarch were no coincidence; they must be connected with the timing of her nightmares. Could it be they were related?
Eirena returned to her room in an attempt to collect herself. Perhaps the Prophet was not who she thought he was. Could the Prophet be not Ithereal, but Malthael? Eirena tried to stop her mind from following that line of thinking, but found herself unable to do so. Lysa, was Lysa alive? Was that why she had heard the voices? Maybe Malthael was the Prophet and had resurrected her sisters, who were working with him?
It had to be some sort of scheme. Perhaps, if the Prophet was Malthael after all, he had used the Sisterhood in order to seal away Diablo and then collect the Black Soulstone to end the eternal conflict. If so, then she would have been lied to, coerced into aiding in the fall of humanity.
Perhaps she too was a Death Maiden. There was nothing to say that she was human. After all, not many had the power to summon demons, much less survive a 1500 year slumber. Eirena dropped to floor, distraught at her own conclusions, as fear slowly overcame the small curled mass that was the Enchantress.
Would she lose herself, her will, and become a slave under Malthael's power? What of the children? Even if Malthael were not the Prophet, she could hardly leave them behind to rejoin the nephalem. They were her new family.
Panic enveloped the sorceress, who rocked frantically, sniveling with indecision. In her worry, tears had begun to fall, dampening the ground beneath her head. Hours, she spent groveling, until finally, her mind spent, Eirena fell into an uneasy rest.
Thump thump thump thump.
Someone was knocking on the door. Groggily, Eirena raised her head, cringing when her neck protested, cramping. She had fallen asleep in an awkward position, and now it was difficult for her to rise. Sunlight peeked over the windows and into her abode. It appeared to be midday.
Thump thump thump thump.
"Mother! Asheara's here! She says she'll break down the door if you don't come out right—"
The door came crashing in; Eirena instinctively rolled aside, just dodging what would have been a very painful, splinter filled impact.
"Now." Uzziel stood in the hallway, just behind the Captain of the Iron Wolves, who entered the room, stepping over the remains of Eirena's bedroom door with relative ease.
The Enchantress blinked. "Asheara, why? What are you doing here?"
"The better question," Asheara replied cordially, helping her friend to her feet, "is why are you still here?"
"What do you mean? I live here."
Asheara straightened her back, stretching her arms as she sauntered about the room, picking up random articles here and there, throwing them atop Eirena's bed until it was strewn with random articles of clothing and various tomes.
"Don't be silly Eirena, you know what I mean. Why haven't you begun packing?"
Eirena crossed her arms. "Just where am I going, and why have you barged into my home, breaking down my door?" She was in no mood for riddles.
Uzziel quickly scampered off, not wanting to be caught in an argument between adults, instead tasking himself with the making of lunch for himself and his siblings.
Asheara stopped her expression suddenly grim, her face serious. "You mean you don't know?"
"About?"
"Malthael and the Black Soulstone."
"I do," Eirena admitted.
"Then why aren't you on your way to Westmarch?" Asheara sputtered, exasperated. "You should be aiding the nephalem right now!"
"I can't Asheara, I'm not—it's not the same as old times! I can't just leave the children!" Eirena braced herself when the captain's eyes bulged, expecting the other woman to lash out at her.
For a moment, it seemed as if Asheara would strike the Enchantress, as she raised a hand, but instead of a slap, the captain clenched her firsts and brought them back towards her body, slamming it into her own chest. "Then leave them to me!" the Asheara asserted. "All of humanity will be lost, and you're worry about who will take care of the little twits? Get your priorities straight! If Malthael prevails, we will all die!"
The weight of Asheara's words hung heavily in the air. For a few moments, neither woman moved. Eirena was the first to do so, moving to collect the items Asheara had scattered about her bed, arranging them into neat piles. From her drawers, she pulled out a small well-worn pack and began to place the items within the bag.
"You're right. Take care of them for me. I'm entrusting them to you." Eirena winced when Asheara slapped her heartily on the back.
"That's my girl."
Farewells were short and relatively tearless, except for the departee herself, who shed many a tear as she bid her children goodbye, promising to return victorious. There was no guarantee she would return at all, but she tried not to think of that as she bid them goodbye. Only Uzziel and Zadok realized this, clinging to her longer than the rest.
"Beat them real good!" Zadok shouted, as Eirena started down the path. "And come back to us! You promised!" And with that, she was gone.
Somewhere along the road, Kormac was trudging down the path he'd taken many times before. How many years had it been since he'd returned here? He didn't know. In his conquests, he had fell many a foul beast in the town, but was unaware its place as his home. The Order had made sure he would never remember it as such. Now, he remembered, but it wasn't a happy reunion. Surely Malthael's forces had laid waste to the countryside. It would have been nice to see his mother's face one last time.
He looked around, carefully surveying the surroundings. He had gotten quite far in two days; normally it would have taken him four days to reach this place, but the absence of other travelers and the anticipation of confrontation had hastened his journey. The way the landscape had changed from grassy hillsides to barren plains told him he was nearing his destination. Even out here, the desecration of Westmarch could be seen in the way the trees wilted, their heads sorrowful as they dropped their leaves to the earth.
Silence, save for the sound of his own footsteps and the rustling of his pack, enveloped him as he continued toward his destination, the lack of life evident by the way his own heartbeat pounded in his ears. In a way, the lack of sound was deafening. It dulled his senses and muddled his thoughts as he subconsciously searched for the ambient noises that were so naturally a part of existence. But there were none. Kormac was all too aware that here, in the desolate countryside, he was alone, even the sun withholding its blessings as the clouds worked tirelessly to keep it so.
As he walked, his paranoia only grew, his mind inventing things where there were none in an effort to create normalcy. Already he had faltered three times, stopping to fight invisible "enemies." Only the gentle clinking of his armor from within his satchel kept his sanity intact, reminding of his divine quest and reason for being. Even in the dead of winter, he'd decided against adorning the trusty metal suit that had come to be part of his daily attire. It had saved his life on many occasions, but as protective as it was, its mobility was low and only served to impede him as he rushed toward his destination. Plus, he preferred not to announce his arrival to every foe within earshot of him; his armor had the tendency to do that.
So, Kormac had resolved to don lighter armor, those that allowed their wearers to bound freely, the type more reasonable for traveling. Absently, he rubbed his chest, expecting the smooth coldness of his chest plate, but instead finding the rough corners of a leather jerkin, feeling all too vulnerable. He shook his head, casting aside those thoughts. They mattered naught when humanity's fate hung on a single thread, woven by the Angel of Death. His sword and his shield would protect him. Those were sufficient.
"Kormac! Wait for me!"
Kormac whirled around, drawing his sword and raising his shield when he heard the voice call out to him. It was Eirena's, but that was impossible. She was still in Caldeum caring for the orphans, the ones she called her children, having refused his request. Kormac furrowed his brows in frustration at the thought. He had left without much argument, but still, the outcome of that discussion still dissatisfied him. Eirena should be aiding him, fighting alongside him as his partner. But here she was not. The voice that called to him now was an imposter. There was no way she would be here, on the outskirts of Westmarch.
The thunderous sound of a galloping horse was soon upon the Templar as he readied himself. If the imposter tried to attack him, fool him at all, he would grant them a swift release into the afterlife.
"Kormac, I'm here!" Eirena halted her steed to stand before the Templar. "Asheara, she convinced me to come and—" Eirena stopped, finding a sword at her throat.
"Speak, demon. Why have you followed me and taken this form? Thought you could trick me, could you? Take the face of the woman I love in order to fool me? Well you did not! Speak!" he ordered.
Eirena blushed at Kormac's admission before realizing the predicament she was in. He thought her a shape-shifting demon, and unless she could convince him otherwise, would soon become part of the road. "It's me Kormac, Eirena." She raised her hands, dropping the reigns of her mount to show that she held no weapon.
"If you really are her, who I doubt you are, then tell me something only Eirena would know!"
Her mind raced as she struggled to recall something only known between them, all too aware of his sword's proximity to her neck. In her haste, Eirena said the first thing that came to mind.
"One time when we were in the Caverns of Arreat just past the Keeps of Depth, you sheathed your sword too quickly and cut your own belt. Your belt and uh," Eirena fumbled, raising one hand to cover her blush as she recalled the event, "your trousers fell away. You were wearing crimson undergarments."
Kormac stepped back, aghast, nearly falling as he tripped over a large rock. His face was as deep a crimson as his underwear had been that day. "You were to never speak of that event!"
Eirena could not help but laugh when Kormac rapidly sheathed his sword and dropped his shield, burying his face in his hands in humiliation.
"I'm sorry," Eirena said, not sorry at all. "You forced me to."
This seemed to turn Kormac's embarrassment into annoyance. "Why are you here and how did you catch up to me?" he snapped.
"I'm here to help," Eirena stated simply. "As for how I caught up, well…" She patted her trusty mount, noticing the way Kormac's eyes twitched with frustration and envy when her gelding whickered softly. "You can ride with me if you'd like," she offered.
Kormac begrudgingly agreed, slinging his sword and pack over the mount before grabbing the hand Eirena extended to hoist himself atop the dappled beast, sliding into the saddle just behind the woman. Her back was quite warm. Feebly, he attempted to distance his pelvis away from the Enchantress, for fear that she would become aware of his growing problem, but the saddle would have none of it, instead preferring to force the Templar to grind up against her.
He bit the inside of his cheek and sucked in a breath, hoping to ignore the scent of Eirena's honey-colored hair, but only succeeded in inhaling in more of its strawberry colored scent. "My faith is my shield," he muttered to himself, "my faith is my shield, my faith is my shield, my faith is my shield."
"Kormac?"
"Yes?"
"Your sword is stabbing into my back. Can you move it?"
"…Y-Yes."