Wolfheart

by AC-107

So begins a tale of Anguish, Pain, Hatred, Terror and Destruction. A hunt for fear itself will bring together heroes with troubled pasts and secrets they will hold as long as they can. Set during the entire game of Diablo 2. Rated M for violence and other stuff later on. Reviews & comments would be great, Enjoy. The proper 27th chapter has finally been released. Onward to act 3

25. Bloodied Sands

A very short time before Andrastse, Selene, Erica, Lissandra and Durga returned from the Canyon of the Magi.*

Prince stirred and opened one of his eyes, the violet one, and shut it as he immediately regretted any and all life choices that had led him to making that choice as he was now experiencing without a doubt the worst hangover known to existence. The smartass portion of his somewhat hammered mind partially remembered the fact that almost every other hangover made the same claim at the time, but like the rest of his ravaged head, it was smashed beyond belief, so that really made Prince ignore that part more then normal. That being said, he was already unfortunately conscious, which meant that any moment now, he would start remembering the whys and whats as to what had happened. When it came to his memory, Prince had one of the best, for good reason, and it was even better when he was drunk, of course it took a little bit to get his head back together afterwards. More often then not, the memories of those times were almost worth the hangovers. The other time, well, the less said about them, the better.

Already his body was patching itself up, the mind-destroying headache fading noticeably, even if it still hurt like hell, but now he was starting to notice his surroundings even though his eyes were squeezed shut. First off, he was on the floor somewhere, somewhere indoors judging by the lack of any warmth of the sun or movement of the air. Second off, the side of his head felt a little bit covered by something dry and sticky, which was good sign that something had really gone downhill. That sign was further added to with the third thing he noticed, his chest was really starting to hurt, badly, like he had been run through. That simile sparked something in his mind, but as his mind was sort of absent at that particular moment in time, that spark went right over Prince's head.

Groaning and tenderly pulling himself up, Prince slowly opened his eyes again, taking in his surroundings. He was indeed indoors, there was no lights so it was a little dark, in one of the more intact buildings, even though from what he could see left him thinking that a small storm had come and gone.

"Okay, what happened?" Prince half groaned, half muttered before gasping as he suddenly ran out of air, only temporarily though, and the pain in his chest suddenly turned sharp at the sudden movement. Baring through it, the Ronin looked and saw a dark stain on his chest and a new looking hole. He sat there a little bit, still catching up with an idiotic look of confusion on his face. Why the hell was it taking so damn long to remember what had happened? There was the sound of someone trying and failing to move close by, along with a startled breath.

"Prince, but how? I saw you run through!" Fara gasped from where she lay, bound with a few new bruises. The wanderer blinked stupidly and wondered what the former paladin was talking about before her words made everything come back together.

"Shit, I really fucked up." He gasped.

That really didn't come close to covering it, but it definitely wasn't a royal fuck upyet... As long as Lut Gholein was still standing, or at least as close to what it had been when he'd fucked up. As for what Fara had claimed to have seen, she wasn't wrong and it did explain the healing hole in his chest. It also explained all the sticky dry stuff, his blood. What had followed afterwards had certainly resulted in the reason why it had taken him so long to remember. It wasn't a hangover that he was covering from.

It was only a near death experience. And again, the only reason this didn't qualify as royal fuck up, was because Prince assumed the city was still on the map.

The healing adventurer went over what had happened in his head. The last few days he'd been tracking down the religious fanatic that had sneaked in with the refugees since the first two victims. There had been two more unfortunates since then, neither as gruesome as the first pair, mainly due to the madman, at least Prince hoped it was a man, rushing the murders now that he was being hunted by Prince, Fara and Sir Talkative, the Iron Wolf mercenary whose actual name was Vanji.

Unfortunately, Prince could not call on the resources of the Sand Jackals because they were all busy trying to save Lut Gholein themselves. It had been with the third incident that Prince had glimpsed a clue as to the identity to the zealot in the form of glinting armor just visible under the robes that had cloaked the person fleeing the crime scene. That had been the night before Prince had fucked up.

The following day proved fruitful as the zealot finally decided to go on the offensive. The downside was that his sudden attack caught Prince, Fara and Vanji by surprise. Though unsuccessful in killing anyone, the inquisitor, whom Prince had been able to identify by the way he spat about the purity of Zakarum and the scepter he wielded which was in surprisingly good condition, managed to defeat and capture Fara before retreating. After a brief chase, the Ronin and the Iron Wolf mercenary managed to corner the bastard in one of the abandoned yet standing buildings. It was there that the trap had been sprung, were Prince had really fucked up.

Normally Prince liked traps, especially when he was the one doing the trapping. He liked traps because they kept a person on his toes and they were almost always a good sign that he was on the right path for example when raid-er exploring a lost tomb, when the traps starting coming fast and furious it was a great sign that treasure was close. The more numerous or dangerous the traps, the better the treasure. It was the same kind of deal when tracking down a shadowy group of people or, in this case, just the one. But this time, Prince had really fucked up. Immensely, but still not royally.

He had assumed there would be only one foe. At least until he'd been stabbed in the back, literally. It had turned out that Sir Talkative had indeed been back up, just not for Prince. The one saving grace on all of this, was that he wasn't the only one who had fucked up in that moment. His opponents made the same mistake that almost everyone made, which Prince did his best to ensure as he preferred everyone to keep making that assumption. As it was, only one person, ever, had found him out.

Their mistake was they assumed that he was only human. Oh, some days he really wished that was the case, but not today. Especially when he had seen the sword point sticking out of his chest. That was perhaps the highlight of his fuck up, when a combination of shock, pain and fear had made him come up with the revolutionary idea that maybe a sword sticking out of one's chest was not good for a person's health. That was why he had a hole in his chest. The hangover that wasn't a hangover had come after the inquisitor's shinny scepter had introduced itself quite violently to the side of Prince's head after Vanji twisted his sword and pulled it out of the warrior's torso. Remembering that bit almost made the wanderer chuckle, and he might have if he didn't hurt so much. All the people who had called him thick skull had no idea how right they were, for the wrong reason. Now, if the Ronin had been normal, he would have died three times at least, once from the sword, once from the mace and once from the blood loss, instead he only lost consciousness. However, his luck, or the misfortunes of religious bastard and the traitorous bastard, as he preferred to think,had not ended there. They still could have killed Prince had they continued the trend, but as it turned out, shown by the Ronin waking up at all, they had rushed. Which left him still badly injured, but healing quickly. Also with the slight problem that Fara had indeed seen him "die".

"Well, you were one of the many people who said I had a thick skull. Also, their aim sucks, and it helps that I have some rejuvenation potions." There was nothing quite like lying by telling the truth, except for the aiming part, that was a complete and total lie, but Fara didn't need to know that. On the side of the rejuvenation potions, there was no way that Prince was going to waste them if he could avoid it, the damn things were becoming more rare with each passing year and getting the few that he had was damned close to a miracle.

Aware of the likely possibility that the two collaborators would return Prince pulled himself up tenderly, wincing all the way and doing his best to keep his extremely pained groan as quiet as possible. Fortunately, his wounds had patched themselves up enough that he wasn't making any more of a mess then he already had.

"Prince, the fact that you're alive is a miracle worthy of Akkarat himself, but get out of here now. You're clearly in no condition to fight." The Ronin barely managed to contain his laughter at how very wrong the former paladin was. A miracle worthy of a religious prophet? Oh wow, if Fara ever learned the truth about Prince she wouldn't be able to take those words back fast enough. But laughing matters aside, there was no way in hell that he was going to leave Fara to the oh so loving care and attention of a homicidal religious lunatic with a preference towards turning corpses into bloody mush. However, he had to admit that she had a point as the wound on his chest flared and his head spun in disagreement to his getting up.

"Someone's coming, quick, fly you fool!" Fara hissed at Prince as footsteps began to approach the door, where enough light remained to indicate that the sun was still somewhere in the sky. Reluctantly taking heed of the blacksmith's plea, he started to figure a way out. And then decided that leaving without giving the men who greeted him so...Okay fuck it, there was no need for sarcasm, Prince just wanted to get even. Still, he was going to need to be slightly tactical for once. So instead of running, he hid, lurching into the shadows beneath the stairs and splitting his mana on healing himself faster and hiding his presence. Fara almost blew his cover by trying to demand that he run, but to her credit, managed to keep her mouth shut as the door opened.

The traitorous bastard, Vanji walked in first, his face impassive, not a single sign of guilt visible. Good, then that meant the only way things would get complicated was when he had to explain to Asheara why she was short an Iron Wolf. However the person who entered next changed Prince's opinion on the complexity of the situation. Andrastse followed after Vanji. Shit, of course, why hadn't seen this coming? Of course the fucking Paladin would be...

Andrastse spotted Fara bound on the floor and turned on the Iron Wolf mercenary. "What trickery is this?!" She demanded. Prince took note of the surprise in the Paladin's voice. Oops, it seemed that the wanderer had jumped to conclusions, Andrastse wasn't part of the Zakarum madness after all. The inquisitor and Vanji must have been targeting the Paladin. Though certain that the knight could handle herself, Prince shifted a little so that it would be easier for him to launch himself out, but still kept hidden and hoped that the two conspirators wouldn't notice the lack of a corpse beside Fara. Hold up, where was the inquisitor?

"Greetings heretic." A incredibly cultured, noble and extremely arrogant voice came from the inquisitor, completely contrary to what Prince had imagined for the paladin of the Hand of Zakarum, except for the arrogant part, that was spot on.

From where he was, Prince watched quietly, waiting for the perfect opportune moment, he saw Andrastse's eyes narrow as she turned towards the newcomer. "Who are you to question my faith?" Her voice sounded clam, but it was obvious that a nerve had been hit from the way that the Paladin's weapon hand tightened into a fist as it slowly moved towards the hilt of her sheathed blade.

"I am one whom is bestowed with such righteous purpose by the representative of the Light on earth, Que-Haegen Sankekur." At the mention of the messenger of Akarat both Vanji and the Inquisitor made the sign of their faith, bowing their hands and touching their forehead then heart before the butcher of the Hand of Zakarum continued his holier-then-thou explanation. At least Prince figured out why Vanji had literally backstabbed him, even if it didn't help him get over that. "But I it is not by his will that I...lower myself to speak with you, heretic, but it was commanded by by his Sword."

Any humorous thoughts concerning the Inquisitor's clearly forced diplomatic choice of words went away at the mention of the Lord High Inquisitor, also known as the Sword of the Que-Haegen. Various half-baked explanations as to why that...that person would know of a possible lone survivor of the Knights of Westmarch raced through Prince's mind, but none of them managed to get a foothold.

"If such words pain you, then you should spit them out and cease this waste of time." Andrastse's hand hovered close to her sword. "I assure you that you have my complete attention, Ser." The Paladin's distaste saturated the forced formality and the Inquisitor clearly took heed of it.

"Good, then know this. Where it up to me, both you and the faithless coward bound upon the floor would have been made to confess your sins to the light before your final judgment, but the Lord High Inquisitor believes that you can be saved from the false path of the Knights of Westmarch... Lady Andrastse."

If that didn't set the alarm bells in Prince's head ringing at their highest tone, he sure as hell didn't know what would. He didn't even know what to more alarmed by, the fact that the Bloodied Sword named Andrastse specifically or that she was actually sought out by his forces in order to convert her. He was just about ready to jump out at this point, but he held back. This was almost perfect, save for the fact that he had been stabbed and Fara was currently helpless. Details aside, now was the perhaps the best chance he was going to get to see the colors of the last Knight of Westmarch. Would this be a two on two or a one against three?

If Andrastse was going to respond, the representative of the Hand of Zakarum didn't give her the chance. He strode over to where Fara was lying on the floor and yanked the blacksmith to her knee. While still wanting to see what the outcome would be without his interference, Prince was unwilling to do so if it cost the life of a friend. His body was as tense as a catapult ready to fire. The Inquisitor looked at Andrastse as the Knight drew her sword. "One simple test of your faith is all I require. All you must do is send this coward to her final judgment. Do so, and by the power bestowed upon me by his holiness, I shall recognize you as cleansed of the blasphemy that has consumed these lands and you shall be worthy of receiving the Lord Inquisitor's gift. Far more then one of your heretical order deserves, Lady Andrastse."

"I need to know something. Why. For what reason is there to slay those you had. If you sought only me, why would those innocents matter to you?" Andrastse said, not moving an inch, her face shadowed.

The Inquisitor shook his head as though lecturing a young child. "I see that you are truly misguided, near the verge of corruption. Those heathens and heretics were as innocent as the demons you hunt. All are guilty until proven innocent. Those that confess and accept the Light may yet be saved from the fires of hell at least, though their sins will still stay them from attaining the path to heaven. Those 'innocents' as you name them, were little more then worthless savages who threatened the Word. Even were I not charged with my sacred task, as a Defender of the Word the actions I took were the will of Akarat and the Light! Now slay this wretch, for the Light wills it!"

Now was the moment of truth, Prince would only wait a moment longer before making his move, already singling out Vanji as his first target once Fara was out of death's immediate reach.

Andrastse moved, her sword lashing out. Metal clanged as the Knight's battle worn blade met the cold well forged steel of the Inquisitor's mace.

"How dare you! You protect nothing. Your actions are horrors that damn everything the Word stands for! Be cursed by the Light you have defiled, demon!" With the Paladin's passionate rage, everyone who was looking had their answer. Vanji drew his sword and rushed to aid his twisted ally. Now Prince made his own move, drawing his own sword and throwing himself between Andrastse's back and the zealous Iron Wolf's blade, this time making sure to block it. On the downside, it turned out that while the external healing was completed, the internal healing was still in progress. So his chest still hurt like a sword had been shoved through and forcing him to fend off Vanji one handed while his other clutched at his chest in. One important thing was in Prince's favor however. Vanji had not seen this coming, meaning that the Ronin had the advantage of surprise.

"But how?" The zealot stammered.

"How long were you waiting there?" Andrastse demanded over her shoulder as she and the Inquisitor struggled, their weapons still locked.

Prince gritted his teeth and spoke through the pain. "Long enough. Can you handle that murdering bastard while I handle this backstabbing bastard?" Referring to the Inquisitor and Vanji respectively.

"Understand that the Inquisitor is mine." Andrastse said darkly. "Don't interfere."

Had Prince been in less pain and had not experienced the day he just had, he might have been just a little concerned as to the tone of the Paladin's voice, the sheer hatred within it. However, simply put, he had been through a shitty day so he was otherwise occupied and simply answered. "Works for me."

With that said, he pushed past the pain and slammed his gauntleted fist into Vanji's face, breaking the man's nose with a muffled crack and making him stagger back, breaking up the locked weapons. Prince followed it up with brutal kick and then tackled the Iron Wolf through the door out onto the street. Vanji recovered and bashed Prince with his shield, sending the Ronin rolling away.

Well, now both of them had room fight without interfering with Andrastse's fight, but the small brawl really had not done Prince's chest any favors at all, and getting nailed to the side of his head again threatened to reawaken the headache from the last blow to his skull.

Vanji got to his feet first and attempted to bring his sword down on Prince, who rolled out of the way, leaving the mercenary's sword to eat cobblestone. The Ronin had definitely had enough of getting to know that sword for one day. Groaning, Prince clambered to his feet. Just a little bit longer, then he would be done healing.

"I know I hit your heart, so what demon did you damn yourself to, heathen?" Vanji demanded. Prince was incredibly tempted to inform the zealot that he wasn't too far of, aside from the fact that the mercenary made it sound like the Ronin had done it recently.

"Has it ever crossed your mind maybe your aim isn't as good as you think? I mean, it does get confusing when you stab someone in the back." One of Prince's very, very, extremely few flaws that he actually admitted to was that he was one to really hold a grudge. Truth was that the aim was spot on, but no way in hell was Prince going to tell Vanji, or anyone really, that. The Ronin narrowed his eyes and got a little more serious now. "So how long were you in the Inquisitor's pocket for? Since we landed? Since we left? Or just from the start?"

Vanji laughed and attacked with flame and steel. "Only a damned heathen like you would believe such. I have given myself to the Light's glory freely and will be given my just reward in the next life."

Prince dodged and blocked the flames with his fire enchanted coat and deflected and avoided the sword strikes. As for the fanatic's rather vague, hateful and disgustingly self-righteous answer, the Wanderer decided that it meant that Vanji had been with the Hand of Zakarum from the start. That made things easy...

"Your witchcraft will not save you, burn in holy flames before you are sent to eternal damnation of hell you filthy infidel!" The air around the Iron Wolf ignited as mana infused fire sprang to life and coalesced into a single point at the tip of his sword which was pointed straight at Prince. He managed to dodge the first blast, but not the other six which hit him with all their burning fury.

A massive firestorm engulfed Prince as the flames spread from the explosions, obscuring him from sight. Confident that the spell had done its work, the mercenary turned to return to the house.

Prince began to laugh, not even bothering to even try to hide the malevolence in the laugh. Burn him, with these puny so-called holy flames? Get real.

"Witchcraft, eh? Oh you only wish I was just some 'filthy heathen'."

The flames began to swirl around in a vortex around where he was standing. Truth be told, the fire was barely even hot by his standards, even as it was drawn to and absorbed by his gauntlet, causing the metal portions of it to glow burning red, orange from the heat, the late afternoon air simmering around Prince's armored hand.

Vanji spun around so fast, he almost lost his balance as he looked at an completely unharmed and now completely healed Prince, who wore a very malevolent smirk on his face. The Wanderer stepped over the soot blackened cobblestones towards the mercenary, who now stepped back, shock turning to fear on Vanji's face.

"Don't worry." Prince said in a most sinister whisper, just loud enough for Vanji to hear, right before he closed the distance with demonic speed. The mercenary swung his sword at the Ronin in sheer panic, but Prince caught the blade in his glowing, burning gauntlet effortlessly. The sword's blade first began to glow red hot before it melted in the Wanderer's grip and the mercenary was forced to drop the burning hot grip of the destroyed weapon. "I'm only going to send you to your just reward."

Prince then got even as he drove his katana straight into Vanji's heart, twisting it, just as the traitorous mercenary had done to him. Looking deep into the man's dying eyes, Prince watched the light fade away. "This is how you burn." He ripped his sword from Vanji's now lifeless corpse and opened the palm of his free hand, unleashing all the flames he had absorbed plus some of his own.

There was nothing left of the man that had once been known as Vanji, only soot blackened cobblestones, the smell of burnt flesh and hair on the wind and what little remained of the fallen mercenary's now molten sword.

Prince let out a breath, empty of any emotion as his built up anger faded with the last ember of chaotically colored fire. He shook his head at the idiocy of the reason that the mercenary had done what he had. It was the exact same rhetoric he had heard from other fanatics when he had been fighting with the other Iron Wolves on the streets of Kurast. On that note, Prince realized it was highly likely that Vanji hadn't been the only devout zakarumite in the Iron Wolves, but it still wouldn't make telling Asheara that he'd killed one of her men any easier.

A loud, enraged and murderous female cry came from the house where Andrastse had remained to face the Inquisitor. Realizing that he had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he had completely forgotten about the fight between paladins. Prince dashed into the house, pausing to free Fara before following the damaged walls and floor boards up the stairs. What he found on the second floor was very, very bad.

The fight was over, very much so in Andrastse's favor, but it seemed that the Paladin had failed to realize that as she smashed the Inquisitor's now unrecognizable corpse into bloody mush with the man's own weapon, her own sword lying shattered on the floor. It was an all too familiar scene and far too recent in Prince's mind. So he intervened. As Andrastse made to raise the gore covered scepter once more, he blocked it with his sword.

"I think you've more than managed to get through his thick skull." Prince tried to be humorous, to dispel the darkness just a little, but as Andrastse turned her face to him, he realized that he'd only introduced himself as her next target. Her face was contorted in a mindless state of hatred as she lashed out with her shield, catching Prince full in the chest and knocking him back before attempting to mimic the attempts of her predecessors in smashing the Ronin's skull in.

The fight was brief, though the was just enough room for both combatants to swing their weapons fully. However, Prince was able to ensure that the skirmish ended in his favor, with the Paladin's weapon caught in one hand and already starting to glow red hot, while his own weapon was resting at Andrastse's neck, the flat of the blade kissing the sweat covered tanned skin of the raging warrior. For now, the edge of Prince's blade was in reserve, but what happened next depended entirely on the Paladin.

"I get that you hold your religion in high regard, but get your head straight. Are you a Knight of Westmarch, or a Butcher of the Hand of Zakarum? Figure that out quick or I will put. You. Down. Like a rabid dog, here and now." He was dead serious, in fact it was Fara's faith and what he had seen beforehand were the only reasons that he was even trying to reason with the maddened warrior.

His words seemed to have an effect as the cloud of hatred in Andrastse's eyes cleared. Blinking she stepped away from Prince, who warily released his grip on the scepter and lowered his sword, and then saw that she was still holding the late Inquisitor's weapon, which she discarded with disgust and some horror. The Paladin looked like she was going to vomit as she witnessed her work.

"By the light... What have I done?"

Prince, unsure of how to handle this any further, just proceeded to check how his gauntlet was holding up. The amount of fire he'd used today had been way more then normal after all, and no matter the fire resistance the thing was bound to start burning sooner or later. For now though, it seemed okay. Finally he spoke up.

"The bastard had it coming." It wasn't much, but it was the case as far as the Ronin was concerned., but Andrastse shook her head.

"Not like that... The way I killed him, was little better then...I just lost control..." There was no mistaking the terror in her voice. It was clear that falling to the Inquisitor's level had troubled Andrastse immensely. Prince raised an eyebrow, surprised that the end didn't justify the means in the Paladin's eyes. She still looked pale, her gaze never leaving the still cooling pile of mushy gore. The Ronin took a step towards Andrastse, planning on getting her away, maybe it would help her deal with whatever the Inquisitor had done to set her off or something. As Prince stepped though, his boot knocked a small round object, sending it rolling with an odd light, glass-like sound which caught both his and the Paladin's attention as it stopped at her feet. Andrastse was drawn away from what held her as she bent down to pick up the object. As she did so, Prince acted out of reflex to a sudden bad feeling he had and used his sword to skillfully drag and launched the object into the air with a flick of his wrist and caught it. The bad feeling cemented itself as he came into contact with the item, as he felt a compulsion to look at what he now held. Opening his hand, Prince gazed what lay upon it.

It was a ring, simple yet elegant at the same time. The entire ring was made of a dark blue crystal, too dark to be sapphire. The Ronin could feel something very wrong with the item, feeling as though the ring was trying to influence him, a dark secret's echo behind the ring's simple beauty.

"Prince, what is it?" Andrastse drew his thoughts away from the ring towards the Paladin. She was starting to look a little better, but her eyes were unfocused.

Prince sheathed his sword and flicked the ring up and caught it playfully, noting out of the corner of his eye how the holy warrior of Zakarum watched the object as it appeared into her sight. The Ronin quickly pocketed it. "Just my payment for this job." Andrastse's eyes narrowed, but Prince wasn't paying attention.

His mind quickly began to go over why he had felt that Andrastse getting the ring was a bad idea. The possibilities were very few and they made him very anxious for a second opinion, because if he was right...

A powerful and enraged howl cut through the early evening air, shattering Prince's focus and cutting off whatever it was that Andrastse had been about to say. Something, or someone was very pissed off, and it had sounded like it had come from within the city.

"Damn, what now?" Andrastse cursed and ran to investigate, with Prince in hot pursuit.

XXX

There was only pain when Shadow awoke, the area just above her most intimate parts feeling as though it had been ripped open, the agony only increasing as she desperately tried to breath, to scream, but no sound escaped her mouth. There was dark murmuring coming from near by along with hissing sounds akin to snakes. Her vision was incredibly blurry but she was able to make out a a few humanoid forms hovering around her. She lay there, bound by invisible bindings as she felt a clawed hand reach inside her and rip something out. Then she was able to scream for the most brief of instants before darkness claimed her again.

In the darkness, she saw the village. She saw its destruction by the one she had once considered sister. She remembered surviving by sheer luck after the body of her last victim had fallen on her in one of the houses near by the village square. She saw the robed man with the staff standing over a broken Element. And she felt herself get blasted away from him when she had been so close to getting her vengeance.

After that, there was silence. Lasting and horrid and it threatened to stretch on into eternity until the muffled and distant sounds of chaos began to float in. Shadow found the strength to open one eye. She saw the shapes of serpent men writhe and dart before being destroyed in a flash of flame. A dark form darted past the smoking carcasses and attacked the mage who defended himself with the hellish green flames. It all looked so surreal as her eye started to close again. The last glimpse she saw was of a fiery hydra rising up and incinerating the mage. In her dazed state, she only felt a pang of loss, but later that pang would grow as she realized her vengeance had been denied to her. After that, there was only darkness again.

She woke in the care of a healer in a neighboring village. Her injuries were severe, some of her insides had been taken and she had suffered severe blood-loss. The healer mentioned damage to her womb, but such things more or less passed over Shadow's head. Once she had been healed enough, Shadow learned of the one that had brought her there. A man of Khejistan, cloaked but wearing black dyed armor. She then stayed at the village for a few months, never really fitting in, always finding an opportunity to sneak away and practice using a dagger on various wildlife. Then one night, she simply left, unable to wait any longer, a dark urge within her pushing her on. The urge that had been born the night her village had ceased to exist on the map. Something deep within her made her seek out the man.

It was difficult to say the least, for any normal girl of twelve summers it would have been near suicidal, but for over a year, Shadow wandered. There was little hope of her actually finding the man, but none the less, she searched. As she wandered, she learned to survive on her own, hunting and stealing. She learned to trust her instincts, often hiding from groups of bandits or khazra, and killing any she felt threatened her Every town she wandered through, she asked if the person she was looking. More often then not, she wasn't taken seriously, but with the help of gold acquired from loose pockets and cooling corpses, she learned enough to get a general direction most of the time. Shadow also learned how to manage her pain, both the physical and the mental, though she could only ever keep the metal to the common nightmares.

In the end though, it was by pure misfortune on her part that helped her find the man. Though she had become quite skilled in her journey, she was still more then capable of making mistakes. And the one on this occasion nearly cost her dearly. Shadow got careless and was captured by a group in the service of a rogue sorcerer. In all likelihood, she would have been raped or sacrificed or both in one order or another and she would have been helpless to stop it, even though she struggled with all she had. She knew it and hated it to her core. However, fortune smiled on her immensely that day. From the shadows came a swirling death of blades. The brigands, normal humans who normally preyed on helpless travelers as they were stood no chance against a fully trained assassin and were seemingly dissected in moments. The sorcerer on the other hand, was more then able to give the man a challenge. Perhaps the mage might have even succeeded in driving off the assassin had Shadow not been able to free herself in the chaos. From then on, it became so incredibly easy. The mage was so focused on the threat that the assassin posed that he paid no attention to Shadow, not even noticing her until it was far too late.

There was one more thing that Shadow had learned, she had found out that humans and animals had some similarities in where vital organs were placed. One example she had paid special attention to was the heart. She had found a sweet spot, between the fourth and fifth ribs to the left of the spine. However, it was quite different hitting a moving target, so while the knife went in, it missed the sweet spot, but Shadow was still rewarded by the mage's pained scream, at least briefly before she was violently blasted back, breaking her arm.

In pain but still able to force herself to move, Shadow was able to watch the final moments of the fight, ending as the assassin hit the mage with a flurry of attacks and finished him with a powerful kick to the sorcerer's chest that was so fast it seemed as though the dark fighter had actually teleported. There was a resounding fatal crack and an eruption of blood from the sorcerer's mouth and then he crumpled to the ground with a terminal thud.

Afterwards the assassin tended to Shadow's arm, inquiring as to why the girl had acted as she had and if she needed help to return to her home.

"I don't have a home." Was the only answer that Shadow gave, a little dazed from her knocks and the lesser healing potion.

"Then I'll get you to the nearest village once I've finished here."

"No! Please, you were there at Lam! You have tell me what happened! Who was the one that killed that sorcerer!" Shadow almost screamed out, panicking that she would lose the assassin now that she had found him.

The assassin only looked confused at first but then it faded to skepticism. "What are you... Wait, Lam? I heard the report but... There was a survivor? If you're telling the truth, then you've got the wrong assassin."

Shadow blinked in dismay. This had to be a bad joke played on her by fate. She'd found the wrong one?! But realizing that this might be her last chance, she decided to at least push for new goal she had found after seeing the assassin fight.

"Then it doesn't matter." She said with an echo of bitterness in her voice. "But please, teach me to fight like you. I'll do anything, please!" Shadow was practically begging. It was all or nothing at this point.

The assassin shook his head. "Not happening, little one. You may have some luck, but that's nowhere near enough."

After the rejection, time seemed to fast forward once more as Shadow became numb to most of the events surrounding her. She had nothing left, what was she to do now? Unable to answer the questions, her will resolved to find some way to make the assassin train her, or die trying. Death was familiar with this person, just like it was with her. There was no other option in Shadow's mind. So as soon as the person who had agreed to take care of her turned their gaze away, the girl slipped away after the assassin.

XXX

Selene couldn't understand it. Why had it hurt so badly? Why was it still hurting so badly? She wasn't the one about to die. She wasn't the one with the poisoned knife embedded in their lower abdomen. So why did she suddenly feel like she was watching mother die all over again?

It had been quite the surprise, waking up after another almost nightly tryst with Fenrir to find a raven waiting at the window. Not just any raven, nor Odin, but a messenger raven of the Viz-Jaqtaar, identifiable by the red hourglass shape on the bird's throat. A thrilling surge of energy had shot through Selene when she saw the bird with the letter tied to its leg. The message had to be orders with a target. The bird had flown off right after the Assassin had retrieved the letter. Lighting a small candle, while forcing herself to be careful not to wake Fenrir, Selene almost ripped it apart, daring to hope that her target would be a certain sorceress, or hell even the damned necromancer.

Instead, there was a target she did not expect. Her eyes went wide as she read, and re-read the simple yet incomprehensibly complex orders while the thrill she felt vanished, replaced by a dark cold void.

"Operative Bloodspider. Your orders are to seek and destroy the rogue feral druid known as Fenrir Blackclaw. Any method is approved."

This couldn't be right, there had to be some mistake. Certainly she had made mention of not attacking the Druid because of her lack of orders, but... She had remembered her master saying that the Viz-Jaqtaar had never been called to hunt a druid. That it was more likely that the forest bound mage clan ate their rogues or dealt with them in some other barbaric method. But now, here it was, orders to hunt a druid, and not just any, but the one sleeping in her bed!

It could have been so easy. Selene had hovered over the sleeping Druid, the orders in one hand, a dagger in the other. Fenrir had looked so vulnerable, like a sheep ripe for slaughter, with so many possible ways for the Assassin to end him in his sleep. All she had to do was choose one, then collect the proof of his death and be gone before daylight. But she hadn't, and that had surprised her most of all. Instead, she simply disposed of the orders by putting them into the nearest torch and making sure they burned fully, and went back to the bed. She laid there, staring at Fenrir's sleeping face, she trying to rationalize why she simply didn't do it then. Why did she suddenly dread doing what she practically lived for? Why did it hurt picturing someone else dead?

In the end though, Selene made up her mind to follow her orders. A combination of a growing jealousy of Fenrir and Erica getting closer together, lack of sleep over the internal anguish within herself and a despair in knowing that ultimately, Fenrir was doomed. If she failed, then more assassin's would come. She even began to believe that once the Druid was dead, the anguish would fade. And from that belief, a nearly forgotten desire reawakened in Selene. The very reason from which the relationship had unintentionally sprung.

As Fenrir fell to the ground, the knife embedded in his gut coated with a potent paralyzing poison, Selene frantically searched his eyes for any sign of the predator she had once seen. Instead there was only the Druid's shock at the sudden betrayal visible in his wide green eyes, and that only made the Assassin's anguish all the worse. And it made her all the more determined to end the farce. Knowing full well that she didn't have the luxury of time at this place, Selene was about to execute Fenrir. As he hit the ground two amulets were shaken free of the armor and light furs he wore, one was one of the pendants that Akara had given the group. The other was the wooden wolf-head medallion. It was glowing in a light color similar to that of the charged mana that orbited the werewolf when his Feral Rage was active, but the Assassin was focused completely on ending this now. At this point, she had even given up on the predator's eyes she had desired, for Fenrir was helpless. Between the shock of her attack and the poison that was spreading through his system there was next to no way that the druid would be capable of anything.

"Selene, get away from Fenrir!" Erica's frantic scream came suddenly, but Selene didn't take heed. She knew if the Sorceress tried anything too quickly, she would likely kill both the Assassin and the one the mage had been trying to save. Selene's claw blades came out of their hidden sheaths and she plunged the blades towards the Druid's neck. It was about to end.

Fenrir's hands darted forward and caught both her wrists with incredible speed and strength, stopping Selene's blades a mere inch from his neck. Startled by the Druid actually being able to take action, the Assassin's focus on the kill wavered as she looked at his face. For a moment Fenrir looked as though he had passed out, his eyes had rolled back into his skull, but then they snapped forward, but they weren't the same as those of the Druid that she had betrayed. Selene felt a nearly indescribable thrill as she saw that these were the eyes of the beast she had glimpsed in the caves if the Underground Passage. Those bloodthirsty, intense, desperate emerald eyes locked onto her. The vine that was entwined around his left arm began to pulse as though it was being overwhelmed by energy. Then the wild man bared his teeth and released a deadly, inhuman growl full of primal rage. That was the only warning Selene received before he threw her off. Selene recovered quickly and got back on her feet, whirling around to face the Druid, astounded that he was able to even move, let alone able to throw her and get to his feet.

The wounded man stood up, the dagger still lodged in his gut and whipped out Moonfang with such violence that the scythe's blade kicked up a cloud of dust as it ripped into the cobblestones of the road. He then let out an even more wild, bestial howl then before while the wolf-head medallion now looked about to shatter from the glowing crimson energy that spilled from glowing cracks that covered the carved wood. Then he attacked, launching himself forward in a reckless, mindless charge. Selene got over her shock and responded in kind, launching multiple blade sentinels and blade flurries at the maddened Druid. However, an arctic blast exploded in between the two, knocking the Assassin's gadgets from the air and covering the enraged warrior in a freezing mist.

Erica had evidently recovered at this point, and a quick glance around allow the Assassin to confirm that Lissandra was getting to her feet, another clay golem was already dragging itself from the ground.

"Selene, stop this madness now, please! There's something-" The Sorceress pleaded before she was cut off by a wild roar as a strong gust of wind blew through the thinning melting mist and the Druid emerged, now in his werewolf form. But there were some subtle changes about the form he wore, the werewolf's fur was darker than before, it had gone from the more light gray to the shade of gray like darkening clouds before a massive storm. His form was a little more bulky then another time Fenrir had shifted shapes. Also his fangs and claws looked far more sharper, though Selene had little interest in finding out if that was the case. The werewolf that rushed towards the Assassin looked for more like a feral beast then then the Druid ever had.

A dark thrill ran through Selene, cutting through and suppressing the anguish within her. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? A chance to face another predator, to hunt it, to overcome it, to become the ultimate hunter. This was almost perfect.

The Feral launched a series of rapid but reckless strikes at Selene, which she was able to avoid, then she countered with a powerful kick to the werewolf's face, making the beast stagger back. The Assassin then avoided another Arctic blast, while the Feral let lose a frustrated howl as he grappled against Lissandra's clay golem.

Getting sick and tired of the interference and very much aware of how easily the tides were likely to turn against her if she remained in Lut Gholein, Selene readied a modified portal scroll, all the while making sure to continue to avoid Erica's attempts to immobilize her. As much as Selene would have gladly watched the Sorceress drown in her own blood, the Assassin knew that she needed to focus on the Feral first. Besides, the dark fighter had already waited six long years for the chance to slay that particular monster, she could wait a little longer.

The Feral broke free of the golem's strong grip and rushed Selene again, either with the same reasoning as Selene or, more than likely, blinded by rage and hate and completely focused on the Assassin. But it worked for Selene, as she activated the scroll and tossed it behind her, activating the portal. The Feral leaped at the Assassin, but she had been counting on it. Selene fell back and used the werewolf's own momentum to hurl him through the portal. She then cast a sneer mixed with a hateful smirk at Erica, who was running towards the portal, before entering the magical blue gateway. As the portal returned to the scroll, Selene took comfort in the fact that now, there was no way for the Sorceress to steal Fenrir from her.

The Feral shook off a small cloud of sand as he rose from where he had landed. The area in which the two combatants now faced each other was located well into the desert, a massive dune on Selene's right caught the light of the setting sun, giving the area a somewhat dramatic look and serving as an effective barrier. While the area to the left was far more open, the Assassin had taken steps to ensure that escape would be difficult at the very least as well as ensure the fight would be in her favor. However, Selene had been rushed, so she still hadn't tested everything, but no matter. Running from the fight would likely be a death sentence regardless unless someone had a portal scroll, as Selene had chosen this location after trying several other areas with unbound portal scrolls. With unbound portal scrolls, it was a random draw as to where the portal would actually lead, meaning they were incredibly rare and unwanted by most, but they could prove useful in certain situations.

The Feral whipped his head around taking in the change in location, giving Selene the chance to take the initiative, once more unleashing her gadgets on the werewolf and closed the distance between the two of them quickly, all the while being careful to remember where was safe to step and were wasn't. The Feral's reaction was hampered by the lose sand beneath his feet, meaning that he was unable to dodge all of the blade furies and sentinels. A moment into the actual fight and the werewolf was already at a massive disadvantage, bleeding from several slashes and with a few of throwing stars embedded in his flesh, adding further crimson to the dark storm gray fur. Then Selene herself began her attack, slashing relentlessly with her claw blades. The Feral was completely on the defensive, even though he attempted to strike back until he managed to find a chance to separate from the melee by leaping back. But instead of a chance to breath, the werewolf landed on top of a hidden and active wake of fire trap, triggering a large explosion of fire and sand that enveloped the beast.

The wind that had been quiet until now began to kick up, a small breeze at first but growing fast, dragging away the cloud that obscured Selene's prey and revealing the Feral, showing that he was almost unharmed by the blast, his fur showing signs of scorching, but no lasting damage at all. The Assassin assumed there must have been some sort of problem with that particular trap, while she didn't expect one of the traps to end the beast, she had expected a little more damage to her prey. Selene braced herself for the werewolf's next attack, expecting another reckless charge. Instead, the Feral growled dangerously and began to cautiously step to the Assassin's right, his gaze fixed on her. Watching and circling. Selene began to step in the opposite way, stepping where she knew there were no traps, ensuring that the Feral stayed exactly where she could see him. They slowly circled for what seemed like an eternity, with no sounds save for the sand beneath the Assassin's boots and the growing howl of the strengthening winds. Then, as if given a signal, both Selene and the Feral charged each other at the exact same time. Luck was on the werewolf's side as he only triggered one of the traps, his speed and the wind negating most of the damage from the flames. The Assassin's vanguard of blades briefly sliced through the air, slashing the attacking beast. Then they met, hunter and beast, steel weapons against magic enhanced claws and fangs, training and intent against pure instinct and bloodlust. Both relied heavily on their dexterity to both land and avoid blows. However, Selene found herself at a huge disadvantage in the terms of sheer speed but she was able to compensate by utilizing her traps and reflexes.

As the fight progressed, it looked to be in Selene's favor, with the Feral bleeding from numerous wounds. At least, until the werewolf actually landed a hit, his claws ripping through the chainmail armor with a terrifying ease, slashing the skin of the Assassin's left bicep. As her blood flew into the air, a crimson aura of mana surrounded the werewolf, with a large flaming charge of the familiar Feral Rage beginning to orbit him. Then the Feral seemingly vanished from right in front of Selene's eyes, making her next strike jab into thin air.

Heart pounding frantically, every one of her senses at their highest alert, she started to scan the area as fast as she could, but an explosion and a frustrated but surprised roar from behind the Assassin made her spin around to see a cloud of sand, dust, fire and smoke with tracks that looked as though the beast had lost control of his own speed and tried to turn, unsuccessfully.

By this point, Selene knew better then to assume that the wake of fire trap had done anything more than antagonize the Feral, but she couldn't understand why they weren't working. The Druid had been particularly weak to fire attacks throughout the journey, from the accursed fallen shamen that had plagued them throughout the fight against Andariel to the fire arrows shot by the burning dead here in the Aranoch. So why in the name of anything holy was he suddenly able to take the heat?

At the memories of the past, the suppressed anguish within the dark fighter began to leak up, begging her in desperate whispers to stop, but it was overwhelmed by a frustration that was slowly starting to grow within Selene. It was a frustration born of helplessness that the Assassin was determined to never suffer again at the hands of anyone. She was a hunter, and the creature before her was nothing but prey, it had to be as simple as that.

Before she could think any more on either the Feral's startling resistance to fire, the werewolf reappeared, crashing into the sand in an attempt to flank the Assassin, but failing due to his own momentum from the speed boost, his claws digging trenches into the sand as the beast dragged himself to a halt, stopping just short of triggering another wake of fire trap. While it was clear that the beast had little to no control of his speed, Selene grit her teeth as she realized she would need to step up her own game before the Feral started to gain the upper hand. Before she could use her trump card however, her target closed in and began attacking her again, the sheer wrath in the creature's strikes slowly starting to force the Assassin back. Through the Feral's swipes, Selene quickly saw an opportunity to get the opening she needed. The poisoned dagger was still embedded in him, as none of her blows had inflicted anything serious enough to drive the Feral away beyond her first assault, that injury would still be the key to Selene's victory, even if the poison had been more useless then the Assassin had anticipated. With little hesitation, after avoiding the Feral's next strike, the dark fighter savagely kicked the dagger, driving it deeper into the werewolf's gut, drawing out a pained roar from the creature, though it took another brutal kick to drive him back entirely.

Selene clenched her jaw tightly as the anguish surfaced once again like a person desperately trying to keep swimming in an endless sea, not yet ready to give up and just drown. She forced the weakness down, allowing her to focus her mana and channel it into an ability that technically wasn't magic even though for all intents and purposes it looked as though it was. From the Assassin's slowly but steadily growing shadow a humanoid form grew and separated. It was a shadow warrior, an almost exact clone of Selene, but not quite as skilled as she was. The dark fighter had only recently figured out how to utilize the skill, so this was the first time she was using it. While it was a gamble, there wasn't much in the way of options. As one, both the Assassin and her shadow clone attacked the Feral, seeking to finally end this farce once and for all.

Once again the Feral was on the back foot, with Selene seeking to exploit the knife wound as much as she could while the clone divided the Feral's attention. The Assassin could almost taste the impending victory, but it felt bitter, nothing even close to the satisfaction that had coursed through her when she had executed the Summoner. There was only the drive to kill that remained the same. Selene was certain that everything would return to normal for her once the Feral lay dead. However, the werewolf had other plans.

With a deadly snarl, his claws slashed out, ripping apart the Shadow Warrior in two lightning fast blows. Selene's eyes widened as the Feral turned his full attention to her, quickly creating another shadow clone, telling herself that her prey's sudden attack had been nothing but sheer luck. She managed to convince herself of that for about two seconds before the Feral's claws tore apart the second clone. Then, the beast was before her. Selene managed to block the first blow, but not the other two which seemed to follow instantly after the first, striking her left side and her right shoulder. Her armor was badly ripped as it took the worst of hits while the Feral's claws ripped into her skin, drawing lines of fire as they went through Selene. The strength behind the hits made the Assassin's legs threaten to give out, but she managed to remain standing. If it hadn't been for the armor she wore, the dark fighter couldn't help but briefly imagine that she would have suffered far worse than these mere flesh wounds, however that was only the beginning. As the Assassin's broken guard dropped, the Feral dashed around her, Selene was unable to keep up, but managed to turn just enough to unwittingly ensure that the creature's next strike wasn't completely critical. The Assassin was unable to hold back a scream of pain as her back was ripped apart, armor and flesh, the power of the slash knocking her forward and sending her rolling through the sand, the unforgiving grains, still burning from the heat of the day, adding to the fire that felt as though it was threatening consume her entire body as it spread from where the Feral had ripped into her. That wasn't all however. Once Selene rolled to a stop she wasn't even given the briefest instant to recover as there was a quiet but dangerous "click" before one of her own traps exploded into blazing life.

Through a combination of blind luck, experience, fire resistance provided by her still intact equipment and training Selene was able to avoid being incinerated by her own trap, though her body still burned all the worse from the abuse, even to a point where there was darkness at the corners of her vision. Knowing full well that she was dead if she didn't stand, Selene managed to force herself back on her feet. She didn't have to look for the Feral, as he was slowly circling her. The crimson aura that surrounded the beast had gotten stronger and now looked as though it was starting flow back into him, being absorbed and making the werewolf even stronger. The vine that was entwined around the Feral's left arm writhed and grew, as though it was a serpent, with smaller limbs spreading out and latching within the beast's thick, darkened fur. Selene gulped down a health potion as she watched the werewolf prowl closer, slowly but steadily, his fury filled green eyes now tinged with a crimson glow were fixed on the Assassin, his dark fur looking almost black in the growing darkness. Saliva dripped from the werewolf's exposed, razor fangs, a intimidating, hungering growl emanating the beast. Selene's own gaze was fixed on each step the Feral took. None of the trap were being set off, the beast was stepping as though he knew where each one was. An icy hand gripped Selene's heart as she realized that the Feral hadn't just been attacking recklessly, or watching and waiting. He had been learning. With this revelation, Selene didn't feel as confident as she once had.

Almost as though it had been brought on by the setting of the sun, whose light still clung to the growing distance of the horizon, Selene was beset by the feeling that she was no longer in control, as though she was now in the Feral's territory. And that, was certainly not good to say the least. The Assassin had to find turn this fight back to her favor now, as it looked like the werewolf was closing in for the kill. She let out a frustrated growl of her own, letting her anger and blood-lust overcome her growing fear and the anguish that tried to sneak through with it.

The Feral rushed forward, and Selene reacted by again relying on her gadgets, unleashing a swarm of flying blades towards the onrushing monster and at the same time she threw a fire blast at a nearby trap, triggering a larger explosion then any from the traps before. A wave of burning air, sand and smoke enveloped the Assassin, blocking her sight entirely and presumably the werewolf's line of vision on her. This was possibly her best chance to end the fight, as now her mana reserves were beginning to run low and she had no mana potions.

Acting fast, Selene created a rushed Shadow Warrior and followed just behind it as her clone charged where the werewolf had been racing towards the Assassin before the the improvised smokescreen had obscured her vision. Evidently it was the right direction, as the Feral's claws ripped through the clone as soon as Selene exited the smoke. That had been exactly what the Assassin had been counting on, as she had put only enough mana to make the clone little more than a mirage, as such it had no actual substance, meaning that her prey's strike passed through with no resistance, leaving the beast open to attack. The dark fighter did not hesitate, seizing the opportunity and lashing out with all her skill in a kick aimed at the dagger in embedded in the Feral, seeking to cripple him and then end him. Selene's leg whipped towards the top of the well carved wolf's head with deadly accuracy.

Then the momentum of the Assassin's kick came to a dead stop as the Feral caught her leg, his long clawed fingers locking tightly around her ankle. The werewolf bared his viscous, saliva soaked fangs as Selene spotted a flash of savage triumph surge through the beast's eyes. The Feral had set a trap of his own and she had fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.

"Clever boy." The Assassin breathed in shock before her former prey, but now very much her hunter yanked her leg forward, causing the dark fighter to lose her footing as he dragged her close. Now desperate, Selene hurled her last blade sentinel at the Feral's head. The weapon only tore a deep gash into the werewolf's right ear as it hurtled uselessly past. In response, the Feral roared and then buried his fangs deep into the Assassin's leg. Selene screamed in pain as she felt the monster's teeth pierce deep, through armor and flesh. Then the beast squeezed his jaws to the point where the dark fighter heard a dark crack through the haze of pain just before more agony assaulted her.

Selene managed to kick the werewolf in the face, making the beast dislodge his jaws and release her leg, but the damage had been done. Even without the light to properly see her wound, the Assassin knew that the bone had been at fractured at the very least. She was crippled, and very shortly, she would be dead. In a way, it was only fitting, because it was now that Selene realized the fatal error in judgment she had made; she had assumed that she would be fighting Fenrir, whereas this creature, this Feral, was completely devoid of humanity and the accompanying weaknesses.

The Feral stepped towards Selene, jaws open, coming closer to her throat. Knowing full well that at this point that her chances of survival were next to non-existent, Selene slipped out one of her fire blast grenades with one hand, while she attempted to buy the precious few seconds she could to accumulate the mana needed to activate it. With it, she would ignite the rest, and ensure that both she and the Feral would be blown from the face of the world. The Assassin was determined to die by her own terms, and ensure that Fenrir would remain her's onto the end.

From somewhere close behind her, Selene noticed an odd, gentle blue light appear. But her attention was on the werewolf that was intent on ending her before the grenade was ready. The Feral lunged towards her throat but instead staggered back and howled in surprise as an arrow embedded itself into the werewolf's shoulder and another shot past his head. Selene felt a pair of hands clasp themselves to her shoulders and start to drag her back, towards the light, which she recognized as the light from a portal.

"What the hell is that?!" Durga's voice cried out from directly behind the crippled Assassin. The Feral clasped his jaw on the arrow embedded in his shoulder and ripped it out from the dark fur before moving in to attack once more. More arrows shot towards the creature, but he avoided them with a savage grace.

"Something that clearly should not have been enraged." Vercingetorix roared as he intercepted the wild werewolf, who let out another frustrated howl.

"Vercingetorix, move aside, you're blocking my shot!" Shyvana shouted as Durga dragged Selene past, her bow was ready with an arrow aimed directly where the werewolf's head would be, if not for the Barbarian's back being directly in front.

"Shyvana, shoot only to slow Fenrir down. Do not kill him! Vercingetorix, secure him or knock some sense into him!" Andrastse appeared by Selene, who's vision was starting to blur from the pain and blood loss, making everything start to seem surreal to the badly injured Assassin. Also, a strange numbness was starting to spread up Selene's leg from where the pain of the Feral's bite had once burned. The Paladin knelt and grabbed the injured woman's arm, hoisting Selene up and getting her through the portal. Behind them, the Assassin could hear Vercingetorix struggling against the Feral, trying to reason with the beast in vain.

Despite her having been rescued, Selene felt nothing but despair and pain, and as the bloodlust began to leave her. The spreading numbness was beginning to eat away any feeling below her waist now and Selene's vision had become increasingly blurry. The Assassin now realized that the werewolf's bite had been poisoned .The grenade she had planned to use to complete her orders fell into the sand from her weakening fingers. It was over. Selene had failed, and if the Feral didn't kill her right now, the poison spreading within her from the beast's bite certainly would. As for her "companions"... She didn't intend to hold her breath, in a manner of speaking.

Andrastse carried Selene through the portal, back into the relative safety of Lut Gholein. "Prince, get Fara, now!" The Paladin ordered the stranger who looked at the chaos with a mixture of dismay and shock before rushing away.

"Erica, g-g-get Lysander now. S-Selene has been badly poisoned." Lissandra stammered, the pale woman coming closer to Selene but the Assassin was too disoriented to care. But if the Sorceress heard her so-called friend it looked as though the current events were too much for her as she stood frozen with shock.

"Young one, control yourself and do as the Necromancer says before-" Drognan began to speak, his voice rushed and urgent. The aged Vizjerei had likely been the one to open the portal in the first place. Whatever else the old mage had to say was cut off by noise from the other side of the portal.

"Damn you, I had him!" Screamed Shyvana.

"Watch out!" Vercingetoix shouted urgently. A warning which came almost a second too late as a dark gray furred form violently crashed into Andrastse and Durga, sending the Paladin, Mercenary and Selene sprawling to the ground. The injured Assassin managed to roll onto her back before the Feral was upon her once more in all his fury. Unable to think clearly anymore, Selene futilely swiped her claws at the werewolf's head. The beast easily avoided the weak attacks and ensured that the Assassin wouldn't be able to attack any further as he pinned down Selene's right arm with one clawed hand and tore into the woman's left wrist with his fangs, the strength of his jaw threatening to bite her hand clean off as the teeth dug into the bone, severing flesh and arteries. The doomed fighter let out another cry of pain, though it was numbed by the spreading poison. She could hear the frantic chaos around them, but it felt as though time had stopped. There was only her, lying helpless and doomed, and the Feral, with his free hand raised high, his claws poised to dive into her to deliver the final blow, his eyes empty of any mercy, only an endless rage filling the emerald depths mixed with a glowing red inferno, insane and insatiable...

Then the rage vanished. Instead it was replaced with surprise and confusion, before finally being overwhelmed with sheer horror as the Feral vanished leaving Fenrir about to kill Selene. With a flash of light, Moonfang smashed into the cobblestones just a single inch to the left of the Assassin's head. Selene's left arm fell limply from the horrified man's blood soaked mouth, the Assassin too weak to move now, her vision now threatening to black out completely. Fenrir was dragged off of her by Vercingetorix, the Druid completely frozen, his terrified, anguished gaze never leaving Selene's. There was the sounds of people talking, frantically, angrily, but it all sounded as though the Assassin was hearing it from underwater. The last few things Selene saw before darkness claimed her was Fenrir being released from Vercingetorix, where upon he whipped his mouth with a shaking hand, and then cringed in pain before staring at the dagger still embedded in him. As she fell, Selene couldn't help but feel glad that she had been unable to see his eyes after that, and ashamed for not being able to to hold back the anguish any longer, leaving her alone in the dark with her madness and anguish tormenting her.

XXX

While Andariel could hardly believe the sweet vengeance unfolding before her unwilling host's eyes, the Lesser Evil was unable to enjoy the torment of her murderers. Something far more urgent had arisen, something concerning the mark that she had left upon Diablo's little human pet. By now though, the Maiden of Anguish was starting to become convinced the the Lord of Terror was very much aware of her spying and simply chose to allow it. As she focused on what she felt from the human, Marius, Andariel noticed something more then the fear surrounding the man, which had risen to new heights, it felt as though there was now something far more then just a demonic aura of terror. Knowing full well what this feeling could mean and dreading being right, Andariel hesitantly forced the power within Flavie to awaken, pushing past the paltry seal that Akara had created.

The reason that Andariel had not already overtaken the Rogue archer was mainly due to the continued presence of the heroes, though the Lesser Evil had always played with her food. Still she certainly would have preferred having whatever item Diablo had used to possess his host so quickly and easily. Of course, Andariel would have taken her time, but it would have been good to have better options, especially given how stubborn that Flavie had proven thus far. Still, the Lesser Evil would do everything she could to ensure that the Rogue continued to believe that Andariel was nothing more then a fragment.

Flavie gasped and her eye went wide as her vision suddenly blacked out. Confusion ruled the Rogue until the all too familiar voice of her accursed hitchhiker come over her shoulder, but it was rushed and urgent, not the controlled, seductive goading as before.

"Marius has come upon something. Pray to your gods that this is nothing more then a false alarm."

Before Flavie could reply, a loud scream, of pain, anguish and terror ripped through the blackness that surrounded them. It belonged to something that sounded remotely like a man, but if it had been human at one time, that time had passed quite recently. The scream reverberated and echoed as though they were in a great hall, the unseen walls capturing the sound and throwing it right back at whatever the tortured source was. The scream ended as a light appeared right to Flavie's left. It was a small flickering light of a torch that was held by a small, ragged looking man. He showed no sign of seeing Flavie and was staring, terrified at a tall dark cloaked figure in the gloom. The Dark Wander... Diablo. The being's hood had fallen away revealing his bald and badly mutated skull, made even more hideous by the uncertain light and twisting shadows. Flavie couldn't help but recoil in horror as the thing that had once been human finally stopped screaming and looked around, as if waiting, allowing the Rogue to get a better glimpse of his face. Various points protruded from his face, as though spikes of bone were beginning to grow out, breaking the skin and letting dark blood flow almost completely across his bald head. The was a fading malevolent red glow from the Dark Wanderer's forehead, where it now had a crater, as though some large stone had driven itself into the creature's head and had then been removed and the wound healed, leaving a sizable crater.

Flavie shivered as his gaze passed by her, her skin cold and covered in goosebumps, every single breath and heartbeat sounding far, far too loud. Her throat felt as dry as the Aranoch, but the Rogue didn't dare swallow for fear that it would alert the demon lord to her presence, even if her being there was some form of Andariel's trickery.

"Well, looks like Diablo had made himself at home." Andariel commented in a failing attempt to hide her unease. The Lesser Evil was certain now, that the Lord of Terror was regaining a sizable portion of his former strength, making her being to doubt the chances of her murderers. While she wanted them to suffer, she wanted Diablo to regret using her all the more.

Daring to believe that the alarm had been nothing more than Diablo beginning to customize his host, Andariel was about ready to return the Rogue, when another inhuman wail sounded throughout the dark labyrinth, almost as if in answer.

The Dark Wanderer's looked towards where the scream had come and began to move forward with a dark purpose giving him speed. Marius followed the being hesitantly, and Flavie along with him although it was not by the Rogue's will as her body refused to obey her commands to get as far away from that, that thing as possible.

As she unwillingly followed, she saw a little more of their surroundings from the pitiful light of Marius's torch, such as the carved stone beneath their feet and the familiar looking arch that marked the entrance to a passageway that lead from the great hall. Flavie realized, that they were currently in a tomb, and it didn't take a Great Evil to figure out which particular one.

"He's found it." The Rogue gasped in a hushed whisper.

"More like Diablo has found him. It seems that your companions have run out of time." As she commented, Andariel's mind raced to figure what the ultimate goal of three was. Because as it was now, the Prime Evils were sure to be reunited.

An ominous glow appeared in an archway before the Dark Wanderer, along with a growing, frustrated wailing. As the Lord of Terror, and terrified companion and their ethereal observers entered, Flavie was forced to shield her eyes, the patch that covered the cursed eye having not been in place in this form, from the sudden increase in hellish light. The Rogues eyes adjusted quickly however allowing her to take in their burning surroundings. All the while her ears were assaulted by the frustrated, destructive howls from the being imprisoned there.

The room was likely bigger then the one before, but there was no way to tell as the hall they had been in before had been cloaked in darkness. This hall however, was ominously illuminated by a deep pit of molten magma. There was a small island towering from the pit, though it level with the rest of the hall, connecting the island to the rest of the tomb was a flimsy, ancient wooden bridge. Upon the island was the source of the inhuman screaming, the prisoner whom had been entombed alive, chained to a flaming obelisk with mystical runes glowing bright blood red beneath the fire. It was a horrid withered humanoid thing that was entrapped to the column, far more twisted then the undead mummies that had infested the tombs and underground tunnels that Flavie had been to. Countless tendril extended extended from the creature's body, waving around wildly or striking at the obelisk with little to no effect. A strange glow among all the hellish light caught Flavie's attention, drawing her gaze towards the withered thing's chest where an odd fire yellow crystal was impaled.

Andariel's attention was also drawn to the stone, though it wasn't the item itself that drew her eye. However, it wasn't the stone's glow that caught the Lesser Evil's eye, but what she saw within. Baal, Lord of Destruction. While Andariel could see that the second eldest of the three Prime Evils had completely overtaken the body of the foolish mortal mage, most of Baal's actual soul was contained within the stone. But she couldn't understand how that was possible. Perhaps the nephalem could have done something like that, if the whispering about the mythical ancestors of the humans was to be believed, but the horadrim had been mere humans! So how...?

The Dark Wanderer strode forwards as lines of hellfire spread from the pit and lit the torches in the room with violent explosions. The speed with which the twisted man moved was almost demonic. Then something strange caught Flavie's eye. By this point, the idea of the Rogue seeing anything as strange was definitely starting to become very, very unlikely, but what was happening managed to rate as such.

The air rippled as though it was water, like a still pond that had just had a stone tossed into it, before a flash of searing light blinded Flavie, making cover her eyes. Something surprising about this sudden burst of light was that the Rogue actually heard Andariel cry out in pained surprise. Realizing this might be her one chance to get the upper hand on the Lesser Evil's fragment, Flavie risked opening her eyes.

The Dark Wanderer reached out his hand towards the stone impaled in the writhing, imprisoned thing's chest when a tendril of pure light wrapped around Diablo's arm and yanked him away. Flavie gaze awestruck at the source. A large, heavily built human form, clad in heavy golden plate, clearly forged with skill that the world had never seen before. In his hand was a long sword of the same divine quality, a gem more brilliant then a diamond set in its hilt, the blade ablaze in holy white flames. The being's head was covered by a pure white hood, shrouding his face in darkness. The tendril that gripped the Lord of Terror was one of many that spread from the being back, almost like wings, but no wings that Flavie had ever seen before. Looking at the being, the Rogue just knew, that he wasn't human, but the presence he gave off felt completely opposite to the twin horrors that the intruder faced. She also felt Andariel recognize the newcomer.

"Who or what is that?"

Andariel quickly overcame her shock and let out a small chuckle as she began to enlighten her overwhelmed host. "That would be a true angel, not those humorous winged people you humans believe flutter around in your afterlife. But this is not just any angel, he is Tyrael, the archangel of Justice. I never would have guessed that any of the Council would actually violate their precious ceasefire" This revelation certainly answered some of the Lesser Evil's questions, though it added some more. Andariel did plan to educate Flavie a little more, but that would have to wait until later.

"Stop! The beast contained herein shall not be set loose. Not even by you." Tyrael's voice boomed with an awe inspiring nobility and authority.

Flavie thought she saw a small, smug smile appear on the Dark Wanderer's face before the corrupted human charged the archangel, the two of them colliding in a crash of light and shadow in the midst of all the hellish illumination. The force of the clash knocked both the inhumans off the fragile looking bridge and into the lava pit. The Rogue, now able to control her movement to some extent and emboldened by the appearance of this Tyrael, moved to the edge, hopeful that this angel could vanquish Diablo. Maybe even...

The Dark Wanderer appeared in a flash of black smoke on the bridge's edge, pulling himself up. Behind the accursed being rose Tyrael, his brilliantly shinning wings unfolding. One of the angel's tendrils wrapped around the Prime Evil's legs and mercilessly jerked him off the bridge, throwing Diablo away from the pit. Tyrael followed, sword swinging down to execute the Dark Wanderer, instead the burning blade cleaved through black smoke and into the floor with a disappointing clang. The smoke weaved a short distance away and coalesced as the Dark Wanderer lunged at the archangel, a longsword of shadow forming in his hand. Tyrael raised his own sword to intercept the blade with an inhuman ease. The white flames flared against the black blade as the two ancient foes faced each other once more. Flavie could almost feel centuries pass between the two, her eyes were unable to leave the face off between the two embodiments of light and darkness.

"You angels have a bad habit of making promises you can't keep." The Dark Wanderer sneered before the two blades separated.

As the fight unfolded, Andariel noticed that almost everything about it seemed wrong. Tyrael was holding back immensely. Normally the Archangel of Justice would have ran the possessed mortal through with ease, but instead, the Dark Wanderer was holding his own. This pointed out that Tyrael was on Sanctuary without a sanction from the Angiris Council. Now this very much raised Andariel's curiosity about what that could mean, but there was something that was far more concerning. Tyrael wasn't the only one holding back in the fight. Diablo was barely using any of his true strength. Now that was by far more of an enigma then what could be happening with the High Heavens, for the Lord of Terror was losing decisively at that time, mostly fighting on the defensive to deflect the Archangel's blows. Certainly the demon lord was handicapped with his human host as it was, and Andariel could see Diablo holding back to prevent the Heavens from learning of their demonic presence, it wasn't likely due to the Lord of Terror's eternal lack of caution that had cost him many battles. Especially with the fight being so one-sided. The Maiden of Anguish was at a loss until she noticed a small, cowering form inching his way across the ancient bridge. Andariel let out a dark laugh as she realized the folly of the ancient enemy's actions against the Lord of Terror's plans.

"Diablo is the bait... and that fool Tyrael has charged straight in, all alone."

Andariel's laugh was enough to break Flavie's tunnel vision on the fight as the Lesser Evil's words passed her ears. "What?"

"Destruction is about to be unleashed by a human's hand." Was the only answer that the demoness gave, and it was the only one necessary as Flavie spotted Marius, the unwitting human companion of Diablo, reaching out his hand and grasping the flame yellow crystal embedded in the inhuman prisoner.

Forgetting that in her current state she was nothing more then an invisible and unheard phantom, Flavie rushed forward trying to stop the man, calling out to warn the man. From the corner of her eye, the Rogue saw that Tyrael had finally noticed and called out at the exact same time, his voice now full of panic.

"NO! Don't do it!" Both the spectral Rogue and the Angel shouted at the same time, but it was too late. The captive slumped down, now silent as the foolish man inspected the only thing that had been keeping the Lord of Destruction within the tomb.

"Fool!" Tyrael blinked across the room in a flash of light, covering everything in a strange but holy luminescence and grasped Marius by his neck, holding him over the lava pit. Flavie was sure that the Archangel meant to drop the man, but instead, Tyrael spoke to Marius urgently.

"You have just insured the doom of this world. You can not even begin to imagine what you've set in motion this day. Go to the Temple of Light in the eastern city of Kurast, there you find the gate to Hell opened before you. You must find the courage to step through that gate Marius! Take the stone you hold to the Hellforge, where it will be destroyed. Now run!" Tyrael warped both himself and Marius to the other side of the pit, with enough distance between the human and the currently blinded Lord of Terror that the ragged man actually had a chance to escape. The holy luminescence was beginning to fade. "Take the stone and run!"

One of Baal's tendrils lashed out and caught Tyrael's sword hand, yanking the Archangel back violently and causing the being of light to loose his grip on the sword. Flavie's vision began to fade back into darkness as she saw Marius running for his life and Baal now free from his ancient prison.

Andariel was uncertain at this moment. On one hand, Diablo had achieved his goal and released Baal, and she didn't require the Scroll of Fate to know that Mephisto was next. What this meant was that her chances of making Diablo pay for using her had gone from slim to the likelihood of actually escaping from the Void. On the other hand, Tyrael had just been played for a fool, just like how the rest of the Lesser Evils had been, and Andariel knew a little more about these stones. They were truly not the product of human hands, not if something like a Hellforge was needed to destroy them. That made her all the more interested in finding out what they were, and more importantly, getting her hands on one of these stones.

Flavie's Physical body was about to awaken. While the amount of time the Rogue would have been unconscious wouldn't be particularly long, it would certainly be noticed. Then there was the matter of how Flavie would explain what she had seen to her companions. There was no question that the Rogue would tell them.

Normally Andariel was confident in the human ability to find some manner of explanation for just about anything, no matter how far fetched, but concerning this situations and with these particular humans, it was questionable at best. For now though, she knew it was best to let Flavie sort out the details. If worst did indeed come to to worst, Andariel had a few escape plans in mind.

Flavie's eyes snapped open and she was blinded by the sudden torchlight in her eyes. The Rogue blinked as her eyes adjusted to her surroundings. She was inside a room and Shyvana was looking at her, the Amazon's eyes wide.

"Flavie, by the Gods, what has become of your eye?" At first Flavie didn't know what Shyvana was talking about, but as her senses recovered from the abduction by the fragment of the Lesser Evil, the Rogue realized that she was in her physical body and she was still seeing with both eyes. The eye-patch that had covered the mark Andariel had left upon her and limit any possible influence that the eye would have over her, was gone. It must have been removed while Flavie was unconscious. There was a strange dry feeling down from the cursed eye, almost like a line of tears, but it felt far different. But the Rogue wasn't thinking about that in her panic. Flavie's hand all but slammed into her face as she tried to hide the permanent symbol of of choice to follow Blood Raven, and her subsequent "reward".

At first the Rogue considered attempting to flee, but as she remembered what she had seen and saw the concern on Shyvana's face, the archer decided that no matter what, the fellowship had to be warned that destruction was now free.

"It's not important right now. Where's everyone else? There's something I have to tell you all, urgently." Flavie nearly bit her tongue as the words poured from her mouth while she looked around. Only she and Shyvana were in the current room.

Shyvana's jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed."Fara and Lysander are currently working to save Selene's leg and arm from the wounds that savage monster left her with. Lissandra is attempting to aid them with something concerning poison within the wounds. Andrastse is occupied trying to find a reason why that-" The Amazon let out a hesitant, calming breath. "Why... Fenrir attacked Selene, though for some reason Erica insists that it was Selene that struck first." The blonde woman's flowing hair swayed back and forth as she shook her head with apparent disgust. "Meanwhile the Barbarian has gone to search for the rabid beast. He ran like a coward as soon as he failed to murder Selene. Just after that, you collapsed, blood was coming from your eye-patch like tears so I tried to find out what was ailing you... then you awoke."

Dismay filled Flavie as she learned the state of things. They had been so close to possibly intercepting Diablo, but instead the fellowship had all but ripped itself apart almost out of nowhere! "I must speak with Andrastse, everyone has to know, Baal is free!" Flavie quickly located her eye-patch and stood to retrieve it.

Further worry now mixed with disbelief filled Shyvana's voice. "Flavie, are certain that the past days of constant fighting have taken their toll on you? The exhaustion alone would be-"

Flavie cut off the Amazon. "I understand how it sounds, but I swear by the Sightless Eye that I know what I saw and I have every reason to believe it to be true. You must believe me!"

Shyvana stared at Flavie with a contemplative look, before nodding. "Very well. Andrastse is this way, we will have to sort this cursed mess out later." With her eye patch once more firmly in place, encasing Andariel's so-called 'gift' in darkness, Flavie followed Shyvana out of the room to where Andrastse was.

The Paladin had been pacing back and forth, rubbing her forehead with her jaw set in scowl that managed to be caught between disbelief and anger. Erica stood nearby, the firelight from a nearby brazier showing her troubled emotions to any who cared to look. When the two archers approached, Andrastse almost looked relieved for a moment, before Flavie told the Paladin what she had seen.

"What?! How can that be? Are you certain of this?" A flurry of urgent emotions crossed Andrastse's face; disbelief, surprise, fear, and shock. Flavie could only nod. The Paladin took a few steps back and mutter a few frustrated curses before stopping and looking back at Flavie. "How is it that you know this?"

Flavie didn't know how to respond. She knew that she was obligated to sometime tell them about the fragment of Andariel left in her mind. To tell them of this accursed power which allowed her to see visions and dreams, both of a person's worst memories and of one marked by the power of Anguish. But she she didn't, she couldn't, for terror stilled her tongue. Terror of what the reactions of her companions would be.

Fortunately, as if sensing the Rogue's distress, Shyvana answered in her stead. "Does it matter right now? Our quarry is likely escaping our grasp this very moment! We have no choice but to deal with that insane...with Fenrir latter."

Andrastse's shoulders slumped a little as she let out a breath. "You are right." Her eyes flashed back to Flavie however. "But I do expect you to explain how you are able to see the movements of our enemy later."

Erica seemed a little distracted by something that seemed to have deeply disturbed her, but then she spoke up. "I'll see about locating Vercingetorix..." The Sorceress hesitated before continuing. "...And what of Fenrir?"

Andrastse rubbed her forehead once more. "If what you said is true, Erica, then that is a complicated matter to say the least. Focus on finding Vercingetorix. If he has found Fenrir, and the Druid is actually sane and still willing to fight with us, then so be it. If not... Just ensure you return with Vercingetorix."

"You can't be serious!" Shyvana burst out. "First the Barbarian blocks my shot of the monster and now you're actually willing to welcome that... that traitor back!?"

"Shyvana, as I said, it is far more complicated then how it seemed, according to Erica at the very least. And as I said concerning Fenrir, it's only if Vercingetorix has found him, right now we don't have time if the visions are true. I trust you and Flavie remember where the true tombs is?"

Flavie watched Shyvana's fist clench tightly as the Amazon shot Erica a suspicious look before the Rogue answered for both of them. "Yes."

Lissandra joined the group, silent as the grave as per usual, though her quiet voice echoed through the minds of all those present. "I will retrieve the northmen, Erica, go with Andrastse and the rest."

Those present looked at the pale lady with various looks of surprise, most notably being Erica. "Wait, Fenrir almost killed you, Lissandra, before Selene... No it would be better if-"

"No, I can find them faster, and should worst come to worst I will defend myself. But I am certain it will not come to that. Now go." The way in which the Necromancer spoke carried a tone of authority that no-one, certainly not Flavie at least had heard her use before. Lissandra turned and left in the direction of the waypoint.

"That ends that then. Let's move, Flavie, get Durga." Andrastse said as the Necromancer seemingly faded into the darkness, the Paladin's eyes remaining on where the pale lady had gone for a moment longer, before the group disbanded to retrieve their gear.

Flavie walked at a brisk pace towards the Misty Oasis, certain of finding Durga there. All the while trying to think of how she was going to explain, well just about everything. For a brief moment, the Rogue allowed herself to grateful of the fact that aside from the instance in the previous night, Andariel's fragment had remained silent...

"Aw, so you do think about me." Flavie almost jumped as Andariel's voice seemed to whisper in her ear suddenly.

"Not quite the reaction I would prefer, my dear, but there will be time to work on that, provided that you survive whatever Diablo calls forth to keep Tyrael company. Speaking of which, the tombs would be a great time for you to at least test out some of the power I gave you. It just might make the difference, because what you have now, isn't going to be enough. It will be just like when you fought against that enormous golem"

Flavie stopped, wary of paying heed to the fragment, but more uncertain then ever, especially considering the ominous nature of Andariel's tone and remembering just how useless she had felt against the magical construct. "What do you mean?"

"Just consider a few things. While Tyrael is neither Diablo's equal or direct nemesis, he is still part the Angiris Council, the Heaven's ...'equivalent', for lack of a better word, to the Lords of the Burning Hells. Now, while he has likely been broken by both Diablo and Baal, they aren't so foolish as to outright slay him, but they are unlikely to leave him unguarded. As to what they will leave to...entertain the Archangel of Justice, that may be anyone's guess, but expect something powerful, possibly something close to my level of power."

Flavie smirked. "I fail to see why that may be a problem."

Andariel was somewhat vexed at the Rogue's smugness, but she forced herself to allow it...for now. "As I said before, there are many different types of battlegrounds. Don't always expect the upper hand, dearest Flavie, for while I do admit that pride works quite well with you, arrogance at the level you and your companions are at will get you killed." With that final warning, Andariel retreated to watch, and wait for the Rogue see the truth that the Maiden of Anguish allowed her to.

XXX

The Loner came to a stop near the edge of a cliff, his chest burning, frustration and no small amount of fear overwhelming him. The other side was too far away for him to jump and a roaring river carved its path through the land bellow, chunks of ice floating freely down the writhing rapids. Even after escaping the Warg, the two-legs and the white wolf-being had found him and had now cornered him in his own territory! Had he the breath to spare, the gray Loner would have howled in frustrated humiliation into the bright late-winter day sky. Instead, he turned to face the his two pursuers. If they expected to find him beaten, then they were in for a savage surprise.

The white female wolf-being was the first to appear, her pelt easily blending in with the undisturbed snow, though the camouflage was useless as the Loner was very much aware of her presence. The gray took a step forward as he began to growl menacingly, baring his sharp fangs. The female let out a intimidating growl of her own as she blocked any escape to the south for the Loner, but she did not advance any further. The Loner was tempted to try to attack her, to try and break past, but he could already hear the approach of the two-legs. So he forced himself to wait and catch his breath.

The orange haired two-legs walked out from the cover of the trees, her claw-stick in hand and her eyes looking directly at the Loner. The way in which the two-legs walked showed strength but at the same time it didn't show any signs of actual challenge. The orange hair approached from the last remaining free direction that the gray had, meaning that he was now completely surrounded. The white wolf-being and the orange haired two-legs covered any attempts to run north, south or east and the cliff behind blocked off the west. He braced himself for a desperate fight, readying up his flagging reserves of power. His growl increased in intensity as he took another defiant step forward. In response the white took one of her own, while her growl remained the same. But then she backed off hesitantly when the two-legs said something in the strange, loud, chattering noises of their kind, though she flashed an odd look in her pack-mate's direction. Suspicious and realizing that of the two the orange-hair was the alpha,the Loner shifted his focus onto the two-legs, ready to attack the instant she made the wrong move.

Instead, the two-legs slowly placed her claw-stick on the snow and to the surprise of all, crouched down in a non-threatening way, as though waiting for the Loner to make a move. The white started to move, her growl now faltering in confusion, but the two-legs cast a glance towards her and raised a hand as though signaling the wolf-being to stop. As the orange-hair had taken her eyes off him, the gray almost attacked her, rising on his hind legs with his claws ready to rip through the furs the two-legs wore, but as her gaze came back to him, the Loner stopped. The orange-hair's gaze was like that of his former alpha, calm, wise and strong. She then spoke in the way of the two-legs, though it wasn't in the harsh or frightened ways as before. In fact they sounded quite soothing, though the Loner had no idea what they meant. "Calm yourself, young one. Easy boy."

Though the memory of his former pack made the gray feel the pang of loss once more, his instincts began to tell him to back down. Obeying them and relaxing from the apparently diminished threat, the Loner dropped back down to four legs and lessened the intensity of his growl. While he wasn't going to attack right away, he was still wary of any sudden moves, his eyes fixed on the orange-hair and the white-fur. Clearly the female wolf-being shared the gray's unease, as she did not look near as calm as her alpha. For now, the gray was intent on waiting until the two before him told him what they were here for.

Then the wind changed, and the Loner caught a new scent. Two-legs! At first he thought it was from the one in front of him, but the her scent was more like that of the wolf-being whereas these new ones were far more pungent. The quiet sound of a branch thwacking against something and the hushed, pained two-leg speak that accompanied it made the gray realize that he had been tricked. In his anger he failed to notice the white looking in the direction of the new two-leg scents with confusion, the gray's only focus being on tearing out the false alpha's throat out as he let out a roar and reared back on his hind legs, claws outstretched. The orange-hair's eyes widened in shock at the Loner's renewed hostility, but whatever she intended and what he intended was ended as there was an odd whistling sound in the air right before the gray's upper left chest exploded in pain making him stagger back from the sudden impact as his growl turned into a high pitched yelp. Another whistling impact made pain explode from his right thigh, making the Loner's right leg give out from under him. With his senses overwhelmed from the sudden onslaught of pain, the gray didn't feel his foot hanging off the cliff's edge. Desperately, he tried to stand, but the foot of his uninjured leg came too close to the cliff. The Loner heard a loud warning cry from the orange-hair, her hand reaching out toward him. In response, he recoiled and that ensured his fall as he lost his balance and fell back, off the cliff and down into the freezing waters below.

XXX

Fenrir collapsed in exhaustion by the oasis's shore, his chest heaving, his claws and fur covered in the blood of insects, demonsand unfortunate laccuni. Yet it still wasn't enough to erase the sent of Selene's blood. He remained on all fours trying to catch his breath as his form shifted back to human. He could still taste her soft flesh in mouth, and no amount of monsters he had killed had done anything to alleviate the taste. It remained, even as vomit filled Fenrir's mouth and he retched it out to the point where he was dry-heaving for almost a few minutes. All the while the single horrifying realization filled his mind.

He had nearly killed his mate. He had nearly killed Selene!

The fact that the Assassin had attempted the same was pushed aside, as the Druid was overwhelmed by his own actions. As he went over the memories once more, Fenrir's stomach once more attempted to empty itself, but there was nothing but air, leaving the tormented man dry-heaving further. Once the spasms ended, the mind-numbed northerner crawled to the water's edge, anxious to dink some, though he was unsure if it was to ease his parched throat or just another vain attempt to wash his mouth clean.

After several mouth-fulls of the night-cooled water, with his throat no longer parched, Fenrir's mind started to stir through the shock and horror, replaying the memories again and again. Why? Why had Selene done what she had? Why had Fenrir almost killed her? No. A better question was, Why had he been unable to control himself until the very end?

"Why did you stop me? Why do you insist on letting that misguided prey slay us?!" A voice that Fenrir was unfamiliar with yet knew suddenly growled through the quiet night air, a beastly, male voice filled with a suppressed, chained rage and disgust that made the hairs on the back of the Druid's neck stand. "Why do you insist we remain the pet of two-legs?!" The voice roared. Alarmed, Fenrir's head whipped around, the northerner trying to locate its source.

"What are you playing at? I'm right here. I always have been, even if you've completely me forgotten in your weakness." Unable to find anything but sand and the few trees that stood defiant against the desert, the Druid's gaze fell back upon the water, just in time for the half-moon to escape the cover of the clouds above and cast her cold luminescence upon the darkened desert and the calm oasis. In the moonlight there was only Fenrir's reflection.

"How much has being with the two-legs blinded you?" His reflection spoke. Fenrir almost jerked back in surprise, but found that he was unable to move, forced to stare at the water. The more he was forced to look, the more he noticed about the "reflection". First its stance, while like Fenrir's, was on all fours, there was a savage, injured pride in it. The "reflection's" hair looked a darker gray and the Druid spotted fangs among his teeth and a clear glimmer of crimson its eyes. Though the differences were small, there were enough together that the gray haired northerner almost though he was looking at a illusion, but something deep within made the Druid know it was real. Though whether it was the burning amulet upon his chest or his terrified instincts, he knew full-well that this was no trick of magic. Even so, it was almost as if Fenrir was looking at himself in another world. One where he had remained in the wild. One where he had remained nameless and feral.

"What are you?" Fenrir whispered, fear beginning to spread. Had he lost his mind?

The Feral let out a growl before answering. "You fool, I am you! We are one and the same, though you are the part of us who was weak enough to let those two-legs tame you!"

Fenrir's pride managed to temporarily break through the horror shock and fear, uniting with his slowly growing anger, but was forced back by a sudden tide of old memories that made the Druid's eyes go wide as he realized just what exactly this thing, this Feral was.

Long before his meeting with the fellowship, long before he had fled the forests of Scosglen, before he had even been a student to a druid, Fenrir had been a feral, or to be precise, a descendant of one, for a feral was a name given to druids whom had completely lost themselves to their animal instincts, either by choice or because they were overwhelmed by their own power. It was rare for such beings to return to being human. More often then not, ferals were driven away or killed when they came into contact with the tribes. Fenrir had been luckier then most, though his capture had been far from simple, leaving the Druid with lasting scars, both physical and mental. Most of the wounds within his mind had been bundled with the surplus power and mana that Fenrir had been unable to control, and were locked away by the amulet he wore, though if that had been intentional, the Druid had little idea. Regardless, the raw power and mental scars had combined with his more savage and wild instincts, particularly those focused on survival, thus leading to the creation of the Feral. It wasn't anything at all like the wolf and man perspectives that influenced the Druid's decision making. The best way to describe the Feral was that he the part of Fenrir that had never truly become human, and had instead learned to hate humans. And with the weakening of the barrier during the events of Lel-Khador, the Feral had been unleashed.

"You... It was you that made me attack Selene!" Fenrir roared as the revelation crashed over him, even though his attempt at driving back the Feral had a gaping opening for the thing to exploit, which he did without mercy.

"Do you really think that I'd sit back and do nothing as that rabid bitch tried to kill us? But if I didn't save our hide, then you have done? Die like a defenseless cub?"

Fenrir's anger stalled in the face of the Feral's retort. What would he have done if not for the Feral. His lack of answer made the reflection within the water adjust his posture with satisfaction before letting out a snort of disdain.

"This is exactly why we should leave these two-legs to go die on their on without dragging us down. This 'quest' is nothing more then a death trap for us, either by the two-legs or by the thing that they fool themselves into thinking that they hunt. We are better on our own. No rules or limits but our own. Let the two-legs wipe themselves out, I will not let us die for them."

Fenrir didn't have any answer right now. "Shut up." He whispered.

The Feral burst out in mocking hateful laughter. "Why should I?! Do you really think that I'll listen to a weakling?" He began to growl darkly. "The only reason I haven't taken our body is because of that cursed collar you wear around our neck. But don't rely on it forever. I have broken past it before and if you insist on dooming us with this cursed quest..."

"Shut. Up!" Fenrir growled, louder this time, his fingers curling into fists. "Leave me be."

"What did you say?" The Feral growled back, almost looking amused for a brief moment before the characteristic anger returned.

"Leave. Me. Alone." Fenrir grasped Moonfang, ready to attack the reflection, not even caring how pointless such action would be.

The Feral narrowed his eyes. "Just who do you think has kept us alive. Twice this year alone I have saved our hides now. The only reason we survived the warg that wiped out your precious pack before was because of me!"

At the Feral's mention of the event of three years previous, Fenrir's back ached where the wargs's claws had ripped open his back on that twisted night. "I don't need you! Leave!"

"Never. This is our body and I will not yield to a weak pup, no matter what worthless nonsense the liar filled your head with. Not after I dealt with those two traitorous rabid bitches-"

Fenrir had had enough as soon as the Feral dared insult his Shan'do. With a mindless cry, the Druid leaped up and slashed the calm water, trying to attack his own reflection. All that end up happening was the northerner becoming soaked in the surprisingly cold water of the oasis, up to his knees in the water. The Feral had vanished without a trace, but Fenrir could almost feel the beast's hateful presence at return to the deeper parts of his mind for the time being.

In his state, with anger quickly pooling in with the rest of the turmoil that Fenrir felt, he raised his head and let out an anguished howl in an attempt to force out as much of the pain, frustration and rage as he could, trying to get everything to something more manageable. He was only partially successful, but the invading cold of the water and despair. The despair was an ironically refreshing and all too familiar feeling compared the recent barrage the Druid had endured on top of the Feral introducing himself. In the slowly freezing numbness, Fenrir didn't notice the heavy footsteps carefully approaching until they were almost at the shore, along with a somewhat fresh human blood.

"I doubt attacking the water will do you much good, Druid." Vercingetorix's voice was low, no sign of threat, almost pitying to Fenrir's ears, but for now the he was too numbed to really bite back.

"If you're here to put me down, do it properly, I don't need or want your pity." He turned his head to look at the Barbarian, the idea crossing his stricken mind to simply just let death taken him. Vercingetorix was not wearing his helm, nor were his axes drawn though his hands remained close enough to grab them should the need arise. There was also a reddened bandage on his right arm, the source of blood that Fenrir had smelled.

The Barbarian shook his shaved head. "Pitying you was not my intent, nor is it my intent to slay you. I would hear what happened from you first before coming to a judgment."

The Druid blinked, unsure what to think at that moment. "What? Shouldn't that fall to Andrastse?"

"Andrastse has enough to deal with at the moment, for now though, I managed to convince the others that it was best that I find you alone." Fenrir could already imagine why the Barbarian had come to the conclusion, a cornered beast was the one of the worst kinds of foe there were after all. "You may tell your side of what happened while soaking up water like a rag, but I wouldn't advise it. The night becomes surprisingly cold for this sort of place."

Already starting to feel the night's encroaching chill, Fenrir heeded Vercingetorix's advice, the Druid felt too drained to argue, briefly shifting to shake himself dry before sitting down and telling his side of the events to the Barbarian. Vercingetorix made himself comfortable as well.

Despite the recent betrayal he had suffered, the Druid told the Barbarian everything, from when he had returned to Lut Gholein, to his flight to the Far Oasis and even, though hesitantly, his face off against the Feral. When he was done, he waited in silence, watching Vercingetorix. The Barbarian was quiet, his face showing that he was deep in thought. The two men sat there for a time until Vercingetoix finally spoke.

"Agh, this is so frustrating. We're hunting down one of the greatest embodiments of evil faced by the ancients and now there's this. I truly have nothing I can say about what you have just endured and I hope I never do. I think I've come uncomfortably close as it is." Vercingetorix rubbed the bandage on his arm.

"Perhaps the Feral had a point in his madness. And that wound, was it me?" Fenrir commented somberly, trying to find something else to focus on to escape having to accept the ruthless reality.

Vercingetorix let out a laugh. "If you think that you or this Feral could injure me and only get away with only that new nick in your ear, you're giving both yourself and it far too much credit." The Barbarian's laugh faded and there was a downcast tone in his voice. "Shyvana was intent on putting you down, no doubt believing that it was you who attacked first. I was fortunate that this flesh wound was the only price I paid in ensuring that she missed."

Fenrir looked at Vercingetorix with surprise. "Why?"

"Simple, I refuse to believe the one who is my rival would dishonor himself by betraying us until I have seen the proof with my own eyes." The Druid couldn't help but feel that Vercingetorix had left out a portion of his reasoning, but he already knew in his gut what it was. It was highly likely that if Shyvana had shot him, the Feral would have shifted his focus from Selene to Shyvana. In short, Vercingetorix had protected both Fenrir and Shyvana.

"I owe you then." Was the only answer that Fenrir could give. Vercingetorix simply shrugged and asked.

"So what will you do now?"

At Vercingetorix's change in topic, Fenrir shift his gaze back to the calm water that reflected the cold but gentle light of the moon. What would he do? He could cut ties with the fellowship and flee as the Feral wanted. Fenrir couldn't deny how appealing that sounded, to get away from the betrayal, but then what would he do? Continue to wander as he had the past three years? Go day to day in strange lands trying to adapt to the confusing and stupidly complex rules of civilization? On the other hand, if he stayed, Fenrir's place in the pack would be questionable at best. And worst of all, he would have to face what had happened and what he had done. That was far more terrifying in the Druid's mind then even the quarry they hunted. The Druid tensed up as he weighed his choices, coming to a reluctant decision.

Letting out a tense breath, Fenrir tried unsuccessfully to relax his clenched fists. "I'll stay. Until whatever end."

It wasn't pride that made him choose what he had. The Druid had run before, but back then his pack had been slaughtered. This pack was still alive. That meant that his actions still affected them, for better or worse. He could still fight to keep them safe. He certainly owed Vercingetorix that much at least. His mind also drifted over to the two spellcasters who had confronted Selene before everything had gone so badly wrong. Vercingetorix the one he owed the least of of all of them.

"I'm glad to hear that. It wouldn't be right for you to simply leave without us finding out whom is stronger." Vercingetorix sounded relieved. "Are you fine with returning to town now, or do still need some time?"

Fenrir shook his head and got up, brushing sand off where it had clung to the now not so damp armor and fur and picking up Moonfang, shaking the scythe off before sheathing it. "Better to do this now, lest I start getting any better ideas. And Vercingetorix...Thanks."

Vercingetorix got to his feet. "If I did not know what had happened to you, I would be worried at you actually using my name. But-" The Barbarian stopped as Fenrir noticed the sound of someone approaching. Both the northerners turned to see Lissandra appear out of the darkness.

"I said I would seek out Fenrir myself. Why are you here, Necromancer?" Vercingetorix asked.

"The s-s-situation has become worse." The Pale woman started. At her words Fenrir immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion and interrupted her before she could finish.

"No! She's dead?!" A terrified shock filled Fenrir's voice. However, Lissandra looked confused briefly before shaking her head.

"No, the Assassin li-lives with all her limbs s-still att-ttached though it is unlikely that s-she'll be able to fight for a while." Relief filled the Druid at that, though his thoughts felt conflicted between the growing anger and hate towards Selene and the large portion that still cared for her. The Necromancer continued with Fenrir's interruption dealt with.

"T-there is reason to believe that Baal, t-the Lord of Destruction is free once more."

"What? That's impossible, there were no signs that the any of tombs had been disturbed when we discovered them." Vercingetorix spoke the truth, there had indeed been nothing to indicate anything coming close to the tombs and all the monsters in the area had kept a wide berth.

"P-p-perhaps the Dark Wanderer arrived after you left. Regardless, everyone s-save for Selene is already on the way to the tombs. I came to get both of you."

Fenrir remained silent while Vercingetorix raised an eyebrow. "Andrastse made you seek out the both of us?"

Again Lissandra shook her pale white hair covered head. "It was my intent to find t-the both of you and I have. S-simple as that."

"Fine. I need something to occupy my mind now." Fenrir unsheathed Moonfang, taking a flitting comfort in the familiar weight on his shoulder. Vercingetorix gave him a concerned look but said nothing. Fenrir began to head in the direction of the waypoint a little distance away. In his heart, the Druid was aware that what he was doing was simply running in another form, but he didn't care. It was an alternative that allowed him to get away from Selene's betrayal, even if only temporarily, and he was all to willing to find something to vent the returning rage. As he walked past Lissandra, he noticed the Necromancer visibly take a cautious step away from him. He stopped, knowing that he had to, at the very least, face part of what he had done.

"Bones- no, Lissandra... I'm sorry." He said, just loud enough to be heard by both Vercingetorix and Lissandra. The Necromancer's strange unseeing eyes widened at Fenrir's apology, but the Druid didn't stay long enough to wait for a response, quickly shifting and charging into the darkness. He could hear the sounds of his new pack mates following behind as fast as their own legs could carry them. As much as the werewolf longed for the mindless assault of battle, he was able to force himself to slow his pace so he would not outrun the Necromancer and the Barbarian.

The Feral's warning that the quest they were on was doomed remained in his mind, but Fenrir was determined to ensure that his newfound pack would not suffer as the last. He would protect them even if they had to fight Diablo in the fiery pits of Hell. Even if it cost him his life.

XXX

Author's bit.

MOTHER OF GOD, A NEW CHAPTER? Yea... It's been a awhile. (Damn you steam summer sales concerning Borderlands 2) Hope this was kind of worth the wait, but don't worry, the Duriel chapter is next, for sure this time.

Although, there is a little bad news on that part. Don't worry, I am not giving up on Wolfheart, but one you guys has pointed out a big-no massive problem with my story, at least in the earlier part. TNO, thank you for calling me out on the over focus on Fenrir, I appreciate it immensely. As such, I will be going back and looking over my previous chapters and do some heavy editing and adjusting, seeing how my ideas concerning the seven heroes have changed somewhat since when I started, also I'll be addressing the major issue, hopefully.

On that note this means that the next chapter will be delayed (More then normal?) just a bit. (Yea right.) Also if you guys find any other problems with my story that I have no doubt missed, do not hesitate to blow the whistle on me, please. I very want to make this a great story.

Anyways, see you guys around.

Yours in freaking out that I finally completed a chapter.

AC-107