Chapter 25
Tyrael cursed his very existence, both parts of it.
He hated his Archangel of Justice aspect, which stopped him from simply and effectively disposing of this deceptive-looking threat to Sanctuary marching right before him. Justice dictated that he had to be absolutely, positively, undoubtedly sure of the charges, the dangers and the consequences of the case and the sentence. Right now, that criteria was not met, not even close. Doubts plagued his mind constantly, and Tyrael failed to make some order among them. It would have been so much easier to not even risk it, and kill Inarius right where he stood. However, the little angel's adamant and continuous insisting that he was indeed not Inarius, not to mention his whole… appearance and behavior were enough complicate things.
That sudden outburst back in the Tomb of Rakkis did not help matters, either.
Tyrael also hated his human aspect right about now. Human senses were pretty much garbage, compared to angelic ones. Sure, humans had a more keen sense of taste, and their eyes were pretty good for spotting light in the dark, but everything else sucked really bad. Had Tyrael been still an angel, all he would have had to do was stop and listen. Each angel had their own unique harmony that could be easily picked up by other angels. This frequency was used to identify a seraphim, even if they weren't close yet, or if they wore a disguise or completely identical armor, like most of the Luminarei warriors. Tyrael could have just stopped for a second, listen to Inarius' harmony and if it matched with his old form, then the problem was already solved and he could kill the treacherous one right there and then before he could try anything funny.
Alas, it was not to be. He couldn't hear a damn thing and that meant yet another doubt regarding Inarius' true identity.
One thing was for certain, however: Tyrael would not call the angel by his newly given name. "Quiet" was an all-around stupid name for a seraphim, mostly because of the aforementioned personal frequency. Clearly, Lyndon had no idea how noisy angels actually were. That soft humming melody that constantly permeated everything in the High Heavens, to an extent that even mortals could hear it more or less, was the result of this "noisiness" after all.
- Do you even know where you are going? – Tyrael called out as he rushed after his companion.
- Away – came the abrupt reply.
- Yes, I can clearly see that as well. But do you know where Lyndon even is?!
- No.
- Inarius, listen! – Tyrael forced himself to bounce forward, gaining up to the little angel who refused to slow down. – The ruins can be exceptionally dangerous, especially for an angel like you! We cannot just rush into its depths blindly and without a plan!
- You can leave. I don't – Inarius barked back, tilting his head towards the ground.
- You are impossible. Seems like some things just never change – hissed Tyrael in a low voice.
Honestly, despite his claims, the little angel most surely possessed Inarius' straight-up immunity to reasoning. The exact personality that had driven Tyrael crazy in the past, and apparently still did so to this day. It was something the Archangel had had neither the time nor the patience for, while running the High Heavens and making sure the Angelic Host did not drown into the sea of demons threatening their existence.
He grabbed Inarius' small arm and yanked him up from the ground to haul him into the opposite direction, to some safer place preferably.
… Or, he tried to, anyway. Instead he stumbled forward, nearly falling over, when Inarius' tiny body did not even budge. The little angel stopped abruptly, feet planted so firmly on the pavement that he was literally immovable. Tyrael somehow regained his balance and stared at his companion, utterly stunned.
- Do no touch me – Inarius growled, face still tilted to the ground. – I go find Leendonn. You do whatever you want.
- Inarius, I am trying to explain to you that—
Grating of pebbles cut Tyrael short. The two unwilling companions snapped their head in unison in the noise's direction. Only now did Tyrael take the time to look around more attentively. The Tomb of Rakkis was like a hub inside the ruins, it led to many different parts of the nephalem city. Tyrael was hoping that Inarius at least picked a direction that led to unknown grounds that may hold less dangers somehow. No such luck.
With dread he recognized the carvings on the wall, the strange blue lanterns and gravestone-like pedestals some distance away from them. At the end of the corridor, a rectangle shape of glowing blue lines ran on the ground, and before it, a closed stone door.
Tyrael pulled out El'druin and held it in both hands.
- Inarius. We need to leave. Now – he said in a low voice, golden eyes hopelessly scanning the darkness around them.
Despite the lantern's distant lights, the eyeshot was still pretty miserable down here. He could barely make out the corner of a branching path a couple meters away.
The stone wall erupted next to them, causing them reel back in panic. Thick dust cloud filled everything, along with a roar of some kind of monster. Tyrael raised his sword in defense, just as he finally spotted a large, bipedal shape, with disproportioned horns sprouting from the head, dash out of the cloud. Tyrael prepared to strike first or to deflect whatever blow may come his way.
Only the monster swooped right past him with a blood-curling roar and slammed straight into the stunned Inarius, crashing with him through the opposite wall. The angel's screech was cut short by the collision, as the two tumbled beyond the debris, and into one of the numberless pits that dotted Corvus. This particular sinkhole was not bottomless, as the sound of the large monster crushing into the ground came pretty fast. Tyrael threw himself after them in panic.
Just as he feared, this part of Corvus was still infested with the remaining Flesh Golems born from Adria's magic. During her time down here, Johanna got most of them, but not all. Their assailant was a Flesh Shaman, possibly the worst kind out of the three species: it was large, powerful, resilient, and had magic of its own with what it could raise smaller Flesh Gorgers, because of course it could.
- Inarius! – Tyrael cried out, jumping down the hole, hopping from debris dump to debris dump on his way down.
He had learnt with quite painful lessons the exact limits of his mortal body, and he knew that large drops were not kind to his knees. He dearly wished he still had his angelic indestructibility, if nothing else.
With a loud battlecry he sprung from the last stop in his descent and swung El'druin with all his might, splitting the large head apart from behind. The Flesh Shaman staggered, screeching in an inhuman voice, but did not die immediately. With great effort, Tyrael yanked his weapon out of the head and swung it in a wide arc, cutting up the monster's side and lopping off his left arm.
Usually he would not consider attacking from behind, as that is a most dishonorable tactic, but this was a mindless beast, born out of evil magic. There was no reason to stay true to his honor in this case.
The Shaman turned around and swiped with his remaining arm, finally letting go of the limp Inarius who got trapped under one large foot. The golem's attempts did not even get close to Tyrael, and El'druin made quick work of the abomination.
With the beast dead and disappearing into a repulsive dark rune circle, the returning silence of the ruins were both welcoming and incredibly unnerving. Tyrael took a few large gulps of air as he recollected himself.
- Inarius? – he turned to the small form on the ground.
The little angel abruptly pushed himself up from the ground and vehemently dusted himself off.
- 'm fine – he mumbled quickly, not even looking at the man.
If he could move and was seemingly unharmed, why didn't he use his powers to pulverize that creature in the first three seconds? Tyrael frowned. Flesh Shamans were formidable foes, but surely not for an angel who had "world-warping" powers, as the scoundrel had said.
- That was what I had been trying to say in the beginning – Tyrael said, uneasily looking around in the new place by El'druin's light. – These ruins are incredibly dangerous. That was a foe I recognize, but there is no telling what else might be waiting for us.
- Leendonn. Leendonn is waiting for us – Inarius added simply.
Tyrael would have quipped back angrily, had he not been occupied with the hall around them. It had multiply pillars holding the partially caved-in ceiling, but other than that, it was mostly empty. There were carvings on the pillars and the walls, and to Tyrael's great surprise, he could actually read them. After a brief second of confusion he realized why: they were angelic runes. This hall was truly ancient, no doubt built in an era where the nephalem still spoke the languages of their parents. Most of the texts were damage and the parts that could be made out weren't really that interesting, to be honest. It talked about a great deed of some nephalem called Bul-Kathos and his brother Fiacla-Géar. Honestly, those early nephalem names were truly horrid-sounding, Tyrael mused absentmindedly. Guess back then the renegades hadn't had mastered the art of name-giving yet. "Bul kat thos" literally meant "big hill warrior" (not even "mountain", just "hill") mashed up from angelic and demonic words, while "fiacl" meant "beast" in demon and "géar"… Tyrael couldn't recognize that word but it sounded a lot like the string of angelic sounds that meant "leader", a word he could no longer pronounce with his human orifices.
The text also mentioned someone called "Linarian". Oh… now there was a nice name. Angels had exactly 38 words and phrases for "light". "Linarian" meant the kind of light that brought a great sense of joy and relief on the break of a new dawn. Tyrael had to wonder whose child that nephalem had been. The parent angel must have been of the Hope aspect, surely.
- This place looks safe enough. We should settle for a bit and try to come up with a plan – Tyrael mused, finally resurfacing from the text-reading.
Spending all that time with Cain, Leah and his own books truly had turned him into a scholar.
He turned to look at Inarius, but saw no one. In panic he spun around on his heel, desperately trying to find the little angel in the darkness. In the far end of the hall he spotted the shimmer of the wings and he ran after it, cursing terribly under his breath.
oooOOOooo
Facing Malthael had been the absolute worst, rock bottom of Lyndon's life.
… Until that fight against Rea in his brother's former home, that is. Nothing would ever surpass that.
But the former Archangel, even in retrospect, came pretty goddamn close, no denying that. Unlike Diablo with her cheap shot of trapping Lyndon, Kormac and Eirena in bone cages and forcing Johanna to face her alone, Malthael had no such need for tricks. He had been literally untouchable by the three of them, anyway: only Johanna donned on the Aspect of Death, and only she could do actual harm to him. The most Lyndon and the others could do was provide some kind of feeble distraction, maybe break the angel's concentration during channeling a spell. Even that didn't work most of the time. Unlike demons who had pride that could be attacked, anger that could be raised, Malthael was so goddamn focused and collected it was impossible to find a crack on his cold, emotionless shell. Lyndon remembered struggling to stay the hell away from that soul-draining ring thing of terror around the angel, while simultaneously trying to fight off the bastard's choking aura and coming up with an idea to provide distraction.
Malthael had not radiated fear, he had radiated that terrible yet simple fact that death was inevitable. Something everyone knew but no one wanted or tried to think of. The angel, however, made it impossible not to do just that, and it had been a truly crippling experience. The lives lost in the past all resurfaced in their minds at the most inconvenient times, and they hit hard, especially to Lyndon and Eirena who both had had experienced the loss of a sibling right before that fight. That, however, had also made them enraged, and perhaps that was what had allowed them to somehow make it out of there alive. Still, the angel's aura had been potent and unlike anything any demon could replicate.
Lyndon had carried that weight out of that accursed chamber and up to this day in some form. Shunning his past life and hobbies were a clear sign of that.
Remembering all that vividly, the scoundrel now couldn't decide whether he found their sudden lack unnerving or… confusing.
The angel had no armor and no weapons. His now completely featureless greyish black robe covered his entire body, even the pale hands did not show from the long sleeves. His wings were pretty much non-existent: they were barely a shimmer of some kind of white-ish wisp, and Lyndon had to force his eyes just to notice them. His deathly aura left him and in its place there was but a void of nothingness.
Malthael did not twitch or say anything to the scoundrel's outburst, nor did he turn his dark hood away. Lyndon realized with dread that he must have somehow landed right on top of Malthael and lied there for who knows how goddamn long while he was knocked out. Did the angel do something to him during that time?! Suck his life force away, perhaps?! Wait, no, that couldn't be it, Lyndon felt far too fine for that. Did he put a curse on him then?! And now the creep was just waiting for it to kick in and kill Lyndon right where he stood or torture him to death, or something!
- You are heavy.
…
Wait.
What?!
- The hell did you just say?! – Lyndon glared daggers at the angel, the abrupt comment throwing him off balance completely.
- You are heavy.
Oh so it was Malthael speaking, then. Honestly, at first the scoundrel had doubted even that. The sound coming from the angel was nothing like that horrifying deep drawl, heavy with the actual weight of a death sentence. Now it was simply featureless. Lyndon had never heard such an utterly bland voice in his life. It had no characteristics at all, nothing that would tell a single detail about its owner. It was… maybe like the way Necromancers talked, or… no, that wasn't right, either. Necromancers had usually raspy voices that at least told the listener that they had no sense of humor whatsoever and they were deadly serious about everything they were doing.
Malthael didn't even have that. He was just… there. In a twist of irony, that bland voice matched perfectly with the bland appearance. Lyndon would have never thought it possible for an angel to look this simple. Even Quiet had more details on him, and he reached up to Malthael's knees, maybe.
- What the bloody hell do you mean "I am heavy"?! – Lyndon shouted, unable to shake off his shock and start asking more important questions.
- Your weight is large.
- How the hell do you know that?!
- You lied on me.
Huh… Lyndon really did land on Malthael then, didn't he? How did that happen?! The scoundrel thought back to that damned Waypoint in the marsh and how he could think of nothing but death when Johanna fell upon them.
- Oh, son of a bitch! – he exclaimed, aiming the words at his teleporting ability.
Did he seriously, seriously teleport to the Angel of Death, just because he thought of dying?! That was the big reason he got separated from Quiet and Tyrael?!
Malthael did not comment on that, either because he didn't care, or he just didn't understand the words spoken. He still made no move to get up or scuttle away, or goddamn anything, and it was starting to get more infuriating than scary at this point.
- Alright then, you fucker! How about you actually start doing something and finish our business once and for all?! – Lyndon hissed, standing up.
He readied his crossbow, summoning all of his focus and willpower for the fight, preparing to even teleport away from a blow if he had to.
That was exactly the moment the ground shifted next to him, causing him to lose concentration and jump away from his spot with a yelp like a startled cat. That certainly did not help with the air of toughness he was trying to communicate. After finding his footing again, Lyndon glared at his original spot, noting the weapon stand that was definitely not there a second ago. He recognized the rectangular shapes etched into the pavement that indicated the rack's presence, but he had bigger problems than to notice it at first in the semi-darkness. And now, as he was preparing the fight, the weapon stand suddenly and conveniently showed up, offering him a nice-looking wide sword to cut Malthael in half with, as if…
- You are nephalem – Malthael said again, slightly raising his head from the heap of debris it had been resting on.
- No, I am not! – Lyndon barked back, instinctively switching to defense at the accusation.
The bastard didn't need to know about his inner conflict.
- It responded to your presence, nephalem.
- I am a human, idiot!
- A nephalem human.
Lyndon just wanted to shoot the asshole for that comment alone.
No, he was not a nephalem, that dumb piece of rock just had a faulty mechanism. It sprung up out of accident and definitely not because… because Lyndon was gathering power for a duel and perhaps needed a melee weapon…
The scoundrel shook his head, shooing the thoughts away. He really didn't need these doubts right when he had a fight brewing. Malthael had been Wisdom in the past, surely he was a crafty fighter as well as absolutely ruthless.
Well… he would have been, if only he would start actually moving! Lyndon just wanted to shoot the angel already, but literally everything about Malthael was so confusing, so wrong, that he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Sure, go soft on the Angel of Death who came closer to wiping out humanity than anyone else ever. Lyndon wanted to scream in frustration.
- Are you coming or what?! – he barked angrily instead.
- No.
- What?!
- I am not coming.
- Hey, I am a human, okay? You wanted to kill us all, remember?! Then come and get me!
Why the hell was he taunting the Angel of Death again? Lyndon figured his nerves were just past the snapping point and he wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible. Malthael's infuriating passivity did not help things.
- No.
- Why the hell not? Are you afraid, you creep?!
- No.
A pause.
-… Well then?!
- Well then, no.
Oh god, this was Lyndon's personal hell, wasn't it? Stuck with this genocidal angel in an underground ruins, while he's having no damn idea what was happening to Quiet. His little firefly could be in terrible danger and Lyndon wasn't there to keep him safe. The scoundrel felt miserable for leaving his charge alone and caught himself uttering a soft prayer that at least Tyrael would be with him somehow. For all he knew, the Waypoint could have launched all three of them into different directions when it got wrecked by Johanna's Falling Sword.
Lyndon glanced back up from his crossbow to Malthael, and forced himself to slow down and think things through. Was the angel collecting his strength for a second round in here? That certainly would have sounded logical, except for the fact that Malthael clearly had died back in the Pandemonium Fortress, of that Johanna, Tyrael and even Imperius (who remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the whole thing) made absolutely sure. There was nothing left of him, except for a burn mark on the ground carrying his shape. Tyrael said his soul returned to the Arch and awaited rebirth, hopefully.
So what would Malthael be doing here, and in such a shape, no less? Lyndon briefly glanced at the opening on the ceiling before returning to the angel lying among the debris. He fell through there. From where, Pandemonium? Did he actually somehow slipped away? No, that couldn't be it. Lyndon vividly remembered that glorious and horrifying moment when Malthael had been struck down: shards of the Black Soulstone and consumed souls violently ripped themselves out of his body, all seemingly taking a small part of him with themselves. Malthael had smacked into the ground and writhed to death as he was torn apart.
This simple but completely unscratched look was a far cry from that miserable end the angel had had.
Lyndon tried to focus all of his senses, reach out with them, but he felt no aura coming from Malthael, like he was a piece of rock. If he truly was gathering power down here (from what, even?), then he should have had something at least. He had been struck down half-a-year ago, that had to be enough time to at least start developing an aura, right? Was he just lying there the whole time? What sense did that make?
- What the hell is wrong with you? – Lyndon asked finally, lowering his weapon.
- Nothing.
The scoundrel just… didn't know what to do. Attack? Run away? Make sure this bastard would never get another chance at causing grief to Sanctuary? If he killed him now, Malthael would just return to the Arch and be reborn, maybe even keep his old memories so he could start right where he left off.
Besides it somehow felt… just wrong to strike down a foe that lied on the ground, doing absolutely nothing. If Lyndon could at least spot something, like a stream of souls slowly being sucked up by the angel, then he would have a good reason to attack.
He is the Angel of Death, Lyndon screamed at himself. He had killed millions by the time we managed to stop him. Is that no good reason enough to end him?!
Malthael moved.
Lyndon's attention was immediately on him and he raised his crossbow, posture flying into a fighting stance. The scoundrel noted with slight dread that while he was having his brain-storming session like a fucking idiot, Malthael had been studying him as well just as thoroughly from under his narrow hood.
The angel moved at an almost comically sluggish pace. He slowly sat up, then stood up, but with such slow movements that Lyndon felt like watching someone trapped in one of those weird time-wrapping orb things he had encountered in Pandemonium. As he moved, his sleeves brushed against his torso, revealing his coat to be actually black and releasing a thick cloud of dust.
Just how long had he been lying still there, seriously?!
Eventually, Malthael did manage to get himself into a standing position with a hunched back, and he stared down at the much smaller human.
- Good – he said simply.
Then he stepped forward and clumsily flung with his arm. It didn't even reach Lyndon, and no spell came out of his sleeves whatsoever. The scoundrel felt absolutely nothing, not even a breeze.
- What—what the hell are you doing? – he asked, uncertainly eyeing the angel.
- You wanted to fight, nephalem. So let us fight. And may the more capable warrior kill the other.
Man, writing's Malthael's complex lines was such a chore~
My darling cupcakes, there ARE miracles in this world, afterall! Despite still having a decent amount of school work and exams to prepare, I somehow found the time and the motivation to write this chapter with relative speed. Thank Anu for that! Thank you all for your patience!
Once again, cupcakes, a reminder: THE FIC IS NOT DEAD UNTIL I SAY IT IS DEAD! Should that terrible day come (with the help of Itherael, it won't), I WILL write an Author's Note to let everyone know, that I solemnly promise. Unless that bitch pops up among the chapters, have no fear and channel Auriel's hope!
Lore & Trivia Corner (I should make it a regular thing, huh)
- Bul-Kathos, Fiacla-Géar and Linarian: first generation nephalem, all three of them were born from angels and demons. Bul-Kathos became the ancestor and the first king of the Barbarian people, his brother/closest friend (it is kept vague in the lore), Fiacla-Géar formed the order of the druids from Diablo2, and Linarian (most well-known as Rathma later) was the only child of Inarius and Lilith, and later would become the founding father and later "god/patron" of the Necromancers.
- The idea of angels having 38 words for "light" comes from me, inspired by the linguistic fact that each language has more words for certain things that are most important in the culture. The Inuit languages, for example, have far more root words for "snow" than English language does, naturally since those people live on the snow. It is a documented fact, although perhaps definitely not that overblown like certain articles claim. As such, the meaning of "Linarian" is also my addition to the story, nothing canon.
- The shifting ruins of Corvus: it is stated in-game that Corvus was built by and for Nephalem (the architect was a guy called Daedass the Builder), as such the structures react to nephalem presence, shifting, opening or revealing a stash or hidden route.
GUEST REPLY
- PaulM: Thank you so much for sticking around! Your worry was not baseless, that is true, I really did fall silent for long. Shit happened. :\ But perhaps now we are getting back on track slowly but surely!