Sometimes Tyrael thought he saw the Nephalem that called himself Rathma...shift, for lack of a better word. It could've easily been a trick of the cloak he wore, which was ever-moving and twisting about it's master's shoulders.
It wasn't easy to try and confirm. Rathma avoided him as much as he could, to the point of straight up walking away whenever Tyrael attempted to speak with him. Tyrael did not understand what he'd done to earn this snubbing of his presence, but there wasn't time to look into it.
The Nephalem, both old and new, journeyed to the marshes. As they left, Tyrael thought he saw his Rathma change something in himself. Was he taller now? Or perhaps shorts... He couldn't be sure though.
Those who went on the quest (for vengeance, for justice, oh, would that Tyrael still stood as such and he might've gone with them, for Leah's sake-) discovered quickly what their strange new companion could do. His magic was more than necromancy, more than magic really. It was simply a force of nature.
They dug through the ruins of Corvus. Tyrael couldn't have known how proud the ancient was to see the Neo-Nephalem following in their ancestor's footprints, igniting beacons and channeling their powers. He wasn't there to see when the old Nephalem sprouted wings and took off into the sky for a better vantage point.
Corvus itself was dank and dusty and forgotten, and in all actuality Rathma had never once been inside. He could read the guides though, and much of their exploration was filled with explanations and discussion of the words carved into the walls. The place was a relic, and still held its power and knowledge.
Adria's blood golems were simple work for the trio of necromancers. The rest of the Neo-Nephalem followed, and Adria's death drew near.
Lorath came to Tyrael after Corvus with tales of blood and witches and visions of Pandemonium - of an angel mad with death - and of a Nephalem whose form was ever-shifting. Who changed himself to better suit whatever situation was at hand. There were whispers among the others now, wonderings of whether any mortal could change themselves, as the ancient Nephalem did.
Tyrael had been right. Mortals were not so solid after all.
It made much more sense - after all, mortals were those that could choose their destinies. Choosing their bodies was simply...logical. The blend of demon and angel was just as even than he'd thought it should be. Although...he supposed it could be a trait unique to Rathma himself (it was not as though he had any others to compare him to). Inarius had been gifted when it came to altering his own appearance, perhaps his offspring had inherited this?
There would be precious little time to ask him about were to go to Heaven, and Tyrael thought he'd rather bring anyone else into those gilded halls with warrior-angels and bright lights and Imperius.
Would speaking with him now distract Rathma? Or would it simply irritate him?
There was a very real chance that none of them were coming back alive from Pandemonium. If Tyrael wanted answers, he had to ask his questions soon. (No matter that he may only have his answers for hours before the end, but...)