An inhuman screech tore through the air. Tyrael all but threw himself towards the sound, El'Druin gleaming angrily in his grip. Another shriek, this one demonic, rang out.
When he spotted Rathma, Blood-soaked and bone-wielding, Tyrael did not waste time leaping into the fray beside him. The demoness he battled with hissed in impotent rage, lashing out with claw and tail and hellish magic. Rathma countered with his own spells, and Tyrael parried effortlessly with his blade. They fell into the rhythm of battle, and soon it became clear that the demoness could not stand long against them.
They knew it, and she knew it too. WIth a mighty shout of power, she flung all her fury and magic at them. Tyrael gasped, raising El'Druin, but found no shield was necessary as a veritable bulwark of bone shot up before him. The demonic spell crashed against it, thudding and thundering, but the wall held.
And then it was over, The demoness fled into the ragged sea, and Rathma dismissed his own spellwork. Rain cascaded around them, the skies utterly uncaring about their battle.
Tyrael looked about for a clue as to their next move. They had not anticipated finding such a powerful demon here. Well, they hadn't known what they would find, but the lull in action had left Tyrael feeling too sure of himself. He'd foolishly assumed they were prepared for anything the island could throw at them.
He should have remembered how much trouble Vidian had given them. Had given Rathma.
Rathma let out a sudden hiss of pain.
"We should get out of this rain." Tyrael decided, looking around for somewhere they could possibly go. But Rathma wasn't moving to assist. In fact, he was staring, sour-faced, at his arm. His arm, that was bent at a decidedly...abnormal angle.
"Oh. Oh no…" Reaching as if to touch, Tyrael immediately backpedaled when his companion snarled at his fingers. "Is it broken?" He asked instead.
Gingerly, the nephalem felt along his arm. There was a unique mix of pain, anger, dismay and annoyance on his face when he got to where the arm was bent wrong.
"Fractured." Rathma's voice was very flat.
Tyrael let out a concerned his. "Then, we cannot remain here."
Rathma's gaze and voice were sharp. "I can fight one-handed."
"And have a glaring weak point in your defenses." Tyrael sternly countered. Then his voice softened. "...It is unlike you to want to do battle like this."
The constant rains grew awfully loud then. Under Tyrael's scrutinous gaze, the ancient nephalem drew in a breath, and let it out slowly, before gazing wearily around. There was something terribly sad in the way he looked.
"There were people here Tyrael." He said slowly, voice far away. "An entire civilization. Their souls are… they're still here. They're furious, you see."
And the angel did look around, almost as though searching for these hapless specter's his nephew alone could hear. He could feel the raw emotion in this place of course.
"She destroyed them." Rathma growled. "Slowly, from the inside out. Their pain is etched upon this land, their sorrow and fury. Even the wicker man, damned may he be, cries for release."
This time, Rathma did not snarl when Tyrael placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Did you know them?" He asked.
"No." And there was a terrible bitterness in that response. "But I will. Once we're rid of the demon, putting their souls to rest will take time…"
A heavy sigh left both angel and nephalem.
"You cannot face her like this. Not again." Tyrael gestured widely. "We will go back to the mainland, and return better prepared. Where's that wyvern of yours?"
Rathma stared, a little numb, as Tyrael began searching the skies despite the rain. Dutifully, he put out the call to Syr'Val, and felt the beast's approach. Yes, they would return. And if he had his way, Nereza would be sent back to the realm from whence she came in a smoldering heap.