Diablo 2 - Visions of You (Chapter 9: 1 of 2)
By Amethyst Haze (amethyst_haze@hotmail.com)
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Disclaimer: I do not own Diablo II, its concepts, its designs or anything else related to it. Those are the property of Blizzard Entertainment, this story is simply a non-profit tribute and parody. This story is Rated R for moments of sexual content, offensive language and violence.
Amethyst Haze's comments: If this story sounds EXTREMELY familiar to you.... then you've read the original fanfic as the NC-17 version when it was under my old pen name. I will not be writing like that anymore. Also, you might want to have read through "Longing to be with you" first since Visions of You is the second in that series. :P
On a side note, this is only the FIRST PART of the ninth chapter. I've had this half ready for so long, but couldn't get the rest of it done fast enough, so I thought it'd best if I release this to not further put readers in suspense. I'm really sorry about the absence.
***
The sounds of battle were among them as they sprinted into the deserted village that was vibrant in warm and ethereal shades of flickering red and yellow. The smoke that churned and spiralled out from the roaring fire had been spotted as it puffed into the sky. It served only to strengthen their resolve to sprint at a maniac speed towards Kurast.
Shallow animal prints left behind in the lush soil of the jungle were trampled upon by Ferrum's heavy boots and the horrific feet of his skeletal warriors. Their bones crickled awkwardly in a scraping sound as they trekked on, following its blonde-headed master in a droning and lifeless-fashion. Those skeletons knew nothing of what battle they were heading into, just that they must protect their master and kill their master's enemies. They cared not for the sight just beyond the horizon that lay partially hidden by the thick brush they were trampling through.
The empty village was burning; it illuminated a portion of the sky overhead to a brilliant orangey-red that could only be spawned from the bowels of hell itself. The warm and spicey stench of burning balsam invaded the druid's nostrils and made his lips curl in disgust when he detected one scent of many; the faint trace of a demon's blood.
As Ferrum broke into a sprint, Rune's summoned animal army regarded the necromancer oddly. The outline of his body faded into the gathering smoke of the burning wood that oddly loomed over the village like impending doom.
Rune's ears pricked suddenly. He heard something.... a yell, a crash, then a dull explosion then a clinking sound. It continued.... repeating itself over and over and over. He recognized the sound.... Potions being thrown... he though, keenly aware of the direction it was coming from. Fulmination potions most likely. But the last metal sound?
He heard it again... that strange metal clinking.... then he turned to his left and hissed, "Spikey, stop doing that!"
Acting innocent, Spikey stopped rubbing the sharp blades of his arms together and stared up at the druid.
Energizing blood flowed through Ferrum's veins as the adrenalaine rushed to every point in his body, charging them to push his body's movement faster than before. His heart pumped blood furiosly as his breath came out sharply. He rounded a corner, the smoke of the fires stinging his blue eyes. Ash flew up from his boots with every determined step.
He skidded to a halt, his eyes widening in shock. He barely even heard or acknowledged the nudging of one of Rune's wolves against his leg as they caught up to the necromancer, nor the feel of the chasing Spikey slam right into his calves from the abrupt stop in run.
In the swirling smoke, and partly a reason for the smoke, were three forms; Rune could only recognize the wiry and frail form of an old man lobbing the fulmination potions at a scattering swarm of imps. They cackled hysterically as a few of them tripped, their green sarongs tied around their waist coming loose on a few.
In the back of Rune's mind, he chuckled at the sight of the small grey-skinned naked bodies that scrambled to pick up their sarongs and re-tie it while holding their crude daggers in their mouth. One imp was fumbling with his sarong so much that a fulminating potion flew threw the air, struck him square in the forehead and exploded in a fiery mass. The little monster sputtered out an agonized cry and flitted around the area in a mad panic.
Rune eyes darted to the three shapes, he recognized the one lobbing the potions. "Deckard Cain," he muttered under his breath, relieved to see him, but aggrivated to see the old crone in the midst of a battle. But the two other people, a red-haired woman wielding a quarterstaff and a tall, auburn-haired man garbed in clothes of a faded blue and grey tartan, that easily labelled him as an ex-druid of a different clan. Luckily, the clan that the druid in question wore, was not one recognized, so it could not be a declared enemy to Rune's old clan.
Despite Rune not knowing the identity of the man and woman, it was obvious that others did.
Jingling merrily, Spikey immediately ran through the fiery blaze, shoving rudely through the paniciking imp crowds, even ignoring the fulminating potion that exploded on his foot; all this to lovingly embrace the curve of the woman's leg.
Ferrum stared through the heat rising from the fire and distorting the image of the two. "Ralehn? Varia?" he yelled out loud, over the roar of the fire. The crackling of burning wood was heard as a house nearby collapsed.
The woman, Varia, turned from accidentally bopping Spikey over the head in a case of mistaking the metal golem for an imp. "Ferrum? Is that you?" Her voice was light and airy despite the obvious dangers determined to kill.
The druid wearing the tartan turned and glared at the necromancer with a wry smile, "Get over here, you ass," he barked gruffly as he pivoted to slash at another imp with his pilum. His movements were so fluidic that it be easily described as a graceful dance than a fight for survival.
Amidst the fire, Deckard Cain wiped his sweaty forehead upon his ash grey sleeve in a jarred movement from his old age. He was getting exhausted, and was more than happy to see Rune next to the man that Ralehn had addressed. Scream by demonic scream, they went down in a bloody slash or fiery blaze
"Where's Alys?" Ferrum asks, breathlessly once the demon army is destroyed, his eyes darting to and from the burning burlap scraps strewn amoungst the housing pieces and vegetation upon the dirt floors.
Right on time, four tendrils of lighting swirled on the floor and spread in dynamic designs never seen before, and at such a speed to be able to remember within any mortal's mind. They twisted, turned and maneuvered on the floor in perfect symmetry before rotating into a smooth circular border around Ferrum, Rune and Spikey.
"Tresspassers..." a dark, but familiar, voice hissed.
Ferrum's eyes darted over to the remains of what looked to be a fishing hut. With a strange yellow aura shining behind her, there was Alys stepping out from its ruins and walking towards the ring of lightning with slow, confident and collected steps. Her walk was not the same... not the innocent and light-stepped stride of his woman. It was the arrogant swagger of a strumpet.
On his guard, Ralehn took Varia's hand and stepped in front of her, shielding her from the demoness. Still, Varia drew to her full height and two inches more as she stood on the tips of her feet, peering over Rahlehn's muscled shoulder at the young, and obviously evil, woman that drew closer. Her green eyes swept over the woman's form assessingly.
Alys was wearing torn clothes, nearly burnt to a crisp. They were shredded and barely clung to her body. Her skin was a deathly grey colour. But, what disturbed Ferrum more and threatened to summon bile out of his stomach to race out his mouth was the sight of her stomach. There, still embeded in her femininly soft belly, was the crude and taunting hilt of the Gidbinn. Around the edges where the blade had penetrated, dry blood, brown and crusted, was flaking, but still thickly caked on and looking like it had no intentions of leaving.
Alys' deathly blackened eyes were settled upon Ferrum as she stepped over the border of the lightning ring. The air within the ring crackled to life, sending an evil tremor zig-zagging through both men's spines. He regarded Alys' face, trying to search the hateful expression for the innocent woman he loved. But, beneath the smudges of dirt and soot, he could not find it....
"Always ruining my plans... always meddling..." she whispered in a shaky tone. Her fists clenched to tight balls, trembling. She squared her shoulders and drew herself to her full height as she glared at the necromancer with a questioning tilt of her head. "Humans.... so witless... so desperate... I hate them..."
Ferrum swallowed a lump in his throat. At the same time he knew the voice and didn't. It was her voice... but not her tone; his Alys would never speak to anyone, not even her late uncle, in a teasingly sadistic way.
Her name was on the tip of his tongue....
***
(Note from Amethyst Haze: ::sighs:: I've been REALLY busy with work and other personal things in life. I will update the other half of this chapter soon.)