This is my first fanfic. I have no idea what the hell I'm doing, so please R&R. Oh yeah, I don't own Blizzard or Diablo or whatever. Thanks for your feedback and please, be brutal.
Chapter 1
From his vantage point high atop the great Zakarum temple tower, Khalim looked with pride down on the people of the fair city of Kurast. The rising sun blazed on the tops of the shimmering canopy of the tropical trees, creating a sea of green as far as the eye could see. It stretched out to the distant docks, and, beyond, to the perfectly calm, sapphire waters of the ocean. Below, merchants were adding the finishing touches to their wares in preparation for the myriad of buyers who would soon be flocking to the Kurast bazaar. Khalim inhaled the sweet, dusty air through his nose, savoring the small moment of calm before the pandemonium that every day of his life entailed. He enjoyed watching the sun rise, and took every opportunity he could to indulge in this simple pleasure of life.
"Que-Hagan..." a meek voice behind him whispered. Khalim started and turned around sharply. A young priest of about 15 stood before him, dressed in the robes of an apprentice and bowing his head in respect and apprehension.
"What is it," Khalim snapped sharply, realizing that his moment of bliss, separated from the rest of his frantic life, had come to an end.
"I'm sorry sir, but morning mass is about to start, sir," said the boy, staring intently at the ground, obviously avoiding eye contact with Khalim.
"Thank you..."
"Saracen, sir," the said the boy quietly.
"Thank you, Saracen, you may go," said Khalim. He gazed once more out onto the land that he watched over and prepared himself for the tasks of the day. Then, with the wisdom he was renowned for, he turned to the apprentice priest as he was about to leave and said, "Saracen, hold your head high. You will be a priest of Zakarum some day soon. Be proud." Saracen walked down the stone steps to the great cathedral without looking down once.
Khalim plucked his holy scepter from its pedestal in the corner of his room, walking fast to avoid being late for the mass that took place every morning, of which he was the leader. At the age of 60, he was still remarkably fit, and he was able to dash down the steps from his quarters as fast or faster than any of the young priests. In preparation for his sermon, Khalim straightened his Que-Hagan robes and polished his scepter quickly on them. However, his appearance was shortly forgotten. As soon as he opened the door, he was hit by an uproar so powerful that it rose to the great domed ceiling and echoed throughout the entire great cathedral. Then he heard a voice, shouting above the clamor of the talking priests.
"And what about the innumerable infidels in the lands of the North and the Western isles? What is to be done about them? I tell you, brothers, an inquisition is the only was to fix our problems. We must rise up and take action, now!"
"SANKEKUR!" Khalim roared. His shout was so loud that at once the babble of the priests was silenced. "This is neither the time or the place to be discussing a second inquisition! We will discuss this matter later in council. Right now is not your time. Right now is God's time."
Grumbling, Sankekur returned to the wooden bench that stood before the sacred altar and sat down. Khalim sighed to himself as he began to walk steadily up the aisle. Lately Sankekur had been nothing but trouble. It seemed to Khalim that Sankekur had been exceptionally wise, which was why he was appointed to the council at the age of only 35. However, Khalim was now beginning to doubt his decision. At first, Sankekur had been quiet in council, speaking rarely and only when his opinion was asked. However, lately, Sankekur had been increasingly more brash in his talking out. He would angrily shout out his opinions at those who disagreed with him, and would often get into arguments with priests even if he had no logic to support his statements. Not only this, Khalim suspected that Sankekur had a secret. He had seen Sankekur's furtive and untrusting glances at the other Council priests.
Coming back to the moment, Khalim pushed all thoughts of the troublesome priest out of his mind. As he had told Sankekur, this was God's time. He stood straight up behind the pulpit and raised his scepter into the air. It began to grow warm and glow with magical energies. Staring into the heavens, he cried out the words of the ancients that had been used to start the ceremonies of the Zakarum for countless centuries: "Ev izat kiral Zakarum!"
After the final words of the closing prayer had been said, the priests began to slowly file out of the temple.
"Don't forget, Que-Hagan, Council will commence in one hour. I know how forgetful you can be about these things sometimes," a tall, heavy priest called to Khalim.
"Thank you, Toorc, I won't forget this time. I was just on my way to complete my translation of an ancient scripture that I discovered recently in the library. I'll be able to finish it within the hour, I think," the Que-Hagan replied. He walked out of the cathedral in the back of the procession of priests and made to go to the steps leading to his room. However, when he was confident that he was far enough behind the rest that he was out of sight, he doubled back and reentered the temple.
As he stood at the sacred stone altar where he had stood moments before to deliver his sermon, he felt a pang of fear deep in his stomach as he always did when he was about to do the task that was his duty as Que-Hagan. However, with his strong resolve, he pushed this fear out of himself. He focused all of his energy onto the altar and said the word that would lead him to the very face of evil:
"Mal."
At the sound of this word, the altar slowly began to sink into the ground with a horrible grating sound, revealing a stairway into a long and dark tunnel. Khalim hesitated for a moment at the top of the stairs, then, taking a deep breath, he descended into the inky darkness.
The air was stagnant and foul in this dungeon beneath the holy tower, and no mere man would have been able to stand it for any period of time. However, having had to descend into this forsaken place many times before, Khalim was accustomed to it, and he was able to continue on his path. With a wave of his hand, he ignited several torches clutched tightly by sconces on the wall, dimly lighting the passageway that led deeper into the infernal prison. The Que-Hagan walked with quick, even steps, knowing by heart the way to his charge.
As Khalim descended the final steps that would lead him to his prisoner, he grasped the shaft of his scepter tighter. His palms began to sweat, making the scepter greasy in his hand. He stepped into a huge room, surrounded on all sides by great stone pillars. In the middle of the room, on a small dais, a small object glowed with a faint, sickly blue aura. Suddenly, as he was walking forward toward the glowing object, a deep voice sounded in the darkness.
I SENSE YOUR FEAR, QUE-HAGAN
The voice seemed to be only in Khalim's head, yet it echoed throughout the entire colossal room and reverberated in his skull. Summoning up his courage, Khalim shouted back,
"Mephisto, I have nothing to fear, for I am protected by the light. You are a creature of shadow, and thus can never triumph over my holy power."
HA HA HA HA HA!, Mephisto laughed, his voice booming in the still, warm air.
YOU AE A FOOL, QUE-HAGAN. DO YOU TRULY BELIEVE THAT I WILL NOT ONE DAY ESCAPE THIS DUNGEON IN WHICH YOU HOLD ME? MY PLAN HAS ALREADY BEGUN.
"Your plan has failed," Khalim replied calmly to the Lord of Hatred. "Your spy inside the ranks of the Zakarum revealed his true nature before he could carry out your will. Lazarus is dead."
LAZARUS HAD ALREADY SERVED HIS PURPOSE BEFORE HE WAS KILLED. IT IS TOO LATE. OUR PLAN HAS ALREADY BEEN SET IN MOTION. SOON TERROR, DESTRUCTION, AND HATRED WILL RULE NOT ONLY HELL, BUT THE MORTAL WORLD AS WELL. YOU, AND ALL YOUR KIND, ARE DOOMED.
"I WILL LISTEN TO NO MORE OF YOUR LIES!" cried Khalim, raising his scepter. A flash of light filled the massive room and a shimmering bolt streaked toward the glowing object. There was an inhuman wail of pain that pierced Khalim's eardrums and dug into his brain, followed by a deathly silence.
"Tyrael, Hatred remains bound," Khalim whispered to himself. Then he swiftly strode out, leaving the blue glow shining like an eye in the middle of the cavernous room.