Hello again!

First of all, thanks to all the reviewers (yes, you 3, eheheh). Always warms my heart to hear from readers :)

Salem's Darkness: Well, sorry, but Baal is kinda going to taste of a certain Sorceress' magic in this story. So if you really love him too much… better start giving him up as lost right now, so you aren't too angry at me when it happens… evil laugh

Another chapter of this story… This chapter is short, but the next one will come more quickly. As always, reviews appreciated!

Chapter 2. Injured

Fara was alerted again by a commotion coming from near the docks. A palpable tension was holding the whole city in its grip right now; everyone was very aware that their Hero, the Sorceress Atsanit, was battling a terrible battle with a terrible foe to try to save them. She had stumbled out of a town portal a little earlier, bloodied and battered, yelling to everyone to get away from the portal as she walked backwards away from it. Demons were not supposed to be able to go through a town portal, but with such a powerful beast, she had not been sure it would work. Many peasants had circled her and helped her to walk to the merchant's square. Fara had met her halfway, healed her, body and mind, and she had ran back to the portal, yelling that she must not let it the time to regenerate and heal itself.

She had seemed in such a frenzy, her breath quick and shallow, her eyes looking feverish. Fara knew the face of fear now; it was hidden deep in those eyes. Yet, the Sorceress had ran back to the terrible battle, without a moment of hesitation at crossing the portal's threshold at the sight of Duriel watching her from the other side, grinning with its demonic teeth and holding one of its arms ready to hit her right as she stepped on the other side.

When Fara heard the commotion, she left her stand under Lysander's guard, and ran to that place near the docks where town portals opened. She was followed by Cain, limping with the aid of his staff. She arrived just in time to see Atsanit step through the portal. Everyone went really still and silent. Even Fara stood there, paralysed, for half a second, as she assessed the Sorceress' state.

It was a wonder she could stand at all. She appeared to have been cut in half at the waist, and her shoulder seemed to have been bitten off. There was blood, her own blood, splattered over all her breastplate, and pouring down on her armoured legs in dark rivers. Half her face was badly burned, and there was blood on her face, and rivulets of tears that had washed away some of the blood. Fara wondered a second time how she could walk on her own.

Fara walked forward slowly; as she came nearer, she saw that the half of her face that was burned was probably this way because of the frost burns. Fara had healed a few of Greiz's men that had encountered vipers and salamanders, so she could recognize the frost burns. Atsanit's hands were also peeled off from the frost spell. The Sorceress had stopped after a few steps, and was looking up to the sun in apparent contemplation. Fara stopped in front of her, but she did not give her any sign of attention.

"Atsanit," the zakarumite called, putting her hand on the armoured shoulder that was not wounded.

The Sorceress turned her head in her direction, and laid her eyes on her. Fara shivered under the wise, calm, infinitely determined gaze.

"Yes, Fara?", Atsanit answered at length.

Fara could not find her voice, so she just called the energies of the Zakarum to her hands, and touched the wound at the waist of the Sorceress. Atsanit expired deeply under the healing spell, almost bending in half, closing her eyes. She only groaned, although the spell must have hurt, judging from the seriousness of her injuries. Then she straightened herself, shook her head, and turned her face upwards once more.

Everyone kept silence, shocked by her silence, all the blood on her armour, and her contemplation of the sky.

"Cain," she called finally, turning her head to where the last of the Horadrim was standing.

"Yes, my friend?", the old man said, taking a step forward.

"I was too late," she informed him. "We must go to Kurast. I trust you understand my meaning?"

Cain's shoulders slumped more than they already were by his great age. "I do, my friend. Let us talk to Jerhyn and gain his approval for Meshif to leave the docks."

"I will need you to talk to me of Tyrael's and Tal Rasha's history again," she said then.

People were starting to recover, and whisper among themselves. Only Fara and Cain, of the assembled, understood what she meant.

"The Archangel was still guarding the tomb?", Cain asked.

"He wanted to warn me, or to give me a mission, I am not sure. He… failed in his duty. There was interference from a mortal in his battle against Diablo. The Wanderer… is human no more."

Cain's face grew sad. Fara and Atsanit kept silence. He had known the Wanderer, and had considered him the saviour of Tristram. Before he was turned from a Hero to the next vessel for the Lord of Terror's essence.

"He is lost, Cain. We tried, we hoped we could do something for him still. But I have failed as surely as has Tyrael. He is lost," Atsanit said.

Cain thought again how things could have turned out if he had known sooner about the Soulstone, if he had understood. He would have told his Hero what was the Soulstone, and how it needed to be dealt with. Maybe, then, the Wanderer would never have come to be.