Heeeeeeeello again! Here is the next chapter… arrival in Hell for Atsanit and return of Tyrael into the storyline… Eh, I love Tyrael :). I had a lot of trouble to divide the few next pages into chapters, and it is a little strange, the divisions I made. So, if you have suggestions for that (either now or when I post the next chapter), I will be grateful.
Heartfelt thanks to everyone that reviewed the story. Thank you so much for letting me now you have read it and (so far) liked it.
So now… Here you go! Hope you enjoy :)
Chapter 4. Focused
She had the time to feel her descent through infinite spaces to a place more foul than she could imagine. Then, she felt her course being jerked aside slightly, and suddenly she stepped out of the portal, in a brilliant fortress of Light. It was unmistakable. She turned, but there was no portal to go back through.
Then she turned around once more, trying to figure where she was, her Jared stone ready.
"Easy, Hero," she heard. She turned, and then she was faced to Tyrael again.
She stayed there a second, unmoving, as he floated graciously towards her. After a while, she reclaimed her senses, and knelt, bending her head in front of the Archangel. She stayed there, her breathing quickening, for two seconds at most. She heard the clinking of metal on the marble-paved ground of the fortress, and the Archangel spoke:
"Stand, Hero."
She obeyed in a second state, lifting her head only to see Tyrael kneeling in front of her. This gesture was not one of submission; he was proud even if kneeling, and it was a show of respect, an honour to her.
"I salute you, Hero, you who have stood up before one of the Three and prevailed in a duel with the Lord of Hatred, enemy of the Light, the Elder of the Three."
And then he stood again, and his brilliant silhouette started floating above the ground, his wings expanding on each side of him, their light a tribute to the Light, waving majestically, their spread ten meters. Atsanit stayed there, awe-struck.
"I… am honoured," she said at last.
Tyrael smiled under his hood. Last time he had seen her, she had been seconds away from certain death had he not been there to feed her a potion. She had accepted his instructions with calm and stoicism. And now, almost at full health and mana, she was paralysed by his presence. Her aura was, however, much stronger; the focus on her calling as a warrior of Light seemed much greater, and she had obviously gained in power and spells.
"Is it your power that changed my course through the portal… sir?", she asked. She hesitated before calling him "sir". He knew she chose the title she would have used for a Paladin, and he was honoured that she thought of him as a warrior of Light, he who was not allowed much direct intervention into the Sin War.
"Yes, young Sorceress. I welcome you to the Pandemonium fortress, the last stronghold of the Heavens before the Hells. You will be safe here, and can rest when necessary."
"I thank you, sir."
"You can call me Tyrael, Hero."
"And you can call me Atsanit," she answered with a grin.
Tyrael bowed his head, smiling under his hood. "I will show you to your quarters, if you would, Atsanit."
She nodded and followed the Archangel, feeling awkward, having to avoid his wings in her progress. The fortress was a monument of beauty; it was built in white marble, with tapestries and bas-reliefs, of an admirable craftsmanship. There was a great fresco of the beginning of the Sin War, before humans even appeared. She slowed her walk as she was examining it, seeing the great Archangels battle the Three and the conquest of Pandemonium to the hordes of Darkness. There were pillars of stone of gigantic proportions, erected by immortal hands, shooting up to the roof very high above them. Light seemed to diffuse out of the very stone and, knowing Heavens, it was very possible it was so.
She noticed a stonegate on the left, and Tyrael then stopped by a door to the right. His wing turned the knob, and opened the door.
"Your quarters. If you wish to trade objects or receive healing, Jamella and Halbu downstairs will help you. You can also use the stonegate to bring your friend Cain here if you wish."
She nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Tyrael, for your hospitality."
"Rest for now, Hero, I feel you are exhausted. When you are ready, come to me, I have a… favour to ask of you."
She let the Archangel float back upstairs, and stared after him. Then she shook herself, and used the stonegate to go to Kurast. She reassured everyone who was starting to believe her dead, and she said goodbye to everyone.
Hratli had a peculiar comment to say about her trip to hell, to slide in a good word for him. She looked at him in shock.
"Do not say that, Hratli. I have not even seen it yet, but only being near it in the portal is enough to take away all the humour there might have been in your remark. And if you were not joking, then change your path of life quickly, or you will regret it for eternity."
She turned on her heel, leaving a confused Hratli behind, took her stash, and stepped through the stonegate with Cain. She carried the large chest to her room, leaving Cain to contemplate and discover the fortress.
She entered slowly. The room was small, beautiful and cozy. It was in the colours of yellow, bright and appeasing. There was a big, curtained bed in a corner of the room, high and looking so soft Atsanit walked right to it and probed it with a hand. It was so soft. But she did not wish to dirty it with her armour, so she did not flung herself unto it as she had wished. She turned and examined the surroundings. There was a small desk with a mirror over it, obviously for doing a lady's hair, with a beautiful, nacre brush on it. There also was a small working table in the center of the room, and a pile of cushions in a corner, on a gorgeous carpet, showing a grandiose tableau of the Heavens' realm.
There was a door at the back of the room. Atsanit went to it, and opened it. There was a thermal chamber to the left, with water steaming gently and smelling of vanilla. There was another door to the right. Atsanit opened it, and was left gaping at the spectacle beyond the small balcony. She was high up on a cliff, looking down at the Burning Hells below and the High Heavens above. Divine, blessing Light was falling from Heaven up to here, and deleterious vapours were rising from Hells' floor, although they could not reach her height. She could see the fire of the demons in their occasional clash against one another, although she could not see them from this distance. She only saw bursts of flames here and there. Far in the distance, she could see a gate leading to another part of hell. And there was another beyond it, much further away. It was a coverable distance, but it was Hell, and it was crawling with demons.
She closed the door, and removed her armour, turning her thoughts to something else. The water was very good. It was hot and fragrant, and it eased so much of the pain of her muscles. She felt her chest was feeling better by the minute, much better than the potions had made it. When she was clean, she dried herself, and fell into the bed. She crawled between the blankets, naked, and fell asleep.
ooooo
She woke up much later. She was feeling numb and comfortable. She knew she had slept for a really long time, but she did not know how long. It was the first time in months she had slept so peacefully. She usually slept six or seven hours, then woke, generally because of nightmares, and could not sleep again. She stretched, pushing the covers aside, and sat in her bed. There was a tray full of food next to her bed, with fruit, bread, cheese, cold meat, and even jam. She dressed in a set of clean clothes, and started eating. So nicely offered, she was not about to refuse.
She was half-way through a gargantuan breakfast when she heard a soft knock on her door. She went to open the door and found herself face to face with Tyrael. She felt a flash of silliness to be about to invite an Archangel into her room in the fortress of Heavens.
"Please… come in," she said finally, still feeling really silly.
The Archangel nodded and walked in, his wings curling around him so he could fit into the doorway. "Please, take a seat," she added. Tyrael smiled, but of course she could not see that. It was more comfortable, in this armour of his, to float than to sit, but he took a seat, out of courtesy.
"I am sorry if I kept you waiting," she said. "I… overslept this morning, and I was going to see you as soon as I finished my breakfast… which I guess I have to thank you for."
"Do not apologize for finally taking the rest you needed, Atsanit," Tyrael said. "I felt you were awake, and thought I would talk to you as you finish your breakfast."
"Very well, Tyrael. You spoke of a mission you wished to give me?", she asked.
"I spoke of a favour I wanted to ask of you. You should be careful not to presume too much of your own role in the unfolding events."
He felt her violent flash of shame as he finished his short preaching. He was a little surprised of how deep it had been; he had not meant to beat it unto her, and he had not thought she would react so strongly.
"Forgive my presumptuous assumption, sir," she said. "I will be careful to show… to be more humble in the future."
Tyrael was surprised a second time as she called him "sir". He had not expected one of the strong headed Zann Esu to accept his council with more eagerness than Halbu when he was six years-old. There was something in her aura that had shifted suddenly, and he wondered what. But he was not one who enjoyed pushing into the mortals' minds, so he let the matter drop.
"I effectively have a mission for you. I ask it of you, as a friend, to liberate Izual, who was a friend to me long ago."
Tyrael then started to tell her the tale of Izual, the once-great lieutenant to Tyrael, and how he had fallen prey to the Three and their demons and had been turned against the Light. He also told her that he was bound to the body of a beast, and that the monster must be destroyed to free the spirit of Izual, for his punishment had lasted long enough, to Tyrael's judgement.
"Very well, sir. I will fulfill this mission, if Light grants me the power," she answered.
Tyrael paused, as she was getting to her feet, and getting ready to prepare for battle. "Your power is your own doing, Zann Esu. Pray Light that you are powerful enough, and that you shall use your spells properly, but Light does not grant you power directly."
"I know," she answered simply, assured of her answer, but there was still doubt in the feelings she was projecting, something Tyrael did not understand. "It is just that… that I pray to the Light as I fight, and sometimes I feel like it gives me a courage that is not even mine."
"Light will help you to get the better out of yourself, but it is still yourself," Tyrael said, and then he left her to her preparations.
She sunk to her bed crying as soon as he left and closed the door. She buried her face in the pillow and beat it with her fists, berating herself for being so foolish as crying like a three years-old girl when she was corrected by an elder. She cursed herself of weakness to be so spineless in front of Tyrael. Then she just cried out of despair for her helplessness when he was around, and finally got over it. She sighed in the pillow, threw some cold water to her face, and put her armour on. And she went out of the gates of Pandemonium, readying spells to battle the demons that inhabited Hell.
"I'm way too young for this. For this all. Why did I ever sign up for it anyway?", she murmured as she left the security of the fortress to the sulphurous, overheated atmosphere of Hell, setting foot on the ground at the bottom of the tortuous stairway, her defensive spells a beacon of light that made every demon's eyes turn to her direction.
She heard the sudden, still silence, as demons stopped groaning, and turned to look at her, and the hungry sound they made as they started running towards her. She lifted her hands, and let her power crash amidst them.
ooooo
She fell out of her town portal, seized in convulsions, her hands still trying to open a health potion. The potion escaped her hands as she writhed helplessly on the ground, and Jamella and Cain came rushing to her. Jamella healed her, and she suddenly took a great breath, inspiring for so long Cain thought her chest had to explode. But then she started coughing, and dragged herself on her knees, her breathing still whistling.
Tyrael observed from up the stairs.
She stood, swaying on her feet, and asked how long it was since she had crossed the portal.
"Forty seconds, no more," Cain said.
"Then I have twenty seconds more before it starts regenerating," she said, her posture slowly steadying. "Thank you, Jamella." Then, she lifted her shield and stone, and crossed the portal.
Tyrael looked at her going, and at Cain and Jamella, who looked at the closing portal with worry. Such courage in a mortal forced respect. There was also holy fire in his heart, desire to take part in the fight, to slay the foul demons that would drown the world in a tide of blood, as they put it in their own words. If only he were allowed, the Hero would not need to risk her life, and tumble out of a stonegate or her portal every now and then, on the verge of death, only saved by Jamella's healing spells. Tyrael also admitted to himself that, if she had been an angel, she would probably not have fought with the same urgency. She would have taken considerable time slaying lesser demons, easy prey to her greater skill, to gain experience and power, until she was comfortably more powerful to assault the greater demons. But the Hero did nothing of the sort. She rushed through any demon she encountered regardless of the level of difficulty, running through Hell in an attempt to reach Diablo before he completed the mission he was given by Mephisto to pour upon the mortals' lands and destroy them. She was risking everything in her attempt to succeed. Tyrael reflected that she possessed a nobility that many angels could benefit from taking example of.
ooooo
"The great Hellforge, guarded by Hephasto, the Smith," the Sorceress sneered.
"Indeed, human. I sense the Soulstone you carry, and you will not destroy it. My Hammer will send you to the eternal torment you are sentenced to for your arrogance of coming here," the Smith answered, and he started forward.
"I have known your kind before," she said, thinking of the Smith within the Rogues' Monastery. She said nothing else as she started running the other way, knowing better than trying to stand up to Hell's smith hits, as Hephasto, Diablo's marechal, ran after her with demonic speed, almost as quickly as her with her boots of speed.
She threw Blizzards and Ice spikes behind her as she ran, letting her Thunderstorm fall on the demon every now and then. It was grunting from pain and frustration, not able to hit her as she hurt it, barely enough for it to notice each time, but running for miles. It tried to outwit her by going the other way or not following her, but it was no good since it was only an easier prey to her spells this way. And they were taking their toll.
The demon eventually fell, but not before it got three hits, on three different occasions, on the Sorceress. It had even managed to hit her head once, but her magical circlet took the worst of its hit. She watched Hephasto fall to her feet, her head ringing like a cathedral's bell, and she drank a potion that cleared her thoughts somewhat. Then she gathered the Hammer, and strapped it to her back with the rest of her gear. It was very heavy, and she took a moment to study her new balance. Then she started forward again, and killed the lesser demons that had been defending the Forge in her advance towards the Anvil. She exterminated the last demon that had been near, and surveyed the place with great prudence. There was nothing else alive.
She fished the leather bag containing Mephisto's Soulstone out of her backpack. She put it on the Anvil, and took the Hammer in her hand, letting her Jared stone in its sheath on her back. She looked at the Soulstone for a second, and felt the need to spare it the destruction. She recognized the Evil calling to her, and she lifted the Hammer. She steadied her arm, gathered her strength, and brought the Hammer crashing down upon the Soulstone with all the might of her arm.
The Hammer collided with the Anvil, crushing the Soulstone in between in a demonic surge of power that shattered it. The Soulstone exploded in a myriad of shards smaller than a grain of sand, and dozens of souls escaped it, turning around and wailing the wail of the tortured dead, as Hell shook from the losing of Mephisto's power, the Lord of Hatred.
Atsanit's hand was numb and utterly clenched around the Hammer's handle, as the Hammer drained her of her life and mana to accomplish its dark magic. Atsanit managed to shake her hand free of the handle, feeling suddenly the evil's grip on her body loosening. She shivered, her hand cold and limp, as she looked at the Hammer with fright. She had nearly succumbed to its power, gave in to the intoxicating dark power that rose in her the moment she lifted it. And before that, she had nearly succumbed to plant Mephisto's Soulstone in her own forehead. She gathered the pure gems that had been transmuted from the shattered stone by the Hammer's power, and the Hammer. She could now feel the dark magic coursing it, contained now, but calling out to be released.
She opened a portal. The Hammer needed to be guarded in a safe place until its next utilisation.
