Sorry for the long wait in the update! Too much crap going on in my life, but I certainly hope I'll be able to get things in order soon. Tried something new, each scene switches between during Ziatoch's seige of New Tristram and after. Hopefully you'll be able to figure it out.
Diablo
The Awakening of Chaos
Chapter Eight
The Aftermath
"What's happening to me?"
"Falling…"
"Falling…"
"Into darkness…"
The black void pressed in all around him; crushing him; consuming him. He descended through it rapidly, unable to slow or stop. First he had been sleeping, and after the torment of his previous life, he had been glad. Now this. Dropping down into this new, darkened hell. His thoughts surged as he plunged into his abyss, turning his mind into a maelstrom of thought and emotion. He desperately reached out, trying to grab something; anything that would slow the fall. He tried to think of spells that would help him slow, but his mind was too chaotic, and nothing came to him.
And thus, he fell still. Deeper and deeper into the abyss.
A pair of green eyes slowly cracked open, squinting against the light. Rua's mind was a whirlwind, but after staring blankly for several minutes, it calmed.
He was staring up at an unfamiliar wooden ceiling in what appeared to be an old cabin, one of many that dotted the forested countryside of Khanduras. There was a slight pressure against his left arm. The green-eyed warrior sat up a little in the bed he laid in, letting the sheet slide down his bare chest and revealing the several other battle-scars that crisscrossed it. Soft morning light shone through a window, and he looked at it in slight confusion. He couldn't remember coming here, or lying in this bed. He could barely think. There were sounds coming from seemingly everywhere. What's going on…?
He felt that slight pressure on his arm shift, and he looked down at it. Reddish-brown hair draped it as Alasea's head rested against it. The dancer was sound asleep, with her upper body resting on the small bed that he was in. She was still clothed in the outfit she had worn during the battle. Rua gently slipped his arm away from her and ran his hand down her hair. You've been watching me all night, haven't you? He wondered distantly.
He lay there, gently stroking the woman's hair, trying to figure out what had happened to him. He remembered that there had been a battle, a big one. Ziatoch had been there. He could feel that he was undressed, and his ring was no longer on the third finger of his right hand. Calmly, Rua slid out of bed, walked around it, and gently picked the sleeping woman up in his arms and laid her down onto the bed. She murmured his name in her sleep once, but didn't wake up. Rua walked over to a table, took his pants, and slipped them on. When he turned back to the table, he noticed that his ring wasn't there, and he frowned. He was about to reach for his shirt when a glint of light on metal caught his eye. He looked past his clothing, at his sword. He walked over and picked it up by the hilt.
The blade ended only a foot from the crossguard, as if it had been melted. Two of the gems were gone, and the remaining two were cracked straight through. The weapon had been rendered completely useless. It all came back to him, then… the strange demon that resisted his magic, the assault on New Tristram, surviving Ziatoch's attack and then batting his last spell back with his blade. The weapon that had served him so faithfully for ten years was now a ruined husk of its former self. Hopefully I'll find a sword that's just as good, he thought as he laid the useless sword back down on the table, maybe I'll find the sword from my dream.
The green-eyed warrior reluctantly let go of the weapon and grabbed the blue shirt and darker coat, quietly slipping it on and belting it. As he sat down in a chair next to table and put on his boots, he decided that it was time to find Deckard Cain and ask him about his ring. Find out exactly what this "Halo of Love" was meant for. He stood up and put on his cape, which looked as if someone had sewn it back together, and tied his ocarina to his belt, before walking over to the door.
Rua looked over his shoulder one last time, gazing at the sleeping dancer that lay in his bed, and allowed himself a small smile before opening the door and stepping out into the soft morning light.
Memories rushed in and out of his flailing mind as he descended through the shadows. He relived all of the torment. Memories of wandering through darkened halls, hearing the sounds of chittering monsters. Memories of ebon-armored men rushing him on a hellish landscape as their dark master roared in fury. Memories of traveling across the world. Memories of his final battle, of overwhelming the warriors that had challenged him. It all came back to him, and he futilely tried to block out the words, hearing all of them. He screamed with each wound remembered.
The darkness cannot stand before me.
Your fires are nothing compared to mine, monster!
Leave me alone… you know not what you deal with…
Welcome to oblivion!
Had his mind not been preoccupied with the nightmares of his past, he would've realized that he had begun to slow. Perhaps he wasn't doomed to fall endlessly through the void. Perhaps he still had a destination… a purpose.
Without warning his mind suddenly cleared of memory and he took note of his slowing descent. He righted himself as he fell, slowing the entire way, and soon, his feet gently made contact with some surface. He looked around for any discernable surroundings, but in all directions only laid that infinite darkness. Finding nothing of interest, he walked off into the blackness.
But quite shortly after he had begun, a voice with a strange, echoing quality stopped him.
"Hello."
He spun around to face the voice, and his breath caught. A majestic being floated a foot in the air. This new interloper was clothed in bright golden armor and robes, and a shimmering longsword was strapped to its hip. A large hood covered its head, shadowing its face from view. A pale light seemed to emanate from the floating newcomer, barely illuminating the darkness. Parts of the being's armor were shaped like small silver bird wings that extended from where its shoulder blades were. But what truly set this being apart from anything else were the many furiously whipping tendrils of glowing white energy that emanated from the being's back, giving off the illusion of wings. The tendrils soon calmed and began to fold on themselves, forming into four glowing wings. This being was easily recognizable as an Archangel… but this one was one he knew. Because this one he had battled against and won.
"Tyrael."
The being nodded once as it settled itself down on the darkness that created the ground that he stood on. "It has been a while," the enigmatic angel said.
"Have you come to punish me for my deeds, Archangel? Is this why we're in this hellish void? Why don't you just kill me and end this madness? It'd be much easier for us all if you did."
Tyrael only continued to peer at him, saying nothing. After several moments, when the Archangel was sure that he wasn't going to go into another outburst, he spoke again. This time on a completely different subject, and the reason why he had brought him here in the first place.
"The monster that destroyed you means to free himself from his prison. Would you have your revenge?"
He stayed silent. Revenge? Against the demon who had done this to him? He felt a cold fury rise up in him.
"Yes… I would."
"Then to do so, you must do something for me," Tyrael told him. He held out his right arm out to his side, and a faint image of a young man with brown hair, green eyes, and three scars on his face appeared. The man seemed to be wearing a dark blue shirt and coat, black trousers, and a red cloak. The image's face reminded him of himself from years ago. The image flickered, and he could've sworn that for a moment, the newcomer was adorned in regal dark blue-violet and silvery-blue armor, colors of the ocean and pale moonlight. But it flickered back to him wearing his original outfit.
"You must keep an eye on this man," said the angel, "He is growing in strength, and has proven himself to be the only person capable of standing up against the growing evil in your world. But soon his spirit will be broken, and he will need guidance."
He turned to the majestic being and stared coldly at him.
"Why must I do this? You've never had trouble watching over others. You've done it for centuries."
"Because if you help him, he will lead you to vengeance."
Surprise welled up within him. This man will lead him to his goal? "What must I do?"
"You are to be a guardian and teacher to the one who would be your world's savior," said the Archangel, "You must keep him from the harm others would see upon him and from the harm he would do upon himself. After that, you must be his teacher."
"Teach him what?"
"You will know when the times comes," intoned Tyrael, "If you accept this task I have lain before you, the vengeance you seek will undoubtedly present itself. Will you guide him?"
He stared at the divine being for several long moments. He could do it, he realized. Had he not already learned how to avoid the irreversible mistakes, during his last adventure? The one that had begun his torment? He had.
"I will."
Gray clouds hung solemnly over the paltry forest that the band of survivors had hid in. They surrounded a nearby cabin, which one of the healers had claimed to heal the most badly injured of the survivors—Rua Dragonheart, who had faced the Master of Darkness once again. In the distance, the ruined city of New Tristram could be seen. Ominous black clouds hung over, and a red tinge illuminated it, keeping it visible for miles around.
The green-eyed warrior stepped outside of the cabin he had been resting and gazed at what appeared to be a shoddy campsite. Several tents had been erected, and townspeople and warriors went about on errands. He noticed that many of the people wore bandages and used crutches to get around. He kept an eye out for his companions, but didn't see them. They might be at a different camp… if they made it out at all. Sighing regretfully, he set out on finding where he was and if there were any other survivors.
As he wandered around, he noticed that many of the warriors were on guard for possible demon attacks, stationed around the perimeter of the camp. He noticed that all of them were weary, some of them even injured. One of the warriors he passed by stood out; he was a gigantic, black-skinned man proportionate to a barbarian, and he carried two large weapons with him. This man had given him a calculating look as they passed, but Rua, who had fought monsters much more dangerous, thought nothing of it.
He eventually made his way to a tent, one considerably larger than the rest. Two warriors were positioned outside of its entrance, but neither made any move to prevent him from entering. Inside the tent, there were a few chests, one of them large enough for a shield to fit in, a table with several books that Rua recognized, two chairs, and Deckard Cain. The old sage was wearing an old, travel-worn gray robe, and using a gnarled staff to move about. He broke out into a bright smile as he noticed Rua.
"Ah, so you've awoke at last," he said, gesturing for him to enter while he sat down in one of the chairs, "Come in. I'm sure we have much to discuss."
As Rua sat down in the other chair across from him, he asked, "How long have I been out?"
"I would say that it's been nearly three days."
Rua blinked.
"Your body was close to failing when you were brought back to Alasea and your companions," the Horadrim sage explained, "The magical energy you were harnessing should've destroyed you. If anything, it is the only reason you managed to fend off the Master of Darkness as long as you did."
"What of Ziatoch? He's dead, right?" Rua asked, "Gods, he has to be dead."
Cain hesitated. "I'm afraid not. The one who returned you to use said that he is still very much alive."
Rua cursed. He had been so close!
In the meantime, Cain was scrutinizing him closely. This man was the brother of Kalia Dragonheart, and so far, the only person who has ever battled Ziatoch and lived. Not even the Heroes survived their battle with him, and they had defeated the Three in combat, who, together, were invincible and far more powerful than the Master of Darkness. And he has the first piece, the old man thought, Perhaps Kalia was right. Perhaps he really is the one. He reached over to the table and picked up the Halo of Love. Rua's eyes widened, and he gratefully took the proffered ring back and slipped it on his fingers. Immediately the red gem flashed once and the faint golden halo began circling around it. Then, as they began to watch, an emerald light formed around the jewel, pulsing steadily.
"Now that we're no longer under attack," Cain said, "I believe it is time to tell you the significance of the Halo of Love."
"All I know is that it's giving me shields and protecting me from attacks."
"Indeed. The Halo will also detect the presence of objects like it, as well as the presence of it opposing brethren."
Rua looked at the Horadrim sage curiously. What was he talking about?
"You know of the Armor of Hell's Darkness," he said, guessing what Rua wondered correctly, "But what you are unaware of is another set of armor attuned with positive energy… the Armor of Heaven's Light."
The renegade paladin's eyes widened. Of course! The balance of nature! He should've known there'd be armor opposite of Ziatoch's. "Why is the Ring glowing then?" he asked.
"Because I too have a piece of this Armor. It has been waiting for one who would become the counterpart and nemesis of the Master of Darkness," he explained, and when he noticed Rua's blank stare, he continued, "The Champion of Light must also walk the earth so long as the Master of Darkness threatens it. And I believe you, Rua, are destined to be Heaven's avatar on Sanctuary."
Rua couldn't believe what he was hearing. Him, the Champion of Light? Counterpart of Ziatoch? It was unbelievable. But it made sense. He had this ring, and he kept surviving against Ziatoch so far. Neither had been able to overpower each other. He continued to contemplate the possibility that he was destined to be a hero of old.
Meanwhile, the old black man stood up and hobbled over to the large chest in the back of the tent. He waved his hands while casting a simple spell and it sprang open. He stooped over and pulled out a large, flat bundle, and returned to the table. Rua snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the bundle with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. When Cain handed it over, he took it in trembling hands. "This," the old man said, "is the Aegis of Courage, one of the seven components of the Armor of Light. Your sister found it and brought it to me."
He unwrapped the bundle to reveal what could be the most elegant kite shield he had ever seen.
Instead of it being the usual checkered yellow-and-white pattern of most kite shields, its edges were made of a dark blue metal. The center of the shield's surface was a polished silvery-blue, and it reminded him of moonlight. Directly in the shield's center was a pointed golden cross, its thin arms stretching to the edges of armor. He could feel its power hidden away in the metal, and as he touched its smooth surface, he felt its power link with his ring, which ceased its emerald shine. Words for a powerful spell whispered through his mind.
"Nice shield," said a cocky voice behind them. Rua turned around to see his friends, all looking a little worse for wear. Alasea looked as if she just woken up, and when Rua's eyes met her own, she flushed and looked down. "How come you always get the cool stuff, boss?" continued Jordan.
"Probably because he's not a thief and people appreciate him," Relayia muttered from Alasea's shoulder, rolling her yellow eyes.
The three women laughed as Jordan glared at the pink-furred animal. Rua smiled. He was glad they were getting along. The sound of a throat being cleared quieted them all, and Rua turned back to Cain after propping the Aegis against his chair. The old sage was holding a long, yellowed piece of parchment in his hand. He gave it to Rua, and when he recognized the handwriting, the green-eyed warrior's heart stopped.
He soon felt the change. His body seemed to grow taller and stronger, and he groaned from the pain of the transformation. His eyes burned. A dark power welled up within him. A sleek black-feathered bird rushed through his vision, cawing. Its black eyes suddenly glowed red as its body froze in midair, facing him, staring into his soul.
"Then rise, and become greater than you once were, Tamnarok," Tyrael said, "You are an Angel; the Angel of Death, but like all those before you, your wings come from that of the raven, a bird of death."
He screamed as his newfound power filled him like torrents of fire and ice.
"Embrace the power of death, so that you may bring death to your enemy and prevent the deaths of those under your protection, guardian."
His eyes blazed with pain as they burned. His mind instantly analyzed his strengths and weaknesses, storing them away in his mind. He could feel his new abilities as they flowed through his body, making him greater than he once was. The bird shrieked as it felt his power inside of itself. And quite suddenly, it stopped.
He staggered, putting one foot forward to stop him from falling. The bird issued a weak cry and fell, but the newly christened Tamnarok instantly reached out and caught it, cradling it gently in his strong hands. He looked up and stared at Tyrael, holding the bird in one hand. The hooded being stared back coolly, and although he couldn't see his face from beneath the hood, he knew the Archangel was smiling.
The majestic being held his hand out to the Angel of Death palm down, and a flash of light startled him. The light cleared, and in its place was a sword very familiar to Tamnarok. It was a crystal sword of elegant and dark design. Its hilt and crossguard were a glossy black and of ornate design, the hilt was wrapped in black leather while the crossguard came out on either side, curving upwards with two metal strips set into it parallel to its blade, which was made up of two large and indestructible crystals. The larger one was an azure blue, while a smaller and thinner crimson crystal ran up its center. The majestic blade seemed to eat at the pressing darkness.
"Shadowsbane. So, they gave the blade to you after my defeat?"
Tyrael nodded. "It is only fitting that you be reunited with your original sword," he said, holding it out. Tamnarok took the weapon, comforted by its familiar weight. Reunited at last. Strangely, the blade's mystical power wasn't conflicting with his newfound powers, despite their opposing alignments. Instead, they seemed to merge and strengthen. He smiled.
"And now, it is time to begin your journey," said the Archangel, "Go to the rebuilt city of Tristram, Tamnarok. There, you will find the one you seek. He is in grave danger, and you must return him to safety."
Tristram? How appropriate. He nodded, and the raven fluttered out of his hand and landed on his shoulder, cawing. The Archangel nodded slightly and faded from view, his aura still illuminating the void for a brief moment. Tamnarok closed his eyes, which no longer burned. The world seemed to lurch under his feet, and then he felt a cool breeze blow across his face. He opened his eyes and viewed the temperate climate of the Western Kingdom of Khanduras. He was back home.
They were in a small forest, near one of the many ruined cabins that had been desecrated by the demonic tribes of Fallen and Goatmen roaming the countryside. It was evening, and the cries and chittering of monsters could be heard. Tamnarok stretched out with his senses, and realized that his coming hadn't gone unnoticed. Rogues and demons were approaching quickly. The raven took to the air with a shrill cry. He opened his eyes and gripped Shadowsbane hilt tightly. "Let them come," he whispered harshly.
Arrows soon flew out of the trees. But Tamnarok, the newly reborn Angel of Death, was already gone. Three corrupted Rogues stepped out of the darkness of the forest, looking around warily. All three had longbows in their hands, arrows nocked in each. A black blur shot out from a tree, and the Rogues barely had time to react. They fired their arrows, but Tamnarok had already dashed past them, his blade leaving a red and blue trail as he swung. The Rogues turned, and one started shriek when her arm was separated at the elbow. Her blood sprayed out thickly, and she collapsed, dying from shock. The woman's soul was visibly torn from her body as it was dragged down into Hell.
He spun around, a pair of throwing daggers appearing in his free hand. With a powerful throwing motion, the two remaining assailants collapsed dead in the small meadow with the knives in their throats. Tamnarok walked over to them at a brisk pace as the women's souls also issued forth from their bodies, and looked down at the three corpses. It was a shame that fourteen years had not been able to reverse the corruption brought about by Andariel during the reign of Diablo. He wished he could pity them, but he could not. All he could do was hope he found the man and achieve vengeance. He closed his eyes and transferred his consciousness to the raven he was bound to. He had been flying in small circles above the meadow, and noticed that other demons were preparing to throw themselves into the fray, but his display of speed and ferocity had frightened them. He reminded them of their new master.
Just as the bird settled itself on the roof, Tamnarok opened his eyes. He put himself in a ready stance, clasping both of his hands around Shadowsbane's hilt. A Blood Hawk burst out of the wilderness, followed by several others; soon it was an entire flock. The leathery-skinned, reptilian mutant avians shrieked terribly as they shot towards him, and his blade flashed out rapidly, leaving a red-blue trail as it struck down each monster. He pivoted, letting go of his sword with one hand and letting multiple daggers appear in it. Hearing the flap of a cloak, the Angel of Death let fly with his daggers, striking down a group of Fallen that had appeared, each blade finding its way into a throat, head, or heart.
He spun around with blinding speed once more on the point of his toes, another dagger appearing his hand, and slashed out the throat of a corrupt, sword-wielding Rogue that had dashed at him from behind and leapt through the air, hoping to land a surprise kill. As the dying woman dropped the ground, drowning in her own blood, Tamnarok practically disappeared into the forest. Monsters began screaming as a dark apparition darted in and out through the trees, brutally tearing out the throat of any demon he found with knife or sword.
A Goatman made a downward chop with its axe as he neared, only to miss completely before crying out in agony as Shadowsbane's glowing blade burst from its chest. Tamnarok tore his blade free and threw a pair of daggers at two Blood Hawks that were diving at him, before spinning around in search of another demon, not even bothering to watch as the two beasts were knocked out of the air. An arrow struck the ground by his feet while another shot past his face, and he ducked slightly as he looked at the source of the attacks. Two corrupt Rogues were busily nocking another arrow into their bows, and he frowned. He shot forward with ungodly speed, surprising both women. Before either knew it, he was upon him, and as his body twisted about, Shadowsbane effectively hamstringed one woman as he reversed the grip on his knife and plunged it into the breastbone of the other. He leapt backwards as their souls were torn from the bodies and dashed out of the forest, Shadowsbane leaving an intricate trail as he lashed out at his foes.
He cleared the woods, like the proverbial bat out of Hell. A Goatman shrieked as the being passed, but then stumbled over backwards as a dagger seemed to appear in its chest. He was heading straight for the old cabin and the gigantic Wendigo, the last of his opponents, standing in front of its door. He leapt through the air, his outstretched foot catching the shaggy beast with such strength that they both crashed through the door. Tamnarok automatically rolled with the fall, coming out of it before crashing into a table. He whipped around and impaled the corrupt beast's head with his sword. He stood up as the Wendigo died and pulled his blade free, watching indifferently as the faint glow of his weapon scoured away all the blood it had accumulated over the battle. "Battle?" he said to himself coldly, "it was a slaughter. They never stood a chance."
A flicker of movement caught his eye and he turned quickly, another dagger appearing in his hand. All he found was his own reflection in a full-body mirror. Curious about his first look at himself in over a decade, the man willed the blade away and walked over to the mirror.
He was covered in dark clothing. A black coat covered a dark gray shirt, and his long legs were covered in black trousers. Soft black leather boots covered his feet, and black gloves wrapped around his hands. A dead black cloak hung around his shoulders. Around his neck was a dark gray amulet, shaped like a single, glaring eye, with a blood red ruby for its pupil. He calmly sheathed Shadowsbane in a scabbard that had been strapped to his side. Long black hair hung about to his shoulders, framing a pale face. His lips had gone black, and three black streaks ran from the corners of his eyes. His eyes, though, were what held his attention. They were no longer their original color of a dark brown, like stone. Now they were a fathomless red that glowed brightly in the darkening house.
The shrill cry of his raven caught his attention, and he turned to it as it perched in the windowsill. It let out another cry and fluttered through the house and out the crushed doorway. "Yes," he whispered, "it is time to save him."
And with that, the Angel of Death darted through the door and into the ever-darkening eve, towards the unsuspecting fortress city of New Tristram.
Rua's eyes widened as he took in the flowing, elegant script that Kalia had always wrote with.
You would do best to memorize what I put down on this letter, and then destroy it afterwards, brother. That you are reading this means that events have fallen out at the city as I hoped…
He stopped, staring, then read on quickly.
Since the first day I went to Entsteig, I have known—I need not tell you how; you will learn on your own—that a day would come that when the land of Khanduras would lose its capitol once more to the Master of Darkness. I did not know what would happen—if what I feared has happened, might the gods rest the peoples' stolen souls. I journeyed to our true birthplace, Rua—the place of rumor for which we took our last names from—the Dragon Ruins. There I learned three different variants to our world's future, but if you are reading this, I am gone, and Ziatoch has yet to defeat you…
Rua's hands tightened on the paper. She had known. Known, and still went on to fight him and die. Hurriedly he smoothed out the crumpled letter.
The remaining two paths were far worse. Down one, Ziatoch struck you down in your latest battle, and Kasra consumed your soul. Down the other, you were defeated, and taken to his lair, and when your friends next saw you, you had become like Aram Kiros Denamon—a second Dark Wanderer, the host of Diablo.
I hope your friends have all survived unharmed. You see, if you continue on your quest—which undoubtedly you will—their aid will be paramount to its success, or you will fall, and our world with you.
I could not tell you, for the simple reason that I was not worth it. Even given the choices, I could not be sure which you would pick. You have always been a stubborn lad, and I knew that you would have taken a dagger's wound to avoid me coming to harm and call it a fair trade. I dared not risk that you would place my life above your own, certain that you could sidestep fate. Not a risk, I fear, but a foolish certainty, no matter how many times it has saved you from Ziatoch's wrath…
"My choice, Kalia," he muttered, "It was my choice." Both Alasea and Relayia gave him sympathetic looks.
A few final points.
You must now go to the Dragon Ruins. It is there that you will acquire what you seek, what Ziatoch seeks, and learn of where you must go afterwards. Do not think that the Dragon Ruins are myth—we have both been there, for it is where we were born. Almost everything you may hear in Sanctuary carries the basis of fact—even the final resting place of Horazon, and the fabled lost kingdom of Ureh. It is there, in the Dragon Ruins, that I had Tyrael hide my old sword. I believe you will need a stronger weapon to surpass the challenges soon to come your way. To reach this ancient sanctuary, you must return to Entsteig, and find the old Waypoint there I showed you. That one was not created by the Horadrim, as you saw from the difference in its size and the symbol carved upon it. This Waypoint is your key to reaching the Dragon Ruins.
Eventually you must unite the world against Ziatoch. His might is great, and with the barriers between worlds weakening, it will only be a matter of time before he marshals all of Hell's forces against us in his bid to take the Karognis. You may already have made such alliances in New Tristram and other places… but you will eventually meet a king of an ancient royalty. He will be your greatest asset, and you will meet him soon. I pray that you know what to do.
Lastly, be wary of the one now known as Tamnarok. I cannot approve wholly, but I understand Tyrael's decision. Perhaps it was the only way. Yet be careful of him. He is the same man now that he always was. Remember that always.
May Heaven illumine and protect you. You will do well.
It was signed simply "Kalia." She had almost never used her last name.
He reread the second last paragraph closely. He honestly didn't know whom she was talking about. He had never met anyone with the name of Tamnarok. And if he remembered correctly, the word "tamnarok" was of a long forgotten language that Kalia had forced him to learn years ago. It meant Angel of Death. But from the sound of it, she made it seem as though he wouldn't be his enemy. Also, it would seem that she had planned everything out for him. She left her old weapon at a place that's been considered a myth for centuries? He couldn't understand why. That weapon was possibly the only thing they had retained of whatever family they once had. For all that he could remember, both of them were siblings, living in an orphanage in Khanduras. The only thing that had been left to them was that sword of hers. Why would she leave it? Kalia had shrouded herself in mystery to the end. To the end.
That's what he was trying to avoid with all this blather about keeping secrets. She had known what would happen and come as bravely as any of the Heroes would. Came to her death knowing it waited. She had died because she believed that he could do something better than she, a woman of great renown, physical strength, and magical prowess, could. His eyes fell on the last words.
… You will do well.
They cut like a cold razor.
The Goatman stepped back and whinnied in fear, holding its axe up in a desperate attempted to block Tamnarok's downward stroke. His blue-and-red sword cut through both the axe's haft and the monster's skull, stopping at the base of the neck. He wrenched his blade out and pivoted, slashing out the throat of another Goatman that had approached him from behind. With both dead, he turned back and darted down the war-torn street in New Tristram. He had arrived at the city just as the so-called Master of Darkness weakened the barrier that separated the natural world from the unholy one.
More monsters entered the street, and the Angel of Death stared at their incoming forms emotionlessly. Fools to think they can deter me, he thought coldly. He lowered his enchanted blade and crouched as they approached. When he saw them hesitate, he struck, dashing forward at inhuman speeds. He flew past each monster, stopping behind the group in a crouch, both hands clasping Shadowsbane's hilt, his black cloak settling down to the street. His sword's afterimage burned a frightening trail through the air past each demon, and one by one, the monsters collapsed from fatal wounds.
Tamnarok stood and sheathed his blade as it scoured away the blood from itself and turned to the scattered corpses. "Fools," he whispered. He turned back and proceeded down the road. As he did, he gazed up into the black clouds, noting the lightning dancing through it. So, this was all made possible by destroying the Worldstone, he thought, Perhaps Tyrael made the wrong decision. He closed his eyes and merged his conscience with the raven again, and gazed down at the city. Flames dotted the multitude of buildings, and he noticed the dozens of battles all over the city streets. Packs of demons roamed through the streets, actively seeking out any humans within the vicinity. The soldiers in this rebuilt fortress of humanity were attempting to evacuate the townspeople, battling demons as they appeared. The city was in chaos.
Rain began to fall from the reddish night sky, and Tamnarok quickened his search. He had already realized that New Tristram would fall to demons, just as its predecessor had. He could not allow the red-cloaked man die here. He would have his revenge.
The raven flew over a ruined pavilion near the castle. Inside, Tamnarok saw many dead bodies and the beginning of a battle. The first man, one wearing black and violet armor and carrying a black sword that glowed, had locked blades with a second man… one wearing blue and black clothing and a red cloak. His armor and sword were remarkably plain, but both warriors were throwing off an incredible amount of power. Has humanity really grown so strong since I last set foot in Sanctuary? He wondered distantly. It didn't matter, he could already tell that his abilities put him on an equal level with both of the warriors. He had found his quarry.
The Angel of Death opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the castle. He wouldn't have much time to get there. However, as he took two steps, a red portal slowly tore a hole in the air, spilling out more demons. He broke out into a run, daggers appearing in his hands once more. His opponents began to scream as he dove into them, the two knives he held slashing out at vitals, the blades plunging deep into their bodies with vicious stabs as they vainly tried to fend off their supernatural enemy. The last Goatman soon fell with two crossing slash wounds to its throat. Tamnarok stood in a crouch, his bloodstained daggers held out at his side and his eyes closed. "Couldn't beat me then, can't beat me now. Fools, all of them," he whispered.
He took off down the street, ducking into an ally. He leapt over the bodies of a pair of dead beggars, flinging both daggers into the heart of the Storm Lord that killed them as it looked up at him. Tamnarok exited out of the alley like a black blur into another battle, this one with humans present. Some distance ahead, strange light flared from what looked to be a monstrous battle, and Tamnarok knew it to be his quarry and his enemy. However, his way was blocked by the Megademons and the warriors fighting them. He smiled as he drew his glowing blade. Finally. Monsters worthy of my talents.
A warrior dressed in full plate mail parried the fang-shaped sword of a Balrog with his battleaxe, forcing it away and taking a gigantic swing at the barbaric monster. It stepped out of the way as the steel blade chopped the air, and the experienced warrior changed its angle to prevent an overcorrection. However, the beast's clenched fist caught the man in his armored chest, knocking him back and causing him to lose his hold on his axe. He tried to push himself back up, only to see the Balrog above him holding its sword point down, ready to impale the warrior upon it. However, before it could, a red-blue glow streaked past it as thunder rolled overhead, passing through the monster's throat and shoulder. It toppled over, the head, arm, and right wing separating from the body and spraying black blood everywhere into the damp air. The warrior got up to see a man dressed entirely in black, holding a shining crystal sword, battling two more Balrogs with inhuman speed, water flinging from his clothing and blade with each movement. The monsters quickly fell to Tamnarok's onslaught, and the man threw himself at another unsuspecting Megademon and thrusting Shadowsbane into the back of its neck. The warrior scrambled to get his weapon and rejoined the battle.
A Balrog roared at the Angel of Death in fury and hunched over. As the beast unleashed a powerful wave of fire from its fanged maw, Tamnarok shot past the monster. It stopped its attack and looked around in confusion, only to scream in agony as Shadowsbane burst through the center of its chest. He drew out his blade and spun, his blade leaving a red-blue trail, and slashed the monster nearly in half. As he did, a terrifying roar tore through the air, and something exploded out of a building. All of the warriors were too preoccupied battling the Megademons for their lives, but Tamnarok easily saw the approaching Dracolich.
The undead beast was more serpentine than most others, but bones shaped like spikes jutted from its knee joints, a blade almost like an axe made up the point of its tail, and its forearms were unusually long. The beast stood up on its hind legs and shrieked, spreading its wings and whipping its tail furiously, damaging one of the buildings around it. Its cry seemed to promise the destruction of all that beheld it.
Tamnarok began to smile.
With a quick flourish, he readied his blade and charged the undead monster. It eyed him with its dead sockets as he approached, and without warning, lunged with its head, its jaws snapping. But by then, the Angel of Death had disappeared. It felt a slight pressure from the decayed nerves of the flesh still attached to its back and knew where its prey had gone. It roared in fury as something pierced the back of its skull, and it instinctively rolled over on its side to dislodge him. Its body crashed into a building opposite the one it damaged earlier, but Tamnarok had already shot off of the monster, his sword leaving a large gash down its foreleg.
Tamnarok landed gracefully on his feet a span away from his foe. He could feel the monster's fury as it righted itself. Just as it made its attack, lashing out with its jagged teeth, the Angel of Death whipped around, swinging Shadowsbane in a tight arc. The sword struck the monster across the snout, causing it to roar and rear up. Tamnarok saw his chance.
Leaping at an inhuman speed, he grabbed ahold of the beast by the ribcage, which was slightly fractured from the Dracolich's flailing. He gripped Shadowsbane tightly and slashed, cleaving the ribcage in two, and as he pulled on one of the ribs, he thrust his blade into the glowing soul of the undead beast. It roared in anger and pain, and the soul wavered fitfully before winking out of existence. The Dracolich's body collapsed all around him, and he strode out of the carnage unharmed, continuing on to his quarry as the warriors all looked at his leaving in awe.
The rain had by now turned into a storm. Lightning danced rapidly across the sky as the sky seemed to open up and flood the city with its downpour. He didn't know what kind of spell the Master of Darkness used, but Tamnarok could feel the unholy energy swarming all over New Tristram, and knew that this city was doomed, just like Tristram before it.
Bright light blazed from a great distance within the city, just ahead of Tamnarok. A high-pitched hum tore through the air for a brief second as the light gained in intensity before exploding into a massive pillar of fire. The shockwave shattered all of the windows in the buildings that lined the street he was walking down, and the Angel of Death grabbed a fistful of his cloak to shield himself from the shrapnel of broken glass. He was moved back several paces as the shockwave reached him, but he remained on his feet.
The man in black cursed his luck and began running down the glass-littered street. He knew that whatever caused that explosion had to have involved his quarry. It'd been fourteen years since he last felt a power that strong, and he almost felt a bit of fear from it. The last time he'd felt such a power did not go well for him.
Monsters began filling the street, whipped into a frenzy of confusion and fear by the massive explosion. A pair of daggers appeared in his hands as he tore into the fray, and quickly plunged the blades into the throats of two Goatman, shooting past them as they gurgled and drowned in their own blood, the blades still lodged in their necks.
A dagger appeared in his left had as he drew Shadowsbane with his right, and quickly flung it when his glowing sword was free. It hurtled through the air to penetrate the skull of a Fallen Shaman, causing the lesser demons in its brood to disband in fear. As the monsters tried to escape, a blue and red blur arced through them, trailing the path of destruction as a Fallen's head rolled across the rain-soaked pavement.
And still, the cloaked figure ran through the torrential storm that had enveloped the besieged city, flinging daggers into the throat, head, or heart of any monster that dared enter his path. Goatmen's pained cries could barely be heard over the downpour as he sprinted down the street, anxious to get to the source of the explosion and find his quarry, so that he may rescue him and begin his path of revenge. At the end of the street, Tamnarok looked back at the trail of corpses he left in his wake. "Pitiful," he murmured as he returned his attention to the pavilion before him.
Climbing over the ruins of the tower that blocked it off, the Angel of Death surveyed the carnage. It was a lesson in destruction. Rubble from the surrounding buildings littered the street, and the pavement had been melted into slag. Char marks from lightning and fire dotted the square, blackening the debris. A man in a shredded maroon cape, ragged blue and black clothing, and fractured armor, was propped up against a particularly large chunk of rock that jutted from the street. Most of his face was bloodied, though the rain was beginning to wash it away. His hair was matted from water, dirt, and blood, and in his hand he held a melted longsword. Tamnarok could tell he was unconscious; he could see that he was still breathing. Despite his injured appearance, Tamnarok was sure that this was the man he was looking for. He was distantly amazed that he still lived; an explosion such as the one he'd seen destroyed everything else around him. He leapt off the rock and dashed to him.
As he neared the injured warrior, he took note of the bloodstained clothes and the three distinctive scars on his face, though the ones on the right side of it was partially obscured by a trail of blood running down it from a cut on his temple. Another rill of blood escaped his mouth, but Tamnarok, magically attuned to his surroundings, knew that this was the least of his problems. Whatever he had done prior to the explosion was something that humans weren't meant to do, and he could feel that this man's body was starting to fail from it. Tamnarok reached down to pick him up and touched the ruined weapon in his hand, deciding to let the man keep it, when he heard a loud clatter on the opposite side of the pavilion.
His head whipped around to identify the disturbance. At the far end of the pavilion, a pair of Megademons leapt over the rubble, brandishing their twisted blades and looking around cautiously. Behind them, three Succubi and a Blood Lord followed them. The bovine-like creature sniffed the air, then started searching frantically. From what Tamnarok could tell, these monsters were frightened to death. Puzzled, Tamnarok looked amongst the ground.
He soon saw what the monsters had to be looking for. At the far corner of the pavilion laid a powerful-looking warrior adorned in black and violet plate mail, clutching a strange sword and black demonblade. This must be the famed Master of Darkness. He too seemed to be unconscious, but despite that, Tamnarok could feel that the warrior was brimming with dark power. Frowning, Tamnarok placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. Several more demons entered the pavilion, looking around, as the two Megademons made their way over to their fallen leader. He cursed. He was a superior opponent, but with this many demons, the man he had sough would be endangered in the fight.
However, the demons spotted him, but to his great surprise they did nothing but watch him warily. It dawned on him that they must feel the same way about Ziatoch, and didn't want to risk harm coming to him. Carefully, Tamnarok let go of his blade and hefted the injured man over his shoulder, and left the pavilion as quick as he could.
Sprinting away from the pavilion the Angel of Death darted between piles of debris while observing the destruction around him. The city was utterly destroyed from the flood of unholy creatures pouring into it from the red portals that randomly appeared. The screams of the fleeing survivors could barely be heard above the tempest that now assailed New Tristram.
Rounding a corner, the robed figure spotted the decaying corpse of the Dracolich. He quickly walked around it and into the building the creature had slammed into earlier. Picking his way through the thoroughly destroyed building, he deftly leapt to the second floor and jumped down to the street below.
Dodging down side streets and back alleys, Tamnarok quickly made his through the ruined city. He deftly avoided contact with the large groups of monsters now scouring the city, searching for any remaining survivors to devour, because he knew he could not fight and guarantee his quarry's safety at the same time. Turning a corner, he saw his raven perched on top of a roof across the square. Quickly sprinting across the open square, he ducked down in front of the building as the raven fluttered onto his shoulder.
Soon, he had made it to the edge of the city. Most of the houses here and been reduced to blackened heaps, and giant gaps in the city walls showed how the demons had entered New Tristram. Multiple bodies of townspeople littered the area, including those of women and children. Demons showed no mercy. Running outside the crumbling city walls, ignoring the startled yells of the guarding soldiers, he found that many humans had gathered, trying to gain a sense of order to escape. Children clung to their mothers as men loaded wagons with whatever supplies that they could so they'd have a fighting chance in surviving the wilderness.
He looked over at the nearest band of survivors, and cautiously approached them as he adjusted the still unconscious man on his shoulder. They eyed him warily, preparing for their last stand if the hooded figure turned out to be a demon. One of them was a large blond-headed man wielding a thick two-handed sword in one hand, while another was a blond-haired woman wore black leather armor while carrying two strange weapons that seemed to be blades attached to her knuckles. Two more women were in the group, one of them being a dark-skinned, raven-haired Zann Esu sorceress, the other being a brunette wearing native Khanduras clothing with a longbow slung over her shoulder. A strange, pink-furred cat stood on her shoulder, arching its back and staring at him. Tamnarok eyed the group with disinterest until he spotted an old wizened scholar in gray traveling robes.
His eyes widened when he recognized the old sage. Why had Deckard Cain returned to this place, knowing its dark history from fourteen years before? He couldn't possibly have forgotten the unholy tragedies that befell the many who lived in Tristram, horrors so great that the whole breadth of the world had learned of them. Who could ever forget the resurrection of Diablo, the Lord of Terror?
"Rua!"
Suddenly, the bow-carrying young woman shouted in alarm, causing the Angel of Death to look at her sharply, his red eyes narrowing dangerously as his free hand went to the hilt of his sword. She looked distraught, gazing anxiously at the body resting over his shoulder.
So, his name is Rua, is it? And this girl knows him? With Cain here, perhaps its best that I leave him in their hands for now. It looks as though my revenge will have to wait, Tamnarok thought bitterly. Cain caught his eye, and though he did not show any emotion, he was sure the Horadric sage recognized him. The cloaked warrior stepped forward and bent down, laid Rua down onto the ground. His raven cawed and fluttered down onto his shoulder, looking at the group curiously. As he straightened, the girl made to rush over to the maroon-caped warrior's side, but the large man held out a hand to stop him, still looking at Tamnarok warily.
"Does he mean that much to you, girl?" he asked apathetically of the bow-wielding woman. She gasped, surprised that he would address her.
However, he didn't care about what she had to say. He only wanted their attention. "If you do, I suggest you get him to a healer. Or else your friend here won't last much longer," he continued coldly, causing the companions to stare at him fearfully, "and I would hate to see him die after such a valiant battle."
"The hell is that supposed to mean?" the blonde wielding the strange claw weapons snarled at him. He turned his head to her as he straightened, cocking his head to the side almost mockingly as he gazes at the leather-clad woman.
"It means, girl," he answered her, "that his body is failing, and that if you don't find him help, he will die."
Her eyes widened at the revelation, and the brunette with the bow slung around her shoulder clutched at her chest with her hand in shock. Showing no interest, he continued.
"His body is failing. He performed some sort of attack with magic that was too powerful for him to wield. If you don't get him to one of your surviving healers, his life is forfeit."
Tamnarok caught the eye of Cain again, and hoped that he'd be able to guide Rua until the day that he himself must become his teacher. Only then would he finally get his revenge. "He'll need your help most of all if he's to succeed in battling the Master of Darkness. You have knowledge in guiding would-be heroes, after all," he said to the old man. Cain nodded while watching him suspiciously. The Angel of Death turned to leave, and made his parting into the shadows of the wilderness with one last message to the Horadric sage.
"Don't screw up, storyteller. He's of no use to me dead."
And with one final caw from the bird perched atop his shoulder, Tamnarok disappeared into the darkness, and the sounds of battle echoed into the night and the young woman with the bow rushed to the side of her friend.
Finally! Another chapter done. Hope I get more reviews out of this one, I'll try to get the next chapter out soon, but considering my progress so far, don't hold me to it. But I do plan on completing this story whatever it takes. C'ya!
The Rising Dragon