Disclaimer: I'm a broke college student who isn't making any money off of writing this story. In short, don't sue me because you would be barking up the wrong tree.

Isn't it odd how one little action can change everything? Hate can end a life, but love can give it. The question remains: what will you choose? Love, or hate? I know the correct answer. Choosing it is another matter entirely. I think this is the real test of inner-strength, of being a hero. - Flux Gravija, Vizjerei mage of the fourth circle.

OoOoOoO

Katja released another arrow into the fray. The rogue's aim held true as the arrow sailed over a group of monstrous, winged balrogs. They were engaged in brutal physical combat with Canen, a raven-haired warrior from the east, and the lithe monk, Hayden. The scaled balrogs ignored their impressive fire-breathing abilities for the moment to clash swords with the warrior, smashing steel against steel with little skill, but great strength. Canen grunted, straining his overworked muscles against the mighty beasts. He managed to parry every attack the balrogs threw, dancing about the battlefield with a grace that belied his massive size, but he didn't have time for any sort of retaliation. The last three monsters circled their prey, searching for a killing blow.

They struck in synchronized blows, cutting vertically with their crudely forged swords. Canen dodged the first with a side step, and parried the second strike with a horizontal chop from his beloved sword, Griswold's Edge. The last balrog attacked from behind, sending a scathing wave of inferno into Canen's armored back. The fire surrounded him, concealing his form from the rest of the battle for a brief second. His metal clad figure remained standing strong when the fire cleared, muttering an unheard prayer amidst the scorching heat. He would lose the battle if something didn't happen soon. The realization hit him roughly, jarring his concentration to the point of affecting his fighting. His shield missed one of the balrogs' sloppy overhead chops, biting through the air with deadly venom. The cruel sword cut deeply into his shield arm, bypassing the armor as if it was not even there.

The darkly toned man shrieked in pain, recoiling from the blow. Smelling blood and sensing a quick kill, the balrog trio closed in. It was not to be, for Canen had recovered by the time the other two winged beasts came within sword range. The closest demon reared its head back in preparation, intending to char his mahogany skin to nothing more than a pile of wayward ashes. Flashing an out of place brilliant smile, Canen jumped into the air, switching his sword to a backhanded grip. He spun a full two and half rotations midair, using the momentum to propel his strike through a scaled neck. Canen landed next to the decapitated balrog just as its head reached the apex of its arc, splattering vile blood over the remaining combatants.

Unfortunately his flashy maneuver left him between the two remaining balrogs. The closer one on his left struck first with another overhead slash. Canen wasn't prepared to block the blow, so he did the only thing he could. Ducking below the strike by mere inches, he tackled the beast just below the waist, sending them crashing to the ground. Beast and man tumbled over several times, grappling with bare hands and claws. Green tinged talons swiped at Canen's face, but he was prepared for the blow. The warrior slammed his right arm into the balrog's forearm just below the claw, knocking it safely out of his face. Less than a second later the balrog was twitching its death throes, a knife jutting out the neck. Canen wasted too much time in the effort, and the last balrog's sword was already chopping down before Canen even thought to look behind.

Salvation came in the form of a brightly clothed monk. Hayden, silent as always, found an opening behind Canen's fire attacking foe and shattered the balrog's spine at the base of the neck. The demon crumpled to the ground even as Hayden glanced about for a new opponent, keen senses detecting a shadowed figure some distance away. His enemy revealed herself to be a beautiful young woman. A small red bikini made little attempt to cover her harsh snow-blue skin and delicate features. She glided gracefully on a pair of large electric blue wings that matched her unnatural hair in color, drawing attention to her sweat glistening body. Hayden noticed her face, snarling and contorted with anger and bloodlust, pitying the creature's poor frame of mind. Still, her beauty gave him enough pause for her to execute a vicious snap kick to his temple, felling the tanned body of Hayden to the ground. The most unusual succubus lifted her right leg in preparation for a scissor kick to finish Hayden off. In a moment of bravery, or perhaps stupidity, Canen rushed to rescue his partner in arms.

OoOoOoO

It was a gathering like none other. The paladins of Zakarum, what was left of them, convened to decide the fate of their order.

"Half the brotherhood is corrupted! The people are so afraid of us that they are attacking anyone that even looks like they might be a paladin. The commoners are rioting in all of Westmarch, and need I remind you of the massacres in the Zakarum temples? We cannot remain here any longer."

Another voice spoke out. "We need to repent for our sins, and those of our brethren. The order will be secured when the taint is removed."

The first spoke again. "Then we must operate in complete obscurity, for our own safety as well as others'."

A third, guttural voice raised itself above the murmuring. "We must go to the Kurast temple and destroy the evil at its source. I know I am not the only among us who can sense that horrific aura surrounding our home."

Murmuring of agreement could be heard among the gathered troops. More than a year before, only paladins with the finest attunement to the spiritual realm could sense a tinge of evil lingering among the ancient holy temple they served and prayed in. Now, most acolytes, and even the more promising squires were constantly overwhelmed with the powerful scent of demonic presence. It was a paladin's bane. The weaker willed paladins became sickly, as if the taint was a disease. Disease festered in the brain of the most unfortunate paladins, leaving them mad and incoherently babbling in the brig, or completely twisted to evil, turning on former comrades with an all too familiar self-righteous zeal. The paladins of Zakarum could not trust their own in these times, let alone the outsiders lacking spiritual training that frequented their temple.

"What of Tristram?" an inquisitive young voice asked. "There are reports of corruption reaching even the great King Leoric, and demons are said to roam the lands at night. Not just in spirit either, these demons have entered our realm in the flesh!"

The first responded quickly. "Tristram is already flooded with would-be heroes. Focus on the task at hand, young Canen. I will have none of this nonsense in the perilous times we are facing."

"Sir! These would-be heroes are nothing more than farmers with pitch forks and harvesting scythes. They won't stand a chance against the legions of Hell."

"Remember your place Canen. We will deal with Tristram once we have secured the future of our order." The first voice was commanding this time. The temporary Zakarum leader paused for effect, letting silence do all the speaking for him. He stood, stone-faced, challenging the room for authority. His ceremonial armor seemed to glisten in the darkly lit room, adding an air of respect, though the stoutly built man was only slightly older than the average paladin. His skills in combat vastly outweighed his age in the battle-heavy times, earning him a place at the top of the remaining Zakarum. There would be no further discussion or convincing the determined man, and the edge of the elder paladin's voice threatened Canen should he continue.

He didn't. Canen instead left the meeting room, never to return to his sacred order. He planned to save Tristram without the help of his tainted past. Briskly walking through the halls, Canen let his shoulders slump in defeat. Anger grew with each consecutive step, building to a previously inexperienced intensity. His breathing became labored with rage, until his massive chest heaved with excitement. Briefly, he jumped at the realization that he had lost his cool. Paladins did not succumb to rage like their grisly neighbors to the north. His closely cropped, frizzy black hair did not bounce or flail as he shook his head in shame. He continued walking.

A voice halted him barely ten paces from the building; Canen stopped on the temple stairs, trying to compose himself. The voice was young and energetic, yet weighted down with responsibility. The paladin said simply "Don't go." Canen knew this voice intimately, having long since tuned his ears to hear the surprisingly melodic sound amidst a full-on battle. That voice had saved his life more than once, calling out words of caution and advice even as they fought their enemies in close quarters combat.

Canen turned around to face his childhood friend and brother in arms. "Sturm, you won't convince me this time. I'm leaving for good, and I'm going to save a lot of people our 'illustrious elders' have damned through their inaction" Canen responded, mocking their leader. "Please don't ask me to stay."

Sturm's bright armor clinked as he crossed his arms. He shook his head deeply, long blonde hair shaking behind him as he did. Sturm and Canen had survived more horrors together in their young age than most men did in ten lifetimes. The life of a paladin was harsh, constantly fluctuating to meet the needs of the elders in the order. The one constant in his life had always been Canen, who was now leaving him. Sturm frowned, eyes becoming glassy with fresh tears, and he turned his head in shame. "Go with the Light, brother. Through it, I will always watch over you."

Responding was something Canen simply couldn't do. He didn't want to tell his closest friend of the horrible things he thought. Canen mused over recent events in the brotherhood, disgusted with the outcome his peers seemed intent on reaching. He glanced at his ally, his friend, his brother. Previously there had been no secret between the two. How he longed to tell of his worries over a campfire, and heed the sage advice Sturm always contributed. There would be no discussion, no advice, and certainly no campfire. How could they just abandon an entire town? Canen continued on in silence, without looking back. No, he would definitely not speak of his greatest challenge, his great sin. How could he come to grips with the fact that he had lost his faith? After all, a faithless paladin is less than a man – let alone a knight.

He promised the heavens then and there to never utilize the coveted holy skills granted to those faithful paladins. He would defend the Light on his own terms.

OoOoOoO

Canen had kept that promise to this very day. But as he charged forward to save his comrade's life, he realized that he was not fighting to his full potential and his friends might die because of it. There were few greater sins committed by man. His stubborn attitude was the next obstacle for him to overcome, and overcome it he did. In that instant, with Hayden on the floor courting death right in front of him, Canen regained that which was most precious to him. He had regained his faith in humanity.

Resolved to atone for his folly, he muttered a prayer to the angels for guidance. The speed of his next actions surprised even him as his muscles snapped into a fiercely aggressive movement. Raising his shield and drawing back Griswold's Edge which began to glow, Canen charged the few feet to the deceptively beautiful snow witch. He concentrated on his long dormant holy powers, choosing his favorite skill among a paladin's arsenal. The sword became a brightly-lit white fire, and Canen poured his soul into his sword arm. He pleaded with the heavens to aid him in his quest, to dead heroes whose souls remained to guard all of Sanctuary, and to those living beings with enough power to aid him. A familiar presence washed over him, coursing through his body with a never before imagined inner-strength. He felt as if a close friend had showered his mind with love and power. Canen reveled in the feeling, but quickly as it had appeared, the presence left him

His hand moved almost of its own accord, lashing out with a fury that could only be called righteous vengeance. Succubus flesh yielded no resistance as Griswold's Edge passed clean through her. The blade shined with a holy light, and did not draw blood from the demon as it should have. Canen knew his prayers did not fall on deaf ears, but it would be months before Hayden could explain what he saw from his grounded vantage point. To him, it didn't matter. The snow witch lay motionless on the floor. Canen had repaid the monk for an uncounted time, and Hayden was saved.

Before Canen could smile in relief, a red energy burst from the edge of the battle impacted his abdomen. The blood star projectile exploded with force upon the former paladin, blowing a melon sized hole in his chest and spraying gore even as he dropped to the ground, lifeless. The mighty warrior had fallen. Fighting didn't slow, nor did it increase its tempo. The battle continued, barely recognizing the defeat of quite possibly one of the greatest men to ever walk on Sanctuary's grounds. Katja allowed herself a moment's respite before she released her tightly drawn bow. Another warrior of the Light is dead, and for what? Her next arrow sailed over Canen's bloody body, and found its mark, embedding itself into the neck of the Lord of Terror himself.

For better or worse, the fight would end soon.

A Vizjerei mage avenged his fallen comrade, frying a succubus with a potent lightning bolt. Blue energy crackled between his fingertips, and the bolt jumped to another succubus, then another. The powerful mage smiled grimly as the last of Diablo's minions lay dead.

Diablo was not impressed. "Do you really think you can overcome me?" he challenged. The Lord of Terror stepped forward, claws slicing easily into the stone floor. He stretched his scaled hide to his full size, standing easily twice the height of his human opponents.

The heroes did not respond verbally. Unlike his remaining allies, the Vizjerei magi's sandaled feet made a scuffling sound as he attempted retreat. Shoulders trembled uncontrollably from a newfound fear swelling deep within him as Diablo cut him off from his allies. He was cornered. Diablo raised a mighty claw, red sparks already forming. A crack of thunder sounded off as a torrent of destructive energy flowed towards the hapless sorcerer. The magic geyser enveloped him, obscuring the lightly armored man from view.

"No!" Katja screamed, even while nocking one of her last four arrows. Her mind was clouded with rage, and she sought to clear it, remembering the words of Flavie, her instructor years before. To accept the help of the great eye, you must clear your mind of all emotion.

Reach nihilo. Katja's hand grasped the arrow firmly. She would not miss the shot.

Breathe out. She drew the bow tightly, taking careful aim. Determination was in great supply.

Release. Her mind was indeed clear. Her wrath would be felt.

The arrow flew, and was soon joined by three others. The first arrow embedded itself into the back of the Lord of Terror's neck, disappearing from view. Diablo kicked up freshly crushed stone as he spun on his heel to face the new threat.

The next two arrows glanced off the demon lord's thick scales at his chest, falling to the ground harmlessly. But the last caused much more damage. It bore directly into the demon's left eye, passing easily through the soft matter, and ended its trip in the back of the skull, arrowhead exposed from the rear. The demon lord stumbled back, roaring in anguish. A red river flowed down Diablo's face, matching the color of his scaly hide, yet he did not fall.

Katja stared in disbelief. The demon is still alive! She drew her bastard sword, tossing the useless bow to the ground. She rushed forward and attacked the still stumbling Lord of Terror. Her first swing clumsily grazed Diablo's arm. The demon lord backhanded her, sending her flying twenty feet. She dropped her sword midair, bounced on the ground, and rolled to a stop, unconscious.

Suddenly, splintered, ashen wood connected with the demon lord's skull with a resounding crack. Hayden's resolve had not wavered once during the entire campaign, and he would see the task done, or die trying. Stone faced, he continued the staff's upward swing, changing direction, he slammed Diablo's temple in a brutal horizontal strike. Diablo, the Lord of Terror, was sent reeling to the ground. His breathing became labored, and his good eye closed. Diablo was unconscious. Now is my chance. Before the monk could finish off his foe, a robed figure teleported in front of him.

"His forehead, Hayden. He can't die until we remove his essence from the host."

A confused look played across Hayden's tanned face. The robed figure removed his hood, revealing a burned, but still quite alive Vizjerei sorcerer. Hayden only nodded, submitting to the leader of the group. The mage gingerly stepped over the still form of the most powerful demon on earth, and began to laugh. Nearly inaudible at first, the laughter grew more intense, both in volume and fervor, reaching a hysterical level. Hayden jumped back in surprise. The sorcerer had gone mad. The horrors we have faced here must have broken him.

The mage drew a shimmering knife made of hardened bone. Its handle bore the insignia Wizardspike. Hayden had seen the mage use that knife in most inventive manners in battle previously, drawing upon his magical abilities as well as the power residing in the blade. It was his most favored possession. The Vizjerei sorcerer plunged the dagger into the demon's head, carving a rough circle.

He finished carving, and laughed manically once more. The mage had truly lost all sense of reason as he jerked the soul stone from Diablo's head with a spray of blood and gore. "Your reign is over, demon." He raised the dripping stone to his face, examining the strange artifact.

"I don't know what you are planning, mage, but nothing good will come of that stone."

"Your simple mind could never understand such matters; you know not of the forces at work here. I must do this, for the good of humanity!" the sorcerer cried, raising the stone high into the air. He turned, whipping his cloak behind him, to face Hayden. "Watch, pitiful fool, as I contain the demon's essence!" The sorcerer's eyes glinted with power, and his grim smile hinted at something not quite right. Then, to the astonishment of the quieted monk, he impaled the stone into his own forehead. Diablo's destroyed form, lying still on the ground, slowly transformed into that of a young boy. The young prince's broken body lay on the stone floor, shaking, but still alive. His pasty limbs, shriveled as if from atrophy, reached out for some invisible object. Hayden stood dumbfounded. The Lord of Terror was no more! It was then that Hayden returned his gaze to the Vizjerei sorcerer.

The mage's countenance had shifted slightly. It was almost imperceptible. His features looked the same on the surface, but his normal genial aura and kind face were now replaced with something more… sinister. Hayden drank in the image of the mage. His tattered robes and armor were burned, almost unusable. The shield the mage once held now lay a good distance away, melted and shattered beyond repair. Hayden's eyes moved to the sorcerer's wounds, noticing the rapid healing taking place: the burns that had covered his body moments before had vanished, and the deep gash from a balrog sword in his side was visibly closing. The Vizjerei laughed heartily, an octave deeper than normal. He then glared at the monk with an intense hatred burning in his eyes, but only for a moment. The kind look had returned to the sorcerer's face, but it would never be as assuring as it once was for the monk. The mage grinned, and for the first time in his life, Hayden felt fear.

OoOoOoO

Author's Notes: Greetings, fellow fan fiction goers. I posted this story in a previous form, but I have since edited it. I hope the changes prove to be a success, and I would love to have feedback from you (the readers). This story is as much for you as it is me. I only hope that I can do justice to the other writers in the Diablo section. Courage and compassion to you all, and please read and review!