Chapter 26

Lyndon had had partaken in many, many barfights in his life. Far too many, to be honest. Drunken idiots lumbering around like animated logs, clumsily swinging their fists or trying to throw a chair or a table, only to hit themselves somehow…

Those people seemed like Ivgorod monks compared to Malthael now.

It was utterly ridiculous, this "fight". Malthael did nothing more than shuffle awkwardly and swipe with one of his arms, and all Lyndon had to do was occasionally step back or aside when the limb came closer to him than 30 centimeters.

- Is… is this your attempt at humor? – the scoundrel blinked in confusion at his "foe".

- There is no humor in a duel.

- I would not call it that…

Some things in life were simply too strange to make sense of. This situation was one such case. Some small part of Lyndon was pretty certain he should have taken this seriously and riddle the bastard with bolts from his new crossbow. But he just couldn't do it. This was not a fight, he didn't even know what it was. Even Malthael did not act anything close to resembling threatening, determined or bloodthirsty, he just shuffled around like a really really awkward male bird trying to woo a female with his dance.

Lyndon couldn't decide whether he should chide himself for thinking up that comparison, or start laughing. Honestly, either reaction seemed about right here.

- I remember you – Malthael spoke up, drawing closer once more.

- Yeah, and I remember you. Wish I didn't, though…

- You helped the Nephalem kill me.

- So you did die back in Pandemonium.

- Your duty now is to kill me again.

Lyndon lowered his crossbow even further in disbelief as his brain hopelessly tried to decode the archangel's insane behavior.

- You… you want to die again? Is that what this is all about? – he asked, grasping for any kind of point of reference.

- Yes.

- Why—? – Lyndon tried to ask, only for something to occur to him.

That vision Lyndon saw… No, that couldn't be it. Could it? The scoundrel stepped back a few again to put some distance between him and the angel. But no matter from where he looked at it, that strange dream fitted strangely well into this picture of sheer chaos.

- The Crystal Arch… – Lyndon began slowly, looking up at Malthael with green-lit eyes –, the Crystal Arch rejected you, didn't it?

Malthael froze up, and the scoundrel could almost feel the suddenly deadly glare coming from under the hood.

- No.

- Yes it did! – Lyndon exclaimed, pointing at the archangel. – That's why you are here, that's why you haven't been reborn in the High Heavens!

Suddenly everything in that vision made sense. The endless darkness, the inviting light suddenly turning cold and hostile, the wind that dragged him away from the opening, the accusation that he was not an angel…

There was no stopping Lyndon now.

- You had willingly denounced Anu's Virtue of Wisdom, so the Arch had disowned you and it no longer sees you as an angel.

Malthael didn't say a word but was visibly shaking, fingers no doubt curled into fists in the long sleeves.

- When you've tried to be reborn after Pandemonium, it rejected you and tossed you back down to Sanctuary. Now you want to die again, so that you'd have another shot at—

Malthael swooped and struck like a deadly snake, but he missed. Lyndon's mind, working overtime, registered the attack before it could connect and he teleported back instinctively, landing some meters away from his suddenly fast and serious foe.

- I hit bulls-eye, didn't I? – the scoundrel hissed, green eyes blazing intensely in the darkness.

That had to be it! Angels were capable of sharing memories through physical touch, Tyrael had demonstrated that very well with Leah during Cain's funeral. Whether Malthael did it voluntarily or he just simply didn't give a damn and let it happen, was irrelevant. It happened and Lyndon saw it.

- You know nothing, mortal! – Malthael growled dangerously, his bland voice regaining some semblance of his former deadly drawl.

- Oh but I do, don't I? – Lyndon grinned cruelly, putting away his crossbow.

There was no need for the weapon. He would bring this bastard to the breaking point with mere words.

Malthael struck again but Lyndon jumped back, easily reading his attacker. The angel was clearly enraged but he still did not possess his former strength and powers. It was still a drunken bar fight on his part, and Lyndon could evade him with little effort.

- You have messed up tremendously, and you know you have messed up. You are just afraid to admit it to yourself, Wisdom. Angels and demons should not choose sides, yet you did just that, you chose to be evil out of your own will – Lyndon announced in a strong voice, making sure the entire hall could hear him.

- I fought the corruption, demonspawn! I fought against your tainted blight upon Creation. I did not choose sides!

- Oh but you did. Genocide is quite different with demons, isn't it?! Those bastards fight back, there is no situation when they are not dangerous to your kind, or when they are truly defenseless. Attacking and killing them is justified that way.

- Your kind is no different!

- Yes, we are. We are half angel, afterall. You have killed many of us, including the newborn, the weak, the sick, the old, those who had no idea how to fight or defend themselves properly. Even most of the warriors who could be a threat did not saw their end coming.

- Silence, spawn of Hell!

- Admit it, you have screwed this one up, and now you can't justify it, evil Archangel of Death! – Lyndon shouted angrily, teleporting away from the advancing angel again. – And we both know the Crystal Arch does not embrace evil beings.

Malthael let out an inarticulate screech of rage, he looked like he was about to fall apart. Black smoke rolled off of his coat, in the haze his form flickered, struggling to take on the Angel of Death once again and kill Lyndon for his transgressions. The effort clearly exhausted him, though, and it had no result whatsoever.

The angel initiated one final, enraged and desperate charge towards his enemy, but Lyndon easily sidestepped the attempt, silent and observing. Malthael missed and collapsed onto his knees, his angry screech turning into an equally sharp keening, not unlike the sound Quiet tended to make in fear or despair.

Lyndon had to forcefully shut out the feelings of worry and sympathy from his mind. This fucker was not Quiet, he reminded himself quickly. Malthael deserved everything he would get.

The black smoke slowly stopped sweeping from his form, revealing his once again featureless and bland appearance. The archangel cuddled himself on his knees, the keening dying down as well.

Silence settled back in, neither combatant moved.

-… You will kill me, nephalem – Malthael said softly after a long pause, voice once again bland, if tired as well.

- No, I won't – Lyndon answered, the green fire extinguishing in his eyes. – That would be the easy way out of this, Angel of Death. You do not deserve it.

He turned around and walked towards the only exit leading out of this hall. He had no idea where he was in Corvus, how far or close to Quiet or to Tyrael. In a twist of bitter irony, it turned out that he was at fault for getting separated from others in the end. He had to somehow regroup with them. Then… they shall see.

Think in small steps ahead.

Lyndon heard Malthael move behind him, standing up from the ground. The scoundrel didn't bother to look back. Long steps followed him out of the hall, slow but easily keeping up with his shorter strides.

- You will kill me. I will follow you until then, nephalem – Malthael said simply behind him.

Lyndon pursed his lips but did not grace that with a response.

oooOOOooo

Quiet wanted nothing more than curl up on the ground and start crying, maybe call out for Leendonn. That ugly big red monster that had tackled him through a wall and down into a hole, really hit hard, and now the little angel's body hurt all around. The truth was, Quiet was tired, in pain and very afraid, and he could sense these feelings interfering with his powers greatly. Still, he refused to acknowledge it or even show it, mostly because of the companion Fate cursed him with.

Teeriel, the big mean bald man. He was not Leendonn, he wasn't kind to Quiet, he didn't care how the little angel felt or what he said. Why then should Quiet bother saying anything? If he showed how tired and hurt he was, Teeriel no doubt would frown and shout at him again anyway. Right now, Quiet did not feel strong enough to endure that.

He had to find Leendonn, he knew. His friend would keep him safe and make sure he was fine, not like Teeriel. This was the only thought that kept Quiet together and he held onto it, allowing it to guide him in this dark bad place. He didn't care what Teeriel said, how he growled at him again for no reason… The bald man was just mean, and that was the end of it. Everything he said and did was to be mean to Quiet, simple as that. He had even accused the little angel of acting and wanting to destroy the world. He sounded just like Johhana! Did everyone think Quiet was bad?!

It had always been like this. Why would it change now?

Quiet paused on this suddenly surfacing thought. Strange, it almost felt like he and Teeriel had a bad relationship for a long long time. Was it a test? Did the bald man somehow know that big grumpy angel and that scaly lady from Quiet's dreams? They were the ones who always said mean things to him in his sleep, called him a fool, said he made big mistakes, that he "shouldn't be here". Well, Quiet was getting very very fed up with these constant berating he was getting from people he didn't even recognize.

What do they know?! He would show them! They insisted that he was bad? Well then, he would prove them wrong all the more.

But for that, he would need to rest for a bit and regain his strength.

Quiet shook his head as he marched among the many pillars in this big hall, not even caring if Teeriel followed him or not. He had to banish these thoughts and banish them now. Leendonn was not here to keep him safe, he had to do it himself. Quiet felt out the black dagger tucked into his belt like a miniature sword. He had to make sure he would use this well and how Leendonn had taught him.

Something moved behind him but it wasn't Teeriel. This something emerged from the ground itself, its body phasing through the rock and soil. Quiet's senses picked all this up, as well as Teeriel's distant shout of alarm, and the seething rage emanating from the newcomer.

He turned around and couldn't help but scream and scramble back at what he saw. It was a hideous, see-through monster with leather wings partially sticking out of its back, a small but vicious-looking head, and long limbs with far too big palms and far too many fingers. It hovered in mid-air, posing in a pure light blue color.

- The Allfather is back. How queer – it hissed menacingly in a pitched voice, empty eyes kept on the frozen angel before him.

It lunged forward and Quiet called upon the earth in panic. A pillar of diamond shot up from the ground… and passed right through the monster like it wasn't even there. The next second, however, when it smacked into Quiet and grabbed a hold of him, it was certainly solid and strong. The little angel screeched in terror, his powers shut down from fear, arms and legs uselessly swatting at the ghost.

- Remember us, Allfather?! We remember you! We remember! – the ghost shrieked, dragging him up and away from his spot. – We remember well!

Quiet simply couldn't help it anymore.

- HEEEELLPPP! – he screamed hopelessly in Teeriel's general direction.

Would the bald man be angry, would he even care? Quiet didn't know. He screamed for Leendonn as well, but Leendonn wasn't here, only the bald man. Teeriel was the only one around who could help him at all.

The little angel was dragged upwards and into a dark tunnel that opened from the wall of the large hall. Quiet tried to hit his attacker, his small wings uselessly flapping to stop the maddening flying, but no matter where he tried to punch, his limbs just phased through the blue body, while the grip of the monster remained firm and tight.

Suddenly the dark tunnel ended, and the monster flung him forward, into the middle of an oval-shaped room. Quiet smacked into the ground with a yelp, pushing himself up from the mud with great effort. The walls were made of stone yet again, but the room was small and very very tall, with a grid at the top that let in some light, if not much.

Also, it was filled to the brim with those blue ghosts. They were screeching all at the same time on that same high-pitched voice, making Quiet's head almost split into two. He tried to drag himself up against the wall but the monster who brought him here grabbed and hauled him back into the center.

- The Allfather is here! – it shouted to its kin.

The ghosts went absolutely crazy at this, the volume of their sound escalating rapidly, reaching levels that caused actual pain. Quiet covered his ears and screwed his eyes shut, hoping that this was just a bad dream and he would wake up soon.

- Us, you killed!

- Us, you slaughtered!

- We were rebels, you said!

- We will kill you!

- I didn't do anything! – Quiet screamed back, tears spilling from his eyes.

- Lies, Allfather! – shouted back his kidnapper.

- That is not my name, monster!

- Allfather lies!

- Allfather is cruel!

Quiet's fear turned into rage at this. Yet another group of beings who insisted he was something he wasn't, who accused him of being bad.

He was done taking this abuse.

The next sound coming from him was a roar of wrath, deep and powerful, shaking the room and everything beyond it to its core. The monsters flew around in alarm above him, their voices drowned out completely.

Quiet wanted to see all of them dead.

Lances of deep red gems appeared from thin air, all shaped into deadly needles. They shot out, impaling a good chunk of the monsters. This time, their see-through nature did not save them, the weapons pierced them all the same. They tumbled to the ground, writhing in pain as they dissolved into nothing along with the needles. Quiet created more and more, sending them forward, focusing on slaughtering every single last—

One of the ghosts, who somehow evaded the strikes, dived him and phased through him. Quiet staggered, the room around him losing its focus. He thought he saw a large figure standing before him. His attacks slacked and failed, and the remaining ghosts all began their nose-dive, bombarding the little angel with their own bodies.

Quiet felt crushing fear as they were hunted, excruciating pain as they were struck down, their lives snuffed out, and each time he saw that large figure a bit more clearly. It was an angel, with proud wide wings of golden light, waving almost like the grumpy angel's blue tendrils. This angel, however, had stark white hair of shoulder-length, and a golden tiara with small wings on his forehead.

Quiet saw his past self hunt down and kill countless humans, each finishing blow was swift and precise and absolutely ruthless. He scrambled back, his body wrecked with pain, as his former self turned to him.

Inarius

It was him. It had been him in the past.

- YOU DARE QUESTION MY RULE, YOU WRETCH? – the angel rumbled in a powerful voice, taking a thundering step towards his small counterpart.

Quiet wept on the ground, hopelessly calling out for Leendonn, his powers leaving him completely.

There was an explosion of light that washed away Inarius' form and the screeching of the monsters.

oooOOOooo

Inarius' greatest strength and greatest flaw had always been his stubbornness. Once he got something into his mind, he would follow through with that, without stopping, without doubting. This boldness had led him into many victories, many acts of heroism, and also many more dangerous situations from which Tyrael, and the Angiris Council had to drag him out of.

Strange, Itherael and Auriel had nearly always been the ones initiating those "rescue missions", now that Tyrael thought about it.

The fallen angel quickly shook his head and dismissed that random thought as he tore across the hall, trying his best to follow Inarius' rapidly shrinking form in the darkness, being kidnapped by one of those Phantasms.

Did literally every monster in these goddamn ruins decide to target Inarius and only Inarius on this fine day?!

Tyrael cursed audibly as the hopeless call for help reached his ears and he doubled down on his running. He caught a glimpse of the Phantasm disappear into a tunnel opening a good handful of meters above the ground. He managed to stop himself just in time before he smacked into the wall (no matter what Lyndon said, maneuvering on the ground was hard!), and he looked up at the hole above him.

- Anu damn it to the Burning Hells, Inarius. Why don't you ever listen?! – he let out a deep huff.

With a small jump he latched onto the wall and slowly hauled himself up to the opening with some effort. Climbing was yet another activity angels pretty much never did. Tyrael helplessly kicked with his legs in mid-air, but eventually he fought his way up to the tunnel, where he had to sat on the edge and catch his breath. He didn't dare to imagine how hard this would have been, had he been in his usual attire of full body armor and a heavy cape. Instead, he still wore the clothes from the night spent with Sophie. Their small weight was a great help right now, even if their lack of defense was generally very off-putting.

With one final deep breath he turned around and began crawling through the tunnel, grumbling curses under his breath, mostly aimed at the little angel. Of course Inarius would retain his former thick-headedness, the very thing that caused the most trouble in his career. The man decided he would employ a couple of hard slaps after this smaller adventure, to get his point across for the stubborn angel.

He was somewhere halfway in the tunnel when everything around him shook with fierce power, and Inarius' angry and definitely not child-like roar filled the air. Freshly made plans about slapping the angel immediately forgotten, Tyrael clawed his way forward with great hurry, the sound setting off all kinds of alarms in his head. The dying screeches of the Phantasms reached his ears, but by the time he was nearing the end of the tunnel, those voices changed: now it was Inarius crying and screaming for Lyndon (once again in his kid-like voice) and the ghosts shrieking in triumph. Tyrael could even make some words out, like "Kill him!", "Kill him now!".

He didn't even know Phantasms could talk.

He threw himself forward, and stumbled out into a room that looked like a mostly dried up and long forgotten well. Still dangling from the tunnel's entrance, Tyrael saw the Phantasms flying towards the helpless form of the little angel curled up in the mud at the bottom.

- Inarius! – the man shouted, but even he could tell his voice did not have any effect.

Dear Heavens, he wouldn't make it! He struggled out of the tunnel, throwing himself to the ground below. Just as he landed, rolling over his head, the Phantasms reached Inarius.

There was a sudden burst of blinding light, filling the well, raining down from the grid above. Tyrael covered his eyes with a painful shout, tears suddenly filling them, while the Phantasms screeched in terror, hopefully fleeing this place finally.

The mysterious spotlight kept on shining for a few seconds, heating up the inside of the room like an oven. Then, it was gone as if cut by a knife.

Tyrael carefully opened his eyes slightly, but had to close them almost immediately. The spotlight had been replaced by a slightly less bright, but still very bright being. Squinting, raising his hand to block the rays out, Tyrael thought he saw a humanoid figure standing above Inarius in an almost protective way.

- This is just a mess – a powerful voice suddenly boomed.

- Who are you?! – Tyrael demanded, one hand grabbing the newly summoned El'druin's hilt tightly.

He was still pretty much blind and couldn't even look upon the newcomer, so he honestly didn't know what good his weapon would do in this situation.

- To you, angel? No one. But I must say you are doing a pretty awful job at being the Guardian's substitute for the time being.

- What?! Start making some sense, fiend!

- Fiend?! Bah, angels are such self-absorbed idiots, the lot of you! – the voice grumbled angrily. – Fine! Have it your way, fool!

The harsh light died down, Tyrael could finally open his eyes. That did not help to make sense of things at first, though. As he focused on the torso, the fallen angel thought he was looking at an Ivgorod monk, not unlike Mikulov who had helped him and his group steal the Black Soulstone from the Heavens some time ago. But as his vision cleared of annoying flashing spots, he noticed more and more details that completely threw off that idea.

The "monk" had a powerful frame, but his skin was crisscrossed by lines of pure light that looked like they were forcefully held back from burning out the fallen angel's eyes once again. The traditional Ivgorod clothing was of liquid gold and it was flowing around the body like a river. The head was…

Tyrael had to double-take. The being had a literal campfire on his shoulders, in the place of the neck and the head. A nice stack of sticks, dried leaves and coal was burning brightly with flames.

- There! Happy?! I assumed my fire aspect just for your pleasure, angel – the campfire said.

Tyrael thought he saw a face with moving lips, formed out of the flames, but it quickly melted away.

- Who—Who in the Burning Hells are you?! – the fallen angel gawked, unable to shake off his stun.

- First you call me a fiend, and now you accuse me of being a demon of the Hells?! – the campfire frowned at him, Tyrael was almost sure of it.

- Are you a nephalem?

- What? No! I am Ytar, you dense being of light!

- As—as in the Sahptev Ytar? Ivgorod's god of the sun and fire? – Tyrael stammered, something from Deckard's old writings surfacing in his currently fuzzy mind.

- Yes! Patron of Monks, Bringer of Light, Provider of Heat, He Who Crosses the Sky, Sentinel of Ways, Guardian of—!

- But you don't actually exist – Tyrael pointed out in disbelief.

The campfire positively shrank down, before suddenly roaring up and striking towards the ceiling.

- WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY, ANGEL?! – he thundered, the lines on his body almost spilling out their light from anger.

- The gods all across Sanctuary are not real! – Tyrael insisted angrily, gesturing with El'druin wildly. – Made up by the countless cultures that dot these lands, in order to explain things that cannot be explained.

- SACRILIGE!

Dear Heavens, this lunatic sounded just like Imperius…

- We are real, foolish angel! – Ytar claimed loudly, angrily stomping his feet.

Inarius twitched violently under him and curled into ta tighter, shakier ball, muttering Lyndon's name in delirium. Immediately, Ytar's campfire head shrank back to normal size and he carefully stepped away from the angel.

- Forgive me, Allfather, I cannot help the nature you had given me – he defended himself hurriedly.

- Wait, you—you came to save Inarius? – Tyrael blinked at the scene.

- That is not his name now, fool! Respect his wishes! – Ytar frowned at him again.

- What did you just call him?

- Allfather.

- Why?

- Because he had created me, of course! Me and every other god upon the glorious land of Sanctuary!

- What are you—

- Enough! – Ytar boomed, nearly stomping again, but stopping himself a moment too soon. – I have been forced to come down and save our Father from Those Left Behind, because you were not capable enough!

- Now wait a minute—! – Tyrael chided angrily, but was swiftly cut off.

- As the substitute of the Guardian, it is your duty to keep the Allfather safe! And so far, you have failed spectacularly, if Zaim's report is anything to go by.

Tyrael needed a moment to recall that Zaim was the Sahptev god of mountains, another preferred patron of the monks.

- It is not my duty to guard Inarius! Nor is it my fault that he is so thick-headed that he cannot stop and think things through! – he shouted back angrily.

- The Guardian, a mere man, had been doing just fine up to this point. We follow his work with great enthusiasm – Ytar snorted in disapproval, then added more solemnly. – The Seven had even tried their best to help him on his quest, may their rest be eternal and peaceful.

- Why do you even think it is my task to keep him safe, then? Guide Lyndon back to us, if he is truly such a great Guardian.

- We cannot!

- Why? Because you have no power, unlike you claim? – Tyrael narrowed his eyes at the god.

The campfire actually darkened, and a deep growl came from it.

- You do not understand the first thing about gods, angel – it rumbled with displeasure. – The Allfather had created us to keep the world going and keep humanity on its path, away from utter chaos. Our task, our duty and destiny is all that. We cannot act directly, only observe and influence others. I should not be here, ungrateful angel, do you understand?!

Ytar looked down again to Inarius.

- My task is to provide life-giving light, warmth, and sense of purpose and determination to the people of Ivgorod, especially to its warriors. By coming here and saving the Allfather, I have violated just about every law and limit we gods possess. But I just couldn't stand around and do nothing, while the substitute Guardian lets our Creator die!

- What about those seven jade figures then?! They were most active, if Lyndon's tale is to be believed.

- The Seven had been unique. They were not a god, but a guardian spirit. They were allowed such bold actions, as long as they had a good enough host body. We… are a different breed, you may say.

After a short pause, Tyrael finally reached down and gently scooped up the shivering little angel into his arms. Inarius immediately latched onto his coat, muttering Lyndon's name over and over again.

- Why? – Tyrael asked, looking back up to Ytar. – Why is Inarius so important that he needs Guardians, and has all the gods watching him?

- The short answer is quite self-explanatory: look at him, fool – Ytar gestured at them. – He is small, weak, fragile. His powers and mind are far from developed. He has a lot to learn, and he needs someone to teach him.

- And the long answer? – pressed on Tyrael, getting that distinct feeling that Ytar was narrowing his eyes at him at this.

If he had eyes, that is.

- I believe you already know, or at least suspect it, angel.

- No, I do not.

- Sure you don't – Ytar waved dismissively.

- I am serious! – Tyrael frowned at him.

- Enough! – the god boomed. – I have already greatly outstayed my welcome. Heed my words, angel. Until you are reunited with the Guardian, you are responsible for the Allfather. We have waited ages upon ages for his return, and I can promise this in the name of all the gods of Sanctuary: there will be a terrible price to pay, if we lose him once again because of you.

- Yeah, got it – Tyrael grumbled.

- It is important, now more than ever before that he is well-prepared – Ytar warned him.

- Why?! What is going to happen? – the fallen angel immediately snapped his attention back at the god, the hair on his neck standing up.

The room around them rumbled violently, causing the man to flinch away.

- Hm, that was Zaim's warning – Ytar grumbled, looking at the walls. – He has a point, though, I truly am crossing more lines than advised.

- Wait, answer my question first! – Tyrael reached out to him.

- Sanctuary needs its Father, angel. We are at the mercy of your kin and of the demons. That cannot stay, nor will it, Fate's willing – Ytar said gravely. – And now the worm once again returned to the apple and already ate her way inside. Her teeth even reached the gods, may her name be eternally damned!

- What?!

Another, more violent quake ran across the room. Ytar sighed deeply.

- This is less than ideal, leaving the Allfather in the care of you who carry so much ill-will towards him. But it cannot be helped – he grumbled.

The god began to melt away, turning into liquid light. Tyrael had to shield his eyes once more, one hand covering Inarius' face as well.

- You didn't answer! – he shouted one last desperate time.

- I cannot trust you enough to give a straight answer, but I did what I could, scholar. Work your way up from there! And for gods' sake, keep the Allfather safe, will ya?!

With that, Ytar was gone, leaving behind an overheated, but once again dark well, as well as a deeply confused and annoyed Tyrael.


Ah, the joys of having such an intricate and detailed lore that I can work such wonders with...

It's good to be over and done with that shitstorm that was the end of this semester at school. And while I STILL have some technical obstacles before me (currently having my laptop at maintenance; experiencing blackouts because of electricians working in our house), I finally have more free time! I can also probably and hopefully rekindle my inspiration and motivation for creative work, including this fic! Let's go, cupcakes!

A lineart on DeviantArt I had done as a celebration: -kenyizsu-.-deviantart-.-com (dash) art (dash) Diablo-Creators-of-Sanctuary-lineart-7487594999

Lore & Trivia Corner

- Enraged Phantasms, the blue ghosts in this chapter, are a type of enemy in Act V, found in the Sewers of Westmarch, as well as in the ruins of Corvus. They are annoying, they are little bitches, and I hate them. According to Tyrael, they are the remaining souls/ghosts of early nephalem who were born with more demon than angelic attributes. Makes you wonder what a more angelic nephalem would look like...

- Past-Inarius' capitalized speech is taken from the Sin War Trilogy books, where he talked in such a manner (when not in his human disguise, of course).

- That throw-away line, about Ihterael and Auriel initiating the rescue missions for Inarius, is a reference to my other Diablo fanfic, a oneshot titled "A Single Chance".

- Mikulov is an Ivgorod monk with blooming nephalem powers. He got mixed up in an adventure with Deckard Cain and Leah against an army of undead, and later he joined Tyrael's borderline suicidal group of heroes who eventually "stole" the Black Soulstone from the Heavens, before it could corrupt everyone and everything there. Naturally, the angels almost killed him as a thanks. But he's okay!

- The Sahptev is the religion of Ivgorod. It contains 1001 gods, some of order, some of chaos, who live in all things around the world. Every person is born under a sign of a god, and tends to follow that path in their life. Monks, however, are often known for choosing their own patron gods. Most choose Ytar, the god of sun and fire (like your monk character in the game), others choose Zaim, the god of mountains.