Chapter 35

- This cannot be normal!

- I agree, but it is rather entertaining to watch.

- This isn't funny, Malthael! What if he's dying! I don't recognize this type of illness!

This wasn't the most pleasant thing to wake up to, in all honesty.

- Would'y guys just shut up for a second? – Lyndon mumbled, frowning deeply.

He did not bother to open his eyes, and most of his brain was still very much asleep. He was lying on something, covered by something heavy. Outside of the two grating voices, which cut through the darkness like obnoxiously sharp knives, not much reached his mind at the moment.

Except that strange foreboding sense that told him to hide. Something or someone was watching him, and Lyndon had to disappear from that sight, he knew.

- He talked! Oh thank goodness! Lyndon? Lyndon, can you hear me?!

- Of course he can hear you, scholar.

- I said shaddup, Malthy – Lyndon grumbled, the name coming back to him in a flash.

- That is not my name, spawn of hell.

- He hears us then. That's a good sign… I think. I hope.

Wait, was that… Abd al-Hazir? Didn't they leave him in Corvus, when they got sent over to Sescheron? Yes, that did happen, with that weird book, because Lyndon had tried to protect Hazir from—

Eyes fluttering open, Lyndon stared right at the scholar and the angel leaning over him. He then lunged forward and pinned Malthael to the ground, one hand squeezing the throat, the other yanking out the dagger from his belt and striking downwards with it. Malthael barely had the time to grab his wrist and stop the weapon an inch away from his face.

- You worthless bastard, you! Stay the fuck away from Hazir, you hear me?! Your business is with me alone! – the scoundrel bellowed angrily, green eyes blazing.

He wanted nothing more than to end that miserable freak's life right there and then, but the angel's abnormal strength could compete with his own. Someone suddenly grabbed his coat and tried to drag him off of Malthael.

- Stop! Stop, both of you! – Hazir shouted, clinging to Lyndon.

- He tried to kill you in your sleep! – the scoundrel snarled at him.

- Get off me, you imbecile! – Malthael tried to free his neck with his free hand.

- It is alright, he helped me kill three Unclean that tried to ambush us – Hazir explained so fast the words were almost unintelligible. – It was my first time facing human foes, truly, and I would have died, had it not been for him! Although he did blow himself up with his own magic, I admit.

Lyndon stared dumbfounded at the nervous Abd for a good second or two.

- You just cannot let that one go, can you, scholar – Malthael mumbled under his nose, clearly giving up.

The scoundrel couldn't help the hysterical laughter that erupted from his chest as he pictured the described scene. His grip slacked and he stood up, staggering back onto his makeshift bed of multiple carpets and rags piled on top of each other, from where he launched himself a moment ago. His laughter died off fast and finally his brain could catch up with what was going on around him.

His hands shook, his head hurt, he was famished, his throat parched and tasting like some kind of sour medicine, and just nothing made sense. They were in Sescheron, Hazir was here with them for some reason, the swinging pendulum was gone, and why were his hands black with the occasional white lines running across them?

In fact, his entire clothing was of the same pattern, now that he looked at himself.

- You… you change color. Is that normal? – Hazir asked gently, stabilizing him in his seat.

- Y—yeah. Weird – was all Lyndon could muster, as the last vestiges of his sudden power vanished from him and his eyes turned back to brown.

- Oh thank goodness! I thought it was some kind of curse or illness when you mimicked the rug's patterns! – the Archivist sighed in relief, rushing to offer some water and food for him.

The scoundrel accepted everything gratefully, and downed the water in a single swing. His coloring returned to normal almost immediately.

- We've tried to give you as much water as possible during your fever, but you swallowed very little of it – Hazir explained worriedly, cutting up the beef jerky to small bits with his pocket knife. – You have been out for over a day, I was so worried about you!

- A… day?

- You sleep like a sloth, demonspawn – Malthael spat venomously, standing up from the ground. – I saved your worthless hide and you dare attack me!

- You… tried to—break Hazir's neck in his sleep – Lyndon forced it out of himself, glaring daggers at the angel.

- Irrelevant.

- We have spent this last day pretty well, to be honest – Abd shrugged helplessly, clearly not knowing what to make of the situation. – We talked about all kinds of topics, history, biology, architecture—

- Wha—what? – Lyndon blinked at him owlishly, trying to connect the dots and failing.

- Well, after we killed the three Unclean, we didn't really have much to do, and Malthael started asking about the history of Sescheron and the Barbarians, so I—

- Hazir… please, start from the beginning, alright? – Lyndon frowned, giving up.

It was quite strange, how well-structured and easy-to-follow Abd's writing was, and how incoherent his oral ramblings could be, as if the two things had no connection to each other whatsoever.

The Archivist took a deep breath, clearly forcing himself to slow down, and he recounted everything from the point he was jolted out of his sleep by the scuffle.

-… You have a flying book? – Lyndon mumbled in confusion, when Hazir reached the part about the Flutter Tome.

- Oh yes, it is filled with every possible spells and words for "flight", and it can stay airborne as long as it does not run out of them. Very useful, although it can only carry one human.

- Your magic is most imperfect – Malthael commented from the background.

- Everything has its own limits – Hazir waved the jab away, before continuing his story, including how they made better berths and a larger fire for staying here for the night.

At the end of it, Lyndon still needed a few minutes and a couple of questions to be able to fully make sense of everything. His brain was still fighting off the aftereffects of the fever. He instinctively sought out his crossbow with his hand, feeling more at ease when his fingers curled around its handle once more.

- How did I not wake up to that? – he glanced at the pendulum blade stuck inside the stone pillar.

- You tell us – Malthael sat down on a nearby chair, which was far too low for him, but that didn't bother him at all.

He clasped his hands strangely tightly, which was visible even in his white sleeves.

Lyndon had to double-take at that.

- You changed – he blurted out in surprise.

Malthael's clothing developed a few characteristics since the last time Lyndon was conscious: the angel's robe was now more dark greyish blue than actual black, and it gradually turned white at the end of his sleeves. His hood and edges of his coat were adorned by simple white lines, and he had a simple black belt around his hips. It was still the most basic simple look one could have imagined, but was already a far cry from the original. Even his almost non-existent wings had a bit stronger and larger contour than before.

Malthael stayed silent, tilting his hood away.

- Yes, it was really strange, truly – Abd nodded, gazing over at the angel. – I think he shapeshifted slowly while we were talking about all kinds of things… Is this a common thing among your kin?

-… Yes, it is.

- You are a sucky liar, Malthy – Lyndon grinned weakly.

- That is not my name – Malthael's hood angrily snapped back in their direction.

- And mine is not "demonspawn", so there – the scoundrel shrugged.

Abd al-Hazir was busy scratching down notes in his notebook that somehow was in his hands in a fraction of a second. That speed was unmatchable.

Lyndon went back to munching down his food slowly. Despite his growling stomach, he could barely force himself to take a bite, due to the sourness of his throat.

- What did you make me drink? – he mumbled, glancing at Hazir.

- I… may have made the medicine a bit too strong, I admit. I was in a hurry and also quite startled.

- At least it worked. Thanks for that – Lyndon sighed. – Now what do we do?

- My local Portalfolio probably cooled down at this point—

- In this weather? It has frozen solid years ago.

- I meant magically. So we can use it to travel back close to Westmarch, or Duncraig or Bramwell. I have yet to leave my Portalfolios all over the world, but I'm getting there slowly.

Lyndon grimaced. The last thing he wanted was to allow Malthael to roam freely once more. He needed to come up with an idea to secure the genocidal angel and make sure he cannot hurt or kill anyone—

Wait.

- You stopped me! – the scoundrel called out, looking at Malthael.

- Whatever are you babbling about, demonspawn?

- Just now! You stopped me from killing you. That stab could have been fatal, even for an angel.

Malthael fell silent like the grave, but his invisible glare could have set the table on fire.

- It's true – Lyndon shrugged simply.

- I absolutely loath you.

- Mutual.

Even the angel's voice changed a bit, Lyndon noted silently. Still a far cry from the original heavy drawl of earth-shaking doom, but it was recognizable as an actual person's voice. A very boring, very cranky, very annoying person, for sure, but still a person.

-… How did you two end up together, again? I feel like I am missing something here – Hazir pointed out, eyes darting between his two companions, quill at the ready above his notebook.

- Trust me, you are better off without the details – Lyndon huffed.

- I disagree. Details are the most important.

- I don't want to talk about it, Hazir. Sorry – the scoundrel glanced at him apologetically.

The Archivist visibly drooped at this, but put his notebook away.

- Maybe another day – he mumbled.

- And not a word from you – Lyndon sent a glare in Malthael's direction.

- I do not have the need of constant rambling that is characteristic of your worthless species.

-… Is he always this grumpy? – Hazir whispered to Lyndon.

- Usually worse.

- Oh great. I thought angels would be the jubilant type. From what I have read about them…

- They are farthest things possible from that.

- You disregard Auriel, hellspawn – Malthael added his own piece.

- She alone is what we imagine an angel is like – Lyndon nodded curtly. – Bright, optimistic, kind, beautiful…

- Aaa-haaammmm – Hazir agreed quietly, notebook already back at work. – Isn't she the Aspect of Hope?

- Yes, she is – Lyndon looked at him. – You have learnt a lot since our last encounter, Hazir. If I recall some of your writings, you were quite dismissive of angels and demons in general.

- Being an Archivist has opened my eyes to a lot of things. Cain's works did a marvelous job of that. I am still processing most of—

- We need to go – Malthael suddenly blurted out, his clasped hands only gripping each other tighter as time went by.

- In a rush to somewhere? – Lyndon growled at him.

He was slowly recovering, being able to eat more and more of the food, but his head still buzzed and he didn't feel all that strong to walk long distances.

- This place is hardly ideal for resting, demonspawn.

- He does have a point – Hazir nodded. – We were lucky no more Unclean or some other manner of beasts have discovered our camp so far.

Lyndon recalled the distinct feeling he had while waking up, of being watched by something angry. These two may have been right.

- And how do we get back to your Portalfolio? – he asked.

- Oh, that's easy – the Archivist waved the concern away.

He pulled out his own Portalfolio from his tunic:

- Each and every of these books contain the locations of the others all around Sanctuary. They even show if the book is being moved somewhere. I can make mine point us to the right direction, and all we have to do is not freeze to death.

- Or run into beasts.

-… Right. That too.

Lyndon exhaled loudly. The sooner they left this damned place, the better, that much was true. He could start looking for Quiet faster that way.

- Just give me a moment here – he mumbled, looking down at his meal.

Silence settled on the group. Hazir busied himself revising and scratching certain parts of his notes. His expressions spoke volumes whenever he found a great or an apparently terrible sentence in his work. His quill danced tirelessly.

Malthael did not escape Lyndon's concealed attention, either. The angel exercised his usual muteness, but not much else: he fidgeted anxiously in his seat and his hands refused to let each other go. He was tilting his hood, trying his damnest (and failing miserably) not to do it obviously, as if listening to something. The scoundrel raised an eyebrow at this behavior but did not comment. Maybe Malthael was just off-put by Baal's remaining touch on the ruins. Quiet too had been awfully distressed in Kingsport, Zaboul's aura setting him on edge.

The food slowly helped Lyndon recover. He could already feel the life returning into his limbs from the few bites and the water he had had. He wasn't sure how much of a fight he could offer out in the Eternal Woods, but simple travelling he could probably manage at this point. So with a deep sigh, he stood up and gathered his crossbow and backpack, as well as the thickest wall-rug he could find from the pile. He covered himself in the latter, while Hazir followed suit.

Malthael looked almost relieved at the sight. He too stood up.

- Show the way, Hazir – Lyndon smiled slightly at the Archivist, gesturing at the main entrance of the hall.

The scholar pulled out his Portalfolio and quickly thumbed through the pages, keeping the magic inside them with his focus. He began walking and the other two followed him without a word.

They left the hall behind, and after a short and completely wrecked corridor, they found themselves outside the fort, with some kind of bridge stretching out before them. Lyndon stopped for a second, pulling the wall-rug tighter around him and taking a deep breath through his nose. The snow storm mostly died down, snowflakes lazily and scarcely drifted in the air. He allowed the stinging air to fully clear his head, fill his lungs…

… And carry the sound of war drums to his ears.

The scoundrel grew roots to his spot, and he listened, eyes staring forward.

- Is everything alright? – Hazir looked back, closing the book briefly.

Malthael's glare was palpable.

- Lyndon – he actually said his name.

The scoundrel was focused on the sounds, however. They were war drums, powerful, almost certainly magically fueled. Out in the open air, the ruins of Sescheron's walls echoed the music in every possible direction. Lyndon could recall a certain group of enemies always using drums in his past adventures.

He glanced at Malthael with green eyes.

- We need to go– the angel said slowly but tensely.

- You lying piece of shit – the scoundrel hissed in return.

Then he turned around and stormed back inside the hall, searching for a path leading into the inner courtyard.

oooOOOooo

Lyndon had always believed wholeheartedly that goats were the spawns of one of the Evils, perhaps of Tathamet itself. He could vividly remember the day in his childhood, when a goat broke loose from the nearby slaughter house and for some accursed reason, it zeroed in on him and chased him across the streets of Kingsport for a good while before it got caught thankfully.

The Khazra only reaffirmed this belief in him.

The only good Khazra was a dead Khazra, it was a universally agreed rule all across Sanctuary. These beasts were stupid enough to withstand any kind of diplomatic or peaceful approach, but clever enough to create deadly traps, cast spells, raise ghosts and, naturally, make pacts with demons.

Because goats were the spawns of Hell.

Luck had been on Lyndon's side: upon entering into the main inner courtyard, not only did he not run into any enemies, but he also quickly spotted a narrow winding staircase that led up to a smaller bastion just high enough to watch over the entire place. The Barbarians had been big fans of inner defenses, so that the enemy would not have an easy time even if they breached the walls. Lyndon quickly climbed up the stairs, with Abd al-Hazir and Malthael behind him barely being able to keep up. The angel followed with some reluctance, clearly torn between going after them and just leaving altogether.

The trio settled down onto the snowy-icy lookout, the cleared-up weather on their side for once. That did not mean the revealed scene was to their liking.

- And I was hoping this day would get better – Hazir mumbled, crestfallen.

In the heart of the courtyard, the entire Ice Khazra Clan gathered. Some of them were patrolling, or at least trying to keep up the pretense of that, as everyone's attention was drawn to the center. No one even thought about looking up at the bastion.

An amphitheater-like structure was sunk half-way into the ground, with the stone benches mostly still intact. On the benches three rows of drummers sat and played their instruments with zealous vigor. The resulting music was surprisingly orderly and powerful, it even looked like they caused slight shockwaves that kicked up a haze. Still, the stage was mostly visible, especially the hastily dug out pool for collecting absurd amounts of blood.

Three Khazra shamans were busy slaughtering their own people over an altar made from the stones of the fort, standing just before the pool. The warriors far too eagerly threw themselves under the wicked ceremonial blades. The shamans did their tasks with surgical precision, all the while shouting words on their bastardly tongues, with one specific "malluss" returning constantly. The slaughtered Khazra were left to bleed for a minute, their blood magically drawn into the pool. Then one of the shamans barked an order and tossed the corpse to the audience. The onlookers grabbed the body and dragged it along the ground, making sure it left a bloody trail.

It was clear they were using the slaughtered to draw some kind of large pattern on the ground. After they were done with that, they threw the corpse onto a slowly growing pile which held some Unclean bodies next to the goatmen.

- They are summoning something – Lyndon growled in a low voice, recognizing the circle-like symbol with radiant lines all originating from its center, the pool.

The lines even grew on their own. Slowly but surely they spread across the uneven terrain like still wet paint, turning into waving, twisting patterns. It reeked with a repelling demonic aura. It was hard to tell whether or not that feeling of being watched came from this symbol as well, but Lyndon was convinced it did.

- Maluus – Malthael breathed, keeping his gaze on the bastion's roof.

- Maluus? As in… "Rage Plague" Maluus? – Hazir hissed anxiously.

- Who is the guy? – Lyndon looked at them in confusion.

- Maluus was a demon who invaded Sanctuary over 20 years ago, some time before the destruction of Mount Arreat – the scholar hurriedly answered. – He started a so-called "rage plague" that spread by blood, and completely drove everyone mad who came in contact with it. It left demonic red markings on the body, something like a warpaint. It devastated most of the Dreadlands settlements, using the Barbarian tribes that were not involved in the defense of the mountain. Only one town by the name of Staalbreak survived the ordeal.

- What does that bastard do, exactly? – Lyndon looked at Malthael who appeared to be trying to sink into the stone floor.

- He takes over with his blood – Malthael rumbled, lost in his own mind. – Twists emotions, then brains, then bodies. Nigh-impossible to kill, changes hosts by a whim. His influence spreads with every tainted blood drop that touches an opponent.

- Apparently Maluus had taken over a Barbarian leader, Khelric completely, and that somehow made him vulnerable – Hazir nodded. – Perhaps he anchored himself too close to one host. A young man with a magical sword slain him eventually, but by that time most of the Barbarian tribes were wiped out.

Lyndon thought for a second.

- You know him, don't you? – he glanced at Malthael.

-… Yes.

- Met him before?

- He was the reason we were beaten back to the Diamond Gates. A single demon… and we lost three battalions to him. Took us too much time to realize the real weapon was his blood – the angel mumbled, taking a trip down memory lane he clearly did not want.

Lyndon didn't pry further.

- Alright. So we need to stop him from coming back – he stated.

- Fool! We need to flee! – Malthael barked angrily at him.

Lyndon took in a sharp breath, bridling his exploding rage but allowing his blazing eyes to speak volumes of it.

- We are the only ones who know this is going on – he said evenly, in a greatly restrained tone. – We are the only ones far and near who can do something against it. If we do not stop this bastard from coming back, he will get out of here and there is no telling how many he will kill this time.

- I'm with Lyndon on this one – Hazir mumbled in a weak voice. – If we don't step up, no one will in time… I just really really hate this.

Malthael glared daggers at them.

- Suicidal fools, the lot of you – he hissed finally.

- We mortals are incapable of self-sacrifice, remember? That means we will definitely survive this – Lyndon sneered at him.

The angel only looked like he wanted to kick Lyndon down from the bastion. The scoundrel, however, was already turning his attention back to the scene before him. He glanced down at the shivering Abd al-Hazir who looked like he just wanted to sink into his wall-carpet coat and disappear forever.

- Hazir, listen – Lyndon turned to him.

- Yes, sorry. These Khazra just kept me prisoner, you know, and I… just remember it – the scholar mumbled in slight shock.

Lyndon placed a firm hand on the shaking shoulder as he watched the goatmen. He didn't really know what to say, or even how to begin plotting against this threat.

"You are a good man, and a hero of Sanctuary."

Lyndon still wasn't completely sure if Ytar was right with that statement, but he also understood that if they run away now, Maluus will bring a terrible vengeance onto this world. He had every chance to reach a truly populated area, perhaps Westmarch itself. And if that happens, millions of people could die a horrible death.

Lyndon could not allow that to happen.

He looked at Hazir with a reassuring, if faint, smile:

- Come on, friend. The eyes of Sanctuary are on us.


So life's been a bit crazy lately, and I also had to really iron out the general story line of both the remaining Act II, and the following Act III. There were some complications, as well as new and worthy ideas, which threw the original plan into a bit of a twist. But I think I've got it now, so let's get back on the road! Shit is still in the way, but with the impending BlizzCon, I cannot help but be hyped as hell for the Diablo announcement.

As always, thank you so much for your patience, cupcakes! ^^ Your support is a great help against the obstacles.

Lore & Trivia Corner

- Ice Khazra Clan: Populating the Dreadlands, the Ice Clan is mostly known for their shamans having fire magic, and that they have no scent at all, which makes them almost ghost-like.

- Maluus: creator and spreader of the rage plague, but surprisingly he is not the Lord of Wrath. Maluus was the main antagonist in the comic series "Sword of Justice", where he took over first a bunch of necromancers, then somehow he ended up in the Dreadlands with them, where he spread to nearby Barbarian tribes, including the Owl tribe, home of Gynvir. Eventually, Maluus completely changed the leader Khelric's body into something demonic, and he was finally slain by Jacob Staalek. We never actually see Maluus, only through hosts, so his real form is anyone's guess.

DeviantArt links

Quiet's Halloween costumes: deviantart-.-com-/-kenyizsu-/-art/Diablo-3-Quiet-s-Halloween-Costumes-768008939

Project Zodiac - Aries: deviantart-.-com-/-kenyizsu-/-art/Diablo-Project-Zodiac-Aries-769794997

Project Zodiac - Aquarius: deviantart-.-com-/-kenyizsu-/-art/Diablo-Project-Zodiac-Aquarius-769957714