I am truly sorry for the late update, everyone. Also, I apologize in advance for the "December chapter" as well, since that will also more than likely be delayed until January.
I have posted a headsup about this in the tumblr blog of TFS, so if you'd like to receive important news like this, as well as sketches, designs and chapter-progress updates, make sure to check it out and/or put it in your browser bookmarks!
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Chapter 56
Faces had always been so… fascinating to Tyrael. A unique and complex mechanism to show feelings and thoughts, even without words from time to time. Of course, being an angel, Tyrael found them a woefully far less clear form of communication compared to the resonances and songs of the seraphim. Since his fall, he had been forced to stand corrected multiple times in that opinion already. And today was yet again one such instance…
Because the face of this hellish storm could not have possibly communicated any clearer the level of hatred and rage it was experiencing.
Before Tyrael could properly process what he was looking at up in the clouds, alarms went off in his head and he slammed the peak of El'druin into the deck, erecting a force field. A split second later bone missiles bounced off of his shield, getting stuck in the mast, the boards and cutting his lifeline accidentally. On the far end of the ship, standing just before the captain's quarters stood the stalking necromancer demon in his humanoid form. His left eye had been mostly healed, although it was milky and grey compared to the deep darkness of the right one. The hole on his wrist was still there and his left little finger was still missing, although neither seemed to bother him all that much. His leather clothes, bronze chains and definitely Rathmian symbols remained dry and untouched despite the pouring rain. His dreadful white face scowled slightly at Tyrael's defense, but overall he seemed calm… assured even.
They were not going to make it.
That was Tyrael's genuine thought in that moment. The ship was caught in a sentient storm, monsters invaded the lower decks (and Tyrael had a horrible suspicion as to what type of monsters), and the necromancer demon was back. It was his trap, the mortal angel realized. This bastard had remained so silent up to this point because he was busy bringing everyone together for this one night.
Unless an actual miracle happened, like an island springing up to give them solid ground, nobody was leaving this ship alive.
Zaim? Ytar? Anyone?! Tyrael could not help but call out desperately.
No answer. Either the gods were once again held back by their supremely inconvenient bonds… or the storm and the demon were blocking them somehow.
- Teeriel? – the small shaky voice from his side would have broken anyone's heart.
Tyrael glanced down at Quiet, trying his damnest not to communicate with his eyes just how hopeless their predicament was. His efforts didn't matter – the little angel was crying, looking up at the adult to find some kind of reassurance in a situation he could not fully understand but was overwhelmed by nonetheless. Tyrael gulped, those red eyes shimmering with tears forced him to truly take stock. He was going to die here. Far away from his Horadrim and from Sophie. The Worldstone, his brother – a child was going to die here. All these soldiers and sailors, who were rushing to save refugees from a broken kingdom, were all going to die here. And not a single soul will ever know what happened to them.
Tyrael looked back up at the demon, who was patiently waiting for their next move, not even bothering to waste the smallest energy on breaking through the shield. The ugly bastard looked smug almost, as if he had already won.
Tyrael figured he might as well thank the creep in person for the boost of rage that sight resulted in.
He gently crouched down, offering his back to Quiet.
- We will fight – he said softly. – That is all we can do.
The little angel sobbed, but climbed onto his back and held onto the metal collar. Tyrael stood up staring at the necromancer demon with all the hatred and wrath he could muster.
At the next tilt of the ship, accompanied by the stomach-churning cackling of the storm monster in the background, Tyrael threw his sword. The bastard sidestepped it with ease, but was not prepared for Tyrael to teleport to his weapon while it was passing by him. The mortal angel delivered the single most perfect drop kick he had ever executed in his long life straight to the face and chest of the completely caught off-guard opponent. The demon let out a most satisfying screech of rage and pain as he crashed into the railing and stairs leading up to the steering wheel. Cheering shot up from the sailors and the remaining guards, most of them finally escaping the horrible shock of seeing a face in the clouds.
- Sailors! Keep the ship together! – roared the commander, yanking his sword out. – Soldiers! Get that black bastard over there!
A good twenty soldiers, eager to finally have a tangible target, shouted "Yessir!" and charged (as best as they could with the wildly moving ship) towards the demon who was just pulling himself up from the wreckage of the stairs. Tyrael fell on his belly, quickly springing back up and calling El'druin by his side. Pushing aside his dreadful thoughts, the mortal angel allowed his combat experience to take over and focus on the most immediate problem ahead of him.
That problem being, where to stab through this damnable scum of Creation to finally get rid of him!
With an angry shout or perhaps curse, the demon pointed his accursed ivory dagger at the incoming attackers. Bone tusks and horns burst out from among the deck's boards, weaving themselves into a fence, cutting the soldiers off. The men immediately began hacking and slashing at the sudden obstacle but the wall held for the moment. The demon had to roll aside and awkwardly stumble away from Tyrael's downward slash that pulverized what remained of the railing. The mortal angel pursued his enemy relentlessly in order to stop him from casting spells. On his back Quiet hung on for dear life, sobbing and hiding his face into the travelling cloak.
- COWARD! – the demon shrieked as he tried and failed to gesture with his dagger. – You cry and hide behind others, just like you have always done!
He barely avoided getting decapitated by Tyrael at the next swing.
Youshould talk about hiding behind others, Tyrael thought with all the venom in the world.
The demon turned into a dark cloud when Tyrael almost stabbed him through the abdomen, and surged backwards. Tyrael, however, rammed him into the wall with a perfectly timed shockwave from his fist just as he solidified. The mortal angel sprung forward, El'druin held high.
However, this time the demon was ready as well. He hurled a ghostly scythe at Tyrael who barely had the time to deflect it. The impact had been enough to knock him aside and slip on the wet boards. The demon wasted no time and practically screamed something into the air, without any target.
That sounded like a curse, Tyrael noted with slight dread as he sprung to his feet once more. Instead of attacking he quickly used his vision, and sure enough – red sparks drifted around his body lazily, almost mockingly.
The Iron Maiden.
With a loud crunch, the bone wall gave in in one spot and the commander himself charged across with a sword illuminated by some kind of enchantment. Tyrael saw the sparks around him as well, he screamed at him to stop. But the commander was already upon the unmoving demon, and slashed at his neck with a battle cry.
That cry choked out in the next instant, as the commander's own neck was cut by an invisible force and his head came tumbling down. The body collapsed, blood erupted from the freshly caught arteries. Soldiers shrieked in grief and rage at the sight, Quiet wailed louder, burying himself deeper into the cloak. Tyrael ground his teeth in helpless anger and glared at the monster who was unfazed by the human blood covering his garments. He tried to push aside the haze of wrath in his mind, to come up with a trick to overcome the curse, but nothing came to him. The soldiers, spurred by the death of their commander, were beginning to break through the wall. The demon casually leant down and plunged his ivory dagger into the body. Tyrael lunged forward, unsure of what he could even do, but determined to stop whatever his foe was doing. With an almost casual swipe, the monster sent him flying with a terrifyingly powerful backhand. Tyrael crashed into the captain's quarters back first, rolling over his head and smacking into the heavy desk in the far end of the room. Quiet fell off of him, landing in a large heap of equipment and sacks. Both of them stayed where they were, their bodies too battered to recover quickly. Quiet kept crying, helplessly flailing around, calling out for Lyndon in choked sobs. Tyrael grabbed the edge of the desk and he tried to pull himself up. His head ached and hammered as if it was being used as an anvil. The rolling thunder felt like a stab through the brain. His vision swam and the ship was tilting and turning at an even wilder pace to him than before. He could barely make out the form of their opponent, his silhouette blurring into the background at times. All the dreadful thoughts of them dying here came back to Tyrael in full force and he almost buckled under their weight.
- All these people have to lose their lives now – the demon spoke up suddenly, slowly pulling out the dagger from the commander's corpse –, because you just couldn't die in Eastgate Keep. Because you just couldn't die in Mephisto's fort, or by Uldyssian's hands. Because you just couldn't die any godforsaken time in your misbegotten rotten life!
Something emerged with the dagger's point from the body – something white, almost liquid-like. It quickly became a wisp though, that dutifully followed the weapon upwards, twisting and changing as it rose. Tyrael wanted to sob at the desecration, he wanted to spit in the demon's face but he could not even stand.
- But this is all you do! You hide and force others to fight and die in your name! – the demon hissed venomously.
Next to him now hovered the twisted soul of the commander – his armor see-through, the skeleton underneath shimmering with darkness and white light. He held no weapons, but his fingers stretched and twisted into giant claws. His eye sockets were filled with the same dark light.
Behind the demon, the boards of the deck creaked and burst upwards, just as the soldiers finally forced their way through the bone wall. Greyish-white soft arms tore their way into the open, the soft skin covered in angry red slashes and carved runes. Reanimated rotten corpses of long drowned people climbed up from the lower decks, some sporting algae- and barnacle-covered rags and hoods. All of them brandished some sort of weapons, from mere clubs fashioned out of half-rotten ship railings, to proper swords, maces and morningstars. The soldiers reared back at the emerging army that now stood between them and the demon.
- This… is all your fault, Inarius – the monster stated in an ice cold voice, pointing behind himself accusingly, but his empty eyes were kept on the struggling pair inside the room.
The commander's enslaved spirit lunged for them. With some titanic focus, Tyrael managed to roll right under the ghost as it flew at him and impaled the floor with its claws. Still, vestiges of its wisp passed through the mortal angel's body, and he immediately began to writhe. The cold conquered him in an instant, and all Tyrael could do was to curl up into a miserable ball and claw at the boards with shivering fingers as if that would achieve anything. His already blurred vision narrowed, he was certain he saw the glint of deadly sickles above his head, ready to reap his soul—
The horrible scream of the ghost, and a sudden warm touch were what knocked Tyrael out of his delirium. Instead of delivering the final blow, the phantom had been nailed against the sidewall with a lance of red gem, destroying its remnants almost instantly. Quiet rushed to Tyrael, gently placing his tiny hand on the cold sweaty forehead. Heat flooded his shivering body, the mortal angel regained control over his muscles. His vision cleared and opened up again, the noises of thunder lost their painful hold on his mind. Tyrael pushed himself up from the floor, locking eyes with Quiet who looked at him with worry.
And then he noted the golden tiara that held no red gem in its center.
Seeing Tyrael regain his bearings, the red eyes lost their worrying shine and grew ice cold. "Quiet" slowly turned to the necromancer demon who looked like his feet just grew roots to their spot. The little angel grabbed the air next to Tyrael and not even looking, yanked on it. Orange-red lines of the Iron Maiden curse materialized and snapped immediately with a ringing sound, erasing the spell.
- You… – Quiet—no, Inarius glared at the demon, his voice almost torn from rage.
The next second, he was off. Small wings spread wide and quivering with wrath, Inarius practically flew at the demon's head with fearsome speed. In his hands, miniature twin swords grew from nothing and he held them high.
The necromancer demon, his smug sense of victory long gone by then, barely had the time to basically throw himself onto the floor and roll aside to evade the small but deadly bundle of rage. The storm spirit roared in a horrible mixture of gale and a thousand different birds, but whether it was from fear or from rage, was hard to tell. Inarius crashed into one of the zombies from behind, but the monster had no time to react – the little angel lopped its head off with a single masterful strike, before elegantly hoping onto the floor. The soldiers cheered, chanting "miracle child" as they met the undead assault head-on and with equal force.
The storm monster screeched and the wind picked up. A massive wave crashed into the ship, the side of the hull creaked agonizingly as if it was a living creature in great pain. The main mast came down and tumbled into the sea with a horrible crash, sweeping some undead along with it. The soldiers were thrown off their feet, the remaining zombies could easily bludgeon and stab some of them to death in the commotion. It took a moment for Tyrael's shocked mind to realize he himself did not budge from his half-crouched position inside the quarters. Looking down at his feet, he saw red lines running across the leather of his boots, seemingly anchoring him to the wooden boards. He unsteadily stood up, his feet moving easily but always finding a firm spot to hold on, as if he was walking on rugged granite.
Completely unheeding of the weather, Inarius threw himself at the necromancer demon again.
- TRAITORS! – he screamed. – BACKSTABBERS! LIARS!
The demon managed to knock one of the small swords away with his dagger but the other one almost slashed him across the chest.
- Damn you! – the demon shouted, retreating from his spot with haste. – Rammanu, sink this ship already! Your murderer is right there!
He shot a bone spear but Inarius knocked it aside. The different levels of experience in direct combat became clearer than day in an instant. Inarius's weapons may have been much smaller than his original twin swords from ages past, but he knew exactly how to dance with them and destroy his enemies with ease. For a second, Tyrael was back on the Battlefield of Eternity, long before Sanctuary ever came to be to complicate life. He and Inarius would fight shoulder to shoulder, weaving in and out of the lines of hideous demons. Despite Tyrael's ability to teleport to his sword, Inarius had always been the nimbler one, often setting up larger targets for his older brother to finish.
The demon was fleeing at this point, still alive somehow, perhaps because Inarius was just beyond furious and grew sloppy as a result.
- I TRUSTED YOU! I SOUGHT YOU OUT! YOU BETRAYED ME, YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!
- You were killing our children! You made them weak, you made—!– the demon tried to argue but had to duck from a horizontal slash sailing at his neck.
He pointed somewhere behind Inarius, rattling off a spell before beating a hasty retreat again. Sickly green mist rose from the among to boards and a ghostly skeletal figure rose clad in rags and holding a lantern of green fire. It raised the lamp and took aim at the unaware Inarius. The next second it let out a soft shriek and dissipated into nothing as El'druin struck across its torso. Tyrael somehow forced himself to finally move and be useful. His mind was still reeling, trying to simultaneously cope with Inarius's appearance, his raging unintelligible screams, the sentient storm apparently called Rammanu and the deadly trap they had found themselves in.
He had to duck from a morningstar sailing for his head, and he retaliated instinctively, cutting the attacking zombie in half. Coming back to reality in that moment, Tyrael finally saw what was going on around them, as much as he could through the heavy curtain of rain. The storm was wilder than ever, the ship was tilting and turning without stop at this point. Through the holes of the deck new undead crawled up, three of them massive and carrying entire chunks of long rotten masts. The soldiers were cornered, without their commander and some kind of solid ground to stand on, they were being overwhelmed faster and faster. Inarius was relentlessly and single-mindedly pursuing the necromancer demon who was fleeing and using the zombies as temporary body shields. Despite his efforts to buy himself time, he could barely get off any spells, outside of some basic bone arrows or a scythe or two. Inarius tore through any kind of undead opposition, his small stature making him much harder to hit, and his swordsmanship making it basically impossible.
Tyrael sidestepped another attempt on his life. He needed to help the surviving soldiers, he decided. He could not reason with Inarius right then, the storm monster thing was untouchable, and the necromancer demon could do little but flee for his miserable life.
- Anu, guide my blade! – he whispered one final prayer.
He took a moment, before adding:
- I will do my best, Sophie.
With that, Tyrael ran at the closest giant undead headed for the surviving soldiers. The hulking beast was wearing a black hood and thankfully did not see when the mortal angel flew at him from behind. Tyrael chopped off one of its arms with El'druin. Howling, the zombie turned wildly around, flinging the mast part around in a wide arc, but Tyrael answered with an equally wild spin on his heels while crouching, dodging the mast and literally cutting out the monster's legs out from under it. The Drowned almost fell on him, but he quickly rolled to the side, jumped up and stabbed it through the chest just to make sure. He kicked away a smaller undead as he yanked out his weapon. Ignoring the small targets, he charged at the thankfully still unaware second giant. Hearing a trample behind him, he glanced over his shoulder mid-run. A smaller group of club- and mace wielding monsters was in hot pursuit. Thinking quickly, Tyrael spun around on his heels again, tracing his fingers across the boards between him and the incoming horde. Shining golden lines bled across the wood, arranging themselves into a beautiful pattern, a wide glyph resembling open angel wings. Stumbling a little but keeping the very same momentum, Tyrael turned back to his original target. His pursuers stepped onto the glyph and broke out in howling, their horrible sharp-teethed mouth open wide, their half-rotten eyes bulging out. Golden fire spread from the lines onto their legs and quickly engulfed their bodies, consuming them nigh-instantly.
Unfortunately, their roars alerted the second giant who turned around, already swinging its improvised club. Tyrael barely had time to react and half-skidded half-rolled past the zombie to dodge the hit. He recovered quickly and thrusted his sword forward into the stomach. The monster roared, pulled itself off of the blade and swung its mast downward. However, Tyrael already jumped aside and chopped off the arms as they came down. He then jumped onto the chest of zombie to topple it over and beheaded it.
The final giant was well aware of Tyrael by that point and was facing him with its full attention. It was holding its mast in a defensive way, ready to shield any parts of its body from any direction in front of it. Tyrael circled his opponent, trying to look for an opening. He knew little about the Drowned, but he was well aware that they belonged to the more intelligent group of undead and were a far cry from the lumbering sacks generic zombies were. Whether this intelligence came from their past lives, or from the force controlling them, a so-called Sea Witch, no one could tell, and it hardly mattered in this situation. Granted, El'druin would be able to cut through the mast, however the sheer size of the Drowned meant it could retaliate easily in that time. The giant roared for help, but none came. Behind it, the cornered soldiers and sailors were still fighting, keeping the smaller zombies occupied.
Tyrael lunged forward, trying to take advantage of the momentary distraction. The giant however was surprisingly quick to react, and slammed the butt of its mast into the deck. An eruption of phantom waves washed over its surroundings, knocking Tyrael back who had to roll over his head.
So the Drowned had their own magic. Just more good news.
Staggering back onto his feet, Tyrael shook himself. He got lucky with the other two monsters, but he could not be so careless with this one, he realized. The giant let out a stomach-churning snarl at him as a challenge, its shark-like teeth gleaming in the dark. Tyrael trilled back in the most offensive tone he could think of in that moment. That seemed to give the Drowned a bit of a pause but it quickly shook it off and charged forward. Tyrael knew better than to try and block, he sidestepped the attempt.
Then promptly had to threw himself and belly-flop across the deck as the mast came flying at his head. The giant undead had far more mobility and maneuverability than the mortal angel had anticipated. He rolled aside from the next strike and was sent flying into the edge railings by another round of phantom waves. He almost stumbled over and into the dark and hungry sea, but by some miracle he managed to grab onto the wood and haul his upper body back onto the deck, despite every muscle in his back aching from the collision. Tyrael coughed, trying to force some air into his lungs. The Drowned roared in triumph and charged at him with the full intent of dragging him under the waves with itself.
A barnacle-covered morningstar spun across the air in a beautiful arc and nailed the monster straight in the head, splitting its skull open and poking its eyes out. The zombie's roar was cut short, it stumbled and faceplanted into the boards, skidding to a halt. Tyrael pulled himself up, looking to his right. The soldiers and sailors were pushing back the remaining Drowned faster and faster, one brave man managed to grab the weapon from the slain and had thrown it at the incoming giant. Tyrael took a shaky breath and nodded in the man's direction who replied with a thumbs up.
An unnaturally clear ring swept across the deck, drawing everyone's attention. The necromancer demon stumbled on something and fell. His ivory dagger was shattered to pieces by one of Inarius' twin swords, resulting in a smaller dark shockwave. The stalker bastard scuttled backwards but there was nowhere to run. Inarius recovered from the shockwave in an instant and he jumped, swords held high to finally end the duel. The men broke out in loud cheering at the sight. Even Tyrael held his breath with anticipation, El'druin shaking in his hands.
There was an explosion of sound. Inarius was sent flying into the far end of the top deck by a powerful burst of air that left a wide plow in the floor. The sky was screaming, forcing the men onto their knees who desperately tried to cover their ears. The sea and clouds roiled as one. With titanic effort, Tyrael glanced up, his head almost splitting open from the howling.
Next to the ship, the storm clouds began to descend, forming a hellish twister that grew and twisted with every passing moment. Lightning cracked and ran across its form, the spinning clouds sometimes offered a glimpse of the bottomless darkness lurking inside. The sky's scream now concentrated into that devilish thing, forming a distorted face that seemed to resemble a man, then a raven, then some kind of fanged beast, then a hundred other visages.
The clouds surged and moved and Tyrael realized too late what was happening. The newly formed titanic fist came crashing down right onto Inarius. There was a shockwave that knocked everyone off of their feet and the attack stopped a meter away from the little angel. Red light wove itself into a shield but it was sputtering, under it Inarius was straining to hold it up. Rammanu, now fully formed, retracted his arm with a roar that sounded like "Rmaaaaa" and prepared to strike again. Inarius went limp, the shield disappeared. He coughed up shining blood, struggling on his back to somehow get back on his feet. The sailors screamed, their greatest nightmares coming to life right before their eyes. The soldier who saved Tyrael's life just moments ago, dropped his sword, staring numbly at the unconquerable foe. The necromancer demon pushed himself onto his knees, screaming:
- KILL HIM! END THIS!
Rammanu surged forward.
Something snapped in Tyrael and he took off running. He vaulted over ruins and holes, rage and the need to protect heating his body up despite the cold rain. It felt as if his feet did not even touch the boards as he thundered across the entire deck. E1'druin had never felt any surer in his hands. Tyrael jumped, straight at Rammanu. The distance did not matter, the size did not matter. This honorless monster was planning to kill a child and a hundred people who just wanted to help others in need.
His entire being blazing with righteous fury, Tyrael swung El'druin in a wide arc, his voice sweeping away the roar of thunder:
- EMBRACE JUDGEMENT, MONSTER!
The sword cut cleanly and smoothly through the clouds, the blade singing as it disintegrated all foul magic in its way.
Rammanu let out a terrible screech and a burst of air that sent Tyrael flying backwards. The mortal angel smacked hard into the top deck of the ship but the heat enveloping him shielded his body from the impact. He skidded across the boards, all strength leaving him in an instant. Coughing, he forced his head to tilt up and he squinted through the rain. Rammanu was flailing, screaming and howling in agony, a bright diagonal slash ran across his "torso". It was spreading, the light took over and snuffed out the clouds and the darkness within.
- RAMMANU! NO! NO! – the necromancer demon screamed from somewhere behind Tyrael, but the mortal angel had no energy for him.
Instead he somehow spotted Inarius a bit further to his left. The little seraphim was leaning on his arms, head hung low, coughing and spitting blood. Tyrael started dragging himself towards him, to make sure he was alright.
He was halfway there when in his dying struggle, Rammanu swung his arm wildly and knocked over the foremast. The giant pole came crashing down, plowing through the top deck. It missed Tyrael, but the floor collapsed in under him and he disappeared in the dark belly of the ship, not even having time to cry out before he crashed painfully into the floor below.
Cold and darkness enveloped him in an instant, poignant and rotten air invaded his stunned lungs, forcing violent coughs out of him. His head was ringing from the crash, but by some miracle nothing fell on top of him in the chaos. He rolled on his stomach but could not push himself up from the floor, his muscles quivered. Delivering that blow to Rammanu took all he had, it felt like, and Tyrael had no idea how he had even done that in the first place. Still with some difficulty, he began pushing and hauling himself with his arms across the wreckage. The sounds were strangely muted here, the creaking of the ship, Rammanu's dying roars and the stalker demon's screeches barely reached him, even though there was a massive opening in the ceiling. Even the light, what little there was to begin with, barely found its way in here.
Tyrael's senses screamed at him to get out of here, but it was all he could do to slowly crawl around and over broken boards, cargo, beams and the remnants of the foremast. He picked up no movement anywhere but that hardly calmed him down. Every noise seemed to blur together into a soft murmur down here and that was hardly natural. He needed to find some kind of hiding place where he could quickly regain his wits and get back into the fight.
As he crawled through the crack between two fallen beams, Tyrael finally noticed something. Some meters away from on the other side of the cargo hold there was a great heap of disheveled supplies and boxes. He could see humans peek out from under it, the horrified face of one sailor stood out in particular. Tyrael began crawling towards them, somehow getting on all four finally. There were still survivors down here! Maybe they have a chance to retake the ship after a—
The boards shook under his fingers but no sound came from anywhere. Tyrael froze to his spot, on top of some broken boards. His still fuzzy brain finally realized something dreadful.
That white noise, the murmur of the sea was all he could hear at that point.
He turned to his right. A dozen or so meters away a massive shape just rounded the corner from behind a column that still stood. A mountain of rotten and puffed pale grey flesh dragged her way across the cargo deck, her heavy steps shook everything around her, yet they were completely inaudible. Her body was bound in ropes and rags, dull bells hung from her belt. Her skin sprouted barnacles in some spots, her long dark hair hung oily in her disgusting face, four horns sprouted from the top of her head as if she was wearing a crown. She was carrying a massive club-like staff of algae, thorns and fishbone.
The Sea Witch noticed Tyrael and no doubt snarled in glee, but even her voice was surpassed by the constant murmur. Tyrael fell off of the pile of boards, scuttling backwards. El'druin rested not too far from him, he called it to his side but he had no strength to lift it properly. The shaking of the floor heralded the approach of the Sea Witch who quickly stepped over the heap. She was massive, barely fit under the ceiling, and she reeked of rotten fish and seaweed and all ills and sicknesses carried by the sea. The back of Tyrael's head collided with the foremast and he pressed himself against it.
He wasn't ready to die, he realized. He did not want to die. Yet he stared death right in the face as the grinning Sea Witch raised her club.
Behind her the boards of the ceiling began shimmering in a red light as if they were iron being heated. Tyrael couldn't help but stare at the rapidly growing spot, his mind devoid of any thoughts. The Sea Witch realized too he was not looking at her and she turned her head up.
She let out a horrible scream that was heard as a distant echo in the sea.
Then the world blew up in red.
oooOOOooo
Quiet felt very strange. Mostly he felt a lot of pain, but besides that, it was weird.
After the horrible snow white-skinned angry monster man threw them into the room, Teeriel fell on top of Quiet then the little angel landed on some sacks. He was paralyzed by fear, his powers sputtered out and he burst out in tears, calling for Leendonn. It hurt everywhere and he was so very afraid. Teeriel looked very afraid too, even when he had told the little angel they had to fight. Quiet wanted to be safe, he wanted to feel safe. But the sky itself was very angry and skerry, the rain was loud and cold and he just couldn't do anything, he couldn't—
Yes we can. Let me forward.
Quiet sniffled, confused. One of the two parts of him was not afraid, instead it was very very angry, the same kind of angry Quiet had felt after that bad stone fort in the mountains. It wanted to make the pale bad man pay.
"Will you help Teeriel?" he asked himself.
Of course. We will save everyone here, if that bastard dies!
I refuse to be destroy—to die here, said his other part, the very big part that had not moved around much in the past.
Quiet was very skerred, he knew he couldn't do much here.
"Help the good people, please. Like Leendonn always said" he finally nodded, stepping back.
After that, it was very weird.
Quiet was still in his body, yet he felt like he was watching himself through a window, and it wasn't him that was moving and doing things. It wasn't a skerry experience, but it was a bit uncomfortable and Quiet did not really like it. It caused a slight headache too, and none of his three sides like that.
"You are Inarius, right?" he asked, just to make sure.
Yes, I am, he replied to himself.
"You won't be bad again, right?"
No, I want to save us all here.
"Okay."
So Quiet… Inarius-Quiet? … quickly threw a spear at the incoming ugly skerry ghost that tried to attack Teeriel, then rushed to Teeriel to help him up. When Teeriel was okay and that bad spell was erased from around them, Inarius-Quiet grew very very angry and attacked the angry pale monster man. He was very good at fighting, he used two swords and the angry pale monster man was running skerred soon. Inarius-Quiet wasn't bothered by the angry face in the clouds either, or the very skerry dead humans who should not have been moving. He kept his eyes on the pale man and attacked him quickly and cleverly, so the pale man couldn't shout any of those bad spells that hurt people. Sometimes the pale man tried shoot something at him, but Inarius-Quiet was very quick and knocked those aside with ease. Quiet liked watching it, he hoped he could learn this someday. Leendonn was very fast and clever, he will teach him once they are together again! Forgetting about his fears, Quiet cheered on Inarius-Quiet, the bad pale man was finally getting beat up for being so mean and angry and skerry.
That is, until the pale man's dagger was broken finally. Quiet felt the ugly magic leaving it, he saw the pale man falling on his back. Inarius-Quiet rushed at him, so very angry beyond words, he would finally kill this—!
A very powerful wind crashed into Inarius-Quiet, rattling all three of his sides. Quiet screeched and burst out in tears from the pain, his large unmoving side was very skerred and confused from the feeling. Inarius-Quiet flew to the other end of the ship, crashing hard into the boards. The swords clattered away from him and he couldn't make his body move to get them back. He coughed up blood, his throat burnt, he felt weak and sleepy…
Something very very big flew at him, but Inarius-Quiet somehow forced his magic to work and pulled up a shield. The hit was very strong, however, and it caused even more pain for him, especially in his arms. Inarius-Quiet let go of the magic with a gasp.
- KILL HIM! END THIS! – the bad pale man shouted frantically.
But then… Quiet thought he saw Teeriel through the heavy and cold rain, running, jumping, and turning into a bright light that crashed into the storm monster and cut it open. Teeriel landed back on the ship on his belly but he seemed unharmed. The storm monster was shouting and flailing in pain as the big bright cut on its body grew larger and larger.
"Teeriel killed the storm monster!" Quiet shouted happily as Inarius-Quiet tried to push himself up from the boards.
- RAMMANU! NO! NO! – the bad pale man sounded very skerred and sad and angry now.
Then there was a loud crash as the storm monster knocked over one of those big poles with the sails on them, and it fell onto the ship, punching a big hole in the deck and dragging Teeriel, who had been crawling towards Inarius-Quiet, with it.
"TEERIEL!" Quiet screeched.
His friend was in danger! He had to save him, he—
Rammanu's big hand came flying at him, and one finger went right through his chest, knocking them into the center of the ship.
Quiet felt nothing but pain as the storm surged through him and left a big hole in him and it hurt and it burnt and it was so painful! All three sides of him screamed in unison, Inarius fell back from the front as they smacked into the boards. Quiet cried, flailed around on his belly, the big hole in his chest was growing larger, it burnt, he was going to die, he was never going to see Leendonn again!
Someone stepped on his back, crushing him further into the wood.
- Just—die! Just—fucking—DIE ALREADY, YOU FREAK! – he heard the pale man scream at him from above.
Quiet was suddenly pushed aside by his big unmoving side, who was also very skerred and hurt, and he grabbed the boot, sending a jolt of power through it. The pale man cried out in pain and stumbled back.
- MY BEING! – Worrldston-Quiet bellowed in a deep and powerful voice. – YOU DARED INJURE MY PERFECT BEING, YOU SPECKS OF DUST! UNACCEPTABLE! UNACCEPTABLE! YOU WILL NOT DESTROY ME!
He began gathering power from everything around him – from the rain drops, the air, the clouds, the wood, the iron, the ropes, the sails, the sea, the people still alive…
"STOP! STOP, YOU WILL KILL THEM!" Quiet screamed in pure fear.
He recognized the power, it was the same with the snake, with the guards in that noble's big house, with the bad people in the forest who tried to attack Leendonn while he was asleep—
He felt Teeriel and focused on him, he could still bar the magic from Teeriel, Teeriel could not get hurt—
The headache grew worse. Worrldston-Quiet did not listen to him. He gathered all the energy, and for a brief moment he lifted his head and stared at the very skerred pale man with all the hatred he felt in that moment.
The pale man disappeared in a puff of smoke.
Quiet wailed as his magic washed away everything, everything except—
Thank you for your patience, cupcakes!
And I know it is not the jolliest of chapters for the holiday season (Lord knows I've never been in a proper "holiday spirit" in my life), but I would still like to wish all of my readers Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, and may 2021 be a year of success and happiness to you all! 3
This was one hell of a chapter to nail down. It had many iterations, from situations that were too easy to win, to situations that would have resulted in their deaths in minutes, it was difficult to find the balance. I hope I've managed to do so, but you will be the judge of that, dear reader!
Despite my love for Diablo, dark fantasy and "grimdark" in general are not my strong suits, nor are they my preferred genres in anything really. Hence why I love D3, despise D2 and am very worried about the worldbuilding of D4. But that should be left to the future. For now, let's see where we go from here.
I will do my best to reinstate the monthly-update schedule as soon as possible in the new year, but as things stand currently, Ch57 will also be late. Just a heads-up for that!
Lore & Trivia Corner
- Rammanu: meaning "Thunderer" in Akkadian, it was a title of Hadad a rain and storm god from their pantheon. I had been looking for a cool name for the "sentient storm" and am most happy I ran into this title. It has a good ring to it.
- Inarius's weapons: It is never actually established what kind of a weapon Inarius had fought with in the Eternal Conflict. While he is called an "archangel" sometimes, for some unexplained confusing reason, he doesn't have an iconic weapon or symbol of power like every other Archangel does. Even in his final days of pure megalomania during the Sin War, he understandably chose to simply blow entire mountains up and send his opponents sky high. So it was basically free real estate and I went with twin swords. Dual-wielding swords had very much been a thing in history. However, it was an unnecessarily difficult technique so (in Europe at least) it was mostly used by noblemen to show off their skills, and had little practical use in actual war. I have a strong feeling Inarius would go for these weapons, just to show off. He is a proud being afterall, even if also a peace seeking pioneer.
- Tyrael's abilities were mostly taken from Heroes of the Storm. Ironically, in the Diablo franchise he had never really had any chance to show off his powers and battle skills, outside of the Wrath animated short. His longest fight scene is from Diablo 2 where this powerful archangel is… tackled into a pit by a flightless barely functioning "human". And when that "human" somehow climbs back up (holding onto literally nothing, may I add, cuz there sure as shit was no rope or ladder there), Tyrael is quite incapable of hitting the bastard lying on the goddamn ground for a solid minute or two, while that idiot Marius struggles across a goddamn rope bridge and unleashes Baal in the background, cuz he might as well become actively detrimental to Sanctuary instead of being plain useless. Maybe it's just me, but I have the sneaking suspicion that a celestial being of light, a survivor and hero of an endless war should have a ttttad bit more dexterity and combat prowess than "failing to hit a half-rotten mortal guy on the floor for an entire goddamn minute". You can argue that oh, that's Diablo in disguise, but the guy clearly used no magic whatsoever, he just scuttled to the side a bit to avoid the strike. So Diablo 2 is of no help as always, and Diablo 3 started off with Tyrael facetanking a landing in the Cathedral, so Heroes of the Storm is the only currently official and reliable source for the extent of his magic. The skills appearing so far in the story were El'druin's Might, Smite and of course his ult, Judgement.
- The Drowned is a new family of monsters from Diablo 4. They are characterized by their pale, often rune-covered skin, by their tendency to hang out around shores in stormy weather every couple of generations, by their hobby of carrying around a massive goddamn bell to raise the mood, by their other hobby of kidnapping people, and by possibly being under the hivemind-like control of a Sea Witch. The Sea Witch herself is an ugly bloated undead sack of malevolence, her origin and creation is currently unknown, but she is a planned dungeon boss for sure. Her ability to surpass any sounds with the murmur of the sea was my addition, it felt fitting for that setting.
- Depersonalization Syndrome is a serious mental illness that causes the person to feel as if he is an outside observer of his thoughts, actions, feelings, body or parts of his body. Mostly people have one or a few such experiences in their lifetimes, however it can be a crippling problem if it is a persistent phenomenon. While I am not saying Quiet suffers from this syndrome (that would require immense research in the first place, and also wouldn't fit into the story in my opinion), however it was undoubtedly the inspiration to some degree for the Quiet POV part of this chapter.
