A/N: One year later, we find ourselves in the company of familiar faces. Next week I'll post the final chapter/epilogue, and then we'll be moving onto the next story in the series. Thanks all for continuing to read and enjoy!
Chapter Four: The Oneness of All Things
The trail took them near Westmarch, which was not much to Tyrael's liking. Even after twenty-one years, the land still smelled of decay and death. The air was particularly metallic, as though blood had been vaporized and infused into the atmosphere. It tasted bitter on his tongue and in his soul, for he had lost more than soldiers in the city's sacking and ensuing battle.
"You are particularly dour today," Eirena commented from atop her horse. The breeze was strong, and her hair flowed about her shoulders and, occasionally, into her face. "Though I understand, somewhat. I wish there were some sun with this wind."
Lyndon chuckled from behind. "Saying that Tyrael is dour is like saying a rock has become more of a rock."
Tyrael stifled a groan and shook his head. "Perhaps I should have left the lot of you in Tristram to help Haedrig clean out his smithy."
"I am not particularly pleased with our route, either," Kormac said, drawing up beside Tyrael and glancing darkly at the distant ruins. "I could have gone a lifetime without returning. Too much blood was spilled there, needlessly."
"Best, then, that our destination is elsewhere."
Tyrael had not travelled far outside New Tristram for quite some time. His record keeping kept him busy, as did his training of the still-new Horadrim and the guidance he provided to the increasing number of Nephalem that flocked to the town. While cities such as Westmarch had collapsed during the last full demonic uprising, others such as New Tristram had become bustling centres for learning or commerce.
He had been able to delegate most of his actionable work to the Nephalem over the years. The more time that passed since the Worldstone's destruction, the stronger and more numerous they became. Yet, even peace was transient; evil, as Tyrael well knew, always returned. Pockets of demonic activity had been growing since the previous autumn, and now, a year later, the situation was widespread enough that Tyrael found himself back in the field.
Word of an escalating situation near Salvos had reached him, along with the additional message that local forces were no longer enough to hold back the demonic hoard. Without assistance, the town faced eventual destruction.
"I'm surprised we pulled you away from your writing," Lyndon chided, drawing to Tyrael's other side so that the three men rode abreast. "Be careful, or you may grow a beard and turn into Cain. What do you have left to transcribe, after all?"
"The act of learning and teaching is eternal."
"Spoken like a true scholar."
"He is the Aspect of Wisdom," Kormac countered. "We should expect nothing less. Those are wise words."
"They were not mine," Tyrael said quietly, glancing towards Westmarch. "They were said by someone far wiser than myself."
And truly, Tyrael was only the Aspect. The Council had for years expected a renewed Wisdom to appear from the Crystal Arch; none had. Tyrael believed his mortality made him feel the absence more keenly than his brothers and sisters; they were immortal and eternal. And while Tyrael did not regret his decision to become mortal, his lifespan, albeit longer than a normal human's, was finite.
There was always the chance Tyrael would pass before Wisdom returned. He never expected to regain the brother he had lost, but a small part of him wanted closure. More than he had garnered in Pandemonium, watching the Fortress implode and the souls of the dead devour someone who had, once, been dear to him.
"I would honour both his memory and Cain's."
"I smell them," Kormac said, as the group halted on a small rise a few miles from Salvos proper; smoke rose in the distance. "Sulphur. Fire."
"Ah, demonic flatulence," Lyndon intoned. "Charming."
Snapping her fingers, Eirena summoned a shimmering sphere of ice in her palm and absently juggled it. "We know what kills fire. I can't speak for the rest of you, but I think I might starve if this takes too long. Let's clean things up and find a tavern."
"I like how you think, dear." He looked to Kormac and Tyrael and raised an eyebrow. "Is the dour duo ready?"
El'druin sang as Tyrael slid it from its scabbard and pointed it to the horizon. Blood pounded in his limbs, and he felt the lingering essence of Justice rise in his throat. He shouted wordlessly, his horse rearing from the noise. "It has been too long since I have done this. For the High Heavens, and the Light!"
"I suspect the reports were a tad understated," Lyndon shouted, as he drove a dagger into the lesser demon that clawed at him from the ground. As it fell, he snapped his crossbow upward and fired a bolt into the next monster charging him. "I don't know about you, but I rather think they needed our help weeks ago!"
Tyrael spun and surveyed the conflict, El'druin shimmering each time a demon was slain. Lyndon had a tendency for the dramatic, but he was not wrong. Either the reports were inaccurate, or the incursion was growing exponentially, to potentially culminate in something horrific. The town would soon be overrun by monsters, and although the population had evacuated, he could make no promises for the survival of their homes.
Arcane bolts thundered over his head; Tyrael ducked, instinctively, but they were not aimed at him. Eirena flashed past him on her mount, knees tucked tight against the saddle and arms raised in a casting pose. She wove the spell into a net, then tossed it out across the hoard of undead that were rounding a corner. The creatures howled and collapsed; Tyrael took his chance and lunged at them, cleaving the group with El'druin while the arcane net held them fast.
"Where is Kormac?" She shouted, glancing about. "I lost him at the gates."
"I do not know." Tyrael frowned as she dropped from the horse and joined him. "But something is amiss here. There is a greater evil at work driving these forces."
"I'm tired of these greater evils," Lyndon said, taking a moment to reset his crossbow and swing the blood and ichor from his blade. "I'm too old for it and my knees hurt. Can we find the hell mage or whatever is responsible and put it out of its misery?"
The enchantress laughed. "I'm sure our friend here is far older, and I hear no complaints from him."
Tyrael smiled slightly. "I would normally agree, but Lyndon is correct. We need to locate the source before it calls for aid." He shouldered El'druin and nodded down the laneway, where local guards had engaged a new group of foes.
Before the group could move, however, a loud growl emanated from behind a structure. The ground shook, pebbles jumping and rolling across the dirt.
Lyndon and Eirena glanced at each other, eyes wide.
"Oh my," she said. "I have not heard sound that in a long time."
The building exploded, shards of wood and nails flying outward in all directions. A towering form barrelled out from it; it shook wide shoulders, attempting to dislodge the Templar who was busy driving his sword into its neck.
Lyndon dove out of the way of the punisher, landing in a discarded haybale. "Kormac, you idiot, you've gone and made it mad!"
At least they had found it. Tyrael closed his eyes, inhaled, then snapped El'druin down into the ground, summoning an angelic circle of protection around the group. The punisher crashed into the golden barrier and howled; arcane sparks flew, and he strained to hold the shield in place.
"I thought we killed all of them ages ago," Eirena hissed, weaving her own spells to add to the circle. "The reaper forces were supposed to be destroyed."
"Then we missed one!" Kormac shouted, enraged, as the punisher shook violently, swinging the Templar from side to side. He wrenched his sword free and tumbled to the ground, managing to roll within El'druin's shield before the creature slammed its fists down.
"Plan?" Eirena asked.
"Kill it before it kills us," Lyndon spat. "Let's not overcomplicate matters."
What Tyrael did not understand was how the town's forces had held such a host at bay for this long. The presence of a punisher meant the demon-swell was in its latter stages, and he had seen only a handful of highly trained guards beyond the usual defense forces. Unless there were unknown Nephalem in the area taking care of demonic activity as it occurred, he was at a loss.
"I cannot hold the shield for long," he said, glancing at each of them in turn. "Ready yourselves."
Withdrawing her portion of the spell, Eirena began to craft additional enchantments. She wrapped one about Kormac's sword, another about Lyndon's shoulders as an arcane shield. They silently considered each other, then nodded as one.
The shield exploded as Tyrael withdrew El'druin from the ground. The light momentarily blinded the punisher; it staggered backwards, grasping at its face with armored fists the size of cows. Lyndon took the chance to slide between its feet, his blades slicing at the creature's hamstrings. The hide was tough, and the punisher growled and stomped, its blows cracking nearby cobblestone.
Kormac and Tyrael followed, sweeping around each side of the creature and striking its forearms with their swords. The blows thundered as they struck flesh, though the punisher staggered only slightly from the force. Black ichor spouted from the wounds, coating the ground in a slippery muck.
Seizing the opportunity, Eirena wove another arcane net and lassoed it around one of the punisher's arms. The two warriors added their blades, driving them deep into the creature's thighs in a further attempt to hold it in place.
"My turn." Lyndon fired a bolt at the punisher's head, but it turned and took the impact against its armor. Hissing, he made to leap onto its back instead. As he did, the monster its arm free from the spell-net with a roar; the scoundrel dextrously sidestepped as it crashed its fists into the ground again. Tyrael and Kormac held their ground, but the effort of keeping their weapons in the punisher's flesh was exhausting.
"Never mind," he said, retreating to Eirena. "Anyone else have an idea, aside from slowly stabbing its toes to death?"
A brilliant amethyst streak cut the air and slammed into the punisher's side. The demon howled and grasped at the curved blade embedded deeply in its ribs. A cloaked figure flashed beside Eirena and Lyndon, and as the others watched, it leapt effortlessly from the ground to balance on the hilt. Before the punisher could react, it ripped the hilt from flesh and jumped in a singular motion, using a second curved blade to pierce the creature's hide and leverage itself onto its shoulders.
Stunned at the acrobatic display, Tyrael shouted, "Hold it steady!" He leaned on El'druin as hard as he could. Kormac growled from the opposite side, doing the same.
"Right!" Eirena ran at the punisher, throwing webs of glowing arcane across it, opting for a quicker, less precise binding. "On it!" She glanced at Lyndon. "Help!"
Clearly understanding, he brandished two throwing knives, took aim, and launched them. They pounded into the punisher's neck in rapid succession, forming perilous but accessible steps.
The figure deftly leapt up them, landing softly on the demon's head. It paused only a moment, then swung the blade tips down and into the punisher's eyes. The creature howled, staggered, and began to collapse.
Tyrael had scarce seconds to rip El'druin out before the monster crashed to the ground. A cloud of dust and bloody mist enveloped him, and when it cleared, he saw the punisher dead and the unknown assailant standing calmly on the back of its neck.
"What in the Hells," Eirena said, as the figure recovered its weapons, swinging them to clean the blades. "What in the absolute Hells."
Tyrael was shocked enough about the sudden assistance that it took him a moment to realize why Eirena and the others were backing away, hands weaving arcane magics or grasping their weapons tighter. He studied the figure, seeing clearly now the tall hood and lithe form. Long, thin fingers clutched two matching curved blades. It turned to look at Tyrael, and though its face was obscured, Tyrael had the disturbing feeling that it was surprised to see him.
They had fought too hard for peace to let such a high-ranking member of the reaper forces survive, regardless of the assistance it had provided. How it had escaped attention this long, Tyrael did not know, but he did not plan on letting it go any further.
"Now," he gasped.
The four acted as a unit, striking forward instantly without consultation. He lunged and slammed his shoulder into the figure, knocking it from its perch on the punisher and throwing it to the ground. Kormac followed, using the hilt of his sword to drive it hard into the rubble of the building they had destroyed. Then, the other two swept in, using crossbow bolts and magic to bind the figure's cloak against the stone.
On this day of all days, when he had remembered too much of what he had lost, Tyrael refused to let even a single adversary win. He strode forward, brandishing El'druin with a righteous anger he had not felt in ages.
The forces of Hell wish to break me by reminding me of the past. The loss will be theirs.
He bellowed and drove the Sword of Justice into the reaper.
Or, at least, he tried.
Dumbfounded, Tyrael watched as the blade grew incorporeal and shimmered, floating, in the figure's chest. He twisted it, but no matter the angle, it refused to solidify and pierce flesh.
"Is it…supposed to do that?" Lyndon asked.
"No", Tyrael said, numbly retracting the sword and letting it fall to the dirt. Except when it is used to strike those with justice in their hearts.
The being under the cloak exhaled loudly, a startlingly human gesture of relief that Tyrael did not expect to hear from a reaper's lieutenant.
"Brother," it said dryly, voice deep and familiar. "It is good to see you too."
They watched wordlessly as the others assisted the town guards in routing the remaining demons; with the punisher dead, the forces of Hell fell into disarray and became easier to quell. Tyrael, leaning against a half-collapsed wall, folded his arms, unfolded them, and absently brushed El'druin's hilt.
To the side, Malthael calmly wiped the trail of blood running from his nose, then spat a second wad onto the dirt. A dark purple bruise was forming across his cheekbone where Tyrael's shoulder had struck him.
Tyrael sighed. "I am sorry."
His brother nodded, eyes still on the dwindling conflict.
"When I saw you," Tyrael continued, "I never dreamt you could be anything but a reaper. Truly, I am still not sure how anything else stands beside me. I lost my brother decades ago to a madness I still do not understand."
"The mortal mind offers a certain…clarity…to things," Malthael said, eventually.
Frustrated at the lack of answer, Tyrael spun to face him properly. "I watched the Nephalem strike the life from you! I felt true hate for the first time in this form when I saw what you had done. Yet, still I mourned the loss of what you once were, and what you meant to us." When the other man appeared indifferent, Tyrael slammed his fist into the wall; the action embarrassed him, but he found the emotions impossible to stifle. "By the Hells, brother, you have always been too quiet. Will you speak and tell me how all of this occurred?"
Malthael tipped his head imperceptibly in Tyrael's direction, then slowly, very slowly, raised an eyebrow. "Will you listen?"
The words crushed the wind from Tyrael's lungs. Malthael's speech always carried a multitude of meanings, references to countless past experiences and potential future ones. Yet, there was no buried meaning here. It was as direct a statement as Tyrael had ever heard. The implication shamed him.
Carefully, so as not to push the wall over, Tyrael slid to the ground, placed his hands on his knees, and nodded.
"Of course."
"Tell me again why we did not simply expunge him with a different sword?" Lyndon honed his dagger against a palm-sized whetstone, having already recovered whatever quarrels he could from the downed demons.
The three companions watched from a distance as the two men continued to talk, heads bent, voices hushed. They had been that way since the demons had been routed hours ago. Eirena did not doubt they had much to discuss, but she, like the others, was exhausted from the fight, and looked forward to some light-hearted relaxation.
"El'druin cannot strike those of the Light," Kormac said. He had finished cleaning his own armor and sword earlier, and now leaned casually against an overturned haycart. "It would be the gravest sin to counter its decision."
"Perhaps it is wrong."
"The Sword of Justice is never wrong."
"We killed him, Kormac," Lyndon said, incredulously. "I watched the Nephalem stick a blade through his blackened, rotting heart. He disintegrated. Exploded. He ceased to be."
"I saw. I was there."
"I have seen strange things in my time," Eirena said, interrupting their argument. "And I am just as anomalous myself. Even Tyreal himself died after destroying the Worldstone, only to return."
Lyndon shook his head. "Regardless, I do not understand how Tyrael can be so accepting of this. After all that monster did."
"I would not assume. They have been talking for two hours. I suspect there is much that he seeks to understand."
As if hearing them, Tyrael and Malthael finally stood. Eirena noted the shorter man was limping slightly, no doubt from when Tyrael had knocked him from atop the punisher.
"Well?" Kormac said, as they approached.
"We have a stop to make before returning to Tristram," Tyrael said. "You are all welcome to join us."
They all glanced at Malthael, who was determinedly avoiding eye contact, and instead intently considering his worn boots.
"Is it a tavern?" Eirena asked.
"Does it involve alcohol, generally?" Lyndon asked. "In copious quantities?"
"No," Tyrael said, "And, possibly. Gather the horses. I will explain more on the way."
