Thanks heaps to the reviewers! You guys help a great deal in keeping this alive, so give yourselves a pat on the back. I appreciate the time and attention you've dedicated to my writing. Here's a long chapter, but I hope it works.
I've made some changes to the canon way this is supposed to work; I mean, who likes a retell of the game, huh?
And a note to Emmy: you might like to take some aspirin before proceeding. I will not be responsible for any heart failure, strokes, seizures or other syndromes associated with spazzing.
Disclaimer: This is terribly depressing, but here goes – I don't own Diablo. Surprise surprise.
Chapter 30.5
Bound
"Take him down, Oread!" Nyhl commands. I've never heard him sound so… desperate before. I can feel my heart race faster. It pisses me off, somewhat – the fact that his words can have such an effect on me.
Then again, it can be because Celadon's in serious trouble. I can't take my eyes off Mephisto now, nor would it be a smart move to focus my Inner Sight on her, but I'm really worried…
"Is Celadon okay?" My voice comes out as a desperate, broken scream.
"Just take him down!" Nyhl shouts back, his breath barely catching on. I don't really understand how he can exhaust himself so quickly, but I sure hope that he's got some sort of a plan in his head. Otherwise, I'm sort of on my own, now.
My quiver is all but empty, and I can't feel much of my leg that's been struck earlier. My hands are shaking, making it difficult to aim my spear at Mephisto's skeletal, hollow body. He's still shrieking like mad; being this close to him, the air feels like it's got the consistency of water. I have to suck every breath in hard, and it isn't doing much good to the burning gashes in my back. Maybe it's Mephisto's aura, or maybe it's blood loss, but I'm starting to feel light-headed.
The next lightning-charged blow that I aim at Mephisto's spine misses, and ends up tangled between his ribs. I panic for a split second, then realise that this is really my chance.
I pour my energy into my spear as rapidly as I can. The lightning cracked, sending sparks of white-blue flying out from between the ribs and sizzling the bits of blue sinews that are still hanging onto the bones.
"Be careful!" Nyhl calls from directly behind my left shoulder. I jump a little; when did he get this close?
He holds up a trembling hand, and ivory bones materialises before it, arraying themselves into an impenetrable wall. Just before Mephisto is completely obscured from sight, his left ribcage explodes. I can hear the splintered ribs bouncing off the walls, stone and bone alike.
I try to catch Nyhl's eyes, but he's got his head down, breathing heavily. The skeletons that make up the wall this time have minute specks of red blood over them, and I have an uncanny feeling that it's his blood.
"We need to end this." My voice sounds strangely flat.
"You have one shot." He wheezes back. "Can you?"
"I'll have to."
He turns around, never lifting his head to look at me. I'm not bothering with Inner Sight at the moment; I have one chance, as he said.
Nyhl takes a second to focus, then put both his hands onto the wall, and the bones start to rearrange again; he manoeuvres close to Mephisto in two steps, closely evades a would-be-fatal stab at his chest, then gives a shout as the bones settle themselves into a dome-shaped cage around the demon lord.
"Oread!" He yells, barely audible above Mephisto's roar. A set of claws swipes past him, drawing blood from his side.
I try my best to calm down, conjure up the spiritual strength for Inner Sight again, and squint at the remainder of Mephisto's incomplete body. There's a bluish-violet glow from something protruding from what's left of his ribcage. I couldn't see it earlier because of his highly magic-resilient body, I'm guessing.
It's now or never. I ready my spear, powering it with energy that will soon explode into lightning strikes until the weapon starts to shiver in my hand, and try to recall the feeling that I get when I use Strafe with the bow. I can't miss this.
I launch it off. It flies between two thick bars of the cage, and hits the radiant mass in Mephisto's chest dead-on.
A sharp ring, and a bright flash that lasts only for an instant, but no explosion. The shrieking grows shriller; the air starts to thin as Mephisto's aura starts to swirl about his struck core. His makeshift body disintegrates, and the sparkling dust joins the whirlpool of the demon lord's cremation.
I close my eyes; the noise becomes louder and louder until I don't think I can bear it anymore… then it all stops.
I open my eyes again, and all that remains before them are my spear, a blue-violet, polished stone of a long oblate shape impaled by the tip of the spearhead, and a portal – not like the blue-glowing portals that lead to town, but one flaring with fiery tendrils of gold and silver, its centre a deep, dark void.
And it's shrinking as I marvel.
"Come on, Necromancer!" I snatch up my spear; the stone falls off, and I grab that and slip it into my pocket. I stagger over to Celadon, but Nyhl got to her before me, and lifts her off the floor ever so gently, taking care to support her head and neck.
"Are you sure?" He asks.
"Yes!" My actions aren't justified at all; but I know, in the pit of my stomach, that we have to go this way.
He nods, and we step through the portal together.
Our feet meet hard, flat ground, and the scene opens up to my eyes – we're standing in what looks like a short length of cloister that ends abruptly with plain walls at either end, built entirely by polished stone of light grey, lit in a frosty wash of white by a row of simple lamps. The air feels dry and turbulent.
But this is no time for sight-seeing. "Is anyone there?" I shout as loud as I can, then something catches in my throat and a coughing fit takes over.
The last of the portal winks out behind me as a figure approaches. It's a woman with dark, tan skin, and a rather stout stature. My sight seems to be playing tricks with me – my brain really can't comprehend anymore than that at the moment.
"Hey," she calls, her smooth, contralto voice seeming to swim in the air.
"Can you help?" Nyhl looks down at Celadon in his arms, then directly at the woman.
She nods once. "Give her here."
The woman carries Celadon off to a blue tent in a corner, just outside of the short cloister-like structure. My head hurts… heck, everything hurts. And I'm just so tired… At least it's keeping my mind off what's happened –
"She'll be all right." Nyhl's voice from beside me. That bloody Necromancer. His voice invokes scenes of our recent battle: Mephisto's dying scream, Celadon getting struck, Natalya…
Natalya hitting the floor. Her body exploding spectacularly.
"Leave her, Oread."
A fierce heat in my body, channelling down my arm. I sidestep, pivoting on my leg without the injured knee, and before Nyhl can register my movement, I throw a punch at him.
My sore, grazed knuckles connect solidly with his left cheekbone. I think I can feel his spectacles' frame crack before they clatter on the floor. Not a single utterance from him; he's not even looking at me. That just pisses me off even more; I didn't even think that it was possible for me to get any angrier, but he just loves proving me wrong.
"You killed Natalya, you damn bastard!" My lungs hurt from the screaming, but I couldn't care less; my blood is still boiling. "You stood there and watched her get killed! You used her! You used her life as bait, you goddamned heartless piece of shit!"
I never knew that I care this much for Natalya… but the way she died, when I feel like I really could have prevented it… there's still the desperate need to pummel him a bit more. I go for another hit –
He catches my hand by the wrist, holds on for only a split second, then there's a loud, sharp clap, and white stars explode into my vision.
I stumble a few steps to my left, barely able to regain my balance in time. My vision clears a little, my right cheek is burning and stinging like it's on fire. It feels wet, and some red droplets are clinging onto my eyelashes.
He'd slapped me…
I touch my face; it's hot, but I can't feel any cuts… my eyes move to his left hand, now hanging by his side. Blood's dripping off his fingers; I hadn't even noticed that before.
I look up at him. He's finally looking at me, his left eye squinting a little, but his expression is so cold, so severe –
"What would you have done for her then?" He turned his head so that both his eyes focus on me. His voice is low, and sounds weak and breathless… and is it the lighting in this place, or does he look a bit flushed?
I turn my head away, but he takes my face roughly with his bloody hand and jerks it back, so that our eye contact still holds. "You couldn't do anything at that stage. Did you expect Celadon and me to watch both of you get killed?" He's shaking. "If you'd wanted a more extravagant explosion, then I'm sorry that I've stopped you from walking to your glorious martyrdom."
The biting sarcasm in his words sends tears welling up in my eyes; I can't help it. I don't want to break down in front of this man, but… I just can't help it anymore. The tears pool up behind my eyelids, then all of a sudden they start to stream out. The more I try to hold back, the worse it gets. I try again to turn away; he responds by tightening his grip on my jaw. My slapped cheek is throbbing with the crazy rhythm of my heart.
"Natalya… she sustained a lethal injury. She would've died one way or the other, so we might as well have her death mean something." He stops and huffs a bit; he's sweating quite a lot, I realise. "If sacrificing a dying person can save another, then it's only commonsensical –"
"So… you'd do it to anyone." I'm sobbing out the words. Damn, I feel so weak… My hand finds his collar, and tugs him closer. He gives in with surprisingly little resistance. "Is that right?"
"Perhaps…" His voice trails off.
I lift my gaze to meet his eyes just in time to see them close.
"Hey!" I cry out, catching him before he falls. His right hand, which has been gripping the left side of his abdomen, drops limply. His body feels hot against mine.
"Damn you, don't you dare do this now!" I lay him down onto the floor as gently as I can with my aching body. I loosen his armour and see that there's a rip in his undershirt, where he'd been pressing on. I tear the shirt apart and realise that a large fragment of Mephisto's bones has cut him and is embedded in his flesh. There's not much bleeding, but the flesh that I can see in the open wound has turned black.
It probably isn't the best thing to do, but bleeding to death seems to be a better option than being rotted by poison from the inside out, so I stick my fingers into the wound and try to pull the bone out. The muscles have swollen up, and it takes me three tries before I manage to get deep enough in for some grip. Nyhl doesn't stir at all in the process.
The broken fragment of violet-tinted white bone is much larger than I thought. The shard of Mephisto's summoned skull was not much smaller than the size of the palm of my hand.
"I need help here!" I shout as loud as I can as black blood starts to pour out; my voice, shriller than I'd expected, ricochets off the thick stone walls, and came together in the form of a muffled echo. Panic takes over as I clamp my hands over the gushing wound, pressing down as hard as I can, my heart hammering so hard that I can feel it in my temples and in the hinge of my clenched jaws. The blood has started to turn red.
The wrath I had for him dissolves into anxiety. I just hope that he doesn't die on me.
Damn Necromancer!
This is pathetic.
Celadon has been heavily sedated, and stupid Nyhl is unconscious. I've gone to see Celadon, but the way she muttered in semiconsciousness was just too much for me to stomach.
So instead I'm here, watching my other companion as he sleeps.
Stupid Necromancer. Screw him for making me deal with this crap on my own. Dirty bastard.
I wonder how pitiful I look, moping around with bandages all over me. I don't feel much like talking to the only residents here, either – Jamella and Halbu, both blacksmiths; Jamella has a good bit of knowledge in sorcery and healing. Oh, and there's their kid: a sweet two-year-old girl called Kande. However cute she is, though, thank goodness she's not the noisy type. Not yet, at least.
Damn Nyhl sleeps so still. It's extremely dull to watch him sleep; and this is even more boring than the last time I've been in this position. Let's just hope that he doesn't sleep for as long this time.
Come to think of it, I'd also punched him in the face before he fell unconscious last time. I wonder how long it's been… a few months, maybe? I don't know. My sense of time's never been very good. Either way, it feels different as I watch him now. This time I feel less patient for him to wake up.
When was the last time I'd cried in front of another? I'd cried when Falcon passed away, but no-one saw that. It was nowhere as much of a "breakdown" as it was this time around, either.
Why is it that I can't hold up my resistance against this man?
I know it's futile, but I still shoot a glare at him.
Damn his hair is dark… so dark that when the sunlight is on it, it doesn't show up brown, but just dark grey, almost bluish. And it's long. It looks strange when his hair is untied. I haven't seen him with it down since I first dragged him back with me…
Shit, now I'm thinking nonsense.
A dark purple bruise has formed on his face from my punch. I touch it with my hand, feeling the harder bump. He still feels so hot, too. The skin of his left hand to halfway up his forearm has discoloured blotches the sickly shade of gore, but there are no open wounds – Jamella said that sometimes a person might push their mana systems so far that the conduits burst, and the power damages the surrounding tissues so much that blood literally seeps out from the pores of the skin…
Maybe I've been too harsh… sure, the graceless way he said it made it sound so terribly merciless, but it probably was the right thing to do. And he made darn sure that it was done right.
I try to recount the people who died in my lifetime that I know by name. First there was my mother, Meliad, whom I can't remember a single thing of, even though it wasn't until I was five that she passed. Next was Naiad, then Alseid, and then… Falcon. Followed by Natalya.
Why does it seem like the people with the most vigour, those with the strongest will, the ones who had the most drive to live… why do they have to die first? And now I'm here, nice and alive, while Celadon and Nyhl are fighting for their lives.
Somewhere along the line, I wonder how Leaf is doing… hopefully Asheara and Cain are taking care of her.
My companions have stayed with me, fought alongside me, saved me. I wonder if I really deserve them.
And Nyhl… this man that's saved my life several times already. He says that he's staying with me to repay me, but he's done a lot more than what was needed to pay off his debt, surely.
If he's awake, I probably wouldn't have all this idle time to think and get so confused. Stuff him! Just when did he manage to get hit, anyway? I didn't even notice it –
Unless it was when I'd been caught in the knee and stumbled over, and he'd just sort of just… pushed in front of me, parried a blow and had jumped straight back up… it didn't occur to me that he'd gotten hit…
"Seriously, Necromancer, darn you." I say aloud, half-expecting that he'll respond. He doesn't.
I slump back further into my chair beside his bed, sighing through my nose. Maybe it's good that he's still unconscious, after all… I've all this time to think about how I'll deal with him once he wakes up –
A grunt.
I refocus on Nyhl. His brows tighten, his eyelids quiver, and then he grits his teeth and grunts again.
"Hey," my hand reaches for his forehead; it's still quite warm, but it seems like the fever's gone down. I feel my chest and shoulder muscles relax; I didn't even know that they were tensed up so much. "Take it easy…"
He turns his head towards me; then very quickly, very instantaneously, his eyes snap open. The familiar blue and grey, looking incongruously pallid compared to the darkness of his hair – it makes me remember the first time I'd seen those eyes…
"Oread…" He croaks.
"Stay still; I'll go get someone." I stand up to go, but his bad hand grips my wrist. I turn back.
"I'm all right."
I let out an anxious chuckle. "You're 'all right'? That's what you said back at the Durance, and now look how it turned out."
He just smiles back.
I should be furious with him, but the temper just isn't quite reaching there. "Just… oh, you idiot! You took that blow for me, didn't you? Why did you do that? After all that preaching about rationality, it turned out that you risked your life for me. Again. Does it really appear to you that I can't take care of myself? Do I seem th–"
"I've said this before," he interrupts, "you can't expect me to just stand by and watch you get killed. In your position back there, the hit would've gone straight through your head. I was pretty sure that I'd live even if I took it –" His voice is stopped short by a succession of coughs.
"You should be careful, Necromancer; you might be thinking too highly of yourself." I try to add a sneer into my tone, but I fail and end up sounding worried.
He grins, but the coughing must have strained his injuries; he's gritting his teeth and pressing on the wound in his stomach. "And how is Celadon?" He inquires, abruptly shifting my focus away from him.
"She's still unstable in condition." I can't help but sigh as I say it; I'm terribly worried for her, I'll admit. "She's hit her head badly and Jamella says that she's not sure when she'll be out of danger. Even then she can remain unconscious for some time, and when she does wake up she'll have to take it easy for a while."
I hate that I'm starting to tremble. Nyhl sees it; damn! "She'll pull through, I'm sure."
"You're just saying that."
"No, I truly believe that she'll be all right." He looks away for a moment. "Nothing recovers more quickly and efficiently than the body of a teenager."
"… That just makes you sound so old." I can't help but smile a bit.
"I'm less than a year your senior, Oread." He's smiling, too. I would have retorted against that, but I'm really savouring this easiness between us. It's been a while since I've felt this relaxed, even with all the current problems that I should be worrying about.
We let the comfortable silence hold for a minute or so, and then he proceeds to bring everything together into perspective: "So, you're finally here. The Pandemonium Fortress of Hell."
"Yeah."
"What are you going to do after you've slain Diablo?" He says this so heedlessly, as if he's not at all considering the possibility of death.
"I dunno…" I haven't thought about this. It had always seemed so far away, this prospect. "You, on the other hand… don't you have some assignment to proceed upon?"
"About that," his eyes look unfocused, "I've had a talk with Master Cain back in Kurast a short while ago."
"And you actually found your way out of that talk. I'm astonished."
He flashes a quick grin before going on. "We concluded that I should be able to find something at Harrogath."
"Harrogath? In the mountains of the snowy north?" I jump at the mention of the name. "Isn't that where –"
"The Lord of Destruction's residing. Yes." He's stopped smiling; it's even gone from his eyes. "It's also the only functioning town in the surrounding region for hundreds of miles. If I can't find Arawn or at least a better idea of his whereabouts there, I don't know where else I can go."
I reach into my pocket and take out the bronze oval medal; I'd taken it from him when he'd passed out just so that it wouldn't get lost. It's about three inches long, less than two inches wide, and features a design of a horned skull entangled amid a mass of spidery tentacles. Maggots pour out from the empty eye sockets, the jaws are agape and between the cracked teeth is a bleeding human heart. Just looking at it sends a chill down my spine. It's not just how it looks simply as a cast metal artefact; there's something about its very… vibe that's disconcerting.
"This," I hold the medal up to him, not bearing to look at it anymore; "it's got something to do with it, right? What exactly is this?"
He doesn't reply me straightaway, but instead sighs loudly and wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his right hand. "Oread, I don't suppose that you recognise the fact that Necromancers have a strict code of moral conduct –"
"I do now that I've met you."
"Thanks." A faint shadow of a smile. "Well, two of the most blasphemous acts that a Necromancer can commit are treason and the murder of a fellow clan member. Both of the crimes' penalties are death, so an execution has to be followed through and witnessed by an elder. In my case, since the criminal is on the run, the Council's granted us a Death Warrant. That is what you're holding."
"So…" I look at the design on the medal again; it makes me feel sicker, now that I know what it's for. "You're going to find Arawn and kill him."
"I'll try." He sounds pretty hopeless, though. "My teacher and stepfather Tiden, and my stepsister Kaira… we were all assigned this one task because the Council understands how tough it may be. I probably can't do it on my own."
"I'll come with you."
"Sorry?" His eyes are wide. Shit! Did I say that aloud?
"You… You've been with me for this far, now. It's only courteous that I do the same for you." I try to recover from my tactless outburst, but I can feel my face burning up. "I… uh, don't like owing you so much." I look around for something, something, that can give me an excuse for a topic-change. "Oh yes, Jamella left that medicine there." I gestured to a mug, its dark contents still steaming a little.
"Who?"
"The healer. She lives here with her husband and daughter." The words tumble out my mouth at a rate that must be giving away my anxiety. I feel so helpless like this… "Go on, drink it."
He looks awkward with the idea. "Um, Oread…"
"What?"
"I don't think I can sit up by myself."
"Oh, dear goodness." I roll my eyes, but I really should be expecting this, anyway. Jamella said he'd be exhausted for a week, at least. I lean closer over the bed, slip my right arm under his shoulders and help him up. He grunts and press his hand over his stomach wound, but my left hand's already there, and his hand touches mine.
It's shivering… a sick feeling seizes me in the chest; probably guilt. On the other side of my hand, his wound feels feverish. He's gasping through his teeth from the pain; I can tell that he's trying to hiss as softly as he can.
"Does it hurt that much?"
"I'll be all right."
"Stop saying that!" I remember now that Jamella had cut away a large chunk of rotted, blackened flesh from around the wound. I didn't watch her through the whole thing. I just couldn't hack it.
Still supporting him around the shoulders, I pull softly on my left hand and he releases it. Taking the mug in my hand, I first offer it to him, but remembering how weak he is, I bring it to his lips.
He looks surprised for a moment, then it turns to gratitude, and I can see the smile in his eyes as he swallows the medicine. The smell is so pungent… how can he drink it all straight down like this?
"There, now just lie back and sleep it out, okay?" I turn to put the mug back on the small bedside table. He's gradually putting more weight on my arm around his shoulders, and my sore muscles aren't coping very well. "I'll go check on Celadon if –"
"Oread."
I jerk my head back to face him. "What is i–" My voice stops short as he takes my chin gently with his sore-looking hand. Yesterday's scene of him slapping me surfaces in my mind, but I quickly dismiss it. His hand is so gentle now… just softly leading my face closer…
And suddenly, I can taste the bitter, slightly sweet potion in my mouth, and smell the strong herbs in the inside of my nose, just above the back of my throat.
…
… I can taste him.
He's kissing me.
!!
Next thing I know, I'm outside the tent, gasping for breath, my heart pounding hard, my entire body heating up and quivering out of control. I try to stay on my feet, but my bad knee's on fire; it collapses from beneath me, and I'm left sitting there on the floor, dumbfounded. My body doesn't hurt at all, strangely… My eyes are shifting in and out of focus, though…
As far as I can tell – with my less-than-accurate hearing at the moment – no sound from within the tent.
My feet are warm, the way they get hot from sprinting; I must've gotten out quickly. So… crap, did I just drop him or something?
A surge of panic shoots up my body, and I stumble back into the tent, almost tripping over the rug. Nyhl is in bed, as expected, and looks unconscious again. I've no idea what I did to have him end up like this, but I know it's my fault. Well, at least I haven't caused him too much pain in the process… I hope. I don't seem to have…
I calm down a little, and let that heavy sigh escape me. He'd kissed me. That means that he… loves me?
It's such a foreign notion to me, the idea of a person loving another not because they're obliged to, either by blood, by status, or by favours, but purely because they want to… purely voluntary.
I don't deserve this, surely… why would anyone love me without a reason? I'm not beautiful, or gifted, or graceful, or charming… I'm not that good a person, not good enough to deserve something like this. To have this man consider me of such worth –
Do you love him, too?
A voice from the depth of my own self. It's a kind, passive voice – not sneering or condescending. It's awakening something warm within me. I haven't felt this way for a long time… I don't remember the last time I have. For all I know, I might've never felt like this before.
I do. That's all that really matters, right?
I need to let him know how I'm feeling, we need to talk… "Hey, Necr–"
It occurs to me that I've never called him by his given name. Maybe it was an attempt to dehumanise the situation, to deny the sentimentality of it all…
Maybe it's been this way from the very start.
"… Nyhl?" His name feels unfamiliar on my tongue and to my ears, but it's not an uncomfortable unfamiliarity. It's more like… the eagerness in finally reaching something that I've never experienced, but have wanted for a long time.
He's not waking up. I edge closer and kneel down beside him, shifting most of my weight onto my functioning knee.
His lips are slightly parted… then I realise that for now, talking things out isn't really an option. I need to respond to him in a direct, definite way, and with my mind the way it is, verbal exchange probably won't make any sense to either of us.
It's obvious what's left for me to do, really…
I lean over, and kiss him back. The taste of the potion has faded a little, and behind that, there's just him.
A small jolt as he wakes up, and I feel his hands – one caressing my cheek, the cheek that he'd struck yesterday, and the other one on the back of my head, tenderly pushing me towards him. My own hands find his face by their own accord, and we move just a little closer, until his nose touches my cheek and mine touches his. Then we're just right against one another, almost as if one can melt into the very being of the other one.
For a fleeting moment, we've forgotten the world.
