Raekor appeared at his landing point. This time, she shattered every rib in Vorusk's chest. But in the same motion, Vorusk used his own jagged, broken arm bone to slice open Raekor's throat.
"Every technique used today was but a prototype before me! I am the one who forged them into a complete system! You are trying to use my own creations to defeat me. Even if you are stronger than I am right now, you will not win—because I do not fail!"
Vorusk's mouth opened wide, blood spraying as he spoke, painting Raekor's face a visceral red.
"Kh... ugh... you!"
With her throat torn, Raekor could no longer form words. She tried to question him, but only an unintelligible, gurgling sound emerged.
"I... WIN!"
Vorusk used his one remaining intact arm to seize Raekor's pauldron. With a heave, he tore it away and threw it—along with Raekor's severed arm—directly toward Bul-Kathos.
Vorusk had taken a piece of Raekor's legend, and that was enough. The core of Raekor's set was the chest piece, Raekor's Heart, but Bul-Kathos didn't need a core right now. He needed the raw offensive power required to tear apart the souls of the Lords of Hell within the Black Soulstone.
That pauldron—Raekor's Burden—was his target. It was the symbol of the master combatants of the Ox Tribe. Raekor had taken it from the shoulders of her fallen predecessor. No one remembered its original name; it had become a new legend the moment it touched her skin.
"No... Veda has reached his limit!" Madawoc whispered.
The plan Veda had concocted wasn't supposed to require anyone to sacrifice their soul's essence. If the Barbarians could have simply helped Bul-Kathos ascend with a unified heart, it wouldn't have been this difficult. Kan, Koth, Kanuck, and Raekor shouldn't have even needed to provide 'help'; if they had just stood by and watched like old General Qual-Kehk, this would have been a smooth transition.
"I would rather leave no trace of my existence behind than let them survive!"
Veda's face was twisted. His soul was beginning to shift from human to demonic. Infinite hatred was poisoning his spirit; he was treading the path toward becoming a demon himself.
"Yes! Just like that! Use that power to drive these weapons! Their legends and your souls shall be my nourishment!"
Azmodan's voice suddenly erupted. He was using the demonic power in Veda's soul to start absorbing the legendary weapons for himself. If he succeeded, he would move beyond the title of a Great Evil and become a Prime Evil. The "Prime Evil of Sin" sounded much better to his ears than being a mere Lord.
"What kind of daydream are you having, Azmodan?"
Andariel, silent for so long, finally spoke. She had already obtained what she wanted. The Maiden of Anguish had finally tasted it—the exquisite pain born of her own being. She was now complete. By absorbing a portion of Veda's soul, Andariel was shifting toward the nature of a Nephalem.
"I was never your sister! I am the child of the noble Inarius and the First Sin, Lilith. I was meant to be a Nephalem!"
Andariel's voice turned melodious as she began to sing a haunting, cruel tune.
"I did not think you'd be standing there~ Let me tell you how easy it is to kill your friends~
I tear their bodies, I shear their flesh, piece by piece into the pot they go!
Drenched in scalding oil, stirred by the fires of Hell~
Add the fresh peppers stolen from their farms, and brew a broth from their very blood!
Anguish is eternal, yet feels so far from me.
My venom as the seasoning, my void as the rolling broth!
Then, I drink them down, and chant... chant the death called Pain~"
As she hummed that sadistic melody, everyone present felt a deep, instinctive nausea. But Azmodan's absorption of Veda's soul came to a screeching halt.
Veda's soul began to "vomit." He was purging his own hatred. A small, demonic version of himself was spat out onto the ground.
"Hello, Azmodan," Andariel whispered, her laugh as clear as a tinkling wind chime.
At this moment, only the Skeleton King could still move. Despite being shattered multiple times, he rose once more. The broken Wrath of the Skeleton King mace restored itself and slammed into Raekor's waist.
With a sound like tenderizing beef on a cutting board, her bones shattered. Raekor was sent flying just as Vorusk had been.
"Damned crazy woman... I could fight you for all eternity!" Leoric hissed. He knew it was over. No one could stop Bul-Kathos from taking his first step toward godhood.
"Vorusk... was this part of your calculation, too?" Leoric asked with a hint of bitterness.
He was immediately cut off as Kanuck slammed into his chest! Kanuck's charge sounded like a beating war drum, growing louder and more powerful with every stride. On his way over, Kanuck had repeatedly bowled over Arreat, using the God of War as a practice dummy to build momentum. He had even let Arreat's heavy blade shatter half his shoulder just to maintain his speed.
But Kanuck never retreated. No matter the battle, no matter the enemy, he only knew one direction: forward.
With this strike, Leoric's bones were once again reduced to dust.
"Raekor!"
Blood matted Kanuck's hair. Because Arreat had shattered his shoulder, his Vile Ward pauldron was out of alignment. He had used his own head to strike Leoric. Compared to Raekor, Kanuck wasn't truly powerful. Even against a Skeleton King who didn't specialize in strength, he had paid a terrible price. The moment he shattered the king, his own spine snapped.
Kanuck lay paralyzed on the ground, still calling out Raekor's name. Without the protection of the Holy Mountain, his soul would have vanished with that final, desperate strike.
"Andariel, I won't thank you!" Veda shouted, crushing the demonic version of himself that had been vomited out.
The mountain radiated a brilliant azure light, grinding the demonic remnant into nothingness. Veda's soul and his existence were saved.
"I didn't expect your thanks. I just didn't want to see a fourth Prime Evil born," Andariel said with a light smile. "I won't just watch Bul-Kathos become a Creator God, either. I felt what was inside Malthael. I felt my own weakness so clearly it could drive any being insane. Even Leoric's suffering would seem shallow in that void."
During the time they were consumed by Malthael, both Archangels and Demons had suffered. It was like being trapped in an endless vacuum without time, speech, or even the luxury of thought.
"No... he has already finished!"
Vorusk discarded the phantasm of the Immortal King set. Dragging his broken body, he dug a jar of strong liquor out of the dirt—it was stained with both his and Raekor's blood.
"In the end, Raekor chose to allow it. A believer in Fate never truly interferes, and this time was no different." Vorusk tilted the jar back and gulped down the spirits.
"You all trust Raekor, yet you've never truly acknowledged me. But did you know? Raekor is someone whose first instinct is to flee—she simply forces herself to overcome that thought every single time."
Vorusk's voice wasn't loud, but it reached every ancestor. How could a believer in Fate be without fear? Raekor simply forced herself not to think. Having lost her beloved, she had lost her conviction long ago, which was why she never stepped out of the framework Vorusk had set. "Destiny" is the modest word of the strong, and the excuse of the weak.
No one knew what Itherael was thinking. No one even knew if Fate itself cared. Did Fate even exist? If Itherael hadn't physically appeared before them as the Archangel of Fate, Vorusk would have doubted its existence entirely. Itherael was also known as the Archangel of Balance; Vorusk always felt "Fate" was just his excuse for maintaining that balance.
Following Vorusk's words, the fighting ancestors slowly lowered their weapons. Save for Kanuck, who had sacrificed himself to stop the Skeleton King for Raekor, no one was severely injured. It was time for the storm to break.
"Andariel..."
Azmodan's final voice flickered out.
Bul-Kathos finally moved. Two heavy weapons—too exquisite to be mere Barbarian tools—manifested in his hands. He drove them both deep into his own chest.
The blood that sprayed out was scalding, radiating a searing heat. The snow of Mount Harrogath began to melt. The ice Leoric had created turned to rushing water. The melt gathered into streams, exposing the bare earth of the mountain for the first time in an age.
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