On that earth, grass began to sprout. Flowers bloomed. The shadow of Death's arrival was washed away. The ashes of the fallen Barbarians were carried off by the streams, leaving behind only the rich, dark soil.
"Vorusk, you never told me about this!"
Bul-Kathos's voice was as boisterous and hearty as ever, despite the two blades impaling his torso.
"It seems you've activated Kanai's Cube? Using my blood?"
Bul-Kathos looked at the battered Vorusk with calm eyes. He had seen everything that happened, but while undergoing the process, he had been unable to move.
"If I hadn't, the news of what's happening here would have spread across the world. The other Lords of Hell would never show their faces to you again," Vorusk replied, smashing his empty jug on the ground.
What happened on the Holy Mountain stayed on the mountain. The power of the Cube had been fully awakened, sealing the area off. No one would know of this "vicious internal struggle," nor would they know that within the Black Soulstone on Bul-Kathos's brow, the Lord of Sin had been utterly annihilated.
"Now, absorb everything Azmodan was, Bul-Kathos," Vorusk urged.
Then, he watched Bul-Kathos do something unthinkable. Bul-Kathos wrenched the two weapons out of his chest.
His blood, hot as magma, sprayed across the ground, burying the new life he had just created. Under his rough handling, the two exquisite weapons became dented and uneven, looking more like the mismatched twin blades of the original Bul-Kathos.
"What are you doing? I need Azmodan to merge into your weapons to forge your legend! Once you turn all Seven Evils into your legend, you will be a God!" Vorusk roared in disbelief.
"He wants to use his own body to devour Azmodan," Andariel said, her voice dripping with mockery. "To make the power of Sin his own. First, a Prime Evil, then a Creator God? That is the path Malthael already proved viable."
"No," Bul-Kathos said, letting the remnants of Azmodan coat his body through his blood. "I will be myself. I will not be some 'mongrel' Creator God of your imagining!"
Amidst the scalding blood, the Devouring tattoo on Bul-Kathos's chest began to pulse.
Devour, then Replicate, then Understand.
This was the path to the pinnacle, proven by the Ring of Alkaizer. If Azmodan were still there, he would have understood what Bul-Kathos was doing. But in this world, only Bul-Kathos and one other had ever touched that path of self-evolution. It was a path where you could see every footprint you left behind. It was a path of thorns, but also of flowers.
At the crossroads, Bul-Kathos chose the path untaken. An unknown road, but one that left a real mark.
"Bul-Kathos! Do as I say! You've taken the first step—if you continue, you will be the Creator!"
Vorusk discarded his physical form of rage and returned to his spirit state, drawing on the mountain's power to restore himself.
"You are the Immortal King, and I too shall eventually become the Immortal King!"
Bul-Kathos slammed the two battered weapons into the ground and roared at Vorusk. His pure anger swept away the lingering scents of battle, replacing them with a fire-like fury.
"But you aren't yet! So listen to me! Follow my will!"
Vorusk stood before Bul-Kathos, his massive frame—half a head taller than the current King—radiating a terrifying pressure.
"Madawoc! Tell this dead man, Vorusk—would you listen to an Immortal King's arrogant orders?!" Bul-Kathos shouted.
No one on this mountain could defeat Bul-Kathos—not even a living Vorusk. Now that Vorusk was dead, Bul-Kathos was exposing that truth without mercy.
"The Immortal King is the strongest Barbarian. Right now, Bul-Kathos is the strongest Barbarian," Madawoc said evasively. He had no intention of answering whether he'd follow orders.
Bul-Kathos knew that Madawoc and the others had their own wills. An Immortal King's word was sometimes worth less than a fart. At least on the cold mountain peak, a fart creates a puff of steam. A king's words often leave nothing behind when they vanish.
"But he isn't the Immortal King yet!" Vorusk growled, glaring at Bul-Kathos.
"Vorusk, I have already proven that my path goes further than yours!"
Bul-Kathos's beard began to flutter as his blood flowed through the Devouring tattoo. With every cycle, a portion of the pure "Rules" was absorbed by his body, leaving behind a new tattoo. Once he fully liberated his soul, he would be the strongest version of himself—powerful enough to ignore the Rules entirely. He wouldn't need the title of "Creator" to define him. The name Bul-Kathos would become the very definition of "The Strongest."
"But your path is pure fantasy!" Vorusk grabbed Bul-Kathos by the beard, roaring in fury. "I am the strongest Barbarian! Because the name Bul-Kathos is strength itself!"
"That name is ancient and pure, but not 'the strongest'! The original Bul-Kathos you speak of lost when he faced Rathma! No one even knows if his consciousness still exists!" Vorusk shouted, his composure slipping.
"So, you do have news of the Origin of the Barbarians, yet you never spoke a word of it!"
Bul-Kathos punched Vorusk square in the face, his other hand gripping the wrist that held his beard. A tide of fury washed over Vorusk's spirit. Bul-Kathos didn't want to lose a handful of hair to a heavy punch; potions don't grow beards back. "And call me Bul-Kathos! For now, this name is the strongest!"
"Bastard! You're not even a thousand years old! You have no idea of the power of experience!"
Vorusk kicked Bul-Kathos in the gut, but it only served to push himself back a few steps. After Raekor's pummeling, the dead king lacked the strength to even budge Bul-Kathos.
"Experience is meant to keep the young from straying, but my path has already moved beyond any landscape you've ever seen!"
Bul-Kathos pinned Vorusk to the ground and spoke each word with deliberate weight. "I accept your goodwill, but I am the one who chose sacrifice. It was my will! No one forced me, and no one can force me! Now, you two-thousand-year-old relic—be quiet and watch how I devour the Lords of Hell piece by piece!"
The moment he finished, the remnants of Azmodan's power were completely consumed. On Bul-Kathos's back, an inverted cross made of demonic horns appeared, surrounded by a cluster of black roses.
Azmodan, the Lord of Sin. His understanding of "Sin" seemed to have a strangely romantic flair.
"Without the legendary weapons forged from Azmodan, how will you shatter the souls of the other Evils? Do you expect us to sacrifice our legends and souls every time to open the stone for you?! You made this choice in a moment of heat! The Barbarians can only do this one more time!" Vorusk yelled.
Opening the Black Soulstone while keeping its inhabitants restrained was a miracle created by the ancestors' sacrifice. Simply opening it was easy; shattering the Great Evils within was the hard part.
"I can now use Time to slowly devour them. I have gained the Rule of Devouring," Bul-Kathos said openly. Under the Cube's shroud, the Cube would not disperse the power without his permission. This was his authority as its sole user. Every new Rule made him stronger.
"But that is an unknown road! Can you truly do it?!" Vorusk hissed through gritted teeth.
"The path you arranged—did someone walk it before you to tell you it was the right way?" Bul-Kathos stared Vorusk down. "Was it the First Barbarian? What else do you know?"
Bul-Kathos finally understood why Vorusk was so certain. It seemed the original Bul-Kathos had chosen a similar path. That man was also a master of forging, using that method to explore the road ahead.
"Let me guess? Bul-Kathos's Solemn Vow was meant for Belial? And Warrior Blood? Was his target Imperius?"
Bul-Kathos watched Vorusk's face for any twitch of confirmation. Vorusk wasn't a liar, but he was terrible at hiding his thoughts.
Gulp.
The sound of a swallow came from Leoric's skeletal throat. This was getting too intense. He felt like he might be "silenced" for knowing too much. The history of Khanduras was short; it didn't touch the secrets of the ancient era.
"So... Bul-Kathos's Wedding Band was for Azmodan? The rule of draining life force? The discarded weapon The Sanctified Price was for Tyrael? Tribal Guardian for Auriel? Then who was Bul-Kathos's 'Child' meant for? Malthael? Or Itherael?"
Bul-Kathos pressed him. Vorusk's lion-like mane of hair finally went limp, his boisterous spirit deflated. His Bul-Kathos had guessed far too much. He was dangerously close to the truth.
"Fine. How far did he get? What rules did he actually obtain?"
Bul-Kathos tried to pry more, but Vorusk simply closed his eyes and set his face, refusing to say another word. His pride wouldn't allow him to flee, but he wouldn't speak.
"Fine. Since you choose silence, I'll ask only a few more things."
Bul-Kathos stowed the two blood-stained weapons in his pack and looked away. "Was he just? And is he still watching all of this?"
The first question was the most important. If Vorusk refused to answer, it was as good as a 'Yes.' The second would only matter based on the first.
"He was just. He was upright. But more than that... he was all-loving," Vorusk said with great difficulty. He wasn't lying. "In the end, he failed because of Rathma's interference, but his path was the closest anyone has ever come to success!"
Having said that much, Vorusk let a few more details slip. With Bul-Kathos, hiding things only invited trouble. It was better to put a period on this chapter of the conversation.
The original Bul-Kathos was not observing them. Apparently, after Rathma's interference, he had been gravely injured. Though it was unknown how he had made the High Heavens and the Burning Hells forget his actions, his attempt had nearly succeeded.
"Vasily," Bul-Kathos added. "You must know that name. What happened to him?"
Vasily. The First Druid. The blood brother of the original Bul-Kathos. He had been missing for ages; his death was common knowledge across the world.
"Exactly what you've heard," Vorusk said. "He is dead."
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