Before Nadja could finish, a massive hammer appeared in Leah's hand. Mephisto had a son? This was massive news. How had he managed it? Why would the Lord of Hatred want a child? A child with a human made no sense; Mephisto would have gained a Nephalem if he'd bedded Auriel, but a human?
"I don't sense a lie, but this is impossible!" Leah's eyes brightened. This absurdity forced her mind to work, and her resilient soul began to stir.
Leah. Granddaughter of the Wise King Leoric. Daughter of Aidan, the Dark Wanderer. Inheritor of Diablo's power. The kind girl raised by Deckard Cain. She was born for greatness.
"But... that demon told me so!" Nadja realized Mephisto's name carried power, and being a woman who understood the human heart, she leaned into it. Her words made Leah realize her own anomalies. The power of Diablo began to radiate within the Secret Realm. It was innate to her—born of Aidan's body and Adria's womb.
That power was immediately sensed by the greats.
"Diablo has interfered?" Tyrael asked, his gaze turning toward the Prime Evil.
"It feels like him, but the power is... different?" Baal said. He knew his brother's power better than any Archangel. Archangels knew the Evils as enemies; Evils knew each other as brothers. He couldn't be wrong.
"Diablo has gained power from this world. He is becoming even more troublesome," Tyrael judged. One could never overestimate the Lord of Terror. We need a plan. How do we face him after he's absorbed the power of this world?
Tyrael burned this realization into his mind.
"Diablo? Does he have a death wish?" Zoltun Kulle shook his head. He didn't understand. Even a Prime Evil wouldn't dare stand here openly. Why? Kulle picked up Orek from the pillar and set him aside, then dove into the Nephalem stone pillar himself. He needed to prepare so his presence wouldn't be detected. The Prime Evils and Archangels feared him as much as they feared Bul-Kathos. If he were exposed, his value as a hidden ace would be gone.
Barbarians never left a debt unpaid. Kulle believed that saving them in their darkest hour was the greatest favor he could offer. It would be enough to ensure Bul-Kathos stood by his side toward their grand goal.
Bul-Kathos stood outside the Immortal Throne, drinking in silence despite his injuries. Johanna walked up to him, her posture gallant. Bul-Kathos felt the power radiating from the distance, but he didn't mistake it for Diablo himself as Tyrael had. Having personally decapitated the Great Evil, he recognized Leah's aura.
But he didn't want to think about it. Shen the Covetous had once promised to find a way to save Leah's soul, but in the end, it was as if the thief-god had never spoken the words. Bul-Kathos couldn't be sure, even if he wanted to go and see for himself. He couldn't act. That was the rule of the gamble.
"You felt it. So did I," Johanna said, her expression grim.
"Did you finish Steve's training?" Bul-Kathos asked, pivoting away from Leah.
"Yes. As you said, he is perfect for the Crusaders. His resolve is firm enough that he didn't end up as a Templar." Johanna understood his redirection immediately. Becoming a Templar wasn't hard, but becoming someone like Kormac was nearly impossible. Only Kormac could wear the Soliloquy and remain unharmed.
"Now, watch. The Barbarians will not lose again," Bul-Kathos said, then fell into a heavy silence.
He had much to consider—namely, the passing of Leoric. Was he sad? Of course. Leoric was the one who showed Bul-Kathos the path to godhood. The Skeleton King gave him the chance to become the strongest. It was Leoric who made Imperius back down and compelled Auriel to gift him hope.
Hatred would not be set aside. But Bul-Kathos wondered how Leoric could have vanished so easily. After eons as a King fighting against everything, how could he have no trump cards left? The skeletal hand of Death had confirmed his state, but that was only one layer of protection. Tyrael was right there—how did Oblivion end Leoric right in front of him? Baal couldn't have done it, even with Mephisto's power.
Unless the Archangel hadn't tried.
Bul-Kathos frowned. The diamond hadn't worked either. Something was wrong. Leoric's cunning shouldn't have been so easily snuffed out. And yet, he was gone.
Bul-Kathos wavered between rage and logic. He had solved Raekor's problem, but doubt was slowly being replaced by grief.
At the gates, the Three Ancients were sweeping through the demonic tide like they were clearing trash. Ground Stomp! Cleave! Leap! Whirlwind! A relentless barrage of skills, with Korlic fighting with particular savagery.
"HA! I say!" Madawc split a Tremor demon in two and kicked a Grotesque away. "Korlic, it was just an accident! Why are you so worked up?" Madawc stomped on the "little bugs" (parasites) that spilled from the Grotesque, turning them into paste.
"MADAWC! All of this happened because you were the idiot who died to Baal first! SHUT UP!" Korlic roared. Cleave, Whirlwind, Furious Charge! He repeated the cycle, diving into the demonic mass and creating a storm of crimson gore. He completely ignored the fact that the Three Ancients were supposed to fight as a unit. It was embarrassing.
"Madawc, shut it. You are the root of all this!" Talic threw a rock at Madawc and charged in after Korlic.
"The root of all this is that bastard Tyrael and those Archangels with their endless questions!" Madawc shouted, Leaping down beside them. Cursing each other didn't hinder their combat efficiency. Madawc was usually the center of the formation, but this time Korlic had taken the lead. It didn't matter. Who didn't want to be the center of attention once in a while? They didn't need to discuss tactics; with a single thought, their coordination was perfect.
"But you're the reason we were picked off one by one!" Talic grumbled. He knew it wasn't really Madawc's fault. Even if they had fought together, they likely would have died to the Two Evils. They could have delayed them, but for how long? Especially with Tyrael's hidden agenda, they might have died anyway because of an Archangel's "slip-up." It was just a way to vent.
"Boys! Does my presence here surprise you?" Worusk shouted at them. He shouldn't have been there; the gamble forbade overwhelming power from interfering.
"Are you here to mock me, Worusk?!" Korlic snapped. The earlier mural had hit him hard. Even facing the Immortal King, his voice was laced with fury.
"Lad, the Immortal King belongs on the front lines! I won't fight for you, but you will always see my shadow at the vanguard!" Worusk laughed. He knew why Korlic was angry, and he couldn't help but find it hilarious.
"To hell with that! Where were you, you old bastard, when the real battle happened?!" Madawc cursed, his hands never slowing as he ground a demon into meat. A fallen demon's lower half flew toward Worusk.
Worusk couldn't act; he could only dodge. But dodging a demon corpse in front of the Three Ancients would ruin his majestic image. "I will not dodge! No amount of filth in battle can obscure my glory!"
"Then tell me—where the hell were you back then?!"
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