Lord of Distractions -- Epilogue, or Nightmare and Hell difficulty

Act1	Act2	Act3	Act4	Act5	Epilogue
The Den of Evil Blood Raven The Rescue of Cain The Countess The Horadric Malus Andarial	Radament's Lair The Horadric Staff The Claw Viper Curse The Arcane Sanctuary The Summoner The Tomb of Tal Rasha	The Jade Figurine The Ghidbinn The Pieces of Khalim's Will Lam Esen's Tome The Kurast Council The Durance of Hate	The Fallen Angel The Hellforge Diablo's Sanctuary	The Siege A Rescue of Friends Put on Ice The Betrayor The Ancients Final Destruction	Act 1, Nightmare Act 2, Nightmare Act 3, Nightmare Act 4, Nightmare Act 5, Nightmare Hell

Tharos gasped in pain, backpedaling furiously and blocking with his shield. He muttered something obscene under his breath, and swung the cutlass he had picked up, skipping it off the zombie's head. It moaned, and swung again, connecting against his gothic shield with a muffled clang. With another swing, the zombie's face caved in, and the monster fell to the ground.

He stood silently for a moment, looking around the dim cave. The ring of light he had found earlier lit the gloom only slightly, but nothing moved. After another moment, Tharos waved his hand, muttering the arcane sigil. The fallen zombie twitched, then the bones ripped free, climbing over each other. The skeleton stood there, swaying slightly, bony hands glowing with magical fire.

Tharos smiled, and turned to head deeper into the cave. But with a crackling explosion, his skeleton warrior collapsed, as an arrow flew out of the darkness. The iron golem caught the skull, the arrow still sticking out of an eye socket.

Tharos stepped around the corner of the wall. "What the hell did you do that for?"

Erris grabbed another arrow from her quiver, placing it against the string. "Prepare to die, foul necromancer!"

He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Erris." Both of them suddenly stopped, staring at each other in confusion. "How do I know your name?" he asked, warily pointing the cutlass at her.

She slowly lowered the bow. "I don't know. But you look familiar somehow." They stepped forward, and extended empty hands.

When their fingers touched, they both felt like a lightning bolt had gone through them. Both of them suddenly remembered everything, from their first meeting in this cave, to their deaths at Baal's hands. "What the hell happened to us?" Erris asked, whispering in fear.

Suddenly, from another part of the cave, they heard a shout of half-surprise, half-shock. "Rupert!" they said in unison, turning to race through the cave.

They reunited with the others, heading back to the cave entrance, talking quietly about what had happened - and their own deaths. Outside the cave, Ron Bars came striding up. As he opened his mouth, Erris lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him. Oksana pouted. "Why couldn't I have remembered everything that way?"

Rupert snickered, and waited for their kiss to stop. "So, what happened? Ron, did you die when you hit the bottom?"

The barbarian sat down on the ground, his legs suddenly shaky. "No, I caused this," he said. The others looked at him in confusion. "I didn't fall, I caught myself on the rocks partway down. I managed to climb back up, in time to see Baal kill Anya, and the rest of you dead. I buried my axe in the back of his head."

He stopped, staring at the axe, the same one. "Baal had already started to corrupt the Worldstone, so I leaped at it with my axe. When it hit, everything went black, and I was back in the rogue encampment, talking with Akara."

Everyone stood there, digesting his words. Finally, Rupert offered a hand to Ron Bars. "Everything seems to have reset. Except we still have all of our abilities, and the monsters are tougher somehow." He shrugged. "We need to get Cain rescued, and ask him what the hell is going on."

In agreement, the others turned, and followed Rupert deeper into the hills.

In Tristram, the group boldly stepped into the center of the village, dropping Cain's cage to the ground and pulling the unconscious sage out of the cage. Griswold stepped out from behind a burned out building, demons forming up at his back. Oksana stepped forward, laughing mockingly at the possessed blacksmith. "I suggest you run, fat man," she taunted him.

Moaning, he started forward, demons rushing around him. Guarding Cain behind them, they met the rush of demons confidently, throwing back broken demon corpses. Griswold stopped as a pair of arrows slammed into his chest. Moaning again, this time in dismay, he backed away, lumbering off around a building and out of sight.

Cain looked at the group in shock. "Who are you … you…"

Rupert snickered. "I think the word you used last time was 'misfits,' Cain."

Narrowing his eyes, Cain studied the paladin. "Who are you? Where have we met before?"

Erris clapped him on the back. "Come on, old man, back to the rogue encampment. We've got a lot to talk about."

As they headed back towards the cairn stone portal, Garou shook his head. "I still say the old bugger sounds like Sean Connery." Jezebel laughed, linking her arm through his, and tripping Rupert with her staff.

Sitting around the fire in the rogue encampment, Cain shook his head. "This all sounds very peculiar. Are you sure?"

Rupert sighed and nodded. "Yes, we're sure. We all remember it. Vividly." He shuddered, remembering the column rushing up to fill his vision. "So what caused this? Ron hitting the Worldstone with an axe?" The barbarian held up the axe in question.

The old sage grunted irritably. "I have no idea what happened, or why it all seems this way to you, but no one else." He sighed. "Nevertheless, if everything is as you say, then Tyrael will be waiting for you in Tal Rasha's tomb. Perhaps you should ask him then."

Oksana smiled. "Well, I'm sure we can do better this time around fighting all of the big baddies. I guess we should sleep for the night then, right?"

Cain groaned, far louder this time, looking towards the starry heavens. "With the noise all of you make, it's a wonder any of us can sleep around here!" Laughing, and blushing, the heroes split up for the night.

They gathered in the anteroom to Andariel's chamber. Rupert started towards the door, before realizing that no one else was following him. Turning around, he saw the rest of the group gathered by the wall, leaning back and relaxing. He furrowed his brows. "Well?"

Erris shrugged. "Well, you did such a good job last time, we figured we could learn a few things from watching you."

Rupert slowly turned angry. "You think this is all a big joke? Do you have any idea what it took out of me last time?"

"Well, no. We were actually kind of hoping that you would tell us," Garou said. "All you said was something about it being dishonorable. But if it's something that powerful to kill demons, shouldn't we know about it?"

Turning bright red, Rupert started shouting at them. "It's not that important! Nor is it anything that the rest of you could -" He cut off, as the double doors behind him opened, and Andariel stepped into the room. Sighting the heroes, she strode forward.

For the second time, she stepped right into the pool of blood-tinted water. Acting instinctively, Rupert whirled around, dropping his scepter at the edge of the pool as he blessed it, turning it into holy water. The demoness screamed as the holy water started boiling her skin away.

Everyone slowly gathered around the pool as Andariel slipped from sight. "Whoa," Erris said. "What did you do?"

Still looking angry and embarrassed, Rupert straightened up, putting his scepter back into his belt. "I blessed the water," he muttered.

They stared into the now crystal clear water. "If you could do that, why didn't you do it a little more often?" Garou asked.

"It only works on small pools of water. Otherwise half the water in Kurast would be holy." Rupert shook his head, and turned back towards the stairs. "Come on, let's catch the waypoint."

As they started out of the room, Griswold came lumbering in, moaning in anger. They stopped, looked at him, then sniffed in dismissal, continuing towards the stairs. The blacksmith stood there for a few moments, scratching his head in confusion, before moaning curiously, and lumbering back into the hall.

As they trekked back to the waypoint, Erris frowned. "What would happen if we killed him now? Who would be guarding the Hellforge?"

Rupert shrugged. "No idea. But I'd rather we don't find out. Let's hurry up to Lut Gholein and rescue Tyrael."

Garou and Ron bars clapped each other on the back. "First stop - keg party!" Everyone else groaned.

They stood on the steps of the palace, arguing with the guard. "You may not enter the palace," he said for around the hundredth time.

Garou groaned, leaning his head against the wall. "Let's just give it up, guys. This guy doesn't seem to have a mind of his own." Grumbling, they headed down the stairs for the dockside entrance to the sewers. "But how the heck are we supposed to circumvent Diablo if we can't reach the tombs before him?"

Rupert shrugged. "I have no idea. We can probably save a day or so, using the waypoints. We still have to construct that staff, anyway."

Erris nodded. "Still, it bothers me. Isn't there any way we can change the events?"

"But we already have," Jezebel argued. "I mean, look at us, the way we fought and rescued the Sisterhood monastery."

"No, I mean," Erris said crossly, "can't we change the order of events? Isn't there some way we can avoid all this to prevent Diablo from freeing Baal? Or skip our side trip to Hell to save the Worldstone?"

Everyone was silent as they climbed down the rickety stairs and entered the sewers. "We'll see what we can do," Rupert said. "But for now, let's hit the bottom, burn Radament, and race into the desert to get this staff assembled."

Feeling annoyed at their predicament, the others followed.

Two days later, they struck down the Summoner. Catching a quick breath, they were about to step through to the valley of tombs, when Garou suddenly stopped. "Hold on a moment. What was the symbol for Tal Rasha's tomb, last time?"

Everyone stopped and thought. "A plain circle, I believe. What difference does it make?" Rupert asked.

Garou pointed at the six glowing symbols. "Those are different. See, there's the circle. And I'm pretty sure they're in a different order." Everyone else examined the glowing symbols as well, trying to compare the distant memory. "This time, it's a square."

"What difference does it make?" Erris asked irritably. "Square, circle, funny star shape - we can still find the tomb, can't we?"

"Yes, but last time, we spent three days running around that stupid valley, looking for the tomb." Oksana grumbled. "How are we supposed to get any closer to Diablo if we spend the same amount of time running around?"

Tharos stepped between the two. "I think I've got an idea. We can handle those cat monsters pretty easily. Not only that, I think the portal dumps us on top of a waypoint. So, we make a quick run back to town, grab a whole bunch of portal scrolls, and split into two groups. Whenever we reach a tomb, portal back to town and check in. That way, we should only spend one day looking for the tomb, travelling each way."

After a little negotiation for teams, they all stepped through the invisible portal into the valley of the tombs. Instantly, they were buffeted by the sandstorm, fighting to activate the waypoint and escape back to the safety of Lut Gholein.

Once the storm had calmed down, they came back on the waypoint. The stone platform had been uncovered by the storm, and they carefully climbed down the side. “All right,” Rupert said, “Tharos, Garou, Kenny, and I go that way,” he pointed, “and the four of you travel the other way. As soon as you reach a tomb, portal back, and meet at Atma’s. Hopefully, we can get to the right tomb quickly.”

Sighing, they split up, fighting their way across the loose sand dunes. The sun was bright in the morning, leaving shimmers of heat over the floor of the canyon. Everyone traveled in the shade where they could, avoiding the blistering sun and heat of the desert.

To Oksana’s surprise, the first tomb they entered was the correct one. “Look,” she pointed, “here’s the square symbol already!” Jezebel fumbled out a scroll, and went back to town. “We should wait here, just in case,” she said, and Erris and Ron Bars grumpily sat down in the cooler shade of the tomb entrance.

An hour later, the others all came trooping through the portal. Letting Kenny lead the way, they went back down into the tomb. “Things look different,” Garou said, frowning. “Wasn’t the first chamber a little bigger?”

Erris looked around and shrugged. “So what? Does it matter?”

Tharos shook his head, while the golem tried to peel off pieces of saber cat. “If the floor plan of the tomb has changed, it will take us longer to find the right room.”

“Then let’s get moving,” Ron Bars said, twirling his axes as he pushed open another stone door. “The sooner we face down Duriel and ask Tyrael what has happened to us, the better.”

The found the room with the stand fairly quickly, and prepared for battle. Before Rupert could put the staff into the orifice, Oksana stopped him. “Does anyone have any rope?”

“What do you need rope for?” Garou asked, sharpening his claws.

“Well, last time, as soon as the wall opened, Duriel came charging out. I was just thinking about tripping him.” She shrugged.

Ron Bars snorted. “Since you forgot, Duriel has the body of a giant bug. I don’t think you can trip him quite the same way.” He stopped then, looking at Kenny. “But I think I have an idea.”

They spent the next hour scrounging through the tomb, picking up numerous fallen weapons from the undead and saber cats, and it took the barbarian some effort to prepare them. But when they were done, they had the equivalent of a giant slingshot stretching across the room. Erris panted, wiping sweat from her forehead. “Ok, now what do we do with this?”

Ron Bars grabbed the orange-dressed mercenary, strapping him into the ropes and pulling them taut. “Open the wall!” Rupert carefully placed the staff in place and quickly stepped out of the way.

As before, a bright light shot from the staff, playing along the wall, and the stones collapsed. With a roar, Duriel appeared at the opening, and Ron Bars let go. Kenny wailed as he shot across the room, his spear impaling the demon moments before they squished together.

That strike hadn’t killed Duriel, but with the grievous wound, it only took a few blows to kill him. Then Jezebel leaned on her staff, tapping her foot impatiently. “Does your great plan answer how to get past the giant corpse to free Tyrael?” With great irritation, the others gathered around to help drag the demonic body out of the way.

Finally, there was enough room for them to squeeze past, and they gladly filed into the tomb. With a globe of magelight and two fiery skeletons, they walked quickly to the great cavern, where Tyrael stood, chained to the massive column. “Well, let’s get him down quickly,” Rupert said, and the angel looked up.

“Who are you?” he asked, looking at the group in bewilderment. “How did you arrive here so fast?”

Garou shrugged, fighting with the chain binding Tyrael’s feet. “Why, how much of a lead do Diablo and Baal have on us?”

The chains suddenly fell away, and Tyrael leaped into the air, hovering and watching them with narrowed eyes. “How do you know of Diablo and Baal?”

Rupert snickered. “You told us, when we freed you the last time. Before killing Mephisto and smashing his Soulstone in Hell.”

Tyrael alighted on the edge of the bridge. “How do know all this? And more importantly, why should I believe any of it?”

Erris shrugged. “We could tell you about Izual. Or that Baal’s plan is to corrupt the Worldstone.”

Silence ruled the cavern for several seconds as Tyrael digested their words. “If you speak the truth, how do you have this knowledge about the future?”

Ron Bars raised an axe. “I killed Baal, then hit the Worldstone where he had corrupted it.” He gave a twirl before dropping the axe back on his belt.

“I shall have to think about this.” He waved a hand, and a portal appeared. “Return to Lut Gholein, and travel as quickly as possible to Kurast. I must gather more information in Heaven.”

“But, can’t you just portal us there?” Jezebel’s question fell on emptiness, as the angel vanished. “Oh, drat,” she muttered unhappily, stomping her staff onto Rupert’s foot.

Stifling a curse, the paladin limped to the portal. “Come on, let’s just get moving.” A little disappointed, the others trooped back to the city behind him.

In the empty darkness behind them, a pair of glowing eyes blinked, then vanished in a quick puff of flames.

Before Meshif’s boat could even be tied to the rickety pier at the Kurast docks, all of the heroes had jumped off. Dogmeat whined happily as he trotted along the docks, and they brushed past Hratli, heading for the edge of the forest. “Remember, last time we got here, there was that strange guy in the dark cloak,” Rupert warned. “I think he’s got something to do with Diablo, so let’s bring him down.”

On the edge of the jungle, they could just see the shadowy figure vanishing into the mists. With a roar, they charged into the jungle after him, firing arrows and spells. The wanderer roared as an arrow struck him in the shoulder, whirling around. Red light blazed from beneath the cowl of his robe, and the heroes slowed, feeling terror shimmering forth.

The wanderer raised his arm, and a torrent of fire shot forth. Erris dropped to the ground, snapping off an arrow, and the others scattered. To their surprise, Dogmeat lunged forward, grabbing the man’s cloak and ripping it away. As the cloak fell, the man uttered the words of a spell, and vanished from sight.

Tharos picked himself up out of the mud. “Whoever that guy is, I think it’s safe to say there’s something very closely related between him and Diablo. That’s almost the same magical attack the demon used on us.”

Jezebel stared out into the jungle where he had vanished. “No, that was Diablo. That red light was from the Soulstone – it was jammed into his forehead.”

Erris shivered. “But if Diablo is here already … where’s Baal?”

No one had any good answers, and they spent a few moments shaking away the vestiges of Diablo’s terror. Hefting weapons, they then turned, and journeyed into the jungle again.

Rupert handed the Ghidbinn to Ormus rather solemnly. The priest took the dagger, again placing it above the stone platform and strengthening the magical shields around the docks. They watched the sparks shoot out, clearing the mists away in a rush. Jezebel sighed. “Wow, that’s just as beautiful the second time around.”

Garou chuckled, kissing her cheek as they walked back to the warehouse. “It is a wonderful sight, that’s for sure.” As they ducked inside, he waved to Asheara. “If you give us a mercenary, make sure it’s not Jelani.”

The mercenary in question popped his head up from behind a pile of boxes, looking affronted. “Just what do you have against me?” he asked angrily.

“It’s nothing personal,” Rupert said. “It’s just that you’ll probably end up dead.” Then he suddenly snapped his fingers, pointing. “Wait, now I know what Ormus’ strange friend was talking about last time!”

The others looked at him strangely. “Rupert, what are you babbling about?” Erris asked, unstringing her bow.

He jumped forward, fingering Jelani’s tunic. “He said not to go out wearing a red shirt, that’s what. He said that wearing a red shirt was a death sentence!” Rupert then stopped, frowning. “Although it doesn’t make any sense to me.”

Oksana groaned, putting a hand over her eyes. “Rupert, can we forget the metaphysical implications of wearing bright colors in a battle zone, and get some sleep?”

Inside the Durance of Hate, a now green-decked Jelani stopped by the last staircase. “Are you sure this is it?”

Oksana nodded. “Yep. Down here, there’s a short antechamber, filled with the last few members of the Council, and then a big room, with a pool of blood and bones in the middle.” With the tip of her quhab, she sketched it on the wall. “Griswold was here, though he didn’t seem up for fighting.”

Garou nodded, idly scratching his muzzle. “So, do we go in en masse, or allow Oksana to take all the risk again?” He stuck his tongue out playfully, and got a light slap on the arm from Jezebel.

Ron Bars snorted. “What, and let her have all the fun?” He took a moment to dry the sweat and blood from his arms, then took up his axes again. “What are you guys waiting for?” Without waiting for an answer, he bounded down the stairs.

Sighing, the others started after him. Rupert fingered the weapon that Ormus had given to him, and followed last in the group. The small group of Council members were dispatched quickly, and they turned towards the main entrance. Just as Oksana had stated, Griswold and Mephisto were standing on the great bone bridge, weapons at the ready.

Bringing the weapon to his shoulder like a crossbow, Rupert pulled on the trigger. A beam of brilliant ruby light shot forth, splashing onto Mephisto’s chest. Somewhat in surprise, the demon slowly slumped to the floor, his eyes glazing over as he fell unconscious. Griswold stared back and forth between Rupert and the fallen demon, then lurched into the portal with a moan of fear.

Slowly, they circled the pool and came upon the stunned Mephisto. “What the heck is that thing, Rupert?” Erris asked, her voice full of awe.

“I’m not sure exactly. But I do remember, after we killed Mephisto, the person he had controlled looked similar to me.” He shrugged, putting the weapon back into his pack. “When I mentioned it to Ormus, he gave me this and told me to use it on him.” Rupert drew a knife and walked over to Mephisto’s head before pausing. “How the heck am I supposed to get the Soulstone out of his head without killing him?

Everyone else gathered around too, and after a little bit of debate, they started to cut the demon’s forehead open. Blood flowed freely, but soon they could see the glimmer of the Soulstone. “Hold the edges back, I think I can pull it out,” Oksana grunted, trying to force her fingers into the wound.

Suddenly, Mephisto awoke with a roar, throwing everyone off except Garou, who was stuck riding his back like a horse. As the others tried to recover and grab for their weapons, the druid drove his claws into the demon’s forehead, tearing the wound wider and yanking out the shimmering Soulstone.

With a scream that shook the entire cavern, Mephisto reared back, casting the druid away. Then the demon collapsed, his body rapidly shrinking back into human form. To their surprise, despite having the front of his brain exposed, the man was still breathing. “Who are you? What happened to me?”

Rupert managed to get up, and moved over to the man. Despite the grievous wound, their physical similarity was quite impressive. “Don’t talk right now. We’ll get you to a healer.”

He tried to turn his head, gritting his teeth at the pain. “Don’t bother, I’m not long for this world. Just, tell Spock, it’s all over now.” With those last whispered words, his eyes closed, and he slumped back.

Feeling mournful, they stood around the poor man for a moment, before Jezebel turned back towards the portal to Hell. “Well, let’s get this over with,” she muttered. “Maybe this time we can convince Tyrael to send us to Harrogath first.”

They filed through the town portal to retrieve Cain. Back in the cavern, the injured man awoke again, gasping in pain and looking around wildly. “Spock? Bones?” he called softly. From nearby, he heard footsteps, and tried to carefully turn his body. “Good, you’re here. Please, get me to sickbay quickly –” The rest of his words were cut off as the imp jabbed a spear through the open front of his skull.

Chittering with pleasure, the demon scooped out a handful of brains, slurping them up and letting the blood drain down its chin. As the first of the heroes returned through the portal, the imp vanished.

Belial dismissed his messenger. The imp vanished, and the great horned demon rested his chin in his hand as he considered the news. Certainly, there had seemed to be something not right with the order of the world for a few months now, since that strange group of heroes had appeared at the Sisterhood monastery, defeating Andariel in a bare handful of seconds.

With a clawed hand, he pulled down a carved human skull, the top carefully removed. He breathed into the open brainpan, filling it with swirling liquid flames. As the demon chanted, images slowly began to form. He watched their progress, from their first appearance in the camp, and a dark foreboding began to appear in his mind.

Belial listened to their words with each other, with that Horadrim sage, and with Tyrael. At last, the demon nodded, picking up the skull and drinking in the flames. Then for several moments, he sat in the darkness and solitude.

Baal burst in with a cacophony of noise and sound, designed to be impressive. Belial remained unmoved, waiting for the host of his elder brother to disperse. Finally, the two demons remained alone in the darkened chamber, only their glowing eyes visible. “Well?”

Chuckling softly, the Lord of Lies gestured to a chair, fashioned from human souls. “Things could be worse,” he rasped into the darkness.

Baal glared, reaching across the stone table. “Do not play games with me now, Belial. The time for us to destroy humanity is almost upon us!”

With a stretch, Belial popped his neck. “It is approaching, and it has already passed. These heroes have already defeated you once.”

“What madness is this?” Baal rose from his seat, pacing angrily about the table. “I’ll have no lies from you now, brother. The chance to destroy humanity, and gain a permanent advantage over the angels, is too valuable to waste on petty arguments between ourselves!”

“I do not speak madness, Baal.” He crossed his hands behind his head, leaning back comfortably. “If you do not believe me, listen to their own words.”

In the darkness, Baal listened to Ron Bars tale of shattering the Worldstone. Eyes narrowing, he sat back down. “Can this be true?”

“I think so, yes,” he whispered. “Look at even the monsters in those areas – do the Fallen normally require a barbarian warrior with a great axe to work up a sweat massacring them? Something has changed, and everything they touch is somehow involved.”

“So you mean they know of my plan already,” he growled. “I almost had them defeated, and yet they won. How am I supposed to conquer a foe who knows my own moves before I make them?”

With a low chuckle, Belial stripped a line of flesh from his chair, chewing on it. “They do not know what you will do, brother. They think they know what you will do.”

Baal snorted. “Scant difference there, as you well know.”

“Not so. Continue with your plans against the Worldstone as planned. But consider changing some of the details. Think of how you would have conducted your campaign if those seven had not interfered, and think of ways you could trap them when they expect your original plans.”

In a more cheerful mood, Baal rose and strode for the exit. “Brother, do not forget one thing,” Belial rasped, pausing him at the doorway. “It was my plan that gave you this opportunity, it was my work that freed Diablo, Mephisto and yourself, and it was my spies that prevented you from being defeated by Tyrael before your assault on Mount Arreat could be started. I want my due.”

Baal smirked back at the other demon. “And just what do you see as your due, Belial, Lord of Lies?”

He was not amused. Using Baal’s own voice, he spoke into the cavern. “Once my plan is complete, with the magic of the mortal realm at our command, there will be no need for a Lord of Terror as one of the Prime Evils. You could take his place, you know.” Returning to his normal rasp, Belial continued. “You promised me his place, and I will take it for my own.”

Suddenly angry, Baal strode forward, fire and cold magics crackling at his fingertips. “And what if I refuse to grant it to you?”

Very calmly, Belial smiled. “Would you like to spend another few centuries bound to a stone, buried under the desert sands? Or perhaps this time, Tyrael will bind you in amber and sink you at the bottom of the ocean.”

They squared off, staring for several moments before Baal finally spoke. “You would jeopardize our best chance at destroying humanity in spite?”

“We have different priorities right now, you and I. With you gone, I have been running Hell, when I could get Asmodan to stop fighting. Humanity is important. My place as one of the Three is more important.” Belial sank back into his chair, tightening his talons around the arm.

After several minutes of tense silence, Baal finally spoke. “So be it.” With an angry rush, he departed.

Alone again in the darkness, Belial smiled, repeating the conversation in his mind.

Emerging on the blasted stone of Hell, Garou quickly swept up Cain, and the others gathered around him. “Let’s make a run for it before they realize we’re here.” As the first demons started to turn, reacting to their presence, a quick volley of arrows and spells gave them an opening towards the Sanctuary staircase.

They made it to the stairwell, Garou vaulting up several at a time while the others guarded his back. Tyrael met him halfway down, blasting away the small crowd of demons. “Welcome to Hell, warriors,” the angel said. “Or, perhaps in your case, welcome back is more appropriate.”

Feigning wounded pride, Cain was put back on his feet, hobbling up to the Sanctuary. “Tyrael,” Rupert said, “We need to get to Harrogath. It’s more important than tracking down Diablo right now.” He almost had to jog to keep up with the angel’s swift pace.

“What you said before was true. Baal is assaulting Mount Arreat.” He stopped suddenly, and the seven almost collided with him. “However, defeating Diablo is more important right now.”

“How can you say that?” Erris asked angrily. “Last time, Baal had already started his corruption of the Worldstone before we arrived!”

Tyrael smiled. “Yes. But from what you said about the Worldstone, Baal only had an hour, or less, before your arrival.” He looked back out and down into Hell. “As we speak, Baal’s demon armies are at a standstill, unable to pass Harrogath. But Diablo is massing reinforcements to send as aid.”

Tharos whistled unhappily. “Great. So either we go to Harrogath, try to go through the entire army to reach Baal, or stay here and stop Diablo before he can finish his army.” He shook his head, and his skeletons imitated him. “Not a happy choice.”

Muttering among themselves, the heroes moved back towards the stairway, looking down at the monotonous gray landscape of Hell. “So, what do we do?” Oksana asked quietly.

Ron Bars fiddled with an axe handle. “As much as I want to return home and defend my people, I think Tyrael is correct. We’ve got to stop Diablo before he send reinforcements.” He swore, shaking his head. “I don’t like it at all.”

Rupert nodded. “Neither do I. But we have a duty here.” Hefting his scepter, he started down the steps. Unhappily, his friends followed.

At the Hellforge, Ron Bars went dancing through the swarms of maggot young, crushing them with his war boots as his axes also sent pieces flying. His friends were fighting along side of him, driving back the demonic horde. Off to one side, Rupert was trading blows with Griswold, and the blacksmith was clearly on the losing end.

Before long, Griswold was the only one left standing. Wicked bruises covered his skin, and he was teetering on the edge of the platform, only inches away from the River of Flames. Carefully, Rupert disengaged and stepped back. “Hand over the forge hammer, Griswold, and I won’t kill you.”

The scared blacksmith moaned, looking around for any avenue of escape. Desperate, he pulled back, and threw the hammer over the Hellforge as a distraction. But when he tried to make a break for it, Erris sent an arrow clipping the edge of his ear. “Watch it, chubby,” she growled.

Everyone waited while Ron Bars picked up the forge hammer, taking the blue Soulstone from Jezebel and placing it on the Hellforge. Lifting the hammer, he smashed it into blue powder, that quickly blew away on the constant sulfurous winds. “Well, that’s done. Let’s go.”

“What about him?” Garou pointed at Griswold as the others backed away. “We’re just going to leave him here?”

He chuckled. “Why not? If he proceeds to attack us again, he gets to take a swim.” As if to underscore the barbarian’s words, one of the tortured souls nearby tried again to cast itself out of the flames, before being dragged swiftly back down.

Agreeing with his words, the others followed Ron back along the pathways towards the Chaos Sanctuary. They passed Hadriel, sitting on a small wooden stool, reading from an elegant book. “Bye bye, gents, have fun storming the castle,” he said with an airy wave.

They passed into the fallen cathedral, dealing out death and destruction to the demons and skeletal warriors. Before long, four of the seals had been activated. As they started to head down to the last seal, Oksana looked up. “Hey, isn’t this a little bit odd?”

Rupert followed her gaze up. “What’s odd about it?”

“Well, look around this place. Most of it is falling apart at the seams – missing walls, no windows, like it had been abandoned for ages.” She gestured up, above the metal pentagram where Diablo had appeared. “But right here, the ceiling isn’t just intact, it’s almost a cage.”

Everyone looked up, studying the lines of metal beams that crossed the area. Tharos smiled. “It almost does look like a cage. I wonder, what would happen if it broke away and fell?”

After a great deal of discussion, they spent the next hour helping Oksana prepare her traps for their plan. Then, once everything was in place, they turned towards the last seal. Diablo’s last group of minions was slain, smashed into bony dust, and they raced back into the center of the cathedral to prepare.

The building began to shake, and from somewhere, they could hear Diablo’s voice. “Ready to die, warriors?” he roared. Then, with a burst of flames, he appeared in the middle of the pentagram.

The first strikes went flying at the metal rods in the ceiling, where they had attached the fire bomb traps. An arrow, a lightning bolt, and two bursts of skeletal flame shot up, setting them off. The massive explosion rocked the whole building again, and with a tortured scream, the ceiling fell in on Diablo.

The demon tried to escape, and that proved his undoing. The edge of the cave, leading with jagged metal point, smashed into his back, walloping him to the ground. Two flying axes then burned into his sides, even as the great demon tried to retaliate. As his blood spilled away in rivers, Diablo tried to curse them, but his strength fled too quickly.

They stood for a moment, admiring their handiwork. “Well, that was bracing,” Erris said. “Can we get a move on now and stop Baal?”

Jezebel read off the scroll, and they hurried to confront Tyrael, hoping that they had not already wasted too much time.

Emerging in Harrogath, Ron Bars stopped everyone before they had gone too far. “If we hurry, we might be able to catch Nihlathak,” he said. “We don’t know when he gave the relic to Baal, so if we’re lucky, we’re still in time.”

Weapons still at the ready, they ran across town, sliding in the fresh and still-falling snow. When they came out into the square, Nihlathak was standing in front of his house, talking with one of the women of the city. Without so much as a warning, Erris fired at him. He looked up just in time and shrieked, trying to dive out of the way.

The arrow caught him in the arm, launching him backwards against the side of the house. With sudden fury in his eyes, the elder launched a bone spirit at them. Qual-Kehk dived in front of it, stoically taking the blow as he pulled free his own pair of axes. “I remember!” he screeched, launching another one at the heroes. “I remember everything, and my new lord Baal shall have his revenge on you!” With a burst of flames, he vanished.

Fortunately, the snow prevented anything from catching fire. Slowly, Qual-Kehk lowered his weapons and turned to face them grimly. “Ron Bars, what the hell just happened here?”

Rupert stopped them. “Not just yet. We should check and see if Anya’s already here, and whether or not Baal has had a chance to start controlling her.” In agreement, they turned and ran back across the city, the warrior at their heels.

Erris pounded frantically on the door of her house, and had almost decided to break down the door when Anya opened it. “Who are all you people? What’s going on?”

Tharos smiled grimly, leveling his wand. “Nihlathak just vanished to give the relic to Baal. You’ve got ten seconds to prove that you’re not on his side too, then we knock you unconscious and keep you someplace secure until we’ve dealt with the Lord of Destruction.”

Her face pale, Anya slowly stepped outside. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Why would I betray my people and side with Baal?” She looked around for support, and finding none.

Ron Bars shook his head. “Look, this might sound odd, but all of this has happened before – at least to us. And you pushed me over the side of a cliff to help Baal.”

Oksana took her by the arm. “We know it wasn’t your fault – that demon was controlling your mind. But we can’t risk anything this time.” Slowly, they led her away from her house to Malah’s infirmary, still distrustful.

Returning with the last batch of rescued soldiers, the heroes were startled by the sudden sound of an explosion. Able warriors raced across the town, to arrive at the side of Anya’s house. It had been torn open by the explosion, and buildings all around were scorched. Quickly everyone formed a squad, using buckets and empty helmets to throw patches of snow on the flames.

“Nihlathak must have kidnapped her anyway,” Erris cursed as she dumped an overflowing helmet of snow onto a slowly burning chair. “So do we go after her?”

Qual-Kehk looked affronted as he roughly handed her a bucket of snow. “You must go after her. As the only child of one of our elders, she must be rescued.” He fell quiet for a moment, handing back an empty helmet. “Even if what you said about Anya and Baal is true.”

Rupert shrugged, retrieving his helmet as it went past. “Well, if we hurry, we can probably reach the start of the tunnels by nightfall.” As the others put their helms back on as well, he started back towards the portal.

Tharos sighed as his minions dropped their buckets and turned to follow the others. “I only hope we can be a little faster this time,” he said as they stepped back onto the plateau.

In the cave near the frozen river, Erris’ silent opening shot burrowed through the head of the lead ice demon, dropping him like a stone. The others rushed up to support her, now that the need for silence had passed. Minotaurs and ice beasts died by the dozens in the narrow passageway, until they could get through to reach Anya’s icy prison.

Oksana pulled the small bottle from her belt, and poured the orange liquid over the ice, watching as it melted magically away. Ron Bars caught her before she fell, and Garou carefully bound her wrists before they carried her back to town. “Keep an eye on her,” the druid told Malah. “We don’t know what caused her to turn to Baal last time, so we’re taking no chances.”

Outside, Ron Bars stared up at the stars, twinkling clearly in the night sky. “It’s such a pity,” he sighed heavily. “The winter weather can be harsh sometimes, but it’s often the most beautiful season of the year.”

For a moment, everyone stood gazing up at the sky along with him. “Well,” Rupert said, clapping him on the back, “let’s get some sleep before going up the next section of mountain tomorrow.”

Everyone dispersed to their beds for the night, still stealing occasional glances at the sky through the buildings and the trees.

On the summit of the mountain, they all paused, looking at the golden statues of the Ancients. “And now we get to do this all over again,” Tharos remarked dryly. “Should we split up the Ancients evenly between us?”

Rupert snorted. “Well, I suppose it’s better than tying them up.”

Jezebel winked at Oksana. “I don’t know, it was rather effective last time, wasn’t it?”

Looking somewhat annoyed Ron Bars grabbed the book on the pedestal and flipped it open. Reading it loudly, he grinned around the words as his friends hurriedly prepared themselves for the furious battle ahead.

Talic leapt forward, his giant sword swinging down with a hum. But Ahnold blocked it easily, leaving him open for the furious swipes of Garou. Still, they held in a stalemate for many moments, until the unfortunate warrior was bitten in the ankle by Dogmeat, knocking him to the ground.

Madawc threw his axes at Ron Bars the moment he could move. But to his surprise, Ron caught the axes, throwing them back. Dodging a hail of arrows and lightning bolts, the warrior was hit by his own axes, casting him backwards into the rocks.

Korlic swept his halberd down towards Rupert, stepping back for a better range with the giant weapon. Unfortunately, the iron golem had been standing right behind him, and wasted no time trying to grapple the armored warrior. They went back and forth, Korlic keeping Rupert and Oksana at bay while he tried to wrestle free of the spiked golem before it found a weak point in his armor.

As Ahnold and Garou fought to keep Talic down on the ground, the golem staggered backwards, crushing his head like a grape. They winced, and Garou took a slash on the flank from Korlic as they went tottering in a different direction. Oksana managed to grab the halberd for a moment, immobilizing the weapon while the others hammered the warrior with blows.

Madawc, stunned and flattened against the rocks, clung furiously to life even as he tore his own weapons free of his flesh. As he eluded the rain of missle fire his way, Tharos cursed him. With his muscles turned to glue, the warrior was an easy target for the next pair of arrows.

With his last breath, Madawc grunted, “Baal is only a few minutes ahead of you. Hurry!” Spitting blood, he toppled towards the snow, vanishing even as he did so. With a sudden clatter, the barbed gates opened, and they raced inside.

With a warcry, Ron Bars jumped down the flight of stairs, his axes each shearing a harpy in two while he landed on a third. Screeching in anger, they scattered, launching curses at the other heroes as they more slowly descended the stairs. “Isn’t the waypoint around here somewhere?” Tharos shouted as he directed his skeletons’ fire.

“I think we passed it one floor up,” Jezebel called back, blocking a minotaur’s axe before roasting him alive. “No time to stop, anyway. We have to reach Baal!”

Garou roared before chomping down on another minotaur, tearing an arm off. “I can’t help thinking that we forgot about something,” he mumbled as he spat out the muscles. “Anyone else know what?”

Ahnold roared from the front of the group, tossing an imp away like a dead rat. “Nihlathak!” As they caught up to him, they could see row upon row of undead warriors, standing in ranks and holding their flamberges at the ready. Behind them, levitating in the air, was the fallen elder.

“I told you, I remembered everything!” he cackled. “Not going to take a detour this time, were you, little pathetic children,” he ranted on. As he raised his hands, the undead stepped forward en masse, swinging their deadly weapons like a wall of death across the corridor.

“Is there any way to get around them?” Rupert asked anxiously, looking around the maze of passages.

Oksana laughed, and leaped forward into the fray alone. Dancing easily between the strikes, she taunted the skeletons. Within the first seconds, it was obvious that all of the skeletons were moving in perfect unison. As she danced between them, jumping over blades and under legs, half of the undead battered each other to pieces. When they rose back up again, the order was completely upset, as the raised warriors moved seconds behind their companions.

Once the entire group was mired in total chaos, with Nihlathak screaming furiously in the background, Erris lined up her shot. The arrow tore through Nihlathak’s throat, almost separating his head from his shoulders. As he fell to the ground, the skeletons stopped returning to life. “Hurry up, we’ve already lost too many minutes,” Erris called as the dashed between the falling bones.

Leaping past the last of the undead, they raced for the next set of stairs, trying urgently to regain their lead over Baal.

On the last floor, they tore around the corridors, barely stopping to ensure that the demons were dead. Ron Bars reached the open chamber first, slowing down and swearing. On the far side of the room, they could just witness Baal crossing under the archway into the Worldstone chamber. Between them stood Lister and his cohorts.

Oksana swore, then closed her eyes and vanished from sight. The two barbarians stood side by side, waiting for the first of the giant lizards to charge them. When it did, their strikes knocked it sideways into a stone column. One demon took a stride forward, only to reel back as its face sprouted arrows like porcupine quills. Garou waited in the center of the room for another one to charge, throwing miniature tornados at it.

Rupert swore even as they downed another demon. “Damn it all, we have to get through them now!” Leaping forward, he smashed his scepter into Lister’s leg. The resulting thunderbolt shook the mountain and blinded all of them, but when they could see again, nothing was left of the massive demon but a small pile of ash.

Through the archway came the sound of traps firing. “Damnit, we have to help her!” Tharos was the first through his archway, his minions flanking him.

Inside was a scene of carnage. The last of Baal’s demonic escorts were laying around the room, scorch marks or slashes depicting their method of death. Standing over the chasm, Baal held Oksana in one hand. Her weapons ineffectually opened cuts on his arm, but the demon laughed as he hurled her into the Worldstone. As the others watched, horrified, her body left a red smear as it fell into the chasm.

The Lord of Destruction turned angrily to stare them down. “So, mortals, you arrived here. Still too late!” His laugh shook the cavern, breaking off fragments of stone. “And despite it all, you still got betrayed!”

A sudden thunk came from behind them. Turning around, Jezebel blasted Anya with a lightning bolt before she could get up. “Maybe, but at least this time we were prepared for it,” she said angrily. As Baal opened his mouth to retort, Erris let fly an arrow, and the battle was joined.

With their new skills, this battle was no less fierce than the last. Jezebel was caught in tentacles, only to have them smashed away from her by a tornado. Baal’s mirror image was repeatedly blasted to ash by Rupert’s heavenly bolts. But as the battle wore on, the demon began to gain the upper hand.

First Garou died, trapped by tentacles and hurled into the abyss before he could free himself. Ahnold nearly severed one of Baal’s legs, only to have his neck snapped like a twig. Erris died when the demon’s double appeared behind her, immolating her in an instant. Rupert was hit with a wave of cold, flattening him against the wall and suffocating him as ice filled his mouth.

Jezebel, Tharos, and Ron Bars were the only ones left standing, but Baal was on his last legs. Tharos’ curses layered the demon faster than he could negate them, and a constant barrage of lightning bolts knocked him off balance. The iron golem had latched onto one arm, leaving Ron Bars open to smash him again and again with his axes.

In a last desperate effort, Baal reared back, grabbing the golem with his free hand, knocking the barbarian backwards. Tearing his own arm off at the elbow, he hurled the golem at Tharos, crushing him into a column. But when the fireball exploded beneath him, Baal could not regain his balance. Shouting out curses, he toppled over the edge. Jezebel almost wept when she heard his cries cut off as he hit bottom.

“Help me stand,” Ron Bars gasped out from where he lay. She rushed over to him, lending her staff as he forced himself to his feet. One leg had been cut open to the bone, the muscles almost completely ripped away. Leaning heavily on her, they limped to the edge of the chasm.

“Are you going to hit it again?” Tharos voice echoed strangely in the cavern. As they looked incredulously at him, he attempted to shrug. “Yes, I’m dead. I have read about powerful necromancers animating themselves after death, but I never believed it before.”

The barbarian turned to look back at the Worldstone. In almost the identical place, a spot of darkness marred the perfection. “It’s smaller this time,” he said in wonder. “We were faster.” Suddenly, he turned to Jezebel. “Listen, when I jump, you need to hit me with a lightning bolt.”

“What?” She gaped at him in shock. “That would kill you!”

He shook his head confidently. “No. With this leg,” he gestured painfully, “I can’t jump out there. I need the extra momentum.” Carefully, he gripped one axe in both hands. “When I reach the top of my jump.”

Balancing carefully on one working leg, he took a deep breath and launched himself out into the chasm. At the top of his jump, the promised bolt struck him in the back, and the axe swung down towards the Worldstone. Just before it struck, again Tyrael shouted, “No!”

With a bright flash, the world vanished.

Tharos gasped in pain, backpedaling furiously and blocking with his shield. He muttered something obscene under his breath, and fired a bone spear from his wand, skipping it off the zombie’s head. It moaned, and swung again, connecting against his gothic shield with a muffled clang. With another slam from his golem, the zombie’s face caved in, and the monster fell to the ground.

He stood silently for a moment, looking around the dim cave. The light enchantment on his helmet lit the gloom only slightly, but nothing moved. After another moment, Tharos waved his hand, muttering the arcane sigil. The fallen zombie twitched, then the bones ripped free, climbing over each other. The skeleton stood there, swaying slightly, bony hands glowing with magical fire.

Tharos smiled, and turned to head deeper into the cave. But with a crackling explosion, his skeleton warrior collapsed, as an arrow flew out of the darkness. The iron golem caught the skull, the arrow still sticking out of an eye socket.

Tharos stepped around the corner of the wall. “What the hell did you do that for?”

Erris grabbed another arrow from her quiver, placing it against the string. “Prepare to die, foul necromancer!”

He snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Erris.” Both of them suddenly stopped, staring at each other in confusion. “How do I know your name?” he asked, warily pointing his wand at her.

She slowly lowered the bow. “I don’t know. But you look familiar somehow.” They stepped forward, and extended empty hands.

When their fingers touched, they both felt like a lightning bolt had gone through them. Both of them suddenly remembered everything, from their first meeting in this cave, to their deaths at Baal’s hands, and their second death. “What happened after I died?” Erris asked, whispering in fear.

Tharos shuddered. “Well, I got smashed by my own golem. And then reanimated myself as a zombie.”

“That sounds very sickening.” Erris shuddered as well, rubbing her hands over her arms. “Please, don’t ever remind me of that.” They turned and headed to where Oksana and Rupert would be. “Do you think Ron defeated Baal again?”

Tharos shrugged. “Won’t know until we ask him, will we?” Grinning, he shouted into the cave ahead, “Look out behind you Rupert!” The expected shout of surprise echoed back.

The friends reunited, and briefly discussed the end of the second battle with Baal. Everyone shuddered when Tharos described being one of the undead. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” he protested in jest. “I mean, you don’t have to sleep, or eat, just deal with annoying adventurers looting your grave.”

Groaning, they turned towards the Underground Passage. There was no time to lose this time.

In the hall before the Worldstone, Baal scampered up the steps, charging into the Worldstone chamber. Behind him, Lister barely made a bump as the heroes struck him down, racing to catch Baal before his destructive magics could be loosed against the Worldstone. The demon hissed as an arrow blazed into his rump, but a moment later he was out of sight.

Leaping over the chasm, he skidded onto the center platform, raising his hands and shouting out the corruption spell hurriedly. But a lightning bolt crashed into one arm, throwing off his spell. Instead of striking the center of the Worldstone, as he expected, it barely clipped the edge.

Furiously, he turned, blasting them with a massive wave of cold. But the heroes came through almost unscathed, returning their own attacks. A lightning bolt and a pair of arrows smacked into him, and a firebomb blew apart the tiles under one foot. The two barbarians leapt over the abyss as well, smashing through his protective wall of tentacles.

The battle raged back and forth for almost an hour. Baal recovered the upper hand quickly, throwing Garou across the room. But no matter how much damage he seemed to do, the heroes simply kept coming back, fighting tenaciously. Before long, Baal teetered on the edge, trying to block attacks from four warriors, and continually being struck by spells, arrows, and traps.

The golem finally dealt the deciding blow. While Baal was distracted by the more furious strikes of Ahnold and Ron Bars, Tharos had directed his minion around the edge of the room, through the shadows, to come up on his blind flank. Then the spiked golem crawled under the demon, standing up and tearing at the weaker underside.

As Baal screamed in pain, Garou jumped onto his back, pulling head back. Taking careful aim, Ron Bars swung both axes, cutting the demon’s head clean off. Blood spattered everywhere in the room, burning their skin like acid. They fought to quickly get clean, even using healing potions to wash away the blood.

With their foe defeated, the seven heroes turned to look at the Worldstone. With a heavy sigh, Ron Bars tightened his grip on his axe. “We still didn’t get here in time to stop Baal,” he lamented, looking at the hand-sized patch of darkness. “Do we have to go through all of this again?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” Tyrael admonished from behind them. Ahnold gaped, and backed away, falling to his knees. The seven warriors, however, ignored him, watching the angel. He strode forward to the edge, watching the small patch of blight on the Worldstone. “Only an immortal can break the Worldstone. If you did it again, it would probably kill all of you.”

Rupert blanched. “Well, what are we supposed to do then? Just allow Baal to corrupt the Worldstone and control all magic in our world?”

“Stand back,” he instructed, and rose into the air. Wielding pure light like a javelin, he cast it at the Worldstone. With a giant rumble, it shattered into millions of pieces, almost all of them vanishing to fly away, somewhere into the world. His hands cupped, Tyrael alighted back on the edge. “These are for you.”

Slowly, they each stepped forward to take a small piece of the magic stone. Holding them reverently, they pondered the small pieces of rock. “Amazing that something so small can hold so much power,” Jezebel murmured.

“They will allow you some access to magic, just as the Worldstone did,” the angel explained. “But their effects are limited. And if they are broken, their power fades. Once every piece of stone is broken,” he sighed, “magic will be gone from your world forever, and neither Heaven nor Hell will be able to reach it.”

Tharos pondered his stone for a moment, before carefully sticking it into the forehead of his golem. “What will happen to the world when magic vanishes, Tyrael?”

“It will continue. Humans will be born, love and hate and desire and care and kill, just as they have for centuries.” His face was neutral as he spoke. “When they die, their souls will be judged, and sentenced to Heaven or Hell until our war has been decided.”

Erris snorted. “Somehow, coming from you, that sounds depressing.” He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise said nothing. “Well, what are we supposed to do now?”

“Why, whatever you wish, of course. Your task here has been completed,” Tyrael said. Waving his hand, a portal opened. “Please, return to Harrogath, and plan your lives as you will.” Stepping backwards, Tyrael vanished.

Gathering their arms together, they returned to the bright winter day of Harrogath. Cain looked up as they appeared. “It worked exactly like I said. Anya is still asleep.”

Rupert chuckled. “Well, that’s good, because Baal is dead. Tyrael has shattered the Worldstone.” He stared up at the clear sky for a moment. “Things are going to change in this world.”

The old sage shrugged. “I’ve seen just about enough changing for my lifetime. Ah, my poor home of Tristram,” he lamented.

Rupert looked curious. “Say, now that the Council is probably over their orb-induced hatred, do you think they would be interested in having someone rebuild the cathedral there?”

“Hmm, perhaps they will. But who would want to return to such a place?” Cain wondered aloud.

The paladin shrugged. “I’m not sure, but maybe with a paladin leading the efforts, it’ll work. Maybe I can even talk Larzuk into coming to be the new blacksmith.”

“Talk me into going where?” Larzuk asked as he walked into the slowly gathering celebration.

“Tristram. This crazy paladin here says he’s going to rebuild the city,” Cain said mockingly. “As if he can build the cathedral himself!”

The blacksmith laughed, clapping a hand onto Rupert’s shoulder with a smile. “Actually, it sounds like a challenge. And I’ve always wanted to travel.” As the two shared a smile, Cain groaned.

”Angels preserve us!”

On the outskirts of the gathering people, Oksana and Tharos sat on a rough garden wall. “I never thought I would live to see the day when I had faced down the leaders of Hell,” he said quietly, voice full of awe.

“Me neither,” she agreed, shaking her head slowly. “I feel like we’ve been doing this for ages, the way time moved around.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. For several moments, they just held each other in silence. “I think we should leave here,” Tharos said quietly. “Find somewhere quiet and raise a family, maybe.”

“Oh really?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. “What makes you think I’d be any good at raising children?”

With a twinkle in his eyes, he kissed her. “Oksana, my love, I don’t know how good you’ll be at raising them, but I’m entirely sure that you’ll have great fun making them.” Sharing a lustful look, they slipped out the gates of Harrogath, heading south.

Garou snagged two flagons of honey mead as they went past, handing one to Jezebel. “We’ve freed the world from destruction,” he said. “It wasn’t quite what I expected.”

She chuckled, a little sadly, and fingered her shard of Worldstone. “Both of our people are so dependant on magic,” she said quietly. “How are we going to adjust to a world without magic?”

Taking a large sip, he patted her on the back. “I don’t think that magic will fade away right away. The Worldstone still exists, just not in one piece anymore.” He pulled out his own shard. “We’ll learn what to do about it soon enough.”

“Maybe we could start a school or something,” she said, watching the joyful barbarians start a fire in the middle of the square. “You know, learn how magic works using these shards, and teach our people.”

“Hmm.” Taking another sip, he coughed as he tried to laugh. Dogmeat snuck up behind another barbarian, and grabbed the roasted turkey leg from his hand, dashing away as the half-drunk warrior shouted in outrage. Whining happily, he dropped it in the snow at Jezebel’s feet, and she made a disgusted face. “That’s ok, Dogmeat,” Garou laughed, “it’s all yours.”

Standing by the steps of Malah’s infirmary, Ron Bars and Erris were wrapped up in his large fur cloak. “It’s funny,” he said, “but I never expected to be this big hero. I mean, my clan will be telling stories about me for years to come.” A little glum, he watched the others, dancing around the fire, roasting meat and sharing flagons of mead. “What am I supposed to do with the rest of my life?”

Snickering, she leaned back against him. “Have you considered piracy? We could steal my mother’s ship, and you could be the dread pirate Ron, or something.” As his booming laugh echoed across the courtyard, she turned to look at him, feigning anger. “You don’t think that’s a good plan?”

He planted a big kiss on her forehead, and she smiled. “Why, did you want to drag me across the world, to a bunch of tiny islands where it never snows?”

“Well, I think my mother would be positively indignant if I didn’t bring my husband home to meet her.” With an even wider smile, she watched the revelers as he sputtered for a moment. Turning around, she silenced his protests with a kiss.

After a few moments, he pulled back far enough to look her in the eyes. “Alright, we’ll go visit your homeland if you insist. But only if I get to choose the ship.”

“Done,” she agreed, and they happily returned to kissing. Nearby, Malah and Qual-Kehk watched them.

“Do you remember when we were that eagerly in love?” the warrior asked his wife.

With a glare, she turned on him. “You mean to tell me, after all these years of faithful service, raising our three children, that you’re not in love with me anymore?” Before she could make any larger a scene, he picked her up, dipping her into a great kiss. Cain led the watching barbarians in a slightly drunken cheer.

The world was safe.

For now.

In Hell, Belial waited in the dark cave that was his sanctum. Out on the plains of Hell, he could hear the noises of demons, and the end of a very brief battle. Asmodan had learned of the return of Baal a little too late, and determined to fight for control of the limited area of Hell he had been left. But with all the others arrayed against him, Asmodan was struck down by Baal himself, and was currently shackled. No doubt he would be freed soon enough, as the leaders of Hell had never changed since they had split from the ranks of Heaven.

Sure enough, a small party had soon departed the battlefield, ascending towards him. Belial waited, standing there in the darkness, deceptively at peace. Long before they were in sight, he knew who they were – the other Prime Evils. Led by Baal, flanked by Mephisto and Duriel, they stopped just outside his cave.

“Congratulations are in order, I suppose?” he asked quietly. Andariel shifted in the rear, holding tightly to the chains binding Asmodan.

Baal lunged forward, clawed hands reaching for Belial. Wrapping talons around the smaller demon’s neck, Baal roared. The very sound of his voice shook the firmaments of Hell, and their lackeys everywhere quaked in fear. “Do you so hate your position here that you dare insult me to my face?”

To his surprise, Belial smiled. “Insult you? The plan worked. The corruption spell convinced Tyrael to shatter the Worldstone, and the mortal world will slowly wither away because of it.” Cautiously tapping a finger against Baal’s arm, he asked, “Would you put me down now?”

With another roar, Baal hurled him against the side of the mountain, and he struck with the sharp crack of breaking bones. “You are a fool, powerless Belial!” he shouted, turning around to descend down the mountain.

But, eerily quiet, his own voice echoed back at him. Belial echoed their entire conversation, and the other rulers of Hell shifted angrily, obviously plotting against themselves. Mephisto, in particular, looked furious. “I kept my end of the bargain, Baal,” he finished. “I helped you get into the mortal world, I helped free you, Diablo, and Mephisto, and I told you how to reach the Worldstone and shatter it.”

Coldly, Baal looked over his shoulder. “Very well then, Belial, since Diablo is still in the mortal world, you can take his place.” He took several strides away, calling over his shoulder, “But only if you can earn it.”

The other Great Evils dispersed, secretly plotting against him, no doubt. Even Asmodan, despite his resistance earlier, was ignored to shuffle off as best he could in his shackles. After they were gone, the broken and injured Belial vanished into so much smoke. The true Belial, still safe inside his cave, shook his head at the simplicity of his illusion. “You will rue this day, Baal,” he whispered. “What good is destruction if you do not know where to use it?”

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