Diablo: The Sin War Box Set: Birthright, Scales of the Serpent, and The Veiled Prophet

by Richard A. Knaak

  If it had been any other—no, if it had even been a living Achilios—Uldyssian would have paid the command no heed. Yet, somehow, he realized that his dead comrade understood the matter more than he could ever begin to. Nerves taut, Uldyssian forced himself to watch things unfold.

  A grotesque array of red quills erupted from Serenthia’s monstrous maw. They pushed upward. Upward…

  And with one terrible push, the demoness Lilith burst full-blown out of the dark-haired woman’s mouth.

  Still screaming—but from what seemed more rage than pain—the green-scaled siren flew around the chamber several times. Below, Serenthia—now normal again—teetered dangerously.

  “Fools!” bellowed Lilith, suddenly hovering. “Little-minded mortal fools! Do you think this means anything? Do you think you’ve won at all?” She laughed wildly, then thrust a taloned finger toward Serenthia. “Careful, dears! She’s about to drop!”

  With that, the demon flew up to the ceiling, vanishing just before she would have crashed into it.

  Neither Uldyssian nor Achilios dared watch to see if this were another trick, for Lilith had at least spoken true when she had warned them about Serenthia. Nearly as pale as the archer, Serenthia let out a slight gasp, then fell over.

  Uldyssian intended to use his abilities to keep her from striking the stones headfirst, but somehow Achilios moved even faster. Gritty arms caught Serenthia mere inches from disaster. The archer gently set her down as if she were made of fragile glass.

  Serenthia exhaled…and her eyes fluttered open. She gazed up at her savior, who himself looked to Uldyssian as if he suddenly wished that he were anywhere else at the moment rather than in her sight. The archer quickly put one hand over his throat in a futile attempt to cover the monstrous sight.

  “A-Achilios…” she mumbled. “Achilios…” A smile started to spread, but before it could go very far…Serenthia passed out.

  “Praise…be…” muttered the dead man. He stepped back from her, only then looking at Uldyssian.

  The son of Diomedes could still not believe what he was seeing. “Achilios—”

  “Take…take better care…of her…next time…if only so I won’t…be back…”

  The archer turned to flee, but Uldyssian seized him by the arm. Ignoring both the dirt and the cold he felt, Uldyssian growled, “You can’t leave!”

  This brought a harsh laugh from the dead man. “And…how could I…remain?”

  Before Uldyssian could answer, yet another scream resounded in the ancient structure. Both looked to the entrance…where, unnoticed in the heat of things, a crowd of startled edyrem had gathered.

  A crowd now seeing their mistress as still as death, their master returned as if from the dead…and a man the Parthans in the group knew had been slaughtered by a demon.

  Sixteen

  Mendeln had never stood atop a mountain before.

  He did not like it in the least.

  The wind howled and snow covered everything. However, nothing, not even the chill air, really touched him much. He supposed that he had Rathma to thank for that, if gratitude was the proper emotion for being dragged off to this desolate spot to face a figure whose very name filled Uldyssian’s brother with dread.

  “And what assistance am I to be against an angel?” he asked not for the first time. Mendeln had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind.

  “Whatever it turns out you can supply,” was Rathma’s response, the same one he had used to answer the prior questions.

  Mendeln folded his arms tight, if only out of habit, not from being cold. “Where are we?”

  “Near where I brought your brother. Near to the vicinity of the Worldstone.”

  What little Mendeln had learned of this “Worldstone” had filled him with new awe and not a little uncertainty. To have created such a thing, the angels and demons must have utilized fantastic magic and energy.

  He was about to ask Rathma another question when the ancient nephalem raised a hand to cut him off.

  “My father approaches. Be wary.”

  To Mendeln, it was an unnecessary warning. How could he deal with the arrival of an angry angel with anything but wariness?

  The wind suddenly picked up, so ferocious now that it nearly shoved Mendeln from his position. He did not like the thought of tumbling down the mountainside, no matter what he had learned from the dragon and his companion about the many states of life. At the moment, Mendeln still preferred the “living” stage too much to abandon it just yet.

  The snow also increased. A storm raged about them. Rathma pulled free his dagger and muttered something, but the storm remained intense.

  Then, an ear-splitting thunderclap shook them further, a thunderclap immediately followed by dead silence. If not for being able to hear his own breathing, Mendeln would have believed himself now deaf.

  And then he noticed in their midst a golden-haired youth.

  “I am disappointed in you, my son,” the robed figure stated in a voice of pure music.

  “As you ever have been since my birth, my father,” Rathma replied, his generally bland tone with a hint of an edge in it.

  The newcomer looked away from the pair, instead seeming more interested in the general landscape. “And have you seen your mother of late?”

  “No. I have been fortunate in that regard. I wish I could say the same concerning you.”

  Now Rathma had his attention again. “Your insolence is unbecoming. Be grateful that I have not deigned to punish you for your past sins.”

  Mendeln watched the pair, still uncertain, despite what he had heard, that this was indeed Inarius. He knew that the angel was master of the Cathedral of Light and had heard of the Prophet’s general description, but to actually see the young figure was disconcerting, to say the least.

  As if sensing this, Inarius turned his gaze to the human. Suddenly, Mendeln had no more doubts. The eyes were enough to stop him in his tracks. He could not even say what color they were, just that to have them look his way made Mendeln almost wish to drop down on his knees in worship. That made him again wonder just how much help he would actually be, should Rathma truly need him. If he was this weak merely because of a look…

  To his surprise, a slight chuckle escaped Rathma. “Not so insignificant, are they?”

  “And that may be their downfall,” returned the angel coldly. “You and your kind had no place here. Nor do these. If they cannot be contained, they must be removed…” He turned from them as if they were nothing to him. His sandaled feet left no impressions in the snow. “Sanctuary must be purified…”

  Rathma was uncharacteristically emotional. “For who, Inarius? For who? All there would be then is you! Must all else in this world bend to your will or be expunged for their defiance?”

  “They exist by my will, therefore, yes…” The Prophet turned to them again. As he did, Mendeln noticed that he momentarily left the edge of the mountaintop, yet did not fall. “This is a debate we have had before, Linarian…”

  Rathma pulled his cloak tight around him. “That name I have rejected, as I have you and my mother.”

  The Prophet shrugged. He glanced briefly at Mendeln, then again at his son. Without warning, Inarius suddenly said, “You know why I am here.”

  “Of course.”

  “You were forbidden.”

  “Fate decreed otherwise,” Rathma returned.

  The angel spread his arms and his face contorted. His hair stood on edge and he grew larger and larger. Fire radiated around him. “I am Fate here. I am the yea or nay for all that exists in Sanctuary—”

  “Beware!” Mendeln’s companion warned, not that Uldyssian’s brother needed to be alerted. The son of Diomedes drew his own dagger, a thing seemingly so insignificant in the sight of Inarius’s abrupt and staggering transformation.

  I AM THE ULTIMATE JUDGE OF WHAT IS AND WHAT SHALL BE! declared the angel, his mouth no longer moving. The words struck Mendeln much as Trag’Oul’s had, but without the dragon’s
consideration for their effect on a mortal body and mind. It was a struggle to maintain his stance, but Mendeln knew he dared not falter.

  From the angel’s back burst what at first Mendeln took for magnificent, fiery wings. Yet as they spread wide, he saw that they were more astounding than even that. The wings—so different from the feathered ones that Mendeln had most of his life imagined on angels—were actually strands of light that moved almost as if with animation of their own. They writhed and shifted like serpents or tentacles, a very contrary suggestion to what the angel represented. Inarius’s body and face contorted. A breastplate formed over his torso. The handsome, youthful visage sank into darkness beneath an immaculate hood, once within, finally transforming completely into shadow. It was as if there was no true physical substance to him. All vestiges of Humanity vanished as a heavenly warrior suddenly hovered beyond the mountain’s edge, one gleaming, gauntleted hand pointing accusingly at the angel’s rebellious offspring.

  I SPOKE WITH YOU OUT OF MEMORY, BUT THAT TIME IS PAST FOREVER NOW! YOU WISH LINARIAN DEAD, THEN SO BE IT! THERE IS NO TIE BETWEEN US!

  “Was there ever?” Rathma shouted back, ivory dagger held before him like the strongest of shields. Mendeln followed suit, hoping that it was not a futile gesture.

  THE STONE AWAITS ME…Inarius gestured. AND I AM DONE WITH YOU!

  The mountaintop exploded.

  The force unleashed by the angel ripped up snow, ice, and rock in great chunks. Mendeln expected to be tossed away with them, but for the moment, the area around him and Rathma remained intact. Not much else did, however. Dirt and snow flew everywhere and Mendeln likely would have been crushed if his own weapon had not suddenly emitted a pale light that now enveloped him. He glanced at his companion and saw that Rathma was likewise protected.

  But with rock and snow crashing about him, Mendeln did not know how much longer the two would be safe. Above them, Inarius pointed with his other hand—and Mendeln felt the ground beneath him collapse.

  “Remember what you have been shown!” shouted Rathma.

  But all Mendeln could think about was that he no longer had any footing. His fear of falling had at last become a reality. Rathma vanished from his sight, the other’s footing also torn out from under him.

  As he fell, Mendeln caught sight of Inarius, the angel watching the destruction with what could only be called detachment. Even his own offspring was of no consequence to the winged being. After all, Rathma had committed the ultimate sin; he had defied his father.

  Clutching the dagger tight, Mendeln sought some way to save himself. Then, a hand clutched his collar, slowing his descent. He knew instantly that it was Rathma.

  As the avalanche continued, Rathma set him down on a small outcropping still holding. The shrouded figure then alighted next to him.

  “This is not over!” he called.

  Not at all surprised, Mendeln prepared himself for the worst. Inarius would not leave this task incomplete.

  And sure enough, the winged warrior fluttered into sight. Inarius—his face more of a brilliant armored mask—inspected the two.

  Mendeln felt the angel focus on him. He prepared for the end—

  WHAT HAS HE DONE? demanded Inarius. WHAT HAS HE DONE…AND HOW?

  Only after a moment did Mendeln realize that Inarius spoke of Uldyssian. He had no idea just what about his sibling so concerned the angel, but suddenly feared anew for Uldyssian’s life.

  WHAT HAS HE DONE? Inarius repeated. WHAT HAS HE DONE TO THE STONE?

  From behind Mendeln, Rathma shouted, “He has done the undoable, Inarius! He has done the undoable!”

  The angel hovered in silence for a moment. He started to gesture at the pair, then lowered his hand. THEN…HE MAY HAVE CONDEMNED YOU ALL…

  And with that, the winged being soared high into the sky, dwindling to a dot in less time than Mendeln could count to the number one. Then, in a flash of light so brilliant it momentarily blinded the human…Inarius disappeared.

  The devastation wrought by Rathma’s father—so easily, Mendeln dourly thought—began to settle around them. The entire top of the peak had been radically altered. Now, it looked as if the mountain had grown a giant, three-fingered paw with jagged claws on two of the digits. He and Rathma stood on the outer edge of the third, a drop of well over a thousand feet merely one step away.

  One question burned to be spoken by Mendeln. “Why do we live? We were clearly nothing to him, whatever your beliefs before we came here! Why do we live?”

  “We were not nothing to him, son of Diomedes,” the ancient figure responded, dusting off bits of dirt and snow. “If we had been, we would have been dead without ever knowing he had arrived. It is because of what we—and your brother most of all—represent, that my dear father paused to speak at all. Certainly not for me alone, as we have spoken all we can, lo, these many centuries past. He also came in part out of curiosity surrounding you, Mendeln ul-Diomed, and what a jest it was when he found that he could not bend your knee to him…”

  “Could not—” Mendeln felt queasy in his stomach. He had defied the angel’s will?

  “Did you not know that? I thought you aware.”

  Seeking not to think about the subject anymore, Mendeln asked, “What is it that he kept mentioning? Did I hear him say the Worldstone? I know that it was mentioned by you or Uldyssian when the pair of you returned, but I never understood completely about it! Just what did Uldyssian do that so—so—shocked—him?”

  Rathma’s expression darkened. “That will take a bit more explaining. Suffice to say, we are near that which is vital to the conclusion—whatever that conclusion will be—of our struggle. The Worldstone is a thing that only one like my father should be able to alter in even the least way—and, therefore, could my mother—yet your brother did just that! The Worldstone is different now, in even a manner Inarius cannot believe, hence his reaction.”

  At first, Mendeln took hope from this, but then he recalled the angel’s parting words. Then, he may have condemned you all…

  Mendeln surveyed what even the least of Inarius’s fury had done to a gigantic mountaintop and shuddered. “Rathma, what does he mean by his last?”

  Lilith’s son held his dagger high, as if using it to search for something. Mendeln waited impatiently as the tall figure first turned in a circle, then replaced the otherworldly weapon in the vast confines of his cloak.

  “What he means has to do with the same reason that we, who could not make the stand that I hoped—and evidently did not need to since Inarius made no adjustment to the stone that I can divine—are still alive. Why should he bother with two paltry deaths when, if he reaches the conclusion to which I sense he is leaning, he will then remove everything at once and start his Sanctuary anew?”

  Only now did Mendeln truly grasp what he realized Rathma and Trag’Oul had been saying all along. “Rather than…rather than allowing Lilith…or humans…to act beyond his dictates…you are saying that the angel could…would utterly destroy our world?”

  “And then build anew to suit his megalomania, yes.”

  Mendeln could not even imagine such power in one being’s control. “He can…do this?”

  “He can.” Rathma began drawing a circle in the air, a circle that expanded instantly. As it did, Mendeln saw that within it was utter darkness…the path, he knew, to Trag’Oul’s realm. “He has that power…” the angel’s son continued, sounding for the first time very, very weary. “He has that power a thousand times over…and will be more than willing to use it…”

  Lilith materialized on the throne, her image only briefly that of herself before she cast the illusion of the Primus over her. The demoness sat in the darkness, utterly silent. Had any been there and able to gaze upon the face she now wore, they would have come away unable to read the emotions coursing through her.

  After several minutes, she suddenly rose and departed the Primus’s personal chambers. The guards outside jolted to attention. Although they had been at their position
s as demanded, they had assumed—rightly—that their master had not been inside. Still, none questioned this miraculous appearance…for this was the Primus, after all.

  At least, to their eyes.

  Lilith remained expressionless as she strode throughout the vast temple. There seemed no rhyme or reason to her path. Priests, guards, novices, and other acolytes paid homage to her along the way, each seeming to try to bow or kneel lower than those before.

  Then, in the great hall where the statues of Mefis, Dialon, and Bala stood, she paused. Around her, more of the faithful hesitated in their own tasks, cautiously wondering just what the Primus did.

  She looked up at each of the statues…her eyes lingering longest on that of Mefis.

  And then…after staring at the spirit’s vaguely crafted visage, Lilith allowed the Primus’s own to smile ever so slightly.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, that’ll be the way of it. Oh, yes…”

  One of the more daring priests stepped up to her. Hands clasped together and head low, he said, “Great Primus, is there any service I may be to you?”

  Lilith glanced at him, noting his youth and good build, not to mention the fact that he had been the only one with backbone enough to approach her. “Tell me…what is your name again, my son?”

  “Durram, Great Primus.” He wore the robe of a devotee of Dialon and she already sensed that the darkness of the Lord of Terror had touched Durram despite his humble facade. He was ambitious.

  “I will summon you to my chambers later to speak with you,” she told him, forcing herself not to give him a beguiling smile. Lilith had a need to burn off certain frustrations and Durram looked just perfect for the task, not that he would know until it was too late.

  The priest bowed lower than any of the others. Inside, the demoness sensed he was congratulating himself on his daring. She wondered how he would feel after their “discussion.”

  But minor pleasures had to be pushed aside for the moment. Having come to a decision, Lilith was eager to implement it. Once again, the proverbial closing of one door had led to another opening.