Madawc roared! The phantom of The Unrelenting Phalanx began to solidify, stomping heavily onto the ground! Bul-Kathos was the hero he recognized, the hope for his own obsession, the best definition of hope for every Barbarian!
Talic held The Spirit of the Guardian high, looking up with a pious gaze. His shout merged into Bul-Kathos's roar! He had been the first to grant Bul-Kathos a legendary ancestral weapon because he believed Bul-Kathos would keep his vows. He believed Bul-Kathos had the strength to make all who swore oaths keep them!
Power began to converge! Korlic, Cassius, Garga, Khan, Olongus—one ancestor after another added their fury! The chaotic shouts merged into a single, magnificent, brutal, primeval sound!
They didn't ask for reasons. Bul-Kathos had proven he was worthy of their trust.
"BUL-KATHOS WATCHES OVER ME!"
The massive roar made the new recruits shiver. The friends of the Barbarians were terrified. They couldn't comprehend what was happening. These youngsters who had been on the mountain for less than a year couldn't feel the centuries of glory Bul-Kathos carried.
"BY THE BLOOD OF RAEKOR! BY THE GLORY OF THE BULL!"
A different shout rang out. It was Kanuck. He followed only Raekor, for the sake of a fleeting love, for a single glance, for the memory of a long, desolate sigh. Kanuck was an outstanding Barbarian, a steadfast warrior, but in his heart, Raekor was his only truth. He had never wavered, never fallen to darkness—but that was because Raekor had always stood in the light of a glorious death.
"There have never been two leaders among the Barbarians at the same time."
Vorusk abandoned Zoltun Kulle and appeared outside the Elder's Hall, the Immortal King's set radiating power. His expression was grim.
"Even though Bul-Kathos is already the strongest—stronger than Raekor, stronger than me, stronger than Kanai... perhaps even the strongest Bul-Kathos in history."
Vorusk smiled bitterly. One must submit, or one must be silent. It was an ancient, primal rule. Only the undisputed strongest could lead. Because only the strongest could keep fighting for a race that had never known a fertile homeland.
Coddling weakness? Barbarians didn't do that. In the face of survival, there was only the fight.
"RAEKOR! DO YOU INTEND TO CHALLENGE FOR THE CROWN!?"
Vorusk bellowed according to the ancient protocols! He needed to know her intent. If she chose to challenge for the responsibility of the crown, Bul-Kathos had to accept!
Following his shout, the stone pillars outside the Elder's Hall burst into flame! Though most ancestors stood with Bul-Kathos, Raekor was not alone.
Kanuck... Vorusk felt a surge of anger—disappointment in Kanuck. An ancestor choosing personal love over the tribe... it wasn't a "wrong" choice, but it should never have happened at the tribe's most critical moment. He didn't know how Raekor had returned to life yet, but he had a guess.
And that guess filled his eyes with a dangerous fire.
"BRING IT!"
Bul-Kathos's body slammed into the ground like a meteorite. The mountain shook violently.
His beard flew in the wind. His armor was a patchwork of pieces, covering almost nothing. It was the armor he had worn after his battle with Malthael—scarred, broken, and stained with the lingering aura of Death.
Scars were everywhere. Sword wounds, burns, punctures, arcane sears, thorns. Every imaginable injury was etched into his skin. His bulging muscles were a map of past violence.
A flagpole as thick as a man's arm stood behind him, pressed against his back. The war banner was shredded, its pattern long since unidentifiable. The pole was covered in cracks, looking as though it might snap at any moment.
This was Bul-Kathos at his most powerful. This was his true self. No pristine armor set, no neatly groomed hair. His eyes held no hesitation, no calm. There was only the fanaticism for battle, the fury against all that was unjust and unkind.
He grew through combat. He achieved through victory. He led from the front through slaughter. He found glory in the screams of demons.
Bul-Kathos was a legend in the flesh!
"DO YOU SEEK REVENGE FOR JORITZ, RAEKOR!?" he roared.
He had felt what Joritz had done in the Soulstone. But Joritz was his kinsman! Vidal was his comrade-in-arms! Bul-Kathos had silently endured the consequences, choosing to bear the dangerous outcome alone. He had even given Joritz a choice—if the man had wavered for even a second when facing Rorschach, Bul-Kathos would have spared his soul.
But Joritz had disappointed him. He had swung his weapon without hesitation. Such obsession could not be forgiven!
"DO YOU FIGHT BECAUSE JORITZ WAS A PUPPET OF FATE? BECAUSE HE WAS MET WITH COLD EYES BY HIS KING? DO YOU FIGHT FOR A WARRIOR WHO BECAME CORRUPTED UNDER THE GAZE OF THE IMMORTAL KING? RAEKOR! ANSWER ME!"
Wrathful flames erupted from Bul-Kathos—a fury filled with tragedy, killing intent, and absolute resolve! He was angry at Joritz's choice. It wasn't the anger of being betrayed; it was the sorrow of a warrior losing his glory.
"BUL-KATHOS, DO YOU FEEL REGRET!?"
Raekor's piercing shout rang out. A silhouette, moving too fast for the eye to follow, tore through every obstacle in its path.
She was a warrior who only knew how to charge straight ahead, who never detoured. She was a leader who crushed everything in her way.
"BUL-KATHOS! YOU COULD HAVE STOPPED HIM!"
Her voice was like a blade, tearing through the atmosphere of fury Bul-Kathos had created.
"UNDER JUSTICE! WITHIN THE RULES! ALL MEN ARE FREE!" Bul-Kathos bellowed. He had no intention of explaining himself.
He wouldn't tell her how many chances he had given Joritz. He wouldn't mention how much he had trusted Vidal. He wouldn't even speak of what he was currently fighting against.
But he would not tolerate an attack. Questions? Those were fine—an emotional outburst. Tears? Those were fine too. He would have stepped aside, brought the strongest ale, and let them numb the pain.
But an attack filled with killing intent? That was not something a kinsman did. That was not a loss of control he would tolerate.
Raekor knew exactly what she was doing. And she would have to face the consequences.
Bul-Kathos twisted his body, his massive arm swinging like a great axe toward Raekor's throat!
Barbarians didn't preemptively kill because of a potential threat, nor did they look back to punish the past once rules were established. But if you did wrong, you answered for it!
Raekor knew this. She had ended Joritz's corruption with her own hands. But Joritz had left a final gift—he had dug out the sturdiest cornerstone of Bul-Kathos's foundation.
For love. Madness?
Raekor was the embodiment of the most intense love on Mount Arreat. She knew Vidal was Joritz, yet she had never once looked closely at her husband's face. She knew Kanuck's passion, yet she had never wavered.
She lived for love. Love for her tribe, her husband, her descendants, and life itself.
What did losing that love mean? She had finally let go of the pain of losing him, adapted to the years of him being beside her in secret. She had finally steeled herself to end him. But Joritz's reckless love had finally shattered her sanity.
Fury, violence, and a lust for battle—those were the true labels of a Barbarian. Right or wrong? It didn't matter anymore!
This time, she would fight for love! It was the only thing she could do before fate claimed her again!
A brief moment of freedom... for Joritz!
"A long-awaited battle between giants. What do you think, Orek?"
Zoltun Kulle held the small stone, making final adjustments. He glanced at the soul of Orek beside him. Orek didn't answer; he just stared into the distance with sorrowful eyes.
"What? You don't want to see this? I thought you loved watching the strong perform," Kulle teased. His voice remained arrogant and light. "Do you think Raekor has a chance to hurt the current Bul-Kathos? I recall her mark is within the Rifts you manage?"
Kulle continued his work, using a small knife to carve into the stone. He was building a massive Rift—the one he had promised Bul-Kathos. He wouldn't break his word.
Raekor had no chance of winning. Kulle knew that. Even back when he had taken the Prime Evil's head, Bul-Kathos had already surpassed Vorusk and Raekor by a wide margin.
Now, the only question was what choice Raekor would make. Kulle felt like laughing. He had never considered Raekor or Vorusk as his chosen companions. Bul-Kathos was the only one he wanted!
Did a Nephalem need so many things to become a god? Maybe. Maybe not.
"Kanai... our choice will be proven right in the end!" Kulle thought, momentarily lost.
The stone in his hand flashed. The final preparations were complete. All that remained was to wait for this battle to end. Kulle was curious: after fighting Raekor, would Bul-Kathos be able to suppress those with ulterior motives with absolute dominance?
"No ambition, short-sighted... is that you, Bul-Kathos? Hmph, hahahaha!"
"Now is the best opportunity, ally."
Diablo murmured softly. He knew Oblivion could hear him. The High Heavens were focused on Mount Arreat; they wouldn't notice what was happening in the Burning Hells. Even Tyrael, who was protecting Leoric, wouldn't see.
Bul-Kathos was busy facing another legend. Even if Leoric sent a plea for help, by the time Bul-Kathos arrived, Leoric would be a memory. To the Skeleton King, Oblivion was a natural predator. It wouldn't even take a second.
Diablo didn't know if the finished Azmodan had foreseen this, but it didn't matter. The brother he had always looked down upon had created a perfect opening! Diablo suddenly felt a surge of pride for that "fat ball" Azmodan.
Baal wouldn't stop Oblivion. Diablo was certain of it. Baal understood—this was the price he had to pay for devouring Mephisto! In the Burning Hells, Baal was the only one who truly understood Diablo's mind.
Baal was smart. He knew what would happen if he interfered. Should he struggle for a while to see if he could escape Diablo's scheme, or choose to die together then and there?
Baal would make the right choice.
"I am curious... how do you view your brothers? Have you never cherished anything?" Oblivion's phantom appeared, its mouth forming the words.
Diablo didn't answer. He simply urged Oblivion to act. "Ally, this opportunity is rare. If you have other plans, I can wait."
Oblivion gave him a long look. Finally, it sensed a hint of danger coming from Diablo. Oblivion was no longer acting superior because of its power. That danger made a microscopic bit of fear blossom within it.
Deep down, Diablo wanted to laugh. He saw the door to the next level! The fear of a primordial rule incarnate... that would be the most delicious dessert.
"Remember your promise, and the price you must pay!" Oblivion spoke!
Amidst that eerie fear, Oblivion's voice rang out, carrying the power of Rules, beginning to sweep over the ruins of Asgard! Oblivion vanished, missing the fact that its power was instantly absorbed by Diablo.
All who fear him... will be mastered by him. Without exception.
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