Tyrael knew the commanders would make the "correct" tactical decision, but he wasn't trying to distract them. He was distracting Bul-Kathos.
"Archangel, your intent is too obvious. Care to hear my thoughts?"
Zoltun Kulle was in a fantastic mood. He addressed Tyrael with the same disdain he always held. He had seen through the Archangel's schemes the moment Tyrael appeared. Using Bul-Kathos as a weapon against demons was one thing, but Tyrael's endgame was no different from Malthael's.
"I remember your agreement," Kulle said with a wicked grin. "You said the Barbarians of the Holy Mountain couldn't interfere, specifically naming Vorusk and Raekor. You even mentioned Johanna."
He made a threatening gesture with his ghostly fingers. "But tell me... what exactly am I?"
Kulle didn't belong to the Barbarians. He didn't belong to the Mountain. His will was untethered. He could fight—except Bul-Kathos wouldn't allow it. That fact alone was enough to make Tyrael uncomfortable.
"If I said I could walk into the Burning Hells and walk back out unaffected? The Shadow's Fang cannot bind me."
No one ignored Kulle's words, even if they sounded impossible. The power of the Prime Evils was not easily broken.
"Zoltun Kulle, do you intend to overturn this wager?" Tyrael asked sternly, his mouth tightening. Having spent time as a mortal, Tyrael had picked up human tics. He was clearly tense, though he didn't realize his expression was betraying him.
"An interrupted wager is one I do not recognize," Kulle replied.
"Do you think I care about that? Or do you think you can stop the current Bul-Kathos?" Kulle began picking at his nails in an exaggerated, nonchalant manner.
Bul-Kathos frowned. If Kulle truly wasn't bound by the rules of this realm, then the moment Bul-Kathos stood before Tyrael and Baal, they would lose all bargaining power.
"Zoltun Kulle!" Bul-Kathos said, warningly.
Taking spoils from battle was one thing. Starting a fight solely for the spoils was something he could not accept.
"Would you like to hear me say it again?" Kulle snapped. "Shortsighted! Small-minded!"
But Kulle's goal was reached. Tyrael believed him. Tyrael wouldn't dare interfere with the wager any further. Though Kulle felt Bul-Kathos should just strangle Tyrael's projection and storm the High Heavens to show them what a Nephalem really was, he wasn't surprised by the refusal.
"Shut up, Archangel. You are the architect of all this. We are simply proving that Barbarians have the strength to end the mistakes you made."
Bul-Kathos's words were dismissive. He knew the true highlight was Kanai's power. Once things progressed to a certain point, the Archangels would have no choice. Diablo, having once held the power of the Great Prime Evil, would return even stronger. When that happened, the Archangels would have only one person to turn to: Bul-Kathos. It was only a matter of time.
"I wish you luck," Tyrael said.
On the other side of the field, Madawc's body finally dissolved into a mist of blood under Baal's onslaught. Having lost the protection of his rune, Madawc was out of the game.
Andakulgas was left to struggle alone. His twin blades, Oathkeepers, were being hammered by Baal's heavy limbs. They were already spiderwebbed with cracks.
"DIE!" Baal roared.
His maw, widened by Madawc's earlier strike, clamped down on Korlic's head. Of the two Ancients sent to buy time, Madawc had lost his mind to the Berserker's rage, and Korlic had been momentarily distracted by the conversation between the Archangel and Kulle.
In a battle of this level, a single lapse in concentration was fatal.
Baal was no longer pinned down. The Lord of Destruction was free to move. And as an observer outside the wager, Bul-Kathos could not guide his army.
The tides of war shifted instantly into uncertainty.
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