Though Arreat's Lament had cleared the area for a thousand meters, the void was refilled by the demonic tide in the blink of an eye. The fierce Barbarian stood encased in a cocoon of cyan energy so thick it looked solid. His distorted, towering body was coiled like a spring.
With thousands of stacks of Frenzy active, every movement Korlic made reduced the demons around him to a fine red mist. Nothing could maintain its shape under such high-frequency violence. Not even Korlic's own sturdy body could endure it for long.
"You absolute moron! MADAWC!!!"
Korlic felt the fluctuation in Madawc's soul. He knew that feeling all too well; it was the same ripple that had occurred when Talic made his choice.
The Three Ancients? Now, Madawc was on the verge of falling out of the balance he shared with Korlic and Talic. Even with Zoltun Kulle following him into the Soulstone, the cost of carving that path was more than Madawc could bear alone.
Korlic's eyes burned a manic red. Before his stacks of Frenzy could dissipate, he slammed his foot into the earth.
Ground Stomp.
The demons in the vicinity were yanked toward him by the sheer vacuum of the impact, flying helplessly into the path of his massive axe.
He had slain a Great Evil. He had fulfilled his duty. All that remained was to kill as many as possible until the end.
In a heartbeat, a swarm of demons vanished into gore. But the Frenzy had finally exceeded the structural limits of his physical form.
The axe, Bastien's Power, slipped from his grasp. Korlic's body began to crumble into gray ash, flake by flake.
"I only got one Great Demon... this time wasn't as fun as the last..."
Korlic's voice scattered into the freezing wind. His soul drifted away from the battlefield.
Korlic was out. His spirit left the "Rift," coming to rest before the Great Gates of Harrogath on the Holy Mountain.
CRASH!
The walls of Harrogath finally gave way. A breach appeared, and tens of thousands of demons began pouring through, climbing over the bodies of their own kind to reach the interior.
"Taste this!"
Lazruk aimed the heavy cannon at the breach and brought his hammer down on the firing pin with a resounding THWACK!
The shockwave rippled through the air as the "enhanced" shell streaked toward its target.
"Keep it up!"
Luke shouted, his body being slammed into the dirt. He coughed up a spray of blood. Matthew was already incapacitated; it was almost Luke's turn.
The Elite Grotesque had delivered its final spiteful blow before Rorschach's Nutcracker hammer tore its bloated body into confetti.
"Nice shot!"
Luke couldn't move his legs, but he cheered anyway. Nearby, Raekor watched with narrowed eyes, her thoughts unreadable.
Orek didn't like Luke, nor did he approve of Jessica's path as a warrior. Raekor was waiting—waiting for that stubborn old God of War to realize it for himself and personally throw Luke out of the fight. Since Luke wasn't in immediate lethal danger yet, she decided to wait and see if Cassius had managed to change Orek's mind.
"Get back!"
Rumlow yelled, diving for cover. The first time he'd been caught in a Grotesque's death-explosion, he'd nearly met his maker. Raekor, however, didn't move. She stared into the distance; this level of combat was beneath her interest. Even a Molten-enchanted explosion wouldn't make her flinch.
"How tedious..." she muttered.
Then, in a blur of motion, she appeared behind Matthew. He had been impaled by a demon and was too weak to dodge the Grotesque's blast. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed him out of the "Rift" and back to safety. Countless Barbarians had died in Molten fire over the ages, but this was no place for these recruits to fall.
Raekor had finally intervened.
BOOM!
The specialized shell detonated in the breach, a massive explosion that vaporized the first wave of attackers. But the hole was filled again almost instantly.
"The effect is decent," Lazruk noted, leaning on his hammer. "Maybe we can use these to build a real defensive line next time. If there is a next time."
Then, the blacksmith did something unexpected: he jumped straight off the high wall. He fell like a discarded anvil, heavy and unstoppable.
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