"For instance, if I say you're a pile of cow dung, does that make you dung? Obviously not. But it doesn't stop me from treating you like a steaming pile, Mr. Demon."
Constantine spoke the most arrogant words imaginable in a tone that remained perfectly polite.
"It matters not," Diablo replied. "But it won't stop me from turning you into human garbage—physically speaking."
Diablo reached out, his massive hand closing around Constantine. Even the layers of enchanted burial shrouds wrapped around the sorcerer's body couldn't halt the demon's movement. Such "holy relics" were toys to a Being like him.
"You won't do it, Mr. Demon. I can feel it. You need someone as brilliant as me to stay alive." Sweat began to bead on Constantine's brow. Even if he didn't feel primal fear, he was still human enough to feel tension.
"No. I would much rather see you dead."
A searing heat erupted from Diablo's palm. Tongues of hellfire licked at Constantine's skin, and the sickly smell of scorched meat began to fill the air.
"XIA!"
A thunderous war cry shook the very foundations of Harrogath!
Bul-Kathos arrived like a localized hurricane, beginning his systematic slaughter of the demonic horde. His Whirlwind kicked up a storm of steel and grit, the howling wind echoing through the halls.
"It seems our time is short. Orek?" Diablo's voice rumbled, tinged with annoyance.
He knew that Bul-Kathos would finish his business outside very soon. He knew the feeling all too well: a Barbarian spinning blindly through a crowd, ignoring everything until he stood before the boss, only to pick up a few pieces of gear and some glowing globes from the resulting pile of meat before moving to the next target.
Boring, yet brutally efficient.
"Diablo. Cease this," Orek's steady voice rang out.
The ceiling of the room had been blown away by a shockwave, revealing a sky that was anything but blue. Sharp gusts of wind tore through the air, carrying a fine mist of crimson. When a Barbarian truly committed to the kill, the aftermath was never pretty.
Orek preferred the battlefields left behind by Li-Ming or Johanna. Li-Ming's wake was clean, smelling only of ozone and raw arcane energy. Johanna kept things orderly. But Nazeebo and Bul-Kathos? They were the worst. One left behind a carpet of toads, spiders, and zombie limbs; the other left nothing but a red fog and a slurry of pulverized bone.
"Orek. I thought you intended to avoid us forever," Diablo said. He moved to impale Constantine on the jagged spikes of his back, but Orek intervened.
"Young man," Orek said, looking at Constantine as he lowered him to the ground. "If you do not learn reverence, your life will be taken from you in an instant."
He didn't bother looking at Diablo yet. To a Nephalem, there was nothing worth admiring about a Lord of Hell. "Diablo, according to the rules of the Rift, you are here to face Bul-Kathos."
"The ancient Nephalem made a pact with us. Do you intend to break it, Orek?" Diablo's presence expanded, looming over the guardian. "That would be quite the scandal. I'm sure Rathma would be... delighted by your betrayal."
Even the unconscious Danny in Diablo's hand trembled under the weight of that killing intent. A Rift Guardian's purpose was to stop the Nephalem from completing the trial. By lingering here and toy with the mortals, Diablo was technically in breach of protocol.
"Rathma is a bastard. Don't worry about him." Orek stepped forward, moving as though Diablo's pressure meant nothing to him.
Rathma had brokered a treaty between the ancient Nephalem, the High Heavens, and the Burning Hells—a pact of non-aggression. That pact protected Orek. It had even protected Kanai for a time after his passing.
"Ha! You actually have the courage to approach me?" Diablo laughed. "Are you truly prepared to face Terror?"
He was hoping for Orek to make a mistake. The moment Orek struck first, Diablo would crush his skull. Orek enjoyed the protection of the Barbarians, but they couldn't watch him every second. One slip, and Diablo could end him. As for Rathma's pact? By the time the Master of Necromancy arrived to enforce it, either Bul-Kathos would be dead, or Diablo would have grown powerful enough to show Rathma what true fear looked like.
"I am merely fulfilling the contract of this... unsightly Rift." Orek reached out and plucked Danny from Diablo's grasp. With a wave of his hand, he sent Nadia tumbling safely out of the immediate area. Ensuring the safety of life within the Rift was a duty Orek performed with grim reluctance.
"No deaths allowed. So, what do you think Bul-Kathos is really up to? Surely he didn't just want Kanai to sacrifice himself for nothing. He isn't that dull." Diablo was fishing for information, sparks flying from the spikes on his back.
Orek ignored him. He was just the gatekeeper; he had no interest in the politics of legends.
"HA!"
Bul-Kathos dropped from above, his massive axe cleaving through the air. He split Diablo's phantom from head to toe in a single, fluid Leap Attack.
The demons outside were gone. Demons were a renewable resource, but only when backed by the power of the Burning Hells. These echoes were merely temporary resurrections fueled by the Rift's temporal distortion. There would be no second wave.
"Bul-Kathos. Couldn't you have said whatever you needed to say earlier?" Diablo's body knitted back together in the blink of an eye. He lashed out with a massive claw. "I assume you didn't have Orek summon my will just so you could get one more hit in?"
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