"We don't hold grand funerals. It's not because we are cold-hearted; it's because in our world, there was never any time for them." A look of reminiscence clouded Barnal's eyes.
"Back then, every time you opened your eyes, you were facing a demon. Every day was a struggle against starvation. I suppose those concepts seem foreign to you. So, recruit, I suggest you go have a real talk with your guide, rather than waiting for us old fossils to come find you and lecture you on 'life experience.'"
Barnal's expression remained as candid as ever. These were the things Veda used to handle, but Veda was gone now. Along with Jurezz.
"Why aren't you talking to Talic instead of hanging around me? Or do you just like the dog? It's fine, I'm just looking after him—you can see this little guy whenever you want. Now, go find Talic. This might be the only time you'll ever hear him speak his mind."
Barnal turned back to the dog, no longer looking at Rumlow. He had never been particularly optimistic about these new recruits, which often made him seem distant. A world that required countless warriors was a tragedy in itself, but Barnal had no choice. You either became a warrior to protect what you saw, or you became a sacrifice screaming in the dark.
In another life, his childhood dream had been to be a simple farmer.
"Bul-Kathos, I think we need to have a word."
Johanna, the Crusader, sat on a rock opposite the Immortal King, her voice heavy with gravity. Her armor pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light—a clear sign that her mood was anything but pleasant.
"What do you think of Steve?" Bul-Kathos asked casually. He stretched, causing the scabs on his fresh wounds to crack slightly, oozing a few drops of blood.
"Bul-Kathos, you are a warrior. You know how to treat a wound," Johanna said, frowning. The Law of Hope emanating from her expanded, accelerating his recovery.
"I saw Steve at the feet of the Rift Guardian. He is a hero. Or at least, an upright man." Bul-Kathos had no interest in discussing his injuries; he was more focused on the Captain. He held Mountain Cleft, the legendary axe, examining it closely.
It was Qual-Kehk's treasure. Even Bul-Kathos had rarely had the chance to study this artifact so intimately. Now, the legend had been entrusted to him to serve as a reward for the most exceptional of the new recruits. But looking at the youths available, he doubted any of them were ready to carry the weight of Qual-Kehk's legacy without tarnishing it.
"Upright men don't always get what they deserve," Johanna said softly. "Villains, on the other hand, always seem to thrive."
"Fine. You want to know my goal, don't you?" Bul-Kathos looked her in the eye. If he had been hesitant to share the burden of his secrets before, he was ready now. He was ready to let his comrades share the weight.
"Now? I don't want to know," Johanna said, meeting his gaze. "I'm still not strong enough. That's why you hesitate. If I were stronger than you, you'd be begging me to carry this burden for you. Bul-Kathos, I can feel it—you never wanted to carry everything alone. You just happen to be the strongest among us Nephalem, so you were forced to."
Johanna reached into her bag and pulled out a shriveled apple. "This is the only thing I managed to save when I faced Malthael's power."
She held the apple high. It was wrinkled and devoid of moisture, yet it shimmered with a warm, inner light. It was the only life she had snatched from the grip of Death. The seeds inside could still sprout; they could still grow into a tree that would bear fruit and life anew.
"I plan to give this to Steve. If he can grow strong enough, I will eventually give him the name 'Johanna' as well."
"As long as you approve of him," Bul-Kathos remarked. Suddenly, he noticed wrinkles at the corners of Johanna's eyes. For a Nephalem with an infinite lifespan, wrinkles meant the heart was aging. She was no longer the little girl he had rescued from the demons so long ago.
"We still know nothing about the current Malthael."
"But I will be stronger than him," Bul-Kathos interrupted brusquely.
"Does the stronger side always win?!" Johanna roared, her power surging until the air around them became a cage of lightning. "Tell me! Were the Ancestors not strong? Were the Firstborn who fell to treachery not strong? Bul-Kathos! How long are you going to lie to yourself?! Until the day you have to trade your life for a single chance? Until you prove your failure with your own death?!"
"Fist of the Heavens? You've grown stronger," Bul-Kathos said, his face expressionless. He peeled away a layer of charred skin where the lightning had struck and pulled a clay jug from his bag.
It was Qual-Kehk's legacy. The only wine left by the old general who had lived a life of caution and fortitude. Bul-Kathos drank deeply, ignoring the intensifying electrical stings.
"You won't keep winning forever, Bul-Kathos!" Johanna's voice was sharp with grief and accusation.
"I will win. I want to win more than anyone," he said plainly, wiping the seal from the jug. "So, I won't lose."
He tilted his head back, draining the jug. "Bitter. Just as I thought."
Qual-Kehk's bitter brew. The old general had only left the most trivial things for himself. Even his final collection was made of the cheapest ingredients, thrown together into something almost nauseating.
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