spyclone
17-06-2004, 21:59
I have this piece lying around for quite sometime. I've already put it on my site a few years ago, but i want to have some opinions on it. What do you all think about the content/style/grammar/vocabulary ?
I know it's a bit lengthy, so please forgive me for not splitting into chapters. I had a hard time trying that, so i decided not to ...
A Nightmare’s End
Darkness gave way to a blinding white light and the warmth of an unconscious slumber turned into a bone-chilling sensation. Barak-Anar was slowly coming to his senses, his head throbbing with a rhythmic pulse. The first conscious breath he drew was petrifying; the icy cold of the midwinter air whirled down his throat, rasped his tonsils and exploded like a snowstorm in his lungs. It took more than a few deep gasping inhales before his breathing returned to normal.
The barbarian pulled himself up against a boulder, leaving a two-inch deep impression of his body in the bloodstained snow. He slowly glanced around as he became aware of his surroundings. Behind him lay the shattered remains of the once mighty Worldstone Keep and below, at the foot of Mount Araet, were the Barbarian Highlands. An odd thought struck his mind, for the highlands were a carpet of lush green fields now and that was not the way he remembered them, before he had entered the Keep.
It was heart of winter down there when he left two days ago, taking on the nearly impossible quest to rid the Worldstone of the Evil that possessed it. And now he would swear the plains were halfway into spring, flowers blooming and animals running plenty through the grasslands. What a contrast it was to the stone cold climate at the top of Mount Araet, and yet he clearly saw the melting of snow below him. He knew now that in a few hours the unnaturally strong winter would completely fade into nothingness, as did the evil, which had brought it along.
Suddenly the pounding headache returned and the pain from numerous still bleeding wounds and scars jerked his mind back to the present and then to what lay behind …
----------
His hands were trembling, part from the weariness that stole over him, part from the cold of an extremely icy winter air. Yet he found the strength to spin the great oaken wheel and the heavy iron grating slowly ascended before him. Sending the dust of ages flying, it groaned as if no one had entered this accursed castle in centuries. But Barak-Anar knew it was otherwise: an evil so vile its name was nearly unspeakable had taken up residence here.
Baal. Everywhere it was uttered aloud, that name struck terror into the heart of men. And now he was here, corrupting the Worldstone. That giant rock of ruby-like red stone was a great source of good, standing like a monolith barrier between the mortal world and the fiery bowels of Hell. But it was also the source where the infamous soulstones were carved from, acting as phylacteries for Diablo and Mephisto’s essences, two of the Prime Evils which the barbarian had already vanquished.
Barak-Anar had been called upon once more when Decard Cain learned of Baal’s intentions. The old sage had somehow divined that The Lord of Destruction was transforming the Worldstone from a barrier into a gate between Hell and the mortal world. If this were allowed to happen, legions of fiendish demons would spew forth and spread like a plague of insects throughout the lands and mankind would simply seize to exist. Once more Barak-Anar bore the leaden burden of the fate of mankind. Once again it was up to him to face thousands of hellish creatures, eradicate them and find their master, only to engage in another final battle and hope to emerge victorious. No, not to hope: he was forced to win … time and again.
And as the gate rose the barbarian’s spirits dwindled, overcome with the callousness of a warrior that has seen a thousand battles. He was growing tired of being the one to stand tall, of being covered in the blood of a thousand conquered enemies, of staring death in the eyes day in day out and having the courage not to settle in it’s sweet, beckoning embrace. He suddenly longed for that embrace: to die peacefully and know eternal rest.
Yet he had no chance to contemplate the matter any longer, for a powerful will entered his mind and his senses were suddenly put on full alert. He felt the presence of Tyrael, the Archangel and soon the voice of his guide came booming in his mind:
“BARAK-ANAR!! Take heed, for already the Lord of Destruction has pried his way into your subconscious! It is he who whispers these words of sadness that demoralize you. It is he who tries to turn you around. It is he that makes you long for death, for he knows that ultimately YOU will be his demise. It was known to him this from the very beginning, yet he chose to ignore it until now. But just as I, Baal has been watching you from the start:
He saw you liberating Decard Cain from the accursed town of Tristram, he saw you defeating the demon-queen Andariel and thus setting the Rogues free. He witnessed as you lived through the trials in Lut Gholein and slew Duriel in his lair beneath the shifting sands of the desert. And yes, he screamed in anguish as you eradicated Mephisto and shattered his soulstone upon the Hellforge. But it wasn’t until you slew his second brother, Diablo, that he began to fear you!!”
Tyrael’s voice was ominous within the barbarian, and he felt a dark shadow stealing away in the corner of his mind, but before he could focus on it, the dark presence had left. His spirit was clear now, his senses awakened and the edge of his swords only bettered by the razor-sharp glimmer in his eyes.
Barak-Anar began to wonder: could it be that Baal was really afraid of him? But before he had time to think about it Tyrael answered the question:
“Yes, young barbarian. BAAL FEARS YOU! He has denied it since long, but the moment you beheaded Diablo, he knew that you would come after him and kill him as well. That is why he started on the corruption of the worldstone, for in that way he hoped to summon enough demonic minions to stop you. But mind this, warrior: If Baal would succeed in his plan, your homeland would be the first to fall under the crawling horde of demons when it emerges from this Keep. So not only must you destroy Baal, you will have to make haste and confront him before he finishes his enchantments of corruption upon the Worldstone. I know this is a difficult task, once again imposed upon you and that you had little choice in the matter. But remember that you stand not alone in this, for Cain and myself will be with you in spirit to protect you from the assault that The Lord Of Destruction will surely unleash upon your mind. And remember also that Baal fears you, for this will be your ultimate weapon against him! Go now, Barak-Anar and know that this time you will be defending your very homeland!”
“YES” Barak-Anar thought, “I will confront Baal! And I shall not stop before this final threat upon mankind has been laid to rest! And may the gods help me, my homeland shall never be taken!” As his features contracted in a mask of determination, Tyrael’s will fled his mind, obviously pleased with the barbarian’s new found courage.
----------
The Arch-Angel’s mind returned to where his body was and the first thing he saw was the sight of Decard Cain, leaning heavily upon his staff and sighing. “You have taken an awful risk, holy one! By making the barbarian believe that Baal fears him you may have made him over-confident. Let us hope he will not discover the truth until he faces The Lord of Destruction” Tyrael sighed as well when he met Cain’s stern eyes. “I know, my mortal friend. I am fully aware of the fact that I have put our warrior in the greatest peril yet, but it is the only way to strengthen his mind against the intrusions of Baal. Should he have known that Baal may ultimately prove even stronger than his brothers, he would surely have turned back and all our past efforts would have been in vain! Trust me this one last time, Cain, for once again our hopes rest with a young mortal that does not know the danger that lies ahead and is neither aware of his unlimited potential!” The old man smiled quizzically and looked away in doubts “We shall see, Tyrael. We shall see!”
----------
Barak-Anar drew his twin swords, took a last deep breath and proceeded into the bowels of Worldstone Keep. It was not long before the first of Baal’s minions came in sight and when they did, the Battle Rage took over, filling his eyes with a crimson gleam and his body with a surge of adrenalin he had never experienced before. And as he mowed down the dark creatures by the hundreds, their bites and claws did him very little harm, as if he were made out of solid rock. Slowly but steadily he worked his way through the hordes like a whirling dervish, occasionally stopping only momentarily to quaff a healing potion when he did weaken too much. And with every blow he landed his determination increased, his mind not on what lay ahead, but on the deeply treasured homeland he protected.
Hours had gone by when he finally reached the antechamber to the final stairs down to the Hall of the Worldstone. As the rest of the keep, this chamber too had fallen to the corrupting power of Baal, yet nowhere were the ravages as great and repulsing as here. The once magnificent hall was now a horrid place of filth and decay: Tapestries hung scorched and bloodstained upon the crumbling walls and puddles of putrid ooze bubbled on the broken floor, along with piles of bones and skulls, chewed clean by the dark denizens. A nauseating stench of death and decay wafted from a corner of the room. There lay a pile of rotten, half-devoured corpses, guts ripped and spilled all around and a stream of gore and bodily fluids ran down to form a circle around the throne in the centre of the great hall. That circle was the base of a shimmering orange dome, containing the throne and the glowing red portal behind it.
But the most terrifying sight was the creature on the throne, for there he sat in all his dark glory: Baal, The Lord of Destruction. His face was a ghastly white, adorned with midnight-blue runes and tattoos and his body was an abomination of nature with horns and appendages protruding everywhere.
A voice, louder than the fiercest thunderstorm and more putrid than a disease ridden ratpack boomed throughout the hall. Barak-Anar reeled back from the onslaught it wrecked upon his mind, nearly forcing him to drop to his knees.
“KNEEL BEFORE ME MORTAL, FOR THE DEATH OF MY BROTHERS WILL NOT GO UNAVENGED! I WILL RIP YOUR BODY APART AND FEED IT TO MY MINIONS AND THEN I WILL HAUNT AND WREACK YOUR SOUL FOR A THOUSAND YEARS AND INFLICT UPON YOU TORTURES SO VILE AND AGONISING UNTILL YOUR VERY ESSENCE IS OBLITERATED”
Baal’s words tore through his mind like barbed knives into flesh and it took every last bit of will to counter the mental attack, but when he regained control he slowly lifted his head and stared Baal straight into his cold, soulless eyes. He tightened his grip on his swords, took one determined step forwards and answered the Dark Lord’s tirade with an unprecedented bravery:
“Your time is at an end, Baal. You shall never take this world! Hah! I laugh at your feeble attempts to defeat me, I laugh at the pitiful minions you have sent after me to do your dirty work. And I laughed, Baal, as your brothers perished under my blades, screaming like the pigs they were! And now I shall laugh one more time, for it shall be your essence that will be obliterated!”
The ghastly pallor on the Dark Lord’s face changed into red anger as he heard Barak-Anar glorifying the death of his brothers and with the rage and hate of millions he started a summoning spell and, standing now fully erect, he bellowed one final word: “DIE !!!”
Barak-Anar was struck with awe as the first wave of newly summoned demos washed over him. These creatures were stronger than before and it took time and a lot of beating to gain the upper hand again. Bones crushed beneath his heavy boots, and skulls were sent flying as he kicked them away to gain a foothold, but as soon as he did find solid ground to stand on, he once again turned into a grinding and whirling machine of death as the berserk fury took over.
Amidst an orgy of blood and gore the barbarian fought more like a demon than the vile creatures themselves and although he was once more hugely outnumbered, he stood his ground. His swords spun a deadly circle and he punched, bit and kicked at any demon that got past the blade barrier. Wave after wave, Bale summoned the terrible beings, and time after time Barak-Anar laid their vile bodies to waste, inching his way towards the throne.
Finally The Lord of destruction no longer had the power to keep up his protective dome and when the barbarian had nearly reached him, he fled through the portal behind the throne, leaving Barak-Anar to battle the last of his servants.
Weakened by the absence of their master, the creatures fell quickly before the whirling barbarian and without hesitating he followed Baal through the portal, to the Hall of the Worldstone.
He was teleported to a plateau in the centre of a sphere-like chamber that measured several hundred’s of feet in diameter. At one end, the elliptic shape of the ruby-red Worldstone was suspended in mid-air, nearly touching the top as well as the bottom of the sphere.
The barbarian had no time to focus on Ball, who was trying to finish his corrupting enchantment on the stone, for he was seized of the ground by slithering, demonic tendrils that rose up from the floor. He struggled against their chocking hold and when the last air had been forced out of his lungs, he managed to hack through one of them, the others releasing their hold temporarily. As the air found a way back into his lungs, the barbarian slashed at the slithering tentacles with renewed vigor. He quickly regained the floor and dispatched of the remaining vine-like creatures, only to find that Baal had summoned an entire forest of the things to block the way between him and the barbarian.
Barak-Anar had no hope to get through the patch of vines merely by slashing at them, he tried a different tactic: from his belt he drew a potion of oil, lit it and hurled it forward. The self-made bomb exploded in the middle of the tentacles, slaying a bunch and momentarily forcing the others to retreat as they were set ablaze in a great fire. The barbarian seized the moment, took a running start and jumped over the inferno, landing on the other side, nearly out of the way of the burning tentacles.
Baal turned around, but not in horror as Barak-Anar expected. In stead he was at ease and posed and he casually smiled at the barbarian. Suddenly there was no hint at all to the fact that Baal supposedly feared him. Puzzled by this sudden calm in the eye of the storm, Barak-Anar hesitated and Baal addressed him anew:
“Well, well young warrior, you proved stronger that I thought! Oh, don’t be surprised, I really have no fear of you whatsoever! But Tyrael and Cain played their part well, didn’t they? Making you believe I feared you! Never thought an Archangel could lie, did you? But then again, if he wouldn’t have, you’d probably not have got so far!" Baal's smile had turned into an ear-to-ear grin by now, revealing two rows of raror sharp, pointed teeht. "Oh, dear gullible mortal, you were so easily fooled. You were actually convinced that killing my brothers would give you the strength to conquer me. Yet you should have been told they do not even have half my powers, and with the Worldstone under my control I will avenge them and make you suffer in agony.” Still grinning, Baal advanced upon Barak-Anar and couldn’t help but sneer a final time “Bah, you will be at my mercy as that little sorceress-friend of yours was at Mephisto’s, when he ripped her in two.”
Although disillusion and defeat had struck him when he learned about Tyrael’s lie, Barak-Anar’s fury was now twice as strong. Being reminded about the terrible loss of Shazz-Annah, the only magic-using being he ever loved snapped his sanity like a twig and he charged ahead, blades first and blinded by rage.
This time the Lord of Destruction was caught off guard, and the first moments of battle were entirely Barak-Anar’s. But as the Dark Lord regained his composure, he was easily a match for the young warrior and fended of his blows while landing some of his own. The fight raged on and both enemies lost and gained advantage in turn until finally Baal managed to send one of the barbarian’s swords flying. The second weapon was soon weapon disposed of in a similar way and a heartbeat later Barak-Anar was pinned to the ground, at the Demon’s mercy.
Confident of victory, Baal leaned down upon the barbarian and his putrid breath overcame him as he spoke. “There you are now, mortal, at my mercy. Your strength is draining away and soon your soul will be mine. But fear not, you will not die yet! , First you shall witness the destruction of your homeland as my troops stamp it to the ground.” Hearing this, Barak-Anar tried to struggle free, but Baal forced him back down with only one claw, another waving its index finger in disapproval.
“Futile efforts, dear mortal!” Baal laughed as he leaned down once again. But the laughter suddenly stopped as a searing pain tore through the demon’s right eye. Where once the eyeball had been, a bluish stone protruded from his skull. Howling in pain, the demon reeled back.
In the split second his left arm was freed of the icy hold, Barak-Anar had reached into his belt for Diablo’s soulstone, which he had picked up after defeating him. With all of his might he had slammed it into Baal’s skull, hammering into the demon’s brain. The Lord of Destruction slumped, his muscles twitching with uncontrollable spasms. He tried to voice his anger and throw a thousand curses at the barbarian, but an uncomprehensible gurgling sound was all that left his throat.
Finally to his feet again, Barak-Anar picked up one of his swords and rose above the crumbling demon. With one mighty swing and a cry that unleashed all of his anger, the barbarian chopped of Baal’s head, his cries echoing off into the spherical chamber. As his head toppled off the platform and fell into the darkness, the essence of all the Dark Lord's past victims surged up from his broken body and struck the ceiling, causing chunks of rock to rain down upon the plateau.
Staggering back, Barak-Anar saw the ghastly shape of Tyrael forming before him, but before he could address the Archangel about his trickery, Tyrael cast a portal and instructed him to flee the Keep. Nearly crushed by falling debris, Barak-Anar needed no second and dashed for the portal, nearly two hundred feet away. But before he made the jump through, he took one last glance over his shoulder and saw Tyrael rising again from a kneeled prayer, hurling his sword towards the Worldstone.
----------
Exiting the portal on the other side, he was once again at the gates of Worldstone Keep, and as he landed on the frozen ground, he lost his balance and collided with a falling brick of the now crumbling castle. He thumped to the ground, and he saw the world drowning in a black whirlpool, his consciousness fading quickly. He resisted for a moment, but than gave way, knowing that his quest was finally at and end and he deserved the rest. But before he finally let go he vowed never again to become a puppet in the hands of that Archangel. Yet that vow has half-hearted and he was not sure he would live up to that promise.
After all: Evil never dies, it only sleeps to rise again!
I know it's a bit lengthy, so please forgive me for not splitting into chapters. I had a hard time trying that, so i decided not to ...
A Nightmare’s End
Darkness gave way to a blinding white light and the warmth of an unconscious slumber turned into a bone-chilling sensation. Barak-Anar was slowly coming to his senses, his head throbbing with a rhythmic pulse. The first conscious breath he drew was petrifying; the icy cold of the midwinter air whirled down his throat, rasped his tonsils and exploded like a snowstorm in his lungs. It took more than a few deep gasping inhales before his breathing returned to normal.
The barbarian pulled himself up against a boulder, leaving a two-inch deep impression of his body in the bloodstained snow. He slowly glanced around as he became aware of his surroundings. Behind him lay the shattered remains of the once mighty Worldstone Keep and below, at the foot of Mount Araet, were the Barbarian Highlands. An odd thought struck his mind, for the highlands were a carpet of lush green fields now and that was not the way he remembered them, before he had entered the Keep.
It was heart of winter down there when he left two days ago, taking on the nearly impossible quest to rid the Worldstone of the Evil that possessed it. And now he would swear the plains were halfway into spring, flowers blooming and animals running plenty through the grasslands. What a contrast it was to the stone cold climate at the top of Mount Araet, and yet he clearly saw the melting of snow below him. He knew now that in a few hours the unnaturally strong winter would completely fade into nothingness, as did the evil, which had brought it along.
Suddenly the pounding headache returned and the pain from numerous still bleeding wounds and scars jerked his mind back to the present and then to what lay behind …
----------
His hands were trembling, part from the weariness that stole over him, part from the cold of an extremely icy winter air. Yet he found the strength to spin the great oaken wheel and the heavy iron grating slowly ascended before him. Sending the dust of ages flying, it groaned as if no one had entered this accursed castle in centuries. But Barak-Anar knew it was otherwise: an evil so vile its name was nearly unspeakable had taken up residence here.
Baal. Everywhere it was uttered aloud, that name struck terror into the heart of men. And now he was here, corrupting the Worldstone. That giant rock of ruby-like red stone was a great source of good, standing like a monolith barrier between the mortal world and the fiery bowels of Hell. But it was also the source where the infamous soulstones were carved from, acting as phylacteries for Diablo and Mephisto’s essences, two of the Prime Evils which the barbarian had already vanquished.
Barak-Anar had been called upon once more when Decard Cain learned of Baal’s intentions. The old sage had somehow divined that The Lord of Destruction was transforming the Worldstone from a barrier into a gate between Hell and the mortal world. If this were allowed to happen, legions of fiendish demons would spew forth and spread like a plague of insects throughout the lands and mankind would simply seize to exist. Once more Barak-Anar bore the leaden burden of the fate of mankind. Once again it was up to him to face thousands of hellish creatures, eradicate them and find their master, only to engage in another final battle and hope to emerge victorious. No, not to hope: he was forced to win … time and again.
And as the gate rose the barbarian’s spirits dwindled, overcome with the callousness of a warrior that has seen a thousand battles. He was growing tired of being the one to stand tall, of being covered in the blood of a thousand conquered enemies, of staring death in the eyes day in day out and having the courage not to settle in it’s sweet, beckoning embrace. He suddenly longed for that embrace: to die peacefully and know eternal rest.
Yet he had no chance to contemplate the matter any longer, for a powerful will entered his mind and his senses were suddenly put on full alert. He felt the presence of Tyrael, the Archangel and soon the voice of his guide came booming in his mind:
“BARAK-ANAR!! Take heed, for already the Lord of Destruction has pried his way into your subconscious! It is he who whispers these words of sadness that demoralize you. It is he who tries to turn you around. It is he that makes you long for death, for he knows that ultimately YOU will be his demise. It was known to him this from the very beginning, yet he chose to ignore it until now. But just as I, Baal has been watching you from the start:
He saw you liberating Decard Cain from the accursed town of Tristram, he saw you defeating the demon-queen Andariel and thus setting the Rogues free. He witnessed as you lived through the trials in Lut Gholein and slew Duriel in his lair beneath the shifting sands of the desert. And yes, he screamed in anguish as you eradicated Mephisto and shattered his soulstone upon the Hellforge. But it wasn’t until you slew his second brother, Diablo, that he began to fear you!!”
Tyrael’s voice was ominous within the barbarian, and he felt a dark shadow stealing away in the corner of his mind, but before he could focus on it, the dark presence had left. His spirit was clear now, his senses awakened and the edge of his swords only bettered by the razor-sharp glimmer in his eyes.
Barak-Anar began to wonder: could it be that Baal was really afraid of him? But before he had time to think about it Tyrael answered the question:
“Yes, young barbarian. BAAL FEARS YOU! He has denied it since long, but the moment you beheaded Diablo, he knew that you would come after him and kill him as well. That is why he started on the corruption of the worldstone, for in that way he hoped to summon enough demonic minions to stop you. But mind this, warrior: If Baal would succeed in his plan, your homeland would be the first to fall under the crawling horde of demons when it emerges from this Keep. So not only must you destroy Baal, you will have to make haste and confront him before he finishes his enchantments of corruption upon the Worldstone. I know this is a difficult task, once again imposed upon you and that you had little choice in the matter. But remember that you stand not alone in this, for Cain and myself will be with you in spirit to protect you from the assault that The Lord Of Destruction will surely unleash upon your mind. And remember also that Baal fears you, for this will be your ultimate weapon against him! Go now, Barak-Anar and know that this time you will be defending your very homeland!”
“YES” Barak-Anar thought, “I will confront Baal! And I shall not stop before this final threat upon mankind has been laid to rest! And may the gods help me, my homeland shall never be taken!” As his features contracted in a mask of determination, Tyrael’s will fled his mind, obviously pleased with the barbarian’s new found courage.
----------
The Arch-Angel’s mind returned to where his body was and the first thing he saw was the sight of Decard Cain, leaning heavily upon his staff and sighing. “You have taken an awful risk, holy one! By making the barbarian believe that Baal fears him you may have made him over-confident. Let us hope he will not discover the truth until he faces The Lord of Destruction” Tyrael sighed as well when he met Cain’s stern eyes. “I know, my mortal friend. I am fully aware of the fact that I have put our warrior in the greatest peril yet, but it is the only way to strengthen his mind against the intrusions of Baal. Should he have known that Baal may ultimately prove even stronger than his brothers, he would surely have turned back and all our past efforts would have been in vain! Trust me this one last time, Cain, for once again our hopes rest with a young mortal that does not know the danger that lies ahead and is neither aware of his unlimited potential!” The old man smiled quizzically and looked away in doubts “We shall see, Tyrael. We shall see!”
----------
Barak-Anar drew his twin swords, took a last deep breath and proceeded into the bowels of Worldstone Keep. It was not long before the first of Baal’s minions came in sight and when they did, the Battle Rage took over, filling his eyes with a crimson gleam and his body with a surge of adrenalin he had never experienced before. And as he mowed down the dark creatures by the hundreds, their bites and claws did him very little harm, as if he were made out of solid rock. Slowly but steadily he worked his way through the hordes like a whirling dervish, occasionally stopping only momentarily to quaff a healing potion when he did weaken too much. And with every blow he landed his determination increased, his mind not on what lay ahead, but on the deeply treasured homeland he protected.
Hours had gone by when he finally reached the antechamber to the final stairs down to the Hall of the Worldstone. As the rest of the keep, this chamber too had fallen to the corrupting power of Baal, yet nowhere were the ravages as great and repulsing as here. The once magnificent hall was now a horrid place of filth and decay: Tapestries hung scorched and bloodstained upon the crumbling walls and puddles of putrid ooze bubbled on the broken floor, along with piles of bones and skulls, chewed clean by the dark denizens. A nauseating stench of death and decay wafted from a corner of the room. There lay a pile of rotten, half-devoured corpses, guts ripped and spilled all around and a stream of gore and bodily fluids ran down to form a circle around the throne in the centre of the great hall. That circle was the base of a shimmering orange dome, containing the throne and the glowing red portal behind it.
But the most terrifying sight was the creature on the throne, for there he sat in all his dark glory: Baal, The Lord of Destruction. His face was a ghastly white, adorned with midnight-blue runes and tattoos and his body was an abomination of nature with horns and appendages protruding everywhere.
A voice, louder than the fiercest thunderstorm and more putrid than a disease ridden ratpack boomed throughout the hall. Barak-Anar reeled back from the onslaught it wrecked upon his mind, nearly forcing him to drop to his knees.
“KNEEL BEFORE ME MORTAL, FOR THE DEATH OF MY BROTHERS WILL NOT GO UNAVENGED! I WILL RIP YOUR BODY APART AND FEED IT TO MY MINIONS AND THEN I WILL HAUNT AND WREACK YOUR SOUL FOR A THOUSAND YEARS AND INFLICT UPON YOU TORTURES SO VILE AND AGONISING UNTILL YOUR VERY ESSENCE IS OBLITERATED”
Baal’s words tore through his mind like barbed knives into flesh and it took every last bit of will to counter the mental attack, but when he regained control he slowly lifted his head and stared Baal straight into his cold, soulless eyes. He tightened his grip on his swords, took one determined step forwards and answered the Dark Lord’s tirade with an unprecedented bravery:
“Your time is at an end, Baal. You shall never take this world! Hah! I laugh at your feeble attempts to defeat me, I laugh at the pitiful minions you have sent after me to do your dirty work. And I laughed, Baal, as your brothers perished under my blades, screaming like the pigs they were! And now I shall laugh one more time, for it shall be your essence that will be obliterated!”
The ghastly pallor on the Dark Lord’s face changed into red anger as he heard Barak-Anar glorifying the death of his brothers and with the rage and hate of millions he started a summoning spell and, standing now fully erect, he bellowed one final word: “DIE !!!”
Barak-Anar was struck with awe as the first wave of newly summoned demos washed over him. These creatures were stronger than before and it took time and a lot of beating to gain the upper hand again. Bones crushed beneath his heavy boots, and skulls were sent flying as he kicked them away to gain a foothold, but as soon as he did find solid ground to stand on, he once again turned into a grinding and whirling machine of death as the berserk fury took over.
Amidst an orgy of blood and gore the barbarian fought more like a demon than the vile creatures themselves and although he was once more hugely outnumbered, he stood his ground. His swords spun a deadly circle and he punched, bit and kicked at any demon that got past the blade barrier. Wave after wave, Bale summoned the terrible beings, and time after time Barak-Anar laid their vile bodies to waste, inching his way towards the throne.
Finally The Lord of destruction no longer had the power to keep up his protective dome and when the barbarian had nearly reached him, he fled through the portal behind the throne, leaving Barak-Anar to battle the last of his servants.
Weakened by the absence of their master, the creatures fell quickly before the whirling barbarian and without hesitating he followed Baal through the portal, to the Hall of the Worldstone.
He was teleported to a plateau in the centre of a sphere-like chamber that measured several hundred’s of feet in diameter. At one end, the elliptic shape of the ruby-red Worldstone was suspended in mid-air, nearly touching the top as well as the bottom of the sphere.
The barbarian had no time to focus on Ball, who was trying to finish his corrupting enchantment on the stone, for he was seized of the ground by slithering, demonic tendrils that rose up from the floor. He struggled against their chocking hold and when the last air had been forced out of his lungs, he managed to hack through one of them, the others releasing their hold temporarily. As the air found a way back into his lungs, the barbarian slashed at the slithering tentacles with renewed vigor. He quickly regained the floor and dispatched of the remaining vine-like creatures, only to find that Baal had summoned an entire forest of the things to block the way between him and the barbarian.
Barak-Anar had no hope to get through the patch of vines merely by slashing at them, he tried a different tactic: from his belt he drew a potion of oil, lit it and hurled it forward. The self-made bomb exploded in the middle of the tentacles, slaying a bunch and momentarily forcing the others to retreat as they were set ablaze in a great fire. The barbarian seized the moment, took a running start and jumped over the inferno, landing on the other side, nearly out of the way of the burning tentacles.
Baal turned around, but not in horror as Barak-Anar expected. In stead he was at ease and posed and he casually smiled at the barbarian. Suddenly there was no hint at all to the fact that Baal supposedly feared him. Puzzled by this sudden calm in the eye of the storm, Barak-Anar hesitated and Baal addressed him anew:
“Well, well young warrior, you proved stronger that I thought! Oh, don’t be surprised, I really have no fear of you whatsoever! But Tyrael and Cain played their part well, didn’t they? Making you believe I feared you! Never thought an Archangel could lie, did you? But then again, if he wouldn’t have, you’d probably not have got so far!" Baal's smile had turned into an ear-to-ear grin by now, revealing two rows of raror sharp, pointed teeht. "Oh, dear gullible mortal, you were so easily fooled. You were actually convinced that killing my brothers would give you the strength to conquer me. Yet you should have been told they do not even have half my powers, and with the Worldstone under my control I will avenge them and make you suffer in agony.” Still grinning, Baal advanced upon Barak-Anar and couldn’t help but sneer a final time “Bah, you will be at my mercy as that little sorceress-friend of yours was at Mephisto’s, when he ripped her in two.”
Although disillusion and defeat had struck him when he learned about Tyrael’s lie, Barak-Anar’s fury was now twice as strong. Being reminded about the terrible loss of Shazz-Annah, the only magic-using being he ever loved snapped his sanity like a twig and he charged ahead, blades first and blinded by rage.
This time the Lord of Destruction was caught off guard, and the first moments of battle were entirely Barak-Anar’s. But as the Dark Lord regained his composure, he was easily a match for the young warrior and fended of his blows while landing some of his own. The fight raged on and both enemies lost and gained advantage in turn until finally Baal managed to send one of the barbarian’s swords flying. The second weapon was soon weapon disposed of in a similar way and a heartbeat later Barak-Anar was pinned to the ground, at the Demon’s mercy.
Confident of victory, Baal leaned down upon the barbarian and his putrid breath overcame him as he spoke. “There you are now, mortal, at my mercy. Your strength is draining away and soon your soul will be mine. But fear not, you will not die yet! , First you shall witness the destruction of your homeland as my troops stamp it to the ground.” Hearing this, Barak-Anar tried to struggle free, but Baal forced him back down with only one claw, another waving its index finger in disapproval.
“Futile efforts, dear mortal!” Baal laughed as he leaned down once again. But the laughter suddenly stopped as a searing pain tore through the demon’s right eye. Where once the eyeball had been, a bluish stone protruded from his skull. Howling in pain, the demon reeled back.
In the split second his left arm was freed of the icy hold, Barak-Anar had reached into his belt for Diablo’s soulstone, which he had picked up after defeating him. With all of his might he had slammed it into Baal’s skull, hammering into the demon’s brain. The Lord of Destruction slumped, his muscles twitching with uncontrollable spasms. He tried to voice his anger and throw a thousand curses at the barbarian, but an uncomprehensible gurgling sound was all that left his throat.
Finally to his feet again, Barak-Anar picked up one of his swords and rose above the crumbling demon. With one mighty swing and a cry that unleashed all of his anger, the barbarian chopped of Baal’s head, his cries echoing off into the spherical chamber. As his head toppled off the platform and fell into the darkness, the essence of all the Dark Lord's past victims surged up from his broken body and struck the ceiling, causing chunks of rock to rain down upon the plateau.
Staggering back, Barak-Anar saw the ghastly shape of Tyrael forming before him, but before he could address the Archangel about his trickery, Tyrael cast a portal and instructed him to flee the Keep. Nearly crushed by falling debris, Barak-Anar needed no second and dashed for the portal, nearly two hundred feet away. But before he made the jump through, he took one last glance over his shoulder and saw Tyrael rising again from a kneeled prayer, hurling his sword towards the Worldstone.
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Exiting the portal on the other side, he was once again at the gates of Worldstone Keep, and as he landed on the frozen ground, he lost his balance and collided with a falling brick of the now crumbling castle. He thumped to the ground, and he saw the world drowning in a black whirlpool, his consciousness fading quickly. He resisted for a moment, but than gave way, knowing that his quest was finally at and end and he deserved the rest. But before he finally let go he vowed never again to become a puppet in the hands of that Archangel. Yet that vow has half-hearted and he was not sure he would live up to that promise.
After all: Evil never dies, it only sleeps to rise again!