The Veiled Prophet

XXI

There seemed no end to their ranks. They flew through the unnatural tear by the hundreds, in the process making the gap widen so as to let those behind them enter in even greater numbers. Already, they filled a good portion of the heavens, and the clouds seemed to react to their presence by churning worse.

Uldyssian knew this had always been inevitable, but to watch the incredible spectacle unfold shook him to his very core. Inside, there had always been that minute hope that something would somehow prevent the angels from reaching Sanctuary, be it the work of Trag’Oul, some last-minute change of heart…or sheer prayer.

But none of that was to be. The end of the world was upon them.

Uldyssian screamed as his body was wracked with new, horrific agony. He was tossed backward into the air, and he faintly understood that Inarius had used the moment to save himself.

Uldyssian crashed to the ground a moment later, bouncing several times before coming to a stop. Astoundingly, he did not even come close to dying. His gifts had done what he had failed to do; they had protected him from both the Prophet’s fury and the awful collision.

He had still hit hard enough to leave him stunned. Eyes tearing, he watched as vague visions of winged warriors continued to spread across everything. At that moment, Uldyssian wished that he had been slain. At least then he would not have had to endure the annihilation of all that he held dear.

A blinding light obscured all else. To Uldyssian’s horror, Inarius, his true form once again revealed, hovered over him.

YOUR PUNISHMENT IS LONG OVERDUE, HERETIC! With a gesture, he dragged Uldyssian from the ground.

It was impossible to believe that Inarius could ignore what was happening above, but Uldyssian quickly saw that this was the truth. All that mattered in the renegade angel’s eyes was retribution against Uldyssian.

It was so ludicrous that despite his pain, Uldyssian unleashed a laugh that bordered on madness. Sanctuary was about to fall, and he was the Prophet’s only focus.

But then Inarius fluttered back from him, almost as if startled. Uldyssian did not understand why the angel should react so, any more than he understood the reason for him falling now that his foe’s magic no longer held him aloft.

WHAT…ARE YOU…DOING? demanded Inarius. WHAT?

The son of Diomedes frowned, wondering with whom the winged figure spoke. Inarius appeared to be looking at the human, but Uldyssian knew that he was not doing a single thing to defend himself.

Or was he? Uldyssian finally noticed that a warmth was spreading through his body, a warmth that ate away at the pain and healed any and all wounds he had suffered. As it reached his head, his mind, he felt a lifting of his spirit that he had not experienced since first awakening his abilities. His confidence soared, and suddenly he had utter command of his body again. A golden glow emanated from him, a glow so brilliant that it made the fiery wings of Inarius drab and sickly by comparison.

A glow that blinded his adversary.

Fully in command—no, better in command of himself than he had ever been before, Uldyssian gazed upon Inarius almost contemptuously. The renegade had done nothing with all the power that he had at his hand save conquer, condemn, or kill those he felt were imperfect or defiant. To him, there had been nothing worthy of life save himself.

The irony was, Inarius was far from worthy of the very humans he so despised. They had grown into something he could not comprehend, and Uldyssian represented the epitome of that.

Inarius abruptly slapped his gauntleted hands together, and a silver shard of energy sliced at the human. Uldyssian assumed that it was intended to cut him in twain. He dismissed it with a sneer, leaving the angel frozen in the air.

And while Inarius hovered there—to Uldyssian, obviously stunned by the mortal’s refusal to accept his fate—the son of Diomedes stretched forth his open hand in the Prophet’s direction. Yet it was not Inarius himself upon which Uldyssian focused. Instead, through eyes that saw so much more at the moment, he gazed upon the link between the angel and the Worldstone.

There was far more to the Worldstone than anyone else understood. That much was at least clear to Uldyssian. He also sensed that there were reasons he should not pursue that notion any further. What he had to do now, though, was finish what he had instinctively begun in the cavern where he had seen the great artifact.

Distance had no meaning where the Worldstone was concerned. Though it physically appeared to be hundreds of miles away, it was, in truth, everywhere, and so Uldyssian had no difficulty reaching out to it with his mind. He saw into its vast structure and located the anomaly he had created when standing before it with Rathma. Uldyssian had been so close to making the bloody events of the past months something that need not have occurred. Then he had been blind.

But now he saw. It was only a matter of one more alteration in the impossible, six-sided facet he had formed.

Uldyssian made that adjustment…

And Inarius howled. He shimmered, and it seemed as if a part of him burned away. Physically, the angel appeared unchanged, yet as Uldyssian concentrated on him again, Inarius looked…much less. He was still what he was, a celestial warrior of tremendous might, but that might was nothing compared to what the Worldstone had enabled him to do.

Uldyssian had severed the renegade’s link. Inarius no longer could call upon the Worldstone.

The angel continued to howl, but now that cry was tinged by rage. Inarius summoned his full power—and Uldyssian easily quashed his attempt.

He was about to do the same to the Prophet himself, but then once more, Uldyssian heard in his mind the calls of Serenthia and the others. This last confrontation between himself and Inarius had lasted but seconds as Sanctuary measured time, but even seconds were vital now.

“The fate of this world is no longer yours to dictate,” he reminded the fallen angel for the last time. With that, he created a sphere much like the silver one into which Inarius had sought to cast him, then imprisoned his vanquished opponent within.

Inarius raged inside, but the sphere had been made to keep all sound locked with him. His silent tirade would have been almost humorous to watch if the son of Diomedes had not seen so many people suffer because of him.

Leaving the sphere to rest among the ruins of the Cathedral of Light, Uldyssian turned—

And a terrible jolt ran through him that sent him to his knees.

YOU WILL NOT INTERFERE WITH WHAT WILL BE, stated a voice that was very much like Inarius’s yet was not.

Tyrael.

Uldyssian could not see the other angel, but he felt his power. Tyrael was naturally far stronger than Inarius. Uldyssian might have still defeated him easily, but the second angel had wisely used the Prophet’s fury to hide his own efforts until it was too late for the human to notice.

Tyrael kept him down on his knees. THE ABOMINATION THAT INARIUS CREATED SHALL BE CLEANSED FROM THE MEMORY OF THE UNIVERSE… THE TAINT OF DEMON AND ANGEL TOGETHER SHALL BE RIGHTLY FORGOTTEN…AND JUSTICE SHALL BE SERVED…

“Who—whose justice?” Uldyssian snarled, seeking to fight both the pain and his invisible bonds.

But the angel ignored his question, instead declaring, BEHOLD! THE PURIFICATION PROGRESSES.

Despite himself, Uldyssian could not help but look, and he saw that it now literally rained angels. The celestial host dove in perfect order, row upon row spreading out in every direction over Sanctuary. All held ready fiery weapons—from swords to lances to scythes and more—which somehow Uldyssian understood were actually manifestations of their individual powers. With them, they prepared to sweep over the people and places and leave nothing but flame.

However, something happened next that surely Tyrael did not desire. From the ruined ground erupted huge, steaming craters. They blossomed without warning, sending the edyrem scattering. Uldyssian knew what they were, and his hopes for his home did not improve in the least, especially when the first scaled fiend leapt out to meet the angels.

The Burning Hells had come to have their say in the fate of Sanctuary.

The demons were not like the angels. They had no uniformity save their savageness. They did not come in rank upon rank but spilled out like water, quickly covering vast ground, then rising up into the sky.

Those among the host that had been heading to more distant parts of the world immediately veered around to join their brethren against the demons. They moved with a smoothness that made Uldyssian suspect they had awaited just this moment. Now, events did not focus on Sanctuary itself; instead, the end of his world and his people were becoming just part of the endless conflict between the two sides. Everyone would perish and then be forgotten as the angels and demons went on to their next conflict.

Forgotten as if they had never existed.

Achilios bent over Mendeln, fearful that his aid had come too late. Providence had taken a hand in his being here just when Uldyssian’s brother and Malic had been struggling. Providence and, ironically, Inarius.

It was the angel’s fault that the hunter had been nearby, for here was the area where the Prophet’s sinister plants had been set to attack the unsuspecting edyrem in a first wave intended to demoralize them completely. Here Achilios had been buried all night, his face turned to the depths of the world. He had truly believed himself trapped forever, even when he had heard through the packed soil the movements of Uldyssian’s followers above.

The archer had also sensed when the grass had started to attack them, and though his mouth had been full of dirt and grass, the magic inherent in him had still enabled the undead to somewhat scream his frustration—although no one above had been able to hear.

But then a miracle that Achilios felt certain could be laid at the feet of Uldyssian had happened. First, there had been an incredible heat which had coursed over him without harm but had burned to ash even the roots of the strangling blades. After that, as Achilios had battled to dig himself out, the ground itself had heaved upward as if struck by some great force.

It might have slain a living man, but what it did for the archer was finally lift him above the surface. He had ended up still buried, but cracks of light had hinted that now he was part of some mound or hill—a far more promising situation than at first.

But someone had approached, and, fearing that it might be one of the Prophet’s servants, Achilios had done what he could do so well: play dead. The figure had investigated him very briefly, not even bothering to uncover more than part of his arm, and then had moved on.

Yet just when Achilios had deemed it safe to begin digging out, he had heard the struggle between the pair. The voices had helped him identify just who that pair was, and, had it been beating, his heart would have leapt. Achilios knew that Mendeln was skilled at what Rathma had taught him but also that Malic was inhumanly cunning. There had been no doubt in the hunter’s mind that Uldyssian’s brother would need his aid.

As it turned out, they had ended up needing each other’s. Malic could not steal Achilios’s dead body, it seemed, but neither could Achilios gain an upper hand against the high priest. He was grateful when Mendeln put an end to their demonic foe but anxious when the black-robed figure had collapsed afterward. Now, as he knelt over him, Achilios prayed that Mendeln had not sacrificed himself in the effort.

There was no sign of mortal injury, but Mendeln refused to stir. In fact, Achilios had to look close just to see that his friend breathed.

The ground shook, and the sounds of desperate battle came at him from every direction. Achilios wanted desperately to rush to Serenthia, but she would never have expected him to abandon Mendeln. He would have been shamed in her eyes, the final blow to his already horrific existence.

But what could he do? Searching around, Achilios spotted the ivory dagger. While the archer had shown no sign in the past, its presence disturbed him greatly. Not only was it in part responsible for him being here, but it also hinted of that place of which he was now a part—what Mendeln and Rathma called the afterdeath. Achilios feared that if he touched it, it would somehow cast him into a darkness that would forever cut him off from the woman he loved.

But he also felt that the blade was perhaps the only manner by which he might be able to do something for Uldyssian’s brother.

Holding a breath he no longer had, Achilios seized the handle. He expected to feel a cold like the grave, but the weapon radiated only a comfortable coolness. Less fearful now, the blond archer brought the weapon to Mendeln and, for lack of any other notion, finally placed the dagger directly on the center of the latter’s chest.

The blade flared brightly, startling Achilios so much that he stumbled back. The light spread around Mendeln…and in its illumination, Achilios saw ghosts.

These were not merely the specters of dead edyrem or servants of the Prophet, though. Their beauty, their perfection, was extraordinary. Human they looked for the most part—but human in the very same way that Rathma was.

They could only be the children of those who had founded Sanctuary…the first nephalem.

It was only where the light of the dagger shone that he could see them, yet there was just enough to hint that their numbers were greater yet. Achilios understood why they were present. These were those who had perished long ago fighting for the world upon which they had been born, the ones who had first sacrificed themselves for the survival of all their kind and later for the humans descended from them.

The nephalem stared down at Mendeln, and then the pale illumination drew them into the dagger.

Mendeln let out a gasp and sat up. His eyes widened, and he looked to both sides as if expecting to find something. Finally, his gaze fixed on the hunter.

“Achilios! Malic! Is he—”

“Gone to the Burning Hells…I hope.”

The ground rocked again. Mendeln struggled to his feet, the dagger now firmly in his grip. “Uldyssian!”

Achilios nodded, although his thoughts were not entirely on Mendeln’s older sibling. “Can you…walk?”

“I can run.”

“All…the better.” He did not wait for Mendeln, certain that the other would follow right behind him. The hunter had done his part; he had saved his friend. Now he hoped to do the same for the woman he loved, even if it only meant that they would stand together when the world ended.

The landscape was covered in gore, much of it from demons but also too much from the edyrem. Serenthia discovered that she was particularly frustrated with the angels, for they left no sign of their passing and made it look as if only their enemies perished. There should have been some remains to mark their dead, something to enable the edyrem to feel that they were standing well against both invaders, not just one.

It did not even help that the demons were far more interested in their winged foes than they were in her people, that they only attacked the edyrem because their bloodlust was so strong. She knew that the Triune had sought to make Mankind slave soldiers of the Burning Hells, and thus the bestial warriors should be doing their best to avoid the edyrem, but that simple fact was beyond most of the fiends. She and the rest would be slaughtered just for being in the way.

Of Uldyssian there was no hint. He was invisible to her gifts, and that made her worry that he was dead. Mendeln was also again among the missing, and she could not ask Rathma if he knew anything, for he was also gone. All Serenthia could keep doing was fighting, fighting until some angel or demon chopped her into tiny pieces.

The angels began to press. It was not so much that they suddenly saw the edyrem as a danger but that a fresh horde of demons had arisen behind the humans and the Heavenly Hosts intended to meet them head-on…after they cut through the refuse between the two sides. Serenthia dueled with a female angel wielding a mace. The angel differed little from her male counterparts, save that her general outline was more feminine and what appeared to be hair hung longer. Not certain what was real and what was illusion, Serenthia fought her just as she had all the rest and did not mourn when her lance bore through the angel’s breastplate.

Fueled by her powers, the fearsome lance literally shook apart her foe. The armored female finally exploded in a flash of astounding colors and a sharp, keening noise. The angels seemed as much sound and light as substance, and it was only because—like the demons—the edyrem utilized their magic through their weapons that they had any chance against the winged furies.

The host closed, filling her view with their towering, sanctimonious forms. Serenthia found herself battling two, and although it amazed her that she briefly kept both at bay, her aching arms told her that soon she would fall.

Indeed, as she tried to deflect a sword strike, her right arm faltered. She saw the fiery blade drive toward her—

And, with a scream, Achilios dove in front of her, some massive, shimmering sword likely plucked up from a dead demon gripped in both his hands. He not only deflected the angel’s attack but thrust immediately after. With the strange, high-pitched sound that ever marked their doom, the angel exploded in what to Serenthia had previously seemed a breathtaking and colorful display of energy but now just sickened her.

“Get back!” Achilios roared to her. “Get away…from here, Serenthia!”

But now that she suddenly had him with her again, Serenthia had no desire to depart. Instead, she stepped beside him and took on the next foe. “I won’t leave you again! I won’t!”

“Mendeln! Take her…take her…away!”

Daring to glance back, Serenthia saw Uldyssian’s brother far from them. He was trying to join Rathma in forging some spell. From Achilios’s call, the two had clearly arrived together but had become separated without the hunter realizing it.

That suited her fine. She was with the man she loved. It was the way Serenthia wanted her life to end.

Achilios was not so pleased, however. “Damn…it, Serenthia! You must…must listen…to me! I’m…begging you! Run!”

“I won’t leave you!” she insisted. “I won’t—”

Fending off his opponent, Achilios turned to argue with her. At the same time, another angel swooped down unnoticed.

“Nooo!” Visions of the archer dying again urging her on, Serenthia lunged forward. Her spear caught the winged warrior dead-on, the earsplitting sound of the angel’s demise almost deafening her.

But in vanquishing Achilios’s attacker, Serenthia paid no mind to her own safety. A female angel to her right suddenly veered toward her.

The blazing sword cut across her midsection, opening Serenthia up.

The world fell out of focus. She heard Achilios scream out her name. Serenthia wanted to tell him not to worry about her, to protect himself instead, but the words would not come.

His face appeared before hers, the only thing distinct in her murky view. Smiling, Serenthia put a hand to his cheek…and died.

The level of fury that had enabled Uldyssian to confront Inarius once more overtook him, yet Tyrael’s spell still held. He did not understand why the angel had not simply destroyed him; what was the point of making the son of Diomedes watch his realm be ravaged?

And why had Tyrael left it to the human to bring Inarius down? It could not have been merely to humble the renegade. Uldyssian doubted that such would concern this angel. The way he had spoken of justice precluded that.

Thoughts began to swirl through Uldyssian’s head, thoughts that were fueled by his raw emotions as he watched the battle commence—with the edyrem caught between.

The angels and their monstrous adversaries paid no heed to anything between them. The fiends trampled over several humans who did not move quickly enough, while the winged warriors simply cut a swath before them that not only severed heads and limbs of demons but slaughtered innocents in the process. The edyrem did their best against both sides, funneling all their power into their swords, pitchforks, and the like, and then into their opponents, but they were sorely outnumbered.

This is justice? Uldyssian strained to be free. At the very least, he knew that he should be with the others, dying with them.

A demon with three reptilian heads and thick, ursine arms ripped apart an angel who flew too near. The angel did not scatter in bloody pieces but rather exploded in a burst of light that left no trace. That explosion was accompanied by an odd, keening sound that caused shivers through Uldyssian. The demon’s victory was short-lived, however, as another angel wielding a lance thrust it through the center head. The creature let out a pair of pained roars from the heads, then turned to ash.

The entire region was dotted by astounding flashes of pure magical energies as both sides utilized their powers in myriad fashions. Uldyssian expected the edyrem to perish quickly, but a strange thing happened. They did not. In fact, those who could gathered together in what was roughly the center of the struggle and did what they could to shield themselves and the rest from the cataclysm taking place.

And there were others with them, others who were not exactly edyrem but who were in some ways much, much more.

Rathma had returned…and not alone.

With him had come several other tall figures either handsome, beautiful, or even grotesque in nature. He recognized only one: Bul-Kathos. The giant warrior stood at the forefront of those protecting the less powerful, the earthen guardian using a huge club to batter away at a horned demon who dared cross his path. The might of the fiend was nothing compared to the Ancient. Bul-Kathos crushed in its chest with one blow, then battered the thick skull to jelly with another.

Of the rest of Rathma’s counterparts, Uldyssian could make out only a sleek warrior woman who fought with more abandon than even Serenthia had ever exhibited. Her hair flying about as if alive, she met the blade of an angel with a black axe. The adversaries exchanged two blows, then the Ancient lunged and cut across the winged figure’s breastplate. The armor—if it was such in truth—did nothing to slow her strike.

Like those before him, the angel vanished in a burst of fantastic light and an unsettling—and slightly different—sound.

He could not sense his friends or his brother, and that added to Uldyssian’s fears. His body trembled with pent-up emotions and energies.

ACCEPT WHAT MUST BE, Tyrael told him, the angel not sounding sanctimonious like Inarius but rather simply stating a fact. IT IS INEVITABLE. SURRENDER TO IT…

But his words had the opposite effect on the son of Diomedes. It was almost as if his captor needed to persuade him to surrender.

Uldyssian considered the ways of the Prophet and his constant twisting of facts or his choice evasion of facts. The truth was not entirely the truth where these beings were concerned. They were, in their own way, as manipulative as any demon.

And that, in the end, was the last factor. Uldyssian wondered just how much control Tyrael had over his captivity and how much of it was the human’s doubts.

Suddenly, all Uldyssian desired was to be free.

His body shimmered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tyrael react—but, unlike Inarius, all this angel did was step back and watch. The winged being cocked his head and seemed ready to speak, although as he had no mouth, that might have simply been the human’s imagination.

Then Tyrael no longer mattered. Uldyssian demanded that the angel’s spell be no more…and it vanished. He stood straight, somehow feeling as if he now loomed above Tyrael.

He expected the angel to attack, but Tyrael only stood there watching, almost as if expecting the human’s startling escape.

Feeling the winged warrior of no concern to him anymore, Uldyssian turned upon the savage scene and was revolted beyond all possible belief. He saw the dead piling up in great numbers and the futility of the angels’ and demons’ eternal struggle. He saw that his world would become merely one more battle among thousands, its reason forgotten almost as soon as it ended. No one would mourn Sanctuary. No one…

Uldyssian could not let it end thus. He could not. With every fiber of his being, the son of Diomedes took into himself all the deaths that had happened thus far because of the endless conflict—including all those his crusade had caused—and let them override any hesitation that might make him hold back.

Raising his fists toward the winged host and the fiendish horde, watching as his people continued to be massacred, Uldyssian ul-Diomed quietly spoke.

“Stop it.”

And everyone…everything…froze.