The Abyss stirred. It wasn't the idle shifting of corrupted winds or distant battles—it was the deep, world-shaking tremor of war renewed.
From the capital city of Nerezza, the citizens of the demon race—succubi, hellhounds, lesser demons, and darkkin—looked skyward as a crimson stormfront churned over the black skies. Thunder boomed in waves. Pillars of void-fire ignited across the skies like scars reopening.
The Demon God had returned.
Atop the obsidian walls of the city, soldiers rallied. Whispers spread like wildfire:
"The Dreadbound Six have awakened."
"The Primordial walks the halls again."
"Oblivion Keep will burn."
Inside the great Citadel of Ash, Diablo sat on his throne—his presence alone enough to crack the tiles beneath him. The display map hovered in front of him, glowing with flickering runes. One section pulsed red.
Oblivion Keep.
The traitors' fortress.
Malgus stood. "It begins."
OBLIVION KEEP
The floating fortress was a marvel of architecture and madness—twisting spires of bone, blood-metal platforms suspended by demon-binding chains, a beating heart of abyssal crystal pulsing at its center.
Inside, the Rebel Grand Dukes prepared.
Bael, now fully armored in plates of voidsteel, led the command. "All positions fortified. Elite demon platoons stationed at every node. The aerial wards are active. Even if he awakens fully, he'll break on our defenses."
Mor'rielle lounged on a throne of writhing limbs, sipping from a goblet filled with black ichor. "You sound nervous, Bael."
He shot her a glare. "We're not fighting a duke. We're fighting Diablo. We fight wrong, we don't get a second strike."
Varnyx, the arcane tactician, stood silent. His eyes didn't leave the horizon.
His fingers trembled slightly.
He hadn't told them what he'd seen. What he'd felt.
The celestial voice that whispered the rebellion into his mind had promised salvation… but the moment Diablo stirred, Varnyx had felt something ancient uncoil in the dark.
He was wrong.
They all were.
THE SKY SPLITS
Without warning, the skies above Oblivion Keep ruptured.
A howl of thunder, black and endless, rang out as if the world itself were screaming.
And then—
Thorne arrived.
The Abyssal General descended like a meteor, smashing into the outer defenses of the keep with a blast of kinetic voidfire that vaporized the front ranks of rebel guards in an instant. A wave of elite demons followed—spearheaded by Belgorash, wielding his hammer with planet-crushing force.
Velmora's whispers flowed through the air, confusing the minds of enemy officers, turning them against their own.
Korrak's flames consumed the keep's lower citadels, white fire eating through stone, flesh, and enchantment.
Myrrh hovered in silence, her wail undoing wards and defensive spells alike.
Zar'kel cleaved through champions, divine and demonic alike, without pause—his twin blacksteel blades singing with divine betrayal.
It was not a battle.
It was an execution.
THE REACTION
In Nerezza, the capital's citizens stood atop the blackstone towers, watching from afar as the sky burned red and distant explosions flared like dying stars.
The people cheered.
Chants of "Diablo! Diablo!" echoed through the streets. The cults reawakened. The blood-rain returned. The city was alive again. The throne was just again.
For the first time in over a year, the Abyss felt purpose.
BETRAYAL OF A TRAITOR
Far from the battlefield, in a quiet fortress cloaked in magic and shadow, Duke Varnyx stood alone.
The angel's offer had poisoned his thoughts once. They had promised order. Safety. Power.
But now?
He'd seen the return of Diablo's essence, and it had shattered all his rationalizations. He felt like an ant bargaining with a star.
He clenched his fists.
"I made a mistake," he whispered. "But there may still be time to correct it."
With a word, he teleported—not to join the battlefield, but to kneel at the feet of the god he had abandoned.
THE RETURN
Inside the Citadel, Malgus was reviewing battlefield data when the chamber trembled.
A flash of violet light. Varnyx appeared, alone.
Demons on guard lunged, weapons drawn—but Malgus raised a hand. "Let him speak."
Varnyx dropped to both knees, bowing low. "My lord… I have returned. I was lost. I followed the others—but not… not for the reasons they think."
Malgus stood. The heat from his aura boiled the floor beneath him.
"Speak plainly, Varnyx. Quickly."
Varnyx looked up, trembling. He chose his next words carefully.
"I… I sought to preserve what you built. I feared the vacuum left behind when you were sealed. Bael—Mor'rielle—they spoke of control, of preserving the realm. But they lied."
Malgus's eyes narrowed.
"Lied?"
Varnyx's voice caught.
"They were not the ones who first suggested the coup. It was a voice from the void-between-stars. A presence of… light. Something otherworldly. They were guided. Perhaps manipulated."
That one sentence froze the chamber.
Malgus didn't move.
The Dreadbound watching from the shadows knew what this meant.
There was something bigger behind the rebellion.
A new player.
Malgus said nothing for several long seconds.
Then, coldly: "And you?"
"I left them. I come with no illusions. I come for judgment."
Malgus stared down at him, voice rumbling like the cracking of a planet.
"If you knew of the angels… and said nothing…"
Flames licked at the edges of his body—Azure Flames, burning so hot the air itself unraveled.
"…then you have already died."
Varnyx closed his eyes. "So be it."
There was no scream.
Only lightless fire—a black explosion of heat and silence as Varnyx was utterly erased from existence.
Malgus turned to Lilith.
"Summon my war table. If the angels are involved… then the multiverse itself has declared war."