"When I inherited my ancestor's name—Bul-Kathos—I rejected the title of Immortal King. The barbarians lost their homeland to Hell's onslaught long ago. How could I call myself an Immortal King?
Harrogath, the sacred mountain, lies shattered before Hell's legions. Sescheron Fortress has become a den of demons.
Even though I severed Diablo's vile head with my own hands, my fallen kin have already joined our ancestors.
I, Bul-Kathos, the last barbarian scarred by war's fire, stand in battered armor, broken by blades.
Malthael, you were right—no one can defeat death! But a barbarian never retreats!
I, Bul-Kathos, uphold my oath! My endless rage will forever rain upon you!"
Bul-Kathos's voice rose from a low murmur to a thunderous roar, culminating in a mighty war cry as he charged Malthael, the Angel of Death.
His tangled golden hair, now dull and lifeless, faded to brittle white before death's gaze.
"Barbarians fear nothing!" Bul-Kathos bellowed, stomping the ground with both feet, launching himself like a cannonball.
He plummeted toward Malthael, who had vanquished Tyrael and absorbed the demon lords' power from the Black Soulstone, aiming his twin greatswords at the angel's hooded, expressionless face.
Leap Attack!
This was the combat skill inherited from his ancestors, the very strike that claimed the head of Diablo, the Great Demon God.
But this time was different. Bul-Kathos knew facing Malthael meant only death. He lacked the power to defy it.
This wasn't the scripted battle in the Chaos Sanctuary, where the Nephalem united their full strength against Malthael.
He—Bul-Kathos—was no native barbarian. He was once an ordinary Diablo III player.
While grinding the new season at home, dreaming of topping the leaderboards with sheer dedication, his obsession pushed him to collapse before his computer.
When he awoke, he was a glorious barbarian warrior, bearing the name he'd casually chosen as his ID—Shirtless_Tie.
Thankfully, ties didn't exist in the world of Diablo, but the name "Shirtless" was no less embarrassing.
He tried to change it, but was refused. Every barbarian's birth was blessed by ancestors, their names a sacred gift.
To shed this ridiculous name, he took up the newborn barbarian's gifted handaxe and tattered wooden shield and marched to battle.
Valor and demon blood brought him glorious victories. He was the sole survivor of the battle where Harrogath fell to demons.
In the massacre at Sescheron Fortress, he fought until only demon and barbarian flesh remained. He alone stood.
He earned honor and victory, finally casting off the name Shirtless_Tie, though by then, such things no longer mattered.
His courage and strength won the ancestors' recognition, and he inherited the name of the mightiest barbarian—Bul-Kathos.
As he prepared to rebuild the long-awaited homeland on Harrogath, Malthael, who had stolen the Black Soulstone, appeared before him.
Neither the mighty monk Karazhim from the Sky Temple nor Sonya, the young barbarian warrior, were at his side. They were with the mage Li-Ming, whom he never quite got along with, purging demons near New Tristram.
Barbarians despised magic, scarred by its betrayals, though their elders wielded it despite their kind's hard-earned resistance.
Even so, Bul-Kathos couldn't warm to magic. Nazeebo, the towering witch doctor, was likely in the Unformed Land, meddling with voodoo. Valla, the beautiful but ever-hooded demon hunter, was probably sharpening her blades at the Vengeance Encampment. As for Johanna the Crusader, rumor had it she was aiding angels in repairing war-torn structures in the High Heavens. Of the grim necromancers, Bul-Kathos knew almost nothing.
Malthael's sudden arrival turned the region into a pasture of death. The barbarian kin summoned by Bul-Kathos crumbled to dust before death's touch, scattering across Harrogath's eternal snow.
"Malthael! You'll get nothing from a barbarian but steel!" Bul-Kathos roared, eyes blazing red, swinging his twin blades at the former Archangel of Wisdom.
"I have already claimed it—death!" Malthael's raspy voice replied, raising his chilling Soul Reaper scythe to meet Bul-Kathos's blades.
A sinister glow shimmered on the wicked scythe, clashing with the fiery red of Bul-Kathos's rage-fueled swords.
A thunderous clash erupted, the force of Bul-Kathos's blades, like Harrogath's collapse, staggering Malthael.
But as Malthael said, none could halt death.
The swords crashed into the ground, carving a deep pit. The surrounding earth collapsed, trapping them in a gladiatorial arena.
Before Bul-Kathos could recover, a gray-black mist silently enveloped him. The warrior, unacquainted with weakness since stepping onto the battlefield, felt his strength fade, barely able to grip his blades.
"The Nephalem will stop you," Bul-Kathos gasped, his fiery aura dimming with his waning strength, yet his eyes still burned with unyielding rage.
"Regrettably, you, a Nephalem, have failed," Malthael said flatly from beneath his hood, as if stating an inevitable truth.
"XIA!" Bul-Kathos unleashed a final war cry, channeling all his rage into his hands.
The greatest power of Bul-Kathos wasn't the charge and earth-shattering might from the Bull Tribe's ancestor Raekor, nor the ancestral strength of the second Immortal King, Worusk.
It was the origin of his twin blades, the Wastes set, embodying the Storm Tribe's primal fury and nature's wrath.
From the Storm and Raptor Tribes came the power of nature's tempest, fueled by the barbarian's endless rage, stirring a hurricane to shatter all.
A whirlwind erupted from Bul-Kathos's blades, scattering the deathly mist.
His swords arced overhead, driven by his waist and steps, pouring the barbarian's boundless fury onto Malthael.
"Whirlwind!"
Whirlwind was a limitless technique. As long as a barbarian's rage burned, its power never ceased.
Bul-Kathos danced with his blades, lightning flashing in the storm. The whirlwind spawned countless wind blades, radiating outward, his body aglow with crimson rage.
The storm, a gift of nature's might, roared with thunder under his fury's drive.
Malthael raised his Soul Reaper again, a glowing red gem in his form radiating a soul-seizing light.
"Child of angels and demons, know that all with demon blood will meet death first," Malthael's hoarse voice declared, ushering in death's impartial gift.
Death's offering was neither more nor less, bestowed equally on all. But Malthael wielded it, choosing to grant it early.
"I'll make you feel death!" Bul-Kathos, carried by storm and thunder, crashed into Malthael, his blades striking the Black Soulstone harboring the Great Demon's power.
With a "BOOM," the Black Soulstone ignited under the barbarian's relentless fury, then exploded.
An unprecedented blast erupted on Harrogath, leveling the snow-covered mountain into a plain. Only Malthael remained, his robe tattered, joined by his endless Reapers and shards of the Black Soulstone.
Bul-Kathos's final strike shattered the Black Soulstone, its demon lords' power fully absorbed by Malthael. No longer just the Angel of Death or a vessel for demon lords, Malthael had become a Nephalem—both angel and demon.
(End of Chapter)