"Andariel, what exactly did you go through?"
Mardoc's face was grim as he studied Andariel, who had only just returned to the Sacred Mountain.
He'd come to vent his frustration at missing a fight, maybe spar with Andariel to shake off his boredom. But his sharp senses caught something amiss.
A faint trace of Baal's aura clung to Andariel!
Though Andariel herself had fallen to Baal's power long ago, this aura shouldn't have resurfaced now!
That power was Destruction itself!
Even after losing his prophetic gifts in death, Mardoc's familiarity with the Hell Lords' essences remained unshaken.
He couldn't convince himself to ignore it.
Having guarded the Sacred Mountain's gates for centuries, Mardoc could never forget Baal's presence.
"Mardoc, I just ran into some demon messing with dreams. Nightmare, I think it was called?"
Andariel swung her weapon carelessly, speaking with her usual brashness.
As a warrior and tribal leader, Andariel couldn't grasp what Mardoc, once a prophet, sensed.
"It was like a still image of Baal in a dream. What's the big deal?"
Andariel didn't care much, but out of respect for Mardoc, she tried to recall the encounter.
"It was just a glimpse, like a frozen picture. No issue. The Hell spawn nearly dropped to their knees when they saw Baal's form."
"Something feels off."
Mardoc's tone was skeptical, his unease palpable.
"I need to tell Bul-Kathos. If Baal's aura has truly appeared in this world, it's not something we can brush off."
Mardoc's worry lingered.
"Let Bul-Kathos handle it. He's got nothing better to do lately."
Andariel nodded, agreeing with Mardoc's suggestion.
Their ancestors had long since passed, existing now only as souls on Harrogath's Sacred Mountain.
Baal alone didn't seem like a major threat.
After all, Bul-Kathos had beheaded Diablo, the Great Demon God of the Seven. Baal alone shouldn't be a problem.
But before Bul-Kathos dealt with Baal again, who knew how many would fall? Barbarians took responsibility for their burdens, never passing risks to others.
"He's the next Immortal King, isn't he?"
"He hasn't claimed the title yet! When will we finally have our third Immortal King?"
Andariel grumbled, her frustration spilling out. After Sescheron's reconstruction, Bul-Kathos was meant to become the new Immortal King, but no one expected Malthael's sudden appearance on Harrogath.
Mardoc waved off the topic, done with it. He'd made his decision and called out Bul-Kathos' name.
A shimmering blue portal opened, and Bul-Kathos stepped onto the Sacred Mountain in a single stride.
"Mardoc, what's the matter?"
Bul-Kathos held a booklet too small for his massive hands, his deep voice devoid of emotion.
Hearing Mardoc's call, he'd come immediately.
The ancestors only summoned him when absolutely necessary, or he'd notice them on his own time.
"Did you sense Baal's aura on Andariel back then?"
Mardoc's rare seriousness underscored the gravity of the question.
Hell Lord matters were no laughing matter, even for him.
"Baal? I was busy strangling a demon. Didn't pay much attention to Andariel."
Bul-Kathos furrowed his thick brows, thinking back.
When Andariel returned to the mortal realm, she'd swiftly shed her rage-forged form and returned to the Sacred Mountain.
"But Baal showing up in this world? Impossible. The Dark Soulstone was fully absorbed by Malthael. Even if Baal's soul lingers, it wouldn't follow us here."
Bul-Kathos made his judgment.
No fragments of the Dark Soulstone had appeared on Harrogath, and Malthael wouldn't let a demon's soul slip his grasp.
The Angel of Death, above all, despised demons. Even if he couldn't destroy a Hell Lord embodying a cosmic rule, he'd never allow one to roam free.
"I thought so too, but that aura—unique to Destruction—I can't imagine it belonging to anyone but Baal."
Mardoc's words prompted a nod from Bul-Kathos.
Destruction, as a rule, hadn't manifested in this world's Hell.
Neither Satan nor the others wielded a rule on par with Destruction.
Embodiments of rules held the potential to reach the pinnacle of power, but not all rules were suited for battle.
Take Belial, the unlucky Lord of Lies. His rule could blur truth and illusion, but in direct combat, he'd fare worse than the Throat-Chokers in the ancestors' secret realms.
That didn't mean Throat-Chokers outclassed the Lord of Lies. Belial simply wasn't built for fighting.
"I'll keep an eye out. By the way, you lot need to return my car."
Bul-Kathos shook his head, pushing thoughts of Baal aside. He'd stay vigilant, but there was no rush.
He'd memorized the traffic rules and was ready for Coulson to arrange his driver's license.
But driving required a car, and he had no interest in forging a new one.
Buying one? Out of the question.
To Bul-Kathos, his creations were the best. Why settle for an inferior product made by someone else?
If not for the primal legends empowering his gear, he'd have reforged every piece of legendary equipment himself.
Even if he replicated them perfectly, the original legends imbued in the gear couldn't be reproduced.
A copy would only be a close approximation.
"Your car's probably at the bottom of the western cliffs. After Rasuk lost the fight for driving rights, he started building his own. It's nearly done, so take yours back."
Mardoc slipped back into his usual playful demeanor, dragging Andariel toward the Elders' Temple.
He planned to mention this to Volusk, the former Immortal King. The old man was idle anyway—better he discuss it with Bul-Kathos.
If living barbarians could still become prophets, they wouldn't be living such aimless, leisurely days.
As souls on Harrogath, the ancestors had lost the Nephalem bloodline that pulsed through living flesh.
They could no longer grow stronger.
(Chapter End)
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