"You've betrayed my trust."
Obadiah crouched in his hidden factory, voice like gravel as he berated the scientists. He had Tony's escape suit—now he demanded a replica.
"We can't replicate the power source. The tech…"
The lead researcher faltered. It was useless.
"You have unlimited resources and still fail where Tony succeeded in a cave with scraps."
Deep furrows etched Obadiah's bald scalp. He was no longer young.
"Stark is a genius. We're not."
Anger simmered beneath the admission. Few scientists rivaled Tony Stark.
"Keep working. I'll handle the power."
Obadiah's bloated frame radiated chilling resolve. He knew Tony's brilliance—Stark Industries was built on it. But genius wasn't his path.
Cunning. Ruthlessness. Decisiveness. Greed.
In this country, those traits could catapult a man to the top. Hitch your wagon to a genius, and you ride the wave forever.
Tony's shutdown of weapons R&D had lit a fuse. Obadiah wouldn't let a "child" destroy everything he'd bled for—even if it killed the golden goose.
"Boss, Tony's Iron Man flew today. You see it?"
His earpiece crackled. Obadiah's mood soured further.
"I'll look."
The words scraped out like broken glass. He stormed from the factory.
If they couldn't build it, they'd steal it.
…
Snow drifted over Harrogath's sacred peak. Bul-Kathos watched Rorschach, a rare sigh escaping him.
Rorschach craved truth. Bul-Kathos craved the memories wiped clean.
Not yet.
"Justice is never as simple as you imagine."
His booming voice dropped to a murmur.
Tyrael, Archangel of Justice.
A towering, radiant figure.
Stubborn as any archangel.
How could embodied rules ever be flawless?
Tyrael's justice, Imperius's courage—both tarnished long ago.
To barbarians, Tyrael was an enemy.
"I want the truth."
Rorschach stepped forward—first time initiating. Until now, he'd followed silently, accepting Bul-Kathos's sparse explanations without question.
"Don't fob me off with 'you'll know when the time comes.' Everything you've done screams intent."
He'd seen enough to judge.
Bul-Kathos lifted his gaze, eyes flickering with rare uncertainty. A wavering barbarian was unheard of.
"You're afraid."
A pause. Slow words.
A cowering Rorschach unsettled him. He hadn't mentioned the Seven Demon Kings.
"Yes. Everything you do is dangerous. Uncontrollable."
Bruce Wayne observed from afar, close enough to hear.
"No one gives without reason. Barbarians aren't saints weeping for the wretched. Like that dream—we don't scatter kindness freely."
Rorschach's resolve was iron. Barbarians were justice's enforcers, courage incarnate. They didn't mourn disasters; they marched to war.
He stood rooted, statue-still, until truth came.
Harrogath's visions stirred more in him than Rumlow's crew. Heroes fighting to survive? That didn't convince Rorschach.
Raw battle footage meant nothing.
Fear stems from the unknown. He couldn't grasp Bul-Kathos's power.
"I don't remember."
Bul-Kathos swigged from his flask, boredom creeping in. He'd once shared those fears—then stopped caring.
Endless battles. Death's shadow.
Overthinking invited doom.
Rorschach stared silently.
"I'm curious too."
Wayne joined Rorschach's side—the one he'd spoken with most.
"Wayne!"
Korlic strode over, clamping Wayne's shoulder to drag him away.
The three ancestors knew most of Bul-Kathos's life. But the secret only he and Volusk shared? They knew it existed. Nothing more.
Barbarians didn't pry. No value in it.
Like Vidala never asking Leiko about lost love.
Wayne seized Korlic's thick wrist. He couldn't stop him—but defiance mattered.
His eyes burned. Grateful for power, yet unable to accept it blindly.
"If you want your 'truth,' enter the trials! That's all I remember."
Bul-Kathos rose, striding toward the Elders' Temple. Back straight, unbothered by doubt.
Wasting time on mutual frustration was pointless. Better to gaze at the azure sky.
"Korlic. Tell me what you know."
Wayne turned, grip tight on Korlic's wrist.
Cassius watched with a sneer. No one forced a barbarian.
"Who do you think you are?"
Korlic released Wayne, crossing massive arms. Mild compared to Madawc's fists—at least he wouldn't strike for questioning Bul-Kathos.
"I just want truth. Per Rumlow, this chance came too easy."
Wayne's gaze didn't waver. Compromise wasn't only for barbarians.
Korlic's beard quivered. What could he say?
Tell these recruits—who couldn't beat a demon legion—they'd soon face nightmares beyond imagination?
"You think this was easy?"
A bitter laugh.
Climbing the peak in one burst? The mountain's test was light.
Earning ancestor approval? Not so much.
Old General Qual-Kehk still lurked on the mountain.
In their old world, countless aspired to barbarianhood yearly—without this shortcut.
Bypassing Qual-Kehk's training was the barbarians' gift to this world.
Harrogath's arrival wasn't crashing an empty house.
Most kin pulverized by Massayir's descent had only Qual-Kehk's guidance.
"Rorschach. Wayne. Follow me."
Korlic eyed them deeply, heading for the gate.
As gatekeeper, he could show remnants of the Seven Evils' power.
Like Andariel's hell-dreams—glimpses that seared the soul.
He hated trouble. Let these doubters see what awaited. They'd learn in trials anyway—better early, to strengthen with purpose.
Rorschach glanced at Bul-Kathos's retreating back, unmoving. Nonviolent resistance—his stubbornness.
Wayne tugged his arm. Korlic hoisted Rorschach by the belt like a chick.
They marched to the gate.
(End of Chapter)