"Should we send these two kids over too?"
Orongus asked Cassius, with Hawkeye and Natasha standing behind them.
"You think these two can compare to those guys?"
Cassius pointed at Rorschach and Wayne.
The most talented recruit right now was Rorschach, followed by Wayne and Matthew at about the same level.
The rest were unremarkable.
Except for Jessica, who was always teased by Orak—otherwise, no one stood out.
"At worst, I'll go find Tarik and have him do it again."
Orongus turned to look at Hawkeye and Natasha.
"Kid, what did you gain from holding back? Spill it—make me happy too."
Hawkeye looked embarrassed at Orongus's words.
"I promised him two months' pay."
Natasha answered directly, bold and unashamed.
"And you? Just for five bottles of booze?"
Orongus walked ahead, tone flat.
Cassius grinned, keeping pace without closing in.
"Yeah, five bottles can buy me."
He flexed his fingers, ready for a fight.
"You really can't let me go?"
Orongus stopped and turned.
He ignored Hawkeye for now.
"We're too close. Unless you give me five more bottles, I'll let you walk fifty steps."
Cassius bared his fangs in a laugh.
"Believe I'll borrow Earth's power from Bul-Kathos?"
Veins bulged on Orongus's forehead.
"Bul-Kathos might not lend it, and even if he did, I ain't scared."
Cassius patted his massive belt.
"Cassius's Pride! Pfft!"
Orongus grumbled. His legend became a barbarian talent; the ancestors knew well.
Best to fight up close.
"Believe I'll trade the Tribal Blade for Earth's power from Bul-Kathos?"
"Of course, but would you?"
Cassius rubbed the belt scornfully.
He struck a fighting stance. Even if Orongus borrowed the Earth set later, this beating was inevitable.
"XXXX!"
Orongus hurled a massive flaming boulder at Cassius, like a small mountain crashing down.
Cassius roared, drew back his right fist, and swung a hook.
The whoosh rivaled Orak's Crush.
Ignore Pain activated; raw power split the boulder in two.
Cassius stood unmoved, brushing dust away—his hand bones twisted.
Orongus's throw wounded him badly but couldn't stop him.
Pain meant nothing to Cassius.
His main foe was Andariel, Queen of Torment, corrupting wills with agony. He couldn't win but entangled her best.
His Ignore Pain baffled the pain incarnate.
Andariel nearly celebrated his death with a feast.
"Got anything new? Otherwise, get ready for a beating!"
Cassius laughed wildly amid rubble, unbothered by debris.
When vision cleared, Orongus had fled—a leaping shadow far off.
Cassius gaped, tongue visible in glee.
Then his smile faded to loss.
"Always running. I can't even hold back properly."
He muttered.
From initial chaos flipping Orongus to bribing Hawkeye and Natasha—it was all planned.
He thought this time Orongus could vanish without regret.
Thousands of years—too long.
Maddeningly long.
"Looks like we didn't help much."
Hawkeye said seriously.
The day before the duel, Cassius had sought him to stage the act.
"But the ancestors are fun."
Natasha patted Cassius's thick arm. He helplessly handed her a bottle of Bul-Kathos's reserve.
Agreed payment.
"We're fun? That's kinda hurtful."
Orongus was at the holy mountain gate.
In hand: Tribal Blade and Looter's Boots.
Tribal Blade triggered Avalanche and Earthquake with every War Cry. Looter's Boots allowed Leap to chain thrice. Paired with Earth set—devastating.
Chained Leaps got him to the gate faster than Korlic.
He sensed Cassius's plan, as Cassius knew him.
Five bottles was high stakes; Cassius wanted him to strike first, even bribing the pair to act.
But Orongus refused to fade like that.
"Orongus, you still don't want to leave."
Madoc sat cross-legged at the gate, head tilted, one eye closed, watching dejected Orongus.
"Shut it, kid! My business ain't yours to judge!"
Orongus barked, mood sour.
"Escaped Cassius's thrashing and now itching? Want me to loosen you up for him?"
Madoc snapped.
Younger than ancestors like Orongus, but the Three were top-tier after Bul-Kathos's banners in power.
"Open the gate! Doorman! Korlic's bringing Rorschach and Wayne!"
Orongus tried spitting but swallowed under Madoc's Sorrow.
Last barbarian to spit at the gate got strung up and beaten badly.
Yeah, that was him.
Madoc saw the swallow and sheathed his Sorrow.
"More boring doubts? When have we schemed? These guys..."
"Enough, Madoc. To this world, we're strangers. Don't expect instant trust."
Tarik pressed Madoc's shoulder, voice profound.
"Like someone nice for no reason—what'd you think?"
"I'd think they want in my pants, then knock out their teeth."
Madoc growled.
"I know opinions don't matter, but this is Harrogath."
"It's another world. No need. Even if they did, you'd take advantage first."
Tarik eyed distant Korlic, teasing Madoc.
"I'm a seer."
"Were, when alive."
As Tarik and Madoc talked, Korlic arrived.
"Start. Dispel the kids' doubts."
Korlic placed hand on gate, nodding at the others.
"Tarik, narrate."
Madoc added his hand.
"Knew you'd dump it on me."
Tarik joined; ethereal blue light flashed on the ancient gate.
Then Tarik, Rorschach, and others appeared in a special place.
Holy mountain's memory.
Miracle of the Three: like a film—rewind, fast-forward, pause.
"When they exit, doubts should end. It's 'real' in there."
Madoc withdrew; power activated—Tarik's turn now.
"Maybe not. Wayne's scheming. Rorschach too."
Korlic squatted, playing with snow, wishing to petrify and think nothing.
"I liked this world for human innocence. But the Seven followed—that'll doom them."
Petrification eased the Three's pain least—escaping time's boredom.
But not now.
Alien world full of unknowns, no other Nephalem allies.
He acted as guardian and gatekeeper first.
"Doubt the Seven's reality? Anyone seeing such rules wouldn't."
Madoc shoveled snow sadly, planning a snowman.
"As you said, you're a seer. They're not. Needs time."
Korlic smashed a huge snowball on Madoc, burying him.
"Until they watch kin corrupted to demons?"
Madoc crawled out helplessly, shoveling elsewhere for a giant self-snowman.
"Bul-Kathos is reliable."
"But one can't guard a world."
...
"What is this?"
Rorschach's face thawed.
Wayne scanned warily.
"The truth you want."
Tarik eyed the gray haze nostalgically.
Environment recreated Sanctuary's intensity—hard ground, omnipresent pressure excited him.
"Except Rorschach, others chosen to fight these."
Tarik watched horizon dust rise.
"Fight what? Secret realm demons?"
Wayne readied hand axe, following Tarik's gaze.
Rorschach silent but prepared.
"Those you met? Bugs before these. Looks similar, maybe."
Tarik drew Proof of Shame.
"Feel real demon hordes—Azmodan's troops. You're immortal here. Kill one Bristle Rat, end early."
Tarik stood, awaiting impact.
Killing one here? Impossible for Rorschach and Wayne.
Hell lords' mains—not fragile realm demons.
Azmodan's army: elite, powerful, disciplined.
One champion per six demons, elite per thirty.
War beasts like Gluttons.
Realms gradual; here, Hell Seven's grandeur.
Ends when Azmodan appears.
Their immortality tied to Tarik.
Soul Three could crush this half-strength illusion.
Alive, one could solo under Harrogath.
But dead now.
Soul Tarik could tangle half-strength lord, like Cassius with Andariel.
Just to show skeptical recruits the real threat—no full fight.
"Azmodan."
Rorschach murmured the name.
"Hell's top commander. Eternal War: crushed angel legions repeatedly. Imperius charged alone like me to turn tides.
Sometimes with Tyrael clearing path."
Tarik glanced at Rorschach on Tyrael.
Justice's favored: stubbornly unimaginable.
"Kill one Bristle Rat? End early?"
Wayne sensed trouble.
"Death hurt here?"
Rorschach calm.
"Like real death. But respite after—no seamless revives."
Tarik raised Proof of Shame sideways, spotting front Thumper's leg scars.
Rorschach holstered axe—no fight.
Tarik said: ants here.
Experience death, get "truth"—purpose.
Resistance futile.
Wayne would try—no death taste.
"Ha!"
"Xia!"
Tarik bellowed two cries; shockwaves rippled.
Ground stones flew.
Rorschach and Matthew blown over.
Tarik controlled it.
Distant horde filled sight—no edges, no end.
"These coming to our world?"
Rorschach muttered, blue wings faintly emerging.
Anger brewing.
"Wish I knew nothing."
Wayne forced lightness, gripping axe, staring approach.
"Power without cause? We shun schemes—plotters easy for Azmodan, Belial corruption.
No heart-flawed on holy mountain."
Tarik casual—no barbarian misunderstandings.
He charged horde, Proof of Shame carving deep furrow.
Leap: Ariat's Call!
Tarik cannonballed into demons.
Chosen spot: tough-bodied around.
Shockwave yanked thousands meters toward him.
Ariat's rune: gather, efficient kill.
"Ha!"
Roar swung broken greatsword—bone-chilling cold!
Cleave: Blizzard!
Ice crystals on contact.
Crisp cracks—circle demons bisected, cuts frozen, lava blood unmelted.
Proof of Shame: higher damage low rage. Tarik rage master—endurance legend!
Cleave built rage, big skills spent; Bloodthirst talent rage fade healed.
Battlefield meat grinder.
Mastered all Cleave runes: frost, fire, lightning—any scenario.
Rage builders done—big releases!
Light hop, matchbox high.
Impact like meteor—worse shock than Leap!
Three km ground sank half-meter, dust rose, roared away!
Earthquake: Heaven Falls!
Edge shock reversed, fragile demons shredded, hot blood/limbs drenched Tarik.
Strong staggered to him.
Cleave: Endless Sweep!
Lightning wrapped Proof, slashed all.
Currents netted, jumping demons.
Stiffened for second Cleave doom.
Electric sword cleared; blood crusted hard shell.
Whirlwind: Hurricane!
Gathered swept cold wind, filling gaps.
Endless Cleave-Whirlwind loop.
Three seconds: none survived!
"Die!"
Tarik leaped to next cluster.
Battle just began!
Wayne and Rorschach sweated at cleared space.
Splattered blood: terror energy.
Drop on Rorschach's foot: fear like hundreds zombies in realm.
One drop > hundreds low zombies!
"Wa!"
Demon shout—unknown, but encircling clear.
Tarik immortal—they wouldn't die fully.
Their turn.
Tarik's roars, mass deaths: ancestors' joking power real.
(Chapter End)
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