"Awaken from this lightless world. I can only hope it is still a world you find worthy of your trust."
Bul-Kathos stood before the Nephalem Obelisk, his voice low as he recited the words.
It wasn't a formal incantation—it was merely the traditional greeting used to stir the soul of an ancient Nephalem from its slumber. In truth, one could achieve the same effect by asking a simple, "Have you eaten?" but that lacked the gravity the moment demanded.
At this site, solemnity was a requirement.
As his voice faded, a solitary, distinct stone pillar began to pulse with a faint, ethereal glow. Slowly, a shimmering, translucent figure materialized, drifting in the air.
"It feels as though it has been quite some time since we last met, my friend."
The spirit was Orek.
No one knew what class Orek had belonged to in life, or where he had been born. When he first awoke, his words had been etched in mystery:
"Only the most powerful Nephalem may enter these rifts, and only they may rouse me from my sleep."
"I have remained silent in the darkness for many years, waiting for your arrival. But you are different from your ancestors, aren't you?"
Bul-Kathos wondered who the very first person to wake Orek had been. He knew that, at the time of his own first encounter with the spirit, he had been far from "the most powerful," even if his strength had already been formidable.
Though Orek's words sounded familiar, his tone remained as cold as ice, devoid of any true warmth.
"Orek, are you still unwilling to tell me who it was that first awakened you?" Bul-Kathos asked, his gaze fixed on the specter.
The flickering soul did not waver under the overwhelming pressure of Mount Arreat. Orek was not a Barbarian, but he was perhaps even more ancient than their lineage. Bul-Kathos hadn't summoned him out of boredom; he needed the help of a specific soul, and Orek was the only conduit to reach that individual.
"Bul-Kathos, why does this question still haunt you?" Orek countered. "Are the Rifts I provide not enough to hone your skills? Have they not sated your curiosity?"
While the Rifts Orek controlled were no longer the only path to power on Mount Arreat, they remained unique. They represented the pinnacle of combat—finer techniques and far more devastating enemies.
Orek clearly had no intention of providing a straight answer. But Bul-Kathos intended to get one, even if he had to resort to "Barbarian methods."
"Orek, we are now capable of opening Rifts ourselves. I have earned the right to know the truth," Bul-Kathos said, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes narrowed. "Furthermore, we have never been as stingy as you. You only ever showed the Rifts to those you deemed 'strong enough.'"
Dissatisfaction radiated from Bul-Kathos. His body tensed, looking as though he might draw his blades and strike at the spirit's head at any moment. The time for small talk was over.
"I know," Orek replied, meeting Bul-Kathos's gaze. For a fleeting second, a flash of intense emotion flickered in the spirit's eyes. He was well aware of the Rifts the Barbarians had opened on the mountain. "I have seen you send those little ones—weaklings who are no better than ants—into the Rifts. I watched them struggle against their flaws, overcome them, and walk out with joy in their hearts."
Orek paused, his voice hardening. "But your way is wrong. Do you truly believe the shadows in the Rifts are lesser than the Great Evils themselves? They are not. Those shadows are often stronger than the demons they mimic. But a Rift is, ultimately, a place for training."
Orek continued to deflect, trying to steer the conversation away from the original question.
"Zoltun Kulle?" Bul-Kathos cut him off, speaking the name directly.
He had long suspected the identity of the one who first woke Orek. At that time, only Zoltun Kulle could have laid claim to the title of the most powerful Nephalem.
Kulle was a man of terrifying intellect—a Wizard who had uniquely fused his bloodline with forbidden knowledge. He wasn't a "villain" in the traditional sense; he was simply a man who would stop at nothing to force humanity to awaken, wanting the Nephalem to become gods that stood above both Angels and Demons.
It was for this reason that the Horadrim had exhausted every resource to dismember him, seal him away, and hide his remains within various secret realms.
Why would the Horadrim go to such lengths to dispose of one of their own? Because once summoned, Zoltun Kulle had a habit of telling the Nephalem the truths they weren't meant to hear.
During Bul-Kathos's travels through Sanctuary, many had told him what to do—kill this demon, save that person. But only Zoltun Kulle had consistently offered advice, even if it was always delivered with a biting, sarcastic edge.
As Kulle once told him: the Nephalem were merely tools being used by everyone else. Everyone had an agenda.
"You may keep guessing," Orek said, his form trembling slightly. "But the answer will not come from my lips."
Bul-Kathos watched him, sensing he was close to the truth. Zoltun Kulle was a master of infinite wisdom and magic, yet when he was finally "defeated," he had seemed strangely fragile. Even setting aside the fact that Bul-Kathos hadn't used his full strength then, even Kormac had been confused. How could a being whispered to be as powerful as the Seven Lords of Hell fall so easily?
Was it really just because he had just been resurrected? Or was there a deeper connection between Kulle and Orek?
"What is Kulle's goal? And what is his connection to Rathma?" Bul-Kathos demanded.
This wasn't the question Orek refused to answer, and Orek was likely the only being who knew. Vorusk and Reakor certainly didn't have the answers. Zoltun Kulle had existed even before Kanai. Even now, few believed he was truly gone.
"You already know his goal," Orek said calmly, as if telling a bedtime story. "To make the Nephalem gods. To stand above Heaven and Hell."
"That's it?" Bul-Kathos asked, skeptical. It didn't sound like a conspiracy; it sounded like a grand ambition. But surely that wasn't enough for the Horadrim to tear him apart.
"'That's it'?" Orek repeated, his eyes flashing with irritation, as if looking at an immature child. "You use those words to describe an act that defied the will of the High Heavens and drew the undiluted malice of the Burning Hells?"
"I am a victor, and I lead them. I have the strength to back my words!"
Bul-Kathos unleashed his power—not in a destructive wave, but in a controlled, suffocating aura. He was showing this ancient spirit exactly what he had become.
He had crushed the souls of Azmodan and Duriel. He had absorbed the essence of the Archangel of Valor. He had gained the power to devour his spoils of war and had been gifted with time itself.
He was the strongest. It was time for this old ghost to realize that.
"Now," Bul-Kathos growled, his voice vibrating with power. "Am I qualified?"
He needed the truth. He wanted Zoltun Kulle's soul to crawl out of whatever corner it was hiding in and provide answers.
"Perhaps you are the most powerful," Orek said, his voice tinged with mockery. "But are you still a Nephalem, Bul-Kathos?"
Bul-Kathos didn't care for such philosophical quandaries. What he was, and what he wasn't, was decided by his own will and nothing else.
"The fact that you call me 'Bul-Kathos' means you shouldn't have to ask. Now, one last time: Where is Zoltun Kulle?"
Bul-Kathos's hand shifted to the hilt of his weapon. A soul could be killed. And in that death, there was a different kind of freedom—be it for the righteous or the wicked.
"I once told you that in time, you would understand," Orek said. Behind him, the Nephalem Obelisk began to glow with a warm, golden light. "Do you understand now, Bul-Kathos?"
A golden portal coalesced from swirling motes of light. Slowly, the soul of a tall, imposing Wizard stepped through. A dense, overwhelming aura of magical power flooded Mount Arreat. It was the kind of power that came from ancient, bottomless knowledge—the kind of "weight" you only truly felt when he slammed his staff into you.
"Zoltun Kulle! How much longer were you planning to hide?" Bul-Kathos drew his blade, pointing the tip directly between Kulle's eyes. "Were you waiting for the day I became a ghost haunting this mountain myself?"
Kulle responded with that same frivolous, grating tone that Bul-Kathos remembered so well.
"No, no, no, Bul-Kathos. You must realize that a soul as fractured as yours—nearly split in two—could never truly remain on Mount Arreat."
Kulle waved a hand, closing the portal behind him. He walked forward, completely ignoring the blade at his throat. As he moved, the weapon—stained with the blood of countless demons—began to crumble into sand, dissipating before it could touch him.
By the time Kulle stood face-to-face with the Barbarian King, the sword was gone.
"An amusing trick," Kulle smiled. "You seem to have known I would show myself."
The weapon hadn't been a legendary artifact, just a common longsword. Had it been anything of value, even Kulle wouldn't have destroyed it so casually.
"So," Bul-Kathos said mockingly. "The great Zoltun Kulle, who knows so much yet says so little. Do you have any new advice for me?"
Note:
Hello everyone!!
I want to send my warmest New Year wishes to all of you. May the new year bring you all your wishes, along with good health and countless joyful moments with your loved ones!
Holiday Announcement:
To rest and spend time with my family, I will be taking a Lunar New Year holiday from February 15th to February 22nd, 2026. I will officially return on February 23rd.
During my break, I will focus on translating more new chapters so that when the holiday ends, I can release chapters regularly for you all!
Thank you so much for your continued support.
Happy Lunar New Year!