Diablo Chronicles Episode 13: The Wounds Left After the Worldstone's Demise

This is a fan narrative rewritten based on the events of the original game. Character emotions, dialogue, and scene atmospheres have been reconstructed, and it includes major spoilers.

Scattered Shards and Anxiety After the Destruction of the Worldstone

The echoes left by the explosion of Mount Arreat seemed to have torn the skies of Sanctuary forever. Ever since the day Tyrael's sword shattered the corrupted Worldstone, people feared the night sky. Where starlight once shone, blood-red burning shards now fell, trailing tails of fire. It was not salvation, but the prelude to a new calamity.

The shards of the Worldstone, flung from the site where the massive mountain range collapsed, scattered across the continent. The forests and fields where the fragments crashed lost their vitality overnight and began to rot. The soil turned black, and once-clear rivers transformed into foul-smelling mires of mud. The very laws of nature were being shaken to their roots.

On the outskirts of a nameless small village, a stone emitting a crimson glow fell. Startled by the tremors that shook the earth all night, the residents rushed out only to witness a pulsating shard in the center of a crater. The energy emanating from the stone choked the breath out of people, and even the sturdiest young man collapsed, suffering from an inexplicable high fever.

The village elder gathered the townspeople and built a fence around the shard to prevent anyone from approaching. However, as the night deepened, the crimson light grew even more vivid, piercing into the darkest corners of people's minds. Some screamed into the empty air, hallucinating, while others, consumed by baseless rage, threw punches at their neighbors.

Their peaceful daily lives crumbled like sandcastles before the ruins of the Worldstone. Children wailed from nightmares every night, and livestock broke through their pens to flee into the woods. Though the people had cheered at the news of Baal's army retreating, the reality they now faced was a world ruled by an invisible terror.

The energy emitted by the shards did not merely gnaw at people's minds. The beasts that had fled into the forest began to roam around the village a few days later, hideously mutated. Whenever the howling of wolves with glowing red eyes pierced the night air, the residents locked their doors and trembled in silence.

Sanctuary, which the heroes had risked their lives to protect, appeared intact on the surface but was festering deeply within. With the destruction of the Worldstone, which held the power of creation, the remnants of chaos dwelling inside it were unleashed upon the world without filter. People now had to fight not against demonic legions, but against the collapse of the world itself.

Looking up at the meteor shower streaking across the sky, the village elder let out a deep sigh. Even the worn amulet of Akarat he clutched offered no comfort in the face of this new despair. Every living creature in Sanctuary was now destined to carry on a precarious survival upon the massive wound left behind by the vanished Worldstone.

The Threat of Demons Coveting the Power of the Shards

The immense power of the Worldstone shards quickly drew in those who lurked in the dark shadows of Sanctuary. The remnants of the demonic forces, scattered after Baal's defeat, instinctively gathered where the crimson light pulsated. To them, the shards were the perfect tool to reclaim their lost power and ravage the world once more.

Deep within the Dark Wood, corrupted cultists sat in a circle around a massive shard, chanting bizarre incantations. Calling themselves the Cult of Terror who worshiped Skarn, they willingly embraced the chaotic magic flowing from the fragment. The cultists' eyes were stained with a turbid, blood-red hue that was far from human.

As the incantation reached its climax, a crimson mist erupting from the shard enveloped the cultists. Horrific sounds of tearing skin and twisting bones filled the forest. Painful screams soon turned into bestial roars, and ordinary humans were instantly mutated into hideous, demonic entities with grotesque horns and razor-sharp claws.

The fully mutated monsters turned their hungry gazes toward the nearest human settlement. A village guard, keeping watch through the night with only a single torch, was struck with horror as he spotted the bizarre horde pouring out of the forest. Before he could urgently ring the alarm bell, sharp claws ruthlessly tore his throat open.

The peaceful village instantly turned into a chaotic living hell. Woken from their slumber, the residents fought back desperately with scythes and pitchforks, but the skin of the monsters, empowered by the shard, could not be pierced by ordinary weapons. Houses were engulfed in flames, and the desperate screams of the people scattered into the rising smoke.

The monsters did not stop at merely harming the people; they sought to plant a small shard right in the center of the village. They moved with the horrific purpose of assimilating all of Sanctuary into a part of Hell. The moment the shard touched the ground, the surrounding soil scorched black, and the toxic miasma of Hell contaminated the village's wells and food supplies.

The few surviving residents had no choice but to flee, leaving their burning homeland behind. Barely packing any belongings, they led their children by the hand onto the rugged mountain paths. Looking back, the village was already shrouded in a crimson mist, transformed into a den of demons. Even in a world where the Prime Evils had vanished, the threat of Hell remained.

This dreadful news spread across Sanctuary on the wind. Rumors that cultists were rampant and demons were resurrecting wherever the shards fell planted deep terror in the hearts of the people. The peace brought by the destruction of the Worldstone was far too brief, and the inhabitants of Sanctuary were once again forced into a bloody struggle for survival.

The Realization of the Horadrim and the Hero's Cooperation

In a worn hideout on the outskirts of Wortham, Deckard Cain was leafing through thick, ancient tomes by the light of a candle. In the center of his desk lay a small shard of the Worldstone brought by adventurers a few days prior. The faint crimson energy emanating from the stone cast long, ominous shadows across Cain's wrinkled face.

Cain carefully reached his hand out toward the shard. The moment his fingertips touched it, visions of chaos rushed into his mind alongside the painful screams of thousands. He gasped for air and hastily pulled his hand back. A deep fear flickered in the old scholar's eyes. The destructive power contained within this single small fragment was beyond imagination.

"This is no mere stone," Cain spoke in a heavy voice to the hero who had just opened the door and entered. "It is a crystal forged from the corruption of the power of creation. If these shards fall into the hands of the wicked, a calamity far more horrific than anything Baal intended will sweep over Sanctuary." The hero nodded with a grim expression.

Cain unfolded a map and pointed to several locations marked in red ink. "The shards have already scattered across the entire continent. The cultists are trying to gather them to resurrect the Prime Evils. In particular, rumors are spreading that a forgotten Herald of Terror is gathering forces in the darkness." Cain's finger hovered near Westmarch.

As the last surviving member of the Horadrim, Cain felt the crushing weight of the burden he carried. He wanted to believe that Tyrael's choice had been correct, but the shard lying before him constantly tested that faith. "We must find the shards first and seal or destroy their power. There is no other choice."

The hero gripped the hilt of their sword tightly, hardening their resolve. They had thought all fighting was over when they struck down Baal at Mount Arreat, but destiny allowed them no rest. The hero asked Cain how they could track the shards. Cain pulled out a faded Horadric relic and carefully placed it in the hero's hand.

"This compass will react to the magical energy of the shards and guide your way," Cain said, his voice laced with urgency. "There is no time. We must retrieve the shards before the cultists' rituals are complete. Once again, the fate of Sanctuary rests upon your shoulders." The hero silently took the relic and stepped out into the gathering darkness.

Left alone after the door closed, Cain stared at the shard once more. The crimson light flickered fitfully against his tired eyes. He let out a deep sigh as he thought of the safety of his niece, Leah. Praying that this cursed legacy would not swallow up the young child's future, the old scholar began to study ways to destroy the shards as the night wore on.

The Battle to Protect a Wounded Westmarch

The space before the massive gates of Westmarch was packed to the brim with a procession of refugees. Those who had fled their homelands to escape the monsters driven mad by the power of the shards showed clear signs of exhaustion from hunger and fear. Deep fatigue and tension also hung on the faces of the guards keeping watch atop the walls. The city was like a massive pressure cooker of anxiety.

As the hero pushed through the crowds and entered the city, the dark underbelly of the once-splendid Westmarch was laid bare. Wounded soldiers groaned in every alleyway, and in the plazas, paladins were frantically searching for cultist spies. The air was thick with a mixture of sweat, blood, and heavy despair.

Just then, a loud explosion accompanied by screams erupted from the slums on the outskirts of the city. Cultists who had infiltrated through the sewers had unleashed the power of a hidden shard. As the ground split open and beasts bearing crimson organs poured out, the streets instantly transformed into a chaotic mess of blood and screams. The hero drew their sword.

Without hesitation, the hero charged into the horde of beasts. A sharp arc of sword energy sliced through the air, severing the head of the lead monster. Dark red blood soaked the ground, but the monsters rushed forward madly, devoid of any fear of death. The soldiers of Westmarch also gripped their spears and shields tightly, establishing a desperate defensive line alongside the hero.

The battle was fierce and brutal. The magical power of the shard regenerated the monsters' wounds in an instant, and the soldiers gradually hit their physical limits, falling one by one. The hero deflected a beast's claws with their shield, seized an opening, and pierced its heart. Only heavy breathing and the clashing of metal filled the chaotic alleys of the slums.

A cultist priest emerged from the darkness, raising a crimson shard and chanting a curse. As blood-red lightning arced from the shard and struck the defensive line, soldiers screamed and were thrown backward. Suppressing the pain, the hero leaped toward the priest. As the flashing blade pierced the priest's chest, the red lightning vanished as if it had been an illusion.

As the priest collapsed and dropped the shard, the monsters lost their coordination, milling about in confusion before being swept away and cut down by the soldiers' counterattack. Only a grim silence remained on the blood-soaked street. The battered soldiers supported one another, gasping for breath. The hero slowly picked up the shard rolling on the ground, shivering at its cold touch.

Though the people of Westmarch fought desperately to protect their wounded city, an indelible fear was etched into their eyes. Everyone knew they had merely survived today, and that an even greater threat might arrive tomorrow. The hero silently stowed the shard away, turning their gaze toward the source of this endless conflict.

Skarn, Plotting the Resurrection of Diablo

Deep within the Realm of Damnation, upon a throne of boiling lava and bones, Skarn, the Herald of Terror, held dominion. His massive horns and burning eyes resembled the deepest abysses of Hell. Looking down at the cultists prostrated at his feet, Skarn let out a satisfied laugh in a low, bestial voice.

"I hear the foolish humans are gathering the shards of the Worldstone," Skarn's voice echoed ominously along the cavern walls. "They may believe they are saving Sanctuary, but in the end, they are merely building an altar for my master." He reached out, caressing the illusion of a massive Worldstone shard floating in the air.

Skarn's objective was clear. He sought to gather the scattered shards of the Worldstone and harness the immense magic of creation and chaos dwelling within them. With that power, it was possible to summon the essence of Diablo, who had perished at Mount Arreat, back to Sanctuary. If the Lord of Terror were resurrected, the High Heavens and Sanctuary would surely be engulfed in the flames of eternal suffering.

The captives dragged in by the cultist priests were flung onto the altar. With a ruthless gesture, Skarn signaled the start of the ritual. As the priests took the blood of the captives with sharp daggers and splattered it over the shard, the stone pulsated, emitting horrific screams. The souls of the victims were sucked into the shard, causing the crimson light to burn even more intensely.

The hero, scouting from the shadows, watched this horrific ritual with bated breath. The sight of the shard absorbing human life force and souls to convert them into demonic energy was sickeningly brutal. The power Skarn possessed went beyond mere physical might; it was a malevolent will itself, twisting the very foundations of Sanctuary. The hero clenched their fists.

Suddenly, Skarn turned his head toward the darkness where the hero was hiding. "A rat has slipped in," a cruel smile spread across his lips. With a flick of Skarn's wrist, the shadows around the altar squirmed in unison, rising into grotesque demonic shapes. Sensing they had been discovered, the hero immediately drew their weapon and assumed a defensive stance.

The shadow demons lunged from all directions with sharp claws bared. The hero swiftly dodged and swung their sword, cutting down the demons, but the overwhelming aura of terror emitted by Skarn choked their breath. The murderous intent radiating from the Herald of Diablo froze the hero to their very bones. This was unlike any battle they had faced before.

Instead of recklessly confronting him, the hero chose a tactical retreat. Clashing head-on with Skarn right now was nothing short of suicide. Throwing down a smoke screen and diving through a narrow crevice in the cavern, the hero ran desperately, hearing the roars of the pursuing demons behind them. To stop Skarn's horrific plan, they had to secure more shards first.

Choices and Sacrifices on the Journey to Gather the Shards

The hero's journey continued endlessly, crossing the Ashwold Cemetery, the miasma-filled Dark Wood, and the arid Shassar Sea. Without exception, the places where the shards had fallen had turned into lands of nightmare. The hero stopped in their tracks upon discovering a massive shard in the heart of a rotting ancient tree. They felt a heavy, crushing pressure in the surrounding air.

The guardians of the shard had once been forest spirits, but were now hideously twisted beasts. Thorny vines lashed out like whips, grazing the hero's armor. Deflecting the attacks with their shield, the hero thrust their sword between the beast's thick hide. Black sap spewed out as the beast shrieked in pain, yet the onslaught did not cease.

As the battle dragged on, the crimson mist emanating from the shard seeped into the hero's mind. Auditory hallucinations constantly whispered despair into their ears: 'Your fight is meaningless. The world is already over.' The hero shook their head violently to dispel the voices, but their exhausted body was slowly reaching its limit. With every breath, their lungs burned.

Felling the guardian with a final blow, the hero stumbled toward the shard. The moment they picked up the stone, a pain like tearing flesh accompanied a horrific vision flashing before their eyes: a burning Westmarch, Cain weeping tears of blood, and Skarn's mocking laughter. Gritting their teeth against the agony, the hero stuffed the shard into their pouch.

The process of gathering the shards was a continuous series of choices and sacrifices. In some villages, they had to fight and shed the blood of fanatical residents trying to protect the shards; in other places, they had to personally end the life of a companion who was being consumed by the shard's power. The hero's hands grew increasingly stained with blood, and the wounds in their heart were on the verge of bursting open.

Sitting before the camp's campfire, the hero stared blankly at the flames. They could feel the shards they had gathered pulsating ominously inside their pack. If they could not find a way to destroy these cursed stones, this journey might ultimately end up being nothing more than delivering the shards directly to Skarn. Overwhelmed by deep guilt and fear, the hero could not sleep.

The next morning, the hero gathered their weapons once more with bloodshot eyes. Giving up was not an option. It was clear that if they stopped, Sanctuary would be completely swallowed into the maw of Hell. Hardening their resolve, the hero set off, tracking the energy of the shards they had yet to retrieve. A desolate wind blew behind them, foretelling the arduous path ahead.

The silhouette of the hero, carrying the shards on their back, looked infinitely lonely and heavy. The remnants of the stone of creation were slowly destroying even the hero who had saved the world. Yet, they silently endured the pain, advancing toward the dark heart where Skarn's shadow loomed. This harsh journey, testing the limits of humanity, was the only hope to bring tomorrow's sun to Sanctuary.

The Decisive Battle with Skarn and the Uncontrollable Shards

The path leading to Skarn's stronghold in the center of the Realm of Damnation was paved with blood and bones. Cutting down the elite demons blocking their path one by one, the hero advanced toward the massive altar. There, the giant Worldstone shards gathered by Skarn floated, emitting an ominous resonant hum. The moment of the final showdown was finally at hand.

"So you have crawled all the way here, mortal," Skarn said, rising from his throne and raising a massive scythe. "How commendable of you to bring even the shards you gathered to offer to me." Hellfire erupting from Skarn's scythe surged toward the hero. The hero quickly rolled to avoid the flames, then charged fiercely toward Skarn's flank.

With every clash of sword and scythe, sparks flew in all directions alongside a deafening roar. The hero was pushed back by Skarn's overwhelming strength, but they refused to kneel. Analyzing Skarn's attack patterns, the hero relentlessly sought an opening. In the split second the scythe sliced through empty air, the hero's sword pierced Skarn's thick armor, drawing black blood.

Enraged, Skarn drew magic from the shards on the altar to envelop his body. His wounds healed instantly, and his eyes burned with an even deeper crimson. "Terror never dies!" Skarn roared, slamming the ground, sending a massive shockwave crashing into the hero. The hero raised their shield to barely block the attack, but spat blood from the impact that rattled their very bones.

Even in pain, the hero glared at Skarn with unwavering resolve. A prolonged battle against a demon who could draw infinitely upon the power of the shards offered no chance of victory. The hero channeled the energy of the shards in their pack in reverse, focusing it into their sword. As the magic of creation and chaos clashed, the hero's sword began to vibrate dangerously with a blinding light.

The moment Skarn leaped to deliver his final blow, the hero thrust their glowing sword upward with all their might. The two immense forces collided in midair, triggering a massive explosion. The runaway energy of the shards tore Skarn's hellish magic to shreds. Skarn shrieked in agony as he plummeted down from the altar.

Gasping for breath, the hero drove their sword deep into the chest of the fallen Skarn. Uttering a final curse, the Herald of Terror crumbled into black ash. But the joy of victory was short-lived; the shards floating above the altar lost control and began to violently fluctuate. The magical energy that had been suppressed by Skarn's presence was now on the verge of exploding all at once.

The hero hastily pulled out the Horadric relic given by Cain to suppress the magic of the shards. Enduring a bone-shattering pain, they barely succeeded in sealing the fragments, but the hero's body was already battered and broken. Though they had defeated the massive threat of Skarn, the crimson stones in their hands remained a ticking time bomb, choking the life out of Sanctuary.

Unending Anxiety and the Wounds Left on Sanctuary

Even after Skarn's threat was ended, the skies of Sanctuary remained a dull, ashen gray. The hero returned to the hideout in Wortham, dragging their wounded body. While Deckard Cain was relieved that the hero had returned safely, he could not hide his heavy expression as he looked at the numerous shards laid before him. The fight was not over; it had merely been postponed.

"What you have accomplished is great, but the world remains broken," Cain said, carefully sealing the shards inside a specially crafted chest. "Even though Skarn is gone, dark entities coveting these fragments will continuously appear." The hero nodded silently, looking out at the desolate landscape through the window. Peace was still far away.

The people of Westmarch strove to reclaim their daily lives, rebuilding ruined homes and clearing the streets. Yet, when night fell, they still locked their doors tightly and prayed that the crimson meteor showers would not fall. A Sanctuary without the Worldstone was no longer a safe haven where they could hide from the eyes of Heaven and Hell. Humanity had to survive on its own.

The hero caressed the scar remaining on their palm. The wound, etched when they held the shard, was like a brand that would never fade. They realized all too keenly upon what a fragile and precarious foundation the world they had protected stood. Yet, at the same time, they had witnessed the resilient potential of humanity, helping one another and resisting even amidst despair.

Cain looked with affectionate eyes at a keepsake of young Leah, whom he had left safely in Tristram, tucked between the pages of a book on his desk. He sincerely hoped that by the time this child grew up, Sanctuary would be at least a slightly safer place. To make that happen, they still had to find all the shards hidden throughout the world and discover a way to permanently destroy them. The old scholar's shoulders slumped even heavier.

Leaving their brief rest behind, the hero gathered their weapons once more. The shards yet to be retrieved would surely be emitting their ominous energy somewhere in Sanctuary. Offering a brief farewell to Cain, they set out on the road shrouded in thick morning mist. Their steps carried a sense of duty far greater than fear. It was the beginning of an endless pilgrimage.

The massive wound left behind after the destruction of the Worldstone brought indelible pain to every living creature in Sanctuary. Yet, through the cracks of that wound, instead of the protective shield they had relied upon, humans were blossoming the will to forge their own destiny. Amidst the temptations of demons and the bystander attitude of angels, the people of Sanctuary walked bleeding toward the coming tomorrow.

Far off in the sky, a single shard that had not yet fallen twinkled with a faint crimson light. Until the day a real star fell from those heavens, the hero and the last descendant of the Horadrim would fight against the unseen darkness. Sanctuary remained unstable, and the shadow of Diablo, not yet fully lifted, quietly awaited the next era.

Verified Sources

Official Blizzard Chronicle: After the Destruction of the Worldstone

Official Blizzard Lore: Book of Tyrael and the Leoric Lineage

Official Blizzard Lore: Adria's Betrayal

Official Blizzard Material: The Black Soulstone and the Reconstruction of the Horadrim

Official Blizzard Material: Malthael and Westmarch

Official Diablo III Purchase Site: Battle.net