Diablo Chronicles Episode 22: The Day the Angelic Army Entered Hell
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This is a fan narrative rewritten based on the events of the original work. The characters' emotions, dialogue, and scene atmosphere have been reconstructed, and it includes major spoilers.
The Flooded Temple and a Terrible Price
The interior of the flooded temple, reeking of damp moss and stagnant water, was filled with an unsettling silence. Neyrelle carefully examined the ancient Horadric device carved into the wall to open the tightly shut stone door. The Wanderer held a torch, guarding her back and focusing on the slightest movement in the darkness.
The moment the gears of the device began to turn with a dull grinding sound, a horrific figure surged from beneath the stagnant black water. A bloated, drowned corpse lunged at Neyrelle with a bizarre shriek. Before she could even react, the monster's corrupted claws and teeth tore deeply into her left hand as she operated the mechanism, inflicting a fatal wound.
Neyrelle's scream echoed through the damp temple, and the Wanderer immediately swung their weapon, severing the drowned corpse's neck. The monster fell, but a dark, corrupting rot began to spread rapidly from the wound, traveling up her veins. Lorath checked Neyrelle's pale wound and bit his lip in despair.
"If we leave it like this, the corruption will reach her heart, and she will die." Lorath's voice trembled heavily. Realizing there was no other choice, he drew a sharp dagger from his bag and heated it over the fire. Neyrelle stared at her left hand with terror-filled eyes, breathing heavily, but she gave a silent nod.
The moment of amputation passed with agonizing pain. Lorath quickly severed the corrupted limb to prevent the infection from spreading further, administering emergency aid and binding the wound. The Wanderer held Neyrelle's shoulders firmly as she writhed in agony, constantly speaking to her to keep her from losing consciousness. On the cold floor lay the irreversible mark of sacrifice.
Even amidst the pain that blurred her consciousness, Neyrelle gripped the Wanderer's collar with her remaining right hand as if it were a lifeline. Cold sweat poured down her forehead like rain, and a deep sense of loss for her severed limb filled her young eyes. The Wanderer silently wrapped the bandages, once again feeling the heavy burden of this cruel journey.
Lorath covered the severed hand with a cloth, bowing his head in deep guilt. It was not because of some magical ritual involving the Soulstone, but simply a moment of misfortune while trying to open a closed path that had forever altered this young girl's life. Neyrelle looked down at her bandaged, stumped left wrist, struggling to hold back her tears.
"I'm fine. I still have my right hand," Neyrelle said in a trembling voice, stumbling to her feet with the Wanderer's support. Her forced smile only pierced the hearts of those watching all the more painfully. Having paid a terrible price, the companions passed through the opened door, moving forward in heavy silence.
Attuning the Sapphire Soulstone
Upon arriving at a safe hideout, Donan drew the blue-gleaming sapphire Soulstone from his bag. This stone, which had once imprisoned Astaroth, was now a tragic relic of the loss of his son, yet also the final hope to save the world. Deep sorrow clung to Donan's rough fingers each time they brushed against the smooth surface of the Soulstone.
To seal Lilith, the Soulstone had to be attuned with the essence of her father, Mephisto. Donan headed to the deep abyss beneath the Caldeum Imperial Palace, where Sankekur, Mephisto's former vessel, had been sealed long ago. The lingering traces of corruption and the ominous aura of the Lord of Hatred rose like a haze, awaiting the Horadric ritual.
Lorath and the Wanderer stood by Donan's side, drawing the ancient Horadric runes required for the ritual onto the floor. Neyrelle also contributed, scattering magical powder with her remaining right hand. Taking a deep breath, Donan reached toward Sankekur's remains, carefully drawing out the dense essence of hatred slumbering within.
A corrupt energy in the form of black smoke poured from the remains, swirling and being sucked into the sapphire Soulstone. Donan exerted immense concentration, veins bulging on his forehead, carefully weaving the power of hatred so it would not shatter the Soulstone. The air in the room grew freezing cold, filled with a suffocating pressure.
"My son's blood within this stone shall become the shackle that pierces Lilith's heart." Donan murmured softly, pushing his magical power to its absolute limit. A father's agonizing grief over his lost son and his heavy responsibility as a Horadrim flowed entirely through his hands into the blue stone. The ritual rushed toward its climax.
When the final trace of hatred was at last absorbed, the sapphire Soulstone stabilized, emitting a brilliant, blinding blue light. Donan collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath, and Lorath stepped forward to place a silent hand on his shoulder. The completed Soulstone pulsed with a faint, unsettling vibration, like a living heart.
Neyrelle cradled her injured left arm, gazing at the completed Soulstone with eyes full of mixed awe and fear. The horrific accident in which she lost her hand and the solemn ritual in which Donan attuned the Soulstone were entirely different events, yet both represented the harsh sacrifices demanded by this journey. The Wanderer stared silently at the stone.
"The preparations are complete. Now, all that remains is to descend into Hell and trap Lilith within this stone." Donan rose, carefully securing the Soulstone. Lorath and the Wanderer nodded, and Neyrelle followed them with a determined expression. The final duty of the Horadrim weighed heavily upon their shoulders.
The Cathedral of Light Marches to Hell
At that very hour, the Cathedral of Light was boiling with the fervor of a massive war. Inarius, the faceless being of light, stood at the vanguard of his army, clad in dazzling golden armor with his radiant wings unfurled. The glow of his eyes, shining from the darkness beneath his helm, held only a blind craving to slay Lilith and return to the High Heavens. The earth trembled, resonating with his holy power.
Prava stood by Inarius's side, holding a massive mace and offering passionate prayers to the faithful. "The Father of Light shall lead us to victory! Purge the demons of Hell and embrace salvation!" At her cry, tens of thousands of soldiers and the Knights Penitent beat their shields, responding with fanatical roars.
As Inarius raised his massive spear of light, a portal tore open, revealing a colossal rift leading to the Burning Hells. Though the stench of sulfur and sticky heat poured out, the faces of the faithful held blind faith in salvation rather than fear. Believing only in the guidance of the Light, the angelic army marched into the maw of Hell.
The landscape of Hell, where red lava flowed like rivers under a heavy, ash-gray sky, was utterly horrific. With every step, the ground squelched with a slurry of bone and flesh, and the bizarre cries of demons echoed from all directions. Yet Inarius marched forward relentlessly, pursuing only Lilith's presence, with no regard for the safety of his army.
Prava strove at the front to project a barrier of light, warding off the pouring miasma of Hell. The knights sang hymns to banish their fear, but the overwhelming malice of Hell slowly began to gnaw at their minds. Watching this massive army's reckless advance from afar, the Wanderer and the Horadrim were seized by an ominous foreboding.
"They have no idea what they are doing. Hell is not a place that can ever be purged by the Light," Lorath muttered, clicking his tongue. It was clear that Inarius's blind obsession with returning to Heaven was driving countless humans to their slaughter. Donan, with a grim expression, tightened his grip on the Soulstone.
As they penetrated deeper into the heart of Hell, the ranks of the Cathedral's army gradually stretched and fell into disarray. Inarius's light reached only those walking at the very front, leaving the stragglers exposed to deep darkness and terror. The demons held their breath in the shadows, waiting for their arrogant prey to walk straight into the center of their trap.
At last, the bloody mist parted, and a massive legion of demons blocked their path. Without stopping, Inarius charged, swinging his spear to turn the vanguard of demons to ash. Prava and the knights also plunged into battle with a roar. On the day the angelic army entered Hell, the curtain rose on a horrific, blood-soaked slaughter.
The War in Hell and the Slaughter
The moment the army of the Cathedral of Light clashed with the demons of Hell, the earth convulsed with a horrific tearing sound. The faithful swung their swords, firmly believing that Inarius's light would make them invincible warriors. Their initial momentum was grand, and the demons seemed to burn, shrieking before the holy flames.
But the legions of Hell were endless. Over the corpses of fallen demons, even larger and more hideous monsters poured out continuously. Winged demons rained down fireballs from the sky, while massive tentacles erupted from beneath the earth, snatching and tearing the knights apart. Terror slowly crept into the eyes of the faithful who had been so assured of victory.
Prava swung her blood-stained mace, screaming at the top of her lungs to maintain the line. "Do not retreat! The Light is with us!" Yet her cries were drowned out and scattered by the roars of demons and the death rattles of her soldiers. The once-sturdy shield wall crumpled like paper and collapsed under a single blow from a massive demon's club.
Inarius paid no heed to the devastation of his army, flying solely toward the depths of the enemy lines. Though dozens of demons disintegrated each time his golden spear flashed, the space he left behind was instantly filled with even more fiends. Left without their leader, the soldiers lost their way in the thick, gray mist and became isolated.
The slaughter was one-sided and brutal. The heavy armor of the Knights Penitent shattered helplessly against the overwhelming strength of the demons. Soldiers fell, crying out the name of God in desperate agony, but there was no answer from the heavens. The bloody mud became stained red with the blood spilled by the Cathedral of Light's army, turning into a scene of devastating defeat.
The Wanderer clenched their fists, witnessing this horrific slaughter from afar. These senseless deaths, carried out under the guise of salvation, were a tragedy brought about by Inarius's arrogance. Lorath turned his head, unable to bear the sight, while Neyrelle trembled in fear, hiding behind the Wanderer's back.
"This is not a war. It is merely a slaughterhouse," Donan muttered in a devastated voice. Amidst the heat of Hell, the hymns of the faithful had long since turned into agonizing screams and wails. The human instinct to survive began to override their fanaticism, but in the heart of Hell, surrounded on all sides by demons, there was nowhere to run.
Prava collapsed, coughing up blood, her shoulder pierced by a broken spear. Before her eyes, her loyal knights were being devoured by the fangs of demons. It was the moment her faith, which had firmly believed in the victory of the Light, shattered into pieces. Far from purging Hell, the angelic army had fallen as its horrific sacrifices.
Vain Hope: The Craving for Heaven
Under a blood-red sky, upon a massive altar of bone and flesh, Inarius finally stood face-to-face with Lilith. The Daughter of Hatred greeted her former lover and mortal enemy with a relaxed smile. All surrounding noise vanished, leaving only the suffocating presence of the two transcendent beings clashing, freezing the very air of Hell.
"Foolish Inarius. The toys you brought have already become food for my children." Lilith's seductive voice was filled with mockery. Inarius unleashed a violent burst of light from within his helm, expressing his fury as he gripped his spear. "I will tear your filthy mouth open. By slaying you, I shall finally return to Heaven!" His cry shook Hell.
Inarius charged toward Lilith like an arrow, tracing a dazzling arc of light. Lilith unfurled her massive, thorny wings to block his assault, but the holy power within Inarius's spear pierced through her defense. The colossal shockwave generated by the clash of the two beings swept away the surrounding demons like dust.
As the fierce battle raged on, Inarius found an opening in Lilith's defense. His golden spear pierced deeply into her abdomen, and dark essence spilled out. Lilith knelt, letting out an agonizing groan. Assured of victory, Inarius tightened his grip on his spear, his entire being trembling with the ecstasy of salvation.
"Behold, High Heavens! I have slain this demon!" Inarius cried out, spreading his arms toward the sky while keeping Lilith impaled. He desperately hoped that the Angiris Council would recognize his deed, and that a bridge of light would descend to take him back to Heaven. His eyes gleamed with a hope bordering on madness.
Yet the ash-gray sky of Hell remained silent. No holy light descended, nor did any angelic trumpets sound. Only thick sulfurous smoke drifted indifferently above his head. In the horrific silence, as if time had stopped, Inarius's ecstasy slowly turned to bewilderment, and then to bone-deep despair.
Heaven had abandoned him. That cruel truth shattered Inarius's soul. The single hope he had harbored for thousands of years vanished into the void of Hell. His hand holding the spear began to tremble slightly, and even his brilliantly shining golden wings lost their luster, slowly beginning to darken.
"Does Heaven... not want me..." Inarius muttered in utter devastation, hanging his head. Having lost even the will to defend himself, he was no longer a great archangel, but merely a pitiful, abandoned creation. That fleeting moment of despair became a fatal poison that completely turned the tide of battle.
Torn Wings and the Fall
Lilith, who had been kneeling with her abdomen pierced, began to laugh softly. Her laughter grew louder, echoing eerily across the plains of Hell. "Poor Inarius. You will always be nothing but their slave." Ignoring the blood flowing from her wound, she slowly rose to her feet. Inarius could only stare at her, completely dazed.
In an instant, Lilith closed the distance and gripped Inarius's throat tightly. Inarius dropped his spear, thrashing and letting out pained groans, but the strength of a despairing angel was no match for the Daughter of Hatred. The dark magic emanating from Lilith's grasp began to ruthlessly consume what remained of Inarius's light.
"The world we created together... you tried to ruin it." Deep hatred and sorrow crossed Lilith's eyes. She reached out with her other hand toward the radiant wings of light stretching from Inarius's back. Inarius screamed in horror at the demonic touch upon his most sacred part, but he could not escape.
Lilith gripped the roots of his wings with crushing force and began to tear them away ruthlessly. As the bonds of light severed, a tearing sound echoed as if the entire dimension were screaming. Radiant essence of light erupted in all directions from Inarius's body, and his struggles gradually subsided. The agony of having an angel's essence torn away was a tragedy beyond mortal imagination.
Finally, with a harsh tearing sound, Inarius's shining wings were completely severed from his back. The wings in Lilith's hands trembled for a moment in the air, then turned to ash and crumbled away. The light that formed Inarius's physical form vanished entirely, and only the golden armor that had encased him fell to the ground, losing its luster and turning into dull iron. It was the miserable end of the once-radiant archangel.
Having lost his wings and all his essence of light, Inarius's empty armor collapsed limply to the ground. Just before his consciousness faded completely, the last thing he saw was Lilith's cold smile looking down at him. "Goodbye, my love." With Lilith's whisper, the existence known as Inarius was completely erased. It was the moment the archangel, creator of Sanctuary and symbol of the Light, oxidized into the dust of Hell and vanished.
Watching this tragedy from afar, the Wanderer and the Horadrim were speechless with shock. Even the sliver of hope that Inarius might triumph had been ruthlessly crushed. Lorath wiped his face, struggling to accept the desperate situation, while Neyrelle took a step back, paralyzed with fear. The fall of the Light heralded an even greater trial awaiting them.
Lilith coldly ignored Inarius's empty armor lying on the ground and turned away. Her wounds were already healing rapidly through dark magic. Having removed the obstacle, the Daughter of Hatred now set her sights on her true purpose. The air of Hell burned hotter and more ominously, as if celebrating Lilith's victory.
The Soul Pillars and Donan's End
Leaving behind the shock of Inarius's death, the Wanderer and the companions hurried deeper into Hell to pursue Lilith. Horrific, vein-entwined organic matter covered the walls, and the floor was slick with sticky mucus. Donan walked with the Soulstone cradled against his chest, scanning his surroundings in extreme tension.
Bizarre structures made of massive bones and flesh blocked their path. They were Soul Pillars, designed to torture the dead of Hell and extract their power. Donan carefully approached one of the hideous pillars to find a way forward. Distorted faces carved into the pillar's surface writhed, letting out painful groans.
"Careful, Donan! The structures of Hell are alive!" Lorath shouted a warning, but it was too late. A sharp bone spur from the dead, tangled within the pillar, suddenly shot outward and pierced deeply into Donan's body. It happened in an instant, leaving no time to dodge. Donan screamed and collapsed to the floor, the ominous energy of the pillar seeping into his wound.
"Donan!" Lorath screamed, rushing forward, while the Wanderer immediately swung their weapon to sever the pillar's tentacles. However, crimson blood was already pouring uncontrollably from Donan's fatally wounded abdomen. Lorath hurriedly supported Donan and tried to staunch the bleeding, but the wound was too deep to stop the flow.
Donan gasped for air, his face contorted in agony. The blue sapphire Soulstone, having slipped from his hand, gleamed sorrowfully on the red floor of Hell. "Lorath... I... think this is as far as I go..." Donan's voice was thin and trembling, already losing its life. Lorath gripped his hand tightly, tears welling in his eyes.
"Don't talk nonsense, old friend! Didn't we agree to escape this Hell together!" Lorath cried out, but Donan only offered a faint smile. "To where my son... Jorin is... I can finally go..." His life, which had been marked by the grief of losing his son and guilt toward the world, was drawing to a close in the heart of this horrific Hell.
Neyrelle sat beside Donan, clutching her severed left arm, weeping endlessly. The Wanderer knelt silently, watching Donan's final moments. Donan's fading eyes looked at each of his companions in turn, then lost focus, staring blankly into the void. His chest rose in one last deep breath, then fell still.
Donan, the great Horadrim and a father who had endured the pain of loss, drew his last breath. Lorath hugged Donan's cooling body, wailing like a wounded beast. Even amidst the heat of Hell, their hearts turned ice-cold. The Wanderer picked up the sapphire Soulstone from the floor, once again feeling the agonizing weight of this cruel journey.
The Heavy Steps of Those Left Behind
Donan's death left those remaining with a profound sense of loss from which they could not escape. Lorath felt a bone-deep agony at the fact that he had to leave his friend's body behind on the floor of Hell. The Wanderer quietly patted Lorath's shoulder, forcing him to face the harsh reality that did not even grant them time to grieve.
Neyrelle wiped away her tears and tightly gripped the sapphire Soulstone handed to her by the Wanderer with her remaining right hand. Though the pain of losing her left hand and Donan's death weighed heavily on her young shoulders, her gaze shone firmer than ever before. "I won't let Donan's sacrifice be in vain," she said in a resolute voice.
It was certain that Lilith was already approaching the heart where Mephisto's essence was imprisoned. Turning their grief into rage, the Wanderer and the Horadrim gripped their weapons. The price they had paid for this fight was already far too high, and the choices that lay ahead would undoubtedly place them upon an even harsher crucible of fate.
"Neither Lilith nor Mephisto—neither of these demons must be allowed to roam this world," Lorath said, rising with the help of his staff. Though his voice was clearly old and weary, his final sense of duty as a Horadrim burned brightly. The companions exchanged glances, sharing a silent vow.
The hot wind blowing from the abyss of Hell violently shook their cloaks. The Wanderer took the lead, stepping toward the narrow, dark passage. Neither Inarius's light nor Donan's wisdom was with them anymore. Only their trust in one another and their blood-stained resolve were the sole forces sustaining them on this horrific journey.
Neyrelle bit her lip, taking one last look back at Donan's body fading behind them. The blue Soulstone held in her right hand glowed faintly in the darkness of Hell, like their only guide. Whom would they trap in this stone, and how would they save the world? The moment of heavy choice was tightening around their throats with every passing second.
An unsettling red light leaked from the end of the passage, and a massive presence of evil washed over the companions. The horrific family reunion between the Lord of Hatred and his daughter awaited them. The Wanderer gripped the hilt of their sword tightly, visualizing the impending final battle. To prevent any further sacrifice, they had to triumph.
The heavy steps of those left behind moved toward the heart of Hell. Behind them, the abandoned armor of the angel and the cold corpse of the old scholar were slowly being buried in the landscape of Hell. Having risked everything to come this far, the Wanderer and the Horadrim were finally ready to face the most cruel and grand choice at the crossroads of fate.
Sources
Blizzard Official Lore: Akarat and the Spirit Realm
Blizzard Official Material: From Vessel of Hatred to Lord of Hatred
Blizzard Official Material: Lord of Hatred Campaign
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