Diablo Chronicles Episode 24: The Forests of Nahantu Cannot Hide Hatred

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 contains major spoilers for the ending.

Shadows of the Jungle and the Appearance of the Spiritborn

Neyrelle's breath was ragged and irregular. A thickly wrapped bandage remained at the end of the arm where she had lost her left hand, and she tightly gripped the blue sapphire soulstone with her remaining right hand. Her wound throbbed with every step she took toward the dense, humid jungle of Nahantu. The realization that she could not even afford a moment to rest her hand weighed upon her more heavily than the pain itself.

The illusion of Mephisto constantly whispered curses into Neyrelle's ears. The shadow of a blood-red wolf flickered through the dense trees, ruthlessly gnawing away at her weakened mind. With every step she took, her vision was stained red, and the energy of hatred emanating from the soulstone squeezed her heart. Neyrelle bit her lip, swallowing her screams, focusing solely on moving forward.

The Wanderer entered the deep forests of Nahantu, tracking the trail of decay and corruption left behind by Neyrelle. A suffocating, sticky humidity and a pungent stench filled the air. The misshapen flora of the jungle writhed with thorny vines as if wary of the stranger's intrusion. Clutching the hilt of their sword, the Wanderer advanced cautiously, scanning the surroundings while following Neyrelle's faint footprints.

Just then, a terrifying sound of tearing air erupted from the bushes. With a sudden ambush, a massive mace ruthlessly struck the Wanderer's shield. Inquisitor Urevar and his subordinates, the Burned Knights, surrounded the Wanderer in a circle. Urevar's eyes, filled with blind fanaticism, gleamed with madness, and acrid smoke rose from the knights' armor. It was a desperate crisis with nowhere to escape.

The Wanderer was pushed back by Urevar's fierce assault and fell to the ground. Just as the mace was about to strike their head once more, a fierce jaguar spirit pounced like lightning before the Wanderer's blurring eyes. The massive spiritual beast bit and flung the knights, instantly shattering their formation. Flustered, Urevar retreated, spewing curses at the unseen foe.

From the dense branches above, Eru, an elder of the Spiritborn, leaped down gracefully. He wielded powerful spirit energy, roughly pushing Urevar's forces to the outskirts of the forest. With a single gesture from Eru, the earth shook, and vines snagged the ankles of the knights. Realizing the tide of battle had turned against them, Urevar let out a furious shriek and led his men in a humiliating retreat into the darkness of the forest.

Eru roughly supported the fallen Wanderer and took them to a secret hideout prepared at the Kurast Docks. The jungle elder made no effort to hide his deep wariness toward the stranger. Scanning the Wanderer's armaments and wounds with a sharp gaze, he demanded to know their connection to those who had brought calamity to Nahantu. Catching their breath, the Wanderer carefully revealed the truth about Neyrelle and the soulstone.

In a secluded tent at the edge of the settlement, they reunited with Ormus. Though Ormus had lost his past glory and muttered like a madman, his eyes shone with a strange insight. Pointing at the Wanderer, he warned that the threat of the soulstone would consume Nahantu. Ormus grabbed Eru's sleeve, earnestly pleading that they must willingly cooperate with the stranger to save the jungle.

The Golden Lion and the Ritual of the Spirit Realm

Accepting Ormus's plea, Eru led the Wanderer deep into the jungle to an ancient sanctuary of the Spiritborn. There, where massive ancient trees blocked out the sky, they met Maka, Eru's longtime companion. Maka was offering prayers before an altar to heal the forest's sickness. Turning her head at their approach, she observed the Wanderer with eyes mixed with curiosity and caution.

Maka was a brilliant and wise woman who had once learned the path of the Spiritborn from Eru. She had been struggling day and night to halt the unknown blight afflicting the jungle. When Eru relayed the tale of the Wanderer and the soulstone, Maka let out a deep sigh and acknowledged the gravity of the situation. She nodded, declaring that they must borrow even the strength of an outsider if it meant protecting Nahantu.

As the three conversed to discuss their next steps, a warm golden light began to seep through the thick fog surrounding the sanctuary. The light gradually coalesced, taking the shape of a massive, dazzling golden lion. The spirit, possessing a majestic mane and piercing eyes, approached them silently. The Wanderer held their breath at the overwhelming holiness, while the Spiritborn knelt reverently.

It was the spirit of the great Akarat. The golden lion did not speak, but his clear and powerful will resonated directly within the minds of the companions. The spirit silently conveyed that they must track the trail of hatred left by Neyrelle to prevent a terrible corruption. Akarat's guidance was clear, implying that a great trial that would decide the fate of Nahantu awaited at the end of that path.

Eru and Maka bowed deeply, firmly resolving to follow the great spirit's guidance. To purify the toxicity spewed by the Lord of Hatred and save Neyrelle, the power of Abul'an, a high spirit of the jungle, was absolutely necessary. Maka explained that they needed to open a gateway to the Spirit Realm to commune with Abul'an, and quickly arranged ancient ritual tools upon the altar.

While Maka prepared the ritual by drawing intricate sigils, Eru burned sacred incense to purify the space. As the spiritual energies of the two Spiritborn resonated as one, the veil of reality slowly began to thin with a heavy vibration. A swirling blue vortex shimmered above the altar, opening a passage to another dimension. The Wanderer adjusted their grip on their weapon, watching the mystical sight.

Under the protection of Eru and Maka, the Wanderer cautiously stepped onto the path leading into the Spirit Realm. Upon crossing the threshold, the sticky humidity and earthy scent of reality vanished instantly, replaced by a cool, mysterious air that enveloped their entire body. In this bizarre space where even gravity felt ambiguous, the companions slowly advanced along the trail of light left by Akarat toward the spiritual sanctuary where Abul'an resided.

However, when the companions reached the sanctuary of Abul'an, what welcomed them was not a peaceful and sacred energy. A pungent, horrific stench and a sticky red mist blanketed the entire sanctuary. The spiritual earth, which should have been pure, was cracked like a festering wound, weeping blood. Eru's face turned pale, and the Wanderer drew their sword at the approaching ominous presence.

The Corrupted Abul'an and the Heart of Grief

The sky of the Spirit Realm was stained a horrific blood-red, as if someone had splattered blood across it. The earth was hideously cracked like the decaying carcass of a giant beast, and from every crevice, Mephisto's toxicity rose like a shimmering haze. Abul'an's sanctuary was already completely contaminated by the energy of hatred, stripped of its original beauty. The Wanderer gasped at this bizarre landscape, so distinct from reality.

Just then, tearing through the red mist, the great spirit Abul'an appeared, roaring in a hideously twisted form. His past majesty was nowhere to be found; Mephisto's toxicity had completely corrupted his pure soul. His body, bristling with dark red thorns, and his madness-stricken eyes craved nothing but destruction. Unleashing a fierce murderous intent toward the intruders, Abul'an threw his massive body forward.

Eru collapsed to the ground, horrified by the wretched state of the spirit he had respected and served his entire life. His lips trembled, and unable to cast any spells, he could only shed tears of despair. Suppressing her grief, Maka grabbed the Wanderer's shoulder and cried out. It was a desperate plea: there was no way to reverse the corruption, so please, free Abul'an from his suffering and let him find peace.

With a heavy heart, the Wanderer raised their weapon and charged at the corrupted spirit. Abul'an swung his massive claws, spewing red toxicity in all directions, while the Wanderer barely blocked a blow with their shield and rolled across the ground. Though the fierce attacks poured down like a storm, the Wanderer seized a gap when the spirit's movements faltered in rage, driving a fatal strike deep into his most vulnerable wound.

With a dying shriek, Abul'an's massive form collapsed. As the spirit drew his last breath, the oppressive red mist slowly began to clear. In the center of his chest, only a pure heart untouched by corruption emitted a faint, warm light. Sheathing their weapon, the Wanderer approached carefully and gathered that noble heart, containing the forest's last hope, into their hands.

Upon returning to the jungle of reality, the party discovered Neyrelle writhing in agony not far away. Crushed by the dreadful pressure of the soulstone, she was rolling in the dirt and screaming. The Wanderer hurried over and brought the Heart of Ahbulan to her trembling lips. Driven by a primal instinct to survive, Neyrelle's eyes snapped open, and she grasped the Wanderer's arm with her remaining right hand as she took the heart into her mouth.

As Neyrelle bit into the heart, pure spiritual power surged explosively through her withered veins. The horribly tangled illusions of Mephisto shrieked and temporarily shattered. Warmth returned to her pale face, and her ragged breathing finally stabilized. Collapsing to the ground and gasping for air, Neyrelle felt a wave of relief that the agony crushing her had finally ceased.

Yet, Eru was plunged into deep grief as he watched. The death of Abul'an and the irreversible wounds inflicted upon his homeland of Nahantu tore his heart to shreds. Clenching his dirt-stained hands, he listened to the screams of the forest. The devastating despair that the jungle was being destroyed by getting caught in the crossfire of strangers slowly dragged the elder's sanity down into a dark, cold abyss.

Blood-Stained Guilt and Parting

Just as the Wanderer and Neyrelle were trying to catch their breath and stabilize, the Burned Knights ambushed them once more, shattering the silence of the jungle. Having mapped out the forest terrain, Urevar had stealthily led his troops close. The knights launched a surprise attack, cutting off Eru's retreat, capturing him, and binding him with rough ropes. Wearing a triumphant smile, Urevar dragged Eru away to their camp.

Witnessing Eru's abduction, the Wanderer erupted in fierce rage and charged toward the knights' camp. Raising their shield, they smashed through the knights' spear wall, swinging their sword furiously to carve a path of blood. Under the Wanderer's strikes, the armor of the Burned Knights tore open, and screams filled the jungle. Driven solely by the single-minded determination to save Eru, the Wanderer broke through to the heart of the camp in an instant.

In the middle of the camp, Urevar stood in the Wanderer's way, swinging his massive mace. Shouting fanatical cries of executing the heretic, he brought down a heavy blow. The Wanderer dodged the mace by a hair's breadth, and before Urevar could recover his stance, seized the opening to drive their sword deep into the gap of his breastplate. Coughing up blood, Urevar collapsed like a giant tree and drew his last breath.

As the Wanderer quickly untied the ropes, Eru rubbed his bruised wrists and opened his mouth to express his gratitude. But at that exact moment, a bone-chilling, horrific scream erupted from the outskirts of the camp. It came from the direction where Neyrelle and Maka had remained. Seized by an ominous premonition, the Wanderer and Eru stopped talking and frantically tore through the underbrush, running toward the source of the scream.

When they arrived, the scene before them was devastating. Neyrelle was staring blankly into space, having completely lost control of the soulstone, and the red trails of hatred emanating from her body had ruthlessly swept through the surroundings. And at the center of that destruction lay Maka, who had failed to escape in time, cold and lifeless. Her breath was already entirely gone, leaving nothing but deep despair for those left behind.

Belatedly regaining her senses, Neyrelle let out a heart-rending scream as she looked upon Maka's corpse lying at her feet. She trembled like a leaf at the realization that the cursed power she wielded had accidentally claimed an innocent life, especially one who had only sought to help her. Clutching her bandaged left arm, Neyrelle collapsed to the ground and wailed like a beast, utterly crushed by an unbearable weight of guilt.

Eru cradled Maka's cold, lifeless body, letting out a beast-like wail. It was the futile death of his cherished disciple and a companion who had dedicated her life to protecting Nahantu. His sense of loss quickly turned into uncontrollable rage, burning away his sanity. Eru's eyes gleamed with a bitter resentment that transcended sorrow, and with a trembling hand, he caressed Maka's pale cheek, gritting his teeth.

Eru cast a murderous gaze of hatred toward Neyrelle. He coldly spat out that he could no longer participate in this cursed journey and allow his homeland to be destroyed. The Wanderer tried to stop him, but Eru shook his head resolutely. Carefully lifting Maka's body in his arms, he vanished into the deep darkness of the jungle without looking back. A heavy silence descended upon the remaining companions.

The Vault of Light and the Rise of the Tomb

Left behind, Neyrelle and the Wanderer walked in an oppressive, heavy silence. Leaving behind the dirt stained with Maka's blood, Neyrelle's shoulders slumped heavily with guilt. Just then, the spirit of the golden lion, Akarat, appeared once more through the mist. Emitting a warm light as if to comfort them in their grief, the spirit guided them toward an ancient tomb lost in legend.

When they reached the shore of a vast lake following the spirit's trail, someone approached, parting the bushes. It was Eru, who had departed. His face was frozen cold and his eyes were hollow, but he spoke in a dry voice, stating he would help with the mission to the end to save the jungle. The Wanderer harbored doubts about his sudden return, but since they immediately needed his ritualistic knowledge, they nodded silently.

Standing by the lakeshore, Eru began to chant an ancient spell. As his voice rippled across the water, a grand vibration shook the earth from the bottom of the lake. Accompanied by violent sprays of water, a massive tomb that had been submerged beneath the surface for centuries rose with a majestic rumble. As the water mist slowly cleared, moss-covered stone steps and the tightly sealed entrance of the tomb finally revealed themselves.

The companions cautiously entered the damp tomb. Passing through labyrinthine corridors, they reached the deepest and most sacred space of the Spirit Realm: the Vault of Light. In the center of the vault, the true physical body of Akarat, untouched even by decay, was quietly enshrined. A golden aura enveloped the body, and a perfect peace, which no malice or hatred could breach, dwelt there.

Neyrelle lifted the soulstone with her trembling right hand and placed it in the center of the altar. The moment she finally severed the terrible connection, the overwhelming agony of Mephisto that had been crushing her soul ebbed away like the tide. Neyrelle collapsed to the floor, panting heavily, and shed tears of profound relief. Although the bandages wrapping her left stump bore the traces of her long journey, her expression had regained a peace she had not felt in a long time.

Yet, simultaneously with her relief, an inexplicable, ominous energy subtly vibrated through the air of the vault. Neyrelle stood up and quickly explained her plan to permanently seal Mephisto here, utilizing Akarat's sacred body and the tomb's powerful barrier. She was confident that this Vault of Light could suppress the corruption spewed by the Lord of Hatred and keep Sanctuary safe forever.

Following Neyrelle's explanation, the Wanderer began examining the surrounding stone slabs to activate the tomb's sealing mechanism. The Vault of Light appeared to be a perfect fortress impenetrable by any external malice, and ancient runes glowed blue upon the device. Aligning the runes, the Wanderer hoped the sealing ritual would conclude without a hitch. Everything seemed to be wrapping up smoothly.

Eru watched the entire process in silence, clenching his fists beneath his sleeves. While determination to protect the jungle lingered in his eyes, beneath it, a dark and twisted conflict—unnoticed by the Wanderer and Neyrelle—swirled violently. Alternating his gaze between the soulstone on the altar and Akarat's body, he slowly began to listen to the ominous whispers echoing in his head.

Betrayal and the Descent into Hell

While the Wanderer was focused on operating the tomb's mechanism, Eru silently approached Akarat's body. In his mind, the blood-soaked corpse of Maka and the screams of the corrupted, dying Abul'an echoed incessantly. The fact that innocent lives of Nahantu had been sacrificed by getting caught in the crossfire of strangers sickened his soul, and his sanity had already reached its limit.

To imprison the Lord of Hatred in the heart of Nahantu meant that the corruption would eventually leak out and destroy his entire homeland. Eru could never tolerate such a horrific future. He resolved to pay any price to protect the jungle. He justified his actions, believing that while the Wanderer and Neyrelle's plan might save Sanctuary, it was a selfish act that made Nahantu a scapegoat.

At that moment, Mephisto's secret whispers emanating from the soulstone pierced Eru's ears. The Lord of Hatred offered a sweet, deceptive promise never to touch Nahantu. Overwhelmed by the grief of losing Maka and the obsession to protect his homeland, Eru's sanity ultimately succumbed to the demon's temptation. He firmly believed that a deal with the demon was the only way to save the jungle.

Eru suddenly extended both hands and chanted a powerful spell. A fierce spiritual energy discharged from his fingertips, striking the back of the Wanderer who was operating the device. Before they could even resist, the Wanderer was swept away by the immense impact and thrown onto the cold floor of the vault. Their weapon scraped the ground, throwing sparks, and though the Wanderer groaned in pain and tried to force themselves up, their limbs refused to obey.

Neyrelle screamed in horror, but Eru had already rushed to the altar and stolen the soulstone and the body of Akarat. Shouldering the sacred flesh and clutching the blue sapphire soulstone enveloped in the red aura of hatred, his face was filled with madness and a twisted love for his homeland. Neyrelle reached out with her remaining right hand and approached, but Eru cast a shamanic barrier, coldly blocking her advance.

"If it is to protect Nahantu, I do not care if I must betray this entire world!" Eru's voice trembled violently with grief and madness. Maka's death had driven him to this horrific choice. Casting a hateful gaze at the Wanderer and Neyrelle, he cried out that he would not let their arrogance ruin the jungle. His eyes had long since lost all reason.

Eru forcibly warped the passage of the Spirit Realm, tearing open a massive dimensional rift in the center of the Vault of Light. The rift, rising with red flames, connected directly to the abyss of Hell where Mephisto's avatar awaited. Gathering his magical power, Eru forcibly pushed the fallen Wanderer into that horrific abyss. Helplessly, the Wanderer was sucked into the darkness of the rift.

While the Wanderer fell endlessly into the abyss of Hell, Eru fled back to the physical world, cradling the soulstone and Akarat's sacred body in his arms. Eru's retreating figure vanished beyond the closing rift, leaving only Neyrelle's desperate, hollow screams echoing in the Vault of Light, stripped of all hope. The sealing plan that had seemed perfect was shattered to pieces by the jungle elder's betrayal.

The Wolf of Hell and the Spirit's Sacrifice

The Wanderer plummeted into the heart of Hell, where red flames and the acrid stench of sulfur filled the air. Even breathing was painful in the searing heat that scorched their skin. As the Wanderer gathered themselves and stood up, a harbinger of hatred in the form of a massive, blood-red wolf snarled, drooling before them. It was a mass of pure malice crafted by Mephisto, a hound prepared to tear the Wanderer to shreds.

Opening its hideous jaws, the wolf let out an ear-splitting roar and rushed ruthlessly toward the Wanderer. Massive claws tore through the air, and sharp teeth bit into the shield. The Wanderer stumbled backward, pushed by the wolf's overwhelming strength and speed. The aura of hatred radiating from the wolf's body disoriented the Wanderer's mind and paralyzed their muscles. The energy of Hell was thoroughly binding the Wanderer.

The Wanderer desperately swung their sword to resist, but the wolf's wounds regenerated instantly within the fires of Hell. Under repeated attacks, the shield cracked as if about to shatter, and the wolf's claws deeply tore the Wanderer's shoulder. Red blood flowing from the wound soaked the barren earth of Hell. With their vision gradually blurring and their breathing growing shallow, the Wanderer sensed that the shadow of death had reached their throat.

At that desperate moment, a dazzling golden light poured down, piercing the red sky of Hell. The spirit of the golden lion, Akarat, had broken through the dimensional barrier to appear. Burning his entire remaining existence to save the Wanderer, the spirit emitted an overwhelming, sacred light. The darkness of Hell was pushed back by the light, and the wolf retreated, letting out a painful shriek.

Through Akarat's noble sacrifice, a powerful and warm divine energy infused the Wanderer's body. The pain of the torn wounds was forgotten, and an explosive vitality surged through their muscles. Gripping their sword tightly with both hands, the Wanderer focused the last light left by the spirit onto the blade. The moment the wolf lunged in a final desperate act, the Wanderer ducked beneath its jaws and drove the sword straight through its heart.

The divine light exploding from the tip of the blade tore the wolf's body apart from the inside. With a horrific dying shriek, the harbinger of hatred turned into black ash and scattered into the winds of Hell. Simultaneously, Akarat's spirit, which had enveloped the Wanderer, also turned into dust of light and vanished forever. No longer did the great golden lion exist anywhere in Sanctuary to guide and comfort the companions.

The Wanderer, having pierced through the rift of Hell and returned to reality, faced Eru once again. The elder, who had already handed over the soulstone and the body of Akarat, staggered, unable to bear the catastrophe brought about by his own choices. Suppressing their anger, the Wanderer subdued him, and the fallen Eru lay motionless. While looking down at the companion who had shared their path until just moments ago, a deep sense of loss surged in instead of the joy of victory.

As the Wanderer was about to finish Eru, Neyrelle grabbed their arm with her remaining right hand. She shook her head as if she did not want to add any more death, and the Wanderer lowered their weapon. They left the unconscious Eru behind and departed. Whether the elder would wake again, or what path he would choose, no one could know. Harboring that question, Neyrelle let out a long, trembling breath.

The Deceiver of Travincal

Deep beneath Kurast, within the long-forgotten ruins of Travincal, a heavy darkness hung thick. Upon the cold altar of a damp underground sanctuary where even light could not reach, the sacred body of Akarat, offered by Eru as the price of his betrayal, lay quietly. Ancient bloodstains and shattered statues lay scattered around, and an ominous, fishy magic lingered stickily in the air.

From the soulstone placed beside the altar, a blood-red mist began to slowly rise. Writhing like a living serpent, the red mist enveloped Akarat's body, soon seeping deep inside through his mouth and nose. The sacred body, which had not decayed for centuries, began to pulse with the ominous energy of hatred. The veins of the body bulged dark red, throbbing as if to swallow the surrounding darkness.

Mephisto did not take the form of a horrific demon or a blood-red wolf as he had in the past. When the red mist cleared and he rose from the altar, he had completely usurped Akarat's body, appearing as a benevolent and holy human prophet. His face was filled with mercy, and the golden aura enveloping his body appeared more noble than that of any priest in Sanctuary.

Yet, looking deep into the prophet's eyes, a terrifying ember of hatred that would drive the world to ruin flickered. Though his outward appearance was flawlessly holy and beautiful, his essence was a crystallization of pure evil. Instead of violence and terror, Mephisto was now prepared to begin his most lethal and cunning deception, exploiting the weak faith of humanity.

Mephisto looked down at his new hands, wearing a faint, chilling smile. The sacred vessel of Akarat was the perfect tool to bewilder the despondent humans of Sanctuary. The plan of the Lord of Hatred, disguised as a savior, to plunge the world into darkness in the name of Light was complete. The underground ruins of Travincal echoed eerily with his low laughter.

At that same moment, on the outskirts of the Nahantu jungle, Neyrelle and the Wanderer dragged their heavy steps, bearing their torn wounds. Neyrelle bowed her head, clutching her bandaged left stump with her remaining right hand. They were completely unaware of the horrifying form in which Mephisto had resurrected beneath Travincal. Crushed by the immense sense of defeat that had blanketed the jungle, they merely pressed onward in silence.

Maka's accidental death, the corrupted Abul'an, and even the spirit of Akarat, which had vanished forever to save them. Despite having made so many sacrifices and shed so much blood, all that remained in their hands was empty despair and bone-deep guilt. The Wanderer turned back to look at the jungle, but the forest returned no answer to their sorrow.

The forests of Nahantu swayed eerily in the night wind, rustling their dark leaves as if to comfort the deep sorrow of the survivors. Yet, beyond the veil of the jungle, toward the entirety of Sanctuary, the shadow of an impending false salvation was already silently stretching out. It was a night when the most dazzling lie conceived by hatred had finished its preparations to consume the world.

References

Blizzard Official Lore: Akarat and the Spirit Realm

Blizzard Official Material: From the Vessel of Hatred to the Lord of Hatred

Blizzard Official Material: Vessel of Hatred Campaign

Polygon Lore Breakdown: Vessel of Hatred Ending

Official Diablo IV Store: Battle.net