Diablo Chronicle Episode 26: The Broken Blade and the Last Horadrim

This is a fan narrative newly written based on the events of the original work. The characters' emotions, dialogues, and the atmosphere of the scenes have been reconstructed, and it includes major spoilers.

Abyss of Memory Bound by Blood

The Wanderer's consciousness was sinking into a deep sea of blood. The meditation that had begun in the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye Encampment led him away from his physical body and into the endless abyss of his inner self. From beyond the crimson mist, a pale figure of Lilith approached and reached out toward his soul.

"As long as my blood flows through your veins, we can glimpse the truth hidden by the Lord of Hatred." Lilith's voice was cool, yet carried a strange sense of urgency. Instead of resisting, the Wanderer nodded quietly and surrendered himself to the waves of illusions she offered.

As their minds intertwined, their vision flickered red, and a landscape of hell unfolded, thick with terrible heat and the overpowering stench of sulfur. The Wanderer instinctively tried to reach for his weapon, but Lilith pressed down on his shoulder and whispered lowly that this was not the present, but a memory of the past.

Upon a burning altar where massive chains spanned the void, a lightless angel was bound. Inarius, a faceless being of light, with only darkness filling his hood, shed faint fragments of light through his torn wings of light and damaged armor. The Wanderer held his breath and stared at the terribly broken warrior of the High Heavens.

The Wanderer could feel Lilith's illusion trembling slightly. The miserable state of the one who was once her lover and co-creator of Sanctuary radiated vivid pain, even though it was a vision of the past. The punishments of Hell were thoroughly crushing Inarius's pride.

In the darkness, a bizarre footstep, like the clashing of beast bones, echoed. A shadow with a hunched back and massive horns, Mephisto, the Lord of Hatred, approached the bound angel. The Wanderer felt an oppressive weight, as if his very soul were being crushed by that overwhelming malice.

"Those pitiful creations you cherish are already in my grasp." Mephisto's mocking voice echoed through the caverns of Hell. Even in his agony, Inarius shook his head, struggling to protect something. The Wanderer focused on the true secret hidden within this memory.

Lilith pulled the Wanderer's consciousness deeper into Mephisto's gaze. This was so they could witness together the truth that the Lord of Hatred was forcing out by delving into the angel's shattered mind. The end of the horrific interrogation that took place in the Hell of the past was drawing near.

The Pools of Creation and the Purpose of Hatred

As Mephisto's sharp claws dug into Inarius's brow, dazzling fragments of light poured from the angel's mouth instead of a scream. That light contained distant memories of the moment Sanctuary was first forged. The Wanderer saw a massive wave within the pouring illusions.

"The Pools of Creation..." Lilith muttered in disbelief. It was the primordial sanctuary where the forces of Heaven and Hell mingled to lay the foundation of Sanctuary. The location of that place, hidden deep within Inarius's subconscious, was falling into Mephisto's grasp.

The Lord of Hatred burst into a bizarre, satisfied laugh. "The place where the roots of Sanctuary reach. If I drop but a single drop of my hatred there, the world you created will tear itself apart." Those words were not a mere threat, but a firm sentence of doom.

The Wanderer shuddered as he realized Mephisto's true purpose. Borrowing Akarat's vessel to gather pilgrims and pose as a savior was all a deception to buy time. Mephisto was secretly approaching the Pools of Creation, intending to corrupt the entirety of Sanctuary.

Anger clouded Lilith's pale face. "My father does not seek to conquer Sanctuary. He intends to pollute it from its very source, turning it into a breeding ground of eternal hatred." Her voice carried a desperate sense of crisis that the world she had created might collapse.

The Wanderer had to convey this horrific truth to his companions in reality. If they failed to stop Mephisto before he reached the pools, every living being in Sanctuary would surely be driven mad by hatred from the moment of their birth. The memories of the past slowly scattered, and his vision blurred.

"There is no time, mortal. My father may have already reached the threshold of the pools." Lilith's soul began to push the Wanderer's consciousness back into reality. The crimson sea swirled and violently spat the Wanderer out. With a suffocating sensation, the inner illusion shattered.

Opening his eyes on the cold stone floor, the Wanderer coughed violently. Raising his sweat-drenched body, he felt the necessity of the bone dagger left by Lilith more acutely than ever. He had to complete the only weapon capable of banishing the Lord of Hatred forever.

The Master Who Returned as a Mortal

At the same time, in a remote hideout in Skovos, Lorath Nahr was in deep despair. The memory of being manipulated into attacking Queen Adreona gnawed at his old soul. Only the empty wine bottles strewn across the table spoke of his miserable abyss.

The pride of the Horadrim was broken, and trust was shattered. Lorath covered his face with his rough hands and let out a deep sigh. He had failed to stop Elias's corruption, and he had lost Neyrelle as well. Now, the self-loathing of having fallen to become Mephisto's puppet crushed him.

Just then, the creak of an old wooden door opening was heard. Lorath, lacking even the energy to lift his head, merely stared at the table. "If that is you, Wanderer, leave me alone. I am nothing but a useless old man now." His voice was cracked and dry.

But the approaching footsteps did not belong to the Wanderer. A heavy, calm stride stopped behind Lorath's back. "The duty of the Horadrim does not end until one's breath stops, old friend." A familiar and warm voice cut through the heavy air of the hideout.

Lorath froze as if struck by lightning. Turning around slowly, before his eyes stood not the Archangel shining from within a hood, but an old mortal with deep brown eyes and dark skin. It was Tyrael, bearing a human face etched with deep, weary wrinkles.

"Tyrael... how are you..." Lorath's lips trembled. Though he had neither wings of light nor the brilliant glow of El'druin, the presence of his old master, who had walked a long path in a mortal body, was greater than anything else. Tyrael smiled quietly and approached Lorath.

Tyrael's calloused, warm hand grasped Lorath's trembling shoulder. "I know well how heavy the burden you carry is. But you are never alone." At that simple and genuine comfort, tears Lorath had held back flowed from his reddened eyes.

The Aspect of Wisdom, now a mortal, silently comforted his broken disciple. Lorath wept silently, shedding the loneliness and guilt of the past years. Tyrael's consolation, knowing the mortal pain experienced as a human better than anyone, rekindled the spark in Lorath's cold heart.

The Journey to Find the Broken Bones

When the Wanderer, awakened from his inner illusion, returned to the hideout, he found Lorath, who had regained his composure, and an unfamiliar old man. Lorath briefly introduced Tyrael, who had become human, and the Wanderer felt a sense of awe at the fact that the legendary Archangel stood before them in mortal form.

The Wanderer without delay revealed the Pools of Creation and Mephisto's true purpose to the two of them. Tyrael's brown eyes sank with gravity. "Time is short. If we cannot restore Lilith's dagger, there is no way to protect the source of Sanctuary."

Lorath picked up the hilt of the dagger lying on the table. Instead of his previous despair, a resolute determination shone in his eyes. "According to Rathma's prophecy, the remaining fragments are scattered across ancient battlefields. I will help you, Wanderer."

The Wanderer and Lorath set out to find the fragments of the dagger, searching through the forgotten ruins of Skovos. Passing through ruined temples shrouded in thick fog and valleys overgrown with briars, the two silently watched each other's backs. Lorath's spear technique began to draw sharp arcs once more.

When they found the first bone fragment half-buried in a pile of dirt, Lorath carefully dug it out and wrapped it in cloth. "Only now do I realize how hard Neyrelle must have struggled to find these pieces." His voice carried deep mourning for his deceased disciple.

The Wanderer pulled the second fragment from a crevice in a broken altar. The fragments that had been touched by Lilith's blood resonated with each other, emitting a faint vibration. As the search continued, the Wanderer felt that Lorath was fully focusing on the present mission, no longer bound by past guilt.

Though Lorath's breathing grew heavy as they climbed up and down rugged terrain, his steps did not falter. The Wanderer silently took the lead, securing footholds for the old Horadrim. The bond with Lorath, who had emerged from the pit of despair, was stronger than ever.

Having finally recovered the last fragment, the two brushed off the dust and breathed a sigh of relief. Lilith's broken-bladed dagger was still incomplete, but all the pieces were gathered in one place. Now, all that remained was to forge this cursed bone back into one.

The First Horadric Vault of Hephæstrus

When they returned to the hideout with all the fragments, Tyrael presented them with a new destination. "There is no mortal forge that can join these bones. We must go to the first Horadric Vault hidden in Mount Hephæstrus. An ancient relic slumbers there."

The group made their way to a hidden cave in the rugged Mount Hephæstrus range. When Tyrael pressed a specific pattern on the stone wall, a heavy stone door opened, kicking up dust. The first Horadric Vault, untouched by anyone for hundreds of years, revealed its majestic form.

On a stone altar in the center of the vault lay a cubic box decorated with geometric golden patterns. It was the Horadric Cube. Lorath approached the legendary relic with eyes full of awe. "To think I would see with my own eyes what I had only read about in records."

Tyrael gestured for the Wanderer to place the dagger fragments inside the Cube. As the Wanderer carefully laid down the bone pieces and closed the lid, Tyrael and Lorath stood on either side of the altar and began to chant an ancient incantation. It was a moment where two generations of Horadrim became one across time and space.

An intense golden light erupted from the Horadric Cube, illuminating the interior of the vault as bright as day. The Wanderer shielded his eyes and endured the immense vortex of magical power. A bizarre and mysterious sound of bones clashing and fusing echoed from within the Cube.

As the light gradually subsided, Tyrael carefully opened the lid of the Cube. The Wanderer held his breath and looked inside. Lilith's shattered bone was perfectly joined without a single seam, and an eerie red light shimmered over the pale blade.

Lorath picked up the restored dagger and handed it to the Wanderer. "This is our last hope. The only key to pierce the heart of Hatred and save Sanctuary." As the Wanderer gripped the dagger, a heavy power along with Lilith's residual thoughts was coldly transmitted to his hand.

Tyrael nodded, a faint smile appearing on his old and weary face. His mission, having formed the Horadrim as an Archangel long ago, was now carried on through the weapon held in the Wanderer's hand at this very moment, now that he was a mortal. The legacy of the past stood ready to prevent the doom of the present.

The Mother's Last Sacrifice

The moment he gripped the dagger, the Wanderer's vision was suddenly covered in crimson darkness. His senses of reality were cut off, and he plunged once more into the inner abyss. But this time, it was not Lilith's calling. Along with a terrible stench of sulfur, Mephisto's illusion constricted his soul.

"Foolish thing. Did you think you could sneak past me while harboring my daughter's blood!" Mephisto's horrific voice echoed from all directions. A thick venom of hatred began to seep into the Wanderer's soul. A terrible pain, as if his flesh were burning, swept through his entire body.

The Wanderer tried to scream and resist, but crushed by the overwhelming thoughts emitted by the Lord of Hatred, he could not even wiggle a finger. Mephisto intended to completely consume the Wanderer's soul and use him as a guide to the Pools of Creation.

Just then, a pale beam of light shot down, cutting through the darkness. Lilith's soul intervened between the Wanderer and Mephisto, spreading a blood-red veil. "Do not touch my creation, Father!" With her cry, the venom of hatred was temporarily pushed back.

Lilith turned to the Wanderer, whose face was distorted in pain, and cried out desperately, "Sever your blood connection with me at once! Otherwise, your soul will be consumed by hatred forever!" It was her final command to save the Wanderer, and at the same time, to protect Sanctuary.

"But you...!" the Wanderer barely managed to speak. Severing the connection meant that even the last of Lilith's residual thoughts remaining within him would be extinguished. As Mephisto's massive shadow loomed again, Lilith gathered all her remaining spiritual energy to form a shield.

"There is no time to hesitate! The ones to save Sanctuary are neither me nor my father, but you mortals!" Lilith's form began to turn translucent and shatter. Gritting his teeth, the Wanderer pulled the power of the dagger in reverse, ruthlessly severing the traces of Lilith entwined in his veins.

With a snapping rupture, Lilith's soul shattered into pieces while enveloping the Wanderer, scattering into the void. As Mephisto's horrific roar of rage receded, the crimson darkness that had covered the Wanderer's inner self cleared away as if it had all been a lie. Her sacrifice had protected the Wanderer's soul.

The Corrupted Queen and the Fallen Horadrim

"Gah!" The Wanderer spat out a rough breath and was thrown back into reality. Lying prone on the cold floor of the Horadric Vault, he trembled all over like an aspen leaf. Tyrael hurriedly approached and supported him. The Wanderer struggled to clear his blurred vision and looked around.

"Where is Lorath?" At the Wanderer's question, Tyrael replied with a grim expression. "While you were unconscious, he left first for the heart of Skovos, saying he would inform Queen Adreona of the situation and request support." An ominous premonition coiled like a serpent in the Wanderer's chest.

Sensing that Mephisto's hatred had already spread deep into Skovos, the Wanderer staggered to his feet. Firmly strapping the restored dagger to his waist, he ran alongside Tyrael toward the massive temple district of Skovos, tracking Lorath's trail.

The path leading to the temple was enveloped in an eerie silence. No Amazon guards were in sight, and the air carried a faint, sickening stench of sulfur characteristic of Mephisto. Drawing his weapon, the Wanderer roughly pushed open the massive bronze doors of the temple.

The scene inside the temple was horrific. Queen Adreona, completely consumed by the crimson energy of hatred, stood holding a lightning spear, and at her feet lay a figure in a familiar brown robe. It was Lorath. The Wanderer's heart sank.

A fatal spear wound was deeply etched into Lorath's chest, and the floor was already drenched with his red blood. Adreona's eyes were dyed pitch black, devoid of reason, and a bizarre smile resembling Mephisto's mockery spread across her lips.

"Lorath!" The Wanderer screamed and tried to run forward, but Adreona swung her lightning-spewing spear, blocking his path. The corrupted queen let out a beastly growl and charged fiercely toward the Wanderer.

Suppressing the anger and sorrow boiling inside him, the Wanderer raised his weapon. The spear blade of the queen, who had once again been deceived by the demon that manipulated her, was merciless. To ensure Lorath's sacrifice was not in vain, the Wanderer had to defeat the tragic enemy before him.

The Covenant of the Tree and the Leftover Grief

Adreona's lightning spear rained down like a torrent, but the Wanderer deflected the onslaught with the cool energy radiating from Lilith's dagger. After a fierce clash, the Wanderer's sword strike knocked away Adreona's weapon and struck her shoulder. The corrupted queen staggered and fell.

Subduing the queen without inflicting a fatal wound, the Wanderer immediately knelt by Lorath's side. Tyrael, who had followed, also stood by his disciple with a grim face. Lorath's breath was scattering faintly, and his unfocused eyes wandered in the air.

"Wanderer..." Lorath barely managed to speak in a blood-choked voice. The Wanderer tightly grasped his cold hand. "Do not speak. Your wound is deep." But Lorath shook his head faintly, looking back and forth between Tyrael and the Wanderer.

"My mission... seems to end here. Take care of Neyrelle... and Sanctuary." With that brief final testament, Lorath's head slumped powerlessly. The moment the last Horadrim's rough breath stopped forever, a sickening red swamp began to boil up from the temple floor.

The cruel covenant made with the Tree of Whispers had been activated. Bizarre tree roots extending from the floor wrapped around Lorath's corpse, attempting to harvest his soul and head. The Wanderer screamed and swung his weapon to cut the roots, but Tyrael caught his arm with a heavy hand and shook his head sadly.

"The covenant cannot be undone. This is the price he agreed to pay the Tree." Tyrael's voice trembled with devastation. Swallowing tears of blood, the Wanderer had to watch helplessly as Lorath's head was taken into the darkness by the Tree's magical covenant. Beyond the pain of physical mutilation, the shock of spiritual subjugation—where his very existence was bound as a part of the Tree—tore at the Wanderer's heart.

The swamp that swallowed Lorath's head soon vanished without a trace, leaving only the headless old man's corpse and a heavy silence in the temple. With hands stained with Lorath's blood, the Wanderer tightly gripped Lilith's dagger. Drops of blood fell from his hand, clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.

Tyrael knelt and covered his disciple's remaining body with his old cloak. The former Archangel turned mortal and the Wanderer, who was losing everything, silently shared each other's grief. A cold desire for vengeance against Mephisto took deep root in both of their hearts.

Verified Sources

Blizzard  Neyrelle's Memorial Records

Blizzard  Vessel of Hatred Campaign and Skovos

GameSpot  Blizzard Developers' Vessel of Hatred Interview