[Continued from here!]
@macabrecabra
“No shortage of warriors in Tristram,” Lyndon quipped, marveling silently at the weapon Tevar had fired. Crossbows had certainly changed in a few thousand years. Perhaps if he was lucky, he could acquire himself one--
Later. They had to sound the alarm, though he doubted the sudden demon swell would go unnoticed by the other Nephalem. He cast a concerned glance back towards the tunnels before resuming his sprint to Tristram. Malthael could take care of himself, particularly if Imperius was with him.
What a cockeyed thought. Need to pester the dumbarse later and find out how he caught himself up in all of this.
“Wait, I can help!” Chith had finally found his footing and was jogging alongside them, more an awkward stumble than a true sprint. Ah well, Lyndon thought; the healer wasn’t exactly known for his dexterity. “Just need a moment...”
He drew a gem from a pouch, clasped it between his palms, and pulsed a Lightwave through it. The crystal lit, then keeled; distantly, the sound of other gems resonating could be heard.
Lyndon snickered. If the others hadn’t noticed the demons yet, they would now. “That’s supposed to be for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency!”
“Eh, I’ve seen worse.”
Chith glowered at him, a mannerism clearly borrowed from Malthael.
“Long as you’re ready to sunder some demons, no harm done,” he conceded, as he fired another round into the fiends that were scuttering behind them. “Are you ready?”
————————————————————————————
Malthael’s hearing faded to a high-pitched keening as the cavern exploded, throwing him and Imperius into the dirt. He groaned and pressed his index fingers to his temples, blinking through the disorientation as sound gradually returned.
“My thanks,” he muttered, when he saw the breaks in Imperius’ armor. “And yes, I can--” He was interrupted by Imperius wrapping an arm about him. Confused, Malthael glared at him. “What are you doing--”
--whhhhhhoooooooooomp--
His boots slammed into Tristram’s cobblestones. Beside him, Imperius called forth Solarion. A ream of flames exploded across the square as the spear fell from the sky into his grip.
Malthael exhaled a long-suffering sigh; so much for keeping the Archangel hidden. On cue, panicked shouts went up from around the town. Malthael’s own warning-gem flickered and sounded; Chith, probably.
“By the Light, someone get the arcanists over here, we have a prob--”
“Stop!” He side-stepped around Imperius, raising his blades in defense at Tyrael’s panicked shout, as the Horadric leader approached with his sword drawn. “He is no threat!”
El’druin wavered in the man’s grip, though only slightly. He looked between Malthael and Imperius with enraged incredulity, and more than a touch of confusion. “Brother. What in the Hells is this?”
“Complicated,” Malthael said dryly. Though, Tyrael probably wanted more information. “Demon infestation. Be here soon. Not your brother,” he cocked his head at Imperius. “Long story.”
“And I expect to hear it all later,” Tyrael glowered; his eyes hadn’t left the Archangel, though he did temporarily lower El’druin. “What are we dealing with?”
“Filth demon. Split. Keep the halves apart. Kill everything. Except,” he added, with a trace of resignation, “Rakanoth. Also helping.”
“By Diablo’s taint, why is the Lord of Despair also here?”
“Long story,” Malthael repeated. “Must we debate it now?”
Indeed, it was not the time. He felt the demon swell pulse and writhe towards Tristram. Reaching out into the surrounding essence, he drew from the well of Death and called its chill into his blades. Frost crept along the shotels, stopping just before it reached his fingers. His forearms ached preemptively.
Oh, enough.
The demons were feral, mindless creatures, most of them. But some would recognize him, if given reason. He considered fetching his armor, before deciding there wasn’t enough time. And he had other ways to project his identity.
He snapped a shotel out, tip to the sky, and let Death flow through him. The shroud ran along his flesh and along his back, before snaking out into the form of wispy, skeletal wings.
If Hamorath were intelligent, he would fear two Archangels.
“Keep the tail out of the way,” he muttered to Imperius, before slowly stalking towards the town’s gates. “Lest I habitually lop it off.”