Tearlach (Chapter 23)

Template:Tearlach nav As he came down to the plains of Pandemonium, a phalanx of undead met Tearlach. Even here, the dead did not rest -- or maybe especially here? This was where the undeserving find their reward for their wasted lives. In a gateway at the bottom of the stairs, Tearlach made his stand, waiting to test Hell's mettle. These dead soldiers seemed quicker than their zombie brethren, with an intelligent gleam in their... no, most of them didn't have eyes anymore. But they wore full armor, bore well-maintained weapons coated with some greenish venom, and actually tried to avoid being hit. The last one actually tried to run away, a sure sign that it was still intelligent -- cowardly, but intelligent.

Intelligence in the face of the enemy should never be rewarded. Screaming "die with dignity, vermin!" at the skeleton soldier's back, Tearlach ran after it. Just before he caught up, the thing turned to face him; it had found allies. Tearlach swore aloud at the sight of them. Not these things. Anything but them. It was a bunch of those pesky leaping lizards from back in the desert. This would be a longer fight than he'd planned on. Not any more dangerous, just long. But first, he crushed the skeleton soldier's skull, just for leading him into a pack of these annoying things. That'll teach it to be intelligent.

Killing the lizards was as tedious and aggravating as he remembered. They were always up in the air someplace, raking their claws over his face as they passed overhead, knocking the wings on his helmet askew. When he raised his shield, they crawled in low, scratching up the armor on his stomach and legs. Whenever he finally did hit one, it bounced away head over talons, landing far away where he had to chase it down. It made perfect sense that these things came from Hell. Where else do torments walk on four legs? As Tearlach analyzed the tactics the pack used, he adopted a "round robin" style of fighting, hitting one, then turning quickly to hit another as it made a try for his unprotected back or side. Soon, there were only a few left. They leapt and dodged more and more, trying to save their lives.

As he ran around, chasing and killing the obnoxious things, more of Hell's inhabitants joined the battle. Another group of skeletal soldiers came, but they were no real danger. Alongside them were huge things, sluggishly dragging their squishy bodies on two short, muscular legs. Tearlach almost laughed at the sight of them. Their arms were thin, their faces covered with fleshy whiskers, and their gigantic mouths empty of teeth. What would these things try to do, gum him to death? Or perhaps sit on him and smother him under their flabby blubber?

As he killed a leaper, one "fatbody" took a swipe at Tearlach's back. He barely felt it, but gave it a blow in trade, right between its piggish little eyes. The fatbody wobbled away, obviously too easily intimidated to be a threat; he made a note to himself to find it and kill it later. So far, Hell's forces were a bit disappointing; true, they were more dangerous than anything back home, but not much more so. If they were more numerous (the population seemed sparse here) they'd be a serious threat, especially the strong poison those undead guys put on their --

Something very, very heavy slammed into Tearlach's back. When he opened his eyes, he was flat on his belly in a pile of gore, smelling of burning iron and vomit. What was that? No time for thinking; poisoned blades were biting into his back. Rolling over, he knocked aside a few soldiers (good thing those bones are so light) and leapt to his feet. The remains of a leaper, sizzling and bubbling, lay where he'd been knocked down. It was dissolving into a puddle of soup before his eyes, a sight and smell to sicken even a son of Bul-Kathos. As he watched, carefully smashing the last soldiers, he finally saw what had happened.

The fat things were weak in themselves, but they had a trick. That huge maw of theirs could suck up a whole other creature. Down in the fatbody's gullet, the thing was crushed, suffused with bilious acids, and finally vomited up with enough force to launch it dozens of yards! A fatbody's stomach muscles must take up most of its body. It was utterly cowardly, completely wasteful of good meat, and very effective to have those meat-missiles flying all over the place in the pell-mell of battle.

Once every living thing in sight was dead, Tearlach paused to think. That was a near thing, much nearer than he liked; true, he was victorious in the end, but avoiding any more such "victories" would be a good idea. He'd best adopt some sort of strategy. First, he knew what not to do: do not follow retreating demons, or chase the leapers too far. Those were false retreats, intended to lead him into greater danger. He'd used the same strategy himself many times in Kurast; it was an old and respected tactic with no shame attached to it, but only a fool falls for a trick he himself knows well. Instead of chasing them, retreat or stand your ground, so they must give chase.

As Tearlach looted the fallen, the second part of his strategy came to him: kill the fatbodies first. The backplate of his armor was in terrible shape, and acid from the thing's gullet had dripped down his legs, pitting and corroding the armor. The foul liquid had even soaked down into the cloth under the metal, burning and stinging his skin. Tyrael's smith gave him a whole new set of clothes, perhaps some of his old ones. The pants were a bit loose.

The outer regions of Hell were a trial in patience for Tearlach. His strategy worked well, but it took time to lure his foes to their doom, then destroy them. But he stuck with his plan, alternating the careful restraint of the tactician with the frenzy of the berserker. One well-armed batch of undead knights was armed with spears; he found a three-pointed one the old wizard identified as Bloodthief, and a cleaver-ended one called Steelgoad.

"Wizard, I found the Bloodthief one before. You said there was only one."

"You did, I remember it well. What happened to it?"

"The Mule took..." Suspicion dawned in Tearlach's mind. "No. The Gods could not have traded it to Hell."

"Hmm," Cain murmured, "I am quite sure there is only one..."

"Yo, angel! Tyrael, whatever you're called! How is it that this spear comes into my hands in Pandemonium, when but a few days ago it was taken from me by the Mule?"

Unruffled by the artlesness of the inquiry, Tyrael answered, "Others have asked me of this Mule. The brethren of Heaven have no knowledge of such a being, or what master he may serve. The Mule is not part of the Heavenly sphere."

Tearlach's mind whirled from notion to notion. The Mule was unknown to Heaven? But they know everything! Was the Mule known in Hell, even a demon in disguise? But the axe he gave clove Mephisto in twain, it was a good thing. As thought paralyzed him, both spears vanished from his hands, and a note appeared in midair.

Slab Squat-thrust,

Whoo-wee! Two at once, I've never seen that before! Don't you worry, I've put the other Bloodthief away, but two is always nice! Before you wonder too much and strain that brain of yours, there's more than one of them. There's as many of them as there are worlds you can make! Don't worry, Mr. Chunkman, I wouldn't give demons a thing!

-- The Mule

"Heh," Tearlach muttered. "A lot you know, wizard! There's more than one of them!"

"Really," Cain said, brow furrowing as he looked at the note. "That is news to me. Though it may account for the fact that, throughout my career, there are certain ancient artifacts I have seen over and over. There was a fellow by the name of Isenhart, for instance..."

"Never mind," Tearlach cut him off. "There is no time to think of the past. My mind is now focused on one goal: find Diablo and... the other one!"

"Baal."

"I knew that. Stupid name. Sounds like something you'd do in a boat."

Slowly, Tearlach made his way down the flat steppes and plains of Pandemonium, reaching a place where red lights glowed faintly through gaps in the ground. The skeletal soldiers were out in greater numbers; he must be getting closer to Hell proper. With them came wafting spirits and floating spider-crab things that cast spells. After the annoyance of dealing with leaping lizards, these things were actually a relief: they died in one hit, leaving only a little pile of pulverized bone.

As he wandered, Tearlach found an unusual demon, icy blue and vaguely translucent where it wasn't covered with armor. It charged, bellowing "Save yourself and flee!" Typical demonic bluster; this one was strange looking, but Tearlach saw no reason to be alarmed. With a snort, he smashed it across the mouth and the battle began. The demon's armor was thick and shining white, able to absorb an enormous amount of punishment, but its counterattacks seemed... half-hearted, like it wasn't really trying. Tearlach wasn't sure if he should spit in its face for being so stupid, or chop it to bits and let death be its lesson. Finally, it broke, and amidst a shower of ice crystals, an angelic spirit floated free.

"Ha!" the angel laughed, "Tyrael must have sent you! I sense his foolishness in you."

"My foolishness is my own," Tearlach snarled, already liking this angel even less than the first one. "What kind of fool are you, that doesn't fight his own death?"

"You may strike me down here and now, but it will only make me more powerful than you can possibly imagine! You see, The Three are my allies. Ages ago, I convinced Tyrael to use the Soulstones to imprison them. He did not know I had already told The Three how to corrupt the stones, and use them for their own advantage. By arranging their own exile to the mortal plane, my masters set in motion a plan to subvert your world, a plan you yourself have helped along by freeing me now! You cannot stop us; even now, I go to set the next part of the scheme in motion. By your own actions, you and all your kind are doomed."

Then the angel floated away -- Tearlach tried to grab him, but he was as incorporeal as any spirit. The icy body the angel used was melting into the ashy soil of the plain, leaving its armor and sword behind. For once, he didn't feel like grabbing the loot. The Three Brothers, exiling themselves? Using the soulstones? Subverting the world? Damn, maybe he should have listened to that babbling wizard, some of this might make more sense! One thing was clear: the Prime Evils came into the world hundreds of years ago, with a purpose. That much he knew, without any doubt.

If they'd come into the world with a purpose now, Tearlach would have known what that purpose was: destroying his kingdom. But they came a long time ago. That purpose couldn't have anything to do with him, not that long before he was born. He was not fated to defeat the Prime Evils and establish his kingdom. The Prime Evils were doing something else that had nothing to do with him. Could it be... that my kingdom will not come to be?