Diablo III: Storm of Light (16 page)

The spine of Anu
.

Anu was the very first being, the One, from which all others had
been created, made of light and dark, good and evil. The One had cast out evil, but that evil had formed the beast-dragon Tathamet, the first Prime Evil, and the two beings had become locked in conflict for eons before their final battle resulted in a massive explosion, spreading their essences far and wide and creating the universe itself. The scar from that event had become Pandemonium, while Tathamet’s seven heads had birthed the seven Great Evils of the Burning Hells, his body forming the foundation for their realms. Anu’s spine had come to rest to form the Crystal Arch, and all of the High Heavens had sprung to life around it
.

This was ancient history to Tyrael, and over the many centuries, the knowledge had become such a central part of him that he rarely thought of it. But as he made his way ever closer to the massive spire, the legend felt fresh once again in his mind, the wonder of the universe’s creation breathtaking to consider. All order, light, and peace had come to reside here in the High Heavens, while chaos, darkness, and evil had found a place in the Hells. The two sides continued to battle each other through the Eternal Conflict, neither one able to gain the upper hand. And somewhere in between, full of the potential of each side and capable of acts of both astonishing kindness and shattering violence, lay Sanctuary and the human race
.

He was fascinated by this struggle between good and evil within every human soul. The same struggle of Anu and Tathamet, multiplied again and again on a smaller scale. Good and evil, light and dark, life and death. Where did humans go after passing? Where would he go now? He knew that humankind had many theories, but the truth was elusive
.

For some reason, Tyrael thought of the chalice still nestled near his breast. He felt compelled to use it again, and yet he dared not. He was afraid of what he might see
.

The angels who had already gathered under the spire nearly filled the vast courtyard, but as a member of the Council, Tyrael was justified in claiming a spot at the Arch itself
.

The angels noticed him now, as he made his way through. He held his head high, daring them to challenge him. None did. It took him time to ascend. Bands of light rippled through intricate patterns and grooves in the crystal like water and then flared in spectacular bursts from the spire as he neared the top, pulsing in time with the song, so bright they hurt his eyes. He resisted holding a hand up to shield them and climbed the steps to the platform
.

Those in attendance at the summit of the Arch were Imperius’s angels; the new angel born today would be assigned to the Halls of Valor, and it was customary for that realm’s brothers and sisters to pay tribute
.

The birth of a new angel could occur only when light and sound were in perfect harmony, resonating at a synchronized pitch that led to a tremendous surge of power. The spine of Anu birthed these angels as finite aspects of itself. It was said that only when an angel died could another be born
.

Huge diamond crystals rose up on all sides, shimmering as they produced wave after wave of brilliant light that met in the center now, hovering above the angels. The movement was building in intensity, pulsing ever faster, and the resonance had reached a pitch that was nearly deafening to Tyrael’s mortal ears. The spectators’ vibration increased along with it. The Lightsong was no longer soothing to him, and his senses were being assaulted. Everything Tyrael saw and heard had changed since that fateful day in the Angiris Council chamber when he had shed his wings. He felt as if he had lived two lives—the first as an immortal, another after becoming a mortal—and they were entirely separate from each other
.

How could he possibly stay here among the angels for one more day?

Suddenly, he felt like an abomination, a mutation of all that was good and holy. He turned to go, but the throng pushed forward as the song grew. Feeling as if his ears might burst, he gritted his teeth and turned back. The light pulses were joining at one brilliant spot above him, where fine, threadlike filaments crackled and snapped across one another. The strands began to weave themselves together, forming an
intricate mat that rolled into an orb, and within it, he could see a wriggling shape made of a light so bright he could not look directly at it
.

But something was wrong
.

He began to notice a discordant tone in the air. One of the threads of light had turned gray, so thin it looked like a hairline crack across the surface of the birth orb. But it was there; he could not deny it
.

Tendrils of light continued to snap upward from Anu’s spine and wrap around the shape within, adding to it, and the resonant song kept building. But that one note, so faint it was barely audible, was just slightly off pitch. It made Tyrael wince and look around at the quivering angels, their wings extended in ecstasy. Did no one else feel it?

Perhaps the tone was coming from him. Perhaps his presence here as a mortal was causing the change. But when he put a hand on his own chest, he felt no vibration, no resonance at all, and the core of him was empty and silent
.

The thing inside the orb was growing quickly. He could see the outline of furled wings, the radiance of the angel swelling moment by moment. At the height of the Lightsong, the orb suddenly burst apart, sending the strands of light crackling over the crowd, and the new angel unwrapped its wings as the light and sound reached a crescendo, hovering above the other angels in a magnificent display of power
.

The other angels’ Lightsong pulsed gently, a sign of acceptance and welcome. It was a female. The moment should have been transcendent, joyful, breathtaking. But there was a subtle change that cast shadows where none should be, as if the gray filament wrapped like a snake around the birth orb had incorporated itself into her essence, and although the Lightsong should have matched the new angel in perfect harmony, her resonance was the slightly different pitch that grated at Tyrael’s ears and seemed at odds with the others
.

The angels still did not seem to detect it. They were buzzing with excitement. He had hoped to be inspired by the birth, reconnected with the Heavens in some way, but he could not join in the song, his physical
senses bruised, his mortal eyes and ears burning. Again, he felt like a stranger here among the immortal
.

The Lightsong filled him with dread
.

It is the stone,
Tyrael thought
. Its foul tendrils have reached the Arch and corrupted the birth.

The idea chilled him in a way nothing else could. The stone’s influence was spreading even faster than he had thought possible
.

Tyrael turned again and stumbled away, his entire body aching, his mind reeling with terrible possibilities. He was alone in this, one against an army of angels. The entire fate of the Heavens fell on his broad shoulders. If he failed . . 
.

But he could not. There was no other option, not now. He must find the solution to the soulstone’s black sickness before it was too late
.

The angels parted before him. He went blindly, with stinging eyes, until a voice stopped him short
.

“You dare come here today?”

Tyrael blinked, trying to see through the haze of pain. Balzael stood before him. The other angels had grown silent. The space they had cleared had been for the Luminarei lieutenant, not for him
.

“Behold, my brothers and sisters, Wisdom comes as a mortal to stand before the Arch, but his eyes burn and his ears bleed! Is he not an insult before Anu and all that is holy?”

Tyrael’s throat ached. “I am still your brother.”

“You are an immortal who chose to leave his own kind and stand with the human race!” Balzael addressed the crowd. “The mighty Tyrael, who served as Justice and fought against our enemies on the battlefield, will no longer take his place among the archangels. And now he comes here, on a day of celebration, to dirty the Arch with his filth!” Balzael pointed at him. “Your moment of reckoning is fast approaching.”

Anger rose up in Tyrael, harsh and unbidden, threatening to send him blindly forward with the intent to claw at Balzael with his bare
hands. But there were too many others here, and he knew that if he did so, the Luminarei guards would take him, and his last chance to save the Heavens would be gone
.

He bit down hard on his rage. “Are you here to arrest me, Balzael? Because if you try, it will not go well for you.”

Balzael chuckled. “You will be judged, but it will not be by me. The Council meets tomorrow without you. They will decide your fate.”

Tyrael hid his surprise. So that was the way it would happen: a staged debate by the remaining Council, a vote to put him on trial for treason. He thought of his old comrade Inarius and his defection from the Heavens, which led to the eventual creation of Sanctuary. Inarius was branded a traitor, but he was one of the few angels who ever dared to make a stand and break from the Eternal Conflict, leaving the High Heavens forever
.

Now Tyrael was being forced to do the same
.

There is a solution.

It came to him all at once, and as soon as the plan took shape, he wondered how he had not thought of it before: a desperate plan, to be sure, but similar in some ways to one he had tried many centuries ago. Once again, he would have to rely on the people of Sanctuary to succeed. But this would be even more dangerous, the odds against success even higher
.

The chalice had done it. Somehow, Chalad’ar had heightened his senses, given him insights that he had not previously possessed. Tyrael was certain of it. What that meant, good or bad, he could not know, and he had little time left to ponder it. He had much to prepare. So be it . . . he would not be here come morning
.

He would leave the Heavens immediately, cutting ties with his brothers and sisters. He would call together a team of gifted humans (in his mind, he had already begun vetting the names of those who might be suitable) and begin their training. And they would infiltrate the Heavens, steal the stone, and hide it away where it could never be recovered
.

In time, the angels would come to understand his choice. They must, or everything he worked for would be in vain
.

“Come find me when you are ready, then,” he said. “If you dare.”

Tyrael swept by the Luminarei without another word as the crowd parted to let him go
.

Tyrael awoke with a start. The memory of the tainted angel’s birth had crept into his dreams, and his heart pounded with renewed anger at the confrontation with Balzael at the Arch. It was the last he had seen of the Luminarei lieutenant; the archangel would not give the Council the satisfaction of coming for him in his former chambers. He had opened a portal and left the Heavens immediately afterward, bringing only his writings, the contents of his rucksack, and the clothes on his back.

The chalice had remained hidden in his robes since he had taken it from the Fount. Each time he used it, he was assaulted by another wave of pure emotion. Death floated over everything—the end of all things. There was peace in endless sleep, in giving up and letting go. The thought was hypnotic. When he was inside the chalice, the alternative possibilities were stripped away, and truth became obvious. He must protect the Heavens from the stone. The appearances of the demon pack and the creatures outside the Slaughtered Calf were not coincidences. Forces were gathering against them even now, meant to stop the new Horadrim and destroy Sanctuary, once and for all.

But when he returned to the mortal world, the emptiness the
chalice left behind was nearly overwhelming. The frailties and weaknesses of each member of his new team were clear, and the task of preparing them for what would come seemed insurmountable, the odds of success next to none.