"What was the end of the wager again?" Raekor asked, cleaning her ear as if she didn't have a care in the world.
"The end? The end is Bul-Kathos standing in the Arreat Crater, roaring his head off!"
Qual-Kehk's irritation was palpable. This was a battle they couldn't lose. As long as the Worldstone wasn't detonated, the Barbarians could hold until Bul-Kathos ended the farce.
"Then let's keep going. Bul-Kathos's roar is a bit too loud for my taste anyway."
Raekor turned back to see Rorschach finally finishing off a Hell Mother. A boring fight, a reenacted tragedy. That was Raekor's view of this "Rift." Bul-Kathos had achieved his goal; the rest was just details.
"I want to win! Not by relying on Bul-Kathos! I just want to win!"
Qual-Kehk bellowed, his fury turning into a freezing gale. He spun into a Whirlwind, a hurricane of steel charging into the demon tide toward Baal's position.
The front line needed him. Whether it ended in victory or defeat, he needed to see it with his own eyes. Even if Hel-Olungus was geared to give Baal a lethal blow, Qual-Kehk couldn't rest. After all, to those warriors, Tyrael was as much an enemy as Baal. Who knew whose head the final blow would land on?
"Kaelchu, hold this gap! Kahn! Take command!"
The old general issued his final direct orders. Kaelchu, carrying the Stormshield, stepped into the breach. He walked with measured, heavy steps and planted himself. With his shield, he was a wall. No enemy would pass him.
Kahn, the Blademaster, took over command, acting as a "firefighter" to bolster collapsing sections of the line. The strongest sword and the sturdiest shield—they would keep the flame of battle alive.
In the underground storage vaults...
The layout here was labyrinthine, full of twists and turns. It had been designed as a shelter for the elderly, women, and children during the darkest times. But during the Worldstone's explosion, Arreat became a crater. Those without glory or combat strength had not manifested as spirits on the Holy Mountain.
Now, however, it was the perfect battlefield for a stalling action.
"Shouldn't Cassius be the one here?"
The Lady of Pleasure asked with a grotesque, haunting smile.
The Barbarian standing before her wasn't Cassius, the man the Siege Breaker had mentioned. It was Haileb—the man who would not die as long as a single spark of Wrath remained in his heart.
"You don't get to choose your opponent, demon," Haileb said, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I heard you drained Korlic? I wonder how many stacks of Frenzy he had built up before you managed it?"
Haileb's voice was dripping with mockery. The Lady of Pleasure's expression soured instantly.
"Perhaps Cassius would have been a better fit for me than Korlic? Instead of you... this scrawny, old man?"
She cast a contemptuous glance at Haileb's groin.
"Ha! That's rich! Hahaha!"
Haileb raised his axe and beckoned her forward. "What makes you think I'm a fool like Korlic? Do you think charming a gatekeeper makes the rest of us easy pickings?"
There was no visible fire on Haileb. He was the only Ancestor on the mountain who didn't project his Wrath externally. His fury was entirely internalized, fused into his very cells.
Originally from the Taguos tribe, Haileb was a master of controlling the power of rage. His Wrath didn't become fire, lightning, or frost. It became him.
"I've heard your name, Haileb the Conqueror. Can you conquer me?"
The Lady of Pleasure purred, her eyes flickering. Lady of Pleasure, Queen of Seduction, Incarnate of Lust—these were her titles. Any demon who bore this name became a "consort" of Azmodan.
"I have no interest in Azmodan's leftovers. If it were Azmodan himself, I might have some curiosity!"
Haileb made a vulgar gesture and whistled.
"Conquer the Lord of Sin? You certainly dream big," she said with a seductive smile, though the killing intent in her eyes was no longer hidden. She didn't fear him.
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