The Second

Everett Call blew wistfully at a piece of his hair, which kept falling in front of his eyes. Normally, he wouldn't be so bothered, but now, even the slightest insult, or disrespect, or injury, sent him into a wave of anger, and frustration.

He had just fire bolted a dark one into specks of dust, before the truth hit him once more.

She had slain Diablo.

That was officially the two-hundred, thirty seventh time it had hit him. And each time, like new. He would be unable to breathe. His vision would be clouded. His mind, foggy and like molasses.

He had decided it was his fight, his destiny to destroy this king of kings. And, she, his enemy, she, killer of the Good Queen Shellandra herself, had done it before him.

He whipped out a dagger, and jammed it crossbar-deep into a nearby door. Its ruby blade, curved so as to gore when it penetrated, stuck out the other end, and startled a nearby lounging gnasher.

But he just couldn't believe it. This, girl, who had accomplished so little while here, had done the impossible. He recalled being awoken from his trouble sleep, by DiStephano to join in the festivities at the Rising Sun.

Why, why did this happen to him?

His master would not be pleased. Tyrael, would not be pleased. He, he was to destroy the Lord of Terror, and bring about the salvation of the world. He would erect the new monument to the forgotten Horadrim, and bring a new age unto Khanduras, if not the world. Both his people in Westmarch, and the people of Khanduras, would join forces, to eradicate the evil of their lands.

'But now, she'll bring them together herself. For her own, greedy, selfish needs.'

Oh, the voice, how true it was. She had to be dealt with, sooner rather than later.

But then, then there was her, 'Carrier'. A somewhat fancy name for an attendant, or maid, the girl had arrived in town only recently. Her own, revered duty was to carry the wench's extra baggage, wherever she wished it to be carried. And the little tramp, the unhorned one, not the horned, even did the job stoically, and with a proud bearing to but some of the paladins of Zakarum to shame.

These cursed Amazon women. They needed to be dealt with. But how? Who?

'You know, who…'

Suddenly he did know. And he was granted admittance, to the deeper levels of the catacombs. None stopped him. None stood in his way. It was as if, none had ever existed in the labyrinth. It was as if, He willed them out of existence.

* * * *

He found it hard to bring a corporeal being back, from His Realms, but he would manage. Everytime one of those blasted adventurers and heroes from the town above, came to Him, and slew Him, He found Himself back within the blackness of the soul gem.

But so too did he find it shattered, more and more every time.

Not to mention, His telepathic powers were rivaled by few. Only Andariel herself had ever been a match for His suggestive measures. And so He had conquered so many, when they thought they were the conqueror. When His physical being would shatter, and burst, He would give them the knowledge, that they would only truly be able to contain Him, by doing it personally.

But the wench hadn't done that.

And now, he felt himself in limbo.

And something about her, it… didn't frighten Him. He was the Lord of Terror, nothing frightened Him, for the mere literal reasons if nothing else. But she was… interesting. A horned amazon woman, who reeked of an incubus, AND a succubus, but also of the winged fiends of above.

She was interesting all right.

And she had destroyed His physical being last time she was here.

And didn't contain Him within her own shattered shell of an existence.

Since someone protected her. He suspected the horn had some doing in it. If only He knew the tale that that held.

A thought struck Him.

His attention turned to the Well of Souls around His domain. He looked, paused, and plucked one from it's screaming Hell. And then, He knew.

* * * *

The barbarian swung wide and true, and cleaved the knight's head from its shoulders. Well, it's helm from its
shoulders. The helm itself was empty, filled with nothing more then the tormented souls of the damned. He placed his axe against a nearby wall, while bending over to catch his breath. That last sprint had caught him off guard.

The site of Everett Call within Hell caught him off guard moreso.

The mageling was walking, in an almost zombie-like state, through the twisting, breathing halls of Hell.

The black man grabbed his axe again, and ran after his companion.

Only he was not to be seen.

He kept running, and even yelling a bit, to catch the younger man's attention.

But he could not be seen.

As if he had disappeared right off the face of the planet. Which was a fitting metaphor, considering their location.

It was then he noticed the walls moving.

The place truly was alive. In more ways than one. And it did not want DiStephano to see the apprentice mage. And so he would not.

But why was he down here?

'Why, are you down here?'

A haunting voice. But it was correct.

*

"No, no no no no!!!"

Erim Lera awoke in a cold sweat.

In a cold everything actually.

The windows had been ripped open in the night apparently, by some malevolent wind no doubt. And her blankets and sheets were covered in frost and even in some cases, ice.

A strange apparition, considering it was mid-fall.

She swung her legs out from under the numerous comforters, and padded quietly across the floor of her second floor room.

After having defeated Diablo with her Guardian, the Heroine of Bhagwalli, Charisena, she had been awarded the most prestigious suite in the Tavern.

Only she knew something was wrong.

Now at the windows to the room, she grabbed one in each hand, and swung them closed. A quick flip of her finger, and the latch closed back down onto them, holding them shut.

For now.

And then, as she started to turn back to the room, her eyes caught another sight.

Iranae.

The girl had come to her shortly after having defeated the Lord of Terror, in a typical fashion.

Among the more traditional Amazon tribes, if a young girl was found of committing a serious offense, that was more than a pranksters act, but less than that of a murderer, she would become a Carrier. She would have to seek out a Matriarch, or any higher royalty, to serve them. Usually, it was as nothing more than an attendant, but Erim made sure the girl got her fair share of work.

But that didn't stop her from getting it all done in record time, and going about getting in more trouble.

She had immediately bonded with Gillian, the barmaid of the Rising Sun, and Glenoc the porter boy, who had the most amazing gold eyes.

And there she was, sitting on the roof of the first floor's foyer, with the boy, making Erim blush.

She hadn't quite caught what the girl had done to warrant being sent to aid her, but she would make sure to find out soon.

With a last sigh, and a brushing of her hair behind her ears, the Matriarch went back to her soaked bed, and went to sleep.

*

Orla didn't know where she was.

By Vim, she didn't know who she was.

No, yes she did. Orla, of the Vrin-Latti. Former Huntress of the Sisters. Watergirl of Vim in her childhood. But why was she here? And where was here?

Visions. Memories. Flooding back to her in a cacophony of emotions. Screams of the damned and dying. Moans of the pleasured and tortured. Shouts of the anxious and excited.

And then, her last dying moment.

She had bedded a travelling nomad of the area, a fairly common thing within the Tribes, when one got lonely on the cold nights. The act itself, was an unwritten one not to do, but it was not often followed. But were you caught, nothing but shame and ridicule would follow your family for some time.

But she was dead. The nomad as well. Horribly painful death it was too. But who? Her sister no doubt.

No, she did not like Aurla in the least, but she had not done this.

The hair. Bluer than spun sapphire. The eyes. The same.

Her daughter? Could it be? The wretched thing was malevolent and was certainly capable of such a thing but-

Erim. Erim Lera. Her sister's child, and her own daughter's half sister. It could be no other.

The girl was constantly confused, and getting into trouble. Surely someone would put her up to it. Whether her mother, or the Shaman, it mattered not.

The girl would pay.

…

In due time of course.

Firstly, where was she?

And what was that wretched thing staring at her from afar?

*

He watched the soul, and He smiled.

Erim Lera's Foray Into Hell - The Second

The axe, she is a cruel mistress.

This was the main thought demanding the girl's attention, while fighting off hordes of succubi within the darker levels of the Labyrinth.

To support this statement, she nearly pulled her arms from their sockets in trying to raise the heavy blade she tried to command, to block a blood star from full impact. She was lucky. But then another flew by, this one a fiery red, as opposed to the previous blue.

And then another. This one even grazed her, and caused some pain. She did not scream out though, as she was prepared for this.

'They would just have to die that much more painfully, wouldn't they?' She thought to herself.

Her axe swung again, no longer constrained by the restraints her muscles enforced upon it, and cleaved right through the underside of a nearby witches' throat and chin. Her body hit the floor in a puddle of goo and iridescent blood.

Zanaste was one of them.

Again, her axe swung wide, and uncontrolled, but this time took two witches' in the chests and split their breasts open to the world. They fell in a puddle of goo and iridescent blood.

She was one of the unholiest, and despised creatures in existence.

A nightshadow, spawn of human and succubi seed.

And she held Erim's prize in her deceptive hands.

Her aunt's soul.

Her axe, the Stonecleaver, swung upwards again, taking another witch in the face, and then she brought it back down in a wide swing for some more decapitations.

Finally, the room was silent, except for the heartbeat of the damned place, which had become more audible in the weeks she had been there. She leaned against a nearby wall, and held out the broad axe for someone in the darkness.

A fair skinned maiden stepped out of the darkness, and gripped the shaft of the weapon in both hands, and hefted it back to a pack she constantly carried with her. Also carried within the pack, a fallen knight's sabre, saved to give to his beloved, somewhere in the world. A shield, larger than the norm, but that still moved like quicksilver to intercept attacks and blows. A staff, elegant and formal, but truly blessed with mercury itself, to move faster than the eye could see. And lastly, a bow crafted from limbo itself, to be naught but a chaotic piece of wood. It's arrows shot at varying speeds, and at different sizes and weights for damage.

She was Iranae, Carrier to the Matriarch Erim Lera. Her destined duty until otherwise told; to serve the woman with all due respect and courtesy.

Even if she did have blue hair, purple lips and eyes, a blue horn in her head, and did not look at all like the Erim Lera she vaguely knew from the Tribelands.

Especially now.

The woman was drenched in sweat, and some unidentifiable fluids, from her kills. Her plate, light enough for speed's sake, but heavy enough to block out most attacks, curved cumbersomely around the woman's delicate legs. Her helm, definitely suited for a warlord, hung limply around her neck from a string, since it would not fit over the horn. Her sometimes used shield, discarded on her back by another rope, that also held the sheath for the family blade, Grandfather.

The woman did not look well.

"How much longer must we go madam?" Iranae queried.

The woman's pale violet eyes darted up to the sudden voice, but quelled when seeing it's source.

"I suppose this shall be enough for tonight. Do you have everything?" her voice heavy with exertion.

"Aye madam, but we just need to-"

"My bow!" The command was sudden and quick. Not expected by the Carrier in the least.

"What- but we-?"

"Now girl!"

Iranae continued to stand dumbfounded, when her mistress leaped towards her, and pulled forth a jade short bow. It's string pulled back in nanoseconds, and it's lightning embellished arrows speeding off. In the distance, the cry of a snow witch.

The girl just stared in awe. And then the bow hit her in the stomach, knocking the breath from her.

"Quicker next time."

*

Her dreams were still filled with visions of her aunt, and Zanaste. Scheming. Against her. For some reason that was doubtless absurd and false. But they did not stop, these visions or dreams.

Her 'Mind's Eye' focused more intently though, this time, on the location of these meetings.

Many times had she tried this, and every time, she awoke in a scream, or with nothing but clouded memories of the place. And this time was no different.

She sat up quickly, able to suppress the scream this time, but nonetheless drenched. Outside, she heard the dainty laugh that had to be her attendant's. She had tried scolding her for such flirtations and whatnot, but hadn't the heart tonight. Or ever. The girl didn't listen. And Erim had more important things to worry about.

Like why Everett Call was trying to kill her.

*

DiStephano knocked on her door early that morning, waking her from empty dreams and an unfulfilling rest. He still wore his plain black chain mail, despite Erim's insistences that he wear something magical. Starlet knew she had enough extra equipment.

But he refused, and still wore his plain, if worn, equipment.

"Shall we try again today Erim…?"

She did not feel at all well enough to enter Hell once again, without the aid of Charisena no less, to try and seek out the portal again. Sometimes they wondered if He was truly dead or not. So they had decided on finding out.

Somehow.

After excusing the barbarian from her room to go search out Iranae, the Amazon promptly went to her lavatory and emptied her stomach. She would need to visit Adria before going.

*

Everett Call sat patiently, more patiently than he had sat since coming to this town, outside the Witch's shack, waiting for the occupants to come forth. He hadn't been the same since his vision to enter the lower levels of the Labyrinth unhindered, but the barbarian couldn't quite figure out why.

DiStephano stood absently nearby, keeping a careful eye on the younger man, waiting for any sign that he was not himself. But the mageling just sat, toying with a ring on his finger, and waiting for Erim and Adria to come from the shack. The slip of a girl, whom was Erim's attendant for some reason no one would explain, stood a few feet away, watching the two men, trying to figure out what they were thinking.

Iranae meanwhile, was nervously biting her fingernail stubs, and brushing her silver-white hair behind her pale ears. Her pack sat between her legs, waiting to be carried into the deepest parts of hell.

And despite all the nervousness or mixed emotions outside the hut, none could rival those inside it.

*

"Pregnant!?"

"Yea, three months or so it would seem as well. Mayhaps four. Heaven knows you're plump enough to be that far along." The witch gently pushed on the Amazon's shoulders, sending her back down into the chair she had been sitting in. However, the girl wouldn't be so cajoled.

"But how? I've never- I've never been with a man."

The witch frowned for a moment, and placed a black nailed finger to her lips, appraisingly. "True, you have not. BUT- has your sister?"

"My- sister? What do you-" As the truth enfolded around Erim Lera that moment, the sun started to fall quicker behind the hills of the nearby mountains. Night would soon fall on Tristram, and the Dark Riders would no doubt come out.

*

Erim Lera was not happy.

She had been having mood swings since entering the pit into Hell, along with her occasional bouts of nausea and vomiting, and hadn't been able to hit worth a damn. DiStephano and Call were carrying the workload of kills in the place, and were none the happier for it themselves.

The trio made up for a wonderful atmosphere, once they found their destination.

None of them thought it would be found, and some even speculated if it existed or if Erim was just suffering from delusion.

But the gray pentagram was there, in plain sight, on the floor of the third ring of hell. And when they neared, once again it spiraled open, to a blinding light that seemed to have no source.

Erim stepped forward first, to prove the existence of matter to hold her up long enough to be teleported. Iranae quickly followed, with a sense of duty and loyalty that surprised the two men. The barbarian stoically signaled for the mageling to follow, and then did so himself.

*

No blinding gray light, followed by a strange and revealing dream assaulted her this time.

As a matter of fact, nothing assaulted her this time.

Except her fear, and apprehension.

No one moved.

The fires around Diablo's den, had cooled significantly since her last visit here, and were even now, nothing more than floating embers in the void around the place. Still though, did the souls of the damned flit about, among the embers, trying to huddle around for warmth.

His body was still. It had not been moved from where it had died last time, either. It was exactly as Erim remembered it, when her and Charisena had been escaping the place, in pursuit of Zanaste if not in defense of their lives.

And now, they returned in pursuit of the double-crossing thief.

Though, no Charisena this time.

And should the might devil come to life before the girl's eyes, she didn't think she could stop Him.

The others appeared behind her.

Zanasta, stepped out from one of the stalagmites. She was holding one of the souls in her right hand. It appeared to be a wispish flame, surrounded by a nebulous of blue dust. The little light offered by the embers, and the souls, illuminated little of the woman's face, but it was enough to show she was smiling.

"You have an interesting aunt, Amazon. She has some choice things to say about your family's… history."

"You betrayed me. I should've seen what you are. I should've known that smell couldn't have been natural."

"Hah, insults now? Has it really come to that? Listen, girl, I have every right to this thing, as you do. Why, in theory, she's related to me as well. Well, only through your and your sister, but nonetheless…"

Erim whipped back the cloak she had thrown over her armor, to reveal her sword, the Grandfather, and started to pull it forth from it's sheath. But something stopped her.

"Child, you don't seem to understand, I have more power over you than you think. We are of blood."

"Well then, blood of mine, prepare to meet blade of mine." The girl's eyes flashed unnaturally, as she swung madly with her blade. It struck cold flesh, and the nightshadow's right hand fell to the ground with a sickening sound. DiStephano started to step forward then, to stop the fighting, but was held back by Call. Somehow…

Erim let the tip of her blade lower until it poked absently at the hellspawn's hand, and the contents of its fist. Her cloak fell back over her body, as she kneeled down to pry open the fingers. Meanwhile, Zanaste just watched, fixated, as she tried to stem the bloodflow with her arm.

The finger's opened, and light flashed out in blinding pain. The girl fell back, her hands stuck to her eyes trying to rub out the pain, but it wouldn't go.

Once more DiStephano tried to step forward to aid her, but this time, Call beat him to it.

The mageling ran to the girl's side, and bent low next to her to lend a hand. Only, when she grasped it, she once again screamed in pain and started thrashing. Iranae moved forward, grabbing the Rift Bow, as did the barbarian with his axe, but Zanaste stopped them both. She had, in the confusion, grabbed her dismembered hand, and stuck it to it's stump, which quickly reattached itself with a sickening thud. Her hands waved before the two oncoming adventurers, and signaled for them not to come much closer. They continued with their forward momentum anyhow, and were greeted with charcoal gray bloodstars erupting from her hands, into their chests.

Each new casting of the spell would cause more blood to drip from the woman-fiend's wounds, and bring her deeper into an ecstasy that no human could understand. But the two knew not to contend with her now. But they couldn't sit and watch Erim be slaughtered. They might not like the woman, but they had their reasons.

All the while, Call had started tossing the blue haired woman around like a rag doll, and with each new throw, would toss another firebolt into her side. Once, he even grabbed her blue horn with both hands, and started tugging on it and twisting it, but with no avail. Not deterred though, he kept sending more spells into the woman, until she did not get up. All the while, her eyes had never opened more than slits.

Both Zanaste and Call turned then to her, for the kill. Even if they had noticed the woman who had been lying prone on the floor of the dark bastion when Erim had pried the fingers open, they wouldn't have likely considered her a threat. Now, as she held an axe from Iranae's pack in both of her hands, they would think otherwise.

She was completely naked, but seemed not to care in the least about it. Her body demanded attention, as it was obviously a warrior's body, and had many scars running it's muscular length. Her pale flaxen hair was damp and pressed against her head, but would not stop her in her aim at the netherfiend and her conspirator. Orla of the Vrin-Latti swung her axe.

*

Iranae's world exploded into action. As the newcomer swung the axe at the back of the nightshadow, she recognized her as Erim's aunt, knowing her as she did before her death. Even now, she didn't look too different. Except for those reddened eyes that she had noticed all the way from across the platform.

Call turned immediately to set upon the elder Amazon, but was knocked out of place by DiStephano. The charging barbarian had gotten up without anyone noticing, impressive for his size, and knocked the young man down, pinning him helplessly, while the rest of the battle played out.

Both Zanaste and Orla faced off then, one wielding a nonchalant great axe, the other her black-steel capped mace. And despite the obvious differences in the two, they seemed almost equals. Ying-yang.

Erim Lera had yet to move.

"So, you are the body of the voice, eh? Not quite how I would've expected you. But that matters little." Zanaste swung her mace deftly and almost took out the side of the naked combatant's face.

But the other woman proved the faster, and was pirouetting across the rough-hewn floor, with axe in tow. She arrived by Erim's side, and tried to help her stand. "What've you done to her?"

"Oh just a little trick I picked up along the ways. Causes some… permanent damage to the eyes. Nothing to worry too much about. Well that is, when you're about to be gutted it tends to become the least of your concerns." The woman yelled like a banshee, and came flying at the woman, who was now lending Erim her shoulder.

*

"NO!" cried a voice from the air around them.

Everyone stopped in their tracks, and looked around, searching for the source of the voice. None noticed the angel and his shocked expression. He had let himself be known to the world. His lieutenant was liable to tear his wings off. But apparently his mistake was for the better, as Erim grabbed her fallen sword, and swung it into the form of the nightshadow…

…Who was no longer standing there. In her steed, was the falling body of a succubus drone. Zanaste appeared instead among one of the other thorny outcroppings, with a mighty black staff in her grip. She uttered some incantations, forgotten since the Horadrim's departure, and slammed the staff into the ground near the two amazon's.

And when the smoke cleared, they were gone.
 

Erim Lera's Stealth Hunt

She couldn't see. That was pretty obvious, after the ordeal, but even more so, she didn't know where she was. It was plain to see, no pun intended, that she was no longer in the same chamber as her companions, but nothing else was obvious any longer. Except that she was not alone. Something was moving to her left. No, no right. Yes. Or was it behind her now. And when it spoke, she jumped.

"I don't know where we are. Does this look familiar to you?" She recognized the voice as Orla's, her aunt's, whom she had thought dead. But then some memories of the battle with Zanaste hit her, and she vaguely recalled hearing her voice then as well.

"I- I can't see anything. Orla, that IS you, right?"

In the darkness that only the elder Amazon could see, she frowned. "Yes Erim, it's me. And it's a- a…. curse of the nightshadow I suppose. The beast lives in darkness herself, so she enjoys the hunt better when others are in it as well."

"Nightshadow? But- I didn't think they truly existed." Erim tried to stand, but could find nothing to put her hand on for support. Orla grabbed her upper arm, and helped her.

"Aye child, and none believed Metus lived either, but that was his body down there, no?"

"Oh yes. I suppose I should stop believing in reality."

"That is what I've been saying for years girl. Well nevertheless, come now, we should be finding our way back home."

"What? But- you don't even know where we are."

"True, but I can see better'n you, so I'll also be able to find the stairs better."

"Stairs? Aunt Orla, we could be even further into Hell than before. Who says there even ARE any stairs?" After Erim's outburst, she felt her aunt's strong hand slap upside her head, and knock her over.

"Girl, don't talk back to me. I'm the elder here, and ye'll listen to me. Now come!" The older woman started off into some random direction, with Erim once more trying to pick herself up off the ground. As she started stumbling off behind her aunt, something struck her from behind, knocking her over once more. She tried to call out, but already she was gagged and bound. Her eyes, which were open and trying frantically to see something, anything, still registered blankly. Except when she caught the faintest glimmer of black hair, from her unconscious aunt's head in front of her.

*

When Orla awoke, she was not pleased about her situation. Her lips immediately formed into a frown, and she started to struggle against her bonds. Erim meanwhile, was not sure of her predicament, except that she knew she was bound and tied, and that she smelt something strange. Something like, spices, cooking. And the girl didn't need her eyes to know that that smell, in conjunction with all the little whiny voices she heard, meant trouble.

*

Longarm the Gangly, a Fallen spearman, was greedily licking his chops in anticipation of tonight's dinner. He alone had found the two women traveling noisily through the church, like a couple of zombies. After taking down the blue-haired, and horned, one, he and his fellows had snuck up on the naked one, and dropped her as well. But even now, his comrades were praising him for his impressive aim with the rock, and proclaiming him, Longarm the Goodshot. He lounged back in the rotted chair he had had brought to him, and waited for the water to finish boiling.

*

Erim had noticed when she first awoke, that she wore no armor or equipment any longer, aside from her general clothing, but it was only now that she realized her sword was gone as well. As well her axe, and bow. And Iranae was nowhere to be found, to hand her a new weapon.

Orla was beside her grunting a lot, but seemed more frustrated than Erim. The girl gently tested the ropes binding her wrists to her ankles, and found them to be quite oily and torn. Probably strung together from a bunch of strings. She closed her useless eyes, and started digging one of her fingernails into the nearest and most adjacent rope. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed, she was elated to feel the first few strings rip apart. But when she felt all the little grubby hands start picking her up, that elation quickly disappeared. Her fingers started groping blindly and frantically for a few more strings to cut, but they kept finding nothing but empty air. As she fell face first into the pot of scalding,
spiced water, she vowed she wouldn't scream. Not for these little cretins.

Orla's restraints though, had long ago been ripped apart. She was just waiting for the little buggers to come after her. And when they did, her feet, and hands, swept out in differing directions, taking each creatures in their little chests, crushing it immediately. As she stood, wiping the bits of dust and blood off of her that had gotten splattered arpimd, she smiled to herself, and watched the other creatures run off.

"Still got it. I may be twenty years ye're senior girl, but I could still knock ye off ye're feet any day as well." As if to prove her point , the woman hefted the edge of the pot, and tipped it over, depositing all of it's contents onto the cold granite floor.

"Yes, and I'll be sure to thank you for that later Aunt Orla, but until then, could we please leave?" Erim's restraints were quickly ripped apart, and the girl stood, now of her own accord.

"Yes yes, of course. But first…" The big woman, the elder of the two, grabbed the closet Fallen One, the one that had fallen from his reclining seat. "…mind telling us the way out of here?"

The little creature started twisting and turning in her grasp, trying to free himself. But Orla kept her grip firm, and even grabbed the longer of his two arms and pulled once, for threat.

The thing eeped, and started nodding frantically and pointing in all directions. "Yes yes cruel mistress! It's that way, no no no, that way! No, wait..." Orla snarled deeply into the creature's furry little face while it fought for the truth, and it immediately eeped again. "That way!" The Amazon turned to look over her shoulder, to where a door lead from the small room wherein the two women were trapped. Beyond the door, which had a few fallen ones peeking in to see the fate of their master, was an elegant marble stairwell leading upwards.

"Ahh, good. Now get lost!" She tossed the thing at the other fallen ones, and grinned at the resounding crunch of bones. The leader stood up, wobbly, and nursing it's short arm, with a look of abject fear back at the women. "Run, now! And don't stop, or I'll come and get you little one, and just get rid of both of those arms for you." The small creature's eyes lit up in terror, and it started running off, knowing the woman meant it. Up the stairs he went, and out of the church as soon as he could.

Erim meanwhile, listened to the whole exchange with mixed emotion. She knew that the creatures deserved what they got, but she was not happy with her Aunt taking the lead in the situation. And she said as much.

"Aunt Orla, did I not come here to save you? Why are you leading us?"

"Yes dear child, ye did, and lookee where it got ya. Blind as a bat, naked as a jay-bird, and horned as a- Erim, why do ye have a horn in your forehead?"

"There's no time for that Aunt Orla, but I mean it. I am a Matriarch now. A true Amazon in the eyes of our Sisters. And I think it high time you stop treating me like some child who's just stolen a handful of water."

"Girl, I'll well treat you as such, when you stop acting it. Now go on, and get on up those stairs." The woman grabbed Erim's arm, and started leading her to the stairs up to the town, but her niece would not be so curried.

She stood there in that dark and dank room, her arms crossed under her breasts, waiting for some budging from her aunt. But the woman just stood there, staring back at her stubborn niece. "Fine child, what do you want? To go up the stairs first? Well, go ahead, and stop acting like a stubborn child."

"Well how about telling me what's going on? What happened to you? Why you're here? Why I'm not. Well not back at where I was? And how about a cure for this curse, seeing as you're such a nightshadow expert."

In the silent darkness, Erim heard her aunt sigh heavily, and turn away from the stairwell to Tristram. "Very well. Like I said, I was slain whilst taking a love-"

The girl interrupted though, "I know that much. How about who."

"I- I don't know…"

Erim's head dropped, as she tried to digest that her whole quest, everything that had happened to her in this accursed town, was for naught. However, she was a even more shocked to find her aunt's comforting hand on her shoulder. "How- how do I cure the blindness?"

"Only Starlet can do that. Further reason to go back to the Tribelands to find her favor."

"No, I will not leave until I find that witch, and enact my revenge. How else? How could we bring Starlet's favor here?"

"Well uhm…"

The church was silent as Orla of the Vrin-Latti tribe thought to herself, and was even still when she found the solution.

The Stealth Hunt.

*

The girl stood, stoically, on the third level of the labyrinth, waiting for any sign of movement. Pepin and Adria had been very helpful up in town, and had cleaned out her eyes. The curse itself was mystical in nature, and could not be removed by either of the people. But luckily, she could now see a little bit. Only a few feet ahead of her, before everything started blacking out, but she was as fearsome with a bow as ever.

Orla was a few feet behind, with a nice jagged club, waiting for anything to slip by her. But as if on instinct, the creatures all swarmed for Erim. And she slew them with a single arrow most of the time. And it was with great anticipation, that Erim came to stand, blindly or not, in front of Leroic, who might be construed as her archenemy all this time.

So they stood, toe to toe, one wielding his mithril blade, which he had wielded to slay countless adventurers, and her, her short bow, strung up from the rotting trees around Tristram. His sword swept towards her vulnerable right side, but she lunged out of the way, sending a volley of arrows back at him. The incessant clang of metal on bone, or metal on metal returned the triumphant strike of the projectiles. However, as was his nature, the undead king would not be so deterred. His mighty two-handed swing nearly decapitated the girl once again, though she once more proved to be the faster. Her booted foot swung out, and kicked the King's legs out from under him, which sent him to his back with a bony crash. The amazon was quickly back up, and smashing the king into small pieces with her bow, boots, and the occasional club blow from her aunt.

"Hmm, no wonder the town's people hold him in such regard. Already he starts to bring himself back to life." Her aunt observed.

"Aye, this is nearly my tenth time slaying the foul thing. And it would look as if he recently took another victim." Erim nodded to a pile of equipment behind the king's remains, which contained a bow, some gold, and a few potions. The two women rifled through the items, until Erim sought out the bow she had vaguely spotted earlier. Hefting it high above her head, she peered intently at it's carvings. Awe gripped her heart, and she was unable to breathe for some moments. Finally, Orla put a hand to the girl's back, and she gasped in surprise, and dropped the bow noisily.

"By Vim girl, why don't ye just wake up the whole labyrinth. See, the beauty of the Stealth Hunt, is the ability to be stealthy. A lost quality when ye'r-"

"Aunt Orla, it's- that bow- is…"

"What girl? What nonsense do you babble now?"

"It's a Blackoak Bow. Like the legends tell of Starlet wielding, while fighting the demons of Hell. The very same Bow that Palashia wielded to single-handedly defend the temple of Athulua." The blind girl knelt down to retrieve the item, and held it reverently to her breast.

"Well girl, I do believe this might be a sign then. Starlet knows of yer quest, and yer plea for aid. She has heard yer call, and is going to aid ye no doubt."

While her aunt was known to mumble irreverently about the gods of the Tribelands, Erim Lera couldn't help but wonder if she was right. She quickly disposed of her old bow, and strung the new one to her liking. After a few well placed test shots, she was ready to continue her Hunt.

*

Arch-Bishop Lazarus would die. This, she was ascertained. Orla lay injured, bleeding, and choking up more blood at the foot of his altar, while he continued ranting about the missing prince. The dead boy-child's body in front of him, seeped the magic from the very air, into his still form.

Erim Lera was beside herself with anger. The mage had nearly destroyed everything. This, when he had been so easily ousted the last time through these parts. Black Jade, the succubus, hunted her slowly, and teasingly. Erim's bow had snapped in half, and was lying in pieces back within the altar room. She was powerless against such a foe.

She ran into an empty room, already cleared of her enemies, and looked around frantically for something to wield against her foe. Being blind, of course, didn't help things. She stumbled around, flailing in the air with her arms, trying to find something, anything to aid her. A white blood star flew past her, tauntingly close.

She had been found.

She spun around, ready and willing to attack the witchling with her feet and fists. The pasty white skin of the thing glided along like a liquid in Erim's blurry vision. Her black wing's curved above her beautiful visage, and whipped down like an axe, slicing through Erim's armor. Blood sprayed, and the girl yelped.

Then, the pain continued. She looked down to the cut, and realized, her stomach had been sliced. Her unborn child was within, and thrashing. She could barely stand.

So she stopped.

She fell to her knees, and tried to crawl out of the way.

She wouldn't die like this.

…

Would she?

Apparently not. Black ichor-like blood sprayed across the room from a stab wound, but it was inflicted by neither Erim, nor Black Jade. Rather, the blade that caused the wound, was a brilliant golden thing, with seemed impossible in its size and mass, but was wielded like a child would wield a stick. Erim's blurry, non effective eyes followed up the blade's hilt, to the arm, then the chest of the person wielding it. However, just as she was to peer on the face of her savior, they were gone. Erim stood quickly, trying to find whomever had killed the succubus, but could not. Everywhere she looked, looming darkness. And then Black Jade's body finally hitting the floor.

She was off.

Down the hall she ran, her hand to her injured stomach, trying to repress the sickening bile in her throat, and to find her aunt before Lazarus finished her off.

*

Lazarus would die. So she told herself, as a mighty fireball flew at her head. She would not move though. He would. She, Erim Lera of the Vrin-Latti tribe, would not be beaten. And as the fireball enveloped her body, she continued walking. After a few more of the projectiles had hit her, and burnt the rest of the armor off of her, she stood face to face with the demonmage.

He sneered, and prepared to send one more fireball into the woman. She was obviously falling. She would be dead in seconds.

Lazarus would die. So she told herself as she dropped into a crough, and rammed her forehead into the nether-man's torso region. He was lifted off his feet, with an infernal scream that was echoed by the dead boy on his altar. The amazon shook her head with many creaks and cracks from her back and neck, but before long, his blood was pouring down on top of her naked body, and he was screaming his last screams.

His lifeless husk fell to the floor with a puff. Dust and dry air flew out of the mage's mouth and eye sockets, as his body dissolved into dust and ash. A metal clanging assaulted the ears, as a sword dropped from within the eternal folds of his cloak. She bent to her knees, and picked it up without pause, before starting to walk back towards her aunt. By the moment her vision was becoming clearer.

'He'll be back by the time you return to Tristram,' spoke the comforting voice of her mind.

"I know, and I'll return to do it again if I must," she answered back.

*

Orla had been helped to her feet, and the two of them leaned on each other, while walking back towards the glowing gray pentagram which had become a sort of landmark for this dungeon. They looked once to each other, and stepped into the center of the teleportation device. Light assaulted them.

*

Last time she had come here, no visions came to her. This time, she would not be able to escape them.

She had a child. A girl. She was a beautiful, and a defiant thing. Her mastery of the spear and bow were unparalleled among the Vrin-Latti. Her devotion to Vim? Fanatical. Starlet's favor with her and her band? Almost devoted. The goddess had been seen in the girl's presence at least a dozen times. She was the perfect Amazon child. Except for that one slight.

Her coloring was not natural. Her hair: an obvious asset from her mother. Sapphire blue streaks, in a head of brilliant black locks. An asset from her father. Her eyes, and lips, a sensuous violet color, that only the Queen of Westmarch tended to have. Her mother's. Her skin: a flawless, beautiful complexion of dusky tan. Her father's. A barbarian's skin tone. A color reserved for the enemies of the Amazon's. And it was this quality that brought about the enemies she had. The enemies that were her Sister's. The enemies, which killed her.

Erim watched this all, her daughter's whole life, in complete awe. It was a beautiful thing watching such blooming, and blossoming at such a speed. The god's, who did such things, were a blessed bunch. However, when she saw the girl's death. A most dishonorable death by people who would be her friend's, companions, and fellows of Vim, slew her in midnight hours, in the back. When she saw this, she realized her mistake. She realized why she saw this. A premonition. 'Don't make the mistake you're bound to make.'

And she wouldn't. But first, Zanaste.

*

The netherspawn was where she had been left. Now though, a throne had grown from the center of the floating platform, to seat the woman-succubus. Her legs were hanging comfortably off one side of the bone structure, while her arms and head were draped over the other end. Everett Call, no longer adorned in the traditional red coat of the mages, was feeding her something, and was obviously none too willing in his place. Zanaste though, knew fully well she was to expect visitors. For she popped right up, and clapped her hands loudly at Erim's appearance.

"Aha, I knew you'd be back. And look, you brought your aunt. That's so touching. She's dead though." The woman let out her hands from beneath a voluminous robe, and sent black blood stars into Erim's injured aunt. The girl spun about to look at the older woman, and didn't make a move when she slowly started fading from existence.

"Erim- I-" she started.

"No aunt Orla, this is right. You did die after all, and you aided me. I'll avenge you, do not worry. And we'll meet again." Erim watched with a stoic seriousness as her aunt, the only family member she had seen in over a year, turned into nothing more than a ball of mist and light. Only, she did not enter the surrounding darkness as would have been assumed. Instead, the ball exploded in a spray of water, and shot up into the darkness above, not to be seen again. "Now Zanaste, we end it."

"Do we? Oh bother. Well then, let it be so." The nightshadow's wings ripped through her robe, and from her muscled back, and arched over her head like a looming executioner's axe. Her hand's were positioned to work her magic, at the drop of a second.

Erim meanwhile, still naked as a jaybird, just hefted the wicked-looking sword she had obtained from Lazarus' corpse, and waited for the battle to begin.

Erim swung wide, knowing the other woman would do nothing but avoid her strikes for now. And Erim was content to let her do so. Since she didn't plan on tiring, or having to deal with missing that often. And as if to express her beliefs, she struck home. After only her second swing, she had sliced a clean line through the nightshadow's chest. Zanaste peered down in agony, not knowing what to do, and left Erim her second opening. Her next swing went cleanly through the thing's left wing, and cut jaggedly through it's membranes.

She fell to the floor, and looked to Call, who had backed up behind the throne now. "Do something! Shoot one of those spells or some such!"

But Erim looked to him as well, with nothing but an empty stare, letting him know her intent. He chose to stay out of the battle.

During this interlude, Zanaste healed herself, and stood up quickly, spinning all the while with her wing's outstretched. They cut deeply into Erim, and she dropped her sword down into the depths of the Abyss around the platform. But Erim was not worried.

'Hell, if I have to, I could gore her like I did Lazarus.' For the first time, the voices in her head, were one.

Her arms spread wide, in mimicry of a mage, and fireballs swung out in blinding arcs towards the nightshadow. Her wings went up in flames, and her hair cackled and snapped. Zanaste leapt into the air, and with a last ditch effort with her wings', propelled herself into the portal back to 'outer hell'. Erim walked slowly to the center of the platform, where the bone throne was slowly descending back into the fleshy membrane floor of the platform. It's former master, Diablo's, remains still lay haphazardly on the ground, decaying ever so slowly. But Erim turned her attention to Call, who stepped bravely from behind the receding chair, to stand before her.

They stared the other in the eyes, for many moments. Finally, the apprentice mageling, bent down on both knees, and bowed his head in respect, and submission.

His Queen was back. In body and spirit, even if it were still Erim Lera.

*

But Erim Lera was entering her own nightmare. She was not free like she had thought. The adjoining of souls, of spirits, was only worsening her condition. She watched as if from a distance, as her body pointed to the portal, and sent Call back towards town. She watched also, as her body, now alone save for the flitting spirits around her, knelt beside Diablo's body. Her hand caressed his leathery cheek, and finally rested reverently on his forehead, where a mighty red gem glowed subtly with her touch. She watched also, as her possessed body took a dagger out from thin air, and jammed it deep into the devil's forehead, and wrenched the stone from it's resting place. An assortment of things
happened then.

Firstly, the body of the devil which Charis and Erim had slain a while ago, faded and cracked and broke, until it was nothing more than the naked body of a teenage boy. The boy coughed once, turned his head to look at the retreating form of the naked woman with the stone, and died.

The woman, who held the stone reverently in her fist, used her other hand, still holding the dagger, to dig the horn from her forehead. Erim, within the body, but not in control of it, felt the pain from the mind stream. But the body didn't waver, and instead, jabbed the stone into it's place. Searing pain covered the mind stream, and Erim Lera wished to die.

But the other residents didn't.

*

Tyrrynan saw only one more thing before being ripped from reality, back into the Palace of the Indigo Sea. And this thing frightened him more than the whole scene he had just witnessed. Erim Lera, or whatever had taken over her, walked slowly and purposely from the scene of the maiming, and entered the portal back to Earth. But before he/she left, one last glimpse was sent back to the room, and to the angel specifically. A malicious, knowing glimpse. And then, nothing was left in the room, except for the bloodied, empty blue horn lying on the undulating floor.

Then, the floor opened, and swallowed the horn.

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