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The Hunter and the Templar	By : BurneHazard Category: +A through F > Diablo III Views: 6471 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Diablo III (3) and all content therein is the property of Blizzard Entertainment. This story is for entertainment purposes only and I make no money from writing it.

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            I would never have thought a mere cathedral would ever be so damned large. Regardless of what deity a people or king worship, surely none would require a holy place of such magnitude. And the design... They may call this a cathedral but in truth it is a labyrinth. How the devout could find their way about this place is beyond me. If it were not for the spider I conjured to aid me on my endeavor, I fear I would be quite lost in this mess.
            Using the passage Deckard showed me when we escaped the first time, I was able to slip past the initial hole above. The crown worked to unlock the great door near the passage. This once-holy place is as far from hallow as the High Heavens are from the Burning Hells. In this damn maze, I've lost true sense of time. I have the feeling that it took me over a day to work my way through the scores of abominations on the first level to reach the second.
            It's quiet here. The stench of death is less and I even caught a breath of fresher air from a shattered window--although I can see naught through it. My position is secluded and hidden enough I feel able to rest for a few hours. If the second floor is anything like the first, I know I shall need a little sleep before continuing. That and the spider will make certain I wake should anything approach...

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            The groans and shuffling sounds were clearer as she crept forward. Eyes darting back and forth across the hallway she was moving along, her bow rested ready, loosely drawn with arrow waiting. A faint shimmer of white danced about the barbed head and caused the metal to seem almost black against the wooden shaft. Not a sound rose from the leather boots as each foot was cautiously placed on stones not broken or displaced by whatever abominations had passed before her.
            Breathing slow and soft, her ears were honed on the sounds of her prey as she drew closer. More shuffling, another groan. Then the sound of metal rattling against bone made her pause and turn to slide to one side of the statue depicting some elderly man with a book in one hand and a staff in the other. Leaning forward, she slowly peered around the corner on the other side of the statue.
            Sure enough, a warrior of some sort more skeleton than corpse stood in her way. The armor was broken and in disarray. The iron-bound shield was wood and hung off a dangling arm. The other arm was dangling as well but the bony hand was wrapped tight about the hilt of a pitted and battle-broken sword. The creature's back was toward her for the moment as it shifted a little like a restless guard.
            Raising the bow, she tilted her head downward to sight along the arrow. Taking a slow, deep breath, she focused her rage on her target. The arrow's head darkened to pitch black as that pale white glow grew, flickering in hints of orange. The skeleton shifted again, head lolling and rolling slightly before it grunted. Only part of its throat and chest were still intact but it was enough to make noise. Killa did not want that type of noise.
            Exhaling, she loosed the arrow. The twang of her bow was quiet. The thunk as the arrow struck was muted. The clatter of the armor striking the stone in a heap was deafening. Bone flew and armor skittered as the arrow ignited the rotting flesh and spread like wildfire. The simple magic burned the creature from the inside out, felling it in one shot. And the only noise was one that would not draw more attention: a clumsy corpse crashing into the ground as it shuffled around.
            Relaxing as the brief burst of flame faded to leave charred flesh smoldering when the last of the hungering magic dispelled itself, the hunter moved forward once more. From the shadows of a broken column nearby, a dark arachnid took shape as it moved toward the heap to investigate. Killa already knew, it was truly dead. Moving a little more swiftly, she readied another arrow while drawing up beside her conjured companion.
            Just as she began to step around the heap, she noticed something different. It was a thrum in the air. Nostrils flaring on instinct, she froze to listen as her eyes darted from shadow to light over the passage. Nothing. The prevalent stench of death, blood, flame. Dust was still in the air from where columns had fallen and likely from where the star had smashed through the cathedral.
            Another moment passed and finally the hunter moved forward once more. Every step made that strange thrum stronger as it crept along her arms and legs, coiled up her spine like strange whiplashes of flame. It was magic. Now that she was closer there was no way she could mistake it. This magic held the dark taint of demons and corruption that was all too familiar to her. It made her hazel eyes flash with cold hatred.
            Sinking into a lower crouch, she moved forward more swiftly. Although she could not smell the flames lesser demons often seemed to bring with them, she could tell the magic was powerful. It meant a kill! Another cursed beast to destroy and extract her vengeance from! No more time to dally and sneak around if a demon was after the star. Even darting forward, Killa was not prepared for the sight that her eyes beheld when she reached the top of the staircase.
            There was the demonic circle on the floor. Its lines pulsed with a bloody-orange light against the blackness tainting the stone. Around it was a circle of figures in pus-yellow garb. Counting them in a glance, she found there were seven. That same black-tainted light was flowing from their raised hands into the circle they stood around. But it was no demon they were worshiping. It was a man.
            He was standing--bound by black magic. And from the manner which his body was contorted, the bonds were the only things holding him up. The corruption was burning around his body and eating into his flesh like a parasitic growth. His mouth was open and his head back so Killa could see the raw agony on his face. But the hunter heard no screams. In fact, the only thing she could hear was the low ambient of voices chanting their magic.
            In four seconds she took the entire sight into account. In two seconds, she decided to act. In the last second that it took her to bring her bow up--one of the yellow figures spotted her. Even as he broke the circle to turn and cast a spell in her direction, her arrow found his chest. The cultist spun in place from the force behind the shot. With his dying breath, he released a shout to the rest.
            Even as hooded heads rose in response to the alarm, Killa was moving. Two arrows were notched and loosed as the cultist closest to the foot of the stairs spun toward her. Her first arrow took him in the throat as the second sailed past their captive's thrashing body to strike the cultist furthest from the stairs. The power behind the arrow spun him around as well and two more threads of magic were cut. Sound was suddenly back.
            "Your magic is weakening!"(1) the tortured soul screamed in pain and anger.
            Paying the man no mind, a fourth arrow was drawn and set. Now the other cultists were divided. One attempted to cast a curse on her as the other two threw more effort into the spell they were working on their victim. Killa dove to the side as the spell flew toward her position, making the finest hairs on the back of her neck rise and stiffen. From the shadows near the base of the stairs, the spider attacked the cultist that dared attack the hunter.
            Rising to one knee, bow jerking into place before her, she aimed and loosed the arrow at another cultist. The man dropped like a stone as the shaft punched straight through him. It broke the focus of the last man who bolted toward the foot of the stairs leading to the hunter. He never saw the arrow that had just killed his companion rebound off of thin air and drive itself through his spine into his heart like a hungry beast.
            Hisses and screams came from the last two combatants as they thrashed across the floor. Killa watched them for a moment. Her spider had snared the cultist with four of its powerful legs. The back two were busy wrapping webbing around the tangled robes to further bind the man while two of the front legs were grappling with the man's free arm. Not that escape would be possible given the spider's fangs were buried deep in his back below the base of his neck.
            While the spider she had conjured did have its own venom, given it was her creature, she had purposely dictated that venom would only be used in merciful situations. This was not one. It would take a couple of minutes for the arachnid to drink the man dry, but he would be dead before the creature released him. Satisfied the cultists were dispatched, Killa rose and moved down the stairs toward the dissipating circle and the figure that had collapsed there.
            Magic was still clinging to his body and pulsing like some nightmarish heart. The man's entire body was heaving with ragged breaths as if he had been deprived of air for too long. Perhaps he had. The spell could have been silencing him in some way. Just as her boots came to the floor, he pushed himself up to hands and knees. It made her pause. That and the strange way his back first bowed and his entire body shuddered violently. Her bow rose, arrow almost appearing from thin air as she prepared for another confrontation.
            "I am free!" (2) the cry came as he almost flew to his feet as if breaking away from something.
            Light exploded outward, making Killa step back and up onto the stairs again. Her head turned aside but her eyes remained on the man though narrowed to adjust for the light. The cursed magic burned away like night before the sun. His clothing was torn and dirty, revealing minor wounds beneath the holes. Whoever he was, or whatever he had been doing, they had not taken him without a bit of a fight. And he was as human as eyes could detect.
            "Who are you?" he asked with a voice hoarse from his torment.
            "I might ask you the same," she replied.
            "You will know soon enough. Help me find my gear. I will reward you well,"(3) he said with a tone that was arrogant regardless of the roughness.
            Now the hunter's eyes narrowed for a very different reason. There was no greed in the sharp gaze that moved over the man from head to toe. Without the black magic upon him, she could take his full figure into account. The torn clothes were closer to rags in appearance without the brightness of light on him. In fact, the tunic exposed a very muscled chest and powerful arms. It was torn over what remained of his leggings which stretched across equally powerful thighs. Thankfully, a fall of that ragged tunic kept him decent and a mystery.
            Killa made note of the way he stood, even holding his side and wavering in place as he was. Solid builds like his typically came with heavy work. The arrogance of the command he gave dispelled thoughts that he was of common stock used to heavy work. His stance was steady and knees bent just a little for swift action. The broad shoulders were squared and ready. Of course he was a little stooped due to his condition but the way his head was angled forward was typical of one used to heavy helms with narrow visors.
            "I'm not here for gold or to save you, warrior," Killa said. "I'd suggest you make your way to New Tristram and put yourself to defense instead of adventuring."
            "Do I look like a farmer to you? And just what brings you here if not for the loot left in these once-sacred halls?"
            She snorted before straightening and stepping back to the floor to move forward and past the brain-addled man. Not that she lowered her guard, "I must kill the Skeleton King."(4)
            "Then our aims align,"(5) he said as some of the tension visibly bled out of his body.
            "Align or not, you're only slowing me down. And you're injured. I've cleared the first floor and the road back to town. If you go now, you can probably make it without too much trouble."
            Even in pain and weak, the warrior could move fast. His hand fell heavily to Killa's shoulder. Unfortunately, she was still alert. Before he could speak or even pull her back, she had the tip of a dagger pressed to the soft spot of his throat where it met the hollow beneath his jaw. He froze and she held still with eyes blazing in anger.
            "Do not mistake my act as one of friendship, warrior. I killed them because they were in my way. You are free as the result. Now get away from me."
            Anger flared in his eyes too--which she only then noticed were an intense shade of green like a good emerald or a rain-drenched forest. It only made the shadows of anger black against that green. The hunter's own eyes flared with blue against gray shards of stone, jagged and cold. Lightning was a sudden flash of white through Killa's eyes and gold made forest into emerald in the warrior's own glare. In that moment, something...changed.
            "I am Kormac, warrior of the Templar Order. If it is the Skeleton King you seek, then you will have to fight your way past Jondar. There is no reason we should hunt alone,"(5) he said in a far calmer and more even tone.
            Killa regarded him as her own temper evened out. The point of her dagger was still pressing into his skin, drawing a single bead of blood where it had broken through. But the tension had eased slightly from her arm as the readiness to make good her threat faded. If there was an obstacle in her way that this man was after, then it would only accelerate her own goals. And if he was a templar, it would explain the light and his apparent ability to heal himself--albeit minimally.
            "I often prefer to be alone. But I will make an exception for you..."(6)
            She lowered her arm and withdrew the blade. In return, he removed his hand from her shoulder. That was the change, somehow there was an unspoken understanding between them. Both had their goals. It just happened those goals intersected.
            "Good,"(7) he said as his arm moved back to cradle his injured ribs. "Now, let's find my gear."
            Besides, once this task was completed, she could bid him farewell and continue her own path. Provided he survived hunting with her that was. If not, then he would not. Focusing herself onto her task rather than letting herself be distracted by gentle concerns, she led him up the far stairs toward the blue light that indicated the path of the star.
            "Who is this Jondar?"
            "He was a member of the templar order who has forsaken his vows and joined the demonic coven that infests this fallen cathedral,"(*) Kormac said.
            "What could have made him do that?" she asked.
            The fierce glare she received was met in full with her own. "It does not matter. This betrayal will not stand."
            Shrugging, she let the matter lie as they came around a corner and directly upon the crater she sought. A single glance told her all she needed to know: the star was below, still far from reach and it was too dangerous to just jump in after it.
            "The cultists dragged me past this glowing pit. What made it?"(8) the templar asked.
            "I will know soon."(9)
            Around a corner, Killa caught sight of motion. Pausing, she tilted her head to peek around the column without announcing her own presence. The templar was not so cautious and walked past her into the open. Of course, it immediately drew the notice of the cultists milling in the hall amongst several mobile skeletons.
            "Down this way! There are my weapons!"(10)
            "He is free! Do not let him re-arm!"(11) shouted the cultist to spot him first.
            Growling under her breath, the hunter stepped forward as well and sent her arrow flying past the running templar to strike the cultist who sounded the alarm. Even unarmed however, the man had some skill as he managed to tear the skeletons apart so they did not rise again. She dispatched the remaining cultists. And it was also up to her to break the lock upon the faintly glowing chest.
            Keeping an eye out for additional trouble, she gave the templar time to get his armor on and heft a sturdy wooden shield before retrieving the polearm that was beside the chest. At least it seemed to be far easier moving through the cathedral after that. He was loud, abrasive, entirely arrogant, but a good piece of bait for her prey.
            Then they came upon something entirely new to the hunter. A staircase that was blocked by row after row of spiked bars preventing any and all passage. Studying the obstacle, she glanced over the side of the rail to gage the drop. The templar pushed past her.
            "Black magic bars our way... But the will of a templar is stronger!"(12) he cried loudly.
            Again she found herself wondering just how the damn man had lived as long as he had. Then something else drew her attention. The polearm was glowing with a beautiful gold light. He thrust it forward, bypassing the spikes to strike the heart of the first bar. Light flashed from his weapon's blow and the barricade collapsed upon itself. Moving forward, he struck again and again until the remaining bars fell and left their path clear.
            She sensed the dark presence below them before she saw it. And again the templar was rushing ahead as she moved down the stairs, careful not to step on any of the broken spikes or trip over larger pieces.
            "You were a templar, Jondar!" Kormac cried. It almost sounded...betrayed. "How could you succumb to this coven?"(13)
            "The Coven is my brotherhood now, Kormac! The powers we serve will soon rule this world!"(14)
            Reaching the foot of the stairs, the hunter watched as the two foes clashed. Every time the dark-armored Jondar summoned more undead to do his bidding, she quickly dispatched them. It gave the templar time to do what he had come to do. And in the end, Jondar fell at Kormac's feet. Gasping as blood flowed from the multitude of wounds inflicted, he dragged himself a little closer to the templar's feet.
            "Please forgive me," he gasped. "My vision was clouded by the Coven's evil magic."(15)
            "Betrayal can never be forgiven,"(16) Kormac spat, glaring at the dying man before driving his spear downward and impaling his heart. The body sagged as Jondar's final breath escaped him. Killashandra watched dispassionately before moving on toward the next set of stairs. She still had her prey to find.

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Author's Note:
            The quotes with numbers (1-16) are actual lines actually spoken by the characters as you progress through the game. In future chapters, these lines and quotes will also be followed by numbers--though I'll start with (1) for each new chapter. So far, as this is just the start, I'm sticking as close to the gameplay as possible. After the completion of Act 1, I'll be working more of my own imaginings into the script. This is merely a starting point after all.
            (*) denotes a line said in the game, only I have had to alter it a little to fit into the dialogue of the fic.
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The Hunter and the Templar