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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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            Everything was dark. Not the blend of shadow and light that hinted at shapes and shades. It was pure darkness. No light. No color. Nothing. The only thing present was the heat. It was everywhere in the void. It clung like skin with a smoldering hunger. No pain. No pleasure. No order. No chaos. No end. No beginning. But unlike prior experiences, she was not lost within it. Killashandra was in the darkness because she was part of it. And nothing else mattered.
            She was at peace. It was a moment where Time simply did not exist. Not even memory could touch her in the void as she let herself exist as part of it. If this was to be her fate, it was hardly unpleasant. It simply was. And she simply was. Never had she ever imagined such an event horizon. Once it was upon her however, it...was...
            Then something intruded. Its source should have been nonexistent yet still the something existed. And it had found her in the dark. Like a voice, unspoken words, emotions, music...something that had no name and no manner of description until it jolted a limited perception into understanding it. That was when she realized it was a thought--or thoughts. Something that felt so familiar it should have been her own, but had no place in this existence.
            Alone with this vision...
            Alone with this sound...
            Alone in my dreams...
            I carry around...
            She knew these words somehow, but they were not just words. There were deeper things with them that could never be explained. It was...her. But more than that, it was beyond her thoughts and feelings. It was the very base of what had driven her onward, making her survive and continue through life. This was...her soul. And it was reawakening memory as it unfurled like ashen leaves, crumbling about the edges with every motion yet too solid to collapse.
            Alone with this vision...
            Alone and blind...
            It's not in my mind...
            It's here at my side...
            Thunder was there. Sound, vibration, warmth. Even as it began to gain strength in her awareness she knew what it was: a heartbeat. It was her heartbeat. The moment she became aware of it, she realized how it was not actually strong but faint, weak. The beat was not steady, it was failing. Around her, that skin of heat grew more intense as she had a measure to compare it to in the heartbeat.
            Nothing can change unless you believe...
            I won't let it go...
            I'll fight 'til the end...
            And then you will know...
            Failing heartbeat, growing heat. Then she opened her other senses as she realized that the void she had resided within was a deception. The dark had wrapped around her and made her deaf, dumb, and blind to what was coming. Fire ate along her flesh as her lungs burned and liquid bubbled with every half-aborted breath her body took. Even as the darkness rose to try and pull her back into its protective embrace, she chose to fight it.
            I will not take from you,
            And you will not owe.
            I will protect you from the fire below.
            Go tell the world that I'm still alive!
            Pain consumed her so suddenly it almost sent her diving back into that refuge in the dark. Almost. Now that she had regained her grasp on life, she fought against the pain and forced it away from her to reach beyond it. The effort left her feeling drained. Then her lungs seized and she was aware of a surge of liquid filling her chest before a cough jolted her body and caused shattered bone to shred flesh further.
            Tell the world I'm alive...
            Who will save you now...?
            Who will save you now...?
            Tell the world I will survive!
            It was hard to tell if her limbs moved or if it was just her mind willing them to so hard it felt as if they did. She knew her eyes were open because she did feel them burning with salt and thought she blinked. Darkness remained. Noting it, she continued to focus on trying to move. Memory returned with every throbbing, stabbing pain as her dying body raged around her. Within that memory, she saw the Lord of Terror's chest broken open like a beetle's shell, exposing the black heart to her blood-soaked hands as they closed upon it...
            Suddenly, everything exploded as she moved. Lungs seized in effort to avoid filling with air as liquid and fire washed over her, drowning her beneath them. The new sensation was so alien it took her an eternity to identify the feel of arms around her, beneath her. Someone had lifted her, picked her up. But it was not--could not be--Diablo. It was the warmth of a sun--cool in comparison to the fire that consumed her--with promise of something she could barely remember save it was good and the most wonderful feeling in the world.
            Just as she felt it wrap around her, the pain eased and she felt the need to fight off the consumption of her body fade away. Lingering in that battle for a moment, something about the presence of sunlight reassured her. Then, the side of her face that did not burn came to rest against a coolness that triggered her muscles letting go. She slipped back toward the dark, feeling that it would be all right now...it was safe to fall into it because the sun was there...and it was...cool...

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            One week later...
            A caravan had finally made it safely to Bastion's Keep. The fresh supplies were in dire need and the survivors all felt hope strengthened further as medicine and food were shared. With the caravan came fresh and seasoned reinforcements as well. Although the King of Westmarch had denied sending aid to the Keep, mercenaries had heard of the plight. Even if it was already after the battle, there was always work for those of able body and ability so the guards could finally have a small rest.
            Tyrael had returned a few days before the caravan arrived to deliver some grave news to the anxiously waiting group of fighters. While they had been hastily returned to Sanctuary before Imperius could arrive to carry out his promises, the demon hunter's injuries had been so severe that the only hope for her survival had been in the hands of heavenly healers. They had been promised the golden angel would not touch her as the remaining two members of the Angiris Council and Tyrael himself would not stand for anything less than aiding her.
            When the mortal angel returned however, it was not to bring Killashandra back, but to deliver a very puzzling message: the demon hunter was gone. Shocked and initially outraged, Kormac's angry accusations resulted in Tyrael giving them what remained of the hunter's burnt and bloody armor, and the ruined crossbows. The templar barely contained himself in his rage at what he saw as another betrayal by someone he trusted. Even Eirena and Lyndon felt the same way although the scoundrel was far less aggressive about it and the enchantress was polite as always.
            In the end, regardless of how they felt, they could do nothing but mourn the loss. Tyrael had to return to the Heavens to assume his new position. The Crystal Arch had called to him, drawing him to assume the mantle of Wisdom and reinstating him amongst the Angiris Council--although it left a void in the place of Justice. It meant that the three were at last on their own. And now that they had reached the end of their quest...none of them really knew what to do. They were left adrift and grieving for their fallen friend.

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            With the bustle of fresh, new life amidst the keep, it was oddly difficult to find a spot to sit quietly. The area that they had used for their personal little quarter during the battle had been invaded by the surviving children as the only place they could play without getting under foot of the adults. It should have given him something pleasant to see. Instead, all he seemed capable of doing was wanting to be alone and out of the chaos. He did not even truly know why he stayed at the keep other than...perhaps hope that maybe he would see a familiar, missing face.
            Kormac had actually sought refuge in the Armory where their things had been moved. Eirena had taken the small tack room where Leah had been quartered... Lyndon just hung around but was more often than not, gone. Even with the beautiful ladies around, the scoundrel had seemed oblivious to them and it had worried the enchantress and mildly concerned the templar. But he had a good idea about just why the scoundrel was gone. Just because he did not like the thief did not mean he could not understand wanting to be alone.
            The straw that had been spread over the floor to help insulate the stone against the chill served as his bed and also seemed to help muffle the noise. It was the illusion of privacy in the midst of everything else. The templar had an oil lantern sitting on a barrel behind one shoulder to give him enough light to read the tome resting open on his knee. And he had been reading...before the words just ceased to matter and he simply stared through the book.
            "Ah, excuse me," came an unfamiliar voice. It pulled him out of the grip of melancholy to draw his attention to the one approaching. No, the two approaching.
            "Yes?" the templar asked.
            He regarded the man coming toward him. Long, heavy robes in a variety of colors and a style that spoke of Caldeum. The heavy hood and cloth wound about the man's neck and head for added warmth also gave it away. He looked every inch the merchant he was save that he had a pack on his back rather than having an apprentice or servant carrying it. It made the templar turn his attention to the second figure and he blinked.
            It was a woman. But she was not some camp follower or wife. Her garb was dark leather with fire-blackened plates stamped into it. No hint of mail or chain. She was long of leg and arm with thick belts crisscrossing her chest. It did not take a genius to see the weapons there or pick up on the fact this was no mere companion. This woman was a bodyguard if not something far more lethal. Perhaps one of the mercenaries that had escorted the caravan safely. Like the man, she had a hood with another wrap of thick cloth bound around her head and face so only her eyes were visible.
            Feeling a pang of grief and another of regret, he realized how much she reminded him of another woman in dark leather. Only, this one was not his Shandra. She had no bows, no arrows, only blades and more blades. Kormac shook away those thoughts to look back to the merchant as the man took a deeper breath to speak.
            "I was told by the blacksmith that you may be interested in an item I obtained a few months ago."
            "I am not interested in any wares, sir. And I honestly doubt I could afford the price for what you have anyhow," the templar said, making himself turn back to the book on his knee.
            "You misunderstand," the fellow replied and drew Kormac's attention back to him. "I am not seeking a sale. The item I have is one that...I am led to believe one of the Templar Faith would prefer be in their hands."
            Kormac stared at the man blankly. Not certain what was being implied, he frowned as the merchant shifted. His bodyguard moved forward to grab the pack with one hand and brace it as he slid free and dropped it to the floor. Digging as the woman stepped back to give him room, the merchant rummaged around before pulling something free. And when he turned back, Kormac's eyes widened in shock.
            Even if he had never seen the legendary relics of his order, he had heard about them for so long it was nearly impossible not to recognize it. The item would have seemed worthless to anyone else save perhaps a blacksmith. But even in the dull light of the lantern, the templar could see the metal shimmer and flash over the broken edges. Once, it had been part of a magnificent sword. Now, it was but a shard of a shattered weapon. It still held the holy magics within the metal and flashing along the sigils engraved into the blade.
            "Where did you find that?" Kormac breathed.
            Pleased, the merchant smiled. "While traveling through the lands near a village named Tristram, I came upon the ruins of the older village. A sinkhole and fall later, I found this on my way out of the pit. My bodyguard has translated the whole symbols...would you like to know what it says?"
            The merchant held the item out freely without the reservation or show normally associated with those of the class seeking to pawn off their wares. Kormac was so shocked at seeing the relic he failed to notice the small detail. Reaching out, he hesitated just shy of touching the metal. After a moment, his fingers brushed the etched flat of the blade section and lifted it from the open hand. Light flickered instantly, surging and flashing around his fingers and spreading a warmth up his arm.
            "I'd never thought to see one of these relics, and to find one..." he trailed off, quickly regaining his composure as he looked to the merchant. "I don't recognize the inscriptions, how did you translate it?"
            Letting the item fall into the waiting grip, the merchant merely motioned toward the woman standing behind his shoulder. "Mercenaries aren't always uneducated savages you know."
            "What do they say? I might be able to identify it from any phrases," Kormac said.
            He saw the merchant smile before the man straightened--and he spoke with a voice that echoed with power.
            "Lux sancta nos, et grandinem. Lava corruptione. Gaudete in maledictum. Mundare eius animam."(1)
            It was as if he was deafened. Light grew within his hands, swelling outward. It pierced his eyes and drove relentless blades into his mind. Gasping, the templar went rigid in shock as the magic drown him beneath it. The light was so intense it burned, eating through his body and reaching deep as if it was hunting something. Something that was dark and twisted, vicious and poisoned. Kormac was unable to cry out as whatever the light touched burned away and something he had not even been aware of broke.
            When the light faded, he found he was staring toward the loft over his head. The force of whatever spell used upon him had knocked him away from the sacks of feed to sprawl flat on his back on the straw. His chest was heaving as if he had been running miles rather than a few heartbeats of assault from magic. No, not just magic, holy magic. Things were starting to become clear as memories he had thought he simply brushed off rose with entirely different emotions attached.
            Every step taken from the Old Tristram Cathedral through Caldeum and across Bastion's Keep into Arreat Crater then up through the High Heavens replayed. He watched as if from a dream the moment he first saw Killashandra, the accident where his shield struck and broke her arm, the battles they engaged in. It tormented him once again as he saw his fear overtake him in the spider-infested caves, the drive to be punished and purified for failing to withstand his own fear, the night on the sands as the lash tasted his blood and flesh.
            Then he remembered hearing something. Something other than the crack of the whip. Something other than his hitching breaths and racing heart. Something other than the grunt from the hunter when the exertion began to take its toll. He heard her voice where it had been lost under his own consuming shame, pain, and relief at every new stripe taken from his body. She had been chanting--and it was a chant he had heard before as he struggled to resist the crushing magic of the cultists that had been intent on twisting him into another Jondar.
            He understood...and saw every moment of his own reactions tainted from that moment on. The need for the pain, the looks she gave him, the way she reacted when he first saw Eirena, the behavior before and after she chose Lyndon over him, his own black emotions over the issue. It all pulled into separate parts and he realized why he had been consumed by anger and darkness. He had been a fool--the cultist magic had not been thrown off so easily--and his true moment of weakness had never been facing the fear of spiders.
            Kormac rushed through the following memories until he came to the tower and the first time that sinful lust struck him. Hearing her scream, feeling it should have been him screaming for her--the corrupted curse that had clung to him all this time. The reason why it was almost too easy to choose to kneel before her in the crater, his own lack of true aversion to seeing the way the human pets had behaved, why he had remained on his hands and knees to obey her commands even though he had been freed...it all made sense at last.
            And the time in the cave...even remembering lit a fire within him as he lay there, staring at the boards over his head. But...there was no darkness there save her own. No compelling need to give into his base desires as there were on all other occasions. That moment in the cave...was pure. There was no change in the emotions or the events they were so powerfully bound to. Not until the arrival in the Heavens and the dark emotions boiling within him until he donned the holy armor and they were mostly silenced.
            Suddenly, he blinked and realized he was staring up into the bodyguard's eyes. They were gray like shards of ice-locked stone. No...not just gray, blue...and green...and amber. Kormac stared into those eyes and he saw...a flicker of gold shimmer in the black pupils. The meaning...robbed him of breath. She had to have heard it because a voice emerged, rough and dark...alien to his ears as if the woman had screamed herself hoarse.
            "I should have seen it a long time ago." A hand covered in rich suede moved to caress his cheek, but he found he could not move. "That day I tried to drive you off using the cultist's magic as an excuse, I should have known why I thought of it. Even as strong as you are, fighting their magic for so long, it was beginning to take you over, Kormac. I was so blind..."
            The templar tried to speak, so much rushing to the fore to say: accusations, rage, pain, sorrow, denial, inquiries. But aside from parting his lips, he could do no more. That was when he realized whatever magic had been evoked from the relic's power still held him trapped in some way. He was bound and silent, only able to hear, see, and feel. Her gloved thumb caressed his jaw and brushed over his parted lips to follow the corner of his mouth.
            "Now, the least I can do is make things right. I'm sorry it took me so long. I already know, betrayal can never be forgiven. But for what it's worth...you can blame all of it on me. I'm strong enough to take it...if you ever happen to remember."
            Withdrawing her hand, the woman straightened and he saw she held the relic. She lowered it against his chest and he felt her move unresponsive arms up so his hands were folded over it. Then, her voice emerged rough and coarse, but with an all-too-familiar richness. Power flared blindingly from the relic, passing through gaps in his still hands and fingers, rising to play over the dark garb and reflect sun-lit gold in her gaze.
            "Lux custodeum. Lux salveum."(2)
            Kormac struggled against his unresponsive body even as he felt the warmth of the light begin bleeding through him far more slowly than the first flare. Within that warmth was a cooler touch as different from the curse as ice was from sand. It seemed to twine with the light then slip beneath it as it wrapped around his thoughts. The sensation of warmth followed to cradle him as he felt something...slip away like an elusive thought.
            "Tenebrae custos. Tenebris silentio."(3)
            When he tried to grasp it, he saw/felt/heard her in his arms in the crater as she kissed him--slip away. His kneeling form as he held her--slid from his grasp. Her tongue and lips trailing across his bleeding back--fell into shadow. Light warmed the strange sensation of emptiness behind and started to turn the void into a dream-like blur of sensation instead of memory.
            "...no..." he managed to breathe past barely twitching lips. She did not seem to hear him.
            "Tenebris diligentibus se. Signa eius memoria."(4)
            Realizing what was happening, he began to fight, purposely latching onto his memories of every tender moment they shared that was more than friendship. He struggled to hold onto the sensation of how her hand felt cupping him through cloth. He raged to protect the memory of her body beneath his, rising up to take him, of her tight wetness clenching around his fingers. He fought to cling to the scent of her breaths caressing his flesh. It all darkened and pulled away as if a dream being lost to the rising sun following in night's wake.
            "Tolle peccatum. Sub umbra eum."(5)
            Her chant continued as he finally twitched, one hand lurching away from the relic as numb fingers fumbled. Light had half blinded his vision as he reached out to grope like a child in the night. Something was under his palm as nerves registered cloth. Sluggish fingers pulled and he felt bare flesh. He heard a sharp inhalation and there was a hitch in the rhythm of the chant. For an instant he could see again...and he cupped her cheek.
            "...Shandra..."
            Those vaguely glowing eyes were shimmering but not with light. Molten fire stung his skin as the tear fell to wet his flesh. But she did not stop for his plea. Even as she stared into his eyes. Even as he lost his sight behind a veil of white light. Even as he screamed inside and tried to wrap himself around the last piece of memory to hold onto the touch of her hand against his neck, her breath caressing his chin through the visor, the near-physical sensation of her lips pressing against the metal before she pulled away...it was gone.
            "Somnium amoris...Kormac."(6)
            At last, his hand fell away from her cheek as the white light chased the shadow down from his eyes. It followed it deep and buried all memory of what had been tainted deep in his mind. The templar's eyes slowly drifted closed as the light faded from the relic and he slid into sleep. Her hands slid away from his as she slowly made herself pull back and rise once more. Straightening slowly due to the sharp pains stabbing through her chest from every hitching breath, she tried to clear her mind and control her breathing.
            "Very well done, nephalem," the merchant said.
            Turning her head, the assassin-garbed hunter looked to the man. Without a word, she turned away. A hand moved to grip her shoulder as the merchant's guise fell away and ethereal tendrils of light rose from his back to curve and twist themselves together into slightly more solid wings. She tensed but did not shrug the hand away.
            "Thank you for your aid in this," was all she said.
            "It is the least I could do to thank you for saving my life. Twice," the angelic warrior said as he withdrew his hand after another moment.
            "He is free of the cultist's magic now?"
            The helm dipped once before he answered upon realizing she was not looking at him. "Yes. He is again pure of any outside influence...other than being human."
            "And what I did?"
            "Even I can see you did not mean to aid them. Whatever harm you did..."
            She shook her head, causing him to trail off. Then, taking a slow, deeper breath--leading into a sharp cough, she released it in a sigh after gathering herself. Turning back to him, she just regarded him wearily. He moved one glowing wing forward to sweep over her body and remove the illusion of the assassin's garb. She nodded once and turned to start limping toward the stairs that would lead to the battlements.
            "Where will you go from here?" the angel asked.
            "As long as the Burning Hells exist, there will still be evil, my friend,"(*) she said as she moved.
            "One nephalem against the Hells?" the angel asked even as his form began to fade from physical to bleed toward a thing of light drifting up from the floor.
            In the doorway, she stopped and turned to look back so only part of her face was visible. "Did you forget what I was before I was nephalem?"
            The angel hesitated.
            "I stand alone," her voice came strong and clear, losing the gravelly rasp. "And if they keep coming...I will never stop killing!"(7) Shadow suddenly exploded around her, lashed by an unfelt wind to rise in a swirling column around her form...and fade away to leave the doorway empty.
            "You made your choice,"(*) the angel said as he finally coalesced into a rising stream of light. "Demon Hunter."

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Author's Note:
            I am entirely unfamiliar with Latin. Never saw a use for it and seemed a waste of time. Now that I want to indulge in learning other languages though, I'm curious. I used Google Translator for the phrases found here--if they are incorrect, please feel free to correct me. I figure though, given the examples of chants in the game as translated on the forums...a little bit of difference isn't a bad thing given it's a game.
            Lyrics:
            "Who Will Save You Now?" by Les Friction (highly recommend you go listen!)
            Translations:
            (1) Light, upon us, and hail. Wash corruption. Break the curse. Clean soul.
            (2) Light keep him. Light save him.
            (3) Dark guardian. The dark silence.
            (4) Dark love him. Signs of memory.
            (5) Take sin. Under the shadow of him.
            (6) Dream of love...Kormac.
            Other:
            (*) Direct quote from the game, used in a different spot from where it originates.
            (7) Lines taken from the end of the Diablo 3 Demon Hunter Official Cinematic
            (8) A line taken/twisted/inspired by aforementioned cinematic.
            And since apparently the request that was here was a violation of ToS (which I was unaware of initially and apologize) I've removed it. The epilogue I planned is not completed yet so continue checking back, I'll try to get it done but so far I'm not very happy with how it's developing.
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The Hunter and the Templar