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The Hunter Between	By : BurneHazard Category: +A through F > Diablo III Views: 6166 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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.

Chapter List
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            The incident with the crusader Fairmont ate at her thoughts. Even when she sank into a crouch at the top of the rise to scan the land with a thickening amount of wooded groves, it distracted her from her task. She had not been fooling herself about how Lyndon felt. He had never said as much but the fact he stuck near her even when there was no profit, tolerated and helped her for no reward, and even treated her like he normally did despite the horrible scars; it had not gone unnoticed. She had been trying to ignore it.
            Her reaction to his pain in the alleyway had more than shown her how close she was to crossing that final line. And there was more than one reason to doubt Tyrael's claim that she could not become a demon. There had been several demons brought down that had been innocent people at one time. While there was a shred of uncertainty about the source of the knowledge, it was present. And, she had seen the cultist minions transform into demonic beings as well. It would not be that far-fetched to believe she could become one given her position.
            And then there was the kiss in the alley. It had been...indescribable. Even if she had lost herself in it and had no grasp on her present, the sensations had been...very provocative. The taste of his blood was still fresh in her memory. If she thought about it, she could still taste the scoundrel in the most intimate way possible. And that was what did scare her in a way she could not turn into hatred: she wanted it again.
            Motion in the distance caught her attention and she narrowed her eyes to find the source. Smoke from something large. Likely the town of New Tristram if the landscape was of any indication. They were almost to their destination. Shortly, she would be rid of all of them and they would be safe. The thought did not bring an ease to her thoughts as she had planned. If anything, she did want to linger near them. But if she did, Lyndon would not be safe.
            "Shandra?"
            The very subject she was thinking on had come up behind her while she was preoccupied with the view and her thoughts. Tensing at the lapse of attention, she turned her head to look over her shoulder at Lyndon.
            "We're almost there," she replied.
            His face was almost fully healed save a few faint red marks and a shadow over one eye where deeper bruising had yet to vanish completely. There was still a cautious stiffness to his walk so he was missing his typical swagger. Aside from those small things, he seemed fully recovered. It was a relief made bitter by a pang of disappointment. Ignoring the latter, she turned away from him and shifted to rise from her position.
            "If it wouldn't be too much of a trouble, can we go around that particular farm house?"
            It took her a moment to figure out what he was alluding to. Looking over the land before them--it suddenly clicked.
            "Afraid to face your 'betrothed' again?" she teased.
            "I would prefer to leave matters to rest, yes. She really was not my type."
            "She is a sweet girl. And she was quite infatuated with you."
            "Exactly my point. She was far too...innocent a flower. While beautiful and infatuated, it would have come to a bad end."
            "And you're not the marrying type."
            Lyndon did not respond. It caused her to look back in his direction only to meet his gaze. His eyes were a beautiful amber brown instead of the typical earthy hue. They were also oddly unreadable as they stared at her.
            "Perhaps not...but, as I said, she was not my type."
            A faint sense of premonition was tickling at the edges of her senses. It stayed her from asking the obvious question. Rather than step into that trap, she simply nodded and turned to look for the rest of the group. Lyndon sighed, frustration almost palatable, but Shandra refused to humor him.

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            As the others moved along the road, their conversations mingled. She tuned them all out as her attention strayed back and forth. They were passing through the small woodland near New Tristram. The last time she had been there, undead creatures had crawled through every shadow and tainted the open areas. Nothing stirred this time save a few birds and smaller creatures. Small signs of life revealed how changed the land already was, how safe it had become since Diablo's fall.
            The voices of her companions grew steadily fainter as she slowed to allow them to pull ahead and away. Soon, they would come to a bend in the road. That was where she would part their company permanently. A quick scan told her Lyndon was deep in the telling of another story to the female monk that accompanied the damned crusader and Chaende. The last member of the party--a mage named Kadrick--was also listening to the tale as he stuck close to Fairmont's side.
            Waiting patiently for them to go out of sight, she paused then stopped to tilt her head and listen. A nearby bird was singing softly while the sound of footsteps was lost. Turning, she stepped off the road and moved quickly through the trees, blending into the shadows easily thanks to the dark armor. Her thigh still protested with uncomfortable tugs at the scarred flesh but it was far easier to move than it had been. Keeping silent and swift, she slid around brush rather than raise a racket and disturb the small creatures to give away her position.
            New Tristram had never been her true destination. Her goal was the ruins of Old Tristram. From there, the fallen temple of the nephalem. And although Lyndon knew that information, with the others distracting him, she would be deep into her hunt before he could hope to catch up to her. Hopefully, he would be persuaded to give up on tailing her by the others. She knew the crusader would not help that issue, but the rest might.
            The thought of the crusader brought up another issue entirely. He had been correct. Ever since she had fought and killed the different beast-men that sought to attack them, it had become easier to move. She moved faster, more like she had before Diablo's demise. In addition, she had not needed to use the salve for a week. Whether she wanted it or not, inflicting pain and death actually had healed her where the blessings of angels failed. It meant the man might be correct about other things as well.
            Pushing all such thoughts from her mind, she focused on the terrain and her movement. Setting an easy pace that ate the distance without over exerting herself, she kept one eye on the position of the sun when visible or the tree moss when it was blocked. Given they had transversed the majority of distance walking or once in a while riding in a cart, the faster pace was a small exhilaration all its own. It was nice. And Shandra found herself relaxing the further from the party she went.

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            The temple was unchanged. Moss and slime still clung to the eroding stone, water poured through ancient pipes to pool around it, the pools spun slow but strong waiting for the unwary to try crossing the decayed remnants of the bridge to the broken entrance. The only difference was that now Shandra recognized some of the glyphs carved into the stone walls. Recognized, but could not read. That and there were no longer any remains from would-be raiders or adventurers where the lower platform rested.
            "Ah," came a sound too perfect to be made by anything natural in the place.
            Coming to a stop a few feet from the broken bridge, the hunter turned to scan the area. A shift in the air near her made her turn back and look toward the disturbance that seemed to brush over every scarred part of her body. Sure enough, a spectral blue figure emerged from thin air before her.
            "Alaric," she said simply as his features took form.
            "We had wondered if you would pass this way again. You have found your answers?" the spirit asked.
            "Yes. But that is not why I returned."
            The spectre nodded once as if he had already known. "I sense something other than your newly budding powers. A thing that we have not beheld for ages past."
            Shandra shifted. Rolling her shoulders, she shrugged off her pack and brought it before her. Sinking into a crouch, she placed it on the ground and opened it to rifle through. The object that Itherael had given her in the library was still near the top where she had wrapped it near her food. Removing the cloth, she held the item up for the ghost to inspect. His clear surprise and excitement caught her full attention.
            "It is! We had thought them lost long before the wars brought ruin upon us."
            "What is it?"
            "That is a rift stone. And whatever hand of fate brought it into your possession, you should consider yourself quite fortunate. These were the primary methods to train our elite warriors."
            Looking to the artifact in her hand, she considered those words. Alaric was silent as she gathered her thoughts and made her calculations. Finally, the phantom spoke again.
            "They were known to only come to those who needed them, in the end."
            "How can this rift-stone be used to help me?"
            Alaric smiled faintly before drifting forward. One transparent hand rose to point to the amber stone at the heart.
            "This is the lock."
            Shandra felt an almost familiar sense of premonition as she looked at the object that rested so easily and comfortably on her palm.
            "What is the key?"
            The ghost smiled, but it was more pensive than pleased. Drifting backward, Alaric faded away. His voice came across a great span of distance and she nearly missed his answer. "Blood will always run true..."

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Author's Note:

            This one was stumping me until I just went with fractured blurbs. Sorry if it's confusing. The muse is still struggling. On the up-side, I've resumed playing Diablo 3 with seasonal characters. I like going back to re-discover stuff I'd forgotten in the grind for advanced stuff. As always, feedback would be *great*, whether reviews or votes so I know if people actually like or dislike the story. Numbers don't speak to me as well as letters/txt do.
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The Hunter Between