THE ROYAL SUITE OF KRAV'ZIRATH
The room was larger than the village that Eryk once called home.
Golden lanterns lined walls of obsidian and velvet drapery, while a dozen shadowed attendants waited silently along the perimeter, heads bowed. Eryk stood awkwardly near the carved balcony, trying not to look at the blood-red horizon.
Genevieve sat on a couch covered in silk and demon-fur, knees drawn to her chest, eyes haunted.
"This isn't a room," she whispered, voice dry, "it's a prison with pillows."
Eryk didn't respond. He was too busy trying to understand.
That throne room… that presence… Diablo himself.
And Velmora… was no simple guardian.
The door opened with a low hiss.
Velmora entered, dressed not in finery, but in a blackened travel cloak. Her presence dimmed the light in the room, yet her eyes held an eerie calmness.
"You'll get used to it," she said.
Genevieve didn't respond. Eryk stepped forward, fists clenched.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. "Who are you… really?"
Velmora stopped in front of him, studying him.
"I told you," she said softly. "I am your guardian. But you… Eryk… you are more. You always were."
She moved to a stone basin and spilled a drop of her blood. A projection appeared above it—images of Eryk as a baby, his village in flames, a dark mark glowing over his crib.
"You were born under Diablo's mark," Velmora continued. "The stars didn't curse you. They chose you."
Eryk looked pale.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"You are the Condiment of War, Eryk. The key to awakening the multiverse's next age of conquest. You are his beacon."
Genevieve stared, breath shaking.
"I want to go home," she whispered again.
Velmora's gaze turned to her. "That place is gone. And you… both of you… are now pieces on a board far greater than you imagined."
THE HEAVENLY COUNCIL
In the glimmering halls of Sanctus Aeternum, the angelic council gathered in haste. Celestial bells tolled—an alarm unheard for a thousand years.
At the center floated the Seven High Thrones, and on the highest of them sat Archangel Auriel, First Sword of Heaven.
Before them knelt the wounded angels Diablo had released—burned, bloodied, ashamed.
"The treaty was shattered," Auriel said. "The Abyss has declared war."
A ripple of gasps echoed across the choir of lesser angels, exorcists, and archons gathered.
One of the councilors, Archangel Halion, stepped forward. "If Velmora is of the Higher Abyss, we must uncover her lineage. Her name does not appear in the Book of Names. She is an unknown."
"Unknowns are the most dangerous," said another.
"We must act," Auriel declared. "Dispatch the Watcher Choir and prepare Seraphim Vanguard Commanders. We will observe no longer. This is a holy war."
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: MALGUS
Deep in the fortresses of the Higher Abyss, in a citadel built from the bones of extinct gods, Malgus received a new system notification:
PORTAL UNLOCKED – NEW WORLD IDENTIFIED:
Designation: Val'Karuun
Dominant Races:
— Thorork: War-crazed giants, worshippers of Luno and Luna, gods of endless battle
— Elves of Loryndor: Devotees of Solas, god of heaven and trees
Malgus grinned.
A world ripe for conquest.
He raised his hand, summoning his remaining five dreadbound.
The air ruptured with howls as five presences answered.
Belgorash, the Worldeater
A mountain of molten rock and burning steel, Belgorash emerged through a fissure of fire, each step cracking the obsidian tiles. His siege-hammer smoldered on his back, leaking embers like falling stars. He dropped to one knee before Malgus, his eyes pools of magma. "I hunger."
Korrak, the Pale Flame
Floating above the floor, his form was a skeleton of pure white fire bound in cursed chains. Each link screamed softly—souls of lost civilizations echoing through the void. He hovered silently, awaiting orders.
Zar'kel, the Butcher Saint
Once a seraph, now something far worse. Clad in shattered golden armor, his massive obsidian wings were charred with divine flame. He bowed his head, whispering hymns in a language long outlawed by the Heavens. A heretic's lullaby.
Myrrh, the Hollow Queen
Veiled in the silken shadow of the Veil Between, Myrrh emerged with silent grace. Half her form drifted in the world of the living, the other still caught in the realm of the dead. Where she stood, sound ceased to exist.
Thorne, the Abyssal General
Encased in star-metal armor that had tasted countless suns, Thorne stood silently behind them all. His sword, longer than most demons were tall, hummed with anti-light. His eyes were twin singularities that pulled emotion and fear into their void. He did not bow. He never had to.
Velmora, the Sixth, was absent.
She governed a conquered world now—cementing their foothold on the mortal plane. Her name echoed still, her will felt among them. She would return when the time was right.
Malgus stood, cloak billowing like the abyss itself. "The world of Val'Karuun awaits. A place where war flows like rivers and the blood gods sing."
He turned to Korrak. "You will lead the first conquest. Take with you two noble lords of the Higher Abyss and descend to the Lower Abyss. Find ten feral warriors worthy of the coming war."
Korrak bowed midair. "It will be done."
THE BLOOD ARENA DECREE
Korrak left immediately.
He found the two High Abyss nobles in their personal dominions—Vez'Ghar of the Ebon Maw and Seratha the Hollow Flame. They pledged allegiance without question.
Together, they descended into the Lower Abyss.
The void stretched like a nightmarish sea, endless and choked in blood-colored clouds. Floating above the chaos, Korrak turned to them.
"You know what to do."
Without another word, the nobles plummeted from the sky like meteors.
THE CALL TO BLOOD
Across the fractured realms of the Lower Abyss, trillions of feral demons clashed in endless wars of territory and blood.
When Vez'Ghar landed, his aura exploded, halting all violence in the surrounding fifty leagues. Seratha did the same, freezing a battlefield mid-charge.
Both projected the Decree of Korrak, voice amplified by infernal resonance:
"All power-hungry demons of the Lower Abyss! The Blood Arena calls you! A war of dominance under the eye of Korrak the Pale Flame, third of Diablo's Dreadbound!"
"The strongest will be chosen to conquer the world of Val'Karuun!"
Demons howled.
Lords sharpened blades.
Feral commanders raised flags drenched in ichor.
For the first time in eons, the lower realms were united in one purpose.
To prove their worth.
To fight beneath the banner of the Abyssal Flame.
To make war upon a new world—and ascend.