Diathonix
"The path of the righteous is like the first gleam of dawnshining ever brighter until the full light from the spring of day"
- Vindictus 2:8
Back | Next
While the Order recovered from the battle against Kelmir, the marines once again fought their way through the veterans of the Hand of Kharduum. Casualties were high, but the demons fell all the same, and a path was carved to the rooftop of the fort on Tenebra Rock.
The first sign of trouble came with the falling of bodies through the center of the fort, from the rooftop all the way to the basement below - cultists of the Hand of Kharduum, hurling themsleves to a painful and quick fate on the hard, cold stone some fifty feet or more below. The Order was quickly called to the rooftop, by the request of Captain Hullard, who waited to show them the scene that his marines had discovered there.
There were no sign of demons on the rooftop. Thirty-eighty Alliance soldiers lay dead there - not the marines that had push up the fort, but the remnants of the Provincial Guard that the dreadlord Diathonix had enthralled some months ago... and at the foot of the stairs upon which they stood, laying face-down on the rain soaked roof, lay a grey, balding man in official regalia. The corpse of Calistan Enright lay before them. Ahead of them, a ghostly light flickered. The last vestige of Kelmir's soul, tethered to this world by some dark means, cried out blindly for release - begging Diathonix to uphold the bargain that they had long ago struck.
The Order was right to distrust Hullard. The demon had, after all, shed the one form that they knew him to take. At the last possible moment, Hullard withdrew his hands from the cloak that he wore: in one hand, he held the metallic tip of Kelmir's staff, the remnants of the phylactery that had been discarded where the lich was slain. In the other, a soulstone, pink-purple in hue, which he tossed to the ground and brought a plated boot down upon.
Dark wings unfurled amidst the Order, and they were suddenly seized by unholy magics. They could only watch on as the dreadlord shed the form of Hullard and emerged in all its terrible, towering glory. Sending Kelmir's soul plummeting into the abyss, Diathonix thanked the dying spirit for his service, for safeguarding the means by which he would leave Azeroth. His talons uncurling, the tenebrous metallic tip of Kelmir's staff rose into the air, alight in Nathrezite runes, and thunder split the sky as the way was opened...
. . .
At long last, Diathonix had returned. While Kelmir's spirit had laid frozen in the Crypt of Arduran, the phylactery-staff had laid dormant beneath the world. The dreadlord had not accounted for the Order returning from Outland, let alone discovering his true form, and the abrupt, feverish hunt for the Hoary Key had been the means by which to access the staff. This was the deal that they had struck, that Kelmir's soul would protect the unassuming chunk of inert, otherworldly metal that made up the staff head, and that Diathonix was safeguard Kelmir's soul for his service should the phylactery ever fall.
It mattered little that the lich had been double-crossed, in the end. Diathonix cared nothing for the foolish wizard - only that the staff head, the Tenebrous Keystone - would remain hidden from prying eyes. With it, he was at last able to pave the way to his homeworld, to stand once more before the scions of Nathreza... but they were unimpressed, dismissive of their brother who had led this Holy Order to their unhallowed sanctuary.
Beyond the abyssal rift that the Tenebrous Keystone had torn open upon the Rock, the Order found themselves in an impossibly tall tower, along whose windowless walls ran lines of runed discs. The oppressive weight of dark magic, the tyrannical presence of not one but many Nathrezim, bore down upon them here, on this demon world, lost amidst the Twisting Nether. They watched and prepared for battle as Diathonix called to his brethren above, announcing his return and his intent to crush the Holy Order on unholy ground.
And then, at last, came the battle.
The dreadlord was stronger than any foe they had faced before, commanding the lightless reaches of the spire with a whisper, and bearing down upon the Herald of the Order with an axe borne of shadow. Agonising curses, Light-drinking magics and demonic servants assaulted the Order, and with each moment they felt their vitality being sapped by the dreadlord's vampiric presence.
When the darkness receeded before Diathonix's fury, the demon lord turned brother against brother. For a time, all looked bleak - but like the first gleam of dawn, those of the Order that had been briefly controlled by the dreadlord broke free. By the Light's grace, they turned their blades back upon Diathonix, and brought him to kneel. As the dreadlord's assault was halted, John Librus stepped forward once more; the demonbane greatsword that he had fashioned to destroy Lord Gorridon, destined to destroy the pit commander of the Hand of Kharduum, thus came for the last and most powerful remnant of that demonic army.
There, in the Twisting Nether, the Bane of Kharduum - blessed by A'dal - annihilated Diathonix, body and soul. Ash was all that remained of him, and his last, desperate roar echoed high into the lightless reaches of the unholy tower. The scions of Nathreza, watching from above, turned to leave. Was it fear they felt, that the Order might not stop there, or disappointment in their brother who had failed to stop them himself?
The Order might never know what would have happened if they stayed, and if they hadn't dragged Sir Uriel back through the portal before he did. One thing was certain, however: justice was done that day. Vengeance was had.
By the Light, it was so.
At long last, the Order's longest campaign was come to a close! We've got LOADS of stuff coming up in the very near future - personal quests, old rivalaries and new storylines... truly epic stuff.
A massive shoutout to all my homies that have come to something like 80 DM events in the last five months (idk, I don’t count). Here’s to eighty more… 