The colossal doors of the Tomb Prison groaned open, exhaling a pulse of air so cold it made the flames of the Abyss dim in reverence. Malgus—Diablo—stood at the threshold, flanked by Lilith and Astaroth. Within the vault, darkness churned like a living force, suffocating and ancient.
This was no ordinary vault. This was the last contingency—the prison of Diablo's most dangerous weapons: The Dreadbound Six. Not soldiers. Not demons. Legends.
Malgus raised his hand, letting his voice roll forward like an avalanche. "Awaken."
The word echoed through the chamber, a command laced with divine malice.
Six monolithic coffins, bound in chains of obsidian and bloodsteel, lit up with glowing crimson runes. One by one, the bindings shattered with cracks that echoed across the capital.
The first to rise was Belgorash the Worldeater—a towering monstrosity of burning rock and flowing lava, a hammer the size of a siege tower slung across his back. His molten gaze locked on Malgus, and the colossus dropped to one knee.
"My King." His voice was deep as tectonic plates grinding. "I dreamed of your return."
Next was Velmora, the Scarlet Widow—her crimson silks wrapping around a body half-shadow, half-temptation. Eight burning eyes blinked in unison, and her poisonous aura thickened the air.
She bowed, lips curling into a smile. "You still have that fire, my lord."
Korrak the Pale Flame rose third, hovering in midair—his body little more than a burning skeleton wrapped in cursed chains that whispered with the screams of extinguished worlds.
Then came Zar'kel the Butcher Saint—a fallen seraph clad in broken celestial armor, with obsidian-black wings scarred by holy flame. He did not kneel, but bowed his head.
"My lord… it has been too long."
Fifth was Myrrh the Hollow Queen, her ghostly form half-submerged in the veil between life and death. Her presence brought silence—total and consuming. Even the flames near her ceased to crackle.
Last, Thorne the Abyssal General emerged, encased in jagged star-metal armor. A sword longer than most demons was strapped across his back. His eyes, like twin singularities, stared ahead with silent fury. He did not speak. He never needed to.
Lilith knelt. Even she, First Flame, dared not stand tall among the Dreadbound.
Malgus regarded them not with fear, but with recognition. They were his most trusted. His personal war gods. Extensions of his will, created long ago during the great conquest wars.
"I have awoken to betrayal," Malgus said, voice cold. "The capital stands, but the Abyss trembles. My throne was nearly taken. The Grand Dukes seek to rise in my absence. While I slept, they schemed."
Belgorash snarled. "Then we shall make their towers fall."
Velmora ran a hand across her daggers. "I'll make sure their blood sings, my lord."
"They believe me weak," Malgus continued. "But this sealed shell still houses divinity. They will learn I am never unguarded."
Meanwhile…
High above the infernal wastes of the Abyss, the floating citadel Oblivion Keep hung suspended in a gravity well of black crystal and magic.
Here, the rebellious Grand Dukes had gathered.
Duke Bael, wreathed in bone armor and dark mist, slammed a fist against the war table. "The Tomb Prison is opening. He awakens. The slumbering god rises."
Duchess Mor'rielle, wrapped in rotting elegance, sneered. "Let him rise. Let him stretch and yawn. We will slay him while he still remembers what mortality feels like."
Duke Varnyx, the arcane tactician, adjusted his sigil-bound spectacles. "He has power, yes. But no longer an empire. While he slept, we conquered. His followers are few. His armies scattered. The time is now."
Bael turned to him, fangs bared. "Have you forgotten the sky turned black when he stirred? That was his rage. He hasn't even stood at full power yet."
"That's why we don't give him time," Mor'rielle said, eyes gleaming. "Strike fast. Strike together."
None of them spoke of the unseen whispers that had stirred this rebellion.
None dared name the ones who first planted the idea.
Far beyond the Abyss—in the veiled Celestial Dominion, the angelic faction of the multiverse watched through divine scrying pools. Seraphim whispered and conspired, gently nudging the infernal lords toward suicide.
But Diablo knew none of this.
To him, this treachery was the work of cowardly rivals. He did not yet see the holy strings behind the puppets.
Back in the Tomb Prison…
The final seals crumbled. Malgus stood among the awakened Six, the heat of ancient power brushing against his skin like the breath of a volcano. He turned toward Lilith.
"Summon the executive demons. Let the Abyss witness the return of its rightful god."
"Yes, my lord." She bowed and vanished in a flash of emerald fire.
Malgus faced Thorne. "You are my sword. You will lead the first strike."
The silent general nodded once, his eyes burning brighter.
The Primordial Demon summoned a projection of the Abyss—its broken sectors, fallen citadels, and the traitor dukes all marked in red.
"This is no mere rebellion. It is a disease. And I am the flame that will cauterize it."
The ground beneath his feet cracked. His body burned with power, Azure Fire leaking from his skin, dissolving reality where it touched.
The throne had been abandoned.
Now it was occupied again.
"Let the Abyss know," he growled. "The sleeping god has returned. And he is hungry."