"Hah! I am Bul-Kathos! Remember this name, steeped in glory! Executioner of Hell's demons! Eternal nightmare of fiends! The new king of barbarians! You may also call me—Nephalem!" Bul-Kathos tucked his broken weapons into his belt, stroking his neatly trimmed beard, proclaiming loudly.
He realized he'd left the world of Diablo behind, yet the heat of barbarian rage still coursed through him, unyielded from battle's grip.
"What's this 'Midgard' you speak of, mage?" Bul-Kathos sneered, inheriting the barbarian disdain for magic. His fragmented memories failed to recall the Ancient One or Midgard, perhaps erased by years of combat, along with his once-beloved Marvel tales.
The residue of brutal battle made his tone harsh and grating, though he restrained himself. Earth remained a deep-rooted longing etched in his heart.
"We have much to discuss," the Ancient One said calmly, unshaken by his aggression. Her five centuries of life dulled emotional ripples. To her, humans were erring children seeking redemption, and she regarded Bul-Kathos, despite his white hair, with the superiority of an elder to a child.
But Bul-Kathos was no short-lived mortal. The Nephalem's lifespan was a mystery. The first Immortal King, the original Bul-Kathos, vanished, his fate unknown. Yet Rathma, another first-generation Nephalem and necromancer, still lived, whispered of in Diablo's world.
Bul-Kathos didn't know his own longevity, but it wouldn't be as fleeting as a summer insect.
"I didn't know Earth had mages, and you're just a decently powered one," he boomed, his voice like a war cry, a barbarian hallmark signaling battle's continuation.
He sensed the Ancient One's mana—endless, yet unremarkable. In Sanctuary, all classes sustained endless combat through energy. A mage's mana pool was expected, not impressive.
What defined a mage's strength wasn't just mana, but the destruction it could unleash. The Ancient One lacked deep elemental affinity, bearing only a faint, abyssal darkness. To Bul-Kathos, a mage without mastery of elements was unworthy of respect, even if Li-Ming, who could rival Azmodan, stood before him.
Unaware this Earth wasn't his cradle but a world from his past life's fantasies, he pressed on.
"Perhaps we start with why you're here," the Ancient One said, her face unchanged, sensing no threat in his belligerent words. She felt his strength, but death's baptism had cloaked his relentless rage in frailty.
To her, Bul-Kathos remained formidable, but death's lingering decay obscured his Nephalem might, misleading her judgment.
The world shifted around her. Extradimensional space, the mages' forte, began to form. But Harrogath, the barbarians' ancestral home, was shielded by their spirits. Even Hell's demon lords failed to corrupt it over eons.
The Ancient One was powerful, but bending Harrogath was a fool's dream. Even Belial, shedding his deceptive guise, couldn't forge a demonic domain here.
"You dare shroud Harrogath with filthy dark power? Mage, you challenge the barbarian's existence!" Bul-Kathos, still steeped in battle's echo, gripped his weapons.
Though his twin blades, companions through countless fights, were damaged in the Black Soulstone's blast, a barbarian didn't need weapons to fight—especially not Bul-Kathos, poised to claim the Immortal King's title upon rebuilding his home.
Even with halved blades, he remained the barbarian who made demon lords wail.
The Ancient One's attempt to envelop Harrogath in extradimensional space was an insult no barbarian could tolerate, as the sacred mountain was a vessel of their ancestral spirits.
"Hah!" His roar echoed across Harrogath, signaling combat readiness. Battle Fury, a rare pre-battle skill, surged as he charged the Ancient One with a war cry.
Though not a master of earth's power like the legendary Raekor, who fused all charge techniques into an unstoppable blade, Bul-Kathos stood at the pinnacle of living barbarians.
Even Sonya merely followed in his shadow. He was the banner of all barbarians.
(End of Chapter)