The "Primal Sin" Leah leaned against his back, her head peeking over his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up. This once-noble soul leaned in and playfully nipped at Bul-Kathos's earlobe, murmuring his name.
Just as Diablo intended, Bul-Kathos hesitated. Nothing in this world could mimic the unique resonance of Leah's soul—the child of a Prime Evil and a human. He knew the Leah behind him was the Leah, not some disgusting demon pretender.
"Bul-Kathos... why haven't you used your blade to take my head, just like you did when I was the Great Prime Evil?"
Leah shifted her weight, pressing her lithe body firmly against his back. Bul-Kathos remained frozen. Leah's soul still held the possibility of redemption. Even with Diablo's corruption, the core of her was still noble. There was no sin, no malice, no hatred. It was pure.
And that was why Bul-Kathos couldn't strike. He couldn't cleave her head as he had done to the Prime Evil. This was different. He owed Leah. Every Nephalem who fought in that war owed her. As long as her soul remained free of sin, he could not harm her.
"Leah!"
Tyrael gasped. The Archangel hurried toward them but stopped a few paces away. He saw Bul-Kathos's eyes. They were filled with a murderous intent so dense it was suffocating—an intent directed squarely at the Archangel of Justice.
Tyrael had promised to protect Leah. When he had pulled her soul from the Burning Hells, he swore he would always be with her. Now, that oath was a hollow mockery. His true form was trapped by the Shadow Tooth in Hell, and Leah's soul was still a toy in Diablo's hand.
Leah was in agony. For a soul as noble as hers, this existence was a living hell. Why was it that the most virtuous never found a peaceful end?
"Bul-Kathos, remember when I said I wanted to open a tavern? I remember you saying you'd visit often."
Leah's soul let go of his ear and rested her cheek against his back. She slowly slid down, the cloying intimacy of the movement making the killing intent in Bul-Kathos's eyes flare. His hatred for Diablo was reaching a breaking point.
Andariel giggled from within the Soulstone. The mockery, the psychological torture—it was delicious. Among the Seven Evils, only Diablo was a master of the human heart. Azmodan wanted chaos; Baal was too direct for complex schemes; the Twins were idiots; Belial was a failure. Only Diablo knew exactly where to twist the knife.
"Bul-Kathos, you said when you were tired, you'd come stay at my tavern. You said you'd brew ale to pay for your room. I remember..."
She wouldn't stop. The malice began to crawl over Bul-Kathos's body like spider silk, or like thick swamp mud.
This isn't Leah! Leah shouldn't be like this! Bul-Kathos screamed internally.
But the aura radiating from her body told him otherwise. He couldn't imagine the pain Leah would feel if she ever regained her senses and realized what she was doing now. This pain shouldn't belong to a scholar who wasn't even a warrior.
"Bul... Kathos!" Tyrael stammered. Even Justice could feel fear. Tyrael needed courage now, for he was the only one who could see Bul-Kathos's face.
It was hideous. A visage of pure, distorted agony and rage—a face Tyrael had seen once before.
"Aidan!" Tyrael whispered the name of the man who had once worn that same expression. Years ago, Tyrael had fled from that face. Even though Itherael told him to recruit Aidan, the Archangel had been too terrified to stay.
"Bul-Kathos, did you ever like me?"
Leah's voice suddenly rose, sharp and clear, cutting through Tyrael's panicked mumbling. The "Primal Sin" would not let him escape this state. Bul-Kathos's body tensed for a second, then went slack. His muscles, usually like iron, became as soft as a mattress.
"Bul-Kathos... have you ever loved someone, even for a moment?"
Leah tilted her head, nuzzling into his back like a kitten. His shattered armor couldn't block the sensation. Even as his old wounds began to bleed again, even as he felt the stinging itch of the corruption, Bul-Kathos did not move.
"Tyrael!"
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