"Bul-Kathos... did you miss me?"
Leah whispered softly, clinging to Bul-Kathos's broad back.
This time, her voice was devoid of that seductive, demonic lilt. Under the combined power of Kanai's Cube and the Holy Mountain of Harrogath, Leah had temporarily broken free from Diablo's suffocating grip. For a fleeting moment, she had escaped the nightmare.
But the sheer weight of her loneliness and terror began to seep into Bul-Kathos's heart. He felt her body temperature dropping, turning ice-cold against his skin. Finally, the Immortal King could no longer maintain his stony silence.
"Every single moment," Bul-Kathos said, his voice calm. The ferocity that usually defined his rugged features began to soften and fade.
Leah was back—even if only for a moment—and Bul-Kathos could not face her with a heart full of hatred. Yet, the chill radiating from her soul was a constant, agonizing reminder: Leah was dead.
Diablo had stolen her body, and Bul-Kathos himself had been the one to strike it down.
This was a wound that would never truly heal.
"That's... wonderful to hear," Leah murmured. A faint, divine light began to flicker in her eyes once more. She pressed herself tighter against his back. "I thought I'd never know what it felt like to have the broad shoulders of a father to lean on. I thought that after Cain passed, I had nothing left. Bul-Kathos..."
Leah tilted her head, gently rubbing her cheek against his back. It was a gesture of simple, desperate seeking—as if this motion alone could grant her peace.
His back was a map of scars, and fresh blood still seeped from the reopened wounds of battle. The crimson stained Leah's face, but she didn't pull away. To this lonely soul, surrounded by the infinite darkness of fear, the warmth of that blood was the only thing that felt real.
"Leah... your grandfather is gone."
Bul-Kathos tried to deliver the cruel news as gently as possible. Leoric's final passing was a heavy burden. He didn't offer empty platitudes about "the living moving on"; he simply stated the truth.
Leah deserved to know. She was the last living trace of Leoric's existence in this world. She had to hear it from him.
"I know, Bul-Kathos," she replied, her voice listless and weary. She didn't move.
She knew her clarity wouldn't last. Once the protection of the Cube and the Holy Mountain faded, her soul would once again become Diablo's plaything. She had no choice.
Leoric's death didn't stir a deep grief in her—even though she had learned her true lineage from her mother. To her, names like Aidan and Leoric were abstractions; she couldn't truly conceptualize them as family. The moment she had finally, excitedly met her mother, Adria had turned her into a vessel for the Lord of Terror.
To Leah, "blood kin" was synonymous with "horror."
"Child... your father was a hero," Bul-Kathos said, the words heavy and difficult to speak. Aidan, the Dark Wanderer, had indeed been a hero, even if his journey ended in tragedy.
"Bul-Kathos... you are a hero, too."
Leah interrupted him, her tone thick with a quiet, heartbreaking attachment.
During their "beautiful" days of adventure, Bul-Kathos had embodied every image of a father Leah had ever imagined. He had protected her, cared for her, and held her to high standards. He was the one who, when she fell asleep at her desk over ancient tomes, would silently drape a blanket over her shoulders.
In Leah's heart, Bul-Kathos had long ago filled the void left by the word "Father."
"I only wanted this one moment of peace, Bul-Kathos. Knowing you care for me... it's enough. I am the child of a witch, a hero, and a Prime Evil. Perhaps no one else in this world cares if I exist. In fact, countless people probably think my death is the best possible outcome."
Leah's voice began to tremble. She summoned every ounce of her remaining courage to voice her hidden plea. She wanted Bul-Kathos to grant her the freedom of the end.
"Let me rest like this, Bul-Kathos. If it's by your hand... my soul will finally be free, won't it?"
She knew he could do it. When he had struck down Diablo's head earlier, it had been the most peaceful, tender strike of his life. Leah's soul had felt that blow amidst Diablo's frustrated roars—she had felt the heavy grief and the love in that farewell.
"Leah," Bul-Kathos growled, his fists clenching so hard they shook.
He couldn't do it. It wasn't about what was "right." It was a matter of mercy.
Logically, letting her soul sleep forever was the safest choice. But it felt fundamentally wrong.
"Bul-Kathos, you are a Barbarian. You shouldn't hesitate."
Leah spoke calmly, though she continued to nuzzle his back. The warmth made her feel a sudden, sharp reluctance to leave. In her mind, disappearing like her grandfather was the only clean ending. As long as she existed, Diablo would hold a tether to her soul. His power was woven into her very essence.
"You know what the best choice is. You must do this!"
Her voice was as faint as a fluttering moth, yet the resolve behind it was absolute. She was terrified of being forgotten, but her soul remained as pure as a flower blooming in the heart of Hell, constantly reaching for a sun that was actually just the gaze of a demon king.
"I didn't start fighting just to deal with this political bullshit," Bul-Kathos spat, but anyone could hear the wavering in his voice.
Giving her a painless, eternal sleep was easy. Making the decision to do so was the hardest thing he'd ever faced.
"I don't want you to carry the guilt of killing me, Bul-Kathos. But if there must be a choice... I'd rather fade away by your hand."
Leah suddenly let go of his neck and leaped down from his back. She raised an old, worn-out crossbow, a sharp bolt already notched.
Step by step, she walked around to face him. Her eyes were clear.
"I know... if I point a weapon at you, you'll see it as a provocation, right? The Scoundrel told me... he said Barbarians never let anyone live if they dare point a weapon at them."
She slowly raised the crossbow, aiming it directly at Bul-Kathos's chest.
"Leah."
He had lost count of how many times he had whispered her name. For the first time, his rugged, eternal face looked old.
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