"Then we were led from that place, cast into a far land to lose ourselves, exiled from the Vizjerei Brotherhood and doomed to become worshippers of those things that the Vizjerei hated most.  We learned that Vischar, though blind and hating, was indeed right, as was Rathandel.  The Necromantic magic was a path to Hell, a path that we found and followed, all unseeing, thinking we were in the right and the others blind and stupid."

Malek and Tariel were in a small room, the door locked and barred with an old plank of wood.  The room stank of wet decay and worm-eaten cloth, and had no windows to let the light in.  But for the while they were hidden from the other Necromancers, and safe from the other creatures that prowled the ancient temple.

"Malek, what are they looking for here?"

"Corin… the man they call Necrozar, is looking for a special artifact that the Horadrim once possessed… with it he thinks he can become a god."

"The Soulstone?"

Even though Tariel could not see Malek, he sensed that he was being looked upon with curiosity and even suspicion.

"Yes, the Soulstone.  You know of it?"

"Maerhyn used to tell stories," Tariel looked down wistfully, "the story of Horadrim and their efforts to capture the Greater Demons were one I heard."

"The essence of the Soulstones were to create a spiritual vacuum, entrapping the demons' souls within their labyrinthine inner chambers.  The Horadrim mage-warriors used the stones to imprison the Evils when they caught them in their spirit form.  Only one of the Evils could not be removed from his host body, and a young initiate named Tal Rasha volunteered his body and soul to provide a cage from the raging demon.  It is this temple that houses Tal Rasha and the Soulstone, and Corin wants that stone."

"Why?  What could he possibly do with it?"

"Be believes it is Mephisto, the Lord of Hatred, is contained within Tal Rasha.  He wants to take the shards of that Soulstone from the body and place them within himself, taking into him the soul of Mephisto."

"By the angel Tyrael, this is madness!"

"He will become a host for the Demon Lord of Hatred, or so he thinks.  Despite his error, I cannot let him do what he wishes.  The stone of Tal Rasha does not contain Mephisto, it contains a Demon Lord known as Baal, the Lord of Destruction."

"Baal," Tyrael clenched his fist, "I remember, the battle with Baal was factioned the Horadrim, ultimately leading to their demise.  Many people disagreed with Tal Rasha's estimation of the situation.  They believed that the demon's will might overpower Tal Rasha's, creating an abomination more powerful than any ever known before."

"And those mages might be correct.  The tomb of Baal is sealed with many arcane seals that Necrozar and his followers have been attacking for years.  If he breaks through the barriers that the Horadrim made, then Baal will be loose once again.  Two Demon Lords free would spell certain doom for all of us… everyone."

"The what are we waiting for, Malek!  We have to stop them!" Tariel cried.

"We can't hope to oppose all of them, together they would be far too powerful for us.  I have… companions that are on their way here.  They will help us in stopping Necrozar, and preventing them all from freeing Baal."

The two were startled by a scream from deep within the tomb, a bloodcurdling, echoing scream that might be something's or someone's death knell.  Malek looked down at the floor; a single tear flowed from his right eye, unseen in the darkness of the room.

"It has already started… the sacrifice."

"Sacrifice?" Tariel started.

"Corin and the others have sacrificed one of the villagers to Mephisto in exchange for increased magic."

"No!" Tariel screamed and ripped the plank from the door.  Malek lunged for him but the young Vizjerei pulled the door open and was gone, leaving Malek with only a piece of his spirit robes."

Damn, Malek thought feverishly, he'll be killed yet.

Malek ran out of the room and into a large hall, coming face to face with a small pack of Fallen.  Tyrael was already racing past the flock of simian demons; some of them chased him.  The other brandished small swords and half-axes, their demonic eyes glowing softly in the dimness of the hall.  Malek fanned his hands out and let the magic take the form of several bone daggers.  These bone shards whistled from his outspread fingers and found their way into the hide of the Fallen, causing many of them to fall and the rest to scatter.  Cowards, he thought dimly, I'm getting too old for this.

He ran in the direction that Tyrael had gone, deeper into the bowels of the temple-tomb of Tal Rasha.  He felt unseen eyes upon him as he ran seeking and wishing that his blood were splattered on the ancient stones of the tomb, yet he ignored them.  The passageway was sloping down and was covered with bat dung that made it treacherously slippery.  He could see Tariel's robes as they flared out behind him; he could run very fast, much faster than Malek himself could.  Finally he lost sight of the Vizjerei mage as he rounded one of the corners in the passageway.  Cursing himself he continued to run in the darkness, a legion of dark creatures following his every footfall.

Tariel ran like a man possessed, his mind burning with the image of a child draped out upon an ebon altar, his throat cut and his innocent blood pooling in the floor.  The visions propelled him forward without heeding, passing other victims of the Necromancer's dark practices in the darkness.  They dangled from cold iron hooks on the walls, some of them given over to undeath by the hatred and torment of the torture they endured before death.  Bounding down a stone staircase Tyrael came to an iron door, its rusted surface covered with glyphs that were old when his great-great-grandfather was only a child.  Pausing only to catch his breath he thrust the door open, revealing a torchlit room where the Necromancers were assembled around a bloodstained altar, drinking their victim's blood from a gold chalice.  Necrozar looked up at him and smiled, his inhumanly pointed teeth glistening with red blood.

"Vizjerei, come to dine with us before the hour of our triumph?"

Tyrael ran towards Necrozar in a blind rage, meaning to wrap his hands around the heretic's throat and strangle the life out of him.  Then he felt a hard blow to his back, delivered by one of the Necromancers he had not seen upon his dash into their sanctum.  He fell to the floor, all color and light draining from his vision as unconsciousness consumed him.