Chapter Text
“I swear by everything my descendents built-”
“Oh be reasonable-”
“-In the event that I ever catch you meddling in my affairs again,” The words were bit out with a snarl and snap of teeth, “I will be dismembering you.”
Angel and Nephalem stared one another down for an oh-so-very-long moment. Skeletal blue wings flicked distastefully. A solid-black cloak fluttered with all the indignation a garment could muster. Between the two, one wayward soul peered wearily back and forth.
“Leave.” Rathma hissed. “Do not return.”
“Such venom from one who preaches the importance of ‘emotional stability’.” Malthael grumbled snootily, but he prepared himself to take his leave. “...I suppose you might not help it, given the contents of your infernal blood.”
And the angel was gone, leaving something like disappointment in his wake. Rathma growled after him, all bared teeth and threat, before settling back into his usual disinterest. After a moment, he turned to the specter that had started this whole mess.
“Let’s be away with you too, then…” He uttered. Even as he prepared the necessary spellwork to send the spirit on its way, Rathma could feel it staring at him. Nothing new, most dead souls tended to pay more attention to those who could sense and interact with them. Finding someone who was not blind to their presence was something of a novelty, particularly to those that had wandered for a time.
He paid it’s stares no mind.
With a flick of his blade, the now-complete ritual circle lit up with power. Satisfied, Rathma glanced up at his charge - and a thin frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. Though its ‘face’ was little more than a blur of energy with the barest hint of eyes and a mouth, he could easily make out the contemplative look the spirit gave him.
“If there’s something you wish to impart,” The Nephalem grumbled as he worked to maintain his spell’s stability “Do so now, for you will be removed from this plane of existence momentarily.”
A shiver seemed to wrack the soul, and it wavered a moment. Then, it floated forward and reached out with one ethereal hand - reached for him. Obligingly, Rathma stood and accepted its hand on his own.
You and the angel are linked. Together. Not one, not the same. But together… Together.
Rathma’s frown grew into a grimace. “The angel does not belong here, on Sanctuary. Neither it, nor the souls it houses, are his domain.”
No angel had any business dealing with the home and souls of mortals. On this, his mind was made.
You deny it. The spirit sighed, and squeezed his gloved hand - a strange sensation really. But the angel himself has been altered, the fabric of reality and Sanctuary with him. To ignore what he represents… Folly. Truly a folly.
“The angel nearly tore our home asunder with his narrow-minded actions.” Rathma flatly responded. “To allow him onto our world once more, to interact with our souls once more... that would be folly.” Just what was this spirit trying to get at here?
Perhaps... There was more contemplation in the spirit’s face and tone as it peered at him. And perhaps he would do better, be better, were he shown. That is what you do yes? To be Rathma is to show others the Balance, to teach, to learn.
“That was Kalan’s title. To be rathma is to be one who learns.” Rathma sniffed petulantly. Just who had this spirit been, that it knew so much of him? “Regardless, Malthael is too stiff-brained to listen to my teachings.”
He thought the soul might be chuckling at him. It seemed amused, in a soft, non-judging way.
The angel that now wears the mantle of Death was once Wisdom. A craver and collector of knowledge. A true scholar. I know his kind: he would learn fromyou…You, who Command the Dead. The spirit let go of him then, drifting away. Rathma had to stop himself from reaching out again, and demanding this soul’s identity. Demanding answers to its ponderous words.
If it did not wish to say anymore, he could not force it.
“Very well. Away with you then.” The Commander of the Dead gestured, mumbled a few words, and his spell flashed bright with magic. A pillar of light shot into the sky, lighting the gateway to the great beyond. Silently, the wayward soul floated past him. Silently, it vanished into nothingness.
Rathma was alone then.
Dutifully, the Nephalem began cleaning up his spellwork. It was but one of many he would conduct this day, in order to bring a small semblance of Balance back to his Sanctuary.
Not-so-dutifully, he shoved the specter’s words from his mind. What did a fading mind know of angels and death? Besides, he had work to do. So very much of it...