Yeah you all know the drill. I do not own Diablo (beyond the purchased game). I do not own That time I was reincarnated as a Slime (beyond the purchased manga). I do not need to be reminded that I do not own them and not rich because of it. Carry on! (... waits till you leave before breaking down and crying because of the lack of ownership.)

Out of Place: Forced out the door

Chapter Three

Goblin Village, Great Forest of Jura

Back in the earlier days, or rather the days where I first joined the Eternal Conflict, unwillingly I might add, I was practically the only one who ever celebrated any at all victories. That is not to say I wasn't entirely alone in this but at the most I was joined by one or two sets of cheers, the rest of the time though nearly everyone, even the blanks, looked to me as if I was nuts... it took me awhile to see why, as well as learn the hard way as to fully realize the sheer magnitude that was the Eternal Conflict... There was always another battle ahead. There was almost always a demon lurking within the shadows waiting for the most opportune moment to either pick us off one by one or kill as many as he could get his grubby claws on in one go. There was always something to worry about that would render that victory we had just carved for ourselves borderline meaningless...

Sometimes I wonder how the hell I survived as long as I did on a mental level. A perk of sorts of being an angel? Or perhaps I adapted without quite realizing it as I coped by indulging my ever growing designs to see the demons crushed beneath our war machine, literally and figuratively. Either way as I looked to the encampment I couldn't help but be reminded being in one of the camps in Pandemonium, awaiting the latest orders from our acting commander assuming the original one hadn't had his head removed... and once again that role was upon me by sheer default. With that in mind however I also had to remind myself a key difference between leading a unit of angels and a warband of mortals: mortals tire. Angels only 'tire' either through surviving a harrowing battle that would cripple a mortal for life, sustaining injuries much like myself and taking the time to forcibly regenerate from them or they had overworked themselves in the use of spellcraft. Mortals tire from intense activity, when they do not get sufficient sleep or food, or else from illness; they couldn't go from battle to battle like an angel for an untold length of time and effort. As such all I could do was wait for the sun to rise up once more and await for them to partake with their breakfast before giving them their tasks to predominantly rebuild the village proper, hunt and form a party to guide to me Veldora to investigate his apparent disappearance...

Still can't help but wonder how it is they can sense both him and myself whereas I'm virtually blind though. Perhaps it's a unique type of a sensory ability to instinctively warn them of potential danger? Possibly. Though 'unique' would be stretching it a fair deal considering these dire wolves that now inhabited the camp seemingly shared this ability given their sudden fear and subservience toward me... ugh. Still, that crosses out a species specific trait... what am I missing though? Angels and demons can sense each other though there's usually some sort of factor involved: for example some demons experiencing a (more so than usual) heightened aggression to the point of palpable bloodlust that they unconsciously emit a signal of sorts. Intense concentrations of energy were self explanatory as to how the users were found out. Theurigically neutral fields made hiding was flat out impossible—

Static.

High Heavens, Burning Hells, even Sanctuary, the use of magic be it conscious or not created a sense of static, fog, a blinding field, that made sensing things difficult on most days without some sort of aid if you weren't looking for something specific/vague-enough to begin with... provided of course they haven't taken any measures to hide themselves of course beyond inadvertently hiding in the static. I was ultimately looking for demons, the most common enemy of the High Heavens whose modus operandi for angels and anything else was to maim, torture, torment and kill, not necessarily in that or any order... After so many millennia of warfare I was accustomed and almost solely challenged by a specific kind of enemy that I had essentially had no reason to even consider anything else as a threat to keep an eye out for beyond some easily thwarted bandit duped into believing I was a traveling monk or uppity wizard with something to prove who found me out, very few of whom worth the effort to remember for one reason or another... These goblins and dire wolves though? They had every reason to be on the lookout for something undoubtedly stronger than them. Not fun. Headache inducing too; I hadn't been on such a broad search since before the Worldstone was stolen... I certainly do not miss the Fields by any stretch. Especially those damnable worms.

Setting all that aside however... where's my memoirs—oh wait they're back at the cabin...

I may as well bring the table with me.

XVX

Now let's see...

There are those that say that only when the High Heavens are in a state of calm new angels are born from the heart of the Crystal Arch. This is both true and false. Or more accurately false if you are more of a stickler for the details. Angels come forth from the Arch even during times of strife and conflict, true, but only in times of peace and serenity by angel standards do groups of angels arrive from the Arch. In other words if the Heavens are currently besieged then the birth rate as it were is, at best, one angel a week. If the battles are far afield that the High Heavens is at a state of peace then groups of eight-to-twenty march forth to carry on the war in place of their fallen kin every few days. Or avenge themselves in more rare cases when an angel perfectly reincarnates themselves, but we'll cross that bridge for later. Suffice it to say that these angels are usually of strong will/power or at least have a strong sense of self to not come out as a blank... again, for a later time, me/trespasser.

I'll admit to this day I cannot help but regret it when I finally stepped out of the Crystal Arch alongside the group I was 'born' with. As traumatic as the experience was... while I do not truly know what it was, it was as if divinity incarnate was caressing my very being right down to the core with a song that even Auriel's choir could never hope to replicate should they hear of it. Even so that was just part of my regret...

Suffice it to say that new born angels, blanks as I tend to call them... lack anything of a personality. Until they have lived a fair amount of time and are sculpted by the experiences beget from such a time they are more akin to machines, almost akin to my cherubs even. Sure they know what to do, where to go and such, but overall they need a measure of supervision lest they either fail to assemble in a training hall for their own benefit by wandering around without a goal of sorts in mind, a quiet irk of sorts to the Council as a whole, or worse immediately go to the front line and get butchered on the spot from a lack of training and experience on their part. It was because of this particular need that my particular brand of woe had begun: I wondered where I was. I asked questions. I panicked. I outed myself right out of the gate.

After the inevitable scuffle of such a situation I was dragged before the Angiris Council where my so called "aberrancy" (Fuck You Imperius. Fuck. You.) was essentially put on trial, a first for them. In the end it came down to a vote, much like what they had and will have done for Sanctuary at a later point of time. Interestingly enough it went identically to Sanctuary's own case: Imperius wanted my death (because of course. How the hell I somehow learned to tolerate you beyond a mutual hatred for demons is beyond me.)—

That goes double for your fucking bean bag chairs too you bastard. I threw that in as a joke for all that is holy and unholy combined!

—for I was unnatural by their standards, a potential cause of trouble at best. Maltheal had abstained for good or ill. I was new to him, something outside his or any other angel's experience. To a degree he at least heeded Imperius' 'concern' for the security of the High Heavens, yet at the same time what would happen if I was slain by their hand? What if others like me came through the Arch (they hadn't, at least to my knowledge.)? It would set a bad precedent at least if it were some sort of divine will made manifest; damn if you do, damned if you don't I suppose. Auriel, ever kind and good hearted, chose for me to live. What if others like me did indeed come through (again to my knowledge there hadn't.) at a later time? Besides, if I came through the Arch then I must be a brother in arms (against my will mind you.). Tyrael was by far the most neutral despite his vote in my favor, surprisingly enough. After all I had not done any wrong per se beyond struggling and railing against my situation. I certainly didn't choose my current predicament at least.

Ithereal's reasoning caught me by surprise however.

At the time Ithereal never once left anything in way of a confirmation or a hint as to what the Archangel of Fate was thinking. It basically amounted to "he lives." No one questioned Ithereal—

... this might get annoying. For all intents and purposes Ithereal was gender neutral. On most centuries however he often spoke with a man's voice. On occasion she did catch me off guard by switching over to a woman's voice when she was feeling capricious. And it's a little hard to tell underneath those robes he/she wears but I could almost swear he/she... shlee? Shleer? Bah. Like their voice, changes their body shape to either a man or a woman by angel standards...

... you're out there somewhere laughing at my predicament towards you, aren't you Ithereal? Bah...

—then and there nor afterwards as far as I know. As for me, it quietly nibbled on my mind for the centuries to come whenever there was a quiet moment to be had on the Fields of Pandemonium. I considered asking Ithereal during the exceptionally few times when the archangel took to the field.. at the time though there wasn't time; there were demons to fight and kill, hills to reclaim, bunkers being built under the duress of a makeshift siege. It wasn't until my reputation as The Tinker for my weapons, my machines and my trap infested bunkers grew to such renown that the Council deemed my expertise was needed to lay the foundations of a defensive network within the Silver City and later the Silver Spire that I earned enough of a reprieve to seek out the Archangel of Fate and ask "why?".

Being the most resonant with the concept of fate Ithereal was privy to at least a grand number of "what if"s and "what might happen"s, and it is said archangel's job to discern which of these visions as "what will happen" and inscribe them unto the Scroll of Fate. As for me, I was a "what if" at best. An errant thought and concept if nothing else that could have been fulfilled by any number of people or beings to validate its existence. As such I was not to be a "what will happen". My existence alone intrigued the archangel and frightened the angel at the same time. It also proved that fate could be meddled with, at least by outside forces, and from there event could be changed given that I was "unwritten" much like the Nephalem. For all intents and purposes I was the closest thing Ithereal had to a confidant for an outside context situation. And though it may be a bit conceited of me in an extreme sort of way, I was probably the closest thing Ithereal had to a friend...

Again that may just me being conceited. For all I knew he at least spoke with the other members of the Council on a regular basis on subjects not pertaining to work whenever I wasn't around before, during and after Inarius stabbed me through the back to get the Worldstone... the fucker.

On some days I still feel that blade piercing me through my back despite the wound having long since healed... it certainly didn't help that I had a good view of that damn sword sticking out of my chest when it happened. Still...

That aside however there was thankfully only one incident which required my experience from before my encounter with the Prince of Madness... my only regret is that it didn't last longer. Even so I continue to savor how much it stung Imperius' pride to see onehuman outright rip and tear through the uncountable hordes of the Burning Hells in strides that had consumed whole legions worth of angels in similar assaults. Sadly all good things come to an end eventually. I'm not sure how but from what is understood the remaining Evils at the time (Baal and Mephisto had the 'misfortune' of attract the interest of the Slayer. We're not sure if Belial was slain during that time—

Damn it I could've asked Ithereal if he was killed!

... then again considering schlee... yeah I'll go with it after all... actually freaked out to the point schlee had me practically yanked out of the Pandemonium Fortress on short notice and had me try to identify the Doom Slayer of all people while reading and rereading schleer scroll its entirely possible that Ithereal doesn't have a clue either...

... bah!

—and was the quickest to recover or had managed to successfully hide himself from the Slayer given how seldom he was seen to begin with) succeeded in banishing him to some other realm/universe beyond the culminated knowledge of the High Heavens, including my own. Otherwise they would've made up and fully participated in their very first holiday season with the presumed death of the Slayer and made sure to rub it in our faces at every chance they could get.

The pen hesitated as I contemplated on whether to add it or not... I can never really enjoy that little rampage without remembering Hell's Aegis...

In the end though it did cost us more than what we would've liked. And while Imperius has the luxury of ignoring that particular sting, my own barb is far less merciful by virtue of quiet self rebukes and, worse yet, Azmodan's interest if that stalker's wretched minions' comments over the years are anything to go by. On a worse day however, when we are in a position to mount an invasion of hell, I'm always the one they bring in in hopes I would somehow conceive a means to destroy that grotesque and warped monstrosity that was suppose to serve as The Host's permanent foothold in the Burning Hells: Hell's Aegis. Or as they, as in every fucking demon,like to call it just to rub salt on that festering wound, Jack's Gift.

... for a brief moment I set the pen down and rub my head.

If you had ever visited the Netherworld at any if its levels you would notice a distinct lack of any sense of structure throughout the entirety of its ever shifting existence outside of the personal lairs of the evils and even some mallet lords. True there are the armories, the Hellforge, the Pits of Agony and other such areas, and as I understand it a desiccated city of some sort within its depths... but until we began the creation of Hell's Aegis, what was supposed to be the High Heaven's bastion within the outer plains of Hell there was nothing in the way of defenses beyond the raw might of the demons and the cunning of their masters. As such at any given moment the entirety of this reach realm was susceptible to an uninhibited invasion from the High Heavens whenever the Burning Hells was sufficiently beaten back. It didn't mean we as a whole got very far however before they threw everything they had at The Host to stall it long enough for their replenished numbers eventually overwhelmed our forces. Especially when the closest rally point we had was a often ramshackle fortress far behind the lines that we could not quite rebuild thanks to the near unrelenting assaults it suffered, especially whenever the demons took out their frustrations on it after ejecting us out of Hell. Ironically we outright abandoned it in favor of the Aegis' construction—the irony of course being that now we're the ones who beat on its walls when the demons at large finally got it into their heads that fortresses weren't simply something to bash their heads against to get to us; as much as I hate it it did serve as something of a testing ground of sorts in our unfortunately doomed endeavors to destroy the Aegis.

When the Slayer came and rampaged throughout the varying levels of the Burning Hells with no signs of an end in sight it was a golden opportunity to invade. And given how busy the hordes were in outright trying to survive him we saw something else that every angel quietly hoped for: an end to the war. While in hindsight it was presumptuous of us to even consider succeeding in this endeavor, if the Aegis had been completed as intended angel forces could finally assail the fiery realm unimpeded as the forces of Hell broke itself on its walls to no avail much like they often did with the Pandemonium Fortress under my stewardship. The Forge would be in perpetual striking range from the dirigibles loaded with symphony bombs to wash it away. The Pits would've been forcibly filled to the brim with its defenders as we run raid after raid to free our imprisoned brothers and sisters in arms. And the Spires of Suffering (yes, yes, inventive name. I don't live there so let them have it), we could've built roosts there just to piss them off (or rather I would just to piss them off. I imagined that argument many a time and most of them ended with convincing them it would have demons trying to claw their way up there enough to warrant its defense as the demon's pride induced baited deathtrap)! And their Spawning Pits? That goes without saying that we would at least be in a position to mobilize kill teams if not set up outposts to stem their forces even further.

We only had the rudimentary defenses of the fortress installed by the time the assault came; spiked traps, pits that dumped its victims out at the base of the fortress, so on and so forth. We tried. We honestly tried but we lost more defending that half formed citadel than we had in most other engagements barring either of the Pandemonium Fortress' siege (in which we were reclaiming it (before my stewardship) and the defense of the Diamond Gates when it seemed like the end was nigh despite my knowledge of what was to come long afterwards. In fact I would say our losses were than either those instances combined, yet worse in terms of lasting consequences. For the longest time the demons seldom made use of any fort or bunker they captured and even then they saw no need in repairing the very damage they inflected upon it save for the Pandemonium Fortress itself in an effort to keep us out. As such we were fairly confident they would follow this trend still, or given that it was upon the boundary of their territories they would make an extra effort of sorts to destroy it as a message of sorts that we would never have any sort of dominance over them... instead of destroying it as we had thought after they finally ejected us from the depths of hell the Evils found more use in a twisted form revenge by making use of my fortress much to our horror when the Host marched upon the Netherworld realm once again...

What were once brilliant white walls that gleamed in defiance of the hateful air of the burning realm had been corrupted by Hell's rough hewn stones and ever the bleeding mortar of crushed creatures found wanting by the demons who laid the stonework in place. The unfinished towers had been replaced by dark spires filled aviaries hosting their more bestial kin (in mindset, not that there's much of a difference amongst the rank and file.), ever ready to take flight to make sure we never have a proper use of our aerial superiority. The gnarled battlements now teem with as many ad hoc siege weapons as well as clear attempts to recreate my own weaponry as made evident to their definition of the word "canon" (read specially grown and tortured... things which I can only describe as canon-like in appearance, each one the size of either one of my concert canons as their smallest or as large as the heads of titan class demons (aka the ones as big as mountains) which they have to actively torture to the point they literally vomit in pain, hurtling great projectiles of acid across great distances and destroying anything that wasn't specially armored to counter this; sometimes if we were lucky they would get over eager in their mutilation of these... beasts that they would collapse under the duress and ended up vomiting upon their own defenses. Then there were the spikes... for better or worse the garrison of the twisted fortress found little time and even less reason to bother trying to capture angels to coerce them in Hell's thralls when compared to the other legions belonging to the Evils. That said (or rather written as it were) many of the demons were quite happy with prolonging their suffering as long as possible by impaling any unfortunate soul cut off from the main force upon. From there these tortured captives' only hope was a mercy kill from either our side when we had the chance and will for it, or the demons who grew bored with this perverse form of entertainment...

While it remains true that anyone can enter hell, especially through portals and the like, to move an entire army into it however one had to enter through the entrances made by the forces of Hell itself within the Fields of {Pandemonium (and later Sanctuary, though the accord struck by both Heaven and Hell after the Sin War barred the High Heavens from making use Sanctuary in this manner). Given how belligerent they are and how eager they were to repay our own slights against them it took us a long time to realize they were forcibly closing these entrances till only one remained... since then the Aegis' walls and the inevitable reinforcements funneling through this tunnel of an entryway into hell had always repelled the High Heaven's assaults without fail.

If only they were content with that...

Given that it was the both decision of the council and an unexpected result after our forced retreat from Hell I was not to blame as far as the High Heavens were concerned. The Evils or at least Gor'Krak, the mallet lord which rules over Hell's Aegis— a rare display of compromise all around to keep control over the fortress as neutral as possible to stave off infighting overs its control, saw fit to remind both me and the entirety of Heaven who built the Aegis in the first place. No matter how often I had at least one canon trained on them there is an accursed set of statues of me kneeling before the Evils (and that fucker Gor'Krak) and offering them the foundation of the very fortress it looms over to this very day. For an extra kick in the teeth they went the extra mile to make it as clean and a graceful as possible that anyone outside of the know would think that the angels themselves made these statues in the first place (save for Gor'Krak's whom I suspect added his own statue to the mix without their consent given how obviously obtuse the work is in comparison to the others. He's still an asshole though at any rate).

I considered whether or not I was satisfied with that as I tapped my pen at the side, on the table. In essence I wasn't. Namely because I still loathe that event... but, on a more relevant matter as far as inscribing my journal here I had basically jumped forward in the order of events I wanted to document for my own sake...

Meh. I'll edit it later. In the meantime however...

I look up to the night sky and found it wanting. Dawn couldn't come soon enough for me. I suppose I could get a head start on building up the village's defenses. Going to be a pain in the ass with one arm though considering I need all the energy I can gather for my regeneration; I screwed around enough as it was with that cabin and defense network...

... on the other hand I don't really have anything better to do though aside from brood. As such with a sigh I get up and pick up Evos. Not even a second later an axe blade sprouted from the top of its default staff form.

XVX

Great Forest of Jura, daybreak

Having to do my work a fair distance away so as to disturb the village from its much needed rest was probably the most interesting subject worth noting about the entire endeavor. I tried to think of it all as something liken to one of my projects where I had to monitor each of the hammer to fashion a new dirigible so it would not be shot down by simple balefire or a strike of a claw, every fraction of an inch of an inscription as I granted boons upon weapons and armor for whomever wielded them, every meticulous curve to enable my cherubs the greatest amount of mobility and power... but it was simply me hacking trees down and carving them up into over glorified wood blocks. There was hardly an art to it nor a need for being particularly attentive beyond the necessity as I would normally associate with my projects. The same applied with turning the logs into lumber. Making a cart for said lumber however was a fair distraction though, all things considered.

... having to haul said lumber back was a pain however despite my strength, especially with that deceptive grade the cart and I was on. Would've been easier and faster if I could fly but then I would've had to carry less wood than I knew I could bring on the wagon, not to mention a colossal pain with only one arm at my disposal. In the end though the true objective was served when it was all said in done—the sun had risen, the village was awake and were building themselves a proper town and fort according to my instructions as soon as they ate breakfast... presumably at least. They certainly got started at least when our particular entourage left as soon as they too had the most important (and personally missed) meal of the day. Hopefully they, the goblins and dire wolves, don't tear into each other while I'm gone...

Regardless of that however I still had a job to do.

With goblins to act as my guides and dire wolves to act as my scouts for matters I can neither sense nor properly spy upon, we set out for Veldora's lair... now that I think about it, when was the last time I saw a dragon in Sanctuary? Was it before or after... before. It was definitely before the formation of the Horadrim. I was under the impression they went extinct. Then again considering most of them can fly it's entirely possible they simply flew to more remote and thus less antagonistic pastures that suited them, and since my business in Sanctuary typically involved humans I would thus not have reason to note their presence. Even so, how many had just intelligence capable enough to necessitate worship over it? None that I can think of at least. Then again weren't there a few religions in Sanctuary that worshiped a volcano or something similar simply because it was either terrifying to them or a symbol of power?

Now that I think about it wasn't there an empire that worshiped dragons and practiced blood magic? Yeeeeeees? Maybe? No, wait, there wasn't such an empire in Sanctuary. What am I thinking of then? Or maybe I'm just confused again and there is/was one and I'm thinking of something else... bah. Over three thousand years of Sanctuary and the memories bleed together eventually. No angel is immune to it.

... or is it just I who has problems with his memory in the end?

"We're here Great Jack!"

It took everything within my power not to 'sigh' as I stared at... whatshisname in lieu of venting. After a moment's worth of squirming I finally diverted my attention toward the side of the mountain we were threatening to ascend. In my musings I apparently failed to notice the great iron door built into its side. As imposing as it was to some unwanted guest, and most likely having repelled many such 'guests', the signs of age and rust was readily apparent to the naked eye. For what it's worth I wouldn't doubt it would last at least one or two more centuries at the most before a particularly strong gust gets the better of it in the end. I then turn back to the same goblin I was just staring at.

"Thank you. I'll take it from here."

I barely made it more than two steps when he hesitantly called out to me. "I-uh-ah... do you want us to... do anything while we wait for you?"

Ugh...

"No," I say as I looked over to them. "You're more than welcome to head back to the village and do whatever it is you think is best. Otherwise you all will most likely be waiting here for the better part of the day at best. Maybe even onto the night. Until then I will see you later..." ... may as well get this over with. "What was your name again?"

The goblin stiffened, though not in fright or emb... never mind. He was embarrassed. "I, uh, don't have a name Great Jack."

"... why?"

He scratched his cheek. "Only maijin more powerful than the monster being named can name them."

... I'll chalk that up as a tradition around here until further investigation.

"Very well then. I'll see you later Charles."

XVX

As the angel walked away he took no notice of the dumb founded look on the group's faces, nor of the glow now engulfing the goblin the angel was talking to. Instead he busied himself with a flap of his wings to bring him to the door with minimum effort. A moment later he leaned his staff against him in a brief search for either a missed handhold to pull the door open or a slot for a key. Both were found after some of the rust had been knocked off a certain section of the edifice. After an experimental tug ensured it was indeed locked the staff was brought to bear against the keyhole where the end would carefully seep into the cavity and assume the shape of the gate's key. Once the 'key' was properly formed it unlocked the door with a twist of the staff before the extension returned to the staff proper.

Rusted hinges squealed in protest upon being opened from untold decades of disuse only to be utterly ignored by the angel after the initial note rang out. As soon as it opened the angel slipped inside once the gap was large enough for his form, and subsequently closed the door behind him more out of habit than any sense of tactic or a plan. Even so the angel simply glanced about the cave as if expecting to find something before his wings once again emerged from their hiding place underneath his robe and launched him into the cavern's depths.

As this was happening the angels presence drove the cave's primal inhabitants into hiding out of instinct: having long since adapted to the presence of a 'god', it was an immobile 'god' and as powerful as they are to the comparatively normal denizens of the forest at large be they local or recent intruder, it was an immobile and trapped 'god' whose presence they were comfortable with. Thus few ever dared to move about in the open where the angel's presence was undeniable. What few did and had lashed out out of desperation met swift ends. Throughout it all however as the angel explored the cave they left a slime to its own machinations as it explored this world of stone.

With one being largely ignorant of the finer points of the world he traveled in and the other cautious by virtue of a guide only it could hear neither would encounter each other within the days that would come to pass as the angel searched each and every crevice for the 'god' of Jura. Nor would they meet in the near future as the slime found the only doorway into the cavern and promptly discover it unlocked.

A/N: And thus Rigur (the second) has been wiped from existence... so to speak. :P

Monkeybandit2, making off with your attention. No refunds.