This is a cross-post from Archive of Our Own. If you'd prefer to read it there feel free to look me up on AO3 (my name is the same).

All comments are welcome, whatever their length or level of criticism. I am always looking to improve, and it's nice to know people are reading. :)

The world was in chaos.

Malthael was dead and the tormented spirits were finally allowed to rest, but many of them were still trapped in horrible, unnatural bodies, destroying the countryside in their anger over being forced to remain in the mortal world. Many major cities had been practically obliterated by Malthael's most powerful minions, and the small towns didn't have strong enough defenses to fight off even the relatively weak remaining enemies.

There were so many people who needed saving that they didn't know where to start.

The small band of warriors and craftsmen barely even had time to celebrate defeating the Aspect of Death before they were faced with even more work to do. Indeed, none of them had felt like celebrating anyway; Diablo had been freed, and no one knew where he had gone or what he might do next. Valla had been absolutely furious when she realized the implications of Malthael's destruction of the Black Soulstone, and even Tyrael had seemed afraid of the demon hunter in that moment. So far no one had heard word of Diablo causing any trouble, but that was a comfort to none of them; it was only a matter of time.

Tyrael, Lorath, and what else remained of the Horadrim went to scour the land for the Lord of Terror, leaving it up to the rest of the group to decide what they would do. Valla wanted to leave immediately to search for anyone who needed their aid, and to help free the trapped souls. Eirena and Kormac agreed to come without hesitation, and Haedrig made a show of sounding reluctant to get dragged around the world again but nobody seemed convinced by it. Myriam made a mysterious comment about how she knew they would need her, and nobody quite understood Shen's answer but he left with them all the same. Even Brycen insisted on coming, and although Haedrig was initially against it, he relented when he realized that in the current state of the world it would be more dangerous to leave him alone.

Lyndon followed along because he had nowhere else to go. Well, that wasn't exactly true; he still needed to find Rea and figure out what truly happened to his brother, but he had no idea what he would discover and he wanted Valla there in case things got messy. But Valla would never pass by a suffering person without stopping to help, and there were plenty of them between where they were and Kingsport.

That was definitely the reason he didn't split off on his own to confront Rea, and it was definitely not because he was completely terrified of what he would learn.

None of it really made a difference, anyway. His brother, the only family he had ever known and the only person to truly give a damn about him, was dead, and it was because of him. Details hardly mattered.

Slaying the revenants at least gave him something to do, but no matter how many souls he helped free it did nothing to ease the guilt that slowly rotted his heart.

Surely there was nothing left for life to take from him.

The group had barely made it two days from Westmarch before they encountered a small village being terrorized by the remnants of Malthael's army. The villagers not killed in the initial attack had managed to barricade themselves in a church, but had the traveling heroes not come by when they did the monsters surely would have gotten to them eventually. With an efficiency born from countless battles, they began to dispatch of the undead menace. These enemies were nothing compared to angels and the lords of hell, it should have been easy.

Lyndon should have known he would find a way to screw it up.

Perhaps it was from thinking about Edlin's death, or from the bottle of wine he had snuck earlier, or just simple incompetence; whatever it was, Lyndon was distracted for the briefest of moments, and on the battlefield that was one of the most dangerous mistakes one could make.

Lyndon heard an unnatural howl, but by then it was far too late to act; something large collided with him and threw him onto his back, sending his crossbow out of his grip and skidding across blood-stained grass. Before he could even think of retrieving it he was pinned to the ground, staring up into the glowing blue maw of a horrible beast. It may have been a dog once, but it was twisted, muscles bulging under bone-white skin and horn-like protrusions jutting from the sides of its head. Terrible claws dug into his chest, and Lyndon knew in an instant that ribs had been crushed. He tried to cry out for help, but the fall had winded him, and he could manage nothing but an ineffectual wheeze. He was defenseless.

Great globs of saliva dripped between the creature's fangs, and he could swear the damn thing was grinning at him.

Two rows of serrated teeth tried to chomp down on his head, and in a final act of desperation Lyndon threw up his arms to stave off the fatal bite. Massive jaws clamped down around his left arm and the beast jerked its head back, ripping the limb from its socket with the terrible sound of muscles tearing and bones snapping like brittle twigs. Lyndon felt no pain, just a numbing shock as he watched the beast bite down on the stolen limb, sending bits of flesh and blood and bone falling around him like a dark rain.

A flurry of crossbow bolts tore into the beast, sending it flying backwards off of him as it exploded into a mass of glowing blue blood. There was a bright flash of light as a soul escaped the mangled form, leaving Lyndon momentarily blinded.

Lyndon blinked rapidly and when his vision returned Valla was kneeling over him, eyes burning bright from battle-fury, making her expression impossible to read. She looked over him quickly, then hissed in frustration as another beast let out a cry nearby, forcing her to turn away from him to dispatch of it. When it lay dead she set down her crossbows and tossed a device towards the remaining enemies. As soon as it hit the ground it unfolded neatly into a small turret, firing bolts into anything evil that wandered too close.

The demon hunter returned her attention to Lyndon and shoved a potion into his hand, commanding him to "Drink." He choked down the red liquid with difficulty, still struggling to recover his breath. Valla tore a strip of fabric from his already ruined coat and hastily tied it around the stump where his arm should have been, attempting to stop the blood hemorrhaging from the wound.

And gods there was a lot of blood. Lyndon suddenly felt very dizzy, and he had no idea if it was from blood loss or the horror of staring at the awful emptiness where his left arm had once been. The combination of the potion and the make-shift tourniquet thankfully stopped the bleeding, but the gashes on his chest still burned and every intake of air caused a sharp pain to shoot through his body. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and his hand clenched into a tight fist.

Lyndon heard shouting and the unmistakable clank of armor, and moments later Kormac came rushing into view. Valla took one more look at Lyndon and then grabbed her weapons and sprang back into battle, leaving the templar to take her place at his side. His eyes trailed after her and he caught sight of Eirena who had taken up a defensive position between them and the attackers.

Kormac had his hands over Lyndon's chest and was muttering something in a language he didn't understand, but experience told him that it was a healing incantation. A glowing light momentarily engulfed them, and to Lyndon's extraordinary relief it dulled the pain to bearable levels.

Kormac glanced worriedly over at the girls for a moment before turning back to his injured companion, grabbing him and pulling him to his feet. A combination of shock and dizziness made it difficult for Lyndon to walk, and Kormac practically had to carry him deeper into town where their less battle-inclined friends were waiting.

Haedrig cursed loudly as he saw them approach, and for the first time Lyndon thought about how truly wretched he must have looked at that moment. Though his wounds were closed his clothing was shredded and he was coated in blood and gore, his own and otherwise. Not to mention he was missing a goddamn arm oh Akarat's mercy is this really happening.

With a surprising gentleness Haedrig took Lyndon's arm and draped it over his shoulders, supporting his weight so that the templar was free to spin around and dash back toward the ever-present sounds of combat.

Lyndon suddenly felt ill, and he retched onto the ground in front of him.

"Easy, lad," Haedrig said in a low voice, "Your friends will take care of the rest. I'll take you somewhere you can lie down."

Gods, he had never heard the blacksmith sound so amiable before. He must have looked even worse than he thought.

Haedrig slowly walked him over to his wagon, Lyndon staggering alongside him as best he could. As he shoved the door open Brycen looked up from where he was seated in the corner and cried out in horror upon spotting Lyndon. Haedrig shot him a dark look and he silenced immediately, blushing in embarrassment.

"Make yourself useful boy and go fetch Myriam," Haedrig ordered, his tone far less kind than it had been a minute ago.

Brycen needed no more encouragement, and shot past them out of the wagon.

The world began to get hazy for Lyndon. He must have been brought over to the bed, because he was currently lying in it. Then Myriam was there, smiling at him kindly and handing him a small teacup he was almost certain he would drop. He drank the contents of it in a single gulp, and had only a handful of seconds to wonder at the bitter taste before consciousness slipped away from him.