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I look back on these questions with a fuzzy sense of nostalgia, remembering how I went from heroic warrior to the living personification of evil.
You see, I used to be a humble god fearing man, eking out a meager existence. I was a hired hand mostly, some weeks it was working the farms, some weeks it was providing a security presence for nobility. I moved around a fair deal, traveling with caravans, occasionally I would be told to deliver a horse to another town and I would get to experience the country side, so long as I made it within the delivery window.
They were simple times, I spent most of my evenings in the tavern, I spent most of my money on mead. When I wasn't too stone drunk passed out under a comely lass, I would spend my time picking up sword fighting techniques from all across the land.
Everything changed when I was told about a town called Tristram. Apparently there were some odd occurrences going on, stories of demons and other small town gossip,and they were looking for men of the blade to help them out. No sweat I thought, I was in good shape, I was sure that they weren't really demons. My father once told me "You may be a strong boy, but you're as stupid as that bull we have with the remnants of his fetal twin hanging off his head. You smell worse than that festering mess too." I was only 6 at the time, but I learned over time that my father was probably right about the whole thing.
Tristram was a quaint town, minus the smell of corpses that escaped through a fissure in the ground. Although, they were no much for my own scent. The scent of a warrior. An unwashed, pubic hair laden, sweaty, drunk of a warrior. I should have figured out when I got there, that most towns have more than 8 people living there. Mind you, I couldn't count, and I had permanent brain damage from all the booze, factors which I consider to be very relevant in my decision.
The townsfolk warned me of the horrors that I would face, I just laughed at them and got myself composed. When I got to the church, I met a man who looked as if he had his flesh ripped from his bones by wild boars. This wasn't the first time I had seen this at a church, so in I went, and down into the catacombs.
It was dark. I should have had a torch, but thankfully someone else kept the place at least somewhat lit here and there. This is about the time when everything started to fall apart. First I thought maybe I had eaten some bad rye bread, what with the skeletons staggering towards me. Then one of them cut my arm and I got pissed off. I swung my sword with diligence, shattering the enemy into piles of bones. I was a little confused as to why the skeletons had money on them, and where they were holding it exactly, but not confused enough to not pick it up and put it in my coin purse. Dad always used to tease me about my coin purse too, saying I looked like a fag when it was hanging off my belt.
In retrospect, I think a lot of my drinking problems and aggression probably stemmed from my up bringing. My dad was an asshole... why couldn't you just love me for who I was Dad? Why didn't you just encourage me to be the best that I could be? I was your only son...why Daddy, why?! Why did you let uncle James touch me like he did? Why!?
You'll have to forgive me for that outburst, these are some sensitive issues.
Back to the skeletons. After I realized I was dealing with what truly must be the forces of evil, I gained a renewed sense of purpose. Deeper in I went, breaking bones and taking names. I had never really engaged my homicidal tendencies to such an extent before. But it felt really good. Really really good. Soon I was hacking through goblins made of flesh, blood splattering in thick arcs of crimson jelly, sometimes it would land on my lips and I would lick it off. I think this is probably where my descent into madness began.
It was solidified when I stepped into the lair of a creature who called himself "The Butcher." Disemboweled townsfolk hung like sides of beef, it smelled like a brothel in the summer time. I had never seen so much carnage before. I was starting to like it.
Occasionally I would wander back into town, coated in gore. I would sell my weapons, buy some new ones, tell people I was helping them out. In reality, I only went to town when I had to. I actually was beginning to like my new dank surroundings, I liked the way it felt to kill everything around me. Dad once told me "You're going to be a psychopathic homicidal axe wielding murderer some day" When I found my first axe, I remembered those words. Suddenly every beast became my father. My frenzy reached to orgiastic proportions as flesh dripping zombies, scamps and disgusting abominations of nature fell to my cleaving blade in satisfying divisions of undead meat and sinew.
Deeper and deeper I went, occasionally venturing back to the surface. They would ask me to do all sorts of strange things, which was fine by me, they were paying me to do something I loved. No one could really tell that I had cracked, most of them thought I was some sort of saviour, especially since no one had died recently.
I held them in contempt, pretending I was killing them along with my father with each and every hurried strike. I eventually got some really bad ass armor, a full scale plate made with whale bones, though I had to modify the helmet a bit because I wasn't getting nearly enough blood around my mouth area.
By the time I reached Hell, there really was no hope left for me. The goat men, the scavengers, all of these creatures wanted me dead in the worst way possible. Not as badly as I wanted to destroy them though. I think it was about this time that I stopped venturing into town. Rather than waste my money on healing potions, I would just eat whatever I killed. Sometimes raw, sometimes cooked by the lifeblood of hell itself, the seething molten that spread across the ground, turning fallen foe into delicious barbecue in seconds.
I think I had probably killed nearly 6 or 7000 creatures by the time I reached Diablo himself. When I looked into his eyes, I saw a tortured soul, who was so alone in his existence. I had killed all his legions, and it left me wondering who was really the monster. I think he was even crying a bit. I removed my helmet, I wanted to do this face to face. When he looked back into my eyes, I thought I saw him tremble just a bit. By now I had been long infected with a myriad of plagues, I don't think I was even alive in a biological sense any more. Somehow, I was still conscious of my actions, despite the lesions eating away deep inside my body, the way my flesh had grown into and over the armor itself at some points.
"Your reign of terror ends here!" I screamed at him, all I could see was red, I became the angel of death. My job was to destroy an unfit ruler of Hell, I had existed long before man's heart was ever corrupted by his own morality. The fight was swift, almost anticlimactic, but when I laid my final blow I was not disappointed. Blood the colour of obsidian rained down on me, I opened my mouth to gargle with it. "GIVE ME MORE!" I screamed, hacking away at more arteries, showered in my sweet reward. He fell limp to the ground, unmoving. That's when I saw the jewel. I ripped it from his forehead, cackling like a mad man as I chewed the brain tissue off of it. It reminded me of the chickens my father used to make, over an open fire. But I had always hated chicken. I didn't want to eat another chicken again for my entire life. Taking a deep breath, I looked around my settings. It was so tranquil, all this killing, it had become peaceful for me inside. I knew what I had to do now. After one more lick of the remaining flesh on the gem, I bowed my head to the ground. I would never make it to heaven I decided, not after what I had become. But I would make one hell of a ruler of the underworld.
So I became the prince of darkness. Not everyone is cut out for this job, it definitely is a very special calling. Perhaps one day you will hear it whispering to you like I did, so many years ago. Perhaps one day, you'll come to meet me, to join my legions in our final battle against God. I'll be waiting for you. You'll show up when it's time. You always do.
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