Eryndralis stretched out like a torn tapestry, a hell where gray ash cracked underfoot, where the ruins of ancient temples floated in a violet sky streaked with silent storms. Stagnant lakes shimmered under silver light, their surfaces rippled by phantom winds. It was a realm of solitude and despair, where damned souls wandered aimlessly, rejected by both traditional heavens and hells. Amid this chaos, three figures emerged, each bearing the scars of their mortal fall, united by a fragile dream: to offer refuge in the abyss.
Bhaadon, "The Unknown": In his mortal world, a medieval kingdom ravaged by holy wars, Bhaadon was born of a fallen archangel and a high-ranking demoness from Belzebub's court. His father, exiled for defying the heavens, and his mother, banished for rebelling against infernal corruption, bequeathed him a mixed blood—a curse that marked him from birth. Wingless, he developed powerful telekinesis, capable of lifting armies or hurling foes into the air. Shunned by both sides, he found sanctuary in a village of outcasts, using his powers to shield them. During a crusade, priests hunted him as an abomination, and he fell under a rain of blessed arrows, his body crumpling in the mud as he whispered, "A home… that's all I wanted…"
He awoke in Eryndralis, chained within a floating ruin, surrounded by screaming specters—the souls he couldn't save. For centuries, he broke his bonds with telekinesis, levitating debris to free himself. Emerging onto an ash plain, he planted a black seed in the barren soil—an infernal yew, a cursed tree he'd torn from a forgotten temple. Before his eyes, the seed stirred, its roots sinking into the ash with a dull crack. Over centuries, the yew grew, its gnarled branches rising like a living cathedral, its gargantuan trunk pulsing with dark energy. The ground around it turned fertile, silver grass sprouting in its roots' shadow, and rich, deep-red fruit appeared, drawing damned souls, malformed demons, and rejected hybrids. Bhaadon named this haven Iff, a tribute to the tree that became its heart, and vowed to make it an eternal refuge.
Solom, "The Cloud": In a different mortal realm, Solom was born a demon, but with an inexplicable anomaly—celestial powers, golden lightning sparking in his hands. His family, from an infernal lineage, cast him out, seeing him as an aberration or a heavenly ploy to corrupt them. He carved a place among demonic warriors, wielding his lightning to protect the weak of his clan. But during a war against a celestial order, he refused to slaughter prisoners, defying his lord with a storm of golden bolts. Betrayed by his own kin, he was chained and burned alive on a sulfur pyre, his last thought a murmur: "Strength… should serve, not destroy…"
In Eryndralis, he emerged amid a storm of silver ash, his golden lightning crackling faintly against the phantom winds. Condemned to wander, he crossed paths with Bhaadon near the nascent yew, its frail branches stretching skyward. "What are you building, hybrid?" he asked, planting his Ivory Staff in the ground. "A home," Bhaadon replied, levitating an obsidian block. "Join me." Solom nodded, his golden lightning piercing the dark, and together they raised towers around the yew, his bolts carving protective runes into the stone.
Gota, "The Rain": Gota, in her mortal world, was an angel serving a celestial order, her white wings glowing like dawn's light. But her compassion for mortals led her to defy the heavens, healing the damned instead of judging them. Punished, her wings were torn from her living flesh, again and again, in endless torment. During a war against demons, she was captured and delivered to her celestial executioners, who drowned her in a sacred lake, her aqueous jellyfish fading with her. "I wanted… to help…" she whispered, her body sinking into murky water.
In Eryndralis, she awoke in a stagnant lake, her luminous jellyfish drifting around her like mournful specters, her wingless body scarred with silver marks. She wandered, healing the souls she met, until Solom's golden lightning cut through the gloom. She followed it to Iff, where the infernal yew already rose, its red fruit drawing the damned. Bhaadon greeted her with a calm gaze: "Stay with us." Gota summoned her jellyfish to irrigate the soil, turning ash into fertile land, and murmured, "Here, we'll be a family."
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Beneath the infernal yew, the Nephalems built a haven—polished obsidian towers gleaming under the violet sky, fortified by Bhaadon's telekinesis, lit by Solom's golden lightning, and watered by Gota's streams. The tree, now colossal, loomed over the plain, its gnarled branches offering shade and sustenance, its roots pulsing with dark yet benevolent life. Damned souls flocked—malformed demons, broken spirits, rejected hybrids—finding shelter under the yew. Bhaadon levitated his tonfas around him like a shifting barrier, Solom patrolled the wingless skies with his lightning, and Gota healed the wounded, their powers weaving a fragile harmony. For centuries, Iff thrived, a defiance to the demonic lords who saw this refuge as an affront.
But peace drew envy. Zar'keth, a demonic lord with iron horns astride a flaming steed, coveted Iff as a fortress. Manipulating the Styx Reapers—Tyrnat, Yulius, and Nera, damned in Vyrn'Thar—with promises of dominion, he sent them as scouts. In a tense meeting beneath the yew's branches, Tyrnat challenged Bhaadon: "Submit, hybrid, or your tree burns." Bhaadon, tonfas levitating in guard, replied, "Iff is for the weak, not tyrants."
Battle erupted under a violet sky torn by roaring flames, Eryndralis' ground trembling beneath Zar'keth's cavalry. The demonic lord, his iron horns gleaming like blades under the silver lake-light, led his legions—flame riders on steeds with blazing manes, ash specters with smoking claws—against Iff's walls. The Styx Reapers, shadowy blurs in the chaos, breached the defenses, their forms stark against the obsidian towers. The infernal yew, Iff's beating heart, stretched its gnarled branches skyward, its red fruit falling under gusts like drops of blood.
Bhaadon stood at the tree's base, his tonfas whirling in a furious dance, forming a shifting barrier that repelled assaults. With a gesture, he telekinetically lifted a flame rider, hurling him into a wall with a crunch of shattered armor, while an obsidian slab rose to crush a group of specters, their screams fading in an ash cloud. "You won't take Iff!" he roared, his voice ringing over the din, his veiled eyes blazing with fierce resolve.
Solom, levitating above the yew, loomed over the plain like a living storm cloud. Golden lightning crackled in his hands, illuminating the dark with blinding bolts. He dove toward the riders, his levitation carrying him with unearthly grace, and unleashed a lightning storm that struck down a dozen steeds, their flaming husks collapsing in bursts of fire and ash. His Ivory Staff spun in his grip, channeling golden arcs that danced between foes, searing specters before they reached the walls. "Protect the tree!" he shouted, his voice thundering, his body defying infernal gravity.
Gota, near the yew's roots, summoned an army of aqueous jellyfish, their luminescent tendrils floating like protective veils. She raised her hands, and a wave of silver water surged, quenching the flames of riders threatening the residents. Her jellyfish coiled around the damned, forming liquid shields that absorbed blows, while an aqueous tempest rose to push back assailants. "Hold fast!" she cried, her voice quavering yet resolute, her silver scars glowing with effort as she drew on her last reserves.
But the Styx Reapers struck with lethal precision. Tyrnat, atop a fallen tower, summoned Tortegax, his obsidian-scaled spectral tortoise. It crashed to the ground, blocking Iff's exits with its massive bulk, its claws tearing the fertile earth to prevent escape. "Burn their dream," he commanded, his shadow sickle glinting as he lunged at Bhaadon. Yulius, a brutal shadow in the fray, slashed sentinels with Massacre, his bone sword leaving trails of demonic blood on the walls. Nera, lurking in the yew's shadow, cast her shadow threads like a spider spinning its web, trapping defenders in invisible bonds, her eyes teary but her loyalty to Tyrnat unwavering.
Zar'keth entered the fray, his flaming steed galloping through breached walls, a fire lance in hand. He aimed at the infernal yew, and a flame burst erupted, charring its lower branches in a living scream that shook the ground. Bhaadon dove at him, his tonfas whirling to deflect the lance, and telekinetically lifted the demonic lord, hurling him skyward. But Tyrnat struck, his shadow sickle gashing Bhaadon's side, the deep wound forcing him to release Zar'keth. The lord landed, his guttural laugh echoing as he unleashed a fire nova that shattered a tower, its debris raining on the residents.
Solom, aloft, dove at Yulius, his golden lightning illuminating the night. He struck Massacre with a bolt, repelling the bloodreaver, but Nera's threads coiled around his legs, hindering his levitation. A rider of Zar'keth seized the opening, his fire lance piercing Solom's shoulder, dropping him with a muffled cry. Gota, desperate, unleashed a massive aqueous storm, her jellyfish forming a protective dome around the yew. The silver water doused Zar'keth's flames, but the lord countered with a fire lance that pierced the dome, vaporizing the jellyfish in a tragic hiss. Gota collapsed, her strength spent, as flames licked the yew's roots.
Iff's heart faltered. Zar'keth drove his lance into the yew's trunk, and a fire surge erupted, charring its gnarled branches in a wrenching crack. The red fruit fell to ash, the roots withered, and the tree screamed—a living sound, like a broken soul mourning its end. The obsidian towers crumbled in a deafening roar, their shards glinting under the violet sky like starry tears. The pure lakes evaporated into wisps of steam, and the residents—damned, demons, hybrids—were slaughtered or scattered by Zar'keth's legions, their cries fading in the chaos.
Bhaadon, wounded, lifted a final slab to crush a rider but collapsed near the yew's smoking roots. Solom, crawling from the rubble, hurled a golden bolt that repelled Yulius, but his strength failed. Gota, breathless, summoned a faltering jellyfish to shield her companions, her tears mingling with the ash. The Styx Reapers retreated into the shadows, their mission complete, while Zar'keth laughed, his steed trampling Iff's ruins. The haven was dead, its tree a charred skeleton standing in funereal silence.
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The Nephalems barely survived, dragging themselves from the wreckage. Bhaadon, kneeling before the burned yew, murmured, "They'll pay… all of them." Solom, his golden lightning flickering weakly, gripped his Ivory Staff, trembling with rage. Gota, soaked in ash, summoned a final jellyfish to heal them, her tears falling on barren soil. Their dream shattered, they swore vengeance, their bond forged in Iff's tragedy—a wound that still haunts them in the infernal arena.