Read Diablo III: Morbed for Free Online

Climb! Stop that damned screeching!”
    Morbed, arms still over his ears, right hand still clutching the dagger, assayed the walls, looking for handholds. It could be possible . . .
    The demon grasped the fur at the nape of Aedus’s neck, worked its club-arm across between them, then yanked the beast backward and swung out with its flail-arm, catapulting the bear into the portcullis just to Morbed’s left, warping the metal gate. The bear regained its paws, rolled its head as if shedding water, and rejoined the fray.
    Veins were standing out at Jaharra’s temples, and Morbed could tell that the effort to cast amid the screaming ward was taking an enormous toll. The luminescence around her left hand was now a faint, fading corona.
    As Aedus charged, the armored titan swiped, hurling the beast across the room.
    Morbed backed slowly toward the buckled portcullis. The demon crushed the marauding skeletons as though they were kindling, shedding the chains, pressing forward, as unstoppable as the tide. Vorik, without his dagger and hampered by the magic-suppressing wail, was unable to bring the height of his abilities to bear against their otherworldly opponent.
    Morbed knew with instant clarity that they would all die very soon. He returned the useless knife to its sheath, lowered his arms, and gazed at the unfolding predicament. Suddenly it all became distant, distorted. He was transported back to the day he had stood guard while his comrades infiltrated the thieves’ camp in Aranoch.
    Part of what Morbed had later relayed to his allies was true; he had convinced the bandit king that he was the son of a wealthy merchant and therefore worth ransoming. What he hadn’t admitted was that he had abandoned his post when he saw the bandits drawing near.
    He had weighed their superior numbers, realized he had no means of warning his fellows, and knew that the entire party would surely be lost. So he left. Left them all to die at the hands of the vagabonds, before being outflanked and captured himself.
    Jaharra was backing away from the advancing demon, screaming at Morbed to climb. Vorik was in its path. In its left hand the behemoth was grasping the nape of Aedus’s bear-neck.
    He had been wrong about the event in Aranoch. They had all lived because the bandits were drunk and poorly trained. But this time, there was no doubt. Yes, they would all most certainly die.
    All but Morbed.
    He was, if anything, a survivor.
    The thief caught enough of Jaharra’s expression—open mouth and wide, wet eyes—to register her shock at his betrayal as he wriggled his body through the opening in the warped portcullis. As he rushed through the wooden door and headlong into the darkness, Morbed was vaguely aware of the muted screams and shouts—soon drowned out by the ear-rending skirl—of those he left behind.

CHAPTER FOUR

    The hammering in his chest did not subside as Morbed raced through the inscrutable dark, arms flailing right and left, colliding intermittently with stone as his path weaved and ragged breath hitched in his lungs.
    He sped on, down one corridor after another, his only thoughts of escape—to make his way back to the longboat, onto the fishing hulk, and out to sea. His ears were still ringing as he plunged ahead—
    And slammed face-first into a wall.
    Rebounding, he rocked onto his heels and fell hard. His head spun. Blood ran freely from his nose, over his mouth, and down his chin. He sat forward and felt around in the gloom. A dead end.
    Holding the sleeve of his capote against his nose, Morbed gained his feet. He ran his right hand along the wall before him and followed the stone for several steps before coming to a corner. To his left was a faint haze, a shapeless aura that was simply less black than its surroundings. It lingered briefly, then disappeared. A tingling sensation worked through Morbed’s core. He was loath to trail the apparition, but any thoughts of