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Tyrael yanked his backpack properly onto his back, filled El’druin with his righteous (and completely fed up at that point) fury and prepared to storm the building alone, strategy be damned for the moment. He tore across the stone bridge and burst through the wide open gates, into the welcoming hall.
Immediately the cold misty air practically slammed him in the chest. The fortress was shrouded in an unnatural fog and the temperature was noticeably lower than the outside. This sight alone knocked Tyrael out of his frustration and rage, and he stopped. He had to be far more careful, he realized. This demon did not just ambush them, he had prepared a trap for them. Whatever had happened to the Sisterhood, well… Tyrael reckoned bitterly he was about to find out. Keeping El’druin before himself in a defensive stance, the mortal angel chanced a couple of steps inside the hall, eyes constantly darting around.
from Chapter 50 , Act III
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Not my best day for drawing, despite being a Sunday. But I tried my best.
Diablo (c) Blizzard
That First Spark (c) me