DARK SAVAGE IN THE UNITED STATE

"Ha! My name is Bulkesso! Remember this glorious name! I am the nephew of the Infernal Lord, the eternal nightmare of demons, and the new king of the barbarians! You may also call me Nephalem!" Bulkesso declared, his voice booming as he secured the broken weapons at his waist and stroked his well-kept beard.

Only now did he fully realize that he had left the world of Diablo. Yet, his battle instincts still burned fiercely, and the barbarian's trademark fury radiated from him like heat.

"By the way, what is this 'Midgard' you're talking about, mage?" Bulkesso asked disdainfully. His natural aversion to magic, inherited from his barbarian lineage, was evident in his tone. The names "Gu Yi" and "Midgard" stirred no recognition from him; the stories of Marvel he once loved in his past life had long faded into distant fragments of memory.

Though Bulkesso attempted to restrain himself, the aftermath of his fierce battle left his voice sharp and harsh. Yet beneath it all, the word "Earth" resonated deeply within him, stirring an unyielding nostalgia.

"It seems we have much to discuss," the Ancient One replied calmly. Her composed demeanor revealed no sign of agitation, as if she believed everything was still within her grasp. Her centuries of life granted her a patience and emotional resilience that seemed almost alien. To her, humanity often resembled children—making mistakes and seeking redemption.

But Bulkesso was no mere mortal. The lifespan of a Nephalem was a mystery. The first immortal king and original Bulkesso had disappeared, his fate unknown. Meanwhile, Rasma, the first Nephalem and founder of the necromancers, remained alive and influential in the Diablo world.

Bulkesso himself did not know how long he could live, but he was certain it would not be as fleeting as a summer insect's existence.

"I didn't know there were mages on Earth," Bulkesso said, his voice resonating like a battle cry. "And you're just a mage with decent mana!" The booming tone was characteristic of a barbarian in combat, a mark that the fight was far from over.

Bulkesso could sense the Ancient One's magical energy—a vast and steady flow. But to him, such reserves of mana were unremarkable. Barbarians, after all, fought tirelessly using their fury as fuel. To be sustained in battle was nothing extraordinary—it was expected.

However, Bulkesso knew that raw energy was not the measure of a mage's power. What mattered was the destruction they could unleash with it. The Ancient One bore no signs of deep elemental mastery, only an aura of bottomless darkness. To Bulkesso, her magic seemed unimpressive, lacking the destructive purity of elemental contamination.

"Maybe we should start with why you're here," the Ancient One suggested, her expression unchanged. Bulkesso's harsh words and battle-worn state did not intimidate her.

She could feel his strength, but it was shrouded by the shadow of death. In her eyes, Bulkesso was still formidable, but death had veiled his unrelenting fury with an illusion of weakness.

Unbeknownst to her, this misjudgment stemmed from the unique nature of the Holy Mountain of Harrogath. As the ancestral home of the barbarians, it was protected by their spirits and faith. Even the Lords of Hell had struggled for countless years to corrupt it.

When the Ancient One attempted to overlay her dimensional magic over Harrogath, it triggered Bulkesso's wrath.

"You dare to taint Harrogath with your filthy dark magic, mage?!" Bulkesso roared, drawing his battered weapons once more. The Holy Mountain was not merely a location; it was a sacred symbol of barbarian heritage, the resting place of their ancestors' spirits. To defile it was the gravest insult imaginable.

The Ancient One's actions had ignited his unyielding fury. Though the explosion of the Dark Soulstone had damaged his weapons, Bulkesso was no less deadly without them. He was the Immortal King, a banner of strength for all barbarians. Even in his weakened state, he was still a terror to demons.

"Ha!" His battle cry echoed across Harrogath, signaling that the fight had begun. His rage-fueled strength surged, and he charged at the Ancient One like an unstoppable force.

Though Bulkesso had yet to reach the mastery of legendary barbarians like Raiko, who could merge all charge techniques into a single, devastating strike, his skill was unmatched among his peers.

At that moment, Bulkesso was not merely a warrior—he was the living embodiment of barbarian might, a beacon for his people and a nightmare for his foes.