Just as Bane and Torm's divine avatars perished together in Dragon Bay, their seas of dead followers' souls surging down the rushing River Styx toward the Lower Plane, toward the Prison of Haze in the Destruction Wasteland.
In the Lower City of Water-Drawing City, Milko, god of the dead, and Baal, god of slaughter—both "death gods"—simultaneously sensed the tremor of that immense death energy and looked up in disbelief.
Milko, who had been sprawled atop the offerings and feasting heartily, froze stiff as a rat:
"Bane actually 'died'? How is that possible?!"
The reason he had so readily used the authority of the god of the dead to lend Bane the power of departed souls was, on one hand, indeed because of Bane's threats. On the other, he had plans of his own:
Since Bane had already lost the stone slab in his possession, he might as well use the other's madness to draw the greed and hatred of the other saints onto Bane. That way, he would be safe for the time being and have more time to slowly build his kingdom of the dead and study the purpose of the stone slab in his own hands.
But he had never imagined that Bane would not only fail, but fail so quickly!
"No! I can't stay here! I need to find a safer hideout."
As Milko, like a frightened rat, blindly scurried in circles through the stone chamber, Baal, concealed in the shadows at a corner of the ceiling, drew a deep breath and slowly pulled two short daggers from his waist, thinking the same thing:
*I can't wait any longer. I might as well force the stone slab's location out of him directly. Milko just spent a great deal of Divine Power on the living sacrifice, so he