Ilar Za'Darmondiel.

***

"Well? Is that not the case?"

"He told us you were dangerously intuitive, Ilar. You and your family." I turned to the first words the human said since entering, finding him smirking at me while several bottles sat between us; one of which he handed to the Lore Keeper. "You too, Selph; although Amun has a job in mind for you. Eban and your twin sisters, even Two-Heart. He told us you all were pragmatic and unblinded by piety enough to see the merit of joining Telin's Champion during this, the birth of his empire. He told me of your alchemical talent, passed down to your daughters. To that end, Ilar Za'Darmondiel, I have a proposition for you, your daughters, Ryldin and Viconia, and their children. In a sense…" Wilson gestured to the vials of an eldritch night-black liquid. "A gambit."

"As do I," Rickley sang. "But for Phoruca, Aufa, and theirs."

"A gamble for my entire family at my little brother's behest." I huffed, approaching the wall Wilson occupied. I was not known for gambling, just as I was not known for piety. Like potions, everything I did, every choice I made, was calculated and measured, based on the product of verified truths, close observation, and experimentation, divided by common sense. Yet, some things had changed.

I turned to my daughters and those others scattered behind and above them to clarify one last thing. "Everything we have known is coming to an end. Perhaps we knew this would pass all along, given the title we gave him. Yet it is unlike anything we could have prepared for. That I could have, at least. I do not know what the future holds. Yet I know which path I will take. What path you choose, and what you do from this point forward, is up to you. I hope you make the correct choice."

With my words spent, I reached for the closest of those night-black vials to spread the weave across it, awaking my perks to read upon its contents as I always had; and as I always had, I felt the curtain of paranoia rising in tune with the steps of my daughters behind me. Even then - even with the fear of being stabbed in my back, I was not hasty. Everything would be calculated and measured.

[Deeyalber Extract, also known as the Elven Devil's Gambit, is a wicked concoction that causes an accursed evolution in its consumer, based on their morality and lineage, changing them into an Undying Fiend, or something else entirely.]

"Me and my daughters either become like you or…" I paused, knowing I could not even fathom such possibilities. "In exchange for what?"

"A partnership," Wilson said, staring deep into my eyes with knowing and intent.

"Your flattery is amusing, Wilson. However, you should have retained some years if a partnership is your aim." I jested, amused by his choice of words. Yet he cared not for any innuendos, holding his focus on us and the pervasive darkness pouring through every entrance like smoke.

"I have businesses and a military unit I need overseers and commanders for. To Viconia and her three daughters, who manage House Za'Darmondiel's treasury, I offer the stations of proprietor and managers of the Rogues Gallery. It sells… tools to rogues and others aligned with, as they call it, the forces of evil. I offer the same station in the Eldritch Bazaar for Ryldin and her children, who sorted the spoils of war and managed the House's trade networks. The Bazaar sells magical, cursed, or tainted objects to warlocks with, shall we say, underappreciated patrons. As for you, Ilar, I offer the station of the Geneva Counsel's Director. The Council is composed of elite destroyers who use every chemical, substance, and foul energy I've learned to create to spread death, darkness, and destruction in Amun's name."

Naturally, a silence ensued. A paranoid, whispering silence filled with the echoing thoughts of my daughters doing as I taught them, multiplying close observations, verified truths, and whatever thought experiments we could theorise before dividing them against common sense to determine the best choice. Speaking pragmatically, as all drow did, agreeing was the best way to survive into the future and more, witness Telin's Champion make his mark on the Mortal Plane. Yet some things remained unclear. Or at the very least, ignored.

"A gambit indeed." I huffed. "Two of them, even. Or, one and the illusion of one, rather. We are already heretics. Traitors. I'm shocked the spiders haven't come for us already, but they will come in time. Even if we escape from these falls, it will not be over. For this is the beginning of a divine war that will persist for eons across the Mortal Plane, just as the Queen Demon Spider wishes. Gambit or none, we will die. Life or undeath, we will be hunted."

"You misunderstand, Ilar. There's always a choice." A charming pitch pulled my eyes to Rickley, chiming her strange pendant with my daughters nearby, clutching their vials readily. "Self-preservation makes you think it an impossible one, however. Call that a curse of mortality. In reality, the choice is simple. Die by the Spider and remain dead, or die by the Nox and be reborn. Hunted, but free."

"The only choice you don't have is how long you get to decide." Wilson huffed, peeling back his sleeve to reveal a skeletal arm wreathed in familiar metals. "I tire of looking at this fucking place." He sneered, plucking his middle finger off to grip it like a wand.

"You and me both," I murmured, giving my bottle a contemplative swirl until the sound of approaching footsteps bore paranoia, which bore haste.

I felt all my warmth fade from my body as the essence spread from my mouth, leaving a shell of my former self to stare at my little sisters storming into the room before I collapsed. I looked to the side and saw my daughters in the same station as me - dying while Rickley played our dying song and Wilson drew a pair of circles with his wand, ensuring the arcana overlapped to inscribe the Glyph of Fusion before his cupped palm.

I felt my breath becoming labored as Wilson deeply inhaled, releasing something foul from his palm while reeling back to exhale a dense jet of red dragon's breath into that foulness. Human elemental manipulation contained the conflagration within one of the Glyph's circles to be corrupted into pure black flames dissimilar to the Moil of yore, for its blistering heat burned through the darkness creeping from my peripherals. Simultaneously, my withering senses detected a flourish within Wilson's spirit, mixing something wicked with something foul to conjure a stream of acid to flow from his wand into the Glyph's remaining circle, where it brightened and rushed into the center to fuse with the shadowy fire and pour through the house like a flood.

It corrupted everything in its wake. Faerie Flames flickered and bloomed into nightly violet conflagrations while the statues they wreathed melted into bubbling black lava. Magical items began going haywire, flaring or exploding into arcane flashes all around us while the furniture burned, releasing a deathly smoke that obscured the stones and stalactites, already loosened by the withered mushrooms, falling all around us; adding a percussive rhythm to the macabre tone of Rickley Ravenbrook's instrument.

Although I drank my potion willingly, something within me refused to just lie down and die, thus I used the last of my will to produce a mana veil and arcane shields that were easily eaten away as if by acid, rendering me to the same fate as the furniture, magical items, Faerie Flames, and statues.

I was not known for gambling, just as I was not known for piety. Like potions, everything I did, every choice I made, was calculated and measured, based on the product of verified truths, close observation, and experimentation, divided by common sense. And so, in the moments before the darkness consumed me, my flesh burnt away, and the acid dissolved what was left, I did not believe I would arise; I knew I would.

——

I was not, and then I was. I knew not when it happened or even if it did at all. If there was any feeling to be registered, it was the feeling of leaving home for what would be some time; perhaps forever. That was all I could notice before I latched onto various inputs from my senses and began reaching, pushing out my will until my mind had enough command over my body to wake me with a breathless startle.

I had risen, yet was laying where I'd never been before, in the lower cavern of Zimysta Falls, up near the ceiling where a tree with vibrant leaves had been planted. I was still wet from that fiery acid; superficially, at least. It clung harmlessly to my exposed ribs, now blackened with the same green-tinted metal and gilded accents found on Wilson's arm, plus something silver.

I looked around to see nearly similar skeletons in the places my family had been, wearing their clothes - Wilson too; all with the same adamantine-limned skeletons ingrained and inlaid with angular silver and gold patterns. Phoruca and Aufa were the exceptions, who, like Rickley, were more like zombies with their black or otherwise dull organs writhing in their metallic rib cages.

I subconsciously opened my grimoire as I found my feet and read about the changes in my body. Changes I heard echoed from vocal chords made of necrotic arcana. "Undying Fae."

"Further augmented by my hand," Wilson replied in his grating voice. "Your skeletons have been inlaid with mithral and gold, as well as the adamantine I have on mine. That should amplify your arcane abilities tremendously. Phoruca and Aufa have a bit more organs, though. If any of you want some, you'll have to drink some of my potions."

I could hardly focus on the words, for the implications of what transpired struck me in tandem with the faces of my grandsons, staring warily amidst Raki and Ruel with Geri, Freki, Blude, and Reina within these changed - nay, destroyed caverns.

Akin to what I saw in the House before, the natural darkness in the Falls was more potent, nearly snuffing out the Faerie Flames spread throughout, or worse, corrupting them to burn gold rather than red or violet. Magical darkness wreathed the cavern walls and ceiling as if it were a burning sea, releasing billowing clouds of gilded motes to illuminate the Towers of Arcana and Might, the remaining Eyes and Legs, the red crown of G'eldantaar, and the unassuming warehouse placed directly beneath it.

Like my family and this Troupe, however, I could not focus on the fallen Zimysta, for I was distracted by the changes to my body. I could hardly come to terms with my exposed skeleton, still capable of feeling, albeit… distantly. I felt separated from everything, yet connected through my spirit. The true boon of an Undying Fae, I presumed. Like a Living Lich of the Nox perhaps, but in drow form.

A haunting thrum of strings captured my attention, bringing my eyes to Rickley, giving us a flourishing bow. "Welcome to the land of the undying!"

"You would do well to learn some manners from this one, Wilson, should you wish for that… partnership." I teased, aiming to find some sanity in this maddening situation, only to fail once I found my voice as grating as his.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"What has happened to this place?" Viconia asked. Then added. "To the House."

"Well, you see, this tree of Twilight opened the door for some creatures to come through, and they really like spiders." Rickley snickered."

"Ugh!" Wilson groaned. "The Shadowfire Acid I released melted or burned the remains of House Za'Darmondiel before it seeped into the stone, where it will remain for a tenday before off-gassing in a limnic eruption to kill off everyone else. In the meantime, Amun will be with Leary and Sovereign Galendra in the Tower of Might, where they'll eventually recruit Two-Heart and a few others before they move on to the Heart Keeper. As for the Twilight you see here, it's connected to the heart of the Black Plume - Amun's cult - much deeper and a few countries away."

"Which means Amun's divine power surrounds a significant area around the Falls; perhaps all of Shujen." I surmised. "The Spider's power is concentrated in a few remaining bastions within these Falls; the Towers of Might and Arcana, G'eldantaar, the Eight Eyes and Legs, and…"

"This guild of slavers." Rickley thrummed in bardic fashion. "Amun hates slavers, so we're going to destroy it. You can come if you want. It'll give you a chance to get used to your new… nature."

"When?" was all I asked. In return, all I got was a wicked grin from the little halfling before she joined her troupe in erecting their arms to point at the stalagmite belonging to Adin'agh. Together, their spirits shone in a multitude of colors as complex spells wove into being at their fingertips and released arcs of white, red, blue, green, and twilight.

Carried forth by a macabre percussion born from Rickley's beating on her bosom, the spells rained on the unsuspecting stalagmite, crashing and smashing to smother water, ice, fire, acid, and more atop the powerful wards, long since emplaced to deflect, nullify, counter, and absorb such attacks. They cared not about their spells returning to them, however. As the smoldering undead dwarf at Rickley's side chanted a hymn of destruction, they unleashed consecutive barrages with a greater ferocity over a larger area.

If anything, I was impressed by their lack of restraint. Their spellcraft left much to be desired, however, and I was morbidly curious about the extent of my new abilities, so I raised my arms to weave my most potent anti-warding spells and sent them on their way.

Mine was a stark contrast to this troupe's spells. Nigh undetectable, the strands of arcana corkscrewed on their descent, splitting and duplicating to whip around and attack the phantasmal shields from all angles, infecting their glyphs and foundations to wither them to dust. Even after their spells continued, most of the structure was left intact and the occupants unscathed. Regardless, the magical defenses were down, thus the Troupe moved in to engage. Undead first.

The former King and Queen of Shujen, two bloated men, and an armored undead emerged from the shadows of Geri, Freki, Blude, Rickley, and Wilson with poise, directing their companies of undead toward the stalagmite whilst their necromancers trailed at a leisurely pace behind them, preceded by us: Undying Fae.

Still, I could notice no changes beyond the obvious lack of body functions and the cold emotions I faced, thus I turned my attention on those stronger undead seeming to cause wanton destruction while their minions darted to the embrasures lining the compacted surface with haste, placing exploding satchels or destroying the walls with sheer might to gain access to the maze within. Then they appeared, and I felt something at last.

Fury rose from the memories of being raised in this wretched place. Disgust for those foul creatures of fleshy chitin. Hatred for the Demon Spiders and their queen. And it seemed I was not the only one, for my children soon dove into the fray, uncaring of the remaining traps and reactivated wards set between them.

I began to give chase when my skeletonized hand gave me pause, if only to chastise myself. I still thought like a mortal, despite acknowledging my undying nature. Unfearing, yet still hesitant in the face of danger. A novel approach was needed. Something calculated and measured, based on the sum of a central objective, the context of observation, and my abilities, multiplied by violence of action.

Two giant demon spiders were poised on either side of the guild's main entrance ahead, shepherding the several hundred combat slaves moving behind fortified outcroppings to arc spells and arrows overhead or ducking into tunnels under the fire to counter our assault; another was poised far to our right, where it opposed Blude and Geri on their way to the guild's rear; leaving one that maneuvered behind us to be pounced on by Freki and his many beasts of earth and fire.

Knowing the approaching wall of slaves were given weapons of steel and bone, I let their blows clang and rattle against my adamantine bones while I focused inward on the twin scimitars forged in my spirit. They crackled into existence just as the two demon spiders came into range, causing them to reel back in disbelief at my heresy as I grabbed hold of the ambient arcana and flourished.

A river of projected slashes fell into the dense chitin with a flurry of dull thuds before the slaves were forced between us, releasing a shower of viscous liquid to mix with the sprays of Zimysta falling nearby. Arms were rent, bodies were disemboweled, and the terrain was becoming more impassable by the second, yet the fear of those retched things saw their slaves charge into my deathly embrace, giving the spiders' fleshy chitin a chance to seal their many scratches and scars.

The overseers of Adin'agh appeared not long after, rushing from the entrance to predetermined points along the stalagmite's surface to make rain quarrels and spells. Although they were blinded by the wicked darkness pervading the Falls, that mattered not when all drow heightened their remaining five senses to fight in magical darkness and were in the company of spiders who could see through such things.

I reacted before they could gain their bearings, arcing back with a transmutation spell gathered in my blade before it lashed upward. The crescent blade arced high above and split into jagged shards of arcana that shifted, condensed and congealed into a myriad of colors before my blade descended, casting a torrent of lightning, acid, and explosive blades that rained down on their demonic overlords; all the while, slaves threw themselves at me.

I got my true test when an orcish slave caught me with a sledgehammer. The orc's strength, coupled with the hammer's mass, saw me be thrown several meters from any foothold; thus I fell many meters before tumbling against the cavern's slope. Yet the pain was distant. Moreover, I noticed a crawling itch overcome me once I slayed the slaves who meant to capitalize on my misstep: an itch that coincided with the growing ease of my swings and thrusts.

That ease saw my projected slashes scar the spider's fleshy chitin at last, making me engage with more fervor. In bolstering more arcana than I ever would, I cleared the distance with a leap and wove the ambient arcana into webs that pulled and yanked my body into a violent dance with the clumps of waxy webs arcing from the demon spiders, slowing, rising, and falling out of their paths until I was directly above them.

I was not pious. Yet it seemed I had grown zealous in my actions, for the arcane string that pulled me between the spider's legs was too much. All I perceived was a blur of black, beige, and red before the sound of crashing consumed my senses. I felt an impact that would have killed me before, yet with an adamantine skeleton, I only felt the pressure of stone lodged against my body coupled with a dense mass crashing against my head, banging against my spirit to inflict a foul pain I felt I hadn't experienced in years.

Gripping the arcana within the stone rather than the stone itself, I pushed until the assuring sounds of cracking stone reverberated through my frame and pushed more, only to hear a foul hiss before another flash of pain speared through my belly. I shook, was jostled, and managed to gaze down at the demon spider's cruel leg wedged between my ribs before the reverberations returned in force.

Clutching the spider's leg, I let out a contemptuous hiss of effort and hissed louder as the pressure spiked, bringing the steaming maw of writhing waxy fangs closer to my face to hiss something foul.

Knowing what was coming, I ignored the hot, waxy venom spewing from its maw and focused on the arcana in my well. Twin streams of arcane cold and wind soon poured from my spirit, flowing up the mithral in my spine to converge in my maw, forming the working fluid of a shrill whistle that blasted from my lipless mouth.

The spear of gelid wind barreled through the falling venom before breaking apart into a rainfall of blades that bit into the spider's maw like focused rain, gashing and smashing its writhing fangs before freezing the carnage over. While insignificant, it was enough for me to break free and leap with bolstered force to recast my arcane strings, and with more control, I dragged my blades across its hind leg, finding purchase on the joint to inflict another shallow wound.

Cursing loudly, I slung my body in the opposite direction and poured the remnants of my spell into my forged blades before lashing out at the same target.

At last.

The feeling of demon flesh being carved through by my forged spirit was the greatest ecstasy; like the most powerful potion mixed with the most euphoric drugs, working in tandem to enhance every aspect of my being. It subconsciously emboldened my attacks, making my actions nigh autonomous; my movements indiscernible, even to me. All I saw and smelled was the blur of Zimysta falling in every direction. All I felt and heard were my tendons creaking and popping from my lethally changing velocity. All I tasted and sensed was demon flesh and a wicked spirit frantically healing its damage.

I'd raked the demon spider's body twice more by the time my momentum slowed enough to gain my bearings. The legs were hardly hanging on, yet that merited nothing more than a curse from me, given their healing factors.

In broadening my senses, I spotted a team of drow slaves aiming at me and resumed my flow, releasing the same Frostbitten Gust through my mouth as a ruse while I slung myself around to close the distance and line them up for one fell swoop. Once again emboldened by success, I harvested a few slaves as I rounded back for the spider.

Finally.

Finally, I was coming to understand what it meant to be an Undying Fae, which meant I could finally end this battle. And so, I took as much arcana from my surroundings as possible and poured half of my arcane well into my blades before zipping toward the spider with haste. My blades slithered through its first leg and continued through the second before the concentrated power within flowed through its edge, projecting an ethereal violet blade to hack through the third leg and carve a deep gouge into the stone beneath it. My next pass carved through two legs from the other spider, causing it to stumble and scramble to cast a large web to stabilize itself.

Huffing in contempt, I spun more webs to the detached legs and pulled myself into an orbit around them, accelerating further with each pass as I flailed my five lines with gusto, for they were aided by my tempest. The jagged spires for legs rose and swung around the battlefield at alarming speeds and accelerated further once their lines caught stalagmites, outcroppings, or arcane hoods; digging into them to pull their loads taut, swing them toward those wretched things, and release, just as my line pulled me beneath its legs with my blades poised low.

While they were flung at all angles, the strings connecting the legs pulled them all to the same point I shot toward with blades raised high. Like a gory drumroll, the spider's legs impaled it from its eyes to its spinnerets just before I I passed beneath it, skating atop my metallic feet while the remaining half of my arcane well met my will and flowed down the mithral in my arms and into my swords, rising to carve into the beasts belly just as it finally lost its footing.

Amidst that blur, I perceived my most powerful spell to date as a flash of white, coupled with a great release. Then, I could only feel hot, viscous ichor spilling over me, making me itch madly all over, followed by a resounding crack from far above. I gazed up in time to see a great fissure open up along Zimysta's distant ceiling, then looked down before witnessing the cascade to see my daughters standing among their slain spider, scratching at bits of muscle and fat growing on their limbs.

They began to speak when the cascade came. Not the rocks falling from above, but a torrent of water gushing from the stalagmite's entrance, pushing out frozen blocks that turned out to be bodies as they flowed into a nearby depression to thaw.

"It was sloppy. Many drow and spiders escaped, but the guild is shattered and we took everything." Turning, I saw Wilson wobbling forward with much of his skin regrown; though he still looked… dissatisfying. Especially when he smiled. "It's a win."

"I did not take you for one who would go through so much trouble for gold." I huffed.

"Well, Blude stole all their money; Rickley took their art; Freki ravaged their food stores; Geri stole everything but the silverware. Furniture, clothes, trinkets- you name it. She's greedy in that way."

"Cry about it!"

"And you?" I asked, making a curious note of Geri's response. Before Wilson's childish smirk, at least.

"I took their weapons and wands," he snarkily said. "They'll be upgraded into something quite wicked indeed."

"I can't wait to see." I hummed, turning my semi-grown eye over the flooded stalagmite and the thawed slaves surrounding it, staring at Rickley, thrumming a tune that caused shivers in the dead before they rose with purpose; or healed through some unseen force. "And what of them?" I motioned to them.

Wilson answered with a single word, chanted with raised fists toward the crowd. "Riot!"