As they passed through the wrought iron gates into the cemetery, a heavy, oppressive atmosphere settled over the group. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the shadows seemed to move with a life of their own. Tombstones jutted out from the corrupted earth, leaning haphazardly as if even in death there was no peace. Twisted, thorny vines choked the life out of every surface, their dark tendrils creeping over stone and bone alike. From the shadows, they could hear whispers—disembodied voices that carried both pleas and threats, their tones indistinguishable from one another. The cries seemed to seep into their bones, chilling them with an unnatural cold. Something was watching them; they could feel its gaze crawling over their skin. But each time they turned to confront it, there was nothing but the empty, sinister quiet of the graveyard.
They paused when Zeus suddenly raised his hand, signaling them to stop. He turned to the right, kneeling beside a skeleton clad in rusted armor, the symbol of Shar barely visible on the tarnished metal. Just a few steps ahead, they noticed a deep pit filled with bones, a mass grave devoid of reverence. Something caught the light on the skeleton’s finger—a ring, its surface dulled by time but still faintly glimmering. Zeus took it, cradling it in his palm before it seemed to dissolve into his skin.
“An enchantment that casts Warding Bond on the wearer, transferring all the damage to…” Zeus's thoughts trailed off as he paused, sensing a connection to another ring somewhere to the west, where Arabella’s earring had been leading them. There was a faint pull, a tether that tied the two rings together, promising protection at a devastating cost.
Searching the skeletal remains, Zeus found a tattered diary. Most of the pages had been torn out, leaving only one entry intact. He quickly scanned it:
"In the fifth year of our union, we faced the biggest hurdle yet: My parents became quite ill, and we became their caretakers. It was a dark and difficult time, filled with emergencies of every possible type. Gone were the easeful days in which our time was our own; our days were filled with work, each other, and little else. During our darkest moments, I wondered if we’d survive it. But the bond of love we had was resilient; it could bend and bend and bend but would not break, no matter the pressure."
“Did you find something useful?” Wyll asked, his voice cutting through the somber silence.
Zeus shook his head, rising to his feet.
They continued westward, the cemetery stretching out before them like a maze of despair. Astarion’s eyes roved over the mausoleums they passed. “Perhaps we could check some of these mausoleums,” he suggested, his voice carrying a hint of avarice. “They might hold precious… useful items.”
“This is not the time,” Zeus responded sharply, his focus unwavering as they approached a massive structure looming ahead.
They stepped into a small courtyard, the House of Healing casting its shadow over them like a tombstone for the living. Holes marred the ground where bodies had been hastily buried, bones poking out from shallow graves. The stench of decay was overpowering, but it wasn’t what drew Zeus’s attention. He suddenly dashed to the left, bursting through an open door with a speed driven by instinct, the smell of fresh blood pulling him like a predator to prey.
The rest of the party rushed after him, only to find Zeus standing over the decapitated body of what had once been a nurse. Her skin grey and dark veins crawling all over her body. Her head, wrapped in bandages and covered by a strange leather helmet that obscured her eyes, lay grotesquely at an angle from her lifeless body. Blood pooled around her, mingling with the decay that clung to the air.
Their eyes shifted to the two figures lying on the bloodstained beds beside Zeus—Arabella’s parents.
“Are they dead?” Karlach asked, her voice barely above a whisper, though the answer was painfully obvious.
Zeus nodded solemnly.
The bodies were riddled with incisions, cut with a precision that spoke of cruel expertise. The wounds had not been sutured, leaving them open to fester, and the sheets beneath them were soaked in blood, dark and dried in some places, fresh and glistening in others.
“Poor Arabella,” Karlach muttered, her gaze lingering on the gruesome scene.
Gale and Wyll stood frozen, the horror of it etched on their faces, while the others, like Minthara, seemed unaffected—indifferent even. Zeus knew he couldn’t judge her; her own family life had been turbulent, violent, and short, leaving her numb to such tragedies.
Suddenly, Arabella’s father lurched upright. For a brief moment, hope flickered in their hearts—was he alive? But that hope was dashed as they saw his eyes, glowing with the unnatural light of undeath, the green-blue veins pulsing beneath his skin like a grotesque parody of life.
Before anyone could react, a small golden flame ignited in Zeus’s palm. The fire split into two, one for each body, setting them ablaze with radiant light. The flames consumed them quickly, reducing the corpses to ash, erasing any trace of their torment.
“What is done is done,” Zeus said, his voice flat as he turned and walked toward the door that led deeper into the building.
The heavy smell of blood grew stronger as they stepped into the next room. Astarion struggled to control himself, the scent overwhelming his vampiric senses. The room was large, lined with beds, jars, and medical equipment scattered haphazardly across the bloodstained floor. Puddles of blood pooled in the corners, trails of it leading to various dark corners of the room. More undead nurses shuffled around, their movements slow but deliberate, as if going through the motions of their past lives.
To their left was a section filled with beds, many of them occupied by unmoving, covered bodies. To the right, a wooden door stood ominously at the end of a blood-slicked path. The trail of blood led straight to it, and near the door, more covered bodies lay, their shapes distorted beneath the sheets.
From beyond the door, they could hear screams—painful, desperate cries that echoed through the silent halls.
Zeus quickly rush trought the door as he could feel a distress mind from that direction .
In the middle of a round room with benches for people to watch were four undead nurses sitting around a surgical bed where a man was strapped to , watching despite having their eyes covered as an undead man cut and probed the man tied to it .
This undead creature had a horrifying, patchwork appearance, combining elements of a ghastly humanoid with unsettling mechanical parts. It stood hucnh over as it operated , wearing tattered, old-fashioned clothing that looked like they belonged to a noble . The outfit included a long, dark coat with gold trim, matching boots, and a ruffled collar, all of which were stained and worn with age.
The creature’s head was an unsettling to look at, with large, round spectacles that covered its hollow, glowing eyes, giving it a ghoulish, puppet-like look. Its skin was pale and mottled, stretched tight over a skull-like face with a wide, unnerving grin that revealed sharp, rotten teeth.
Both its arms and legs had been replaced with grotesque prosthetics, each featuring an extra joint, which gave its movements an unnatural, jerky quality. One arm ended in a cruel, claw-like apparatus, the metal gleaming wickedly, while the other arm, though still partially organic, had been reinforced with metal through necromantic or surgical alterations. Its legs, similarly fused with bone and metal, contributed to its lurching, inhuman gait.
The objective of the scalpel, sisters, is to soothe," the undead surgeon intoned with a voice that was as cold and clinical as the steel instruments it wielded. "For the scalpel, indeed, is an extension of Shar. See how the patient reacts when I stroke the right nerve. Hear its comfort. Hear the very melody of mercy." The surgeon's voice dripped with twisted reverence, its words turning the horrific scene into a mockery of healing. The man's screams echoed through the chamber, a haunting cry of agony as the scalpel sliced into his flesh, his body convulsing with each precise, excruciating cut.
The surgeon stepped back with a deliberate slowness, making way for one of the undead nurses. Her movements were eerily calm, almost ritualistic, as she approached with a blood-soaked scalpel in hand. Her bandaged eyes stared blankly ahead, yet she moved with a precision that spoke of dark enchantments guiding her every step. The scalpel hovered over the man's trembling form, poised to deliver another wave of torment.
But before the nurse could continue the gruesome task, Zeus materialized beside the surgeon in a blur of motion. With a powerful roundhouse kick, he struck the creature squarely in the chest. The force of the impact was so immense that the surgeon's body was sent hurtling through the air, crashing into a row of wooden benches. The sound of splintering wood and metal reverberated through the room, the debris scattering like leaves in a storm.
Four spikes erupted from the ground, their jagged edges piercing through the undead nurses with a sickening crunch. Though the spikes didn’t kill them, they succeeded in pinning the grotesque figures in place, forcing their writhing bodies into eerie stillness. Their twisted forms struggled futilely against the impalement, their mouths opening in silent screams as they clawed at the dark spikes. Zeus gaze moved trough the door they came from.
The party spun around just in time to see a horde of undead nurses charging toward them, their faces twisted in expressions of unholy fervor. The floor shook beneath their relentless march, the sound of their footsteps merging into a single, terrifying crescendo.
"Move to the side!" Zeus bellowed, his voice echoing off . Without hesitation, he thrust his hand toward the horde, a surge of divine power crackling around his fingers. A radiant beam of silvery and golden light shot from his palm, streaking across the room like a comet. The beam sliced through the undead nurses, reducing them to ash in mere moments, their bodies disintegrating before they even hit the ground. The air was filled with the stench of burning decay, the ashes of the fallen swirling like a dark, twisted snowstorm.
As the light faded, a mechanical click echoed from the far side of the room, drawing everyone's attention. They turned to see the undead surgeon where Zeus had flung it earlier. Its body was grotesquely contorted, bent into the shape of a letter "C" from the force of the powerful kick it had received. But even in this broken state, the creature’s unnerving grin remained, its metallic mouth stretching grotesquely as it looked at them with a cold, calculated malice.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The cloth around the surgeon’s body shredded and fell away, revealing its true nature. The creature’s chest cavity opened up like a grotesque flower, exposing a nightmarish landscape of gears, springs, and twisted metal where flesh and organs should have been. The whirring and ticking of its clockwork innards filled the room, a mechanical symphony of madness. No blood pumped through its veins, no heart beat within its chest—just cold, unfeeling machinery that kept this abomination moving.
Zeus watched as the undead surgeon’s body creaked and groaned, the gears within it beginning to spin faster, their sharp, metallic edges glinting in the dim light. The surgeon’s hollow eyes glowed with a terrifying, unnatural light, as if mocking the very notion of life. Despite its shattered form, the creature began to move, its limbs twitching and jerking as it slowly righted itself. The grotesque machinery within it clanked and hissed, filling the air with the sound of grinding metal and escaping steam.
“By the gods, what manner of abomination is this?” Wyll muttered, his voice barely concealing the revulsion that twisted his features. His sword was drawn and ready, but the horror in his eyes betrayed the disgust he felt deep within.
Before anyone could respond, the surgeon’s twisted form shifted again, its limbs snapping back into place with a sickening crunch. The gears in its torso spun faster, emitting a cacophony of clashing metal that reverberated through the chamber. With a sudden lurch, the surgeon rose to its full height, its mechanical limbs extending and bending in ways that defied nature. The clawed hand clicked ominously as it flexed, preparing to resume its grisly work.
"We need to finish it off before it can recover!" Gale shouted, arcane energy crackling around his hands as he prepared to unleash a spell.
Zeus didn’t hesitate. In a flash, he darted forward with blinding speed, his arm ablaze with radiant energy. His blade swung toward the undead surgeon, leaving a trail of light in its wake. But the surgeon moved with a speed that defied its broken appearance, dropping to all fours like a feral beast. It dashed across the room with terrifying agility, dodging Zeus’s relentless strikes with inhuman precision.
Zeus anticipated its movements, phasing out and reappearing directly in the surgeon’s path. But the creature collided with him with the force of a battering ram, the impact sending both of them crashing across the room. Zeus grunted as the undead surgeon’s metal claws raked across his armor, each strike siphoning away his strength, his vitality. He could feel the creature’s dark energy clawing at his very essence, threatening to drag him down into oblivion.
But Zeus would not yield. With a roar of defiance, he wrapped his arms around the surgeon, pulling it into a crushing bear hug. As he held the creature close, he could feel the divine power within him surge, growing hotter and brighter. Flames erupted from his body, enveloping both of them in a blazing inferno. The undead surgeon screeched, its mechanical claws thrashing desperately, but it was too late. The flames were so intense that they began to melt the metal within its body, reducing the surgeon to a pile of molten slag and twisted metal.
The flames died down, leaving nothing but a smoldering heap where the undead surgeon had once been. Zeus, turned his gaze to the rest of the party. They had finished off the last of the undead nurses, their bodies lying in heaps around the room. The holy magic Zeus had unleashed earlier had eradicated the majority of them, their ashes now scattered across the cold stone floor.
Wyll rushed to the man strapped to the surgical chair, his face etched with desperation as he struggled to unlock the shackles that bound the poor soul. The man was barely conscious, his body trembling with fear and pain, blood dripping from his eyes sockets his eyes .
Zeus stepped forward, his expression softening as he placed a reassuring hand on Wyll’s shoulder. "Let me," he said, his voice a calm contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. Zeus extended his arm, and from his palm, dark, writhing tentacles emerged, their ends tipped with sharp, delicate tools. They worked with surprising gentleness, sliding into the locks and quickly disengaging them with a series of precise movements.
As the last shackle fell away, the man slumped backwards , his body no longer supported by the restraints. Wyll caught him, gently lowering him to the ground. The man was weak, his body trembling from the ordeal.
"They... they were going to..." the man stammered, his voice choked with emotion. "Thank you... thank you, you saved me."
Zeus knelt beside the man, a golden light enveloping the man , his wounds starting to heal . "You’re safe now. What's your name ? "
"My name is Horace ." He responded.
Karlach moved closer, her normally fierce expression softened by sympathy. "Can you stand?" she asked gently, her voice filled with unexpected tenderness. Horace nodded weakly, with Wyll and Karlach helping him to his feet.
As they guided the man away from the operating table, Zeus glanced back at the room. The surgical bed, stained with blood and surrounded by shattered glass and broken instruments, was a stark reminder of the cruelty that had taken place.
"We should get him out of here," Karalch said, sheathing her war axe . "This place... it’s nothing but death and suffering."
Zeus nodded thoughtfully as his eyes fell upon a battered lute resting on one of the shelves. It seemed so out of place in this dark, twisted facility .
The lute sat on the shelf, a relic of a forgotten time. Its once vibrant wood was now faded, marred by the passage of years, and the strings, once plucked to create melodies that brought joy and solace, were frayed and brittle. Despite its decrepit state, the instrument beckoned for him as he could feel a strong psionic imprint .
Zeus walked to the shelf as a sense of curiosity pulling him toward the lute. "What is this doing here?" he thought, perplexed by the presence of such an object in this desolate place. As he reached out, his fingers brushed lightly against the worn wood. The moment he made contact, he was startled by the imprint strength . It was as though the lute was alive, resonating with memories that had been etched into its very fibers.
As the energy flowed through him, one of his newly acquired psionic abilities awakened, and flashes of the lute's past began to play in his mind like fragments of a dream. He saw a man, his face both familiar and distant, sitting in a dimly lit room. His expression was one of deep sorrow, yet his hands moved with practiced ease over the strings of the lute, coaxing out a melody that was hauntingly beautiful. The man played day and night, whether his heart was heavy with grief or light with fleeting happiness. The music was his refuge, a sanctuary where he could lose himself, if only for a moment.
The scenes shifted, showing the man in various states—alone in the darkness, his eyes closed as he played with a pained expression; then in the daylight, a small, sad smile on his lips as the notes drifted through the air. The melodies he created were filled with emotion, each note a testament to the depth of his soul, expressing the pain, the joy, and the longing that words could never convey.
Zeus's soul ached as he experienced these fragments of the man's life, feeling the weight of his emotions as if they were his own. The music, so pure and sorrowful, lingered in his mind even after the visions faded.
He turned to his companions. "Let's go," he said simply, motioning for the party to follow him. They fell into step behind him, their footsteps echoing through the desolate corridors as they made their way to the main room of the building—the central medical ward.
The room was vast, its walls lined with rows of rusted beds and broken medical equipment, the remnants of a once-thriving place of healing now reduced to a nightmarish tomb. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the silence was almost deafening. But Zeus's attention was drawn to something on the right side of the room, near a cluster of beds that seemed undisturbed amidst the chaos.
There, lying on the cold, cracked floor, was a skeleton. The bones were brittle and yellowed with age, but what caught Zeus's eye was the ring on the skeleton’s bony finger and the journal clutched tightly against its ribcage, as if the owner had died desperately clinging to some final truth. Zeus knelt beside the remains, his expression somber as he gently pried the journal from the skeleton’s grasp. The brittle pages crackled as he opened it, revealing the final thoughts of the person who once was.
Before reading, Zeus carefully slipped the ring from the skeletal finger and, with a quiet breath, consumed it. "This is the receiving ring," he thought, the realization settling in as he began to read the journal.
The entries were scrawled hastily, the handwriting growing more erratic with each passing day.
Entry 47:We're being attacked. My brave, beautiful Miranda volunteered to fight - she says it's her duty as a cleric of Shar. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to her, but I know she'd be angry if I said anything. I'll pray to our Lady to keep her safe.
Entry 48:Miranda woke me in full armor - a smile on her face. She got down on one knee and proposed, a beautiful obsidian ring in her hand. Of course, I said yes! As a cleric, she was able to marry us then and there, blessing the rings as she slipped them on our fingers. I'm terrified for her, but I'm also so happy - I knew she loved me. I knew it!
Zeus could almost see the scene unfolding—a moment of joy and hope, two souls bound together by love and a shared faith. But there was an undercurrent of something darker in the words, a shadow that loomed just beyond the surface.
Entry 49:Miranda faced down an entire troop of Harpers, killing every last one. She didn't have a scratch on her - blessed be the Lady of Loss! I tried to prepare a celebratory meal for her, but I had a dizzy spell. Blood poured from my nose, and Miranda found me passed out on the floor. She told me to rest, and not to bother going to the House of Healing - that it was likely the stress. She's right, but I'm still scared.
The puzzle pieces were starting to fit together in a horrific way. The dizzy spells, the bleeding—this was no ordinary sickness.
Entry 50:I know Miranda said not to, but I went to the House of Healing. Blood leaks from my nose and ears, and there are strange wounds all over my body. The nurse kept asking about my ring, and when I told her Miranda and I just got married, she looked at me strangely. When I asked her what was wrong, she sent me home—telling me not to come back. There are black spots in my vision, and I can't feel my legs. What is wrong with me? What is happening?
Zeus closed the journal. "She tricked her husband by transferring to him all the injuries she received," he thought. "What a twisted love."
He turned to face the rest of the party, who had been watching him with growing concern. Karlach, ever blunt, was the first to speak.
"Anything useful?" she asked, her voice laced with unease.
Zeus looked at the party , his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation as he explained the story of the two rings he had absorbed. He told them about Miranda and her husband, about the twisted magic that had bound them together in life and death, and how that same magic had ultimately led to the man's tragic demise.
Karlach’s face twisted in disgust as she spat on the floor. "To be killed by your own wife in such a way," she muttered, her voice thick with revulsion.
"What do you expect from Sharans?" Astarion interjected, a smirk playing on his lips as he found amusement in the morbid tale. "They do love their twisted little games."
Shadowheart, who had been silently observing, seemed disturbed by the story, though she tried to mask her feelings. Her eyes flickered with something akin to empathy, perhaps a reflection of her own complex relationship with Shar, the goddess she served.
But it was Minthara’s reaction that surprised them all. She stood apart from the group, her eyes distant as she quietly mused, "That’s true love, using his own body to protect the one he loves."
Her words hung in the air, earning her a few glances of disbelief. The irony of her statement was not lost on them, but there was a sincerity in her voice that made it clear she meant what she said.
Zeus shook his head and he gestured for the party to follow him. They moved as one, their footsteps echoing through the now-silent halls as they made their way out of the accursed place, heading toward the Last Light.