"My fingers hurt like hells," Astarion murmured, inspecting his bloody fingertips with a grimace. His usually pristine hands were now marred, a stark reminder of the relentless battle they had just survived.
Karlach let out a low whistle, her voice tinged with awe. "By the hells, Zeus. Didn’t know you had that in you."
Minthara, brushing off the last remnants of the corrupted roots that had wrapped around her legs, nodded in agreement. "It’s not every day you see someone tear through a shambling mound like it’s made of paper."
Wyll wiped the sweat from his brow, still gripping his rapier as if expecting another wave of enemies to appear any moment. "No kidding. If you hadn’t held them back, we’d be buried in rot by now."
Gale, slightly out of breath, leaned heavily on his staff. "The magic that flowed through you—remarkable. A truly marvelous display of destructive power."
Zeus shook his head. "Without everyone’s help, I wouldn’t have held the portal," he said, his voice heavy with sincerity as he stood up and began to walk away.
"Take a rest," he added over his shoulder. "We’ll head out again soon." Without waiting for a response, Zeus continued towards the inn, heading for the cellar where he could finally be alone.
As soon as his figure disappeared from their sight, Jaheira’s gaze darkened with concern. "He’s injured," she stated, her voice laced with the wisdom of experience.
Shadowheart tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in thought. "To me, he looked pretty lively." She remembered the way Zeus had fought, a hurricane of elemental and radiant magic, seemingly unstoppable.
Jaheira met Shadowheart’s gaze, her expression firm. "Have any of you noticed any wounds?" she asked, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of urgency.
The party and even the nearby Harpers exchanged glances, their eyes drifting down to inspect their own bodies. Some of their armor and clothes were torn, scorched, or slashed, but beneath those superficial damages, there were no wounds, no blood.
Shadowheart’s eyes widened in realization. "He cast Warding Bond," she murmured, the gravity of her words sinking in as she remembered the powerful spell. "For at least a dozen people... and he’s still standing?" she frowned, her voice trailing off in disbelief.
Wyll’s eyes shot wide open as the truth dawned on him. "My gods," he murmured, the full weight of Zeus’s sacrifice hitting him. "He’s been taking on our pain, our injuries... to keep us fighting."
Minthara crossed her arms, her gaze turning thoughtful. "He sacrificed his own flesh so we could keep going. I hope this changes your opinion of him," she said, her voice carrying a rare note of respect.
Judging by the expressions on everyone’s faces, it seemed it had. The tension that had once surrounded Zeus, the mystery of his power, had been replaced with a profound sense of gratitude.
Karlach's brow furrowed, her usual bravado tempered with worry. "Is he gonna be okay?" she asked, her voice softer than usual.
Jaheira shrugged, her gaze following the path Zeus had taken. "I don’t even know what he is. But I’m pretty sure he’ll recover. " Her words hung in the air, a mix of uncertainty and reluctant hope.
The group fell into a contemplative silence, the reality of their situation pressing down on them.
Gale broke the silence, his curiosity getting the better of him. "So, Karlach, can you now spew fire?" he asked, his tone light, though the question carried a genuine interest.
A small, tired smile tugged at Karlach’s lips as she beat on her chest. "This new heart is amazing," she admitted, her voice carrying a note of satisfaction. "Much better than the one I had before."
As if to punctuate her statement, she let out a yawn, the adrenaline of the battle finally wearing off. "I think I’m gonna take a quick nap," she said, standing up and stretching.
The rest of the party followed her lead, their bodies aching from the strain of the fight. The exhaustion that had been kept at bay by the heat of battle now crept up on them, urging them to rest.
----------------------------------------
As soon as Zeus closed the cellar door behind him, the weight of his actions crashed down on him. He slumped against the cold, hard stone wall, letting out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
"I lost more than half of my biomass," he muttered to himself, the words tinged with frustration and exhaustion. The physical damage wasn’t the only thing that had been transferred during the battle; hold of the curse from eating him from inside was immense.
"This is a problem," he admitted, his voice low as he stared at the ground. "I don’t have a source to replenish it... except..." He shook his head. "Can’t head to Moonrise Towers yet."
With a weary sigh, Zeus shifted his appearance, his features morphing to resemble a man he had consumed long ago. The face that stared back at him in his mind’s eye was a stranger’s, but it was a mask he could wear to hide the toll this fight had taken on him.
He took a few deep breaths, each one a struggle against the exhaustion that weighed on him. Finally, he closed his eyes, his body slumping further as he allowed himself to rest, if only for a little while.
----------------------------------------
"Why am I here?" Lump asked, his voice grumbling as he stared at the armored figure before him.
Glut, carrying a heavy barrel on his shoulder, barely gave Lump a glance. In his other hand, he held a small, organic orb that glowed with a faint yellow light. "Alex ordered us to plant this barrel," Glut replied, his tone matter-of-fact.
"But why do we need to be underground?" Lump pressed, crawling on all fours as the tunnel’s cramped space prevented him from standing upright.
Glut shrugged, the motion making the barrel shift slightly on his shoulder. "The barrel is filled with something explosive."
"Runepowder," Bullet, who was digging up ahead, chirped in, his tone casual as if discussing the weather.
"Runepowder... runepowder..." Lump murmured, his voice trailing off as realization dawned on him. He froze, his eyes widening in alarm. "That much runepowder could flatten a village!" he exclaimed, the weight of their task finally sinking in.
Glut shrugged again, his expression as unreadable as ever. "We’ve reached our destination," Bullet announced as he stopped digging, the tunnel ending in a small, hollow chamber.
Glut walked closer to the landshark, his eyes narrowing as he inspected the chamber. "Dig up ahead, as silently as possible," he ordered.
The landshark nodded, its massive claws moving with deliberate care as it dug at an angle, creating a small pocket in the earth. The process was slow, but the digging was nearly silent, just as Glut had commanded.
After a few minutes, Bullet returned to the main tunnel, his digging complete. Glut stepped forward, planting the barrel in the newly created pocket. He attached a small mechanism to the barrel, a key-like device that Alex had instructed him to twist all the way.
As Glut turned the key, a faint clicking sound filled the chamber, followed by the rhythmic ticking of the mechanism counting down. The sound sent a shiver down Lump’s spine.
Glut turned on his heel and sprinted down the tunnel, the ticking growing fainter with each step. Lump and Bullet followed closely behind.
----------------------------------------
Porot , a goblin , emerged from his tent, his expression twisted in a scowl after a heated discussion with his so-called "friend." He muttered under his breath, “That fucker better give my money back,” his voice a low growl that barely carried past his lips.
As he scanned the chaotic scene around him, his eyes swept over a hodgepodge of creatures. Goblins, half-orcs, ogres, bugbears, gnolls, and kobolds sprawled across the encampment. Some were passed out in drunken stupors, others were noisily drinking, gnawing on slabs of meat, or pounding the life out of each other in brutal brawls. The sheer anarchy of it all almost tempted him to join one of the fights, if only to blow off some steam.
But the gnawing pain in his gut had other plans. “Shit,” he muttered, the rumbling of his stomach cutting off his thoughts. Without hesitation, he sprinted towards a nearby bush, his urgency bordering on desperation.
Stolen story; please report.
Moments later, a sigh of relief escaped his lips. "Ah, much better," he murmured, feeling a strange delight as his discomfort subsided. But his satisfaction was short-lived.
Tik tok, tik tok.
His ears pricked up at a sound that didn’t belong in the usual cacophony of the camp. He turned his head to the left, narrowing his eyes as he spotted something odd—a barrel, half-buried in the earth, with just a corner peeking out from the ground. A chill ran down his spine.
“What the hells?” Porot muttered his voice filled with curiosity as he cautiously inched closer to the mysterious barrel. The rhythmic ticking grew louder in his ears, each second stretching longer than the last. He barely had time to examine it.
The ticking stopped.
For a brief, harrowing moment, there was silence.
Then, all at once, the world erupted in fire and fury.
----------------------------------------
"What was that?" Jaheira gasped, her heart pounding as the ground trembled beneath her feet. Panic surged through her as she instinctively reached out for balance. The earth itself seemed to groan, shifting ominously as if something deep below had awoken.
Her eyes darted around, seeking answers, but all she found were the worried faces of her companions. Fear rippled through them, a silent question hanging in the air, demanding an explanation.
Halsin emerged from the inn, his face calm, though his eyes were shadowed with worry. He walked with a deliberate pace, his presence commanding attention even amidst the chaos. He reached Jaheira, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
“Zeus’s doing,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble, filled with a confidence that did little to ease the tension. “Don’t worry.” With that, he turned on his heel and headed back to the inn, leaving Jaheira standing there, bewildered.
She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, a deep, weary sound that spoke of years of battles fought and burdens carried. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her as she tried to steady herself, mentally preparing for whatever lay ahead.
----------------------------------------
Halsin paused just outside the inn, his gaze drawn to a scene that tugged at something deep within him. There, in a quiet corner, Lae’zel sat with the small Githyanki boy, their heads bent close together as they played a simple game. The boy’s laughter, pure and unburdened, filled the air, a stark contrast to the harsh world they lived in.
“I never thought your kind would have maternal instincts,” Halsin remarked quietly, his tone more contemplative than judgmental.
Lae’zel’s smile, a rare and fleeting thing, vanished the moment his words reached her. She turned to him, her expression guarded, her eyes flashing with a warning. But just as quickly, her gaze softened as the boy wrapped his small arms around her in a gesture of pure affection. The smile returned to her lips, softer this time, as she looked down at him.
“It seems it isn’t like that,” she replied, her voice gentle as she resumed her activity, focusing on the child who had so unexpectedly found a place in her heart. The fierce warrior who had once been driven solely by duty now found herself softened, even if she would never admit it aloud.
Halsin watched them for a moment longer, a small, sad smile curving his lips. The scene before him was a reminder of the fragility of life, of the unexpected bonds that could form even in the most unlikely of places.
But the smile faltered as he turned away, the weight of reality pressing down on him once more. His thoughts heavy as he made his way to the room where Thaniel lay unconscious, hollow.
In that quiet room, Halsin knelt by Thaniel’s side, his hand resting on the boy’s cold forehead. “May the Oak Father watch over you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He closed his eyes, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders, as he silently prayed for the strength to keep going, to protect those who depended on him.
____
Alex opened his eyes, blinking slowly as the dim light of the cellar came into focus. The cold stone beneath him was a stark contrast to the warmth he felt around his arm. Confused, he tried to lift his hand to rub the lingering drowsiness from his eyes, but something held him in place.
He turned his head slightly, and his gaze settled on Minthara. She was curled up beside him, her arms wrapped around his, holding him close. Her expression was peaceful, almost vulnerable—an unexpected softness that Alex had rarely seen in her. Her steady breathing indicated she was deep in sleep, completely unguarded in this rare moment of tranquility.
"How did she know it was me ? " Alex though , he still looked different than his armored self .
For a moment, Alex was unsure of what to do. His usual instincts screamed at him to pull away, to maintain the distance he was so accustomed to. But something in the way Minthara held onto him, as if seeking comfort in her sleep, made him hesitate.
He studied her face, tracing the sharp lines softened by slumber, the sternness that usually dominated her features replaced by something almost tender. She looked different— more like the woman behind the warrior’s mask. The tension she always carried had melted away, leaving only the quiet rise and fall of her chest.
A part of him wondered how long she had been there, how long she had stayed by his side. He hadn’t expected anyone to follow him into the cellar, let alone Minthara. This felt intimate, personal.
Careful not to wake her, Alex slowly adjusted his position, trying to ease the pressure off his arm. The last thing he wanted was to disturb her rest. She stirred slightly, her grip tightening for a moment before she settled again, her face nuzzling closer to his arm.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a rare expression for him. For all the power and strength he possessed, there was something disarming about this simple act of trust. It was something he hadn’t experienced in a long time—this sense of being needed, of providing comfort, even if it was just by being there.
The cellar was quiet, the air heavy with the lingering scent of dust and earth. Outside, he could hear the faint sounds of the camp, the muffled voices of the others as they went about their tasks. But here, in this small, hidden space, there was only the two of them, sharing a moment of peace amidst the chaos.
Alex let out a slow breath, relaxing into the embrace. He knew this respite wouldn’t last—soon they would be back in the thick of battle, facing whatever horrors awaited them. But for now, he allowed himself to simply be, to feel the warmth of Minthara’s presence beside him.
As he closed his eyes again, he found himself wondering what the future held for them. For now, though, he was content to let the moment linger, to let the world outside fade away, if only for a little while longer.
______
The Moonrise Towers buzzed with frantic energy, like an angry ant nest that had been kicked over. Cultists roamed the corridors, their voices a chaotic blend of fear, desperation, and blind devotion. Some whispered fervent prayers under their breath, clutching their talismans as if the Absolute itself might descend and offer them salvation. Others were not so sure, their doubts growing like a festering wound.
"The Absolute protects us," a robed figure murmured, his eyes closed in prayer. His voice wavered, betraying his own uncertainty.
"We must leave this place immediately!" hissed another, his wide eyes darting around as if the walls themselves might close in on him. His companions nodded, their fear palpable.
"No! Her grace will protect us," one of them argued, though his words lacked conviction. The terror etched on his face told a different story—a story of dread and doubt.
"But what if that armored figure appears again?" another whispered, his voice barely more than a hushed breath. The memory of that battle still haunted them, the image of the throne room reduced to shambles seared into their minds. They had witnessed something beyond their understanding—a clash of titanic forces that made their very souls quiver.
As the murmurs spread through the ranks, it became clear that the cultists were beginning to fracture. The invincible façade of their faith had been cracked by Alex’s recent actions, and now the fractures threatened to split them apart entirely.
Radja was in Z'rell room . After she died she took her place in the chain of command . Her mind was a whirlwind of disbelief and fury. "How could this be possible?" she muttered to herself, rubbing the bridge of her nose as if trying to stave off a looming headache. "To kill hundreds of troops in a single moment… by Myrkul’s decay…"
She had just received the report of the explosion—an explosion that had obliterated a section of the camp, flattening everything in its path and leaving behind a crater that swallowed up soldiers, weapons, and supplies . The sheer scale of the destruction was unimaginable. How could they hope to fight against something, someone, with that kind of power?
Radja took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the storm inside her only grew more intense. Her eyes snapped to the left as one of her skeletal servants scurried into the room, clutching a parchment in its bony hand.
She snatched it away and quickly scanned the contents. Her eyes narrowed as she read:
"Radja, I will be locked in my room for a while, preparing for the battle that is to come."
She crumpled the parchment in her fist and hurled it across the room. "Damn it all!" she spat, her voice filled with venom. "This place is about to become a shit hole."
The skeletal servant flinched at her outburst, its hollow eyes watching her warily.
Radja paced the room, her mind racing. She couldn’t shake the image of the armored figure who had torn through their ranks like they were nothing. The memory of the throne room, once a symbol of their power, now lay in ruins, and with it, the confidence of her troops.
"How could he have done this?" she muttered to herself. "What kind of creature is he?"
A door creaked open behind her, and Radja spun around to see a group of cultist adepts entering the room, their faces a mix of anger and fear.
"Radja, what are we going to do?" one of them demanded, his voice trembling. "We can’t stay here. We’re sitting ducks!"
"Calm yourselves," Radja snapped, though the words felt hollow even to her. "We have to stay united. If we fall apart now, we’re finished."
"And what about that… that monster?" another commander asked, his voice shaking. "He’s already destroyed so many of our forces. How can we possibly stand against him?"
Radja glared at them, her frustration boiling over. "We don’t have a choice! We stand and we fight, or we die. There is no other option."
"But the troops—"
"To hell with the troops!" Radja cut him off, her eyes blazing. "We need to focus on our own survival. If the Absolute truly favors us, we’ll find a way through this. If not…"
Her words spoke with fervors devotion but she know the truth , the farce that they were playing .
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of their impending doom pressing down on them all.
One of the commanders, a grizzled veteran with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward. "If we’re going to survive this, we need a plan. We can’t just wait for him to pick us off one by one."
Radja nodded, her mind racing. "We’ll fortify the towers. Gather every resource we have. Reinforce the defenses, and prepare for the worst."
"And if he comes back?" another asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then we’ll make sure he regrets it," Radja hissed, her eyes narrowing. "We’ll use every weapon, every bit of magic we have. We’ll tear him apart, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left."
The commanders exchanged uneasy glances, but they knew they had no other choice. They nodded in agreement, their resolve hardening, if only out of sheer desperation.
As they turned to leave, Radja’s mind raced with a thousand thoughts.