Zeus, was prepared to step deeper into the dimly lit chamber, he felt a hand land firmly on his shoulder. The sudden contact made him pause, his thoughts momentarily interrupted. He turned to see Wyll standing behind him, his face set in a serious expression, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and frustration.
"What's the problem?" Alex asked, his voice cool and detached, as though he were asking about something trivial. But nothing was trivial anymore. His mind was singularly focused—he had to kill Balthazar.
Wyll hesitated, his hand still gripping Alex’s shoulder tightly, as if holding him back from the abyss. "You're not well, Zeus," he began, his tone carefully measured. "We all feel it. Minthara’s death—it’s affected all of us. But… your recent behavior is…" Wyll trailed off, struggling to find the right words.
"Disturbing," Karlach finished for him, her fiery gaze locked on Alex. She crossed her arms, her tone blunt as ever. "That's what he’s trying to say. You’re acting... wrong."
Wyll nodded, grateful for her interjection. "Exactly. Let us help you. There’s something off, and we’re worried about what might happen."
Alex turned his head slightly, his faceless helm betraying no emotion. 'Emotional distress detected. Lowered fighting capabilities. Solution: Reduce distress levels. He thought, his mind calculating like the machine he had become. But outwardly, he simply asked, "How do you plan to help me?"
Wyll glanced over at Gale, who already had his tome in hand. "We can share our emotions. Let you offload some of that grief, that anger." Gale spoke confidently, though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
Alex considered the proposition for a moment. 'Increasing their emotional stability will restore combat efficiency,' he reasoned internally. "I agree," he said aloud, his tone still unsettlingly calm.
Gale gave a nod of understanding and opened the tome, the pages glowing faintly with psionic energy. The rest of the party gathered around, hands outstretched to make contact with the book. "Three… two… one," Gale counted down.
They expected to feel the storm of rage, sorrow, and despair that must be raging inside Alex. Minthara’s death had left a scar on all of them. But instead, as their minds connected with his, they were met with… nothing. A void. Cold, emotionless, and empty, like a black hole where feelings should reside.
"Zeus... you have no emotions," Gale whispered, his voice trembling. His own emotions shuddered at the revelation. It was as if Alex's soul had been stripped bare, leaving only a hollow shell behind.
"I muted them," Alex responded without hesitation. "Until the mission is complete."
The party stared at him in shock. Even Shadowheart, who was no stranger to stoicism, looked visibly disturbed.
"Why would you do that?" Shadowheart asked, her voice tinged with horror.
"They interfere with the mission," Zeus replied, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to suppress the very core of his humanity. His tone was flat, devoid of the weight such a decision should carry.
The group exchanged uneasy glances. Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, and Shadowheart—each of them felt a chill run down their spines. They knew Zeus had always been pragmatic, focused, but this… this was something else.
"Don’t worry," Zeus added, as though sensing their unease. "I’ve set up protocols to ensure I won’t endanger any of you."
His words did little to comfort them, but what could they do? They had a mission to complete, and Zeus, emotionless or not, was their best chance at survival. He stepped back, disengaging from the group, his chest opening up to reveal the orb inside.
The others watched in silence as tendrils of magic, like wisps of smoke, drifted from the glowing runes and symbols at the Shar's statue feet , drawn towards the orb. The light from the runes flickered and dimmed as the magic was absorbed, until finally, the symbols themselves vanished entirely. Zeus, with methodical precision, pressed the pedestal where the purple gem was embedded.
The ground beneath them shuddered, and a round stone door groaned open before them, revealing a deeper, part of the temple. The open door seemed to beckon them. Zeus scanned the area, his gaze sharp and calculating.
To his left, a set of ascending stairs . To his right, the path led to the end of the chamber, where a large coffin stood, the statue of Shar carved into the lid, her cold, serene face staring up at the void above.
Without a word, Zeus approached the coffin, pushing the lid aside with ease. Inside, the mummified remains of a Shar follower lay still, clad in gold and black armor, a helmet acting as a mask obscuring its face.
"This is a Justiciar," Shadowheart whispered, stepping forward. "Elite warriors of Shar, gifted with supernatural abilities to carry out her will across Faerûn." Her eyes lingered on the corpse.
At the base of the coffin, a plaque bore an inscription, the words worn by time but still legible. "The reign of night comes in a thousand falling leaves."
Zeus reached out and placed his hand on the corpse. Shadowheart’s hand twitched at her side, she understood that stopping him was futile.
"Nothing," Zeus said, his voice devoid of disappointment as he consumed the corpse.
They moved on, ascending the stairs on the opposite side, only to find another coffin. Another corpse.
The chamber was illuminated by a faint, ethereal glow emanated from all around them, casting soft, multi-colored lights that bathed the area in an otherworldly hue. Bioluminescent mushrooms of various shapes and sizes dotted the chamber , their soft radiance illuminating the once hidden corners of the vast underground space.
The left side of the room had collapsed long ago, exposing enormous mushrooms that grew like ancient trees, their towering stalks stretching upwards, and their caps wide enough to carry entire carts. The sight was surreal, like something plucked from a fevered dream, a stark contrast to the death and darkness they had just left behind.
“Maybe we should check where it leads?” Astarion suggested, his eyes already darting along a path formed in his mind. The way forward seemed clear—the caps of the giant mushrooms were spaced just close enough that they could easily jump from one to another. A nimble and dangerous route, but one that would likely take them to whatever lay beyond.
Zeus glanced back to where they had come from, then gave a silent nod. He was the first to step forward, his movements precise and mechanical. One by one, the rest of the party followed, leaping from mushroom to mushroom. The soft, fleshy caps gave beneath their weight, but held steady enough for them to cross.
As they jumped to the last mushroom, they found themselves overlooking a massive cavern, its walls and floor littered with enormous fungi, the glowing caps illuminating a dark abyss in the center of the room. The chasm stretched deep into the earth, its depths hidden in shadow.
"I can feel Faerzress," Zeus said, his voice echoing in the vast space. "A type of energy found deep in the Underdark."
“We’re that far down?” Wyll asked, his voice betraying both wonder and unease.
“It seems so,” Gale answered, gazing into the chasm.
Zeus moved silently to the left of the cave, his arm shifting seamlessly into the form of whipfist. He reeled the arm back, the tip of the whip glowing faintly as it sliced through the air. Suddenly, a sharp screech of pain echoed through the cavern. The whip retracted, dragging a writhing creature with it—a Cloaker, its leathery wings flapping frantically, its bony claws clattering against the stone floor. It was nearly indistinguishable from a large cloak, save for the malicious red eyes that glared out from beneath its cowl, and a maw filled with razor-sharp teeth.
Zeus grabbed the creature by its neck and, with a brutal display of strength, smashed it into the ground. The Cloaker’s body crumpled like paper, lifeless and broken. Without hesitation, tendrils of flesh extended from Zeus’s arm, wrapping around the fallen creature, and in second, it was consumed.
Zeus tossed a silken rope down the side of the cavern and beckoned for the party to descended which they did. Zeus absorbed the rope back once the last member set foot on the ground and jumped , landing softly beside them The air was thick with an unnatural dampness, the scent of the mushrooms heavy and intoxicating.
At the far end of the cave, they found a set of tall, wooden doors, the stone surrounding them eerily similar to the architecture of the temple they had left behind. Zeus approached the door and paused for a moment, his faceless helm scanning the surface. Then, thin tendrils grew from his palms, slipping into the lock. A click echoed through the silence, and with a push, the doors creaked open.
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Inside, the room was small and dimly lit. It resembled a kitchen, of all things, though long abandoned. A rectangular table stood in the center, a large mushroom the size of a child lying atop it. To their right, a counter was littered with strange utensils and pots, and to their left, a stove still burned faintly, though it looked like it hadn’t been touched in years.
“What’s with all these mushrooms?” Lae'zel asked, her voice a mix of confusion and disgust as she eyed the room, which was filled to the brim with the fungi. Dried mushrooms hung from ropes across the ceiling, jars of pickled mushrooms lined the shelves, and entire shelves were dedicated to enormous, preserved caps.
"They were trying to find a way to consume them," Zeus explained, his voice clinical. "But unfortunately, those kinds of mushrooms are inedible, and slightly toxic."
The party moved deeper into the room, drawn to a pedestal at the far end. A round plaque was embedded into it, its surface engraved with Shar’s familiar insignia. Zeus leaned closer and read aloud: "Feed your bodies and rest your minds. Lady Shar needs her warriors ready."
"Say, Astarion, if you had the chance, who would you feed on?" Shadowheart asked, joking. She knew it wasn't the best moment, but she wanted to lighten the somber mood.
Astarion seemed to think for a few moments.
"Wyll. I bet his blood tastes amazing," Astarion responded with a charming smile.
Shadowheart chuckled softly, though her smile was fleeting.
"You bet," Wyll replied with a playful grin.
“But I am tempted to say Lae'zel,” Astarion continued with a wicked smile. “I’ve never tasted Githyanki blood.”
“Keep dreaming, spawn,” Lae'zel growled, but there was a hint of amusement in her voice.
"And Alex," Astarion added, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. “I bet his blood is sweet as honey.”
Zeus didn’t react at first, his gaze scanning the room as though his mind was elsewhere, until finally, he responded in that same flat, mechanical tone. “My blood is not good.”
Before anyone could comment, a faint hissing noise drew their attention. A rat had emerged from a small hole in the wall, its tiny form trembling as it glared at them with unnatural intensity. Zeus’s tendrils shot out with lightning speed, snatching the rat from the ground. As it was consumed, Zeus paused.
“This rat is not normal. It has fragments of a man’s memories.”
The party fell silent as they absorbed his words. Zeus’s gaze drifted ahead, to the right, where a statue of Shar stood, a dark altar at its feet. The altar was a coffin, with a smaller statue of Shar lying upon the lid, its cold, golden features casting a long shadow over the room. Around it, more rats gathered, their small bodies seemingly huddled in prayer, their tiny forms eerily still.
Zeus’s tendrils lashed out once more, grabbing the rats like ripened fruit. He consumed them, one by one.
As Zeus spoke, his voice echoed softly in the damp, dimly lit chamber. "The rat's memories belonged to a man who lived here," he said, his tone flat and precise, as if the revelation meant little to him. "The memories are vague... like someone shattered a mural into a thousand pieces and scattered them around."
Wyll's brow furrowed. "But the fragments you have—do they reveal anything about this place?" His question hung in the air, the hope in his voice palpable.
Zeus shook his head. "Nothing useful."
Alex could see Shadowheart gaze lingering on the altar , her lips moving but no words came out and a slight frown appearing a few moments later .
The party's eyes followed Zeus’s gaze as it drifted toward the left side of the chamber. There, amidst the debris and ruin, lay a skeleton, naked and forlorn, its bleached bones lying next to the remnants of a fire long extinguished. The bones were arranged in a pitiful, huddled posture, as if the poor soul had succumbed to their fate in the most lonely of ways.
Alex moved forward with a quiet resolve, crouching next to the skeletal remains. The sight stirred something deep within him, but he said nothing as he spotted a worn, weathered journal clutched in the bony fingers of the corpse. Gently prying it free, he rose and walked back to the group and then he handed it to Gale.
“Next to the skeleton was armor, similar to the Justiciars we saw earlier.” Alex explained.
Gale took the book carefully, as if handling a fragile artifact. The pages were brittle, stained with time and what appeared to be dried blood. The handwriting inside was jagged and erratic, the desperation palpable even in the faded ink.
He began to read aloud.
“Lady Shar continues to preserve me, though escape is impossible. The beast still prowls our halls, though the sounds of battle no longer reach my ears. I fear all my brothers and sisters have fallen in defense of the Nightsinger's sacred Gauntlet. But I shall wait. The beast will not linger for long, surely.”
Alex, using his other body ,could spot Shadowheart tense a little as Gale said Gauntlet.
Gale’s voice dropped lower as he reached the next entry, the handwriting even more frantic.
“The beast still remains. Why does it not just leave? And why does it sing? The food is gone. I must preserve my strength.”
Karlach, usually so strong and brimming with energy, shuddered visibly. The thought of dying alone, of hearing the creature’s haunting song in the dark, gnawed at her. "Even if it was a Shar follower... I kinda feel bad for whoever this was. To die like this," she whispered, her voice tinged with sorrow.
Gale reached the final entry, his hands trembling slightly as he read the final, desperate plea.
“Mistress, embrace me. Please.”
The words barely legible, smeared and almost fading, spoke volumes of the despair and hopelessness that had consumed the writer in their final moments.
Shadowheart, averted her gaze, as if the words cut too deeply into her own doubts about her faith.
“We should be careful as we leave this room,” Wyll finally said, breaking the tension. His voice was low, cautious. “That beast could still be close.”
_________
As Zeus gripped the lever and pulled, the heavy wooden door creaked open, revealing a scene of chaos. Inside the vast chamber, a fierce battle raged—dozens of armored skeletons locked in a violent struggle against animated suits of Justiciar armor. Their blades clanged and sparked, bone grinding against metal, while swirling orbs of dark purple magic pulsated ominously, scattered throughout the room. The party’s eyes were drawn to one of the orbs, watching in horror as an animated suit of armor crawled out of its swirling depths.
Without hesitation, Zeus phased out of existence and reappeared in the heart of the chaos. His chest opened, revealing the orb within, an anti-magic field radiating from him like a wave. The magic in the room reacted instantly. The swirling orbs began to collapse in on themselves, the ethereal light dimming as the energy drained into Zeus. The skeletons clattered to the ground, their animated forms now lifeless, while the Justiciar armors crumbled like abandoned puppets with their strings cut. Silence fell, broken only by the tremors of the temple as it groaned in response to Zeus's absorption of magic.
But the stillness was short-lived. The ground quaked, and a massive orb of darkness, swirling with deep purples and black, materialized beside the group. From the void stepped a towering Justiciar, at least three meters tall. The enchanted armor gleamed in the dim light, far more intricate and deadly than the rest. It wielded a massive greatsword, the blade brimming with an ominous purple glow, humming with raw, destructive magic.
The greatsword was raised high, and as it came crashing down, a wave of arcane force ripped through the air, cutting deep into the stone floor. Zeus narrowly dodged, sidestepping just in time as the wave carved a jagged line across the chamber. His arm morphed into a blade, and he dashed forward, intending to end the fight swiftly, but as he closed the distance, his own shadow betrayed him. Tendrils of darkness lashed out from beneath his feet, gripping his leg like a spectral chain.
Zeus glanced down, his expression cold and calculating as the massive Justiciar bore down on him, ready to deliver a fatal blow. But before the greatsword could strike, Zeus dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, vanishing from the Justiciar's sight.
The hulking figure paused, scanning the room for his elusive prey. Its gaze shifted to the rest of the party, who had drawn their weapons and stood mere meters away, poised for battle. The Justiciar charged, each step a thunderous boom on the stone floor, its eyes locked on its next victims.
Before it could reach them, the shadow beneath it rippled and grew, forming a massive, gaping maw that snapped shut around the towering armor. The Justiciar struggled as the darkness surged around it, dark purple light seeping from the cracks in its armor, but the maw exploded in a burst of shadowy energy, sending shards of magical force through the room.
When the darkness dissipated, the Justiciar stood battered but alive. Its once-imposing armor was now dented and scorched, but it remained undeterred. Just as it steadied itself, Zeus dropped from the ceiling like a meteorite. He crashed into the Justiciar with bone-shattering force, the impact so powerful it sent a shockwave rippling through the temple, shaking its ancient foundations. The Justiciar's armor shattered into pieces, reduced to nothing more than broken scraps of metal.
Zeus’s orb flared open once again, greedily devouring the remnants of magic that lingered in the room, the energy evaporating as it was consumed. His gaze, unflinching, turned toward the remains of a skeleton nearby. Its jaw scraped against the stone floor, as if struggling to speak. The eyes of the skeleton flickered weakly, like the last dying embers of a fire.
"You do not belong here," the skeleton whispered, its voice barely more than a rasp.
Zeus’s mind shuddered. Somehow, within the decayed remnants of the skeleton’s brain, a tadpole lived—a presence, foreign and invasive, manipulating the ancient bones like a puppet.
"You do not belong," another voice echoed from a nearby skeleton.
"This is the Dark Lady's house. She has no use for faithless bones," Shadowheart interjected, stepping beside Zeus. There was an edge to her voice, a faint trace of reverence as she spoke of Shar.
Zeus did not respond, his focus elsewhere.
"You blunder," the first skeleton said, its voice growing louder. "You meddle."
Another skeleton added, "You upset my plans."
The skeleton closest to Zeus struggled to rise, its bones creaking and cracking as it turned its hollow gaze toward him. "Leave."
Zeus, unfazed, pointed toward a nearby round stone door. "Open it."
The skeletons didn’t respond immediately. Then, as if on cue, they erupted into mocking laughter, their voices shrill and eerie, echoing through the temple like the chorus of the damned.
"Very well then," one skeleton said, and with a groan of ancient mechanisms, the door creaked open, revealing a chilling figure.
He stood behind a stone table, strewn with the grotesque remains of human parts. The figure was clad in dark, tattered robes, adorned with golden jewelry that gleamed ominously in the dim light. His skin was a deep, alabaster purple, his belly and chest marked with blood-soaked symbols. Most disturbingly, his face was scarred, the cuts forming an upside-down triangle in the center of his features, with dark, golden eyes that glared at the party with a mixture of malice and curiosity.
Behind him loomed a hulking undead monstrosity. Its face was half-peeled, exposing bone beneath, and its chest bore a similar pattern, skin flayed away to reveal the grotesque upside-down triangle etched into its flesh. Its massive fists were encased in metal, resembling deadly mace heads.
The necromancer hovered slightly above the ground, levitating effortlessly as he sneered at the party. His voice was deep and menacing. "Ah, the interlopers—and in one piece as well. Not entirely unpromising specimens."
He floated forward, his presence exuding cold malevolence. "Not even the true souls would have succeeded in following my path through this place. You should be pleased."
His smile widened, revealing rotting, jagged teeth. "As you probably know, I am Balthazar, chief advisor to General Thorm, and entrusted with a mission of utmost importance."