Zeus’s gaze was fixed on Balthazar, analyzing every detail.
‘Target found. Assessing threat. He is either underestimating me or he has a way to deal with me if I attack him. Solution: use excessive force.’ Zeus thought, calculating his approach with ruthless precision.
Balthazar’s smile wavered, his confidence faltering as the air around him thickened, then vanished entirely, swallowed by an all-consuming darkness. It wasn’t just a void—it was nothingness, a crushing emptiness that seemed to devour not only light but also hope, leaving behind only dread.
Panic flickered in Balthazar’s eyes as his hands flared with necrotic energy, scrambling to form a protective spell. But the spell crumbled as quickly as it began when his gaze locked onto the thing standing before him.
Zeus was inches away, his faceless face tilted, fixed with a predatory stillness. There was no doubt—no hesitation. It was as if Zeus was daring Balthazar to resist. Daring him to try and escape.
A wave of insurmountable dread washed over the necromancer, suffocating him, sinking into his very bones. His soul trembled as primal instinct set in—he was no longer the hunter, but the prey.
Balthazar's eyes darted to his hands. The darkness was crawling over him now—slow, relentless—like a swarm of ants devouring flesh. His fingers began to dissolve into the void. His feet followed, consumed by the ravenous nothingness.
Despite the terror clawing at his chest, Balthazar let out a low, manic laugh.
"You may kill this vessel," he spat defiantly, though his voice wavered. "But not me." He had a clone—hidden, safe, far away. The moment this body perished, his soul would be transferred to a new vessel. It was a pity to lose this physical form and the precious artifacts he had gathered, but anything was better than eternal death.
Zeus did not react to his taunt. His voice, when it came, was like claws scraping against Balthazar’s very soul.
“Your soul is mine.”
Zeus’s chest opened up, revealing the pulsating orb nestled within, glowing with an insatiable hunger that Balthazar could feel pulling at him—tearing at the edges of his soul like invisible chains.
From Zeus’s body, a massive, grotesque maw formed, lined with wicked, sharpened teeth—teeth layered upon teeth in a grotesque spiral of endless consumption. It opened wide, vast and terrifying, and then it closed with a snap.
The moment Balthazar’s body was crushed, the necromancer felt the familiar tug—the clone spell was triggered. His soul began to flee, ready to transport him to his waiting clone.
But it didn’t.
The world froze.
His soul, caught like a leaf in a vortex, was stopped. Balthazar quickly realized the truth—his soul was trapped.
He felt it then: the orb pulling at him, dragging him back. Desperately, he tried to escape, but it was useless. The vortex drew him in, sucking him into the void, into the never-ending hunger of Zeus’s orb. Balthazar’s very essence was consumed—and with it, his final hope.
The darkness vanished in an instant.
The party watched in stunned silence as Zeus turned to them, his form still imposing and even more terrifying. They hadn’t dared move during the encounter. They had watched, paralyzed, as the void swallowed both Zeus and Balthazar whole. Zeus had told them not to fear, that he wouldn’t harm them—but the darkness they had witnessed moments before warned them otherwise. Stepping closer had felt like certain death. The oppressive fear still clung to them, lingering in the air like a poisonous mist.
A guttural howl broke the silence from the hulking abomination that was Balthazar brother ,Flesh . Rage filled the creature’s hollow eyes as it charged at Zeus, its massive, mace-fists raised high, ready to deliver a killing blow.
Before it could even reach him, the ground beneath the abomination exploded upward, long, jagged spikes piercing its grotesque body, lifting it from the ground and suspending it in midair like a trapped insect on a pin. Blood and viscera dripped down from its impaled form, but the abomination still writhed, howling in fury.
Zeus strode forward, unfazed, his gaze never leaving the creature. With a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his hand, and from it, a dark mist began to flow—cold, unnatural, seeping into the abomination’s body. Flesh’s body started spasms, its twisted form convulsing as the mist worked its way into every corner of its decayed flesh.
The party could only watch in horror as the creature’s body morphed and twisted.
Beneath the blackened, decaying flesh of the creature, veins pulsed with new life—black tendrils of energy, spreading like a virus, consuming every inch of its monstrous form. The abomination's grotesque muscles twitched and expanded unnaturally, its bones cracking and resetting in grotesque patterns.
Zeus’s orb pulsed, feeding energy into the creature, reshaping it. The tendrils of dark energy snaked around Flesh’s limbs, wrapping tighter and tighter, pulling its form apart and rebuilding it piece by piece.
The abomination’s grotesque body began to change.
Its once slow, lumbering form grew sleek and agile. The creature’s limbs stretched, its hands swelling as sharp, bone-like claws erupted from its fingers. Its legs, once clumsy and heavy, became digitigrade, ending in powerful talons meant for swift, predatory movements.
Its back arched as the dark energy twisted its spine, reshaping its torso into something more muscular, more agile. The abomination was no longer a lumbering brute—it was becoming a hunter.
Flesh’s head snapped back as the transformation reached its peak. Its skull began to elongate, its jaw stretching wide as new teeth—razor-sharp and predatory—pushed through its gums. Its eyes, once hollow and soulless, glowed with a savage hunger. The dark energy coiled around its head, reshaping it into a more streamlined, lethal form. It no longer resembled a mindless creature—it was now a weapon, a beast of war, designed to hunt, kill, and tear apart anything in its path.
Zeus lowered his hand, his work complete.
The spikes that had once held the abomination in place retracted into the ground, and the transformed creature dropped to the floor with a deafening thud. The party watched, frozen in place, as the newly created Brawler Hunter rose to its full height.
Its body rippled with power, its movements now fluid and precise. The creature stood taller than before, more menacing, its hulking frame ready to unleash devastation.
The creature’s breath came in ragged, hissing gasps, its glowing eyes scanning the room for its next target.
But it didn’t attack.
Instead, it turned its gaze to Zeus, its master. There was no hint of rebellion in its eyes, no resistance to the dark power that had reshaped it. The creature was obedient, ready to serve. It was a predator now, but one that answered to Zeus alone.
Zeus’s cold, gaze moved from one member of the party to the next, his words carrying a weight that made the already tense air heavier.
"The source of Ketheric’s immortality lies in the bowels of this temple. But before we descend, we need the gems to open the door." His voice was mechanical, devoid of hesitation, as if he had already calculated every possible outcome.
Karlach, smirked. "Can’t you just punch through the door?"
Zeus turned his emotionless gaze to her, his dark, featureless face betraying nothing. "The influence of Shar is strongest there. Even my orb would be useless." His words, though simple, carried a finality that wiped the smirk from her face.
The group exchanged glances, silent nods of agreement passing between them.
Lae'zel, cast a wary eye toward the grotesque creature that now stood at Zeus's side, towering and hunched, its breath heavy and ragged. "And what of that abomination?" she asked, her voice filled with barely concealed disdain.
"This is a hunter." Zeus replied. "It will be useful in the battles to come."
Without another word, Zeus turned and walked out of the room, the hulking Brawler Hunter at his side, moving with terrifying silence for a creature of its size. The rest of the party followed, reluctant but without alternative.
----------------------------------------
As they exited, the party found themselves surrounded by the remnants of battle: skeletons strewn across the floor, animated armors now lifeless. Zeus moved without pause, heading toward a thick set of vault doors on the left. The vault loomed ahead, ominous and ancient, its lock intricate and nearly impenetrable. Nearly.
Zeus pressed his palm to the lock, and with a faint click, the door yielded to his touch. Behind the vault door were three opulent chests, gilded in black and gold.
With mechanical efficiency, Zeus opened them one by one. The first was empty. The second held a piece of infernal iron, which he swiftly consumed, the metal vanishing, eaten away by Zeus's flesh. The third chest revealed potions, scrolls, and an ancient tome. Zeus tossed the tome to Gale, who caught it with wide eyes, clearly understanding that it was meant for him to decipher.
Gale quickly skimmed through its pages. "Breathe in and out. Look inward. What, in the deepest reaches of yourself, do you see? A bright and blinding light? A harsh, exacting sun? Or, instead, do you find a comforting, velvet darkness?" he read aloud. "This is the darkness Shar promises: a darkness free from judgment, free from scrutiny, in which we are invited to exist in our purest essence."
A faint pause filled the air as the words settled over them. Shadowheart’s lips parted, her eyes distant as if the words had struck a deep chord within her. But before she could speak, Astarion’s voice cut in, dripping with mockery.
"That’s what Shar promises her followers. But all she delivers is pain and suffering," he sneered.
Gale raised an eyebrow. "You seem to know a great deal about Shar."
Astarion chuckled bitterly, and Shadowheart's gaze flicked toward him, intrigued . "I prayed to every god for salvation from Cazador’s claws," Astarion replied, his tone dark. "None answered. But when you work for a creature like him, you meet plenty of people who worship shadows. Thieves, murderers... people who thrive in darkness."
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
__________
The party descended further, noticing the marks of battle: bloodstains littered the floor, and every trail of crimson led ahead, deeper into the temple’s black heart. The hunter crouched beside a fresh trail of blood, sniffing the air before turning its glowing eyes forward, signaling the path.
At a juncture, they stopped. To their left was a staircase ,from which they came from , where a massive boulder had crushed a skeleton at its base. Ahead, another staircase led down to where a ghoul had been impaled by a spear. And to the right, a steep ascent awaited, flayed corpses hanging gruesomely from the ceiling.
Zeus gestured toward the descending stairs. "We retrieve the gems from there," he said . He then pointed to the upward path, where the bodies hung like grim warnings. "Then we go up—into the Verge of Shadows."
Astarion grimaced. "And what about the beast?" His voice had an edge of unease, knowing they had to face it to gain Raphael’s favor.
"The beast resides there, too," Zeus answered. "He has made a wing of the temple its lair. We confront him after gathering the gems."
Karlach's brow furrowed. "The beast... him?"
"Yes. The beast is an Orthon, and it commands a pack of Merregons," Zeus said flatly. The memories he’d consumed from the Merregons at Grymforge had told him everything he needed to know.
Karlach's face fell, the tension clear. "Shit, that's bad. Real bad."
Wyll echoed the sentiment, rubbing the back of his neck. "Damn, an Orthon..."
Shadowheart, asked, "What is an Orthon?"
Karlach quickly explained. "An Orthon is a rage devil. Hulking monsters, about three meters (eight feet) tall, covered in stone-like skin and metal plates bolted into their flesh. They bleed black blood, and maggots squirm in their wounds. They're berserkers, predators that thrive on the blood of their enemies."
Astarion glanced nervously at Zeus. "Well, it sounds terrible. But at least we have him."
The party’s eyes landed on Zeus, standing tall and unyielding beside the monstrous Hunter he had created. His cold, unfeeling presence loomed over them all—a reminder that while he might be their ally, he was a force far beyond their control.
Karlach grinned weakly. "Yeah, we’ve got Zeus. If anyone can take down that monster, it’s him."
__________
A rat stood at the beginning of the stairs that lead downwards, its tiny body poised as if it were a sentinel guarding some ancient secret. Its beady eyes flickered in the dim light, unaware of the doom that loomed over it. Without hesitation, Zeus’s tendril lashed out, swift and merciless, wrapping around the creature. In one fluid motion, it was consumed.
At the bottom, a statue of Shar loomed to their right, its face carved in harsh, angular lines half of its upper face covered by a mask made of a dark glass like stone in a crescent shape . As if alive, the statue's mouth opened, and a voice, low and resonant, echoed through the chamber:
“Nothing of value comes easy. Overcome the trials and win my embrace.”
The words lingered in the air, cold and final, before the statue fell silent once more. Its stone lips sealed shut as though it had never spoken at all. The weight of the message was not lost on Shadowheart. She straightened, her gaze hardening, feeling the pull of her faith, the promise of Shar’s approval lurking somewhere beyond these trials.
She was fully aware of what the followers of Shar had done to her, but the teachings she had been indoctrinated with had taken deep root within her.
Wyll crouched near the ghoul, its body grotesquely impaled by what at first glance appeared to be a spear. But as he drew closer, he realized it was merely a torch pole, long extinguished and slick with the remnants of decay. Wyll grimaced as he pulled a blood-stained piece of parchment from the undead's withered grip. The brittle paper crinkled as he read aloud, his voice low and cautious:
“Pay CLOSE ATTENTION:
Seek the means to access THE RELIC.
Search in THE LIBRARY.
Do not deviate. Do not fail.
RETURN PROMPTLY.
B.”
"Orders from Balthazar," he muttered.
Astarion had wandered behind the statue, his pale face illuminated by the eerie glow from the chasm before him. He peered into the vastness, an endless void that stretched into darkness. The size of it was overwhelming. "This place is huge," he muttered, his voice tinged with awe. His keen eyes spotted a platform high above, its shape hinting at a purpose long forgotten—a semicircular groove carved edge. To the left, a towering statue of Shar dominated the open space , easily spanning dozens of meters. Her likeness was severe, holding a slim, golden dagger in her right hand, which pointed ominously toward a plate on the ground to the left.
The plate resembled the disc that had ferried them down into this forsaken temple.
"It’s such a shame the temple is in ruins," Shadowheart murmured, her voice soft yet edged with sorrow.
Zeus pointed across the yawning chasm, his voice low and ominous. "The orthon resides there." The party gaze lingered on the other side , but they could barely see something .
The group turned toward a set of closed doors, parallel to the statue that had spoken moments before. On either side of the doors stood statues, their forms once proud and vigilant. The one on the right was shattered, broken from the waist up, its remnants scattered on the cold stone floor. Nearby, a large vases rested against the wall, strangely undisturbed despite the ruin surrounding it.
"Her most vaunted treasure," Zeus read aloud, his deep voice reverberating through the hollow hall as his gaze skimmed over a plaque before the entrance.
With a soft creak, the doors opened at his touch, revealing a dark room. The remnants of a broken golden chandelier lay discarded on the ground, its once-grand form reduced to twisted metal and shattered glass. Torches bolted to the walls ignited as they entered, casting flickering shadows, but even their light struggled to penetrate the thick gloom.
They ventured deeper, Zeus leading the way with deliberate, heavy steps. The darkness seemed alive, breathing around them as if the temple itself resented their intrusion. Before them stood an altar, eerily reminiscent of the one in the hidden chamber beneath the town's monument—a place dedicated to Shar, demanding blood as payment. The altar was stained, a pool of dried blood congealing on the ornate plate in the center. Iron-grated doors flanked the altar, two on each side, their bars thick with rust.
"This is one of the La…" Shadowheart began, her voice faltering with reverence and trepidation. She swallowed hard, gathering herself. "One of the Shar trials. Allow me… It’s important."
For a long moment, Zeus said nothing, his unblinking gaze fixed on her. Then, with a subtle tilt of his head, he stepped aside, granting her passage.
Shadowheart approached the altar with a mix of reverence and dread. Her hand reached for the dagger resting beside the plate, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. She hesitated for just a second, then in one fluid motion, she slashed her palm, blood welling up instantly. It pooled on the plate, the metallic scent filling the room, mingling with the age-old air of the temple.
As her blood met the altar, a faint glow emanated from behind the statue’s mask—an eerie, crescent-shaped light that cut through the darkness like a whisper of Shar’s presence.
The iron doors groaned open, revealing the path ahead.
"Lady Shar values those who can remain unseen and still obtain what they desire. Stealth is a virtue drawn from her very essence," Shadowheart murmured, her voice trembling with the weight of the trial to come. She took a deep breath, feeling the eyes of her companions upon her.
Shadowheart's breath was slow and steady, but her heart pounded in her chest as she carefully examined each door before her. Numbering them silently in her mind, she counted from left to right: one through four. The 1, 2 and 4 seemed to open into some kind of labyrinthine maze, and the third door led to what appeared to be a storage room.
The storage room was dimly lit, its corners cloaked in shadow, but Shadowheart’s sharp eyes spotted a glint of metal among the dust-covered shelves. Kneeling down, she uncovered a set of lockpicks nestled within the debris.
“These might be useful later,” she muttered to herself, her fingers brushing over the well-worn tools. She tucked them away before exiting and stepping through the second door, her boots echoing softly against the stone floor.
The chamber beyond was sparse, with two old crates to the left. She rifled through them but found nothing of value. Frustration simmered under her calm demeanor as she continued forward, stopping at a juncture. Two door frames loomed before her, one on each side.
Her mind raced, visualizing the paths she had glimpsed earlier.
‘If I take the right, it leads to the hall I saw through door number four. The left... the left side splits again—one path leads back to the beginning, past door one, but there’s a pressure plate there. I need to be careful. The other must lead deeper...’
Her thoughts were interrupted by something gleaming in the narrow crack in the wall at the junction. A faint shimmer, barely noticeable. She crouched, peering through the gap, her eyes widening as she saw it—a key, sitting innocuously on a round stone table.
With a quiet breath, Shadowheart laid down her mace and shield. Sliding through the narrow opening, she felt the cold stone scrape against her armor. Her movements were slow, deliberate, each breath measured. The room felt alive with tension as she approached the table. She inspected it carefully, her eyes scanning every inch for hidden traps, her nerves on edge.
The key glinted under the low light, silvery and untouched by time. Her fingers hovered above it for a heartbeat before she grabbed it quickly. The tension in the air seemed to hold, but nothing happened. With a silent exhale of relief, she slipped back through the crack, reclaiming her mace and shield. The small victory did little to ease her wariness.
As she moved deeper, she stepped through the left door frame, her senses heightened. A soft click echoed through the chamber, freezing her mid-step. She had triggered a pressure plate. Her instincts kicked in, and she bolted backward, pressing herself flat against the wall, her breath shallow and rapid.
Seconds passed. Then, the sound of something slick filled the air. Shadowheart dared to peek around the corner. The hall before her was now smeared in a thick, oily substance—grease.
Her foot shifted cautiously, testing the slick floor. Nearly losing her balance, she steadied herself and walked ahead, but dread began to coil in her chest. Then she saw it—darkness moving, swirling, a disk of shadow slithering toward her.
‘Shit. That’s a shadow,’ she thought, her pulse quickening. The fear clawed at her, cold and insidious, but she forced it down. There was no escape—not without slipping, and that would leave her vulnerable. She had to face it.
The dark disk halted before her, shifting and stretching until it took form—vaguely humanoid, its shape composed of nothing but darkness, an ethereal figure of death. A wraith.
Shadowheart’s muscles tensed, her grip tightening on her shield. The wraith’s hand—if it could be called that—lifted, its wispy claw swiping toward her. She raised her shield just in time, the claw scraping across the metal with a screech that set her teeth on edge.
Instinct took over. Her mace glowed with divine light as she brought it down, the golden glow piercing the shadow’s form. The wraith shrieked, a sound of raw, unnatural fury, but it wasn’t enough to destroy it. It retaliated with savage speed, its claws slashing wildly at her shield. Blow after blow rained down, the force of its attacks nearly staggering her. She couldn’t find an opening to strike back.
‘This has to end,’ Shadowheart thought, desperation creeping into her mind as she prepared a spell. Her voice was low, a whisper, and in an instant, winged figures—small spirits —appeared around her. They circled her protectively, their golden light casting the wraith in sharp relief.
The spirits swooped down, their radiant bodies colliding with the wraith. Flames erupted from its shadowy form, golden fire that seared through the creature with divine wrath. The wraith’s final scream echoed through the hall as its form disintegrated into nothingness, leaving only silence in its wake.
She didn't dismissed the spirits as they could prove useful ,despite the constant need to concentrate on the spell.
Shadowheart’s breath came in ragged gasps, but she didn’t allow herself to relax. There could be more shadows. There usually were. She stepped forward cautiously, her eyes scanning the hall for any signs of danger. She stopped by a narrow window, peering through it into the room beyond.
There was a lever inside, positioned next to the window, the only feature in the otherwise barren space. She extended her hand through the gap and grasped the lever, pulling it with a firm, steady motion. Somewhere deeper in the labyrinth, a mechanism clicked, and her heart sank with uncertainty.
‘Hope it’s nothing bad,’ she thought grimly as she continued down the corridor.
The rectangular pressure plate up ahead gave her pause, but she carefully stepped over it, stopping at another doorway. She peered through, her senses on high alert. No enemies, no traps, but the air was thick with anticipation. To her left was the room with the lever she had pulled moments ago. Ahead, a short set of stairs beckoned.
‘That’s my way,’ she thought.
Each step was measured, her hand never far from her mace as she ascended the stairs. At the top, she turned to her right and saw it—the iron gates that must have opened when she pulled the lever. Her gaze swept the room beyond, landing on a statue of Shar standing in the center, holding a plate upon which rested a gem. The gem was nearly as large as her head, its surface shimmering with a deep, purple hue that seemed to pulse with hidden power.
Shadowheart didn’t move toward it immediately. Her instincts screamed caution. Instead, she scanned the room carefully, noting the stone tablets mounted on the walls to her left and right. She approached the first one on the right, her fingers lightly tracing the engraved words.
“Seek no permission—take all that benefits you,” she read aloud, her voice soft but filled with reverence.
She turned to the second tablet, but it was shattered beyond recognition. A flicker of anger sparked within her but she quickly snuffed it out, turning her focus back to the remaining tablets on the left.
“Lady Shar’s words of guile,” she read, her voice gaining strength. “To be unseen is to be welcomed everywhere.”
Her eyes lingered on the last inscription. “Lady Shar’s words of wisdom. A soft step is better than any armor.”
The room felt heavy with the weight of those words. Shadowheart’s hand hovered over the gem, her fingers brushing its smooth surface as she gently lifted it from the plate. The gem’s glow intensified in her hand, casting a faint purple light over her features. She marveled at its beauty for a moment before turning to leave.
Just then, a faint glimmer caught her eye. A button, embedded with a small, glowing gem set within it at the bottom of the plate .Her instincts told her to be wary, but curiosity got the better of her. She pressed it.
The world spun around her, the air warping and twisting until, in a blink, she found herself back at the altar.