The party barely had time to register Shadowheart’s sudden appearance before Zeus and his hunter burst through the door with blinding speed. Only seconds later, the temple shuddered violently, followed by a deafening boom that echoed through the stone halls.
Instinctively, they rushed out of the room, hearts pounding, and turned their gazes to the staircase they had descended from.
At the top of the stairs, chaos erupted in a storm of violence and bloodshed. The dimly lit hall was alive with the shouts of cultists and the frenzied clash of steel against flesh. The hunter—a nightmare made real—moved with unnatural speed, its quadrupedal stance lending it an eerie, feral grace. It dashed between its enemies with the precision of a seasoned predator, every movement calculated, every strike fatal.
The hunter’s claws gleamed in the faint light as it sliced through its foes with ease. Flesh parted like water, and the cultists barely had time to scream before their lives were snuffed out. The sharp shick of claws cutting through bone and muscle was drowned out by the thunderous roar of combat. Blood sprayed from each kill, painting the stone walls in gruesome streaks of crimson.
One cultist, brave or foolish, charged at the beast with a sword raised high, his face twisted in a mixture of fury and fear. The hunter’s burning eyes locked onto him. In a blur of motion, the creature was upon him. Its maw opened wide, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, and with a sickening crunch, it clamped down on the man’s skull. The sound of bone shattering echoed across the battlefield, and the cultist’s body went limp, his life extinguished in an instant. Blood gushed from the gruesome wound as the hunter tossed the lifeless body aside like a broken toy.
Around it, spells and weapons battered the hunter’s body, but it shrugged off the damage as though it were nothing. Arrows splintered against its tough hide, and blades barely left a scratch before the wounds healed, knitting themselves together with each bite of flesh it consumed. The more it killed, the stronger it became—its hunger fueling its power.
A wave of radiant light erupted from the far side of the room as an adept charged forward, divine smite surging through his weapon. His eyes burned with fury, determined to stop the monster that had torn through his comrades. He swung his glowing hammer with all his might.
But the hunter was faster. As the hammer came down, the hunter vanished in a cloud of dark, swirling smoke. The adept’s eyes widened in shock as his weapon crashed into the ground, shattering the stone floor but striking nothing. Panic flickered across his face as he frantically searched for his opponent.
Before he could react, the hunter reappeared behind him, silent as a shadow. With one swift, effortless motion, the hunter’s claws flashed through the air. The adept’s head separated cleanly from his body, the decapitation so precise that the man didn’t even have time to gasp. His body stood for a moment, swaying on its feet, before crumpling to the ground, lifeless.
The hunter stood over the fallen adept, its jaws dripping with blood, its eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. Around it, the cultists faltered, fear creeping into their hearts as they realized the monster was unstoppable. Its body pulsed with energy, every wound it had taken mending before their very eyes. The more it fed, the more invincible it became.
Another group of cultists, desperate to stop the onslaught, gathered their strength and hurled a barrage of magical missiles at the beast. Fireballs and lightning bolts crackled through the air, slamming into the hunter with violent force. For a brief moment, the room was lit up by the arcane explosions, the flames licking at the hunter’s form.
When the smoke cleared, the hunter stood tall, its body regenerating before their eyes. The magic had left no mark. It bared its teeth in a wicked grin, as though mocking their futile efforts.
"Pathetic." The hunter said with a deep guttural voice .
With a feral roar, it leapt forward, claws outstretched, and plunged into the crowd. Blood sprayed in all directions as its claws ripped through the remaining cultists, leaving only torn, broken bodies in its wake. The hunter was relentless, an unstoppable force of death, cutting down anyone foolish enough to stand in its path.
Zeus was nowhere in sight, but the ground trembled ominously, sending deep vibrations through their feet. The tremors seemed to come from the temple's left wing—the place where the fearsome orthon resided.
“We need to retrieve the gems and reach the Verge of Shadows,” Alex said, his voice tight with urgency. “It’s the only way Zeus can permanently kill Ketheric.”
“Ketheric is here?” Karlach asked, her voice low and dangerous as her hand instinctively tightened around her battle axe. Her eyes gleamed with the promise of violence.
Alex nodded solemnly.
“Shit,” Wyll muttered, his fingers flexing around the hilt of his sword.
Another explosion rocked the temple, the walls groaning under the pressure as dust and debris rained from above. Without another word, the party charged toward the next trial room, the weight of the coming battle bearing down on them like a storm.
Shadowheart led the way, her eyes catching the plaque at the entrance to the next chamber. “‘The Most Hallowed Mercy,’” she read aloud.
They stepped through the double doors into a narrow, foul-smelling room. The stench hit them like a wall, making Karlach gag. “Ugh, the smell,” she growled, her nose wrinkling in disgust as her eyes flicked toward a rotting corpse hanging from the ceiling, bound with animal bones.
In the center of the room was yet another sacrificial altar, cold and foreboding.
Shadowheart approached the altar, her steps steady, though a storm churned inside her. “I will succeed,” she murmured to herself, determination hardening her voice. She slashed her palm open, crimson blood dripping steadily into the bowl beneath. The liquid pooled, gleaming darkly in the dim light.
"Vanquish your old life , to receive my wisdom." The statue spoke.
With a groan, the stone wall at the far end of the room slid upwards, revealing a wide chamber beyond. There were stairs and ramparts lining the walls, creating a labyrinth of obstacles.
“The Dark Lady teaches us that we are often our own worst enemies. Her embrace will elude us until we shed that which holds us back,” Shadowheart recited quietly, her gaze never leaving the open passage before her. She stepped through, her resolve palpable, followed closely by her companions.
Her gaze flickered back toward her friends.
“We will help you finish the trial faster.” Wyll said, his voice calm but firm.
Shadowheart looked at them, torn. These trials were meant for her to overcome alone, a personal test of Shar’s faith. But she couldn’t deny the sense in Wyll’s words. The weight of their combined strength would only make her burden lighter.
She hesitated, glancing back at the dark, foreboding path ahead. The cold grip of isolation she had clung to for so long battled against the unfamiliar warmth of their support.
Finally, after a long moment of silence, she exhaled softly. “Fine,” she said, her voice resigned but grateful.
Suddenly, the air shimmered, and before them appeared seven figures—identical replicas of the party, glowing with an eerie, purple dark light.
The room tensed as the clones stood like silent sentinels. For a heartbeat, nothing moved—then, as if on cue, they came to life, their every movement a mirror of their counterparts. It was unsettling, watching themselves move with the same precision, the same familiar battle stances.
Karlach let out a low growl, her burning red eyes locking onto her double. "This is gonna be one hell of a fight," she muttered, the fiery veins along her arms beginning to glow as her rage kindled.
Astarion’s eyes narrowed as he admired his own clone, daggers drawn. “I have to say, it’s nice to finally see myself in action,” he said, his tone light but edged with unease. As a vampire spawn, he’d long been deprived of seeing his own reflection. “Though, of course, this one’s a cheap imitation.”
Across the room, Shadowheart’s clone raised her shield in a defensive stance, her mace gripped tight in her hand.
The mirror image of Lae'zel growled, her stance one of brutal efficiency, a reflection of the deadly warrior within.
Wyll’s clone swirled his hand, igniting flames that danced along his fingers, while Gale’s double glowed with arcane power, the glyphs on his hands sparking with potential energy.
“Stay sharp,” Wyll said.
Astarion summoned his psionic shield in one hand and twirled his dagger in the other, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I suppose we we can't strike each other’s clones," he smirked. "Though I must admit, Lae'zel, yours looks particularly irritating."
Lae'zel, gripping her flaming sword, glared at Astarion. "Perhaps you should pray it come for you first, spawn, so I don't need to be the one to end your pathetic clone myself."
Despite the tension, Shadowheart kept her calm. "Let’s focus. These trials are meant to test us, not our ability to tear each other apart."
Karlach's gaze blazed as her infernal fury took hold, her eyes glowing like embers. Flames licked at her arms, eager to unleash their wrath. Wyll’s sword shimmered with an deep purple light,
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Shadowheart’s fractured mirror materialized at her side, reflecting both her and the clone in distorted, fragmented pieces.
Gale’s tome floated by his side, its pages flipping of their own accord. He turned to Alex, raising an eyebrow. "Care to give us a proper opening? You’re rather well-versed in this."
Alex nodded, sharing a glance with Gale before sending a wave of martial knowledge into the wizard’s mind. Gale blinked, trying to absorb the information, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of combat insight.
“Gods, that’s…a lot to process,” Gale murmured, adjusting his stance. He was disturbed by the sight of his clone adopting the exact same stance, the same arcane energy humming around him. His eyes darted to the rest of the clones. Even their psionic powers mirrored their originals.
Except for Alex’s clone. Something was wrong with it. Its blade was drawn, but there was an eerie stillness to its form, as if it lacked the same spark of life that animated the others.
Gale’s thoughts were interrupted by Karlach. "Do we hit them first, or do we wait for the clones to make the move?"
There was no time for a response. Suddenly, the clones surged forward, attacking with a brutal, unrelenting ferocity that was as overwhelming as it was precise.
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The battlefield lit up as both Karlachs roared, their axes blazing with fire. They collided with the force of a meteor strike, sparks flying in every direction. The real Karlach grinned savagely, meeting every swing with bone-crushing strength, the heat of her infernal rage barely contained.
“You can’t out-burn me!” she yelled as their weapons clashed, flames licking up their arms.
But the clone mirrored every move, every swing, matching her strength and fury blow for blow. It was like fighting a twisted reflection, a version of herself she couldn’t overpower. Gritting her teeth, Karlach feinted, ducking under a brutal strike before driving her axe into the clone’s abdomen.
Karlach snarled in frustration as the clone’s wound knitted itself back together, the flames around them burning brighter with every passing second. The real Karlach's chest heaved, her dragon heart beating at her ribcage like a caged dragon. She could feel it—something stirring deep within, begging to be unleashed.
“You think you’re tough, huh?” Karlach growled “Let’s see how you handle this!”
With a fierce battle cry, she surged forward, her axe cleaving through the air like a comet. The clone raised its own axe to block, but this time, Karlach’s strike had the force of a hammer pounding an anvil. The clone staggered, its feet sliding across the stone floor from the sheer power behind the blow.
Karlach's eyes burned hotter, her dragon heart beating even louder. Flames erupted around her, igniting her entire form in a fiery aura that flared like a wildfire. The heat was unbearable, even for her clone, who stumbled slightly as the flames singed its skin.
"Not so tough now, are you?" Karlach shouted, her voice tinged with a new, primal power.
The clone came at her again, but this time Karlach was ready. She spun around with agility that belied her size, dodging the strike and slamming the butt of her axe into the clone’s jaw. The crunch of bone echoed in the chamber, and the clone staggered back once more, its jaw hanging grotesquely.
Something inside Karlach snapped. She felt a surge of power unlike anything before. Her dragon heart pulsed with life, her heart pounding faster, harder. It was as if the dragon within her had awakened, lending her a strength that went beyond rage—this was pure, unstoppable might.
As the flames died down around her, Karlach felt something deeper taking root within her body. The patches of scales that had begun to grow since she got a new heart, now spread like wildfire, coating her skin in glimmering, molten-like armor. Each scale gleamed with the intensity of smoldering coals, hard as dragonhide yet pulsing with the energy of her dragon heart.
Her teeth elongated into sharp fangs, and she could feel her jaw shift slightly, her face becoming more feral, more primal. Her hearing sharpened, catching the faintest echoes of footsteps behind her, the distant clatter of metal against stone. The world seemed to slow as her vision intensified—every detail in the room became crystal clear. She could see the faint shimmer of heat in the air, the smell of ash and blood filling her nostrils. Her muscles swelled, tightening like coiled steel, her body growing larger, more imposing. She felt… unstoppable.
With each passing second, the transformation deepened. Her body crackled with power. She stood taller now, towering over the clone, her new dragon-like form radiating a heat that could melt steel. Her axe glowed with fiery light , luckily it would take even more heat to melt it .
Karlach's lips curled into a snarl, her voice lower, guttural, tinged with the growl of a beast awakening. She could feel the energy surging in her chest, her dragon heart pounding with untamed fury. It wasn’t just a new power—it was as though the dragon's blood coursed through her veins, driving her forward, filling her with the might of a creature born to rule the skies.
As her clone rushed forward, Karlach barely moved, her confidence swelling with every beat of her heart. When the clone's axe came down, she didn’t flinch. With a single powerful step, she slammed her foot into the ground, the impact sending a shockwave that rippled out in all directions. The earth groaned in response, cracks splintering through the floor as pillars of fire erupted around them, circling her like the rings of a hellish inferno.
Her eyes burned white-hot as she raised her axe, flames coiling around the blade like a serpent. When she swung, the air itself seemed to tremble, the sheer force of her strike tearing through the clone’s defenses. The clone staggered, its body nearly cleaved in two, but Karlach didn’t give it a moment to recover. She roared, louder and fiercer than before, the sound echoing like the bellow of a dragon ready to unleash its wrath.
"I am a fucking dragon!" Karlach bellowed, her voice reverberating through the chamber like thunder.
Her final blow came down with the might of a falling star, and the clone’s body was consumed in an inferno of golden flames. It didn’t just fall—it disintegrated, the flesh turning to ash, the bones crumbling to dust, until nothing remained but embers swirling in the scorching wind.
Karlach stood amidst the burning remains, her chest rising and falling with deep, primal breaths. The dragon heart had awakened fully.
As the last embers faded, Karlach’s lips curled into a savage grin, her eyes still glowing with that molten, fiery light.
"Can't out-burn me," she muttered, the words heavy with satisfaction, her voice a rumbling growl . The air was thick with the scent of ash, the echoes of her transformation still hanging in the air like smoke. She was no longer just a warrior—she was an inferno made flesh, a force of nature that could not be stopped.
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The air crackled with raw energy. Gale and his clone were locked in a storm of magic and force, each move a perfect reflection of the other. Fireballs, lightning, and arcane missiles filled the air like a dazzling, deadly light show. Each spell was countered, deflected, or absorbed, leaving the battlefield littered with scorch marks, cracks in the stone, and smoking debris.
Gale moved like a whirlwind, casting a flurry of spells at his clone—fire, ice, and thunder crackling from his fingertips. The clone met every attack head-on, casting identical spells with unnerving precision. Their magic clashed in midair, exploding in bursts of arcane energy. The sheer force of their conflict sent shockwaves rippling across the battlefield, rattling the stone walls of the ancient temple.
Gale darted forward, using the chaos of their magical duel to get in close. He delivered a rapid succession of physical blows, his fists crackling with blue energy. But the clone was ready—parrying each strike with graceful ease, it retaliated with its own furious counterattack. A brutal punch caught Gale in the side of the face, sending him stumbling back as blood filled his mouth. He spat it out with a grimace, his eyes glowing with determination.
"Impressive," Gale muttered, wiping the blood from his lips. His hand flared with fire, ready to unleash a wave of destruction, but the clone was quicker. It conjured a shimmering arcane barrier, deflecting the flames with ease.
Gale smirked, his fingers weaving intricate glyphs in the air. "This is turning out to be quite the invigorating experience," he said, surprising himself with the enjoyment he felt. For a brief moment, he paused mid-spell, the realization washing over him like a sudden gust of wind. Huh. It seems Alex's love for battle is rubbing off on me. Gale thought with a wry grin, feeling a flicker of Alex’s fighting spirit stir inside him.
His clone, relentless, conjured a devastating bolt of lightning. The arc of electricity crackled through the air, but Gale was prepared. With a whispered incantation, he split into multiple mirror images, the bolt striking the illusions and leaving the real Gale unharmed.
"That was close," Gale chuckled, his voice calm despite the storm raging around him. He stretched out his hand and summoned a swirling vortex of wind, pulling the clone into its turbulent center. For a fleeting moment, it seemed like Gale had the upper hand. But, true to its nature, the clone mirrored him perfectly, conjuring an identical vortex. The two cyclones collided with a thunderous explosion, the force of it sending both Gales flying backward across the room.
Breathing heavily, Gale staggered to his feet. His clone, already recovering, glared at him from across the battlefield. They were too evenly matched. Every spell he cast, the clone matched in both power and precision. Every trick he tried, the clone countered with a mirror image of the same tactic. It was an endless stalemate, a battle of pure endurance.
“This is getting us nowhere. If only I could be a more wise fighter” Gale muttered under his breath, frustration bubbling inside him. He wiped sweat from his brow, eyes narrowing as he studied the clone. Something in the back of his mind clicked, a realization that had been brewing beneath the surface.
What if... Gale’s eyes widened as an idea sparked to life. He invoked the power of his psionic tome, feeling it's power pulse through him like a second heartbeat. The tome glowed in his hands, radiating with a power that sharpened his mind, accelerating his thoughts.
In an instant, the entire battle replayed in his mind’s eye—every spell cast, every blow traded, every tiny mistake made. He saw it all with crystal clarity, as though time had slowed to a crawl. And then, just as quickly, time snapped back into place. His eyes darted to the side, and he rolled out of the way just as a green ray of magic blasted the spot where he had been standing.
"Now I see it. I understand," Gale whispered to himself, a wide grin spreading across his face.
With renewed vigor, Gale rushed at his clone, magic flowing through his veins like liquid fire. His movements were faster now, more precise. Each spell was cast with flawless accuracy, the spells leaving his lips with a practiced ease. His fingers wove glyphs in the air with lightning speed, the runes glowing brighter, more powerful.
The clone, though still mirroring his abilities, began to falter. Every time it replicated one of his spells, Gale would adjust, casting faster, smarter, with more power behind each incantation. Every mistake he had made earlier, every misstep in their duel, he corrected. He adapted, learned, evolved. He was no longer simply reacting—he was anticipating.
A curtain of fire erupted from his palm, and the clone barely had time to summon a shield before the explosion rocked the battlefield. Gale didn’t let up. He followed with a series of chromatic orbs infused with thunder , each one stronger than the last. The clone staggered, struggling to keep up with the relentless onslaught.
With a final surge of power, Gale unleashed a Cone of Cold. The spell roared forth like an unleashed winter storm, its icy breath sweeping through the air with a biting ferocity. The clone, caught within the relentless torrent, was swiftly encased in a shimmering prison of frost, its form crystallized into a perfect, yet hauntingly cold sculpture.
Gale, his breath visible in the frigid air, braced himself as he raised his leg and struck the frozen figure with all his might. The impact was thunderous, the clone shattering into a thousand glittering shards like a glasswork shattered by an unseen hand. Each fragment burst forth in a dazzling spray of ice, reflecting the dim light with a cold, harsh brilliance.
As the last echoes of the impact faded, Gale staggered slightly, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.
Gale stood amidst the wreckage, his heart pounding in his chest. His body ached, his magic reserves nearly depleted. But a triumphant smile spread across his face. He had done it. He had outsmarted his own reflection.
"The tome’s power...," he thought, a glint of realization in his eyes. "It’s more than just magic—it’s accelerating my learning, pushing me to new heights. I’m evolving with every battle."
He clenched his fists, feeling the surge of power within him, knowing that this was only the beginning.