As Karlach furrowed her brow, a sudden thought hit her like a hammer to the gut. "Guys... didn't we forget something?"
Everyone paused, as Shadowheart's eyes widened in realization. "The gem!" she exclaimed, breaking into a sprint back toward the trial room. Her heart pounded in her chest, each step filled with urgency and dread. She knew how crucial that gem was.
Shadowheart carefully stepped inside the trial room again, her eyes scanning the dark corners for any hidden traps or lurking enemies. The air was still, but her instincts told her to stay on high alert. She spotted it—a faintly glowing purple gem, resting atop a statue holding a plate, identical to the ones she had found in the last trial.
Without hesitation, she dashed to the platform, reaching out cautiously to grasp the gem. Its cold surface buzzed faintly with magical energy, and just like the last time, plate had a button hidden at the bottom. Pressing it, Shadowheart felt the familiar tug of magic pull her through space . In the blink of an eye, she was back beside the sacrificial altar, the eerie ambiance of the trial chamber closing in on her.
"I got it," she said, her voice firm as she approached her companions who were waiting anxiously. Her gaze landed on Alex—no, Zeus’s clone—standing a few steps away.
The clone’s eyes locked with hers, unreadable, distant. "Let’s move then," he commanded in a calm, collected voice that almost unnerved her more than the silence.
As they continued toward the next trial chamber, their movements swift, something unnatural stirred around them. From thin air, glowing black orbs began to materialize, swirling with malevolent purple energy. The party barely had time to unsheathe their weapons before animated armors clambered out from the orbs, their hollow forms radiating danger.
Before anyone could react, a dark, imposing figure dashed past them in a blur. The hunter had already engaged, slamming one of the animated armors with enough force to use it as a makeshift weapon, battering two more in one swift motion. The sound of metal crashing against metal echoed through the chamber.
"Go!" the hunter growled, his guttural voice reverberating off the stone walls as he leaped onto another armor, tearing through it like it was nothing more than paper.
The party didn’t need to be told twice. They rushed toward a set of stairs the would lead them to the next trial chamber, but as they moved, Gale’s keen eyes caught sight of something on a stone table in the hallway—a book. Without a second thought, he darted toward it, dodging a few strikes from the remaining armors and scooping it up with quick, practiced hands.
The moment he grabbed the book, he had to throw himself to the ground, a sword slicing through the air where his head had been a split second before. The sound of something heavy crashing beside him made Gale flinch, but when he looked up, he saw the hunter standing over him, cleaving an armor cleanly in two. The hunter cast Gale a brief, cold glance before turning back to the fight, resuming his deadly onslaught against the armors.
Gale quickly rejoined the party, his heart racing, his hands clutching the book as if it held the answers to all their questions.
They raced down the winding set of stairs, the sharp turn forming a U-shape. But as they descended, their pace faltered when they saw it—a bloodied corpse tied to a pole in the center of the stairway. The body was grotesque, its back distorted with three arms of varying sizes, each one looking like it had been sewn together from different creatures. Above them, looming like an omen of death, was an enormous statue of Shar, her presence suffocating the space with dread.
At the bottom of the stairs, a group of animated armors blocked their path, weapons gleaming in the dim light. Without hesitation, Karlach roared and charged forward, her fiery rage igniting once more. The armors were no match for her fury, as they were sent flying—some of them crashing over the balustrade and plummeting into the abyss below.
"Move, people! MOVE!" Karlach shouted, her voice echoing down the stairs as she bulldozed a path for them.
They reached the trial room’s double doors, the air thick with the stench of death and decay. Karlach grimaced as she glanced around, her eyes narrowing in disgust. "Ugh. Who’s the sick fuck that did this?" she muttered, kicking aside what looked like the carcass of some twisted animal. It was little more than bone, with a man’s decapitated head placed atop it, a candle burning from the hollow of his skull.
"Probably the Orthon did it," Alex’s clone said, his voice flat.
"What now?" Astarion asked, his eyes darting around, scanning for any more threats. His hand gripped his dagger tightly, his knuckles white. "Do we all go in together, or just one of us?"
Gale, spoke up. "These trials were clearly meant for one person . It’s risky to go in together ."
Shadowheart stepped forward, her jaw set. "I’ll do it. This is my path."
Wyll, still nursing his shoulder injury, nodded, his rapier glowing with a faint purple light. "Then go. We’ll protect the door."
Shadowheart angled her mirror toward Wyll’s shoulder, a soft purple energy flowing from the mirror into his wound. He winced as the magic mended the flesh, but soon rolled his shoulder with ease.
"Thanks," Wyll said with a grateful smile.
Shadowheart gave him a small nod, a brief smile touching her lips. Then she turned, her eyes scanning the entrance of the trial chamber. The golden plaque below the doors read, "Her Most Sacred Path."
Alex’s clone, now that his identity had been revealed, moved with purpose. From his back, tendrils emerged, snatching up a few rats that had been praying around a shattered statue of Shar. The memories that came with consuming them were fragmented, but slowly, piece by piece, the puzzle of his past was beginning to come together. Shifting to muscle mass , his arms shifted, becoming thicker, more muscular, as his body prepared for whatever was to come. He unsheathed Phalar Aluve, its blade gleaming as it cut through the dark.
The party took their stances, weapons drawn, ready for any attack that might come their way. The oppressive air of the temple seemed to grow heavier, as if the shadows themselves were watching, waiting.
_________
Shadowheart’s blood dripped steadily into the bowl, the rich crimson darkening against the stone of the altar. The air around her seemed to grow thicker, heavy with the weight of expectation. She didn’t flinch as the shallow cut on her palm stung with each drop, her eyes fixed ahead. This was her moment, her trial—the next step in Shar’s sacred path. No hesitation, no fear, only faith in the darkness.
"Navigate the darkness to feel my embrace," a deep, whispering voice echoed from the statue, the words curling around her like smoke. Shadowheart’s gaze shifted, her expression sharpening as she scanned the chamber before her.
"The Dark Justiciars were said to be sure of foot even in the deepest recesses of Lady Shar's embrace," she murmured, her voice low but steady. "I must remember where to step and have faith she will guide me."
Before her, the room stretched in cold silence, its rectangular walls closing in like the edge of a grave. At the far end, the faintest glimmer of light caught her eye—a gem resting on a plate, beckoning her. But between her and the prize lay nothing but an endless chasm, yawning open, waiting to claim her if she made a single mistake.
To her right and left, human size statues of Shar loomed, shrouded in swirling, impenetrable darkness.
Shadowheart glanced down at the floor. There, etched in golden lines, was a map—a outline of the room. A puzzle, meant to test not just her memory but her faith. "So this is the path I must follow," she whispered to herself, bending low to commit every detail to memory. Her heart hammered in her chest, each beat reminding her how high the stakes were. One misstep would send her plummeting into the dark. And there would be no second chances.
Once she was certain she had it memorized, Shadowheart rose to her feet, her eyes hardening with resolve. Slowly, deliberately, she descended a short set of stairs to the left, stopping at the very edge of the chasm. Beneath her was nothing but blackness, a void that seemed to pull at her, beckoning her to fall.
She inhaled deeply, the cold air burning her lungs as she raised her foot. And then, with a whispered prayer to Shar, she stepped forward into the emptiness.
Her heart stopped for a second as her foot hovered in the air. But instead of falling, she felt something solid beneath her—a path that she couldn’t see, but could feel.
Her heart still racing as she took another cautious step. Each movement was careful, deliberate. The invisible path was narrow, and the swirling darkness around her felt alive, as though it could reach out and drag her into oblivion at any moment.
Halfway through, Shadowheart’s breath caught in her throat. The next section of the path was just out of reach—a jump. She hesitated for a second, staring into the black abyss beneath her. One wrong leap and—
No, she scolded herself. Have faith.
Steeling herself, she took the leap, her heart soaring with her. For a second, everything was weightless, as though the world had stopped spinning. And then—something invisible yet solid beneath her feet. She had made it. She let out a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders slowly releasing as her racing heart began to calm.
At last, she reached the far end of the chamber. The gem lay in front of her, glowing faintly, its purple light a stark contrast to the oppressive dark that surrounded her. Shadowheart reached out and took the gem carefully into her hand. She pressed the button on the plate, and in a flash of light, the world around her warped and twisted, pulling her back to the start of the trial chamber.
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The sacrificial altar stood before her again. Shar’s embrace had guided her through the dark, and she had emerged unscathed.
"That should be three gems now," Shadowheart said aloud, her voice firmer as she turned to face the door. Her hand clenched around the gem for a moment before she pushed the door open, revealing her companions standing before her . The hall was littered with the shattered remains of animated armors, their once-threatening forms reduced to broken metal scattered across the floor.
"I have it," she said, holding the gem aloft for them to see. Relief washed over the group, but it was brief.
"There’s one more trial room," Alex, explained calmly from where he stood as he pointed to the left on the hall .
Astarion’s brows furrowed in confusion. "Didn’t you say we only needed three gems?"
"Balthazar didn’t have the right information," Alex replied, his voice cool and unwavering.
Karlach's fiery gaze sparked. "So, one more trial and then we can head to the heart of this cursed temple?" She grinned, flames flickering along her skin. "Good. Let’s do it."
____
They stood before the final trial chamber, a sense of foreboding thick in the air. This time, there was no door, only a shimmering, transparent membrane of energy, rippling like water. Beyond it, the massive round room lay exposed, illuminated by an eerie, cold light. Shelves lined the walls on either side, filled with dusty old tomes. In the center of the room, a swirling black orb hovered above a sunken platform, its dark energy pulsating like a beating heart. Animated armors patrolled the room in silent rhythm, their metal bodies carried out mundane tasks.
Astarion’s sharp eyes flicked over the scene, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Look at them. Housekeeping,” he remarked dryly, pointing at the animated armors. “They're reading books, dusting shelves... One of them is even guarding the gate at the end of the room. How quaint.”
“Animated armors can be created to perform complex tasks,” Gale said, his voice calm but wary. “Don’t let that fool you. They’re still deadly.”
Wyll’s expression grew grim, his gaze hardening as he remembered their earlier battles. “We should be cautious,” he warned, his rapier clutched tightly in his hand. “We’ve bested armors before, but don’t expect it to be easy forever. Remember that massive suit of armor Zeus fought when we first arrived here.”
The memory hung heavy in the air, and a tense silence followed. The others exchanged uneasy glances, their hands instinctively tightening around the hilts of their weapons.
But their thoughts were interrupted by a sharp, pained screech, followed by the wet, sickening sound of flesh being torn. They turned, just in time to see Alex—his tendrils writhing from his back—snatching two more rats from the shadows near a golden platform at the end of the hall. A lever sat in the middle, glistening faintly. His tendrils snapped the rats like twigs, silencing their shrieks as they were pulled into the mass of flesh.
Alex didn’t look at them. Instead, his gaze was fixed on something far below, over the balcony’s edge, his tendrils slowly retracting back into his body. He seemed distant, his mind elsewhere, as if the horrors of the trial chamber were secondary to something darker gnawing at his thoughts.
“We should go in together” Shadowheart asked, breaking the tension, her voice unusually soft.
Wyll raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Are you sure?” he asked cautiously. Until now, Shadowheart had insisted on doing the trials alone, taking on the challenges as Shar's chosen disciple.
She hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering with an emotion that was hard to read. Vulnerability, perhaps? Fatigue? It was rare for Shadowheart to admit weakness, but the trials had clearly taken their toll. “Yes,” she finally said, her voice carrying a weight of exhaustion. “I’m tired. These trials have pushed me harder than I expected. I don’t think I can face those armors alone. Not anymore.”
The trials had tested not just her strength but her faith, and now, with the final trial looming, even she needed to rely on her companions.
Karlach’s flames flickered softly, her draconic armor glowing faintly as she stepped forward. “Then let’s do it together,” she said, her voice steady and warm. “No one’s facing this alone. Not today.” Flames danced around her fists, as if responding to her resolve, and she grinned, her eyes burning with determination. She was always the first to charge into battle, always eager to fight for her friends.
The rest of the party nodded in silent agreement, forming a circle as they prepared for whatever lay ahead. They had fought countless battles together, from the depths of the Underdark to the cursed lands of the Shadowfell. Their bond, though tested, had endured every trial. And now, in the heart of this ancient temple, they would face the final challenge side by side.
As they stepped through the shimmering membrane, the cold energy washed over them. Inside, the room felt even more ominous.
Wyll’s eyes widened as he mouthed words, but no sound emerged. His voice was swallowed by the air itself. He clutched his rapier, a ripple of panic washing over him before he glanced at the others. They, too, had realized the unnatural silence that enveloped the room like a suffocating blanket.
No words. No spells.
Before anyone could react further, the animated armors in the room whirred to life, their faceless helms snapping toward the intruders. Their blackened, Shar-blessed steel glowed faintly with a deep purple hue, resonating with the dark orb in the center. The armors moved with an eerie fluidity, faster than they had before, as if the silence had granted them an unnatural grace.
Karlach was the first to act. Her fiery skin flared in the dim light as she charged forward, her footwork precise, each step leaving a faint scorch mark on the stone floor. Without the comfort of her usual battle cries, the silence felt eerie, but her determination was undeterred. With a silent roar, her flaming axe arced through the air, slamming into the closest armor with bone-shaking force. Sparks erupted like fireworks, dancing in the dim light. The armor staggered back, metal screeching against stone, but it quickly righted itself, its limbs twisting unnaturally, as if it defied the rules of the mortal world.
Karlach gritted her teeth, frustration bubbling within her. She brought her axe down in a massive overhead slash, her muscles rippling with the force of the blow. But the armor, unnervingly fast, raised its shield just in time, deflecting her attack. The harsh clang reverberated in the silence, not heard but felt deep within their bones, like a scream that never broke the surface.
Behind her, Shadowheart glided into action, moving like a shadow, her form fluid and silent. Her eyes locked on an approaching armor, she swung her mace in a deadly low arc, aiming for its helm. The spiked head of the weapon connected with a sickening crunch, sending a ripple through her arm. For a brief moment, it seemed like the blow had been fatal, but the armor’s helm spun unnaturally on its axis, as if it were unfazed, its faceless gaze now locked on her.
The sword in its gauntlet swung toward her like a guillotine. With a dancer’s grace, Shadowheart ducked just in time, her breath catching in her throat. She rolled beneath the strike, her heart pounding in the eerie silence, and as she came up, she slammed her mace into the armor’s leg. The construct toppled, but even as it fell, its sword still lashed out, missing her by mere inches.
Astarion, enveloped in the shimmering glow of his psionic armor, fought with brutal efficiency. His strikes were quick and precise, his fists crushing the animated constructs that dared to approach. One armor foolishly stepped too close, and Astarion’s psionic fist slammed into its chest with a force that dented the metal, sending the armor stumbling back. But even he felt the weight of their enhanced power. ‘These are definitely stronger than the ones before,’ he thought, gritting his teeth as he threw another punch, each strike met with increasing resistance.
Gale was at a severe disadvantage. With the enchantment nullifying his spells, his arcane prowess was useless in this fight. But the recent martial knowledge he acquired help him stay afloat. He ducked and weaved, distracting an armor long enough for Lae'zel to leap in with her blade, her eyes fierce. Her strike dented the armor, but it wasn’t enough to destroy it. She clicked her tongue in frustration, but not sound came out .
With a quick flick of her wrist, Lae'zel summoned a swirling cloud of daggers, sending the shimmering blades dancing around the armor. The cloud chipped away at its defenses, tiny sparks of metal flying in every direction as the daggers struck with relentless precision. Gale watched, his fists clenched, doing all he could to keep the relentless opponent at bay while Lae'zel’s cloud slowly whittled it down.
Wyll moved like a blur, his every step a symphony of lethal precision. His rapier gleamed under the dim light, flashing in arcs that found the vulnerable joints and weak points in the enchanted armors. With a swift leap, he vaulted over a piece of crumbled stone, bringing his blade down into the visor of an advancing suit of armor. The sharp edge drove deep, and for a split second, the armor froze, as though it could comprehend its defeat.
But then, with a sickening crunch, its iron grip shot up, seizing Wyll’s arm. The pressure was unbearable—like a vice, squeezing with inhuman force. Pain flashed across his face, but Wyll’s resolve was sharper than the blade in his hand. His eyes narrowed to slits of determination. With a fierce twist of his body, he ripped the sword free in a spray of sparks. He rolled backward just in time, narrowly avoiding a vicious strike that hissed through the air where he had stood a heartbeat before.
Wyll’s gaze darted to the armor’s blade. With a deep, controlled breath, he gathered his focus, sending a psionic wave through the air—a shimmering force that sliced through the darkened room. The wave struck true, severing one of the armor’s arms cleanly. For a moment, Wyll allowed himself a grim smile. But the victory was short-lived. The armor bent, retrieving its fallen arm, and with an eerie calmness, reattached it as though it had never been severed. The sight was a chill reminder of their foe’s unnatural resilience.
In the swirling chaos, Alex’s form shifted like a storm in human flesh. His body swelled with raw, primal energy—muscles rippling and skin stretching as his human form gave way to something far more bestial. He barreled into one of the armors, smashing it to pieces, only to watch in disbelief as the fragments pulled together again, reforging themselves in an instant. The armors were relentless, rising again and again, empowered by the ominous pulsing orb at the heart of the room. Each pulse sent dark energy coursing through the air, feeding the endless regeneration of their enemies.
Realization dawned in Alex’s eyes. The orb—it was the key. His gaze locked onto it, he charged. His hand morphed mid-stride, fingers twisting and elongating into a massive claw that glowed with an otherworldly energy. His strike was a blur, crashing against the orb with a force that sent a visible ripple of dark magic reverberating through the room. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, the armors froze, their faceless helms all snapping toward him in eerie unison.
With another earth-shattering blow, he slammed his hammer-fists into the orb, shattering the ground with a deafening crack. The orb exploded in a flare of blinding light, its dark energy dispersing in a shockwave that sent the armors reeling. For a moment, the room stood still—silent, frozen in time.
The silence was the only invitation Karlach needed. She charged, her great axe blazing in her hands. She landed blow after blow on the armor before her, each strike a thunderous roar of defiance. Finally, with a bellow that seemed to shake the very air, she smashed her weapon down with all her strength. The armor crumpled beneath her assault, the pieces falling away in a silent clatter as though even sound itself had been vanquished.
Astarion’s form was a blur of motion, a predator with a wicked grin as he soared through the air. He descended like a vengeful behemoth, his armored fists landed with deadly force , and the animated construct crumpled beneath him, its form collapsing into a pile of lifeless metal.
Gale’s foot connected with an armor’s chest, knocking it off-balance. The moment was all Wyll needed. In a flash of steel and purple , he thrust his rapier through the armor’s core, ending its existence.
Nearby, Shadowheart stood firm, her eyes dark with focus. She raised her mace high, bringing it down in a powerful, bone-shaking strike. She didn’t stop. With a relentless rhythm, she hammered away at the armor before her, each blow reverberating through the stone chamber until, at last, it lay in ruin at her feet.
In the center of the chaos, Alex’s arm shifted again—this time morphing into long, whip-like appendages,. They lashed out, coiling around the remaining armors one by one, pulling them toward him with an unstoppable force. His fists crashed down, smashing each suit into a mangled heap of metal and magic. With each crushing stomp, more armor crumbled, their power fading as they were reduced to nothing more than scrap.
The last armor fell, and the eerie silence that had gripped the room broke. Slowly, the sound of their breathing returned, filling the space once more with the harsh rasp of exhaustion. The battle was over. The party stood amidst the wreckage, their weapons still raised, bodies tense, as if waiting for the next threat to emerge from the shadows.