The oppressive silence of the underground cave was broken only by the soft hum of Alex’s glowing orbs, casting eerie light over the gruesome tableau before him. Shadows danced across the jagged walls as the orbs illuminated four lifeless forms lying in a neat row.
Lump
Halsin
Glut
Lara
They all lay still, their bodies marred with fatal wounds, the blood long dried into dark, accusing stains.
From the shadows stepped Alex, his human form restored, his expression unreadable as his eyes swept across the room. A deep growl reverberated faintly, but it wasn’t from him—it was Shadow, the monstrous hunter of pure darkness . The creature’s glowing eyes fixed on Alex as it spoke.
"I brought all the bodies, Alpha," Shadow rumbled, its voice like shifting gravel. Then, like a swirl of smoke caught in the wind, it dissolved into tendrils of blackness and merged seamlessly into Alex’s own shadow.
Alex said nothing in response, his focus wholly on the lifeless forms before him. With deliberate steps, he approached and knelt beside them. Extending his hand, he pressed his palm against the cold stone floor. Tendrils of flesh slithered from his arms and crawled over the corpses like serpents.
These tendrils sought not to desecrate but to heal. They latched onto the residual energy of the fatal wounds—cursed, insidious energy that clung to the bodies like an invisible shroud, even in death. The malevolent remnants were consumed , and the wounds began to mend. The gaping holes stitched themselves closed with supernatural precision, flesh reforming as though the deaths had never happened.
The bodies now appeared at peace, no longer broken, but resting.
Alex rose to his feet, his breathing steady, though his chest felt heavy with foreboding. He raised a hand, the glowing orb nested in his chest pulsing in tandem with his outstretched fingers as he began the Raise Dead incantation. The air thickened with power, the orbs of light trembling slightly as the magic grew stronger. A low hum filled the cave as the spell’s energy flowed into the lifeless forms.
Their bodies stirred faintly, almost imperceptibly. But then, something was wrong.
Alex’s brows furrowed, his lips parting in frustration. He pushed harder, pouring more magic into the spell, yet it faltered, stuttering like a flame caught in a strong wind. The bond that should have formed between body and soul refused to connect. The spell snapped with a hollow thrum, its energy dissipating into nothingness.
"Their souls..." Alex muttered, his voice quiet but thick with emotion. His hands fell to his sides, trembling slightly. He stared at the still bodies, his mind racing. "They’re not answering my call."
He turned to the side, his jaw tightening as his thoughts aligned with grim realization. "Their souls are trapped somewhere," he said aloud, his voice bitter with frustration. "It’s the same as what happened to Minthara. Something—someone—is keeping them from returning."
The dim orbs flickered as Alex ran a hand through his hair, his mind churning with possibilities.
"Orin’s dagger..." he began, piecing it together aloud. "The blade she used to kill them—it must do more than just make people bleed to death. It traps the soul, binds it somewhere..." He trailed off, a grim thought sinking into his mind like a stone in deep water.
His fists clenched. "What if... What if the Netherstone uses souls as its power source?" The possibility made his stomach churn.
"No," he said firmly, shaking his head to banish the thought. His voice dropped to a low growl. "I won’t let that happen."
He glanced once more at the bodies, his heart heavy with guilt and anger. Every moment he wasted brought his friends closer to true oblivion, their souls potentially consumed or erased entirely. Time was slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.
"I need to find Orin," Alex muttered, his voice sharp with determination. "And I need to kill her. And then..." His eyes burned with molten fury, his teeth gritting as he made his vow. "Then I’ll rip Bhaal himself from his throne."
The shadows around him seemed to quiver in response, the energy in the cave growing colder, heavier.
"I’ll bring you back. No matter the cost." He murmured under his breath, as if they could hear him.
With that, Alex disappeared into the darkness, his resolve hardened, his every step a promise of retribution.
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Alex emerged from the shadows near the refugees’ encampment, his form materializing with an unnatural grace. His movements were quiet but deliberate, like a predator stalking prey, though his intentions were anything but predatory. Clutched in his hand was an ominous tome, its cover fashioned from the distorted face of a once-living being. The face’s expression was frozen in a scream, its amethyst eyes gleaming with a sinister light. In its stretched mouth sat a similarly colored orb, which pulsed faintly, as though it were alive. The mere sight of it could drive weaker minds to madness, and Alex’s grip on the tome was firm, almost contemptuous.
He had opened the book not long ago, enduring its malevolent curse without flinching. The dark magic that should have corroded his sanity had washed over him like a harmless tide. His will, honed by countless battles and the knowledge of gods and mortals alike, made him untouchable. Yet, despite the tome’s forbidden necromantic secrets, Alex found it lacking—its spells were crude imitations compared to the intricate knowledge he carried within himself, the memories from the god of death, Myrkul.
The tome itself was insignificant; it was its owner he sought.
In one of the tents nearby slept the albino half-dragon who had once approached him, desperate to cure his mysterious memory loss. Alex remembered their brief exchange, the glimmer of hope in the man’s crimson eyes, and the unshakable feeling that there was more to him than met the eye. That nagging sensation had gnawed at Alex ever since, and tonight, he would hopefully uncover the truth.
Silent as the wind, Alex moved through the encampment, his presence cloaked in shadows. He reached the intended tent and stepped inside, the darkness parting to reveal the sleeping figure. The half-dragon lay on his side, his snow white scales catching faint glimmers of moonlight that filtered through the canvas. His face was serene, unmarred by the turmoil of his waking hours.
Alex knelt beside him, his eyes studying the man with quiet intensity. He could feel the unnatural disturbance within the half-dragon, like a splinter lodged deep within his soul. Without hesitation, Alex extended a hand, his movements precise and gentle.
He placed his palm over the half-dragon’s mouth, his psionics ensuring the man would remain asleep. From Alex’s hand emerged a tendril of flesh and it slithered forward, slipping between the half-dragon’s parted lips and into his throat, moving deeper with surgical precision.
As Alex delved into the half-dragon’s body, he found it—the source of the corruption. Embedded in the soft tissue was a small, black marble, its surface glistening like polished obsidian but emanating a vile, oppressive aura. The power radiating from it was unmistakable: the essence of Shar, the goddess of darkness and loss. Surrounding the marble were tiny flowers, luminous and ethereal, their delicate petals acting as a shield to contain the marble’s malevolence.
The flowers were a miracle in themselves, strong enough to hold back Shar’s taint. But the marble’s presence was troubling, its purpose unclear. Was it a curse? A tool of manipulation? Or something far worse?
The tendril coiled around the marble, and Alex closed his eyes, focusing. The orb in his chest, thrummed with anticipation. Slowly, methodically, Alex began to consume the marble, drawing its vile energy into himself. The taste of it was bitter and cold, like swallowing shards of ice, but Alex endured. His orb devoured the marble’s power greedily, breaking it down and stripping it of its essence.
As the marble dissolved, Alex’s connection to the shadows deepened. He felt them responding to him more keenly than before, like loyal subjects bowing to their king. The taint that had plagued the half-dragon was no more, but Alex’s curiosity only grew.
'This marble was crafted from Shar’s blood,' Alex realized, the weight of the revelation settling in his mind. His eyes narrowing as he stared at the sleeping man. The nagging itch in his brain flared stronger now, as though the half-dragon’s presence was teasing a memory he couldn’t quite grasp.
'Who are you?' Alex wondered, the question echoing in his thoughts. The more he looked at the half-dragon, the more certain he became that this was no ordinary man. There was a purpose to his existence, a story yet untold, and Alex felt himself drawn to unravel it.
With the marble gone, the luminous flowers faded, their purpose fulfilled. Alex withdrew the tendril, ensuring no trace of his intrusion remained. He sat back on his heels, his expression thoughtful as he observed the man once more. The shadows flickered around him, as if whispering secrets, but Alex remained silent.
For a moment, he closed his eyes, feeling the newfound strength in his bond with the shadows. Whatever had been done to this half-dragon, Alex had undone a part of it. But the mystery was far from solved, and Alex knew it was only a matter of time before the answers revealed themselves—one way or another.
But not tonight.
Rising silently, Alex melted back into the shadows, leaving the half-dragon undisturbed in his peaceful slumber.
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Dribbles lay in his bed inside a modest tent, his breathing slow and steady. The faint flicker of a dying lantern cast long shadows across the fabric walls. Outside, the sounds of the camp whispered faintly—muted conversations, the crackle of fire, and the occasional shuffle of restless footsteps. But within the tent, an eerie stillness prevailed.
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The shadows in the corners seemed to shiver unnaturally, coalescing as though alive. From their depths emerged a figure, silent as death. Draped in darkness, his hood obscured his face, revealing nothing but a void where his features should have been. His hand shifted, flesh and bone morphing into razor-sharp claws. The assassin moved with the precision of a predator as he leaned over the sleeping form of Dribbles.
With one fluid motion, Alex slashed the clown's throat.
The moment the claw raked across flesh, Dribbles awoke in a panic, a gurgled cry escaping his lips. But before any sound could fully form, his body convulsed violently. Then, in an instant, his guise shattered like glass, revealing his true form—a monstrous doppelganger.
The creature was tall and unnervingly slender, its gray, hairless skin stretching taut over its elongated frame. Bulging, pupil-less yellow eyes stared in shock, its alien visage contorted in terror. Before it could react further, the shadows within the tent writhed and surged forward, binding the creature’s limbs and muffling any attempt at a scream.
The doppelganger thrashed wildly, clawing at the solidified darkness that pinned it down. Its bulbous head twisted toward Alex, its expression filled with desperation. But it saw no mercy. Instead, tendrils of flesh erupted from Alex’s form, slithering toward the restrained creature like serpents.
The tendrils latched onto the doppelganger’s body, piercing its gray flesh and beginning to consume it from the inside out. The creature’s struggles slowed, its life force drained away until it became nothing. The tendrils retracted, their grotesque feast complete, leaving behind no trace of the monster. The tent, eerily quiet, now appeared untouched—pristine, as though nothing had happened.
Alex melted back into the shadows, vanishing as seamlessly as he had appeared.
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Deep underground, in a cavernous expanse dimly lit by flickering torches, three figures sat near a wooden platform cluttered with discarded clothes, armor fragments, and other tools.
A gnome, a half-elf woman, and a human woman huddled together, their voices conspiring in the thick silence of the cave.
The gnome’s voice, unnaturally deep and guttural, broke the stillness. “Should we move on, sir?”
The half-elf woman, her tone just as monstrous, replied with a hint of unease. “Perhaps. We’ll check one more time, and then head to the Flophouse.”
As they spoke, the shadows around them began to ripple, as if alive. The three figures barely noticed until tendrils of darkness shot forward, wrapping around their throats with the strength of iron chains. Panic flashed across their faces as they clawed at the shadowy binds, their monstrous voices rising in desperation.
“What’s happening?” the human woman gasped, her voice choking off as the shadows tightened their grip.
From the inky void stepped Alex, his presence commanding and cold. His hood concealed his face, but the aura of predation around him was palpable. The figures struggled harder, their strength proving useless against the overwhelming force constraining them.
With a flick of Alex’s wrist, the shadows constricted sharply.
Crack.
Their necks snapped simultaneously, the sound echoing through the cavern. As their lifeless bodies fell to the ground, their disguises dissolved, revealing their true forms—more doppelgangers, their gray-skinned, bulbous-headed visages twisted in final moments of terror.
Alex surveyed the gruesome scene. Blood stained the cavern floor, smeared across jagged stalagmites and pooled beneath broken bodies. Weapons protruded from some of the victims’ corpses, their deaths brutal and violent. The air hung heavy with the stench of carnage.
Kneeling, Alex placed a hand on the ground. Tendrils of flesh emerged from his palm, slithering toward the slain. They worked quickly, repairing the grievous wounds inflicted by the doppelgangers, stitching torn flesh and mending broken limbs. The bodies, once mangled, now appeared whole—still lifeless but no longer desecrated.
He gestured, and the shadows enveloped the restored corpses, pulling them into a pocket dimension where they would wait until he was ready to bring them back to life.
Then Alex turned his attention to the doppelgangers. The tendrils shifted, descending upon the gray-skinned monstrosities and consuming them. As their bodies dissolved, their memories flowed into Alex’s mind like a dark river. Fragments of their lives flashed before him—their orders, their targets, and their purpose.
They were followers of Bhaal, sent here on a mission. The words of one memory resonated sharply in Alex’s thoughts:
Aspirant Dolor is... talented, if a touch careless. The dagger he discarded lurks within these caves somewhere, though I know not where. I can smell it. The fear-musk from his kills stands in the air after the act because he lets them marinate first. They stand-lie-sit stock still as the poison fills their limbs with lead, knowing only two perfect facts:
- They are going to die. - There is nothing they can do about it.
Once he found the dagger he could track Dolor.
Alex approached a cluster of jagged stones, his steps cautious and deliberate. His tremor sense whispered to him, pulsing faintly with the vibrations of something buried beneath the rocks. Dropping into a crouch, he placed his hands on the stones, feeling their cold, rough surfaces. With a slight grunt of effort, he pushed them aside, revealing a hidden object.
There it lay—a dagger of nightmarish design. It exuded an almost tangible aura of dread, as if it had absorbed the suffering of countless victims. The dagger’s sinister craftsmanship became evident as Alex picked it up. Its blade rippled like a serpent’s tongue, a dark green sheen glinting in the faint light. Crimson veins snaked across its surface, glowing faintly as though the weapon itself was alive and pulsing with malice. At the center of the hilt sat a, circular ornament—a skull . Around the skull was a lattice of red dots, glowing a soft, ominous red. The hilt was polished yet gnarled, twisting in jagged ridges . The pommel curved into a sharp claw, as if it hungered to tear into flesh even while at rest.
As Alex held the dagger, a purple aura unfurled around it, shimmering like a phantom mist revealing fragmented visions of its bloody past. Screams echoed faintly in his mind, flashes of lives stolen, terror etched into faces moments before death.
"I’ll need to check the temple above this morning," Alex muttered, his voice low and resolved. He tucked the dagger into his psionic vault, its dark presence now hidden but far from forgotten.
He climbed a craggy rock nearby, scanning the desolate surroundings. Scattered around the area were splintered barrels and crates, their contents long pilfered. The ground bore streaks of blood, trailing ominously toward a small, makeshift enclosure where remnants of a camp were haphazardly strewn about. Alex followed the trail, his sharp gaze taking in the brutal carnage ahead.
Three lifeless forms lay sprawled in the dirt—two men and a boy. Their skin was pale, drained of life, their bodies riddled with wounds that told a story of desperation and violence. The boy’s small hands clutched something tightly even in death—a crumpled letter. Alex crouched by the body, his movements slow and reverent. Gently, he pried the letter from the boy’s lifeless grip and unfolded it. The childlike scrawl tugged at his heart as he read the words:
Dear Missus Priest,
[This letter is written in the careful but erratic hand of a newly-learned writer.]
Mum says I need to say 'thank you' more - so THANK YOU! Thank you for telling off that nasty woman who was shouting all those nasty things at me. That's three times I've wrote 'thank you' now (four!) so I think mum'll be happy. One more thing - did you see my teddy anywhere? I think I dropped it during all the shouting...
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Alex’s throat tightened. The innocence of the note, stood in stark contrast to the horrific scene before him. He carefully folded the letter and tucked it into the boy’s pocket, his expression hardening with unspoken resolve.
He knelt beside them. Tendrils of flesh extended from his hands, weaving through the air before sinking into the corpses. They worked tirelessly, mending the fatal wounds and restoring the lifeless forms to a semblance of peace. When his work was done, the shadows around them stirred, wrapping the bodies in their cool embrace . "You’ll rest for now," Alex murmured, his voice barely audible. "I’ll bring you back soon."
Rising to his feet, Alex scanned the camp for anything else of importance. His eyes fell on another letter, partially buried beneath the splintered remains of a crate. He picked it up and read its contents:
Request for Alms
Please, Father Lorgan, Rector Yannis, if you've any food to spare, our stomachs yowl at night like kicked dogs. Carrots, apples - we'll even crunch an onion if that's what you've got.
Yours,
Thuldra Thuldrin
The desperation etched into the words spoke of a hunger so consuming it had stripped away pride, leaving only raw, unfiltered need. Alex’s jaw clenched as he folded the note and tucked it away. He combed through the rest of the camp, but nothing of greater significance revealed itself. With one last glance at the bloodstained ground, he stepped into the embrace of the shadows, vanishing like a wraith into the void.
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Zeh stumbled backward and collapsed against a wooden fence. The rough wood bit into his back, but he hardly noticed, too consumed by the searing pain that raged through his abdomen. His trembling hands clutched at the dagger embedded deep in his flesh, its cruel blade glinting faintly under the moonlight. The hilt was slick with his blood, the warm liquid trickling between his fingers and pooling at his feet in dark, sticky puddles.
He let out a hoarse gasp, his breaths coming in ragged bursts as though the air itself had turned against him, refusing to fill his collapsing lungs. Each inhale was a struggle, each exhale a whisper of agony. His legs felt weak, as though they might buckle at any moment, but he leaned harder against the fence, willing himself to stay upright. The salty tang of the sea breeze mixed with the metallic taste of blood that lingered in his mouth, and he could faintly hear the rhythmic crash of waves against the beach. It was a hauntingly serene sound, a cruel contrast to the chaos that raged within him.
His gaze flickered upward, searching the night sky as if it might offer solace. The stars twinkled faintly, indifferent to his suffering, their cold beauty a stark reminder of how small and insignificant he felt in this moment.
“Ah… shit… this hurts…” he groaned through gritted teeth. His vision blurred, the edges darkening, but he forced himself to glance ahead. Just a few steps away lay Jhio, his comrade, his friend. The sight struck Zeh harder than the blade in his stomach. Jhio's body was splayed out, face down in a growing pool of crimson.
Zeh swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Jhio…” he croaked, but there was no answer, only the deafening silence of death surrounding him. His shoulders slumped as despair took hold. He groaned again, his voice weaker now, barely a whisper. “Fucking Guild…” The words slipped out bitterly as his knees buckled, sending him collapsing onto the blood-soaked ground.
His body trembled as he felt the cold creeping in, the icy grip of death tugging at his consciousness. His eyelids grew heavy, and he let them close, surrendering to the inevitable. The last fragments of his strength slipped away, leaving him on the brink of the abyss.
And then… warmth.
It was faint at first, a gentle heat blooming in his chest. Zeh’s eyes fluttered open, his vision swimming with golden light. A hooded figure knelt before him, their hand aglow with a radiant energy that seemed almost divine. The pain in his abdomen dulled, then vanished entirely as the figure’s touch mended the torn flesh, knitting his body back together with an almost otherworldly precision. Zeh blinked, disbelief washing over him like a tidal wave.
“T-Thank you…” he muttered, his voice trembling with gratitude and confusion. But his words faltered as the hooded man raised a finger to his forehead. Zeh froze, his mind suddenly clouded with an unfamiliar pressure.
Alex remained silent, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow of his hood. He could feel it—a presence writhing inside the man’s mind, a foreign entity lodged deep within his brain. 'A tadpole,' Alex thought grimly.
Without hesitation, a thin tendril of flesh extended from Alex’s hand, weaving through the air with eerie precision. It slithered behind Zeh’s right eye and in to his head. There, embedded in his brain, was the parasite. It squirmed in panic, sensing the predator that had come for it.
The tendrils coiled around the tadpole, tightening like a vice. Zeh’s body jerked involuntarily as Alex consumed the parasite, devouring it whole and leaving behind nothing but clarity in its absence.
Zeh gasped, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. He clutched his head. The last thing he remembered was dying—a dagger buried in his abdomen, his life slipping away. But now… he was alive. Whole. The bloodied dagger still rested in his trembling hand, but there was no trace of the mortal wound it had inflicted.
Meanwhile, Alex stood in the shadows just beyond Zeh’s sight, his form entirely cloaked in darkness.
“Where’s Jhio?” Zeh asked, his voice cracking. Panic rising in his chest. “He was just there! Where is he?”
With one final glance at the bewildered man he had saved, Alex let the shadows consume him completely. He vanished without a trace, leaving no evidence that he had ever been there, no footprints in the dirt, no whispers on the wind. Zeh, oblivious to the truth of what had happened, staggered forward, clutching the dagger as though it might hold the answers he desperately sought.
But the answers were gone, just as the hooded figure was. Only silence remained.