The pool of blood erupted in a violent spray, sending crimson arcs through the air as Alex emerged, his form towering and monstrous before shifting. The dark armor receded into his flesh, the infernal flames dimming until he stood in his human guise, appearing unnervingly serene. His boots touched the blood-slick floor with an unnatural softness, a stark contrast to the carnage behind him.
Before him loomed Jergal, the ancient scribe of death, once the Lord of the End of Everything. The god’s withered visage was a harrowing sight—a emaciated figure wrapped in fraying robes, his form weathered by untold millennia. His voice echoed like the whispers of the grave, heavy with a Shakespearean gravitas.
"The murdered hath slain the murderer, yet the tale doth not find its end. Nay, not when fragments of his wickedness yet wander this world, two spawn carrying his unholy seed. Be warned, mortal: they harbor the keys to his return, and the hour shall come when their existence stirs the god of slaughter from his silence once more.”
Jergal’s gaze did not waver, though the faintest shadow of approval flickered in his spectral aura.
“Thou hast seen this truth already, hast thou not?"
Alex offered no words, but his silence spoke volumes. His mind, flooded with Bhaal’s memories, had unraveled the god’s contingency plan: a web of scattered essence hidden within his progeny, the Bhaalspawn, ensuring his inevitable resurrection.
Alex finally spoke, his voice low yet resolute. “The albino half-dragon... and Orin the Red.”
Jergal’s cracked lips pulled into a thin semblance of a smile, humorless and foreboding. He gave a solemn nod.
“Aye. The pale wyrm and the crimson butcher. They art thy quarry, yet thou must know—thy heart shall be tested, for the bonds of kinship are sharper than any blade. Tell me, child of ambition, shalt thou possess the mettle to slay a friend, should fate demand it? For in their death lies the eternal silencing of the Lord of Murder.”
Alex’s jaw clenched, but his voice held firm. “There must be another way. If the essence can be stripped from him, then there’s no need to kill him.”
Jergal’s gaze lingered, his expression impassive yet burdened with the weight of eons.
“Naïve hope, yet a noble one. Thou wouldst bargain with the fates for mercy, yet I shall not deceive thee: the albino half-dragon is no mere mortal. Birthed from the foul ichor of Bhaal himself, he is as near to the god as flesh can be.”
Alex stepped forward, and spoke. “Take it,” he said, his tone unwavering. His eyes burned with purpose as he gestured to his chest.
Jergal tilted his head before he raised one gnarled hand. His fingers, skeletal and cold, pressed against Alex’s chest.
The pain was instant and excruciating, like a lance of molten iron piercing his soul. Alex staggered but stood firm as Jergal’s hand plunged into his essence, his spectral fingers curling around the divinity nestled within. Slowly, agonizingly, the it was drawn from Alex’s being. It emerged as a swirling drop of blood, vivid and pulsing with an otherworldly crimson light. Around it danced smaller droplets, orbiting like planets around a dying star.
Jergal held the fragment aloft, his hollow gaze fixating on it as if beholding a curse he had long known.
“And thus, the burden is lifted from thee, yet thy trials art far from over. The blood of murder yet stains this realm, and its echoes call to their own. "
He turned to Alex, his voice softening, though it still carried the weight of inevitability.
“Go forth, bearer of hope and despair. The path thou treadst is steeped in shadows. Remember, thy choices shall carve the fate of gods and mortals alike.”
Without another word, Jergal began to waver. His form flickered like a dying candle before dissolving into a haze of mist. His final words lingered in the air like an epitaph.
“Until the tyrant is undone...”
As the scribe vanished, Alex stood alone in the room of slaughter. He turned, his gaze falling on the pool of blood behind him. What had once been an endless churning sea of carnage now lay still, congealed and lifeless. The whispers of Bhaal’s domain had fallen silent.
The shadows at Alex’s feet began to stir, rippling like dark waters before rising to engulf him. The inky tendrils wrapped around his form, and in a heartbeat, he was gone.
The throne room was left in silence, save for the faint echo of Jergal’s words, reverberating through the void.
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Alex emerged from the shadows, his form solidifying within the dim confines of a tent. The air was heavy, tinged with the scent of old leather . Before him lay a man on a blanket, motionless but imposing even in death. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his skin like obsidian. The man’s face bore the unmistakable likeness of Sarevok Anchev, the Bhaalspawn Alex had confronted and slain at the Murder Tribunal. Yet, this version was older, the lines on his face etched deeper, his presence more profound despite the stillness of death.
Alex knelt by the cot, his expression unreadable. The man’s chest did not rise; his heart was silent, extinguished the moment Alex had struck down his other self. From Alex’s outstretched palm, a faint wisp of light emerged, pulsating like a fragile ember.
It was Sarevok's soul, stripped clean of Bhaal’s vile essence—a purified shard of what the man once was. Alex stared at it for a moment, the wisp flickering gently like it could dissipate at any second. Slowly, deliberately, he guided it toward Sarevok’s chest. The light seemed reluctant, hesitant even, but as it touched the still flesh, it sank beneath the skin, disappearing into the man’s heart.
Alex placed his hand over Sarevok’s chest, his fingers firm and resolute. He began an incantation, his voice low and melodic, laced with a strange fusion of necrotic and divine power. The words carried weight, each syllable resonating like the tolling of a bell.
The tent filled with a soft glow, the air trembling as Alex’s spell reached its peak. A flicker of motion stirred beneath his palm, faint at first, then stronger. Sarevok’s chest rose with a shuddering gasp. But Alex did not stay to see the man awaken.
The shadows around him coiled and writhed, swallowing him whole.
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Alex stepped into a cave, his form emerging like a specter in the dim light. The atmosphere was solemn, reverent even, as his gaze swept over the rows of bodies laid before him. Each corpse was positioned with care, their lifeless forms at peace.
His eyes found familiar faces. Lump the ogre, Glut the myconid sovereign, Lara, and Halsin, their forms preserved but lifeless. Alex’s heart tightened for a moment, but he reminded himself: their souls were here, with him, waiting to return. He felt their essence within him, warm and expectant, like dormant flames yearning to be reignited.
His gaze shifted to another part of the cave. Three tieflings rested in repose, their young faces marred by tragedy. They, too, would soon rise again. But among the rows were others—men and women whose lives had been far more questionable. Corpses he had retrieved from the doppelgangers' lair. Thugs, killers, and brigands. Their hands had been steeped in blood and cruelty.
Alex summoned Phalar Aluve, blade appearing in his hand with a faint hum, its dark steel glinting faintly in the cave’s gloom. The sword’s presence carried an unearthly warmth, a connection to Eilistraee.
He spoke, his voice low and questioning. “Should I bring them back? Even these... who have done nothing but harm in their lives?”
The sword seemed to hum more gently, and her voice—a whisper, light and melodic—spoke in his ear.
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Alex. Even they. Trust in what they may become, not what they were.”
Her words lingered, filling the cavern with a faint sense of hope. Alex nodded, his resolve firm. He knew the thugs could not return unchanged, not without risking the chaos they’d once wrought. But with a touch of memory alteration, a subtle reshaping of their paths, they could be given a chance to live honorable lives.
He turned back to the rows of bodies, his hands glowing with divine power. The light spread, warm and encompassing, illuminating the dark corners of the cave. Alex began the ritual, his voice carrying the weight of purpose. The air grew thick with energy, the barrier between life and death thinning with every word he spoke.
The corpses stirred, their chests rising and falling with hesitant breaths. Fingers twitched, and eyelids fluttered as souls found their way back to their mortal vessels. Each revival was a surge of light and warmth, filling the cave with an almost tangible sense of renewal.
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Alex’s gaze lingered on each face as they returned, one by one. Lump blinked groggily, his heavy brow furrowing in confusion. Glut’s form glowed faintly, revitalized. Lara gasped softly, tears streaking her face as life surged through her once more. Halsin opened his eyes, his expression calm yet filled with gratitude as he looked up at Alex.
The tieflings stirred next, their youthful faces softening as life returned to their weary bodies. Alex allowed himself a moment to feel relief, but his task was far from over. He turned toward the thugs, their forms still lifeless but waiting.
With a final surge of power, Alex raised his hands, and the divine glow intensified, flooding the cave with light. The thugs stirred, their eyes opening, not with malice but with the promise of something new. Alex had given them a chance—not just at life, but at redemption.
As the light faded, Alex lowered his hands, his breathing steady but heavy with the weight of what he had done. Around him, the once-silent cave now hummed with the faint murmurs of the revived, their voices tentative but filled with hope.
There were more to revive, more to mend, and more choices to make. But for now, he had given these souls the gift of another beginning.
The air in the cave grew quiet as Alex waved his hand, dispersing most of the revived individuals . The magical energy carrying them away shimmered like fading stars. Only Lump, Glut, Lara, and Halsin remained, the silence punctuated by soft murmurs and the distant dripping of water.
They turned their attention to Alex, their expressions a mix of gratitude and curiosity. Lump offered a toothy grin, though it was tinged with a bit of shyness. Halsin inclined his head, a serene smile gracing his face. Lara, still unsure of her surroundings, hovered close to Glut, who remained stoic, though Alex could feel the faint pulse of something shifting within the myconid's thoughts.
The cave rumbled softly, and from a nearby tunnel emerged an imposing, armored figure, its thunderous steps reverberating through the cavern. Bullet, approached with surprising gentleness, his massive form radiating an aura of calm. Behind him, four smaller figures—his offspring—trailed, their cautious gazes darting around the group.
Bullet’s massive head nudged Halsin, who smiled warmly and placed a hand on the beast's snout, stroking its rough, armored hide. The druid's touch was calming. Bullet let out a low, rumbling purr, his sharp teeth glinting faintly in the dim light.
The smaller bullet offspring shuffled nervously before approaching cautiously. They hesitated near Lara, who instinctively flinched and stepped closer to Glut.
“Is that… a landshark?” she whispered, eyes wide as she clutched Glut’s arm. “How is it so… friendly?”
“That’s just how he is,” Glut replied matter-of-factly, his voice steady and calm.
Halsin turned to Alex, his deep voice resonating warmly. “Thank you for bringing us back. What a sleep I had.”
“A deathly sleep,” Alex replied, offering a smile.
Halsin chuckled, rubbing his throat as though shaking off the remnants of his time beyond the veil. His gaze shifted to Lump, and his expression softened. “Thank you, my friend, for protecting me.”
Lump, always slightly bashful despite his size, gave a sheepish thumbs-up. “Was nothing,” he mumbled, though the pride in his stance betrayed his modesty.
The group fell into easy conversation as Halsin began recounting his and Lump’s adventures: Lump & Halsin: The Hag Hunters of the Rotten Depths. The tale unfolded with drama, danger, and action.
Lara, her initial wariness fading, leaned forward eagerly. “Wait—what happened next?” she interjected, clearly captivated by the story.
The tension in her posture melted entirely as the bullet pups approached her, nudging her gently with their snouts. She hesitated for a moment, but as their wide, curious eyes gazed up at her, her heart softened. She laughed, a bright, genuine sound, and knelt to stroke their tough hides.
The camaraderie grew, laughter and warmth filling the cave like a hearthfire. But amidst the joy, Alex felt a soft tug on his mind—a telepathic nudge from Glut.
'Can we speak… in private?' Glut’s voice resonated in Alex’s thoughts, steady yet tinged with unease.
Alex nodded subtly, turning to the others. “Glut and I need a moment to talk,” he said, stepping toward the far side of the cave. As they walked, Alex raised his hand, summoning a shimmering purple bubble of silence around them. The spell pulsed gently, cutting off the sounds of the outside world.
Glut’s thoughts came clearly now, unimpeded by the noise of the group. “I have this… strange feeling,” he began, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “It’s like something crawling inside my chest, moving when I’m near the female… Lara.”
Alex raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile creeping across his face. “Do you feel this all the time ?”
“Just when I’m close,” Glut admitted, his form shifting awkwardly. “What is it? A parasite?”
“No, Glut,” Alex said, his smile widening. “You’re in love.”
The revelation made Glut pause, his eyes flickering with confusion. “In love?” he repeated, the concept alien to him.
Alex reached out through their telepathic link, sharing fragmented memories and emotions tied to love—joy, tenderness, the yearning to protect and be near someone special.
Glut’s thoughts stilled for a moment before stirring with understanding. “Yes… that’s it,” he murmured. “This strange feeling—I want to feel more of it. Can you… can you make me human?”
Alex considered the request, the sincerity in Glut’s thoughts undeniable. “If that’s what you truly want, then yes,” he said.
Glut knelt before Alex, his form bowing humbly. From Alex’s arms, tendrils of flesh began to grow, shifting and writhing as they reached out toward Glut. The tendrils sank into the myconid’s chest, intertwining with his essence, reshaping it on a fundamental level.
The transformation was slow and deliberate, Alex’s powers molding Glut’s very being. The purple bubble shimmered, its exterior projecting false sounds of casual conversation to shield the ritual from prying ears. Minutes stretched into eternity as Glut’s body changed—his fungal form giving way to flesh, his features taking shape.
When the bubble finally dissipated, the group turned toward the pair, and a collective gasp rippled through the cave.
Standing beside Alex was Glut, but he was unrecognizable from the stoic myconid they had known. His new form was striking. He was clad in dark blue armor that pulsed faintly with otherworldly energy, the ridges of the armor seeming alive. His face was handsome, with sharp, chiseled features and a confident jawline. His eyes—an entrancing blend of green and pale blue—shone with intelligence and quiet strength, like the reflection of a tranquil sea.
“What the fuck…?” Lump muttered, his massive hands gesturing toward Glut. “What happened to you?”
Lara blinked, her eyes widening in shock before softening with recognition. “Glut…?” she whispered, her voice tentative.
Glut looked at her, his expression now free to convey emotions his former body had never allowed. A small smile graced his lips. “It’s me,” he said softly, his voice warm and human, yet still carrying the steady resonance they had come to know.
Lump stepped closer, squinting. “Why does he look like that now? Alex, what did you do?”
Alex merely smiled, a rare flicker of pride touching his features. “I gave him the chance to be what he wanted to be.”
As the group processed this transformation, the bullet pups bounded over to Glut, sniffing at him curiously before yipping with approval. Even Lara found herself stepping closer, her initial surprise giving way to something warmer.
Lara stepped closer to Glut, her eyes softening as she leaned in and gently kissed his cheek. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but its impact was profound. Glut stood motionless, his newly formed human face awash with an unfamiliar warmth.
Everyone froze, watching as a faint blush bloomed across Glut’s sharp features. The faint, luminescent glow of his armor mirrored the flicker of emotion that crossed his expression.
“Thank you for protecting me,” Lara said softly, her voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. A small smile curved her lips, though her gaze lingered on him, searching.
Glut’s brow furrowed, the smile she offered not reflected in his own expression. Instead, a shadow of regret darkened his face. He glanced away, his hands flexing unconsciously as though trying to grasp an invisible weight.
“I didn’t protect you,” he said quietly. “You still died.” His voice trembled slightly, and his eyes flickered toward Alex in the corner of the cave. “Without him, none of us would be here.”
The raw honesty of his words hung heavily in the air. Lara’s hand brushed against his, her fingers intertwining gently with his trembling ones. She wanted to respond, to soothe him, but as the memories of her death surfaced—her blood pooling around her, the pain, and the faint image of Glut shielding her even as his body was torn—her voice caught in her throat.
She bit her lip, her breathing quickening as the memory of his unwavering loyalty overwhelmed her. She didn’t need words to remember the courage it took for him to stand between her and certain death.
A faint nudge broke the silence as one of Bullet’s pups nosed at her leg, wagging its stubby tail. The small creature tilted its head, its bright eyes curious, oblivious to the emotional tension in the air. Lara glanced down, her lips trembling before a smile broke through, fragile yet genuine.
“Lara,” Glut said, his voice firmer this time.
She looked up, her watery eyes locking onto his.
“Look at me,” he repeated, his gaze steady, his new human voice carrying a weight that was almost foreign to his earlier, telepathic tones.
Her breath hitched as she met his gaze, the vulnerability in her expression reflected in his.
“I love you,” he said simply.
Lara’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock. For a moment, she said nothing, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson. Her hands loosened their hold on his, trembling as her knees gave way.
“Lara!” Glut shouted, panic seizing him as she began to fall.
Halsin moved with the reflexes of a seasoned warrior, stepping behind Lara and catching her easily before she could hit the stone floor. The druid cradled her carefully, his voice calm and reassuring. “She’s fine,” he said, addressing Glut’s wide-eyed concern.
“Are you sure?” Glut asked, his voice trembling again.
Halsin chuckled softly, laying Lara gently on a nearby sleeping bag. “The girl’s exhausted,” he explained, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Being revived takes a toll. Not all of us share your inhuman endurance, my friend.”
Glut stood silently, watching as Lara’s face relaxed into a peaceful slumber.
Halsin placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She’ll wake up soon, good as new,” he said with a knowing smile. “Then, you can tell her again—without worrying about her fainting this time.”
A faint smile tugged at Glut’s lips, his nerves settling. “I will,” he promised, his voice quiet but resolute.
The tender moment was interrupted by Alex’s calm voice cutting through the group’s attention. “I have to go.”
All eyes turned toward him as he raised a hand. Supplies materialized around them in neat bundles: food, canteens, sleeping bags, and tents. The gesture was as effortless as it was considerate.
“Bullet will guide you out of the cave when you’re ready,” Alex continued, his tone firm but not unkind. “I’ll see you all soon.”
Before anyone could respond, shadows twisted around Alex’s form, swallowing him whole. He vanished, leaving the cave dimmer in his absence.
The silence that followed was broken by Lump, who wandered over to Glut. He squinted at his transformed companion, his massive fingers reaching out to prod Glut’s face.
“Is this an illusion?” Lump asked, poking Glut’s cheek.
Glut swatted Lump’s hand away, his exasperation flaring. “No, it’s my face,” he snapped. “And keep your filthy fingers off it!”
The others burst into laughter at the exchange, the tension of the earlier moments dissipating into warm camaraderie. Even Bullet let out a low, rumbling sound, his offspring yipping in mimicry.
Glut, still blushing faintly, turned back toward Lara’s sleeping form. His hand hovered above her for a moment before pulling away, his resolve hardening. “I’ll wait,” he muttered softly to himself.