Alex knelt by the decayed remnants of what was once a living, breathing person. The damp air hung heavy with the sour stench of decomposition, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest floor. His gaze softened, but his determination hardened as he stared at the mangled body—a broken testament to a, untimely death.
In his hand, the bracelet hummed with a faint, otherworldly vibration, tendrils of purple energy spiraling outward like a heartbeat seeking its source. His voice, low and steady, broke the silence.
"This is the little girl’s mother," Alex murmured, his throat tightening with both pity and resolve. "But she can be brought back. I hope."
Gently, he placed his hand on what remained of the woman. The forest had been unforgiving—her body ravaged by nature, and predators. One arm and a leg were missing, jagged stumps . Her abdomen lay torn open, entrails long devoured, leaving a hollow cavern where life once thrived. Only her head, marred but intact, gave him the anchor he needed to begin.
From Alex’s hand, dark tendrils of interwoven flesh unfurled like sinister vines, writhing as they sank into the dead tissue. The grotesque scene unfolded in silence, the tendrils slithering and knitting through the body, regrowing muscle and bone, reconstructing what had been torn apart. Limbs re-formed, sinew pulling taut over fresh bone. Hollow cavities filled with new organs, pulsing faintly as if remembering their purpose.
Finally, with the body restored to an eerily serene stillness, Alex retracted his tendrils. He gazed at the woman lying before him, her lifeless face unmarred by pain or suffering, as if she had merely drifted into a dreamless sleep.
But his work was far from over.
Raising his hand, Alex called forth a maelstrom of necrotic energy. Swirling darkness gathered around him, coalescing into dense waves of magic that flickered with faint, unnatural light. He closed his eyes, the weight of his intent pressing down on him as he began the arduous process of casting Raise Dead.
“Make sure I’m not disturbed,” Alex commanded Glut, his voice strained but resolute.
Glut’s blue-armored figure stood vigil, his glowing form unwavering. “Understood,” he replied, his eyes scanning the shadowy surroundings for any sign of danger.
Minutes turned to agonizing moments, every second stretching as Alex channeled the powerful spell. The air grew colder, the atmosphere heavier, as though the forest itself held its breath in anticipation. His hands trembled under the weight of the magic, but he pressed on, his lips moving in a steady incantation.
The process was grueling, but Alex refused to falter. At last, thirty-six minutes later—an achievement in itself—the final syllable left his lips, and the spell completed.
The woman’s chest rose sharply, her body convulsing for a moment as life flooded back into her veins. Her eyes fluttered open, wide and glassy, searching as if awakening from a nightmare. She gasped, a hoarse, ragged sound that echoed in the silence, her trembling hand instinctively reaching for her throat.
Her gaze locked onto Alex, confused and disoriented, and tears welled in her eyes. She attempted to speak, her voice cracking with weakness.
“W-Where... am I?” she whispered, her words barely audible.
“You’re safe,” Alex said softly, his voice warm yet heavy with exhaustion. “Your daughter is waiting for you.”
Her lips quivered, tears streaming down her face as the weight of the words sank in. She brought a shaky hand to her face, as though confirming she was alive, whole. The realization overwhelmed her, and she broke into quiet sobs, her body trembling with relief and disbelief.
Alex, weary but resolute, reached out and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Rest now,” he said gently. “You’ve been given a second chance.”
The forest, eerily silent throughout the ritual, seemed to exhale, a soft breeze rustling through the trees as though nature itself acknowledged the gravity of what had just occurred.
Alex allowed the woman a moment to absorb the gravity of her resurrection. She blinked, her breaths shallow and uneven, as if struggling to accept that she was alive once more. He watched in silence, giving her the time and space to come to terms with the incomprehensible.
Finally, her lips parted, and her voice trembled with urgency. “My Yenna… Is she alright?” Her thin fingers clutched at his arm, her eyes wide and brimming with desperation.
Alex met her gaze, his tone calm and reassuring. “She’s fine. One of my companions is watching over her as we speak.”
At his words, the woman’s grip loosened, her body collapsing inward as she began to sob quietly. Each muffled cry seemed to carry the weight of all her fears, regrets, and sorrow. Alex remained still, letting her release her emotions, offering silent solidarity. The forest around them seemed to echo with her grief, the whispers of leaves amplifying her pain.
When her tears subsided, she wiped at her face with trembling hands and looked at him, her cheeks red and eyes swollen. “I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said, her voice thick with shame. “I shouldn’t have acted like that after what you’ve done for me.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Alex replied gently. “You’ve been through more than anyone should. I understand.”
She nodded faintly, gratitude flickering in her weary expression. Alex decided it was time to press on.
“Your daughter told me what happened to you. That you got sick, with spots appearing all over your body. Do you remember how it happened? How you got sick?” Alex asked, leaning in slightly.
The woman’s face grew taut, her features twisting as if she were reliving something dreadful. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap, her voice faltering as she began. “It was after a long day of work. I was exhausted, barely able to walk, stumbling my way back home.”
Her gaze turned distant, eyes unfocused, as she recounted the moment. “I wasn’t paying attention and bumped into an old woman on the road. She looked at me, her face soft with pity, and said I looked terribly tired. She told me I needed something to help, to invigorate me.”
The woman paused, her lips pressing into a thin line. “She reached into her bag and pulled out a small bottle, placing it in my hands before I could refuse. I tried to give it back, told her I didn’t have any money to pay for it, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted it was free—she said it was a gift.”
Her voice cracked, bitterness seeping into her words. “And I was stupid enough to drink it.”
Alex listened intently, his brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
“The potion worked,” she admitted, her tone laced with anguish. “It made me feel amazing, more alive than I’d ever felt. I could’ve worked all day and run to the other side of Baldur’s Gate and back without breaking a sweat.” Her voice dropped, the memory clearly painful. “But the feeling only lasted for a few days. After that, everything went wrong. My strength faded, my body weakened. Each day was worse than the one before. Soon, I couldn’t even stand to work.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks again, but she didn’t stop. “Then the spots started showing up—on my hands, my face, everywhere. That’s when I knew. I knew my end was near.”
She brought her trembling hands to her chest, her fingers curling against her heart as fresh sobs wracked her frame. “I couldn’t bear for Yenna to see me like that. I lied to her. Told her I’d be fine, that I was just going to get some herbs to feel better.” She choked back another cry. “But I knew I wasn’t coming back. I walked into the forest because… I couldn’t let her watch me die.”
A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the quiet sounds of her weeping and the soft rustle of leaves. Alex lowered his gaze, his chest tight with the weight of her confession. He allowed the moment to linger, his mind racing through the implications of her story—the mysterious potion, the cruelty of its effects, and the agony of a mother’s sacrifice.
Finally, he reached out, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. “You made a choice out of love,” he said softly. “You wanted to protect her. That kind of love isn’t weakness—it’s strength.”
The woman lifted her tear-streaked face to him, her eyes searching his for reassurance. “But I left her all alone,” she whispered.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Alex replied firmly. “Neither is Yenna. You have a chance now to be with her again.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, and for the first time, a flicker of hope crossed her face. The scars of her ordeal would remain, but now, so too would the chance to heal.
"Before we head back to Rivington, can you remember how that old lady looked?" Alex asked.
Alex watched the woman closely, his eyes narrowing slightly as she paused to recall the details of the old lady. Her hesitation spoke volumes, her brow furrowing as she pieced together the memory.
“She wore a green dress,” she finally said, her voice tinged with unease. “It looked as though it had seen better days, frayed at the edges. And her eyes…” She trailed off, a shiver coursing through her. “Her eyes sparkled with an unsettling kindness. Like she knew something you didn’t. Something… wrong.”
Alex nodded thoughtfully, his mind already spinning with possibilities. He leaned forward, carefully wrapping his arms around the woman to help her stand. She stiffened at first, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks, but he paid it no mind. His focus was elsewhere—on the implications of her story and the threads connecting her tragedy to something far more sinister.
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'That hag is alive,' Alex thought grimly, his lips pressing into a hard line. His grip on the woman tightened slightly as if grounding himself in the reality of her survival. He would see her and Yenna safe, but vengeance brewed silently in the back of his mind.
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Meanwhile, Shadow was quietly trailing Yenna through the bustling streets of Rivington, keeping to the shadows as he moved. The girl seemed blissfully unaware of the many eyes following her, including his own. Grub, her scruffy red cat, padded loyally by her side, occasionally rubbing against her legs for attention.
Yenna darted from stall to stall, her small frame barely visible amidst the chaos of the market. Her tiny arms struggled to carry the growing pile of food she was purchasing—bread, dried meats, a few limp vegetables. Shadow couldn’t help but notice that she was being overcharged at nearly every stall. Her young, trusting nature made her an easy mark, and some vendors took full advantage, charging her double, even triple the usual price.
Shadow's sharp gaze flicked to a few kinder merchants who offered her fairer deals. Their looks of pity spoke louder than their words, but even they couldn’t lower their prices enough to make her purchases reasonable.
She finally stumbled her way back to her home, a dilapidated shack on the edge of the district. The building leaned precariously to one side, its wooden planks rotted and warped. The door barely clung to its hinges, and as she approached, she had to shoulder it open with considerable effort. Grub trotted in first, tail high, while Yenna followed, her arms still laden with food.
Inside, the place was even worse. The walls were bare, the floor uneven and littered with scraps of cloth and broken furniture. Yenna sat down heavily on the floor, pulling out a smoked sausage and tearing into it with an eagerness born of hunger. Grub meowed loudly, and Yenna giggled, tearing off a piece for him.
Shadow remained outside, his form melting into the darkness of the alley as he continued to observe. That’s when he sensed it—a figure moving toward the shack, their presence sharp and deliberate.
His crimson eyes narrowed, and he pressed himself deeper into the shadows, his instincts kicking into high gear. Yenna, oblivious to the approaching danger, continued to eat, laughing softly as Grub gnawed at his treat.
'Finally,' Shadow thought, a sly grin tugging at his lips as he readied himself. 'Looks like it’s my time to eat something too.'
The shadows around him thickened as he prepared to strike, his form blending seamlessly into the darkness. Whoever was approaching would soon learn that this little girl was not as vulnerable as she seemed.
Shadow moved silently, his presence like a predator stalking prey. The figure ahead was oblivious—or so Shadow thought. Just as his clawed hand reached out, ready to snatch the figure’s ankle and drag them into the consuming darkness, the stranger suddenly darted to the side. The movement was quick, unnaturally so, as if driven by something beyond human reflexes.
The figure spun, revealing a wicked crimson dagger that gleamed ominously under the faint light. Its hilt was adorned with intricate carvings, and a blood-red gem pulsed like a beating heart in its center. Shadow froze, his predatory instincts flaring at the sight of the blade.
The figure began to speak, its voice unsteady and fevered. The words spilled forth in a deranged jumble, barely coherent but dripping with malice. "The shadows are restless! They creep and crawl… oh, how they hunger! But I will not be devoured—no, no, no!”
Shadow paid little heed to the ramblings. Instead, he stayed hidden, melting deeper into the surrounding darkness. His form became indistinct, a wraith in the gloom, and he prepared for another strike.
But the figure laughed—a chilling, guttural sound that echoed like the scrape of nails on metal. "Oh, so you want to play hide-and-seek? I hate hide-and-seek." The figure’s head tilted unnaturally, their smile stretching too wide. Then, with a sickening hiss, they hurled the dagger.
The crimson blade shot through the air, twisting unnaturally as if alive, and plunged into the shadows where Shadow lurked. He didn’t have time to react; the blade sank into his side, searing pain radiating outward as if the dagger were scorching his very essence. A gasp escaped him, unbidden, as the weapon tore through flesh and darkness alike.
The dagger, slick with his blood, wrenched itself free and flew back into the figure’s waiting hand. They caught it with reverence, licking the blade with a grotesque eagerness. “Mmm, shadows taste so...bitter,” they whispered, their eyes glinting with sadistic glee before it spat to the side.
Shadow gritted his teeth, suppressing a growl as he retreated further into the dark. His form flickered, struggling to hold its usual cohesion. The wound burned with an unnatural red aura that pulsed like an open flame, searing him from the inside out. His regeneration, his lifeline, faltered against the dagger's wicked enchantment.
The figure began to pace, their deranged laughter filling the air. “Oh, you’re bleeding. Yes, yes, I can feel it—your life, your power, draining away. Do you like my little toy?” They held the dagger aloft, the blood-red gem glowing brighter now, feeding off the pain it had inflicted.
Shadow’s breathing was labored, his usually invincible form trembling as he struggled to recover. His mind raced. This wasn’t an ordinary adversary. That dagger—it wasn’t just a weapon. It was something alive, something hungry.
With a snarl, Shadow forced himself to focus, the wound still leaking his essence. The red aura fought against him, biting into his soul like a venomous leech. But he wasn’t done. No, this predator wasn’t ready to bow to prey—not yet.
“You think you’ve won?” he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. The shadows around him thickened, responding to his call. “You’ll regret ever stepping into my darkness.”
The figure stopped pacing, their grin widening as they raised the dagger again. “Oh, but the darkness is where I thrive! Come, little shadow—let’s bleed you dry.”
The air crackled with tension as Shadow emerged fully from the veil of darkness, his form a hulking, shadow-draped terror reminiscent of a hunter from a nightmare. His body shifted fluidly, shadow tendrils writhing along his limbs like living weapons. His glowing eyes locked onto the figure, burning with fury and resolve.
The stranger tilted their head, their unhinged grin widening. "Oh, what a beast you are! Let’s see how much you bleed, shadow-creature."
Shadow didn’t wait for more taunts. He lunged forward with the force of a thunderclap, his clawed fist crashing down where the stranger stood. The ground shattered under the impact, sending shards of earth and stone flying. But the figure was gone, having moved faster than the eye could follow.
From behind him, the figure’s deranged voice echoed. “You’ll have to be faster than that, shadow!”
Shadow spun, his shadow tendrils lashing out like serpents. They struck with deadly precision, forcing the stranger to dodge and weave. One tendril finally caught the figure’s arm, wrapping around it like a constrictor. Shadow yanked them forward, slamming them into the ground with bone-crushing force.
The stranger let out a grunt, their form momentarily stunned. But they laughed through the pain, crimson energy erupting from their body. The dagger in their hand pulsed, and with a slash, they severed the tendril binding them.
Shadow charged again, his form a blur of motion . But somehow the stranger dodged and even found an opening.
The stranger slashed upward with the crimson dagger, aiming for Shadow’s chest. Shadow blocked with a shadowy arm that morphed into a thick shield, absorbing the blow but not without a deep gash bleeding darkness. He retaliated with a sweeping kick, his leg morphing mid-strike into a spiked mass. The blow connected, sending the stranger hurtling into a nearby boulder, shattering it on impact.
“Impressive,” the figure spat, wiping a trail of blood from their mouth. The crimson gem in the dagger glowed brighter, and their wounds began to close.
Shadow growled, feeling his own wounds fighting to regenerate against the red aura sapping his strength. He lunged once more, his fists transforming into massive hammer-like constructs, slamming down with a deafening roar.
The stranger dodged again, but this time Shadow anticipated it. A shadow tendril burst from the ground, impaling the figure through their side. They screamed, crimson energy erupting violently as they staggered back.
“That hurt,” the stranger hissed, clutching their side. They glanced down at the wound, the blood dripping onto the ground. “You’ve got bite, beast. But let’s see how you handle this.”
The dagger left their hand, flying like a living missile toward Shadow. It spun mid-air, glowing with ominous energy, before slamming into his chest. The force of the blow sent him skidding back, shadows peeling away from his form like smoke.
Shadow staggered but didn’t fall. He grabbed the dagger embedded in his chest, tendrils wrapping around it to pull it free. The gem pulsed violently, resisting his efforts, but with a guttural roar, he yanked it out and hurled it aside. The effort left him drained, his shadowy form flickering as the crimson aura continued to sap his strength.
The stranger was visibly weakened, their movements slower, their breathing ragged. Yet they still grinned, their madness undeterred. They raised a trembling hand, the dagger flying back into their grasp. “You’ve been a fun plaything,” they rasped. “But it’s time we part ways.”
Before Shadow could press his advantage, the figure paused, their grin faltering. They glanced around, as if sensing something unseen. “Ah… it seems I’ve lingered too long.”
Shadow, despite his injuries, prepared to attack again, but the figure’s form began to shimmer and distort. Their body dissolved into red particles, scattering into the wind like embers from a dying fire.
Shadow staggered forward, swiping futilely at the dissipating form. His claws passed through the lingering crimson mist, his prey escaping. The clearing fell silent, save for the sound of Shadow’s labored breaths.
He dropped to one knee, clutching his chest where the dagger had struck. The shadow covering his body flickered weakly, struggling to maintain itself. Despite the pain and the loss, a growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat. The figure may have escaped, but they didn’t leave unscathed.
“This isn’t over,” Shadow muttered, his voice low and menacing. Then, he disappeared back into the darkness.
The Flaming Fist patrol came rushing down the dirt path, their boots crunching against the gravel as they spread out defensively, weapons drawn. The aftermath of the battle before them was staggering. Deep claw marks gouged the ground, creating trenches that radiated outward from the center of the chaos. The cracked earth looked like it had been struck by a meteor, and dark pools of blood shimmered ominously in the light. The smell of iron and churned dirt filled the air, mingling with the faint, acrid scent of scorched magic.
"What in the Nine Hells happened here?" one of the soldiers muttered, his voice tight with unease. His grip on his sword tightened, knuckles white, as his eyes darted nervously across the scene. The eerie quiet that followed the battle only made the devastation more surreal.
They moved cautiously, their formation tightening as they approached the dilapidated barn at the heart of the chaos. Its wooden walls were sagging, the door hanging askew on rusted hinges. Inside, they found a little girl sitting amidst the hay and shadows, her small body trembling as she hugged her red-furred cat tightly to her chest. Tears streamed silently down her freckled cheeks, soaking into the cat’s fur as it purred softly, trying to comfort her.
One of the Flaming Fist soldiers stepped forward, crouching low to meet her eye level. His voice softened, shedding the gruffness of a hardened warrior. "Are you alright, little miss?" he asked, his tone careful, almost pleading.
The girl didn’t answer immediately. Her wide, tear-filled eyes flickered to him, her expression lost and hollow, as though she were still trapped in the nightmare of what had just happened. Finally, she gave a small nod, her grip on her cat tightening.
The soldier’s heart ached at the sight, but he knew they couldn’t linger here. He exchanged a glance with his comrades, who nodded in grim understanding. As they prepared to search the rest of the area, their attention snapped to movement in the distance.
A group of figures approached. The Flaming Fist soldiers tensed, raising their weapons instinctively. But as the figures drew closer, it became clear they were adventurers.
At the center of the group was a man carrying a woman in his arms. Her face pale as a corpse, but her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Her red hair and the rest of her features bore an unmistakable resemblance to the little girl in the barn.