The room on the upper floor was dimly lit, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. Karlach stepped in first, her heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor, her laughter loud and carefree. "Baby, I can't wait to ride you tonight—" Her voice faltered mid-sentence as her gaze landed on the figure standing in the center of the room. Her playful smile melted into a snarl, her fiery eyes narrowing as her muscles tensed.
"Mizora," Karlach growled, her voice a dangerous rumble that carried the heat of her draconic blood. The air around her seemed to heat up.
Wyll followed close behind, his sharp eyes instantly locking onto the fiend in the room. His anger was palpable, his fists clenching tightly at his sides as his jaw tightened. “What do you want?” he demanded, his voice steady but edged with fury.
Mizora stood in the center of the room, her infernal beauty as striking as ever. Her skin seemed to shimmer in the low light, and her sly smile only deepened as she flicked a lock of her silky hair over her shoulder. "After all the effort I went to track you down," she began mockingly, her voice smooth like poisoned honey, "this is the gratitude I receive? Tsk, tsk, little pup."
Wyll’s eyes darkened, his hands twitching with barely restrained anger. "Answer the question. Why are you here?"
Mizora’s eyes glimmered with amusement as she took a step closer, her gaze lingering on Wyll’s new, eye. “Oh, don’t be so serious,” she purred, tracing a delicate claw along the air between them. "I simply wanted your attention, nothing more. And you’ll be glad to give it.”
Karlach crossed her arms, her gaze hard and unwavering. "Get to the point, Mizora."
The devil’s smile widened, sharp and wicked. “You see,” she said casually, inspecting her nails as though the matter was trivial, “Gortash has had your father… relocated.”
Wyll stiffened, his entire body going rigid as the weight of her words hit him like a hammer. “Where have they taken him?” he asked, his voice low and deadly serious.
Mizora tilted her head, pretending to ponder the question. “Now, now, I’m just an impartial observer in this little game. Gortash’s game, I might add. A murderous one, from what I hear.” She smirked as she saw Wyll’s jaw tighten, his gaze falling to the floor as her words sank in.
"Your father is as good as dead, pup. And to think,” Mizora said, her tone dripping with mock sympathy, “there’s no way to save him.”
Wyll’s head snapped up, his fists trembling at his sides. “You’re lying,” he growled, his voice like a storm brewing.
“Am I?” Mizora’s smirk deepened, her sharp teeth glinting. “Or…” She trailed off, her gaze drifting to the side with theatrical flair.
“You know something,” Wyll declared, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "Tell me what you know!"
Mizora’s laugh was light and airy, utterly devoid of warmth. “I know enough,” she said cryptically, her dark eyes gleaming.
Karlach’s draconic eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Of course, you’ve dreamed up some scheme. What are you planning, devil?” she demanded, her voice a low growl.
Mizora raised a hand, her fingers beginning to glow with infernal light. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with dark energy as she began to chant. “Sorores surge. Testis esto pacti mei.” Her voice was melodic and ominous, the syllables of Infernal rolling off her tongue with practiced ease.
The floor trembled, and with a burst of flame, two fiery summoning circles appeared behind Karlach and Wyll. From the flames emerged two cambion women, their appearances as striking as Mizora’s. Their skin was the color of molten gold, their horns curling elegantly above their heads, and their wings unfurled with a flourish, their tips glowing faintly with ember-like light.
“Come, Sisters,” Mizora intoned, gesturing to the newcomers. “Be my testament. Notum sit in Baator.”
“Notum sit in Baator,” the two cambions echoed in unison, their voices eerily harmonious. Their golden eyes glinted with cold, detached interest as they folded their arms, their wings rustling softly.
Wyll’s face drained of color as he recognized them. “The Sisters of Justice,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with dread. “Adjudicators of diabolical contracts and bargains.” His hands trembled as he whispered, “Holy Hells.”
Karlach’s fists burned with smoldering heat. She took a step forward, her draconic eyes locked on Mizora. “Just what are you up to, devil?” she demanded, her voice laced with fury.
Mizora didn’t answer immediately, her lips curling into a knowing smirk as she reveled in their unease. Finally, she turned to Wyll, her voice as smooth and venomous as ever. “Why, I’m here to help, of course.” She gestured to the Sisters. “You see, dear Wyll, no contract is ended without sacrifice. If you want your father back, we must bargain.”
With a wave of her hand, an infernal contract appeared in the air before them. Its dark parchment glowed ominously, the blood-red script pulsating as though alive. A quill floated beside it, its tip dripping with a faintly smoking liquid.
“Your contract, Wyll,” Mizora said, her voice taking on a more formal tone. “Signed in blood, forged in fire, bound in bone—but not unbreakable. Yet, as always, the cost must be paid.”
The room grew hotter, flames licking up around Mizora and the Sisters as their wings spread wide, casting dark shadows that danced on the walls. Mizora’s smile widened, her sharp teeth glinting in the fiery glow as she watched Wyll wrestle with the impossible decision before him.
Karlach stepped closer to Wyll, her eyes blazing as flames licked around her clenched fists. Her voice was low, steady, but trembled with fury. “Don’t let her bait you, Wyll. Think this through. Whatever she’s offering, it’s not worth the price.”
Mizora chuckled, her eyes glowing with malice as she spread her arms, basking in the tension she had created. “Wyll Ravengard,” she said, her voice silky and commanding, “a choice lies before you.” Her gaze burned into him as she listed his options.
“Option one: I show you the way to your father. I ensure no harm comes to him—except at the hands of you or your allies, of course. But in exchange, you pledge your soul to me and the Archdevil Zariel in a pact eternal.” Her lips curled into a mockingly sweet smile.
“Option two: I break your pact. You’re free, unbound from your duty, unshackled from me. But your father dies, struck down by his enemies, and Baldur’s Gate loses its greatest champion.”
She leaned in slightly, her voice dripping with false pity. “Name your sacrifice.”
Wyll froze, his fists trembling at his sides as he processed her words. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, his silence heavy with anguish.
“Bloody Zariel, I won’t let her take Wyll!” Karlach roared, flames igniting fully around her, the heat rolling off her body in waves as she glared at Mizora with unbridled fury.
Mizora smirked, unfazed. “Silence, Karlach,” she hissed, her tone sharp and cutting. “Sooner or later, your time will come too. Do you think Zariel will let you go so easily? You’re hers, body and soul, no matter how much you resist.”
Karlach snarled, the fire in her veins raging hotter. “Mizora, you godsdamned arsehole—”
“Ah, ah.” Mizora’s smirk widened as she interrupted. “And as a little bonus,” she said, her tone teasing, “if Wyll signs the contract, I’ll make sure you, Karlach, remain by his side. Isn’t that sweet?”
Karlach scoffed, her voice like a growl of thunder. “Zariel can send every devil in the Nine Hells after me. I’d rather burn alive than go back to that cursed place!”
Wyll’s fists tightened, his nails digging into his palms as he took a hesitant step forward. His feet felt impossibly heavy, as though every step dragged him closer to a precipice.
“Wyll, what are you doing?” Karlach asked, her voice tinged with desperation.
Wyll offered her a sad, broken smile, the kind that spoke of a man already resigned to his fate. He reached for the quill, his fingers trembling as they hovered over it. Mizora’s smile widened into a savage grin, the triumph in her expression unmistakable.
But just as his fingers grazed the quill, the infernal contract flickered and vanished. The parchment and quill disappeared in a swirl of glowing embers, snuffed out like a dying flame.
Mizora’s smile faltered, confusion flashing across her face. “What in the Nine Hells?” she spat, her eyes darting around the room. Suddenly, glowing ethereal swords, radiant with holy power, plunged into her body from every angle. She screamed, her voice shrill and piercing as her body convulsed.
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From the shadows emerged Alex, his smirk sharp and dangerous. His figure was imposing, his confidence radiating like a beacon. "Finally caught you," he said, his voice calm yet brimming with quiet menace.
Infernal chains, black as midnight and glowing faintly with runes, shot from his hands and wrapped tightly around Mizora’s writhing form. The chains constricted her, burning her skin and nullifying any attempt to call upon her magic.
Mizora’s eyes darted to the shadows, panic flashing in them for the first time. She opened her mouth to speak, but her voice was drowned out by the hum of the chains tightening.
Alex glanced at the two Sisters of Justice, who had already retreated to the Hells in silence. “Cowards,” he muttered, before turning his attention back to Wyll. He placed a firm hand on Wyll’s shoulder, his expression softening slightly. “I have something important to tell you,” he said, his eyes glinting as he turned to Mizora. “But first, I have to deal with this pest. Once and for all.”
He strode toward Mizora, his gaze cold and unyielding. She struggled against the chains, her wings flapping weakly, her body battered and bleeding from the radiant swords still embedded in her.
“How?” she rasped, blood dripping from her lips. “How is Wyll not dead? The contract should have killed him !”
Alex smirked darkly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Because the contract doesn’t exist anymore.” He leaned closer, his tone mocking. “I ate it.”
Mizora’s eyes widened in shock. “You… you what?” she stammered.
“Not the smartest move,” Alex said, his smirk deepening, “bringing Wyll’s contract into plain sight where I could get to it.”
Mizora laughed, though it was hollow and desperate. “You’ve made a grave mistake,” she hissed. “When I return to the Hells, I’ll ensure it’s the last mistake you ever make.”
Alex’s hand shot out, gripping her throat and lifting her off the ground with ease. Mizora clawed at his arm, but the chains around her tightened further, cutting off any chance of resistance.
“This is the end for you, Mizora,” Alex said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion. His chest opened up, revealing the glowing orb embedded within, its surface swirling with chaotic energy—an amalgamation of light, darkness, and raw power. The orb pulsed, radiating an unnatural hunger that seemed to drain the very air around it.
Dark tendrils of flesh shot out from Alex’s arm, piercing into Mizora’s body. She screamed, the sound shrill and filled with pure terror as the tendrils burrowed deeper, siphoning her strength and essence. Her infernal power flared desperately, but every spark of magic was absorbed by the orb in Alex’s chest, leaving her helpless.
“Stop! If you let me live, I’ll give you everything!” Mizora pleaded, her voice cracking with desperation. “Power, money, fame—anything you want! Just let me go!” Her gaze was fixed on the orb, her fear palpable as she felt her very soul being pulled toward it.
Alex’s expression didn’t change. His eyes were as cold as stone, unyielding and merciless. “You’ve taken enough,” he said simply, his voice as steady as a judge passing final judgment.
Mizora’s screams grew weaker, her body trembling as the tendrils consumed her fully. Her skin faded, her form disintegrating into ash that was absorbed into the orb. Her soul, a faint, glowing wisp, was drawn into the swirling chaos within the orb. For a brief moment, it flared brightly before being extinguished entirely.
The room fell silent.
Alex stood still, his chest slowly closing as the light from the orb dimmed. He turned to Wyll, his face unreadable.
“It’s done,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with finality. “She’s gone. You are now free Wyll . "
Wyll’s reaction was far from what Alex had anticipated. His hands shot forward, seizing Alex by the collar with surprising force.
“What have you done?!” Wyll’s voice cracked with anger, his face just inches from Alex’s. His eyes, usually so composed, burned with desperation and fury. “What will happen to my father?! Tell me!”
Karlach’s eyes widened as she quickly moved in, wrapping her strong arms around Wyll and pulling him back before things could escalate further.
“What’s gotten into you?!” she demanded, her voice tinged with disbelief as she struggled to keep him restrained. Wyll fought against her hold, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but her grip didn’t falter.
Alex stood silently for a moment, adjusting his collar and regarding Wyll with a mix of pity and exasperation. Then, he sighed deeply.
“Why are you so eager to throw away your soul?” Alex asked, his tone calm but laced with disappointment. “Don’t you realize how precious it is?”
“I’d give up my soul a hundred times over if it means saving my father!” Wyll shouted, his voice breaking under the weight of his conviction.
Alex’s gaze softened, his eyes meeting Wyll’s with something close to understanding. He let the silence linger for a moment, letting the weight of Wyll’s words settle in the air. Then, he spoke again, his voice steady and measured.
“You don’t see it, do you?” Alex said, taking a step closer.
Wyll froze, his struggles against Karlach easing slightly as his brows furrowed in confusion.
“You’re the son of the Grand Duke, Wyll,” Alex continued, his voice quiet yet firm. “Don’t you understand what that means? Your soul isn’t just a bargaining chip—it’s a crown jewel. It’s leverage. Mizora, and by extension Zariel, saw the value in that. They needed you tied to them, bound by a contract.”
Wyll stared at Alex, still breathing heavily but now visibly shaken.
“What if Mizora—or Zariel—ordered you to reclaim your title as the Grand Duke’s heir?” Alex asked, his piercing gaze locking onto Wyll.
“They can’t,” Wyll muttered, shaking his head. “The contract said nothing about giving them control over me.”
“The old contract,” Alex corrected. “Yes, the one you originally signed may not have given them that power. But the one Mizora just offered? The one you were about to sign tonight? That would have made you their dog, Wyll. Their pawn in whatever infernal scheme they had planned.”
The color drained from Wyll’s face as the truth began to sink in. He took an unsteady step back, his knees threatening to buckle.
“They were playing you,” Alex continued, his voice gentler now but no less firm. “They were counting on your desperation to blind you to the fine print. You weren’t just saving your father—you were selling yourself to be a weapon for the Hells. A tool they could use whenever and however they saw fit.”
Wyll’s lips trembled as he looked down, his hands falling limply to his sides. For the first time in years, the Blade of Frontiers looked utterly defeated.
Alex walked up to him and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll discuss more tomorrow,” Alex said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of a promise. “Do not worry, Wyll. We will save your father. I swear it.”
Wyll nodded weakly, unable to speak.
As Alex turned to leave, he exchanged a brief glance with Karlach. “Good night,” he said softly before disappearing through the doorway, the shadows swallowing him whole.
Karlach kept her arms loosely around Wyll, watching Alex go with a mix of gratitude and lingering anger. She turned her attention back to Wyll, her expression hardening.
“You would have signed that contract if Alex hadn’t stopped you, wouldn’t you?” she asked, her voice sharp but tinged with sadness.
Wyll didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he offered a weak, almost imperceptible nod.
Karlach closed her eyes for a moment, a pained expression crossing her face. “Damn it, Wyll,” she muttered, her voice thick with disappointment. She released her hold on him, stepping back and shaking her head.
“You’re better than this,” she said finally, her voice heavy with both frustration and hope. “You have to be.”
Wyll stood motionless, staring at the ground as Karlach walked past him, leaving him alone with the crushing weight of what almost was.
Wyll dragged his feet toward his bed, his steps heavy with guilt. As he passed by Glut and Lara, who were lying together in the same bed, they didn’t even glance his way. Their indifference stung more than he cared to admit, but he didn’t pause. He simply stood there for a moment, his gaze lingering on them before continuing on.
When he reached his bed, Karlach was already there, standing with her back turned to him, her muscular shoulders tense and unmoving. Wyll hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should speak, but the words caught in his throat. Silently, he lay down beside her, the bed creaking slightly under his weight.
He stared at the ceiling, his mind a storm of thoughts and his stomach twisting like a pit of vipers. The shame was unbearable. He hadn’t just failed himself—he’d failed Karlach, too. The disappointment in her voice earlier still echoed in his mind, cutting deeper than any blade ever could.
The night passed slowly, the silence between them deafening.
The following morning, everyone gathered downstairs to share a meal. The atmosphere was a strange mix of light and heavy. Some of the group looked cheerful, their laughter and smiles filling the room, while others seemed like they’d eaten something spoiled.
Gale sat quietly, his calm demeanor betrayed by his bloodshot eyes and the oppressive silence surrounding him. Wyll and Karlach ate in near silence as well, not even glancing at each other. The unspoken tension between them was palpable, a shadow that clung to them both.
In contrast, Lae’zel and Astarion were lively, teasing each other with playful jabs that occasionally drew soft laughter from the others. Shadowheart, seated beside Alex, had her hand resting lightly on his as they spoke in low tones about the "magic" of the previous night. Despite the warmth of their conversation, Shadowheart’s eyes often drifted toward Wyll and Karlach, her brow furrowing with quiet concern.
Alex chose not to mention the events of the previous night. If Wyll wanted to talk about it, he would. Instead, Alex focused on the matter at hand.
After everyone had finished eating he gathered everyone upstairs .
Alex stood tall, drawing their attention.
“We’re going to save Wyll’s father today,” he declared, his voice steady and resolute.
All eyes turned to him, their gazes expectant and focused.
Alex’s piercing blue eyes met Wyll’s as he continued, “Your father, Wyll, is being held prisoner in an underwater tower beneath the Gray Harbor.”
Wyll’s head shot up, his entire body tensing. Across the table, Astarion’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Underwater?” Astarion asked, his elegant brows arching in curiosity.
Alex nodded. “The tower is called the Iron Throne.”
Astarion let out a low whistle, his usual smug grin slipping into something more serious. “I thought that place was destroyed years ago,” he said, leaning back on the sofa.
“What’s with those reactions?” Shadowheart asked, her curiosity evident as her gaze shifted between Astarion and Wyll.
Wyll began to explain. “The Iron Throne once served as the center of trade and business for a criminal organization of the same name. Back in the Year of the Sword, it became a hotbed of intrigue during the Iron Crisis. Its leaders—Rieltar, Mulahey, Tranzig, and Tazok—sabotaged iron-mining operations along the coast to ignite war between Baldur’s Gate and Amn, profiting from the chaos.”
He paused, his voice growing quieter. “Years later, Rieltar’s adoptive son, Sarevok Anchev, tried to seize power for himself. He moved against his father and used doppelgangers and assassins to climb his way to the top. His ultimate goal was to become Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate. But… he failed. Abdel Adrian, Sarevok’s half-brother, stopped him.”
Wyll ran a hand over his face, the weight of the story pressing down on him. “After Sarevok’s schemes were exposed, the Iron Throne’s branch in Baldur’s Gate fell apart. Their headquarters—what’s left of it—was repurposed as a refuge for the displaced. But the city’s leaders decided it wasn’t enough to dismantle the organization. They wanted to send a message.”
He looked up at the group, his expression grim. “They hired wizards to sink the building into the Gray Harbor, turning it into a symbol of justice—and a warning. I thought it had been left there to rot, forgotten by the sea.”
Wyll’s voice wavered as he spoke, the memories of his father and his own failures stirring a tempest of emotions within him. The room fell silent, the weight of the story pressing down on everyone.
Alex placed a hand on Wyll’s shoulder, steadying him with his calm presence. “Your father is in that tower, Wyll. And we’re going to get him out.”
For the first time that morning, Wyll looked up, his eyes filled with a fragile but growing determination. He nodded, his voice quiet but resolute. “Thank you, Alex. I… I won’t let you down.”
The group exchanged glances, their shared purpose uniting them as they prepared for the daunting task ahead.