Alex turned to the Neurocitor as his body shifted back to his human form, the divine radiance fading from his presence.
A shimmering psionic barrier flickered into existence, a final line of defense against any who dared oppose the machine’s foul purpose. Alex stepped forward, his gaze unwavering as he raised a hand and pressed it against the barrier. Instantly, it reacted, flaring to life with a pulse of violent energy, lashing out against his touch like a wounded beast.
But Alex was relentless.
A crimson flame, the essence of his will made manifest, ignited from his fingertips and spread across the barrier’s surface. The once-impenetrable wall of psionic energy buckled and cracked, its resistance faltering against his power. With a final surge, the flame consumed it entirely, leaving nothing but dissipating embers in its wake.
He stepped through without hesitation, standing before the grotesque construct. The Neurocitor pulsed erratically, as if aware of its impending demise. Wires like veins pulsed with energy, feeding into the steel husk that dominated the room. A repugnant mixture of gears and flesh twisted together, a grotesque monument to Gortash’s tyranny.
Alex cast one last glance at the device before clenching his fist.
The room trembled as the Neurocitor convulsed violently. Sparks erupted from its core, the metal straining against the implosion of energy collapsing within. And then, with a deafening roar, the machine exploded.
Shards of twisted metal and sinew flew in all directions, searing the air with their passage. Alex stood firm amidst the destruction, his gaze turning toward the entrance where Zanner peeked cautiously through the doorway. The gnome hesitated before stepping inside.
Then, the ground shook violently beneath them.
A deep, reverberating tremor that sent cracks splintering through the walls and caused dust to rain from the ceiling. This was no mere aftershock.
'The Netherbrain is awakening,' Alex thought grimly.
He wasted no time. In a blink, he was beside Zanner, placing a firm hand on the gnome’s shoulder. Before Zanner could react, the world around them dissolved into nothingness, and they reappeared beyond the city’s walls, where the evacuation efforts were underway.
Before them stood Harper Branthos, the wood elf who had once escorted him alongside Halsin, Zevlor, and a host of tieflings to the safety of the Last Light Inn. Now, those same allies worked tirelessly to shepherd the citizens from Baldur’s Gate before it was too late.
Alex’s piercing gaze met Branthos’. "How is the evacuation proceeding?"
The elf’s weary eyes betrayed his exhaustion, but he held himself steady. "We’re moving as fast as we can, but many refuse to leave. Some are too afraid to abandon their life's work, while others simply do not believe our warnings."
Branthos inhaled sharply, his fingers clenching at his side. "But I think this earthquake might have changed their minds."
Zanner, still dazed from the teleportation, turned abruptly to Alex, desperation evident in his voice. "Where are my family and friends? Are they safe?"
Alex gave a slight nod before shifting his gaze back to Branthos. "Guide him to them."
Branthos hesitated only a moment before nodding in understanding. As he gestured for Zanner to follow, the gnome barely spared a glance back at Alex before rushing off, his feet carrying him toward the only thing that mattered—his people.
Alex watched them go for a fleeting second. Then, without another word, he vanished.
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The first rays of the sun began to rise, casting a golden glow over the rooftops of Baldur’s Gate. The city, once vibrant and alive, was now filled with the sounds of frantic voices—people crying out, rushing through the streets, their fear palpable as they fled toward the gates.
Alex appeared in the upper floor of the Elf Song Tavern, materializing in an instant. His sudden arrival startled his companions, their tense bodies relaxing only slightly when they realized it was him.
Astarion, Gale, Amanita, Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Glut, and Lara stood in various states of alertness, their expressions shifting from surprise to concern.
“Alex, what’s happening?” Shadowheart asked, stepping toward him, worry etched into her features.
Outside, the voices of the citizens grew louder. Chaos was beginning to take hold.
“I killed Orin and Gortash while I was away,” Alex stated, his voice unwavering, his gaze firm. “The Netherbrain is awakening. It’s only a matter of time before it rises to the surface. I ordered Jaheira to begin evacuating the city. We need to leave now.”
Astarion stepped forward, a rare seriousness settling over his normally amused features. “I know it’s not my style, but I want to stay and help the people evacuate.”
Lae’zel crossed her arms, her expression unyielding. “I will remain as well. When the battle begins, I will fight by Orpheus’s side.”
Gale didn’t hesitate. “I need to get to the magic tower,” he said, brushing past Alex and hurrying down the stairs.
Alex turned his gaze to Shadowheart, his face betraying the slightest hint of concern.
“As much as I would like to stay,” she said, her fingers brushing against his cheek. “I don’t want you to worry.” She smiled softly. “Besides, I think I’ll be more useful at the backline, as a healer.”
A soft silvery glow radiated from her hands, the essence of Selûne unmistakable. Her eyes shimmered with a divine connection she hadn’t fully grasped before.
“When you were away, I had a dream,” she continued, her voice gentle but firm. “I don’t remember much of it, but when I woke up, I felt… closer to Her.”
Alex turned to Amanita, his eyes silently asking the question he knew she had already answered in her mind.
“I’ll go with Shadowheart,” she said, stepping forward with certainty.
Alex nodded in approval.
Shadowheart leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss against his lips. When she pulled away, she met his gaze. “See you soon, my love.”
Before Alex could react, Amanita grabbed him by the collar and kissed him deeply, her touch searing with intensity. As she pulled away, her crimson eyes lingered on his face.
Shadowheart opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, Alex lifted his hand and, in a flash, teleported both her and Amanita away.
For a brief moment, silence settled in the tavern.
His gaze met Glut’s. 'Head to the upper city and meet Shadow,' he transmitted through their telepathic connection. Lara disappeared by his side.
Alex turned his gaze to Astarion and Lae’zel. He offered them one final glance before vanishing into nothingness.
Glut turned to the nearest window, opened it, and jumped down. He started to run, following Alex's instruction.
Astarion exhaled, his shoulders sinking slightly as he looked to Lae’zel.
“You surprise me, vampire,” Lae’zel said, her smirk softening into something almost contemplative. “I never took you for the benevolent type.”
Astarion chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “Neither did I.”
Lae’zel studied him for a moment before her expression hardened again. “You have changed.”
He scoffed. “I suppose seeing Sebastian… and the others—the ones I condemned—and then learning of their deaths… it made me realize a few things.”
Lae’zel raised a brow. “And what exactly did it make you realize?”
Astarion sighed, shaking his head. “That I want to atone for what I’ve done. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s the least I can do. Maybe… maybe then I can find some peace.”
Lae’zel stepped closer, tilting his chin up before pressing a rare, fleeting kiss to his cheek. When she pulled away, her smirk returned.
“I’m sorry I said you are a toad,” he murmured.
Lae’zel chuckled, a sound that was almost tender. “You are endearing, my little bloodsucker.”
Astarion rolled his eyes, but there was warmth in them.
She laughed, shaking her head, and for just a moment, the weight of the coming battle seemed a little less crushing.
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Astarion stood in the middle of the street, guiding an elderly man toward a group of Flaming Fists stationed at the city’s edge. The man’s frail frame trembled beneath Astarion’s grip, but the vampire spawn remained steady, his focus unwavering amidst the chaos around him.
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Then, it happened. Another earthquake.
The ground rumbled violently beneath his feet. The cobbled streets cracked, splitting apart like fragile glass. Buildings groaned as their foundations buckled under the shifting earth. Screams filled the air, echoing from every direction.
Astarion’s eyes widened as he saw a towering structure begin to lean ominously toward the main street, its weight shifting as its supports crumbled. Without a second thought, he dashed forward, his unnatural speed propelling him past the terrified citizens who barely had time to react.
The building tilted further, gravity dragging it toward the unsuspecting crowd below. Astarion clenched his fists, summoning the depths of his psionic power.
A massive barrier of shimmering energy materialized above his head just as the building collapsed. With a deafening crash, tons of stone and wood slammed into the invisible wall, shaking the very air around them.
"Run! Now!" he commanded, his voice sharp, strained, but resolute.
The people hesitated for only a moment before scrambling to safety, their panicked movements sending dust billowing into the air. Astarion remained, his arms raised, supporting the weight of the falling debris with nothing but his will. As the last of the citizens fled the danger zone, he took a step back, then another.
With a final exhale, he released his hold. The barrier flickered and vanished, allowing the ruined structure to crash into the street with a resounding thud.
Astarion wiped the sweat from his brow, his fangs clenched in frustration. Another problem had arisen—the street was now completely blocked by the wreckage, trapping those still attempting to escape.
Cursing under his breath, he summoned his psionic armor, preparing to smash through the rubble with sheer force. But before he could strike, the ground beneath him trembled once more—this time, not from an earthquake.
Something massive stirred beneath the fallen building. The debris shifted, stones tumbling aside as a colossal form emerged from the dirt.
Astarion’s red eyes narrowed. "Bullet?" he murmured in confusion, taking a cautious step back.
The monstrous landshark shook itself free from the rubble, its armored hide glistening in the dim morning light. Then, much to Astarion’s surprise, it spoke.
"I'm not Papa," the bulette grumbled in an almost petulant tone before lumbering toward the wreckage.
Without hesitation, the massive creature began to clear the path, its powerful limbs tearing through the fallen structure with ease. Astarion watched, momentarily stunned, as the bulette efficiently cleared an open passage for the fleeing citizens.
Once its work was done, the creature let out a huff, then promptly burrowed back into the ground, vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared.
Astarion shook his head, exhaling a small chuckle of disbelief. "What in the hells is this city coming to?"
With the street now open, he turned back to the frightened citizens. "Keep moving! The exit is this way!"
He had no time to dwell on strange creature and unexpected assistance.
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Lae'zel, Voss, and Orpheus stood atop the windswept hill, their gazes locked onto the vast, restless waters of the Sea of Swords. Behind them, a formidable host of githyanki warriors, clad in gleaming armor and adorned with the battle-scars of a hundred skirmishes, stood at the ready. Their red dragons shifted restlessly, wings beating against the salty air, their reptilian eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Qudenos, now in his full draconic form, lounged with deceptive ease, his golden eyes lazily trailing the horizon. But even his leisure held a predator's edge. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of something unnatural rising from the abyss.
Then the ocean stirred, its surface trembling like the skin of a great beast. A deep, reverberating hum filled the air, pressing against their minds with an alien weight. The warriors stiffened. The dragons let out warning growls, their scales bristling with unease. The sea began to churn violently, waves heaving as though the world itself sought to expel the abomination that now ascended.
"Tsk'va," someone whispered—a githyanki word, heavy with meaning. A curse.
Qudenos straightened, his body coiling like a drawn bowstring, all pretense of relaxation gone. His golden eyes narrowed.
"That's a big elder brain," he muttered, his voice lacking its usual confidence. A tightness lingered at the edges of his words, a rare admission of unease.
From the roiling waters, the Netherbrain loomed, a grotesque titan, dozens of meters tall, of unimaginable horror. Towering high above them, it was a nightmare made flesh. Its massive brain-like bulk pulsed with an eerie, bioluminescent glow, dark crimson veins coursing like molten fire through its labyrinthine folds. The surface glistened, perpetually slick with a viscous, translucent membrane, as if it oozed its own malevolence.
Thick, sinewy tendrils extended outward in a terrible, chaotic sprawl. Some anchored deep into the ocean's depths, anchoring the creature to unseen horrors below. Others writhed and curled in the air, whispering against reality itself, conducting waves of raw psionic power. Their tips twitched, tasting, sensing, reaching.
Jagged, chitinous plates encased portions of the creature’s mass, dark as the void and sharpened into cruel ridges. These armored protrusions shimmered, bending light and space around them, as though the creature’s very presence defied the natural order. At its crown, an unholy fissure split open, revealing pulsating neural matter, a grotesque lattice of exposed intellect that radiated an overwhelming pressure of domination and despair.
At its base extended a colossal, segmented appendage—resembling a grotesque spinal column. Along its length, clusters of vine-like tendrils bristled with sensory filaments, twitching hungrily as they absorbed the world around them, feeding the horror’s insatiable intellect.
Orpheus’s gaze was sharp as a blade, his psionic presence a beacon of defiance against the void. He raised his hand, his voice cutting through the rising storm.
"Warriors, mount your dragons!"
The command was met with immediate action. The githyanki leaped onto their crimson-scaled mounts, saddles creaking as they settled into place. The dragons roared, exhaling bursts of flame as their wings unfurled, ready to take to the skies.
Qudenos lowered his massive head, allowing Voss to climb onto his back. Orpheus followed, his stance unwavering, his presence a steadying force against the chaos.
Voss turned, extending a hand toward Lae'zel. "Climb on, warrior."
But Lae'zel did not take his hand. Instead, she summoned her psionic blade—a brilliant, shimmering construct of pure thought and will. With a determined gaze, she stepped onto it, and the blade lifted her into the air, defying gravity itself. She hovered at eye level with Voss, her expression fierce and unyielding.
Their gazes met for the briefest of moments—acknowledgment, respect, and an unspoken challenge passing between them—before their attention snapped back to the monstrous horror before them.
Orpheus’s voice rang out, a battle cry that shattered the stillness. "Htak'a!"
And then they ascended, soaring into the sky, a tide of dragons and warriors rushing toward their fate, toward the monstrous intellect that threatened to consume all.
As they approached, the air itself split open. From thin air, flying vessels materialized—sleek, angular constructs bristling with weapons. Githyanki warriors clad in the crimson and gold stood ready for battle. These were not allies. These were fanatics of the Lich-Queen, her devoted enforcers come to claim victory for their tyrant ruler.
Moments later, another fleet emerged from the void, but these were not githyanki. These were the Illithid. Their massive nautiloid ships drifted forward, their grotesque, shell-like exteriors pulsing with eldritch energy. From their bellies, pods plummeted toward the battlefield below, slamming into the ground with sickening force. The pods cracked open, releasing horrors—mind flayers, thralls, and abominable creatures twisted by psionic corruption.
Lae'zel watched as dozens of ships filled the sky, her breath steady despite the chaos. A fan of psionic daggers materialized around her, floating like a halo of deadly intent. Her gaze locked onto one of the descending pods, her blood boiling with fury.
"Lae'zel, remain close to me. We are heading to the front," Orpheus commanded, his voice cutting through the storm.
"Yes, my prince," she responded, her voice steady, her resolve unshaken.
Orpheus extended his hands, his eyes burning with crimson fire. He wove the raw power of his mind into a storm of psionic energy, hurling it toward the enemy. The constructs he summoned glowed with a terrible, consuming light—psionic fire that devoured thought and will, unraveling the very fabric of enemy minds.
The sky above was a maelstrom of war, and the battle had only just begun.
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Down below, Shadow stood firm, watching the approaching tide of abominations. He had shifted into his brawler form, his formidable frame reinforced with thick layers of hardened muscle and sinew. This was no place for hesitation. No place for mercy. This was a battle of monsters.
His crimson eyes flicked to his right, where Lump stood, equally transformed. His body was covered in a dark, chitinous armor, veins of molten fire running across his massive limbs. His enormous fists clenched, the ground beneath him cracking as he fixed his glare on the approaching horrors.
Halsin stood beside them, no longer the druid but a towering minotaur, his muscular frame wreathed in primal energy. His spear pulsed with verdant power, its tip glowing with raw nature magic, a weapon of the wilds ready to strike against corruption.
"Let's get this over with quickly," Glut muttered from Shadow’s left side. His voice was guttural, inhuman. He too had transformed, towering over them all. His limbs had elongated, his torso split open to reveal a vertical maw lined with dagger-like teeth. From his back, thick tendrils slithered, curling and uncurling with the anticipation of destruction. His right hand gripped an adamantine mace, its dense form humming with devastating energy.
Shadow took one last glance at the dozens of drones behind him. They, too, had shifted, their muscular bodies coiled and brimming with raw power, each one a mirror of his own monstrous transformation. They were executioners, waiting for his command.
He inhaled deeply, his chest expanding with the tension of the impending battle. Then, with a primal roar, he unleashed a powerful howl, a sound that echoed like a war horn, filled with rage and the promise of annihilation.
He charged. The ground trembled beneath his feet, his companions following in his wake, a tidal wave of devastation crashing toward the enemy.
Alpha had ordered them to kill everything in their path.
Shadow would make sure to obey.
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Alex gazed at the sun, his mind sharp and focused. Behind him loomed the planet Toril, the world he had been transported to nearly two months ago. The space around him felt warm, a stark contrast to the chilling void of his home universe.
From the Emperor’s memories, he had learned the story of his arrival. They had discovered a slithering piece of flesh drifting through the Astral Sea and placed it within one of the capsules aboard a nautiloid ship. Yet, how Alex had ended up in the Astral Sea in the first place remained a mystery.
His chest split open, revealing the chromatic orb embedded within him. The orb pulsed, siphoning raw energy from the sun, drawing it into its limitless depths. It drank and drank until it reached its capacity—but for Alex, it was not enough.
From the knowledge Karsus had implanted in his mind during their last meeting, Alex finally understood the true nature of the orb. It was not merely a battery—it was an adaptive vessel, just like him, designed to constantly evolve and store more energy than before. And now, he would force it to transcend its current limitations.
He continued to absorb beyond the orb’s limits, willing it to adapt. Thin cracks formed along its surface, spreading like veins across an overburdened vessel. The energy within surged violently, shifting, evolving. The orb glowed with uncontained radiance, trembling with newfound power.
The chromatic orb crystallized into a breathtaking geometric masterpiece—a dodecahedron of seamless precision, its edges sharp yet naturally interwoven, as though the very essence of order and chaos had converged in its creation. Its surface, rough yet shimmering, pulsed with subtle veins of light, a heartbeat of pure energy encased within its alien lattice. The colors within shifted, refracting in ethereal brilliance, as if the sun itself had been captured and condensed into this perfect, sentient gem.
And then, Alex himself changed.
The energy overflowed, coursing through his body in a torrent of divine fire. His form elongated, his muscles hardening into something beyond flesh—pure, radiant might sculpted from solar essence. His skin darkened to obsidian, laced with glowing cracks where power surged beneath. His once-mortal eyes now blazed like twin stars, their gaze piercing through the void.
Golden, crystalline spires erupted from his back, resembling the unfurled wings of an astral phoenix. The tips shimmered with refracted sunlight, each feather-like projection acting as a conduit for the boundless energy surging through him. His fingers elongated, tipped with radiant claws, each movement humming with barely contained destruction.
The transformation was not just physical. He felt it in his very core—a fundamental shift in his essence. He had become a living conduit of solar fury,
He turned toward the planet, his expression unreadable. Then, he vanished into thin air.