Alex appeared directly beneath the Netherbrain, his presence a lone defiance against the overwhelming horror above. The chromatic orb within his chest pulsed violently, the sheer intensity of its energy warping the very air around him.
A powerful white ray of solar energy erupted from within, a column of blinding radiance that split the battlefield like a divine judgment. The force of the blast was indescribable, a lance of pure destruction honed into a single, devastating point.
The githyanki warriors, locked in their battle, were forced to shield their eyes, unable to look directly at the raw, concentrated might of the attack. Even from the distant evacuation sites, refugees gazed in stunned silence as the pillar of light pierced the sky, parting the clouds as if a god had reached down to smite the abomination.
Shadowheart and Amanita watched from afar, their faces solemn. They knew. There was only one person who could unleash such power—Alex.
The ray struck the Netherbrain, burning through its grotesque mass with merciless efficiency. The air trembled with the sheer magnitude of energy released, as if the very fabric of reality was being torn apart. It was as if a nuclear explosion had been condensed into a single, piercing lance of destruction. Flesh smoldered, entire sections of the Netherbrain reduced to ash. White flames clung to its form, refusing to be extinguished, eating away at its eldritch flesh like celestial fire.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Alex’s piercing gaze remained locked onto the monster.
The damage was undeniable—entire portions of the Netherbrain’s form had been obliterated, its chitinous plates shattered, its writhing tendrils severed.
Then, the crown atop its grotesque head pulsed.
Without warning, a wave of psionic force burst forth, an invisible wall of sheer mental power that slammed into Alex with unrelenting force. He barely had time to brace before he was hurled backward like a ragdoll. The shockwave didn’t stop with him—it surged outward, sending allies and enemies alike tumbling across the battlefield. Dragons tumbled from the sky, warriors were flung like leaves caught in a storm. The very earth trembled beneath its terrible might.
A sickly purple energy enveloped the Netherbrain’s form, the smoldering wounds reversing, the celestial fire snuffed out as if it had never existed. The flesh that had been burned away reformed in an instant, its body whole once more.
It had healed.
Like nothing had happened.
A cold dread settled over Alex as he floated in the sky, his fists clenched. He had poured everything into that attack. The sheer force of it should have been enough to obliterate any creature, even one of this magnitude. But the Netherbrain remained, its overwhelming intellect and power unshaken.
"It couldn't have been this easy…" Alex whispered, realization sinking in.
The battle was far from over.
Alex ascended above the battlefield, his piercing gaze locked onto the Netherbrain. Below, the grotesque titan pulsed with sinister energy, its alien intellect reaching for him, seeking to smother his will. But Alex stood resolute.
A Netherstone embedded in his chromatic core flared to life—the one he had taken from Orin, the stone that held dominion over life itself. Power surged through him, raw and untamed. His form expanded, flesh, bone, and sinew reshaping into something magnificent and terrible.
A dragon.
A colossal Bronze Dragon, his sheer scale rivaling that of the Netherbrain itself. His body thrummed with unimaginable power, his every movement exuding a primal force that sent shockwaves rippling through the air. Arcs of crimson energy crackled across his scales, wrapping him in an aura of elemental fury.
Then, he plummeted.
The Netherbrain reacted instantly, its tendrils reaching, its will striking like a thousand blades to shatter his mind and enslave him. But Alex’s mind had become a bastion, unbreakable and unyielding. The weight of the Netherbrain’s will pressed against him, yet he did not falter. Instead, he burned.
A barrier of psionic energy erupted before him, a desperate attempt to slow his descent. Orpheus, watching from atop Qudenos, felt his breath catch. He knew this technique—The Flaming Mind. A fire that consumed psionic energy itself. But Alex had done something impossible.
He had fused it with his elemental power.
The crimson energy around Alex flared into a storm of destruction, eating away at the psionic barrier as though it were brittle glass. More barriers formed in quick succession, shimmering walls of pure mental force, but they shattered before him like fragile illusions.
And then he struck.
Like a meteor sent from the heavens, Alex crashed into the Netherbrain, unleashing a cataclysmic wave of crimson energy. The impact sent out a high-pitched, otherworldly shriek, a sound of agony and fury as the Netherbrain’s reserves of psionic energy burned like dry kindling. Flesh blistered and melted under the onslaught.
Alex did not hesitate.
Raising his massive talons, he began to tear into the Netherbrain’s writhing form. Each slash carved deep, sending massive chunks of pulsing flesh tumbling into the sea below. The Netherbrain convulsed, retaliating with desperate tendrils, striking out with its remaining power. But Alex either absorbed the attacks or nullified them with his crimson energy.
The abomination unleashed another psionic wave, desperate to break free. But from Alex’s body, thick tendrils of flesh burst forth, burrowing deep into the Netherbrain, anchoring him. He would not be thrown aside. He would not be denied.
And so, he resumed his butchery.
The battlefield trembled with the weight of his assault. Warriors and dragons alike bore witness to the impossible. The great Netherbrain—an entity of overwhelming psionic dominance—was being torn apart by a single being.
The end was near.
And Alex would see it through to its bitter, burning conclusion.
The Netherbrain began to tilt to the side, its immense form wavering as its lifeforce bled away. Alex could feel it—its strength fading.
But then, deep within the pulsing flesh of the abomination, the embedded crown flared to life, its unnatural glow igniting with malevolent energy.
Alex let loose a thunderous roar, his draconic form coiling in the sky as he opened his maw and unleashed a torrent of crimson energy. The devastating breath struck true, scorching the Netherbrain’s raw, exposed flesh. The air trembled with its tortured shrieks, the force of Alex’s attack setting the battlefield ablaze in furious light.
But it wasn’t enough.
The remnants of the Netherbrain’s flesh pulsed with unnatural purple energy, and Alex could feel a massive storm of psionic force gathering within its grotesque mass. The sheer magnitude of power made the very air hum with tension, a psionic maelstrom forming within its core.
Then, with a pulse of raw destruction, the Netherbrain unleashed a cataclysmic psionic wave.
Alex reacted instantly, summoning his power to siphon away as much energy as he could while raising a barrier of crimson light before him. But the force was too great. His barrier shattered like brittle glass, and he was hurled backward, sent careening through the sky. Below, the battlefield was obliterated—entire swaths of land and sea consumed in a massive crater, the ocean rushing in to fill the void left by the attack.
The Netherbrain hovered above the devastation, its psychic voice booming across the city, reaching even the distant refugees.
"The Grand Design nears its fruition. And I will not be undone by a parasite."
From the magic tower, dozens of fireballs hurtled toward the entity, streaking through the sky like falling stars. But as they neared, they fizzled into nothingness, snuffed out before they could even graze its form.
Alex, undeterred, streaked through the sky like a comet, his massive bronze form burning with unrelenting power as he charged toward the Netherbrain once more. But before he could close the distance, the Netherbrain’s body began to shift.
A grotesque transformation took hold.
It raised what now resembled a hand, and before Alex could react, he was ensnared—psionic tendrils lashed out, wrapping around his body like living chains, slicing deep into his flesh with razor-sharp precision. He thrashed against them, but they tightened, draining him of strength, carving pain into his every movement.
As he struggled, he saw it—the Netherbrain’s new form.
It no longer resembled the grotesque brain-like mass it had been. Instead, it stood in a shape both horrifying and eerily regal—a gargantuan illithid cloaked in flowing dark robes, its elongated limbs moving with dreadful purpose. Its face, unmistakably that of an illithid, had emerged from the twisted remains of the Netherbrain’s body, its terrible cerebral mass still visible beneath the shifting folds of flesh.
The true fight had begun.
Alex burned away the psionic tendrils that sought to entrap him, his body swelling with newfound power. His form expanded, growing even more immense, his presence eclipsing the battlefield like a celestial titan. His once-draconic body now resembled a being forged from pure light and energy, a living manifestation of raw elemental force.
Phalar Aluve materialized beside him, the greatsword humming with an ancient resonance as he gripped its hilt. The blade flared , its crimson flames licking hungrily at the air. Alex loomed over the battlefield, a colossus clad in radiant white armor, his very essence pulsating with unfathomable power. Chromatic energies arced across his form, intertwining in a mesmerizing dance of destruction and creation.
The Netherbrain, recognizing the imminent threat, retaliated. A massive black hole coalesced in its grasp, an abyssal vortex of crushing psionic force, devouring light and space alike. With a defiant roar, Alex swung Phalar Aluve, the greatsword igniting with the fury of a dying star. The blade met the singularity, cleaving it in two with an earth-shattering impact. The psionic energy that held the void together unraveled, dissipating like smoke in the wind.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Power surged through Alex's veins, a force unlike any he had ever known. This was his moment.
From the heavens, the Moon appeared in the sky, its silver light cascading over the battlefield. Simultaneously, the Sun blazed with newfound intensity, its golden rays piercing through the darkness. The celestial bodies aligned in perfect harmony, an omen of divine intervention.
A hand rested upon Alex’s shoulder. He did not need to look to know who it was. Lathander, the Morninglord, and Selûne, the Lady of Silver, stood with him. Their power flowed through him, merging with his own, lifting him beyond the realm of mortal understanding. He carried the will of the divine.
With unshakable resolve, Alex raised his greatsword toward the Netherbrain, the air around him trembling with anticipation. The final battle had begun, and he would wield the power of gods to see it to its end.
From atop the distant hills, the people watched in hushed awe, their breath stolen by the sight unfolding before them. Some clutched their chests, overwhelmed by the sheer divinity of the moment, while others fell to their knees, hands clasped in fervent prayer. Hope and fear intertwined in their voices as whispered pleas escaped trembling lips, carried by the wind to the heavens.
The sky itself seemed to tremble in reverence. The celestial bodies blazed with an unearthly radiance, as though the cosmos had paused to witness the confrontation. Waves of power rippled through the battlefield, making the very air shimmer with uncontained energy.
Shadowheart stood among the onlookers, fists clenched at her sides. Her breath was unsteady, but her gaze remained locked on the figure above, the titan wreathed in celestial light. Her lips parted, voice barely louder than a whisper.
"Please, win..."
Beside her, Amanita stood unmoving, her crimson eyes reflecting the incandescent battle raging before them. Unlike the others, she did not bow, did not whisper desperate prayers. She watched, unwavering, her faith an unbreakable force.
"He will," Amanita said, her voice carrying a certainty that settled over those around her like a quiet, unshakable promise.
And as the heavens blazed and the battle reached its crescendo, those words became their anchor, their hope. They clung to them, willing them into reality.
The cosmos itself trembled as Alex and the Netherbrain clashed, their battle unfolding like a duel between an archmage and a grandmaster warrior. Reality twisted under the sheer force of their wills, each strike and counter an act of cosmic defiance. The battlefield stretched into infinity, where space and time bent to the clash of their powers.
Alex moved with the precision of a master swordsman, his form burning with the unrelenting fire of defiance. He was not alone. The echoes of those he had fought for and those he had lost resonated within him, their voices a symphony of purpose. He was the culmination of their will, their final, unwavering blade.
The Netherbrain, a being of absolute psionic domination, loomed above—a calculating, ancient intellect bent on subjugation. Its vast tendrils wove through the void, unraveling reality with each motion, erasing the battlefield in an ever-shifting nightmare of impossible geometries.
But Alex thrived in the impossible.
With Phalar Aluve in his grasp, his greatsword was not merely a weapon—it was an extension of his very soul. The blade flared with crimson fire, a counterpoint to the Netherbrain’s cold, calculated void. Every swing disrupted the order the entity sought to impose, severing its psionic constructs as though slicing through mist.
"You will not decide their fate!" Alex roared, his voice cutting through the maelstrom. His attacks struck with the precision of a master duelist, each strike forcing the Netherbrain to retreat, its defenses unraveling under the sheer ferocity of his assault.
The Netherbrain adapted. Its grotesque form shifted, folding into the likeness of an eldritch warlord, cloaked in the fabric of space itself. Its elongated fingers wove intricate patterns in the air, summoning a singularity of psionic annihilation, the ultimate spell—an attack meant to erase Alex from existence entirely.
Alex smirked.
With an explosion of movement, he surged forward, his sword igniting with all the light of a dying star. The Moon and Sun blazed above him, their combined radiance cascading upon his form. But he no longer needed their guidance. He had surpassed even celestial power—his will was his own.
With one decisive stroke, he cleaved through the singularity, tearing apart the Netherbrain’s final gambit. The entity shuddered, its form fracturing as the very laws that held it together collapsed. Alex did not hesitate.
He advanced, a master duelist against a sorcerer whose spells had failed. His blade wove destruction in perfect arcs, every strike dismantling the Netherbrain’s existence piece by piece. The people of Baldur's Gate bore witness, their hope resonating in the air, empowering him, fueling his final attack.
"This is the will of the living!" Alex bellowed, driving Phalar Aluve into the Netherbrain’s core. The resulting explosion tore through the universe itself, obliterating the abomination’s essence once and for all.
The Netherbrain’s final scream echoed, distorted and meaningless, before vanishing into the void. The storm ceased. The battlefield calmed. The world was free.
As the last embers of energy faded, Alex stood alone, his form radiant, victorious. He had not won through destiny or prophecy.
He had won because his will was absolute.
He turned toward the city, his glowing form still crackling with residual energy. The once war-torn land lay in a hushed stillness, as if the very world itself was catching its breath. The battle was not yet fully over—above, the Githyanki were still engaged, their dragons spiraling through the skies in combat against the last remaining illithid ships. But victory was inevitable. The tide had turned.
Alex’s gaze drifted toward the distant hill, and somehow, through the haze and chaos, his eyes met Shadowheart’s and Amanita’s. A silent understanding passed between them, a connection forged not through words but through battle, through suffering, through triumph. He raised his sword high, the blade catching the light of the newly cleared sky, a beacon for all who watched.
A moment of silence followed—before it was shattered by an eruption of cheers. The people, once trembling in fear, now embraced one another, voices lifting in joy, in relief. Some wept openly, falling to their knees in gratitude. Others clutched their loved ones as if afraid to let go, the reality of survival sinking in. Hope had prevailed.
“Told you,” Amanita said with a smirk, nudging Shadowheart lightly.
Shadowheart shook her head, exhaling sharply. "Did you ever doubt him?"
A voice, smooth and laced with amusement, joined them. "Alex always makes the impossible possible."
Astarion strode toward them, his gaze lifted toward the towering form of Alex, his expression unreadable. A small, knowing smile curled on his lips as he watched the titan-like warrior standing amidst the wreckage of war, a living legend before their eyes.
The battle had ended. The war was won. And Alex, the unbreakable force that had defied fate itself, stood as a symbol of hope eternal.
----------------------------------------
Alex felt a pulse from the remains of the dead Netherbrain.
Something was wrong.
He rushed forward, his senses flaring as his eyes locked onto the source—Karsus’s Crown. He had done something to it. The artifact pulsed with ominous energy, circuits of silver light igniting along its intricate surface. It was alive, reacting, resonating.
Then he felt it—power, vast and immeasurable, gathering within the crown. His breath caught as he reached out, fingers brushing against the cold metal. The moment his hand closed around it, the truth unfurled in his mind.
The Netherbrain had triggered its final fail-safe.
A self-destruction mechanism—designed by Karsus himself. The reason was unclear, lost to the machinations of a long-dead mind, but the consequences were undeniable. Baldur’s Gate, the lands surrounding it—obliterated in an instant. A calamity unlike any had seen before.
Alex willed his Netherstone to teleport the crown away, to cast it into the void, but the stone flickered weakly, then fell inert in his grasp.
The crown had just deactivated it.
Desperate, he pushed his mind to teleport the crown . It was like trying to carve through steel with a toothpick—an impossible task. The crown had an anti-teleportation enchantment, a failsafe upon a failsafe. Worse still, disabling it would only trigger the explosion prematurely. Even if he succeeded in weakening it, the detonation would remain at full power.
His thoughts raced. He reached deep into the Netherstone’s dwindling power, calling upon its dominion over time, searching for a path—any path—that would save the city, the people, his friends.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Millions of futures unfolded before him.
Only one led to salvation.
And in that path, he did not survive.
He exhaled, the weight of fate settling upon his shoulders. The decision had already been made.
With a single wave of his hand, he emptied his psionic vault.
He would not need it anymore.
His massive form began to shrink, his titanic presence reducing until he was no taller than a human. His fingers clenched tighter around the crown.
Then, he took flight.
Higher. Higher. Higher still.
The winds roared around him, the world falling away beneath his feet. The stars stretched above him, distant and eternal.
He pushed forward.
‘Just a little bit more.’
His face shifted, his helmet dissolving away, revealing his true self beneath. His gaze lifted to the burning sun, its golden light washing over him one final time. He allowed himself a breath—deep, steady.
And then he smiled.
"What an adventure," Alex murmured, his final words carrying into the void.
And then the explosion followed.
A blinding eruption of pure energy consumed the sky, an unfathomable force that turned night into day. The heavens wept fire. The land below trembled. The people of Toril stood frozen, their eyes turned upward as a massive sphere of light illuminated the world, a testament to a sacrifice beyond comprehension.
And then, silence.
The battle was over.
And the hero was gone.
The world stood still. The heavens still burned with the afterglow of the explosion, the fading embers of Alex’s final act painting the sky in hues of fire and sorrow. The wind carried the weight of silence, pressing down upon those who remained.
Astarion stood motionless, his crimson eyes locked on the vanishing remnants of Alex’s sacrifice. His normally sharp tongue was still, his usual smirk absent. He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe, yet every inhale felt shallow, meaningless.
"You idiot," he whispered, his voice hoarse, barely audible. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. "You absolute, reckless fool."
And yet, behind the anger, behind the frustration, was grief. A raw, aching grief he could not put into words. He had watched warriors die before, watched countless souls meet their ends—but never like this. Never someone who defied fate, who made the impossible possible. Never someone like Alex.
Shadowheart’s knees buckled, and she barely caught herself before collapsing. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her hands shaking violently. A prayer formed on her lips, one she did not know if she should say. No god could undo this. No faith could fill the void left in Alex’s wake.
Tears blurred her vision. She looked to the heavens, as if searching for some sign, some trace of him still lingering in the light. But there was nothing. Just silence.
She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.
"He was supposed to come back," she whispered. "He always found a way. Always."
Amanita stood still as stone, her hands gripping the fabric of her cloak so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She did not weep. She did not fall. She merely stared at the sky, her eyes hollow.
Her throat tightened, her breath hitching just slightly. But she did not break.
Because she knew that if she did, it would mean accepting the truth. It would mean acknowledging that Alex was truly gone.
The world was saved. The people were free. But for those who had fought beside him, for those who had dared to believe in him—
The victory felt unbearably hollow.
The end
----------------------------------------
Atop a desolate hill, the sun had long since dipped beyond the horizon, surrendering the sky to the embrace of the night. The wind whispered through the grass, carrying with it the salty scent of the sea below. The stars flickered, distant and cold, their light unable to reach the shadowed grief lingering in the air.
Withers stood motionless, his gaze shifting from the endless expanse of the ocean to the statue before him. The carved figure, bathed in moonlight, bore an uncanny likeness to Karlach—frozen in time, a silent sentinel standing in remembrance of her sacrifice.
Slowly, Withers reached into the folds of his tattered robes and pulled forth an aged scroll, its edges frayed with time. His hollow eyes traced down the list of names inked upon it, each one a soul bound to fate’s unyielding grip. Then, his finger halted, hovering over a single name.
Karlach Cliffgate.
His skeletal hand ran gently across the name, and as if touched by an unseen force, the letters began to dissolve, fading into nothingness. Erased from the list.
A deep exhale escaped him—not one of breath, for he had none, but a whisper of something old, something sorrowful.
Turning his back to the statue, he cast his gaze toward Baldur’s Gate, the distant city standing as a beacon of the living, those who still endured because of her. The flickering lights below danced like restless souls, unaware of the silent watchman upon the hill.
"Take thee this boon, a token of mine humble gratitude for thy noble sacrifice," Withers intoned, his voice a ghostly whisper upon the wind.
His form flickered, wavered like mist caught in the wind, and then—he was gone.
A hush fell over the hilltop. Then, the faintest of sounds—a soft crack, barely perceptible. Another. Then another. Hairline fractures began to spread across the statue’s surface, weaving along the stone like veins of light breaking through darkness.