Unexpecting Traitor
Fiction: Pathfinder/Dungeon and Dragons
Rating: PG-13
Summary: As the room cascaded into darkness, the group flounders at a resolve. They are outnumbered, outmatched, and clearly have no way of winning. With the phylactery of Rahovar clutched to her side, Albany turns to combat, hoping to fight their way out. Strelokaâs guns blaze with smoke, Alyara clings to her magic even if as it weakens within her, Kaldvicâs blades hiss through the air⌠but not everyone will come out alive. Someone is going to get hurt. Someone is going to die.
Category: Chapter Thirty-Four
Disclaimer: I do not lay claim to any of the following work. While the writings themselves are my own, my character is created fully by myself, the other characters and story elements I do not own. I also do not own any of the Pathfinder/D&D elements that are in play. Full credit goes to where it is due. Thank you.
Note: I want to thank our DM Tyler for allowing me to use his notes for this section. Some parts I took word for word, but most I edited and changed to fit my cannon better. Huge thanks!
  My lungs burned as I coughed out the putrid smoke, the ache traveling up my windpipe and causing my throat to sizzle under the pressure. With eyes watering, arm flushed against my lips, I tried to peer across the room. âAlyara?â I croaked out past raw lips, my voice barely traveling at all across the phylactery chamber.
 I wasnât sure where the door was, the dust and smoke obscuring my view. I knew I had been heading towards it before but now I was not certain of my location⌠or if anyone had made it out. The heavy doors had swung shut after the explosion. I raised a tentative hand out before me, guiding me forward. âKaldvic?â I tried, terror sinking in. What if I was the only one left in here? What if the others made it out and I was to remain? And⌠what if Paprika and her minions were here as well? Prepared to slaughter me for the phylactery that rested at my hip.
 Rahovarâs phylactery.
 Upon its destruction would it release a God.
 A hand clasped down on my wrist, fingers tightening. I was readying myself to pull back, to bash my fist forward to crush that bitch of a womanâs skull⌠âAlbany, itâs me!â Streloka coughed out. I felt a surge of relief. At least if I was to die, it wouldnât be alone. I reached for her hand.
 Suddenly the phylacteries behind us began to shake, the sound of glass jingling against glass resounded throughout the room, the small shelves that held the bobbles shuddered underneath the activity.
 âWhatâs going on?â I heard the Dread Pirate whisper, moving closer to my side until we were standing shoulder to shoulder. Her expression mirrored my own â terrified, uncertain, unknowing.
 Before I could reply the room began to quake and buckle. The smoke had a life of its own, swirling in the darkness, pushing us back against the shelving. The force was too strong, we couldnât fight the manic winds as they slammed us backwards. I gritted my teeth as glass bit into my back and arms, blood trickling down the length and dripping onto my hands making my grip slippery and useless.
 Then, just as quickly as the smoke came did it begin to subside. It remained on the outer aspects of the phylactery chamber but my field of vision cleared enough for me to see. Paprika and her three minions were thrown against the southern wall, their faces masked with a blank expression as they moved to their knees, kneeling before the center of the room. Gonqui was wedged into a corner, face pale and hair plastered to her face with sweat and fear, eyes wide in complete and utter terror as she curled herself into the smallest form possible. Kaldvic was picking himself up, shoving shelves out from on top of him, shaking glass from his hair. Cuts marred his face, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.
 Aly and Bardon had been left in the center, the two were aiding each other to stand, my sister leaning heavily on the oracle for support. I wanted to run to her, to heal her, to do something⌠But Strelokaâs hand on my elbow stopped me.
 âSomething is appearing,â she warned, pointing a trembling finger towards my sister and friend.
 I squinted through the swirling smoke that remained, only to have my eyes widen a faction of an inch as a figure began to step out of the inky blackness, as if emerging from the eye of the dark cyclone as it began to dissipate. A blood red cloak hung loosely over a bulging shoulder, long jagged horns rose form the top of a rough rust colored scaled head with slick hair that was tied back. âA tiefling,â I breathed. Tiefling were demons, or the closest things to them. They often only aid those who promise them power, wealth, or any other matter of greed⌠and this one, if I had to guess, was merely a puppet of Rahovar.
 Piercing serpentine eyes glowed with a warm orange light, a hue that almost made me fall under a trance, begging me to come closer. I squeezed my eyes shut, banished the thought. No. It was just a trick, an illusion, another ploy to tempt us. If I looked deeper I could see the sinister cold of his soul hiding underneath the façade. We had to fight it.
 In one long nailed hand, the tiefling gripped a longsword born pure of ebony metal. It was simplistic in design, only decorated with two small white gems on either side the hilt⌠but even from here I could sense some sort of magic oozing from the blade. The air moved around it in strange patterns, as if it was too frightened to kiss the ebony. âItâs cursed,â Streloka shared my thoughts, her hands gripping my arm tighter. The way my sister was edging backwards proved that she too understood. Her face turned, a glance tossed back to me, her eyes filled with fright as her hair whipped about her head from the wind that howled away.
 As the tiefling stood, I caught glance of a silver brooch that rested on the edge of his scarlet cloak, the image just barely visible in the candlelight that remained. The insignia of Rahovar, the bleeding eye, pinned to his robe.
 He reminded me of Rahovar, every detail of him. The terror I felt by simply being his presence⌠but not because he was doing anything diabolic, this terror was created from nothingness â from the sheer fear that he may do something and that something would destroy us. It was a calm and collected terror, a terror that came from a man who knew he was in control, and that no one could relinquish him of it. He had all the cards, he knew how the game would end⌠and the rest of us were mindless sheep in comparison.
 The only one, however, who wasnât backing away from the beast⌠was Bardon.
 It was if he was oblivious to the howling wind, the glass that continued to shatter around us, the shelves that bucked and twisted, the room that trembled at our feet threatening to knock of us off balance. It was as if he was in a different place⌠or simply not paying attention⌠as he stood, brought himself upright, and stared at disbelief at the man who stood before him. Like⌠like he was a long lost friend. My eyes narrowed.
 âKashalâŚâ the oracle spoke, voice intoned to reach all of those in the room. The tiefling ignored him, his greedy eyes too busy taking in the room and his new found subjects. Even from where I stood I could just barely make out the furious whisperings of Paprika as she prayed away to her God, to Rahovar. The tiefling grinned a toothy grin at her, one of pure lust and power. He knew he was the leader.
 Bardonâs voice boomed out, exploding outwards, finally catching the attention of the tiefling, âKashal Lotharn!â The silver spear in the oracleâs hand flashed bright as he raised it, hand steady and an expression absent of fear as he stepped forward.
 Kashal, the tiefling, winced as if a lance of pain had shot through him, his gaze flicking from Paprika to Bardon, from lust to pure hatred, as he glanced to his right to stare daggers at the sun elf. His glare screamed âHow dare that unexpected guest pause my moment of triumph?â only to alter into one of⌠glee⌠I shuddered. I would never want that gaze turned upon me, to see such a sickly happiness caste in my general direction. I would be reduced to a muttering pile of arms and legs, pathetic.
 âThe Breaker!â Kashal hissed, his forced tongue sang out the name with an inhuman growl that echoed throughout the Vault, pressing down around us like a suffocating blanket. Aside from his voice the room went silent as we held our breaths. My hand grasped the phylactery on my hip, as if the action alone would prevent the tiefling from seeing it. Kashal turned slowly, fully facing Bardon head on, arms crossed though he kept a hand on the hilt of his blade, his threat remaining even though he spoke with a rather joyous tune. âHow long has it been? How long did you think that paltry banish spell would keep me out of the Mortal Plane? Fifty years? One hundred? Not long for either of our lifetimes, is it, elf?â
 I sent a confused glance to the oracle. What did he mean? What banishing spell? How long? I knew elves lived an exceptionally long time⌠but the way Kashal spoke made it sound as if this spell had been cast centuries ago, perhaps even longer. Just how much did Bardon know� How much had he been keeping from me? How much of it was a lie?
 Bardon didnât glorify him with a response, he jabbed forward furiously with his spear at the fiend, planning to attack before Kashal could react. The tiefling was too quick to react, however, and he evaded the silver tipped spear with ease, gliding around the playing field as if this was nothing more than elaborate dance⌠one he had done before. He effortlessly toyed with the elf, parried each swipe with a wide sweep of his ebony blade. Bardonâs jaw set, the rest of us still in shock, too stunned to move.
 Paprika stood, hefting herself up to level a glare at Streloka and I. âGet them, get the phylacteryâ she barked at her goons, the three of them turning to focus on us, already wielding weapons. I quickly notched an arrow, letting the fletching tickle the soft skin of my cheek as I took aim. My heart hammered away an unsteady rhythm fueled by horror, my breaths came in exhilarated pants that I couldnât put under control, my eyes kept flicking between the foes coming at me and Kashal who stood reign in the middle. My bow shook in my hands, the arrow leaving my grip and returning.
 âFocus,â Streloka ordered, pulling a pistol from her holster. âWe canât let them get the phylactery.â
 As the three closed in on us, I saw from the corner of my eye Kaldvic brandishing his blood crystal katana, the red material visibly glowing, his eyes sharing the same hue, lips turning into a snarl. He wasnât too keen on enemies putting me in a corner. Their pursuit was slowed by the wind, their steps sluggish and difficult as the smoke pushed them back, the glass cutting at their skin.
 As we joined the fray, Bardon continued onwards in the center. His spear still making wild stabs at Kashal, the half-demon dodging them with a grace I could never dream of holding. Bardon spun to the left, attempting to skirt of range of Kashalâs own attack⌠but the crack of wood snapping in half indicated that it didnât go too smoothly, the tip of Bardonâs spear careening out of reach and drifting away in the wind that still shrieked around us. With another cleave of his blade, Bardon was pushed backwards with the flat of the blade, flying into another set of shelves, the phylacteries raining down upon him before being taken up by the wind.
 With Kashalâs attention robbed by Bardon, my sister launched forward, seeing an opening in the back where she could blindside the tiefling before he noticed. Her claws found their mark, Kashalâs growl of anger her satisfaction as he swung around trying to shake the deep grip Alyâs claws had on his neck between the glistening red scales. She cursed, druidic speech pooling from her lips as she clung to the half-demon, struggling to maintain her hold even as the wind attempted to yank her from behind.
 Thorns engulfed her, her spell taking affect as she used âthorn bodyâ to further attach herself to the demon, the spines protruding into his spine and down his back. He screamed again, this time laced with more surprise then genuine pain. I frowned, we were nothing more than mere toys to him. We were his playthings.
 The demon buckled, leaning low to the ground, the skin under Alyâs claws stretching and ripping out from under them, the scales falling to the ground in bloodied shreds. With a grunt the tiefling snapped upright, his cloak carried by the wind around him to reveal his torso, the muscles there rippling with strength. Black blood burst from his wounds, traveling in thick jet streams and propelling Alyara backwards and into the swirling smoke, clouding her from vision.
 âBardon!â I screamed, pointing towards my sister, panic and alarm in equal measure coloring my voice. My sister. âHe has HER!â
 The oracle gave a muted nod of understanding, rushing into the darkness to aid my sister. If he failed⌠I would bring him back from the grave myself to beat him to a pulp. I couldnât lose her⌠I couldnâtâŚ
 If he succeeded⌠I would thank him⌠if we were alive. So many ifâs.
 Now with his attackers relieved, Kashal resumed his composure, his gaze perusing his body and taking account for his wounds. Alyâs spell had been all but useless, barely drawing the slightest bit of blood though her claw marks remained running deep into his neck. Though my attention was sent primarily on my own attackers, I could still see the tiefling start towards Paprika, eyes blazing with power and rage.
 The witch stood, moving forward at the beckon of Kashal, his wrist flicking for her attention. With a hand outstretched I watched Kashal force Paprika back to her knees in obedience. Her head was contorted up to him, neck twisted at an odd angle that I was certain would break it had it been done but non-magical means. "Drink, witch,â Kashal spat down at her with disdain. âYou are a weak thing, but with my gift, you will become great⌠as long as you serve my purposes, your Godâs purposes.â With that he lowered his wrist, blood pooling on the edge about to spill over to just about her mouth.
 I nearly gagged at the thought.
 Paprika must have shared my thoughts. âButâŚ. No⌠You, you are wrong! I was not meant for this path, this was not my duty!â She managed to break the demonâs will long enough to turn her head away, blood caking her cheeks and slinking down the side. âThis canât be what my God wants!â I see not everyone was up to date on how the evening was going to go.
 Furious with her resistance, Kashal strengthened his resolve and met the samsaren woman at eye level. He punched forward, pressing his hand down her throat while screaming, âDRIIIINK!â his rage filled voice shook the room with a quake, jumbling the phylacteries more so, the winds picking up to deathly speeds. The inky black blood oozed into her mouth, her scream of terror enough to pause the trio that were nearly on us, startling them to a halt. One of them began to reach out for his master, the woman a pitiful mess on the ground as her body began to shake out of control but another raised his hand to stop him.
 Paprikaâs eyes widened, afraid, scared⌠The only sounds emitted from her were those of a choking gurgle as she vomited on Kashalâs hand. Kashalâs rage was one of control, only adding to his demeanor of terror, a wickedly pleased smirk lining his face, eyes glittering with pleasure at torturing the woman.
 âStop!â I shouted, âJust stop!â
 Then the room fell silent, aside from the wind and the shattering of phylacteries.
 Kaldvic moved to stand between me and Kashal but I could still peek around him. Pools of black liquid began to spill from Paprikaâs eyes, the veins of her neck bulging and pressing against her pale skin in protest, foam spewed from her mouth and the gurgling stopped. She slumped to the floor, arms curled limply around her.
 âShe isnât dead,â Kaldvic cautioned.
 The wind picked up in speed, the room becoming more and more chaotic by the second, the havoc ensuing until it engulfed us. Paprikaâs body rose involuntarily, the only thing remaining on the floor were her toes driven down my gravity. Her back swayed back, head drooped behind her and torso bent forward, hands floating at her sides though useless in action. Blood steadily flowed from her eyes now, her gaping mouth blackened with the same color, the streams of ooze flowing into the breeze and begin dragged along until they wrapped around her bent frame.
 She was taking in his strength, his power⌠and that of Rahovar.
 âNow, donât be too greedy, girl,â Kashal cooed, that glint in his eyes flicking towards the trio that had been advancing on us until now. âShare my gift with your companions!â
 Paprika didnât move from her suspended state, but the black blood flowed more heavily, lacing its way through the air towards the trio. Their facial expressions turned to masks of horror as they stumbled over each other in a mad attempt to flee from the same fate Paprika went through. I almost felt bad for them. But the black ooze was faster, quicker, it caught them, pressed against their flesh⌠and it wasnât long before three new blackened irises were staring at us, inky tears streaming down their faces.
 Gonqui raced for the door during the madness, her tired old hands clasping on the ornate door handles, her hoarse voice trying to call for help though it was ripped from her lungs before it could even touch the walls.
 One of the trio, a dragonborn monk began towards the door, enthralled to bend to the will of Kashal, and by extension Rahovar. Kaldvic attempted to take hold of the distraction as he reached for the blade at the monkâs side, slicing it free with his own blade and retrieving it. Now dual wielding he moved to block the monk from retreating. He would protect Gonqui for the time he could. Kaldvicâs gaze moved to me for a brief moment, a lop-sided grin plastering itself to his face. âBe brave,â he mouthed, and then snapped into combat, swords ready at his command.
 Streloka burst into action as well, her pistol shots singing out around me, her movements almost too quick to track as she moved from firing to reloading in fluid motions, a twister of death, bullets raining down upon the two enemies that remained. Her actions were seamless. With the wind whipping her hair from her, it was difficult to determine where her crimson mane ended and her bullet fire began. One of the men dropped like a pile of bricks, hands clutching his knee. He had fallen victim to one of Strelokaâs shots. The adamantine borrowing bullet dug deep into his flesh, likely to the bone with how aggressive the magic was wounded around them. The other took a shot clean through his clavicle, bone splinters exploding out from his shoulder, black blood splattering long the his armor and padding. It soaked into the leather jerkin, the entrance wound bleeding profusely.
 And the man shrugged it off as if he had received nothing more than a mere paper cut. His daggers twirled expertly in his nimble hands, the blades hissing through the air. But even as he was poising to launch of volley of attacks, Strelokaâs attention moved to Paprika. Three more gunshots rang out in quick succession, trained on Paprika, arguably the weakest link of their group. Though with her new powers, the bullets never graced her skin. They were disposed of as soon as they came within reach of the stirring black ooze that surrounded her like a shield, an impenetrable wall, catching the hostile fire and melting the enchanted lead as if it as butter.
 One bullet managed to make it through, but it did nothing more than bless her arm with a caress before blasting open a phylactery that sat on a shelf behind her.
 I too took advantage of the situation. I raced forward, ducking low underneath a sweeping blade attack from the man with twin daggers. I lopped to the side away from his range, preparing my bow. But suddenly, I felt dazed, a bit sick. My vision blurred in the slightest as I readied myself. My head swam, as if I was sitting atop a tall tree and the altitude was getting to me. A sharp stabbing pain ripped through the back of my skull and I winced, running my fingers gently across the nape of my neck and up. Had I gotten hit? My fingertips were bare, no blood, nothing. I shook my head gently, clearing my mind. Whatever, perhaps the smoke was giving me a headache.
 A warm rush of adrenaline burst through me, veins begging for me to release that energy. The pain in my head fueled my desire to get payback. My eyes moved to where Alyara had vanished, Bardon was bent over, the shimmering air around the two of them indicated that he had placed ward of protection, his healing magic beginning to work. She was in good hands⌠in the meantime, I would make them pay.
 My vision blurred around the edges like it always did when I was focusing, giving me tunnel vision towards Kashal â the man who had harmed my sister in the first place â tunnel vision that would lead my arrows straight to his cocky smug grinned faced, I would rain them down upon him. I stared down at my quarry, my prey, my jaw setting, teeth ground together angrily, eyes sharp and piercing. He hadnât noticed me yet. Good. I would take the bastard by surprise. I almost didnât notice my body going through the motions of notching an arrow and letting it fly, I only became aware when I saw my sizzling arrows embed into his torso.
 Whatever, it was convenient. I wasnât going to complain.
 I let my arrows fly, felt a numb sensation as my arm moved on its own accord. Kashal stared at me stunned, eyes wide with horror. Arrows streamed from my bow madly, trails of smoke snaking behind them in their wake. With each pull back of the string I felt my fingers ache, my hands numb, but knew it would hurt more if I stopped, knew I couldnât stop. He would PAY!
 But now I had his attention. Kashalâs hand whipped up and with it a blockade of black goop. My arrows pressed against it uselessly and dropped to the wooden planks. I heard him curse in a language I didnât understand, a snarl that made my hair stand on end and gooseflesh race over me, chills down my spine.
 I shouted back, my rage consuming me and pushing my body to its limits. Bardon had prepared me for this, when my emotions were out of control and the fire consumed me. The candles around the room were igniting with energy, the once gentle flickering flames roaring to life threatening to start the walls on fire. If I had been in the right frame of mind, I would have stopped, I would have calmed myself. But nothing to me was more important in that moment than killing this man.
 Behind Kashal I could see Bardon turn, his eyes flashing silver once as he called his spear to his side. On the off chance his ward broke, he needed his weapon to defend himself. The once splintered and broken silver tipped spear repaired itself on command, sometimes his oracle curse wasnât too awful, especially now when he needed the staff. The look on his face caught my attention though, even as I was readying myself to send another onslaught of arrows towards the tiefling â frustration, anger, a murderous look I hadnât seen him wear before. He wanted Kashal dead, even more so they I did. He visibly sighed, and returned his focus to my sister.
 And then whipped around to look at me again, startled. When he moved to the side⌠Alyara was gone.
 Across the room I heard Kaldvic grunt, the monkâs fist connecting with his jaw before launching into a series of heavy swings directed at his face. Kaldvic reeled in the slightest but used that momentum, ready and tensed for this moment, his muscles taut as he launched himself out of harmâs way. Rolling to bring himself upright once more, Kaldvic wielded his twin katana, the swords weaved back in forth in constant motion as he waited for an opening to make itself known. With a huff of effort he lunged, flashes of crimson and steel slicing towards the monk, his blades nothing more than extension of his arms reaching out to scrape away more and more of his enemyâs flesh. Thin cuts quickly became gaping wounds, the dragonbornâs scales becoming disfigured and bloodied. The monkâs cloth armor provided littler protection and there was next to nothing he could do to avoid further barrage rather than counter with his own.
 His fists were slow and predicatble in comparison to the speed Kaldvic wielded, but he force behind them and upon each successful hit I could hear the man I loved yelp and cry out, his own blood painting the shelves where it hit. More than once I could have sworn I heard a bone snap under the heard knuckle of his adversary.
 Whatever the black blood did to these people, it turned them into mindless husks. Neither the monk nor the dual wielding dagger rogue seemed to care about their injuries. They fought regardless of the damage they took, oblivious to their lack of will. Even when they took a hit, they did not show evidence of pain or agony, simply more aggression. Kaldvicâs gaze locked with mine from across the room, his expression grim. He needed the upper hand and he didnât know how to obtain it. We were running on limited energy, we had a resource that was waning thingâŚ
 Our enemy did not.
 But thankfully Kaldvic had the same crutch I did, a back door option, a trick up our sleeve. Where my rage was already going⌠his now just begun. His eyes glowed again, his muscles strengthened, I knew the minor injuries he had were now a nuisance he would deal with later. His strikes were faster, stronger, the tempo of his blows more erratic and unpredictable than they were before as his swords cleaved down for the kill rather than calculated arterial cuts. But even I knew this would only last for a few moments, brief moments at that⌠and then he would be exhausted. If the monk was taken care of by thenâŚ
 I turned my attention back to my own task as I began to circle around to the side of the room. Kashalâs attention could only be divided so many ways, with Bardon taking up action on his rear and his minions under constant fire from Streloka, I took my chance to glance around for Aly. I was hoping she was simply using a new spell that she hadnât warned me of and was hiding unseen in a corner. I did catch sight of Gonqui cowering away, giving up hope on the door to our exit. It wouldnât open, it was magically sealed. No point wasting energy on a lost cause.
 Kaldvicâs war cry brought me out of my thoughts. âNo!â I gasped, watching as he sprinted head first towards Kashal. He too must have assumed the tiefling was too preoccupied to pay him much attention, but he had been mistaken.
 Kashal hadnât been as overwhelmed as Kaldvic presumed, it was as if he thrived in this environment, thirsted for this chaos. The more challenging the fight became, the calmer he seemed to become. It was as if Kaldvicâs headlong strike had been anticipated from the start. Just as Kaldvicâ bulky frame made its way to the demon, the half-fiend contorted, side stepping in an unnatural way and twisting out of reach of the twin blades. His grin became psychotic, wide and excited his eyes stared up to meet the confused downward look of the fighter. Perhaps on a lesser opponent such a move would have worked⌠but a lesser component Kashal was not.
 Instead the tieflingâs backbone cracked audibly as he reared himself upright, his pitch black longsword thrust down in the same motion as a scorpionâs tail. It was wrong, disturbing, whatever this black blood did, it made people do impossible things. He should be broken, dead the way his body was disfigured. The look of confusion on Kaldvicâs face showed that he was thinking the same. He tried to bring his sword up to block, but the force of the ebony blade shattered through the katana like it wasn't even there, the shards of the blade flying in all directions.
 A split second later Kaldvic was flat on his back, the air living his lungs in a long whoosh, swords flung from his limp fingers and resting out of reach. Blood pooled around him and he stared down at his chest where he had been skewered.
 I started forward, hand reaching out to him, a scream left bare on my lips, my vision tinting red, head swimming. Kashal chuckled, a low menacing sound that echoed on the fringe of all other sounds in the room. His ebony sword remained embedded in Kaldvic, pinning him to the Vault floor.
 âYOU BASTARD!!â Gun shots pierced out, the bang startling me out of my daze, the bullets aimed for Kashal. But the tiefling blocked it much in the same way he had with my bullets, a quick flick of his wrist and he had a barrier of acidic goo, flushing away any assistance the pirateâs bullets may have offered. Uselessly they pinged to the floor, clicking against my arrows.
 The wave surged towards Streloka, slamming her against the huge locked doors of the phylactery chamber, age old dust exploded out from the ancient wood. She slid down, a pool of burning black ooze waiting for her at the bottom. She screamed, thrashed in the liquid, trying to break free as it ate at her skin, a wash of agony and white hot pain. But it stuck to her like glue, it refused to be removed⌠and eventually her screams became whimpers⌠and even those too died out.
 Kashal stood confidently in the center of the room⌠Streloka⌠Kaldvic⌠I felt numb, I was going to be sick. My brain was allowing me to comprehend what happened, my adrenaline rush forcing me to continue to act. Slowly his turned to me, a long nailed finger rose to point in my direction but I felt as if I was hearing him speak through water, the room was tilting this way and that.
 âYou there,â he cooed amicably. âThe fight is over, child. All of your friends are dead or quickly heading in that direction. I believe you know what I am here for, what has brought me here, worlds away forâ I instinctually went for my quiver, wrapped my fingers around an arrow and let it lose piercing him in his face, slaughtering him where he stood.
 ExceptâŚ
 Except that didnât happen.
 My hand moved on its own, not anymore. It was not instinct that controlled me this time. Instead of going for my quiver, I slipped my hand over the phylactery that rested at my hip, tied down by a cord. I undid that cord, cradeling the glass bottle in my hand, the yellowed label clearly reading âSamuel Stillwaterâ. Rahovarâs final earthly tether, the lock keeping the evil man from ascending into Godhood.Â
 His smirk turn manic, widening at the sight of the vial. âYes,â he hissed, lips barely moving. âThis is it! Give it to me!â
 No! Donât do it! Donât give it to him! STOP! STOP THIS! Â
 But I tossed the vial across the room. It spun end over end in a high arc through the air⌠to Kashalâs greedy hand, snatching it. Two gun shots rang out at that last moment. The first bullet punched through the demonâs expecting hand while the other sent the phylactery fying back, the enchanted glas holding together even after a direct ballistic hit.
 Kashalâs returning scream shook the chamber, the tiefling clutching his hand close to his body as he turned to stare with fiery eyes at Streloka. She had managed to remain upright against the door, both hands gripping her smoking pistol in a shaking grip. Even with Kashalâs black blood eating away at her, she still held that devil-may-care look in her violet eyes that showed he had no intention of letting anything, not even this pain, stop her. I turned to look at her, watched as she struggled to smile back even as she bit at her lip to stave off some of the insurmountable pain she must have been experiencing.
 I moved towards her, I could help, I could pull her out. Kaldvic⌠He⌠I squeezed my eyes shut. I would save Streloka. As I moved closer my vision hazed again, common now with the rage that was blasting through me. I raised a hand to rub my eyes, hoping to clear them⌠but when I did I dropped to my knees.
 Streloka was no longer smiling at me. Instead she had wide shocked eyes that were focused on her own torso. Half a dozen arrows were plunged arrowhead deep into her chest, arrows enchanted to torch a target from the inside out, arrows tipped with silver to kill vampiresâŚ
 My arrows.
 When I stared down at my hand I was holding up my bow, my sight geared straight towards Streloka.
 I⌠I did it⌠I⌠I killed Streloka.
 Kashalâs answering chuckle was my welcome. Then what happened dawned on me. The haze⌠every time my vision blurred⌠every time it reddened around the edges⌠That hadnât been my rage. Now focusing I could feel a mental control on me, feel his thoughts inside my head.
 Slowly, painstakingly so, my eyes traveled from Streloka to⌠Kaldvic. It wasnât a sword that forced him to the ground⌠no⌠it was my arrows.
 My stomach hurled, my head spun, I felt to my knees, hands shook, vision blurred though this time it wasnât due to my lack of will. Tears streamed down my face. I couldnât breathe, I was choking on sobs that wretched through my body as I curled into a tight ball, head almost touching the ground. I killed him⌠Oh gods, I killed Kaldvic.
 I inched towards him, my whole body numb, my actions feeling like they were forced, as if I was standing outside myself, watching. I took his head in my hands, set it out on my lap. âI⌠IâŚâ I couldnât even speak. I buried my face in his hair, fingers clenching the collar of his shirt, his scarf twisting and balling in my hands. His blood was everywhere, slowly drying onto his clothing, turning into crystals. His scarf almost looked like it was covered with rubies, it glinted in the light. He let out a cough and looked up at me, the fire in his crimson eyes dying. He struggled, and turned his lips into his trademark smirk, then fell limp, dead.  My back shuddered with the force of my cries, my lungs ached, stomach hurt from where I clenched the muscles there. âPlease no,â I begged. âPlease, just let him come back. I⌠I didnât mean⌠It wasnât⌠my fault. Please, Iâll do anything. Just give him back to me. PleaseâŚâ my voice was barely above a whisper, my lips hardly moving. âI love him, please.â My heart felt like it had been ripped from chest, a gaping hole where it used to be. I wasnât even sure it was beatingâŚ. How could it if he was dead? I could I exist if he was gone? âI love you,â I breathed into his hair. My hands glowed with magic, trying to heal him though I knew it was futile. âPlease come back to me, I need you. Iâm nothing⌠I canât do this without you, pleaseâŚâ Tears soaked his hair, washed away the blood that was already drying upon his skin.
 Kashalâs sinister chuckle turned into loud, cold laughter. âYou cannot save him, you cannot kill me, no matter how hard you try.â Mocking, he was mocking me. I heard him move somewhere out of my view, picking up something from the ground. âI own you!â I turned to look up at him, my treasured bow in his hands, empty quiver slung over his shoulder. I had used all of my arrows⌠to kill my friends.
 âYou are nothing,â he spat, eyes darkening as he grasped my bow between his hands, easily snapping the weapon in two, wooden splinters shattering outwards as he dropped the now useless item at my knees. From his pocket he withdrew Rahovarâs phylactery, turning the bottle this way and that in his slender, gnarled fingers, eyeing the contents that swirled inside. âCannot save the man you love, cannot stop the little voice in your head telling you to slaughter those close to you, cannot kill me⌠And, you know what? You cannot stop me from breaking this either.â
 He cupped the tiny bottle in his hands, whispering strange words in a guttural and ugly language that made my insides crawl. Lightning surged between his fingers and charged into the vial. Whatever protective magic that was once protecting was waning thing as Kashal chanted faster, more furiously, lightning dancing on his palms and trailing down his fingers.
 Black hands erupted from the flat ground, grasping around Kashalâs feet. Claws dug deep into his ankles, pulling him out of his trance-like concentration and forcing the phylactery from his hands, the vial rolling away across the floor boards.
 âWhat in the Nine Hells-â Kashal began in a growl, gaze locked on the floor in disbelief.
 Alyara climbed her way up from Kashalâs shadow, piercing her claws into his flesh as she brought herself up. A sly smile curled upon her lips this time, no sign that she was injured or harmed by the black blood that had once stuck to her just moments ago. In fact, I looked closer, she appeared as if she hadnât been hurt whatsoever even though I knew I had seen blood when she was launched backwards. Her attack was stronger, wild, less controlled⌠Something had changed.
 âHow are you not dead?â his voice boomed.
 âI had help,â Alyara replied, her smirk growing wider her shadow shifted and changed. She was solid now, having pulled herself completely up off the ground. A secondary being appeared, obscured by mist and darkness but eventually it took the shape of Carruth, a murderous glare in his feline eyes. As quickly as he appeared he launched forward, lunging into Kashal and knocking him backwards, dark claws sunk into the rust colored scales that adorned his neck and face. Alyara pushed off as Carruth continued his onslaught, Kashal attempting meagerly to push the beast away.
 Alyara moved to my side, her adrenaline likely blocking out the scene that lay before her, allowing her to remain blissfully ignorant to the destruction⌠the deathâŚ
 âWhat-â she began, but her voice was cut off as Kashal began his chant once more with more vigor and strength, with however much arcane ability he could hold while be attacked. He foamed at the mouth with rage, black inky blood beginning to edge down over his lips and dying his teeth, his concentration struggled but he maintained it.
 Dark grey mist circled around his feet slowly drifting to fill the space around him. A sickening slurping sound issued from the mist just as thick black tentacles rose from the obscuring fog, twisting in the air. Those tentacle encircled Carruth, flinging him from Kashal as if he was nothing more than an irritating fly on a hot summer day. Kashalâs laughter bit out through the mist as he removed himself from the tentacles, reaching down for the phylactery once more.
 Bardonâs boot clamped down on the glass vial, his eyes sharp with determination.
 Kashal scoffed, eyes rolling as he paused momentarily in his stride. âElf, do you truly think you can stop me? After all this time? Your little trick didnât work back then and if you honestly believe that your booted foot will stop me nowâŚâ
 âNo,â the oracle answered, looking down towards the phylactery. His voice oozed with disappointment, not wanting to admit to Kashal, to anyone, that we had lost. âI donât think I could ever stop, or kill you, or make you pay. I tried, I used a spell Kalin gave me to banish you but... clearly that didnât work.â The vial rolled under his foot, back and forth. âIâm not much of a fighter, you yourself made sure that any weapon I hold is on the brink of falling apart.â Alyara and I met glances. His oracle curse⌠he hadnât been born with it, nor had Kalin bestowed it to him as we had assumed. No, it had been Kashal, this tiefling. Had it been part of Rahovarâs plan all along? âI canât beat you in a fight, and you know spells that can turn me inside out in a second with nothing more than a few words.
 âSo, no, I canât stop you.â Bardon quickly stepped down on the phylactery, flipped the vial up to his right hand, a scroll suddenly appearing from his pocket in his left. He let the scroll open, revealing dozens or even hundreds of rows of arcane writing, much of it I couldnât make out. A circular figure rested in the center, the words curving around it. âBut, I can slow you down and toss this thing away!â The letters on the scroll began to gleam bright purple, each and every single letter igniting with a bright violet flame. âIâll toss this through a rift! A thousand possible worlds and countless possible times!â Bardon pulled his hand back, ready to drop the phylactery into the swirling abyss.
 âYou brag that you have so much time to live, right? Then spend it searching!â
 Bardonâs eye flushed over with black instead of his usual silver, his right hand holding the phylactery froze in place, the fingers holding the scroll slowly unfurled and dropped the parchment. He⌠was frozen⌠As the scroll touched the ground, the portal and the letters that created it faded away as if they had never been summoned. Only the black parchment remained.
 Alyara moved to stand but I stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, my head shaking. Just stop, let us lose, let this be over⌠donât try to fight⌠we will all die if we do.
 Trying was futile.
 Kashal leaned closer to Bardon, his voice like a whip, âFoolishness, breaker,â he whispered, âYou should have known better than anyone else. I. Own. You. Just as I own her,â he jabbed a finger at me. âYou are my pets! The only reason you live is because I let you. And you, like all my other possessions, serve a purpose.â Kashal reached out to lift Bardonâs hands, the phylactery bore cracks along the glass from being in his grip. Still black eyed and mute, Bardon offered no resistance as Kashal gently took the glass from him, he was unresponsive, complied without a fight.
 Vial in hand, Kashalâs grip tightened on Bardonâs. âNow fulfill your purpose. Use the gift I gave to you all those years ago when you wished you could use magic like all the other highborn elves. Do what I made you to do and BREAK!â
 âNO!â shrieked Alyara, hand outstretched to stop Kashal.
 But it was too late.
 The sound of glass crunching, shattering, cascading apart reached out ears.
 A fine spray of tiny glass shards and ancient blood drooped to the floor, splattering it, staining it.
 Whispers began in my head.
 A great wind picked up around us all, the change so strong and forceful and churning it took us by surprise. The sheer force was even more violent than the smoke that Kashal had created earlier, foul black energy enveloping within it, evil, dark. The air writhed and spun, a low rumble shook the phylactery vault, countless vials jingled again, ringing to the rhythm of the small quake. The rumble grew louder, forming clearly into a grisly bellow that put my teeth on end, as if a giant was shouting in agony. The dark energy began to take shape, starting first with the frail human frame of the vampire cleric. Even from where we sat, I could make out the deceptively charming face of Rahovar.
 The whispers were screaming now⌠but I knew only I could hear them⌠knew my sister was oblivious to their existence⌠as I finally realized what had happened back in Moffat.
 Rahovarâs face rose up as his body formed, contorted in agony, screaming that inhuman sound, the very same he had shouted when he fell into the Pool of Resurrection so many months before. The dark energy about him turned back over, changing his thin frame and handsome features. Muscles expanded down the lengths of his arms and legs, spanning across his torso, stretching the vampireâs skin tight. Loud cracks could be heard as Rahovarâs bones jutted outwards and rearranged themselves within his body. Sharp spines protruded past his skin along his spine, lining the length of his backbone and pronounced the line of his brow. Great leathery wings sprouted from his back and pulled at the twisting current as they stretched out. The monstrous new form of Rahovar loomed over Kashal and Bardon. While the tiefling stared up at his God with nothing less than pure bliss, Bardon shrunk away, his mind now his own once more.
 Rahovarâs stature continued to grow, pressing against the ceiling and cracking the ancient would and stone that held the room together. His horned forehead and shoulders punctured into the hard material, forcing it upwards until the ceiling fractured against the pressure. Dust and debris fell in great clumps. I quickly dragged myself backwards, sister in my arms, covering Alyara with my own body to protect her from the worst of it, cringing only in the slightest as they rained down up on us. I had already lost enough today, I wasnât about to let her join Kaldvic and Streloka.
 Bardon scurried out of the way, joining us against the back wall of the room, the shelves providing some shelter to the storm that raged in the middle of the chamber. Carruth at his side though quickly disappearing into Alyaraâs shadow once close.
 Kashalâs tentacles formed a barrier above his head, he wore the same pleased grin.
 Gonqui pressed herself against the large ornate doors.
 Rahovar, now clear of the ceiling and stretching into the lightning and thunder filled skies above, spread his vast wings wide into the open air, releasing yet another ground shaking bellow. Rather than pain, his shriek was nothing but relief and victory. The tiny room shuddered beneath our feet, tossing us about like we were rag dolls, involuntary to the chaos. Water droplets splattered against the wooden floor, joining the blood of our enemies and companions. The storm raged louder, stronger than it had been earlier as lightning streaked the sky in wild arcs, thunder bombarding us with its screams of protest. The winds whipped our hair form us, stole our breath, shook the foundation of Castle Cantor.
 Even from under his tentacles I could see Kashal beaming with delight, so proud that his God of Tears had been reborn, careless of the storm that beat down upon us. Even as Rahovar dissipated, becoming one with the air above us⌠joining the pantheon of the Gods⌠even as Kashal was clearly left behind⌠he was happy. The fucker. He would pay.
 He reached down as the winds subsided, pulling his crimson cloak out from amidst the rubble, sweeping it over his shoulders in one swift motion, pinning it with the silver eye brooch. His gaze moved to us, huddled in the corner, shelving pressing against us. âYou should consider yourselves fortunate,â he remarked, still grinning with shark teeth from ear to ear. âYou have had the pleasure of witnessing an new Godâs birth, or rebirth, if you prefer.â The tiefling moved to Kaldvicâs body, bony fingers curling around one of the arrows, roughly pulling it loose from his body. I grit my teeth, tears pooled in the corner of my eyes. How dare he?
 Kaldvicâs body gave one last shudder as the final arrow was removed and dropped at his side. Kashal continued his little speech, assuming we cared enough to listen⌠we didnât. âNow, times are about to get very busy in this world. A new God means new religion, there is so much for me to do!â He sounded so⌠fucking⌠joyful. It made me sick. With a nonchalant wave of his bleeding hand, black blood surrounded Paprikaâs enthrall body once more, stiffened and formed around her. No longer acidic, the viscous fluid seemed to compact to her, pulling her down, becoming one with the black stream until she was nothingness. The river of black trickled to the trio of enemies that had once wanted to slaughter us, their bodies now crushed under the rubble, and diluted them to ooze as well.
 âI should take these two, as well, my well-earned trophies,â his hand flicked towards Streloka and Kaldvic. I heard Alyara gasp beside me as realization took hold, now that her adrenaline had worn off enough that her mind could tell her of the devastating lost he had taken. Her gaze turned to me, eyes wet, her lip trembling.
 But I was too busy trying to launch forward, to dig my nails into his eyes, to rip his smug expression from his face, to bash his head into the wall so many times he wouldnât be recognizable. But Bardonâs arms around my waist stopped me. âLet me go!â I snarled, but he refused.
 The black blood encapsulated Kaldvic and Strelokaâs bodies, adding them to his collection. The stream flowed back to Kashal, the impossible volume of tar-like substance returned back through the small cut on his hand, leaving the room clean once more.
 I sunk to my knees, eyes trained on the spot Kaldvicâs body was rested.
 And then Kashal was gone, sprouting his own wings and taking off into the storm above, heading north in the path of his God.
Gonqui turned to us, face pale and eyes wide, hair haphazardly arranged her face, clothing torn and ragged, hands trembling, knees weak. Her lips were parted but no words would come. I could guess that this was the most excitement her college had seen since its creation⌠and it would likely be the last.
 Alyara shuffled behind me. âBardon⌠you knew that thing they summoned. The tiefling. Kashal.â It wasnât a quest, it was an accusation. Her mind had gone the same route mine did: did Bardon somehow know this would happen?
 Bardon cleared his throat. âI do⌠He is Kashal Lotharn.â He paused for a moment as if trying to find his words, to phrase what he wanted in a way that we would understand without labeling him a traitor. âWhen I was Kalinâs servant, I made the mistake of telling him that my deepest desire was to be able to use magic. Sun elves who couldnât were⌠looked down upon. Kalin told me he could help, that he could introduce me to someone who could give me magic.â He sighed heavily, the weight of the memory a burden. âThat person was Kashal. I didnât know what I was getting into. He gifted me with magic, but he also cursed me. At the time, I didnât know of his connection to Rahovar, I still donât know the extent of it. Maybe if we can somehow decipher Sam Stillwaterâs journal, we can better understand what is occurring.â
 âI donât know Infernal,â my sister replied, her voice sounding used, exhausted.
 Gonqui chimed in then finding her voice, âTo the north of Castle Cantor is a town called Riverâs End⌠there was once a rather prominent family of wizards there known as the Carroways. I do not know much of the world now but if anyone could help or know where to look⌠I believe that family could be of assistance.â
 Bardon mused this over for some time. âYou have a point, they have a manor in the marsh and are well renowned for their studies into both the arcane and the divine. I believe Evan the Teal, the head master wizard for the family, was an adventurer and had helped overturn the cult of Fashmi. He would have knowledge, I am certain, though I am not so sure he would be able or even willing to help us.â
 âBut we have a place to start,â Alyara crossed her arms. âWe can at least try.â
 Bardon moved to the center of the room where Kashal once stood, picking through the rubble. Pulling his hand back I could just barely mack out the unmarked black diamond that had been thrown to the center of the room, the very gem Kashal had arisen from. âOnce we are at Riverâs End we can track down Kashal with this⌠I assume Rahovar shouldnât be too far away from him â he is likely still weak and needs the aid of the tiefling.â
 Everyone began gathering their things, picking up tossed belongings and misplaced weapons and gear. Bardon began removing rubble from one of the collapsed walls, we would exit through there, Gonqui was fussing about, not quite sure what to do now that her home was destroyed. She couldnât leave⌠she was bound to this place.
 I couldnât care less.
 I heard Bardon ask something, Alyara replying, their idle chatter not cutting through the screaming in my head, the pounding of my heart⌠The ache in my chest. I glanced at Kaldvicâs scarf that still remained clutched in my hands.
 I felt Alyaraâs hands on my shoulder, giving me a gentle squeeze. âItâs time to go.â
 âI didnât mean to kill themâŚâ I whispered.
 âI know,â her voice was warm, comforting, caring, sympathetic.
 âIt wasnât my faultâŚâ
 âI know.â
 âI loved him.â
 She knelt behind me, wrapping her arms around me, pulling me against her, resting her chin on my head as I closed my eyes, willing my mind to erase the image of Kaldvicâs body skewered with my arrows. My brain now able to conjure up the memory of shooting him, my arms acting without my consent, firing shot after shot with a blank expression.
 âI loved him and heâs gone. He wonât ever know. I wanted toâŚâ my voice muffled around tears, the sobs returning once more, wracking my body, I shook, my grip constricting around the scarf. âI didnât even get to plant a tree...â It was tradition, to bury a tree over our fallen.
 âWe will plant him one,â she promised.
 âIt wonât be the same.â I wonât be the same.
 âI know, Albi. Iâm sorry.â
 I vaguely heard her tell Bardon to meet us at the river boat, we would catch up with him later.
 I donât know how long we sat like that, how long she let me cry uncontrollably into her shoulder. I only know that afterwards I felt fatigued, spent, as if every ounce of energy I had was pressed out of me. My heart beat though I questioned how it could continue.
 How many more people did I have to lose?
 How many more times would I have to go through this?
 Alyara slid Kaldvicâs scarf around my shoulders, circling it around my neck once and letting it fall around me. She pinned my ivory cloak, pulling the hood up though it seemed pointless now that my hair was already soaked from the rain.
 Without further word, she took me by the hand and led me away from the chamber and into the storm.
