Chapter I: Skies of Blood

Anomen Delryn sensed any resolve he might have borne previously fading as it felt as if his very soul was being pierced by the twin orbs of glittering gold that were the eyes of the man who faced him. Why was he here? Why was he doing this? What was going on?

He looked away from the golden eyes and turned his gaze skywards, to the clouds that seemed to be raining blood, filling the sky with a shimmering maelstrom of crimson for as far as he could see. The ground around him was littered with bones that made disconcerting crunching noises as he shifted his feet uncomfortably, and a sickened feeling rose up in his stomach, threatening to overpower even the grim determination that was upon him.

Fresh bodies still surrounded the man with the golden eyes, bleeding from wounds too numerous to count when Anomen focused his attention back on him, gripping the shining Flail of Ages in his slightly shaking hand. "Harrian," he spoke, his voice sounding confident in a way that was alien to his ears as he drew himself up straight. "What are you doing? What do you think you are doing?"

Harrian Corias turned slightly, the glistening blue blade of the Equaliser hanging a little limply, currently unused, in his hand. "Doing?" he asked, seeming highly unconcerned. His golden eyes fixed on Anomen, and the cleric suppressed a shiver. "What does it look like I'm doing, Delryn?"

Suddenly, a man stumbled into existence, almost tripping over the bones by Anomen as he staggered towards Harrian. His clothes were bland and simple, his face blank and unfamiliar. Anomen did not recognise him, and was quite sure that he wasn't supposed to.

Harrian's eyes lit up with glee as the man approached, the Equaliser screaming to life in his hand. As Anomen watched, unable to move, react, or intervene, the Bhaalspawn lunged forwards, thrusting his sword into the man's gut. Without making a sound, he fell to the floor, becoming just one more body on a pile, and Harrian pulled his blade out calmly. There was no blood on the shining metal, Anomen realised with a start – it was all on Harrian's hands.

"It looks like you're murdering," the cleric told him slowly, still speaking in that horrible hollow, cold, determined voice that embodied none of the emotions that were currently churning through his gut. "I have to stop you." The Flail of Ages felt massive and unwieldy in his hands, and he was sure he wouldn't be able to put it through a single swing. How was he supposed to stop anyone?

Harrian was regarding him casually, the sword now loose and limp in his hand. He had a strange, distant look on his face, as if Anomen's words had gone in one ear and out the other. As Anomen watched cautiously, it took the Bhaalspawn a few more moments until he actually reacted.

"Murdering?" Harrian repeated quietly, swinging the Equaliser casually. "Yes. I suppose I am murdering, at that. But it's not as simple as that. It's cleansing. These bodies… all of these bodies… are the bodies of Bhaalspawn." He paused, and turned to gesture with his blade at the last body, the body of the inconsequential man he had cut down without a second thought. "Except for him. He was just in the way." Harrian hesitated again, frowning, then gestured to another pile of bodies, where Anomen could hardly make out a single distinctive form in the mass of blood and death. "And her. But… these people…" He made a grand sweep of his arm, his expression lightening. "They're my 'siblings'. And they die."

Anomen felt cold in his stomach. "All of them?" he repeated quietly, again with the grim determination he didn't know he had. "Why?"

"Because… they also stand in my way." Harrian drew himself up to his full height. "Those who stand in my way, fall. I am the greatest, the most powerful of the Children of Bhaal. I am one of the most powerful mortals to walk Faerûn, Delryn. And those who try to stop me, die!"

Bile rose up in Anomen's throat, but he took a threatening step forward, the fatalistic feeling writhing inside him actually prompting him to now summon up the resolve and determination himself. "Why? Those who try to stop you from what?"

Harrian stared at him, his golden eyes glowing. "Godhood," he said simply, and smiled a feral smile. "I shall ascend, take my father's throne. And the rivers shall run red with blood, the sky shall turn the crimson shade of death, and the ground shall be littered with the bodies of the murdered. And none shall stand in my way!"

"None?" Anomen asked quietly, his voice as tight as steel as he hefted the Flail of Ages cautiously. "I think not. I have sworn an oath, you know."

Harrian paused in his ranting, and lowered his blade to look at the Helmite. "You have, Delryn? When? What oath?"

Anomen raised his chin ever so slightly. "Once I knew of your heritage, when Keldorn warned me of the darkness within you and I stayed by your side regardless… I swore that I would keep you on the side of light." He shifted his feet a little. "Then I saw how I alone could not do that – how none of us except you could do that – and so I bound myself to a new vow. A different vow." Anomen stared Harrian in the eye, and took a deep breath. "Darkness falls upon your soul, and my blade falls upon your head. You fall sway to murder, Harrian, to your tainted blood; you get lost in the evil within you and do its bidding, and I swear, I shall slay you myself."

Harrian looked at him slowly, then stretched his arms out, his sword seeming like an extension of himself in the simple movement. "Then go on," he said quietly, simply. "Slay me."

Unsure of himself, Anomen took a step forward, just as Harrian threw his free hand out. There was a space of at least two metres between the two men, but energy rippled along in front of Harrian's hand, imperceptible but plainly there, and Anomen felt himself knocked backwards by a force so powerful it was incredible he managed to stay on his feet as he staggered agitatedly.

"See?" Harrian said at last as the Helmite succeeded at staying upright – barely. "That is only a taste of the power I wield. I could have blasted you across this plain of death. I could have sapped all life from your body with a single move. I could have pointed, and you'd then be dead."

Anomen let out a short bark of humourless laughter. "Mages have tried that before," he commented wryly. "And if you could, then why did you not?"

"A warning." Harrian's eyes glowed ominously. "But it seems you need a little bit more convincing. Have no fear. I shall prove it to you – I shall count to five, and then you will be dead." At Anomen's look, he raised his free hand again, and another body stumbled into existence out of nothingness.

Anomen knew this new arrival well. Very well. Much more than he would have wanted to. He'd almost been killed – or had been killed, or something horribly in between – by the man before him. The shell of a man. Whatever was left in the body of Jon Irenicus.

"One." Harrian's voice echoed in the world with no walls, and his sword swung in a blow that crashed across Irenicus' chest, not stabbing deep but practically ripping his torso open with a single slash. As the unknown man before had, Irenicus fell without a word.

But it was not over, for the moment the once-elven mage's body hit the sea of other bodies, someone else staggered into existence. Reynald, wearing an armour of the deepest black tinged with crimson, his giant Warblade adorned with a skull carved into the hilt. Anomen somehow felt he knew this vision of his friend even less than he had known Irenicus.

"Two." The Equaliser slashed at the weak point in Reynald's armour, the neck, and blood gushed from the wound liberally. The Fallen Paladin tumbled to the floor silently, no expression on his face, no word on his lips, no pain visible in his body. Just dead.

And again someone appeared; Jaheira, looking as she always had save the vacant expression on her face, and Anomen could not fight down the bile and the returning memories as Harrian turned to face her, no recognition, malice, or indeed any other emotion on his face.

"Three." She died as the others had, and fell as soundlessly, cut down by her lover who did not bat an eyelid or carry a shred of recognition.

Who next? Anomen asked himself, his stomach now churning, the Flail of Ages hanging uselessly at his side in the face of this display. It was a foolish question, for he already knew the answer he didn't want to hear. Not…

Indeed, it was, for the fourth person to stagger into these fields of blood, emerging out of nothingness, was Imoen, her eyes shining, a smile on her lips, and completely oblivious to the world around her. Knowing what was to come, Anomen urged his limbs into activity, trying to launch forward and stop the inevitable sequence.

"Four." He was too late; Harrian's sword moved through the air smoothly and he ran his sister through without hesitation, thought or deliberation. Anomen's stomach twisted.

He had nothing left in him, no resistance, no fear, no anger, no sickness, no emotion. So when Harrian finally turned to face him, Anomen merely met the gaze of those glittering golden orbs without consideration, unable to move or raise his flail or fight.

Harrian paused at this point, not moving as quickly as he had with the arrival after arrival of friend and foe to be murdered. He raised his sword and pointed it at Anomen, his expression now cool and appraising, evaluating the cleric. "Do you see now? You cannot stop me. None can stop me."

"This is true," Anomen said quietly, his stomach feeling like ice. "I cannot stop you."

"So come," Harrian said quietly, lowering the sword and raising his hand this time. "Come, and be murdered." There was a pause as Harrian took a breath and Anomen closed his eyes, pre-empting the darkness he knew would come. "Five."

The jolt that ran through Anomen's body jerked him out of sleep, out of the nightmare, away from the plains of blood, away from dreams and back to reality, to his room in Suldanessellar. The sheets on his bed were twisted and cold and drenched in his sweat as he sat bolt upright, panting and gasping once he had released the breath he hadn't known he was holding, and a shiver ran over his entire body.

"A dream," he mumbled to himself, trying to calm his racing heart as his eyes turned to the windows, to the night of the elven city. "Just a dream, Anomen. A figment of your imagination."

He ran a hand through his messy hair nervously, then shook his head slowly, his breath still fast and ragged. "It is true," he whispered to himself. "I cannot stop you." He paused, mulling his words over, until he took a deep, calming breath and nodded. "Not today, anyway. Or tomorrow. But you will not fall to darkness today or tomorrow anyway. And so my oath still holds true."

He knew he would not sleep any more that night.