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Chapter 46

The winner takes all

Elene cursed as her feet stumbled on uneven rock. Reflex allowed her to course-correct before she ended up eating dirt. Mentally she chided herself for being so distracted, but it was hard not to be, given what was before her.

The warrens opened into an entire city hidden underneath Baldur's Gate. Ruined structures dotted the landscape, remnants of what may have been buildings in a thriving settlement. She'd read of something like this before - old metropolis crumbling over time with new cities build over them. Forgotten, but not lost. Now, it stood as a necropolis, a city of the dead. This is where those vile undead must have come from. Past inhabitants of this ancient city, reanimated by some sick necromancer or rising from the grave fuelled by an ancient evil steeped into the sand and stones of this place.

Reaching out beyond her five senses, a hot itch began to build under her skin at the power gathered in the air. It made her fingers itch for her weapons, for blood. She recognised the power here. It had the same ominous, pulsating beat she sensed in Davaeorn's lair, and from Sarevok.

This was Bhaal's place once.

Sarevok didn't come here to run, she realised. He was here to make his stand.

Nothing is more dangerous than a cornered animal.

"This place is something else."

Imoen's voice jarred her from dark thoughts. She shook her head to clear it. Focus. The fight with the last mohrg and its crew had taken a lot out of the group. They'd had no choice but to leave their new friend from the Fist hidden in a corner to recover, the damage he'd taken from a slamming blow of the creature had left the man wheezing. Hopefully, the healing potion they'd left him was enough to keep him intact for reinforcements to take a proper look at him. Critical spells had to be kept in reserve, since they had no idea what traps Sarevok had laid out for them.

Almost on cue, her ears perked at a sound coming from further ahead. Wet coughing. The last time she'd heard something like it was at the bandit camp, before Sorrel and his men did their rounds executing survivors too far gone for questioning.

She adjusted her sword grip. "Someone is ahead."

"Lead on," Jaheira said quietly.

Swallowing, she advanced, suddenly hating her role as the party's scout. Too many close calls, either arrows or claws breezing past her face when she least expected. Unfortunately, the act of sticking one's head past the corner was a necessary evil in the adventuring business. Her body tensed when she peered through the ruins of what may have been a tradehouse, once upon a century ago. Four warriors, a robed woman and an ogre lay prone on the mossy ground, turned red from the blood leaking out from their bodies. Scanning them, she didn't recognise their faces nor their colours. Of the lot, only one remained breathing, though the woman did not look long for this life, with the gaping hole punched through her middle.

After a deep breath, Elene threw a glance over her shoulder and beckoned for the others to join her.

The broken woman was a half-elf in bright mustard mage robes. Her beady eyes followed Elene as she approached. A sword did that to her, she determined. A two-hander. It was a miracle the woman yet breathed, all things considered. Gorion died immediately when he was struck, from what she remembered.

Elene knelt a few paces away from the woman, studying her face. "Sarevok did this?"

A slight nod from the woman.

"We're here to stop him. Where did he go?"

The woman turned her head and looked upward from her position on the ground. Glancing up, Elene saw the top of a large stone structure, past the maze of ruins and shattered walls. The only building that seemed intact in the city, it stood out as a dark, foreboding silhouette in the distance, a clandestine place buried with all its secrets.

"Thank you," she nodded, then reached for the woman's hand. "What's your name? I'll send him your regards."

"Shal…drissa," wheezed the woman, the words slurring around the blood pooling in her mouth. Even so, hatred shone in her eyes, even as the last of her strength left her.

Elene sat with the woman's lifeless form for a while, deep in thought as the others began to search the effects of the dead for clues. Not that it mattered much to her. With any luck, the fallen group had softened up Sarevok and his crew enough to make it easier for them. It felt odd to think in such terms, but there it was. She didn't miss the appraising look Xan gave her when she raised her eyes from the corpse.

"They're from the Iron Throne in Sembia, sent to deal with Sarevok for the ruin of the Baldur's Gate chapter," Kivan announced as he skimmed through a salvaged note.

"Not surprising," Elene unfolded to her full height. "Let's finish what they started."

Past the broken stone walls, intermittent shuffling and scraping could be heard as they made their way towards the dark building. More undead. Every creak from Khalid and Jaheira's armours made Elene grit her teeth. They needed to be careful. Too much noise and a city of undead could descend upon them before they even reached Sarevok. She wondered what kept the creatures from festering within the building ahead, and her questions were answered as they drew up in front of the imposing structure.

"Silvanus preserve us," Jaheira whispered.

Elene's hairs stood on end as she took in the obsidian walls, lined with leering golden skulls from left to right. Before the large temple doors, a mural was inlaid – a skull surrounded by a halo of tears. It was a temple of Bhaal.

The sound of moving armour forced her to tear her eyes away from the mural. A shadowed figure approached, seeming to detach itself from the inky darkness of the many columns lining the front of the temple. She took in the features of the person in growing dread. The petite build, ebony hair, fair skin. Indeed, Tamoko's eyes looked immensely sad as she stood before the group, her hands open at her sides, though she was armed to the teeth. She canted her head in polite greeting, much as she did the first time they'd met.

"Hello again, Elene. I fear this time I have not come to speak. Sarevok knows of my treachery." She paused, a flash of pain flickering through her gentle features. "He has forsaken me, left me to die in your path. I must fight to regain his trust, his…attention."

"You asked me to know the man and judge him fairly," Elene said, her tone quiet. "You thought he could be saved."

"I did. More fool was I." Tamoko sighed. "It was I who judged him wrongly all along. And so I stand before you, knowing that if I defeat you, he will continue his plans and I shall lose him. If you defeat me, you shall go on to kill him. He will not yield to either of us. I have…I have no choice."

"You can still choose to walk away from this madness."

Tamoko's mouth curved downwards. "There may always be a choice, but the choosing has become unbearable. I have but two duties, and both leave me little hope. No, young one, I must face you now."

Here, in the former seat of her father's power, Elene felt his pull as strongly as though he was next to her. Just like with Winski earlier, her fingers twitched against the hilt of her sword, spurred by the promise of violence. The very stones of the place demanded blood, and here was a woman throwing herself at her to be killed. It would be the easiest thing in the Realms for Elene to raise her sword and grant Tamoko her death wish.

Blood was roaring in her ears by then. She considered the knife at her belt instead. With Tamoko's heavy armour, the quickest way to beat her would be with a quick strike to her unprotected throat. Foolish of the other woman to leave it exposed, really. Before she could follow through, though, Elene felt a hand on her arm.

"Lene. She helped us," said Imoen, her voice small in the darkness.

She paused, her grisly contemplation screeching to a sudden halt. Blinking, she tried to remember herself. Tamoko did help. Showed them the way, gave them the instruments with which to topple Sarevok's grand design. When she didn't move, Imoen's fingers tightened further, the gesture strangely plaintive, though nothing else was said.

She isn't the enemy.

Elene took a shaky breath, even as she stayed her twitching hand. "I will not fight you."

"You must!" Tamoko's hand shook as she gestured at herself. "I stand before you, I block your path! I am an obstacle that holds you back! You will free…" she choked on the word, then raised her eyes in defiance, "You will fight me!"

"If you wish to throw your life away, then you're already dead. You don't need me."

Tamoko reeled back as though struck by a physical blow. For a long, tense moment, she stared at Elene with wide, disbelieving eyes. Then the sadness returned in full force, her shoulders bowing under the weight of it. "You…are not so alike after all. He would not have hesitated for an instant." Frowning, she gazed closely at the elf. "Perhaps…perhaps there is more than his blood that makes him the way he is."

"It's easier to lie to ourselves than to face the truth," said Elene, understanding the other woman far better than she expected to. In that moment, a surge of gratitude for Imoen's intervention ran through her. And with it, a flash of self-loathing at what she'd almost done in cold blood.

"Indeed." A sad smile, then Tamoko reached out to grasp Elene's shoulder. "Your path is clear, and I wish you well. One last word in passing: beware of the blindness of those who would follow, and the damnable lure of those who would lead. A fool I was, and others are still. Ready yourself for the fire to come."

A chill ran through Elene at her words, and she followed Tamoko with her eyes until the woman was but a shadowed figure in the distance. One soul spared. Would it tip the scales in the grand scheme of things? Only time would tell, she supposed.

As the path into the temple stood clear, Elene glanced at her companions. Her dearest friend, Imoen, who blindly followed her into the wild because she couldn't bear the thought of her fending for herself without a friend. Kivan, the vendetta-driven ranger who'd taught her that rage was the most potent of anaesthetics. Khalid and Jaheira, the half-elves who took it upon themselves to protect and guide her in Gorion's stead, despite the risk it brought to themselves. And finally, Xan, still standing by her side even as the bonds of duty burned at him.

Nodding to each of them, she took a shuddering breath as she cast an Armour spell on herself. Khalid, Jaheira and Kivan in turn downed potions to give them advantage in the coming fight. They would need every single advantage to count.

"Come on," she said at length. Her hand rested on the large wooden door of the temple.

"Should we…try to sneak in or something?" Imoen asked, hesitating.

She paused. "I don't see the point. He knows we're here."

The door swung inward with a hideous creak. Incense lingered in the air as she stepped into the temple, taking in the decrepit interior of the place. Despite the undead outside, someone had taken effort to make the place presentable. Her eyes were drawn to a stone mosaic in the middle of the grand hall, with the symbol of Bhaal sculpted into the very stone. Dark marks lingered on the stone; traces of copper lingered still in the air. Blood had been spilt there, plenty of it. Rituals and sacrifices to appease the Lord of Murder. She made sure to give the mosaic a wide berth, with her companions doing the same.

Grotesque statues leered at them as they walked down the hall with their weapons readied. At the end of the chamber, a massive dais rose from the ground, framed by tall ivory pillars. She zeroed in on the altar atop the dais, where Sarevok stood with two others.

Waiting for them.

"So, you've come," Sarevok rumbled as she drew closer.

She halted a few dozen paces away from him. Though her eyes were on Sarevok, she tracked his companions out of the corner of her eye. Two men, one wearing the colours of the Flaming Fist and another in emerald-coloured mage robes. Together, they made an intimidating sight, but Elene noticed the patches of blood on the Fist man and some scuffs on Sarevok's armour. They hadn't walked away from the fight with Shaldrissa's group completely unscathed.

Despite that, Sarevok's eyes shone like glowing ambers in the dim light. She gazed upon the man who was her brother. Thought of his neat penmanship, the eloquent sentences in his diary. In another life, they could have lived together, grown together, learned from one another.

Instead, he'd taken it upon himself to make her life a living hell, stripping from her everything she'd held dear. Her simple life, Gorion, her friends in Candlekeep, all rent asunder at this man's cruel whims. And still, none of it would be enough for him until she was destroyed. Tamoko was a fool to imagine otherwise. It was clear to her that one of them must die for the other to live, just as Kivan had warned her.

A familiar buzzing energy began to build in her head.

"You knew I would," she said.

He nodded. "You are indeed family. No other could have lived to oppose me in person. Of course, it will not matter in the end. Ultimately, I will prevail, and a new era will be born unto the Realms."

"An era of war?" She pointed at him. "All you have is conjecture. You could end up achieving nothing but senseless bloodshed."

Her remark was met with a wicked sneer. "Unlike you, I've studied Bhaal's legacy for years. Our father is dead, but the slaughter I will orchestrate shall prove me to be his most worthy successor. It will raise his power from the ashes." He swept a hand as though spreading paint on a canvas. "The streets will run red with blood when my work is finished."

"Successor? Deities are not known for sharing their power willingly," she scoffed.

"Fool!" he snapped at her, his plates clanking as he stepped forward. "I do not wish to restore his power, merely to raise it. With the divine blood that flows through these veins I shall assume control over that which he so foolishly lost. I shall become Bhaal. That is the only acceptable outcome. Now all that is left is for us to end this in a manner befitting our heritage."

Then slowly, he unsheathed the large sword at his scabbard and levelled it at her. "Come, sister. Face me…the new Lord of Murder. Angelo! Semaj! To arms!"

The sound of steel sliding free echoed in the chamber as Elene, Khalid and Xan drew their weapons. Elene took a deep breath before advancing, Khalid close to her left. Angelo, for that must be who the Flaming Fist officer was, nocked an arrow to his bow. With luck, he would be aiming for her, as she had the best chance of dodging projectiles with her magic boots. Soft chanting began in the background, Xan preparing to face off against the enemy mage.

Wait. Why do I hear footsteps behind me?

There was no time to backtrack. An enormous man, almost ogre-like in appearance, shimmered into being in front of Jaheira, taking a quick swing at her with his axe. The druid must have sensed him before he struck, as she kept the presence of mind to sidestep the blow, the blade grazing her along the side instead.

Kivan, who'd already had an arrow nocked, immediately switched focus, and loosed the arrow towards the man with a roar.

Tazok, I presume.

She had to let Jaheira and Kivan deal with the new enemy, as her attention was squarely on her own opponent. With a nod to her, Khalid clicked his heels and triggered the magic in his own boots, enabling him to zip forward at incredible speed to engage Sarevok. He caught Sarevok by surprise with the sudden show of enhanced speed and strength, but his aimed strikes were quickly parried. For such a behemoth of a man, Sarevok was nimbler than they expected.

The recognisable tingling from her own magic boots made her twist to the left, neatly evading a flaming arrow from Angelo. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at him.

"Archer!" she called out.

"On it," Imoen responded.

Within seconds, a pack of wolves materialised not far from Angelo on the dais, forcing him to beat a hasty retreat to avoid being dogpiled by the ferocious beasts. With him temporarily distracted, Elene drew on a throwing knife and launched it at Sarevok, an outrageously hopeful shot aiming for a tiny gap in his armour at the throat. It pinged harmlessly off his shoulder plate. Right, that wouldn't be a sound strategy, she decided. Projectiles would distract him at best. She needed to get in close with a knife to have a chance at killing him.

Behind her, she could hear Jaheira complete a long chant, the words sounding harsh and angry to her ears. Then a cloud of insects burst into being from the ground, and it made a rapid beeline for the mage in the back.

"Is this the best you can do?" Sarevok laughed, turning away Khalid's sword effortlessly, then beating him back with a brutal slash. His armour took most of the impact, though Elene imagined Khalid's teeth must have rattled at the blow.

"We're just getting started," Elene ground out.

"Realise, you are but an insect. I will crush you as I did Gorion."

In the heat of the moment, Elene almost rose to the bait, until she forced herself to focus. She stepped closer, examining the plates of his armour with a critical eye, their intricate interlocking design reinforced by hints of strong magic. Judging from how well it fit him, the armour must have been tailor-made. The underarm area, however, was protected by a chain weave rather than solid metal. The flexibility that design choice afforded Sarevok also gave him a vulnerability. If he were to raise his arms for a two-handed downward swing, one could nip in and strike through it.

Easier said than done, though.

"Just like your followers? I saw how you rewarded Winski for his allegiance. Some Lord of Murder you'll be," she pointed out tersely, her tone pitched to provoke. "You do realise you need the prayers of the faithful to fuel divinity?"

The mention of Winski drew Sarevok's attention toward her, as if she'd touched upon a sore point. Readjusting his grip on his sword, he advanced, eyes flashing. Swallowing, Elene stood her ground, waiting for her opening. It took all her courage to stand still as he swung his sword, only to move at the last moment and strike upwards, aiming for the weak point in his armour. Her attempt was partly successful, grazing the plates along his side and nicking a small section of flesh under his right arm. Maybe enough to slow him down, if the battle wore on.

Unfortunately, that put her within his arm span. He followed up the initial attack with a backward swing using the pommel of his sword. It struck her solidly in her left shoulder-blade with a crack, propelling her forward and away from him. Quickly, she turned herself around so that her back wasn't exposed to another strike. She held her sword in her right hand as she recovered, the after effect of the pommel strike sending pain shooting through her left shoulder.

She fervently hoped nothing was broken.

Sensing blood, Sarevok advanced again. Cursing, she switched her sword to the other hand and sent a flurry of magic missiles at him. For all the good it did. He laughed as the missiles impacted against his armour. Squinting, she noticed that the armour seemed to absorb the magic outright, rendering her minor tricks useless.

Khalid surged back into the picture, intercepting Sarevok before he could close in. A glowing arrow flew in at the same time, lodging itself in Sarevok's chest-piece. Though it did not pierce the metal, a pop of acid sprayed out of the arrowhead, leaving a hissing layer of green liquid on his armour. Sarevok roared as the acid began to trickle in.

Elene threw a quick glance at her friends. The arrow had come from Imoen, and she was already nocking another one to aim. Xan had repositioned to one end of the room, fiercely countering the other mage's spell even as he closed in. Jaheira staggered towards the dais, blood gushing out from her collar from what might have been an arrow wound. It seemed Angelo had switched targets after the druid's spell.

Kivan was nowhere in sight.

That realisation made her slow to react when brown fumes began rising from the ground. It smelled overpoweringly of rotten eggs, immediately sparking her gag reflex. Quickly holding her breath, she leaped out of the poisonous cloud. The enemy mage was using the same trick Kristin had in the Undercellars. She could hear Imoen and Khalid likewise coughing and scattering out of the radius of the cloud.

The mage did what was expected of him, though. In the chaos, Sarevok scored a direct hit on Khalid. Elene caught sight of the end of the exchange, shouting in denial as a blow sent Khalid careening backwards in a spray of blood. He would need time to recover from that, presuming the wound wasn't mortal.

Imoen drew the same conclusion, summoning another crowd of fodder between Khalid and Sarevok. Her cry of dismay after, though, indicated that it was the last charge left in the wand. That would be the last lifeline they would get for this fight. The group of gnolls wouldn't last long against Sarevok anyway. Khalid in his current shape wouldn't, either.

Elene circled around the edges of the deadly cloud, knowing she would have to step up.

This was it, then.

She cannot fail.

Oghma, grant me strength.

Even as she thought of the God she prayed to, she reached within. The spark shone like a sun in her chest, the faint buzzing in her head rising to a crescendo as she grasped the power in her blood and willed it to fuel her, smoothing away all pain and fatigue. Suddenly the sword in her hand felt laughably light, and she knew the next time she'd move, it would be as if the winds of Akadi, the Queen of Air, were at her back. Knowing that the power came from her, she wielded it with greater surety than she ever did before.

She almost smiled. As much as this place seemed to strengthen Sarevok, she also benefitted from drawing on the vestiges of their father's power. Perhaps her brother had made a grievous miscalculation in choosing their arena of battle.

Sarevok noticed the surge in power within her, as he paused after dispatching the last gnoll in his path, cocking his head as if seeing her for the first time. "Fighting fire with fire, sister?"

"Something like that." Her answering smile was sharp, humourless.

Bolstered by the divine spark, she nipped into his space, lighting fast. This time she feinted a jab aiming for the same spot under his arm. While he moved to parry, a long knife was already in her other hand, flashing towards a tiny gap at his pelvis, which the interlocking plates didn't fully conceal. She came away drawing blood, dancing out of the way of his follow-up swing before it could connect.

Sarevok's narrowed eyes stoked her bloodthirst as she circled him like a prowling panther. The wound at his hip wasn't critical by any means, but it was meant to slow him down, and he knew it.

What followed was a messy, snarling duel nothing like the epics she'd once read in Candlekeep. Her sword and knife could not do much against his armour, while he was too slow to hit her with an ungainly greatsword. Her strategy dwindled to tiring him out with quick feet and quick strikes, to a point where his sword would droop. Again, easier said than done. He could still advance despite his wound, loping and awkward though his movements were. She would need many hits to bring him down, while he would only need to score one against her for it to be over.

Then Imoen, wonderful Imoen, landed another acid arrow into his chest piece, this one closer to his right arm. The hissing sound of acid was music to Elene's ears as she cut in trying to capitalise on her friend's hit. Unexpectedly, Sarevok adjusted his stance just as she closed in, and she was too late to avoid the business end of his shoulder plate from slamming into the side of her face.

Stars exploded before her eyes as she was tossed away from him like a rag doll. Somehow, she managed to keep her feet. Coughing out a tooth with a dollop of blood, she barely had time to whirl away from danger as Sarevok's blade scraped against the spot she'd been standing in, missing her by a hair. He adjusted his grip, swinging outward, catching her along the front even as she desperately tried to shimmy out of reach. Her gambeson shredded like paper, as did the flesh of her midriff. As blood gushed out, she knew there would be no more quick manoeuvres from her after that wound.

So instead of trying to escape, she nipped in. He was close. So tantalisingly close. In an abrupt pique of madness, she dropped her sword, reaching instead for the spell component at her belt. Her last gambit. She could see Sarevok's eyes crinkle at the edges, amused at the futility of her trying to use magic against him.

Except she wasn't planning on casting a spell.

She watched his golden eyes closely, then made a quick estimation.

Improvise.

She threw a handful of sand into the opening of his helm, right in his eyes. Roaring, he took one hand off his sword to wipe at his eyes, leaving his front wide open. Pain exploded through her middle as she moved, but she refused to let that slow her down. A wild swing of his sword would have taken her head off had she not pivoted smartly to his right. Heart in her throat, she then leaped to grip the front of his armour with one hand. While the other drove her knife viciously through the tiny gap in his armour as though guided by some divine steer, into that sliver of vulnerable, tanned flesh between his gorget and his helmet. Oh yes, she knew precisely what to aim for, an unholy rage fuelling the speed and force of her strike. Once, then twice, her teeth bared in both triumph and pain as hot blood spattered on her cheek.

Panting, Elene disengaged and staggered back from her enemy, staring as his lifeblood gushed out in torrents. Sarevok gurgled as he clattered to his knees, clutching at the mortal wound. Yet his face was devoid of pain or even fear. Instead, he gazed at her in disbelief and maybe with a hint of grudging admiration. She met his eyes evenly, watching for signs of him clawing his way back into the fight somehow, even as her hands shook and the taste of copper built up in her own mouth.

Then finally, finally the great warrior fell forward onto the stone floor, inches away from the stained mosaic of Bhaal's holy symbol.

Gasping, she fell to the floor as well, scrabbling at the horrific gash down her front as pain finally overwhelmed her. Closing her eyes, she pooled the last of her power into her hand, pouring it into the wound. She grimaced as the flesh began to knit itself, her body undoing the damage with ruthless efficiency. The healing was painful, raw, even as it did the job of keeping her alive. For what felt like an age, she could hear nothing but the blood rushing to through her ears, her own heavy breathing. She opened her eyes. Then stared at Sarevok's pooling blood on the floor, which spread across the stone until it began to mingle with hers. His words to her in Candlekeep echoed in her mind.

There can only be one in the end.

Stirring, she frowned as an odd prickly feeling started growing at the back of her head, then spread all the way to her fingers and toes. It felt almost as if…a presence had descended on the room. Nervously, she glanced to the ceiling far above, though there was no new threat in sight.

Her eyes snapped to Sarevok's corpse as began to glow. Slightly, at first, a faint nimbus emanating from his outline. Then, he was engulfed in yellow light, until it became almost painful to look at. She shielded her face and gasped as his body slowly dissolved into golden dust. Small, golden motes, like his eyes, swirled lazily upwards before dispersing into nothingness. And then the only thing left of the mighty Sarevok, any evidence of his existence lay in his sword and emptied husk of an armour.

She stared. In the afterglow of Sarevok's divine spark, for that must be what it was, she tasted the power he'd held as one of Bhaal's strongest children. Heady, forceful – a promise of strength enough to conquer all who stood in her way.

And with it, the tempting caress of fate.

What if…what if I'm the last one?

She shuddered, whether in fear or exhilaration, she could not tell.

"Lene!"

Jerking back to attention, Elene looked up as Imoen slid to her knees by her side. Imoen recoiled at the sight of her face.

"What?" she prompted.

"I…" Then Imoen shook her head. "Nothing, I thought yer eyes looked different for a second there. Oh sheesh, you've got blood everywhere. Ya need a potion? Here," Imoen pulled a vial from her belt and handed it to her.

She shook her head, pushing the potion away. "I'm…I'll live. The others?"

"Kivan and Xan are in bad shape, we need to help them. So's Khalid, but Jaheira's got him," replied Imoen. Her eyes strayed to the blood on the stone, the only bodily trace left of the man who'd tormented them for so long.

Apprehension flooded through Elene as she looked around and saw the ruins of battle all around her. More death, more destruction. Some of her friends staunching wounds, maybe even mortal ones. Many questions remained still, so much of what Sarevok said still not making sense to her. More questions would be addressed to her once the reinforcements came in and started wondering what her connection to Sarevok was. But as she was pulled to her feet, Elene reached over and embraced Imoen, her dearest friend. With only one thought repeating in her mind.

We made it.

.

.

.

Author's Note:

Although Sarevok was made out to be the endgame in BG1, I felt that his power was diminished by his arrogance, and that became his downfall with Elene, an adversary who was strongest at her most desperate.

Elene, though, begins to understand what it truly means to be a Bhaalspawn, the power and peril that comes with it. As a writer, it feels poignant to watch this character grow from a terrorised librarian into this trained killer. I hope you've enjoyed following her journey to this point.

The remaining two chapters are to tie off loose ends for the characters. Be prepared for major feels.