This was supposed to introduce the Mayor, mentioned in the previous chapter, and be a lot longer. Instead, something very different happened, tying up an end I hadn't even realized I had left loose for something like this, but after it was written, I didn't want to take it back. This is sort of the unravelling of Rana's secrets, her past choices coming to collect their due, and will lead into the rest of her group finally discovering the truth about everything. It's shorter than I would like, considering the length of time between chapters, but after everything that transpires, I didn't want to add even more.

Chapter 4: Rana's Reckoning

Sarevok

"Let me make one thing clear before we start, 'kay? I don't like you. I don't trust you. And if I find out you're lying to me, about anything, I will gut you."

"You know," Winski sighed, "Sarevok said much the same thing to me shortly after I met him. In case there was ever any doubt about you two being related…"

"Have I made myself clear?" Rana demanded, her eyes flashing in anger, like a rattlesnake's telltale warning.

"Crystal, my dear. Now, would you like to take a seat? My knees ache at just the thought of watching you pace throughout this little discussion."

Sarevok leaned against the wall of the small room in the Sawtooth Inn, arms crossed over his chest, but his relaxed demeanor belied his anxiety over watching the tense exchange between Rana and his former mentor.

She hadn't wanted to come with him to speak to Winksi. When trying to coax her, her mood had swung from joking deflections, to calm fury, to bristling indignation, and finally to withdrawn sadness before shifting back to one of the former. It wasn't difficult to guess why the old man caused that kind of turmoil, but the way she had begun to pull away from him since learning of Winski's sudden reappearance made him uneasy. And angry.

Stray thoughts gleaned from her side of their soul revealed a deep resurgence of fear within her. She was afraid Sarevok was going to once again allow himself to be seduced by the possibility of attaining power. That speaking with Winski again would rekindle that yearning for more. That, perhaps the old man had another trick up his sleeve in helping him achieve something he thought lost.

Knowing she thought that about him made him angry. Knowing she had good reason to think it made it worse. And knowing that she wasn't entirely wrong…

"Fine. Stand if you wish," Winski huffed, settling down into an armchair furthest from the fireplace and the fire roaring within it. "I trust that Sarevok has already explained why I'm here?"

"Melissan is a Death Stalker. Or used to be. Now she serves Cyric. She, like pretty much everyone else, wants me dead. And she's been aiming me at the Five to make her job of wiping them out a little bit easier on her."

"Correct. Did he also mention how I know all of this?"

"No. He said you would tell me that part," she said through gritted teeth and flinging a searing glance over her shoulder at Sarevok.

Oh, this will only get worse, little one, he thought to himself. He knew she wasn't going to react well to anything Winski had to tell her. Because he hadn't taken any of it well either. And it wouldn't take her long to piece together what Sarevok considered the silver lining of all of this. He could only hope that she'd come to trust him enough to not outright refuse to listen to the proposition that awaited her at the end of this meeting.

"I myself," Winksi murmured. "Am a Death Stalker."

"Which explains how you recognized what he was. Yeah, I don't find that surprising."

"Indeed, I knew what to look for. That violent streak isn't uncommon among orphaned children, however, the pleasure he seemed to take in his brutality was a clear indicator that something more was at work."

"So, if you were a Death Stalker, and you knew Sarevok was a bhaalspawn, why didn't you just kill him? That's what Bhaal wanted, right?"

"Yes, that was our mission after our Lord was killed. I had every intention of carrying out my duty, but something about him stayed my hand. In time, as I came to know him, I thought that training him as a Death Bringer, one of Bhaal's elite champions, would be a better idea. To use him as a weapon against other bhaalspawn."

"And I assume you weren't aware of being manipulated like this?" Rana asked, arching a brow at Sarevok.

"Not exactly," he replied. "Winski told me what he was when he told me what he suspected me of being. And I needed little convincing for undertaking the training required to become a Death Bringer, the rewards spoke for themselves."

"So you were okay with being used and eventually discarded once you'd served your purpose?" She asked incredulously.

"Obviously I never mentioned the part about his death also being required for Bhaal's resurrection," Winksi drawled. "Mostly because the details of how it would be done were still mostly shrouded in secrecy. Only Melissan knew the full extent of what the ritual entailed. I was only ever told to seek out and eliminate Bhaal's offspring, and that by doing so, our Lord would be reborn."

"But you weren't trying to have Bhaal brought back. You were trying to elevate Sarevok to our father's throne."

"Yes. Eventually. I came to care for him, and in doing so, came to believe that the Prophecy had some wiggle room. That one of the children could ascend instead, rather than the father. I truly believed that Sarevok could do it."

"Okay," Rana snorted, beginning to pace, making Winksi wince as he watched her move. "Now, what I don't understand is why you seemed to think that Bhaal's death meant that the portfolio of Murder was suddenly up for grabs. Cyric holds that power, taken from Bhaal, right? Did you expect for Sarevok to ascend and fight him for it, or that he'd hand that kind of power over to him? I mean, I know Cyric hasn't really been mentioned much in the grand scheme of things, not until very recently anyway, but I highly doubt that the last Bhaalspawn standing wins godhood like a prize for surviving to the end."

"Because we'd all been told that Cyric was insane. Lost to madness. It's difficult to hold onto a throne when your mind is gone. If a bhaalspawn could ascend, then he could inherit his father's power without even directly confronting the Mad God."

"But Cyric isn't insane," Rana whispered. "Not anymore."

"No, not anymore," Winski agreed. "All we know about that is that he created a book in an attempt to rewrite history, with himself as the god above all gods. But when he read that book, called the Cyranishad, he went mad. Now, all we know of the book, other than its insanity-inducing properties, is that, at some point, it was housed in Candlekeep. And, at some point recently, the other gods cured him of his madness."

Rana went very still.

"The book… the one in Gorion's study…"

"Rana?" Sarevok asked, eyes narrowing as she went pale. "What is it?"

"You know of what I speak," Winksi breathed, looking both terrified and amazed. "You've seen it. The Cyranishad."

"I… I think so. I used to break into Gorion's private study and read his books. One of them, kept on the highest shelf of his tallest bookcase that I could only reach by standing on chairs stacked on top of the coffee table, felt… wrong when I touched it. It scared me so I never tried to read it."

Sarevok and Winski stared at Rana as if she'd suddenly sprouted another head and begun conversing with herself.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess that not reading it was a good idea," Rana said, looking back and forth at both of them.

"If you had, you wouldn't be sane, at the very least."

"So… I'm pretty sure I didn't read it then? Would I even remember if I had?"

"Rana," Sarevok growled. "Now is not the time for your jokes. You might not be the most stable person in this room, and yes I realize that isn't saying much, but you clearly aren't mad!"

"Um, I hear you in my head, I talk to Cyric in my sleep, and I agreed to come to this little pow wow. Are you positive I'm not crazy?" She asked dryly.

"Ilyrana, Gorion would have had you humanely put down if you had read that thing when you still lived in Candlekeep," Winski explained.

"Okay, but growing up around the book, would that have had any kind of effect?"

That question gave them all pause.

Could it have affected her? Powerful magical items had been known to influence their surroundings, why would this be any different? Had Cyric known of Rana because of the book, rather than just because he was a god?

She wasn't crazy. She also wasn't entirely sane either. That could be attributed to a thousand different things, of course… but what if Cyric had been warping her, knowingly or not, since she was a child?

"Moving right along," Rana said, picking up her speed as she paced. "We know Cyric is fine now, in a manner of speaking, so what that essentially means is that if anyone ascends, they have to fight him if they want to actually become a god."

"Yes, I'm afraid that ascension is off the table now, as he's far too powerful to face head on. Even if you somehow managed to form an alliance with some of the other gods, he will not go down easily."

"Fine. That was never my dream, anyway. I guess this means it's time for you to drop any lingering resentment you might still be holding onto about dying, Sarevok. You never stood a chance."

"I thought I had myself very clear that there was no longer any bad feelings, little one," he responded wryly, earning a small smile from her.

Winski studied the pair, a bemused look on his face, before picking the conversation back up.

"Ilyrana, Melissan's betrayal of Bhaal means that Cyric has gained a powerful follower. After she healed me and smuggled me out Baldur's Gate, I learned of her creation of the Five, and what she planned to do with them. She has led them to believe that they will be resurrecting their father and will gain his favor for their efforts. In truth, she's been using them to wipe out scores of their weaker brethren, and with most of those gone now, they have their sights set on you, the last of Bhaal's most gifted."

Rana stopped pacing and turned to face Winski, her hands settling atop her sword hilts on each hip. Not necessarily an act of aggression, but a warning.

"This is the part where you tell me why you're here, isn't it? Other than a reunion with your old protege."

"It is," Winski agreed, but offered nothing further, sensing she wasn't quite yet ready to listen.

"You said that you are a Death Stalker. Not were. Present tense, not past."

Sarevok's skin prickled as he felt her wrath churning and frothing just beneath the surface, rising in its intensity.

"That is correct. I am a Death Stalker."

"You're going to ask for my help in bringing Bhaal back," she whispered, not a question, but a statement.

Winski glanced past her at Sarevok. The Death Bringer hiked one shoulder, at a loss for how best to proceed. She was going to be angry, but being blunt was perhaps the best course of action. If they tried to hide their idea from her, or dance around it for too long, she'd just let her temper slip the leash and lash out.

"Ilyrana, you have two paths before you," Winski began, his words slow with the weight of care so there would be no confusion or misunderstanding. "Each one can lead to death or victory, but only one has the chance of yielding a reward, other than your life and freedom, if you are victorious. And this same path has, perhaps, a better chance at succeeding."

"Tell me."

"Killing the remainder of the Five is the only constant in this matter, you already know you must do this. They lay between you and being released from all of this. I can help you. I know much of what you face, and I know Melissan. But I do not offer my aid without a price."

Rana's hands tightened around the hilts, but she nodded for him to continue.

"Instead of merely seeking an end to the Prophecy, one where Cyric comes out unscathed, all of his immense power intact, and nothing to stop him from continuing to meddle in your life, I ask that you take the second path. The one where we return your father to his rightful place as the Lord of Murder."

"And why should I care who holds that portfolio? Why would Cyric even give me a second thought once this is all over?"

"Because as long as just one of you is still alive, his position is compromised. As long as even a shred of Bhaal's divinity still lingers, it can be harnessed. Cyric is hated by gods and mortals alike, and if there is any chance at undercutting his power, there will be those who seek to exploit it. Exploit you."

"And you think bringing Bhaal back will give Cyric a big enough headache for a while that I'll be left alone? No… you don't care a whit about my well being at all, so say what it is you're after. You want your Lord back. Why?"

"Ilyrana, if Bhaal is returned and wrests Murder away from Cyric, just think of what he'll reward us with. We'll be resurrecting a god and aiding him in reclaiming his power. You will want for nothing ever again. No one would ever dare lay a hand on you in fear of provoking your father's wrath."

Sarevok had just enough time to feel the tidal wave of betrayal crash against his soul before the gaps in her inner walls, the ones that allowed him these little hints of what was going on inside, were shored up.

"I fucking knew it," Rana hissed, turning and taking a few steps away from both of them so she could direct the heat of her radiant gaze at them at the same time. "How dare you tell him anything about me, Sarevok! How dare you even think that I would go for something like this!"

"Rana, listen to me. It's not enough to just fight this for the sake of being able to walk away once it's over. We're going up against a god and we need a god's help if we're to even survive. Winski can help shield you from Cyric's influence by using our father's taint to bolster your strength. Yours and Bhaal's."

Rana snarled, her hands turning white from squeezing her sword hilts so fiercely. Before she could speak, Winski stood and put his hands out placatingly.

"He's right. Ilyrana, the essence that has been released with each passing of your siblings has been coalescing around the surviving Bhaalspawn, making each of you stronger the longer you hold out. I can tap into that and focus it to protect you. In doing so, I can bolster the link to your father, so that he can begin to waken."

"Begin to waken?!" She shouted, turning to face Winski. "You brainless idiot, he's been awake! Where do you think the dreams come from?! The bone dagger, the one with the rivers of blood, I've seen him and heard him since I left Candlekeep!"

Rounding on Sarevok now, she pointed an accusatory finger at him.

"And you've had the same damn dreams! You know he's been lurking just beneath the surface! And you know I don't give a single fuck about power! This is all about you being able to get something out of all this since you can't get anything from me! And you, Winski, have wanted to go down in history as someone who helped the next Lord of Murder ascend! And since that won't be Sarevok, and it certainly won't be me, you think bringing Bhaal back will cement your place in this whole fucked up saga! Well, fuck you both, you can bring him back on your own, I'm done here."

"Rana-" Sarevok grated, reaching for her as she swept past him to the door.

"And I'm done with you!" She screamed at him, smacking his hand away when he laid it on her arm to stop her.

"Ilyrana, Melissan was the one who pointed Irenicus in your direction," Winski said, rising from his chair, the skin around his eyes creasing as he winced from the effort.

Rana stopped at the door, halfway out, holding it open. She didn't turn around around or say a word, just waited for Winski to finish.

"When she suspected I had betrayed our Lord by guiding Sarevok to ascension, she was the one who helped him get his servant into Baldur's Gate and into a position to bring about Sarevok's downfall."

"I already know about Tamoko," she spat, turning just her head to glare at them. "I don't care what Melissan's done, I never trusted her to begin with and she'll die like the rest. As will you if I ever see you again, Winski Perorate."

Sarevok sighed as the door slammed, hard enough to temporarily quiet the noisy din of the inn downstairs.

"I told you she would likely react this way. Once she's cooled off, I'll speak to her again," Sarevok said, sitting down at the chair in front of the fire as Winski collapsed back into the other one.

"She handles her anger better than you did," Winski noted. "And yet it should be worse, considering how many of you have died at this point and that she is a vessel for the Slayer."

"Losing her soul to Irenicus, and constantly battling the Slayer back, has taught her much in controlling her more violent impulses. And she still fears and rejects the taint, for the most part. She hasn't drunk as deeply as I once had."

"I see. And you… are confident you can bring her around?" Winski asked him, hesitating to pry. "I still struggle with the idea that the two of you are intimate. Your once growing obsession with her doesn't make this entirely surprising, but her acceptance of you is. After all, you helped push her to where she is now, embroiled in a war for her life against her siblings."

"I'll make her understand," was all he replied, already deep in thought about how to do so.

He had to make her see that this was about more than just Bhaal bestowing power upon those who helped him reign again. She was defenseless again Cyric, Bhaal could help shield her from him. She was walking all but blindly into each encounter with the Five, and having Winski's vital insight into how Melissan's mind worked would be a boon.

She thought this was all about his desire for power. Which angered him. This was about surviving first. What use was power if they all died before they could even use it? He wanted her to live through this war, and Winski was right, no one would seek to use her, exploit her, or harm her if they knew that doing so would incite her father's wrath.

Winski's labored breathing eventually pulled him from his brooding. He was seated as far away from the fire as he could get, and it was just embers now, but he was sweating as if he'd just exerted himself, and there was a chill in the room.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Hmm?" Winski asked, pulled from his own thoughts. "Nothing, just tired."

"Bullshit. Don't lie to me, old man. You're either hiding an injury, and a recent one, not the one I gave you years ago, or you're ill."

"It doesn't concern you."

"It does concern me when I'm placing my faith in you and jeopardizing my place in all of this by listening to you. What are you hiding, Winski? Out with it."

"'Jeopardizing your place in all of this?' Son, you lost your place years ago. You know this. I believe what you meant to say was 'jeopardizing your place with her'."

Sarevok rose and strode to his old mentor. Taking him by the throat, he lifted him till he was eye level.

"Do not mistake my enjoyment of being in her bed with my desire to attain what I've wanted longer than I've wanted anything else," he hissed, drawing the man close enough that the overwhelming smell of decay that he just noticed hung around him was strong enough to make his nose burn.

Releasing his grip, Winski dropped back down into his chair, and before he could recover, Sarevok ripped open the top of his soiled robes.

The veins running beneath his gray skin, from the bottom of his throat, down his chest and shoulders, were black as pitch. Yellow pus oozed from open sores stretched taut over the visible bones of his breast. Something was eating Winski alive, rotting him from the inside out.

Sarevok took a step back in shock, momentarily stunned by the sight, and wiped his hand across his tunic, fearing plague or worse.

"It's not contagious," Winski weezed, his breathing rattling in his lungs as he fought for air. "It's merely a physical reminder of my failures, and it grows worse accordingly, day by day."

"Who did this to you?" Sarevok murmured.

"I could argue that I did, but it was Melissan who wove the curse."

"Is it treatable?"

"I'm afraid not. After I discovered her plans to betray the Five, I tried to leave without her knowing I was aware of what she was doing, but she caught up to me. We fought, and I thought I'd debilitated her with a binding spell, but she hit me with this as I fled. I don't know how much time I have left, but I don't think it's much. A few weeks, perhaps."

Sarevok watched the old man retie his robes, covering the sores and the blackened veins forking out across his neck and chest. Some unpleasant feeling hardened inside his chest and then caught aflame as his rage encompassed it.

Melissan was to blame for siccing Irenicus on himself, and then Rana once he fell. She maneuvered the Five, and had manipulated them into killing Gromnir. Gods only know what else she was responsible for, but the knowledge that what had been done to Rana by Irenicus was more than enough on its own to kill her.

And now she had sentenced Winski to a drawn out, excruciating death.

Did I not leave him mortally wounded all those years ago? Striking him down for saving my life, after all he'd done for me, most of which I was unaware of until just recently.

The slow resurgence of his conscious was by far Sarevok's least favorite side effect of being tied to Rana. Whether it was due to their soul, or just being around her and having his every belief challenged by her, he wasn't sure, but it was irritating to say the least.

"I will see to it that Melissan gets what she deserves, old friend," Sarevok finally said.

Winski turned to look at him and offered a wan smile in response.

"I know you will, Sarevok. I know you will."

Rana

Choosing to take the side roads leading back to her home, afraid of what she might do if some careless passerby knocked into her by accident, Rana gripped the hilts of her sheathed swords so tightly that one hand was numb. The other, the one boring the scars from the glass she'd clutched in order to die, rather than succumb to the Slayer all those nights ago, pulsed with agony in time with her rapidly beating heart.

Winski had been right about one thing. There were two paths before her. He was wrong about what lay down each one, though. Right now, she saw only two options open to her.

One, to throw herself at Imoen's feet and beg for forgiveness. Sarevok hadn't changed. At least not enough. Rana had been lonely, she saw that now. Combine that with their soul, their memories, and his mastery of manipulation, that seemed so finely honed to every weakness inside of her, and she hadn't stood a chance. Maybe it wasn't too late to fix things with her sister. Maybe it wasn't too late to come clean with everything.

On the other hand, she could gather up her gear and just leave. Thanks to Sarevok's timely discovery that they could indeed be separated, and the god's mercy that was the fact that distance resulted in a complete absence of the other inside their respective heads, she could disappear without a trace.

She knew how good a tracker Valygar was, she knew enough of how he worked that she could lay enough false trails to throw him off her scent just long enough to go to ground. She could hide out, biding her time and strength, until the Five grew impatient and made their move. And when they did, she would bring down the Nine Hells upon them all. Alone. With no one there to judge her enjoyment of the violence, or be disgusted at her excessive use of force and the taint behind it. Or, in Sarevok's case, revel in her embracing the power she usually fought to keep contained.

Valygar would understand why she left, he wouldn't like it, and she doubted he'd ever give up trying to find her, but under the hurt and anger he wouldn't blame her. Imoen… once, she would have known exactly how her sister would respond to any given scenario. Now, she wasn't sure, and that uncertainty ate at her, because she knew she was the one who was responsible for the rift between them, and her sudden ignorance of how Imoen would feel about Rana's abandonment.

The others would understand, too, in time. And maybe even be relieved that Rana no longer led them.

That thought alone kept her from choosing that path. She's be damned if she let Jaheira or Kivan feel elated that they no longer had to watch her descent into depravity, no longer had to be complicit to the lines she toed, or feel guilty when Rana turned her back on the flocks of people who asked for her aid with some trouble or other.

Tripping over an upraised root, and hissing out a curse at herself for not paying attention to her surroundings, Rana glared at the trees that had sprouted up around her as she made her way out of town and toward her home. Each bare limb, shed of its leaves as Autumn began to surrender to Winter, reminded her of herself, shed of everything that made her whole, made her alive. She was dead inside without Imoen. And without Sarevok, which made her vision turn red, not with Infravision, but pure malice and bitterness.

The rage of betrayal rose up inside her, demanding an outlet for its might, so she gave it one. Releasing her grip on her swords, she swung her unscarred hand, closed into a fist, at the nearest tree. The memories of the sweet nothings Sarevok uttered to her, both in bed and out, bubbled up to fuel the fires of her wrath, blending with the guilt of what had happened between her and Imoen.

Her fist connected with the bark. Pain lanced up her arm, from the knuckles to her shoulder, and she welcomed it, closing her eyes to savor the feeling. She deserved it, this small amount of pain, an appetizer for what she should expect once it came time for retribution. Not just her own upon the world. But the world's retribution on her, as well.

When she opened her eyes, she stumbled away from the tree, eyes wide with disbelief. Where once stood a tall, pale, dormant, but living thing, now sat a smoking husk. Rivulets of fire pulsed in the breeze, the ley lines of crystallized sap like veins against the charred bark.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't mean… I didn't know I could…"

Tears welled and broke their dams, but she couldn't exactly say why. Nor could she explain this need to apologize to a dead tree. To make its ashen, slowly crumbling form understand she hadn't meant to kill it. That she had struck it to hurt herself, to unleash the anger and the hurt, knowing it could withstand the blow, not ever imagining she could inflict this sort of damage.

Where had the fire come from? Her, obviously, but she was no mage. And she'd never been able to channel her Bhaal abilities in the form of flame. She refused to use those gifts at all, even to heal herself or others, never even mentioning to anyone that she could.

Looking down at her hand, she saw her knuckles were red, scratched from the bark, miniscule amounts of blood welling from the scuffs. The blood smoked, like the tree. Like when it did when the Slayer was working its way out of her. It was quiet now, but that comfort was fleeting in the face of what had just happened.

"I'm sorry," she said again, and turned away to trudge back towards home.

How many creatures, how many people, have I killed and never once thought about apologizing to their corpses? Here I am sobbing over a fucking tree as I leave miles of bones and broken lives behind me, hardly glancing back as I try to ignore the growing stench.

"You're smaller than I expected."

Rana whirled around, masking her face so her wince wouldn't show as she slid her swords free. She looked up in the face of what should be a stranger, but Sarevok had shown him to her in her mind, and she recognized him as the Barbarian.

"I get that a lot," she replied, shifting slightly to look more relaxed in hopes of drawing a conversation out while her mind worked furiously to figure out what she was going to do.

She was alone, half a mile from her house and help, and she'd be damned if she called out to Sarevok.

"You know why I'm here," he said, not a question.

"You think I killed your girlfriend. Or your sister?"

If Sarevok was right, the woman she'd assassinated a few weeks ago had been both.

"Did you?"

His voice was deep, with only a trace of a northern accent, and there was no anger or accusation in his tone.

Rana tilted her head to the side, studying him as she wondered how to answer. She could lie, of course, and see where that got her, but she didn't want to. For all she knew, he had been hunting the blonde haired woman she'd killed, trying to kill her for some old wrong or for the simple fact they were Bhaalspawn. Maybe he wasn't here for vengeance.

Her eyes flicked across his features, the dusting of copper stubble across his strong jaw, the tribal scars etched into his arms and across his exposed chest. He wore some leather and fur trappings, but not nearly enough to protect him from the mounting cold. Then again, he was probably accustomed to much harsher climes than this.

He was ruggedly handsome, the kind of man that would catch the eye of any creature unfortunate enough to be attracted to that gender.

I bet he's an asshole, too.

Rana found herself briefly imagining this encounter turning into a seduction. One not unlike the kind Sarevok had pulled on her. They would fight, their blood demanded it, but it didn't have to end in death. Only in submission. And once that happened, she could drop the walls erected around her mind and let Sarevok see just how serious she was about being done with him.

The thought of his fury, his possessiveness, and the ensuing bloodshed he'd wreak because of what he'd see in her mind aroused her more than the thought of bedding the Barbarian.

Not so done, are you, ya idiot?

"Well?" The Barbarian asked, evincing the first note of the anger lurking beneath his stony facade. "Did you kill her?"

"Yes. I did."

Two lethal double-headed axes appeared in his hands, unsheathed from his back.

If he kills me, will Sarevok hunt him down with the same single-minded ferocity? He has the same exact look in his eyes as Kivan had when he finally faced Tazok. Vengeance at any cost. Because the highest price has already been paid.

She knew the answer, deep down. And knowing only made his betrayal that much worse.

"Her name was Ara'stacia. She was my clanmate. My sister by Bhaal. My wife. The mother of my two children!"

Rana shifted back a step, then another, gasping as the Barbarian brandished his axes and began to advance on her.

Children.

The blows came fast, and she was slow to respond, giving ground as she tried to block those axes with dwindling resolve.

I'm a monster. This man was once me. Fighting the demons that tore families apart for sport. I hunted that woman- Ara'stacia- down like a deer, for no reason other than petty anger directed at everyone else but her. I didn't even give her a chance to fight back. She was a mother. Children.

Rana's back hit something, initially thought to be firm, but it gave way and she tumbled onto her back, a cloud of ash obscuring her vision and obstructing her throat.

The tree. The dead tree.

Rolling to her feet, hacking up ash and wiping at her eyes, she felt an axe whoosh! overhead, barely missing her as the Barbarian struck blindly into the gray cloud billowing out around them.

She had thought of retribution, not realizing it would come for her so soon. She would fight, for no other reason than her sudden fear of the Hell that awaited her should she fall. She had long clung to some hope that she'd be given a pass and end up somewhere else after she died. Some god showing her mercy in light of what she had been born into. As time went on, she would jokingly ponder accepting one of the lesser circles of Hell, places reserved for the bad, but not irredeemably evil. Now, terror at the epiphany that the darkest, deepest pits were likely what awaited her, overruled the guilt and horror of what she had brought upon herself.

White hot agony lashed across the left side of her face from his backhand, the force of the blow knocking her right back down, her breath ripped out of her lungs at the impact.

"Get up. You haven't suffered nearly enough."

Heaving for air, Rana got to one knee, watching the man pace back and forth as he waited for her to rise.

"I… didn't know," she gasped out. "Didn't know she was a… mother."

"Your ignorance will not save you! It did not save the others who thought to hunt us down! You will pay for what you stole, elven bitch!"

Rana slapped his axes aside with her swords when he struck next, and straightened to stand before him, her disgust at what she was about to do was likely plain on her face.

She deserved to die today.

But she was a coward.

"That wasn't a plea for mercy. I only ask you tell her that when you see her again in a few moments."

His answering roar shook the woods around them, but it did nothing against the tidal wave of strength coiling around her as she embraced the taint and its poisoned promises of power.

Steel clanged against steel as she parried his strikes, using her superior speed, and enhanced strength, to set up counter attacks at every opening. He afforded her few, but when they stepped away from each other after several moments, sweating and panting as they took a few seconds respite, he sported several shallow cuts across his legs and arms while she still only had the bruise on her face from the back of his hand.

"Throw down your swords and I'll make it quick," he told her, "Perhaps I'll even spare your mate. The sembian Deathbringer."

Rana hissed, eyes glowing with feral wrath at the mention of him going after Sarevok. It didn't matter in this moment what he had done. He would not pay for her crimes.

Not waiting for him to attack again, she rushed him, aiming at his unprotected femoral artery. He blocked it, and his elbow connected with her stomach, again knocking the air out of her as she crashed to the ground. Rolling onto her back, she caught his axes with her crossed blades, only scant centimeters from her throat. Bracing himself on one knee, he forced his considerable weight down on her, and two thin lines blossomed with blood across her chest as her own swords bit into her skin.

"I cut my teeth on men stronger than you," she snarled, the sharp pain from her swords coming to rest on her clavicles, then biting down into them as well, didn't register in her mind as the taint screamed at her to kill.

"And yet you're about to die," the Barbarian responded through gritted teeth, the vein in his neck bulging from exertion.

Rana brought her knees up, gathered her strength, and launched her feet into his chest, hurling him off of her. Scrambling to her feet, she leapt atop him, bringing both swords plunging down at his throat. Releasing his axes, he caught her wrists just as the tips penetrated his skin, then bucked her off, yanking the weapons out of her hands when she rolled.

Throwing her swords to the ground, he charged her, both of them unarmed now, and she would have surely been doomed if she wasn't being fed by the taint. Dodging a punch, she kicked at his knee, the sound of it crunching beneath her foot making her grin with excitement. He went down, but not before connecting a stiff arm to her waist. Pain erupted in her pelvis at the blow, but she was so consumed now with the need to kill that she hardly noticed it.

He groped around for an axe, and swung it in a devastating arch before him when he found one, slicing across her outer thigh when she tried to close on him. He was still down on one knee, fighting with the desperation of a crippled lion. Teeth bared in both snarl and grin, Rana stalked just out of reach, waiting for her chance to finish him off.

"Come on, craven one! I'm down, what are you waiting for?!"

Need a weapon…

Her swords lay behind him, and she doubted he would allow her to draw close enough to retrieve them.

You are a weapon! The taint seemed to scream at her as she seized on the idea of killing him with her bare hands.

She darted forward, only to dance back out of reach when he swung at her. She repeated this, again and again, wearing them both out in the process, her legs trembling from the pain radiating throughout her lower body.

Finally, his swing was sluggish, and he nearly overbalanced from it. Lunging toward him, she grabbed at his neck, using it to swing herself around so that she stood just behind him, her legs pressing into his back. Wrapping a forearm across his throat to grasp the bottom of his jaw, she brought her other arm around the front of his head.

He dropped the axe to grab at her hands, the weapon useless with her this close to him. She braced her legs against him, using the corded muscle of his back and shoulders to help support herself and provide leverage. Slowly, inch by inch, she began to twist.

His nails, short and blunt, dug into her arms, bruising her to the bone as he tried to stop her. Gritting her teeth, she used every drop of tainted strength left in her battered body to crack his neck, but they sat deadlocked, his head turned painfully, but not at the angle necessary to break. One of his hands suddenly released its deathgrip on her and began trying to strike at her over his shoulder, forcing her to turn her upper body to avoid the blows or deflect them with her upper arms.

"You will die!" She screamed.

Between hits, she tightened her grip, her own nails now imbedded in his face. When he tried to seize her from behind and haul her over his shoulder, she used the split second of his distraction, the strength of his grip on her arms diverted when he grasped her shirt, and jerked with all her might.

She fell to her side, heaving for air, as his body collapsed beside her, his head turned almost completely around, staring at her with wide, dead eyes. She stared back, shuddering from pain and exhaustion as the taint receded and her body caught up to what it had just endured.

Tears fell to the dirt beneath her face, mingling with the ash that covered it, as she watched his body begin to glow with soft, golden light. Sobs broke from her chest when he faded into nothing before her, yet another brother dead by her hand.

One last thought whispered through her mind before unconsciousness overtook her.

What have I become?

Sarevok

"What do you mean no one knows where she is?!" Sarevok roared, turning to pick up his sword that he had just laid down on his dresser before Valygar burst into his room.

It was well past nightfall, hours after Rana had stormed from the inn and the meeting with Winski. He had lingered, speaking to his old mentor of his affliction and how best to bring Rana around to the idea of bringing Bhaal back. When he noticed the sun had set, he made his way back to the house, resolved to let the matter rest until the morning, after the meeting with the Mayor that she had gotten an invitation to much earlier in the day.

"Sarevok, she left with you hours ago, saying the two of you had business in town, remember? You were the last to see her."

"We had a disagreement, I thought she was coming home," he snarled, dread beginning to grow inside of him from his foolishness for letting her leave his side and just assuming he knew her destination.

She wouldn't leave. And if she ran into trouble, she would have reached out to me.

That dread morphed into fear.

Not if she was truly that angry. Her pride would keep her from asking for my help, even if it meant her death.

Desperately, he flung his will out, blindly tearing in all directions as he searched for some sign of her, some clue as to where she might be.

"Sarevok, what's wrong? Have you found her?" Valygar asked, grabbing the larger man's shoulder when Sarevok's brow furrowed in confusion.

"She's... right outside?"

The sound of the front door opening downstairs had both men heading for the staircase. When they reached the bottom, they both stopped at the sight before them.

Rana leaned against the door frame, the door still open behind her. Her head hung forward, her hair free, tangled and matted with blood. More blood was smeared across her chest, oozing from slices crisscrossed into her skin, the white of bone peaking out where her clavicles had been cut into. What looked to be soot clung to her ragged shirt and leggings, and one boot was soaked in blood that ran from a gash across her thigh. When she raised her head to look at them, the left side of her face was black and purple, one eye swollen shut.

"Her name… was Ara'stacia," Rana rasped out, her voice hoarse and almost unrecognizable. "She was… my sister. She was a wife. She had… children. Today, I… orphaned them."

Sarevok and Valygar both rushed forward when her legs buckled, just reaching her before she hit the floor.