"And what is this? Step forward and let Koraboros look upon your little features," a deep, growling voice commanded, just as Shandra was starting to orientate herself in this place, yet another grey-stone room, now with two red lines glowing in the ceiling instead of one.
"Wh-what?" the woman asked, recoiling from unexpected heat.
Looking up, she shrieked, seeing the monster looming over her. Some twelve feet high, wreathed in flame, his heavily muscled body was covered in thick red scales, enormous bat-like wings arcing around him. A long tail lashed at his back, barbed and dripping poison.
"You are but a tool. And…a gift. After all this time, I am touched. Tell me, little one, how did you get here?" Koraboros asked, and Shandra could barely bring herself to look up into his flaming eyes, finding it difficult to tear her gaze from his taloned hands. His face was more bestial than human, with a wide maw of spiked teeth and a pair of twisting horns. He seemed to be smiling a little at her fear.
"I…I don't understand what's happening to me," Shandra found herself admitting, looking about the room – it was the plainest yet, with just a few additional runes carved in the walls, glowing orange. There was a simple wooden door in one corner, and from beyond it she could hear a perpetual rattling.
"Blood powers this place, girl. Now here you are of your own free will, and the balance shifts."
"What? What balance? I didn't choose to appear in this room…a demoness told me I could travel anywhere in this place and…suddenly I was here."
"We captives power not only our master, but also this whole place. The changes in power throughout the complex…may represent where your mindless travels direct you," even through that rumbling voice, he sounded a little too smug, and Shandra stepped away until her back hit a metal door with a clang.
"Who is that master?" she demanded.
"A powerful wizard, one whom your friends have hunted for some time. He has thwarted your efforts time and again…and he is lord and king of this place, and its darkness, eternally tied to shadow. I think his name is already known to you and your friends…"
"The King of Shadows is here?" Shandra gasped in horror, "I…I have to warn Isaviel, she can't…"
"My dear, as long as we remain in our summoning circles the one who rules here will arise from every defeat anew, more powerful than he was before. I do not think that bodes well for your friends, who will face him shortly I think."
"Then he can't be unbeatable," Shandra denied; the devil inclined his head, "There must be some way…you said that he rises from defeat when you're in your circles. What if you were to be freed? Is that possible?"
"The one who dwells here does not entertain guests, Shandra Jerro, and his power in this place far surpasses yours. There is little you could do…but free me, and those others trapped here."
"I…I need to get his attention somehow," Shandra was saying, pacing in front of Koraboros, "If I can free the monsters here…if I can get the attention of the King of Shadows, then Isaviel and the others will have a chance."
"Oh, you could try. But I am certain his energies will soon be consumed in murdering your friends. And after that, he will no doubt crush you beneath his heel as an afterthought. Such a shame, for I have enjoyed our brief time together."
"No," Shandra shook her head, staring up angrily at the monster before her, "That won't happen. He's not stopping them, and he not going to get me."
"Spoken as if time will wait for you. It will not."
The last of the Hellhounds fell, Isaviel's knee pressing into the back of its neck, a dagger through each of its eyes and blood pooling all over the stone floor. There had been four of them, all ready to pounce as soon as Isaviel and her companions had stepped through the door from Hezebel's room. They were obviously there as some kind of guard dogs; there were rather innocent-looking mats on the floor on which they probably slept. To make matters worse, however, here had been – and remained – both Qaggoth-Yeg, monstrous and foul-smelling as ever, a giant humanoid toad with poisoned spines and huge, watery eyes, along with a slightly smaller but otherwise identical Hezrou, chained to adjacent corners of the room. They raged, roared and fought with mindless hate against their chains, which were black, humming with magic, and as thick as Casavir's legs.
"You still live, little cursed thing," Qaggoth-Yeg rumbled in disappointment, straining against her manacles to no avail – even if they broke, there remained a summoning circle to bar her way, "That could be easily fixed."
"Master will kill you! Zaxis will look forward to that!" the other Hezrou threw in, thrashing a little harder than his larger equivalent, "Zaxis will feast on strips of your flesh in Yogguul!"
"Not likely," Qara sniffed, fire still dripping from her fingertips from the battle, the floor around her feet red hot.
Isaviel ignored it all, pulling her daggers free and wiping them on the hide of the hound she had just slain before sheathing them, stepping over its corpse and heading straight for the next door. Her back burned in remembered pain – that which Qaggoth-Yeg had caused her – and she was in no bargaining mood. Especially not with creatures of such a feeble collective intelligence. When her eyes met Bishops, his tunic almost as blood stained as hers, the only thought they shared was one of mutual rage. She could not think of any viable way of escaping Hezebel's bargain, but that evidently made it no easier for the ranger. It only made Isaviel angrier, knowing that she had been so easily controlled – and deceived. By herself, and by the paladin. Casavir had kissed her with passion, though it had taken a moment to show itself. There was more there than just duty, and it made her feel scared and sick. To make matters worse, her body had betrayed her – so when confronted with the hounds she had fought with fury, and devilish blood had run dark and thick.
Elanee was all but useless in this indoor environment; her bear form was too large for the doors, her owl shape feeble in battle. She wielded her sickle with little grace, and hung back in combat. Isaviel wondered why Elanee had come at all…until it occurred to her that the druid was there because she could not keep herself away from Casavir. The paladin had been uniquely useless in that fight as well, still reeling from the events which Hezebel had demanded to watch before lighting her section of the lines in the ceiling.
Khelgar was struggling to remove his axe from the skull of the Hellhound closest to the entrance door, while Bishop and the others were clustered close to the exit, resting against the walls, taking a moment to eat and drink what they could stomach. The ranger drank wine like water; at some point that would begin to affect his fighting. The Moon Elf would not stand for that, so she approached now and pulled the skin from him, emptying it onto the floor.
"Little bitch," he snarled at her, catching her wrist with one hand.
It looked for a moment like he once more considered hitting her – there was enough anger in his eyes – but he made no move to do so. Isaviel just stared back at him unwaveringly, letting her golden eyes shift to swirling grey, reminding him that he would not be able to hold her long enough to hit her. Why bother even trying when she could turn into a shade and appear behind him to stab him in the back?
"Bishop, this is not the place…" Casavir began, but the ranger laughed coldly.
"Is it ever the place with you, paladin?" Bishop growled, "This isn't your concern. Just because the noble captain here put her lips against yours doesn't mean this is your business. So back off…before I make you regret it."
"Enough of this," Isaviel growled, still ignoring the thrashing and threats of the two gigantic Hezrou sharing the bloodied chamber with them, "Eat, drink. And then we move on. We need to make one more pact before we can get to the laboratory and have a hope of finding more about the silver sword…and helping Shandra."
"Agreed. Less scuffling from all of us and a little focus could win the day," Sand sighed, taking a long draught of water, rather pointedly keeping his eyes on Isaviel.
They moved on in silence – through the next door and down another dark corridor, this one much longer than the first, twisting and turning as it sloped, rising higher into the building. Just as they were reaching the iron door ahead, Shandra's voice echoed around them, coming from all directions at once. Her words did not seem to be meant for them, and they all stopped in their tracks, listening.
"Is there any way to reach your master? The others only talk in riddles and lead me in circles," she sounded so tired and scared and…determined, "I need to speak to him."
"No, poor thing, not for you," a woman responded patronisingly, a little mockingly as well, "And what would you say if you could reach him?"
"I'd tell him to surrender," Shandra responded firmly, and Isaviel's eyes met Sand's with agreed concern, "I want his attack on the people of the Sword Coast to stop."
"His attack? Oh, how intriguing," the woman responded – from context it seemed that she must be the leader of the Succubi Mephasm had mentioned, Blooden, "Still, you have a better chance of getting your friends to listen than him. They hear our words even now. It will not take much more concentration to address them directly, surely?"
"Isaviel?" Shandra asked tentatively, "C-Casavir?"
"My, my you have strong feelings for them indeed. Go on…that should be enough. Simply think of them and you will be able to hear them answer, though I do not know how long the connection will last. Oh…and do not teleport around, it will ruin your concentration."
"Can you hear me?" suddenly Shandra's voice was echoing in Isaviel's head, stronger than Mephasm's had before, and she reeled, stumbling into Khelgar who righted her quickly.
"Shandra!" the Moon Elf gasped.
"This place is sealed by demons and devils. But listen…they say that their lord is unbeatable…"
"Everyone has a weakness."
"That's what they say, too…but be careful. I don't think they were lying about this. I think he's…I think he might be the King of Shadows."
"Killing our master?" Blooden's voice interrupted, sounding a little distant, "Oh, it's not impossible…"
Her words faded, and though they called out to Shandra again there was no response. Sharing some anxious glances – as well as some angry and distrustful ones – they moved on, Khelgar shouldering his way through the iron door, all of them braced and ready for battle, swords, daggers and swelling magic to hand. The great beast that awaited them in this next non-descript room was alone, the summoning circle around his feet no wider in diameter than the span of his leathery wings at rest, and the fires burning beneath his skin were the only source of light, giving a dull red glow.
"Oh, by all the gods," Sand groaned, his grey eyes wide and glinting in the firelight, staring up at the form before them, "What kind of power can command a leader among the Erinyes, one among the Succubi, a pair of Hezrou, a fallen Deva…and a Balor?"
"What are these puny ants which disturb my piece?" the monster asked at length, turning imperiously to at last bother looking down, revealing its steaming face, resembling a skull across which skin was stretched tight, showing every hard ridge of bone. Its teeth were sharp and as long as shortswords, revealed as it spoke with a snarl, "I am Baalbisan of the great Abyss. I will not speak with a group of feeble little creatures, whose shrill voices and quailing forms betray them to be female."
"Answer us, demon!" Casavir growled, stepping forward, his hammer shining brightly in the dim light, washing away the red glow and replacing it with clearer blue light, "Have you spoken to our companion?"
"A weak, squeaking female. I directed her far from me…and far from you. You will meet only death in this place, and I will be waiting to drag your corpses back to the Abyss with me," he paused, long forked tongue darted out to taste the air and his warped face twisted even more, "Male, your aura tastes vile, and that tiny weapon you hold bleeds blackness. There are those among you who taste positively glorious," his eye settled first on Bishop, then on Isaviel, and came to rest on Neeshka, who backed up, waving her hands in front of her face as if that meant he would leave her alone, "There is evil in your souls and running in your blood; a murderer, an accursed bloodline, and you. But…you are so weak and pathetic. Your blood, its scent is only a drop of evil in a sea of humanity. You walk this earth, this worthless human plane, and you bear the hallmarks of a demon…but you think and you act as one of them. There are others who make more of their evil souls, a pity they do not share your demonic blood."
"You…you…"Neeshka stammered, caught somewhere between fear and indignation.
Any insults they might have traded were cut short when a humming of magical energy filled the room and the two crossed red lines overhead went out. A deep, gruff voice filled their thoughts, loud enough to send Elanee and Khelgar to their knees, clutching at their ears.
"You think you can defeat me here? The haven is the source of my power, and you are lambs to the slaughter, all of you."
Baalbisan's laughter thundered around them as white light engulfed Isaviel and her group, its magic tearing them from that chamber and sending them tumbling through a prickling void of energy. With a rushing in her ears Isaviel found herself dumped at the booted feet of a man. Looking up at his raging white-grey eyes, seeing that this was once more Mephasm's chamber, she also understood that this was not the King of Shadows. He was but a man, one dressed in odd robes with glowing gems, and equally luminous orange tattoos across his forehead, but no less a simple human man for all that. His hard, worn face was set in a grim expression as he watched her scramble to her feet, her equally disorientated friends forming up around her. Mephasm was not even watching the scene, perusing a thick and evidently ancient tome, his back turned, his wings ruffling as he breathed. But Isaviel got the feeling that he was waiting, and though he seemed not to be watching he was paying a great deal of attention.
"Why, you have brought gifts with you," the warlock was saying, affecting a pleased tone which he failed to reflect with his expression, gesturing to Isaviel, "You carry many shards with you, and the hilt. One is even lodged inside you. Let me take them off your hands…and off your corpse."
The arrow Bishop sent swooping towards him in response caught fire and fell as ash to the floor once it came within a foot of the warlock, who paid it no heed at all. Steel was drawn with a great communal ring as seven pitch black hounds, each the size of horses, materialised around them in flashes of red light, fire streaming from their eyes and dripping from their snarling lips. They gave no more option for talking as the warlock stepped into Mephasm's circle, taking the book straight from the evil Deva's hands, looking at it once, dropping it to the table and then removing the little silver shard from its bowl, turning it over in his hands.
The hounds pounced towards the group; there was one for each of them, and Elanee was quick to transform into a bear to combat the enormous beast hurtling towards her. They clashed with roars…and both Casavir and Khelgar went about the threat posed to them in a similar manner, crashing to the floor, armour scraping across the ground. Sand and Qara were both relying on defensive spells to hold their attackers at bay, at least at first…and Isaviel had to dodge out of the way of her attacker, scrambling to the floor and rolling around as the snarling hound skittered on the mosaic floor to snap at her. In response she threw her weight back on to one hand, low on the floor, and pushed off, throwing all of her weight behind her kick as one foot collided with the side of the beast's head. She felt a little psionic energy come with her concentration on her physical power, though it was poorly controlled and jarred her leg just as it send the hound's head snapping to the side, spraying fire like blood. Its ravenous fury did not relent when they rounded on each other again, snarling when her body drifted into darkness, and rode a shadow – as cast by a flap of Mephasm's wings – and the Moon Elf appeared on the hound's other side, both of her daggers biting into its skin and drawing boiling blood from the wounds.
Bishop's powerful bow had allowed him to bury three arrows deep into the right flank and, at the last second, one into the throat, of the Hellhound running towards him. Its body skidded, utterly lifeless, forcing him only to raise one foot, simultaneously turning and firing an arrow into the leg of the hound grappling with Khelgar, purposely ignoring the one attacking Casavir. However, much to the ranger's evident disgust, once he had helped the Dwarf, Khelgar turned right around and saved the paladin's life.
Isaviel had spared a moment to watch this as the hound she had attacked died, stumbling and slumping onto the ground…and then it fell, swaying one way, crashing down unexpectedly in the other direction. She managed to avoid it…mostly, but at the last second a blast of burning magic smashed into her side with bruising force, causing her to slip on the blood of Bishop's fallen foe, and the dying Hellhound's heavy body fell atop her ankle, pinning her. With a cry she was slammed into the ground, her daggers skittering across the floor ahead of her. Her hands could not find purchase on the blood covered ground, and though she kicked back with her other foot, the fallen hound would not move, even as the monster attempting to get close to Qara saw her. Instead of trying to push its way past the barrage of fiery spells the sorcerer was threatening to unleash in its direction, it turned on Isaviel and rushed towards her. Qara did nothing to stop it, although Sand managed to spare a few magical missiles to give it pause, and the monster twisted away a little, whimpering.
"Qara!" Isaviel yelled, attempting to sit up and beginning to pull at her trapped leg, pushing at the fallen hound, anything that would help, but it was moving too slowly, too heavy for her to shift alone, and the sorcerer just looked at her and shrugged, focusing her energies upon more defensive spells to keep herself safe.
Khelgar and Casavir had moved apart, helping Sand and Elanee with their attackers, and Bishop was standing, an arrow held against his bow, but not drawn back, glaring at Isaviel. She gestured frantically at the beast beginning to gather its wits, at the warlock watching them so coldly, but the ranger did not move initially, except to raise that bow, and at first she thought he meant to shoot her, instead.
"Bishop!" she shouted, partly in warning, partly in rage, but mostly in desperation, her expression imploring, "Bishop! Please!"
He flinched at her words, glancing at the Hellhound, and at last raised his bow, loosing an arrow. It swooped toward the Moon Elf, and she threw herself sideways against the one she had killed…just as her true attacker leapt unwittingly into the path of that arrow, which took it through both eyes. Panting hard, trying to recover from the shock, she looked to Bishop, who just raised his eyebrows at her….and then without looking aimed an arrow to the side, straight at Qara. Inevitably it bounced harmlessly off the bubble of protective energy around the sorcerer – weakening it somewhat – but the point had been made.
As the last of the Hellhounds fell, Khelgar and Bishop freed Isaviel, the ranger even giving her a hand up. She looked into his eyes with wary doubt for a moment, but the warlock did not want them to catch their breath, evidently, for he spoke again, this time sounding even angrier than before.
"You and your allies are stronger than anticipated, shard-bearer. But I will bear these indignities no longer. This entire sanctuary is my weapon; all who are trapped here fuel my power and I can harness the energies of this place."
As the warlock spoke, Mephasm standing by his side and watching him with silent amusement, he raised his arms, magical energy glowing white in his palms. The wounds on the dead Hellhounds closed up and healed; they stood with little whimpers and snarls, shaking their heads groggily and prowling back to their master.
"I can bind everything here to my will, summon flame from the walls," to illustrate his point, his eyes flared with a bright red and fires erupted all over the walls, not feeding off the bookcases but rather licking at the air beyond them, leaving the decoration and the books unscathed, "And you…you are nothing more than leaves caught in a storm. Did you really think you could face me here and survive?"
The ground had begun to shake when Shandra materialised in front of Baalbisan, the sneering Balor trapped in a particularly tight summoning circle. He watched her without bothering to speak, knowing that her inevitable words would give him greater scope to tie her understanding in knots.
"What she said to me…I won't do it. There must be another way," Shandra stammered, more to herself, but in her mind's eye she could see Isaviel and the others struggling against conjured flame and tenacious Hellhounds, their spells coming less frequently, their weapons swinging slower, "There has to be."
"Of course," Baalbisan might have nodded, had he not been so monstrous, steam hissing from his smouldering hide, flames crackling about his wings and eyelids, "Though that way requires that it, Shandra Jerro, allows its friends to die."
"You're lying," even as she spoke those words, she knew the aching misery of realisation – that knowledge that he was not.
"Shandra…even you know that truth can wound more than any lie. If you do not act now, death will meet your friends. It feels it, does it not? The lives of those others about to be snuffed out in a moment – the decision of Shandra of the line of Jerro will matter not then, and Ammon Jerro will have this day."
She could feel it, Baalbisan was right. She could see Neeshka scrambling away from one hound, limping, holding her side…Qara was stumbling, weakening when these monsters remained untouched by her fires, Casavir stood proud, swinging his hammer to aid his friends as well as himself, and that mighty gleaming weapon, a blazing blue beacon to Shandra's eyes, could dole more damage to those evil creatures than anything the others had. Bishop had been forced to draw his sword, backed up against a wall, and Khelgar was struggling, his arm caught in the jaws of one monster. Sand was calm, spells streaming from him even as his magical protections held, aiding his friends as a blast of lightening sent his foe sprawling to the ground, while Elanee collapsed beneath the charge of one hound, losing her bear form, saved by the wizard's timely spells. Isaviel whirled at the centre of the chaos, dodging, diving, her daggers and shuriken cutting with precise and deadly blows. But she was tiring, Shandra saw it, and the one who orchestrated all of this, the dark power she saw only as a shadow in her vision…could he really be Ammon Jerro? Her 'kindly' grandfather? The foolish court wizard?
"It can't be him," Shandra shook her head, tears coming to her eyes – either way she had no choice, and she drew her shortsword as she spoke, the demon's eyes following her action with wicked glee, "How did he survive? He'd be…more than seventy years old by now! Or…or…where has he been all this time?"
"Do such questions matter when death is so close? The wizard your companions face is the blood of Jerro, and far stronger than it – than Shandra. As for those it travels with...reach out to them…feel them die…"
"Isaviel!" Shandra called, and felt the Moon Elf stir, now on her knees, arcing under the fall of one hound, killed by one of Bishop's arrows, "The only way to stop him is to free the demons – they're granting all of his power. There's a way to stop him and there's no way I'm letting you die, not after all we've been through…but it's going to require some blood being spilt. Mine."
"Shandra no!" she heard Casavir call – Khelgar too, and even Sand, the wizard who had always been so distant with everyone but Isaviel.
But the woman shook her head, as if they could see her, and thought no more about it, slicing a line up her wrist and cutting deep. The pain did not come immediately, though the pumping blood pulled at her senses, gushing down onto Baalbisan's runes. Ignoring the fearful cries of her friends, she thought of the two monstrous Hezrou, appearing before them long enough only to step from one to the other, pouring blood onto their circles. Hezebel was next, and as her runes dissolved she caught the woman's cheek in her taloned hand, leaving a cut on her skin, and kissed her there as well. Blooden smiled when Shandra appeared before her, raising an eyebrow in mock pity.
"Oh my dear," the tall, lithe Succubus smiled, her red lips curling in half-contained delight, watching the blood pooling between them, observing Shandra's wan face, how she gritted her teeth against the pain, "But you've cut yourself. Now why would do that?"
The laughter of the Succubi's leader rang horribly in Shandra's ears as she found herself next in Koraboros's room, her legs already feeling weak, wanting nothing more than to buckle beneath her. Her vision was clouding…but she could not bear the thought of that red-scaled monster and his blazing eyes being the last thing she ever saw.
"Yes," the Pit Fiend urged, his ill-defined lips peeling upwards into what might have been a smile, "It is almost done; this pain will soon end and your sacrifice will save the souls of many."
"This is the end for you," the warlock snarled.
Though the Hellhounds had been defeated again, and he had not bothered to resurrect them, Isaviel could barely hear his words. She was on her knees, bleeding and bruised, burned in places and tired – so very tired. Casavir was struggling now, fear all she could make out from his expression after Shandra's words, and she could hear Bishop grunting with effort behind her. Sand's spells had saved her life when her legs had failed her, and only those three men remained standing. Khelgar had lost consciousness, buried beneath two Hellhounds, and Neeshka was crawling into a corner, blood soaking through the hand she held to her side, her lips quivering in pain. Qara was all but unconscious as well, though unhurt, her magical power spent, while Elanee had pulled herself back behind Sand, hugging her legs to her chest and watching with wildly fearful eyes.
"I will bury your bodies in the walls of my haven and leave you to…to…" the warlock shuddered, stumbling, catching himself with a hand on the table by Mephasm; then his eyes snapped towards the fallen Deva, "No!" he gasped, "What have you done?"
As he spoke, the ground began to shake, a great rumbling filling Isaviel's ears. The crash of falling stone, the shriek of metal on metal, and the candlelight in the room flickered. For a brief moment all she could see was the glowing yellow of Mephasm's eyes as he turned to see Shandra appear, blood pouring from both arms now, though she stumbled and fell onto her side, her eyes glazed. Her blood did not reach his circle, seeping into the mosaic below her, mingling with that of fallen Hellhounds. Casavir shouted in denial, one leg giving out as he tried to run to her, and Isaviel saw that the woman's breathing continued, though it was shallow.
"What you have done is brave but foolish, Shandra Jerro," Mephasm told her softly, watching the warlock move past him, stepping out of the circle, looming over the young woman's weak form.
"You…girl," he snarled, "You did this."
"Isaviel, Casavir…"
Shandra had whispered only just loud enough to hear, her voice breaking on her lover's name, her eyelids fluttering feebly and almost closing over her bright blue eyes, staring past the warlock as if he had not spoken, seeking the sight of the paladin. The Moon Elf had never felt such horror. Shandra had only been good to her…once she had learned to trust her. And she had trusted her. Perhaps more than any of the others, and believed that she could do good. She tried to return the look that Shandra sent to her, a reassuring smile. Instead she felt tears trickling over her cheeks, a tightness in her throat, and she dropped her daggers and brought a hand to cover her mouth.
"You let the deadliest creatures on the Lower Realms free," the warlock raged, "You have weakened me…and in so doing, you have earned death."
His hands were already glowing with light, green mists swirling around them, acid hissing out of his veins and from his fingertips to drip onto the ground at his feet. All the while, her blood pooled, and at last it reached the summoning circle, which flared once at the slightest contact, dissolving into the air as sulphurous steam.
Shandra looked up at the warlock slowly, tears flowing from her eyes, meeting her fate as Casavir threw himself back to his feet, but the paladin was out of time. It was too late to give any showy displays of affection. The green blast of magic tore through her, and she convulsed once, her mouth opening to speak softly.
"I know, Grandfather. I'm sorry, so sorry…"
And she lay still.