Chapter 10 – Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

The sky screamed as the battle waged in the dungeon far below. Enough that a wolf, summoned by Cazador as he raced towards Shadowheart in his black mist form, pricked up its ears in momentary confusion. It sounded like the wail of some angry ghost, or an enraged banshee, descending through the clouds on howling wings of vengeance.

But just as it tried to meet this unexpected new foe, an explosion rocked the mansion to its very foundations; dust and chips of granite raining down onto the platform and its combatants. The ghouls cried out in terror and scrambled sideways as a heavy block from the cavern ceiling became dislodged and shattered against the walkway, nearly obliterating it completely. A second quickly followed, and another bone-jarring explosion caused the manor above to sway ominously as everyone could hear floorboards splintering and roof tiles spilling down onto the carpets in crumbling droves.

Outraged almost beyond his ability to speak, Cazador regained his physical body and shrieked up at the ungodly din of destruction.

"What is this?! What is this…this DISGRACE?!" He roared with stunned disbelief.

A third boom and a crackle of fiery smokepowder. A third screech across the sky. And the cavern above them was rent utterly asunder. Even Lae'zel had to raise her armguards to shield her eyes from the tempest of rock that hailed down against her armor hard enough to leave dents in the githyanki metalcraft. But it wasn't just the chunks of blasted rock that felled skeletons and a few wolves; they each watched in surprised awe as a ship's cannonball, purplish in color and slightly uneven in shape, appeared as it crossed into the darkness of the ritual dais and slammed with near perfect aim directly into one of the suspended spawn's pedestals.

In the span of a breath, Petras, poor pale Petras, disintegrated into a deluge of blood and severed arms that vanished as they tumbled into the cavern below.

The scream that erupted from Cazador could be heard through the very fabric of space and time. This is not what he had been promised. This is not what he had worked for. For two blasted CENTURIES!

"YOU…YOU ABSOLUTE SWINE! VULGAR. LITTLE. MAGGOTS! FOUL WRETCHES HOW DARE YOU! YOU ARE NOTHING! NOTHING!"

But Shadowheart, holding her shield protectively over her and Lyric's heads, actually burst out into a fit of giggles. "It's a broadside! We're being barraged by a warship!"

Halsin roared a deep-throated bellow of triumph.

Astarion however, was still trapped, writhing helplessly against the swirling red magics that bound him to the Black Mass. Even with Petras gone, it apparently still wasn't over. The pact of Mephistopheles was not to be undone quite so easily, even if the very columns of the meticulously prepared dungeon collapsed in on them.

Cazador pulled a sinister dagger from his belt, and in confirmation of Astarion's worst fears he snarled, "No matter. I will just replace him with one of YOU! Or perhaps, better yet, I'll just finish off with HER!"

Shadowheart brought down her shield immediately and raised Lathander's Light, tapping the handle to awaken the holy sun held within it. She would see how this vampire liked it when they'd be warring in open daylight. Cazador, unfortunately, turned out to be a rather dexterous fellow, weaving in and out of the sun streaks to menace the cleric with his superior speed and unarmored agility.

Lae'zel tried to help but it was of no use. Both she and Halsin had become completely bogged down in a vanguard of werewolves trained to use the skeletal warcaster in their midst as a way to maintain unnatural durability. The githyanki cut them down over and over again, only to see them rise up moments later to meet her blade. Halsin, too, fared little better. His teeth and claws could rip entire limbs away, but each fallen creature was only quickly replaced by another. This left Shadowheart at the mercy of every cleric's inevitable conundrum. The fighters needed her healing words if they were to endure, but if she abandoned Lyric now, she was certain they would never get her back. Unfortunately, at that moment, the decision was made for her.

Cazador had summoned the very magics of the abyss in her distraction, and before Shadowheart could even counter the gestures, he shouted out an infernal word and a necromantic phrase just as a burst of dark fog and branched red lightening sent her skidding several meters across the platform. She then heard a scream and through she hadn't regained her bearings, she knew it to be Astarion.

And indeed, it was. He writhed, fighting with every ounce of his strength until his skin cracked further and bled against the restraining power of the towering pedestal. Cazador's smug, sideways smile nearly cored out his heart, knowing that his old master was truly pleased that he could make him watch what was to come next. To break him down ever more until he died in unredeemable despair.

The elder vampire raised his crooked blade and made several quick short strokes across Lyric's chest. Still in the depths of unconsciousness from her previous injuries, she didn't even flinch as the blade carved out a series of runes and lines, using the irregular cross of her old betrayer's wounds as a canvas to recreate the final part of the infernal pact that had been lost to Petras' demise. With glee and a flourish, Cazador then retrieved his Staff of Woe and sent the ranger flying past the gore and clash of battle until she hung limply in the empty space where the other spawn had once been.

"No!" Astarion screamed, his hands clenching uselessly at his sides. "NO! YOU BASTARD! LYRIC!"

"A fitting end!" Cazador called back, his body beginning to dissipate into mist once more. "Thank you, my boy! Thank you for one last perfect addition to my night of glorious victory! My gifts to Ailil may need to be grand in recompense, but I see now that this could have gone no other way. The design is now not just precise, but transcendent! You will finally be together forever…in DEATH!"

The inhuman wail that answered nearly tore out Astarion's throat. He was nothing now but anger and desperation. Not flesh, not human, not man nor elf, but a renunciate of all things splendid and bright. An ascetic of sorrow so deep that even Shar herself would have knelt in reverence at the loss welling up inside him. But in that way, Shadowheart's evangelizing had been right about one thing. In darkness he did not hide. He acted. But, as it would be, so did fate itself.

His mourning cries had covered a far subtler sound that had grown louder unnoticed. And as Astarion heaved a sobbing breath, ready to call out to his lover just one last time before they were both consumed, there was a different reply. A rumble, felt more than heard; like thunder.

The already fragile rocks above him exploded, pulverized into shards that fell like a hail of arrows across the battlefield, followed by the largest Dark Steel cannonball he had ever seen sailing unimpeded through the ceiling and descending like a comet of salt and mist. It was almost unbelievable, in that, for a moment, he swore he could see engraved lettering on the side of the projectile that read: "Happiness is just a Yo Ho away."

Cazador too, had also been far too caught up in his imminent ascension to hear the warnings, but he did hear Lae'zel yell to her comrades and turned just in time to see cleric, fighter, and bear diving for cover. When he then turned back to follow their eyelines to the edge of the platform, it hit him.

Directly.

Cazador's world tumbled over and over until it felt as if he were rolling weightlessly in a sea of Astral stars. He tasted blood and moss, with something like the tang of sulfur mixed with olive oil. He flailed, trying to dig his cracked nails into the first thing that would give him purchase, but it was several seconds of wheeling somersaults before he could figure out which way was up and which was down. He knew instantly that his ribs had been crushed and his right shoulder was out of the joint. His spine was also broken in at least a few places with bits of the splintered vertebrae poking out through the embroidery of his jacket. And very suddenly, Cazador Szarr was afraid. Somewhere, somehow, there had been a secret betrayal. He realized in that moment that the small cannon shelling against the house before had only been to, in a word, soften it up. The ship that had fired those rounds had been probing for a weakness, seeing what kinds of damage the cannons could do when aimed at different heights and modified angles. Then, they had found their target with the demise of young Petras. And having so observed the devastation with the telescopes and spyglasses on their deck, they had loaded the final shot. A Dark Steel missile that would obliterate anything it reached.

He could smell the last drippings of werewolf blood and the hear the last gurgling noises of the Gur hunter ghouls. Even the bats at his command were now fleeing into the crevices further down in the caves, no doubt making their way to the passages that would take them to the sewers or further into the Underdark. But his pride was not humbled at this, not in the least. Instead, he slammed his left fist furiously into the stone floor and reacted on instinct. His body flashed away into a sooty cloud and flowed outwards from the pain and into the seams of his coffin. His safe, armored, protected resting place that none would dare to disturb. There, he could rest until the damage was all undone.

The cannonball, however, hadn't simply stopped at one vampire. Rather, given its incredibly unusual density, it had then bounced along merrily, wreaking havoc in its wake, until it was intercepted by a somewhat ragged-looking bear who had to grab it in both paws and dig his back claws into the ruins until it finally came to stop. During that time though, it had smashed into two pillars, knocked down a brazier, and rolled over the skeletal mage until he was only fit for use in a book of pressed leaves. In the chaos, and much to his unexpressed gratitude, Astarion was also finally freed as Shadowheart made her way over to his corner and used her remaining divine energy to interrupt the infernal bonds.

Enraged, his eyes glowing bright red in the underground gloom, Astarion didn't even pause to murmur an acknowledgement of thanks. The second his feet touched the ground, he was sprinting across the dais, sliding through slick smears of blood and leaping past piles of detritus with a singular focus. The coffin.

The others watched in relatively shocked silence as Astarion grabbed onto the casket lid and with a sudden show of incredible strength, fueled by madness that hemorrhaged bilious mania into every part of him, lifted the stone slab and threw it to the floor as if he were merely flipping the lid of an herb box. As he then glared down at his old master, hands folded over his chest and his eyes closed in innocent repose, he seized the elder vampire by the neck and unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor at their feet.

"No, no." He snarled, eyes and teeth glinting wildly. "No healing sleep for you. WAKE UP!"

As Cazador hit the ground, he shuddered and made something like a whimpering sound as he tried to clamor back to his feet. But he hadn't had enough time and the fractures winding throughout his body were still too fresh.

"Get your hands off me, worm!"

"Ha!" Astarion snarked, his voice still tinged with insanity. "I'm not the one in the dirt."

It was then that the younger elf noticed the spiral dagger, likely one of his fellow spawn's misericords lost during the confusion of the ritual power surge, a few feet away. Without thinking, he snatched it up and raised the blade over his cowering master.

"One last thrust and I'll be free of you." He said. His voice wavered with emotion, as though he still didn't even believe it himself. "I'll never have to fear you again. But if I finish the ritual you started, I'll never have to fear anyone. Ever."

"Astarion, No!" Shadowheart yelled. He didn't hear her.

"You think me a fool?" Cazador scolded back. "That I would allow anyone to usurp me, speak the words, and ascend in my place? Hm?" He wrinkled his nose in a show of disgust. "The runes I carved into your flesh bind you and all seven thousand souls to the ritual. Complete it, and those bearing the scars will be sacrificed. You included! You are simply a means to an end." He finished snidely. "I made you to be consumed."

"I am so much more than what you made me!" Astarion hissed, towering over Cazador in a posture of hate and domination. "I can do this." He suddenly said to himself, his eyes darting around from Shadowheart, to Lae'zel, and to the newly elven Halsin. "But I need your help. One of you! That's all I need."

"What…what are you talking about?" Shadowheart was taken aback, and Halsin suddenly looked more frightened than anyone had ever seen the druid.

"I know what I'm doing!" Astarion shouted in response to their hesitation. "There's no time to dally. I just need your eyes. In a manner of speaking." His words were now coming so fast it was almost hard to keep up.

"What do you think you are doing?" Cazador recoiled, still unable to stand or flee. The pain was returning and deep down, he was near hysterics.

"Unmaking what you made me." Astarion quipped and then turned to Shadowheart. "Use the parasite. Link your mind to mine. Through your eyes, I can see the scars on my back…and then copy them onto his."

"You would not dare!" Cazador's tone changed then to one of mockery.

"I would!" His frenzied spawn answered. "And I will! You will be consumed and all the power you've lusted after will be mine!" He turned to the cleric again. "Help me do this. Please."

It was then that Cazador's laughter went from nervousness to ridicule. In fact, he started laughing so hard that it nearly caused Halsin to put one of his giant palms over the vampire's face just to shut him up. Astarion took a step back, his brow furrowing as he tried to decide whether or not this was another trick or if he had missed something important.

"You stupid boy." His master chided. "You stupid, thoughtless, little brat. But I have to admit, if it would not otherwise result in my own destruction, I would happily let you do this, carry out your tawdry juvenile plan, and watch and as you liquefied your own sanity with the lunacy you would carry out. Ascend into nobility as mad as a gibbering orb with black slime for a mind."

Astarion lunged and dug the tip of the dagger into Cazador's chin, forcing his head up enough to look him in the eyes. "You're lying. You've never been anything but a liar. Your lies and your cruelty took everything from me, and now, I will take EVERYTHING from you."

"Oh ho, oh no no no." The other flicked his tongue with sadistic pleasure. "It will be YOU who will, at last, take everything from you. Go ahead, perform this rotten, ungrateful insult you propose. You think, by cutting your part of the contract into my body, you will be able to complete the Black Mass in my stead. And you know, perhaps you're right. But as you stand there, in the center of the seven channels of power, as you feel the stolen eons of immortal lives infuse every part of you, as you fantasize about your own life in the sun, free of every and any limitation, you will then have to look her in the eyes and speak the words that will slaughter her by your command."

Horror dawned over Astarion's face. His mouth trembled and he tried to take a breath as Cazador continued in a voice of utter contempt. His inflection even rising in pitch as the jeering taunts turned to malicious laughter.

"That's right, boy. How quickly, in your haste for revenge, you forgot the one thing you said meant so so much to you. You're reason for living, yes? But I guess that's not actually true, is it? You didn't run to her as soon as you were freed, did you? You ran to me! Because you will always run to your master. Impudent children have no other purpose than to be disciplined and to be made use of. And now, you've proven that. So, yes. Cut those marks into me, send me to my place in the circle, and take in all the power you could never have dreamed of. All that power, child. You will be invincible! Just like you always wanted. You will even have the satisfaction of watching me melt away to become the essence inside you. You want that too, right? I dare say I speak the truth!"

The blade lowered as Astarion turned his head and gazed across the devastated dais to the beams of red magics on the far side of the rubble and the familiar body that still hung atop them.

Lyric. His Lyric.

Her lifeless, bloodied form unmoving. Her long red hair and braids tangled with clots of blood both old and new. Her chest pouring out in rivulets from her collarbone, over the dams of her ribs, and onto her thighs. Her old scars had been opened up by one blade and a new set of scars had been sliced through their lines by a second one. They glowed in the hellish light, revealing the icon of an eight-pointed star drawn in runes that now covered her entire upper torso. But she had seen and heard nothing of what had just transpired. She had not stirred once since they had arrived in the Szarr's cursed manor. She didn't rouse now either and wouldn't even know it if she were dead.

"All that power." Cazador repeated. "Consume the seven. Consume the seven thousand. Consume me! Come now, Astarion. What's one more sacrifice to fulfill your destiny?"