It had been a while since the Necrotic Labrartoty and even longer since Durge had glanced at the scroll they'd found there.
On nights when sleep was impossible, they would steal away, reading and rereading the passage, each time feeling the creeping tendrils of familiarity intertwining with the sheer horror of the revelation. It was their own hand that had penned these dark intentions, their own thoughts twisted and corrupted by the influence of their divine heritage.
"...Forgive me, Father, for I cannot help but admire the Chosen of your sworn foe: Enver Gortash's genius will take us far, but fear not - those of Bane always fall to the same folly: they cannot see the beauty of obliteration. The Absolute hoax will garner false love from our new slaves, but once I've built a large enough army, I will use our hold upon the Absolute's slaves to begin this vile world's end.
I can see the path through Gortash's brilliant plan. Gortash, Ketheric, and I will seize the Netherese relics that control the Crown and then use the Crown to command the illithid Grand Design. The Dead Three, age-old foes and our dire patrons, will be bosom friends for a time.
Father, you created me to be the last soul alive. When the time is right, and my power is assured, I will slaughter Gortash and Ketheric upon your altar, where I myself hope to die when the world itself is gasping its last.
At the end of this all, Father, there will be not a single creature living. Everyone will die. Everyone will die for YOU. I will make you proud…"
Durge's mind echoed with the words. A puzzle of their past slowly took form as they discovered more of who they'd been. Durge was created and crafted for a much darker purpose than they had ever imagined, but which explained the haze of red that threatened to consume them.
One thing became crystal clear: Gortash was the root of their inner turmoil, then and now.
A tiny flame of defiance flickered in their heart. Durge refused to be a puppet manipulated by their divine progenitor. They were determined to forge their own path, carve their own destiny, and resist the darkness that threatened to consume them.
Despite the shadow of their past self, Durge longed to know themselves once more, and only one person knew who that was.
Under the cover of darkness, Durge waited until the soft sounds of sleep filled the camp. Ignoring the gnawing guilt as they slip away from the warmth of their partners' embrace. Ignoring the gentle pull of Halsin's comforting presence and the cool touch of Astarion's hand, Durge's mind was consumed by a singular purpose: to confront Enver Gortash.
Guided by fragments of recollection, Durge navigated the shadows of Baldur's Gate, their footsteps barely making a sound as they entered Gortash's private chamber. The air was thick with anticipation, every heartbeat echoing in Durge's ears as they approached the door.
With trembling hands, Durge pushed the door open, revealing the dimly lit room. Gortash sat at a desk, his back to Durge as if he knew they were coming.
"Darling," he turned towards them, a sly twinkle in his eye. His voice was like velvet, smooth and seductive, sending shivers down their spine as he spoke. "I've been waiting for you. You're a day late, but I can forgive you."
There was no fear in Gortash's eyes, only a sense of anticipation, as if he knew the depths of Durge's heartache and welcomed it with open arms.
Durge's heart raced as they stepped further into the room, their gaze never leaving Gortash. Memories, both painful and intoxicating, flooded their mind as they struggled to find the words to express the tumultuous emotions raging within them.
"Why did you do it?" Durge finally managed to choke out, their voice barely above a whisper yet filled with raw emotion.
Gortash stood, his expression unreadable. "Do what, my dear?" he asked, his tone dripping with mock innocence.
The air crackled with tension; their body ridged with a mixture of anger, confusion, and desire. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the room.
"You know what I'm talking about," Durge insisted, their voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "You toyed with me, manipulated me, knowing I'd seek you out. Why?"
Gortash regarded them with a cool detachment, his gaze piercing through the darkness. "Ah, my dear Durge," he replied, his voice dripping with honeyed charm. "You misunderstand; I am not the villain Karlach painted me as my love."
Durge recoiled at the mention of love, the word carrying a crushing weight. "Love?" they scoffed, disbelief coloring their tone. "You call what we did love? You used me, manipulated me for your own twisted desires."
Gortash's lips curled into a snarl. "Is that what you believe? Perhaps you have yet to remember the truth of our connection."
Durge's fists clenched at their sides, their resolve hardening with each passing moment. "I don't need your lies," they spat, their voice laced with venom.
Gortash grabbed Durge, their strong, calloused hands tangling in Durge's hair, pulling them close. "What we had was never a lie," Gortash growled, his deep voice rumbling through Durge's body. "I may be Baane's chosen, but when we are together, there is no grand design, only us. Only this overwhelming feeling." He kissed them, their lips crashing together with an almost violent passion, and Durge drowned in him, fangs and claws tearing at one another's clothing.
Durge's body moved on autopilot, their mind consumed by a different kind of red haze, a primal need to dominate and possess Gortash. They slammed him onto the bed, their lips and teeth attacking his exposed skin with a ferocity that left both of them gasping for air.
Gortash's moans only fueled Durge's desire as they sucked at the blood that welled within the love bites they left in their wake. His hands clawed at Durge's back, leaving deep scratches that only served to heighten their pleasure.
Their bodies moved together in a frenzied dance, each touch igniting a fire within them that threatened to consume them both. Clothes were torn and discarded as they desperately sought more skin to mark and claim.
The familiar scent of blood and sweat filled the air, and the sweet sound of Gortash's voice.
His moans and pleas only fueled Durge's hunger, driving them to sink their fangs deeper into his flesh. They reveled in the taste of his blood, the rush of power that surged through their veins.
As they reached the peak of their passion, Durge could feel their control slipping away, eyes glowing with that hunger. Gortash's grip on Durge's body tightened, almost to the point of pain. But Durge welcomed it, relished in the sharp sting that pushed them both closer to the edge.
In that moment, there was no past or future, only the present and the overwhelming need for one another. As they tumbled over the edge together, their bodies shuddering in ecstasy, they were lost in each other.
And when it was over, Durge collapsed on top of Gortash, panting and covered in a mixture of sweat and blood. For a moment, they lay there, their bodies entwined and their breaths syncing, their hearts beating as one.
But as passion gave way to exhaustion, reality began to creep back in.
Durge couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. This wasn't how things were supposed to go.
"Enver," they whispered, running their fingers through his sweat-drenched hair. "What are we doing?"
Gortash didn't answer immediately, instead choosing to pepper kisses along Durge's collarbone. But when he finally did look up at them, there was a glint of something in his eyes – something that made Durge's heart clench with longing.
"We're living in this moment," Gortash said softly. "And isn't that all that matters?"
Durge pulled away from Gortash, sighing heavily as they struggled to regain control of their thoughts. They pulled the remnants of their clothing back on.
"I can't do this anymore," they said finally, tears threatening to spill from their eyes. Durge realized that they had been searching for an explanation, a reason to justify their feelings. But the truth was that they loved Gortash, whether they wanted to admit it or not, but that love would only bring destruction.
Gortash reached out for them, but Durge stepped back out of reach. "Please," he pleaded. Durge wanted to believe in this connection, to bury themselves in this feeling and ignore everything else – but deep down, they knew it couldn't last forever.
"No, I can't keep going back and forth between hating you and wanting you," Durge shook their head, their voice barely audible. "I need to find my own path, away from all of this darkness. I can't let you pull me back in." Gortash's expression hardened, a hint of betrayal hiding behind his eyes. "I am not going to follow through with the plan," Durge whispered. "I will destroy the Netherbrain and protect Baldur's Gate."
Shadows fell across Gortash's face, his voice soft and emotionless. "Very well."
Before they could respond, there was a loud knock at the door followed by a Banites booming voice. "Gortash!" They shouted. "You are needed at the foundry!"
Gortash let out a heavy sigh before getting up from the bed and quickly throwing on some clothes.
For a moment, they looked at one another, the air now heavy with unspoken words and unresolved feelings.
As Durge retreated from Gortash's grasp, they couldn't help but feel a pang of regret for what they had just done. But they also knew that they couldn't go back to the way things were, not without endangering their own sanity.
As they made their way back to their own camp, Durge took a moment to bathe and wash away the remnants of their love. They knew that they would always carry a piece of Gortash with them, but they also knew that they needed to move forward and forge their own path.